Your closest friends would roll their eyes, and they would not be wrong to do so. Throughout the ten decades you spent learning the arts of a Daughter of Irminsul, you wore your thirst for the pleasures that men alone can give to women openly and without shame. You enjoy the pleasures of the body, and your enthusiasm in pursuing them made you something of a prodigy among the Children of Yggdrasil taken as apprentices to the temple prostitutes. You intend to win peace and renew the ancient treaties, it is true. But Helen Dragon-Queller forged the ancient pacts in the bed chamber, using her body and her skill to "quell" the Dragon King's other dragon.

Surely you will get to experience such a reward on your journey to win peace, right? You certainly would not mind helping any number of Humes and Stouts turn their swords into plowshares, and giving them all sorts of tips on how to properly till a field. It would not be virgin soil, but a field that's only known one crop is not particularly fertile without extreme levels of effort and care. Best to cut your teeth on companion planting; the Children recommend three crops for easy staples: Maize, Beans, and Squash. Plant those three at once and the soil will be nice and happy to provide an extremely bountiful harvest once the grain moon rises.

Such as things are.

There will be no such harvest for girls in this hive of sour honey, Lagneia, comes a familiar buzzing from atop your head. The head of a bee the size of a man's fist pokes out from the flower that pins back your hair. She goes by the name One Hundred and Twenty Eight Heartbeats Before Dawn, erstwhile tender to the tree of Helen Dragon-Queller and your present day companion upon your quest for seduction's long peace. Taste the memories that cling to the scent of flowers. This house holds only useless drones who deserve a feast of rotten honey for their foolishness. Do they not know that no larvae will grow in the bottoms of their fellow drones?

"Some see that as an upside and not a downside," you buzz to Dawn in the tongue of the Bees, a throat heavy language of humming and buzzing that only Children can learn. Some things are best left unheard by your guide through the opulent and Esteemed House of al-Fasek. Still, you cannot help but chortle when Dawn gives a wordless buzz of shock at your response. "Ufufu, but it's true, Dawn. We Children grow upon the sprouts of Yggdrasil, and have no need for many things we share with Hume and Stout. But in many ways, that's quite convenient in building relationships without the risk it carries if ours shared every function."

Bah, what rotten honey is this? Dawn complains. At least mating with you would be like practice for a drone.

"I would say that the master of the esteemed house is quite well practiced in such matters..." You buzz back at her. The twelfth maid catches your eye, and you have to admit that Dawn was right about one thing.

In the Esteemed House of al-Fasek, there will be no such harvest for girls.

The master of this house shares his preference for male company as openly as you do, though from the dress and demeanor of the maids and the masked guards you suspect that he prefers to do to them what you prefer to have done to you. Where most nobles would hang portraits of their family and noted ancestors, this al-Fasek has instead decorated his halls with works of fine and passionate art that cleave to his preference. Each of them dancing upon the edge of good taste like a skilled acrobat tumbling over a wire five hundred feet in the air. A few of them you even recognize from their depictions in the library of Alfheim's gymnasium.

Cevik Ozden's Lessons in Palé depicts the wrestling grounds of old Lygos. Men and women in togas gossip and watch on as a muscular man of incredible statures demonstrates a perfect submission hold upon a particularly effeminate boy. An excessive amount of detail is given to their loincloths.

The Fate of Ghisk by Elias Raptis tells of the rise and fall of an ancient city-state in four parts. Its rise from the Ten Sands, its glory days as a major port between Alagnonia and Giskonis, its sack at the hands of the Ispani Tribes, and the enslavement of its people. More subtle than Cevik's work, the detail to catch here is the a single pretty-faced soldier whose likeness appears in each portrait.

In the last, as a coquettish maid raising the hem of her skirt just so to tempt "her" burly Ispani master.

The last painting you recognize is one by the prolific Emil Bravant, a friend of Alfheim and frequent patron of the Daughters of Irminsul. His nuanced preferences went beyond wearing out the jaws of the foolish novice among the Daughters who thought that all men were as easy to please as the students of the Gymnasium, and this painting shows just that. You cannot tell if the subject of The Dragon Charmer is male or female, for the wyrm coiled around its body hides the obvious tells. Given the resemblance its face shares with one of the Daughters of Irminsul who taught the novices, you suspect it to be female, but from all the other paintings...

Well, the master of this house most likely believes it male, a delusion you have no interest in breaking.

"I see your master is a patron of the arts," you say to the masked man guiding you through the manor. Presumably to a waiting room, or to where ever the beak-nosed woman in red silks has squirreled herself away. If not, you and the Lust Spear Shamhat may have some very point questions for him and his master, depending on where it is.

"Collector, more than Patron, Childe Lagneia," the man corrects you with a soft and gentle voice, almost feminine.

"Is there a difference?" you ask.

"Indeed there is," you guide tells you, and then promptly elaborates. "My master takes pride in the fact that he hasn't paid a single coin from his coffers for his collection. Steel is his currency."

You need not ask the man what he means by that. The answer is plain from the garb he and his fellow soldiers wear. It took you a moment to recognize their harness from the tomes in Alfheim's libraries, for the times have changed it sure enough as the Rod and the Ring have become more fearsome over the centuries. But the iron mask and the rope that binds the coif of maille which shields their heads marks them as the formidable slave-soldiers of Parthans. Their master may like to dress them up as alluring köçek harem-boys when they were off duty, but their true nature was that of the janissary.

You need not worry about them in any capacity. But to Daedalium they represent a fearsome force indeed.

In terms of charm, their appeal as köçeks might equal half of your sublime beauty if they pooled all of their charm together. The maids you came across certainly have potential, but your techniques have been refined by a hundred years of training. Despite their proclivities and clear preference for the same things you enjoy, all you had to do to ignite a spark of confused lust in the passing maids was a single practiced swish of your hips. Their eyes promptly stuck to your shapely bottom, and their skirts showed their passing interest quite vigorously, to their shame. Perhaps if you put some effort into it, you could find that "harvest for girls" in this house.

In terms of martial prowess, they remain fleeting Humes, and you a Child of Yggdrasil. They certainly stand head and shoulders above the company of men that fell to Shamhat's point early today, you can tell that at a glance. Yet it makes little difference to a Child of Yggdrasil armed with the spear of Helen Fire-Kissed and a divine gift of control over metal. Those mercenaries were each a puddle, these men are each themselves a swimming pool, and with a century of skill and an abundance of mana, you are a lake that fills the valley between the mountains and stretches on for miles.

Should their master be foolish enough to try something, well-

"Here we are, Childe Lagneia," the nameless janissary interrupts your thoughts when you reach a great oak door. Carved into its face is an intricate geometric pattern of spirals shaped like triangles. Not a sigil for a spell, but whether it has deeper meaning or was simply engraved because the master of the house thought it looked nice is something you cannot say. The armored man bows, to you, and takes the handle. "Lord al-Fasek is taking his reprieve at the moment, but I am certain that he will happily make time for one of the Children of the Groves. Such a guest is a rare-"

"I thought you were bringing me to the woman in red," you level an unimpressed look at the janissary.

"As I said at the gate, I know of no such woman," he offers you an apology that is not at all apologetic. His preferences must run deep, if he is not bending over backwards to help a girl as charming as you. "But if there is such a woman, Lord al-Fasek would surely know."

Your elders among the Daughters of Irminsul warned you that some men would naturally resist your charms, but this is the first time that it has happened since leaving Alfheim. The sublime blend of inexorable beauty and cute, girlish charm that you honed over the past century into a refined and powerful magnetism that pulls at the hearts of men normally plants the seeds of amicability before any words are shared. Men and women alike have been helpful, for you masterfully play at men's desire to be acknowledged by beauty and women's desire to nurture cute things without a second thought. Not out of some manner of malicious manipulativeness, but rather... a river of charm is how you are, and those around you normally get swept up by it and happily flow with your current.

This man has no interest in you. Not unless you work at it, anyways.

You're not used to that, and it bothers you.
>Turn up the charm and see if you cannot convince him to just take you to the woman that you both know is in this house. (Roll 1d100)
>Certain parts of his must be starving for proper attention, considering his lifestyle. A bit of seduction might get you what you want... and prove that if any girl can harvest the fruits of passion here, it's you. (Roll 1d100)
>There's nothing for it. You're here for the woman, not to play with men who prefer men. Turn up the charm for Lord al-Fasek, and see if he's amenable to handing her over to you. (Roll 1d100)
>Why bother with a lackey when you can go for the Lord? Getting a man so certain in his preference to let you "squeeze" him for information would make for a fun feather in your cap. (Roll 1d100)
>Well, you may as well see what sort of run-around Lord al-Fasek will give you before you decide how to get your hands on the beak-nosed woman. (Roll 1d100)
>You have no desire to interact with his Lord, and the men cannot realistically stop you from going where you want. Don't be violent unless attacked, but search the manor for her. (Roll 1d100)
>Honestly, you've had enough. The Lust Spear Shamhat's bloodlust must be infectious. You shall fight your way through the building until you find the woman you're looking for. (Roll 2d100)

>>5693401
>>Certain parts of his must be starving for proper attention, considering his lifestyle. A bit of seduction might get you what you want... and prove that if any girl can harvest the fruits of passion here, it's you. (Roll 1d100)
HEY HO BOYS WE ARE BACK

Should I roll now btw?

>>5693401
>Honestly, you've had enough. The Lust Spear Shamhat's bloodlust must be infectious. You shall fight your way through the building until you find the woman you're looking for. (Roll 2d100)
Is this a bad idea? Yes.

>>5693401
>There's nothing for it. You're here for the woman, not to play with men who prefer men. Turn up the charm for Lord al-Fasek, and see if he's amenable to handing her over to you. (Roll 1d100)

THE ELF MAIDEN IS REAL

>>5693401
>Well, you may as well see what sort of run-around Lord al-Fasek will give you before you decide how to get your hands on the beak-nosed woman. (Roll 1d100)

>>5693401
>>Why bother with a lackey when you can go for the Lord? Getting a man so certain in his preference to let you "squeeze" him for information would make for a fun feather in your cap. (Roll 1d100)

Cunny bros, we made it

>>5693401
>>You have no desire to interact with his Lord, and the men cannot realistically stop you from going where you want. Don't be violent unless attacked, but search the manor for her. (Roll 1d100)

Yo, welcome back QM

>>5693401
>Certain parts of his must be starving for proper attention, considering his lifestyle. A bit of seduction might get you what you want... and prove that if any girl can harvest the fruits of passion here, it's you. (Roll 1d100)
We must be irresistible

>>5693401
>Well, you may as well see what sort of run-around Lord al-Fasek will give you before you decide how to get your hands on the beak-nosed woman.
holy shit, you're back!

>>5693477
Thanks, anon.

>>5693420
>>5693583
Not only am I back, I took a few days off to write now that work hell is over for a while.

>>5693401
>>You have no desire to interact with his Lord, and the men cannot realistically stop you from going where you want. Don't be violent unless attacked, but search the manor for her. (Roll 1d100)

>>5693401
>There's nothing for it. You're here for the woman, not to play with men who prefer men. Turn up the charm for Lord al-Fasek, and see if he's amenable to handing her over to you. (Roll 1d100)
Welcome back qm

>>5693401
>Turn up the charm and see if you cannot convince him to just take you to the woman that you both know is in this house. (Roll 1d100)

>>5693401
>You have no desire to interact with his Lord, and the men cannot realistically stop you from going where you want. Don't be violent unless attacked, but search the manor for her. (Roll 1d100)

>>5693395
OH HELL YEAH

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>5693401
>>There's nothing for it. You're here for the woman, not to play with men who prefer men. Turn up the charm for Lord al-Fasek, and see if he's amenable to handing her over to you. (Roll 1d100)

it might buy the lady in red time to escape, but it will also probably be a huge pain in her ass if we let her occasional benefactor know why exactly we are here.
which is to say, charm, yes, but open with a very concise but complete explanation of why we are here, "I was minding my own business on the road and a woman in red attacked me with her mercenaries, probably to eliminate me as a witness after attacking someone else. I do not appreciate being assaulted and would like you to turn her over for her proper punishment."
no beating around the bush.

>>5693919
welp. damn, lagneia definitely is a pro

File: You Dropped This King 2hu.jpg (206 KB, 1755x2048)

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>>5693919
Well okay then, I guess whatever Lagneia does, she's off to a strong start.

To an extent, you have the relationship between Ruth's family and al-Fasek backwards. His men call him Lord, but he has no proper title, and to the Court in Lygos he is little more than a bandit, slaver, and mercenary - albeit one of the best. He does not amount to a real military power like the Brotherhood of Double Pay Men and the Talons of the Silver Hawk, as while his janissaries are each worth ten lesser men in a fight, his harem numbers little more than a single company.

The Brotherhood and the Talons each have tens of thousands to their name, with at least as many men of quality as al-Fasek's harem among their number. But they also have these things called "moral standards" that make them excellent security forces and auxillaries to knights and levies during war. Armies fear facing them in battle, but civilians appreciate their tremendous discipline and restraint. A city getting taken by them in siege often bounces back quickly, because they do not sack and pillage the civilian centers, and the men are paid well enough to buy girls rather than rape them.

Al-Fasek's janissaries, on the other hand, carve their niche in getting their hands dirty.

The Noble House of Rosenschild - Ruth's family - are one of several noble families in Lygos who act as unofficial patrons of the Esteemed House of al-Fasek. They ignore his proclivities, forgive lesser crimes against their smallfolk, and protect him from the law. In return, he gives them cheap rates whenever they have work for him. Her parents may even have paid him to make their eligible daughter's lower born betrothed disappear, though they probably should have asked him a few questions rather than made it "no questions asked".

After all, even though Nikola is gone... Zahra still gives their daughter a taste of his feminine penis on the regular, much more often than he did when he was Nikola. She may or may not be caught up in such things right now.

>>5693935
>She may or may not be caught up in such things right now.
>cue lagneia bulldozing her way through the door
>"Not only you're a bad assassin, but also bad at fucking. what a disgrace"

>>5693935
I'm trying not to metagame too much so I am going on what Lagneia knows not what I know from the last thread, but that does explain why al-Fasek's goons (gooners?) are covering for her.

>>5693985
my guess is out of interest for al-fasek's....interests. red beak is a customer of al-fasek and here comes a complete stranger wanting her head; it looks like simple courtesy for me to fake ignorance unless told otherwise

>>5693401
>>There's nothing for it. You're here for the woman, not to play with men who prefer men. Turn up the charm for Lord al-Fasek, and see if he's amenable to handing her over to you. (Roll 1d100)

>>5693935
>>5693988
sorry I reread my own post and I get where I was mistaken about their relationship now (which I guess makes it all the more fortunate that I was trying to avoid too much metagaming since my meta was wrong)

>>5693401
>>There's nothing for it. You're here for the woman, not to play with men who prefer men. Turn up the charm for Lord al-Fasek, and see if he's amenable to handing her over to you. (Roll 1d100)

File: Harem Boy.png (835 KB, 1390x1106)

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After a moment's thought, you come a snap decision and let out a sigh of long suffering.

On any other day, it would be your duty and your joy to embrace a castle full of men who had gone so long without a woman's touch. You would gladly use every youthful charm afforded to your svelte and girlish figure to seduce mercenary and maid in turn, and give them a crash course in what they're meant to do with those untouched turgid rods hanging heavy between their legs. A day, a week, a month of putting your tight, slick holes to use with every skill refined to perfection under the tutelage of the Daughters of Irminsul would be well spent. Not only for the joy of your work - though there are many joys a girl like you can find among a company of menfolk whose cocks unknowingly cry out for the touch of a woman - but for how it would cleanse this allegedly Esteemed House.

The lustful spirits run thick in this place. They do not cling to a single person, but rather they hang in the air like the spectre of death hangs over a bloody battlefield in the days before the fallen are at last interred and the land cleansed. A scar in the world carved not by the butchery of sword and spear, but by the rapacious lust of a man who enjoys breaking the spirits of his victims with a powerful and uncompromising cock that they never wanted to see, much less have inside of them.

One of many injustices in the world that will pass in the fleeting heartbeats that are the life of a Hume.

"Remind me to return to this place, once our business is done," you give a throaty buzz to Dawn.

To cleanse this place of its rotten honey? Dawn peaks her head from the flower to ask.

"Honey does not rot, my friend," you respond with a tone that makes Dawn roll her antennae. Familiar she may be, she holds the memories she carries through her nectar in higher regard than the academic education you received. "You ought know better than I that it only crystallizes into chunks. A bit of warmth and vigorous motion will surely set it right once more, wouldn't you say?"

Dawn buzzes without words, crawling from her flower-home and curling up in a nest of your hair with great petulance.

The janissary boggles at the sight of the fist sized bee that has emerged. It's likely that he has never seen a proper Keeper of Memory like Dawn, for young flowers do not carry memories as rich as the old, and most Hume settlements replant their flowers every few years to keep a fresh view of life. He warily lets go of the door handle and reaches for the sword at his side with all the certainty of a fish swimming through the waters that separate the Lands Without from the Lands Within. Which is to say none at all, for the waters separating the Without from the Within exist only in an abstract space, and if a fish found himself there he would be well and truly lost.

"Childe Lagneia..." the janissary speaks before he acts. "Are you aware that there is an exceptionally large bee in your hair?"

"Quite so," you tell him. You cannot see behind his iron mask, but you do not need to feel his emotions dance among the leylines to tell that he does not know whether he can relax or not. His posture tells that story plain as day. To reassure him, you gently coax the surly bumbler from you hair and to you arm, letting her crawl about and wiggle her fuzzy bee bottom. "She is One Hundred and Twenty Eight Heartbeats Before Dawn, a keeper of the nectar of memory who has joined me upon my Travail as a familiar spirit. You need not worry about her too much, she is quite the harmless girl."

I will sting him if he touches me, Dawn gives an angry buzz while displaying her stinger. Purveyors of rotten honey, that's all we've seen from this 'Esteemed House'. I shall drink deep of the memory when we return to cleanse this place with you 'warmth' and 'vigorous motion'.

"Well then..." the janissary continues to eye Dawn warily. Perhaps he's apiphobic, or perhaps he understood the threat behind her buzzing. He seems rather relieved when she bumbles up from your wrist and returns to her home in the flower, a few more irritable buzzes of annoyance before going silent. "It is ill luck to part a sorceress from her familiar, so I would only ask that while you are in the presence of the esteemed Lord al-Fasek, she leaves people bee."

You stare at the janissary's iron mask as he gets the door for you.

His mask, unmoving, gives no hint as to whether he intended to say "bee" instead of "be", and feeling at the rooted leylines running through this place shows his emotions to be unnaturally, deliberately still. You suppress a groan that might break the silence in the air, as for your part you need to play the gracious guest every bit as much as he is pretending to be the helpful host. Though the silence hangs so thick and heavy around you both that you could almost mistake it for the divine beast's cock.

"Right this way, madame," the janissary says with a wave through the stout oaken door. "I am sure the esteemed Lord al-Fasek will be happy to settle the matter regarding this woman you seek..."

As you pass through the threshold, you make a pointed note to yourself that the janissary quite deliberately avoided telling you that al-Fasek would help you find the woman who ordered an attack on your person. You know not how common curly black hair and a beak-like nose are among the folk of west Daedalium, but you can imagine that someone with those traits would not be difficult to find. Most folk you've met have had straight locks or very gentle curls to their hair, and while their noses varied in prominence, they were never quite so hooked and beakish. To settle the matter, though, you have to wonder what the janissary meant by that.

You doubt he would offer the woman bound and trussed upon a silver platter. Though the retribution you could carve from her like that would certainly be more interesting than justice found at the end of spear...

Your thoughts wander on how you intend to take vengeance upon the woman in red as you enter the harem chambers of the Esteemed House of al-Fasek.

A haze of burnt incense fills the room all the way up to its domed ceiling, capped by a disc of stained glass through which the sun's gleam is filtered into a depiction of a bare chested man flexing his muscles against the backdrop of a thousand colored sunset. The incense hides the scents beneath it, and carries with it tones of certain herbs that you recognize from your training amongst the Daughters of Irminsul. Hints of ginseng, silphium, and yohimbine play among the fragrant smoke with lurid purpose to stimulate the libido of all who breathe those flavors in. Perhaps that is why your mind drifts to thoughts of pinning the woman in red down with silk ropes and using the arts of Hellenic Repudiation upon her until she begs for forgiveness and release.

Beneath the great dome lies a field of plush cushions that stretches from wall to wall. Not a single one is of poor make, all of them finely crafted from silk and down into gold-tasseled squares and circles of a hundred different colors. Some precious few are even of elven make, with more exotic shapes and brighter colors. Most of those take the shape of sweet fruits and decadent foods like chocolate coated strawberries and slices of cake, while one stands out not for its shape, but the detailed portrait of a boy in women's clothing sewn into the fabric.

Many like him fill the field.

Near five dozen young men with delicate and feminine features rest among the vast field of cushions. Some have richly tan skin, while others possess a flawless snow-white complexion that has a charm all of its own. The hair upon their head is kept in long and girlish locks, ranging in color from a black as dark as a moonless night to a sunny gold as bright and cheerful as summer, with reds and blues and greens and browns found all in between. All that unites them are their girlish façade, and the sheer silk garb of Parthan dancers and prostitutes each of them wear.

Their soft figures verge on the feminine, tricking the eye into seeing women with the curve of their hips and the gentle swelling buds of their breasts. Closer examination reveals the lie. Their arms are thick with muscle below their softness, their shoulders broad, their jaws strong. Though their sheer silk tops provide support enough to give their bosomless chests the slightest hint of cleavage, without the glands possessed by the women of Hume, Stout, and Child, the attempt looks uncanny compared even to your budding flatness.

But they are not truly hiding their nature. There are ways a man can tuck his manhood out of sight and remove the subtle bulging in their clothes that a mighty rod can make. Though their half-naked, oiled-up bodies draped in feminine silks present a thin veneer of womanhood and girlishness, they do little to hide their manhood. If anything their sheer loincloths flaunt it.

You suppress a look of distaste, for it would not match the charm you wish to exude.

You prefer your men manly, with barrel chests and arms as thick as tree trunks - the better to pin you down and manhandle you while you work your body to milk them. If they have a submissive personality, it makes the reversal of that roll all the more poignant and powerful, as the gap when the small dominate the large can be every bit as delicious as letting a large man use you like an expensive cumrag. This veneer, this façade, it... you do not hate it, and could even enjoy it in small doses, but in this quantity you find that you do not care for it at all.

Their master clearly does, and more power to him for that.

Now there's a man you could appreciate. Beneath the expensive silks of a Parthan sultan, and the lavish gold adornments he affords himself, is a beast of a man tall and broad. Though he like his harem has no hair below his scalp, where it makes them look like they wish to ape the charms of women, he looks like a statue carved from marble. He has the fair skin of the eastern Parthan mountain folk, and a short cropped head of brown hair peaking out from beneath his silk keffiyeh. His muscles ripple across his body, giving him a powerful build indeed.

He lounges upon a throne in the center of the hall, the only break in the sea of cushions forming a path of tiles towards the throne. The seat's high back is decorated with a mural of the night sky, while its red cushions are trimmed with gold and jade. His head is thrown back with an expression of contentment, his eyes shut tight as five harem boys attend to his every need.

One fans him with an ornate wumingshan brought from the far lands of the west and painted with imagery of a great battle between chariot archers and spearmen. Another feeds him olives stuffed with cheese and bacon from a porcelain platter painted with a field of flowers. It takes two of them to attend to his manly needs, both of the kneeling before the throne and worshipping his great manhood with their girlish mouths and soft hands, attending to every inch of it with tongues skillful for what little practice Humes can afford. You could do better, of course, but they certainly have practiced the art of fellatio.

The last sits where would a sultan's favorite wife, curled up to al-Fasek and caressing his hairless chest with delicate fingers. Al-Fasek has taken the harem-boy's plump bottom in his hand, and gently massages it as he enjoys the double fellatio.

You almost hate to interrupt, for it seems like everyone of them is enjoying themselves.

Unfortunately, you have business with the master of this house. Mustering your bountiful charisma, you decide to:
>Be polite, like a courtier come to call.
>Be to the point, because you wish to be done here swiftly.
>Be demanding, for you are irritated by his men-at-arms concealing things from you.
>Be condescending, for you could give him more pleasure than all these boys combined.

(USER WAS WARNED FOR THIS POST)

>>5694562
>>Be condescending, for you could give him more pleasure than all these boys combined.

>>5694562
>Be condescending, for you could give him more pleasure than all these boys combined.

>>5694562
>Be condescending, for you could give him more pleasure than all these boys combined.

>>5694562
>Be condescending, for you could give him more pleasure than all these boys combined
We could even shobe the concubines aside to demonstrate... If not for professional courtesy.

>>5694562
>USER WAS WARNED FOR THIS POST
The limit has been reached, lads. Time to start using pastebins or the like.

>>5694562
>>Be to the point, because you wish to be done here swiftly

>>5694562
>>Be demanding, for you are irritated by his men-at-arms concealing things from you.
Lol at how long it took for this quest to get warned. Time to move the spicy stuff to pastebins.

A warning for gay sex? During pride month? Wow the jannies are really homophobic.

>>5694562
>>Be demanding, for you are irritated by his men-at-arms concealing things from you.

>>5694562
>Be to the point, because you wish to be done here swiftly.

>>5694937
nono, the jannies were jealous

>>5694562
>Be condescending, for you could give him more pleasure than all these boys combined

>>5694562
>>Be to the point, because you wish to be done here swiftly.

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"Is this how the master of the Esteemed House of al-Fasek greets his guests?" you drawl. Your patience for games and politics dried up when you were given the run around by his janissaries, and you quite frankly you wish to vent your frustrations. It might hamper your efforts, or it might expediate then - it all depends on al-Fasek's nature, and his receptiveness to your more thorny charms. "Lounging in his den of sin, addled by his herbs and attended by a pair of half-trained boy-whores whose technique wouldn't fetch a silver fern in the back alleys of Lygos? I'm surprised I did not catch a whiff of opium in the air, seeing how all your men have been reduced to dull-witted simpletons incapable of anything more complex than writhing in lustful stupor-"

Your long, pointed ears catch the sound of two scimitars leaving their scabbards before you see the flashing arcs of steel of blades drawn to threaten and not kill. Both swordsmen clad in the sheer and revealing garb of a Parthan dancer flash dangerous smiles as their swords press up against your throat in a wordless reminder to be respectful of their master.

At least until they realize that their blades stopped a few inches away from where they meant to place them.

"-and nip uselessly at the heels of intruders like yipping lapdogs." It is your turn to flash a dangerous smile at the two lean boys who thought to threaten you. Mana leapt into your heart the moment you ears caught the sound of steel, and you stopped both scimitars mid-swing with a single finger. With your divine gift, you keep the blades stuck there, and now both köçeks scowl as they try to pull their weapons free. "Such ill mannered pets you keep, esteemed al-Fasek. Shall I discipline them for you?"

"Their manners only match those of the guest who intrudes upon their play time," al-Fasek retorts. A deep and powerful voice rumbles from his throat, matching the image of his burly body and completing his image as a true Parthan man's man. His eyes remain closed, and the five attending him do not let his words interrupt their vitally important work. "They will face discipline for their failures, rest assured. But it shall not be the soft-handed discipline of a woman."

The boys of his harem go tense at their master's words. You let the scimitars free from your grasp, allowing the boys to return them to their scabbards and take a few meek steps away. A delicious uncertainty plays in their eyes as they wonder whether or not they will be commanded to force you to leave.

"My hands may well be softer than even the most luxurious silk cushion in your collection, 'tis true." Your words earn a snort of amusement from al-Fasek that does little to relieve the quiet tension hanging in the air. "Indeed you would find that much of my person is soft and welcoming. But soft hands can still squeeze a rotten fruit until it bursts, and I can assure you that I am quite skilled at wringing naughty boys dry and making them repent."

"Ha!" Al-Fasek barks with laughter. All this time, he has not opened his eyes, still thoroughly enjoying the pleasures that his concubines offer him. He strokes the hair of the one upon his lap, who shivers at his touch as it melts through the tension in the air and turns him into a goopy pile of affection. "I would pay many gold talents to see the results of the gentler sex enacting such discipline. It would certainly be enlightening, for one of us at least. But I assume my janissaries would not have brought you to my harem if all you wished to do was drain the balls of naughty boys, eh?"
>"As fun sport as it would be to squeeze their pathetic cocks until they've nothing more to spurt out for me, I have more pressing matters to attend to. Perhaps another time."
>"While I certainly won't say no to the opportunity to discipline some naughty boys, now is not the time. Perhaps once my business is concluded?"
>"Ufufu~ Why don't you compile a list of your naughtiest, and send it to me by courier. I shall be in Lygos for a time, and I would be happy to provide some supplementary discipline for your men."

"It's a rare woman who forgoes the pretense of chastity so many like to pretend is armor," al-Fasek says, and you suppose that it must be a compliment. His men, at least, have seemed to relax after he broached the idea of doing business with you, letting the tension slowly slip from the room. "Rarer still to find one who would wield her promiscuity as a sword. So, what is the name of this rare woman, who so boldly intrudes upon the Esteemed House of al-Fasek and calls his janissaries whores and dogs?"

You poise shifts from one of slouching condescension to an elegant blend of refinement and eroticism that embodies the nature of Alfheim's temple prostitutes. The tone of your voice shifts, losing the edge it held without discarding the steel beneath it, powerful and lyrical and commanding the attention of all who hear you. "I am Lagneia of the Children of Yggdrasil, late of Alfheim-beneath-the-Irminsul, Adept Sister of the Daughters of Irminsul, and Inheritor of the late First Daughter's will. I have travailed from my home seeking the renewal of the old treaties, and of the friendships that once stood between Hume, Stout, and Child."

Al-Fasek cracks open a single icy blue eye, staring pointedly at your ears and figure. He traces your body not with lurid intent, but rather seeking the features of the Children and probing you for any flaw that would give away the ruse. For the Children are a rare sight outside of the gardens that surround the trees that birthed them, and many would feign elven blood to lend their words more weight than they are worth.

When he is content that you are what you claim to be, he speaks.

"You bear many titles for a shameless whore, Childe Lagneia." His words do not sound like an insult. If anything, he's praising how you live. "But if you've come here for peace and friendship... I am a man of violent means, you understand."

"I have not approached you for the sake of my Travail," you raise a hand to al-Fasek and brush aside his remarks. It would not be strange to approach the company of warlord on a mission of peace, but you have the sense that this man is more bandit than mercenary, kept upon a leash by whoever has supplied him with the funds to build his gleaming mountain palace. His eye opens again at your words, searching for the lie. "I would not be here had I not tracked a foolish girl and her steed to this place. She has black hair that falls in tight, nappy rings, a prominent nose, and was wearing red silks when last I saw her. Your man at the gate brought me to you chambers with the promise that you may know something about her."

Al-Fasek lets out a groan, though you cannot tell if it's in annoyance or because his attendants had finished their work upon him quite admirably. His both open now, he dismisses them once they right his trousers. "So the gutless daughter of those wretched money changers went and made trouble with an elf, is it?"

"You know of whom I speak, then?" you ask.

"I have my suspicions, at any rate," al-Fasek answers. He rests his head upon his fist, absently stroking the effeminate man curled up on his lap like one might a cat. "What has she done to draw your ire, then, Childe Lagneia?"

You explain the events of this morning to the al-Fasek in detail. How you had been upon the road when a carriage emblazoned with the sigil of a one-eyed crow holding a bundle of golden wheat in its talons. How the mercenaries chasing them hesitated when they saw an elf upon the road, interposed between them and the crash by nothing more than coincidence. How the young lady in red ordered no quarter be given, no survivors be allowed to witness these events, even a knife eared quim. How the leader of the mercenaries foolishly thought that a commonly bought girl in Lygos could hold a candle to the blazing inferno of your sublime elfin beauty.

Al-Fasek chuckled at that, and leaned in with interest as you described your dance of slaughter when the mercenaries went against their instincts and tried to run you down. Valor pleases him it seems. His appraising eyes search for lies and find only truth, and when they are finished he looks at you with new respect and something more. The tale you wove has thoroughly charmed him, just as you hoped it would.

"A common woman like her, speaking confidently on matters she knows nothing of? Giving foolish orders that sound ripped from a novel? Running away the moment her orders get her men killed? Only to go beg a bigger, stronger man for protection?" Al-Fasek scoffs not at your story, but at how unsurprising the woman's actions were. "I'd expect nothing less from the daughter of those self important money changers. You say she fled to this esteemed house, whilst you played around with the Hundred Talons?"

"There is no doubt," you tell the man. "She fled through the forest, and the forest remembers the path she took."

"Tch, of course, even the rarest of women would trust her hocus pocus," al-Fasek seems to deflate when you allude to your use of the greenspeech to beseech that greedy old willow for her aid in hunting down the woman in red silk. His distaste for magic is plain upon his face, the same distaste one might hold for a scammer. Cradling his head upon fist, he mulls the thought about. "But I suppose elfin hocus pocus ought to be more reliable than what those conmen on the streets use. Or worse, womanly nonsense like horoscopes, astrology, and those ouiga boards."

He spits those last words out like a curse.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a circle of harem boys slowly slipping a ouiga board beneath one of the cushions, trying their best to avoid notice. Al-Fasek's sharp blue eyes either do not catch them at it, or do not really care - already seeing them as failures of men who might as well be women.

"Hocus pocus or not, my own modest skill in tracking confirmed what the trees told me," you tell al-Fasek. He nods along, appreciating that you did not let something as fickle as magic do all the work for you.

Silence hangs in the air for a moment while the burly man thinks things over.

"You must understand that even if that brat fled here, I cannot simply hand her over to you as hospitality for a rare guest," al-Fasek explains, though you surmised that it would not be so simple from the moment his man at the gate gave you the run around. Whoever these money changers were, he doubtlessly needs to give their daughter due consideration. "I've not signed a contract to protect her yet, so I am free to pass her into your custody... but you must understand that the Banking House of Rosenschild represents one of my most significant backers."

"Due consideration to your patrons is admirable," you acknowledge where, exactly, you are putting him. "And I imagine that cutting off such a lucrative revenue stream would be... less than ideal."

Al-Fasek nods in appreciation that you know what, exactly, you are asking of him. "If the offer is not commensurate to the value of the little brat who ran to me in tears... well, as much as I would like to, I cannot just hand her over. What is it that you can offer me?"
>The patronage of the nobles that she tried to have assassinated. Flip the script on how the attack went down.
>The patronage of the Imperial Household, if he can behave. Who better to guard a princess like Eliza than men who have no interest in women?
>A set of elvencraft arms and armor sung from the steel beneath his home through the divine gift you possess.
>A medallion to mark him as elf-friend, for as long as his behaves himself within the walls of any elfhome he visits.

"And what do you plan to do with her?"
>Kill her.
>Break her mind with pleasure beyond measure.
>Giftwrap her for the noble family she attacked.
>March her naked through the city on her way to her judgement.
>Those last three, in order.

>>5695490
I don’t have any suggestions for the other two, but for the third one, is it possible to forge a magical chastity belt using our power that prevents her from having sex until she repays her debt to the people she attacked?

>>5695488
"While I certainly won't say no to the opportunity to discipline some naughty boys, now is not the time. Perhaps once my business is concluded?"

>>5695490
>The patronage of the Imperial Household, if he can behave. Who better to guard a princess like Eliza than men who have no interest in women?

>>5695570
+1
I would go for this for the last one.

>>5695490
>>"As fun sport as it would be to squeeze their pathetic cocks until they've nothing more to spurt out for me, I have more pressing matters to attend to. Perhaps another time."
>The patronage of the nobles that she tried to have assassinated. Flip the script on how the attack went down.
>Giftwrap her for the noble family she attacked.
Tempting as the other punishments may be, killing or debasing her will probably earn us far more trouble than it's worth.

>>5695488
>"As fun sport as it would be to squeeze their pathetic cocks until they've nothing more to spurt out for me, I have more pressing matters to attend to. Perhaps another time."

>>5695490
>A medallion to mark him as elf-friend, for as long as his behaves himself within the walls of any elfhome he visits.

>Those last three, in order.

>>5695488
>>"As fun sport as it would be to squeeze their pathetic cocks until they've nothing more to spurt out for me, I have more pressing matters to attend to. Perhaps another time."
>>5695490
>>A set of elvencraft arms and armor sung from the steel beneath his home through the divine gift you possess.
better to give him something that belongs to us than something that belongs to somebody else (such as Eliza or nobles we haven't even met)
and we might not want him trapising around eleznholme even if he's behaved.
>>5695490
>>Break her mind with pleasure beyond measure.
>>Giftwrap her for the noble family she attacked.
>>March her naked through the city on her way to her judgement.
>>Those last three, in order.
of course.
>>5695570
if we do find out what she's getting up to with her former boyfriend, making sure gets pregnant from it could also be a just reward for her actions.

>>5695488
>>"Ufufu~ Why don't you compile a list of your naughtiest, and send it to me by courier. I shall be in Lygos for a time, and I would be happy to provide some supplementary discipline for your men."


>>5695490
>A set of elvencraft arms and armor sung from the steel beneath his home through the divine gift you possess.

>Giftwrap her for the noble family she attacked.
>March her naked through the city on her way to her judgement.

>>5695570
I'll allow it. The classical punishment that Lagneia herself probably suffered through several times during her wild youth... when she didn't do something bad enough to get planted amidst the roots of Irminsul or bonked with the stick of bonking.

>>5695619
You make a very good point. The votes represent things that could more or less make up for the loss of business from House Rosenschild should your deal get out.

The Rosenschild are a young but very rich noble family... and are honestly a bunch of arrogant ponces who think anything and everything can be bought with money. They dream themselves masters of kings and emperors, when in reality they are more a convenient but replaceable piece in the game the older houses play. Especially given their nomadic caravanner roots, meaning many look upon them as swindlers from the word go.

>>5695488
>"Ufufu~ Why don't you compile a list of your naughtiest, and send it to me by courier. I shall be in Lygos for a time, and I would be happy to provide some supplementary discipline for your men."

>>5695490
>A medallion to mark him as elf-friend, for as long as his behaves himself within the walls of any elfhome he visits.
>March her naked through the city on her way to her judgement.

>>5695490
>"Ufufu~ Why don't you compile a list of your naughtiest, and send it to me by courier. I shall be in Lygos for a time, and I would be happy to provide some supplementary discipline for your men."

>A set of elvencraft arms and armor sung from the steel beneath his home through the divine gift you possess.
>>5695619 is right. better to give him something tangible right now than promises we might or might not be able to keep

>Break her mind with pleasure beyond measure.
red beak is gonna be our personal maid and ambassador of sorts after we're done with her. after all, she is a noble and knows the local and national politics

>>5695490
>"Ufufu~ Why don't you compile a list of your naughtiest, and send it to me by courier. I shall be in Lygos for a time, and I would be happy to provide some supplementary discipline for your men."

>A set of elvencraft arms and armor sung from the steel beneath his home through the divine gift you possess.

>Break her mind with pleasure beyond measure.
>March her naked through the city on her way to her judgement.

>>5695488
>"Ufufu~ Why don't you compile a list of your naughtiest, and send it to me by courier. I shall be in Lygos for a time, and I would be happy to provide some supplementary discipline for your men."

>>5695490
>A set of elvencraft arms and armor sung from the steel beneath his home through the divine gift you possess.
>Giftwrap

>>5695667
gonna amend my vote;
>>Break her mind with pleasure beyond measure.
but leave off the other two things. we want to interrogate her but making a public spectacle of things would probably work against us in the medium term.
I still want to make sure we learn all of her secrets, and a clan of nouveau riche strivers is actually a perfect tool for our stated goal of renewing the pacts, since they have more to gain than established families from a change in the status quo.

>>5695488
>>"Ufufu~ Why don't you compile a list of your naughtiest, and send it to me by courier. I shall be in Lygos for a time, and I would be happy to provide some supplementary discipline for your men."

>>5695490
>A set of elvencraft arms and armor sung from the steel beneath his home through the divine gift you possess.

>March her naked through the city on her way to her judgement.

Mind breaking is gay

>>5695490
>"Ufufu~ Why don't you compile a list of your naughtiest, and send it to me by courier. I shall be in Lygos for a time, and I would be happy to provide some supplementary discipline for your men."
>A set of elvencraft arms and armor sung from the steel beneath his home through the divine gift you possess.
>Break her mind with pleasure beyond measure.
Public humilliation is basic shit and hurts our mission

>"Ufufu~ Why don't you compile a list of your naughtiest, and send it to me by courier. I shall be in Lygos for a time, and I would be happy to provide some supplementary discipline for your men."
>A set of elvencraft arms and armor sung from the steel beneath his home through the divine gift you possess.
>Chastity belt plan
>Plus hand her over to the people she attacked

Gives us an in with whoever she attacked, they'll probably be less evil.
>>5696032
Using a nouveau riche family (who seem to be based off the Rothschilds of all people, who, uh... are mucho no bueno) for some sort of color revolution bullshit goes against our current goals. From Thread 1, we are looking to appeal to the tradition and the validity of the current powers that be as heirs to the Dragon Kings for the renewal of these treaties. I know overthrowing established status quo to rule over the ashes is all the rage these days, but that is like... the opposite of Lagneia's goals and means.

Effectively, Lagneia's plan is to go "You whom are the heirs to these ancient treaties, will you not renew the vows your ancestors made, and restore the bonds of friendship between our peoples" with a bit of a hint that if they don't, they should give up on leaning on the Dragon Kings' legacy. This is not some "we gotta overthrow the status quo because... we just do, okay?" deal. If anything, it marks a return to the old status quo, and a reinforcement of the legitimacy of the powers that be by signing a document that really only benefits them (more people friendly with the elves means more tech and medicine gets disseminated, even if it's not the good shit).

>>5696738
I wasn't thinking of anything so extreme as a color revolution. It's just that any high level diplomacy is expensive and resource intensive and time consuming, and it would make our lives a little bit easier if we had someone else's resources to squander from time to time.
But not as a loan. Just as a personal favor in return for our patience and understanding over Ruth's silly little mistake. Lagneia doesn't do compounding interest, just pounding interest.

>>5696747
Ah, I see. In that case, my concerns would be what depths that the Rosenschilds would sink to. From last thread, I got the impression that they didn't have the inbuilt respect/fear of elves that most people have. Or at least Ruth didn't. It might lead to them trying something particularly foolish that could inconvenience us in the short to mid term.

Though I suppose that "torturing" miss beak nose for information would cue us in to what sort of things they get up to, and we can decide from there. Switching my vote for that part to
>"Torture" her for information

>>5696738
>From Thread 1, we are looking to appeal to the tradition and the validity of the current powers that be as heirs to the Dragon Kings for the renewal of these treaties.
>Effectively, Lagneia's plan is to go "You whom are the heirs to these ancient treaties, will you not renew the vows your ancestors made, and restore the bonds of friendship between our peoples"
to be fair, that's just plan A. the goal itself is to revalidate the treaties to make humans dwarves and elves friends again, not to have the original bloodlines revalidate them(although that would be great), so there isn't really any kind of downside to bring new clans into it. If anything, thats actually better, specially now that lagneia understands how little humans live

>>5696752
oh I am well aware that they have no moral compass but that just means they can be discarded at the earliest inconvenience. Also, their power comes from their gold coffers which makes them uniquely vulnerable to an elf who can enchant and rework metals, so maybe we just turn their treasury into a solid gold statue of Lagneia that can't be moved, melted down or broken down by mundane means. You know, as a gift.

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>>5696764
just a single, huge-ass statute looking like this

>>5696785
exactly

>>5695490
>The patronage of the nobles that she tried to have assassinated. Flip the script on how the attack went down.
This is the obvious option. I'm backing it.
>The patronage of the Imperial Household, if he can behave. Who better to guard a princess like Eliza than men who have no interest in women?
If absolutely necessary to convince Al-Fasek, we might need to trot this out, but I'd like to save it as a trump card. Basically, if option one fails, pull this one.

>Break her mind with pleasure beyond measure.
That is what we do as a Daughter Of Irminsul! (Well, one of many things we do.)

She might be a bitch, but she is a noble, and mindbreaking her into our servant would be a great idea. If we can pull it off.

>>5696961
>This is the obvious option. I'm backing it.
is it? the issue with promising patronage is that we're promising al-fasek things we don't have, that said families don't hate him and we're also betting that he will allow us to to let him be basically empty handed until he confirms that the patronage thing isn't bullshit and that we didn't just trick him.

that feels way more complex than just weaving him a really nice set of armor

>>5695488
>"While I certainly won't say no to the opportunity to discipline some naughty boys, now is not the time. Perhaps once my business is concluded?"
>"Ufufu~ Why don't you compile a list of your naughtiest, and send it to me by courier. I shall be in Lygos for a time, and I would be happy to provide some supplementary discipline for your men."

>>5695490
>The patronage of the nobles that she tried to have assassinated. Flip the script on how the attack went down.
>Those last three, in order.
Shame about the warning

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"I intend to make her sing," you declare.

Al-Fasek's sharp eyes snap to you in a glare, the tension that had fled the harem chambers with his laughter returning, and for good reason. Handing the daughter of an important client over for torture and interrogation would not be a stellar mark upon his company's resume. You can see boys previously writhing in mindless and unthinking pleasure slowly reach for hidden weapons, in case the order to attack is given. But with a wave of your hand you dismiss his concerns.

"She will not be harmed by my hand. Indeed, she will have my protection until she wishes to return to her family," you reassure al-Fasek. His icy glare pierces deep into your heart. When he finds no lie there, he relaxes. With the tension cleared away, the boys returning to their sensual play, you continue. "The arts of a Daughter of Irminsul with brush and oils are worth a hundredfold the skills of the most ruthless interrogator with his rusted knives. The only pain she will know by my hand shall be the denial of the summit, for that glorious view shall be denied her until I am satisfied with the answers she gives me.

"She will sing for me," you declare with utmost certainty. "And when that beautiful song has ended, when she holds no more secrets from me, she will be rewarded with the glory of the dawn: the greatest pleasure that she has ever known. Then, as she basks in the clarity of release, I will pose to her a simple question. Where she goes from there... shall be no one's choice but her own."

With your intent declared, the room falls silent.

Al-Fasek studies your face, swirls your words around in the chalice of his mind, and contemplates if they settle into a drink that is sweet or bitter. His brows furrows when he finally breaks the silence, "A bit of harmless fun between girls won't ruin her looks or her chastity, but handing her over to someone outside of House Rosenschild will sour that relationship, I'm sure you understand. What can you provide that could serve to balance the scales?"

It is your turn now to furrow your brow in contemplation.

The heaviest weights you could place upon the scale could evaporate in a moment's whim, for you cannot truly promise certainty, only opportunity. The opportunity for the patronage of the imperial family is feather light against the certainty of the continued patronage of House Rosenschild their allies. You fully believe you could secure him a contract with Lyza's family, for men who have no interest in the fairer sex make the best guardians for comely young women of gentle breeding. But your belief, however certain, weighs very little against the reality of what al-Fasek stands to lose should he give you custody of the Rosenschild woman.

No, you will need something tangible to balance the scales. Something whose final decision does not rest upon the shoulders of other people who will need convincing. Something that can open enough doors to make up for those now closed.

"If I may have your permission to cast a spell..." you fish for permission before you even grasp at the mana thrumming in the ley-lines beneath the mountain. The last thing you would want to do is give al-Fasek and his men a spook. His eyes already narrow at the mentions of a spell, a reminder of his distaste for things that he deems to be 'hocus pocus'. You explain that, "I believe it within my ability to conjure forth an offer that is commensurate to the opportunities you stand to lose."

"Tch," al-Fasek makes an irritated noise, disappointment crossing his face. With a wave of his hand, he motions for his men to dismiss you. Two of them stand up to provide you an escort from the harem chamber. "If all you can give me is the hollow promise of a blessing, then we are done here. Take your hocus pocus elsewhere."

"My gift is not so metaphysical as that," you tell him. A mask of serene calm covers the peerless beauty of your face, though beneath it you prepare to fend off any fools who would think to drag you bodily from the room. The men can sense that, as can al-Fasek. As their approach slows and becomes a deliberate orbit awaiting their master's command, the lord of the janissaries smiles in amusement. Waiting for you to hang yourself with your words. "What I offer is not a fleeting blessing that shall run out when its mana is spent, but the certainty of Child-forged steel."

"Oh, you fancy yourself a blacksmith?" Al-Fasek raises his hand again, and the circling harem boys step back to a more respectful distance. "With such thin arms and delicate hands? I think a tool as great and heavy as a smithing hammer would be a bit much for a girl as small as you."

"I can assure you, my hands have handle greater tools far more weighty than a smith's hammer before," you inform him with a lurid grin that splits your face in two. From his snort of laughter, you both understand that you were not exactly talking about craftsman's tools, save perhaps the ones they use to forge an heir with the help of their wives. "But that is besides the point. It is not with forge and hammer that I shall shape this weight to balance the scales of opportunity, but rather the divine gift afforded me as a Daughter of Irminsul. Thus why I ask your permission to cast a spell, for it is through spellcraft that your gift shall be forged."

"And what is it you intend to make with this spellcraft of yours?" Al-Fasek asks. "The eldest daughter of House Rosenschild is worth far more than a pretty trinket, you realize."

"Arms and armor," you say. Al-Fasek nods in approval. Among the Children of Yggdrasil, even hobbyists like yourself do not bother crafting purely mundane equipment, for weaving magic into your crafts is second nature to your people. Humes and Stouts both know the art, but their separation from the ley-lines makes it difficult for them. "I can guarantee their function will exceed all but the finest of Hume works, though alas... they will only be half as beautiful as I."

"Ahahahahaha!" Al-Fasek laughs as if you had made a great boast, rather than simply telling the truth of the matter. Time is experience, and even if you did not dedicate your life to this craft as you have with giving pleasure, as a hobbyist you have experience to match a master among the Humes and a journeyman among the Stouts. As one of the Children, your ability to naturally weave magic exceeds all but the greatest of archmages. "I am not know as a judge of feminine beauty, but I imagine that must be quite the boast, given how you lack those ugly sacks of useless fat most women hang from their chests."

You perk up at the warlord's compliment, flaunting the delicious flatness of your chest like the symbol of high status that it is.

"Indeed," you say. Your declaration that they will be half as beautiful as you seems to have caused al-Fasek no end of amusement, as he cannot stop chuckling ever-so-lightly. "What's more, you would know better than I what doors can be opened by possession of a blade forged by one of the Children. Especially one given, rather than taken or inherited."

"I am well aware of what doors it could open," al-Fasek says. You can see the cogwheels turning in his mind, and a slight smile upon his lips as he imagines something about the weapon. "What scandals it could cause... but, that, of course, relies upon your ability to live up to your people's reputation as blacksmiths. I personally have my doubts... this hocus pocus sounds like a shortcut, and shortcuts always result in shoddy work. But you have been a pleasant surprise so far, Childe Lagneia, so please..."

His icy gaze locks onto you, and you can feel something predatory lurking behind it. "Surprise me."

For the armor, you...
>Grant it the ability to protect him from the heat, the cold, and even the rain.
>Make it light as a feather to the wearer, as if they were wearing nothing at all.
>Give it the ability to greatly enhance his strength, at the cost of winding him more swiftly.
>Enchant the helm to grant him vision in darkness as a Child or a Stout can see.
>Have it ease the burden of great distances upon his legs, allowing him to jog indefinitely without tiring.

For the weapon, you...
>Give it a keen edge that can slice through inferior metals with ease.
>Infuse it with flame to shed light and purify the diseased with fire.
>Infuse it with frost to freeze his foes and preserve game slain by it.
>Infuse it with lightning to shock his foes and provide power to ancient devices.
>Enchant it to come when called, that he is never without the weapon, and that it cannot be stolen.

>>5697638
hmmm, al-fasek looks like a man in his prime, so i don't think he'll care about a light armor, or niceties like weather protection, and he'll definitely take it as an insult if he gets a direct str boost from it, so:
>Enchant the helm to grant him vision in darkness as a Child or a Stout can see.
AND IF POSSIBLE:
>Have it ease the burden of great distances upon his legs, allowing him to jog indefinitely without tiring.

as for the weapon......
>Enchant it to come when called, that he is never without the weapon, and that it cannot be stolen.
the other options are super tempting and this one miiiight fall under al-fasek's hocus pocus territory, but other than the ice and electric shock, he can do those himself, and being in a position where he will never be unarmed and to be able to trick people with a sword that returns to his owner is a damn good bonus.

>>5697638
>Enchant the helm to grant him vision in darkness as a Child or a Stout can see.

>Infuse it with frost to freeze his foes and preserve game slain by it.

>>5697638
>Enchant the helm to grant him vision in darkness as a Child or a Stout can see.
>Infuse it with lightning to shock his foes and provide power to ancient devices.

>>5697638
>>Enchant the helm to grant him vision in darkness as a Child or a Stout can see.
Night vision is a massive game changer for just about anyone, gives him the ability to operate when his opponents can't.
>>Enchant it to come when called, that he is never without the weapon, and that it cannot be stolen.
Again this is most useful for a mercenary, he can't get caught out unarmed.

>>5697638
>Make it light as a feather to the wearer, as if they were wearing nothing at all.
>Enchant it to come when called, that he is never without the weapon, and that it cannot be stolen.

>>5697638
>Have it ease the burden of great distances upon his legs, allowing him to jog indefinitely without tiring.
>Enchant it to come when called, that he is never without the weapon, and that it cannot be stolen.

>>5697638
>Have it ease the burden of great distances upon his legs, allowing him to jog indefinitely without tiring.
>Enchant it to come when called, that he is never without the weapon, and that it cannot be stolen.

Not the flashiest, but these will be reliable

>>5697638
>Make it light as a feather to the wearer, as if they were wearing nothing at all.
This is the benefit he can verify fastest and easiest, to show that we're as good as our word.
>Enchant it to come when called, that he is never without the weapon, and that it cannot be stolen.
This is useful as fuck, and also something that can be verified quickly and easily. Although I would suggest that we give him an option (probably written on paper and folded before we pass it to him, so nobody hears it and gets ideas) for the ability to pass ownership of the sword to a designated successor who will gain the same benefit from it, and instructions on how to do that.

I doubt he'll have any natural heirs, given his proclivities, but being able to gift such a thing with that power to a designated successor, once his time runs out, and have the magic work for them would probably make it sound like a better deal to him.

>"I am not know as a judge of feminine beauty, but I imagine that must be quite the boast, given how you lack those ugly sacks of useless fat most women hang from their chests."

Ok, I think we should fuck this guy, AFTER we get what we came for. Apparently he does appreciate our figure, despite usually batting for the other team, and we might be able to awaken something in him, guiding him a bit more toward the middle path of taking pleasure in both men and women, as we do. Irminsul wouldn't want anyone to miss out on either sort of pleasure, would she?

>>5697638
>Enchant the helm to grant him vision in darkness as a Child or a Stout can see.
>Infuse it with lightning to shock his foes and provide power to ancient devices.

>>5697638
>Grant it the ability to protect him from the heat, the cold, and even the rain.

>Infuse it with flame to shed light and purify the diseased with fire.

> "I am not know as a judge of feminine beauty, but I imagine that must be quite the boast, given how you lack those ugly sacks of useless fat most women hang from their chests."

You perk up at the warlord's compliment, flaunting the delicious flatness of your chest like the symbol of high status that it is.
Based ironing board enjoyer

>>5697638
>>Enchant the helm to grant him vision in darkness as a Child or a Stout can see.
>>Enchant it to come when called, that he is never without the weapon, and that it cannot be stolen.

>>5698468
>Based ironing board enjoyer
Flat as an anvil, appropriately enough for our magical talents

File: Aisha.png (1.78 MB, 2421x1791)

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"I shall need a place better suited to connect with the depths of the earth," you explain to al-Fasek. His icy gaze does not waver in its intense scrutiny. You decide to take that as a request for you to elaborate further. "Rich ores bloom upon the roots of these mountains that will make for fine steel indeed, but the process of extracting them shall bore holes in the land. It can be done here and now, but the tiling of your floor is exquisite. It would be a shame to damage it, no?"

The harem boys pause in their writhing to listen on intently as you speak of the magics of the earth. Al-Fasek's gaze turns ponderous for a moment. Once he comes to a decision, he snaps his fingers to call four of the scantily dressed harem-boys to attend him. They clear away the cushions that surround his throne, revealing handholds that allow the four of them to carry the throne like a palanquin.

"Aisha, to me," al-Fasek beckons a distastefully young boy to climb upon his lap hand be petted like a dog. Your eyes narrow with disapproval that the warlord shrugs off with a smug smile and a stroke of the boy's long, girlish hair. "The training grounds ought to be a suitable place for you to work your hocus pocus, Childe Lagneia. A bit of stirred earth shall only make for a more interesting footing to practice upon... provided your magics live up to your word."

"I assure you, you will find nothing lacking in any of my works," you say. You hurry to follow alongside the palanquin, your eyes still drifting disapprovingly towards the boy curled up in his lap and clad in garb finer than any of al-Fasek's harem boys, albeit less scanty. "Just as I am certain that your hands would find a soft, ripe peach more pleasant in touch and taste than a hard one that ought still be ripening upon the vine."

"I'm afraid I prefer bananas to peaches," al-Fasek says. His hand continues to run affectionately through the hair of the curled up boy. "Overripened ones with dark brown peels have their uses, and they are certainly most enjoyable when they've just turned gold, but... there's a certain sweetness they have when their peels are green that they lose with age."

"I can agree that bananas are the superior fruit, though I'm afraid you've otherwise lost me," you reply. Your gaze at al-Fasek is filled with as much disapproval as his own eyes are filled with amusement, though you don't find his pederasty particularly amusing. "Bananas are best ripened just past gold, when they've a few brown spots to their skin and their flavor has reached its richest peak. When they've just ripened, their flavor is not bad, but they can be a bit unsatisfying in comparison. Golden with brown spots, now that combines the rich and mature flavors of an overripe banana with just the right amount of rigidity that a freshly golden banana can have."

"And what of bananas with a green peel?" al-Fasek asks.

You click your tongue in disapproval. "They're not suitable for eating, and should be left to ripen."

Your debate with al-Fasek on the merits of bananas and their various stages of ripeness continues through the sprawling manor's stone halls until a set of doors opens into a practice grounds. Several circles of sand provide a space for warriors to spar with one another, with a number of matches ongoing between men in iron masks and lead-laden practice armor. An elaborate course for practicing acrobatics and athletics borders the scattered sparring rings, and juts out over a picturesque mountain lake. The course seems to go all the way to the far shore, where handholds upon a waterfall provide the last challenge to overcome. A dugout to the side provides a place to change one's clothes and wash up after one's work is done.

Seeing their lord and master emerge upon his palanquin has piqued the curiosity of many of the men who were sparring, and waiting to spar. They slowly gather around the place where al-Fasek's attendants have set down his throne, casting curious eyes upon the rare woman with whom their lord converses. Given his general attitude towards the gentler sex, you suppose that this must be a rare sight for them indeed.

Especially when they catch sight of your pointed ears and begin muttering excitedly in Parthan.

"Your hocus pocus is not the sort that gets shy in front of so many prying eyes, I hope." From the sly grin upon his face and the chuckles of his men, he still does not quite believe in your ability even though he respects your banter. Stroking Aisha like a purring cat with one hand, he gestures in a half-mocking apology with the other. "Too many street mages in Parth and Lygos say 'behold my great sorceries' and then want no one to look too closely as they turn mercury into gold."

"Do not take me for some charlatan with a hollow rod and passing knowledge of the properties of quicksilver," you let your irritation flow through your voice, grasping hold of the mana in the deep roots and letting your words thrum and thunder in the air. The masked men seem impressed by how such a booming voice can come from such a small girl, but al-Fasek himself only seems amused. "I would proudly display all of my arts to the most deep and intimate scrutiny, for I have full confidence that they shall not be found wanting."

"All of your arts, you say...?" al-Fasek says with tones of amusement in his voice. He gesture to one of the circles of sand. "Well, I am only interested in your hocus pocus... and this should be a good enough place for you to churn the earth for what you need. Do you need a dousing rod, perha-"

"First, call to the metal's heart," you cut him off with a whisper that echoes across the lake.

Mana drawn from the roots of Yggdrasil spreads your soft voice across the training ground and the vale of the mountain. Iron flows through the air like a river of water from the space between spaces hidden within the forest green sash of your toga. The men look on like children watching fireworks as it flows to the sands.

You cannot hide the smug expression that crosses your face when al-Fasek's amusement shatters into genuine surprise when your so-called hocus-pocus turns out to be the real deal, just as promised. You puff out your deliciously flat chest with well deserved pride, before slouching into a stance that is at once imperious, languid, and extraordinarily erotic. The art of showing off your curves - subtle above, and abundant below - whilst appearing sophisticated instead of shameless is the most basic skill of a Daughter of Irminsul. You may be a prostitute, and you will not pretend otherwise, but your poise ensures there is no doubt that you are an educated prostitute.

"Let the iron be shaped by my will," you command the metal with your gift. Its flow above the sands becomes less erratic, resolving into a more definitive shape and returning to the solid state. It forms an elaborate circle, one you learned on a trip to nearby mountains, useful for extracting the deep ores that blossom upon Yggdrasil's roots. "Encircle the land before me, and let it be marked as thy hallowed kingdom, for thou art the king of metals - the first and the last, the end of all things. Call thy subjects from the depths of the earth, and let them make court upon the surface of the world."

The iron circle glows hot as mana runs through it. Slowly and surely those deep, pure ores are drawn up from roots of Yggdrasil and spun into orbs for you to work with.

Al-Fasek's men watch on with delight at your display of magic, and you cannot help but send the orbs moving in a complex orbit as a bit of flourish to make the sights more interesting. The rivers of metal wind around eachother in a complex, flowing braid as they are pulled up from the depths of the earth. They glimmer in the noonday sun, catching the light and bouncing it in a hundred different directions, sparkling almost as glorious as a gem.

You watch the men less than you watch al-Fasek.

It is your turn to wear a look of amusement as the man very much tries not to stare on at the display with the same awstruck delight as his men. He mostly succeeds, but there's still a childlike glimmer of wonder in his eyes that mirrors the expression that has taken over the face of young Aisha on his lap, but muted and far more restrained. Amusement wavers into disapproval, and you make a note that regardless of how smoothly this exchange has gone... Oracle Lyza ought be informed of what her family's subordinates have allowed on their lands.

After all, this may not be the only mercenary with such moral character in the employ of less scrupulous nobles. But investigations into him could be the door to finding many more like him.

With those thoughts in mind, you intone a second spell to run in parallel with the extraction of ore from the roots of the mountain's depths. Enough metal has been gathered for you to begin shaping the price agreed for that Rosenschild woman. "Second, fabricate arms and armor."

As you move through the somatic components of the second spell, the silver bangle upon your left arm begins to glow as mana runs through it. It does not become hot to the touch, not from supporting two spells or even three, but the focus sheds light as the inefficiencies that come with parallel casting stack up inside of it. Your focus helps maintain one spell whilst your mind drifts to another, but there is always an inefficiency whenever a mage attempts to cast multiple spells at once. Manually maintaining them would be more efficient from the perspective of using mana, but splitting your mind's focus between even two spells would require silence and extensive meditation.

Even among the Children, only one person has ever achieved the ability to cast more than two spells without a focus to support them. That woman is said to have once maintained twelve higher order spells simultaneously without the aid of a focus, all while engaging with the Eldest of Eldest in a complex philosophical debate on the nature of good and evil.

That is one of the many reasons why the Golden Intellect terrifies you.

But she is not here now, and in truth your thoughts could not be further from her and her terrible works. A string of silver flows out now from the hidden space in your toga, turning into a second magical array through which mana can flow. "Let silver heed the call of creation and become the template by which the steel shall be shaped. Lead the alloys to their final shape, and by your resplendent song, may they become fang and scale for a mighty warrior!"

The metals gathered from the depths of the earth now flow into one another and become an alloy. Impurities of carbon are added to pure iron, and then traces of other metals in differing quantities to each mass that forms, for the art of making steel is in knowing its purpose. Swords and Armor are two very different things, and require very different blends to achieve their purpose.

For the armor, you choose a blend often found in the toes of the boots your people wear into mildly dangerous environments, a steel meant to protect people from accidental injuries. That steel exceeds the hardiness of any Hume forged steel save those once forged in the fires of the Dragon Kings' steeds, and shall provide more than sufficient protection for him. It is hard and unyielding, and may even turn away magic blades of inferior quality. No mundane blade, save those forged the Children and perhaps the finest smiths among the stouts, could hope to pierce it.

For the sword, the blend you choose is somewhat springier and more flexible, the very same steel used in creating the tools of the chef and a butcher among the Children. The way that carbon is mixed with the iron and trace metals gives the steel a wavy pattern that holds a rainbow sheen in the light. It will keep its edge far longer than all but the finest blades forged by the Stouts, and should cut through maille as easily as a butcher hacks bone.

The orbs of alloy then flow into their final shapes.

With the gathering of metal done, you draw what remains into the hidden space within your toga, and then focus all of your effort upon the shaping of the arms and armor. It is a delicate process, for incorporating the designs required to draw mana from the wielder for their chosen enchantments takes every bit of precision that you can muster. You are more a hobbyist than an artificer, so these custom enchantments are quite simple and take up more space than the memorized patterns you wove into your clothes. The innards of the armor and the tang of the blade both now have intricate designs that provide for their magic functions.

The armor itself invokes some design aspects taken from the armors of the Rangers, though you strove to invoke the armor worn by Lyza's guards. Full plate harness with maille beneath to protect the joints, crowned with a crested armet with a place for plumage to be worn in the style preferred by the Rangers of Alfheim.

The blade was scimitar of similar make to those worn at the hips of the iron masked men who serve beneath him. You do not know if that is his preferred weapon, but it should at least be something he is familiar with.

Where there was once a patch of sand encircled by the array of iron you shaped, flowers now bloom thanks to the abundance of mana that filled the area, piercing through the infertile soil and splashing the ground with a cacophony of vibrant colors. Al-Fasek approaches the sword and harness resting among the flowers somewhat warily, not sure if he should believe his lying eyes as to what had just transpired. When he picks up the blade, he finds himself impressed with its balance, and rapping his knuckles against the plated armor, he seems satisfied.

"This is good steel," he finally says after a moment of silence. He then turns to you with a frown upon his face. "Yes... very fine steel, I understand know what you said when you called your talent for shaping metal a divine gift. Though... I am afraid that I must call you a liar, Childe Lagneia."

Though his men tense at his words, readying themselves to pounce upon you at a moment's notice, you keep calm. Shamhat is but a flourish of your toga away, if the warlord has decided to double cross you and drive you from his home. "What do you mean, al-Fasek? I have kept my end of our agreement, have I not?"

"Oh, this is not about our terms," he waves away your questions and his men relax once more. A thin smile crosses his face as his eyes return lovingly to the sword and armor. "It is simply that you said they would only match your beauty by half. Yet I must say that to my eyes, your craft exceeds your beauty twice over."

Some of his men chuckle as you give him a look even flatter than the gentle curves of your chest. "That is your opinion, and I believe it's rather skewed."

"Ha! Just so," al-Fasek laughs. "Now tell me what hocus-pocus you've imbued these with, while my men fetch your prize."

The attendants who carried his palanquin run off to find Lady Rosenschild, where ever she might have hidden herself away in al-Fasek's manor. The men who had taken a break from their practice to observe you work your magic over the course of an hour return to their sparring with renewed vigor. Arms and Armor gifted by the Children of Yggdrasil, even for a specific price they have demands rather than simple friendship, will open many more respectable doors for al-Fasek and his band of men. Aisha has curled up on the throne like a cat taking a nap, a sleepy smile on his face as he snoozes. You and al-Fasek sit among the new flower bed, and discuss the nature of his arms and armor.

"You will need to prick your finger and smear the tang here with your blood," you begin with the spellwork upon the sword. "This will attune the magic to you. Once it is done, you simply need will the sword into your hand, and you will find that it will heed your call across any distance and return to you instantaneously."

You do not feel the need to explain the implications of that.

If he doesn't understand that space and time are intrinsically linked, it is probably for the best. Teleportation magics are intrinsically time magics, for time is just another dimension of space and the past and future are simply distances measured in days rather than meters. If he does understand the implications of that, you wish him good luck in resolving the headaches involved with thinking of time as another dimension of space so that he could use it effectively. There is only one sword, after all, even if it can be in multiple places or times at once.

Attempting to abuse it would be an exercise in futility. Divination magics that do not simply involve asking questions of Yggdrasil tend to be crapshoots, for all possibilities are the mother tree's branches. Any sword he plucks from the future with a crucial message upon it could be from any possibility in which the blade exists and is bound to him. But, as long as he thinks only in three dimensions - where the blade is, rather than when - that should not come up.

"I see..." al-Fasek nods at your words and follows your instructions. "Like a good hound, it will come when called. I can appreciate that."

"The armor, you simply need wear, and its magic shall function for you," you say with a gesture to his armor. Knocking on the armet, you explain, "The main body of the armor will passively draw mana from you as you wear it. Not enough to affect your stamina, beyond perhaps carrying an extra pound or so, but enough to feed the magic within the helmet. The helmet will serve to gather or disperse light in a way that keeps the brightness of the world around you constant. It should generally ease the strain of vision upon your eyes, and more importantly it will help you see in darkness as a Stout."

A cruel grin crosses al-Fasek's face as you explain the armor's power. "This is certainly worth Lady Rosenschild's head."

He would not be saying that if he knew every enchantment upon his new arms and armor, but you do not tell him of the contingencies you layered into them. Even if you do not see it coming, the sword will break in its wielder's hands before harming its creator. A tweak to the array also allows someone who speaks a certain command phrase to scatter the blade across space and time, with another phrase needed to join it back together. As for the armor, well, it can gather light. By speaking the right words, it can gather light a bit too well, and permanently destroy the wearer's vision.

But you do not feel the need to tell al-Fasek about these traps. Even an expert in appraising magical arrays would be unlikely to see these commands, as they are effectively extensions of their usual powers. Just a small backdoor, in case you - or Oracle Lyza's men - have a need for it.

While you and al-Fasek test out the functionality of his equipment and make sure it fits appropriately, a man's falsetto voice interrupts you. Not one of the men he sent away, but a new one with a tone more playful and less submissive than the others.

"Ah, there you are, Master~!" he calls out with something between derangement and affection. Looking at him, you could easily mistake him for a beautiful blonde woman, if not for the scent of a man fresh from having a very good time with an exceptionally eager woman that's wafting off of him. Al-Fasek does not seem to notice, so perhaps you can only tell because you recently held mana, and your senses are still sharp as a knife. "Look who I found out in the road sulking about like a kicked puppy! Remember that bid we lost a fortnight ago? Well it looks like someone's ready to shell out for some real men-at-arms, because the paper-mache she bought from the Hundred Talons got torn up by an angry elf~"

Behind the man, you see a familiar woman whose expression slowly twists into horror as she notices who exactly is helping al-Fasek get used to the fine suit of Child-forged steel he now wears. A wordless noise of panic escapes her mouth as the man she was with runs up and places a kiss upon the steel covering al-Fasek's lips.
>Inform al-Fasek that you will be taking your payment and leaving now.
>Let al-Fasek and this newcomer be all lovey-dovey without interruption... from you, or Lady Rosenschild.
>Give Lady Rosenschild a smile and a wave, and see how this will play out.

>>5700838
>"Do not take me for some charlatan with a hollow rod and passing knowledge of the properties of quicksilver,"
That's a sick reference.

>>5700847
>>Let al-Fasek and this newcomer be all lovey-dovey without interruption... from you, or Lady Rosenschild.
>Then when things slow down a bit...
>"Al-Fasek, will this one be added into the list of your naughtiest, or can I tempt you with another artwork for his inclusion?"

>>5700847
>Let al-Fasek and this newcomer be all lovey-dovey without interruption... from you, or Lady Rosenschild.
>Give Lady Rosenschild a smile and a wave, and see how this will play out.

>>5700847
>>Give Lady Rosenschild a smile and a wave, and see how this will play out.

>>5700847
>Let al-Fasek and this newcomer be all lovey-dovey without interruption... from you, or Lady Rosenschild.
>Give Lady Rosenschild a smile and a wave, and see how this will play out.
cue to lagneia displaying the biggest shit eating grin the kingdom has ever seen

>>5700847
>Let al-Fasek and this newcomer be all lovey-dovey without interruption... from you, or Lady Rosenschild.
>Let out a big mischievous grin

>>5700847
>Give Lady Rosenschild a smile and a wave, and see how this will play out.
Are we that bad at reading signals that isn't about sex?

>>5701173
>Are we that bad at reading signals that isn't about sex?
I'm pretty sure the "smile and wave" is to absolutely rub her face in the fact that we have completely fucked her (only metaphorically, so far it might be fun to rape her before we kill her, but that doesn't really seem like our style). We read the signals and we know what the score is, but we're definitely not above being a petty little minx.

Besides, we shouldn't do anything particularly hostile to her until al-Fasek informs his simpering falsetto paramour that Lady Rosenschild is no longer a protected guest, or the guy might try to jump us, which would make things more complicated than we want at the moment.

...and there's always the possibility of simply using Lady Rosenschild, with the fact that we could kill her hanging over her head. I wonder if we know some kind of magic that would allow us to fashion a collar for her the will decapitate her if she acts against us or against our will. It could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship a route into what passes for high society in this human kingdom.

>>5701173
As >>5701189 said, the smile and wave here is very much a malicious - or at least, incredibly smug - act. That option is basically the "Yeah, Ruth is here, but the stuff in between Zahra and al-Fasek is more interesting and I want to see how that goes" option. The only signal that she's really misinterpreted recently is that al-Fasek's affections for Aisha are fatherly, not sexual.

>>5701189
Your current plans as voted for are to reenact the contents of a particular not-quite-bdsm yuri doujin from the late 00s/early 10s. I believe it was Touhou and Mokou x Kaguya, and involved Kaguya using a calligraphy brush and oil to gently torment Mokou until she surrendered. Same basic premise here, though you'll be questioning her throughout the whole process until she divulges all of her secrets. Once that's done, you'll give her a choice that could result in anything between running off and becoming your hyper submissive hug pillow maid.

>>5700847

>Let al-Fasek and this newcomer be all lovey-dovey without interruption... from you, or Lady Rosenschild.
>Give Lady Rosenschild a smile and a wave, and see how this will play out.

Its joever for her

>>5701337
>>5701189
I just want to watch her squirm a little bit while she figures out what just happened. Think of it as foreplay.

>>5701189
OP mentioned it's possible to make a magical chastity belt that prevents her from removing it. It shouldn't be impossible to make one that edges her endlessly if she doesn't comply with our orders.

>Captcha: ntranw
That's a bit much, don't you think, Captcha?

By the way, thanks for running this quest! I enjoyed my binge of the archive over the past few days to catch up - there's something funny and charming about how you write an MC who's both well-learned in certain things, but naive. It's kind of hilarious to me that despite being a lewd quest with a lewd protagonist, we've spent far more time and wordcount communing with nature/metals/animals/insects/etc. than getting it on.

>>5701337
>The only signal that she's really misinterpreted recently is that al-Fasek's affections for Aisha are fatherly, not sexual.
Ok, I know unreliable narrators are a thing, but I never would have guessed that in a million years from what you've written. It does make certain things make a lot more sense, like Aisha comfortably curling up on the throne after al-Fasek gets out of it, which is REALLY pushing it even for a lord's favorite buttboy, but makes sense for a son to do, but it also raises a couple of other questions: al-Fasek has been very clearly portrayed as homosexual who surrounds himself with a harem of attractive young men. He did make that comment about our DFC, so maybe he's bi, but it seemed like a somewhat backhanded compliment and it's about a feature that makes us look more androgynous. So how the fuck does he have a son? Adoption? Some sort of fostering arrangement? Mitosis? Was this guy actually involved with a woman at some point? Is Aisha his nephew or something?, and I was going to say Lagneia's misinterpretation of fatherly physical affection as pederasty makes me wonder about what kind of parental physical affection is common in elven society, but then I remembered that in this setting, elves grow from the World Tree, instead of being born, which DOES explain why she doesn't read this one right. Oh my god, everything she knows about family is from books and classes. I feel like you could make a number of pretty funny comedy setups out of that.

>>5701594
my interpretation of the scene was that aisha was just the prettiest femboy of the group, not really his son, but if we go with that route, its not uncommon for homosexuals to have a previous heterosexual partner, kids included, specially in the medieval times where political marriages were a thing. maybe al-fasek married himself into the wealth he currently has, or his ex wife cheated on him and he renounced on women, or whatever

>it's kind of hilarious to me that despite being a lewd quest with a lewd protagonist, we've spent far more time and wordcount communing with nature/metals/animals/insects/etc.
that's what we call plot with porn

>>5700847
>Let al-Fasek and this newcomer be all lovey-dovey without interruption... from you, or Lady Rosenschild

>>5700847
>>Let al-Fasek and this newcomer be all lovey-dovey without interruption... from you, or Lady Rosenschild.
>>Give Lady Rosenschild a smile and a wave, and see how this will play out.

>>5701337
Are we still going to parade her around? We could even make it a pay per view.

>>5700847
>Give Lady Rosenschild a smile and a wave, and see how this will play out.

>>5701594
Welcome new player! What attracted you to the spiciest quest on /qst/? Was there any past option that you would've done differently?

>>5702051
>What attracted you to the spiciest quest on /qst/?
Honestly? It just happened to be pretty far up the bump order in the catalog, and the first post "this is our premise" blurb for this thread seemed interesting. I used to be a QM, so I occasionally stop by the board to see how the current generation of QMs and questers are doing, and this happened to catch my eye.

I generally enjoy 'fish out of water' or 'culture clash' stories when they're done well (Heterogenous Linguistics comes to mind), and the premise reminded me a bit of Frieren (minus the 'ghosts/memories of the past' angle) as well as one of my absolute favorite ideas from the cultivation/xianxia genre: the "now you go down the mountain and live among the mortals for a while" arc. While tossing in a bit of lewd, of course.

And so far, it's turned out to be pretty well-written and intriguing. While it's not as lewd as I expected it to be, given its premise and its start, I do like stories that just kind of casually accept having sex as part of them, even if putting pussy on paper isn't the primary objective. People do this stuff. Sex is inherent in all human existences (two people needed to have had it for any of us to exist, after all - ok, fine artificial insemination is a thing, but my point broadly stands), so why toss it out entirely from vast swathes of fiction? Back when I ran quests, I generally followed a similar policy of "it's a thing, and it's an influence on people, but it's not necessarily our main focus and I don't want to get banned", and I like what the QM's been doing here along those lines. I've probably had much more fun with this quest that I would have if it had just been a tale of our cute little elven whore getting passed around like a bong.

>Was there any past option that you would've done differently?
Nothing specific I can remember. As a former QM, I'm more used to just reading the votes and saying "whelp, that's what the people want" instead of having a burning desire to see a vote go any particular direction, and it's the same when I'm reading other quests' archives. What's done is done, the people have spoken, and - also, I don't think the players in this quest have made any particularly dumb decisions yet.

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>>5701594
>>5701608
I will say that the answer to al-Fasek's relations with Aisha will be fully revealed in the next post (and indeed, I nearly just went ahead and slipped that in at the end of the chapter, but I had hit 20k characters and wanted to give an opportunity for a break). You do have most everything to figure it out between this last post and last thread, though I think outside of the image used I may have failed to mention that Aisha's hair is somewhat curly.

>>5701594
I have a soft rule for Lagneia really getting it on with someone to only happen once a thread, to avoid warnings like I got previously. I was not expecting set dressing to get me flagged there, but I guess I was too explicit in how I worded things. It keeps me from getting too horny while writing and avoids me ending up in a cycle where I'd rather fap than write because what's going on is too steamy. That's definitely happened with a few things that I've run off site (QQ/Akun) and tends to kill quests because I can't get passed a scene, or there are too many scenes like that back to back.

You are 1000% correct that Lagneia only really understands the Hume/Stout family unit in a very abstract way. The only reason elves have sex organs in the first place is because Yggdrasil is filled with memories, and a lot of memories tend to focus on sex. The purpose of elves in Yggdrasil's lifecycle is ultimately to act as intermediaries between the World Tree and the species who live beneath its canopy, and sex is very important for interpersonal dynamics among creatures that reproduce through sexual activity. It has become important to the dynamics between elves as well, though it isn't as deeply rooted and is ultimately more something fun to do that brings you closer to your closest friend(s) than an instinctual and primal need.

Circling back to family, the elven idea of a family more revolves around living together than reproduction. Most elves view those they lived with in the Garten (as children) and the Gymnasium (as students) in a similar-but-hardly-identical light to how Humes and Stouts view their siblings. There isn't really a concept of parental affection among elves, outside of abstract and largely cultural notions about how teachers and mentors should treat their students. Families tend to consist of lovers who have decided to live together and support one another, and perhaps their closest proteges as the closest equivalent to children. Though also, with the same sprout as mother, it could be said that each elvenhomes itself are giant families, of a sort.

There is some level of physical affection elves know that lacks sexual connotations, but the circumstances of Lagneia's birth complicate things. The largest period of ripening for the fruit that bore her corresponded with the return of memories by a Keeper who had brought memories of a post-plague baby-boom. So it's a case of the fertilizer affecting the "flavor" of the tree's fruit.

>>5702323
>the answer to al-Fasek's relations with Aisha will be fully revealed in the next post
I still think "mitosis" is the funniest possibility I came up with, even if I'm sure it's not the truth.

>I have a soft rule for Lagneia really getting it on with someone to only happen once a thread, to avoid warnings like I got previously. I was not expecting set dressing to get me flagged there, but I guess I was too explicit in how I worded things.
Honestly, keeping it down to that probably contributes to the quality of the writing, because it can be quite difficult to write a sex scene that actually does something for the plot and characters, but there's still a part of me that was expecting our MC to get passed around like a cheap whore and is slightly disappointed that's not what's happening. (Given her internal narration, Lagneia is probably a bit disappointed about it as well.)

I'm a bit amused you've gotten warned for any portion of this quest, because I remember when Fuck Quest was running on /tg/ (theoretically a 'Blue Board' like this one), and true to its title, it involved the MC banging his way through his schoolmates and teachers like a hentai protagonist in an extremely explicit fashion. But I guess that's been nearly a decade, and times have changed.

Oh well.

>the circumstances of Lagneia's birth complicate things. The largest period of ripening for the fruit that bore her corresponded with the return of memories by a Keeper who had brought memories of a post-plague baby-boom. So it's a case of the fertilizer affecting the "flavor" of the tree's fruit.
That makes a lot of sense, and adds a layer of depth to exactly why she's got her skewed perception of reality and is a somewhat unreliable narrator (or at least her internal thoughts are unreliable in certain areas), and since that's what you were intentionally going for, I congratulate you on doing a good job, because I actually bought the pederasty idea Lagneia had without a second thought.

>It keeps me from getting too horny while writing and avoids me ending up in a cycle where I'd rather fap than write because what's going on is too steamy
Strangely, I feel like getting horny only enhances writing stuff like that, and I never feel a particular need to 'relieve myself'. It's almost like a mental/cerebral horniness instead of a "need to do something about this" kind of horny when I write about sex..

On another note, I like the images you've chosen for our MC. Are they from anything in particular?

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>>5702342
>On another note, I like the images you've chosen for our MC. Are they from anything in particular?
Nahida from G*nsh*n Impact

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>>5702586
Plenty of material to work from

>>5702586
It's funny, a friend of mine I showed the pictures to gave the same answer about 20 minutes ago.

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>>5702342
>>5702586
Specifically, I use Nahida from Genshin and Kokkoro from Princess Connect interchangeably, depending on the outfit she's using and whether or not Shamhat is relevant to the post. As anon pointed out, people really like to draw Scaramouche's tiny step-mom in a variety of outfits, so there's a good amount of material to work with for Nahida. There's also not a bad amount of artwork available for Kokkoro, though it tends to be of her normal outfit.

Pic not related, this is someone I am using to represent another of the Divine Spear Wielders from among the Children. The Eldest of Eldest from the Yggdrasil sprout of Asvattha and keeper of the Clock Spear Kairos, Eldest Alaya.

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regardless, nahida is a cute

>>5702720
Built for LEWD

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Happy 4th of July, Ameribros. Here's a little something festive for the holiday!

Cant of the Daughters of Irminsul
My ears have heard the anguished cries of all the lonely men
Who have toiled all day long and yet will sleep alone again
With youthful charm I shall bring their loneliness to an end
As "wife" for every man

Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
As "wife" for every man

The spirits that possess you are more than just pent up lust
Like a plaque they choke your noble heart with a perverted crust
From that turgid thing, I shall suck out this curse so perilous
As a dutiful nun

Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
As a dutiful nun

With hands and feet and naizuri I will surely please this crowd
I shall wring out every rod around me until they've all bowed
And though my world be choked with white, I'll shout my joys out loud!
As a shameless elf girl

Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
As a shameless elf girl

My entire body has been steeped in eroticism
For a century I've honed techniques designed to make men cum
And I can say I'm quit fulfilled with what I have become
As Daughter of Irminsul!

Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
Embrace the pleasures I can bring you~
As Daughter of Irminsul!

>>5702720
cute and funny, if you will

>>5700847
>Let al-Fasek and this newcomer be all lovey-dovey without interruption... from you, or Lady Rosenschild.
>Give Lady Rosenschild a smile and a wave, and see how this will play out.

>>5702785
Neat!

>>5702785
goodness gracious

>>5702785
Is being able to somehow sing this with a mouth full of cock a requirement for becoming an abbess in the order?

File: Lagneia travel clothes.jpg (2.76 MB, 4573x7216)

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Perhaps the most interesting thing you notice about the beak nosed woman is the new dress. She changed from that sturdy red dress made for riding and the wilderness into a silk dress of such deep blue it almost looks black, with a subtle pattern of shining flowers just a few shades lighter. Unlike the red it does not push up her breasts and reveal the valley between them. Instead, its collar reaches up her neck, and like the harem boys she wears a gossamer veil of sheer fabric to cover her mouth. Her curly black hair is tucked beneath a flowing scarf that covers her hiding, hiding it away like some sort of treasure.

Her eyes stare at you in horror. Her mouth twists into an expression that caught between the desire to scream and the desire to vomit. Her entire body trembles in fear when you meet her gaze with your emerald green eyes.

You pin her in place with a predatory grin filled with the promise of all the wonderful things you'll get up to later.

Neither al-Fasek nor this free-spirited lover of his pay either of you any mind, too engrossed in each other's presence as they catch up with course of the day. Some of the other men snicker when al-Fasek's gauntleted hand shows no shame in copping a feel of his lover's plump bottom while they exchange soft pleasantries. Others look on in jealousy, though you cannot say whether they wish to be al-Fasek or his lover. The man makes as fine a woman as any man can - and if you're honest, a finer woman by far than your prey.

That does not surprise you, for most harems have a queen that their master favors above the others, the woman who is his companion rather than simple entertainment. What does surprise you, is that the boy who rode on al-Fasek's lap scrambles towards the warlord's lover and promptly gets scooped up by him.

"Mama~!" the boy gives a joyful shout as he's tossed up into the air like a ball.

The young man gracefully catches the child and twirls around with him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Ruth twitches in irritation, breaking your gaze and casting a scowl at the scene. Both al-Fasek and the young man pay her look no mind. "There's my sweet little Aisha! Were you a good boy for your papa and your uncles while Mama was out dealing with those bad, rotten, nasty old men?"

"Uh-huh!" the boy says with an excited nod. The beautiful young man looks to al-Fasek, and smiles brightly when he nods in affirmation, giving the boy's curly blonde hair an affectionate ruffle. "I got through all my math work without getting anything wrong! And Uncle Farah taught me the first dokuz kesim!"

"On one of the practice dummies, I hope..." the young man frowns, sharing another look with al-Fasek. The warlord nods, but unlike before, his expression does not turn sunny. "Dear, he's only eight. It's too early for him to learn our craft! Four more years, at least!"

Al-Fasek tries and fails to avoid withering at the pouting face of his lover. "But... I learned them all at six..."

As the two lovers bicker back and forth with one another like an old married couple about the appropriate age to teach their son their craft as blades for hire, things fall into place in your head. Al-Fasek's affections towards the boy were not prurient in nature, but parental. Like a bull on the farm guards and nuzzles with the calfs of the cows that he's mated with, and playfully clashes horns with his sons. You honestly should have picked that up from how he simply stroked the boy's head, when he continues to be quite free with the bottoms of his lover and his playthings among his harem.

Harvested from the branches of Yggdrasil, the Children do not share such a close bond with their childhood caretakers. They were teachers and mentors and in some cases even friends, but rarely the closest. You suppose a parent must be a blend of mentor and one's closest and most intimate friends, if such physical affections are commonplace between them. It is strange, and reminds you of how alien the Humes are. You know that if a caretaker at the Garten nuzzled one of their wards with such open affections, there would be inquiries into their conduct.

Though you have to wonder how normal these two truly are.

For that matter, how did the boy come to be? From the color of his hair, you can only conclude that he is the get of al-Fasek's lover, for his golden curls match the shade of his "Mama's" hair all-too-well. Yet you know quite well that al-Fasek does not possess the equipment to birth a child, but rather an impressive tool of impregnation. Nor do you expect that he has the inclination to impregnate a woman, given how much he enjoys fruitless attempts to impregnate the bottoms of men.

Unless the bottoms of Hume men can become impregnated in the right circumstances? You remember reading a book to that effect some time ago, written under pen name by the Dragon Queen of the Southern Wind in the years between the Second and Third Blights. You took that for a fanciful flight of speculative fiction, like the novels of reincarnated villainesses given a second chance to avoid their self-wrought demise that you so enjoy. But... would not a Hume know the anatomy of a Hume best? And what purpose would the Dragon Queen have had to lie about such matters...?

But then which parent gave the boy his curls-

"A-hem!" the abrupt cough of Ruth Rosenschild snaps you from your thoughts, and brings an early end to the conversation between al-Fasek and his lover.

Its seems that while you were distracted and puzzling your way through the mysteries of young Aisha's origins, Ruth recovered what shreds of courage she had left and stamped up to al-Fasek with a scowl on her face. She puffs up like an exotic fish and demands to know, "Why is that knife-eared harlot loitering about your courtyard, dressed for her profession? I did not know that your esteemed house allowed women to bare their shameless skin before your august personage lik-"

As she rants, al-Fasek removes the gauntlet that has covered his left hand with steel. Without a care for any word she spoke, he cuts her off with a backhand of such force that it sent her tumbling towards you across the grass. "Silence, woman!"

"Dear..." al-Fasek's lover growls in irritation. "Not in front of Aisha."

"Our son will need to learn how to properly deal with the simpering fools among the weaker sex in time, my love," al-Fasek rumbles as he stomps towards the woman on the ground. Ruth lets out a pained groan, confusion on her face giving way to fear when al-Fasek pulls her up by her hair. "Perhaps he will be lucky enough to meet a woman as fine as Childe Lagneia here, who knows well the hearts and minds of men. But for every one like her, there are a hundred like Ruth here, who understand nothing but their own inflated sense of self-worth and believe themselves invincible. Common sense, you see, must be beaten into them... else they will spoil like a child spared the rod."

"Kuh..." Ruth makes a wordless noise of anger, choking on pain as al-Fasek lifts her by her hair. Her legs kick out uselessly against his armor, a futile clanging filling the air. Still, she wears a defiant look on her face, spitting fury at the warlord. "My father... will ruin you..."

"Leaning upon your father's strength..." al-Fasek gives a hollow laugh. His lover winces behind him, but the young man does not cover their son's eyes or ears, for Aisha's father wants him to see this. "How very like a useless woman."

Ruth hisses in pain as the warlord lifts her high into the air with his bare left hand. You can't help but wince when you hear the sound of fabric tearing under her weight, hairs being ripped from her scalp. "Your clients... will..."

She does not get to finish her sentence.

Al-Fasek tosses her as easily as his lover tossed their son up, and catches her by the throat, cutting off any words she might have said. "They will applaud my good business sense, you stupid girl. We had no contract to protect you because you wanted to pay weak men in silver instead of strong men in gold. Can you then blame me when a higher bidder came around, who paid sweetly with that metal which is master of them all?"

"We'll...ack..." Ruth desperately chokes out her words, tears streaming down her. "Double it... triple it..."

"Pay close attention, Aisha," al-Fasek commands his son. Reluctantly, while watching Ruth go limp and cry, his lover steps forward with the young boy. The young man does not seem amused, but the young boy cannot help but look at the strength of his father with awe on his face. Al-Fasek puffs up, seeing the expression. "Behold the keenest sword that a rotten woman like this one can wield. Her tears. Do not mistake this for softness, for she wields them like a rapier to stab the heart of her enemy and make them relent. Or move the hearts of other men, to make up for the strength she lacks."

"Please..." Ruth cries fake tears. "We can... ten times..."

"Tch, did your father fail in his one duty to teach his daughter how to appraise worth and manage finances?" al-Fasek asks. His glare is not directed at Ruth now, but the spectre of her father lying in her shadow, far off where ever he may be. His gives a long sigh, and then hardens his grip around her neck. "Your family may be rich, but the behind the doors opened by a fine suit of elven steel can be found riches that your father would covet greatly. I can act respectable when I need to... but I no longer need to act so with you, do I?"

Ruth glares, and tries to choke out some witty response. The hand around her throat has grown too tight, and all her attempt to speak accomplishes is the loss of air a face slowly turning blue.

With a horrifically graceful motion, al-Fasek throws Ruth to the ground with such force that it kicks up chunks of dirt and mud, splattering you and your garment. Genuine remorse crosses the warlord's face when he sees what a mess he has made of your clothes. He takes a step forward, casually crushing Ruth's head beneath the heels of his steel boots and forcing the woman to choke on dirt. "My apologies, Childe Lagneia. I am afraid I got a bit too enthusiastic, and dirtied your fine dress. Shall I send for someone to clean it?"

"There is no need. These are my traveling clothes, and my 'hocus-pocus' will suffice," you wave him off. A flash of mana through your bangle makes the muck slide right off your traveling dress, to which al-Fasek nods. You give a pointed look to where his boot is forcing the Rosenschild woman to angrily chew on dirt while her groans turn into expletives. "However, I am concerned about the state of my prize. You have already done more harm to her than I ever intended to..."

Al-Fasek gives a noncommittal shrug, "She disrespected my client in my esteemed house. This is something I will not tolerate - and make no mistake, Childe Lagneia, if she was my client and you disrespected her so flagrantly, I would have done the same to you."

At no point does he lift his boot from her head.

"So I take it we are not taking on her protection request, Master?" al-Fasek's lover approaches with a rather excited looking Aisha in tow, his lips as thin as the tail of a Prince Rupert's Drop. "That would have been a lot of money in our coffers... but of course, it is your choice to make."

"Well Zahra, if you hadn't spent so long trying to give little Aisha a younger sibling perhaps she would have gotten here before our deal was completed," al-Fasek teases his lover. So the warlord did know about his lover's dalliances... and you suppose that answers the question of who was the boy's mother. "Zahra, this is Lagneia of Alfheim, a rare gem amongst women who forged this fine suit of armor I now wear. Childe Lagneia, this is Zahra, my morning star and brightest light of my life. I wish you two please get along!"

"I can be nice, but..." Zahra levels a hard look at you. "What is the deal you made with Master?"

You explain the deal that you brokered with al-Fasek while Zahra nods along. The muffled curses of Ruth Rosenberg provide the background music as you tell Zahra your side of the story. How she decided to attack you for no reason other than because you were there, how you defended yourself against the Hundred Talons, and how you followed her back to this place. Zahra seems annoyed by this whole matter, as much at Ruth for not telling him the whole truth as he is at you for existing and being here.

"You may have to do without your favorite fuck-hole for a little while, my love," al-Fasek elbows his lover fondly. All he gets in response is a roll of his eyes and a complaint for using such language where Aisha can hear. "If she manages to retain her fondness for men after Lagneia gets what she wants. I've read the tales of Helen the Elf Queen, and how she made the Dragon King's other wives submit to her..."

"Haaaah," Zahra lets out a sigh of long suffering. With stifling professionalism, he asks, "As you are a client, would you like to borrow one of our rooms for your... interrogations? We have several soundproofed rooms that are in the secure wing."
>Yes, having the guards around us would be comforting while I perform my work.
>Yes, if you could arrange for a soft feather bed, that would be ideal.
>Alas, I must decline, there are other matters I must attend to before I interrogate her.
>Alas, I must decline. I have a secure spot in mind for conducting my interrogation.
>What would you be willing to exchange for the opportunity to listen in on her family's secrets? (Roll 1d100. On a 70 or above, they will offer something Lagneia sees as commensurate)

>>5705228
>Alas, I must decline, there are other matters I must attend to before I interrogate her.
Need to check back on the last mercenary we let live to see if he followed our orders. After that, though, how about we bond a bit by showing Zahra some of our techniques?

>>5705227
>Zahra, my morning star
I might have read too much Abrahamic stuff, but "morning star" as a title makes me want to run for the door.

>>5705228
>>Alas, I must decline, there are other matters I must attend to before I interrogate her.
we do technically have to get back to the scene of the crime.

>>5705228
>Alas, I must decline, there are other matters I must attend to before I interrogate her.
I agree with >>5705234 and >>5705254 - we need to ensure the mercenary did what we said and the target escaped.

I'll add "do you have room for some other guests?" to this, because if they aren't dead, the nobles and servants in the carriage are probably valuable and need somewhere to stay at the moment. Al-Fasek thought our gift worthy of telling Ruth (and, by extension, her family) to pound sand, so he'll be wanting to talk to Ruth's enemies and establishing a connection there.

Also, we can have the noblewoman watch as we torment Ruth, which should be fun. Having a peanut gallery is always nice.

>>5705228
>>Yes, if you could arrange for a soft feather bed, that would be ideal.

>>5705228
>Alas, I must decline, there are other matters I must attend to before I interrogate her.
we still need to catch up back with the mercenary boy

>~Don't forget to send me your naughtiest~*wink*

>>5705272
having Al-Fasek's place as an option would be useful, yes, and he might appreciate the new clientele.

>>5705307
It might also be good to show him or his soldiers the carnage a Child Of The World Tree is capable of. You know, just in case they hadn't figured it out already, or had forgotten the old legends about elves and just generally didn't realize that we are a walking nuclear weapon.

>>5705228
>Alas, I must decline, there are other matters I must attend to before I interrogate her.
>~Don't forget to send me your naughtiest~*wink*

>>5705228
>Alas, I must decline, there are other matters I must attend to before I interrogate her.
We can reserve a soundproof room and some boys though maybe?

>>5705228
I support >>5705622. There's time for Ruth on the road.

>>5705252
Venus is a goddess of love and lust.

>>5705228
>Alas, I must decline, there are other matters I must attend to before I interrogate her.
>Make a reservation nonetheless

>>5705657
why make a reservation if we're gonna leave?

>>5705637
>>5705622
taking care of al-fasek's boys isn't a 5 minute ordeal, and we need to return to the city to take care of the survivors and the kid we "cursed". that's why we told him to contact us later in lygos, because we are short on time at the moment

>>5705637
>Venus is a goddess of love and lust.
"The Morning Star" is traditionally one of Lucifer/Satan's alternate titles from before his rebellion and starting to rule Hell, which is why I can't help but feel it's rather ominous when I see it referenced. Like I said, I've spent too much time dealing with Abrahamic religions and their offshoots, but al-Fasek and his crew are certainly evoking a rather arabic vibe, so that's also influencing the mythology I'm calling to mind.

It's worth noting that Ishtar/Ashtoreth (a precursor to Venus, and associated with the same star, if my memory serves me correctly) was also a capricious and sadistic war goddess in addition to being the goddess of lust, love, general fertility, and suchlike. Some of her other equivalents in pantheons that seem to derive from a common source retain those aspects as well: Sekhmet (a brutal and sadistic war goddess) and Hathor (a love/lust/fertility goddess) are the same being in Egyptian mythology, Freya up in the frozen north has the right to take a certain portion of dead warriors who would otherwise go to Odin's Valhalla for her own personal afterlife army (notably, none of the other war-associated Norse gods have similar rights), and even Venus is Mar's lover, which seems to be the form this concept took in Roman mythology.

>>5705778
Because we're planning on coming back, obviously. We need to deal with the carriage's passengers and that guy we put an "elven curse" on, but we need to return and deal with Ruth after that.

>>5705819
but his palace is pretty much far away from where we're supposed to go -we literally went through a forest-, the people we save definitely won't follow an elf to god knows where(we also don't know if they have a relation with al-fasek) and we gain nothing from "interrogating" ruth in here other than zahra being a literal cuck and jerking off while we do it. its easier and faster to have him send his men to us instead of returning to this remote as fuck place

>>5705844
Problem is, we don't know how far away the nearest town is, or even where it is. It's been ten days since we've left Azar's territories, and there's no mention of us going into a town before this whole scenario happened.

>>5705228
>Alas, I must decline, there are other matters I must attend to before I interrogate her.

Also maybe give Ruth a collar and a chain leash for the journey so she doesn't get lost or wander off. Have it make her go temporarily blind and have her feet go totally numb if she gets too far from us.

>>5706261
no need to do that much; a collar and chain should be enough, after all, we managed to track her even when she fled on horseback

>>5706265
or just make her a bracelet she can't take off and tell her, "If you get to far away from me, well, just make sure not to get to far away from me." then wink and smile.

>>5706694
Again, I'll suggest making a chastity belt instead.

File: Rough Map of Alagonia (Fu(...).jpg (1.34 MB, 3284x2550)

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Very rough outline, but here's a map of Alagonia. The approximate places where each thread ended are marked as T1, T2, and T3.

>>5705871
There were a number of Thorpes and Hamlets along the way, but nothing big enough to have a castle or even a stone tower watching the road. Not really notable by Lagneia's standards.

Though this region should be relatively clear of bandits and monsters, compared to the Golden Grass. Forested areas, but tamer forests interspersed with farmland clearings rather than THE WOODS. Younger growth, with a few sacred old growth groves kept clear from logging and such by tradition and the faiths.

>>5706712
>There were a number of Thorpes and Hamlets along the way, but nothing big enough to have a castle or even a stone tower watching the road. Not really notable by Lagneia's standards.
Ok, I'd misinterpreted Lagneia not mentioning any civilization as her traveling through a complete wilderness area between the cities, rather than her just not having anything to remark on in smaller farming villages along the roads she took, and assumed this region just wasn't populated for some reason.

>>5706708
i thought that was for after we interrogated her?
>>5706712
neat!

>>5706793
I mean, either way it's going to deter her from sprinting away from us as fast as possible the first chance she gets.

>>5706712
We should get an achievement for fucking every man from every named place in this map.

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"Alas, I must decline," you say. You spare no apologetic look to Zahra, whose irritation at the deal you struck with his lover and master is exactly none of your business. Perhaps one of them will be sleeping on the couch for a while, or perhaps al-Fasek will provide Zahra with some necessary correction. "There are other matters that I must attend to before her interrogation. I dropped a number of things in the course of her pursuit that now need to be picked back up."

Zahra looks like he wants to say something, but al-Fasek cuts him off with a gesture. "Are you certain you do not wish to avail yourself of the hospitality of my esteemed house, Childe Lagneia? The hour grows late."

You glance at the position of the sun, which has long since passed its zenith and begun to droop towards the western horizon. The evening star already has pierce the day with its brilliance. The Sookh Moon is soon to rise with the setting of the sun and paint the night with a soft indigo light. Forging al-Fasek his arms and armor took you longer than expected, and these conversations burn what daylight remains.

With a frown, you say, "All the more important I attend to this matters now. The forest is young, but a youthful wilderness is no less wild. I shall be fine moving through the night, but those whom I must attend to may not be."

Al-Fasek gives a slightly disappointed nod. "Very well. On your feet, you foolish girl."

He finally takes his armored foot off of Ruth's face, dragging her onto her feet with her arms bound in one hand. She casts you a most hate glare, battered and bruised as she is, an spits empty threats like a curse. "My father will see you swinging from the gallows, enfante. No, that's too good for you, we'll see a slave collar around that pretty little neck of yours and have you tied up in the soldier's latrine for all the men to relieve themselves with every whorish hole you have."

From the moment she spits enfante like a curse, al-Fasek's face twists with apoplectic rage. You raise a hand as he raises his fist to strike Ruth again, and with thin lips and a body quivering in barely restrained fury, he lowers it. That does not stop him from growling in anger, "Disrespectful woman, know your place! And be happy my client knows the Earthmother's mercy... for I know only the Starfather's rage."

You give Ruth a smirk that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Honestly, that sounds like a fun little diversion for a while. But alas, the only one of us who will be wearing a collar about their neck shall be you. First, call to the metal's heart."

Dragonbrass flows from the hidden space in your robes as you continue the incantation. The spell you weave makes a collar meant to control disobedient and wild animals that a Ranger might wish to tame, or a Grove Keeper might wish to set as guardians for the wood. It is not mind control, but rather a means of punishing or disabling them entirely if they are disobedient or violent.

"Brass becomes the channel of electrum, to prod the untamed beast and teach them their place in the tended grove..." You intone the words that shape the metal and engrave the spell within the band that encircles Ruth's neck. Al-Fasek's rage deflates when he realizes your punishment is probably worse than anything that he can do. Zahra looks on with a mix of irritation... and yet, excitement. "Let the collar set them apart from the wild things in the forest, and mark them as the diligent servant who obeys our design!'

Engraved with runes in the tongue of Yggdrasil's Children, the band of polished brass now decorates Ruth's neck with a pattern of vines and flowers. You altered the composition of copper and other trace metals in the Dragonbrass, leaving the metal a rich green on the vines and a scattering of blue, and pink, and gold for the flowers.

Al-Fasek lets the woman go, and she falls to her knees.

"What did you..." Ruth seethes , pawing the metal that clenches about her neck just tightly enough to reminder her that it is there without constricting the flow of blood or air. She glares at you with hatred in her eyes. "You knife-eared bitch! I'll kill you for this!"

She tries to pounce at you, her hands reaching for your own neck. The collar stops her mid stride, locking in place in the air and cutting off her screams of rage with a choking noise. Then the mana channeled through the collar converts into electrum that flows through her body in a precise and controlled pattern that avoids her heart and her brain, but stimulates every other muscle. She makes a pig-like sound as she loses control of her body, first twitching and spasming wildly, and then crumpling to the ground.

Al-Fasek looks impressed at your latest bit of hocus-pocus. Zahra covered little Aisha's eyes when Ruth's twitching started doing provocative things to her anatomy, but the irritation is gone from his face. All that is left is a sadistic gleam of joy at the possibilities of what you've done with electrum, and a more prominent bulge beneath his dress.

So that's how he is, huh?

"You will not attempt to harm anyone, including yourself," your ignore the blossoming sadist to give orders to Ruth. Your eyes shine with a green light that mimics the Vikaas moon of summer, mana flowing through your words and engraving the orders upon the collar. "If you must defend yourself, use your body in other ways. You will not stray more than 100 meters from my presence at any given time, unless I give you permission or a task that requires it. Should I give you such a task, you will complete it as swiftly as possible and then return to my side. You will obey my commands to the best of your ability, unless doing so would cause you physical harm."

Your nose crinkles as you stare down at Ruth. It seems the electrum caused a number of muscles to relax that you did not intend. "Al-Fasek, I must beg one thing of your hospitality before I leave. Ruth needs a change of clothes..."

===Elsewhere, in Lygos===

The Emperor holds his court in the Palace of Starry Waters, a magnificent estate overlooking the unbroken line of falling waters that stretches on for a full league, separating the fresh waters of Star Lake from the estuary of the Black Channel and the tidal forces of the Middle Sea. It is said that a thousand varieties of flowers fill his garden, taken from every corner of the Nine Lands and each grown in their own soil perfected by his alchemists to ensure a lovely bloom. Great murals decorate the flat walls of polished granite that encircle the gardens, depicting the rise and fall of the Dragon Kings, the growth of Lygos and Daedalium, and the stories of its many heroes.

A tree of memory gifted by the Elves eight centuries ago for a service the Emperor in that age performed for one of their Rangers serves as the garden's centerpiece. It grows from the center of the a pond filled with schools of many brightly colored fish, and reaches up to the heavens as high as the palace's greatest spire Its vibrant red leaves are like flowers of their own, and its white-and-black bark evokes the image of a grand pillar of marble that twists and separates into branches each as long as five men are tall, as thick as the cannon that bristle the walls of Lygos like deadly iron thorns.

The tree shades the garden from the harsh light of the sun, yet casts a gentler glow all of its own that nourishes the plants and lights up the garden both day and night.

It is in the shade of this nameless tree of memory that that the high lords who make their home in Lygos have created their nest of vipers where honest men fear to tread. Not a single day goes by without the garden transforming into a brokerage of power where favors are traded and schemes are laid down. The high nobility, men of finance and trade, courtesans who hold the hearts of men who can move mountains in the palms of their hands, all of them come to this place to slip words like daggers into the backs of their enemies and rivals.

All of them vying for the fleeting favor of a throne that sits empty nine days of ten.

Some fools believing they could seize the crown, if they but possessed enough money and influence.

"Did you hear the news, Marcell?" a buxom woman asked a stern looking old man. She fluttered her fan over her mouth to hide the smirk blooming on her face, which was framed by dark natural curls that had been left to fall where they may. Her elaborate golden dress took full advantage of her natural talents, with many men casting jealous gazes at the old soldier she spoke to. "Count Kedvesen and his daughter were assailed by bandits not a day out from their estate. On the Dragon's High Way no less! Don't you think that reflects poorly on the patrolmen of the Melusine Guard?"

"Hmph," the stern old soldier, Count Marcel Somogyi, scoffs at the woman's words and takes a sip of his drink. "I'd be quite interested to know where you heard such rumor, Lady Yentl."

"Oh, my dear Marcell, this is no rumor..." The flutter fan in front of her face does little to disguise Yentl's glee at the news. Marcell's face remains stony impassive, for it would not do to show is anger openly in the Emperor's garden. He counted himself among the few high lords of Lygos who still understand concepts of respect and chivalry. "My darling cousin Ruth encountered the wreckage of their carriage on her morning ride just the other day. What she described, the state of poor little Gertrude and what those monsters did before they killed her... simply ghastly."

"You would do well to sound less pleased for the news, Lady Yentl," Marcell strains to keep his tone level. "It is unbecoming of a woman of your stature... even if that stature was bought."

"My good lord, this is a tragedy," Lady Yentl declares without a single note of sorrow in her voice. Her fan blocks her growing smile with a scene of stitched flowers and vines upon silk. "My deepest condolences go out to the poor Contessa Kedvesen, who's been robbed of her husband and daughter. Yet another robbery that the Melusine guard failed to prevent, isn't that right, Lord Kövér?"

A portly man as wide as he is tall, who had been caught between chasing the skirts of a maid and the delightful looking pastries she carries, turns with irritation towards the noise that called him over. That irritation turns to a bright smile when he sees who called him. When he finishes processing what she asked - and who she is speaking with - he puffs up in affected indignation like a baloonfish that's been prodded.

"Another robbery under your watch, then, Marcell?" the plump man harumphs, trodding over to Marcell and Yentl. A passing food tray finds its platter half empty in his wake, the man's hands showing remarkable deftness in stealing the savory meat-pies it was parading across the garden.

"Murder upon the Dragon's High Way, Lord Kövér," Marcell says with a weary tone. His foul look is not directed at the portly man, who cannot help his nature, but on the rotten woman who called him over. "Or so Ruth Rosenschild says. I would rather hear it from my own patrols, than..."

He catches himself before he makes a grievous blunder.

He almost said than from one who stands to gain from it. Rosenschild and Goldstone would both gain much from the passing of Count Kedvesen. He owned one of the few public counting houses that stood outside of Rosenschild's cartel, and the brother of his who stood to inherit it had none of his business acumen. It would either go under in a year, or get bought out by Rosenschild or one of their cronies in half that time. Either way, it meant the entire public banking industry would fall into the hands of upjumped caravanners who respected coin more than tradition, and sought profit at the expense of a noble's obligation.

"Than what, Marcell?" Yentl practically dared him to say his thoughts out loud, for she knew his opinions.

"Than leave it in the hands of rumor and speculation, Lady Yentl" Marcell says, earning himself an irritated from from Yentl. Kövér busied himself too much with stuffing his face to notice the lady's displeasure, but the old soldier caught it rather swiftly. He did not sneer or scowl, simply taking another sip of his wine. "This claim of Count Kedvesen's death is quite extraordinary, but I shall be certain to send word out to the patrols. 'Tis funny, I would have heard even sooner than you, if she had done her duty and informed the Melusine Guard..."

Yentl makes a face like she swallowed a bug at that. Kövér quickly comes to her haphazard rescue with a harumph, "Bah! Ruth's a gentle girl, Marcell, she must have been beside herself at the sort of carnage of banditry. Besides, it's the Melusine's failure to keep the roads safe that wrought this tragedy, and who has led them in their many failures these past ten years, hmmm?"

Marcell represses a sigh. Ten long years since he became the Captain of the Melusine guard and Lygos gleams. What crime exists is at least well organized, and knows not to make a mess lest the men who wear the silver sea-serpent upon their tabards clean them up. The common folk have never know such peace, for even the nobles must bow to the long arm of the Emperor's Law. But Marcell knows exactly why Kövér complains, and it is not for any tears he might shed for Count Kedvesen.

"You know as well as I that the matter of the Court Jesters falls outside the Melusine Guard's jurisdiction, Lord Kövér," Marcell states. "The Emperor decrees we keep the peace in the public square, the city streets clean of crime and the roads of the Empire safe from banditry. What happens upon a nobles' estates and in their businesses are for their own men-at-arms to deal with."

"Surely you could at least arrest them for distributing those broadsheets of theirs, Marcel?" Yentl asks, fanning herself to hide a scowl. More than one such broadsheet had insulted her and her family, Marcell knew that quite well. "They announce their crimes and dare you to stop them!"

It's not Marcell who interjects, but Kövér with a raised hand. "Now, now, my dear Yentl. The Emperor hath decreed, the presses are free for any man or woman to publish whatever loathesome, bawdy, or outright horrific material they wish to. Loathe as I am to come to their defense, of all the crimes the Court Jesters have committed, that is not one of them."

"Save perhaps the littering ordinance," Marcell drawls. Taking another sip of his drink, he gives Yentl a look that is not at all apologetic. "But in any case, they dare us to stop them because they know it is outside our jurisdiction, and that no noble would allow for the precedent of handing over authority to us. Even here in the Imperial Palace, our hands are..."

His voice trails off. The band suddenly begins playing a song more appropriate for the cabarets than the Emperor's garden, and broadsheets fall like leaves...

"...tied." Marcell finishes, and the sound of firecrackers erupt in the air.

Fireworks hidden cleverly in hardy bushes and among the branches of the nameless tree of memories shoot up and burst in blooms of color, an elaborate display of light and spectacle that goes unappreciated by those beneath the tree's red canopy. But other lesser fireworks bloom as well, roman candles and sparkling torches that fill the evening will colorful delights. Marcell is one of the few who stand calm amidst the chaos, his hand upon the hilt of his dueling sword in case he needs a weapon. Men-at-arms rush to the Emperor's dais that overlooks the garden, but the the salt-and-pepper bearded man refuses to be rushed away. He looks at the spectacle and the circus that has become of his court with a twinkle in his eye.

A deafening boom heralds a cloud of smoke, and from that smoke march a small army of wooden soldiers painted in a cartoonish mockery of the Melusine Guard's uniform. Their numbers more than six dozen, Marcell can't help but wonder how they got in without anyone seeing. The guards who rush to meet them cannot push them back, but when the marionettes cease marching forward they simply raise their spears in deference to the Emperor.

"Seventy-seven statue-soldiers sculpted of sequoia salute our august Emperor!" a woman's voice echoes through the garden, her accent as common as the grass beneath their feet. "Soon shall we start the show!"

More firecrackers go off, a light shining from somewhere to bring attention to the guest suite balcony overlooking the garden. There, a young man in outrageous garb that mocks the fashions of the nobility can be seen hanging from the balustrade. At first glance, he seems to wear a capelet and feathered doublet, with a pair of fine black breeches. But a closer look reveals his clothes to be more appropriate for the carabet, for the doublet has long bridal gauntlets in place of sleeves, and the breeches are not breeches but stockings and garter and indecently short shorts.

The mask of a fool covers his face, and his bright red hair falls from his head in three great rings on either side. The very same fashion taken by the court judges when they hear a case.

"Not soon, but now, my dear Pompey!" the man calls out. Unlike the girl, his voice carries an accent only found in among gentlemen throughout Lygos' court, unmistakably passed down from parent to child. The gates of the garden fall, the doors to the palace close shut and are barred. The archers and arquebusiers somehow miss their mark in shooting him, as if he was not there at all, and yet his voices carries so perfectly over the garden that he could only be there. "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I must thank you for your warm welcome! My glorious Emperor, I beg you pardon our intrusion, but we bring you now such joyful tidings that we simply had to bring you them in person."

All eyes turn to the Emperor and the amusement on his face as he replies.

"And what tidings am I to expect from a pair of fools who've gone and made fools of all my men?" The Emperor asks. Marcell cannot help but frown, for he knows that all the best men rode east some weeks ago when the Oracles of Nibaros whispered portents of the Blight to the Emperor. Including the Red Rider, Rikardo fon Zarnesty, who should be leading the Emperor's personal Lion Guard and would have made quick work of these fools. "Some great joke about Lord Kövér pulling pretty maids into orbit with his sheer mass?"

Marcell can't help but chuckle when Kövér chokes on the crab cake that he had been rather desperately stuffing into his mouth from the moment the fireworks went off.

"Nothing so tasteless as that, my Emperor!" the Court Jester waves and bows towards the throne. "For start, those poor maids don't deserve to become the joke of a butt that big."

"I believe that be backwards, brother Falstaff," Pompey's voice echoes again across the garden.

"So it be, dear Pompey," the man slumps with exaggeration, almost letting go of his perch and falling down a hundred feet. But as quickly as the depressed mood takes him, he perks back up and begins again. "My Emperor, we are pleased to announce, for your entertainment and delight, our latest and greatest of heists! In twelve days time, in celebration of our most august Emperors fifty seventh birthday, the Court Jesters shall steal the Seven-Branched Candelabra from the Temple of that heathen goddess, Belet Nagar."

Marcell catches a twitch in Yentl's eyebrow when the Court Jester names her goddess heathen. He can barely hear it under the band's raucous fanfare, but he catches her thinking outloud thoughts that make his eyes narrow. "Soulless be'amy boywhore..."

"I'd really rather you didn't," the Emperor calls out. Not to humor him, but to distract him from what was happening behind him.

"You must forgive me, my Emperor," Falstaff answers. Marcell snorts at the fact that he sounded more genuinely apologetic than Lady Yentl did earlier. As he speaks, the doors to the balcony are thrown open and men cloaked in the tabard of the Lion Guard pour out. But by then, Falstaff has let go of the railing and fell from where they could grab him. With a grin and a wink to the men at arms, he shouts. "But the show must go on!"

When he crashes to the ground, Falstaff's body erupts like a firework and turns to smoke. The marionette soldiers that had saluted the Emperor by the masked girl dressed for the cabaret crumble as if their strings were cut, their mistress nowhere to be found. The players in the band awake from the spell they were under, returning mid note to the piece they had been playing when the fireworks began.

The Emperor looks to Marcell with a frown carved onto his face. "I am giving the Melusine Guard absolute authority in this matter. Find them, Marcell."

Marcell drops to one knee before his liege. "Your will be done, my Emperor."

===Back on the Dragon's High Way===
What sort of clothes did al-Fasek and Zahra scrounge up for Ruth to wear?
>Another set of that humbling religious garb she was wearing when she stumbled upon you.
>Her red dress, freshly laundered.
>One of Zahra's spare maid outfits. Despite him having nothing upstairs, it's not that tight about her chest...
>One of the more conservative outfits worn by the harem boys. Humiliating, but not disgraceful.
>One of the more revealing outfits worn by the harem boys. Humiliating and disgraceful, at least by Hume standards.
>Something akin to the white gown that Aisha wore, but sized for Ruth.
>Write In.

Roll 1d100 to determine the state of the crash site when you return.

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>5707840
>One of Zahra's spare maid outfits. Despite him having nothing upstairs, it's not that tight about her chest...
>…and one sized for us, now that we think about it.

Is higher better or worse?

Rolled 73 (1d100)

>>5707840
>>Write In.
Nothing

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>5707832
A shock collar. very nice.
>>5707840
>One of Zahra's spare maid outfits. Despite him having nothing upstairs, it's not that tight about her chest...

Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>5707840
>One of Zahra's spare maid outfits. Despite him having nothing upstairs, it's not that tight about her chest...

looks like we threw a proverbial wrench into the works by saving those people

Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>5707840
>>Her red dress, freshly laundered.
Those Jesters know how to put on a show.

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>5707840
>>One of the more revealing outfits worn by the harem boys. Humiliating and disgraceful, at least by Hume standards.

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>5707945
lol based

Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>5707840
>One of the more revealing outfits worn by the harem boys. Humiliating and disgraceful, at least by Hume standards.
Forcing her to wear this is worse than nothing

Rolled 81 (1d100)

>>5707840
>>One of the more revealing outfits worn by the harem boys. Humiliating and disgraceful, at least by Hume standards.

>>5708002
>>5707839
btw if Maid costume wins I submit that we also ask for a feather duster and make her walk around carrying it upright. We can also use it later for interrogation.

Rolled 8 (1d100)

>>5707840
>One of Zahra's spare maid outfits. Despite him having nothing upstairs, it's not that tight about her chest...
>…and one sized for us, now that we think about it.

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>5707840
>One of the more revealing outfits worn by the harem boys. Humiliating and disgraceful, at least by Hume standards.

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>5707840
>Another set of that humbling religious garb she was wearing when she stumbled upon you.

Rolled 96 (1d100)

>>5707840
>>One of the more revealing outfits worn by the harem boys. Humiliating and disgraceful, at least by Hume standards.

>>5707833
Anyone who's reading this later, I recommend playing this track for this location: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULeDlxa3gyc

...technically, isn't everyone reading this reading it later?

>>5707840
>Her red dress, freshly laundered.
>Hide it from Ruth in Al-Fasek's set of lording's laundered clothing, so we've got it if we need it to go to the capitol.
>Two of Zahra's spare maid outfit so we can tailor a base version to fit each of us. When we roll into Lyogos eventually, al-Fasek just has a could more maids.
We need than once we get into the political stuff, unless they've got far more advanced chemical and magical means of detecting stuff.

Oh hell, we've gotten involved with these humans.

>>5707840
>One of the more revealing outfits worn by the harem boys. Humiliating and disgraceful, at least by Hume standards.

And we're definitely taking her red dress and a few maid outfits with us

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>5709087

Rolled 90 (1d100)

>>5707840

Rolled 1 (1d2)

Things look close to tied up, so we'll roll Maid vs. Harem
1 is Maid Outfit
2 is Harem Outfit

oh well, the maid outfit can be sluttified later on.

>>5710709
Do we get the feather duster?

>>5710712
Nah, one French maid style for us, one Victorian era maid style for her. She’ll be the “prime maid”, we’ll be the “auxiliary maid” under her skirt.

File: images.png (72 KB, 609x503)

72 KB PNG

>>5710742
I see you're an anon of taste

>>5710728
You probably got a feather duster and the bulk of the clothing she kept there. Nazrah would have just stuffed her into the maid outfit after getting in one more round for the road off screen.

>>5710742
>>5710774
That's amazing, but sadly unlikely, You're around 140cm, and she's only 160cm or so. You are smol, but not THAT smol.

FYI, unlikely to be a proper post until the weekend, this week has been busy on both my free days for writing things up, and Fridays are no longer as free as they used to be.

>>5710784
…do fairies or fairy-sized creatures exist in this setting?

>>5707945
I'll change my vote to harem outfit. It's cute and lewd.

Rolled 56 (1d100)

>>5707840
>One of the more revealing outfits worn by the harem boys. Humiliating and disgraceful, at least by Hume standards.

>>5707840
>One of the more revealing outfits worn by the harem boys. Humiliating and disgraceful, at least by Hume standards.

File: Lagneia Maid.png (677 KB, 1000x1389)

677 KB PNG

The path back from the Esteemed House of al-Fasek winds its way down the mountainside over a course of meandering switchbacks. The forest that grew sparse on the way up thickens as you descend. Short and hardy pines give ground to grand and towering oaks whose canopy sits high above you and cast perpetual shade upon the forest floor. A cool breeze flows between the trunks like a gentle draft, its chill a reminder that in but a few weeks time the moon shall dip below the horizon and leave starry sky empty until her sister rises again with the coming of the Spring.

Bird flutter northward against the colder nights, following old migratory patterns as ancient as the trees themselves. Small creatures with fluffy ears gather nuts that have fallen to the ground for the coming winter, adding them to their stash. A few brave predators eye the horse upon which Ruth sits with hunger, but scatter with the rustling of the leaves. Wolf and bear and mountain lion cannot understand the tongue of the forest as you can, but they have keener intuition for the gossip among the trees than most Humes do.

The gossip speaks of a greedy old willow, and the Child of Yggdrasil who crowned her queen of the forest.

You lead the white horse bearing your prize through the forest by the reigns, as one might lead their pet through a crowded city street by a closely held leash. The horse whinnied in fear when it first caught scent of the creatures eyeing it, and nearly bucked poor Ruth off its back in its attempted to break free. It calmed quickly beneath your touch, but the stares of hungry predators itching to pounce keep it on the tip of its hooves, especially as the evening turns to dusk.

Ruth's temperament matches that of her horse, though she wears her anxiety more visibly upon her face. No doubt she would have tried running away by now, had the choker about her neck not forbidden it. Instead, she hisses her complaints softly, fearful that too loud a noise will bring the beasts down upon you.

"Why did you leave the path, you sel buzo?" Ruth hisses a pair of words from a language you don't quite recognize. While the exact meaning is lost to you, the twisted snarl on her face is all the context you need to know that the beak-nosed woman is insulting you. Her words, whatever they may be, slide off you like tepid water. Of all the Humes you've met on your Travail, Ruth is the last person who's opinion you would care about. "You're going to get us lost, if the wolves don't eat us first."

"It's faster this way," you tell her.

"A faster way into the stomach of a wolf, perhaps," she grumbles, eying the golden eyes of a beast that's been watching her horse with ill-intent. "Not that I believe you. If you cared about speed, you wouldn't have given me over to Zahra to be bathed and forced to dress like a servant. You could have just left me in soiled clothes, or stripped me down and paraded me naked, if you cared about speed. I will not forget this humiliation..."

"...huh?" You make a wordless noise of incredulity, eyeing the seething woman with curiosity. "I didn't realize you were an exhibitionist, Ruth. I'll keep that in mind for when I get around to questioning you."

"That's not...!" Ruth's ears darken to a bright red at your words. Her sneer only becomes more pronounced as anger mixes with embarrassment and causes her emotions to boil over. She clenches her teeth and practically growls, forgetting about any fear she had of the wolves in the forest. "You are gravely mistaken. I could ride naked through the most crowded streets of Lygos without shame nor humiliation, for not a single man would turn a lustful gaze towards me. My purity is unassailable."

You turn towards her with a dubious smile filled with pity for your ugly duckling of a prisoner. Well, if she admitted it herself, that not a single lustful eye would fall upon her naked body, you can't help but feel a little bad for her. Still, at least she owns it. But calling it purity... "Is that right? I thought Humes only considered virgins pure, in that regard."

"I am one, yes," Ruth declares, adjusting her seat in the saddle. You can feel the lie spreading through the roots of the earth.

"Come now, al-Fasek's walls are not so thick that I could not hear what you and Zahra got up to while you were changing," you say without the slightest shift in your expression. You point at your ears as they wiggle suggestively, a reminder of just how good the Children are at hearing things. Your green eyes twinkle when the red spreads from her ears and down to her pale and ever-so-slightly blemished skin. Her imperfections almost make her as cute as an ugly puppy. "No shame in it! With all those delicious young men he kept around, I can't blame you for having cravings~"

"You...!" Ruth chews on the word, her face as red as a tomato and her brain fried from how openly you're speaking about such things. It's clear that she expected her indiscretions to go unnoticed. "I... you... he... that is entirely not the point. Even if it were, the sacraments of Nawa'ar restores one's spiritual virginity, which is far more important than something as fragile as a hymen that can break from stretching too much! But that's not the point!"

For someone who claims that's not the point, she seems rather flustered that you brought it up. Still, you cannot help but ask with genuine curiosity, "Well, then what is the point?"

"The point is that manush do not serve," Ruth hisses with indignation. Her black eyes glare down at you from beneath her mane of midnight curls, tears of humiliation welling up. "We do not sow, we do not reap, we do not toil, and we certainly do not serve lowly beasts like the sellim. Aaaaaah, worst of all, Ni-Zahra knows this, and he still dressed me up like a serving girl belonging to the harem of some uncut savage lord. A shameless, knife-eared sel like you wouldn't understand the humiliation."

You suppose you really don't. Maybe it has something to do with the castes that Humes divide themselves into based off of their parentage? Unlike the Keepers who are born with each of them a purpose for their hive, or you Children whom grow in relative equality and are allowed to choose your own pursuits, you understand from what you have read about Hume society that their children do not often stray far from the works of their parents. A carpenter's son will more often than not become a carpenter, the daughter of a seamstress will become a seamstress, and you suppose that a Noble's child will be a Noble as well. Might there be some level of degradation in being forced to wear the clothes of a lower caste?

Still, the clothes al-Fasek provides his maids are of exquisite make, you must say. He apparently made them himself as a hobby, and his dedication to the craft might only be surpassed by his brutality as a warrior. The dress is made from a hardy weave of black silk, the sort that will not tear easily and yet is soft against the skin. The apron worn over it has gentle frills that give it an air of elegance that wraps its practical nature in an aura of sublime femininity. The brooch that closes the collar is simple, and perhaps a bit understate, but the shock of golden brass and bright ribbon makes it stand out quite exquisitely.

You fell in love with the outfit the moment you saw a smug looking Zahra escort Ruth into the courtyard wearing it.

So much so that you traded al-Fasek an enchantment on his scabbard to keep his blade sharp for an entire set for you and Ruth to wear, having quietly come to the decision that maids are the pinnacle of Hume culture. He was even so kind to throw in some more risque dancer's outfits that were done up in a similar style. Outfits you are fairly certain you saw several members of al-Fasek's harem wearing, in his private chambers.

"Well I think the look suits you," you prod Ruth again with the gentlest barb, and get an exquisite reaction when she chokes in wordless, apoplectic fury. "It's well made from good materials, and most of all, it's cute."

Ruth groans at your last remark. "Of course you would, you're a sel. You were born to serve Nawa'ar's chosen people, so it's natural for you to like servant's clothes."

You scoff. "I know your head is empty, but you really shouldn't allow foolish thoughts like that to fill the hollow cavern."

"It is not foolishness, it is scripture," Ruth insists. When you don't cut her off, her eyes brighten and she begins to ramble. "It is the word of the true gods of this world: Belet Nagar of Mornings, and Nawa'ar of Evenings. Six thousand years ago, the alchemist Jacob created the first of the sellim in his cruel experiments. Through sorcery and selective breeding, he stripped his followers of creativity, rationality, morality, and by the final generation even their immortal soul. Creating an army of evil beasts, in a mockery of human form to..."

Ruth rambles on and on about the rather expansive fiction that encompassed her people's foundational mythology and their genesis as scattered tribes of traders with brightly painted wagons who are religiously obligated against performing an honest day's work. Apparently every other tribe of Hume, Stout, and Child of Yggdrasil were ultimately the creations of this Jacob fellow who seems to serve as the tale's primary antagonist, and ultimately the man who caused their glorious civilization's downfall. Of course, you have not read of any civilization matching the description she gave, though it's rather interesting how some of the tale mirrors the fall of the Dragon Kings and the course of the Three Blights.

"...It was then revealed to the Prophet Benesh how Zawa'ar suborned Jacob's creations," Ruth says. There's a fire in her eyes, all the shame and humiliation she had from wearing a servant's outfit having evaporated beneath her passion for scripture. "The sellim shall now and forevermore be called to serve the people, and it shall be the people's duty to tame the sellim and bring the Twin Gods' order to the world. Every method shall be permissible, for the sellim are but soulless beasts who know nothing of god or evil, and must be brought to serve the people for their own good!"

"...I see," you say with an absent nod. You've been focusing on more important things than her ramblings, though you processed most of what she said.

I do not, Dawn buzzes. She had poked her head out of her flower home to listen to the story, though you could feel the confusion wafting off her throughout the tale without so much as touching the roots of the world. What strange honey has this girl consumed to dream up this tale? The flowers know nothing of this history, and their roots go deeper than a mere six thousand years...

"Splendid!" Ruth claps her hands together, beaming at you. "Now that you better understand your place in the world, please be a good little sel and remove this accursed collar from my neck."

"No, I don't think I will," you brush aside her request. The sun has begun to sink below the horizon and light has become even more scarce beneath the forest canopy. With a whispered incantation, some of the dragonbrass still in your possession flows into the air and becomes a lantern, casting a gentle red light that pierces the growing dark.

"You can be my handmaiden!" she declares as if that were an offer worth accepting. "You'll live in comfort and luxury at my side. Plus, I know plenty of Lords who would like to get along with a girl as cute as you, I'm certain they'll be able to satisfy your animalistic lust."

"And owe you many favors for their use of your handmaiden, no doubt," you drawl, following the lantern as you send it ahead of you.

"Well, of course," Ruth says without a hint of shame. "We'd both prosper under such a mutually beneficial arrangement. I'm glad you can see the bigger picture! Now..."

Her voice trails off as you emerge from the forest to meet the Dragon's High Way, not ten meters from where you left the carriage wreck. A tent has been set up on the side of the road, big enough to comfortably house half a dozen men. The red light of your dragonbrass lantern makes it seem like the tent had been woven from alternating stripes of red and black, and washes out the light of the moon and stars above. This place that was once a battlefield looks to be painted in blood.

What's more, you do not arrive to the scene of the young page keeping watch by the fire, everything in order. You can hear rather unpleasant sounds of straining bone and flesh, and can see the page suspended in the air, tears falling down his face.

"I told you, we weren't told any names..." his voice cracks as he pleads with whatever force holds him aloft.

"You think I'm dumb, kid?" A man's voice rumbles in the dark. Lighter than al-Fasek's deep tones, but deeper by far than the girlish falsetto worn by Zahra and the warlord's other maids. "They teach us how scumbags like the Hundred Talons conduct their business. The type of money you'd need to put a hit on my- on a Count of Kedvesen's standing? And his only kid? That's not 'hand over a sack of coins in a dark alley' type of money, that shit needs accounts."

You see in shades of black and red, a tall and weedy man holding forth a staff of oak and silver, power that you would not expect from a Hume flowing through him and into the focus. His hair flows like red-gold in the wind, held aloft by the static forces of mana flowing through a body not designed to serve as its conduit. The coat he wears would reach his knees if the same forces did not lift it as well, wool as black as midnight and heavy for the fall. The white shirt worn beneath has a neckline that would make most women blush, but you wholeheartedly approve of, and a medallion hangs from his neck like a badge of rank.

From beneath a round pair of spectacles that catch the red light, a pair of eyes like a summer's blue sky flecked with puffy white clouds peak at your arrival. Their color pierces the red light, standing out are the more powerfully for the illumination provided by your dragonbrass lantern. He gives a noise of annoyance.

"Wouldn't do to squeeze the name out in front of ladies, though, so count your blessing kid," the sorcerer says, lowering the staff. The young man - boy, really - releases a sigh of relief when he touches the ground. His piercing eyes return to you and Ruth. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that your appearance here isn't anymore of a coincidence than my own, right? So what gives?"

"My name is La-" you begin, but Ruth cuts you off.

"My Lord of the Iron Tower!" she cries out, a manic smirk of victory splitter her face in two. "As a citizen of the Empire, I implore you! This wretched elf witch has bound me with sorceries most foul as her slave and... plaything. Please, I beg you, rescue me from her vile clutches!"

>>5713633
Before your fate is left in the hands of others, you...
>Make the decision to leave this in the hands of fate, and see how it plays out. (Roll 1d100)
>Counter her words with her deeds, and what exactly led to her predicament.
>Peacock your magic, and demonstrate your power with an impressive display that will make the sorcerer think twice.
>Go on the offensive, for that is the best defense according to Eldest Regius.
>Use [That]. (Roll 1d100)

>>5713634
>Counter her words with her deeds, and what exactly led to her predicament.
i REALLY want to use shamhat, but we're a diplomat first, sadly.

>>5713634
>Peacock your magic, and demonstrate your power with an impressive display that will make the sorcerer think twice.
>Counter her words with her deeds, and what exactly led to her predicament.
I don't really see how these are different, so let's do them both in order. Whether we're Childe or "Sel", humes seem to tell legends about our sort, and making them remember WHY they tell those legends sounds like a good start. We don't want to hurt the man, just let him know what his place is, who and what we are, and that we did order the young man to guard the carriage - has he been doing a good job?

Also, Ruth's a bitch and there's a reason she's wearing a collar.

>>5713634
>>Go on the offensive, for that is the best defense according to Eldest Regius.

>>5713634
>Go on the offensive, for that is the best defense according to Eldest Regius.
Molten metal dick sounding.

>>5713634
>Counter her words with her deeds, and what exactly led to her predicament.
She deserves it

>>5713634
>>Go on the offensive, for that is the best defense according to Eldest Regius.

File: 1647061849283.gif (1.8 MB, 272x272)

1.8 MB GIF

>>5713634
>>Peacock your magic, and demonstrate your power with an impressive display that will make the sorcerer think twice.
Turn on the shock collar around her neck by snapping our fingers. Doesn't have to be "shit your pants" strong, the lower settings on these are meant to put a low current through the larynx to prevent yapping dogs from barking

>>5713754
Seconding, we heard enough of the interrogation that we can tell the old guy who hired the hundred talons

>>5713634
>>Counter her words with her deeds, and what exactly led to her predicament.
So Ruth is pretty much a Fantasy Scientologist?

>>5713629
Huh. Ruth's part of the Nation of Islam? Who knew.

>>5713634
>Counter her words with her deeds, and what exactly led to her predicament.

>>5714046
which is funny because elves have lived longer than that story and are perfectly capable of debunking those lofty ideas

>>5713634
>Go on the offensive, for that is the best defense according to Eldest Regius.

>>5713634
>Counter her words with her deeds, and what exactly led to her predicament.
She is a BRAT in need of CORRECTION

>>5713634
>>Peacock your magic, and demonstrate your power with an impressive display that will make the sorcerer think twice.
>>Counter her words with her deeds, and what exactly led to her predicament.
Shut her mouth so she can't rebut our story.

so, is there any kind of parley phrase we know of? because depending on how trigger happy these guys are, we might have few seconds before the spellcaster begins casting and the other dudge charges at us

>>5714982
We're one of the Childe. We don't need a fucking safe word.

>>5715003
of course we dont. and of course we can easily slaughter these fools; but we want to make friends with the humes again, and killing agents of the law, or the like is not really something that will help us down the line

>>5715024
I was more focused on the fact that we're pretty resilient - and getting ourselves 'overpowered' and captured and gang raped isn't exactly a bad end for us, just an enjoyable speedbump on our quest.

>>5715036
and i doubt that will happen with out vastly more powerful reflexes and a literal divine spear, but i wouldn't like to send to the trash what little progress we've made so far

>>5713634
>Counter her words with her deeds, and what exactly led to her predicament.

lets not show all our cards yet

>>5713634
>Use [That]. (Roll 1d100)

>>5714046
Give her name, description, profession, etcetera, she's most likely meant to be a Jewish caricature.

>>5713634
>Counter her words with her deeds, and what exactly led to her predicament.

>>5715177
(User was banned for this post)

I am out of town from tomorrow to next week, so I am not sure when I'll be able to next post.

>>5715177
>>5714060
The Caravanners, at their worst (which her clan most certainly represents), are a mix of the worst traits of the supremacist sects of Judaism, the Nation of Islam, Gypsies, the occultist Nazis, Scientologists, and Flat Earthers. The worst are not the majority at all, but ohhhhhh boy do they tend to make a lot of noise.

For planning out the next post, going to blend peacocking, fighting, and talking. This guy is a part of the order that Lyza would have joined had she been taken by the Black Caravans to the Iron Tower. Making him one of the rare, rare humans who you don't instantly BTFO as an elf. So, conversation while fighting. In short, Shamhat is going to be very, very pleased with you.

>>5716690
So we're gonna make this wizard cum his brains out, and bleed out shortly after with the touch of shamhat. Got it

>>5716690
this sounds like a lot of fun

>>5716690
No worries. The wait may be long but the updates are always worth it.

>>5716664
Are you back yet?

ToT, there are bratty banker's daughters in need of correction. Will they be corrected?

The people demand the brat corrected

>>5724425
>>5726005
>>5726200
Just letting you all know that I am in fact alive, and that the next update will be coming this week!

>>5726420
good, very good!

>>5726420
The brat will be PUNISHED
Welcome back ToT

File: Way of Dancing Leaves.jpg (617 KB, 1680x1036)

617 KB JPG

Under normal circumstances, you prefer the diplomatic approach to things. You talk through your issues with the person you've found yourself in conflict with, you work to understand their perspective and the root of your conflict, and you search for a path where no party will leave negotiations unsatisfied. If that means giving them plenty of lip service, taking things under the table and out of sight, or even getting up to a little bit of shady business in a back alley... you honestly don't mind. It would be a waste not to leverage every ounce of sex appeal that you've cultivated over the past century.

After all, among of the Children the scant handful of breastmeat budding from your chest makes you a positively buxom young woman. You know women centuries older than you without such auspicious growth. Not even the First Sister, Eldest Begierde - whose generous bust matches her imposing height - possessed such bountiful tracts of land before her twelfth century. A bounty that helps you tempt Hume men as easily as your fellow Children, giving you an every-so-gently curvaceous figure that sets off all manner of masculine instincts to protect, nurture, and breed.

But these are not normal circumstances.

Twice now, Ruth Rosenschild chose violence before you even had a chance to negotiate.

The men followed her foolish orders blindly. The promise of coin - and the wine, women, and song it could pay for - spurred them on towards their deaths at the tip of your spear. Now she pleads with a sorcerer in black, a Lord with a duty to Daedalium and its citizens by the implications of her words. A Lord she expects to have all the honor she lacks. A man taken by bloodlust, who used his magic to bend and break the boy you had spared from the slaughter earlier until he sung with everything he knew. A man who would no doubt turn that bloodlust against you to help the liar begging for his aid.

This time, you have no intention of letting it get that far. No warnings, no chances to back down, no offers of parley that would fall on deaf ears. You will not make the mistake of leaving the first strike to those who might serve as the sword of the beak-nosed vixen you have made your prisoner. If you had but made a show of force and shown the men of the Hundred Talons how far you outclassed them, had you simply darted through their lines to drop Ruth...

There would have been no need to cut short the fleeting light of twenty nine candles now extinguished. You certainly have no intention of allowing Ruth's choice of violence to force yet another candlestick to be snuffed out.

Shamhat falls into your hands before Ruth finishes her tirade. Your mind empties of extraneous thought, allowing a century of muscle memory built over the course of your morning exercise routine to take over for you. Every motion contains an effortless perfection honed by innumerable hours of practice.

"I must apologize," you intone with a hollow voice that rings with mana.

A wind howls through the branches of the forest's thousand trees. It is not the warm wind that blows off the gentle sea towards the north, beyond which lay the scorched hell of Blighted Ghiskonis. Nor is it the frigid wind that blows off the everfrost that crowns the steppes of the southlands where tribes of Humes who live in packed ice make their home. It is not the dry west wind that blows off the deserts of Great Parthan, nor the humid east wind that carries rain from the Sea of Dreams over the crest of the Highridge Mountains.

No, this wind roars with the crack of thunder as burst forward in an explosion of inhuman motion to deliver a perfectly executed spear thrust. Had they been captured by a painter, your movements could have been used as the illustrations for the Manual of the Branched Spear, for all imperfections have been worn away by the sands of time. Steady as the ticking of the Evenclock, crisp as the spring morning's dew, flawless as your smooth ivory skin, you aim Shamhat not at his center but at his shoulder.

A pinprick is all you need. That's all your spear needs to cripple him with overflowing lust.

Yet though you should have had him dead to rights, that pinprick never comes. The scent of mana hangs thick in the air, and when you catch a glint of light that shines like the noonday sky beneath his garish spectacles, you realize that it is not alone the scent of heady maple and women in heat. Something like the smoke of pine cooking a bird stuffed with bread and herbs catches upon the wind. Toxic as it may be to those not born of the World Tree and its sproutings, the man holds mana just as you do, letting it flow through his body and make him more rather than shape it into a spell.

A sloppy, one handed parry with his staff catches Shamhat just before you can prick his shoulder and end the fight. His other hand draws the broadsword from his side. You can tell with a glace at the thick bade that it was forged by the hands of the Stouts, likely the smiths of Maenash. The Latic pictograms inscribed upon the fuller, gently glowing with the moonlight, give tell that the blade did not come from Oskovy. The pattern on its basket guard, where the wires that protect his hands have been fashioned like vines carrying the distinct Rose-of-Juno, would only have been made in Maenash.

It is the one flower that grows in that underground city. The stylized blossoms of the city's Tree of Memory and the thousand saplings the Maenash cut from it to light the great cavern's walls.

You do not pause to admire the craftsmanship for long, any more than you pay heed to how the backdraft from your burst of speed threw a certain beak-nosed bitch into the brambles. With effortless precision and speed the Hume man can barely match, you press your advantage and the initiative. A dozen thrusts clang out over a flashing few seconds, each of them just barely parried with desperate effort by the man in the black coat as he slowly loses ground.

Not a single word is exchanged between you and your opponent as you dance your way across the road. Beautiful sounds like the ringing of silver bells give music to the night as Shamhat's crystal head strikes steel and oak. Yet for all your effort, your blows never quite pierce his guard and cut the man's skin. The fight ends the moment that happens. The memories carried in the divine spear of lust are like a venom, and will poison the mind of those it pierces with a pleasure so overwhelming that the uninitiated will lose themselves.

All you need is a single cut, a pinprick will suffice.

All you get is parry after desperate parry.

The man in the black coat has no room to strike back. Just as you pursue your offense against him with an empty single mindedness, he dedicates everything he has to avoiding even a glancing blow from your spear. His footwork is as haphazard as his parries, yet he makes it work despite thinking far too much about where and how he intends to move. Perhaps it serves to highlight the differences between how Humes and Children fight.

You let your muscle memory guide you in a chain of well practiced blows so that you need not think of where to put your spear, but rather the bigger picture of the fight. Though you cannot get in a decisive blow, the man in the black coat dances in the palm of your hand. By letting your body deal with the steps right now, you can think about the steps ahead, and how to change your approach when things do not go as you expect.

But there's the rub. Had everything gone as you expected, the fight would have already ended. Though you have him on the defensive, every parry and desperate dodge is an unexpected shift in the flow of your dance. Your instructor would have made you repeat your basic forms a dozen times for every flash of thought you see in his eyes. Yet despite being a major error in how he fights, you cannot break his guard.

His thinking is in the moment. Rather than relying on flawless technique to allow himself to plan out how the fight will end, he puts all of his focus on avoiding defeat in the short term.

In a way, that's his victory, isn't it...?

Your relentless offense never gives him a moment to break, to think of anything else but how to avoid the next incoming attack. When a jab gets pushed away, you spin Shamhat around and bring her in for a sweeping blow. He tumbles backwards like a drunkard, narrowly missing a downstroke that taps the ground and bounces upwards. Without a moment's pause, you flow into three swift jabs that get caught upon his sword and staff. When you sweep his feet he hops backwards, narrowly avoiding the follow up blow that should have scratched his stomach.

Sweat pours down from both your brows, and your breaths slowly become deep and heavy as the chase continues. You can't help but let a wild grin split your cute face in two, understanding the joy Shamhat took in her bloodlust.

It is frustrating.

It is exhilarating.

It is utterly exhausting.

It is time for you to change your strategy, as you have done nothing but chase the man in the black coat around in circles for however long it has been since you first exchanged blows. Ruth's horror as you not only keep up with the man, but kept him on the back foot for the entire battle is an amusing side-show, but you want to bring the battle to its end. The night will only grow older, and you wish to check in personally upon Ruth's intended victims, and ensure that they do not require any aid that the tonic could not provide.

Of course, if Shamhat would simply lend you a bit of her strength and skill, you could end this fightin a heartbeat. But the Lust Spear refuses to answer your call. You have your suspicions why. You and this Lord of the Iron Tower are too evenly matched; to lend you her strength would spoil the fight. For now, she is simply a weapon of exquisite craftsmanship that can impart lust like a blade coated in poison.

But that suits you just fine. Your new strategy does not require her strength.

In the blink of an eye you change your footwork and the motion of your spear to a completely different style. One that nearly ends the fight here and there, as you did not give your opponent a memo that you intended to change the purpose of your attacks. After nearly dodging his way into you attack, he stumbles backwards and warily defends against this new style of blows. Less aggressive and more circular, with slashes taking priority over jabs, you've shifted from the Branched Spear into the Way of Falling Leaves.

Where the Branched Spear focuses on offense and aggressive moves, the Way of Falling Leaves focuses on controlling the opponent's paths of movement and keeping them in one relative place. With it, the chase slows from leaps and bounds in a violent circle to gentle steps as you keep him precisely in arm's reach.

If you cut him you cut him, but you've abandoned that strategy in favor of another means. Your voice thrums with mana's strength as you begin your incantation, "First, call to the metal's heart..."

"Shite," the man gives a curse when he hears the beginning of your incantation. He changes his style as well, becoming more rooted in place, holding his staff behind him while doing everything he can to catch your circular cuts with his sword and push them away. "I guess we're throwing in sorcery. OK! Seven are the swords of Nemea, daughter of the Laedun River..."

Your mana sinks into the roots of the earth, seeking out ores from the deep places of the world and seizing them from their impurities. Iron flows like water from the bedrock and into an orb that you've set in motion about your head. Your offense does not cease, but now you are more concerned with keeping the sorcerer root where he is. His own change of style serves that end quite well, even if his guard remains unbroken. How you wish you could have simply melted his sword, but the Stouts know how to ward against such things.

Water gathers from the air and nearby streams far more swiftly than the iron you need for your spellwork. It scarcely forms a single blade that mimics the shape of his broadsword before he calls out the next line of his aria. "One has shattered 'pon the hydra's scales!"

The sword crashes towards you, and you are forced upon the back foot for the first time in this fight.

It is your turn to leap backwards and dodge away as the blade of water gouges out a ditch in the road. Not a spec of mud splatters upon you, though it covers the now-hopeful looking Ruth from head to toe. Your stance remains unbroken as you twirl Shamhat into a ready position and continue your own aria. "I beseech thee lord of metals, to whom all shall return, become as shackles for the unseen spirit."

Iron flows into the shape not unlike a bracer or a bangle, into which you etch in dragonbrass a mana circuit intended to restrict the flow of magic. Ordinary bindings would not do for a sorcerer, especially one who favors a medium as common as water for his spellwork.

Two more blades flow in from the stream, and he fires them off in quick succession with the third stanza. "Two have claimed the head of three eyed giant 'pon the Isle of Ajeena!

Another deep gouge in the road gets cut when you dance around the second blade, kicking up mud and throwing it towards the trees. The third you knock away with a circular cut from Shamhat. Rather than scatter into a thousand water droplets, the blade remains contiguous and keen. It careens towards the forest with a sharp and deadly spin, and cuts a branch from the tree that the poor mercenary boy had been resting against. He gives a yelp when the wood comes crashing down. You do not mouth an apology to him nor the complaining oak, as your mind has focused on maintaining your spell.

Too much distance has been built between you and the sorcerer. Rushing forward, the last line of your aria spills from your lips, "Cut away the flow of memory's resonance, and bind them to the earth with a heavy weight!"

Your heart pounds in your ears as three more swords flow into the air. His stance has shifted yet again, his oak and iron staff now forward as his incantation nears its end. "Four were stolen by the Thief of Five Eyes, lost forever to the Six Lands Above and Below the rooted rhizome!"

With every number he intones, another sword rockets towards with enough force to split a tree in half. The fact that he pulls no punches and gives the spell his all sends a shiver of delight down your spine. You don't quite understand the feelings that now bubble up inside you, but you're quite sure that you can blame Shamhat for awakening them within your heart. Right now - as you rush past one blade, then another, and then the third - you are not certain if you want to split his belly open with your spear or if you want to rip his pants off and wring him dry.

You are excited.

You are exhausted.

You are certainly aroused.

You are inside of his guard now, having all but abandoned your form and footing to secure the final blow. He looks down at you from behind his garish red spectacles. You return his gaze, though where his face is a stormy sea of determination and concern, your own face mirrors the flushed excitement of a maiden in love. The daylight flickering behind his sky blue eyes slowly fading as he spends the last of the mana he could safely hold to complete his spell.

"Seven are the Fangs of the Nemean Lion." He speaks the final line like a declaration.

A sword comes crashing down where you stood but a moment ago, gouging a scar thirty feet long and five feet deep in the road. It is as if someone had dug a trench in a mere instant, and even with all the protections you have when holding mana, a blow like that would have at least battered and bloody. Quite possibly even broken.

But you moved. Not backwards and away, but pushing the sorcerer in his black coat forward, knocking him onto the ground and straddling him in a position where a wet place and an almost reluctantly hard place can kiss one another through your clothing. An uncomfortable expression on his face, he tries to shove you off. Before he can move, however, you finish your aria with a single word.

"Magebind."

The cuffs take his wrists and pin them to the ground. You flop ontop of him, happily nuzzling against his manly chest and delighting yourself with the scent of his exertions. A room full of sweaty men even half as handsome as this fellow would be heaven on earth for a girl of your cultured tastes. The sorcerer himself is quite the rare feast.
>Bah, you have work you need to do. Tell him to stay right there and you'll reward him, you need to check on the crash victims.
>His chest makes for a very good pillow, and you are exceptionally tired right now. Tracking, running, riding, fighting, you just want to sleep and he's warm.
>Plant a kiss on his lips and see where things go from there.
>Proposition him for sex. (Roll 1d100)
>Screw propositioning him, you've WON. To the victors goes the spoils, and he is a treasure unto himself~!
>While you have him at your mercy and are enjoying his chest-pillow, you really should take the time to explain the situation.
>You need information on this Iron Tower business and why he was here, and you have ways of making him talk. (Actually just talk)
>You need information on this Iron Tower business and why he was here, and you have ways of making him talk. (Interrogate)
>You need information on this Iron Tower business and why he was here, and you have ways of making him talk. (Enhanced interrogation techniques involving your bare feet and his personal areas)

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>5727705
>Plant a kiss on his lips and see where things go from there.
>Proposition him for sex. (Roll 1d100)
"what about a round two, huh?" ~~wink wink nod nod~~
also, wait, what happened to the other dude? i probably skipped it, but i didnt see him get poked by the spear