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In the last thread, you navigated the aftermath of the drakling’s death, and soothed the ire of your princess, who mourned and feared you dead. Now, back on the trail of the Vascieli, you and Silverow deduced that the meeting point of the Drowned Lady not an inn, but a shipwreck down the Anosar river. And in the course of this investigation, you took a woman into your arms, a prostitute named Caris, and spent each other insatiate for the first time since her death…

Plans were made to voyage to the Boat Graveyard, but due to an irate and posessive Ellana, you were not permitted to leave. Thus, you find yourself guarding the three Crowmond siblings in the sleepy village of Westholm while the other Crownguard take a boat down the river, to find the rebel contact.

And now, the story continues…

>>Choose a point in the story to resume:
>POV Shift to the Crownguard Expedition. [Combat focus]
>Resume with Marcus and the Crowmond siblings. [Politics focus]

>>3204206
>POV Shift to the Crownguard Expedition. [Combat focus]

>>3204206
>Resume with Marcus and the Crowmond siblings. [Politics focus]

Glad you're not dead Kaz.

>>3204206
>POV Shift to the Crownguard Expedition. [Combat focus]

>>3204206
>Resume with Marcus and the Crowmond siblings. [Politics focus]

Want to see both, not much bugged which we see first. Shame im not going to be on long to see it until re-reading tomorrow.

>>3204206
>POV Shift to the Crownguard Expedition. [Combat focus]

>>3204328
>>3204259
>>3204211

We are locked in for playing as the Crownguard. For this mission, which Crownguard would you like to play as?

>Bellatrix Lupine, the Highland Wolf.
>Urath the Ingulan, the Silent Hunter.
>Raleigh Silverow, the Eye of the Storm.

>>3204360
>Raleigh Silverow, the Eye of the Storm.
Imagine playing as a girl kek.

>>3204360
>Urath the Ingulan, the Silent Hunter.

>>3204360
>Bellatrix Lupine, the Highland Wolf.

>>3204360
>Bellatrix Lupine, the Highland Wolf

>>3204360
>Bellatrix Lupine, the Highland Wolf.

>>3204360
>Raleigh Silverow, the Eye of the Storm.
we need a feel for what Sparks do, if we're ever going to take advantage of that magic sight perk.

>>3204360
>Raleigh Silverow, the Eye of the Storm.

>>3204404
>>3204360
Changing this to Bell to break the tie.

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Vote's called for Bellatrix's POV. Sorry I couldn't call it earlier, had some issues with Chrome that took a while to fix.

Writing...

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>>3204417
>>3204423
>>3204425
>>3204503
>>Winter 76, 238 ACR
>>The Highland Wolf

The morning air is crisp and cool, blowing down from the distant peaks of the Whrelzwth with the faintest taste of thunder. Every breath is bracing vigor, kindling your blood even as the air bites and pricks within your chest. If not for the scarcity of heather and the absence of the ocean, you might have found yourself at home with every single blink.

But it is not the castle of Karthmire Keep that appears in your mind, the citadel fortress you have lived and resided for the last eight years. What you do see is a vast swathe of land, untouched fields and valleys of evergreens and whites, a gorge of twisting mountains and scraggly rock that only a brutish giant could have shaped or found beautiful.

It is a land that only flourishes by the blood of its people, a price the Straxine have paid happily for hundreds of years. Life in the highlands is violent, brutal, and rare is the chieftain who has died in his bed. It is all too common to fall against a foe, to have one’s head crushed by the claws of a drakling, to have an Ascomanni berserker tear out your guts, or to be dragged into the depths of Cairnchrom to never be seen again.

Once, during his lessons with the princess, the old man went on about how heroes seldom live long. “The candle of their lives is burned at both ends, burning quickly but all the more brighter for enthrall and light the world.”

Gnuryll may be the homeland of the Hero-Emperor Maxvell the Great, but its sister Straxhult is, without a doubt, a land of heroes by mere virtue of survival. And it is a land that you will one day return to. Even this journey is but a mere stepping stone to that final and ultimate freedom.

Everyone is silent as you bring the boat down the river. Silverow is at the till, eyes watching for clusters of ice and hidden rocks underneath the lazy current. Every so often, he will wave his fingers, and the course of the boat steers away from some threat, seen or unseen. You are on one side of the boat, and Urath is on the other, but both of you carry the oars that propel the vessel forward towards the Boat Graveyard.

Three Crownguard to a mission is certainly either an overestimation or a sign of true danger ahead. Not that you would complain. Any opportunity to regain that thrill, to feel the surge of m’ amar crú flowing through your veins…even as it wars with your own duty to protect Adrianna Crowmond.

…you have one complaint, actually. The fact that the littlest Crownguard had thrown a fit about Painel and forbade him to come. Urath looked more than happy to stay, but the brat had a good point beyond being a clingy little chit. You’re certainly irritated that he was the one to lead the drakling away, when it was the closest one you’d ever come to fight one.

(cont.)

That is to say that you are not displeased with Painel’s success. In fact, you could not deny the concern about his absence, nor the relief of his return. It would be such a long time until the Lord Commander would find someone of his skills and talent. The littlest princess would not be the only one mourning his death.

You can’t help but smile, even as an unexpected shift in the current nearly bowls the three of you over. He did promise another spar, didn’t he? The first one only managed to rouse m’ amar crú, and the second was the closest you ever came to satisfying it in the last…gods, it’s been too long.

Another thing to look forward to once you return, you suppose.

“We’re just about here,” Silverow suddenly declares, gesturing to some unseen point behind the curve of the river, “Just beyond that and we’re at the Boat Graveyard.”
Urath grunts in acknowledgement, heaving to turn the boat correctly. “What do you think we will find?”

“I’m not sure,” the sorcerer admits, “But we’ll need to be prepared for anything. For all we know, there’s more than one who was supposed to meet the Vascieli captain.”

“All the better,” you grin, flashing rows of teeth at the two men, “Hopefully he’ll have lost his cock and the will to fight once we kill all his men.”

The Ingulan counters, “Doubt it will be easy like that. Knowing our luck…”

“Please don’t hex us before we’ve even gotten off the damn boat,” Silverow demands, snapping his fingers for a final adjustment. And soundlessly, with only the gurgle of the water as the river narrows and the current accelerates, the three of you enter the Boat Graveyard.

Occasionally, you might be able to detect the masts, prows and splintered hulls of ships from the last fifty years that were caught by the current and flushed into the lake. There might have even been a station or a house along the shoreline, given the abundant clearing on one side of the water. But everything is rotten, everything is in decay, and the prison of the ice acts both as manacles and coffins for the vessels and their dead.

Their faces can be seen, some who’s skin have long since rotted or served as meal for the fish. Others are more recent, still fresh without much decay, their eyes wide and tongues bloated purple, caught in the final throes as they drowned beneath the surging whirlpools of the summer.

“…poor bastards,” you mutter as you smash your oar into a corpse that gets too close to the side.

Silverow grunts in agreement as he brings the ship towards the inlet in the middle, towards the center and deepest part of the lake, “I’ll support that notion. Now, we just need to find the damned ship…”

Whoops, fucking italics.

>>What will you do to search for the Drowned Lady?
>Explore deeper into the small island.
>Investigate the ruins of the docks.
>Swim underneath the ice and water.
>Custom option.


[CHAR SHEET]
>>Bellatrix Lupine

>Combat: ++++
>Social: +
>Knowledge: +

>>Anything not immediately pertinent has been either removed for the sake of character limit or censored due to spoilers.

[Abilities/Traits/Perks]
>Bleeding Strikes, Rank 3: Every attack made with your weapon has a 30% chance to inflict Bleed damage on an enemy.
>Chieftain’s Authority, Rank 2[Special]: What is a common man to a chieftain or his kindred? +20 to Social rolls made to resist magical or mundane coercion, and +20 to Social checks made to enforce your will upon others (command, seduce, intimidate, etc.)
>Dual Fighter, Rank 4: +10 to Combat Rolls when wielding a weapon in each hand.
>Foreigner’s Fangs: +30 to Intimidate, -30 to Diplomacy made against “civilized” individuals.
>Hunter’s Senses, Rank 5: +50 to rolls made for Perception in the wild, away from the walls and confines of civilization.
>M’ amar Crú (The Bloodsong) [Special]: It drives you wild, the scent of blood, heightening all your senses, to drive you mad with lust and rage…
>Moonlight’s Curse [Special]: ???
>Speed of the Highlands [Special]: Your ancestors fought with naught but furs, paint and skin, naked against their enemies’ blades, arrows and claws. +30 to Dodge when wearing Light Armor, +40 to Dodge when wearing clothes, +50 to Dodge when unarmored and unclothed.
>Riding, Rank 3: You are able to ride unassisted and perform advanced skills to obedient horses.
>Wolf’s Blood [Special]: ???

>>3204669
>Investigate the ruins of the docks.

>>3204669
stable land is probably where we're going to find the lab for making the explosives for the ship, but the island is too exposed. I'm thinking maybe a cave underwater.

But since those still need supply routes, let's check the less tinfoily option.
>Investigate the ruins of the docks.

>>3204669
>Explore deeper into the small island.

>>3204669
>>Investigate the ruins of the docks.

>>3204669
also
>Foreigner’s Fangs: +30 to Intimidate, -30 to Diplomacy made against “civilized” individuals.
>Hunter’s Senses, Rank 5: +50 to rolls made for Perception in the wild, away from the walls and confines of civilization.
>M’ amar Crú (The Bloodsong) [Special]: It drives you wild, the scent of blood, heightening all your senses, to drive you mad with lust and rage…
>Moonlight’s Curse [Special]: ???
>Wolf’s Blood [Special]: ???


Totally a werewolf.

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>>3204805
I thought I made it clear that werewolves, vampires, leprechauns and other things of that nature don't exist in this setting!

>>3204820
This setting has dragons, high level druids able to create forest titans, and blood drinking gribblies. If Vampires do not exist it's because no one with blood magic has made them yet.


Leprecahuns are fae, soooooooo take that for what it is worth.


Given the sheer amount of magic behind the scenes a werewolf or skinwalker is highly likely.

I just hope she's not a proto-wendigo.

>Investigate the ruins of the docks
I mean, if she's drowned...

>>3204820
Yes yes of course she's a waifuwolf

>>3204870
Hah, no. Did you forget the shit she pulled on us last time?

>>3204876
Yeah that was the wolf part.

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>>3204672
>>3204674
>>3204803
The three of you split up. Urath takes to investigating the island deeper, vaulting up into the treetops in a neat little feat of dexterity. Silverow walks around the shoreline, careful not to get his robes too wet. The sorcerer mutters to himself, gesturing in a way that makes the skin of your neck crawl, and your teeth ringing unpleasantly. It’s only a simple spell to reveal for magic, but it still gets underneath your skin something awful.

“…fucking hexers…” you mutter darkly, stalking off towards the pier in a huff.

At one point, the dock might have been able to comfortably house three barges, four if they were able to squeeze together. But now, there is barely enough for one, and it would sit perilously close to the shore just to be moored to the pier. The sturdiest parts of the half-rotted dock seem to only hold on by ancient, rusty nails. Any outlying boards and posts have already been claimed by the depths. The sole proof of their existence are pale shadows just inches below the surface.

The air takes on a pungent tone as you draw close, and the cloying, sickeningly sweet stench of rot fills your nostrils. And that primal, wild instinct inside of you wants to crow, to roll in the filth until it covers you like some kind of badge.

The dead had that smell, not the dead long since left to turn to dust in forgotten cairns and ivory jars, but the recent dead, the dead not long since they perished. You almost tripped on one of them, a mangled lump of meat buried underneath a foot of snow. The hoarfrost had delayed the rot, but not enough to protect it from the searing gaze of the sun, winter or not. It would putrefy as soon as the weather became warm enough.

You offer no particular reverence as you kick the snow off the corpse. It had belonged to a man, no more than thirty years of age. Closing your eyes, you could still smell the beer from the stain on his tunic. A villager, undoubtedly, one from Westholm. There was no mistaking that gods-awful alderman brew.
He must have perished no more than a week ago. A few days at the earliest, given how fucking cold this winter’s been. Bending down, you check the tongue and eyes as best you can. Neither of them are bloodshot or purple. This man did not drown. Not unless someone had poured a barrel of water into the large gash across his throat, wide enough to nearly take off his head.

Kicking away more of the snow reveals more individuals in sorry states. Some are almost pristine, as if they’d died in their sleep. Others are little more than shards of frozen blood and bone, lumps of chilled meat that stain the shoreline red.

What were these men doing here?

>You recall Painel’s information.

…pilgrims, perhaps? Scared villagers who thought bringing offerings to a dead lady’s shrine would stop the whirlpools, pleading for her vengeful spirit to leave the commoners alone…

(cont.)

…or smugglers, perhaps the alderman’s or of a different scheme that were caught by...
“...Cruach’s balls,” you curse, making a warding sign across your heart. You’re not sure which one is the worse idea, that there really is a vengeful spirit lurking in the island, or that these idiots, a group of seven grown men, were easily slaughtered by the single Vascieli contact.

These men didn’t drown. That much is clear. And nothing seems to have been stolen, not even a single coin from their purses (to which you help yourself to). And there’s not a single clue about their identities beyond the alderman’s shitty beer. Unless…

“…if you didn’t drown, then where did you fuckers stash your barge?”

But even as the thought crosses your mind, you pick up the trail of something else. For a moment, that crisp, cool air from the mountains washes away the scent of rot and fermentation. And in its place is something else, something that…eases the raw edge inside of you, lulls the worst of your instincts and gives you relief for the first time in as many months, if not years…

You spit, snorting and coughing as you clear the stench from your nose. And by the time you’re done, the worst part of you is rearing to go and hunt the bastard down who dared leave hazeleaf lying around.

>Roll 1d100+50 Perception.
>Best of three.

Rolled 40 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>3204919
What could possibly go wrong?

Rolled 9 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>3204919
rolling

>>3204925
everything

Rolled 81 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>3204919
>>3204925
She tries to fuck the bad guy.

>>3204929
>She tries to fuck the bad guy.
I must protest this vile slander. I'll have you know that Bellatrix only tries to molest her allies! She always kills her enemies.

>>3204919
>These men didn’t drown. That much is clear. And nothing seems to have been stolen, not even a single coin from their purses
Obviously it was a mass suicide from violating Hillary Clinton's private email server.

Hey Kaz, check out the Quest remembrance thread. BLadebound is in it. Apparently it's dead!

>>3204996
What do you think lit a fire under his ass?

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>>3204925
>>3204928
>>3204929
Your hackles are up, and your teeth are grinding something awfully fierce. It’s that smell, that goddamn smell. Worse than hexers, more wretched than witches…too many bad memories, too many sleepless nights because of their kind and ilk…

The trees whip past, scratching futilely against your armor as you tear into the inlet without a second glance behind you. Your steps are light, rage giving you grace beyond your brutish strength. The forest is quiet, as quiet as you can make it, and even your armor remains quiet, clanking softly as you catch the wind and simply…run.

You run, leaping over fallen trees with the heft of your spear, spinning to avoid the embrace of branches and thorny undergrowth. That wilder part of you, the worst part of your feral nature is content, content to run as far as you can let it. And for a moment, you think to tear off your armor, strip off your leathers and simply run as your ancestors might have in the days before the Dragonic Wars…

The taste of hazeleaf is faint, just barely enough to trigger lethargy, just enough for you to track its source. But what kind of blood would the enemy shed once you caught them? Traditions state that a warrior must walk soaked in his enemy’s blood to inherit their power. Would it be a hexer or a sorcerer, pissing and weeping as you bleed the life from their eyes? Or a warrior, same as that Vethic Barbarian, the captain of that expedition…

There is only the hazeleaf, and the trail it leads to the end of the trail…your prey

This is a hunt, a hunt that will rid you of your rage, and hopeful, satiate m’ amar crú for a little while longer…just a little while longer until the next time you can fight Painel…and he can coax the Bloodsong to release…
There!

It is a small pile of snow that you quietly dive into, underneath the large boughs of an elder tree. Quiet and hidden, with ragged breath and throbbing heart, everything snaps back into focus as your eyesight focuses where the scent has led you.

The cave is small, barely the size of a peasant’s hut. But it is deep in the island, hidden away by a natural alcove in the rocky hill. The light of the fire is hidden by the sheer angle of the cliff, and whatever is burning leaves no smoke. Your nose wrinkles at the smell and you almost gag. Animal dung as fuel for the fire.

But the object of your hunt is right there, a figure poking at the fire with nothing more than a stick. It is nearly formless, shrouded by a cloak so large that determining sex is a futile endeavor. It simply sits there, staring at nothing, keeping itself alone, but unmistakably reeking of that putrid hazeleaf.

(cont.)

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Your hand tightens around your spear as your instincts roar from within your heart. It’s dangerous, you can tell that much. Hexer, witch, or warrior? It doesn’t matter. The figure is a strong foe, a worthy foe, someone to throw to the worst, darkest, most primal part of yourself without having to worry about the consequences.

You could end it right now, you could just simply throw the spear and be done with it. Even if it didn’t nail the bastard to the fucking wall, you still had your sword. And do they even know that the spear is hexed to return to your hand, no matter how far the distance? Painel isn’t the only Crownguard with fancy little hexed weapons…

You don’t care about the glory…you don’t need the Urath or Silverow…not when you found the enemy first, to do with as you entirely please…to state that burning need inside of your veins...whose mere existence offends you…

…whose blood you want dripping all over your body…

>Attack the enemy. [Initiate Combat]
>Retreat and find the others. [Willpower Check]
>Custom option.

>>3205057
>Retreat and find the others. [Willpower Check]

>>3205057
>Attack the enemy. [Initiate Combat]
Seems like what she would do, besides it's just one guy. And Bella is way better than Marcus.

>>3205057
>Retreat and find the others. [Willpower Check]

>>3205057
>Retreat and find the others. [Willpower Check]

>Retreat and find the others. [Willpower Check]

>>3205057
>Attack the enemy. [Initiate Combat]
I do not trust her willpower

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>>3205065
>>3205072
>>3205084
>>3205089
“…I trust that you’ll do the right thing, Bella.”

The princess’ voice cuts through the haze of violence like a hot knife through butter. For a brief, momentary instant, the whispers and urging vanish without a trace. And in its place, where there was once an overwhelming bloodlust comes bile in the back of your throat.

Is it getting worse? But you’d just had Painel to take care of it…even though you lost, it was still satisfactory for the Bloodsong…

…no, this is different. Your instincts, your…wilder side demands not simply a satisfactory fight, but a bloody, messy, kill. No matter what you’ll have to do to get it, and even if it means destroying the only lead you have on the Vascieli…

“…we all have our skeletons in the closet, Lupine…”

The sound of your heart threatens to drown out all and everything else. But no matter how loud it goes, even as your vision begins to blur and your hands grip hard enough for your spear to protest, it is not enough to mask the memoires of two very important people…perhaps the most important people in your life.

…you are Bellatrix Lupine…knightess of the Aderaveth Empire…Crownguard to Adrianna Crowmond…exile from the Isle of Strax…

…and two people believe that you are more than…no…they believe that you are not just a bloodthirsty monster.

So for their sake…it’s only decent that you try to repay their faith with an effort of your own.

"Get out of my fucking head!"

>Roll 1d100+20 (+20 for Chieftain’s Authority)
>Best out of three.

Rolled 12 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3205153
Oh boy I can't wait to turn into a giant wolf.

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>3205153

Honestly, probably would've voted for attack if I was here earlier. Oh well.

Rolled 9 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3205153

I guess she is a bloodthirsty monster. Oh well.

Rolled 4 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

lmao

Rolled 59 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3205153
Woof woof

Rolled 87 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

I heard you were fucking up

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Uh...okay, I think I'll take an OOC moment to clarify what constitutes as what will be counted in the pool for "best of three". Consider this official rules for any of my games.

1. The post MUST be linked to the relevant post that asks for the roll.
>> Any posts that are not linked are discounted for the pool.

2. The post must have the proper modifier, regardless of whether or not it is positive or negative. I will not retroactively add the modifier after the roll has been made.
>>Any posts that do not have the modifier will not be counted for the pool.

Any other rules or clarifications, please don't hesitate to let me know.

...hmmm, do people really wanna see Bella just let loose? I could move forward with the technical success, but that would just be applying rules ex post facto, so...

Rolled 79 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3205153
>>3205218
Fine, reroll.

>>3205218
Eh do whatever you feel

>>3205218
Eh, looks fine. So a 79 for not fucking up since only the 12, 9 and 59 count.

>>3205218
You're just doing that cause you don't want Bella to fail you cuck.

All because you want her to dropkick your taint.

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>>3205226
Can you blame him though?

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Hmmm...I'll be committing to the original three rolls. Consider this my lesson learned.

Writing...

>>3205226
>>3205230
I actually hate redheads.

>>3205234
Establish the rules in the OP. Not the real OP, but the post after it, you know what I mean.

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>>3205165
>>3205168
>>3205185

...and like a breath in the dead of winter, that fleeting moment of calm disappears into the ether. It is all you can do to create a haven in that darkness, a small, tiny corner of your mind as a last bastion of sanity...

"What use is a girl upon the field of battle but for chattel and prize?"

The blood in the enemy's veins, the sound of his heart pumping it underneath his robes...you can hear it, you can almost taste and smell it...how it would feel gliding against your naked flesh...

"This will make you strong...you will never have to fear anything again..."

A rasping breath, the sound of armor groaning as you double over coming down on all limbs. Spear in your hands, a singular claw to pierce and strike. A mouth stretched wide, a maw to rend and tear. Eyes too wide to see everything, nostrils flared to smell everything, tongue lolling, savoring the taste of the moment before battle...

"Airitech, tha sinn gad ghairm...Airitech, tha sin gad ghairm, Madah Mòr..."

...no, this is not Bellatrix Lupine, a knightess of amber-golden eyes, protector of a maiden on the cusp of womanhood?

"THOU ART NOW MINE CHILD, AND SCION OF MINE BLOOD."

...what else could this be but a monster with a crimson gleam, a wild beast without a care beyond bloodshed?

>Roll 1d100 + 60 Combat. (+40 Stat, +20 Blood-Drunk)
>Best out of three.

Rolled 42 + 60 (1d100 + 60)

>>3205306
Watch us dab on this roll.

Rolled 86 + 60 (1d100 + 60)

>>3205306

Rolled 21 + 60 (1d100 + 60)

>>3205306

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>>3205309
>>3205310
>>3205319
The Vascieli has barely any time to react. At one moment, you’re crouched, still in that snowbank as it prods at its fire. And in the next instant, you’re in the air, screaming something unholy at the top of your lungs as you aim your spear right at its heart. Sparks fly and ashes scatter as the Vascieli dodges the attack, rolling into the fire pit. Cursing in what is unmistakably a man’s voice, he tears off the burning cloak and throws it away.

“What the hell is this?” he demands, almost incredulous at what he sees. Any saner, and you might not have blamed him. But you might have asked him the same. His armor is well-crafted, his weapons well-maintained, too expensive to be bought with a mere rebel’s “salary”. Even as he draws his sword, he continues, “Who the hell-”

Your answer comes as a wicked stab. He retreats further into the cave, finally drawing his sword. By the time he even brings his buckler up to counter, it is all he can do to parry or avoid any of your blows. His mace is too short, and the little trick blades on his buckler have no way to come close to your spear’s reach.

Now this is a warrior! A worthy opponent to kill in a fight to the death! Your blood sings in glee, and you howl in unrestrained joy. No more are you bound by petty rules, oaths of chivalry and meaningless promises to those who hold your leash.

Your strength is unfettered, the fragile chains holding you back have been dashed and sundered. The only loyalty you have is to your body, and satisfying the desires and wants it demands. Only the strong for you, for the battlefield and the bedroom, and the weak on days when you desire to release your anger. Willing or not, they will submit to your power.

He only recognizes you when you come up on your feet. The symbol on your armor is impossible to miss, and his eyes go wide. Surprise turns to alarm, before quickly ceding to rage.

“Crownguard whore! “ he growls, discarding his mace and drawing a sword, “I should have known that Aurgvarr was too-”

No breaks, no pause, no time for talking! The time for words can come later, once you’ve broken the man across your blade. It will not be until he cannot swing his blade that you will grant him a stay from combat…until his execution.

Your attacks are a blur, a hornet’s stinger at the end of a wooden shaft. His armor is of quality make, imported steel from beyond the Empire’s borders, but it still has its weak points. Joints, neck, upper arms, thighs. By the time the last bit of the fire pit has died, the man is already bleeding from dozens of small cuts.

You are wounded as well, but only in the most superficial of ways. Head wounds are always the ones that bleed the most, even for a shallow cut against the forehead. The scent of your blood wafts past your nose, its taste stains the edge of your lips.

It is rejoicing. There's no mistaking that taste.

(cont.)

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Snarling, the Vascieli says, “Enough, you damned…woman!”

He raises his buckler, as if to charge with both sword and shield. But he smirks, shouting as some mechanism within the shield makes an audible CLICK. They are too fast, the little blades that are spat out from the mouth of the wolf emblem. The blades are wicked things, barbed rods of iron that could easily pin a melon to the wall, savage and cruel weapons to match the motif on his person.

This pup dares to call itself a wolf? When it must resort to petty tricks to win a fight?! No wonder he thought this might actually kill you! The whelp must be taught a lesson before he can challenge his betters.

Your wilder half is more wicked, more savage and cruel. His face falls as you dodge the first one, tilting your head to avoid the rod. It turns to horror as you let the second stab into your stomach, punching through the Crownguard armor. The force of the blow makes you stumble backwards, even as the barb wobbles messily in your guts.

“…I almost died, you pretender!” That voice is a gleeful roar, a guttural and hoarse declaration brought about by laughing through the entire fight. “I almost climaxed as well!”

He lunges at you with the sword, but you parry that away with an almost careless strike of your spear. The counter brings the haft around in a nasty CRACK that sends the man sprawling backwards.

You close the distance as he draws his dagger. It is a desperate attack aimed towards your blood-drunk eyes. The taste of oil and iron fills your mouth as you clamp down upon the blade. And then, to both his shock and yours…the sane part at least, you grind down, and the blade simply…shatters.

The Vascieli is so shocked that he fails to react as you spit flects of metal into his face. He does, however, notice the shortsword that plunges into his shoulder, scrapping against the collarbone to pin him against the dirt. His roar of pain echoes in the cave, but he makes no move to resist as you strip him of his weapons, and dispose of the wolf regalia.

“…in the end…” the voice snarls, mere inches away from his face and with bloody spittle dripping down, “…you’re not even a pup.”

…this one isn’t worthy of your bed. But you can “consume” him just as well enough as any of Straxine might. Bathe in his blood and wear the stuff for a day. Honor your enemy by taking his spirit and power unto yourself, so he may fight on as well.

You won't even need to kill him...yet, anyway. And even if he passes...there's no shortage of information on his person. Scrolls, folios, even a journal...Painel might find this more useful in the bastard's death than he might in life!

And maybe, maybe...he'd be willing to satisfy both of your lusts...

>Attempt to reassert control. [Willpower Check, +10 Bonus]
>Perform the Straxine Ritual. [Steal Perks from the Enemy]
>Torture for information. [Your duty with a little savagery~]
>Custom option.

>>3205477
>Attempt to reassert control. [Willpower Check, +10 Bonus]
>Torture for information. [Your duty with a little savagery~]

>>3205477
>Attempt to reassert control. [Willpower Check, +10 Bonus]

>>3205477
>>Attempt to reassert control. [Willpower Check, +10 Bonus]

>>3205477
>Attempt to reassert control. [Willpower Check, +10 Bonus]

>>3205477
>Perform the Straxine Ritual. [Steal Perks from the Enemy]
we're already well past NOPE, control without tactical advantage isn't that great.

This way at least, we get the vascieli fucking terrified.

>>3205477
>>Perform the Straxine Ritual. [Steal Perks from the Enemy]

I have no idea what this is, but I want to see it.

>>3205632
>>3205638
Ritual = kill, bathe in blood and wear foes armor.

>>3205412
>The symbol on your armor is impossible to miss, and his eyes go wide. Surprise turns to alarm, before quickly ceding to rage.
>“Crownguard whore! “
Stupid fucking bitch went there with Crownguard armor on?! WTF?!

>>3205477
>Perform the Straxine Ritual. [Steal Perks from the Enemy]

>>3205477
>>Torture for information. [Your duty with a little savagery~]

Man this is so over the top

>>3205477
>Torture for information. [Your duty with a little savagery~]

>>3205477
>Perform the Straxine Ritual. [Steal Perks from the Enemy]

Torture is unreliable anyways.

>>3205477
>Attempt to reassert control. [Willpower Check, +10 Bonus]
Bel's probably not even the best torturer.

>>3205632
>>3205638
>>3205752
>>3206319
This basically fucks over the entire point of doing this in the first place. We lose all information from our only lead.

>>3206353
It's what the character would do.

>>3206353
>
You won't even need to kill him...yet, anyway. And even if he passes...there's no shortage of information on his person. Scrolls, folios, even a journal...Painel might find this more useful in the bastard's death than he might in life!

Still that's no reason to not try and get more.

>>3206353
One. She's out of control. Why would she give a fuck?
Two. I don't understand how she get bonus when she fucked up so badly.
Three. Why torture is an option without regaining control?
Four. I don't like taking control of side character because of shit like this. That decision should not be decided by majority but by our rolls. I don't like picking side characters decision because most anons will pick one that affect MC in best fuckin way. OBVIOUSLY! So we lose drama and interaction between characters for min maxing, for the sake of MC.

>>3206356
All 3 options would be what the character would do.

>>3206364
Forgive me if I won’t trust an unreliable narrator at her word.

>>3206435
> All 3 options would be what the character would do.

Then why are you judging me for picking one of said options?

>>3205477
>Torture for information. [Your duty with a little savagery~]

>>3206353
see >>3205632

There ARE advantages to acting impulsively and intuitively, and given how much noise we've made, we've already eliminated most of the advantages to moving cautiously.

And torture is always dodgy.

>>3207346
Not to mention that my the sound of it she'll have more control later when it could be more important.

Really it's looking ahead for her to keep her head.

Plus the power boost.

Anyways nothing saying we can't torture him THEN perform the ritual.

If we just promise to let him live on it's not really much of a lie since he'd live on as part of her.

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>>3205486
>>3205500
>>3205504
>>3205550
>>3206334
…you are better than this.

Even as you slice through buckles, strip armor and weapons, that thought does not leave you. His blood is in the air, a pungent odor that irritates your senses. Hazeleaf you smell, but not only that damned hexer’s plant. There are many other scents, so many other concoctions, narcotic corruption that flows through his veins. Though not as potent as to render him incoherent, like the men you rode down just the other day, it is still a gross offense.

His blood is not fit for consumption.

And in that moment of clarity, that second of hesitation when the wildness pauses, you seize your chance and wrestle with it once more.

You are the master. It is but the steed that guides you to victory.

Indulge not in the Bloodsong, indulge not in the curse, even as it might tempt you with such inhuman sweetness and pleasure beyond mortal comprehension. You are better than what he had forced upon you, what the clan did to its daughter...

If not for your own sake, then come back for theirs. Come back so that the children will live beyond the next day, when you bring the Vascieli broken and bloodied as a prize before their feet. Come back so that you will fight alongside your pack, your companions, as a human, and not a beast…

Come back so that she might entrust her back, her hair, her delicate comb, to you once more…two women before a mirror as they prepare for the day…

A Straxine must be strong. You are strong, even while not in the throes of Bloodsong, even without the aid of someone’s blood to add to your own power. And it would be disgraceful for a highlander to let something else ride roughshod in their own flesh, blood and bone.

If this is your fate, then so be it, until you find a cure for what ails you, a hammer to strike the curse from your flesh.

But until such a time comes…you are the master, not the steed. And you will fight at every turn no matter how unruly it gets, no matter how sweet its siren song beckons for surrender...

>Roll 1d100+30 Willpower (+20 Chieftain’s Authority, +10 Circumstance)
>Best out of three.

Rolled 63 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>3207684
Nat 1 Baby!

>>3207684

Rolled 6 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>3207684
I'll roll the 1, let's turn into a giant wolf and eat this fucker.

Rolled 65 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>3207684
Rollan
>>3207688
Watch and learn

>>3207697
>>3207694
>>3207697
Man we suck at calls

>>3207702
6 is close.

>>3207708
I will give you that. You're the best of us.

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>>3207688
>>3207694
>>3207697
…then until next time, child…

Coming back is always the hardest part. The world is a burst of colors, a display of things that man could not normally see. You smell the noise of distant birds, taste the colors of metal, and that burst of sensation drives a wedge into your skull. You hold back your nausea, swallowing bile as the numbness in your limbs recedes to the warmth of your touch.

The Vascieli is still beneath you. In that thing’s haste to rend and tear, the rebel’s head had been smashed into the cave. Unconscious and heavily bleeding from the lump on his head, but still breathing and quite alive. He will live to squeal like a pig at the hands of your companions.

All that is left to address is the iron stake in your stomach. Prodding and poking reveals no shit, no bilge or shit from your guts and stomach. The pain is agony, a burning chill lodged hard in the meat of your body. It does not come to the worst you’ve ever felt. When you get back to the village, you will treat it then.

All that remains is to return to the beachhead, and reunite with the others…whichever comes first. Binding his hands and feet, you depart from the cave with your prize following and lolling ignominiously in the snow, dragged along by a length of rope.

Even as you kick yourself for succumbing in the middle of something as important as this, you can’t help but marvel at the little buckler on his wrist. Part of the victor’s right is conquest of the spoils of battle. This bastard is already a dead man…being dragged, so who better than to repurpose the pup’s regalia than the Highland Wolf?

But a sudden noise from the trees interrupts your mood. In an instant, you drop the rope and bring your spear to bear. You are not alone, and there is something else here with you…something downwind from your scent-

“Lupine!”

From the high bough of an elder tree, a red mass descends to the ground. It is Urath, breathing hard and eyes smoldering. Of immediate notice is his bow, unstrung for travel, then the sight of his quiver. It only contains half of the arrows it had when you set off down the river.

The Ingulan is silent at first, eyes taking in the sight of you, your prisoner, then back to you. He drops his bow, rushing to your side in an instant. “You are injured.”

You shrug, ignoring how the muscles pull at your wound. “The other guy is worse off,” you hiss through gritted teeth, “…didn’t expect to see you here this quickly.”

“I did not know he was here,” the man says.

“…aw, you worried about me?” you say past gritted teeth, and with a lightness that churns your gut into a further mess.

The look he gives is sobering. “…can I not be?” Then, he reaches into his belt. “Drink this. Ingulan tonic will ease and dull the pain.”

“…you lost that right a long time ago,” you quietly answer, even as you take the bottle from his offered hand.

(cont.)

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With a single motion, you pry the cork off with your teeth and down the contents of the bottle. Gasping and spitting at the sour taste that runs down your throat, you glare at him, grousing, “But I’m fine, thanks for asking…”

“No you are not,” he says, retrieving his bow, “…but I will accept that you are, in spite of your…relapse.”

“…yeah, it’d be real awful of you to lose a hunting partner, wouldn’t it?” Ingulan tonics? Big words for nothing more than strong alcohol with powdered yarrow. “Especially with all the progress we’ve made.”

“I do not ask you to accompany me,” he retorts bitterly, “It is my quest to make him answer for his crimes.”

“…but you’re not exactly telling me to fuck off either.” His quest, now that’s rich, considering how many fires you’ve both pulled each other’s asses out of. But you shake your head, ridding yourself of bittersweet memories of better times. “…so, since this clearly ain’t a pleasure visit…and you’re halfway out of arrows…and where the fuck is Silverow?”

Urath snorts. “One question at time. But…there is a problem at the beach. More enemies than just this one.”

Huh. More enemies than this bastard, and enough to warrant half of his quiver? Things are definitely taking a turn for the worst, even after you’ve come out of a bad relapse. “…and you’re not with Silverow because…?”

“In his words…’I can handle it’,” he mimics the former noble without trying too hard to pass as genuine.
In spite of your lukewarm relationship with the sorcerer in question, you snort. Or maybe it’s the alcohol loosening your tongue and lightening your mood. “Classic Silverow…”

“Can you run?” he asks.

“No, but I’m going to,” you declare, handing the rope to Urath. The pain is gonna hit worse by the time you’re done, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to leave Silverow by himself. “Take care of this guy, will you? Not all of us can leave comrades to fend for themselves.”

A low blow, but he ignores it, smirking instead as he looks to the trees. “I will be with you shortly. Just need to find thick, high enough branch for our friend to sit in for short time…”

Crazy Ingulan bastard…but hold on.

“Oi, you never did say what we’re up against!” you call as he begins to hoist the man into the air. He’s thrown the chain over a branch as thick as a barrel, and the Vascieli’s already ten feet off the ground. “Rebels, bandits…angry farmers?”

This time, his eyes betray no jocular emotion. He’s as serious as he’ll ever be. “...and I thought this was the necromancer responsible. It seems we are both wrong.”

…aw, shit.

(cont.)

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>>The Wraith of Black Alley

In the end, Pullman decided to think about the issue, but he seemed more willing to compromise than not. The landgraff is a proud man, befitting of someone bearing the heraldry of an eagle. But he is also a just man. He will, perhaps, ask von Roie permission to deal with the contact once both noble and rebel return to Westholm. The man will settle for no less than to punish the one who slandered his knights and name by with his own two hands.

You would be a hypocrite to disapprove…not that you do. If there is anything worth doing, then it must be done by one’s own hands. No matter how bloody the act might be.

Still, it seems that the landgraff of the Vale must rest. The remainder of the short time passes with small, banal talk between the children and their uncle, with nothing of import beyond the occasional entreaty for gifts or other small pleasures. Within minutes, Ser Hagenson is politely, but firmly, ushering you out from the landgraff’s tent and back into the cold outside.

The camp is certainly quieter than when you arrived. For one, there is a noticeable absence of coupling, faked or genuine, and more than one red-faced man quailing at Adrianna’s glare. Word must have gotten around that the Crowmonds had come to visit their uncle. Perhaps even the most lusty knight would lose courage if the noise of their fucking offended the princess’ ears.

On the journey back, the pockmarked squire, whose name you learn to be Reolus, makes no mistakes in guiding the cart. A smooth, uninterrupted ride across the field, over the bridge and back into the town proper without as much as a jolt or a bump. The threat banning his advancement to knighthood seems to have had a permanent affect, not that the boy seems to know that Adrianna was bluffing…or was she? She does not strike you as being that petty about creature comforts.

Returning to the village, you guide the Crowmonds back into the alderman’s house, nodding to the sentries and shutting the door. One of the servants has already started a fire, so the royals do not have to wait long before they are sufficiently warmed. Lunch will be shortly served, roast quail and rabbit stew, courtesy of Alderman Giso…who is away on business to his brewery.

Thus, with the visit of their Uncle Pullman completed, and with Adrianna declaring it to be “too cold” to venture and explore, the four of you settle in for a long, extended stay indoors…

>>Select two of the Crowmonds to entertain for the day.
>Adrianna [Politics and Nobility].
>Allanus [Magic and History].
>Ellana [Alchemy and Healing].

>Allanus [Magic and History].

>>3208091
>Ellana [Alchemy and Healing]
I'll never not pick my waifu.
>Allanus [Magic and History].
Is this a panzer commander option?

>>3208091
>Allanus [Magic and History].
>Ellana [Alchemy and Healing].

>>3208091
>Ellana [Alchemy and Healing]
>Adrianna [Politics and Nobility].

>>3208091
>Adrianna [Politics and Nobility].
>Ellana [Alchemy and Healing].

>>3208099
>>3208091
Reading comprehension? What's that?
Add
>Ellana [Alchemy and Healing].

>>3208091
>Allanus [Magic and History].
>Ellana [Alchemy and Healing].

We don't really spend that much time with the prince.

Vote called for Allanus and Ellana. Writing...

>>3208091
>Allanus [Magic and History].
>>Ellana [Alchemy and Healing].
Tasty, tasty roya-i mean exposition

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>>3208099
>>3208187
>>3208119
>>3208120
>>3208132
>>3208165
>>3208259
>>3208376

>>Ellana Crowmond
>Darkroot, [1/5]: +10 roll to anything related to identifying poisonous herbs, plants, etc.
>Lifeguard, [3/5]: +30 to anything related to identifying curative herbs, plants, etc.

The visit to Landgraff Pullman seems to have improved Ellana’s mood. She is no longer displaying any of the sullenness or anger from the day prior. The princess is just as cheerful and kind as she would be on any other day, all too eager to open another book on alchemy and peruse its contents.

It would be a lie to say you are completely relieved of the change. You doubt that her protest, ill-delivered as it had been, is coming from any deeper, underlying issue. She did have a point about your recklessness to keep her alive, but you resolve to keep a close eye on her. Just in case.

“You aren’t hurt anywhere are you?” Ellana asks as you seat yourself beside her. “They said that the drakling fell from such a terrible height.”

Offering her a slight smile, you shake your head. “Your concern is appreciated, but I am fine. I have nothing more serious than some purpling bruises and skinned palms. The beast is an even more unruly mount than that daft horse they saddled me with, and the skin of my hands is a fair trade for not falling from its back.”

“But you’re in pain, are you not?”

It would be a lie to say you aren’t, but you won’t have her fussing too much about them. “Just a little, but nothing that would seriously keep me confined to a bed. I am more than able to carry out my duty, your highness…”

For a brief instant, you see something in her eyes darken at the mention of your duty. But it fades quickly as she nods, seemingly pleased with what you have to say. “Good! Now, your current duty is to teach me about the art of alchemy, is it not?”

Perhaps it’s best not to make a fuss about it. At least, not with her siblings nearby. Adrianna has their brother going over arithmetic and history with a keen and strict eye. When the two of you are alone, then and only then will you have a very long talk about it. “Yes, that’s right.”

“So what are we going to learn today?” she asks, stretching for one of the leather-bound tomes. “More poisons, then? Healing salves and tonics? Claudia let me examine the tools of her kit, and I helped measure out ingredients for simple reactions…and she shared stories about her father's experience as War Alchemist to one of my father's campaigns...”

>>What will you teach the princess today about?
>You will teach her about the art of bomb-making.
>You will teach her about curative and restorative herbs.
>You will teach her about toxic and poisonous herbs.
>Custom option.

>>3208476
>>You will teach her about curative and restorative herbs.

>>3208476
>You will teach her about the art of bomb-making.

>>3208476
>You will teach her about the art of bomb-making.

>>3208476
>You will teach her about curative and restorative herbs.

>>3208476
>You will teach her about the art of bomb-making.

>>3208476
>You will teach her about curative and restorative herbs.

Bombs are too overt to get a pass for her.

>>3208476
On second thought, changing my vote
>>3208505
to
>You will teach her about curative and restorative herbs.

>>3208476
>You will teach her about toxic and poisonous herbs.

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>>3208482
>>3208490
>>3208538
>>3208561

Vote called for curative herbs.

Can I please get a Knowledge check to see if the lesson sticks?

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

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>>3208476
>Lifeguard, [3/5]: +30 to anything related to identifying curative herbs, plants, etc.

Knock this out first.

Pic related, Ellana at 16 when Marcus still hasn't gotten the hint.

I tried to find a photo of when Chio-chan started to accept that the MC was literally retarded about things, but this was the closest.

Rolled 24 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3208616
Today I will prove that praying to avoid nat 1 causes nat 1.
>Please no nat 1

Rolled 99 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3208616

Rolled 13 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3208616

>>3208625
Fuck yeah I'm the boss.

>>3208621
Ah, dammit. Now I'm sad because season two FUCKING NEVER.

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>>3208624
>>3208625
>>3208626
It could have been anything, really. Is it your particular teaching method on this particular day? Or the way that Ellana throws herself into studying, brute-forcing her way to understand when heuristics or simple tricks will not work. Regardless of the catalyst, no pun intended, it seems that the princess takes to your lesson with extreme gusto.

>Ellana’s Lifeguard skill has progressed to [4/5]
>She will now gain +40 to identifying curative herbs and tonics.

>Upon maxing her skill, there is a chance her skill may Mutate.
>Skill Mutation occurs during critical successes for certain stat Checks.
>Mutation is the process of a Skill becoming enhanced or otherwise turning into the next tier of a skill without any other checks.

“…thyme, clove and garlic to prevent wounds from being fouled and turning putrid,” Ellana dutifully recites as you quiz her on her lesson. She puffs her chest out smugly as you observe full marks for the seventh time in a row. “Peppermint and valerian for muscle cramps, dandelion and milk thistle to support the liver!”

“And full marks to her highness,” you note, setting down the book. “Well done. If you decide to stop being a princess, there would be no shortage of villages and cities in need of an herbalist or apothecary.”

She beams at your praise. “So does that mean-”

“If I let you anywhere near my kit, let alone my cutting knife, during any of my procedures, your sister would have my head on a platter,” you dryly counter, and she pouts at that.

There is nothing inherently wrong with teaching her old wives’ wisdom or how to otherwise know the functions of plants beyond their aesthetic appearance. Poisonous herbs would certainly be pushing it, but proper alchemy is still off the table…for now, at least.

Besides, your alchemy is not that of Claudia’s, or the sanctioned alchemists of the Empire. Your art, unrecognized by any formal authority, is more suited for death and other morbid things. Completely unnecessary for a princess to learn.

“There are so many herbs that do so many things,” Ellana says, aimlessly flipping through the book without any aim. “…why is there no single weed that cures everything?”

"A truly ponderous question for philosophers and priests,” you reply, “But I chose to think that it is just the way things are. And it’s not like we cannot process or otherwise convert reagents into placentas and powerful curatives. There are a great many deal of potions that can cure a great many deal of things.”

Like Godess’ Tears, you think, with only a small amount of guilt. A potion that costs tens of thousands of aurums, created with ingredients so rare that only Grand Masters of alchemy can brew or know its proper measurements. A potion used for royal emergencies…used to save your life.

(cont.)

The potion is not just some mere tonic. There is magic within that liquid. Nothing else could explain how the worst of your wounds staunched themselves, how it knit your flesh together in a time that would have taken months to heal. And how it drove away the cold, filled your body with warmth and life…both a miracle of alchemy and an act of magic you’ll never forget.

Palme must have given her quite the scolding…oh, dear gods. The Empress would have thrown such a fit. A potion exclusively for her own injuries, something so expensive that’s out of reach even from a majority of the landed nobility…used on some bloody commoner from the poorest slum?

…you would like to think that you’ve more than paid back that investment.

But she doesn’t think the same way. In fact, Ellana is not thinking about that night at all. Instead, her demeanor changes, and her pride and coquettish petulance give way to melancholy.

Gazing forlornly at a beautiful illustration of herbs, tracing the paths of their stems with her fingers, she exhales, sadly, “…but no potion to cure my father, it seems…"

>Ask if she wants to talk about it.
>Change the subject to something else.
>Custom option.

>>3208811
>Ask if she wants to talk about it
>Custom option: emphasize that she should talk about it if she wants to

>>3208816
support

>>3208811
>Ask if she wants to talk about it.

>>3208811

>>3208816
This.

>>3208811
>Ask if she wants to talk about it.

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>>3208816
>>3208824
>>3208825
>>3208864
>>3209011

Sometimes, you are too quick to forget that Ellana is not just any noble lady, not some lordling count’s daughter or an archduke’s heiress. She is an Imperial princess, and her father is the Emperor of Aderaveth. The blood of Maxvell the Great flows through both of their veins, and for two hundred years, their family has ruled over the empire the Crimson Tyrant forged.

But here, her words are not the stiff, artificially cultured words from one noble to another. Hers are simply that of a worried daughter greatly troubled and concerned about her ailing father.

“…would you like to talk about it?” At her look, you elaborate further, “Only if you wish to.”

There is no one else in the room. Her siblings had departed to get stew from the servants. There is no one who would otherwise interrupt your conversation…but just to be sure, you check outside for servants and throw more logs into the fire. There is no one nearby. The fire is merrily blazing in the hearth, hissing and popping as veins of sap ignite, splitting under the heat of the flames.

Ellana chews on her lip, mulling the decision over in her little head. It seems that beyond your little issue as her protector and Yaya’s tirade, there are a great many things that weigh on the little princess’ mind.

“…mother doesn’t like to talk about it,” she eventually says, slumping down on the table. Her gaze betrays nothing as she stares at some undefined space on the wall. “All I know is that father has been ill for some time…”

Nearly two years, but the specifics escape you. By the time her mother assumed regency of the throne, you were still a little gutter rat in the slums of Karthmire. The man has been bedridden for the last two years. Certainly enough time for people to suspect the worst and conspire about the reason for the cloak-and-dagger play.

There’s no obvious reason to think how the empire would benefit by faking such a thing, or otherwise covering up his death. Such things never affected you until very recently.

“…your father is not the first sovereign to take leave due to illness,” you comfort her.

“No, he isn’t,” she admits, “But mother won’t permit any of us to see him. The only ones allowed into his chambers are herself, Lord Commander Palme…and our Yaya. Even Ansell can’t get in.”

Disconcerting as that is, it at least confirms that the man is still alive. But that might just make things worse. Adrianna and Allanus seem to be able to live without worrying too much about the emperor’s illness. And the brief moments you had with Emeron, he doesn’t appear to be that irritated beyond his mother, not him, serving as regent of the empire. If anything, the crown prince is all the more happier that she’s calling the shots.

Then the question becomes: what separates Ellana from her siblings?

(cont.)

“When was the last time you saw him?” you gently ask.

She replies without lifting her head: “Just before I was being sent to foster with the von Roies…nearly three years ago.”

Gods above and below. That certainly might explain things.

As if in response to the look on your face, she hurriedly responds, “I-it’s not that bad, really. Fostering is normal, and I still remember lots of things that we did before I left. I’ll have you know I have a good memory, Marcus.”

“Of course, your highness.”

But the vigor is quick to leave her, and she lapses into melancholy once more. “…I remember his voice, the feeling of his hands on my head and shoulders…how itchy his chin was when he didn’t shave…”

You remain quiet as the princess rambles, going on about impressions, sensations, vistas from her earliest years. And therein lies the difference: her siblings have had time to both be fostered and have solid memories with their father. But the same could not be said about your charge.

“Uncle Alistair would write letters,” Ellana says, gazing towards the fire, “Talking about his demesnes, imperial business and other functions of the crown. But he always made time for me to dictate something for me, no matter how small or boring it was. And…I can’t help but think that he never got to read beyond the first few months of my stay.”

“I’m sure your mother would have read them to him-”

“And I’m sure she would have,” she agrees, sourly, “…which is why I had separate messages for her and father.”

…another point of contention for another day, you suppose.

“Then you want to learn medicine for your father’s sake?” you ask. Even though the best healers and ingredients are at your family's beck and call? is the question that goes unasked. "You've a long way to go before you're brewing anything beyond tea...permitting your sister lets us."

Her brow twitches at the mention of Adrianna, but she shrugs in response to the question. “It was something on my mind, even before that stupid Yaya read her stupid bones. Now I have a whole family to be scared of loosing. But…at least learning about healing herbs and plants and restoratives didn’t make me feel so…helpless. Or useless. It showed that I…” Ellana has to pause, checking the door before she continues, “…it shows that I hadn’t just forgotten father.”

>Assure her that her siblings are not as callous as she thinks.
>Distract her by changing the subject to something lighter.
>Suggest that her father would be touched by her efforts.
>Custom option.

Also last post before I sleeeeeeeeeep

>>3209076
>>Assure her that her siblings are not as callous as she thinks.
>If the empress has gone to these lengths, then that means it is her decision for you siblings to focus on matters of the kingdom. It may not be that they agree, but active infighting within the Royal Family does not make for a stable kingdom.
>I could not say if the Empress is right or not; I do not exactly have experience as a mother. All I can say is that I approve of dedicated learning: whatever you choose to do, it is better than sitting around stewing in frustrations.

>>3209076
>Custom option.
Teach her poisons.
>"Don't forget his enemies either"

>>3209104
support

>>3209076
This>>3209104

>>3209104
>>3209076
+1

>>3209104
>>3209076
This is surprisingly good.

>>3209076
>Distract her by changing the subject to something lighter.
LiGHtEr TOne

>>3209731
That was Moloch

>>3209104
>>3209159
>>3209266
>>3209408
>>3209487
>>Assure her that her siblings are not as callous as she thinks.

Ellana makes a derisive noise in the back of her throat. “Then they do a good job of hiding their concern. I’ve never seen Adrianna begging mother to see father, or Allanus trying to sneak into his chambers. Emeron is still busy keeping the imperial peace, but at even he makes some effort to try and butt heads with mother over access to his bedside.”

You pause to think over your words. Then, you say, “Your siblings have other responsibilities as well, beyond concern for your father. As you said, your brother leads his Silver Knights to keep the peace-”

“And my sister is too busy concerned about which dress goes best with which cloak and jewelry,” she counters, “And my brother…all of us are worried about his control…fledgling and barely existent as it is.”

“Magic is not a gift as much as it is a burden of responsibility, taking years to master…”

“And he treats it like a toy,” she sighs, and the both of you remember the near-fire that happened in Alnerwich’s great hall. Silverow would have thrown a fit, but that foppish Patryck Mazur was an idiot for encouraging the prince to show off with parlor tricks.

Tentatively, slowly, you place a hand upon her shoulder, squeezing lightly as she looks up from the table. “I seem to recall that you had no desire to grow up quickly. Why are you in a hurry to burden yourself with responsibility?”

Ellana pouts. “That’s cheating.”

“Simply the effect of a good memory,” you counter, and she sticks her tongue out in response. Continuing, you elaborate further, “But if your mother has gone to such lengths...I would believe that she does not wish for you to worry.”

“But how could I not worry,” she grouses, sitting up in her chair, “When she is tight-lipped about father’s condition and forbids us from seeing him?”

Silence. Inhaling, you intone, “…I do not have exactly any experience as a mother…nor as someone who ever had a mother. But I would think that the burden of your father’s illness is one the empress insists on bearing alone. She does not wish to bother you.”

She stares, before shaking her head. “Bother us…bother me? How is caring about father a bother to her?”

“Not a bother,” you correct hastily, raising a hand in supplication, “But…a concern, a worry. It is her duty to be directly responsible for his wellbeing, and not his children’s.”

“…how noble of her,” Ellana eventually declares, “But is it necessary to keep us locked out and away, stewing about in frustration?”

It is a rhetorical question, but you answer it anyway. “You are not stewing about. All three of you are doing merely what she wishes, living your lives and youth…although I cannot say if she is right nor not.”

“I doubt that mother would be pleased with Allanus throwing fireballs like snowballs..."

(cont.)

Shrugging, you counter, “Something for Silverow and your sister to work on. But it would only make things worse if you held any animosity to your siblings.”

Ellana sulks, twisting her shoulder from out of your grip as she reaches for a nearby mug of water. Sipping from its depths with both hands around the vessel, the littlest Crowmond stews in silence. And you let her, with only the sound of your breath and the crackling of the fire to fill the space between you.

“…I don’t hate them…” she mutters, “I just wished that they cared more.”

Not completely unreasonable, but this might hit too close with her…outburst the prior day. Instead, you try to make the logical approach: “Infighting between nobility, especially the royal family, is never good for everyone involved.”

She turns on her seat, swiveling to frown at you with a petulant glare. “I’m not about to declare war on them-”

“No matter the scale, it is never good for the kingdom involved for the royal family to be fighting amongst themselves…in our case, the Empire’s wellbeing.” Now that’s rich, the stability of the empire coming from a former gutter rat, thriving on the lack of order afforded by the slums. “So it’s not wrong for you to act your age or otherwise be like your siblings…”

>Ellana approves!
>??? sharply approves!
>Ellana will remember that.
>??? will remember that.

The princess puffs her cheeks in irritation before setting her head down on the table. Her forehead comes to rest against the thick tome of alchemy with a muffled thump. With her head still pressed into the binding of the book, she says, “…so you never had a mother?”

The change of subject catches you by surprise. Stilling your heart at the unexpected question, you slowly reply, “…I never knew my mother.” A true statement, one that does not otherwise botch the cover story you and Palme came up with. There are almost too many adventuring orphans missing a parent, or both.

It seems that the knowledge causes her to shudder. At least she does not loath the empress to wish to be in your position. “How awful…do you know what happened to her?”

“…my...my father refused to say anything,” you admit, cringing at the beatings Lucien would give at such questions. The mere act of referring to that man as your parent is enough to bring bile to the back of your throat. “The subject was…sensitive to him.”

“He must have loved her very dearly, then,” Ellana muses innocuously, ignorant of how her words cause your face to twist.

The thought that you are the byproduct of love is equal measures incredulous and horrific to think about. At least thinking that your mother was a whore or a distraction during a mission provided some comfort and reason as to why the lessons were so harsh. Although, for Lucien to love a woman…it only spoke more about her than him if she was content for you to become what you are now.

(cont.)

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>>Later
Dinner passes quickly enough, a meal as good as the prior nights. It is not the lavish banquet served in both Alnerwich and Karthmire, but the Crowmonds do not complain. It seems that their tastes have suitably adjusted. Snidely, you think they might not have if the alderman did not have such a quality larder, richer than a majority of the landed peasantry.

Once everything is cleared away, the children return to their respective studies once more. Ellana has opted to read more of the herbalist book, sitting quietly at the table. Adrianna is content to perform needlework by the hearthfire, concentrating fiercely at the needles and thread in her lap. As for Allanus…

“You killed a drakling!” the little prince whispers excitedly, vibrating in his seat as you pull up beside him, “That was amazing, the way you just…I want to hear everything!"

In spite of yourself, you manage to crack a smile. It seems that at least someone has a high opinion of your recklessness. But perhaps you shouldn’t encourage your particular brand of…suicidal behavior in such an impressionable lad. His siblings might not ever forgive you.

>>Select one option:
>Discuss his favorite heroes, myths, legends. [History]
>Entertain his request for stories about your fights and battles. [???]
>Focus on talking about his magical talent. [Magic]

>>3210470
>Focus on talking about his magical talent. [Magic]

>>3210470
>>Discuss his favorite heroes, myths, legends. [History]

>>3210470
>Discuss his favorite heroes, myths, legends. [History]

>>3210470
>>Entertain his request for stories about your fights and battles. [???]

>>3210470
>Discuss his favorite heroes, myths, legends. [History]

Commentating on his magics not really our place, and the drake battle we can save for a better time. Get the kid to talk about his hero's and we might be able to get him to concentrate on his studies and control more.

>>3210470
>Entertain his request for stories about your fights and battles. [???]

>>3210470
>Entertain his request for stories about your fights and battles. [???]

>>3210470
> >Entertain his request for stories about your fights and battles. [???]

Each time, talk about what it cost you. Losing parts of yourself, losing people. About how winning battles can lose you wars.

Then tie it into talking about his magic. How it's to be used to protect the things he cares about more than destroying the things he hates.

>>3210470
>Entertain his request for stories about your fights and battles

>>3210470
>Entertain his request for stories about your fights and battles. [???]

>>3210414
>??? approves
Who could possibly be listening?
>Entertain his request for stories about your fights and battles. [???]

>>3210470
>Entertain his request for stories about your fights and battles. [???]
I'm with >>3210579
Allanus is going to need more concrete examples of cost and Silverrow won't be the first to explain them.

Vote called for regaling the prince with your fights and battles. Writing...

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>tfw no one wants to learn about Magic

>>3211615
I was thinking about it, but everyone else seemed pretty set in their ways.

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>>3210503
>>3210533
>>3210558
>>3210579
>>3210726
>>3210790
>>3211229

Very well. You will regale the prince with stories about the fights and battles you have participated in…within reason, of course. His sisters are still in the room, and you will spare all of them the gorier details for Adrianna’s sake.

“You were there when we fought the monster,” you say, sipping from a tankard to clear your throat. “And you performed an admirable job in protecting your sisters. I am not the most…knowledgeable when it comes to high sorcery, but a shield of that caliber is certainly no small feat.”

A half-truth. Her choler was Water, the magic of emotion, flow and feelings. The spells that Tidecasters specialize are those in a supporting role, bolstering their allies while undermining their enemies. Of course, they are capable of utilizing offensive spells should the opportunity arise. From globes of boiling water to the more advanced spears of ice, woe to those unprepared to fight a prepared and Tower-trained Tidecaster.

Water is your area of familiarity. But from sheer memory alone, you can safely guess that the prince is a Flameweaver, a sorcerer with the choler of Fire. Certainly, he fits the description of folk tales and the archetypal pyromancer – reckless, brash, passionate and excitable. Their entire repertoire of spells are almost entirely offensive, with barely any defensive or support magics.

It would only be natural for you to know some rudimentary knowledge about the opposite of her choler. Your knowledge of the cholers of Earth and wind, and their respective Stoneshakers and Airdancers, are even less than that. But you know enough that for Allanus to cast a spell more suited for any other choler is certainly no small feat.

The statement you offer is only a polite observation, but the prince seems to delight in it, nonetheless. “I only owe Raleigh letting me cast it because of your insistence, Painel. So I thank you for that opportunity to prove myself!”

If anything, you should be the one thanking him. What a remarkable boy. Casting a spell above his skill level, and he has enough energy to run around the town and harass his sisters. The little prince seems to be a veritable wellspring of magic, certainly no slouch in terms of raw talent and power.

“But enough about that! I missed everything when we ran aground, and by the time I got back up, you were gone!” He stares at you, eyes wide and excited. “So when you rode away to bait the drakling, how exactly did you get on its back?”

“A potent combination of rope and no shortage of luck,” you reply, settling into your role as a storyteller…

>You give a sanitized account of your battle with the drakling.
>You removed mention of the aftermath and the encounter with Feija.

“…any season other than winter, and I don’t believe I would have survived the fall,” you conclude. “Nothing broken save for a few bruises on my backside.”

(cont.)

>>3211701
Wonder what the fifth one is. Void?

>>3211739
That's one of it's names. Other names include quintessence, spirit magic, chaos energies...the fifth element of high sorcery is raw magic in its purest form.

>>3211739
Yes.
Ubik, Slan, Femto, Conrad, and Void.

>>3211751
non-elemental, almighty, god juices, super goop....

The fifth element is mysterious indeed.

>>3211751
Sorry to distract you again, then, but I'm curious, and you might've said/shown this already, but if so, I've forgotten:

Where is lightning under? Wind or Fire? Usually it's one of the two if not its own element.

...bleah, looking back on it, I don't like the names for the sorcerers for the cholers of Earth, Wind and Fire. Gimme a sec to change those...

Water - Tidecasters
Fire - Flamecharmers
Earth - Earthshakers
Wind - Stormweavers

>>3211793
The sub-element of Lighting is underneath Wind. Fire has a sub-element called Starfyre (read: plasma). Water is Ice. Earth (stone) is metal and magma.

>>3211814
Wow good job Nickelodeon.

>>3211701
His desert and drink long forgotten, Allanus pays attention to every single word with rapt fascination. Amusingly, you can spot Ellana frowning, a chilly glare from her direction before she turns her back to the both of you. Even Adrianna’s hands work at noting as she strains to listen from her seat by the fire.

“…but…but you just left it there? The corpse?” he eventually asks. “Without taking any trophies?”

“…nothing but a fang or two,” you slowly answer, maintaining a neutral expression. This is an outright lie, but you have little desire to mention the aftermath of the battle, let alone your meeting with the dragon cultists. “And some ambergris and bones.”

You pause, and then add, “I’m no adventurer…not anymore. I have something more important to do than chase glory and self-aggrandizement.”

The sputtering noise from Ellana’s direction goes unmentioned by either of you. But Allanus does not seem satisfied with your answer.

His brow furrows in a confused, but definite frown. “But…you’re the first man to slay a drakling by yourself in…” You can see the arithmetic he performs in his head before he continues, “…only four years, but still an impressive feat-”

“Not by myself,” you cut him off, not unkindly, “I merely delivered the finishing blow. That battle’s victory belongs to not just me. It also belongs to Urath, Raleigh Silverow…Bellatrix Lupine and your uncle and his Eagle Knights. And we were not fighting to kill it. Driving it away would have been fine, but we had no choice when it became enraged.”

“And why were you not fighting to kill it?” he asks, as if angry on all of your behalf. “Crownguards are the sworn champions of their respective Crowmond…if an enemy appears to threaten a single one of us or yourselves, then you must slay them.”

You give him an odd look. “…your safety far outstrips any glory we might gain by prioritizing to slay the beast, your highness.”

Allanus bites on his lip, chewing on the information you’ve given him as if it was a difficult statement. You can see the gears turning in his head as he frowns, purses his lips and otherwise tries to understand that there are more important things than destroying your enemies.

Then, he suddenly perks up, “What about that bandit captain? Or…or that Blutlinge you killed? The one the Alnerwich alchemists dragged into Mazur’s great hall?”

Now that catches you by surprise. “Who told you about my part with the Blutlinge?”

It’s almost reflexive the way he quickly points to his sister. The Crowmond in question has the decency to hide behind her needlework, but there was no mistaking the guilty flush on her cheeks. Meanwhile, you can hear the loud SMACK of your charge palming her forehead.

(cont.)

“…it was bound to get out eventually,” you mutter to yourself, resigned and resolved to have Adrianna keep a tighter lip on things, “…yes, I did kill that Blutlinge. And the barbarian captain Augvarr.”

“Were those kills not for glory as well?” he demands, “Or were they just slain because they stood in your way? Because even if you will not boast yourself, people will still speak in admiration of your actions.”

>“Do not assume that the Crownguard are your surrogate tools for glory.”
>“I fight to protect the people I care for, not to destroy the things I hate.”
>“Prestige and fame are useless to me if Ellana, your own sister, is dead.”
>“Your desire to show off will get you and your loved ones killed, little prince.”
>Custom option.

Gotta take care of something, be back in a bit...and don't scold him too hard, he's just a pre-teen boy...

>>3211861
>“Do not assume that the Crownguard are your surrogate tools for glory.”
>“I fight to protect the people I care for, not to destroy the things I hate.”
>“Your desire to show off will get you and your loved ones killed, little prince.”

>don't scold him too hard
He needs the lesson driven into his head before he grows up into a shithead and trades his passion for glory.

>>3211861
The Blutlinge was an unfortunate by product of my investigation onto the attempt on my charge's life. I could either kill it, or let it kill innocents and lose any chance of finding the culprits. So I kept it busy until someone could dispose of it properly. So it was "in the way" as you speak.

The barbarian captain lead the attack on all of you. If he died? the enemy would lose heart and run like the scum they were. He was also a cut above most enemies I've fought. Letting him attack freely would have possibly gotten you all killed. So he too died.

I do not fight to win glory. I fight to protect the Royal family. Glory does not bring back the dead, feed the hungry or save lives. I can understand your desire to see heroes out of the tales Allanus, but rarely do they tell you about what it costs them in the end. I'd prefer to forego it if at all possible. The Vascelli seem to be determined to prevent that for me.

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>>3211861

>>3210579
Ban this anon please.

>>3211861
>“Do not assume that the Crownguard are your surrogate tools for glory.”
>“Prestige and fame are useless to me if Ellana, your own sister, is dead.”
>“Your desire to show off will get you and your loved ones killed, little prince.”

>>3211861
>“Your desire to show off will get you and your loved ones killed, little prince.”

>While there are uses for a grand reputation, glory is never the final goal. There is danger aimed at you and your siblings, and it's simply a matter of weighing the risks of being present the moment it strikes or ending the threat before danger ever becomes a possibility.
>I will also note that there is no glory killing Blutlinge, only dread. If I could lay a storehouse full of bombs and lure it in from the comforts of the castle, that would be vastly preferable to fighting it face to face.

the barbarian captain Augvarr was the lynch pin of the savages cohesion, and you never give a blood mage and his creations a chance to fight again it's far too risky all they need is a drop of your blood.
my choices have always been tactile in nature it was never for glory

>>3211861
>“Prestige and fame are useless to me if Ellana, your own sister, is dead.”
>“Your desire to show off will get you and your loved ones killed, little prince.”

>>3212054
>>3211861
>Custom option.
"Allanus I think you are misinterpreting something from the tales and legends you've read about, romanticized as they usually are. A lot of them weren't fighting for glory, that came after their deeds. Most of them were fighting because they HAD to. For a cause, an ideal, to protect something or someone. A higher purpose than fighting for glory's sake. That's why they are remembered.

Fighting merely for glory in and of itself can lead to an early grave out of recklessness. If you're going to fight, do it for the right reasons."

>>3211861
>“Prestige and fame are useless to me if Ellana, your own sister, is dead.”

This too>>3211893

>>3211828
Hey, their explanation for Lighting was perfectly reasoned.

>>3211893
>>3211861

This is a good explanation.

>>3211934
Well fuck you too buddy.

>>3212577
Fuck off Rose.

>>3212675
The shot of her kissing Finn with Finn's 'What the fuck' expression with the Rebels all dying behind them because she fucked over his suicide attempt to save the day has to be the most unintentionally hilarious shots of 2017

>>3212721
So . . . I accidentally quoted Star Wars?

Lol.

>>3211861
"People will still speak in admiration of your actions"
>"I have doubts Empress would share your sentiment, young prince"
>"I promised your mother that all of you will reach your destination safely. All of this is me working on that promise."

>"As thing about glory. Glory brings fame. And I find safety and strength in being inconspicuous. So glory doesn't work for me"

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>>3211875
>>3211893
>>3211934
>>3211962
>>3212054
>>3212168
>>3212176
>>3212802
...does he think that the Crownguard are his tools for glory? Believe that their victories, or at least Silverow’s and Urath’s, likewise belong to their bonded noble? The implication is flabbergasting, but not entirely unsurprising. It seems that it’s only nascent, not nearly as bad as it could be. And there are too many stories of superiors, noble or otherwise, all too content to reap the fame of their levies, subject and underlings without shedding a drop of blood.

Maybe it’s a point of pride or contention for the little prince. Perhaps a kind of rivalry between him and his siblings as to who’s Crownguard performs the best. You highly doubt that there is any malice or ill intent between it, nothing beyond youthful ignorance. But it would be best to nip this in the bud before it can develop into anything worse.

“...I didn’t mean to run into the monster,” you slowly say, in a measured tone that brokers no flippancy, “That kill was simply an unfortunate…byproduct of my investigation into the Alchemists’ Fire. I could either kill it, or let it slaughter its way through the guild. Even if I wanted it, glory was the last thing on my mind that night.”

“Then what was?” he asks, coming off as both genuinely curious and abrasive simultaneously.

“Information on the Vascieli. And the fact that there was…there was a friend of mine in immediate danger. Would that I could kill it without making such a fuss, but the nature of Blood Magic and its abominations make interactions seldom subtle or unnoticed…”

You see something akin to comprehension flash in his eyes, but Allanus remains frowning. Continuing, you intone, “…there is no glory in fighting or killing a Blutlinge. Rapid regeneration, coagulating blood, hide thick enough that almost need magic weapons to pierce…fighting the children of the Crimson Tyrant on an equal level is dreadful. Had I the time or opportunity, I would have preferred the honorless, safer method of an ambush. With bombs.”

He doesn’t react with as much distaste as you expect. It seems that he knows the dangers of the Blutlinge, or at least recognizes how threat they are. Wasn’t he the one, after all, who confirmed that it was the Warlock of Envy that was responsible for the entire plot? As a student of magic, you would expect him to be all but inundated about the perils of Blood Magic, its fell creations and the consequences of dabbling in its arts.

“…then what about that barbarian, Augvarr, Champion of Ultar?” he asks, drawing his breath as if to spit at the mention of the old god before thinking better of it. “Flaming sword and axe in hand…”

“The cornerstone of their cohesion,” you darkly intone, disgusted at the memories that the name brings to the front of your mind. “Killing him broke their morale quickly enough. They routed as soon as I’d killed him.”

(cont.)

Allanus nods in agreement, but his face remains clouded. “…there are some Eagle Knights who whisper that you stole the honor of battling Augvarr that rightfully belonged to Ser Hagenson. Not from me, though,” he hastily adds at the surprise on your face, “…I just heard a little bit of it when we visited Uncle Kieran’s tent…between that and the drakling…”

In hindsight, you should have seen that coming. If Hagenson was offended at your intervention, he did a good job of hiding his irritation. Which you doubt, of course, as you’d saved his life.

No, it would make more sense for his men to be angry on their commander’s behalf…and maybe their liege as well. The drakling killed…too many. Only under a little bit of half of the initial two hundred Eagle Knights made it to Westholm uninjured, and another forty limped along. Sixty died to both the drakling and the Vascieli ambush, and they had not a chance to avenge both their comrades and their injured landgraff.

Not when you had slain the ones most responsible for their grievances.

“…how bothersome,” you exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. Now you have to worry about a possible confrontation with your own damned allies. “…thank you for bringing that issue to my attention, your highness. But I don’t think that is the only reason for you to disagree with me.”

He hesitates before nodding. “I just don’t…how could you be so indifferent to fighting even though you’re good at it? Even Bella and Urath…they embrace any fight involving our immediate safety...”

Curiously, he leaves out mention of Silverow. Perhaps you have more in common with the sorcerer than you think.

Directing as flat of a stare as you can towards him, you chortle dryly, “I have doubts that the Empress would share your sentiment or desire for action, young prince. I think she might be horrified, if not angry, that we’ve had this much trouble getting you to your other uncle. All of us…Bellatrix, Urath, Silverow and I have promised your mother that you would reach Mont Gormaic safely in spite of the daggers pointed at you and your siblings, not too try and prove a point of superiority.”

Especially when you suggested that going into hiding would be a safer option.

But you ignore the little voice in the back of your head. “Fighting merely for glory’s sake is a reckless path to an early grave. If you’re going to fight, do it for the right reasons. You’ll get yourself and no shortage of people killed.”

Glaring, he counters, “I’m not an idiot who’d charge headfirst into battle without a strategy-”You hold up a hand in a placating gesture, “Peace, your highness. I meant no offense. Merely a point that no amount of prestige, even that of a hero’s, can bring back the dead or save lives.”

(cont.)

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There’s little more that can be said. If you were to take a guess, the little prince has a great desire to prove himself. For what reason, you can’t tell, but that’s a discussion for a later time. It would not be good to otherwise overwhelm him in a single night. How many tragedies were there about heroes seeking prestige and fame, only to find it in death, celebrated in songs handed down from one generation to the next?

“And glory is such an inconvenient thing for me…” your hand rests towards your knife, fingers gently tapping the pommel of the blade, “Glory brings fame. And I’ve found safety and strength in being obscure and unkown, especially when we have to be careful about where we go, now more than ever. Glory does not work for me, and I’ve never found use in it.”

>Ellana approves.
>Adrianna approves.

The prince’s brow is curved so sharply that you might think it would never return to normal. Though he remains unconvinced, you’ve at least shown your side of the argument. And he’s at least got something to think about before going to bed.

>Allanus will remember that.

Later, once all the royals have all washed and begin to go to their rooms, you accompany them to the upper floor. In the master bedroom, the three will share the alderman’s bed, leaving you upon the ground in the Specter’s Dream.

But before Allanus goes to bed, pausing as his sisters fuss over sleeping arrangements, he catches your eye with a curious look.

“…it must work for you,” he says quietly, without anything beyond curious wonder, “Obscurity, I mean. Ansell, Urath and Raleigh could not find any mention of your life as an adventurer prior to your life with us.”

And with those words that freeze your blood, the prince follows his siblings and settles quietly into a deep night’s slumber.

>>The following day…

Apparently, one more day of being trapped inside of the house is enough for the siblings, even Adrianna. The fact that her siblings’ restlessness had frayed on her nerves probably had something to do with it, and she brokers no arguments, not even from you. It seems they had already contracted cabin fever long before your return to Westholm.

“Being cooped up like some prized hen is not how a princess should live!” she declares, shivering as she steps out into the village square. “And there’s nothing wrong with a bit of fresh air every now and again, so long as we’re adequately protected!”

A small contingent of knights and servants will accompany you into the town proper. They trail close enough to be seen and rush quickly should something happen, but far enough so as not to disturb their walk or otherwise impair their view of the scenery. You are the only one closest to them, and thus find yourself in the stressful position of keeping your eyes and senses paying close attention to everything in the village.

(cont.)

“Don’t run too far!” The eldest Crowmond shouts as Allanus and Ellana chase each other, any animosity between them forgotten or otherwise set aside. They’ve not yet resorted to throwing snowballs, only for the fact that the muddy slush would be impossible to remove from their clothing. “And for the sake of the gods, not too fast!”

But beyond checking ramparts and rooftops, tavern entrances and market stalls, you keep a close eye towards the Eagle Knights accompanying you. Your exit from the alderman’s house prompted the casual stiffness afforded to the royal children, but you could detect at least one of them, no more than two out of the six, staring at you with less than pleasant neutrality.

They would not forsake their oaths just at some petty stab at your duty, but you keep a close eye, nonetheless. Hopefully, the opportunity will present itself for you to at least try to isolate the ringleaders and make amends…or threaten them into abandoning the issue. Whichever is the more permanent solution to the problem…

>Roll 1d100 Encounter.
>Best out of three.

Rolled 11 (1d100)

>>3214502
Nat 1?

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>3214502
ahhh

Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>3214502

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>3214482
Oh shit, All Anus knows about us being basically Corvo Atano like holy shit Kaz you fucking hack.

>>3214502
SHOW ME THE 100

>>3214511
… Holy high-jumpin Hyperbole Kaz man, we got ourselves a shitpsoter here!

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>>3214511
For the once and future record, so that this does not get brought up again, the name "Allanus" is a derivative/corruption from the Breton name "Elanus". It is also the name of of a genus of bird, as well as the origin of the name "Alan". I would really be disappointed if anyone thought that I carelessly named the prince something vulgar without thinking twice.

Writing...

>>3214537
He may not be All Anus but he's still a little prick.

>>3214571
oof

>>3214571
When he grows up and becomes a Lich he'll change his name to Hugh Janus.

>>3214537
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=21hBPopYjHU


This vaguely reminds me of Marcus in the first thread.

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>>3214504
>>3214507
>>3214510

It happens almost too quickly. The Crowmonds are watching a blacksmith hammer out a horseshoe for one of the knights, and are most definitely not taking advantage of the warmth the forge provides. Allanus looks worryingly attracted to the roar and below of the flames, even as his sisters observe the process of the forging.

You were expecting a threat from the rooftops or distant ramparts, even from a chimney or another building. A lone bowman, perhaps an assassin disguised as a chimney sweep, even…even a bloody fishmonger, but what the hell would a fishmonger be doing in the middle of the winter when everything’s frozen?

A threat to the Crowmonds would have been easier to deal with. Or at least, easier to explain or otherwise make disappear.

“M-Marcus? Is that you?”

You almost don’t want to believe the voice that you hear, a voice in foggy memories that you coaxed to screaming your name in wild abandon. And those memories are only growing stronger as they come to the front of your mind…as well as the response she elicits from your body.

She had been approaching with no hostile intent, even with her head bundled up in a thick woolen cloak. The basket in her hands is small enough to hold a knife, disguised underneath her foodstuffs, but her hands lack the calluses for such activity, a fact you know for yourself. But there’s no mistaking the blonde hair that peeks out from her hood, nor the blue eyes that capture that meet your gaze.

It is not even a loud question, barely enough to cause the villagers to pause around you. But it is enough to draw attention from the remainder of the Crowmonds, who stare first at the woman, then back to you. How could they be not surprised? Being who you are, it would be odd for strangers to approach you…

…disregarding Klara and Claudia, but that’s beside the point!

Even with her hood up, and her thick clothing covering up most of her attributes, her face is still plainly visible to everyone within sight. The guards are surprised, gawking openly, some of them. The little prince’s cheeks heat as he stares too long, quickly looking away before his eyes begin to trail too far own. Ellana remains surprised while Adrianna’s narrow with open suspicion.

Either she failed to recognize the commotion she created, or she simply doesn’t care. Because Carris of Westholm walks right past them. She has eyes only for you. The worst part is that you can’t tell if the way she emphasizes each step is deliberate on her part or a lingering consequence of how…thoroughly you had your way with her.

“…g-good morning, Marcus,” the prostitute says, a tinge of red on her face that has nothing to do with the winter. “…it’s been awfully cold for the last few days...and I do hope you’ve been staying warm.”

(cont.)

>>3214601
Hah

>>3214601
“…good morning to you as well,” you answer neutrally, all too keenly aware of more than one glare boring into your backside. The worst of it is that it’s certainly more than just the pair of irascible Eagle Knights. “…Carris, what-”

“How dare you?” Adrianna interrupts, uncaring of how each step churns the slush beneath her feet and dirty the hem of her dress. The eldest princess interposes herself between you, affixing the tavern wench with a fierce and hawkish glare, not unlike her mother’s. “You certainly have brass to ignore us and not pay respect to your imperial princesses.”

It takes her a moment to realize who is standing before her. In spite of the difference in age, Carris is quick to curtsey. Three times, each before one of the Crowmonds. Unnecessary for each one, overdoing it even, but the extra courtesy does nothing to calm Adrianna. “Ah…I’m most terribly sorry, your…ladyship? Grace?”

The princess clicks her tongue in irritation. “‘Grace’ for my father, ‘your highness’ to me and my siblings. Make that mistake again, and I'll correct your manners myself,” she answers coolly, before turning the brunt of her ire towards you. “Marcus, who is this rude...peasant to address you so boldly and familiarly?”

>Claim she is a friend from your wilder, adventuring days. [Lie]
>Tell her the truth, but sanitized for the sake of her siblings. [Truth]
>Custom option. [Write-in]

>>3214614
>Custom option: "It's a lewd-- I mean long story."

>>3214614
>Claim she is a friend from your wilder, adventuring days. [Lie]

>>3214614
>We met at tavern(inn?) after I had returned to you all and I asked her about the situation and the rumor mill around here.

>Now Carris while it is good to see you again I *am* on duty here.

>>3214614
>Tell her the truth, but sanitized for the sake of her siblings. [Truth]

>>3214614
>Tell her the truth, but sanitized for the sake of her siblings. [Truth]
we enlisted her aid in tending to our wounds and the matter the others are investigating.

this is suuuuch a bad influence on allanus

>>3214614
>>3214633
this

>>3214639
Ditto

Calling the vote for a mix of "Truth" and the "Write-in" of eUg/l/J9.

Writing...

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>>3214628
>>3214629
>>3214633
>>3214634
>>3214639
>>3214671
>>3214698
Give me a drakling any day of the week…

Carris could not have appeared at a worse time, but it’s Adrianna’s outburst that brings attention towards you. Some of the villagers have stopped, looking on with more curiosity than concern that one of their own is being shaken down by a princess. They do not look as if they are to rush to her defense, though. Perhaps they are either too lethargic, the villagers simply are not fond of her, or the guards do a good job of keeping them away.

Still, you have an irritated princess to mollify, one who’s demanding an immediate answer with a cocked eyebrow and a frigid glare. “Well, Marcus?”

…it looks like there isn’t going to be any lies or half-truths today. Although for her siblings’ sake, there wouldn’t be any problem in double-talk and entendres she might only get…no, implications that she will get. For whatever reason, Adrianna is all but too quick to judge a dubious remark as improper.

“…Princess Adrianna, may I introduce to you, Carris…of Westholm,” you exhale, looking towards the woman in question. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your family name…”

“Narten. Carris Narten of Westholm.” She curtsies again, equal measures for a greeting and precautionary manners. “I’m a server at the River’s Rest Inn for Herr Hennick.”

A technical truth. She certainly does serve more than just alcohol and food to customers with the coin. But Adrianna doesn’t seem to be fooled, or perhaps she’s naturally suspicious of peasants without proper introduction.

“Carris, it’s good to see you again,” you say, truthfully even. Certainly, the more primal part of your brain is pleased with seeing her. “But for the goddess’ sake, I’m *on* duty.”

She wrings her hands uncertainly, confessing, “I was just so worried about you…and your injuries…”

“The concern is appreciated-”

“Ahem.

The look on Adrianna’s face could freeze a roaring river.

“…I met her two days ago, just after I’d gotten back into town,” you say, before lowering your voice so that she is the only one that can hear you. Nothing Ellana or Allanus can do to strain their ears will work. “…I didn’t want to present myself to you covered in blood, grime and dirt. I paid for a bath at the inn and for her to dress my wounds…”

“A bath…” the princess says slowly, with an edge in her tone of voice. “…surely that can’t be all that you paid?”

So that’s how she wants it to be? Very well, then.

“No, it wasn’t,” you declare bluntly, though not harshly. She blinks in surprise at your forwardness before you continue, “I paid for more than just a bath, your highness…everything and anything you could think of, I paid for and received, performed enjoyed and before returning to you.”

(cont.)

>>3214757
lmao that isn't subtle man.

>>3214767
Sanitized for Allanus and Ellana. Not for Adrianna. Besides, WOG that the youngest two Crowmonds know next to nothing about sex.

>>3214757
That was one good chicken

>>3214757
Carris turns an even deeper set of red. For a whore, she’s surprisingly easy to embarrass…or perhaps she’s simply recalling the “everything and anything” that you two did together. And the fact that it’s being discussed in front of the emperor’s daughter doesn’t help either.

For a moment, all said princess can do is stare, incomprehensive as she digests your words. Then you can see the gear click into place in her mind. Adrianna’s eyes go wide, her nostrils flare, and her cheeks turn red as she finaly understands what you did with Carris.

To her credit, the princess doesn’t nearly lose composure as you feared she would. All she does is adopt a scandalized, flushed face as she tries and fails to form words. “…you…how could…beyond improper…” she sputters.

It appears to be a day for flat looks towards nobles. “…where do you think I got the information about the Drowned Lady from? And how certain I was for where the others should have gone?”

That seems to reorient her. Swallowing heavily, she manages to adopt a façade of calm, even as she grabs you by the neck, hissing low: “And all of that…’everything and anything’…was that also necessary or otherwise an important part of your little investigation?!”

“…there was nothing that Palme said prior to swearing me in-”

“As it doesn’t bring disgrace to your office and our name!” she finishes in a harsh whisper.

“...and I took careful measures to keep everything quiet and under wraps-” you protest.

“I most certainly hope you did! But you still wouldn’t beat the record of how quickly a Crownguard fathered a child. Did you learn nothing from how stupidly the Rudnick woman and her knight-”

That actually causes both you and Carris to blanch. “Gods above and…that’s not what I even meant! And if anything, you’re the one currently making a scene.”

More and more people have gathered by the blacksmithy, enough that said smithy is beginning to get annoyed. People have already begun to whisper, some gesturing to Carris, some to you…even a few bold pointed fingers at Adrianna. And to their credit, Ellana and Allanus look almost innocuous, trying to remain unobserved as they fail eavesdrop by the noisy forge.

Carris protests, although not the way you want her to. “I…we were sure to use all matters of preventing-”

“Speak only when you’re spoken to…woman,” Adrianna cuts her off, on the verge of saying something fouler, but stopping for the sake of manners. "...and you have yet to explain why you were in a hurry to speak with him."

(cont.)

>>3214418
> Glaring, he counters, “I’m not an idiot who’d charge headfirst into battle without a strategy-”

Just catching up, but does the thought of avoiding battle being the best option never come to this kid? Just because you could win a fight with someone doesn't mean that's the best way to resolve things.

>>3214783
Nah. He's at that delicate age where boys have a "might makes right' mentality, and respect only force, violence and proving your point with your fists. That on top of the extra burden of being an emperor's son.

>>3214781
This is going *swell*

>>3214786
>telling the princess who's sweet on us we fucked a whore

>Going well


Really, ya think?


Love that trolls are trying to fuck us over.

>>3214794
Lie wouldn't have worked any better due to Carris being understandably confused and Adriana catching the lie. This is the lesser of the two evils, but I felt that there was some wiggle room to omit some details.

>>3214798
True. Your write in was the best call by far.

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>>3214781
Somehow, the prostitute is able to find some courage to stand upon. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she meets the disapproving glare in the princess’ eye with a staunch one of her own. “…I wanted to remind him of my deal.”

“And what deal was that?” she demands.

“…that since I had no customers and because he did such a good job, Ser Crownguard could come and see me,” she says, tugging down her collar with a wicked grin on her face. It isn’t the barest hint of collarbone that causes Adrianna to choke on her breath, but the red marks just along her neck that spoke of how thorough of a job you *did*. “Free of charge for as long as you’re staying in town…your highness.”

For a moment, Adrianna is silent, and even Carris looks uncertain of her words. Then, she says in a near-perfect imitation of her mother’s voice, “…I could have you horsewhipped for that.”

“Let’s not get too dramatic,” you cut in, bringing both of their attention back to you. "von Roie is going to be coming soon, and the last thing he wants to hear is his niece horsewhipping the locals-"

“This peasant is far out of line, Marcus,” she whispers through gritted teeth, “…and I’m not going to lie and say that I’m not irritated with you as well.”

>>How will you respond?
>“Believe me when I say that it was for more for your safety than my gratification.” [Clever]
>“No disrespect, but I fail to see how it’s your business as to how I spend my money.” [Standoffish]
>“This deal was for one night only, so don’t worry about me returning her offer.” [Reject]
>“Why are you so angry? Are you perhaps jealous that I spent time with her?” [Flirt]
>Custom.

>>3214808
>“This deal was for one night only, so don’t worry about me returning her offer.” [Reject]
WHEN YOU ARE FACED WITH A GIRL IN LOVE
YOU MUST DENY, DENY, DENY THE OTHER DOVE
OR A SNAKE UP YOUR ARSE SHE WILL SHOVE

>>3214808
>Custom

If she's angry with us, she shouldn't take it out on an innocent woman who has to take a job such as whoring to survive.

We're the Crowmunds Crown Guard, if she insists on whipping someone because she's mad then we're the one she should whip.

> Elana's face when

>>3214808
>“Why are you so angry? Are you perhaps jealous that I spent time with her?” [Flirt]

>>3214808
>Custom.
>"Princess I crashlanded with a Drakling in the middle of the woods after holding on for dear life and had to hoof it to Westholm by myself with all the injuries crashlanding entails. Yes I mixed business with pleasure. In learning about the Drowned Lady I took a moment to alleviate myself of the exhaustion of the past few days. If that's out of line for you I'll make a note of it for the future, but I hope you understand why I did what I did.

>Carris thank you for the offer, but I think this was a one night thing."

>>3214808
>Then I request you take it out on myself and myself alone, as the maker of the decision, not a woman who simply showed concern for my health and does what she must to survive.

>"Carris, I thank you for the offer, but I think for both our sakes, this was a one night thing."

>>3214808
>This is no conversation for the middle of a town. We already making a scene, let us go back. Discuss it inside

>Carris later

>>3214821
>>3214808
I will also support this.

We can't say that we didn't enjoy it, although we didn't intend to. It helped us move forward from some difficult times in our past as well, so we can't be rude to Carris just to soothe ruffled feathers.

>>3214808
support >>3214821

>>3214808
This seems like a good write-in>>3214813

>>3214808
Oooh, I also forgot we could go the other way too.

> Princess . . . So if I marry Carris that means it will be okay?

Just to see her reaction.

Man I feel so bad for Carris.
All she wants is some TLC, and this haughty princess just won't have it.
I can't imagine her being too fond of royalty after this encounter.
Especially if we fuck up and get her horsewhipped.

>>3214808
>“Believe me when I say that it was for more for your safety than my gratification.” [Clever]
>"Princess. If you punish anyone, punish me instead."
>"If I have spare time i'll see if I can drop by, but please remember that my duty is a full time commitment, and best left uninterrupted."