...not to mention the hours of foraging and hunting that it saves you with the food it produces each day. Nuts, dried berries, oats, cheese, and jerky are not a match for the cuisine of the Gymnasium, even though Skafos clearly took effort in pairing everything together. But without those rations, you would have needed to waste time hunting, foraging, and cooking that could have been better spent walking.

Or worse, casting Create Food and Water.

You can shape that spell with ease, but the Metal your divine gift allows you to manipulate... it affects the final product.

Had you the ability to manipulate Earth or Plants in place of metal, you could cause delicious berries and gains to spring forth from the spell once you shape it. Water would be harder to shape into a distinct weave of magic, but with fine enough control you could use it to create seaweed and fresh fish. Fire would be entirely unfair, as anything that has been touched by flame would fall under its domain, which includes most every delicious food there is.

But when shaped from common iron, or even the more artistic metals of silver, copper, and gold... the industrious and efficient nature of steel shines through all too easily. The tasteless, textureless slop it produces is perfectly balanced and can be lived on indefinitely. But by the roots of the World Tree you would not do so unless the Blight itself had taken away every other option.

Even then, you might risk becoming a Blight Elf if it meant you could enjoy something with a bit of flavor.

As you contemplate the deficiencies of your divine gift - and wonder what makes Artifice so different that Skafos' spells forged from mythril in your backpack can produce sweet berries and nutty cheeses - you come across the half-way point of the road between Alfheim and Lygos. A bit more than simply a mile-marker, it's something of a change of pace... and probably the reason why you haven't seen many caravans take this road.
>The road changes from gravel and dirt to wood and rope bridges between the Thousand Pillars of Minos
>The road leads to a long abandoned tunnel that dips beneath the rivers and approaches the Veil of the Roots
>The road seems to stop at an abbyss at the base of one of the Pillars of Minos. In actuality, it continues upon the lands facing the Sun Within.
>The road goes up to a castle overlooking the Pillars of Minos. It seems there is some sort of mechanism that crosses the shattered vale...

>>5505382
>>The road leads to a long abandoned tunnel that dips beneath the rivers and approaches the Veil of the Roots

>>5505382
>>The road leads to a long abandoned tunnel that dips beneath the rivers and approaches the Veil of the Roots

>>5505378
>The road goes up to a castle overlooking the Pillars of Minos. It seems there is some sort of mechanism that crosses the shattered vale...

I love castle

>>5505382
>The road goes up to a castle overlooking the Pillars of Minos. It seems there is some sort of mechanism that crosses the shattered vale...
Mechanisms might be good for our metal-gifted elf MC!

>>5505382
>The road leads to a long abandoned tunnel that dips beneath the rivers and approaches the Veil of the Roots
The pillars also sounded very good!

>>5505382
>>The road goes up to a castle overlooking the Pillars of Minos. It seems there is some sort of mechanism that crosses the shattered vale...

>>5505382
>The road goes up to a castle overlooking the Pillars of Minos. It seems there is some sort of mechanism that crosses the shattered vale...
Could be something like a cable car or gondola.

>>5505382
>>The road goes up to a castle overlooking the Pillars of Minos. It seems there is some sort of mechanism that crosses the shattered vale...

Its spiderweb castle time

>>5505382
>>The road seems to stop at an abbyss at the base of one of the Pillars of Minos. In actuality, it continues upon the lands facing the Sun Within.

>>5505382
>>The road changes from gravel and dirt to wood and rope bridges between the Thousand Pillars of Minos

File: Ruins of the Dragonkeep.jpg (188 KB, 800x480)

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The road ends at the ruins of a castle in greater disrepair than even the shattered paving stones that once provided a smooth journey from Alfheim to this very keep.

You need no map to recognize this place. Though only the bones remain, you still remember the shape of the structure that once stood here from its depictions within the Gymnasium's history books. Once there stood a grand and impregnable fortress of stone as black as midnight, riveted with great pitons of adamantine each as long as a tree is tall. Nine great towers stabbed into the earth like swords forged for giants, their pommel stones shaped like the bulbs of stained-glass flowers gilded in brass. They each played home to one of the Nine Dragon Kings, whom together held dominion over the Humes who lived upon the lands facing the Sun Above.

Now all that remains of their once mighty works is detritus and ash. Fangs of midnight black stone still penetrate the mountain side, melding with the sediment after centuries of disuse. Of the nine towers, only three of them still rise beyond a few scant meters, and even then the bulk of their body has wilted and fallen into dust from time and erosion. Brass, glass, and adamantine alike has been taken from this once hallowed hall, to be reforged and reblown into new works of art and war.

The gardens of the grand courtyard has become overgrown, the flowers blooming with untamed beauty - dirty, chaotic, and yet no less proud in their flashes of bright color despite their lack of tender. The vines which bear them have come to cover the remains of each tower, lending them an air of melancholic beauty that they never could have had when they still stood.

Beauty, for even after so many centuries, the flowers still carry with them the beauty they were bred for.

Melancholy, for they accentuate what has been lost to the endless corrosion of time, and how far the Humes have fallen since the loss of the Dragon Kings during the Third Blight.

Walking through the ruins, you cannot help but feel that the Humes were hit hardest by that final Blight. As the Children withstood the loss of twenty elvenhomes and the Stouts withstood the loss of a hundred mountain holds, the Humes could have withstood the loss of the tribes in the north and the kingdoms of the south. When they lost the Dragon Kings in their mad attempt to strike at the heart of the Blight, they lost the mortar holding together their society. Without those men, no single group of Humes had the strength to bring the others to heel, and an empire that once spanned the surface of the world crumbled into pieces.

Your hands idly trace the vines that have grown over the fallen slabs of blackstone, toppled megaliths that are each still as tall as you despite having toppled to their side. You can feel the history of this place flowing through the vines, for even if the Humes who once lived here are long gone, the flowers remember. They remember, and those memories have power you do not wish to waste.

With a keen mythril knife, you cut a Solar Rose from the Tower of Sky.

To the untrained eye, the flower is purest white, unblemished and unstained by an impure pigmentation. To the eye of a Child of Yggdrasil who can see the minutiae of plants as easily as a Hume could read her cousins and uncles, you can see the spindling lines of gold woven through each petal. When the night falls and the mana flows, those fibers will glow rich and yellow, like a dim sun in the night. It will make for a good present when you meet Elizabet again, and one she can wear in public as Marianna. After all, a favored handmaiden can adorn herself with a flower, can she not?

"First, extract ore..." you intone, holding forth the arm adorned with your divine focus. The vines of mythril shaped into a bangle thrum and ebb with mana channeled through your feet from the roots of Yggdrasil, and amplify your unspoken commands. "Draw forth the dragon-brass with which the kings of old adorned themselves, and let it be purified in accordance with their ancient glories."

Not every scrap of metal was pillaged from this place.

Enough remains for your Divine Gift to draw forth, and restore to its former glory.

Scraps of dragon-brass heed your call, shaking off the rust and tarnish and flowing towards your outstretched palm like rivulets of gold. The mass that you've gathered is more than you need for the magic you wish to work - far more - but you can think of other spells and crafts for which a fist-sized sphere of dragon-brass can be used. Worst case, the orb can come to sit with the balls of copper, tin, zinc, and iron until you have a need to use it. Though you do offer a silent prayer to the memories within the flowers, apologizing for taking more than you need.

"Become like water and seep into the veins of this flower," you command the metal. With very delicate motions and a precise control of the flow of mana, you slowly thread the Solar Rose with dragon brass. The golden veins that glow in the night become infused with the metal, while the flower itself is frozen in time with a gentle repose. "Lend this charm a fragment of your eternity, a protection against wilting and the ravages of age!"

The metal freezes, and with it the Solar Rose becomes frozen in time.

"Splendid! You will make a good gift for Eliza," you inform the flower. A sense of confusion and quiet acceptance drifts off it - and that won't do at all. "She's a good friend, and a princess to boot. And from what I understand, one of her ancestors lived in the tower that you've been growing upon."

But will it continue growing towards the nourishing kiss of the sun? "Oh, don't worry about that. I made a clean cut, your vine will remain healthy for another century or two at least. Another bud will grow in the place you were cut from in no time."

The flower seems satisfied with that, letting you put him away without any further complaint. You make to leave the courtyard, but something strikes you:

The time, the memories, and the power of this place represent a very unique opportunity.

History flows like sap through the vines of these flowers, remembering countless turning points in the course of fate that were decided here. There, beneath the shade of that venerable lemon tree, the first Dragon Kings made peace among themselves and divided the lands into their dominion. Here at the center of the courtyard, the oaths of loyalty taken by lesser kings - some enthusiastic, some bitter - echo through the vines as a reminder of how their empire was built. In the Tower of Stone, King Belegroth called the Forge Fathers and the Eldest to his Council, seeking to combine all efforts to battle the Blight.

There! Right in that nook is a bit of history quite relevant to your interests. On this very ground, a Daughter of Irminsul seduced the man who sat upon the Throne of the Fire Dragon and received his hot passions beneath the naked stars. She earned her place as the first among his consorts that night, and guaranteed peace between the Humes and the Children for two full centuries.

The texts she wrote - which vividly described just how big Hume men can get - inspired you to join the Daughters of Irminsul when you reached your second decade.

There is no way that you can let all this go to waste. Were you an Artifex, you probably could create a mighty wonder in this courtyard - and you have no doubt that many Artifex upon their Travail have done just that. As a Daughter of Irminsul, charms and clothes are the extent of your artifice, but you can very well ensure that whatever charm or clothing you make here will hold a certain amount of power that would require the Great Tools to mimic.
>Craft yourself a charmed flower, like the one you made for Elizabet. (1 Hour)
>Craft yourself a set of Lucky Underwear using silk from some of the flowers. (Overnight)
>Craft yourself another fancy dress using silk from some of the flowers. (Two Nights)
>Craft yourself another set of "Fuck Me" clothes using silk from some of the flowers. (Two Nights)
>Set up camp here and gather materials to make a fashionable winter outfit among the flowers (One Week)
>Set up camp here and gather materials to make an alluring outfit that will make you an enemy of wives (One Week)
>Set up camp here and gather materials to make a magical cloak of some sort. (One Week)

>>5507237
>>Craft yourself another fancy dress using silk from some of the flowers. (Two Nights)
A nice dress that's suitable for negotiating the treaties would be good, and it would be the most fitting thing we could make since it would help remind the people we are negotiating with of our purpose. Maybe another flower ornament to cap it off would be good as well.

>>5507237

Supporting diplomatic attire (>>5507246), beautiful and form-fitting but appropriate in accordance with what we have come to understand of Hume culture.

>>5507237
>Craft yourself another set of "Fuck Me" clothes using silk from some of the flowers. (Two Nights)
yeah boi

>>5507270
What, and admit that we need to a crutch to get laid, like Elizabet implied? Nah, we're already a snack.

>>5507237
>>Craft yourself another fancy dress using silk from some of the flowers. (Two Nights)

>>5507237
>Set up camp here and gather materials to make a fashionable winter outfit among the flowers (One Week)

Winter is coming…

>>5507237
>Set up camp here and gather materials to make a fashionable winter outfit among the flowers (One Week)
Not freezing to death is always a good thing

>>5507364
Winter will come like anything else, when we let it come.

>>5507523
But also in terms of multiple options if we can stay 9 days and do both I am not opposed but part of the reason I supported a 2 day option is because I think our chances of an encounter in this place of great magic and history increase the longer we linger. If we had a better idea about our security situation, I would be all for doing both. As it is we might want to use our metal magic to like, set bells along the perimeter that go off when someone gets near. Even better if only we can hear them.

>>5507237
>>Craft yourself another set of "Fuck Me" clothes using silk from some of the flowers. (Two Nights)

>>5507237
>Craft yourself another set of "Fuck Me" clothes using silk from some of the flowers. (Two Nights)

File: 3fccc4c26835b5b97995d5cc8(...).jpg (181 KB, 1210x1888)

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>>5507246
>>5507263
Let's do a fancy outfit plus the flower charm so we can be slutty Nahida in the streets and sheets, and moderately less slutty Kokkoro in the courts.

Pic related for the diplomatic attire. Fancier, less tempting than the slutty qipao, but still flashy with easy access for men to UOOOOOOOOOH us if we need to engage in bedroom diplomacy.

>>5507237
>>Set up camp here and gather materials to make a magical cloak of some sort. (One Week)
magick cooll

>>5507237
>Set up camp here and gather materials to make a fashionable winter outfit among the flowers (One Week)

>>5507237
>Craft yourself another set of "Fuck Me" clothes using silk from some of the flowers. (Two Nights)

File: Christmas Wrapped Seventh(...).jpg (265 KB, 906x1400)

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Merry Christmas to all you glorious bastards who have been playing and lurking in this quest. Here's a short little omake of one of the times Lagneia got in trouble for being way too horny for her age:

Lagneia's Solstice Present

’Twas the night of the Solstice, when all through Alfheim
All the Children were singing a chorus sublime;
Their mana danced through the dark elvenhome night
Into Yggdrasil that its leaves could shine bright;

The Saplings retired to their cozy cots,
Whilst Elder Elves soon became lost in their thoughts;
The Rings and the Rods and the Orbs took great care,
To restore the grounds after the long night's faire,

But one of the Children was not in her bed,
For strange thoughts had percolated in her head.
Young Seventh-of-Twelve had dreamt up something lewd,
And now wandered through the Gymnasium nude.

The cold kiss of moonlight 'pon her naked breast
Lent perkiness to her delicious flat chest,
What cultured eyes saw her could appreciate
Luscious mosquito bites that bounced with her gait,

Little Seventh-of-Twelve, so funny and cute,
Dashed into the Art Room, and out with her loot.
Red ribbon to gift wrap a buck naked dame,
And markers to write the recipients' names:

“For Ninth-of-Eleven, For Eighth-of-Thirteen
For Fifth and Sixth-of-Nine, For Tenth-of-Fourteen!
I hope you all love my Solstice gift to you,
Fill these slutty holes with all your cocks can spew~!”

As flint and steel's spark turns kindling to a fire,
So did her eyes come alight with her desire;
The promise writ 'pon her tight tummy in ink
Saw her sweet flower bloom with glistening pink.

And then she retreated to a changing room
Trailing nectar that flowed from her flower's bloom.
As she closed the door, and turned to a mirror,
Her lusty cravings could not have been clearer:

She was flushed bright red, from her face to her toes.
Her thoughts raced with acts only Yggdrasil knows.
A century old - yet still cute and funny -
A river of lust poured forth from her cunny.

Her eyes - how they shone! Lit with hearts of bright pink,
She beheld the ribbon and began to think
Of how she could wrap herself up like a prize
To be unwrapped and used when boyish lusts rise;

Through her Divine Gift she created a pin,
And wrapped up her present in bright red ribbon.
A gag for her mouth and a thong for below,
About her flat chest she tied a great big bow

Lastly she bound up both her hands and her feet
Trussing herself like the most choice cut of meat,
Blindfolded and bound, steel pins carried her on
To a room filled with boys who woke with the dawn.

She was petite and svelte, a tight bodied elf,
Who could resist her? I would fail to, myself.
A lusty girl bound 'pon a bed of false snow...
Yet those who received her were not tempted, no!

They called for her teacher, who came with a whirl
And brought an orb to collect the wayward girl:
But they heard her exclaim, while dragging her away-
Joyous Solstice to all, and to all a good day!

File: Justice, the awesome demon.jpg (130 KB, 850x850)

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>>5508074
very cool qm

>>5508074
Based

>>5507237
>>Set up camp here and gather materials to make a fashionable winter outfit among the flowers (One Week)

>>5508074
Merry Christmas QM!

>>5508074
Nice, thank you based QM
>>5507237
>Set up camp here and gather materials to make an alluring outfit that will make you an enemy of wives (One Week)
Let's steal some husbands

>>5508074
That's awesome

>>5508074
Based, I imagine this isn't the only time Neia made a present of herself. I wonder if any of the boy elves accepted it...

>>5508316
Well yeah, that's how she passed Math Class

>>5508197
She seemed respectful of marital bonds at the camp.

>>5507237
>>Craft yourself another fancy dress using silk from some of the flowers. (Two Nights)

>>5507237
>Craft yourself another fancy dress using silk from some of the flowers. (Two Nights)

File: 128 Heartbeats Before Dawn.png (149 KB, 600x764)

149 KB PNG

Before you do anything towards crafting yourself a dress, you set up camp just outside the courtyard. You will be here for a few days, and you do not want to interrupt the flow of memories and mana through the flowers' rhizome.

The Heimtasche goes up as easily as it always does. You channel a touch of mana into it, and the backpack unfurls itself into a simple tent of green leather that looks like it can fit one or two people comfortably. Of course, looks can be deceiving. The interior is the size of a Ranger's cabin, dominated by a massive bed that is suitable for the trade plied by a Daughter of Irminsul. Once the Heimtasche is up, you go about setting the rest of your preparations.

The first of which has you take in hand the orb of iron that you have collected.

"First, call to the metal's heart," you intone the beginnings of an incantation. The orb becomes lighter and lighter in your hand as your mana takes over the job of holding it aloft. "Let the iron be shaped by my will. Become the cord that guards against the looming threat of midnight, and encapsulate this bounded field. Drive away the pest and the parasite and the mindless beast that knows not right from wrong. Against the higher souls, be thou the trumpet of warning which heralds their arrival..."

The iron obeys your command. The ball - which has been growing day by day on your journey from the size of your fist to the size of your head - unravels like a spool of wire, the end of which shoots around the perimeter that you with to protect. The courtyard where gather memories, histories, and mana, as well as the site of your campground all fall within the perimeter that you establish. When the wire finally finishes wrapping once around the area, it joins with the other end and completes the spell.

Light flashes. The sound of creatures squeaking in irritation as the barrier drives them out fills the courtyard and the ruin alongside the scurrying of tiny feet and the flapping of a hundred rings. Only the humble Bees who lived alongside those flowers remained within the barrier, for can you truly call such creatures pests?

No. Bees are friends to the Children, and the Children are friends to Bees.

Such has it been since the First Fruit fell from Yggdrasil at the Dawn of Life, and so too shall it continue until all roots of Yggdrasil wither away and the rules of [The World] collapse under the weight of a thousand aeons. Both the Bees and the Children have their place in the order of things, tending to the forests and the flower fields.

The forest endures. Its roots grow deep, and carry with them the wellspring of life and power across Eight of the Nine Lands.

The flowers remember. Their roots are shallow and fragile things - just as memories are too easily pulled out and forgotten - but they remember all the same. Those memories are carried back to the apple blossom and the cherry, and in the fullness of time they are returned to the Roots of Yggdrasil.

In this quiet ruin looking over the Ten Thousand Pillars of Minos, neither conflict nor war, nor even the predation of flower-eating beasts have disturbed the memories held here for thousands of years. Tended by the Bees whose pollination kept the rhizome alive, well, and growing, the flower-fields of the Dragonkeep have become more than what they were. The flowers remember, and through a thousand cycles of pollination and rebirth those memories have become a tangible, touchable power that resonates with you so strongly that you can feel it in your teeth.

The hairpin you made for Marianna will be a powerful trinket thanks to those memories. For yourself, you wish to make something that takes full advantage of the Field of Memories that has been established here, so naturally it is a bit more ambitious than a hairpin.

But what you will need from the flowers themselves is a bit more than a clean cutting that will bud again soon enough.

"Old blooms, I am Lagneia of Alfheim, Daughter of Irminsul and Child of Yggdrasil." You introduce yourself to the flowers, who quickly chatter amongst themselves in the wordless tongue of plants. It's been fifteen years since a Child of Yggdrasil came by this place, which apparently makes it quite the occasion. "I would ask of you a boon of silk, with which I might craft a dress that has been blessed by the memories which flow through these hollowed grounds. In return, I shall weave my magics to shape a bounded field which shall keep away pests and flower-eaters for a decade and a day."

The flowers deliberate your offer in their wordless tongue. Some don't even want your payment, believing that the arrival of one of the Children is cause enough to celebrate and give you the silk you want. Many believe the deal is a fair one, for the decade will give them ample time to recover from donating the silk of their flowers to your dress - and more than that, grow stronger in absence of pests. Some want to push a bit more, with one crotchety old rose calling for them to push for a century.

But it is not the flowers that answer your question. It is the buzzing of a Bee.

A gift of silk is not theirs alone to decide, Child Lagneia, a Bee the size of your thumb floats out from one of the flowers, carrying pollen, nectar, and memories with it. I am 128 Heartbeats Before Dawn, and my duty is to inform you that we who tend the flowers must also have a voice. The Hive's wisdom flows like honey, though today it is not as sweet.

"Greetings, noble Keeper." You press your hands together and give the Bee a courteous bow. "Might I call you Dawn for short?"

This is acceptable, the Bee - Dawn - tells you. Your deal with the Flowers is not.

"Why is that?" you ask Dawn "Surely there is no harm in harvesting their silk? These breeds of flower have been kept by the gardeners of Alfheim for ages for the orbs of silk they produce. My understanding is that it can actually be good for the flowers, even."

To remove them at this stage in the flowers' growth would cause them to expend nutrients to regrow them before the end of their growth cycle, like a bud from a stem that had been cut. That last bit is filled with an accusatory budding. You have the good grace to look a bit sheepish when Dawn calls you out on harming one of her charges. Normally, silk and cuttings - especially good cuttings that will heal well and bring new growth - would not be an unacceptable boon to one of the Children. But in light of other circumstances, the Hive would demand three things of you.

"And what would those three demands be?" you ask. Hopefully, nothing as foolish as a jeweled branch, a flaming robe, or the tools of the Son of the Starfather revered by the Humes.

First, please refrain from establishing the bounded field you promised, Dawn says. When the flowers groan in disappointment, her buzzing takes a chiding tone. Pests are a fact of life, and to grow without them is to invite disaster when they return. Instead, a spell of enhanced growth will do them greater good by far.

"The flowers seem a bit disappointed, but if they accept it..." You say. After a moment of deliberation - and few more chiding buzzes from Dawn - the flowers agree that it's probably for the best. "Then it is done."

Very good. Second... the Hive has many memories we wish to return to Yggdrasil, but its blossoms are not near enough for us to reach it. Dawn's buzzing becomes a bit nervous as she asks. We would ask that you take me with you upon your Travail. I might serve as your familiar and lend you the Hive's wisdom, and you may shepherd me to one of the Great Trees.

"I will not see one for quite some time, but I suppose it cannot be of any harm," you tell her.

Very good. Lastly... there is a rot beneath these ruins. Dawn's buzzing becomes more serious than before. We cannot say if it is Blight, or something else, but we would ask the aid of one of the Children in cleansing it.
>Cleanse the Rot before completing your dress.
>Cleanse the Rot after completing your dress.
>The dress is not worth the danger involved, especially if it is the Blight.

>>5509389
>>Cleanse the Rot before completing your dress.

>>5509389
>Cleanse the Rot before completing your dress.

If it is the blight, it'd be a shame to lose this place in a few hundred years because of it.

>>5509389
>>Cleanse the Rot before completing your dress.

>>5509389
>Cleanse the Rot after completing your dress.
Priorities

>>5509389
>>Cleanse the Rot before completing your dress
We don't want the Rot to affect the dress at the very least

>>5509389
>>Cleanse the Rot before completing your dress

>>5509389
>Cleanse the Rot before completing your dress.
its the priority right now. it sounds like it'll bite us in the ass if we don't cleanse it first

>>5509389
>Cleanse the Rot before completing your dress.

>>5509389
>>Cleanse the Rot before completing your dress.

>>5509389
>Cleanse the Rot before completing your dress.

Rolled 99, 72 = 171 (2d100)

Event roll, add +20 to the roll result. If the first dice is 10 or lower, use the second dice in its stead.

>>5511473
We are the rot exterminator

File: Blight Heart.jpg (34 KB, 474x474)

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"This is..." You find yourself lacking words when you behold what Dawn has lead you to.

Indeed, it is, Dawn confirms that your eyes are not lying to you.

Stepping back to a few moments before, you agreed to cleanse the Rot that festered beneath the garden. Even if Dawn carried those memories back to Yggdrasil whilst acting as your familiar, they will continue to resonate and shape a place of power so long as the flowers remain here. To allow a rot to disrupt the flow of memories would be a tragedy of the highest order. To allow the Blight to consume their resonant power and grow in size and strength would be an unforgivable sin.

Out of the obligation all Children hold to exterminate the Blight, and a desire to avoid any complications in the weaving of your new dress, you followed Dawn to the basement of the tower that once held the Throne of the Fire Dragon. You do not know what you expected to find in those old halls of mossy masonry, but it certainly was not what you found.

At first glance, once might mistake it for a sculpture of wood in the shape of a Child of Yggdrasil.

But the bark remains, showing that the likeness was not the work of chisel and knife. In the corner of an open room, where only a small thread of sunlight peaks in through a hole in the ceiling, you see the final rest of a weary Child. Her roots have spread into the cracks of the masonry, and where her bark has fallen away thrums the pulsing green of mana's flow that circulates through her body. Though the chain has been overgrown, a mythril medalion hangs from her wooden neck - one that you wear as well.

A fellow Daughter of Irminsul.

If your suspicions are correct, she would be Helen the Flame-Kissed, the Child whose memories you saw while you perused a certain corner of the garden up above. The woman who brought peace between the dust-born Humes and the Children of Yggdrasil after centuries of petty conflicts. Her eyes are closed, her expression is weary and meditative, but what draws your eye more than anything else is the shape of her hands and the way the roots of her fingers extend to become a webbed orb pulsing with green mana.

That, and what lies inside the orb. Swirling and black, suspended by the flowing mana and imprisoned in a cage from which it cannot move, a heart that has been consumed by the blight. Her heart, if your suspicions are correct.

She removed her heart before the blight could spread through her body, and met the end all Children of Yggdrasil meet, Dawn explains it as though it were a matter of course.

"Better by far to move on than to become a Blight Elf," you murmur. "For her to continue for this long without the sun... she must have been nourished by the flow of memories."

No, this was not the flowers' doing, Dawn's buzzing takes a chiding tone. You Children gaze too much at the roots which connect the Nine Lands. It is not wrong to stand in awe of your Mother, but you should learn to look up above.

With the buzzing of her wings, Dawn scatters pollen into the air and takes hold of the memories and mana that flows within it. It shapes itself not into a map of the Nine Lands or the roots that run beneath and carry the laws of [The World] and bring the blessing of reality to every corner of the world, but rather to the stars above. The Imaginary Sea where uncertainty is law and existence is as fragile as the bubbles of the cosmic foam, and those pinprick singularities that have stabilized into holes that spew forth radiance and light. With them, the celestial pathways that connect each star that has formed a constellation in the sky.

When she removed her heart, the age of the Dragon had just come to an end, Dawn shows an image of the Sun Above blocking away the constellation shaped like a dragon. The age of the Maiden dawned, and the Maiden gave her the strength to contain the Blight that had devoured her heart. But soon the ages will turn again, and as the Maiden gives way to the Scales, her strength wanes, and the Blight will soon overtake her.

You do not need Dawn's lecture to tell the consequences should that happen.

If left unburnt, a Blighted Tree would be the seeds of Alagonia's desolation, just as one was for Giskonis during the Great Blights. Frankly, it is a miracle that her containment of it did not falter before you arrived here. Dealing with a Blighted Tree might have been beyond your means, depending on how how far the Blight had progressed.

"I will not allow that to happen," you declare. You point at the Blighted Heart with the arm that bears your divine focus, and with the other you pull forth the orb of brass you mean to use to cleanse the Blight. "First, call to the metal's heart. Draw forth the alloy of copper and zinc and let brass take the shape of the trumpet, which sounds the sacred conflagration..."

Your bangle glows with silver light as the brass orb melts, flowing like water into the trumpets' mold.

When you only need to concentrate on a single spell, you control of mana's flow becomes more precise, more concentrated that before. Once again the brass takes the shape of nine trumpets, each engraved with the archaic names of the nine lands. One corroded, three muted and blackened, and five as bright a gold as the Sun Above. At your direction, they surround the orb containing the Blighted Heart from every angle they can manage, limiting and concentrating the area of the flame to come.

"May the cry of the nine lands release you from your burden, may your memories swirl and grow with the passing of the age, and may your arms at last be freed to reach for the light of the everlasting Sun Above..."

Clasping your hands together, you offer a prayer to Yggdrasil for Helen. Not the prayer you would offer for the Blighted, but for one who has moved on to the final stages of an Elf's long life. The wellspring of divine power answers, flowing through your body as you become the instrument of its will.

"Be thou cleansed."

Your voice rumbles with the greater will that you have invited into your body, divine power surging through your body as the trumpets sound their cry. Compared to the divine firestorm that devoured the Blighted on the field of battle, this invocation is a scalpel. A conflagration of holy flame whirls around the orb, searing away the roots that had formed its prison and cutting off the flow of mana. Before the mycelium-tainted heart can send out even a single tendril, it is devoured by the sacred fire.

In an instant, all that remains of it is ash.

Somehow, the expression of the Tree-Child has changed from weariness to relief. Or perhaps it is simply a trick of the light.

Fifteen years ago, the alchemist boy said it would take him three decades to create a device that could safely remove her Blighted Heart without killing her. The buzzing of Dawn is filled with a blend of irritation and relief. You imagine if she had a tongue, she'd have clicked it at least once, just like the woman who ran your dorm would when you snuck into the boys' rooms. Yet you incinerate it in mere minutes. I am pleased with this result, but... how can this be so?

"We probably had different measures of success," you tell Dawn. Not all alchemists are as bad as the Golden Intellect, but... "I simply wished to remove the rot and be done with it. He probably wanted to see if he could take the heart out intact, without disrupting its containment, so he could poke and prod at it until he either accidentally wound up as a Blight Elf, or figured out how it ticked."

Foolishness and rancid honey, Dawn buzzes like a parent who wants to scold an absent child.

Now that the work is done, and the rot has been removed, she comes to land on your shoulder. You may harvest as much silk as you need now, Childe Lagneia. However, look again to the tree. I believe she wishes to give you a reward of her own.

Indeed, it seems now that one of Helen's arms gestures towards a stone casket.

It takes a bit of strength for you to push off the lid, but what you find within is not a corpse that you might have expected, or even the dust and bones from a corpse that has fully decomposed. Rather, it is something long thought lost to the Daughters of Irminsul. A reliquary weapon from ancient times, whose return to the Daughters would be enough to end your Travail in 10 years time without any further effort on your part... if you wanted to give it up. Doing so feels wrong, though, as Helen bequeathed it to you.
>A ceremonial dagger
>An ornate rapier
>An elegant polearm
>A gently curved sword

>>5511486
Greater than 10 meant no Advanced Blighted Tree to fuck you up, Greater than 50 meant the Blighted Tree was in early stages, Greater than 90 meant it was contained, and the +20 from the blessing put you over 100 so her reliquary weapon was not lost to the Blight and could be a reward.

Blessing came in clutch, as it does.

>>5511587
>>An ornate rapier
I like Rapiers the most and it would go well with our dress. A dagger much also be a good option, but both are the sort of arms we can bear in a polite setting and rapiers are basically concentrated lethality.

>>5511587
>An ornate rapier

>>5511587
>>A ceremonial dagger

gotta go with the weapon that is more concealable

>or perhaps it is simply a trick of the light.
"Wealth beyond measure, awarded to the brave...."

>>5511587
>An elegant polearm
We could also use this as a strip pole, since it belonged to one of our order.

>>5511587
>>An elegant polearm
The thought of us running around with a polearm perhaps two feet our senior is amusing.

>>5511646
ngl kinda based

switching vote from dagger to polearm

>>5511587
>>An elegant polearm

>>5511587
>An elegant polearm
And reconsecrate it with a dance right away.

>>5511587
>>An elegant polearm
Ultra based. Time to dance

>>5511587
>An elegant polearm
>>5511646
wish it would be a spear ngl. although we still have to see the polearm in question

>>5511894
Knowing Lagneia, she won't even have to anchor it into anything and will be able to keep it upright using her sense of balance alone.
>>5511932
A spear seems most useful for her, I'm not sure Lagneia has the aptitude to be a halberdier or a pikeman.

>>5511947
maybe we can use our powers to change it into a spear? unless its made of some sort of magical metal, im willing to guess we can adjust the blade so it becomes a spike and maybe send the rest of the metal to the other end to balance it out

>>5511953
I can't imagine that whatever it is isn't already conducive to our build type and profession, considering who owned it previously but you might have a point.

>>5511587
>>An ornate rapier

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>>5511953
I think an Ahlspiess would suit her well - a spear specialized for thursting

>>5512541
kek. thrusting.

>>5511587
>An elegant polearm

>>5511953
Maybe like a wardancer spear from warhammer?

>>5512541
Kek. Basado

>>5511587
>An elegant polearm
Love me some Halberds, also double duty as a stripper pole

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>>5512633
>Look up Wardancer Spear to see what you were talking about
>Find pic related near top of search
kek fuckin w.

I like the way everyone who wants to use it to pole dance thinks. As a notice, I have company from this afternoon to Monday morning, so I won't be able to post for a while.

>>5512788
I actually really appreciate you giving us schedule updates, the other quests I've followed aren't as good about that and it kind of makes a mess

>>5512788
Please let us know when you're free ToT!

>>5517045
Should be able to post on Wednesday as usual for the schedule!

>>5517049
Soon™

>>5517049
>>5518241
And I lied, because I got dragged into a minor crisis at work. I'll see if I can't post tomorrow, otherwise Friday for sure.

>>5518949
Good luck qm

>>5518949
Godspeed.

>>5518949
Good luck QM!

>>5518949
Thank you for the regular notifications

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I lost my entire fucking post about two hours ago and then spent the next two hours trying to drag it out of my system memory only for my attempt to make a full memory dump to wipe out the one sentence I could recover.

In summary of the post, which I will make with interest on Sunday:
>Helen gifted Lagneia the Erotic Spear, Shamhat
>Shamhat is one of the Twenty Seven Divine Spears that exist within this world
>Lagneia was really excited, because the main heroine of her favorite series in the "Unfortunate Lady Knight" and "Corrupted by a Lewd Crest" genres of Light Novels used one of the Divine Spears.
>She may have compiled and memorized a list of the Divine Spears and who owns them (if they're owned by Elves)/what people hold them (If they're owned by Humes/Stouts) during her years of obsession with that series.
>Elves now hold Seven of the Divine Spears
>The Golden Intellect holds the Tome Sword, Sofia
>Humes hold Eight of the Spears
>Stouts hold Four
>Eight Divine Spears are lost.
>Dawn was being cute and bumblebee bumped you out your thoughts.
>Flowers happily provided you silk to make a neo-roman style toga minidress for Diplomacy.

In compensation for my fuck up, here is a vote to pimp your dress:

Your dress echoes the voices of the near mythical politicians who gathered at the council of Dragon Kings. In addition to the artifice standard for elven clothes, it...(Choose Two)
>Allows your voice to be heard whenever you wish. No spell of silence or din of the crowd can silence you, and all will hear you above their own noise when you need to be heard.
>Contains an extradimensional pocket in your toga, hidden from all sight. Whether it be oranges from an enemy kingdom or a weapon to defend yourself, it shall never be found until you take it out.
>Lets your whispers flow upon the wind, to be heard only by those who are meant to receive it. Information can change the course of history, and getting it to those who need to know it without being heard can mean the difference between a loss and a coup.
>Catches the whispers spoken within 100 feet and allows you to amplify them. Either enough for you to hear them and come to know their secrets, or enough for them to bury themselves with their unkind words about their peers.
>Permits you to walk upon water and pass through magic barriers undeterred. Once, a general of the Latic Peninsula crossed a mighty river with his troops in the dead of night in defiance of his master's orders. An act that saw him crowned Princeps within the month.
>Permits you to consume alcohol and other drugs without suffering their side effects (as an option), and never gaining an addiction. Being able to keep sober during revelries can make the difference between life and death. Especially if you're a prince who was kidnapped by pirates.
>It allows the meaning of your words to be understood by all, and for the meaning of their words to be understood by you, even if you have no shared language.

>>5521715
>lost my entire fucking post about two hours ago

Feel ya qm
I lost ~3000 letters worth of an update once. I remember a qm losing 50k worth of words and quitting the quest

What app/program do you use to document your writing? I usually use notes on my phone (i phonepost my updates)

>Contains an extradimensional pocket in your toga, hidden from all sight. Whether it be oranges from an enemy kingdom or a weapon to defend yourself, it shall never be found until you take it out.
Pocket armory lol

>It allows the meaning of your words to be understood by all, and for the meaning of their words to be understood by you, even if you have no shared language.
Catching whispers means nothing if you can’t understand the language

>>5521715
>Contains an extradimensional pocket in your toga, hidden from all sight. Whether it be oranges from an enemy kingdom or a weapon to defend yourself, it shall never be found until you take it out.


>Permits you to consume alcohol and other drugs without suffering their side effects (as an option), and never gaining an addiction. Being able to keep sober during revelries can make the difference between life and death. Especially if you're a prince who was kidnapped by pirates.

>>5521715
>It allows the meaning of your words to be understood by all, and for the meaning of their words to be understood by you, even if you have no shared language.
>Allows your voice to be heard whenever you wish. No spell of silence or din of the crowd can silence you, and all will hear you above their own noise when you need to be heard.
Good combo! Sorry to hear about the post.

>>5521715
Jeez. I'm really sorry that happened

>>5521768
>>5521715
Support
>>It allows the meaning of your words to be understood by all, and for the meaning of their words to be understood by you, even if you have no shared language.
>>Allows your voice to be heard whenever you wish. No spell of silence or din of the crowd can silence you, and all will hear you above their own noise when you need to be heard.

>>5521715
>Lets your whispers flow upon the wind, to be heard only by those who are meant to receive it. Information can change the course of history, and getting it to those who need to know it without being heard can mean the difference between a loss and a coup.
>Catches the whispers spoken within 100 feet and allows you to amplify them. Either enough for you to hear them and come to know their secrets, or enough for them to bury themselves with their unkind words about their peers.

>>5521715
>Contains an extradimensional pocket in your toga, hidden from all sight. Whether it be oranges from an enemy kingdom or a weapon to defend yourself, it shall never be found until you take it out.
>Catches the whispers spoken within 100 feet and allows you to amplify them. Either enough for you to hear them and come to know their secrets, or enough for them to bury themselves with their unkind words about their peers.

>>5521715
>Lets your whispers flow upon the wind, to be heard only by those who are meant to receive it. Information can change the course of history, and getting it to those who need to know it without being heard can mean the difference between a loss and a coup.
>It allows the meaning of your words to be understood by all, and for the meaning of their words to be understood by you, even if you have no shared language.

Sorry to hear that QM.

>>5521723
>>5521768
>>5521781
>>5521872
The thing I'm most annoyed about is that it ate my list of the Divine Spears and who had what. It doesn't matter a lot, as stuff like
>First Spear Odin
>Atomic Spear Oppenheimer
>Carriage Spear Ford
>Tome Spear Sofia
>Workshop Spear Vulcan
>Luggage Spear Hermes
Stick around, but getting the names for them was a good chunk of my afternoon. I really should use a proper word processor...

>>5521895
My adhd means I have to write in notepad or i get distracted by all the gribblies. But if that's not a problem, google docs is free and automatically saves to the cloud.

>>5521895
Like the anon said, gdocs is free and safe. You will never lose what you were writing anymore.

>>5521923
Just be sure to use your ghost account

notepad++ is also an alternative. it autosaves itself and you can continue without any real worry

>>5521715
>Contains an extradimensional pocket in your toga, hidden from all sight. Whether it be oranges from an enemy kingdom or a weapon to defend yourself, it shall never be found until you take it out.
>Catches the whispers spoken within 100 feet and allows you to amplify them. Either enough for you to hear them and come to know their secrets, or enough for them to bury themselves with their unkind words about their peers.
Cause kek and fuck around with people's heads.

That being said>>5512788
I have some mad respect for poledancers. Shit is impressively difficult and requires a level of fitness I do not hope to have. If our elf can do it then all the better

>>5521715
>Lets your whispers flow upon the wind, to be heard only by those who are meant to receive it. Information can change the course of history, and getting it to those who need to know it without being heard can mean the difference between a loss and a coup.
>It allows the meaning of your words to be understood by all, and for the meaning of their words to be understood by you, even if you have no shared language.

>>5521715
>Permits you to consume alcohol and other drugs without suffering their side effects (as an option), and never gaining an addiction. Being able to keep sober during revelries can make the difference between life and death. Especially if you're a prince who was kidnapped by pirates.
>It allows the meaning of your words to be understood by all, and for the meaning of their words to be understood by you, even if you have no shared language.
Commiserations qm.

>>5521715
>Contains an extradimensional pocket in your toga, hidden from all sight.
>It allows the meaning of your words to be understood by all, and for the meaning of their words to be understood by you
First one would be useful if we get any sort of bust past a B cup, that way we can hide what we're packin' until it's too late. It's unlikely, but you can't blame a man for liking his shortstacks.
The second one should be fairly obvious.

Also, OP, are Sacred Prostitutes strictly women, or are there orders for Holy Gigolos as well?

>>5523004
there better be male prostitutes as well afaik, gigolos are the people that manage prostitutes, not male hookers

>>5523014
No a gigolo is a male prostitute, and a pimp manages hookers. They definitely exist, but their clientele is usually other men.

>>5523670
Wait I looked it up, gigolos are specifically male prostitutes wise clients are older women, they're a separate sub category from regular male prostitutes

>>5505378

>>5521715
>Lets your whispers flow upon the wind, to be heard only by those who are meant to receive it. Information can change the course of history, and getting it to those who need to know it without being heard can mean the difference between a loss and a coup.
>It allows the meaning of your words to be understood by all, and for the meaning of their words to be understood by you, even if you have no shared language.

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Resting atop a bed of gold and silver coins lays a spear that you've only heard tell of in song or story. Not a fleck of dust or detritus has dirtied its pure white haft, which glows gently with a warm light that reminds you of Irminsul's branches on the hallowed Winter Solstice. A spike of golden amber caps the butt of the shaft, while the head is crowned with a blooming Alvenflos of the same material. The petals and stamen reach out to embrace the sapphire blue spearhead, inside of which a mysterious liquid bubbles and churns.

You recognize it from old paintings hanging in the gallery of the Gymnasium. Every depiction shows it in the hands of a beautiful elven maiden. Helen Flame-Kissed, the Dragon Queller whose sensual passions brought peace between Hume and Child, was the last to carry it before she disappeared during the Blight. The lack of tooling, the natural bone white of the haft which can only be found amongst Irminsul's branches, the way the amber and wood have been sung together leaves little doubt that the spear is the real deal.

And whatever doubt remains is obliterated when you examine the spearhead.

Petrified and polished until it shone and sparkled like glass, there can be no mistaking wood sung from the deepest rhizome of Yggdrasil. The Roots of the World Tree do not petrify easily. Only the quelling of a primordial chaos, the purifications of a dire curse, or the normalization of the flow of time within an enclosed space are known to cause the roots to petrify. That the sap within the root still flows like water after the petrified root was cut and polished is something you know not the meaning of.

You do, however, know its name. It has had as many names as it has had wielders, and as a relic from the Age Before the Blight its wielders have been numerous. Póthodóry. Lans Ákaktos. Bás Beag. Gae Buaic. The Whore of Ascalon's Talon. The Spear That is Not a Spear. One of the twenty seven Divine Spears, thought lost to the Blight for two thousand years.

The Lust Spear, Shamhat.

"A queenly gift..." you murmur to yourself. The spear waits for you to pick it up atop its bed of gold, silver, and jewels, but your hands hesitate to reach out and take hold of it. The tree that was once Helen Fire-Kissed gestures again with its branches, which is enough to steel your resolve. "I thank you for entrusting your spear to me, Dragon Queller. May your roots grow strong and deep, and become intertwined with the love of our Great Mother."

You give a deep curtsey to the tree. Were she still one of the Children, she would be counted among the Eldest of her Elvenhome - if not the Eldest of Eldest, as old as Regius if not even older than he. Alas, she has matured and can no longer spend her days playing among her fellow Children without much care in the world. After showing the venerable tree her due respect, you reach into the stone casket with one hand and grasp the silver-white shaft.

Your palm burns and your fingers curl closed around it.

Ara, a fresh little sapling on her Travail? A woman's voice echoes through your head, sultry and hypnotic. A pair of unseen hands slide over your body and find your most sensitive places. They seem to know exactly where to caress and pinch in order to send you into heat, and when their fingers slip inside of you, they're more skilled than any Daughter of Irminsul who punished you with edging. Had you not been brought up steeped in the pleasures of the flesh, your body would have succumbed to a hell of pleasure as they played with you. Doesn't this feel good, little sapling? Just drop the spear back into the casket, and I'll make you cum so hard that you'll forget it was ever here. Doesn't that sound wonderful, little sapling?

The unseen hands are impossibly skilled in their molestation. A wet squelching sound as two fingers find their way inside of you and begin to pump in and out, curling their fingers in a sinister and devious way to massage your inner walls, is a sure sign of how successful they have been in driving you into heat. And now that they have you going, they seem intent on driving you to the edge of ecstasy and keeping you there until you submit to their will.

Another Child of Yggdrasil might submit to this, begging for the chance of release.

But you are a Daughter of Irminsul. When you need to, you know how to numb yourself to pain and pleasure alike.

"By all means, continue," you drawl, trying your best to sound unimpressed. The massage of your insides feels good, and you know with every passing second the orgasm that these hands will bring you to will be all the more intense. But you know how to keep a rational mind even when your body is soaked in pleasure. If they decide to give you the little death, you will be defeated utterly, but if all they want to do is edge you until you beg them... they'll need to edge you for a long time indeed. "I have no intention of putting back the spear, though. So keep edging me for as long as you like, maybe your clumsy fingers will be able to give me an orgasm after a week."

Pffffffffthahahahahahahaaaa~! the mysterious voice barks in raucous laughter. You're a funny little sapling, I'll give you that. But do you really think your worthy of wielding the Shamhat?

While you concentrate on ignoring the pleasure coursing through your body, Dawn bops your head with her bee body. You have to grit your teeth, because the distraction sends a shock of pleasure down your spine. Your words flow like nectar, but the taste of them is strange and unfamiliar, Childe Neia. What is edging? What is an orgasm? And whose fingers are going to give it to you?

Mine are~ The disembodied voice reaches you, but Dawn doesn't seem to react to it.

"To answer your questions in order: holding off on an orgasm to make it more intense. The pleasure of mating. And I don't know." you tell Dawn. Then you look to the spear in your hands. "But I think I have an idea."

And what about my question, little sapling...? the Lust Spear, Shamhat doesn't stop molesting you just because you've figured out that it was the person molesting you. If anything, its efforts grow harder for you to ignore, increasing in both intensity and precision as it tries to drive you closer and closer to the edge of orgasm without pushing you into that blinding pit of pleasure. You don't become the wielder of a Divine Spear just because you pick it up. We may spend most of the time sleeping, but we still choose who we lend our power to. So why should I lend my power to some little sapling whose youth is wasted on her?

She gives you a painful smack on your bubble butt that's loud enough to shock Dawn off your shoulder and make her buzz about in confusion. The sudden pain breaking up the pleasure is almost enough to send your mind careening down to a point where you will start shamefully swaying your hips and begging for release. You clench your teeth as suddenly everything feels so good, you want to cum, you want to cum, you need to cum...

You take a deep breath, trying not to drown in an ocean of ecstasy.

The you release it, forcing yourself back to ground.

"There is no reason," you declare before the spear can spank you again. Another spanking and you will lose the game of wills here, so you need to answer it now. "I simply wish to honor your previous wielder's will that I take you up in her stead. Nothing more, nothing less."

An acceptable answer. The spear decides in an instant. Warms flows down from you arm, and returns to you from within the spear. Its unseen hands cease their molestation of your tiny body, and the ocean of pleasure slowly begins to drain from your heart. Our bond is sealed. I'm going back to sleep now. Wake me if it's necessary... or if you come across another Divine Spear Holder.

You release a happy sigh, glad that the ordeal is over.

Oh, I almost forgot, Shamhat's voice returns. You can cum now.

The light brush of a gentle finger flicks across your clit. For a moment, you don't know what it is that you just felt, beyond the ghost of a hand's lightest touch upon your most delicate place. Then a jolt of electric pleasure shatters your mind into a million fragments of sand. Your pupils contract in shock and your mouth forms a tiny little circle as you breathe out a near silent "oh". You once thought you knew what a flood of pleasure was, the intensity of an orgasm and the all the pleasures that the body can experience.

For that is what the Daughters of Irminsul teach their pupils, is it not?

You have all been played for fools.

If you combined every orgasm you ever had in the one hundred and twenty years leading up to this moment in your life, they would not amount to a drop in a bucket compared to the tidal wave that rises miles up above your body. You are not subsumed by it, for those words pretend that you could do anything more than stare in awe...

[To Be Continued...]
[Flower Hairpin Artifice Vote]
>It will be a little beehive for Dawn, allowing her to produce honey from the flowers on your travels.
>It will allow you to turn invisible for a time, seeming to vanish in a storm of flower petals.
>Dawn shall be able to use it to grow in great size, and recover her stinger more swiftly should she use it.
>At your call, while you wear this, flowers will grow at the trail of your feet.
>Should you will it, it will create a cloud of thick pollen which can put the weak willed to sleep.

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The update is real!
Very based, qm

>>5524226
>It will be a little beehive for Dawn, allowing her to produce honey from the flowers on your travels.
even if its the lest useful option(at a first glance), dawn needs a home

>>5524228
I only wrote about half of what I wanted to. Next update you'll finally build those clothes you've been trying to build for like a month now. I wound up giving a bit more personality to Shamhat than I did in the first draft that exploded (and established a part of her abilities).

>>5524226
>It will be a little beehive for Dawn, allowing her to produce honey from the flowers on your travels.

>>5524226
>It will be a little beehive for Dawn, allowing her to produce honey from the flowers on your travels.

>>5524226
>Should you will it, it will create a cloud of thick pollen which can put the weak willed to sleep.

Having non lethal weapon on our side could be useful

Also good as a smoke screen / blinding tool if Langeia decides to hold it

>>5524237
this update has been very cute and funny qm

Take your time about writing if you need to

>>5524226
>Should you will it, it will create a cloud of thick pollen which can put the weak willed to sleep.
Flowers growing in our trail would definitely be the coolest, but this is definitely the most practical.

>>5524226
>>It will be a little beehive for Dawn, allowing her to produce honey from the flowers on your travels.

>>5524226
Guys
>It will allow you to turn invisible for a time, seeming to vanish in a storm of flower petals.
The ability to go fucking poof is not to be underestimated. Wanna listen to whispers? Now you can. In all languages since we picked it. Wanna shank a bitch from behind like those bastards in the OG halo cinematics? Have stealth sex? Become the invisible train molester you've always wanted to be.

The utility of this is endless just because you're probably gonna use this to nothingpersonnel a blightbitch doesn't mean it ain't useful for the nest of fucking vipers called politics we are going into soon

>>5524226
>>At your call, while you wear this, flowers will grow at the trail of your feet.
Is it useless? Yes, but it's nice.

>>5524226
>>It will allow you to turn invisible for a time, seeming to vanish in a storm of flower petals.

>>5524226
>It will be a little beehive for Dawn, allowing her to produce honey from the flowers on your travels.

>>5524569
you make a lot of sense, but imagine how comfy that beehive will be

>>5524226
>It will be a little beehive for Dawn, allowing her to produce honey from the flowers on your travels.

>>5524226
>Should you will it, it will create a cloud of thick pollen which can put the weak willed to sleep.
Can we have this, but instead of sleep, it's horny?

>>5525792
>implying Lagneia needs a crutch to do such a basic trick

>>5524226
>>It will allow you to turn invisible for a time, seeming to vanish in a storm of flower petals.

You still around qm?

>>5527814
Probably busy again or something

>>5527814
>>5528316
Yeah this week has been a bitch, and this weekend is also going to be busy. I should be able to post again on monday.

>>5528423
Nice to see you're still alive boss

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>>5528423
>>5528511
I have concerns.

As it turns out, I will have availability to do a post tomorrow that I didnt think I would have!

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>>5529678
Very cool qm

Also found this product while you were gone

>>5529655
Don't jix it

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It takes you a good long while to recover from the most powerful orgasm you experienced in your life. Even the pleasure of the Divine Beast running a train on you, fucking you nonstop with his aphrodisiac laden cock for weeks on end falls a bit short. Though your certain that if you did not have such an experience in your past, the pleasure of the Divine Spear's touch would have left you more than just a squirting, shameful mess. That much raw, erotic pleasure could shatter the minds of those who are not prepared for it. The sort of pleasure that turns strong willed women into feebleminded slut that exist only to cum.

You've seen it before, from those who treat sex and the erotic pleasures lightly.

Foolish girl Children of the Gymnasium who heard of the pleasures the Divine Beast could bring, and snuck past the Servitor Orbs who guarded his chambers to experience it for themselves. Without the proper training, without submerging themselves in the pleasures of the flesh and becoming used to its intensity, the stimulation the Divine Beast could bring them was too much for their minds to handle.

They say you take sex too lightly, tempting boys with your body and seeking to taste as many as would let you, but all you have ever done was in accordance with the teachings of the Daughters of Irminsul. Pleasure brings peace. If everyone could simply bask eternally in the afterglow of a good fucking, there would be no war. The ones who took sex too lightly are the ones who thought whatever natural talents they had in the bedchamber would carry them through an impromptu Rite of Implantation without harm.

You knew a foolish Child like that, a songstress who thought your order to be little more than the whores of an ostentatious brothel pretending to be a temple. She snuck away in the middle of night to receive the Divine Beast's gift of pleasure and power.

Her mind gave way well before dawn.

She received a partial Divine Gift, but last you knew she was still putting together the pieces of her pleasure-broken mind sixty years later.

The pleasure you experienced just now, when the spirit of the Lust Spear Shamhat ordered you to cum, was at least twice as intense as the strongest orgasm the Divine Beast ever gave you during your ceremonial deflowering. The sort of pleasure that should not be taken lightly. The evidence of its intensity has been sprayed all over the crypt, the nectar of your flower splattering the floor and Helen's Tree and making the whole place smell like a whorehouse. It is of such a volume that it pools upon the uneven floor to nearly an inch deep.

The face upon Helen's Tree - if you can call it a proper face - has an expression of amused understanding, the sort of closed-eyed flat smile that you would give to someone who repeated your own foolishness. Her branch curls, and points towards a well of pure waters touched by the light of the sun above, from which you drink deeply to help yourself recover from such an explosive orgasm.

While you gulp down the cool and refreshing water, Dawn buzzes around your head and bumps you a few times with her fuzzy bee butt, her mana brimming with curious energy that flows with an undercurrent of worry. Your limbs are still a bit numb from how hard you came, and your throat is too dry to speak. So you let her fill the air with questions once she finally decides that you're awake and not some sort zombie that has been reanimated by the foul magics of a cursed spear.

My questions brim like a hive overflowing with honey, Childe Neia, the Bee declares, finally setting down on your should. You made such a strange face and then a flood of strange water burst forth from twixt your thighs! What was that?

"That was an orgasm," you croak through sips of water. "A very, very intense orgasm."

Is that so...? Dawn asks more to herself than you, but you still answer with a blithe 'it is'. But how can you experience the pleasure of mating, if there are no males around with which to mate?

"This is the Lust Spear, Shamhat," you tell her, making a broad gesture with the spear in your hands. It feels warm to the touch and right in your hands, a sign of its acceptance of you as its wielder, you choose to believe. "It holds power over the pleasure of mating, and decided to test me to see how much of it I could handle. The fact that I can still think after its final test, and have not been reduced to a drooling blob that can only think about mating, means that I have passed its tests, I think."

I see, I see! That is good honey, I think, Dawn declares. You don't quite get her figures of speech right now, but you've cottoned on to how honey seems to be a catch all for 'good things' to the Bees. When you made the weird face, you said that you were coming over and over, but you never said where. Where were you going?

Your ears pinken a little, and your face adopts the sort of weary flat smile you've seen on your elders when you asked strange questions like that.

"A place devoid of all thought and filled with ecstasy beyond measure," you say after taking another sip of water. By now, your throat is quenched, and you sit cross-legged by the well in case you need more. "Foolish Children think that place is the summit of a mountain, the heights of pleasure a goal to be achieved. But in reality its more like the depths of the ocean, a fun place to swim where you must be careful lest something drag you down and drown you in the abyss."

...Your buzzing has become strange, Friend Neia, but that does not make the honey of its wisdom any less sweet, Dawn says after pausing for a moment. You take the opportunity to pet her buzzing bee butt, which makes her body hum in contentment. But it is an abstract honey, whose sweetness makes my head hurt.

"You'll learn when you find a mate," you tell her.

128 Heartbeats Before Dawn is a humble worker bee who has no time for mating. That is our Queen's job.

Well that doesn't seem right to you, mating should be a pleasure that all should be free to enjoy with any who wish to share in it with them. That is the philosophy of the Daughters of Irminsul under which you were brought up. But it might not be the same for the Bees. Speaking with them was never your specialty, you were no Bee Keeper of the Flower Fields, so you only have the loosest grasp of the society of the Hives. The Queens bear children, and the males are few in number. The males of the hive exist to mate, you know that much - in that sense, you are very much like a male Bee among the Children.

You imagine their job, like yours, is to bring pleasure to their home, help relieve the stress of a hard day's work, and reinforce the bonds of relationships by guiding them towards mutual pleasure and intimacy. Surely a worker bee who wants a hard and heavy mating session to relieve herself after a rough day can get all the breeding she wants from one of them. Dawn must be one of those extra diligent types who either contents herself with self pleasure, or has another worker bee girl with whom she shares precious skinship.

With a nod to yourself, you tell Dawn of the plans that you've just hatched. "I'll make sure that you have all the privacy you need. And enough space to bring any special friends you have."

No further workers can be spared from the Hive, Dawn tells you, a twinge of regret in the buzzing of her words. The flower fields here flow rich with history, which must be gathered and shaped into honey lest they overflow and blossom into a Bell Trumpet and call the beasts of the Deep World to the Surface. The Hive must take that history and turn it to honey, to keep this place from becoming wild with the growth of foul and loathsome beasts. Even my loss, to bring the histories to the Great Tree, is one the Hive allows with great reluctance.

You give her fuzzy bee bottom a little stroke, and her wings purr like a kitten. It amazes you just how cute she is despite being an insect the size of a mouse. "Well, I know not if I have the knowledge any special friends you have in your Hive, but I'll at least keep you company upon your journey."

No, Friend Neia, it is I who shall keep you company upon yours.

Once your thirst has been quenched, you give a little fist bump to your new bee friend and head back up to the Flower Fields to sing from them the silk you will need to make yourself a fine dress for diplomatic affairs. Happy to hear that you purified the Elfintree of the Blight it had been carrying and keeping in quarantine, the flowers are quite generous with their offerings to you, leaving you with more thread than you need to make the dress you wish to make.

The Solar Roses gift you thread of silver and gold, offering their blossoms for your use.
The Verdant Tulips grant you a deep dark green, a color more rich and splendid than any dye.
A Lunar Lily offers its body, to become the flower charm in your hair.

You use the gold thread sparingly as a trim, for it is the rarest of the three, and the one which can carry the highest concentration of mana. Mixing it with threads and rivets of dragon-brass, it becomes the foundation of the magics which flow through your new dress. The memories of the ancients spread through the cloth, suffusing the wearing with a knowledge of a thousand tongues, if not more than that. While you wear these clothes, your words will be understood, and you will understand the words and intent of others, no matter what tongue they speak to you.

The green you use in two parts.

For the dress itself, you blend it with the silver cloth and trim it with the gold. The pattern of the dress is two toned and sleeveless, with a great silver diamond covering your delicious flat chest and rising to a dragon-brass collar about your neck, from which hangs a talisman that carries the protections against weather and weariness that all elvenclothes bear. A smaller diamond pierces the green section of the fabric, interlocking with the greater diamond, and covers your navel. The two-diamond pattern repeats on your back, and the rest of the dress is an icy green, with the exception of a pattern of runes around the hem of the four-section skirt that spell out your oathes as a Daughter of Irminsul.

The skirt goes down little more than a third of the way down your thighs, and the sectioning gives a peak of your smooth and creamy flesh all the way up to the crown of your hips. Your legs remain bare down to your boots, and your arms are covered with sheer silk gauntlets in the same icy-green color of the dress, though with such thin fabric that you can see your arms through them. Leather straps gilded with dragon-brass keep them in place by squeezing your wrist and upper arm. They stretch out with a triangle of silver to cover the back of your hand, and end at a dragon-brass ring around your middle fingers.

Your focusing bangle clicks easily into place over one of the straps at your wrist, hardly disrupting the outfit.

The Toga is much simpler than the dress. You did not color the deep green threads with silver to gain the icy color, instead keeping it purest green. It hangs off your right shoulder and reaches down to just below your knee, staying on the right side of your body and leaving your lovely legs bare. The bottom of the toga is trimmed with gold threads, much like the dress, and a four-pointed star of dragon-brass has been riveted into the low-hanging corners of the fabric. You pouch belt keeps it from blowing around like a cape.

You have made splendid honey of this cut flower! Dawn peaks out of her new home, the hive you made of the Lunar Lily. Like the toga, it has an extradimensional space, though where the toga's is like a bag's, the flower's is more like that of a beehive. I am no Queen to rule a hive and bear many daughter-workers, but this humble worker bee can surely fill this splendid place with honey to share!

"Why thank you, Dawn," you pat the bee on her fuzzy head.

You are most welcome, Friend Neia, Dawn buzzes around you and slips back into the flower-hive upon your head. I told the Hive of the bitter buzzing of my departure. They wish us sweetest honey upon our journey, and that it may be free of Blight and other ugly things.

"Well that is good, but also wishful thinking," you say. With your words, you throw your traveling cloak over your clothes. A gift from Lyza, something she insisted upon giving you to up your defense as a woman, because the sturdy dress you wear upon your Travail is a defenseless thing in Hume eyes. You made a modification to it, a bit of spare dragon-brass made a leaf-shaped brooch with the same function as the stars upon your toga. "But the closer we get Lygos the safer it will become. We are a few weeks off, still."

Slipping Shamhat into the extradimensional space of your cloak with a twist and a spin, you hoist your Heimtasche over your shoulder and return the metal looms to spheres that join the Divine Spear in your cloak. Then, you step off.

Has this Lygos a Tree of Memory? Dawn pokes her head out of your flower. 'Tis not a city the Dragon Kings remember.

"It would not be, but I believe it does," you say... and then you give her a minor correction, a slight smile on your face. "Or at least, it did five hundred years ago."

The mechanism to cross the 10,000 Pillars of Minos sits at the crown of the most intact tower. You can feel the mana upon it, enough power flowing through the vines leading toward it that it sets Dawn on edge. Her wings beat with nervous and chittering buzzing, the worry of the Beast of the Depths rising up through the vines, but you have a better sense for mana than her. All the power pours into the platform of stone, which once was gilded with dragon-silver. Had the silver still been there, the flow of power would have been better, but there's still enough flowing here to make it work.

"Oh stone, move across thy chosen course, and bring us to the other side of this great vale."

You let your mana touch the core of the array, and at your words it groans to life. The command phrase was written upon it in the tongue of the old Dragon Kings, but despite your broken accent and poor grammar, it still works just as it should. The stone platform moves over an unseen and intangible road through the sky, slowly bringing you to a small tower that stands on the opposite side of the vale. It's a climb down, for the stairs had long since crumbled, but you reach the road well before noon about three days after you began work upon your new dress.

Of course, the road to Lygos is hardly completely smooth sailing... (Roll 1d100)
>Beasts
>Bandits
>The Undead
>A Giant of Some Sort
>"Guards" Upon the Road
>An Aberration
>Monstrous Humanoids
>Demon Cultists

>>5530246
>"Guards" Upon the Road
also, random idea; we should try to add more bees to our little head head beehive. bet the bees from different hives have a ton of stories to share between themselves

Rolled 69 (1d100)

>>5530246
whatever we enounter, since it isn't blighted, we're probably going to get dicked down...

>>5530286
69...
You know what you have to do

>>5530286
i mean, we could always use the spear to just make them cum on command
>"you already came"
>"N A N I"

>>5530246
>Demon Cultists
If there's some other enemy other than the Blighted it's good to know about them. Whichever option wins, if they aren't hostile then I support getting dicked down by them.

>>5530246
>>Bandits
Do we vote for one of these or more?

>>5530343
>we end up facing bandits that are disguising themselves as guards but in reality are demon cultists

Rolled 81 (1d100)

>>5530246
>>"Guards" Upon the Road

>>5530353
That is entirely a possibiity if you want to vote for a three way~

>>5530246
>Demon Cultists

>>5530286
>>5530290
Nice.

Rolled 100 (1d100)

>>5530246
>Bandits
>A Giant of Some Sort
>"Guards" Upon the Road
>Demon Cultists

>>5530524
oh boy.

>>5530524
LMAO WTF

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>>5530286
>>5530524

>>5530246
>>A Giant of Some Sort

>>5530524
Hahahaha yes! Yes! Yes!

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Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>5530246
Just got an idea
>Demon Cultists
Who are
>Monstrous humanoids

It would be really hot if Langeia gets ran through by them

Also captcha is DPP2N2 lol

>>5530246
>>An Aberration
does an aberration have tentacles?
I didn't realize we were voting on the encounter, I thought it was just a roll table to tell us what we might find

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>5530246
>Beasts

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>5530246
>"Guards" Upon the Road
It goes well with that 69

>>5530246
>"Guards" Upon the Road

>>5530246
>>Bandits
I wonder how you will write this tot

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Hope you had a wonderful weekend qm

Also found this on twitter
Very cute and funny!

https://twitter.com/ekusuakshuru/status/1613812631017779201?s=46&t=ffDbLjzBG_cFzkpq9QVgfA

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The road meanders away from the lesser tower, following the gentle curves of the earth like a man's careful hand tracing the bosom of his lover. Age and distance have brought with it the wear of time and the rot of neglect, leaving the winding path in a truly sorry state. Roots of young trees barely of an age with you recklessly crack the old pavestones as they swell from the soil, their tendrils reaching deep into the earth. What once was a smooth stone path that connected the eastern and western halve of the Dragon Kingdoms for those who carried the goods that came to her ports was now overgrown and disorderly, barely recognizable as a road.

Over the course of your slow descent from the crest overlooking the Pillars of Minos into the hills that roll out from the shadow of the Baltean Mountains, the road becomes less and less of a tangle of stone and roots as the forest gives way to grasslands. Here the road remains more or less intact, with grass only weakly peaking out through the gaps between the pavestones and the occasional crack born of fouling from weather and age.

Here more than anywhere on your trip, you can see the ravages of the Third Blight and the breaking of the Dragon Kingdoms upon the Humelands.

The mountains leading into your homeland had always been a wild place outside of the Elvenhome. The smallfolk among the Humes kept their distance from the Children, if not out of fear of the Rods and the Rings, then out of concern that one of the faery girls would seduce their sons away from their family and village. The great lords among the Humes held no fear, but a respect for your people's territory that warned away their citizens from settling too close. A good neighbor is one who keeps their nose away from their neighbor's business, and their dogs off their neighbor's lawn - that was how Alfheim treated with the Dragon Kings, and how your home continued to treat with its neighbors today.

Here, though, had once been the Heartlands of the Dragon Kingdoms. Lygos, known as Troja in that age, had not been the Harbor at the Heart of the World, through which all goods that flowed East and West came to rest for a time. Rather, it was a small fishing village, the safe harbor where smaller ships would stop over in during the journey to the Latic Penisula.

Paintings by Feofan - the current Eldest in Alfheim who represents the fine arts - depicting this land at the height of the Dragon Kingdoms hang on the walls of the Gymnasium. They do not show an empty grassland speckled with the occasional pile of rocks where once stood a windmill or the farmhouses of those who kept this land. In those days, this road would have been lined with stands every dozen miles or so, selling fresh produce to the procession of caravanners who came and went from the Dragonkeep. The farmhouses would stand in small clusters of around twelve, and the windmills would slowly turn, grinding grain into flour.

The Third Blight brought to those people a terrible end.

The air of this place tastes of spoilt honey and dead pollen... Dawn buzzes. She has poked her bee head out of the flower in your hair, her buzzing wings speaking of her concerns about these rolling hills. The soil smells rich, but the flowers do not grow here. It is an ill omen, where no memories can bloom into fragrant nostalgia. I do not like it, Friend Neia. I do not like it one bit.

"I care not for this place myself, Dawn," you tell your little buzzing friend. "Mana pulses only in the deep earth, so faintly that I can barely hear its flow through the roots. Ten miles down, maybe even further. Yggdrasil had to prune away its rotten branches when the Blight came, and what remains here now is what survived, and what could grow anew."

No, there is more to it than that, Dawn asserts. Her buzzing grows more irritated as her antennae twitch in the air, picking up things that your eyes cannot. There is a foul honey about these lands, the sort that wilts the flowers and blights the trees. Perhaps not the Blight, but bad honey all the same.

You're not so sure about all of that, but with Dawn being so insistent, it cannot hurt for you to expand your senses.

Closing your eyes, your raise up you nose and take in the scent of the land.

"Ah, I see what it is now..." you breathe, understanding everything the moment you caught a whiff of ash and brimstone. Touching them with your open hands, the pavestones here are warmer than they should be for the late season of your travels, much warmer, which is all you need to confirm your thoughts. "Yes, that grass would be one of the only plants that could survive in these hills. Beneath our feet, two-thousand year old dragon's fire still roils, keeping the land beneath the lands alight with unseen flame. The Dragon Kings of old cleansed the heartland in purifying flame before they left for Giskonis to end the Third Blight."

And the flames still burn after two thousand years...? Dawn's buzzing is tinged with disbelief. The honey of your words is strange. Fire is a fleeting thing, is it not?

You shake your head. "I once visited Niederung to learn certain techniques from the Daughters of the Marsh, and while I was there I had the privilege to visit the great Peat-Forges that sit at the roots of the Weidenholz. The fires there have been burning for 10,000 without a single moment's pause, never running out of fuel. I would not say that they were a fleeting thing, and it would be foolish to think that dragon's fire would not last for just as long, given a fuel source as rich in magic as the Blight which had seeped into these lands."

The Blight is gone, but the flames still remain? Dawn's buzzing turns to a reasonable question.

"Well, it is only speculation," you answer with a shrug. "Dragon's flame consumes mana as much as it consumes matter, so a mycelium of Blight spread beneath the plains would be a feast for the flame. But, coal or naphtha could fuel it too."

The grasslands where only grows that half-burnt yellow-green grass continues for miles upon miles as you continue down the road. The beasts do not seem to mind the current state as much as Dawn does, but she is more sensitive to the absence of flowers, even moreso than you are to the distance put between you and the Roots of Yggdrasil by the inferno burning beneath your feet. Wild goats and other herbivores of the hills seem quite content with the yellow-green supper, and the flames below do not stop the occasional creek and river from crossing the road's path. The water is unseasonably warm, but that is to be expected.

In the cold air of the day, it almost looks like it's steaming, and the near tropically bright fish swimming among the clear warm waters seem comically out of place against the crisp backdrop of autumn.

However much heat the flames beneath are still putting off - enough to ruin the growth cycles of all but the heartiest plants in the grasslands - it is not enough to blow away the autumn's chill. With the artifice upon your traveling clothes, the chill of the air cannot bother you, but it is not beyond your notice by any means. Dawn takes haven in her flower for most of the day now, except at the hour of noon, where she flutters off to collect memories and nectar from the burnt-grass. The days pass and slowly turn into a week of travel, and the season has slowly but surely begun to turn into winter.

On the day of the first snowfall, you arrive at an old watchtower that separated the Heartlands of the Dragon Kingdoms from its western frontier - now a ruin on the eastern border of the Daedalian heartlands, miles deep into a grassy wasteland where the soil burns all attempts to grow anything but the most hearty of plants. You began to see the smoke of chimneys two days back, but all of them were a fair few miles away from the ruin of a road that you've been following. Too far to be worth visiting and seeing how common Humes live in these modern days.

Your cloak is bundled against the gentle snow. Beneath it, you wear the simple off-white and green dress of your traveling clothes, though now you have extra long and thick socks on that go up almost all the way to your thick woolen bloomers. One might say you are uncharacteristically overdressed with how many extra layers you put on the moment you saw a snowflake falling, but such people don't know you well.

You are 100% shameless in everything you pursue, whether it's dick or warmth.

Besides which your long thigh-high socks have set up an incredibly powerful forbidden zone when combined with the hem of your traveling dress. Your skirt covers just enough to keep the gluteal fold of your perfect ass tantalizingly hidden, always on the verge of being shown. Your stockings both come to an end below the skirt, revealing exactly one inch of deliciously creamy flesh to the world. It draws the eye to your crotch in a way that if you cannot get any man you want, you are a failure.

The short of it is, even wearing so many layers, your clothes are designed to tempt men into pinning you down and ravaging you on the spot, just the way you like them.

The old watchtower sits atop the tallest hill for miles upon miles, commanding a view of all the traffic by river and road throughout the shrub-and-grass filled badlands that the old Heartlands had become under the Blight and Dragon's Flame. To your surprise, an old and worn out banner of a noble house of Daedalium that long since fell into extinction has been raised at the tower's crown, and wooden structures have been added as repairs and expansions to a structure you expected to be little more than a ruin. Men in full harness - old and imperfect fits, but well cared for - have descended the stairway carved into the hill to meet you on a patch of road that has been cut and cleared.

"Well met, traveler!" one of the men-at-arms calls when you're about 30ft out from them. You can make out handsome features beneath his helmet, though you suspect that's why he's the one doing the speaking. His fellows are not so pretty as he, and from the way they leer at your face with barely disguised lust, not so well spoken either. "Rare to see a lonesome girl crossing the Goldengrass Wastes. What business have you in the demesne of Baron Şoimul?"

"I am a Child of Yggdrasil upon her Travail," you declare, throwing back your hood. Snow begins to mingle with your silvery hair, and the points of your long ears begin to turn red as snow falls down and chills them through the protections woven into your clothing. "I seek only passage through these lands on my way to Lygos. Will you let me through?"

You suspect the answer will be no. Not without an extravagant payment, at least.

See, unless a new house claimed it in the past ten years - not impossible, but not likely - that banner of a silver hawk belongs to the once great, but now extinct, line of Leiningen.

"Of course, fair Childe," the armored man says, leading with the yes. You were correct in suspecting that there would be a but to shortly follow it. A completely unreasonable price, 100 times what you would charge for a full wagon, let alone a traveler on foot. "However, there is a modest toll upon this road of 500 silver ferns, for the upkeep and maintenance of the roads, you see. An expensive project, trying to get everything back in the order it once was."
>Shamhat says "taxation is theft!" It is time to test the powers of the Lust Spear.
>Men in metal armor cannot stop you, with your magic. Give them a reasonable toll for the work they claim to do, and be on with it.
>You don't have ferns, but you are flush with silver from the treasure Shamhat laid upon. You can afford this toll.
>Go see if you can't negotiate with the "Lord". You have a few ideas for this land that he might find more valuable than silver.
>See if they'd be willing to accept "other" means of payment. Your body and skills are quite valuable, after all...

>>5534803
>Go see if you can't negotiate with the "Lord". You have a few ideas for this land that he might find more valuable than silver.
>tease the idea of having a good time with the men after dealing with the "Lord"
>shamat still says"taxation is theft!" in the background

>>5534803
>>Shamhat says "taxation is theft!" It is time to test the powers of the Lust Spear.

>>5534837
Support.

>>5534803
>>See if they'd be willing to accept "other" means of payment. Your body and skills are quite valuable, after all...

>>5534803
>See if they'd be willing to accept "other" means of payment. Your body and skills are quite valuable, after all...
The most valuable currency

>>5534803
>>See if they'd be willing to accept "other" means of payment. Your body and skills are quite valuable, after all...
Last time, we fucked them so hard they became honest men. I'm sure we can give them something they'd like.
On the other hand,
>>Shamhat says "taxation is theft!" It is time to test the powers of the Lust Spear.
This might be fun

>>5534803
>Go see if you can't negotiate with the "Lord". You have a few ideas for this land that he might find more valuable than silver.
>See if they'd be willing to accept "other" means of payment. Your body and skills are quite valuable, after all...

For the people that are taking the "other" option, talking with the so-called lord of the place aligns with lagneia's goals, we should at least try that one before directly seducing the guards

>>5534803
>Shamhat says "taxation is theft!" It is time to test the powers of the Lust Spear.

>>5535232
True but these guys will continue extorting people if allowed to live

>>5535278
>allowed to live
Are we planning to KILL them, though? I'm thinking even Libertarian Spear Shamhat just wants to orgasm-beam them into unconsciousness.

>>5535278
yeah, but lagneia is a diplomat first; killing them should be plan c or d, unless we're dealing with the blight. i mean, just imagine if lagneia manages to give them such a good fuck that they completely change their ways. that would be a badge of honor for her

>>5535290
Oh, right, iirc langenia fucked the misogyny out of one of that camp followers

She probably can do the same thing here but I want to see what shamhat spear can do

>>5535313
>Oh, right, iirc langenia fucked the misogyny out of one of that camp followers
I wouldn't call it that, but I kind of see misogyny as a meaningless term these days.

You definitely fucked all eight of them - including one guy who was basically the inexplicably attractive to women fat guy from the NTR doujins - out of their womanizing ways, though.

>>5534803
>>Go see if you can't negotiate with the "Lord". You have a few ideas for this land that he might find more valuable than silver.

>>5534803
>>See if they'd be willing to accept "other" means of payment. Your body and skills are quite valuable, after all...
Let's not pretend that we aren't looking forwards to this

>>5534803
>Go see if you can't negotiate with the "Lord". You have a few ideas for this land that he might find more valuable than silver.
>tease the idea of having a good time with the men after dealing with the "Lord"

>>5534803
>Baron Şoimul
I may or may not have tried several times to wipe the bottom of this Ş off my monitor.

>Shamhat says "taxation is theft!" It is time to test the powers of the Lust Spear.

>>5534837
Supporting

>>5534837
+1

>>5535878
+1

Lets leave the horni for now, we just got some and I don't wanna turn this quest into an akun quest so quickly

Any word on the update?

>>5537580
When ToT refills the cunny in his tank

>>5537580
>>5538085
If not 2nite then 2morrow.

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You will give these bandits one thing - they are not fools. Their demeanor changed when you revealed yourself as one of the Children, the hungry leers waning into more polite expressions of interest in your carefully cultivated beauty after a shiver of fear came over them. In many ways, dealing with bandits can be preferable to dealing with unsightly nobles. Should either be foolish enough to kidnap - or worse, kill - a Child, a Ranger will be sent with Rod and Ring within the year to punish them. But the nobility would act with the full confidence that their nation would ultimately back them against a foreign power attempting to remove a member of their power structure. Bandits and outlaws, however, know that they have no such backing, and take more caution than the more rotten members of the Nobility.

Though such an exorbitant fee, you think you hate.

You're not alone, either. Dawn doesn't quite get it - why people would lie about building infrastructure, or why one would be reluctant to provide the resources needed to build it. From the space hidden within the folds of your cloak, Shamhat, however, all but grumbles in her sleep about how this is theft, plain and simple.

You do not hate the bandits' new expressions, however. Humes have a sort of rugged appeal which your fellow Children of Yggdrasil will never fully have, even when they reach that venerable age where more facial hair than the fuzz of a peach can be grown. A more respectful amount of interest in your sex appeal is quite welcome.

"Is that so...?" you drawl, giving them a bit of a show. With a swish of your hips, you adopt a pose often used by the femme fatales in a stage play. A pose that shows off the womanly curves of your lower half, despite your inherently small stature as one of Yggdrasil's Children and your lack of curves above the waist. You may be one of the Children, but only a fool would mistake you for a child. "I would not call 500 ferns modest by any means. For a full caravan passing through, whose wheels kick up dust and whose weight cracks the stone, perhaps. But for a lone Child? I mean you no disrespect, good sir, but surely there must be an error in your books."

"'Fraid not, fair Childe," the man-at-arms has the decency to sound apologetic as he wrings your blood out with tolls. From a chain on his hip, he pulls up a grand tome and flips through it. He takes a pair of reading glasses from a pouch at his side, and squints through them at the text. "Says right 'ere in milord's Manual for the Guard, page 214, third paragraph. 'Standard fee-for-passage from the Goldengrass to Anatol will be set at a base rate of 500 ferns'. That's the truth, or my name isn't Robert Hael."

"And it do be Robert Hael!" one of the less well spoken guards calls out.

"Well, I would stake my name of Lagneia on there being a clause right after granting the Guard-on-Watch discretion to discount the travel fees to a more reasonable price," you drawl. "With examples, I imagine."

"Aye, with examples," Robert looks a little sheepish at that. A sign of great professionalism, as he's really putting it all into the act of pretending to be a guard. Perhaps they're less bandits, and more simply running a con on travelers. "The problem comes with the fact that none of them really apply to you. It's all about caravans and traveling groups on-foot versus on carriage and whatnot. Nothing said about someone all by their lonesome, because, well... you're coming out of the Goldengrass without a band of bodyguards, and that's just strange, meanin' no offense to you, fair Childe."

"Aye, we's a perfectly legitimate operation here!" one of the others says something that catches him a few glares from his friends. "Wit' standard' operatin' procedures an'- OOF! Wat wuz dat for?"

"Clam it ya damn chowder 'ead!" his partner growls through a whisper, having elbowed him in the ribs. "We don' need ta explain we're legitimate, that's what the Baron Şoimul is s'posed ta do ifn it comes up."

Robert pinches his nose. "Forgive my comrades here. The good Baron's taken to hiring men who need the work, and men who need the work are often uncouth and undereducated."

"I'm sure he has," you say, a smirk crawling its way onto your face. You gesture towards the watchtower, no doubt where Barol Şoimul can be found. "Perhaps it would be best if you took me to your liege lord, that he and I may negotiate a more reasonable fee. I am quite certain that it was a simple oversight on his part when he wrote the examples in your manual. And even if it was not... there are things that I can give him more easily than silver, which would make up the difference."

You flash Robert a lurid grin, letting him and his men know exactly what you mean to imply.

The men behind Robert howl like eager wolves, hooting and whistling in approval of your implied "payment."

Robert himself, however, gives you a bit of a flat look. "You are a beauty among beauties, Childe Lagneia, of that there is no doubt. Nor do I mean to besmirch your skills, if that is how you intend to make up the difference. But - and forgive me for saying this - somehow, I doubt an evening of your company would be an equivalent exchange."

"You're absolutely right, Robert, it would not," you say. Robert nods slowly, but you can see confusion creep onto his as you puff up with pride. Smug self-confidence beams from the smile on your face. "My company for an hour would command a price far greater than a mere 500 silver ferns, so to monopolize my evening would be an expensive gift indeed. For I learned the art of giving pleasure from prostitutes who spent a thousand years perfecting it, and I have honed those skills over the course of a century. I believe the word humans use to describe the works of those who have spent a lifespan perfecting their skills as a masterpiece, do they not? I wonder how great a price such works fetch..."

If the men had been howling before, now they begin to roar.

"Huh..." while his men seem rather excited by your reply, Robert himself doesn't quite know how to respond to it. Humes have such strange foibles about discussing intimacy in the open, you recall. At least, the ones who learned their manners do. Which is a shame, because while they usually lack the stamina one of the Children will have in bed, they make up for it in length and girth. He gives you a strained grin. "Well, it's good that you have confidence in yourself."

"I see you still doubt me," you click your tongue at the end, going tsk-tsk as you wag an admonishing finger at him. A feeling of approval emanates from within your cloak, where Shamhat hides away until you need her. Something about telling off the taxman for his highway robbery. "Allow me to demonstrate."

"D-Demonstrate...!?" Robert looks at you with wide eyes while his men howl in approval. "Ch-Childe Lagneia, you should be more careful around my men. A girl should have a sense of modesty..."

"To a Daughter of Irminsul, modesty is but a ball and chain," you puff up with smugness at the sound of the men's excitement. You can smell the faint whiff of their arousal in the air, as their imaginations run wild with thoughts of just what you plan on demonstrating. Rocking your hips back and forth, you slowly step towards as he retreats with uncertain steps backward from your lusty aura. "Allow me to show you, the ultimate form of seduction~"

"Wh-What!?" Robert takes one last step back, falling over himself and onto his rear. Rather than return to his feet, he tries to scramble away with his so called honor intact. How much honor can a con-artist have, though? The rest of his men are true to their natures, bidding you on with crass encouragement. "The ultimate... seduction!?"

"That's right," you whisper, your voice husky with lust. It carries on the wind, through the men's barks and catcalls. Your mana pulses, your eyes light up with pink hearts as you stare down at him. "I'll show you~"

You take one final step forward.

Robert squeezes his eyes shut, looking away.

The crass, uncultured men lean in, excitement on their faces. Their lustful eyes lick your tiny, tight body from head to toe.

With a fluid and graceful gesture, you unleash the most powerful seductive technique that you have. One that you perfected a mere handful of years before you left Alfheim upon your travail, under the guidance of the Eldest Daughter of Irminsul, who has refined her seductive techniques for nearly six and a half thousand years. One that you unleashed upon one of your childhood friends as a test at her recommendation. One that knocked him off his feet and made him require medical attention for a heart that nearly stopped, a mind that nearly broke, and an erection that would not go down even after twenty four hours.

The very crystallization of lust and beauty, a single gesture that carries such potent erotic promise that it can ensnare the hearts of men with ease.

You blow him a kiss. "Chuu~! <3"

Robert and his men fall silent.

You must have put too much power into it. You only intended to demonstrate to Robert the difference in magnitude of your abilities, the gap that separates you from the average human prostitute. Compared to a girl who has worked for a dozen years and began to age out of it, you have been in your prime for a century and will continue to be there for millennia more. You wanted to show him how vast and deep the ocean of your passions is, but it seems that in doing so you accidentally pulled his men in with the riptide and dragged them under to drown in the abyss of your eroticism. A single gesture with too much eros behind it left them speechless, unable to think.

"C-Cute..." one of the crass men finally manages to break the silence. A stream of blood trickles down his nose.

His brothers in arms makes noises of agreement, though he's the only one whose brain you appear to have physically damaged with the power of you blown kiss. You should have known, it was a hundred years too early for boys like them.

"I... uh... huh..." Robert continues to stare at you in disbelief. No doubt his mind is struggling to comprehend how you can be so tiny, and yet so potently erotic at the same time. You have all the beauty of a Hume maiden at her pinnacle, but all the erotic mannerisms of an experienced whore who needs technique to compensate for the rigors of age. Pinching his nose, he empties his thoughts with a deep breath. "You know, I think milord will take a liking to you, Childe Lagneia. I cannot say how willing he will be to engage in negotiations, but I'm quite certain the two of you will get along swimmingly. Follow me, I shall bring you to him."

"I thank you, Robert," you tell him. "And... I'm sure we will work out something..."

Sex alone will not please a con-artist who's engaged in such arrogation that even his partners in crime seem to think him a nobleman. A tight, wet, cunny might get him to lower his price a bit, but you'd rather just avoid paying even a pittance of a toll to a faker who has stolen the banner of a once venerated house. Still, if he's willing to put in some hard work, you have a few ideas that could help him on his journey to resemble a worthy heir.
>With the fire beneath the land, the waters are warm. You would not mind teaching him how to dig for a hotspring, as a way to generate revenue.
>You know of some plants that used to be native to Giskonis, which could thrive in this warm soil. Perhaps that information would be a good trade?
>The peat-forges of the northland swamps made them a titan of metallurgy. Though it would not match the elvenworks, you can show him how to make one.
>The flowers here have withered, but they still live. This storied watchtower has old memories - if the flowers are revitalized and maintained, those memories could become a source of power and wealth.

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>>5539437
>If the men had been howling before, now they begin to roar.

>>5539441
>The flowers here have withered, but they still live. This storied watchtower has old memories - if the flowers are revitalized and maintained, those memories could become a source of power and wealth.
plus:
>we don't know nor care if the baron is the actual successor of the Leiningen line, but if he's willing to uphold the name and back us up when we need negotiating leverage, we're willing to back him up in his legitimacy claim

>>5539468
Support.

>>5539441
>>The peat-forges of the northland swamps made them a titan of metallurgy. Though it would not match the elvenworks, you can show him how to make one

>>5539441
>The flowers here have withered, but they still live. This storied watchtower has old memories - if the flowers are revitalized and maintained, those memories could become a source of power and wealth.

>Rocking your hips back and forth, you slowly step towards as he retreats with uncertain steps backward from your lusty aura.

Langenia helltaker dance would be pretty cute

>>5539441
>>With the fire beneath the land, the waters are warm. You would not mind teaching him how to dig for a hotspring, as a way to generate revenue.
I'm getting some three stooges vibes from these background bandits.

>>5539468
Supporting.>>5539441
>>With the fire beneath the land, the waters are warm. You would not mind teaching him how to dig for a hotspring, as a way to generate reve
I also want to see this place become a hotspring when we come back through.

>>5539441
>The peat-forges of the northland swamps made them a titan of metallurgy. Though it would not match the elvenworks, you can show him how to make one

>>5539441
>With the fire beneath the land, the waters are warm. You would not mind teaching him how to dig for a hotspring, as a way to generate revenue.

>>5539441
>>With the fire beneath the land, the waters are warm. You would not mind teaching him how to dig for a hotspring, as a way to generate revenue.
Hot springs are comfy and safe

>>5539441
>>The flowers here have withered, but they still live. This storied watchtower has old memories - if the flowers are revitalized and maintained, those memories could become a source of power and wealth.

>>5539441
>>The peat-forges of the northland swamps made them a titan of metallurgy. Though it would not match the elvenworks, you can show him how to make one

>>5539441
>With the fire beneath the land, the waters are warm. You would not mind teaching him how to dig for a hotspring, as a way to generate revenue.

Anyone wanna archive this or do we let ToT QM do it since we’re on page 9 now

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In the heart of an old watchtower, an important-looking man sat at a venerable oaken desk. Its surface was worn and weathered, pocked here and there with age but smoothed by centuries upon centuries of oil and polish. New plaster covered the walls, and from them hung old relics that once had been abandoned. Tender care did what they could to restore the bronze frames and the cracked paint. Yet for all of that the wear of ages could not be fully hidden, the tarnish of centuries of neglect could not be so easily washed away. Though with the right affectations, that neglect and wear could be made to thrum with the centuries for which the tower had stood.

The floor was clear of dust, covered in carpets imported from the west and furnishings that the man took great pains to collect. Where the old relics could not be restored, they were replaced with new ones. Bravant's Domiciles for the Children hung across from the portrait of an old Leiningen Matriarch, depicting a view of the marble halls of Alfheim sung into existence amidst the forested vale of Alvenwald, as seen from the upper branches of the Irminsul. Markorias' City of the Bridge covered the far wall from his desk, depicting the great bridges of Lygos that stretch across the Black Channel that separates East from West, Alagonia from Assuwa, and divides the Heartlands of Daedalium in twain.

And many more such relics joined them, all purchased at the man's personal expense.

His hand cradled his head as he surveyed the mountain of papers that sat on his desk, a monument to the bureaucratic order that he had brought to the lands that bordered the Heart of Daedalium. The peasants who tilled the land were simply happy to have someone to reign in the bandits. Even if many of them now worked in his service, the work he gave them kept them too tired and full of cheap beer to harass the smallfolk who tried eking a living out of the Goldengrass Wastes. The neighboring nobles eyed the old banner of Leiningen with some suspicion, but no one truly cared, so long as he stayed out of their lands and kept the monsters from the wastes out of their borders.

Which he did. Most of his revenue came from selling the carcasses of the beasts his men killed. Goldfeather Rocs had the finest down for pillows, and their meat ranked amongst the most delectable out of every monster born of the wild magics of the waste. Rich bachelors of the far west would pay good coin for the pelts of the Fire Rats that swarmed from the pits of Dragonfire, for their soft and everwarm fur was prized as a wedding gift for their wives. Tamers from Lygos paid much for capture Shade Wolves as well, for they made for powerful and loyal companions if you managed to break one in.

Plus, dogs bred with them inherited their cleverness, and were absolutely adorable

A smile cracked his lips open ever so slightly as he went about his work with a manic look in his eye, scrawling his signature on the papers with one hand.

For you see, despite the mountain of paperwork and the lordly responsibilities that hung around his neck like a yoke that dragged him away from the freedom that men as young and talented as he deserve, that man was exactly where he wanted to be. With his talent for magics, he could have become a ranking scholar of the Daedalian Academy and worked to unravel the secrets of the Ley Lines alongside other brilliant minds. With his talent for swordsmanship and bureaucracy, he could have found himself a comfortable position in the military or a mercenary company and have been set for life. Many highlords would have killed to acquire a common boy of his raw talent to raise into their son's seneschal, and that would have been a position of comfort and power.

But that man wanted none of that.

For you see, in the convent that raised him, he found himself drunk on tales of heroes fighting dark lords. Those stories planted a seed deep within him, that blossomed into a magnificent dream.

"You seem happy today, Ewan," a voice cut the man away from his work and his thoughts. It comes from the shadows of the room, but the speaker cannot be seen. "I take it you've been enjoying your new eyepatch? I'm not sure if I should be offended, I'm pretty sure the leather came from one of my cousins..."

"How many times must I tell you, my name is no long Ewan..." the man who is not Ewan complained. His voice and tone were both very well practiced in front of the mirror, deep and powerful, yet with a certain unspeakable edge to it oft possessed by stage actors popular among unmarried women.

"Just once more, Ewan..." the first voice chuckled, which earned a click from the man who is not Ewan's tongue.

"Do not test my patience, Grimheart Blackhound," the man who is not Ewan growls, blithely ignoring the response that 'just Grim will do' from the person he's addressing. He stood from his desk, casting forth his hand with a flourish of his cloak. "For the sake of [the Great Purpose], I have forsaken the name given to me under the Light of the Starfather. I am now and forevermore Baron Azar Noctis Khallan Beznak Oitsev Caedis Morv Plejaad Najmakt Şoimul, Lord of the Golden Wastes and future Master of the Nine Lands! Mwahahahahahaaaaaa!"

"Ewan!" the first voice barked in alarm as his master broke out into villainous laughter. "Ewan, you're breaking Rule 17! I shall not break into maniacal laughter, no matter how therapeutic it may be. Snap out of it, boss man!"

The man who was not Ewan but was most definitely Baron Azar Şoimul, did not snap out of it.

From the shadows leapt a fearsome hound. Well, he would describe himself as a fearsome hound, but in actuality he was a puppy with jet black fur as dark as midnight, streaked with shades of deep and royal purple. The perfect color for the familiar spirit of the future Dark Lord of All Creation, at least if you were to ask the Man Who Was Not Ewan. The pup began pawing his master...

"Hmph," the Man Who Was Certainly Baron Azar Şoimul looked down at the concerned puppy pawing at his pant legs, opening the blue-gold eye not covered by the beautifully crafted fur-lined eyepatched that sealed away his true powers (or so he would tell you). Despite the dismissive look, he squats down and gives the good boy some scritches behind the ear (as all good boys deserve). "There is a clause in Rule 17 that states that I am to refrain from doing so in front of the heroes, Grimheart Blackhound. I see no heroes in this room, only a dark lord and his most fearsome familiar..."

A knock on the door to the eight-sided office was soon followed by it being thrown open.

Grim dove into his master's shadow, while Baron Şoimul vanished in a puff of smoke. He reappeared back at his desk, almost lounging in his throne-like chair. He had in his left hand a document that cannot afford to be rubber stamped, a request by a village ombudsman to expand their village into a town - something he would actually need to spend some time considering. In his right hand, he held a mug filled with coffee, a drink that not only screamed of his Daedalian patriotism - for it was the nation's drink! - but also, served black, flaunted his aptitude as a Dark Lord.

Only Dark Lords and Surly Detectives drank their coffee black, and Baron Şoimul was neither surly nor a detective. Everyone else added sugar and cream to it, like fools.

"Guardsman Merryweather," Baron Şoimul let the paper he was reading drop to give a one-eyed stare at the guard who barged in on him. "I trust you have a good reason to interrupt my work?"

"Ahhhh, Manual for the Guard says I had to, milord!" the guardsman stammers. Baron Şoimul arched his eyebrow, for there were only a few things that would authorize them to barge in like that, all of them very interesting - and not necessarily in the good way. "Page 373, fifth paragraph... 'should an Elf or Dwarf arrive... notify the highest authority at your post immediately'. An' well, there's an Elf here milord. A reeeeeeeeeeeeeal pretty elf, got most of the men in a tizzy she does."

"Was she in the company of a man or boy with messy black hair, who might have been wearing armor or a headband?" Baron Şoimul described [the Great Enemy], the HERO with whom he was fated to do battle, in not so many words.

"Ah, no, milord..." the guardsman seemed confused. "Is that important? Might want ta put it in the manual."

"No, no..." the Baron shook his head, lost in thought. He waved the guard off. "Go send for a maid to prepare some tea and cookies... and if Robert isn't bringing her in all ready, make sure he does. I have much desire to speak with this Elf upon our roads..."

After all, she represented...
>Quite the financial opportunity
>A threat, even without THE HERO
>A means to climb the social ladder
>A potential partner it court, free of its cancerous politics
>A beauty to woo. Every Dark Lord needs a Dark Queen, after all

>>5543262
>A beauty to woo. Every Dark Lord needs a Dark Queen, after all
Elf is cute.

>>5543262
>>A beauty to woo. Every Dark Lord needs a Dark Queen, after all

>opening the blue-gold eye not covered by the beautifully crafted fur-lined eyepatched that sealed away his true powers (or so he would tell you)

kek

>>5543262
>>A potential partner it court, free of its cancerous politics

>>5543262
>>A beauty to woo. Every Dark Lord needs a Dark Queen, after all
How dashing

>>5543262
>>A beauty to woo. Every Dark Lord needs a Dark Queen, after all
I like this guy! We should definitely try to get him to Establish an industry that will cover his stupid tolls

>>5543262
>A beauty to woo. Every Dark Lord needs a Dark Queen, after all
oh, he's an ambitious idiot. i like him already

>>5543262
>>A potential partner it court, free of its cancerous politics

>>5543262
>>A threat, even without THE HERO

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>>5543262
>opening the blue-gold eye not covered by the beautifully crafted fur-lined eyepatched that sealed away his true powers (or so he would tell you).

oh for fucks sake, this guy is genderbent fischl!

>>5543262
>>A beauty to woo. Every Dark Lord needs a Dark Queen, after all

Fyi thread is archived

>>5543262
>A potential partner it court, free of its cancerous politics
>A beauty to woo. Every Dark Lord needs a Dark Queen, after all

>>5545579
Good work op or anon

>>5545579
>>5545840
>>5546104
It was Anon. In any case, as a warning, I have company coming very early tomorrow, so it's unlikely that I will be able to make a post until next Monday. At that point, I think it will be best to start up Thread 3 rather than squeeze it in to Thread 2.

>>5543262
>Quite the financial opportunity
Elves are naturally adept at making money with their bodies

>>5508074
The Christmas special for the archive readers

New thread?