>>5761600

Just as planned, the six goblins rush after the less-than-choice cut of meat. Lucky for you, the [Abyssal Water Jug] kept it as fresh and bloody as the day the butcher cut it from the Terriboar, and they mistook it for something that actually tastes good. Or maybe to goblins, the sour tang and bitter flavor of Terriboar Flank Steak is actually quite tasty, whereas humans prefer the brisket and the tenderloin. In any case, your fears of becoming the unwilling protagonist of the next best selling monster "romance" novel are well behind you now.

From the crest of the hill, you can see Old Baileport stretching about the bay. Piers jutting out into the sea, ships docked, and the great red Tower Baile sung of granite jutting to the sky. The Magecrest keep their court there, and one of the Magecrest you shall one day be... as soon as you cultivate yourself a nice pair of mana sacks, anyhow. Your control can whallop most anyone for fine work, and that's how you earn your keep, but if you want to stand among the Magecrest then you need the power to prove your place.

That's why you're here, isn't it? The top of this hill is as good a place as any to cultivate you mana, and with your refined control of your Water Magic, drinking of the worldly waters should be a simple matter.

It would be arrogant to drink too deeply, though. In meditation you can gain one thing from the water's of the great dream (Roll 1d100 three times, take the best)
>The knowledge of a single spell that has been lost to time.
>The birthing cries of a virgin dungeon, untouched by man.
>The whispers of a great item that could help you attain your dreams
>The location of a convergence in the currents, that you could harness as your own.
>The whale song of a leviathan that would meet you beneath the waves
>The flow of power into your very being, increasing your strength in magic.

Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>5761601
>>The location of a convergence in the currents, that you could harness as your own.
I'm here for the inevitable rape

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>5761601
>The birthing cries of a virgin dungeon, untouched by man.
We could get a little water dungeon with sunken ruins in it to use as our mage study! Goblins can't swim so we'd be safe there.

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>5761601
>The whispers of a great item that could help you attain your dreams

>>5761601
>>The birthing cries of a virgin dungeon, untouched by man.

Bait quest

>>5761670
it has more effort put into tan the trans quests

>>5761600
>you've read all of the bodice rippers
I remember this fictional series... glad to see you back anon. I was hopeful you'd talk in the general after that day, but you dissapeared and I got a tad sad 'coz the other quest was interesting. At last the prodigal son returns.
>>5761601
>The location of a convergence in the currents, that you could harness as your own.

Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>5761601
>>The whispers of a great item that could help you attain your dreams

File: nino-zorc-nion-4-4.jpg (333 KB, 1920x1280)

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>>5761611
Oh God.
>>5761614
Oh God why.
>>5761712
Bro don't scare him off, this looks fun
>The whale song of a leviathan that would meet you beneath the waves
Whale Fren!!! Let's make a contract with a whale fren!

>>5761601
>The birthing cries of a virgin dungeon, untouched by man.

>>5761601
>The whispers of a great item that could help you attain your dreams

Wait...the goblins...the dungeons...IT'S YOU! Have you no shame? The corpse of your previous child is still fresh and hasn't even been buried yet! Guess we are getting the other side's perspective this time.

>>5761601
>>The knowledge of a single spell that has been lost to time.
Seems interesting enough.

>>5761601
>The location of a convergence in the currents, that you could harness as your own.

Rolled 2 (1d3)

Because it's tied, we're rollan.
1 = Convergence
2 = Dungeon
3 = Artifact

File: How Young Mona Saw Herself.jpg (163 KB, 1011x536)

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The act of drinking of the worldy waters is the most basic cantrip in hydromancy. A child born with the talent to draw upon the waters will daydream of conjuring great tidal waves, of changing the current of the stream, of propelling their fishing boats without an oar, or even something as simply as splashing their friends in the heat of summer. You would know more than most. You left your dark history with the venerable art of hydromancy behind you over a decade ago, but the shadow of girlish flights of fancy yet linger to this day in the hidden corners of your memory.

A twelve year old girl with hair the color of the sky in summer struck a fanciful and heroic pose, her twin ponytails billowing in the wind.

About her neck she wore her favorite blanket, tied into a child's imitation of a great magician's cloak. The dress she wore beneath it was rather ordinary, if cleaner than most village clothes. Woven of burlap fabric bleached free from any stains, she washed it daily upon the orders of her teacher, as practice of her talents with water. Her eyes shone bright and golden, and her pupils had the shape of raindrops rather than ordinary circles.

Behind her, a boy her age dressed in rough and undyed burlap, blonde, battered, and bruised. In front of her, the older boys who made a sport of beating him up. Soaked through from the sudden splash of water the girl had thrown to make them stop.

"Rain outlines your fate, evil doers!" the girl declared. "Its heavy torrent shall wash away your villainy in a flood of justice, and cleanse the land of sin. This is the prediction of I, Mona the Magnificent, the magician who shall one day stand at the pinnacle of hydromancy, and sit among the Magecrest! So mote it be!"

With one of the simplest cantrips a magician could learn, the girl brought a hand up to her face as if holding back some incredible power... and made her eye flash for an instant with the violet depths of the abyssal waters beneath the world. The boys simply stared on in disbelief. Disbelief that they had come across such a powerful young magician, the girl assumed. At least, until they spoke, and shattered her fantasies.

"It's the weird girl."
"Why's the weird girl standing up for Bran, of all people?"
"Eh, she looks like she'll fall over in a stiff breeze, let's just-"
"No, she's old man Cullen's apprentice! I don't wanna be turned into a newt."
"You don't believe he can really do that, do you?"
"I swear, I saw him turn a wolf into a cow!"
"You're lucky this time Bran! Next time don't hide behind the weird girl."

You can see the memory of that day, the piece of your dark history, from drinking of the worldly waters. For they carry memories both precious and embarrassing, and your first meeting with your oldest friend most certainly counts as both. From this foundation, of drinking the waters and stepping into memory, can you truly see.

Pulled away from your own memories by the ever churning tide, you open your mind to history and drink deeply of what the world has to offer. In your youth, when you first learned this cantrip, you found your mind filled with a thousand random thoughts and ideas, all intermingled and nonsensical. With age and wisdom, the thoughts and memories that come are no less random, but you have better learned to deafen yourself to useless things and listen with your heart to the direction the current wishes to point you.

The waters flow south into the Mare Phantasos, into which the waters of the Baile Bay flow with the lowering tide. The currents drags your floating consciousness along into the Great Reef of Míledath and through the rainbow of its brightly colored coral. At the edge of the reef, right before it drops off into the fathomless abyss beyond the coastal waters, in the last gasp of warmth before the dread cold deep a school of fish swims about like a funnel cloud beneath the waters.

There, at the heart of the school, surrounded by a waning field of bright coral flowers, you can see an archway jutting from the sands. A lonesome door wrought of stone, gilded with the ruby-red markings of the old world. A stone of sedimentary memories that finally built up enough to become more than discarded history.

A gateway into a domain beyond the bonds of ordinary space.

"Ufufu~!" Your eyes still closed, your mind still adrift in the coastal waters, you let out a light chuckle. You can feel your unclad astral body floating in the warmth of the summer sea, a blessed and relaxing sensation that does little to calm your giddiness. The currents have left you truly blessed. "Splendid, simply splendid! To think, a newborn dungeon emerged so close to the city... one untouched by even the Magecrest."

Back at the hill, your mind returns to your body. With a bright smile on your face, you kip up and begin your descent back to the city. "I need to act fast, or else they'll find it before I do. The moment some fisherman reports the fish acting strange, they'll send out a survey team and it will be all over..."

Nominally, you have a duty to report your findings to the Magecrest as a student of the Tower Baile. You have no intention of derelicting your duty, but... well, you would not be the first student to perform a "thorough" investigation before reporting a newborn dungeon. Though it would behoove you to keep things quiet as much as play it safe, if you wanted to get the full benefit of your find.

How will you approach this bounty from the sea?
>Go in solo. Rent a skiff and a diving suit, and clear it out yourself.
>Party with Bran. Your oldest friend has no talent for magic, but he's not bad with a sword.
>Form a small party. Bran could play the scout... and that WOMANIZER could play knight. He probably also knows a cleric...
>Form a the smallest expedition you can. Safe, but it will make some noise...

>>5762347
>>Form a small party. Bran could play the scout... and that WOMANIZER could play knight. He probably also knows a cleric...

>>5762347
>>Go in solo. Rent a skiff and a diving suit, and clear it out yourself.
There is no time to be lost, we must go now or lose this opportunity!

>>5762347
>Party with Bran. Your oldest friend has no talent for magic, but he's not bad with a sword.

>>5762347
>Party with Bran. Your oldest friend has no talent for magic, but he's not bad with a sword.

>>5762347
>Party with Bran. Your oldest friend has no talent for magic, but he's not bad with a sword.

>>5762347
>Form a small party. Bran could play the scout... and that WOMANIZER could play knight. He probably also knows a cleric...

>>5762347
>Form a small party. Bran could play the scout... and that WOMANIZER could play knight. He probably also knows a cleric...

>>5762347
>>Party with Bran. Your oldest friend has no talent for magic, but he's not bad with a sword.
We need someone to get beaten up in our place while we do magic in the backline.

>>5762347
>Party with Bran. Your oldest friend has no talent for magic, but he's not bad with a sword.
The chuuni is strong with this Thirst Mage

>>5762347
>Form a small party. Bran could play the scout... and that WOMANIZER could play knight. He probably also knows a cleric...

Many a dungeon has devoured the unprepared

>>5762347
>Form a small party. Bran could play the scout... and that WOMANIZER could play knight. He probably also knows a cleric...

>>5762347
>Form a small party. Bran could play the scout... and that WOMANIZER could play knight. He probably also knows a cleric...

Gather your party before venturing forth.

>>5762347
On the one hand, partying with Bran alone will be much quicker than trying to find a full team. On the other hand, from what the options are hinting at, he's more a skillmonkey with some offensive abilities, rather than a proper tanky boy.
>Form a small party. Bran could play the scout... and that WOMANIZER could play knight. He probably also knows a cleric...
Because I want to meet the womanizer (and have more people for us to play off of)

>>5762347
>Party with Bran. Your oldest friend has no talent for magic, but he's not bad with a sword.

>>5762347
>Party with Bran. Your oldest friend has no talent for magic, but he's not bad with a sword.

>>5762347
>Party with Bran. Your oldest friend has no talent for magic, but he's not bad with a sword.

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You do not rush back to Baileport.

Every minute you dally is another minute for some fisherman to stumble across the greatest catch of their lives. The bounty posted by the Magecrest for information on a new dungeon could feed a family of eight for eight years without working, or buy a good education for their children. Not a single yeoman or tradesman would think twice before informing the Magecrest of what they've found, and you cannot blame them for it. The Mona of two years ago would take you for a fool, for it's quite the tidy sum indeed, but the prize of the First Clear tempts you far more than mere money.

Yet all the same you need to pace yourself, for haste can ruin your plans just as surely as dallying. You do not have a face that easily blends into the crowds, that you can hide away your identity with something as simple as the shadow of a hood. The watchmen at the Stone Gate all know you from your comings and goings over the years you've lived in Baileport, and you know them just as well. If you rushed through the gate - or worse, tried to sneak by without saying hello - they'd want to know why, and while they might not see through whatever excuse you conjure, they report all they see and hear to the Magecrest.

Then one of those crotchety old buffoons would pour out a scrying pool to check in on you, and the whole plan to keep them in the dark would unravel.

Best case scenario, they pull you aside when you get back and chew you out for investigating a newly formed dungeon before reporting that you found one. Worst case scenario, they catch wind of where you plan to go and get there first, robbing you not only of the dungeon's First Clear, but the finder's reward as well. You know not which case is more likely, and quite frankly you'd rather avoid finding out.

So you pace yourself on the way down the hill, following along a path you carved yourself over the past ten years. What used to be a simple footpath now has water-cut paving stones lining the way through the dense pinewood forest, and stairs where there was once a steep and treacherous dirt path. After the second time loose dirt gave way beneath your feet, you craved the certainty of stone and made some renovations after getting Duke Conlan's approval. He even gave you funds to make the route to the scenic hilltop safer, most of which you pocketed after conjuring elementals to do the heavy lifting.

The path remains clean and free from brush thanks to a spell you spun amongst the branches of the trees, that wanes in winter and rises with summer. Waters gather amidst the branches and become [Euthymic Water Droplets] that find joy in washing away the dirt, the grime, and the weeds. They keep to the path, and in their play they provide all the maintenance that the stone road needs.

No elementals frolic today. Only the sounds of woodland beasts and the charming chirpsong of birds fill the air on your way back to town.

Oh, and also the raucous calls of goblins.

>>5763173
It is said that monsters emerge like maggots from stagnant pools of the worldly waters, where nightmares and negativity are left to fester and rot. Goblins are the least of the least of these, and at best they could be said to have the wits of a clever dog, and the viciousness of a hound poorly trained. No one would call them intelligent. Yet though they lack capacity for higher thought, like all things they have memory. They know well enough to keep their distance, for they can doubtless feel the many waters of life flowing through you, that you can draw upon as magic.

Yet still they stare at your with the eyes of hungry goats, their rectangular pupils dilated and their mouths drooling with foul smelling saliva. Wooden clubs hang in their hands, and the gears of their mind turn as their primitive minds weigh the possibility of getting cut down against their desires. You cannot help but make a disgusted face at the stench that fills the air. It soon gets replaced by flat annoyance, for you can see exactly where those ravenous beasts are looking. You know precisely what they want, and you can't help but wonder...

Wouldn't it be easier just to give it to them, and hope they go away afterwards...?

"Haaaaaah," you release a sigh of long suffering, and undo one of the belts around your waist. "Fine, fine, I know when I'm defeated, boys. Just put those scary things down and get in line or something. I'll give you all what you want, so you better be grateful~"

The goblins give out a whoop of victory and scramble into a crowd before you, their clubs clattering forgotten on the ground. They know nothing of the human language, so naturally they know nothing about forming a proper queue, but it seems they understand that getting too rough with you will rob them of their reward. Their floppy ears wiggling in joy, they watch your soft hands with rapt attention as you unfasten a certain latch and reveal the ripened, sweet fruits that they so greedily desire.

Plump and round. Soft and ever-so-sinfully delicious, but with delicate skin that you need to be careful with less it bruise. Some of the finest to be found in your hometown of Péitsáth Vale, you're proud to say that you grew them yourself.

You hold aloft a delicious purple peach!

"No meat this time!" you say, having drawn the fruit from your [Abyssal Water Jug]. Though their golden goat eyes go wide and watery, and their whines remind you an upset cat, you refuse to pull out another cut of Terriboar flank as an offering to the goblins. "Now, now, a balanced diet is important. Meat is good, but even the knights cannot live on meat alone. But there's plenty to go around~"

Cheerfully, you pass out the plump, purple fruit to the little goblin creatures one at a time. The purple peaches of Péitsáth Vale are known for their size and tender flesh, bigger even than the fattest apples that can be found in Úlldoire. The goblins heave each in two hands, eying the fruit with suspicion.

>>5763174
A suspicion that evaporates the moment one of them musters the courage to bite into the fruit and taste its sweet tang.

Wordless happy sounds erupt from the goblins as they work their way through the peaches. To a woman grown like you, the peaches are thrice again the size of your clenched fist, and make a fine way to break your fast or to have a light meal. To tiny creatures like the goblins, the fruits are each near a third as large as their heads, so even their biggest bites only take a little at a time. While they gorge themselves on fruit from your family's homestead, you casually slip away, leaving them to their meal.

Soon enough, you find the road and make your way to Baileport. The city has five gates the road can take you with, each of which has its ups and its downs. (Roll three d100 and take the highest)
>The Flame Gate. This gate leads to the heart of the city's industry, named for the billowing flames of the forges that are hard at word producing Baileport's bulk metalworks. You're known to enter through it when you've found an ore or reagent you wish to have identified. It would be easy to pick up some dungeoneering supplies before you meet with Bran from one of the shops in that district, no questions asked.
>The Iron Gate. The smallest gate in the city, wrought of iron and blessed against rust by magics woven of the wind, it provides easy ingress into the district where live the nobility, and the students and staff of the Red Tower. As a researcher, you have the right to enter through here, and often do for it is where you live. This way will be the fastest by far, though you'll need to keep your head down and waste a bit of time at home before going to Bran's pub.
>The Oak Gate. The largest gate in the city, through which merchants enter, it leads directly into the main thoroughfare that crosses the entire city from the gate to the Ducal Palace. No one will question if you enter through this gate, and it's closest to Bran's pub, but it will take the longest time to get in the city. That's not necessarily a bad thing, though, as the merchants might have something good for sale.
>The Stone Gate. A gate of modest size that leads into the commoner's district. Out of all the city watchmen, you have the best rapport with the guard captain of this gate. His youngest daughter is rather sickly but has the Talent, and even though you can't yet take her as an apprentice for another six years yet, you've made something of a hobby out of showing her the ropes.
>The Sea Gate. A large gate that leads straight to the docks, with guards so deep in the Mob's pockets that they may as well be part of the same racket. The plus side of this gate is the same as its downside; with corruption here so high, the Red Tower won't receive word that you've returned from your cultivation. But there's also a good chance that you'll get mugged. On the plus side, you could secure a boat while you're here, on the down low...

>>5763175
>The Flame Gate.

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>5763175
>>The Flame Gate. This gate leads to the heart of the city's industry, named for the billowing flames of the forges that are hard at word producing Baileport's bulk metalworks. You're known to enter through it when you've found an ore or reagent you wish to have identified. It would be easy to pick up some dungeoneering supplies before you meet with Bran from one of the shops in that district, no questions asked.

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>5763175
>The Flame Gate.

Rolled 56 (1d100)

>>5763175
>The Flame Gate. This gate leads to the heart of the city's industry, named for the billowing flames of the forges that are hard at word producing Baileport's bulk metalworks. You're known to enter through it when you've found an ore or reagent you wish to have identified. It would be easy to pick up some dungeoneering supplies before you meet with Bran from one of the shops in that district, no questions asked.

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>5763175
>The Oak Gate. The largest gate in the city, through which merchants enter, it leads directly into the main thoroughfare that crosses the entire city from the gate to the Ducal Palace. No one will question if you enter through this gate, and it's closest to Bran's pub, but it will take the longest time to get in the city. That's not necessarily a bad thing, though, as the merchants might have something good for sale.

>>5763175
>The Oak Gate. The largest gate in the city, through which merchants enter, it leads directly into the main thoroughfare that crosses the entire city from the gate to the Ducal Palace. No one will question if you enter through this gate, and it's closest to Bran's pub, but it will take the longest time to get in the city. That's not necessarily a bad thing, though, as the merchants might have something good for sale.

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>5763175
>The Oak Gate. The largest gate in the city, through which merchants enter, it leads directly into the main thoroughfare that crosses the entire city from the gate to the Ducal Palace. No one will question if you enter through this gate, and it's closest to Bran's pub, but it will take the longest time to get in the city. That's not necessarily a bad thing, though, as the merchants might have something good for sale.

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>>5763174

>>5763327
LOL. Thank you, this made my morning.

>>5763175
>The Oak Gate.
If you're expected to carry ore when entering the flame district, attentive people will know something is off. As long as we don't dally, we should make good time.

>>5763175
>The Stone Gate. A gate of modest size that leads into the commoner's district. Out of all the city watchmen, you have the best rapport with the guard captain of this gate. His youngest daughter is rather sickly but has the Talent, and even though you can't yet take her as an apprentice for another six years yet, you've made something of a hobby out of showing her the ropes.
Not sure why people really want to go to the Flame Gate, it would be way too conspicuous if we went there without something for the smith's to forge. Oak Gate will take a while and is subtle, but we have a buddy at the Stone Gate. No one will question us if we go through there either, even if it means we have to mingle with the commoners. But we were wearing a bleached burlap sack for clothes as a kid, I doubt we would complain too much about the peasants.

Plus we might get cute interactions with the Guard Captain's kid, which is extra valuable.

(Count this as a vote for the Oak Gate if you need a tie-breaker, OP).

>>5763175
I laughed.

>The Stone Gate. A gate of modest size that leads into the commoner's district. Out of all the city watchmen, you have the best rapport with the guard captain of this gate. His youngest daughter is rather sickly but has the Talent, and even though you can't yet take her as an apprentice for another six years yet, you've made something of a hobby out of showing her the ropes.

Rolled 25 (1d100)

>>5763175
>>The Oak Gate. The largest gate in the city, through which merchants enter, it leads directly into the main thoroughfare that crosses the entire city from the gate to the Ducal Palace. No one will question if you enter through this gate, and it's closest to Bran's pub, but it will take the longest time to get in the city. That's not necessarily a bad thing, though, as the merchants might have something good for sale.

File: Mona's Dad.png (487 KB, 1200x1118)

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Not an hour from the overlook, the pine forest gives way to the sprawling fields of wheat and barley that surround Baileport on all sides. Planting long since passed and the grain grows fat upon the stalk as the season approaches harvest. Soon the air will chill, and the serfs and yeomen who work the fields will busy themselves with reaping and threshing the bounty of the land. But with the summer's toil at an end and the fall's work yet to begin, the menfolk and women take a rest well earned to work on their hobbies and hone their handicrafts.

Children run about in the fields playing some game of dungeon delvers, the one screaming the loudest and chasing the others no doubt playing the part of some monster the others will defeat - or get defeated by, from the look of how their wrestling goes. The menfolk retreat to their sheds to build furniture or repair their tools, when they're not on their porches with their wives, working on some small thing or another while their spouse stitches up a blanket or a sweater for the coming winter. The more prosperous yeomen might even have a book in hand, to polish up their rútaí before the merchants come around to cash in their futures with the village's mayor and buy up crops.

It's a nostalgic scene for you.

Until your twelfth birthday, you expected that by the time you hit twenty five, you would be much like one of the women you see in the cottages along the road. Performing your wifely duties, with two or three little ones scampering about while you relaxed with some knitting. Probably with Bran or one of the other village boys, in a section of woods Lord Péitsáth had them clear to expand the village and its production of peaches. You grew up helping with the peach harvest and playing games not so different than the ones the children in these grain fields play. It is hardly a bad life to live, upon lands as prosperous as those of your hometown, where a very precious crop always found itself in high demand.

Your family has lived that way for generations beyond counting. Your mother, your mother's mother, her mother's mother, and on and on until you reached the first people to settle that particular valley, all of them lived that simple, pleasant, and fulfilling life. Keeping the home, working the land, and building a cozy place to keep their family happy and healthy. You honestly cannot blame your parents for rejecting your offer to see them elevated to at least the Yeomanry. If they did, they'd have to leave their home on Lord Péitsáth's orchards and live among men and women that may as well have been strangers. Oh, they could still work there, but it was against the law for a Lord to keep yeomen in housing that was meant to shelter his serfs.

You got into several arguments with Connor Péitsáth about that. Arguments that usually ended with Master Cullen conjuring a bucket's full of cold water over your head and reminding you that foolish as it may sound to you, the king's law is the king's law.

>>5764128

An hour more of walking the Crown Road sees the fields slowly give way to denser houses surrounded by small gardens filled with vegetables and flowers. Another hour sees the gardens begin to disappear, or at least become more sparse, as the city's eastern wall begins to dominate the horizon. Proper roads paved with stones start to branch off from the Crown Road, and you can already see the queue of caravans beginning to form outside the Oak Gate. It stretches on for what certainly feels like a mile, even if it's probably only half that long, as a reminder of how much trade comes through Baileport on a given day.

Most wagons have roofs of oiled sailcloth to keep the goods within them dry. A particularly prosperous merchant might have died to rútaí of their company's name into the sides of the cloth, to let everyone know who owned that wagon and what sort of goods they could expect. The most dynamic ways of spelling their name would often get chosen, which leads to a situation where some of their company names would remind you the dark history you left behind in Péitsáth.

Take the name of one merchant wagon you pass by on your way, proudly naming itself CONNOR AND SONS CARAVAN COMPANY. The proprietor's name is the same as your hometown's feudal lord, Connor. Lord Péitsáth uses the traditional spelling of his name, two rútaí that when read literally mean "Master of Hounds".

Connor of CONNOR AND SONS does not use the same rútaí as Lord Péitsáth's name.

To get the name CONNOR out of the rútaí he uses, you need to combine readings from three separate dialects, one for each character in the name. The three rútaí, when awkwardly forced together into the name Connor, have a literal meaning of "Great King of Heavenly Wisdom". You cringe internally as you pass the wagon by, not just for the affable looking wagon driver's naming sense, but at the reminder of your own dark history.

Your parents gave you a fine name that is written in the Péitsáth Vale family registry with the rútaí for "Rising Tide". Simple, memorable, and remarkably apropos considering the talent for hydromancy that you would come to possess. But of course, this was not "cool" enough for your young and foolish self, no.

Shortly after Master Cullen took you on as his apprentice, you learned that a northern dialect could read the rútaí for "Entropic Princess" as your name.

The old wizard only brought it up because he had studied in the north for a time, and thought it amusing.

Of course, you instantly fell in love with spelling your name as "Entropic Princess". You kept signing your name like that on every document that you needed to sign, every letter that you needed to send out on Master Cullen's behalf, at every opportunity. Your parents found your change in spelling amusing. Your teacher rolled his eyes with a smile whenever he saw it. Nothing deterred you from signing with that name until your were 17.

>>5764131
That was the first time you stepped through the Oak Gates, which now loom high above you not a hundred yards away. Master Cullen wanted to pass on his duties to the Red Tower to you, so that he could dedicate his old age to advising his old friend's son on matters of the arcane. So he sent you to Baileport and the Red Tower with a letter explaining things, and the iron old maid who sits at the greeting desk had you fill out some paperwork. When she saw how you signed your name, she gave you a look that pierced straight through any façade you had built up for yourself.

She did not even need to say a word. Her look alone shattered the delusions of your youth, and like a kicked puppy you signed the documents with the rútaí your parents chose for you.

So you have no right to judge the master of CONNOR AND SONS for his naming sense. None at all.

Though you will note that the most prosperous of the merchants waiting in line do not use such outrageous rútaí to attract the attention of potential customers. No promises of divine wisdom, or talk about how their caravan belongs to the Lucky Golden Lord from them. Their wagons are wooden and reinforced with iron bands, with springs upon their axels to ensure that even a bumpy road does not shock their goods or their passengers. Some of these have only the name of their master gilded in an elegant script upon the sides, while others are entire works of art unto themselves, with great murals painted upon them beneath the bold name of the wagon's owner.

One such wagon approaches you about half an hour into your wait upon the queue to enter the Oak Gate. The mural painted upon its side depicts the voyage of great Ulysses and his attempt to cross the eternal storm of the Mare Phobetor aboard the Fear Breaker. Ulysses himself clad in a red-white toga like a priest, his hands strapped to the great wheel of his ship by hempen rope; his men naked but for tied loincloths, following the orders he barked over the thunder and the lightning to keep the ship from breaking upon the waves. As a healthy young woman, you cannot help but admire the detailed muscles and lean figures of the painted men and they pass you by.

Maro's Ulysseid claims that the Fear Breaker made it past the eternal storm, to the near mythic Isles of Aislingí. Most historians dispute this, though, believing that if he did truly return from beyond the Mare Phobetor, what he found must have been an unknown dungeon of unknowable age.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" From the back of the painted wagon, the voice of a merchant breaks you free from your thoughts. His hair is a deep green, and his mustache is impressive and well kept. "It's mighty rare to see a student of the Red Tower walking about, with nary a carriage or palanquin in sight."

"[I]Researcher," you say with a bit of irritation. The brooch above your breast marks you as such. "I think you'll find plenty of carriages all around me, Mister...?"

>>5764132

"Thousand pardons, madame, my curiosity got the best of me," the merchant says with an apologetic bow. You roll your eyes, but conversation is better than silence as you wait for the line to move, so you'll humor him for now. "I see it now, the back behind the tower there is moonsteel, not silver, that's my mistake. I've the privilege of being Seamus mac Connacht, at your service. Might I know your name?"

"It's Mona mac Muirgen," you tell him with a curt tone. "And for the record, I enjoy the exercise. The countryside is far more beautiful when you're not trapped inside a box getting jostled about."

"Wisdom as always from the Tower's own," Seamus layers a bit of flattery into his voice. You can see him roll the name you gave him around in his mouth. "Muirgen, Muirgen, Muirgen, now where have I heard - aha! Muirgen the Peach Keepers, from Péitsáth Vale. Have I got my finger on the money?"

You arch an eyebrow at him. "I'm surprised a well-to-do merchant would remember the name of a family of serfs."

"Hah!" Seamus gives a bark of laughter. "I remember all my sources and my customers, Miss Mona, especially those I do good business with. Not five years ago, I struck a deal with a young man what must've been your older brother. Only women he spoke of more highly than his little mage sister were his mama and his wife. Anywho, he secured me a guarantee on the supply, I secured him a better price than what the other merchants were payin', and we both made out with a nice and tidy profit."

His face breaks out in the sort of smile that only a merchant on the verge of striking big would grin. "And now that deal's comin' home to roost five years later, for an even greater slice of cheese, if you know what I'm sayin'."

You get the gist of it, even if you don't speak like a merchant. "I take it you and my brother have a good business relationship, then?"

"That we do," his expression sours just a bit. "I'd say I'm right happy he loves his peaches and hasn't the care to be a merchant, if I'm honest. Man's a shark! Took me over the coals, he did! Got Lord Péitsáth to back him on a contract well in his favor. But he never fails to get me what I need, so I can't hardly complain too much about him."

You can't help but chuckle at that, which brings a look of exaggerated dismay to Seamus' face. "That sounds like Fionn, alright. He'd always keep up his end of the bargain, yet somehow every deal his struck always seemed to end up in his favor..."

Seamus sighs in relief. "I'm glad I'm not his only victim. Now, what say you to a bit of business, Miss Mage?"

Seamus has wares, and you have coin, if you wish to spend.
>Look for dungeoneering gear.
>Look for any rare books he might have.
>Look for any magical reagents that he has.
>Look to see if he has any works of artifice in his stores.
>Look to see if he has any weapons, for self defense of course.
>[Write in something you want!]
>You have no wish to trade right now.

>>5764135
>>Look for dungeoneering gear.
>>Look for any rare books he might have

>>5764160
>+1

>>5764135
>>5764160 +1

>>5764135
>Look for dungeoneering gear.
>Look for any rare books he might have.
>Look to see if he has any weapons, for self defense of course.

>>5764135
>Look for dungeoneering gear.
>Look to see if he has any works of artifice in his stores.
>Look to see if he has any weapons, for self defense of course.

>>5764135
>Look for dungeoneering gear.
>Look for any rare books he might have.

>>5764135
I don't know how unusual it is for a mage to buy dungeoneering gear out of nowhere, and I doubt his partnership with your brother is enough to keep him from screwing us over.
> Look for magical reagents
> Look to see if he has any works of artifice in his stores.
Useful, but nothing that screams "I'm off to the dungeon".

>>5764135
+1 >>5764452

>>5764452
Yeah, let's keep to reagents, artifacts, and books. This guy seems way too affable, 100% any info he learns from us gets bought by anyone with the right amount of coin, so let's not look for anything that would give away the game. Hopefully OP doesn't just pick the winner and give us something random, but lets us select stuff from the options we choose.
>Rare books
>Artifacts
>Reagents

Rolled 56, 64, 96, 20, 13 = 249 (5d100)

D100s are in order:
>Dungeoneering Gear
>Rare Books
>Works of Artifice
>Reagents
>Weapons
Higher is better for Mona.

File: Seamus when he has to dre(...).jpg (433 KB, 1034x1500)

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"I may have some discretionary funds that I can spare for a merchant who's given my older brother good business," you reply. Though you cannot shake the market as those magisters who sit atop the Magecrest do, the Red Tower keeps their researchers funded well enough. Unless the man came into something rare indeed, you doubt there's anything amongst his wares that you cannot afford. "Let us see what wares you have on offer, Mister mac Connacht."

When you call him by his surname, the man makes a show like you've slapped him hard across the cheek. "You wound me, Miss Mona! My old man's the only Mr. mac Connacht of the Connacht Caravan Company. If it please you, call me Seamus, and if it don't... I ask you to please consider my poor backside afore you call me mister anything."

You roll your eyes at his words. "And why would that be, Mister Seamus?"

"Och! That stings, Miss Mona, it truly does," Seamus makes a show of his back being in pain. Of course that suddenly goes away one he needs to find the keys to the sliding side doors of his wagon. He doesn't find them round his neck, or beneath his hat, and once he figures the show has been enough to ease both his and your boredom with the queue, he hikes up his tartan kilt and dips into a pouch strapped to his inner thigh. "But you see, I've a theory, I do, 'pon why an old man's back goes bad. Every 'mister' is a like a stone we need to carry, reminding us that we've begun to show our age..."

He goes on for a while as he slides open the great mural on the side of his cart, and you've time enough to kill in the queue that you deign to play along with him. Meaningless banter, though that soon changes once he gets the doors unlocked and moving. They each pivot to the back and front, revealing a pair of separate murals depicting two very different scenes of the Ulysseid.

On the front you can spy Ulysses' Great Contraption, which drew out the Cimmerian Legions from their city and left it empty long enough for the men of Aetolia to take the castle and bar them from the gates, winning the long war. The story says it looked of a wondrous work of mystic artifice, a great weapon they could not ignore, but when they cracked it open all they found were depleted chunks of manatite enchanted to shine with a thousand colors of light.

On the rear, you can see the hero's return to Aetolia. His conflict with the Magister Ahriman, whose magics had ensnared the mind of his wife Alcinoe. Specifically, the moment when Ulysses freed her with the Needle Threading Arrowin, piercing the manatite in the eye of her hairpin without destroying it. A necessary feat, for had the hairpin been broken, then by Ahriman's contract with the Leviathan Alcinoe's soul would have been dragged into the abyssal waters beneath the world and tormented for all eternity by the hundred-armed Hecatoncheires.

"I've always wondered about the terms of that contract..." you muse to Seamus. "A gold hairpin for a soul seems rather dubious, no?"

>>5764966
"Stranger that breaking the manatite in its eye didn't count as breaking the hairpin itself," Seamus says, and he's got a fair point. "I've met a few men who'd sell their souls for the right amount of gold, and a magic golden hairpin that can bend someone to your will? Men would go to war for that, they would. Trading someone else's soul for it, well that's a mighty good deal by my measure."

You stare flatly at the man, but he says nothing as he finishes opening up his shop. With the sort of grin only a merchant could make, he throws his arms open and greets you. "Welcome to the Connacht Caravan Company's mobile kiosk. Anything strike your fancy here, Miss Mona?"

Indeed, several of his wares do. Though you spot casks behind him, the goods upon display are all rare things, no doubt picked up on the travels only a merchant would have. Tempting as it would be to empty your savings and buy them all, you keep your budget to five ducats of gold so you don't burn through an amount of money that would get noticed. (Spend up to 5 ducats)
>Fine rope from the Spider Keepers who live beneath the Mountain of the World Eater. Purely mundane, all the same it will not only last for your lifetime, but also the lifetimes of any descendants you will live to see. (1 Ducat)
>An orbit-stone of depleted manatite enchanted with a mote of eternal flame. It provides you no heat, and is not hot enough to cook or burn, but there is no more reliable light beneath the waves. (2 Ducats)
>A tome containing the complete works of the poet Maro, as illuminated by the Monks of the Abbey of Sainted Ophelia the Wise. A fine additional to any prospective Magister's library, more for the prestige than anything else. (2 Ducats)
>A Grimoire containing the knowledge of how to cast an esoteric bit of hydromancy called [Twelve Effervescent Fountains of Joy]. While not particularly useful in and of itself, with some time you might be able to derive something of use from its basic principles (1 Ducat)
>A cane. A fine cane. Oho, at this price... does this merchant know what he's selling, here? He advertises it as a cane with an ivory handle and tip, a fine magical focus. But you can feel the thrumming within it, and hear the currents of the worldly water proudly sing that it is most certainly not ivory. No, this is polished bone from a leviathan, and it forms a core within the moonsteel traced ironwood shaft... (5 Ducats)
>A humble ring of whalebone that would have certain uses in this city. They are not uncommon here, but he seems to be undercutting the price by half. Either he picked it up cheaply, or he's looking to get it sold. Either way, it will let you breath when swimming in the worldly waters. (1 Ducat)
>Bat Guano. Ugh. But still... such a reagent would let even a Hydromancer cast fireball. (1 Ducat)
>A sword of moonsteel. Not of the best make, perhaps, but still a fine blade. You could use a weapon, if you plan on making a habit of dungeoneering. (2 Ducats)

>>5764968
>Fine rope from the Spider Keepers who live beneath the Mountain of the World Eater. Purely mundane, all the same it will not only last for your lifetime, but also the lifetimes of any descendants you will live to see. (1 Ducat)
>An orbit-stone of depleted manatite enchanted with a mote of eternal flame. It provides you no heat, and is not hot enough to cook or burn, but there is no more reliable light beneath the waves. (2 Ducats)
A Grimoire containing the knowledge of how to cast an esoteric bit of hydromancy called [Twelve Effervescent Fountains of Joy]. While not particularly useful in and of itself, with some time you might be able to derive something of use from its basic principles (1 Ducat)
>Bat Guano. Ugh. But still... such a reagent would let even a Hydromancer cast fireball. (1 Ducat)

>>5764968
>A cane. A fine cane. Oho, at this price... does this merchant know what he's selling, here? He advertises it as a cane with an ivory handle and tip, a fine magical focus. But you can feel the thrumming within it, and hear the currents of the worldly water proudly sing that it is most certainly not ivory. No, this is polished bone from a leviathan, and it forms a core within the moonsteel traced ironwood shaft... (5 Ducats)
tempted

>>5764968
>A cane. A fine cane. Oho, at this price... does this merchant know what he's selling, here? He advertises it as a cane with an ivory handle and tip, a fine magical focus. But you can feel the thrumming within it, and hear the currents of the worldly water proudly sing that it is most certainly not ivory. No, this is polished bone from a leviathan, and it forms a core within the moonsteel traced ironwood shaft... (5 Ducats)
Pimp cane

>>5764968
>>A cane. A fine cane. Oho, at this price... does this merchant know what he's selling, here? He advertises it as a cane with an ivory handle and tip, a fine magical focus. But you can feel the thrumming within it, and hear the currents of the worldly water proudly sing that it is most certainly not ivory. No, this is polished bone from a leviathan, and it forms a core within the moonsteel traced ironwood shaft... (5 Ducats)
hopefully it is strong enough to withstand repeated bonking

>>5764968
>>A cane. A fine cane. Oho, at this price... does this merchant know what he's selling, here? He advertises it as a cane with an ivory handle and tip, a fine magical focus. But you can feel the thrumming within it, and hear the currents of the worldly water proudly sing that it is most certainly not ivory. No, this is polished bone from a leviathan, and it forms a core within the moonsteel traced ironwood shaft... (5 Ducats)
A cock for a fine girl

>>5764968
>Fine rope from the Spider Keepers who live beneath the Mountain of the World Eater. Purely mundane, all the same it will not only last for your lifetime, but also the lifetimes of any descendants you will live to see. (1 Ducat)
>A humble ring of whalebone that would have certain uses in this city. They are not uncommon here, but he seems to be undercutting the price by half. Either he picked it up cheaply, or he's looking to get it sold. Either way, it will let you breath when swimming in the worldly waters. (1 Ducat)
>An orbit-stone of depleted manatite enchanted with a mote of eternal flame. It provides you no heat, and is not hot enough to cook or burn, but there is no more reliable light beneath the waves. (2 Ducats)
Rope's always useful, and considering we're about to go into the ocean, being able to breathe underwater and see in the depths is going to be important.

>>5764968
>>5765137
+1
The cane looks fancy, but we do want to be able to actually get to the dungeon and back, especially in emergencies.

>>5764968
>A cane. A fine cane. Oho, at this price... does this merchant know what he's selling, here? He advertises it as a cane with an ivory handle and tip, a fine magical focus. But you can feel the thrumming within it, and hear the currents of the worldly water proudly sing that it is most certainly not ivory. No, this is polished bone from a leviathan, and it forms a core within the moonsteel traced ironwood shaft... (5 Ducats)

I'm assuming the cane is the work of artifice, in which case we'd be crazy not to get it. I don't know if a hydromancer of Mona's caliber could already substitute rope, a lightsource and the whalebone ring using her own magic, but the leviathan bone should help us improvise.

>>5764968
>A cane. A fine cane. Oho, at this price... does this merchant know what he's selling, here? He advertises it as a cane with an ivory handle and tip, a fine magical focus. But you can feel the thrumming within it, and hear the currents of the worldly water proudly sing that it is most certainly not ivory. No, this is polished bone from a leviathan, and it forms a core within the moonsteel traced ironwood shaft... (5 Ducats)

>>5764968
>>Fine rope from the Spider Keepers who live beneath the Mountain of the World Eater. Purely mundane, all the same it will not only last for your lifetime, but also the lifetimes of any descendants you will live to see. (1 Ducat)
>>An orbit-stone of depleted manatite enchanted with a mote of eternal flame. It provides you no heat, and is not hot enough to cook or burn, but there is no more reliable light beneath the waves. (2 Ducats)

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It does not take you long to peruse the wears in the so-called mobile kiosk. The folding display cases containing his wares unfurled into an efficient circle of shelves that easily fills your view with the goods he has for sale. It must take him ages to pack everything up properly when changing out his goods, but the resulting storefront is well worth the effort. Time is money to a merchant of any caliber, and the best part about money made upon the Crown Road is that he needn't pay a sales tax upon it. That law comes not from the duke, but the Queen herself.

The Crown shall provide for the maintenance and protection of the Crown Roads, either with the Queensmen or through a stipend to the local lords whose sections shall be subject to inspection. In turn, the local lords cannot collect taxes for use of the roads for travel or commerce. Like any traveling merchant, Seamus smiles a merchant's grin at the opportunity to make a good sale outside of the gates of Baileport.

The only taxes he'll owe the crown shall be on his profits here, rather than his gross sales.

Of course, you've a smile of your own, for its not often that goods from as far away as the Twilight Mountains come through Baileport - and when they do, they're often twice the price he posts. Here you see a great rope of thyrslob silk from the Spider Keepers beneath the Mountain of the World Eater that will last until your grandchildren are old and grey with grandchildren of their own, if not longer still. There you see a ring of whalebone that boasts of granting it wearers the ability to breath within the depths of the worldly waters - though may the gods help you if you foolishly dive so deep you reach the abyssal waters beneath the world.

But what truly catches your eye rests upon a pillow behind a pane of glass. Though it would be better to say that rather than your eye, it caught your heart, for you can feel the thrumming of the artifice resonating with your very bones. A cane that claims to be of polished ivory and ironwood, with cyclopean tracings etched in moonsilver along the shaft. It presence draws upon the worldly waters, pulling in currents of mana through its core just as surely as the tide. To call the polished bone of its derby handle ivory makes sport of the beholder, for from the flows of mana about it, there's nothing it could be but the bones of a Leviathan.

Native to the abyssal depths, such beasts rarely surface more than once a century to the worldly waters and the sky above them to breath deep of the air they need for their next dive. You have never seen one in your life, but Master Cullen did in his youth. He claimed the beasts were terrible and majestic, a stark reminder of the enormity of the universe, and just how tiny humans truly are. His staff has a core of the same material, while your own wand is made of whalebone.

"Where did you come by this?" You cannot help but ask Seamus. Hopefully, you didn't just give away how dearly you wish to buy the cane.

>>5765702
"Oh, that?" Seamus says. He keens in on your interest as quick as a merchant does, though his smile seems a bit less greedy and a bit more genuine than you'd expect from a salesman. His green eyes shine brightly as he strokes his beard. "Well, it's quite the tale, Miss Mona. But I'm happy to trade it away to keep the company of a woman as fine as yourself for just a wee bit longer here. That is, if you've an interest in hearing it..."

You suppress a snort at his blatant flattery, looking at the line. It's moving slowly forward, but a group of painted wagons just got to the front, and it seems the guards have called for a thorough inspection of their contents. "It seems we've got some time to kill, so I don't see why not."

"I'll try to keep it from being too boring," he assures you.

"It wasn't two years ago now, not long after I first made dealings with your brother over peaches," Seamus begins weaving his story, making grand gestures as he goes. Perhaps he should have been a storyteller instead of a merchant, for he certainly knows how to speak like one. "A mutual friend of ours, the very man who dreamt up our business with the peaches... he needed a few things extra that could only be found in the lands of Pannotia to the south and the east. He paid me in wool and wine for your brother's peaches, and I crossed the mountains of Twilight on my way to the Sapphire City.

"The Sapphire City - known as Alyaqut to the Pannotian folk - sits in the very heart of Mare Harenae." Seamus's expressive storytelling has attracted a small crowd, mostly children and parents waiting for the way in behind the caravan being inspected. This makes the green-haired man puff up with pride. He lays things on thick, his voice carrying a tone of dire importance. "Yes, the Mare Harenae that you've heard of in the Thousand Nights. That sea of sand whose deepest reaches are the furthest land from the sea in all the world! There, at the center, in a place where the folk know not of the joyous tides and the sound of crashing waves - there sits the Alyaqut, the jewel of the desert!

"The city indeed shines like a jewel, for covering its great walls one can see a grand mosaic more ancient in its origins than even the venerable Red Tower." The children huddle around Seamus as he shows of a colored sketch from his notebook that depicts the city walls and their mosaic. "Lapis lazuli turns the walls into a portrait of the sky, while obsidian, moonstone, and gems of a thousand other colors depict the story of their founding. Of how Pabilgam and Tabtanu wrestled with the Bull of Blue Skies, and how the Queen of Morning threw down the morning star to pierce the land in vengeance for her pet. It is said the Spring-of-All-Waters that sustains the city came to be when she pierced the land.

"It was after a tireless journey of a hundred days and nights following the river born from that spring, that I came to Alyaqut to do my business," Seamus tells the crowd.

>>5765704
"As many merchants do, I came to purchase spices for my patron, ones that can only be found growing in the oases surrounding the Spring-of-All-Waters," Seamus looks to you as he explains his reason for traveling to the desert city. "My good friend needed them for his plan with your brother's peaches, Miss Mona, and who better to get him the best deal possible than the Connacht Caravan Company? I would say none! The Shah's retainers had a hearty appetite for the wines that only our lands can produce, and for wool as well to make clothes well suited for the dry nights of the desert. There was much profit to be had there, and to their markets I brought some coin to see if I could not find things to sell back home."

He taps the glass of the staff. "This cane I found atop the blanket of a street vendor, and I knew in an instant that the man did not know what he had come across. He believed it a simple walking stick... but as a mage, you can feel it, can you not? The ivory resonates with mana suitable for earth magics, even my meager talents can tell. I did not want to rob the man blind, so I paid him a fair price for a magical focus, but for my generosity to my supplier and the perils of the desert, I am afraid I cannot sell it to you for anything less than five gold ducats."

"Done," you say, placing the five gold coins that amounted to your budget on the table.

You get a number of stares from the crowd around you when you lay the coins on the table. A common laborer makes a single silver denier in a day's wage. Though the precise exchange varies widely depending on the trust in the silver and the gold, it's generally accepted that a single ducat is worth around fifty denier. In short, you just dropped a year's wage for an ordinary laborer on the cane, a price that should have been bargained down.

You could have bargained it down to maybe four or even three. Fionn swindled you enough times as a child for you to understand to the games merchants play at in the markets, but it always feels wrong to bargain someone down when they already started low. Master Cullen's staff has enough leviathan bone to be worth a hundred ducats, easily; this cane, if properly priced, should go for no less than sixty ducats. It feels bad enough to take the price he offered, but far be it from you to not take that price, only for someone with less scruples to have the stones to bargain him down.

To be fair to Seamus, the moment you accept the price he gives, you can see the gears turn in his head to try and calculate how much money he left on the table. He cannot go back on the price now, not with a crowd around him that could hit his reputation as a merchant, but a sour look crosses his face.

After a moment, he gives a chuckle and a sigh. "Why is it, Miss Mona, that I feel you've just swindled me harder than your brother ever did?"

You make a big X with your arms... but not before signing the bill of sale. "You dug your own grave here, Seamus."

>>5765706
"Hah! Your brother said much the same thing," a wry smile crosses Seamus' face. He shakes his head as the crowd moves on, perking right back up after a moment. "Well, on the bright side, I made no expectations that I'd get more than three ducats for that cane there, so that's doubling my expected margins, which is still quite tasty even if it feels a bit sour. Just, ah, don't tell me how much I coulda gotten there, I don't think me poor heart could take it. Or me pa. No, especially me pa, don't tell him anything."

"My lips are sealed, Seamus," you say, dropping the mister. That gets his spirits perking right back up, and bright grin on his face. "You will hear nothing on its worth from me."

"Well, pleasure doing business with ya, Miss Mona," Seamus packs away his mobile kiosk, folding up the shelves and closing the painted double doors in front of them. "I'll be in town a bit if you've a need for any wares, in the West Quarter by the Mural Wall. You'll probably see my cart along the main thoroughfare on your way home after whatever business you're up to on the east side here. Researchers like you live over with the nobles, dontcha?"

You think about it for a moment. If nothing else, you could hire him to carry a letter to your brother, if he's off to Péitsáth Vale as his next stop. Testing the balance of the cane in your hand, you nod. "I may drop by. Between your business with my brother, and this splendid deal you've given me, you've certainly earned my patronage for good while."

Seamus lets out some nervous laughter. "Well, as long as you don't skin me alive with your fleecing, I'll be happy for the business."

Finally, the guards let you into the city. They had to arrest a few people from the caravan on smuggling charges, which held up the traffic at the gate a bit longer than expected. Bran might not be at his pub right now; he usually takes a break at this hour, right before the evening traffic starts up... (Roll 1d100 three times, take the best)
>Still, you should check his pub first, to see if he's there. (Can be added on to any vote)
>Check his tenement, he lives on the fifth floor above Aoife's Bakery. He sometimes returns there on break.
>Perhaps he's in the park. He'll sometimes grab a pastie from a cart there to have dinner before the evening rush.
>Guh, check that womanizer's place. They've long been friends, and as much as you hate that womanizer, you've never been interested in ruining that.
>Check [her] place. You do not like [her], and [she] does not like you. But [she] has long had [her] sights on Bran, so if he's been ensnared by [her] you need to protect him from [her] wiles.
>(Write in option!)

>>5765708
>Still, you should check his pub first, to see if he's there. (Can be added on to any vote)
>Guh, check that womanizer's place. They've long been friends, and as much as you hate that womanizer, you've never been interested in ruining that.

>>5765877
>supporting

>>5765877
+1
We're already wasting time looking for him, at least make sure we could potentially recruit someone for our expidition.

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>5765877
>+1
guys, why aren't you rolling ?

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>5765877
Oops

Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>5765708
>>Still, you should check his pub first, to see if he's there. (Can be added on to any vote)
>>Guh, check that womanizer's place. They've long been friends, and as much as you hate that womanizer, you've never been interested in ruining that.

>>5765997
>>5766005
Hot damn, these dice are on fire

>>5765708
>Still, you should check his pub first, to see if he's there. (Can be added on to any vote)
>Check his tenement, he lives on the fifth floor above Aoife's Bakery. He sometimes returns there on break.

Rolled 16 (1d100)

>>5765708
>>Still, you should check his pub first, to see if he's there. (Can be added on to any vote)
Guh, check that womanizer's place. They've long been friends, and as much as you hate that womanizer, you've never been interested in ruining that.

>>5765708
>>Still, you should check his pub first, to see if he's there. (Can be added on to any vote)
>>Guh, check that womanizer's place. They've long been friends, and as much as you hate that womanizer, you've never been interested in ruining that.
Nice rolls

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The Oak Gate opens into Main Street, which used to be the Crown Road before Baileport was established. When less people lived this far south, the Crown Road followed the path that Main Street now takes, loosely following the coastline and passing by the fort that would one day become the Ducal Palace. As the garrison village became a town, and the town became a city, three new layers of walls were built. First around the garrison village, which now became the Ducal Estate. Then around the Old Town, which now serves as the Noble Quarter, and then finally around the cities borders when it first received permit from the Crown to establish Baileport as the Ducal sea.

The pattern of houses rising up outside the walls, stretching along the Crown Road and towards the capital at Coróin, continues to this day. The town homes outside the city walls must stretch on for half a mile at least, before the gardens begin to blend with the fields of wheat that keep the city fed.

Bran's pub sits in the newest district within the walls, right on Main Street as the shoppes and houses of the Common's Quarter give way to the workshops and forges of the Craftsmen's Quarter.

Half the buildings in that strip remain burnt out from the fire of three years past, but they're slowly-but-surely coming back. The pub is flanked by two burnt out husks, and is still only partially reconstructed from what it was. The new city codes have banned the use of timber and jetties since the flames ripped through that strip of land, and nearly set the Common's quart ablaze. But the son of a brick-layer knows his family trade quite well, and after purchasing the husk with his some of his savings, he's slowly begun rebuilding it piece by piece.

The pub floor only reopened last year. But that put him ahead of all the other competition, who only just began opening up their doors again now. With his location on Main Street and on the edge of the Craftsmen's district, his business did not just boom, it roared to life last year. So much so, that it's hard to believe he has any quiet hours.

Yet he certainly does. Caught in that awkward place between lunch and dinner, you see no sign of the usual crowd of workmen and craftsmen who gather beneath the sign of the Red Raven for dinner and a drink. You painted him that sign as a present for his opening day, which hangs from an masterfully crafted iron mount that a certain womanizer made for him as gift for the same celebration.

Speaking of celebrations, it sounds like someone is partying off the clock inside the pub. The voices you hear become much more recognizable once you open the door.

"-d there it was, starin' down at us from the top of the white cliffs, hatred in its eyes and a belly full of fire!" A certain womanizer appears to be regailing Bran and two scantily clad ladies with a story you've heard a thousand times now. "It spread out its wings and dove from the cliff, its hot breath scalding the lands with flame black-as-night."

>>5766726
"Oh no, Sir Geoffrey~!" one of the floozies sighs.

"But you got him, right, Sir Geoffrey~?" the other floozy asks.

The two floozies on that loathsome and wretched womanizer's arms cling to him with no sense of shame or decency. They dress in the fashion of the modern adventuring girl, which is to say they dress to fish for a husband with a strong sword arm and a decent chance of receiving honors from the Duke for their service in battling monsters. Both of them fit what you know of Geoffrey le Coureur's taste in women quite well: cute faces, ample hips, breasts each the size of their heads, and not much going on inside of their skulls.

Bran watches the two girls clamber over his friend with an expression of wry amusement. The view must be quite good from the bar, you suppose. Both girls are dressed in a way that make them bounce around with every shuffle of their bodies, and have no shyness about display their soft, supple flesh. Or, for that matter, sharing their prize.

You think you hate them more than you hate the womanizer.

He just has his appetites, and is always quite open about them with the girls on his arm. They have no dignity or shame in their attempts to pursue a man with a title, even one as low as Honorary Knight.

"Ay, I got him, I did!" the womanizer puffs out his chest. His doublet bears his sigil, the likeness of the beast he received his knighthood for slaying: a black flame dragon, one of the worst migratory predators that target shepherds and cattle hands alike. "They lumber a bit in the air as they come in to strafe, and once they commit, they can't turn well without risking a burn to themselves. Most arrows wouldn't have pierced its hide, but my javelin is second to none! I picked up my spear, and with all my might, I threw it straight for the beast's flamesacks!"

"And what happened next?" one of the sproingy girls asks, deliberately bouncing in excitement to give a jiggle to her breasts.

"Yeah yeah!" The other girl says, squishing her soft flesh into Sir Geoffrey's arm. "What happened?"

"Well, I-" the womanizer begins to go on another tangent.

"His plan succeeded so well that he nearly got himself engulfed in the fireball," you interrupt him, having had enough of listening to his... slightly embellished story. You wave a hello to Bran, who waves you to a seat next to Sir Geoffrey and his girls. The honorary knight perks up a bit, but you pay him no mind. You prefer you men come with the ability to keep to one woman, an ability the womanizer readily admits he lacks. "Nearly got us all engulfed, as a matter of fact. Luckily, our backs were towards the ocean, so there was plenty of water to pull into a shield and keep us from roasting alive."

"It did the job of killing the beast," Bran points out. You give him the same sort of amused look he gave the girls as they threw themselves at Sir Geoffrey. "It just... some had unforeseen consequences."

>>5766728
"Mona, it's been too long!" The womanizer looks far too happy to see you for your liking. The girls on his arm much less so, throwing glares your way that demand to know who the hell you think you are, butting in on their business. Their glares weaken just a bit when he throws his arms around them, openly palming places that really ought not be openly palmed. "These two fine beauties with me are Cailyn and Áine, my adventuring team these days. Oh, there's also Lisbeth, but she's... ah, out of commission, as it were. Cailyn, Áine, this is Mona, an old adventuring buddy of mine."

"An adventuring buddy...?" one of the floozies asks, looking at her friend.

"An adventuring buddy?" the other floozy echoes her question.

"Yeah, she was... wait, girls, where are you going?" The two girls fell off the Womanizer's arm and surrounded you with remarkable speed, pulling you gently off your stool and dragging you towards the far corner of the pub. Bran has started laughing, while Sir Geoffrey's not sure whether or not to follow them. "What is... Bran, why are you laughing? What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing, just have a drink," Bran pours him a beer. "I'm sure it's just a bit of girls' talk."

Meanwhile, you are learning that despite their skimpy clothes and bimbo looks, these two girls deserve to be in a party of an accomplished adventurer like that womanizer. They both have gifts the riastrad, and splendid control over the supernatural powers it gives. Even partially turning your body to water does not allow you to escape the hold they have on your arms, for their riastrad plugs all the gaps in their grip. You quickly find yourself a victim of the boing-boing squeezing that Sir Geoffrey so enjoyed, except the two of them seem half intent on suffocating you with their breasts.

"Listen," the first one growls a low whisper into your ear. "We don't mind sharing."

"Yeah, we don't mind sharing," the second one nods her head emphatically.

"But there's a order to darling's harem, got it?" the first one presses in closer, looking you in the eye. "Áine, Lisbeth, and I are equal, and you can be too, but we have a schedule that we keep. No one's allowed to monopolize him for herself, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Áine says. "No monopolies unless you wanna get trust busted."

The two floozies do not seem intent on letting you go until you answer them. As a mage, your own riastrad is barely worth mentioning, and though you've your new cane in hand, you've no experience in using it yet.
>Tell them that you have less than zero interest in joining the womanizer's harem. (Roll 1d100)
>Remain silent until Bran or the womanizer comes to your rescue.
>Pretend that you're interested and agree to their terms so that they will let you go.
>Cast a spell to conjure some ice water and shock them enough to let you go.
>Cast a spell to conjure a wave and push them away.

>>5766732
If using hydromancy, make the following choice:
>Use you wand, for it is familiar and you know how well it works.
>Use the cane you just purchased, and test its power. (Roll 1d100)

>>5766732
>Tell them that you have less than zero interest in joining the womanizer's harem. (Roll 1d100)

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>5766732
>Tell them that you have less than zero interest in joining the womanizer's harem. (Roll 1d100)
for the funnies

Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>5766732
>Tell them that you have less than zero interest in joining the womanizer's harem. (Roll 1d100)
Just gonna go out on a limb here and assume that by "Out of commission" he means knocked up

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>5766732
>Tell them that you have less than zero interest in joining the womanizer's harem. (Roll 1d100)

Not sure if you want the rolls now, or after a confirmation post, but here you go.

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>5766732
>Tell them that you have less than zero interest in joining the womanizer's harem. (Roll 1d100)

>>5766732
>>Pretend that you're interested and agree to their terms so that they will let you go.

Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>5766732
>ell them that you have less than zero interest in joining the womanizer's harem. (Roll 1d100)

>>5766732
>Tell them that you have less than zero interest in joining the womanizer's harem. (Roll 1d100)
And he doesn't own that Bugatti

>>5767097
>>5766928
>>5766926
>>5766851
>QM says Roll 1d100
>People roll lots of d100s
Why do people do this so much on qst?

>>5766732
>Tell them that you have less than zero interest in joining the womanizer's harem. (Roll 1d100)
>"If I wanted, I would have already joined it long ago, you bimbos."

>>5767236
Because in a lot of quests it's best of 3 as a standard with one 1d100 meaning 1 die per person

>>5767279
Even if this were true, that would mean more than 3 rolls would be unnecessary, yet people still roll after 3. And in this very quest, QM has specified when he wanted 3 earlier, and this is absent here.

>>5767279
>>5767317
Mom, Dad, please stop fighting...

>>5767252
+1 to this.

>>5767317
Rolling makes the funny brain chemicals go brrrrrrrrr. Not really anything needed beyond that, whether the rolls will be counted or not.

>>5767236
because its fun. and its extra funny if the three first rolls are shit and the next are really good, or viceversa. its good for just randomly bicker

>0g00d4

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>5766732
>>Tell them that you have less than zero interest in joining the womanizer's harem. (Roll 1d100)

>>5766732
> Tell them that you have less than zero interest in joining the womanizer's harem. (Roll 1d100)
> "Please, I've travelled with Geoffrey long enough to know he and the concept of monogamy are like oil and water. But I can tell you that he has somewhat of a wandering eye, and a distaste for high maintenance. If you're worried about some floozy upstaging you, you should show him how enthusiastic you are about him. I'll let you in on a little secret: some of his former... conquests confided in me there's nothing that gets him going more than some teeth."
Respec in social hacking. Extend an olive branch, then pull the rug.

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As tempting as it would be to send these women away upon a current of churning waters, you refrain from self-indulgence. With your wand hanging in its scabbard upon your belt, and your riastrad feeble and weak compared to these buxom barbarians, the familiar focus lay just out of reach. Though the cane in your hand is certainly its superior in both power and control, only a lackwit makes use of a focus before they've a feel for its draw. Too much caution and your spell will fizzle before doing anything of note. Not enough caution and the spell might break the Red Raven, which would leave Bran awfully sore with you.

So, for Bran's sake - at the very least - you refrain from using any magic to force them from your personal space.

"Not interested," you tell the two of them up front.

Your voice is somewhat muffled by the fact that both Cailyn and Áine seem quite intent on smothering you in between their cleavage. Is this some sort of hazing ritual for women they want to induct into their sinful harem life with that accursed womanizer, and his strange southron religion? Or is it just the unfortunate consequence of being born short where these women are giants? You barely scrape past five feet tall, whereas both the ginger and the grassy-blonde must be pushing six, maybe six and a half feet tall! It's just not fair.

"That's a hogshead of hog's arse if I've ever heard it," Cailyn says. At least she backs off a bit now. Though she and Áine bully you into a booth to huddle conspiratorially around the table. "Just look at Sir Geoffrey! You mean to tell me you traveled long enough with that empty-headed hunk of delicious man meat, and you never thought for a moment about jumping his bones?"

"Yeah- wait a minute, what do you mean, empty-headed?" Áine's jaw drops in shock at hearing those words come out of Cailyn's mouth. "Darling's a sweetheart, you shouldn't say stuff like that about him!"

"I dunno," you whisper with a smirk on your face. "Empty-headed womanizer sums him up rather nicely."

"And now you've got her saying it!" Áine makes a wild gesture towards you. With a reproachful look, she adds, "You shouldn't say mean things just because he's your ex. That's how you get a reputation as an unlikeable cu-"

"He's not my ex," you put your hand up and your foot down on the matter. Your sun-colored eyes meet the rose-red eyes of Áine and the sea-blue eyes of Cailyn in quick succession, brokering no argument on the matter. "I have never been, and will never be, interested in that conniving womanizer."

"Now I know you're talking hog's arse," Cailyn shakes her head. With a knowing smile that really irritates you for some reason, she says, "Sir Geoffrey doesn't have a conniving bone in his body. The man's got an honest heart, it just likes to wander a bit is all."

>>5767808
"Which is why the three of us teamed up!" An exuberant light shines in Áine's eyes as she says, "Where one of us alone would end up loosing his leash from how hard he goes in a new directions, the three of us together can herd him well enough that he doesn't wander too far."

"Besides, there are other benefits to our arrangement," Cailyn gives a wolfish grin and pulls a giggling Áine in close. Quite deliberately smashing their sproingy-ness together in a way you suppose would be quite titillating for a man... or a woman who enjoys the company of other women. You've never felt any particular attraction towards other women that goes beyond friendship, but these two clearly have a more prurient bond than that. "Those southron folk have the right idea; men are great, but it's fun to have another girl to play with, too~"

"Yeah, so don't be shy about being honest!" Áine's earnestness as she urges you to join the foursome almost puts you off guard. Her rose-red eyes are bright as the dawn as she assures you that, "You're a cutie, and we'd be happy for the help. Darling just has so much stamina it's hard to-"

You raise a single finger, which cuts Áine off before she can finish.

It seems like you won't be able to escape these two without engaging in girl talk, something you haven't had the time for since Master Cullen took you as his apprentice. You remember enough of those nights, where all the serf girls and even a few commoners would huddle together in the dark beneath a great big blanket and chat away until you slept. The most important topic was how things made you feel, which would evolve into long debates on what color of the rainbow reigns supreme, or why turtles were indisputably the best pets.

The second most important topic was boys. Those ever mysterious and handsome creatures who never think about the most obvious things, and yet often think about things you'd never think to think about at all! Quite strange, quite curious, quite delightful to watch blundering about, you'd try to pick your favorite of the lot. Well, its clear these two have their favorite, but its also clear that they've not had enough proper girl talk to know that everyone has different tastes.

It's your turn to wear an irritatingly self-assured smile as you cast the boys chatting at the bar a meaningful look. "I'm not too interested in golden bears, no matter how sweet their temperament. I prefer ravens with red and black feathers."

You can see the clockwork ticking behind their eyes as they try to parse your meaning.

"Oh," Cailyn is the first of the pair to connect the dots. "You like him? I guess that makes sense."

"Hmmm... I don't get it," Áine looks over at where Sir Geoffrey and Bran are talking about whatever men talk about when women are out of earshot. "He's so... hmmm. Well, if that's the type of guy you like..."

"Some gals like their men to be the unambitious sort, Áine," Cailyn says. "Nothing wrong with that."

>>5767809

"I have ambitions enough for the both of us," you speak only but the truth. Thrumming your fingers along the derby handle of your cane, the ladder you intend to climb all the way to the top of the Red Tower comes to mind. If you're lucky, you won't have to throw too many people down the ladder on your way up. But the climb from a serf's daughter to a seat at the Magecrest is a long one. "So you don't need to worry about me... or invite me to live in sin with a man whose greatest ambition seems to be getting three women fat with child."

"Hey...!" Áine puffs out her cheeks and pouts. "The Brighidan Faith allows it!"

"Our darling is also aiming a bit higher than that," Cailyn says with pride... and then realizes what it sounds like. "Ahem, he's aiming for a fully fledged lordship..."

As you fall into a friendly banter with Sir Geoffrey's "Future Brides in the eyes of Three-Fold Brighid!", your mind wanders to your own ambitions and why you're here. You did not come to find the Womanizer and two of his ladies, but you found them all the same. You wanted Bran for your delve, you know that the Womanizer is more than capable, but these two women... beyond their strong riastrad, they're as unknown to you as the strength of your new focus. Only a fool would use a tool they weren't familiar with on an important job. But you suppose the Womanizer is familiar with them enough.
>Talk with Bran first and see what he thinks about bringing the others along.
>Huddle with Bran and the Womanizer and discuss what those two can bring to the table besides their good looks.
>You think you'll know what their answers are. Bring the job to the whole group; five hands are far greater than two.
>None of this. Go with your original plan. Wait until you can get Bran alone to ship out.
>Write in.

>>5767811
>Talk with Bran first and see what he thinks about bringing the others along.

>>5767811
>Talk with Bran first and see what he thinks about bringing the others along.

>>5767811
>>Huddle with Bran and the Womanizer and discuss what those two can bring to the table besides their good looks.

>>5767811
>Talk with Bran first and see what he thinks about bringing the others along.

>>5767811
>>Talk with Bran first and see what he thinks about bringing the others along.

I'd bet he's raising an army: Entirely of his own children!

Childhood friend route confirmed.

>>5767811
>Talk with Bran first and see what he thinks about bringing the others along.

>>5767811
>Talk with Bran first and see what he thinks about bringing the others along.

>>5767811
>>Talk with Bran first and see what he thinks about bringing the others along.

>>5767811
>None of this. Go with your original plan. Wait until you can get Bran alone to ship out.
We would move faster and work together better with just the two of us rather than needing to herd these cats. It would also help assure them we have no intention of joining the harem. It was our original plan anyways. Leave them so we can get along faster and better off, we've spent enough time here already.

>>5767811
>You think you'll know what their answers are. Bring the job to the whole group; five hands are far greater than two.

>>5767811
>None of this. Go with your original plan. Wait until you can get Bran alone to ship out.
They've turned out to be more decent people than I expected, but not enough to trust them with such valuable info.

>>5767811
>>None of this. Go with your original plan. Wait until you can get Bran alone to ship out.

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"If you'll excuse me..." As pleasant as the conversation is, you have other business to attend to. You did not come to the Red Raven to learn about the womanizer's love life. In all honesty, the less you know about whatever debauchery their strange southron faith permits them, the better for your sanity. You stand yourself up from the booth with the excuse that, "There are sensitive matters that I must attend to. I came here looking for Bran in the hopes that we could have a private conversation, and discuss some... personal business."

The two of them share a meaningful look, and nod at one another before turning back to you with fire in their eyes.

"We'll be rooting for you," Áine assures you.

"Come on, Áine," Cailyn stands up and beckons for her future "sister-wife" - a concept that fills you with mild disgust - to follow her. "Let's go peel darling away from Bran so the two of them can have a little alone time. Though you better tell us of any developments later."

She whispers that last part loud enough that you're fairly certain that you can hear Bran snort in laughter. Or perhaps the womanizer made one of his horrifically poor jokes. In either case, you have no intent to break Áine and Cailyn free from whatever delusion they've conjured in their minds as to the nature of your personal business. Given they've no problems living three women to one man, eager to lay without one another when he's unavailable for the job, they've no doubt something prurient in mind.

Maybe someday that will be true. After all, if Geoffrey could settle - even if it took three women to tame him! - then maybe you can find the time to fit a romantic pursuit into your schedule.

You look at the two men chatting away in their drinks, and for a moment you can almost see what the womanizer's two buxom brutes see in him. For a man raised among the commons, not more than one step higher than a serf, he has a princely bearing indeed. Locks of gold crown his head, just long enough to help frame his high brow and hazel eyes. He keeps himself from garish colors in his clothing, a habit many of his fellow adventurers could learn to keep themselves. Tall, broad, and powerfully built... if you didn't know his habits, he could easily be mistaken for some storybook's hero.

Yet to your eyes, for all those dashing features, he pales in comparison to the man next to him. Curly hair as red as the raven you painted for his tavern's sign, tied back into a loose ponytail save for one lock he always seems to miss that falls and frames his boyish face. Lean where his friend the womanizer is broad, and taller still, if only by an inch or two. But it's his eyes that sets your heart aflutter. A cold and icy blue that hides a flickering warmth behind them, and possessed of a mysterious power.

Somehow every time they meet your own, you return to the being the girl peaking out from behind her mother's skirt, only to get thoroughly charmed by Bran's boyish smile.

>>5768914

If you were not a reasonable woman, you would want those eyes to look at you and you alone. With your duties as an apprentice mage, you rarely had time for the lessons a mother teaches her daughters, but you did learn not to be selfish. You suppose you can share his gaze with the rest of the world, but you refuse to share his interest with any other woman; that is yours and yours alone. An unreasonable request, considering how little time you have to pursue romantic endeavors, but the best men know that the best women are worth waiting for.

Though at twenty five, you are slowly but surely losing your peers to the clutches of marriage and steady, stable relationships. Soon you might be the only woman among the Researchers your age who hasn't paired off with one of her male counterparts or an old flame. Then there's the matter of the risks to your potential children that get worse and worse the further out from your first menses that you ge-

"Darling~!" Áine's cheerful voice as she latches onto her fiance breaks you from your worries. "You didn't tell us that you had such an interesting friend."

"Indeed, my love," Cailyn follows up by grabbing his other arm. "Dear Mona told us so many delightful stories about your youthful adventures. Why, I never knew that you could go five days straight with a succubus without breaking a sweat. What an interesting claim to have made~"

"Ahahahahaha..." There is little humor on the womanizer's face as the two women slowly drag him towards the door of the Red Raven. Only a brief look of betrayal directed at you, before it turns into a pleading gaze directed at his oldest friend. "Bran, I'm in danger."

"Danger?" Áine slumps into a exaggerated pout. "You're not in any danger from us, Darling~"

"We just want to test some of those claims you made, is all~" Cailyn says, running a seductive finger down his chest. The womanizer shivers in terror.

"Help."

"Fine, fine, I'll help," Bran sighs. He reaches down beneath the counter of the bar, rummage around for something or another. When his hand comes back up, it holds a large silver coin that he tosses to Cailyn. With a smirk at his friend's expense, he tells them that, "There's an inn that rents rooms by the hour at the corner of Forge and Baker. I've heard they'll also rent you some equipment to help keep a man who likes to wander in place until you're done with him. Just make sure you return our dragonslayer to us in one piece, will you."

"No promises are made," Cailyn says as she flips the coin and pockets it. "His pelvis may not survive."

"Traitors..." Sir Geoffrey gives an exaggerated sniff and a fake sob. From the twinkle in his eye, he does not mind the situation at all. "Traitors, the lot of you!"

"So," As the happy throuple leave the Red Raven, you click your tongue in disapproval. "Why do you know where to find the sort of inn that rents by the hour, Bran? Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

>>5768916
"I run a tavern," Bran says, as if that were a worthy explanation. When you continue to stare a hole through him with disappointed eyes, he lets out a sigh of long suffering. "Look, putting this place back together keeps me every bit as busy as your research keeps you. But the sort of people who come here for drinks are closer to Geoff than to hermits like us. You've got to know where to recommend when the girl they came to get drinks with starts getting a bit too handsy for a public space."

"Hmmm..." you eye a particularly interesting piece of dust, not sure that you buy that excuse.

"Alright, fine, be like that." Bran lets out a long sigh, before hopping back to the tender's side of the bar. After a moment, he slides you a mug filled with the same hardened cider you've been drinking since he opened the place. "So, what are you scheming?"

Hearing him ask such a ridiculous question, you quaff down the entire drink in one go before slamming the mug down on the counter in annoyance. As infuriating as ever, Bran lets out a soft chuckle and fills you right back up. "What do you mean, what am I scheming?"

"Well, you only ever drop around on off hours for two things," Bran says. You don't like that smile on his face as he watches you down the second cider. You don't like it one bit, he thinks he's got your number! "Either you've got some plan brewing inside that big, brilliant head of yours that needs my help - and maybe Geoff's, if you've remembered that you don't actually hate the man - or..."

"Or what?" you demand, slamming the mug down again. Without a word, Bran refills it.

"Or you're here to get yourself drunk enough to build up the courage to ask me out on a date." You choke on your drink when he says that. Not at the words, he's 100% right, you do that from time to time, typically right after one of your coworkers shows off her boyfriend at the Tower. But the tone he says it in is so... so... matter of course, as if it was as interesting as the weather. "Which you will then apologetically back out of two days later when you realize that you're triple booked that day and can't leave the Tower."

"Sorry..." you say, slumping onto the bar.

"It's fine," Bran says with a chuckle. "Good things come to those who wait, after all. And it's not like any of the barflies who've tried seducing me are even half your measure."

You are suddenly very glad that your face is hidden in your arms. If Bran could see just how red his words have made you, you're fairly sure you would die. "You're the best and that's the worst."

"I try," Bran says, and you can feel his strong hand pat your head affectionately. Your ears must be red as a tomato as he asks, "So... scheme, or date?"
>Does a dungeon crawl with just the two of us count as a date?
>How would you feel about renting a boat, sailing out during the sunset...
>Well, it's LIKE a date (explain your scheme)
>Alright, here's the plan...
>(Write in)

>>5768919
>Well, it's LIKE a date (explain your scheme)

>>5768919
>Well, it's LIKE a date (explain your scheme)

>>5768919
>Does a dungeon crawl with just the two of us count as a date?

>>5768919
>Does a dungeon crawl with just the two of us count as a date?

>>5768919
>Well, it's LIKE a date (explain your scheme)

Cute.

>>5768919
>>Well, it's LIKE a date (explain your scheme)

>>5768919
>Does a dungeon crawl with just the two of us count as a date?

>How would you feel about renting a boat, sailing out during the sunset...

>>5768919
>Does a dungeon crawl with just the two of us count as a date?

>>5768919
>>Well, it's LIKE a date (explain your scheme)

>>5768919
>>How would you feel about renting a boat, sailing out during the sunset...

>>5768919
>>How would you feel about renting a boat, sailing out during the sunset...
I like their chemistry

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"Well it's like a date..." Your words trail off as you that damned smile on his face. Oh, he's making a show of looking down as he polishes the mugs with an off-white rag, but that thrice-damned smile he always gets once he sees through you has already split his face. He knows you too well for his own good - and your own good, for that matter. You can feel your ears turning back to the shade of red they just recovered from.

"Scheme it is, then." Bran fills the silence that hangs between you before it gets too awkward. Putting the clean mug on its rack, he leans over the bar. "So, what's that brain of yours hatched this time around? We hunting some exotic creature? Or are we looking for some rare plant that only grows in the Deep Wylds?"

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, slumping forward just a bit.

Then with an small a-hem you cough out your despondent worries and puff right back up, throwing your petite chest so far forward that you nearly lose your balance and fall off of your stool. Once you right yourself - pretending you did not hear his annoying, bell-like laughter - you ask him to, "Imagine if you will, a romantic voyage across the gentle waters of the Mare Phantasos. Out beyond the bounds of the bay, where one can hardly see another sail, the sun hanging low upon the horizon. Just you, me, and the scent of the sea, beneath a sky painted with every shade of red, the coral of the Míledath glowing like a rainbow beneath our boat..."

"Hold on a minute..." Bran interrupts you. His amusement has fallen off his face, his icy blue eyes appraising you with a simmering anticipation too timid to shine through. "That sounds less like a date and more like a romantic getaway. Did you finally manage to squeeze blood from a stone and get some time off from the old ha-"

With a panicked squeak, you throw yourself over the bar to clasp his mouth shut with both hands.

A few things get knocked over, but unlike the heroines of your bodice rippers, you have not the strength nor the riastrad to knock your... uh, your Bran over. No, you have neither strength nor mass to so much as make him stumble. The thoughts of whether or not that's a good or bad thing run right out of your mind the moment that Bran does something any red blooded man would do when a woman literally throws himself at you. All other thoughts flee swiftly after at the unfamiliar sensation, when his hand takes full advantage of how close you've gotten and takes a nice big squeeze of your bottom.

The first thing that comes to mind is the fact that from the coin he tossed to Cailyn, that inn must only charge a silver for enough time to get the deed done. Between the grants funding your research and your stipend all Researchers receive from the Duke and Crown, you have plenty of silver. More than enough to give all the equipment Bran had spoken of to Cailyn a try.

For the sake of furthering human knowledge of the tantric arts, of course!

Your reason swiftly chases away those invasive, prurient thoughts. As nice as his hand feels down there, and however perfect a fit your bottom may be to his grip, you did not clap his lips sealed just to get taken down a dreamy tangent! No, he very nearly said something dangerous. With a face like a red tomato and a girlish glare that speaks ill of both his deeds her, you chastise him, saying, "How many times do I have to remind you? Don't say the H word!"

Lower your hands from his lips, you slide out of Bran's grip and back onto your stool. The perplexed look upon his face lingers for a moment before he looks you in the eye and asks, "Are you asking me out of a concern for Madame Cailleach's feelings? A woman of her stature and poise should pay such things no mind."

It seems your dear Bran has much to learn about the hearts of women. Even a frigid and iron-hearted woman like the Chair of Elemental Research has a maiden's heart deep down inside her breast... as tiny and shriveled as it may be.

"That is certainly true in theory." You give him a pitying look that only deepens the confusion on his face as you explain, "But in practice... a woman of her skill in austromancy might just hear every utterance of that word within the bounds of Baileport. She might just keep a tab on everyone who spoke it in relation to her person. And she might just have a blacklist that takes a very long time for people to come off of. But even worse than any of that..."

You pause for drama in a pose that's clearly fishing for Bran to say something to the effect of "what could possibly be worse than that." Sadly, your desired response never comes, only a flat stare from Bran.

With a sigh, you continue on, "If she hears you say it, she'll listen in and see if you're discussing anything interesting. It's said that entire theorems have been stolen by her because the original author could not hold her tongue."

"So I take it this romantic getaway will be taking us somewhere you don't want the ol- Madame Cailleach to know we're going." Bran looks for a nod of confirmation, and when you reach it, he grabs a backpack that's already filled with his adventuring equipment. Tossing it over his shoulder, he quickly scribbles out the words "Gone Venturing" onto a sheaf of paper and pins to the board behind the bar. "Liam should be able to hold the fort on his own, so long as you're not planning on taking me halfway across the kingdom."

A smile breaks across your face. Like always, he thought a step ahead of you in not asking where you planned to venture towards. After all, Madam Cailleach - or any other austromancer - could be listening for something interesting to come up on the wind. "Not near as far as that. You'll know when we get there."

>>5769771

"That's what I like to hear." He grabs the sword resting atop the mantle before he meets you at the door. "It's always more fun when you set out with an unknown destination."

The blade now hanging from his belt is a basket-hilted broadsword that sits a hair's breadth over forty-four inches long. It rests within a scabbard of red-stained oak held together with moonsteel fastenings, which bears the makers mark of the Clan mac Ceàrdaich. That family of blacksmiths goes back a thousand years, to when the Port of Baile belonged to one of the Nine Penny Kingdoms that lorded over the summer's coast before the Crown of Coróin brought those petty kings to heel.

One could not hope to find a better swordsmith in the Duchy, and you would be hard pressed to find their equal anywhere else in the kingdom. Only the Duke has the right to commission a blade from that Clan, and the one hanging from Bran's belt was reward for his part in slaying the black flame dragon. A fine mantel piece, a fine story to tell over drinks, and fine deterrent for thieves who might eye its moonsteel blade, for to steal a gift given by the Duke is to steal from the Duke himself.

Of course, it's a fine blade as well. You do not know swords, but its easily the superior of your wand; though of your new cane, you would not know.

The two of you make haste to gather any supplies. After reserving a ducat to rent your boat - and have no questions asked - you have thirty deniers remaining in your cash on hand with which to quickly and discretely purchase supplies. You could draw more from your savings at the bank, but that risks catching someone's eye.
>Minor Healing Potion. It will help you recover from most wounds. (4 deniers each)
>Greater Healing Potion. It will recover you from the brink of death, and even reattach lost limbs. (15 deniers each)
>Diving suit. A skintight suit that keeps you warm in the ocean and makes swimming much easier (6 deniers)
>Invisibility Potion. Will make you invisible for up to one post, invisibility breaks upon attacking. (9 deniers each)
>Conflagration Oil. An oil that will make a fireball that burns even underwater. (12 deniers each)
>Stoneskin Potion. A potion that will make your skin as hard as stone for a day, providing great defensive benefit. (5 deniers each)
>Darksight Potion. A potion that sacrifices your ability to discern color to give you the ability to see in the dark for a day (2 denier each)
>Wakepill. A spherical pill that allows you to forgo sleeping for a single night. It is advised not to use this for more than two nights in a row, and long term side effects are dangerous to your heart. (1 denier each)

Roll 1d100 three times. This will relate to the dockmaster's discretion, the weather, and any encounters you may have at sea.

>>5769772
>Greater Healing Potion. It will recover you from the brink of death, and even reattach lost limbs. (15 deniers each)
1
>Diving suit. A skintight suit that keeps you warm in the ocean and makes swimming much easier (6 deniers)
2
>Darksight Potion. A potion that sacrifices your ability to discern color to give you the ability to see in the dark for a day (2 denier each)
1
>Wakepill. A spherical pill that allows you to forgo sleeping for a single night. It is advised not to use this for more than two nights in a row, and long term side effects are dangerous to your heart. (1 denier each)
1

Rolled 10, 83, 68 = 161 (3d100)

>>5769772
Dropped my roll

>>5769776
In case you were buying a second diving suit for Bran, this is unnecessary. There's a reason why it's the only option that doesn't have an "each" attached to it. Apologies for any confusion.

Rolled 62 (1d100)

>>5769772
>Minor Healing Potion (4)
>Greater Healing Potion (15)
>Diving suit (6)
>Darksight Potion x2 (4)
>Wakepill (1)

Rolled 15 (1d100)

>>5769787
+1

>>5769772
>Diving suit
>Stoneskin Potion x2
>Darksight Potion x2
>Minor Healing Potion x2

Rolled 15 (1d100)

>>5769787
>+1

No real opinion on the vote at this point, just want to give kudos for the quality and depth of your writing OP. Mona is so cute! Here's hoping we can eventually get her to her rightful place on the Magecrest...while also getting Bran into her bed, of course. I have a particular soft spot for ambitious lusty twin-tailed mages...

>>5769780
I see, in that case
>>5769776
Changing my vote to
>Diving suit. A skintight suit that keeps you warm in the ocean and makes swimming much easier (6 deniers)
1
>Greater Healing Potion. It will recover you from the brink of death, and even reattach lost limbs. (15 deniers each)
1
>Stoneskin Potion. A potion that will make your skin as hard as stone for a day, providing great defensive benefit. (5 deniers each)
1
>Minor Healing Potion. It will help you recover from most wounds. (4 deniers each)
1

Prioritizing healing and protection

>>5769787
>>5769827
>>5769932
Doesn't that cost 34 instead of 30?

>>5769772
>>5769787
I'll back this, might as well.

>>5770075
A (single) Darksight Potion costs 2 deniers, so two potions gives us four.

>>5770088
Ah, got it.

>>5770074
Supporting!

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>5769787
+1

Giving you all notice that I fell sick today and won't be able to update tonight. Hopefully I'll be back to business after getting some sleep.

>>5770674
No worries, QM. Get well soon!

>>5770674
Sorry to hear that

File: The Great Reef of Míledath.png (1.44 MB, 1024x1024)

1.44 MB PNG

Clear skies and calm seas greet you on the waters of Mare Phantasos.

The lateen sail of your rented dinghy catches a gentle wind that blows off the Fisher's Arm, the only quarter of Baileport not yet sunken beneath the horizon. Fair weather and favorable winds allow you to make better time than you could have hoped for. Without your help, the boat cuts across the glassy waters at speeds approaching fifteen knots, leaving gentle ripples in its wake. With your whalebone wand and fine control of mana's flow, you shape the waters around you to squeeze the boat's hull forward with peristaltic action.

Ten knots turns to fifteen. With speeds as fast as any racing yacht, your dinghy makes far better time than any ship laden with mercenaries and equipment could. Even with a mage of Madame Cailleach's caliber aboard to force the winds and shape the seas, it becomes a matter of inertia and how much force the masts can handle before they crack beneath the winds or the sails rip apart. You and Bran will reach the Great Reef of Míledath's edge in a single day and night, when a larger ship would take three, or even four.

Yet the part of you that cannot shake your doubts in the dockmaster's discretion finds your gaze wandering greedily to your leviathan bone cane.

A tool of its caliber could make up for your greatest deficiency with ease.

The amount of magic power you can channel at a given time lags greatly behind your peers, a fact reflected by your less than impressive bust. They call you La Petite Chercheuse for good reason. Though your control over your magic earns you much respect, raw power determines social status more than anything else among the mages of the Red Tower. Even those women who don't put much stock in such things wear garments carefully crafted to flaunt and exaggerate the most blatant physical sign of the power at their disposal.

As a woman with barely anything to show, you prefer loose and elegant garments that leave your exact measurements to the imagination of the beholder. Just as so-called greater mages need expend ten times the mana to cast the same spell, so too do they need to expose the vulgar cleavage of a bust ten times the size of your own to turn as many heads.

Or so you would like to tell yourself.

Like make-up and finely tailored clothing easily bridges the gap in bust size, a focus crafted from a material like leviathan bone would let you drawn upon a quantity of mana like a mage born with far greater gifts. The problem comes with how well you can control that magic. With practice, of course, you would return to the same level of control you possess when using the familiar wand of whalebone currently in hand. But with an unfamiliar tool, you fear that you will become a swimmer adrift amidst the rapids, directed by the strength of the river rather than directing the flow of the current.

>>5771792
With the leviathan bone cane, you suspect that you could easily bring the dinghy up to a speed of twenty or even thirty knots without the need for a wind at your back. But just as easily, the peristaltic action of the waters could crush the boat and leave you stranded in the reef. Waters as warm as those on upon the Míledath Shelf will not kill you swiftly as the chill of the abyss, but given time they will kill you all the same. Even should a fisher's ship come about and keep to the sea's unspoken laws that no man be left overboard, you may just die of embarrassment as soon as the story begins circling around.

Perhaps worse than breaking your boat is the thought of damaging the reef. As the sun begins its descent below the horizon, the thousand colored coral of the Míledath begins to glow in the darkness of the night. The aurora of the waters stretches over the full course of the reef, creating a stretch of ocean thrice again as large as the Kingdom where the sea shines as brightly as a full moon.

The lights of the give more than vision in the night for sailors. Every patch of color is unique as the stars above, making the shifts in color a favorite means for ships to navigate by. More than bounties of fish and pearls, without the reef intact, trade ships would have trouble knowing the way to their destination.

Naturally, in the Kingdom's territorial waters, the Crown holds the reefs as their personal property.

To damage them carries with it the same penalty as damaging the Royal Forests. Regardless of your intent, intentionally damaging the reefs carries the penalty of death, the confiscation of any profits made from the act, and runs the risk of seeing your family's status ripped away. Accident carries a far lighter penalty of ten years of labor for the crown, or the payment of a fine covering twice the costs of restoring the damage. As a researcher, the Red Tower would surely cover the fine for you... but you would almost rather be made to dance for the lecher prince's pleasure than be so indebted to the Magecrest.

Rather than risk damage to the reef from waters churning beyond your control, you stick with your wand. Though it might be the lesser tool, its familiarity in your hands allows you a far more delicate touch upon the currents beneath the mirror-still surface of the Mare Phantasos.

As you push the boat along through the night, Bran masters the rudder and sail with expert ease. This would not be the first time you've dragged him off to the sea on some venture, and nor do you think it shall be the last. You think this would have inoculated you against his most irritable habit, but as the night goes on he refuses to let it pass in sweet still silence. No, he must fill the soothing darkness with his incessant humming of an old song whose words he never bothered to learn.

>>5771795
Of course, you know the lyrics quite well. He knows that. Like so many times before, he's trying to get you to sing for him as a way to pass the time. For some reason, he likes the sound of your singing voice, despite your complete inability to carry a proper tune.
>Fine! You'll sing it for the louse.
>You refuse to go along with his games. Sing him that song he doesn't care for.
>Remain silent until he whines like a puppy and uses his words to ask you.
>Hum along with him and see how HE likes it. HMPH.
>Ask him to please cease. You're trying to concentrate on propelling the boat, and the noise might cause an accident (this, of course, is a lie).

Roll 3d100 and take the high value for your singing roll.
Roll 1d100 to determine what awaits you at the Dungeon

[u]Inventory[/u]
Abyssal Water Jug: Contains most necessary mundane gear for day-to-day ventures.
Diving Suit (Worn): Skin-Tight clothes meant for underwater exploration.
Leviathan Bone Cane: A magic focus of frightening power, that you have little experience with.
Medicine Pouch: Contains the following potions and medicines
>10x Basic Healing Potions (For minor cuts and small wounds)
>2x Darksight Potions (Grants Darkvision for 1 Day)
>1x Greater Healing Potion (For broken bones, missing limbs, or major fatal wounds)
>1x Minor Healing Potion (For smaller wounds that could be lethal)
>1x Wakepill
Whalebone Wand: A compact magical focus that is a splendid tool for everyday use.

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>5771799
>Fine! You'll sing it for the louse.
I don't see why not. We are trying to get closer to him, aren't we?

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>5771799
>Fine! You'll sing it for the louse.
singing roll

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>5771792
>glassy waters
>fifteen knots
>gentle ripples in its wake
This sure is a fantasy setting.

>>5771799
>Hum along with him and see how HE likes it. HMPH.

Rolled 57, 90, 92 = 239 (3d100)

>>5771799
>Fine! You'll sing it for the louse.

>>5771799
>Hum along with him and see how HE likes it. HMPH.
You don't get to be in will-they-won't-they purgatory by being direct.

File: 3939f8e08ab218be5851b7bc4(...).png (41 KB, 1600x1200)

41 KB PNG

>>5771904
The absolute stillness of the waters undisturbed by the boat was intentional and has to do with setting cosmology. The wake being smaller than it should be was not, but I don't really know what the wake of boat being propelled to 10 knots by the wind and then another 5 by the peristaltic action of oscillations in subsurface water pressure would look like. I am also still not feeling 100% and probably made more errors this post than usual, but I didn't want to fall off this for too long.

Basically Mona used her hydromancy to create something that was in effect a linear peristaltic pump inside of the water to push the dinghy forward; see the diagram for a gist of how that works. I have no idea how that would effect the wake of the boat, though gentle ripples at that speed (which looking at the pages I checked again, was probably a fair bit high) were probably the wrong description.

>>5770071
Thank you, anon!

Rolled 40, 47, 100 = 187 (3d100)

>>5771799
>Remain silent until he whines like a puppy and uses his words to ask you.

>>5772107
I won't say anything about peristaltic action, but the wake from the natural 10 knot speed would consist of rather noticeable waves.

Now the fact that the wind doesn't cause waves in this setting because of cosmology, that is very curious.

>>5771799
>>Hum along with him and see how HE likes it. HMPH.
Got a toss in a little tsun before we start getting dere

>>5771799
>Hum along with him and see how HE likes it. HMPH.

so tsun~

Rolled 89, 64, 98 = 251 (3d100)

>>5771799
>>Fine! You'll sing it for the louse.

File: FISH.jpg (37 KB, 331x490)

37 KB JPG

Not a chance.

No way.

Too many times have you gone red in the ears and red in the face because a certain lovable louse hummed the tune of one of the old songs until it drilled its way into your head and absolutely refused to leave. You like singing. You have no talent for it. When a song gets stuck in the creases of your brain like that, though, the only way it will leave your head is through your mouth. And they always forget to bring the pitch and key you remembered with them, leaving them behind like a coat on a rack.

When the mood strikes you while working in your atelier, you can at least rest assured that no one can hear your wretched singing. Out in public - or out on the waters upon a boat built for two - you have a difficult decision to make. On one side, you can allow the song to sink deeper and deeper into your thoughts and let it fester inside of your mind, slowly driving you to madness. On the other side, you can relieve yourself of this torment by baring your shame to the world, allowing the naked lyrics to just prance out of your mouth, free spirited as a bird.

Knowing that when you do, that thrice accursed and most humiliating smile will soon find its way onto Bran's face, setting your face ablaze with shame just as surely as if he had seen you naked. Your own desires to show the man your naked body and entrust your maidenhood to him some day notwithstanding, neither outcome is ideal.

Of course Bran knows how you get with this sort of thing.

That's why he does it. He finds your reactions to his teasing amusing, and relishes every opportunity he gets to poke and prod you like this. Mercifully, he never does this when anyone else is around. The louse probably wants to hoard all of your embarrassment for himself, so he doesn't have to share it with anyone else. Which you appreciate, but it would be even better if he didn't tease you in the first place!

Bran plays dirty. He chose a particularly insidious ear worm to hum. The Seer of the Sea likes to crawl its way into the folds of your brain the moment it wriggled into your ear, plant itself right deep down there, and resist every attempt to yank it out by the roots. You can already feel it tickling at your mind, trying to worm its way inside of your head and cozy up against your thoughts. Like sand upon the beach, the harder you try to grab it and rip it out and away, the faster it slips from your hands.

The louse is trying to toy with you. Worse, because he knows you so well, it's working. There are certain things you know you could do to get right back at him and make him flustered, but you are not brave enough for that sort of thing just yet.

All the same, you absolutely refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You're not going to let him see your embarrassed face! And if he wanted to hear your off-key singing, he should have just asked!

>>5773834
"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..."

"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..."

Neither of you acknowledge how far you've escalated over the course of the night. Your eyes have been glued to the map and compass, course correcting every now and again to keep the boat on track against the coral of the Míledath. Bran's eyes have been glued to the horizon, looking out for the wakes of greater ships and the signs of any disturbances in the water. Crystal clear and lit by the coral, aquatic monsters don't do much business in this part of the Mare Phantasos, but that doesn't mean attacks are unheard of.

Just rare, and usually carried out by desperate monsters.

If any monster wanted to attack you, now would be the hour. You and Bran have progressively gotten louder and louder, your hums becoming more and more obnoxious and off-key as time sped by. Neither of you would allow the other to remain "on top" of the humming match for long. The tune of Seer of the Sea is long distant memory now, no longer threatening to squat in your mind like beggars in the abandoned warehouses of Fisherman's Arm. Instead, a monotone hum born of a contest of volume fills the moments before dawn with wordless battle of wills.

At least until Bran pulls another dirty trick. The hour grows late, your destination grows near, and the part of you that isn't focused on keeping louder than him is busy with the map.

So of course he goes right back to humming Seer of the Sea at your weakest moment.

It slips right into your brain like a parasite and immediately assumes direct control. With the tune well and truly stuck in your head, you almost feel compelled to start singing along with it. No, worse, you know that it will pinching at your temples to escape if you don't sing it immediately.

"Alright, fine!" you toss Bran a sour look for his dirty tactics and spitefully concede that, "You win!"

"Whatever could you mean by that, Mona?" Bran asks, all too innocently.

"I'm quite sure you know very well what I mean, you louse. HMPH!" Throwing your gaze away from Bran, you struggle to hold out for as long as possible. But the cruel man is egging you on now, humming it just loudly enough for you to hear the tune beneath the wind. Eventually, you'll either need to scream in frustration, or just relent and sing...

You decide there's more dignity in the latter. "The fair seer of the sea; Brought the king her prophecy; Far beyond the southern pass; Lay an ocean still as glass; In fair weather or a storm; Nary a wave shall be born; For those waters were the-"

A sudden jerk rocks the dinghy with nearly enough force to send you out of your seat. You look to Bran, whose grip upon the rudder gotten quite a bit tighter.

>>5773836

"Maelstrom," Bran curses, both hands on the rudder and trying to steer the boat away from the current that has you in its grip. He looks at you with determined eyes and asks, "Tell me there's something your hydromancy can do about this, Mona."

You reach out to the sea and touch it with your mind, which gives you some very good news. "This is where we need to be! The dungeon should be right below us."

"That's great," Bran says, though he does not sound nearly as happy for the news as you do. The boat lurches as the maelstrom pulls it into a circle. "We are still stuck in a maelstrom!"

Indeed, you are. Looking at the sea, you think you understand what is happening. The Mare Phantasos should never have waves nor maelstroms within it, not born of natural phenomenon such as wind and storm and even the violent suction of an open sinkhole. However, magic can so much more easily effect the waters here, and humans are not the only ones that can perform it. In this case, the school of fish you saw in your vision, you see them now beneath the maelstrom, circling one another with such speed that the waters cannot help but follow them into their funnel formation.

At the bottom, on what is now dry land, you can see the gate to the dungeon. But, the maelstrom is a problem that you need to deal with. (Roll 3d100, keep the highest, unknown DCs for each option)
>Try to disturb the magic of the fish. The dungeon's gate should not be too arduous to simply swim down to.
>Try to stabilize the boat along the side of the whirpool and sail it down.
>Try to push the boat away from the current that has it caught, far enough to drop anchor.
>Try to peel the boat from the maelstrom and into the air with a bubble of water.

Which focus do you use?
>You need precision here. Use the Whalebone Wand.
>You need power above all else. Use the Leviathanbone Cane.

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>5773837
>Try to stabilize the boat along the side of the whirpool and sail it down.
>You need precision here. Use the Whalebone Wand.
Cute scene, very Tsun. Onwards and downwards!

Rolled 36 (1d100)

>>5773837
>Try to stabilize the boat along the side of the whirpool and sail it down.

>You need precision here. Use the Whalebone Wand.

>>5773837
>Try to stabilize the boat along the side of the whirpool and sail it down.
>You need precision here. Use the Whalebone Wand.

Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>5773837

>>5773837
>Try to stabilize the boat along the side of the whirpool and sail it down.
>You need precision here. Use the Whalebone Wand.

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>5773837
>>Try to stabilize the boat along the side of the whirpool and sail it down.
>>You need precision here. Use the Whalebone Wand.

Rolled 3, 77, 2 = 82 (3d100)

>>5773837
>>Try to stabilize the boat along the side of the whirpool and sail it down.
>>You need precision here. Use the Whalebone Wand.

>>5773837
>Try to push the boat away from the current that has it caught, far enough to drop anchor.
>You need precision here. Use the Whalebone Wand.
You bandwagoners are nuts. How do you intend we get back up? We'll be stranded if we just sail down. We need a boat to come back to.

>>5774131
+1 to this.

Riding down the side is cool, but come one man.

File: whirlpool_f117.jpg (430 KB, 3200x2400)

430 KB JPG

"What on earth are you doing, Mona!" Bran shouts over the roar the current. The waters draining all the way to the seabed drown his voice beneath the heavy groan of waves crashing against the ocean floor. The funnel becomes a glittering rainbow as the fish grow ever closer to the water's surface, their colors bright as the coral they call their home. The ocean follows, a tornado beneath the glass-still surface of the Mare Phantasos. The noise is such that you can only hear the faintest burbles of Bran's as he calls for you. "The current's going to rip us apart if you don't pull us out now!"

"I have a better idea," you declare with certainty.

"Your better ideas always get us in trouble!" Bran protests. He makes no further argument than that, beyond clinging tightly to the rudder and the ropes that guide the masts. Though he does begin to pray, "Seven weavers of our fates, hallowed is thy loom. Thy pattern spun, thy will as one, have mercy upon we lowly sinners..."

You already have your wand in hand. Master Cullen's gift for what he called your graduation, before he even sent you off to the Red Tower so many years ago. Seventeen inches carved of whalebone and gilded with runic tracery of moonsilver to direct the flowing waters of your mana into spells. Rather than a circle, the profile of the wand took the shape of an uneven isosceles triangle whose corners had been rounded off. At least, until it reached its grip of polished willow wood, stained with dyes until it reach reach a hue as deep and dark a blue as the sea.

A fine wand. A journeyman's tool with which you are intimately familiar. The focus you have used for years in your research at the tower and in your many delves beneath the texture of the world, whose use you have mastered. There is something to be said about knowing the tool that you are using well, even if that tool might not be the greatest of its kind. You know the quirks in how the water of you mana passes through it. Where it resists, where it gives as you weave the flow of magic into a spell, and how it responds in every situation.

One might call it the step beyond an entry level catalyst. The sort of focus one might purchase when they no long wish to weave magic as a hobby, but as a profession. A humble and reliable tool, but not the sort of thing a master would use.

You have decades to go before you deserve the title of Mistress of Hydromancy.

That said, in terms of fine control and precision, you like to think you approach that level. After all, with precise enough control, what need do you have for brute force? Outside the ever-still Mare Phantasos, the waters of the sea move with tight mathematical precision based upon the motions of the False Moon, the True Moon, and the Imaginary Moon. Even moreso than stone, wind, and fire, the water that cannot compress benefits greatly from precise control.

It is a finely controlled spell you cast. "Three are the moons that shepherd the tides..."

>>5774872
Waters gathers beneath your dinghy, pushing it up and along, keeping it stable against the churning currents that feed into the funnel. Bran almost relaxes his grip upon the rudder as the rocking of the boat stabilizes, only to stare at you in horror as you direct the current towards the eye of the Maelstrom. The funnel's slope is not so steep, it would make a fine ladder to the sunken gate - so why shouldn't you make use of it?

"Two is the peak and the valley," you declare the second stanza of your incantation. With a flourish of your whalebone wand, rings of water encircle your craft, stabilizing its position as it circles down the drain like a liquid gyroscope. "The flows of rising and falling water that heed the moon's call!"

Understanding that the direction of the ship is now entirely out of his control, Bran gives up on the rudder and holds fast to the mast. His body coils, ready to spring overboard at a moment's notice, positioned to grab onto you should your spell fail and the whole thing comes crashing down. With his riastrad, he could easily scoop you up and nail the landing with ease, from fifty feet or a hundred and fifty feet.

His concern for you makes you happy. It really does - your ears pinken and a smile creeps onto your face.

But it is unnecessary.

Riding an existing current, creating a stable shell of water that can carry you along, you learned the principles of these spells in your childhood. Extending them beyond your person to a dinghy takes only a little more effort. A large boat might have strained at the limits of your mana, but this little boat is a comfortable size for you to control, especially with such a familiar tool in hand.

All it takes to finish your ride down is the final stanza of your spell: "One is the shore where the sea meets the water, where the sailor may return from the sea."

The dinghy glides away from the funnel's wall, into the undisturbed shallows that surround the gate. The land down here is not dry, for shallow waters hardly an inch deep cover what remains of the coral and the kelp. At the center of the Maelstrom's eye, a great gate stands closed. Upon its stony surface is the same sigil that bloomed from the tip of your wand as you cast your spell. The three pronged swirl of the triskelion whirlpool, the symbol of hydromancy.

Bran being bran, he gives the stone door a shove. "It's locked. Let me grab my tools..."
>Allow Bran to open the door with his tools. This might take some time, but it's within his abilities. (Roll 1d4)
>Try to use hydromancy upon the door. Perhaps you may be lucky, and it will resonate with your magic and open (Roll 1d100)
>Try to use your hydromancy to force your way into the dungeon. Dungeons are durable, so it might make good practice for getting used to your cane's might. (Roll 1d100)
>Assist Bran with your Hydromancy where you can. It might be quicker than his tools. (Roll 1d100 and 2d4)

>>5774873
>Assist Bran with your Hydromancy where you can. It might be quicker than his tools. (Roll 1d100 and 2d4)

Let's see here.

Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>5774873
>>Try to use hydromancy upon the door. Perhaps you may be lucky, and it will resonate with your magic and open (Roll 1d100)

Rolled 4 (1d4)

>>5774873
>>Allow Bran to open the door with his tools. This might take some time, but it's within his abilities. (Roll 1d4)
If we get in his way it seems it might take much longer, assuming I'm interpreting the d4 roll as the time it takes correctly

>>5774873
>Assist Bran with your Hydromancy where you can. It might be quicker than his tools. (Roll 1d100 and 2d4)

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>5774873
>Assist Bran with your Hydromancy where you can. It might be quicker than his tools. (Roll 1d100 and 2d4)

Rolled 4 (1d4)

>>5774873
Rolling

Rolled 3, 3 = 6 (2d4)

>>5774873
>>Assist Bran with your Hydromancy where you can. It might be quicker than his tools. (Roll 1d100 and 2d4)

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>5775152

>>5775077
Supporting!

Keeping you posted that I have company tonight and tomorrow, and will not be able to post.

>>5775610
No worries OP

>>5775610
Understood

>>5775610
OP my dude, are you still caught in real life stuff ?

I really hope this isn't dead

>Posts he has company
>Vanishes
We will see this on True Crime.

>>5778117
>>5780710
>>5780734
>>5780754
I proceeded to catch either the flu or the rona from said company, and was laid up all weekend and most of this week. Updating was not a priority while I was coughing my lungs out. But I live, and will be back to things tomorrow evening.

>>5783545
Sorry that happened OP, Corona is a real bitch

>>5783545
Get well soon, OP!

>>5783545
Get well soon!

>>5783545
hope you're better now, OP.

>>5783545
Be well, QM, and drink plenty of liquid.

>>5783545
Sweet baby Jesus, Mona will return!

File: Mona 2.jpg (2.03 MB, 1800x2400)

2.03 MB JPG

This is not the first time you and Bran have cracked open one of the mystic stone gates that separate the domain spaces of a dungeon from the texture of reality. The path of even the most half-hearted adventurer passes by the monolithic structures quite frequently. An entrance to a dungeon will always stand wide open, t'is sure, but such structures can also be found inside of dungeons. When they are open, they represent a well understood path for those who hunt monsters, and when they are closed they conceal hidden treasures and unknown dangers.

That makes it hard for any adventurer to resist. Especially one that has poked its way through the surface of the world like a rock peaking through the surf. A tempting treasure for all the things that gather there, adrift in the cold and uncaring sea. A stark reminder of the dangers below, and why the gods crafted Bhardas for humanity's sake.

Bran understands them on a practical level. You understand them academically.

The monoliths form the boundaries between what academics call domain spaces, which adventurers call "Floors" or "Rooms" depending upon their size. Each of them represents a partition of the astral waters collected into its own container, creating the three dimensions humanity understands as "space" and the illusion called "time" that humans invented to better understand the sequences of motion and the flow of the astral waters. Each of them functioning separately in terms of "cause" and "effect" save for where those points of intersection that manifest as the stone gates allow for the flow of matter, information, and mana.

They are a near perfect black box, from which no information can ordinarily escape. An enigma and a terror and a sanctuary from all outside disturbance. If spending too long within a domain space did not drive a human mad, you would certainly conjure yourself a bath of the Abyssal Waters that fill your jug, and build yourself an atelier that no one could inadvertently disturb.

Sanity is the price to pay for stepping into a dungeon. Like sunlight poisons the skin in high doses, the manifestations of astral waters will poison minds left too long within them. A week, a fortnight won't do any harm, and a month might only leave you with a strange craving or other harmless quirk until you spend enough time away. Much beyond that, however, and you risk becoming a gibbering fool. Even shorter trips, if taken too often, can leave their mark upon your psyche over long periods of time.

You have never spent more than three days within a dungeon.

You are prepared to spend up to a week clearing this dungeon out, if need be.

But all of this is just your idle thoughts as Bran retrieves his tools from the dinghy. He comes back with his rucksack over his shoulder, his sword at his side, and the most faithful companions an adventurer could ever hope for in his hands: his ever reliable set of masterwork lockpicks for the arcane and the mundane.

===

You both get to work on opening the stone gate in your own way, knowing well enough how you both operate to stay out of eachother's way. With his pick and tension lever - alongside a special grounding wire to allow any flows of mana to empty into the stone instead of his body - Bran gets to work on breaking through the locking mechanism that keeps it shut. As he works, you raise your wand with a mumbled incantation, filling the porous material of the gate with waters under your control and forcing out the untamed waters of the Mare Phantasos. Under your guidance, the mechanisms within the gate become more relaxed, moving more freely in accordance with Bran's whim.

"Nothing on one..." Bran mutters to himself, as is his habit.

You watch him work with a ghost of a smile playing on your lips, leaving him to as much silence as the walls of whirling maelstrom that surround you will allow. The rush of water has become a sort of white noise, drowning out distractions and letting you focus upon more important things. The intensity of his gaze, the look of utter concentration as he works. There is something mysterious and beautiful about a man working diligently at a craft he's so clearly mastered.

"Two is binding, nothing on three..." he mutters again. You can hear a satisfying click a he jiggles his pick and catches a pin. "Looks like... yep, that's a good click out of four. Which should mean..."

Mana surges like the riptide and lashes out from the locking mechanism.

Bran does not so much as flinch. The surge of mana follows the path of the ground wire like flood waters flowing through the bypass tunnels during the great storms that roll off the Mare Phantasos in summer. As the tunnels protect the city from the raging torrents of water, the wire protects Bran's body from a particularly nasty curse. You can feel the surge of mana blend with your own power, the curse mixing amongst the waters that have filled the pores of the stone with a dilution of atrophy and ill health.

Changing the waters out is simple enough, and as you return the curse unto the depths, you hear another triumphant click and the sound of stone grinding against stone. The door within the monolith lowers, leaving behind the entrance to the dungeon. The astral waters suspended within the frame glitter with whirling stardust. "And there we have it. Not much different than the door to a treasure room!"

"Domain of Wealth," you correct him with a chiding voice. "That's the term for-"

"Academics and women who will be the death of me some day," Bran finishes your sentence with a hollow laugh. Packing his tools back into his rucksack, he hoists it over his shoulders and steps through the door, leaving you behind.

"Wait a minute..." something clicks inside of your head as Bran steps beyond the threshold. An annoying realization. "What do you mean women, huh? That should be singular! Sing-u-LAR!"

>>5784493
Welcome back!

>>5784494
He cannot hear you on the other side, of course. Past the threshold, information can only be passed between the world and the dungeon along the currents of mana that bind them together. Sound alone could not hope to cross that doorway, as much as you would have wished it could. With a huff you stamp your feet, wondering if you should not cut your losses and lump him in with the womanizer as a man you can tolerate, but just barely. But a promise is a promise, made as foolish youths or not.

I'll follow you anywhere you go!

I'll wait for you to catch up, no matter how long it takes!

"Stupid idiot better not have forgotten..." you grumble to no one in particular. The tips of your ears have turned red, and the rest of your face is on its way towards that rosy color. With the release a long sigh that's had twenty years to build up, you resolve yourself and step forward. "If he has... I won't hold myself accountable for anything I'll do to him, is all. Maybe distill him down and put him on the mantle! HMPH!"

As always, passing between domains is like diving into the cold depths. Breath comes hard to you as you travel through the threshold. When you arrive, you find...
>An inverted cathedral. You stand upon the ceiling, the pews and altar high above. At the heart, the baptismal fountain flows in reverse.
>A cavern waterfall that glitters like a thousand stars. It empties into a pool that flows further down, while darkness surrounds on all sides.
>The sandy shore of an island, the stone gate planted in the dunes. In front of you is a sea less calm than the everstill Mare Phantasos. Behind you, a smoking volcano.
>A shattered city square suspended in waters clear as air. You can hear the sound of dewdrops as the broken buildings float along an unseen current.
>(Write in)

>>5783648
>>5783662
>>5783670
>>5783690
>>5783784
>>5783804
>>5784497
Thanks Anons!

>>5784498
>An inverted cathedral. You stand upon the ceiling, the pews and altar high above. At the heart, the baptismal fountain flows in reverse.

>>5784498
>>An inverted cathedral. You stand upon the ceiling, the pews and altar high above. At the heart, the baptismal fountain flows in reverse.

Spoopy

>>5784498
>The sandy shore of an island, the stone gate planted in the dunes. In front of you is a sea less calm than the everstill Mare Phantasos. Behind you, a smoking volcano.

Welcome back, QM! Hope you're feeling better.

>>5784498
>An inverted cathedral. You stand upon the ceiling, the pews and altar high above. At the heart, the baptismal fountain flows in reverse.

Mona a cute.

>>5784498
>A shattered city square suspended in waters clear as air. You can hear the sound of dewdrops as the broken buildings float along an unseen current.

>>5784498
>>A shattered city square suspended in waters clear as air. You can hear the sound of dewdrops as the broken buildings float along an unseen current.

>>5784498
>An inverted cathedral. You stand upon the ceiling, the pews and altar high above. At the heart, the baptismal fountain flows in reverse.
Our tsun mage can't be this cute
>>5784499
I'm glad you're safe, OP

>>5784494
Did Bran prove this wasn't a fluke?

>>5784498
Awwwww
>A shattered city square suspended in waters clear as air. You can hear the sound of dewdrops as the broken buildings float along an unseen current.

>>5784498
>>An inverted cathedral. You stand upon the ceiling, the pews and altar high above. At the heart, the baptismal fountain flows in reverse.

>>5784498
>>A cavern waterfall that glitters like a thousand stars. It empties into a pool that flows further down, while darkness surrounds on all sides.

>>5784530
switching to
>A shattered city square suspended in waters clear as air. You can hear the sound of dewdrops as the broken buildings float along an unseen current.

>>5784498
>>A shattered city square suspended in waters clear as air. You can hear the sound of dewdrops as the broken buildings float along an unseen current.

>>5784498
>>An inverted cathedral. You stand upon the ceiling, the pews and altar high above. At the heart, the baptismal fountain flows in reverse.

Waiting warmly

>>5787129
Today, yesterday and Friday kicked my ass with how busy things got.

>>5787553
alright, it happens.

File: The Creator.png (4.25 MB, 3640x1960)

4.25 MB PNG

On the other side of the gate, the entrance hall of a grand cathedral looms high overhead. Countless rows of pews decorate the ceiling, and iron chains holding chandeliers and lanterns rise from the floor as if the pull of gravity had been reversed. Further in, you can see that even water holds this course, for upon the altar at the cathedral's heart, water pours off the side of a fountain and into a baptismal pool upon the ceiling. Just as the lanterns hang upwards, the waters flow towards the sky as if that were the true "ground".

The stone monolith stands behind you, planted upon the ceiling that you and Bran now use as the floor. Within it, you can see the distorted picture of your anchored ship beneath the slowly churning whirlpool upon its face.

Stained glass windows decorate the walls of the entrance hall. Each side depicts a familiar sequence of events whose records can oft be found among the engravings and painted halls of the old world's ruins, be they manifested by dungeons or found on the surface.

On one side, a great whale. A majestic beast native to the primordial waters from which all things are born and to which all things return. It carried the pillars of creation from the bottom of the deepest sea and used them to lay the foundations of the material world. In its creation of the world, the great whale divided the primordial waters between the warm celestial waters that formed the dome of the sky, and the cold abyssal waters upon which Bhardas did float. In dividing the waters, it divided itself, becoming Sun and Moon and assuring the world that it would always stand beneath his light.

That record lines up with books that survived the cataclysms which brought the old world to the end.

What is shown on the other side is up to interpretation.

A woman sitting upon a throne, nude but for her crown. In her hands, a cup of wine that she pours out, the wine becoming a river of reddish-purple that engulfs the people below her. Most scholars agree that their hands are raised in terror, though some say they instead rejoice at the wine that rushes over them. The seas, stained the purple-red of the wine, birth a seven headed dragon that devours a city of white marble stone. People flee the fire in terror... or dance among the flames. Then at last a castle in the sky sends down a rain of seven spears, that slay the dragon and pin its heads to the the earth.

Most scholars agree that this depicts the cataclysms that brought the old world to an end. A terrible tyrant that brought ruin to that empire, a calamity of dragons that invaded whilst they were weak, and a series of meteor strikes that wiped out the dragons and scoured clean the nations of old.

"If you're done admiring the glassworks, I think I've found the core," Bran calls you over to his side. He's taken a seat on the ledge at the edge of the ceiling that's serving as your floor. "There's just a wee bit of a problem..."

>>5788214
"You already found it?" You ask. Joining him at the ledge, you follow his pointing to where the core can be found. "That's odd, even a new dungeon ought to- oh..."

Your words escape you when you see what he's pointing towards.

Most dungeons keep their core buried someplace safe and out of reach. For various reasons revolving around the flow of mana through the worldly waters, they cannot bury themselves beneath stone or isolate themselves completely from the rest of the dungeon. Most will emerge within the deepest hall of their dungeon, at the furthest point from the entrance, behind several closed doors and a horde of monsters dedicated to its defense. Even the most simple goblin cave will see its core on the far wall, and a clan of the critters protecting it.

This core sits at the dead center of the cathedral, the point of origin on every axis. No less than a dozen merrows swim through the air like water, holding spears in their webbed hands. You and Bran can easily deal with that many "sea goblins", as some call them, but they are not what took your words away.

Rather, the voluptuous feminine figure of the creature holding the core in her embrace has you concerned.

Her skin is striped a deep blue and white, with a shock of orange upon her sides that gives an outline to her every curve. Her hair is the same orange as those shocking highlights, and a pair of horns peak through her hairline. In certain important places, those curves exceed your own by a shameful quantity, suggesting that this creature has a very large reserve of mana at her beck and call indeed. For her alien color, you can tell that she is indeed quite beautiful, almost supernaturally so.

The moment you realize what that creature is, you jump at Bran and cover his eyes. Not out of any concern for the nude monster's modesty, but because, "That's an undine. Don't look at it, or else it might try to charm you with its beauty."

"Bah!" Bran brushes your arms away with ease, but he keeps his eyes away from the core and the nymph that's embraced it. "Why would I care about a pretty monster when you're around?"

Your ears turn a very bright red at his words, but you pretend not to hear them. "Supernatural beauty, Bran. It's not on the level of a succubus, but they can still influence your behavior."

Looking at the monster that embraces the Dungeon Core, floating in the heart of the cathedral, you remember some of the stories you've read about them. Undines, the least of the water nymphs. They do not have the control over the water possessed by Melusines, nor the sheer charming powers of the Sirens, but they lie somewhere in the middle for both abilities. This can make them a major nuisance, especially if they manage to catch someone unawares and ensnare them with their charm magics. Fortunately, you are quite certain that their charms only work upon men.

>>5788215

Which means that you just need to corral your man away from this aquatic hussy's line of sight, and you should be able to deal with her yourself, once it comes time to do so. The creature notices your retreat, and the fact that you haven't taken your wary eyes off of her from the moment you recognized her for what she was. With a droopy smile upon her face, she opens her orange eyes to meet your own. For a moment, you think she intends to sound the alarm and call upon the merrows to attack.

But she doesn't.

She just winks at you before returning to sleep.

You turn to Bran to warn him that the Undine knows of your presence now, but your words die in your throat. When did Bran become so handsome? You always liked his looks, but it's struck you know just how dashing and manly a figures he cuts, a far cry from the young boy you protected from bullies in your youth. The pounding of your heart fills your ears as you drink him in with half lidded eyes. Despite having no idea what to do with a man beyond what your bodice rippers taught you of such relations... you need to...
>Smooch him! Now! Neither of you will be kissless anymore!
>Hug him like Cailyn and Áine hugged the womanizer! That made them happy, it should make you two happy as well.
>Drag him behind the stairs and do... SOMETHING! You don't know what, though.
>Guys like seeing women without their shirts on, right? You read that somewhere, you should take yours off, NOW!
>No. None of this foolishness. You must resist. (Roll 1d100)
>You've been charmed, haven't you. There's a technique your teacher taught you that can help keep your sanity in this situation... you need to HOLD. HANDS. like a pair of degenerates.

If you use the forbidden technique of handholding, or successfully resist the charm...
>Talk with Bran over your next move.
>Take a shot at the Undine and remove the biggest threat from the board (Roll 3d100)
>Go through the right side door and see what's there.
>Go through the left side door and see what's there.
>Head upstairs and see if there's a better vantage point.

>>5788217
>You've been charmed, haven't you. There's a technique your teacher taught you that can help keep your sanity in this situation... you need to HOLD. HANDS. like a pair of degenerates.
>Talk with Bran over your next move.

>>5788217
>>Drag him behind the stairs and do... SOMETHING! You don't know what, though.
>>Guys like seeing women without their shirts on, right? You read that somewhere, you should take yours off, NOW!
IT'S TIME

>>5788217
>You've been charmed, haven't you. There's a technique your teacher taught you that can help keep your sanity in this situation... you need to HOLD. HANDS. like a pair of degenerates.

>Take a shot at the Undine and remove the biggest threat from the board (Roll 3d100)
Test our new staff.

Rolled 44 (1d100)

>>5788217
>>No. None of this foolishness. You must resist. (Roll 1d100)
>>Go through the right side door and see what's there.

>>5788217
>Smooch him! Now! Neither of you will be kissless anymore!
>Drag him behind the stairs and do... SOMETHING! You don't know what, though.
>Guys like seeing women without their shirts on, right? You read that somewhere, you should take yours off, NOW!
ohohohohoho

File: Expert on this.png (256 KB, 918x669)

256 KB PNG

>>5788217
>No. None of this foolishness. You must resist. (Roll 1d100)
alright, that was surprising. not only they can charm men, they can make them charming, that's creative.

>Talk with Bran over your next move.

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>5788280

>>5788217
>>You've been charmed, haven't you. There's a technique your teacher taught you that can help keep your sanity in this situation... you need to HOLD. HANDS. like a pair of degenerates.
>Go through the right side door and see what's there.
Skedaddle!

>>5788217
>>Smooch him! Now! Neither of you will be kissless anymore!
>>Drag him behind the stairs and do... SOMETHING! You don't know what, though.
>>Guys like seeing women without their shirts on, right? You read that somewhere, you should take yours off, NOW!

>>5788217
>No. None of this foolishness. You must resist. (Roll 1d100)
>Take a shot at the Undine and remove the biggest threat from the board (Roll 3d100)