Selected Excerpts Concerning the Topic of Magic

A Brief Primer on the Nature of Magic on the Continent of Kaithe

“To be a sorcerer is to stand upon the precipice of a mighty river, and traverse the surging torrents without being pulled underneath its surface. Magic is an existence beyond morality and human comprehension, a primal and chaotic force that was, is and shall be long after our civilizations are but dust in the winds. Thus, it is the height of foolishness to think that complete and utter dominance over this force is possible, as we are but servants given a fraction of the master’s power to do as we see fit. And to think otherwise will invariably lead to nothing but ruin for both the practitioner and his immediate surroundings.”
– Ceonius Axius Pera, High Priest of Arcanus, God of Magic, and Magus Beli Magnus of Legio XII of the Eridian Empire

Magic is a naturally-occurring supernatural force that can be found across all of Kaithe and the lands beyond the continent. It is found in many forms, such as spells, enchanted items, and, rarely, physical phenomenon within the natural world. Individuals that are born with the talent to interact and harness magic are referred to as possessing “a Core”, and are highly sought after by their sovereign states for their potential.

The energy of magic itself is a fundamental aspect of the universe. Across cultures and civilizations, it has gone by many names: aether, chaos, mana, prana, and quintessence, but the fact remains that from the lowliest hedge witch to the highest sorcerer, magic-users of all walks of life will draw from this energy source when weaving their spells. It is believed that the Core is the catalyst which allows the magic-user to interact with the energy itself, a sort of font that gathers the energies to store within the user’s body. From there, the user must carefully weave and shape the spell they wish to manifest. Years of training both body and mind are required to safely harness this power without going mad or killing oneself from an imbalance of energy.

Historically, magic was used as a general term for anyone possessing a modicum of talent. Even the Eridians, for all their strict ledger-keeping, only held two categories: theurgical (i.e., high magic associated with a priest or religious figure) and goetic (i.e. low or otherwise “dirty magic” such as curses or the ill-fabled love potion of hedge witches). But we can now safely discard this antiquated methodology in lieu for a modern categorical system. Indeed, there is a stark and distinct difference between the likes of High Sorcery, Dragonic Weaves, Wild Magic, Blood Arts, and so on and so forth.

(cont.)

File: Ivory Tower.jpg (164 KB, 812x1080)

164 KB JPG

Extensive research shows that there is a hereditary aspect for the manifestation of a Core. Prior to Aedric von Brandt and the Ivory Reforms, it was not unusual for civilizations to maintain genealogies of magic-users similar to an aristocracy or higher social class. And in spite of the congenital risks of breeding a limited number of individuals, history has shown that long lineages will display more powerful magi. But as rare as it is, it is entirely possible for an individual with no arcane history to be born with an exceptionally powerful Core.

But as mentioned earlier, the Ivory Reforms in the wake of the Bladebound Rebellion have all but extinguished the pride and prestige of a magical genealogy. Prior to the rise of the Crimson Tyrant, the issue of sorcerers maintaining noble titles and lands had already been a controversial subject, but Aedric’s horrific actions have all but sealed his kindred’s fate.

The Ivory Reforms, in summation, have severely curtailed, if not stripped away, the rights and political power that a sorcerer can wield. As of 31 ACR, individuals who display magical talent are to be taken to the Ivory Towers of Sorcery in their respective sovereign nation, regardless of their status of birth. Magic users are forbidden to hold both noble deeds and lands, save for the space necessary for the creation of a laboratory or workshop. And it is only upon acquiring the rank of Journeyman and finishing years of grueling and life-threatening training are they allowed to leave the Ivory Tower.

The question of whether or not these measures are too harsh has constantly been a topic among sympathizers, especially among nobles who have had sons and daughters ripped from their arms by Imperial Mage Hunters. However, it has only seen resurgence with the Detmold Incident in 236 ACR, and the outrage of the continent with Emperor Leonhardt Crowmond’s refusal to surrender the magically talented Prince Allanus Crowmond to the Ivory Tower for instruction and training.

But those are topics for another day...

The Warlocks

Aedric von Brandt was not alone in his pursuit of the dark power that blood magic could give him. At the height of the Bladebound Rebellion, the chronicles make note of seven individuals that served at his command, perhaps a deliberate and grotesque mockery of the seven heroes that helped him win the Bladebound Throne.

These individuals were the first of what contemporary historians refer to as The Warlocks, the most powerful blood mages that served as Aedric’s apprentices in magic, and commanders of both his Loyalists and the Blutlinge armies. When Max Crowmond slew Aedric at the climax of the Red Iron March, the surviving Warlocks scattered across the continent, along with their monstrous armies, where they have continued to plague the men and women of the land for the last two hundred years.

(cont.)

File: A Warlock of Rage.jpg (78 KB, 410x600)

78 KB JPG

It has been theorized that the title of Warlock is both a description of a blood mage’s power, as well as a mantle passed on from generations of masters and apprentices. Our contemporaries in the Ivory Towers of Sorcery are tight-lipped on the inner politics and mindset of these villainous scoundrels, but it can be deduced that this is the only way that the Warlocks have continued to survive to this day. Details about the process as a whole, however, are exceedingly scarce due to the secrecy of their members, enforced by both death and sealing magic.

Each of these individuals is noted to have displayed unique abilities, even for blood mages, tied into a specific vice or “sin” that they represent. These can range from unusual manifestations, such as the Warlock of Rage and his iconic ability of turning the iron in his blood into weapons, to the subtle and more utilitarian, such as the Warlock of Envy and his/her ability to use the face of their victims to transform their body into a visual simulacrum neigh impossible to differentiate from Warlock to Victim. To face a Warlock in open combat is a fool’s errand, but has been accomplished in the past, though not without significant casualties numbering in the dozens, if not hundreds.

However, in the long years since their master’s fall, it must be noted that severe infighting has broken out among them. As each of the seven (and their respective cabal) believe themselves to be the true inheritor of Aedric’s legacy, they have constantly been at each other’s throats for the last two hundred years, fighting in the shadows and darker places of Kaithe. Thus, it would be an extremely rare and disturbing possibility for hostilities between them to cease, or for one powerful Warlock to emerge victorious among the others to become a new Crimson Tyrant…

===

>Winter 73, 238 ACR
>Vethic Road, seventeen miles from Alnerwich

It seems that as Raleigh’s health improved, the weather inversely takes a turn for the worst. Not even two days after the departure from Alnerwich, dark and rolling clouds had descended from the mountain, showering the Midlands with curtains of ice and snow. There is no shortage of firewood or food to be had. Mazur’s demesne has more than enough trees and winter game to spare for a caravan only slightly more than two hundred men.

But traveling through along a road hidden underneath three or four feet of snow is an exercise in patience and near futility. It requires a combination of both mundane and magical means to clear a path for knights, horses and the carriage to make what headway you could.

(cont.)

>>2583925
AAAAAAAAAH
(AHH!)

>>2583961
AHHHHHH

WHY ARE WE SCREAMING!?

File: Hultish Warrior.jpg (18 KB, 300x394)

18 KB JPG

>>2583951
Pullman’s Eagle Knights have long since eschewed cold platemail for woolen cloaks and vests of chain. Every so often, they stop to make sure their horses have not frozen to death or otherwise suffered frostbite. But all the care in the world cannot prevent the cruelty of nature. Four horses have perished and left their knights without mounts, forcing them to the ignominy of a caravan wagon. Sullenly packed among barrels of mead and dried beef, they suffer both the sympathy and derision of their fellow knights.

Everyone shows some signs of fatigue or misery, and the result of Mazur’s trial does not calm anyone’s mind. Kieran Pullman himself wears nothing but a weary frown of unease, as if he had aged ten years since his confrontation with the landgrave of Alnerwich. Urath, as stoic as he is, radiates a tension you’ve never seen before. Even Princess Adrianna casts worrying glances back in the direction from where you came from.

However, there are those who enjoy themselves, in spite of the difficulties. First among them is Prince Allanus, who was given a respectable length of freedom to melt the road ahead with his fire magic. If the young prince’s smile was any wider, you would worry that his cheeks would split open.

Bellatrix comes at a close second, and had taken to the cold with shocking vigor. She sits atop her horse, arms completely bare to reveal scared, corded muscles and ornate tattoos. Delicate and intricate spirals trace around her arms, weaving through images of bears, boars and other wild animals sacred to the Hults. Some taper off into little coils, others form arches and serpents, and there are still more that simply…disappear, gliding along the sway and curve of her arms and shoulders to vanish underneath thick hides of fur.

At one point, she catches you staring, and with a grin and lewd shake of her body, says, “Wanna see the rest of them? Yer not the only one that’s curious, but ah promise you’ll be the first in line.”

...truly, barbarians have no shame. Although for a whelp of Opranic and Vethic heritage to call a Hult a barbarian would be the cauldron calling the kettle black. The Eridian Empire, with all their laurels and togas, would declare that all three are the uncivilized scum of the earth.

But the cold has not bothered you as much as you’d think. You are plenty warm in your reinforced leathers and cloak, and keep after your own horse with fastidious attention.

…it was snowing harder on the night you killed the Red Snakes and avenged Serena.

>>What has occupied your mind for the last few days?
>Bonding with your fellow Crownguard.
>Decrypting the Vascieli journal.
>Tutoring Princess Ellana in alchemy.
>Custom option.

>>2584010
SURPRISE
EXCITEMENT

>>2584021
>Decrypting the Vascieli journal.

>>2584021
>Decrypting the Vascieli journal.

>>2584021
>>Tutoring Princess Ellana in alchemy.
>Tutoring Princess Ellana in alchemy.

Hey glad you're not dead Kaz.

>>2584021
>Decrypting the Vascieli journal.

>>2584021
>>Decrypting the Vascieli journal.

>>2584021
>Decrypting the Vascieli journal.
need info

>>2584021
>>Decrypting the Vascieli journal.

File: Winter Adrianna.png (3.17 MB, 1360x1820)

3.17 MB PNG

>>2584039
>>2584042
>>2584050
>>2584063
>>2584078
>>2584123
The lulls in progress are significant enough for you to take your time in deciphering the journal. Shielding the bloodstained pages from the snow with one hand, you carefully trace their text with your other. After your previous breakthrough, you’re almost certain you can make significant headway, providing that the bastards didn’t change their cipher in the middle of penning the book.

But in all honesty, it’s a godsdamnned mess. Alchemical symbols begin to blur with goetic runes in illogical patterns and forms, creating a seemingly impossible mess of both words and shapes. However, illogical as it is, there is a pattern, a method to the madness.

>You made some headway into deciphering the book!
>Gain +30 to Knowledge rolls in attempting to decipher.

And all you need to do is spend just a little more time, no more than an hour at the most, before you’re able to definitively crack the cipher. This rune, here, in conjunction with that word create a spiral-like pattern-

“Excuse me…Marcus?”

Irritated at the break in your thoughts, the scowl on your face promises a severe lashing at the interruption. But as quickly as it comes, it is replaced by something less severe, and perhaps a little surprised, as Adrianna Crowmond steps into view. The obviously foreign clothes she’s wearing don’t appear to crafted to last for long journeys through a winter environment, let alone thick enough to prevent a cold. If anything, the suspiciously thin fabric of her top and the way it clings to her body would have her shivering within minutes of stepping out of the carriage.

“Do you like them?” She misreads your glance for something else, humming as she turns in a graceful display. “These were a gift from a noble family of the Lyuran Confederation, just a little northwest of where our borders join theirs at the upper edge of the Whrelzwth. I thought it prudent to have the servants pack them, as this kind of weather is what they are used to. And apparently,” she pauses with a little smile, “It is what is expected of a queen to wear.”

You cannot help but share some modicum of amusement. As if the emperor would marry off the child second to inherit the throne after Prince Emeron! No, when the time comes for Adrianna to marry, it will be someone that will join the house of the Crowmonds, and not the other way around.

But the amusement passes quickly, and then you remember the weight of the book on your lap. You know without a doubt that if you were to continue and stray further from your work on the cipher, the risk of losing your thoughts is an obvious danger.

However, it appears that for all her talk about clothes, Adrianna would like to speak with you about something else. Though she’s not your charge, it might seem inherently rude to disregard and ignore an imperial princess when she wishes to speak.

>Humor her and talk.
>Return to your work.

>>2584157
>Humor her and talk.
We need able leaders in these soon-to-be-trying times

>>2584157
>>Humor her and talk.
But leave a few scrawlings in the book of where you were, so as to not lose your place.

>>2584157
>>Humor her and talk.
>Humor her and talk.

>>2584157
>>Humor her and talk.
Duty first

>>2584157
>>Humor her and talk.

>>2584159
>>2584160
>>2584165
>>2584168
You make a little note on the book as a safeguard against losing your thoughts. Whether or not it will make you remember where your thoughts were leading you, however, is another matter. Still, it is better than not having anything at all.

Closing the notebook, you return it to your bag, only to bring out a flint and dry kindling. “But I cannot help but take precautions,” you answer. At her puzzled look, you gesture towards the overcast sky, and the motes of ice that pour from it. “If it is as you say, then I’ll trust in your judgment about Lyuran clothes and their ability to resist the cold, but you’ll forgive me if I start a fire.”

Adrianna frowns, protesting, “But I truly am comfortable. And we could leave at any given moment. It would be a waste to just start a fire and then quickly leave.”

You gesture towards the front of the column, where her little brother attempts to melt a particularly dense snowbank in front of Pullman and a handful of knights. Allanus’ hand trembles, not with power, but with exhaustion. He can barely create a fireball, let alone enough heat to turn an icicle into a puddle. The boy is dissuaded from further effort by Silverow, who promptly whisks him away towards the interior of the carriage.

“We’re going to be here for a while,” you state, not unkindly as you shift in your seat and make room on the log. “And I know that it’s a far cry from your usual cushions and mattresses, but unless you wish to get your clothes wet…”

She stares at the log, mildly damp and only slightly covered with frozen moss. Acceptance wars on her face with the upbringing of a princess to create an obvious hesitation. In the end, her pride wears out, and she shakes her head. You shrug before returning towards the little pile of kindling you set up. Nobles. At least she isn’t proud enough to reject the fire.

Adrianna lingers at the edge of the fire, placing her hands above the flames in spite of her earlier claims of warmth. The two of you, however, remain in a silence punctuated only by the crackle and pop of tinder. There is something on her mind, but she seems to be unable to spit it out, and the urge to groan is almost too much. You were pulled away from your studies for this?

“This comes very hard,” She suddenly mutters, visibly chewing on her lip. “…and I know I should have done this earlier, but so much was happening that…”

You do not speak. All you do is gently prod the fire, stoking the flames as the princess struggles to find her words.

She sighs, rubbing the side of her face with a hand flushed red from warmth. “…gods, you have forced me into a situation I’m seldom in…do you know how embarrassing this is for me?”

You continue to hold your silence.

(cont.)

“…I’d like to apologize.” Her voice was so small that it might have been a fly. But you heard it nonetheless, and you slowly blink in response. Once more, albeit a little more confidence, she repeats her words and matches her blue eyes to your brown in a solemn gaze. “I’d would like to formally apologize for wronging you.”

“Wronging me?” You echo, genuinely perplexed. “I…I honestly can’t remember any event where your highness may have slighted me.”

Her lips part in a resigned exhale. “Ah…then, allow me to remind you, as loathe as I am to revisit that day. Has it really been that long since you entered into my little sister’s service? I had said some things that were…untoward about you.”

Your first meeting with Adrianna Crowmond…an old ache in your heart tugs at how uncomfortably close that day is, even long after that fateful night. It was just a meeting in a tower, with a knight on one side, and two princesses entering a room…

“My dear, sweet little sister…we’re going to have a talk about this earlier than I anticipated. You’re setting the bar far too low for your servants…”

>“I accept your apology.” [Accept]
>“I'd hate to see a high bar.” [Smug]
>“Think nothing of it.” [Ignore]

>>2584222
>“I'd hate to see a high bar.” [Smug]
>“I accept your apology. Thank you.” [Accept]

>>2584222
>>“I accept your apology.” [Accept]

Didn't her sister find us literally in a gutter?

>>2584232
Bleeding out in a street. Close enough

>>2584222
>“I accept your apology.” [Accept]
wow, I can't think of any way to praise her without sounding condescending. Because legit, her caring about this at all is pretty admirable. The apology is worth less than the proof that she won't ignore her errors.

>>2584222
>>“I accept your apology.” [Accept]
>>“I'd hate to see a high bar.” [Smug]

>>2584230
>>2584232
>>2584247
>>2584248
The corner of your mouth tugs slightly upward in a small gesture, but a smile is still a smile, no matter its size. “I accept your apology,” you say, inclining your head towards her. “Thank you.”

Relief is palpable on her face. “I’m glad to hear that. Because there is that, and my…remarks about how only nobles can enter the royal carriage. Even after you’ve done so much for my sister…for all of us…if I were in your place, I would be more hard-pressed to forgive.”

Maybe that’s just you. But you do not say that. Instead, you merely shrug and reply, “There’s no point in holding a grudge. I’ve had worse words thrown at me, your highness.”

“Goddamn brat.”

“I see…”

“Sullen whoreson.”

“It’s not an exaggeration,” you assure her. “Because in your defense, I do not come from the most…normal of backgrounds. After all, your sister did find me bleeding to death on a street. I can say without doubt that you place very low in hurting my feelings.”

“Mindless slave!”

“Likewise, I can say that I’m glad to have been proven wrong about you, regardless of your prior life as a common adventurer.” Her smile is a little more open, without any sort of hesitation or wariness even as you gawk. It isn’t Palme’s story as much as the complete shamelessness in her voice about your heritage. She genuine, and really means it. “You’re performing well and above the call of any normal Crownguard.”

“…in that case, I’d hate to see a high bar,” you remark with only a slightly crooked grin that you believe even the original Marcus would be proud of. It does well to mask the small simmer of resentment that’s taken hold of your heart as you throw her words back into her face.

For a moment, Adrianna stares without any sort of comprehension for your words. Then, her face suddenly turns red, and her breathing goes hard as she struggles to maintain her composure. “I…that’s…” she sputters, completely losing her calm and balanced demeanor. “…how dare…”

You shake your head, offering a wry smile. “A little jape, your highness, I truly mean nothing by it. But in all honesty, I am very appreciative of your apology.”

It takes her a moment to calm down, and for the flustered shade of red to leave her face. She glares at you, staring intensely towards your eyes with the indignant anger of an embarrassed princess.

>Roll 1d100 + 10 Social
>Best of three.

Rolled 84 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>2584287

Rolled 36 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>2584287

Rolled 2 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>2584287

>>2584293
wew

File: 5699C154-5F4A-4DC5-9D1F-E(...).jpg (843 KB, 1242x1399)

843 KB JPG

>>2584293
Dayum, son. Dayum.

>>2584293
congratulations, you almost threw the vascieli book into the fire.

>>2584287
just read through all the previous threads after seeing this one on the main page, love the writing and can't wait to see how Marcus develops more

>>2584287
>>2584297

Oh hey this quest is back.

Looking forward to your work Kaz.

So Kaz did you enjoy the Lord of Darkwood?

>>2584287
Oh shit this is back.

Annnnnnnd I can't participate today but please keep running!

File: 1525830297146.jpg (25 KB, 480x389)

25 KB JPG

>>2584293

https://mobile.twitter.com/TaskForceKaz/status/999032926863069186
>>Warhammer Adventures
>...you know what? I was wrong. If it means ending the franchise and preventing really shitty IPs, I’m totally up for the End Times 2.0. Because what in the goddamn is this colorful mess supposed to be.
He found out about it.

>>2584381
>>2584405
Thanks! I'm looking forward to where both Marcus and the story go as well.

>>2584639
Hell to the fuck yeah. After plodding through fetish fanfics and shitty grammar, "Lord of Darkwood" comes not only as a refreshing breath of air, but a fantastically written and superb dark fantasy quest. Eagerly waiting for when it goes live again.

>>2584793
Good thing I'm running all week.

>>2585791
I didn't think that GW could sink any further after Age of Sigmar. I was iffy about the Fall of Cadia, but it was interesting enough for me to follow closely towards it. But this "40k for kids" just...it looks like something that was designed by a Marvel executive trying to pull a "how do you do, fellow kids" with everything that's making their main comics go down the toilet.

Writing...

File: Oi.jpg (211 KB, 800x800)

211 KB JPG

>>2585872
At least with the End Times and Age of Sigmar we've gotten some really good WH Fantasy vidya.

Silver linings.

>>2585872
I'm pretty certain SJW was involved in making this shit, though that would mean it's only a small part of a larger issue. I've even found a video about how Commies have been trying to takeover Speculative Fiction in the US since the 1940s.

>>2585872
>40k for kids
But 40k is already for kids

https://hooktube.com/watch?v=lYt3aFiheEI
https://youtube.com/watch?v=lYt3aFiheEI
Also here's a 40k fan movie anyone interested. Linking to hooktube and youtube in case youtube blocks you from it.

>>2584290
>>2584292
>>2584293
The thin line of displeasure her mouth has become quivers before she breaks eye contact. Adrianna quickly moves away from the fire, stomping back towards the carriage and her family without looking back in your direction. However, she is not quick enough to hide her inability to suppress the dusting of scarlet on her cheeks, a tinge that only complete mortification could achieve, and what winter could not.

...you would like to say that you went too far. But if her ego is frail enough to shatter from a barbed remark, one not even as sharp as your tongue could lash, then it is she who requires a sterner spine. The indignation of a noble reacting to the backtalk of a commoner is always an interesting sight.

Although you will have to cede credit to her actually making an apology, backhanded as it may have been. Adrianna Crowmond may perhaps be not as rotten or otherwise shrewish as the contemporaries of her social standing.

If anything, it is a miracle of her upbringing that she has not become a spoiled or indolent churl with unlimited access to her father’s coffer. Certainly, the continent of Kaithe has seen its fair share of rotten noble ladies, both in its long history and in its contemporary times. Look no further than Sofia Rudnick, languishing in Mazur’s dungeons even as her knight’s seed takes root in her womb.

But now that she is gone, perhaps it is time for you to return to your work. All you can do is…not hope as much as not be disappointed as to whether or not Adrianna will complain about your supposed insolence…

>Roll 1d100 + 50 Knowledge (+30 Bonus, +20 Knowledge)
>Best of three.

Rolled 50 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>2586528

Rolled 73 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>2586528

Rolled 99 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>2586528

File: 0016.png (110 KB, 367x314)

110 KB PNG

>>2586541

>>2586541
damn. Is that our highest total result yet?

>>2586528
How autistic is Marcus again?

File: rvKFwxD.gif (499 KB, 498x286)

499 KB GIF

>>2586541
My dude.

>>2586552
He isn't but he was raised to be a tyke bomb.

File: thumbsup.gif (6.65 MB, 300x320)

6.65 MB GIF

>>2586546
>>2586562

>>2586550
In terms of raw dice, the only 100 off the top of my head is when you were in the carriage and talking with Adrianna. But in net dice...this might be the highest one, yeah.

Writing...

>>2586552
Shh with that. Despite his shitty upbringing he had Serena. What happened after is what fucked him up.

>>2586580
What about with the Blutling?

>>2586584
Right, right. So much for that heroic speech to Claudia, though. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

>>2586586
Marcus is too good at his job.

>>2586530
>>2586536
>>2586541
Not only have you succeeded in cracking another difficult part of the code, you’ve easily surpassed your expectations! A significant portion of the cipher has been cracked, leading you to glean a great deal of information. Not only do you pull an additional set of alchemy recipes, but an interesting exchange that Palme could make use of.

In summation, it concerns the deceased owner of the journal, or rather, his thoughts. Often times, he scribbled when drunk, which played no small part in the difficulty of the cipher. And more often than not, the ink runs wild due to the nature of his entries. The violent lettering speaks of a man of a significantly ill temperament. Interestingly enough, his hand is steady when waxing poetic about whores he found to be above satisfaction. The man had a disturbing fixation on hands.

But between his drunken rages and ramblings, you are able to glean information from off-handed comments. A small list of supply caches for the Vascieli within the Midlands, references to bases in the nearby archduchies, and a handful of names (coded of course) that would be more than useful to the Crown.

>The Vascieli general of the Midlands is a mysterious man named The Gargoyle.
>He is mentioned to be a tall and intimidating man with a set of three diagonal scars running down his face.
>He is feared due to his monstrous strength, and inspiring fear in both his enemies and retainers.

>There are a total four Vascieli bases in the Midlands proper, but all four are carefully hidden.
>It is suggested that they are either abandoned towns or forts due to certain words about “collapsed structures” and “fucking ruins”.
>More clues are necessary before you can accurately deduce their locations, but you can safely say that each holds a total of four hundred men.

>Due to the winter, the Vascieli have placed more supply caches in the territory than would usually warrant.
>At any given time while outside of a city, you may attempt to search for one of them.

However, what stands out from among them is this interesting scrawl, dated only a few weeks before the attempt on Princess Ellana’s life.

It’s fucking cold. There’s little in the way of keeping warm, but the Gargoyle wants us to take the Midbridge just as the worst winter in a decade is about to hit. Son of a bitch killed Dal for saying those are stupid orders and that his cock would freeze right off. Now I’ll never collect the money he owes me. But the bastard’s in a strange mood. Odulf got a look at his letters. The boy can’t read, but he recognized the seal of the Sunken King. Even he’s sober enough at times to tell the difference between a tankard and a chalice.

(cont.)

File: Winter Forest.jpg (165 KB, 1280x720)

165 KB JPG

Seems that our glorious king has finally decided to grace us with actual orders. For the longest time, I hadn’t thought the bastard existed; just some sort of figurehead conjured up to keep us in line. Of course, the seal could be fake as well, but the Gargoyle’s unusually quiet. Whoreson ripped Dal’s jaw right off its hinges, but he threw those village girls to the boys without even touching them. Whatever’s got the Gargoyle spooked away from first pickings has to be dangerous, and what bodes ill for our general bodes ill for us all.

I know my part in the plan. Taking it is going to be easy. Holding it is one thing entirely different. But the Gargoyle said to worry about it later. We might not need to stay for long…of all the fucking times, now he takes the opportunity to be a secretive bastard, but he doesn’t know that I saw what was in that wagon. Some poor idiot fell into a barrel, and stank of batshit for a week…

Here, the entry ends abruptly. A complication of both blood and incomprehensible scribbles prevents further comprehension. But it’s more than enough.

At the next opportunity, you resolve to send a message to Palme about the information from the journal and your partially-finished key to the cipher. Maybe they can make more use of it in the capital than you can here.

You manage to finish just in time for Allanus to regain his energy and finish clearing the path. In spite of the overhead sky, a faint outline of the sun manages to penetrate through the thick and roiling clouds. It is only just a few hours after midday, and it seems that a little food is enough for the young prince to regain his will.

Within minutes, the caravan is ready once more to set off towards the demesne of Landgrave Alister von Roie.

However, not an hour passes into your journey before the wind and snow begin to murmur, before displaying the traits of calm before a storm. After careful consideration, Pullman makes the decision to stop the caravan at the nearby town of Westholm to wait out the storm. It is a small fishing community, barely more than a thousand or so gathered on a southern branch of the Anosar River. Far from a place suitable for the imperial family to rest.

Still, it is more preferable than freezing to death or being separated in the storm. Even if it had a worse reek of fish than Alnerwich.

On the journey to Westolm itself, you decide to…

>Join Urath and the knights with the scouting party.
>Ride alongside the caravan with Bellatrix.
>Stay with Ellana, her siblings and Silverow in the carriage.

>>2586817
>>Stay with Ellana, her siblings and Silverow in the carriage.

>>2586817
>>Ride alongside the caravan with Bellatrix.

>>2586817
>>Ride alongside the caravan with Bellatrix.

>>2586817
>Ride alongside the caravan with Bellatrix.

>>2586817
>Stay with Ellana, her siblings and Silverow in the carriage.
Ellana might be interested in making something to relieve prana fatigue for Allanus.

>>2586817
>>Stay with Ellana, her siblings and Silverow in the carriage.

>>2586817
>>Ride alongside the caravan with Bellatrix.

>>2586834
>>2586835
>>2586836
>>2586866
As hard-headed as Bellatrix is, the knightess isn’t stupid. She’s long since covered up and dressed in clothing more appropriate for a winter storm. All of her tattoos, save for what little coils of blue that poke out from above her collar, are once more obscured by both thick hides and red-silver armor.

“Disappointed?” She leers. “If you wanted to look, all you need to do is ask…”

You don’t bother to dignify that with an answer. To which she laughs, bringing her horse around the carriage to both of your flanks. “I kid, I kid. But by the all the gods, is the cold really that bothersome you lowlanders? You’re grimmer than usual.”

“A little bit, yes,” you answer in a flat tone of voice. “But lowlander? We’re a long way from both the Hinterlends and Tiefhold.”

She shrugs, displaying a row of white teeth. “Anyone born south of the Straxine highlands is a lowlander to me and my kin.”

A very impressive, if not flawed and arrogant assumption. “And to people born on the Whrelzwth? The highest peaks of the mountain vanish into the cloud line. I doubt that Straxhult can boast of the same.”

“Bah!” She waves your words away with a dismissive gesture. “You’d have to nawt be right in the head born up that high. Strange things happen to men who come too close to the realms of the gods.”

You hum an affirmation, quickly checking your nearby surroundings for anything unusual. Other than the scattered and twisted husks of trees, and the silent melody of snowfall, there are no visible signs of life other than the knights or the horses you ride upon. No one wants to be out in this kind of weather unless they have to be, and for a good reason.

“…what’s it gonna take to get you to talk?” Bellatrix pulls you out of your thoughts and the surrounding landscape. The knightess sports a crooked grin. “You were a hell of a lot friendlier back in Alnerwich and the tavern. But you aren’t exactly a drinker…”

You shrug. “The mood called for celebration. Although the memory of the beer is soured by what happened at the end of our stay with Mazur.”

“…fair enough. Although like it or not, they’re gonna be talking about the end of that feast for years to come. I can already imagine the rumors that are going to spread because of that.”

“Gossip is mankind’s oldest companion.”

“Nah,” Bellatrix disagrees with a firm shake of her head, “Alcohol is. And maybe a few hunting dogs as well.

“But I’ve been meanin’ to ask since we left the city…” She gestures towards the long and sloppy trail behind you, and to Alnerich over ten miles away. “I mean, I did before, but I wanted some more answers.”

“Answers to what?” You demand.

(cont.)

>>2586953
considering her bloodlust, I'm kinda not sure I want to spill the beans on blutlinge. At most, suggest that she picks up magic weapons. Plural.

>>2586953
“The comb that Klara gave you.” She gives you a look of unusual seriousness. “I’m probably nawt the only one who saw the two of you slipping away during the night of the feast. And that whole deal with you kissing her hand…she wasn’t trying to hide it.”

Your response is terse. “Get to the point.”

The knightess glances around, although not for the reason you think. Instead of the landscape as a whole, she only pays attention to the closest individuals around you. The carriage doors are locked and sealed shut, and the small force of knights dedicated to protecting the Crowmonds have assumed a loose formation. Even though there is the groom of the horses at the front of the carriage, the wind is loud enough to obscure words if spoken quietly enough.

After finding your surroundings to be satisfactory, she returns her gaze towards you and bluntly asks, “You fucking her?”

You almost fall out of your saddle. “What?!"

Of all the things to say…THAT was certainly not the one you were expecting.

Bellatrix rolls her eyes, and an irritated breath escapes her lips. “Sorry, lemme ask it a little louder, I don't think any of the hibernating bears heard me. Are you fucking her? Or…well, did you fuck her?”

“Where the hell is this coming from?” You demand.

The look she gives you is drier than sand on a hot summer day. “You guys weren’t exactly as subtle as you think you were. Klara was making eyes at you the whole time whenever she wasn’t trying to bore a hole in Rudnick’s skull. And I listen too, sometimes. Even kitchen wench gossip has some shred of truth to it, given the lady’s issues with her father. But I don’t think she’d be spiteful enough to spread her legs for someone she’d only met-”

>“It’s purely professional.”
>“Just stop talking. Now.”
>“You jealous or something?”

>>2586962
>considering her bloodlust, I'm kinda not sure I want to spill the beans on blutlinge.
?
Not sure how those correlate. Is she going to chase after it?

>>2586965
>>“It’s purely professional.”

>>2586965
>"No, we weren't fucking. Mundane but it's the truth."

>>2586965
>>“You jealous or something?”
jokingly as we can manage.
>“It’s purely professional.”

>>2586965
>"No, we weren't fucking. Mundane but it's the truth."
>“You jealous or something?”
I bet Bellatrix fucks like a rabid freight train.

>>2586977
That's why "don't stick your dick in the crazy" exists. You know they're a wild ride, but you're never getting off that train once you step on.

>>2586982
She seems like she'd be a nice train. But we're probably bound a bit too tightly to the alchemist girl atm. Granted he's very NO LOVE EVER.

Really like that other noble we just left tbqh for a 'love' thing.

>>2586965
>No. I was aiding her on a personal project. You saw the fallout.

>>2586986
>Really like that other noble we just left tbqh for a 'love' thing.

You mean Karla? The one we are talking about?

>>2586989
Yes? I think we're kinda 'stuck' with the alchemist girl though.

>>2586986
>Granted he's very NO LOVE EVER.
I'm ok with this. It's refreshing to not have to deal with all the infighting romance stuff brings.

>>2586992
Unless she followed us, I think that ship has sailed. We've no reason to go back that that city anything in the near future. Though we could do worse than her.

>>2586992
>'stuck'
I'm not sure how you mean

>>2586967
Right now we're trying to pretend the Crownsguard didn't just kill a blutlinge. No sense provoking a warlock who may not be directly aiming at the Crown.

Actively looking for blutlinges for a good fight runs rather counter to that.

>>2586968
>>2586971
>>2586975
>>2586977
>>2586987
For a moment, an uncharacteristic rage stirs from inside your gut, rousing itself from a deep slumber to a raging inferno that coils around your body. This isn’t even about Klara being a noble lady, or Bellatrix insinuating that you have no self-control. It is the kind of anger born out of outrage caused by an insult to someone close.

…the fact that you could even think about Klara that way is…not entirely strange. Intense emotional moments shared between two people forge bonds harder than steel.

But for all the rage in your body, you know better than to start a fight, even though she provoked you.

“…no, we weren’t fucking,” you respond in a tight voice. At a cursory look, you scowl. “Mundane, but it’s the truth. I was helping her with a personal matter.”

“‘Personal matter?’” Bellatrix coughs pointedly. “I think you might want to explain before anyone gets the wrong idea-”

You cut her off and move on the offensive. “I wasn’t in her dress, up her skirts, between her legs, in her mouth, or against the wall. I was trying to help her get proof that Sofia Rudnick was the unfaithful harlot that she turned out to be. You saw the fallout from that, didn’t you?”

Understanding dawns on her face. “No wonder you were so quick to her defense. You had that whore spitting teeth when she tried to go for Klara’s neck. And that whole trick with her tripping over Sofia…that was all planned?”

To your surprise, she starts laughing. At the looks of concern from nearby knights and the coachman, she waves them off, chortling to herself. “Hah! No wonder Mazur’s servants thought you were fucking.”

“It still doesn’t explain your strange fascination as to whether I was or not,” you dryly answer. “You jealous or something?”

She blinks, momentarily stunned before leering once more, staring at you with a grin is absolutely predatory. Her voice is a low rasp, a dry and ugly thing that builds in intensity. “I am jealous, but it it’s not because your cock is in some noble girl’s cunny as opposed to mine. Because as it stands right now, you’ve got one victory over me from the Midbridge. And right now, I don’t exactly want you between my legs or in my bed. The only thing I want from you, Painel, is another fight. Just you…and me…till one of us walks away way the victor.”

…for a moment, you aren’t on the Vethic road, traveling to Westholm in the middle of a snowstorm. You’re back on the Midbridge, staring down at your fellow Crownguard as she licks your blood off of her fingers, and the way the pale orb of the moon reflects off the red gleam in her eyes.

>“Are all Straxine warriors as unhinged as you?”
>“But you’re implying that you do want me.”
>"Does Adrianna know about this side of you?"
>"I hope you don't do this to Urath and Raleigh."
>“You are far out of line and out of control.”
>Custom option.

>>2587067
>>“But you’re implying that you do want me.”

>>2587067
>As long as we don't break anything permanent.
>I have a feeling that Sir Palme will set us upon foes greater than I in the future.

>>2587067
>"I hope you don't do this to Urath and Raleigh."

>>2587067
>“But you’re implying that you do want me.”
>"Does Adrianna know about this side of you?"
>"I hope you don't do this to Urath and Raleigh."

I think I'm gonna conk out right now. I'll see you guys in...eight, maybe nine hours. Might be later though. Much later. Old friend of mine might be back from uni tomorrow and we're gonna go see Infinity War.

>>2587067
>"I hope you don't do this to Urath and Raleigh."

>>2587067
>"I hope you don't do this to Urath and Raleigh."
>"Does Adrianna know about this side of you?"

>>2583925
FUUUUUUUUUCK I MISSED BRQ

welcome back Kaz!

>>2587067
>I hope you don't do this to Urath and Raleigh

>Urath may be one thing, but I don't think Raleigh would have the...constitution...to handle that for too long

>>2587067
This>>2587223
Welcome back Kaz.

>>2587067
>>"I hope you don't do this to Urath and Raleigh."

>>2587067
>“But you’re implying that you do want me.”
>Promise her another fight sometime.

>>2587071
>>2587076
>>2587078
>>2587079
>>2587084
>>2587141
>>2587223
>>2587331
>>2587366
“…but you’re implying that you do want me.”

Bellatrix’s laugh is far from the lilting or otherwise obnoxious edge it normally is. “Well, that all really depends on you. I don’t normally consider weak or younger men, but you…” She pauses, taking a moment to wet her lips, appraising your body and the scars on your face. “You’re pretty damn good at what you do, Painel. And hell of a lot stronger than most who’ve tried to fuck me.”

You refuse to shy away, and meet her advances without hesitation. “And what is it that I’m so good at?”

“Don’t play coy. Fighting, killing…faceless enemies on the battlefield are chores, exercises, duty. But individual duels and fights where it’s just me and my enemy…” Her smile has long since passed crooked, twisting into something almost deranged. “I can count on my hands the number of people who’ve made my blood truly sing. And even fewer who I’ve considered fucking.

“But you, on the other hand?” She raises a gloved hand towards your face, almost gently caressing the little scars on your face. “You’re a little young from what I normally prefer, but you’ve made both lists and tallies. I’d be lying if I didn’t wonder if your martial prowess extended to intimacy or not…and whether or not you can match me in a fight or a good fucking. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone satisfying on both accounts.”

The weather lashes at your body. Cold blades of wind scratch and nick at any exposed flesh you have to the elements. The snow is getting worse, and the flakes are nearly as thick as fingernails. But a chill that has absolutely nothing to do with the winter travels up and down your spine.

…there’s something seriously wrong with Bellatrix Lupine.

Once more, you check your surroundings for any unintentional listeners. After finding none, you return back to the knightess and hiss in a low voice, “…I hope that you aren’t doing this to Urath and Raleigh.”

“Urath…” She intones, snorting hard enough to send motes of ice flying from her hair. “He’s an archer, a marksman. Even with those hunting knives of his…he is skilled enough to rouse my blood, but he refuses to let it sing. He’s too calm, too…stoic. He doesn’t revel in the joy of combat. And he’s too damn busy with his own issues to deal with me. Pretty boy…Raleigh is a talented sorcerer, and a damn sight prettier than I am, but we both know what would happen if we tried an actual spar.

“I don’t have any interest in boring palace guards, arrogant knights and lords so full of horseshit, or even our Crown Prince himself,” she drawls. “That leaves only a handful of options, most of whom are either dead or too far away for my liking. And then…there’s you…”

(cont.)

Okay, stray thought. Given her last name is LUPINE aka wolfish, and how utterly bloodthirsty she is. Is Bellatrix a werewolf analogue?

File: Knightess Bellatrix Lupine.jpg (158 KB, 736x1171)

158 KB JPG

>>2587682
Bellatrix pulls her hand back, and wraps an arm around your shoulder. You don’t resist as she pulls you as close as your saddles will allow, whispering into your ear, “I’m a simple creature, Painel. I don’t need any love songs, bright flowers, pretty dresses or sweet chocolate. Give me a fight. Give me a fight that I can enjoy…and it really doesn’t matter if you win or lose. So long as you give me m’ amar crú…I’d be more than welcome to see what happens after that.”

It’s as blunt a declaration as it’s going to get. Give her a good fight. Give her a good fight that will make her blood sing, a carnage that she can revel in…do that, and she’ll sleep with you.

“I’ll promise you another fight,” you murmur, “But I think that Palme will have better enemies for us to face in our service-”

The glint in her eyes has a fierce edge to it. “Whoever or whatever they are, they aren’t here right now. You are. And that’s all I really want.”

>Bellatrix greatly approves.

“…does Princess Adrianna know about this side of you?”

At your quiet inquiry, no louder than a whisper, the knightess acts as if struck by a blow. She releases her hold on you, almost pushing you away as if you had said something uncouth. The deranged, almost worshipful expression on her face is gone, replaced by a dark scowl in a transformation as profound and abrupt as lightning.

She does not immediately answer. The two of you continue to ride in silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses and the dry groan of the carriage wheels. It seems as if it would last forever, this moment in time of two Crownguard in a winter storm. But then…

“What the princess doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Bellatrix’s voice is terse, restrained like a beast held by a tight chain. And then like her charge, in a similar and equally brusque method, she snaps her reins and orders her horse back around the carriage, disappearing from out of your sight. The knightess does not turn back or otherwise hesitate in her motions.

>Bellatrix disapproves.

...where the hell did Palme get these people?

“We all have our own skeletons, our daggers to burry.”

…then again, you can’t really say much, can you?

>You are traveling down the Vethic road during the middle of a snowstorm.
>While winter is a season when most predators remain in a comfortable den, there are still some that actively hunt during the cold months and days.

>Roll 1d100 Encounter.
>Best of three.

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>2587765
Let's hope no wendigos or Loup Garoux are around.

Rolled 67 (1d100)

>>2587765

Rolled 98 (1d100)

>>2587765

>>2587799
noice

Have I ever mentioned that my soul screams in pain whenever I look at the new Thundercats cartoon?

File: Landgrave Kieran Pullman.jpg (442 KB, 1050x1600)

442 KB JPG

>>2587767
>>2587778
>>2587799
At first, you thought it was noise from the wind, a howl of air that streaked between the trees. That would have been harmless at the least, perhaps a mere trick of the senses, but at the worst, wolves are an ever-present danger, especially in the winter. But no matter how fierce the wolves, only starvation would have them attack superior foes.

Then, it happens again. It is that same noise, a rolling peal of thunder that comes down the distant slopes of the Whrelzwth. Some would wait for a third before leaping to action, but you are not such a person.

Bellatrix is far from the irritated mood that she left with. The both of you actually meet halfway between sides of the carriage, and an unspoken message passes between the two of you. As much as both of you would like to…find some sort of closure between that last conversation, you’ll put it aside for a later date until you deal with this unexpected event. There are bigger things than skeletons and daggers to bury.

“You heard it too?” You ask.

She scoffs, but makes no acerbic remark. “Of course I did. I’d be surprised if the others didn’t-”

Before she can even finish, the window to the carriage bursts open. Silverow appears as if he had woken up from a nap. His dark robes and hair are disheveled, and his eyes still hold a muted bleariness in them. But there’s no doubting the worry that radiates from his body.

“That sound,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose in consternation. “I know that sound…my years in the Ivory Tower…where did I hear…”

As he struggles to gather his thoughts, the forms of the Crownguards can be seen behind him. Allanus tugs at his mentor’s coat, even as his elder sister wishes to know why the interior of the carriage is cold. And your own charge is simply…sleeping. Princess Ellana is fast asleep in her sister’s lap as if nothing wrong was happening.

Failing to elicit a response from the sorcerer, Adrianna turns to you and Bellatrix, demanding, “Marcus, Bellatrix, what is happening?”

The knightess grimaces. “I’m not sure. It sounds like there’s some kind of beastie out there making some noise.”

“A beast?” The color begins to slowly drain out of her face. “What kind of beast, exactly?”

“It could just be a bear,” You assure her, “Or a pack of wolves. Either we’re trespassing in its territory, or…they’re desperate enough for food to attack us. But we have the numbers to repel such an attack.”

“And where exactly is Uncle Kieran?!”

“Crownguard!” The encirclement around the carriage parts to create a path for the Landgrave of the Pullman Vale. On the heels of his white courser, the scouting party comes close behind. Urath’s horse hasn’t even finished slowing down before the Ingulan leaps off of it in a spectacular display of agility.

(cont.)

“Uncle!” Adrianna cries. Silverow gives a strangled grunt as the princess pushes him out of the way of the window. “Uncle, what is happening?”

He ignores her query. Pullman brings his horse to stop in front of the Crownguard. But even as he begins to give orders to the surrounding knights, you can see for the first time that there is a tinge of fear in the man’s countenance.

“Groom!” At the noble’s voice, as sharp as the crack of a whip, the man atop the carriage starts violently. “What’s your name?”

The groom in question, a man no older than twenty two with flaxen hair and a slightly crooked nose, stammers out, “B-berchar, your l-lordship. Berchar, s-son of Berthaire-”

Before he finishes, Pullman reaches down towards one of the saddlebags on his horse. With a harsh grunt, he unhooks a crossbow and a quiver of bolts, tossing both weapon and quarrels towards the startled horseman. The aforementioned Berchar regards the noble as if he’d been handed a deadly viper, but he grabs the groom by the scruff of his cloak and pulls him in uncomfortably close.

“You’re to drive as hard and fast as you can, and I don’t give a rat’s ass about the snow. Tan your horses’ hides to bloody ribbons if you have to, but you are to keep this carriage moving as fast as you can towards Westholm, do you understand?” He demands. “And under pain of death, do not let anyone or anything get within five feet of this carriage if they aren’t one of ours, do you understand?”

The fear of Pullman seems to outweigh the apprehension of the crossbow. “Y-yes!”

Releasing the groom, the lord turns to the assembled Crownguard. “Take thirty of my men and break as hard and fast for Westholm as you can. We’ll buy you time, so don’t look back-”

“Uncle!” Adrianna’s voice is a frightened plea. Even Allanus is beginning to show signs of worry, and he clings onto his sister with a troubled expression. “Uncle, what is going on?!”

Pullman’s grimace takes on a sorrowful light. Even as his knights shout and move about to gather into formation, he offers the princess a tired smile. “...of all the things to happen, I did not expect this,” he intones in a weary voice. His gaze turns skyward, towards a grey and empty sky that continues to disgorge snow upon your nearby surroundings. “I truly am sorry.”

“Uncle?”

His gaze hardens, and he slams the visor of his helmet down. The next set of orders come muffled, but they still maintain that keen and sharp edge. “Crownguard…keep them safe.”

Then, he slams an armored fist on the groom’s bench. “Go, son of Berthaire! Go now, before it’s too late!”

(cont.)

Blutling?

>>2588501
Probably more than one.

File: Spoiler Image (580 KB, 1024x768)

580 KB JPG

>>2588467
With a sharp crack of the reins, the carriage lurches forward, sending Adrianna back into the interior with a sharp cry. Berchar holds the reins in a white-knuckled grip as he urges the horses, four mares the color of darkest night, to go as fast as they can. Urath, seeing that the danger has passed, leaps back onto his horse, and joins you, Bellatrix, and thirty of Pullman’s knights as you chase after the carriage.

The princess doesn’t even have any time to cry before he joins the ranks with his men.

“Archer, what the fuck is going on?” Bellatrix shouts over the shrieks and neighs of the horses. “This is a bit much for a bear-”

“It is not a bear.” The Ingulan’s voice is a cold and stiff marble as he draws an arrow from his quiver. “And not a pack of wolves either.”

“Then what the fuck is it?!”

Her answer comes falling from the sky.

The dragons that once brought fire and ruin to Kaithe have long since been dead for the last five hundred years. What remains that don’t languish in treasuries rest atop the highest peaks of the Whrelzwth, bones scattered atop the Pyre they had made for themselves. But their descendants, their twisted and bestial kin, still remain to this day as a shadow of the Age of Smoldering Ash, and their hatred for the human race.

It is a monstrous creature, truly a nightmare from an age of ruin. Hidden behind thick blankets of cloud, there is no sunlight to gleam upon its silver scales, but there is a terrifying regality nonetheless. There are too many edges, too many wicked spines that run along its back and tail, ending in a barb soaked in a deadly poison. And even though it hides its form against the shade of the clouds, it cannot stop the shadow that its wings cast above the ground.

And even as all eyes turn skyward, as terror seeps into everyone’s bones, the orange glow within a mouth filled with rows of teeth shines like an infant star.

“Drakling!”

And with those words, a world held tight in winter’s grasp erupts in a conflagration of fire.
Disaster is only avoided by a miracle. Silverow emerges from the carriage door, spellbook in hand. The sorcerer wraps one arm around a nearby bar, cursing as every wild jolt and bump interrupts his incantations. And just as the drakling unleashes its fireball, he finishes his spell, directing his fingers towards the overhead monster.

A sphere of air erupts from his fingertip, no larger than a bead, but as it travels through the air, it grows in size. At one point, it has the shape of a mature pumpkin, then the lumbering bulk of a heavy boulder. Upon contact, the drakling’s fireball is torn apart by the sphere of wind, and the dragon unleashes an angry roar.

It is all you can do to keep your horses in check. Several men struggle as their mounts panic, rearing or otherwise thrashing against the hands at the reigns. Some fail where others succeed, and these unfortunate souls are violently bucked off of their chargers.

(cont.)

>>2588547
Oh. It's a dragon. And dragons are all suppose to be dead. Necromancer?

>>2588547
Wait a second.
>descendent of dragons
Are you trying to say this isn't an actual Dragon?

>>2588573
No. Not a Dragon, a Descendant of a dragon.

Dragons have six limbs and are even bigger and killier.

>>2588573
Speedreader

>>2588579
Well I'd be interested in knowing how the "Drakling" came to be and are "Wyvern" a descendent of dragons too?

File: 1337295175832.gif (44 KB, 150x125)

44 KB GIF

>>2588547

>>2588547
Looks like Bellatrix is getting a new set of armor

>>2588578
>>2588579
Yes. Draklings are but one of many forms of dragonkin, and are not "True Dragons" in the sense of the word. Draklings are the descendants of degenerate inbreeding between High Dragons and Low Dragons. They are little more than wild animals, posses no magical core or Dragonic Weaves (spells) and little more than a bestial intelligence, but make up for it in sheer physicality alone.

And one of the key differences between a True Dragon (i.e. High and Low) and a Drakling is the fact that a drakling only possesses four limbs, two wings and a pair of legs. True dragons have forelimbs.

>>2588587
Other common dragonkin are linnorm, wingless and serpentine that plague the lands of the frozen north, and wyverns, a smaller subspecies that can be tamed.

Writing...

>>2588595
what's the difference between high and low dragons?

File: bloody-snow.jpg (164 KB, 1627x927)

164 KB JPG

>>2588547
Somehow you manage, one hand on the reins, the other clenching your knife in your hands. Froth gathers at the edge of your horse’s mouth, but the mount continues to chase after the carriage without fault or falter.

“A drakling! A fucking drakling!” Bellatrix is visibly stunned. “They’re nawt supposed to be this far north of the Drachenwald, let alone awake in the fucking winter!”

Urath grits his teeth, shouting as he tries to take aim at the monster. “Animals cannot dream, and neither can hungry drakling even in the middle of Onganul’s walk through the world. Hunger must have interrupted its sleep! It would not dare otherwise to make an attack against such a number.”

The knightess curses. “In any other circumstance, I’d be more than happy to fight the bastard. But not with the royals so damn close-”

Her sentence erupts into a font of profanity as the drakling pulls its wings and dives sharply down towards the carriage. Only at the last possible second, it turns its body, extending wicked claws as it approaches the ground. They pierce into the underbelly of an unfortunate horse, and crush the poor rider in the saddle with a sickening noise of mangled flesh and twisted metal.

Even as the monster turns greedy eyes upon its meal and breaks the spine of the animal, Urath is quick to draw and aim. Similarly, Bellatrix grabs a spear to throw towards the monster as Silverow charges another spell.

You decide to…

>Charge the dragon while it attempts to eat.
>Draw the dragon’s attention onto you.
>Induce a poison into the dragon's body.
>Throw a knife at a potential vital point.
>Custom option.

>>2588605
>Throw a knife at a potential vital point.
Our poisons are intended for human-sized targets, not something 10 times the mass. We'd have to get a lot of it into him before it'd do much of anything.

>>2588605
>>Throw a knife at a potential vital point.

get it's eye!

>>2588604
High Dragons were generally more powerful and regal, and tended to live longer than their other kindred. Low dragons were more...twisted and malformed, and unimaginably cruel. Some Low Dragons were even born without a magical core, a great embarrassment for its progenitors, and were forced to use guile, trickery and deceit in order to survive with their higher kin.

BRB, gonna get a quick dinner.

>>2588605
>Draw the dragon’s attention onto you.
>Induce a poison into the dragon's body.

>>2588605
Standard Operating procedure for cheesing a rathalos
>Sunburst
>Ranged attacks

Not sure if our hallucinogenic bomb will work though. But I bet having one in its mouth will make it a bit difficult to spit fireballs.

>>2588605
>>Induce a poison into the dragon's body.
I'm assuming Marcus knows if poison effects dragons.

>>2588633
Well our Hangman's Noose would eliminate it's fire breath if it works.

>>2588605
>Induce a poison into the dragon's body.

>>2588631
Supporting this. We probably have the greatest chance to evade it.

>>2588631
it's eating and distracted we should get a free hit in
>Charge the dragon while it attempts to eat. >Induce a poison into the dragon's body.

>>2588663
We literally cannot crit fail our flippy shit.

>>2588633
It's not a Wyvern and our ranged attacks only really are an option because we can call the blade back. If you really want to cheese it though mounting it is your best option.

File: 576.jpg (32 KB, 600x399)

32 KB JPG

>>2588605
>>Draw the dragon’s attention onto you.
>>Custom option.
Je Suis Monte!

>>2588605
Please poison before drawing attention. We have the free hit (hopefully), we should use it.

Okay, computer's fixed. I think I've got four, maybe five, votes for poison. This might be a little tricky, but I think I can write it.

Writing...

God is trying to tell you something Kaz

>>2589001
>Stay home
>Run quests and do nothing else.
>Date that cute girl who Fitz is based off of.

>>2589001
How does an AC unit even catch fire, much less one in a presumably off car?

>>2588905
Kaz, what do you drive?

>>2589009
He drives a bomb.

>>2589009
A 1993 Toyota Camery. The AC unit's been acting up, but hell if I know what the reason for it is. All I know is that the damn thing exploded just as I was putting it in the garage, and now I'm out an AC unit, a spark plug and YHVH knows how much money to clear the shrapnel out of the compartment.

>>2589015
A quick google search suggests you have had the privilege of a unique problem. I couldn't find references to any AC-based fires, nevermind ones in cars. Nor anything about them exploding.

Also, did it wreck the spark plug, or the wiring connected to it? If you're really unlucky, you might have to replace the wiring harness.

>>2589056
Hmmm...maybe it was something else that made the AC explode, because that shit had soot all over the place. But I'll find out tomorrow, I guess.

The spark plug AND the wiring harness are both shredded to hell and back.

>>2589067
It is possible it was the AC I guess, I've heard of weirder issues. Early F150s would sometimes catch fire after sitting for 6+ hours, due to the some issue with the cruise control.

Well, whatever the issue, good luck with it.

>>2588691
mounting makes even less sense than a flash bomb if you're going to say "this isn't MH".

>>2589408
Acrobatic bullsht is where we shine the best.

>>2589414
Yes, which is why I'm not saying "we're going to die if we do that" right now.

But Marcus was trained in man to man combat, learned assassination techniques, which are quite different from monster hunting techniques, and what exactly is he going to do if the wyvern climbs a hundred feet into the air before the mounting "succeeds"?

Do not mount it. Remember we have teammates that are trying to get hits in too and they will have trouble firing if there is a chance of friendly fire. We aren't a one man army, focus on working as a team.

>>2589418
Wouldn't the first goal of mounting it be to damage it's wings?
Also this is Marcus the guy that soloed a Blutling which is certainly a creature that his assassination technique wouldn't be useful against. That's not even getting into the fact Marcus consistently done his best work on his own.
>>2589426
You mean the "teammates" who are worried about their fucking charges getting their charges killed by this thing? Our most important goal here isn't to kill the drakling but to keep it from killing our charge.
Also Marcus is a guy that's meant to fight solo, throughout the entire quest Marcus only had support once and that was part of the infiltration of a captured outpost where he did most of the fighting anyway. Marcus's best bet of being useful here is getting in close and stabbing it or distracting it with everything else being a toss up in terms of effectiveness.
Marcus skillset is great for quick devastating alpha strikes and stealth but is poor when comes to team combat especially when he doesn't have poisons or bombs (which can hurt his teammates).
Long story short Marcus works best by going in solo and doing as much damage as possible then ducking out when things become to hot to handle and letting his "teammates" cleaning up whatever's left over. That's the "teamwork" Marcus is meant for.

>>2589692
>That's the "teamwork" Marcus is meant for.
Yes, we're a glass cannon of sorts, but he was referring to not hindering the others trying to take it down. There's no way we're soloing this thing, lone wolf or not.


First priority I think should be to ground it. It'll keep the thing from following the carriage, and allow more people to actually help. We're a little shy of ranged options at the moment.

>>2589714
>First priority I think should be to ground it.
We have a Bodylock (Paralysis) poison. However it might take longer for a drakeling than it would a human to feel the effects.

File: Tinctures and Poisons.jpg (73 KB, 800x532)

73 KB JPG

>>2588631
>>2588638
>>2588653
>>2588663
>>2588670
>>2588890
For your entire life, your poisons have always been designed for human targets. And though there are variants in the targets that you’ve killed, there had always been a sort of uniformity among them. Not once did you ever consider the possibility of using any of your tinctures against something other than a man, let alone a monster of the scope of a drakling.

It is a creature far removed from the physiology of a human being. The additional heart is only but one example of how fundamentally different this creature is. You will need to tread extremely carefully, and disregard any sort of knowledge from the wive's tales and legends of your formative years.

Grandiose as such a challenge would add to your prestige, the death of this monster is not your goal. First and foremost is the protection of the Crowmonds. Driving it off will be plenty.

A single kick to your horses flank sends it into a frantic gallop. With a sharp tug of the reins, you bring your mount around and send it racing towards the drakling. The mare shrieks and tosses its head in a desperate bid to break away from the charge, but you press on. Neither of you will come to harm.

Projectiles whistle behind you, streaking towards the creature as it begins to devour its meal. It growls at the annoyances, not even wincing as Bellatrix’s spear shatters against the scales of its head. Urath has marginal success, penetrating the dragon’s underbelly with cruelly barbed arrows.

Silverow does not attack. The sorcerer is changing rapidly, weaving together a barrier meant to shield the carriage from any more attacks. But he will need more time to complete the incantation, time that you are only more than willing to provide.

The drakling looks away from its meal, and snarls from a maw dripping with gore and ruined meat. It regards you with the annoyance of a superior being, with the casual disregard that only a predator could an insect. You are no concern, but should you make any move to strike, it will kill you.

Insect you may not be, but eight years with the Locusts have taught you more than enough about killing by a thousand cuts.

You will need to time this right. Palming the vials of poison in your hands, you carefully ready to throw them as the creature opens its mouth. Too far away, and your attack will miss. Too close, and the creature may land an attack. And the worst possible scenario is being dragged off of your horse.

You hold no gods, no superstitions or otherwise. But as you get ready to throw your poison, struggling to aim against the bucking horse and the sheer speed of your approach, you would not mind any sort of intervention from any passing deity.

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

Rolled 6 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>2589771
Nat 1 baby

Rolled 7 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>2589771
fuuuuuuuck

Rolled 81 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>2589771

>>2589781
phew. SAAAFE

File: Francisca.jpg (41 KB, 1000x1000)

41 KB JPG

>>2589773
>>2589777
>>2589781
You throw three vials of poison, all that you have. One of them shatters against the drakling’s neck, sending its contents ineffectively dripping down its neck. However, two of them succeed in landing where you aim them.

The monster’s roar becomes a confused squeak as your projectiles catch in its throat. It coughs wildly, reeling back from its meal in an attempt to dislodge them. This action buys you enough time to pull your horse back, a command your mount is more than happy to obey. And as the phials either shatter or safely travel down its throat, it stares at you with red eyes that hold nothing short of a murderous fury.
“Over here, you silver brute!”

But before it can even act on those urges, Pullman and his Eagle Knights come charging into the monster’s flank. A small company of dismounted knights launch a volley of bolts at the creature’s more vulnerable parts. Some quarrels manage to penetrate through the membrane of its wings, while others find their place at the fleshy tail.

“Eulalia!” The nobleman cries, driving his sword into the monster’s flank, right where the tail meets the body. Its length stops before it can penetrate too deeply, but the fact that it did not shatter is a testament to the sword of the Vale. A font of blood erupts from the wound once Goretalon’s length has been withdrawn.

The drakling shrieks, but it does not release its hold on both dead horse and man. Turning away from you, it brings its entire body around in a violent motion, and its tail snaps out in a ferocious attack.

It is a devastating blow. The entire front line of Pullman’s cavalry is struck. Wicked barbs gouge wicked furrows in the flesh of men and horse alike. Some die quickly as their armor buckles, as brains and noble hearts are torn to shreds. Others are spared even that mercy. Those that survived scream in agony as the monster’s poison courses through their bodies, setting their blood alight with fire. They scream for the gods, they scream for their mothers and loved ones, they scream for someone to end their pain, but no one is listening. No one can hear them.

Chance spares Pullman from suffering an attack. His charger stayed true, and turned at the last possible moment to avoid a jagged barb. The visor of his helm is down, but there is no masking the dismay in his voice as he sees the ruined forms of his knights.

“Bastard!” From his saddle, the landgrave draws an axe. Pulling back his arm as far as he can, he throws the weapon with a strength fueled by both rage and grief.

There is a meaty noise as the head bites deep into an unprotected thigh. And this time, the drakling releases its prize as it rears back in pain. Pullman presses the advantage, driving his horse onwards to where the handle juts from the monster’s body. He grabs it, and with a savage roar, carves a deep and bloody wound into the creature’s haunch.

(cont.)

>>2589692
>>2589714
You know what ALSO grounds a visual-based flying creature? Flash bombs.

>>2589969
Okay. Let's use our flas- oh wait.

>>2589986
Have you actually looked at our inventory?

Sunburst is closer to a flash bomb than anything we have in our arsenal that could damage a wing.

>tfw Kaz has abandoned this quest to play in an AKun Nanoha quest instead.

>>2590377
Doesn't surprise me in the least.

>>2590377
Is it really out of character?

>>2590377
what's a nanoha?

mega ded

Not ded yet.

Writing...

>>2590549
ded

>>2590524
MAgical girl anime

>>2590553
>>2590549
Kaz I'm sorry you have to run a magical girl quest now. Yuri, depression, flashy lights. The whole nine yards.

...I feel like I'm missing out on some kind of inside joke.

>>2590556
it's more likely he's misunderstanding something.

>>2590556
There's a magical girl quest running on Akun just now and the site owner, named Kaz was in the chat, so obviously you were ditching us to go play with magical girls

>>2590568
That's "Kas", not "Kaz".

>>2590568
Kas and Kaz are very different people. One has cash to burn

>>2589895
…loathe as you are to admit it, there is little you can do. Just as it is Pullman’s duty to protect the emperor’s children in his own way, so too is it yours. Much as you would like to help the nobleman, or at least keep him alive, your duty towards Ellana and her siblings supersede all other desires. All you can do is hope that the drakling’s physiology is unaccustomed to manmade poisons, and suffers the effects of both Hangman’s Noose and Bodylock as soon as possible.

It does not take long for you to reunite with the others and the men left to your service. The surrounding lands pass in vistas of silver and white, and the fields and trees blur into a single, unending vision. In this instant, the only things that exist in the world are your fellow Crownguard, the carriage that holds your very reason for existence, and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

Once and only once, when you have long since joined the ranks of Bellatrix and Urath once more, do you chance a look back. The distant figures of Pullman and his knights are small things compared to the bulk of the drakling. But they are still fighting. Every so often, the monster will dive, and crash into a formation of knights. Yet the men of the Vale are a hardy bunch, and alongside their lord, never break rank or succumb to dragonfear.

Even as the road begins to curve alongside the river, it seems the Berchar has no intent of slowing. The groomsman struggles to bring his team around. For a perilous second, it looked as if the wheelhouse was to tip. Such was the speed at which you all were riding. Yet the commoner is good at his craft, and he navigates the turn without any sort further difficulty.

Up ahead, as the trees of the forest begin to peel away for the snowy fields and plains, you can make out the formation of a small bridge. It pales in comparison to the magical structure that is the Midbridge, but it holds enough pride to ferry travelers across the deep waters of the Anosar. And it presents a tender mercy. The stonework has only been lightly dusted with snow. It seems that there shall be no difficulty or delay in traversing its length.

>Roll 1d100 Perception.
>Best of three.

Rolled 69 (1d100)

>>2590574

Rolled 92 (1d100)

>>2590574
Rollan

>>2590568
There was a kaz with a z in the quest and he had the smt photo for image.

Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>2590574

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>2590574

>>2590577
I go by "taskforcekaz" on Akun. Just for future reference. I dunno who that is, but that ain't me.

>>2590577
Maybe its Kaz "One man permaban" Miller

>>2590583
Wasn't me. I don't follow anything on akun at the moment.

>>2590576
>>2590577
>>2590578
But even as the carriage draws closer towards the bridge, you are struck by doubt and a sudden realization. It has been snowing heavily for the entire day, yet isn’t it strange how there’s only a small amount covering the thing? All other structures you have passed by, the husks of abandoned watchtowers or ruined mills, are nearly drowned in snow.

“Where are you going?!” You ignore Bellatrix’s shout as you spur your horse onward, driving your mount to go as fast as you can, even further beyond the carriage. Something is not right, you can feel it in your gut. That bridge should not be so easily bare…

There. It is only visible for an instant, disappearing quickly as snow runs over your eyes, but you saw it nonetheless. It appeared to be a figure, a speck of black against the white and grey environs of the land. It breaks away from the uniform darkness that is the river bridge, before disappearing into the snowbank.

“…stop the carriage.” As everyone turns to stare, you only realize that it is your own voice. Firmer, and with a look that brokers no argument, you shout, “Stop the carriage!”

Berchar regards you as if you had said something obscene. “Are you mad?! The landgrave said-”

You cut him off. “The landgrave is not here, and I’m telling you right now to stop, man! Something is afoot, and you must stop the carriage before we cross the bridge.”

Helpless, the man turns towards the others for support. The knights display a wide variety of expressions, from doubt to curiosity. As for your fellow Crownguard, they counter with remarks of their own.

“If he says he saw something, then he saw something,” Bellatrix’s voice cuts through the distant howl of the drakling. “And I’m nawt about to disregard something that could get the royal family killed!”

Urath offers no opinion, merely squinting towards the bridge before turning towards you. A cool exchange passes between the two of you before he nods and turns towards the groom. “Stop the horses.”

“…I cannot!” He cries. “They are too frightened by the drakling, and if I stop them now-”

“It matters not,” You cut him off with a fierce snarl. “The horses are irrelevant. The carriage is. And you will find a way to stop them before that wheelhouse goes over the bridge. And if it comes to killing them, then that’s a small price to pay for the Crowmond’s safety!”

He blanches at your words, recoiling like a mother asked to kill her own children. “But…I…” He searches desperately for a tool, for some sort of miracle that can give him an easy solution. Finding none, he sags into his seat, weary resignation plastered on his face. “…sever the harnesses. You must sever them all save for one-”

(cont.)

>>2590586
Great, now we have FOUR "kas/z"s

>>2590588
So, someone can manipulate draklings well enough to provoke them. At least it doesn't look like any blood magic was used.

>>2590588
The three of you are already moving before he speaks. Urath draws his knife, and slashes at the lead horse even as Bellatrix takes aim at the stallion at her left. All it takes is a single slice from your own dagger, and a throwing knife towards a critical buckle. Within seconds, the harness breaks apart, and releases three panicking horses that are more than happy to flee. All that pulls the carriage is a solitary mare, who struggles from the sudden loss of momentum.

But even with that deed done, you must still calm down your own animals. You manage to run your charger in a long circle, gradually calming him down by the time your path takes you back to the carriage. The others have similar thoughts, and by the time the carriage is only three hundred feet from the bridge, the escapees have come to a complete stop.

At once, everyone turns to regard you with looks of suspicion, demanding answers. But before you can even open your mouth, disaster falls upon you.

Two of the horses had stayed to the road, while another one took its chances and disappeared into the forest. Those prior two had continued to flee, and their path along the road took them along the bridge over the river. But they had not made it even three steps after the keystone before they simply ceased to exist.

A great explosion consumes the bridge, stone and horses all, in a single instant. The world trembles from the sheer size of the blast, a fiery conflagration that turns early twilight into morning for the briefest of seconds. The wave of heat washes over the convoy, warming bodies and melting snow in ripples and eddies.

As the others stare in transfixed horror and amazement, while others curse explosively, you are quick to read the situation. That size of that blast, and the smell that came after, is not the result of some natural phenomena. No, as the wind brings the smoke downhill, you can pick out trace motes of sulfur, bat guano, and resin…

That explosion was a product of alchemy.

The door to the carriage springs open, and a pale, stumbling Adrianna nearly falls out of the wheelhouse past a stunned Silverow. Her clothes are a mess, and one point, her hat had fallen off, allowing her blonde strands of hair to spill over her shoulders in a disheveled mess. For a moment, it appeared as if she would vomit, but she manages to control her gag reflex, just long enough to stare at the four of you.

“…will somebody…urp…” She nearly doubles over, visibly swallowing her bile before managing to continue, “…why have we stopped? I can still hear the drakling-”

Suddenly, without any sort of warning or preamble, Silverow shoves her back into the carriage. He is unable to shut the door before bringing his hand up and uttering a word of magic. The air shimmers for a quick second, thickening to form a barrier that shatters the arrow that strikes against it.

This time, the color drains out of Adrianna’s face, and not from the nausea of the ride.

(cont.)

>>2590599
That's not good. On multiple counts. We're going to have to ford the river after we deal with plan C.

Somebody is aware of what we are doing somehow.

File: 859321123.jpg (196 KB, 1000x643)

196 KB JPG

>>2590599
And in an instant, everything moves. The captain of the knights, a stout man by the name of Otto Hagenson, orders his men to draw weapons and fall into formation. Thirty men bearing the raiment of the Vale Eagle dismount and lock ranks in the direction from which the arrow came, and its complete opposite. Their faces are grim, but they are a stark difference from when the drakling first descended.

Because this time, the Eagle Knights know that the enemy they face is not a terrifying monster, an echo from a darker age. Your new enemy is men, and familiar ones at that.

They come from the trees, as if they were shadows that merely peeled off of the ancient oaks and evergreens. There is no herald, rallying cry or standard they wave as they surge from the forest, a horde of screaming men in mismatched armor of chain and leather alike. In their hands, they clutched all manner of weapons and tools turned for malicious purposes. Scythes and axes, hoes and crude spears, there is not a single man among the Vascieli that look the same.

But at their head is a brute of a man who stands out from them. Atop a horse armored in bone, its rider levels a golden sword, and roars from underneath a hood of deer skin and antlers. Every gallop sends his necklace of teeth and human ears flying, every step sends the skulls at his waist clacking in a macabre rhythm. This is not some rebel captain from a fishing hamlet or woodcarving village. This is a true barbarian, hailing from one of the pagan tribes that still adhere to the old ways and cruel gods that demand human sacrifice.

There is no negotiation, no chance to talk or otherwise demand how this could have happened.

This will only end with one side emerging victorious over the other, when the rivers of the Anosar have run red with blood.

>Carve a path to the barbarian captain.
>Go on the offensive and attack the rebels.
>Stay on the defensive and protect the carriage.
>Custom option.

I seem to remember we have a bomb that causes people to hallucinate.

>>2590628
>>Carve a path to the barbarian captain.
We're poorly suited to defense in open combat, and if we can cut down the captain, they might break.

>>2590628
>Sunburst
>Defensive
The flash will slow their advance enough for us to pick off their numbers at range. Then we can think about going for the leader.

>>2590633
If we throw it at them, they just need to get close to us to avoid the smoke.

If we throw it at us.....lets not do that.

>>2590637
Silverow is actually good enough at wind magic to solve that problem.

>>2590633
We've also got an incendiary, though I dunno how well it'll work in the snow.

>>2590641
Yea, but he's going to be a little busy in the near future.

>>2590628
>>Carve a path to the barbarian captain.

>>2590628
>>Carve a path to the barbarian captain.

>>2590628
>Carve a path to the barbarian captain.
Holding actions arnt really our thing.

File: Barbarian Captain.png (405 KB, 512x512)

405 KB PNG

>>2590634
>>2590646
>>2590662
>>2590672

This is not your first battle.

Time and time again, the Locusts of Black Alley have had to fight against greater numbers in order to survive. The only difference between this and the gang wars of the slums is the ratio of men on both sides. There is always a predator atop the enemy’s ranks. You have always been fighting to protect something. That has not changed.

The path is clear, its destination set. All that’s left for you to do is carve your way through it.

Your body falls into position as the first notes of the Dance begin. To your comrades, you say, “Let nothing pass through the carriage. I shall deal with the barbarian captain. He is mine to kill.”

Before they can protest or otherwise respond, you push forward, daggers drawn and at the ready to rend flesh and spill blood. The Wraith of Black Alley is on the hunt once more.

The gang leaders of the slums rarely commanded respect from their underlings. If anything, the closes thing to a good relationship would be mutual debauchery, a shared commitment to committing violence in pursuit of physical pleasures. But most of them commanded through fear, binding their minions to them with the threat of violence. They are the single keystone holding the structure of the ranks together, and removing it has almost always caused their ranks to scatter.

With no more terrifying boss to herd them into line, why should they die for a cause they were cajoled into fighting for? Or perhaps, with their debauched leader dead, they would be revealed for the cowards that they are, and flee to eat, drink and fuck another day.

In the end, perhaps a barbarian captain is little different than a gang lord in terms of leadership. And though their methods of fighting remain fundamentally different, as stark as night and day even, they will all die the same way.

The Vascieli fall upon the shields of the knights without rank or reason. They attack as only untrained peasants can, swinging wildly and surging forward in the hopes of overwhelming their enemies through sheer numbers alone. But the Eagle Knights stand firm, holding their formation as they shove the first line of attackers back into the mess of bodies.

Gaps in the wall open, but only for spears of the men behind to strike at their enemies. They punch through vests of crumbling chain, and thickly padded straps of hide. Then, they are withdrawn from the bodies of dying enemies, and the gaps close before the rebels charge once more. This is a process they repeat time and time again.

Sir Hagenson, still atop his horse, swings a morningstar in the winter winds. “For the Crowmonds!” He cries, rushing to meet the barbarian captain head-on. The spiked ball lashes out towards the savage's horse, but it is parried away by that golden sword.

(cont.)

The Crownguard fight defensively. They never pursue beyond five feet of the carriage, opting for a limited, controlled battlefield. Urath picks off enemies who stray too close, occasionally firing magical arrows into rebels attempting to outflank the knights. Bellatrix unleashes a sonorous battle cry, an undulating shriek that accompanies the storm of spear and sword. And Silverow, even as he maintains the barrier, finds the opportunity to unleash scythes of wind upon enemies both near and far.

Even Berchar the groomsman, for all his stuttering and hesitance, wields the crossbow that Pullman gave him. But he is not even able to fire more than three shots before an arrow embeds itself in his shoulder, and knocks him off the carriage.

The rhythm of the battle begins to course through your body, setting the tempo of the Dance as you leap over the crouched and defending knights. The Vascieli are too slow to counter your jump, and you land in the middle of their ranks, surrounded by dozens of unwashed and filthy men. However, some recover quickly enough to bring arms about towards you. Swords and spears are leveled as you recover from the landing.

You exhale, and a long plume of white accompanies the gesture. Just like in the slums, you will need to first fight your way towards your target. And you are more than happy to acquiesce to the rebels’ demands of bloodshed.

It will, however, not be yours.

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

Rolled 66 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>2590676

Rolled 12 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>2590676

Rolled 26 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>2590676

Rolled 66 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>2590676
If there ever was a time for a nat 100, it should be now.

>>2590689
we're taking out the trash, a 96 is good enough

>>2590377
What's an Akun?

>>2590753
fetish quest site (anonkun) with a few good gems hidden in it.

>>2590753
the old (superior) name for fiction.live, a site built for questing, vs /qst/'s modification of an image board. Notably, it lack most of the blue board restrictions, so smut and fetish quests are common. There is good, non-smut stuff, but it is hard to find.

>>2590855
>anonkun
I guess I should've figured that one out/
>>2590901
At a glance, definitely seems to be the case. Not like current /qst/ is a bastion of quality, either, but still.

>>2590918
qst is the only forum board that I can both understand and find anything decent in large quantities. the olden days of constant dead threads are receding.

>>2590684
>>2590687
>>2590688
The tempo is set. The Dance begins. Your body moves, twists and contorts in accordance with that hellish training. Lucien molded you into an instrument of death, broke you down into a mindless automaton with the sole purpose of killing. Whether or not he succeeded is not a question. It is the degree of his success, and loathe as you towards your master and father, you cannot deny the usefulness of a clear and empty mind.

Your first set of blows carves a spear in half, and its wielder has no time before you open his throat along the edge of his leather cap. The man opens his mouth, but the torrent of blood to gush from both orifice and opening drowns out his scream. He has not even hit the ground before you move onto your next target. You parry a clumsy thrust of a sword, and close the distance to bury your knife up to the hilt in the rebel’s eye.

There is no quarter, no mercy that you give to the Vascieli. Their deaths are not your concern, but they stand in the way of you and your target, rush the formation that stands as barrier between your sole reason for living. They will die, they must die, but not all will be by your hand.

It does not take long before a pile of corpses trail in your wake. You emerge from the throng of men with nary an injury save for lucky scratches and scuffed armor. They part for you like wheat before a scythe, naked fear in their eyes at the carnage you have wrought upon their carnage. Many would rather take their chances against the Eagle Knights than try to kill you, and those who would not still fall all the same.

Ser Hagenson is struggling against the barbarian captain. The rebels have cleared a space for the two of them to fight, and dare not interrupt the frenzy of blows exchanged between them. The knight captain has lost his morningstar, wrenched from his hand as the chain caught on the barbarian’s sword. All he has left to his name is a single sword and cavalry shield.

The song of steel rings in the cold air, as iron blade and golden sword strike, riposte and parry. The barbarian’s mouth is a savage grin, ugly thing of half-rotted teeth and tattooed tongue that matches its owner’s combat. Savage swings and thrusts make for a stark contrast against the terse and orthodox fighting of the knight.

But alas, the stalemate does not last.

One of the rebels had wizened up, and approached Hagenson when his back had turned. The spear in his hands was little better than a branch with a crude iron tip, but it did its job well enough. The horse screams as the shaft pierces its flank, and the violent motion unhorses the surprised Hagenson. The only consolation is the offenders’ neck was a poor match against the iron hoof of the horse, but it is unlikely that the knight will see it that way.

(cont.)

The barbarian dismounts with wide and gleeful eyes, slapping the flank of his horse to send it out of the circle. From the way the slightest movement causes the knight to contort in pain, it is clear that he has broken something, perhaps a rib or two. His attempt to stand up only earns him a contemptuous kick that sends both shield and sword flying.

But your troubles are not over yet. From out of the forest, another set of men approach. They are no more than perhaps fifteen or twenty, but all of them are archers. In a single, silent motion, they draw arrows and set them to their strings, aiming towards an exposed flank of the formation and the carriage.

Damn them! If the captain is killed, the morale of the knights will suffer a horrific blow and the Vascieli will surge towards the carriage with renewed vigor. But if the archers are allowed to unleash a volley, you would be forced to trust the armor of the knights to protect them from barbed arrows and other cruel machinations.

There is little time. Quickly, you must decide...

>Save Hagenson’s life.
>Rush the archers.

>>2591130
>Save Hagenson's life.

We literally just outlined to ourselves how devastating losing the leader can be on the men's morale. The Falcon Knights might be more disciplined than the Vasciatelli rabble, but the principle still applies. Besides, Silverow can deal with arrows.

>>2591130
>Custom option.

Whoops, sorry about that. Can't believe I forgot it.

>>2591138
In that case, can I change to

>Save Hagenson and shout at Silverow to make a shield?

>>2591138
>>2591130
>Custom option.
Throw the Hellscape bomb at the archers and then focus on saving Hagenson's life. Bit of a fire and forget. We might not get all of them but it should mitigate the damage.

>>2591141
>>2591130
Seconding

>>2591139
Might be tough to shout over the sound of combat

>>2591130
>>Save Hagenson’s life.

>>2591141
If we can throw it far enough, will it have time to take effect before they get off their volley?

>>2591149
It produces smoke as well so the shock of being bombed, the smokescreen, and effect close afterwards should be enough I'd imagine.

>>2591138
Seconding >>2591141

>>2591130
>Save Hagenson’s life.

File: Bomb.png (53 KB, 217x322)

53 KB PNG

>>2591136
>>2591141
>>2591145
>>2591149
>>2591154
>>2591168
Once, and only once, did you have the misfortune of inhaling hazeleaf. It is not an experience that you wish to repeat. The powder creates illusions, wreaks havoc on the mind by creating a world of pure and utter chaos. To a sugar-addicted slum rat living in the shit, there is little wonder why Dieter would use it regularly.

But when you accidentally inhaled it, just no more than a small handful of the stuff, the visions you had scene gave you nightmares for weeks. The mere thought of them still haunts you, tears at your mind like a rabid dog might a fence. You refuse to think further, refuse to let that singular image of a girl with blue eyes stare at you with nothing but undisguised loathing and hatred.

Perhaps, on a sympathetic level, you would feel pity for the men that you are about to unleash the bomb on. What kind of images would the hazeleaf conjure, what kind of vistas and haunting worlds would their minds create? Whatever dark thoughts they harbor are none of your concern, but to see them brought into the waking world would be an interesting sight.

All it takes for the bomb to activate is a single pull of the stopper. In an instant, the chemicals react and the catalyst activates. You pull back your arm as far as you can before throwing it as hard as you can. As the bomb lands among the midst of the confused archers, you only take a minute to witness its activation. The tiny noise of shattering ceramics is but a quiet noise among the chaos of the battle, and the rush of air as smoke fills the area almost disappears with the wind.

But the screaming, once it begins, is stark and clear against the pandemonium. The bomb has successfully activated.

With the archers taken care of, you waste no time in pushing your way towards the circle. Caught up in the excitement of the kill, both barbarian and Vascieli do not see your approach until it is too late. You stab, cut and slice your way through the combatants, shoving them all aside in your haste to reach the captain. And by the time the barbarian notices that something is wrong, just as he is about to bring down the sword upon Hagenson’s defenseless form, you break through the throng and strike.

There is a keening noise, a sharp rasp of steel on steel as your daggers meet his sword. The magic in Serena’s dagger prevents it from twisting or otherwise deforming against the barbarian’s brute strength.

“The battlefield is no place for whelps fresh off their mother’s teat!” The man’s breath is absolutely horrid, a putrid stench of fetid blood and bloody meat.

You do not dignify the barbarian with a verbal response. He growls, and lashes a foot towards you, but you pull away just in time, allowing the Dance to take you around his side in a graceful motion.

(cont.)

Hagenson has made a recovery. You have purchased enough time for him to recover his sword and shield. He bears no obvious injury other than his pride and a minor gash atop his head, but the knight is more than ready to get back into the fight.
“Many thanks, Crownguard,” the captain growls, spitting in disgust towards the corpse of the man who unhorsed him. “Damn bastards have no semblance of honor, after all, let alone this barbarian filth. I thought better of the Vascieli, but perhaps Archduke Tarmud was right after all.”

“Honor?” The barbarian demands in a voice dripping with venom. “You would dare to lecture me on honor when your kind slaughters us indiscriminately?”

The knight snarls, “Only because your kind forays into our lands and loots, rapes and burns our towns. I have not met a Mountain Man or a deer-horned pagan who does not seek the destruction of our civilization and drag us back into the Age of Smoldering Ash!”

“No, knight,” the barbarian spits, visibly angry as he draws a second weapon, a curved and wicked axe marked with ancient runes. “It is YOU who have forgotten the Old Ways, you who have submitted to the cultural yoke of the Eridian Empire. Has it been so long that you have forgotten when their plume-helmed legions invaded the heart of ancient Vethica, flying the golden eagle as they tore down our sacred trees and burned our holy men? When they enforced their ‘civilization’ with the fire and sword, and dragged our mothers, sisters, wives and daughters into slavery?”

“…you are mad. Eridia is but a shadow of its former self. It has been centuries since they have last dared to send their legions into our land. They have not soon forgotten the Varian Disaster, and their defeat in the Succession Wars.”

“No, knight.” The barbarian is lost in his madness and rage. “It is because of your submission to those ideals of ‘civilization’ that we align with the Vascieli. The rebels will finally give us true freedom, a right that your bastard of an emperor denies us. But this talk is cheap!”

The man smashes his weapons together, and a plume of magical flame runs down the length of his sword. “Come then, and let us see as to whether or not your new ways and gods will prevail over the might of the true Vethics! I am Augvarr, son of Borgerel of the Bremomm Tribe, and champion of the great god Ultar! He will shower me in glory once I kill you all!”

Hagenson’s jaw is set with a firm resolution, even as the barbarian summons an additional three warriors to join the circle. “We’re in a tight spot, aren’t we, Crownguard? Five against two, how completely unfair...for the Vascieli.”

>Fight alongside Sir Hagenson against Augvarr.
>Send Sir Hagenson back to command his men.
>Custom option.

>>2591298
>Send Sir Hagenson back to command his men.

Yeah yeah that's all well and good but your men need you more than you need to woop ass.

>>2591298
>>Send Sir Hagenson back to command his men.
He's done pretty well so far, but he's more valuable leading the troops. The sooner we deal with this lot, the sooner we can resume our flight.

>>2591298
>Fight alongside Sir Hagenson against Augvarr.

>>2591298
>Send Sir Hagenson back to command his men.

>>2591298
>>Send Sir Hagenson back to command his men.

>>2591298
>Fight alongside Sir Hagenson against Augvarr.

I mean we're good, but we're not fight five men including a barbarian champion on our own good. Having someone watch our back is a good idea.

>>2591298
>Fight alongside Sir Hagenson against Augvarr

We might not give a fuck about the whole "honorable combat" thing, but it seems like the good Captain might take it badly if we sent him away before the fight was decided.

Kaz you following Jagged quest too?

>>2591407
Why not? We've pulled off more impressive stuff.

>>2591411
Is that on Akun or /qst/?

>>2591421
Akun.
Naval Exploration Quest

>>2591298
>Send Sir Hagenson back to command his men.

>>2591416
I feel like we are underestimating this captain. Sure we could take the regular guys out no problem, but with him hounding our ass it might be a bit tougher than you think.

>>2591309
>>2591333
>>2591362
>>2591382
“You want me to what?” The knight demands.

“Get back to your men,” You repeat, maintaining an unwavering gaze upon the advancing men. “You’ve done an excellent job so far, but you’re more valuable leading the rest of the knights. I’m far better suited to this kind of thing than you are.”

Hagenson looks conflicted. “I understand that you are young, and only a recent join to the Crownguards, but you need not go this far in order to impress your liege and ladies.”

The urge to lash out, to deny that this is some sort action brought about by childish pride churns in your gut, but as quickly as it comes, it disappears. Instead, you let a sardonic smile play on your lips, and reply, “True, I don’t. But I have no experience in commanding men, and you do. You would be of better use to the Eagle Knights than I would.”

The knight glances at the barbarian, then back towards the formation. The knights have continued to fight defensively, and have actually purchased some small advances of ground. But even as the rest of the Crownguard protect their flanks from attack, they cannot maintain this forever.

“…fair enough, I suppose,” the valeman grumbles, “But first I’ll need to get back to my men. And I have severe doubts about our friends just simply letting me pass through unscathed.”

“That can be easily arranged,” you quietly answer.

The front line of the circle falls back as throwing knives embed themselves within exposed flesh. Your distraction purchases enough time for Hagenson to charge forward, smashing aside the wounded Vascieli. At the sight of their leader returning from the fray, the formation moves as one to secure him.

It is a feat of amazing coordination. Within seconds, the knights have cut halfway towards their captain, and welcome him back into the fold. A gap in the shield wall parts to let him pass, and a forest of spears keeps the rebels at bay. Soon enough, the brusque voice of Hagenson begins to shout orders to his men.

…and then there was one.

“That’s a neat trick, boy,” Augvarr growls as the two of you circle each other, “But you must have a high opinion of yourself to think you could take me on without any help.”

“It’s no high opinion or mater of pride,” you quietly answer. “Because I know that I can kill you and your men without any other help.”

The barbarian stares at you, astonished, before he laughs uproariously. “Well then! The whelp fancies himself a warrior, does he, with those little thorns? At least give me your name, o mighty one, so that I can tell my chieftain of your folly when I present your skull and armor at his feet.”

How shall you address him?

>You are a Crownguard, bladebound to Princess Ellana Crowmond.
>You are a killer, the Wraith of Black Alley and bane of snakes.
>Remain silent.

>>2591468
>You are a Crownguard, bladebound to Princess Ellana Crowmond.

>>2591468
>>Remain silent.
trash like this doesn't deserve our name

>>2591468
>>You are a killer, the Wraith of Black Alley and bane of snakes.

>>2591468
>Crownguard, scum, killer. Take your pick for it will not matter in the end.

>>2591468
>You are a Crownguard, bladebound to Princess Ellana Crowmond.

The Wraith of Black Alley died that snowy night. We are a different man.

>>2591468
>>You are a killer, the Wraith of Black Alley and bane of snakes.
He gave his name, but they might not know how which Crowmonds are in the carriage. This ought to do nicely.

>>2591468

>You are a Crownguard, bladebound to Princess Ellana Crowmond.

>>2591468

>>You are a killer, the Wraith of Black Alley and bane of snakes.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

Gonna toss a coin to end the tiebreaker.

1. Crownguard.
2. Killer.

Writing...

>>2591468
>You are a Crownguard, bladebound to Princess Ellana Crowmond.

File: Rune of Ultar.png (2 KB, 111x150)

2 KB PNG

>>2591476
>>2591495
>>2591535
>>2591555
“I am and have been many things all my life, but right now…” You level Serena’s dagger towards the barbarian. “My name is Marcus Painel, and I am a Crownguard. My life, body and soul are bladebound to Princess Ellana Crowmond, and I will not let any harm come to her, or any of her siblings.”

The barbarian’s eyes sparkle, and he gestures for his summoned soldiers to return towards the crowd. When one of them protests, the man simply plunges his flaming sword into the Vascieli’s stomach. A sickening stench of burning flesh and blood fills the air as the man’s guts cook upon the heated blade.

The circle quickly becomes wider. Augvarr will broker no interruptions. Perhaps Hagerson was wrong about the barbarian’s honor.

“Ah…so you’re not just some trickster,” the champion’s grin is mirthful. “No, you are more like one of my chieftain’s sworn shields. Very well then! Sell your life dearly, because I intend to have it upon my mantle. Baritz al Utar!, Crownguard!”

There are no more words, no more delaying actions.

Sword, axe and daggers meet as Crownguard and Champion crash against each other in a storm of steel, iron and flame.

>Be aggressive and attempt to overwhelm Augvarr.
>Fight defensively, and wait for a safe opening to strike.
>Try to disarm Augvarr of one of his weapons.
>Custom option.

>>2591582
>>Try to disarm Augvarr of one of his weapons.

>>2591582
>Try to disarm Augvarr of one of his weapons.

>>2591582
>>Try to disarm Augvarr of one of his weapons.

>>2591582
>>Try to disarm Augvarr of one of his weapons.

>>2591582
>>Try to disarm Augvarr of one of his weapons.