— Loveless Gal —
A day-to-day, slice-of-life quest and investigative thriller, set in an ‘early modern’ fantasy setting, and written in first-person-perspective.

— Archives —

Loveless Gal archive: (3 threads)
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=loveless%20gal%20quest

The Green Lamps district - once, a territory whose sole residents were punks*prostitutes and folk needing of their service. Since such distant days, many, many establishments have taken root within it; alehouses, eating places, teahouses, and its freshly birthed, outlandish*foreign kin, coffeehouses. Confederacies of such breadth can become so mighty, it intrenches itself as inalienable (yet outlaw) part of society.

And amongst us - the freefolk - for better and worse, none could rival one within our capital, Clawflash; an island surrounded by the five great rivers, the center of commerce, the place where knowledge can coalesce whether it be inborn or outland, the spearhead of our country’s advancements! But such a romance is so often repeated without mention of its particulars.

“You will sneeze. Inhale.”

The inmingle of knowledge is useful, I will admit that much; extraction of the placenta, suture of the umbilical cord, orientation of the skull — midwifery is hardly the province of most women, let alone men.

“They’re here, child.” Whilst I wash off the stench, Judar, having momentarily retired from the frontage, enters the room holding a great and lumpy sack. The brothel-keeper scuttered away as speedily she did appear once I seized it.

“The fish stench fluid will linger for two or three weeks. Laxatives ought to hasten the removal. Stay near warm places. Wash yourself with warm towels.” Wearily, I make a repeat of the which I have said to so many others not so many moons ago.

“…”
“A- hah.”
“Tha- thanks, Sirawun. I- I owe you one.” Her voice is still nervy from the pain. A small bunch of huffs and pants follow her attempt at leaning further back.

I begin to undo the sack’s many knots. “Diligence in maintenance of your body would have been nice. Safflower. Crocodile’s tail. Rue. Any of these - in sufficient amounts and concentrations - would purge the child before it could quicken.” Malcontent seeps through my words, a little more than I wished. The sack opens regardless.

“I shall retire to the forest. If you need of anything, ask Nipar.” I seize the freshly strangled child, thumbing the cloth a tad deeper in his mouth before joining him with the rest of the children. A moment scantly passed before the ropes were wheeled around and tied back, resuming normality.

“I am- I never wished for this.” She’s long accustomed to the contents by now, but Tuhnidar’s eyes dimly lingers on the sack.

“I know.”

Undesired pregnancy is not a particular outlandish to the Green Lamps district, but more often is the case, they are consequent not from frequenters, rather, colleagues. In any case, such difficulties are often resolved through 2 roadways; termination of the child within the body, and outside the body. The former, more efficacious, but may expel blood more amply.

The droning of insects gets louder with each step I take in the back garden, with only the occasional crackling of dried leaves as respite — They’ll be exceeded by those cocks and gulls soon enough. With sufficient measure from the brothel, I relieve my shoulder of the shovel and the bundles tied to each end.

After a while, the difference between bone and flesh becomes less significant; a slush, held together by an increasingly frayed skin.

“mhm.”

Something stirs amongst the branches — not that I have any intention of unearthing it, given how promiscuous*indiscriminately mingled the leaves are. So I ought to leave off with it…

The persistent stirring has loosened quite a number of leaves on my hair, of all things. Prodding the branches in retribution, I feel not the creaks of old branches, rather, a coarse, leathery thing. “¡hAaH!” In consequence, a piercing cry, as if a puppy’s - but the which that came down was far more queer; promiscuous entrails and a head so full of hair, it bears more resemblance to a ball of yarn. Well, one impregnated with leaves and splinters, I suppose.

Shortly after the pile in its entirety falls down, I see a sliver of tallow-white skin and cracked lips underneath such sluttish*slovenly hair. “… pretty.” It hops and stumbles towards my feet.

Hardly the first woman who complimented and wished to nibble on my calves. But. As much as I wish to indulge her, the sweaty, rotten smell from her mouth (and my current obligations, I suppose) dissuade me from such a course. “Thanks, ma’am.” I kneel down to pet her head. It’s cold. “But I am occupied.” With a sigh, I stand and walk back to the sack.

“hungry.” Her head twitches and turns as I seize the corpses and bury them. The hound-like enthusiasm in her pants dies down as the sack grows more flaccid.

Subsisting on carcasses, troubled water, and what else, isn’t much a living. I suppose I might as well — I toss her the last one.

… Scantly a moment passed after sinking her teeth into the infant did she choke and cough out bits of fat and bone. “Tch.” It got a chuckle out of me; like watching folk step on horseshit in the rain whilst I was safely inside an eating place all over again. I continue my laughter for a moment before fetching a dagger behind my waist.

“All these ‘ifs’ and ‘when’ and ‘could’ -- I do not entertain hypotheticals, mister Sirawun. The world is vexing enough. A reliable course for those abortives first, then we’ll talk quarters and pay.” The brothel-keeper softly refuses my ask. It still hurts regardless.

“Hah, she smothered it?” Marna brushes his finger across his eyes as we try to find a cookshop this early in the day. “She did~” Exhausted, physically and mentally, I moan. Not that Green Lamps at four is not much to look at, either.

“The notion was stillborn, in any case.” I drag my feet across the coarse roadway as we walk. My fingers cling to my cuffs for warmth. “A shame that wasn’t the case a week ago.” The cold air makes apparent his accompanying sigh. Can’t say I wished for otherwhat either. Then again…

“never send a woman to do a man’s work~” Breathily, I make light of the which that had come to pass recently. “H— tch, hahaAhA. Ne-- never send a woman–” It didn’t take long before both of us were laughing as if mad. It’s just as well; we exhausted the laughter from child rape a long while ago - it’s time we talk of a matter less outlandish.

Runny eggs and rice return warmth to my cheek; fish sauce and onions give texture and life to the meal; tofu milk, a remedy to shivering calves and fingers.

“See you ‘round. I’m off. Best of luck on that course of yours.” Having breakfasted, Marna takes his leave. No doubt he’ll fall asleep during the mid-day again. Probably with his man-catcher still in hand.

(Sira by my lonesome yet again!)

Hm. Abortive medicine. Or ingredients of it, in any case. There was only ten last time; I know damned well this difficulty does not envelop the entirety of Green Lamps. Asking those siblings will be my best shot, unfortunately. I need some sort of lubricant to - even - be allowed in that gambling house.

( … )

The clocktower bangs its drums as hours go by. My hands grow heavy with bottles of rice wine and chocolate bricks. I ought to get something for my folk before I leave the market district.

>Blood pudding & brightly-colored cloth
A buttery jelly made from pig’s blood. A nice snack for Warin. She deserves better than scraps of rice and troubled water. And according to the Players of the Art, having such cloth around should make someone like her more lucid.

I’m sure she can be of help. The faster I solve this difficulty, the less suffering my colleagues will be in. I do not enjoy digging graves.

>Cacao shells & Mali* Jasmine candles
It cannot fully quell the irregularities of the body a week after giving birth, but chocolate tea ought to bring some frith and stillness to her. Tuhnidar (according to her folk, at the least) has a fondness for such a flower.

When a man falls - as opposed to a log - you don’t stomp on him. Judar extended her hand to me when I had nothing. I shall advance that.

>>6161730
brutal, holy shit
>>6161732
>Blood pudding & brightly-colored cloth

>Blood pudding & brightly-colored cloth

>>6161732
The return of Sira! Excited to see how it loops into Gal & Company's saga. Welcome back, QM!

>Blood pudding & brightly-colored cloth

Writing.

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A sneak-peak.

Wrapping up the flashback, see you tomorrow.

>>6162994
See yo then, QM!

Done. Posting now.

>blood pudding & brightly-colored cloth

Tuhnidar has her folk. She has nothing. I know my roadway.

( … )

“did not. pan out?” Warin (well, her head) hops towards and nuzzles my calf. It feels more comforting than the tree I sit in front of, at the least.

“The picture I heard was not a pretty one.” I sigh as my fingers ruffle the lengthy, frayed hair of hers. It’s still coarse.

Peace officers molesting*harassing - more than usual - the vendors of abortive medicine; sudden shortages of associates willing to transport the ingredients; all these particulars occurring chiefly within our advance-guard, Oceankeep, and just before the year’s end.

This. No, the entirety is queer. If such difficulties festered for this long, someone fixed it that way. That province—-

“… you are seeing that picture again, are you not.” Warin’s hand gingerly presses on my neck, guiding me to her lap. The mid-day has yet to begin, and yet, I wished nothing more than sleep.

Delivering and killing those freshly birthed infants was not a difficulty - I hardly cared to count the number. The fat washes off easy enough. But seeing the ulcers on their skin, holes in their limbs, so deeply flesh and tendons are laid bare; their seethes and moans, and their half-closed eyes…

Nearly half a year has passed, but it felt as if a week. The air still feels thick with molasses. I still see the swollen bellies of children, no older than thirteen, fourteen. How much of it was the doing of seminal fluid, or—

“mhm.” And I waste away more hours of the day.

My eyes, still crusty with tears, struggle to open as the knocking on my door jolts me awake; the low pitch of the knock, caused by solely using the joint of her middle finger against wood, and the quietness of footsteps, paints a clear picture. It’s her.

(Warin must’ve carried me to my quarters. She’s probably still in the back-garden. I ought to return such a compliment.)

“Senior, I’m here~” Cheerily standing in front of the door is Sohm, already wearing the paned trunk hose over her smock. Ah. Right. I - did - make an appointment with her.

“Mhm. Good day. Have you cleaned all the instruments, the- the utensils?” The nearing 15-years-old nods. Her and Judar must’ve sold the entirety of the food early in the afternoon.

“Fifteen minutes.”

In earnest, I expected more resistance to the idea, especially from Judar. Then again, a child is not an uncommon accessory to cookshops or eating places; far easier to go unmolested when their profession is to deliver food. Scant few make for better scouts or spies than them.

At the least, we’re not the ones who sold their 8-years-old daughter to a brothel to give her a ‘better life’. If their circumstances is - that - dreadful, far more efficacious a course is to kill her when she was born. Skip the ‘growing old’ and ‘suffering’ part and let her return to the cycle.

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… in any case, I ought to prepare for the lesson.

“Before any bladework, handwork, or footwork, or the postures, we must know one’s openings. A man can be divided into four quadrants—” With my quarterstaff, I tap the picture mounted on the wall. “High left. High right. Low left. Low right.”

Standing front of a matted room, instructing the folk, brings to mind a time when I was still straight - as straight as soon-to-apothecary and later, slavecatcher could be, I suppose.

“I really do not want you to tarry long in - any - of the stances; the postures are the outermost point in which you can execute strikes from, although some may act as wards.” Pointing to Warin, I have her execute a cut with my old feder*sparring longsword. “Notice how the cut from roof flows into longpoint into fool’s guard.”

To solely instruct through words is not a wholesome way of learning, of course.

“A blade may be divided into two parts; the upper third, ‘the weak’, and the ‘strong’, the lower third. The former, easily manipulated, best used for strikes, the later, more earthfast, best used for parries. They are nothing more than functions of leverage.” Sohm’s eyes light up as Warin retrieves my battlesword. The tip is rolled and its edge blunt, but nevertheless it stands - when upright - some inches above my head.

“There is far more to the knightly and noble art than strength. Miss Warin. Cut at my high left quadrant, please.” Warin, taking care to ensure the blade does not hit the ceiling as she steps a little further from me, moves it to her shoulder and shifts her weight on her back-foot. The blade sits just behind her shoulders - wound up and ready to cut.

With a passing step, she strikes at my upper left quadrant; my right side shoulder and arm. I extend my arm and turn my edge to catch hers.

The steel clangs loudly, but my block does not collapse, rather, the battlesword bounced off my rappier since I caught it edge-on and on the strong of my blade. My rappier rattled, of course, but it moved scantly an inch. With her point and edge off-line, I drop my edge onto her newly exposed arm.

“W- wow.” Her eyes stay fixed on the battlesword as Warin returns it to the rack.

Ha. I cannot say I was elsewise when I first learnt the art. It does not see much use outside pike squares or the hands of body-guards nowadays, but swinging around a head-height sword is good for the shoulders (and mind).

The latter half of the afternoon was spent outside, practicing on a pell. Predictably, with the battlesword, although I did get her to try the shorter swords, too. She did not like the complex-hilt ones any too well; all the bars and rings made them tiring to hold while extended.

We were all sweaty (well, excepting Warin) and panting when evening came, so I concluded the lesson there.

(It will be some time before I let her use a live one, but she has the heart for it.)

I was afraid she couldn’t withstand us at first.

“Do be mindful of what you say around her, alright? I needn’t tell you this but- well—- no rape jokes. Of any sort, of any character, just do not do it. And child murder, either. Not with her. I know this already is the case with the punks, but keep it in mind nevertheless.” I knew Marna and the others wouldn’t, but still. It would’ve gnawed at my breast and stomach if I hadn’t said it.

“Huh.” I take a sigh as we read through the week’s broadsheets. Among the usual horseshit the presses print is a case in which a boy, barely younger than Sohm, is accused of killing and raping a hound. “And here I thought - we - was supposed to be the spearhead of progress.” I take a moment to flex my fingers. Marna doesn’t have much to say in regards to such a grim picture.

Sohm, who was also sitting next to me, takes a moment to catch up. “No wonder the guests picked up the idea - we’re leading by example.”

Wh-
Ha-
HaAhAHaHA!

Immediately, instinctively, we both cackled. Oh no. Oh dear. Barely a month in Clawflash and she’s already disgusted by aliens. Without a shadow of a doubt, she’s as inborn as they come.

“Pft. Y- Sira, sira, you-” As soon as Marna tries to speak, I give him that look; ‘fine, SOME rape is permitted’, my half-closed eyes say. “You- you really sure she is not yours?”

(Ugh. No. Were that the case, at the oldest, she would’ve been… 5 or 6 years of age. Not that I would let a woman I was with carry out such a burden.)

… there wasn’t much difficulty having her around, anyhow. Having her around did make less time for that picture to emerge again.

And the winter months came, again, and again. And once again, there was me and Marna making talk in the early morning.

“-- ha, gotten soft, have you, now?” He scratches his nose. “Some years back I vividly remember you could hardly withstand a child.” Ah. That conversation.

“That child was pretty damned retarded, bothering a slave cook in the kitchen. Miraculous, it was, that didn’t burn himself.” Marna still shoots me a certain look — the which I said, wasn’t inaccurate, but… I have been spending more time with Sohm. Mayhaps equal to Warin, nowadays. The blacker jokes don’t come out from my throat as easily anymore. And my evenings aren’t occupied with delivering children or investigating queer matters anymore.

Have I changed?

>I have grown softer.
But that’s not necessarily a change for the worse. Of course I cherish her and Warin.

If the day comes, I wish to be remembered as her senior and instructor.

>I haven’t. And I shouldn’t.
At the end of the day, we’re in Green Lamps. I ought to spare some thought that one day she, and any of this will disappear.

If the day comes, I wish her to be able to move on. She deserves a straighter life.

we’ll be back to Kommgal’s story after this choice.

>>6163698
>I have grown softer.

>>6163698
>I have grown softer.

Head’s up, I’ll be outside tomorrow. Probably won’t have formatting on my posts.

>>6163698
>>I have grown softer.

Just got back. See you tomorrow.

>>6164642
See you then, QM. Merry Christmas!

A little head’s up - I’ll be visiting my grandparents from the 29-31th. Drawings may not be available.

>>6165076
Fair enough!

>>6165076
Sure, no problem OP.
>>6165132
look who's here

>>6165235
Since Gobin Assassin Thread 1. Forgot I left my name on...

A little head’s up for the current update; art’s ready, dialogue’s in progress.

Ah, damn. I guess no more formatting.

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A sneak-peek at the recap.

>>6165641
Waiting warmly!

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Way too drunk to post right now. See you in the morning.

>>6166757
Ha, been there. Rest well, campadre!

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>I have grown softer.

And I would not change it in the remotest - the world goes hard enough.

“The three chief cuts are: high cuts, middle cuts, and low cuts. High cuts flow from the upper quadrants to lower ones; middle cuts are cuts that can begin and end horizontally; low cuts flow from the lower quadrants to upper ones.”

“As if pulled by a string; the point moves first, then the arm, then the rest of the body.”

She speedily grew under our instructions. Excepting in height and breadth, I suppose. I ought to be proud.

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I ought to be.

Scantly half a week ago, when I breakfasted with Aeg and made that agreement, I hadn’t the remotest idea what would follow; in pursuing the theft of a rose-furnished hat and broadsheet, we unearthed a plot of the low company, to sell off the items and robbing the mark; We stifled the robbery, but the thieves remained uncaught, and despite in-fighting, Aeg’s belongings has yet to be returned.

(And there’s the matter with Galpet, and his mother, Amournnara. But that difficulty can be resolved later.)

“A proper messenger would not be here.” As velvet blankets the world, only the messenger and I remain. He made clear his intention on being improper from cradling a weapon in temple grounds to begin with, in any case.

“I figured that was the case.” I sigh, remembering what was consequent to drawing my sword in anger.

“Had I not made mention of it and lent my strength, would your course have been the same?” Sensing my exasperation, he takes a moment before asking, although I suspect - he - already knows the answer.

“It would have. At the time. And were that the case, at the least, [law]suits and scorn of the folk would not fall upon my family.” It was a hell of a thing, watching my parents pay for damages consequent to their deafness whilst deafened myself.

“For a province so endowed in temples and monasteries, so often frequented, the commonfolk do not seem to follow the Middle Path, do they.” A tinge of spite seeps through his words.

(His dislike of such shallowness, his forewarning and forearming, and the indifference to my course, he…)

“You wanted such a suffering to play out.” My guess makes his lips return to normality, painting a clear enough picture — His dislike was not occasioned by the disavowment of the commandments; the scores of elderly men and women selling lottery tickets in front of monasteries and the drinking of amberwater on observation days are not (in the remotest) inborn to our province.

“Not long ago you nearly lost an eye by mistake. I suppose I ought to congratulate you for following such a judicious roadway.” The messenger makes mention of a time I fell onto my own knives after passing out; my negligence rewarded me with a lengthy cut across my cheek. “You sought this temple, in search of Higher Arts. Here is one last lesson, for your sake.” The messenger closes his palm and looks at the brought-together nails.

“Before the Middle Path had taken root in this country, the folk used to worship apparitions and the eldritch; inklings of such can still be found on the offerings of shrines — flesh, blood, and severed heads of animals. But the picture is similar enough.” With his pointing finger, he carves a circle in the velvet-tinged air.

“Someone’s might is lent to another, and the person does an act in exchange for it.” His finger moves in a clockwise motion around the circle. “Apparitions and the eldritch often follow this roadway.” Finishing the rotation, he reverses it. “More earthfast deities follow the inverse; acts are done before they intend to lend a person their might.”

“The breadth and length of their might, and how they are expressed may vary; a Player of the Art may call upon apparitions to produce illusions or track someone on their behalf; a child of Serpents (as that as their province) may be given capacity to breathe in and control water.” The circle dissipates.

Kneeling down, the messenger fixes his gaze upon me. “And as a child of a folk chosen to be messengers and means of transport of chief deities, the breadth of particulars you are given is wider than you may think.”

(Somehow, I doubt invincibility and the capacity to blow away mountains with a flap of my arms are particulars I possess.)

“Growing old, suffering, and dying is inborn to life. Take the roadway you have love in.” Sweeping the tip of his scabbard on the ground, flames burst out and spread across the velvet-blanketed world — but I do not feel burnt in the remotest.

… my sight returns to the restless river, west of Oceankeep. My hands rest on the pristine white walls of the Twin Hearts temple. The mid-day is on the wane.

This is a queer feeling. The capacity to call down lightning was an expression of the might bestowed upon me; being immune (or, at the least, resistant) to heat is another particular I have realized. It would explain why the lightning did not bounce to and char my skin when I drew my weapon in anger. I do recall sweating when I felt nervy, though; I suppose that is the province of the mind.

In any case, my course has yet to change; retrieving Aeg’s stolen items and stopping those thieves, both of which can be done through visiting that music tuition household, located several minutes south of this temple.

Airin and I, Kommgal, can follow through with such a course by ourselves, but having Aeg with us would resolve the matter far more speedily; having Galpet with us could make efficacious the process as well, but I doubt I could convince him - I’ll need the slaughterer for such a course.

My course of action will be…

>Fetch Aeg
The giant is likely at a cookshop or playing houses, south of town. He ought to explain the matter with more clarity than we could.

A scout and fighting man, if need be.

>Fetch Nuan
The slaughterer is likely in the wet markets district, middle of town. She, or her folk, ought to know the doings of yesterday — no doubt those thieves used such a labyrinthean district as passage.

Galpet’s idea of waylaying those three by himself is not the wisest course.

An update.

Good news: I’m back. Art should accompany the next update and the next should be out in a timely fashion. More timely than this one, at the least.

Bad news: I got sick during the vacation. Breathing issues and headache. There was a lot of dust at my grandparents’ place. It should be fine within a day or so now that I’m back.

>>6167845
Nice looking d- is that a budge I see ?
>>6167848
>Fetch Nuan
>>6167849
oof, take care QM

>>6167848
>Fetch Aeg
It is his stuff we're getting back, right?

>>6167846
Alas, poor Sohm...

>>6167849
Welcome back, and get well soon. Happy New Year!

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>>6167863
By the latter half of the 15th century, doublets were becoming shorter, exposing the groin which was previously covered by it — a codpiece was a piece of cloth intended to cover the gap between the doublet (shirt) and hoses (tights).

Over the course of the 16th century, it became more prominent, and featured in Jochiam Meyer’s fencing treatise of 1570, the one I based Sira’s weapons and outfit from.

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Here’s what it looks like without a codpiece. Also the website I got much of the info from.

https://bloshka.info/2024/02/06/codpiece/#google_vignette

Closing vote in the morning.

>>6168256
waiting warmly

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Coinflip.
1 = Nuan
2 = Aeg

Writing. See you tomorrow.

>>6169624
See you then!

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Sore arm. Can’t draw, but here’s a sneak-peek.

By the way, "guests" (แขก) is a catch-all term referring to middle-eastern / indian / muslims — a term (which originally came from Teochew-chinese) used to refer to minorities in Thailand, meaning, ‘visitor’.

The closest modern ‘equivalent’ of this term would be ‘gay’, I suppose. It refers to a specific type of person, but it can also be used derisively.

>>6170179
What is the setting's equivalent to the Middle Eats and the Indian subcontinent, anyway? Is the world's geography broadly similar? Do they share the same understanding of cosmology, and have their own local serpents and garudas and such?

I hope your arm feels better soon, OP.

>>6170179
hope you get well, OP. btw this is the first time I see a term with that broad of a range of meaning.

>>6170348
Kind of reminds me of "coolie"

>>6170220
Since I pretty much copy stuff from the real world (primarily from europe) in the 16-17th century, india should be roughly the same, since Thailand got its Theravada Buddhism (with a bit of hindu mythology) from there.

The Middle Path, by the way, is literally a translated word-for-word concept from Buddhism. https://tricycle.org/beginners/buddhism/middle-way/

Technically, some of the things present here is a little - too early - compared to real life history; coffeehouses were showing up in the latter half of the 17th c, here, while Loveless Gal is set in the early 17th c, and the basket hilt style sword, ‘mortuary sword’ that Gal uses shows up in ~1630-1640s, but I’ve elected to show them due to their importance to the character of the early modern period. (Coffeehouses being the precursor to modern day cafes, the emergence of chocolate, etc)

>>6170348
Thanks.
Gal will be seeing a familiar face soon.

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Soon.

>>6170867
>seeing a familiar face

>>6171911
>mostly faceless for now

kek

It’s been a damn while. I’m back.

>Fetch Aeg

Involving the chief witness of the theft is naturally - the - course to take in returning the belongings. His presence ought to give us the vantage in scouting, and if such a course is not avoidable, fighting.

“Heya. Did you fin-”
“.. ah.”

I hadn’t any words as I retired to the pavilion Airin waited at. All I could do was rest my head on her shoulder and grasp onto her back. “What would I do without you, junior.” Following a short sigh, her wrinkled fingers find their way onto my hair. I linger in this posture for a few more moments, feeling the beat of her heart and scent of lavender on her linen shirt.

“I wish to leave.” The scant strength I still have coalesce into those words. The disavowment of women in their entirety over the menses* menstruation of few is disgusting; a country that prohibits women from education and learning breeds Guests — and I know damned well the stench of such a low race.

The walk back down the pristine steps of the temple confirms the messenger’s words; the mid-day walls do not burn my fingers, nor do the sunlight char my cheek. Amusing as it may be, I doubt those kids would attack me with boiling water or syrup.

“We have not tried flight, yet, have we?” Airin scratches her chin as we return to the confederacies of the middle parts of town. “We?” I struggle to not laugh, but the which she says is not - entirely - without merit; if Serpents, ‘deities of the water’ have might over oceans, lakes, and liquids, ‘messengers’, vehicles of chief deities, ought to have some might over the sky. Since, the lightning.

Promiscuous chatter and cuts of the cleavers pass our ears as we brush past the wet markets; the scent of recently slaughtered fish and chicken replaced by sizzling eggs and onions of cookshops as we venture further south.

(Maeg should be fine…)
(Her appointment with the Serpents should be at the eastern parts of town. She ought to be. In the case Amournnara somehow crossed paths with her, I doubt she could remember her. Five years is a long time. Yes. She should be fine. There’s no vantage to be gained by-)

“Uhm.”
“Miss- uh- Airin, would you care for a drink?” In an attempt to stifle the nervy thoughts, I point to a stall, one of dozens which preside near barbershops.

“.. ha.”
“Sure, junior. Lemon tea sounds nice.” Airin lightly chuckles as she tugs on my sleeve. “And I wouldn’t mind a repeat of yesterday’s doings, in any case.” It took all my strength to stifle my moan in response to her stepping closer and squeezing my waist.

(She has gotten bold.)

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As often is the case, playhouses coalesce near the Green Lamps district; cheaper rent and abundance of sponsors (that is to say, alehouses) tends to tether most playing companies, or rather, their sharers*shareholders who are the primary actors, to such a place.

The afternoon hours makes quiet the streets; only a handful of folk linger at teahouses and cookshops, and fewer near the yet-to-open playhouses themselves.

“—believe that was the case.” And not so far from the common way, an intimate laughter. Walking down an alley whose walls are encrusted with partly torn and scantly legible broadsides*single-side printed posters, I see two persons of note; Aeg, of course, dressed in a fashion similar to his idol - that of a pirate, although his is far less a frivolous burlesque*parody of such a garment; covering his upper body is a lively red linen shirt and a hooded coat slightly heavier in texture, whose outside is black in color but share its briskness on the inside; on his lower body are equally bright breeches and dark hoses, although only one is tied with a garter.

“Aeg. The child with your hat and broadside. We need you at the music tuition household.” My terse words jolted the woman dressed in richly black clothes - who, a moment ago was tugging on his garter - to leave off with such a course and fix her gaze—-

she..
i know her.
i used to know.

Her hair has more grey and white strands since I saw her last. The abyssal eye and patch of skin around it remain as mesmerizing as ever. Some blackness and wrinkles are present near her (normal) eye, not that mine are any better. I can see her arms are still as dense and sinewy, even through the sleeves. She- no, what- what even was the nature of our relations? What is the expression I ought to make?

“Uh. Right. Give us a minute.” Breaking the - no doubt, lengthy - silence since my gaze was fixed to hers, Aeg steps away from the wall and places his fingers on her shoulders. “Well, miss Nara, that’s the matter I talked of yesterday. Miss—?”

“Kommgal.” Instinctively, I nod at her words. Miss Neeranara’s eyes twitch and narrow a little at such a confirmation. “You’ve been keeping well?”

“I- I have.” The many scabs on my arms and thighs paint a different picture — but so does the feeling of Airin’s fingers holding onto mine.

“That is good.” She looks to her and before turning to face Aeg. “Appointment’s the same. Good luck on this roadway of yours.” Patting his calf with a fan, she lets out a sigh.

The weariness in her sigh is enough evidence she dislikes the course Aeg intends to pursue, and has given up on dissuading it. Yet, a part of me wishes to hear her voice for a while longer. “Uhm. Miss Neeranara. It would of great help if our roadway was—”

“I must refuse, I’m afraid. There’s--” Upon realizing the shakiness in her voice, she pauses. “I came here because a matter of mine speedily - needs - addressing. I really do not want to involve myself in further difficulties before the present is settled.”

Sensing my dimming expression, Nara does offer some remedy. “But if you wish to visit and swap stories, I’ll be around.” A trade card is summoned from the midnight black doublet. Smelling faintly of lime, it details a residence whose front is a barbershop.

(That ought to be where she is staying.)

Following the silence which remains in the air after her words, and a nod, she bows out — disappearing from my sight as speedily as she entered it. Yet again.

“She’s a little cool ‘round most folk. Needn’t worry about it.” On our walk to the music tuition household, Aeg tries to comfort me. It’s not that comforting. “Not around you, though, evidently.” Airin glares at the numerous marks on his neck, no doubt given by Nara.

“Yes. It’s quite interesting how someone — so — cool can have - such - a deportment.” He leans forward to get a clearer stare at my neck, unobstructed by the scarf, to which Airin pulls me away from through seizing my wrist.

.. The chaffing continues. For some time. It suddenly stopped when the topic of condoms came up - for reasons unknown.

The entirety of our walk involved more than that, of course; discussing my newly unearthed might, courses to take should that child not be present within the tuition household, and locations to retreat to should we need to bow out.

My previous brush with those thieves in the teahouse, and Amournnara, taught me ways to subtly get the vantage; how I carry my sword, how articles of clothing are positioned, where my eyes ought to be, and perhaps most important of all, choice of words.

And some adjustments were made.

>Folded scarf
Instead of wrapping around my neck several times, I fold and rest the scarf across my shoulders - my main hand can easily rip it out in a single motion.

It’s not thick enough to stop a cut, not unless I wrap it several times around my hand, but it can buy me enough time to either run away or draw my weapon if I throw it out. If I let it hang on my other hand, the veil could stifle thrusts somewhat.

>Box of fried chicken skin
Instead of holding my sword in my other hand, I make a sash using the scarf, freeing up my hands — a package of fried chicken skin, impregnated with spices and chilli.

Whilst it consists of little more than two interlocking boxes and some string tying them, the contents can be crushed to create a cloud of blinding dust when I throw it. Or eaten, naturally.

>>6173804
>pic
so our giant boy also knows how to have fun. good.
>>6173805
>Folded scarf

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>>6173805
>Box of fried chicken skin

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>>6174006
“This poleaxe of mine is filled with a powder and is hollow and perforated. And this powder is so strongly corrosive that the moment it touches your eye, you will no longer be able to open it, and you may be permanently blinded.

I am the poleaxe, heavy, vicious and deadly. I deliver blows more powerful than any other hand-held weapon. If my first strike misses, then my poleaxe becomes risky to hold on to and is no more of any use to me. But if my first blow is powerfully made on target, then I can stop any other hand-held weapon. And if I am accompanied with good protective armor, then I can defend myself with any of the powerful striking guards of the sword.

My most noble lord, my Marquis, there are some vicious things shown in this book that you would never do. I show you them purely to aid your knowledge”

From Fiore De Liberi

Checking vote in the tomorrow morning. Coin flip then.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

1 = scarf
2 = box

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>>6174921
mfw

>>6174921
welp, tactical kfc it is

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Sneak-peak at update.

And some insight to Aeg’s past.

Am sick. There won’t be any drawings but the update is nearly done. Expect it tonight or tomorrow. See you then.

>>6177445
See you then, QM. Sorry to hear you're under the weather.

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Still working on it, don’t worry. Sleeping issues has replaced breathing, unfortunately.

>>6179691
That sucks. I hope things improve for you soon!

Rows of skewered pork, roasted under flames; warmth and sweetness escaping from the repeatedly closed and opened pots of rice; eggs and fish sauce sizzling within the pans — returning to the wet market’s roadways makes enticing the prospect of getting something to fill our hands before we depart.

>box of fried chicken skin

“No, no. You ought to fold it like this.” Straightway deducing my intentions, Aeg folds the lining of the box, that is to say, banana leaves, as to disappear the edges into the natural slits of the woven bamboo walls. “Ah, man. I miss having those lacquer boxes.” Before putting the lid back, he helps himself to a piece of the saturated crimson skin.

“—and for the record, it wasn’t - I - that did it.” Straightway eyeing Airin, whose gaze already was fixed on him the immediate he had made mention of the matter again, he justifies himself. Or try to, in any case.

“With - your - deportment, I’m surprised the armor was not stolen off you.” She scoffs, pork rind still in hand.

“I was- well, I am many things, but never a dog’s cunt.” The giant raises and stares at his arm. He was guilty of many things during his years in the Nightwatch — dereliction of duty wasn’t one of them.

“Ah. That is. right. Indubitably.” Airin’s voice falters a little, not intending to doubt the burns he suffered from opening up those roofs.

Their conversation speedily passes away after that - reminding me of why there was distance between them to begin with.

My exhalation accompanies the unraveling of the scarf; a thought which gnaws at my breast as I wrap the scarf around my waist and thrust the scabbard through — making a repeat of a situation which had displaced me five years ago. With a gulp, and hooking my fingers with Airin’s, I bury such a nauseous thing. For now.

(It’ll be fine.)
(It has to be.)

The promiscuous chatter and smells gives way to an icy wind which brushes against my cheek and coarse roadway that makes harsh each step; the congregation of clouds tersely allows the afternoon its sunlight; and not so far out of our grasp is that reticent household — even the temple in that corpse-like screwpine canal road can - sometimes - shine like bronze and amber, should the angle of light be right. This? Only vanilla could surpass it in blackness. And scantly, at that.

Before entering, we remove our sandals at a rack next to the steps leading up to the entrance. The presence of only a scant few does make convenient our course.

“It’s not even charred...” Aeg sweeps his hand across the top of the door as he lowers his head, incredulous. But the questioning of the property’s age is evanescent.

“- No!”
“I don’t appreciate what you intend to say — I know damned well my child.” Even with Aeg’s back shrouding my sight, I recognize such a venomous voice. It’s her. My hand straightway raises to shield Airin.

“Ma’am.” A tinge of viciousness leaks through the attempt of polite address. It gives pause to Amournnara. “We do not intend to insinuate a difficulty nor suggest his character is low. That was not our intention. Never was-”

Before the elderly goblin can continue, Amournnara huffs and cuts him off. “What was your intention. Then.”

“He failed to play satisfyingly the songs required in the flute ensemble. Thus, his exclusion. The particulars were witnessed, documented, and written down, by several instructors, myself included — spare myself a minute, and I can produce the tablets.” A hostile tone lingers in the air even as words dissipate — and by that time, Airin and I had already bowed out.

“Was she that much of a cunt at Crockbottom?” Leaning against a nearby teahouse’s advertisement-ridden wall, she takes a bite of the fried chicken skin. “She does seem to take everything said - or unsaid - as a threat to her.” I disgustedly flick the dust off my fingers as I recall yesterday’s picture, that of her admitting to be without fault should her son rape another child who did not conform to her ideals of modesty.

And on that matter. Did she even sue me out of bitterness from the wound I inflicted on her husband? Anger towards bringing to light his deportment? Sensing an opportunity to reel in money before bow—

Speaking of bowing out.

Returning to the common way is the rotten woman, dressed in flowy silk; her shirt and waist-height skirt rich with a nightly blue shade, patterned with bars of milky white around the cuffs; a thin belt, equally white in color rests on her waist, but more of note to me are the items hanging from it — a swollen, lumpy pocket, and an equally broad leather sheath, holding a set of cutlery. Thrusted through her belt is a slender, elbow-length pipe made of metal.

She huffs and puffs as she storms off, even retrieving the pipe from her waist to smoke away some stress. Or try to. With the irritated way she puts it back, it must’ve been empty.

“Hm.” As her figure grows more indistinguishable from the sea of folk on the upper parts of the road, Airin and I take one last glance around on the remote possibility of those children being present.

Only a handful of children congregate around stalls and cookshops at this side of town, and even fewer linger after finishing their meal. No trace of dotted white hands. What I DO notice are a pair of green, leathery ears poking from underneath a wide-brimmed hat. Further south, at a roadside cookshop whose pots and plates of rice fill the air with steam, I can see a goblin, collapsed on the table. Several bundles of broadsheets and a mug rests beside his elbows.

“A ruse?” Airin proposes. We walked closer to get a more thorough look. The trail of saliva trickling down from his sleeve to the ground speaks loudly enough. He’s not waylaying anyone. The slight movement of his breasts does confirm his continued existence, at the least.

Following a glance towards one another, we returned to the steps of the (not charred!) black household.

And straightway met with a hard glance by the elderly goblin.

“Good day, mister.”
“Good day.”

Aeg had already discussed the matter of his belongings and reasons to suspect one of the students here, ‘Wittiya’ is in possession of them — but not Galpet’s involvement and the would-be robbery of yesterday.

“I’m afraid I cannot share such intimate particulars to persons excepting his relatives.” The instructor narrows his eyes, refusing to give us any further information of Galpet’s friend beyond his name. “We’re open, always, but most folk spend their new years elsewhere.”

We do have one more play to make, though — when we questioned the teahouse’s staff, Aeg wrote down their accounts on his map. A case could be made for the safety of his students, Wittiya and Galpet, that the location of their residence and their name of guardians are to be given to us.

The difficulty is, with Galpet being only a few minutes away, to directly involve him or not? It would strengthen our ask, but only if Galpet willingly and earnestly cooperates.

We decided to…

>Present the teahouse staff’s accounts
Legality is the heart of the matter, here. As long as what we say does not veer outside it, he ought to be of help.

I’ll need to word my requests and accounts carefully.

>Visit and discuss things with Galpet first
The doings of yesterday, his past, Amournnara, only I know of such intimate matters. If anyone could make an ally of him, it’s me.

I’ll need to give him an incentive to help us.

Hello. It’s been a while, hasn’t it. So, we reached what would approximately be the mid-point of the thread. Thanks for sticking around this far. As always, I would like some feedback.

>What’s your opinion on the characters? Who do you believe to be fleshed out and interesting?
>do you like the current style of narration and dialogue? Too bloated? Too short? Unclear?
>and among all the threads, which is your favorite so far?
LG1: nightly meeting with Airin, and going on a quest with Aeg
LG2: coffeehouse espionage with Aeg, a day working at slave company, and visiting the riverside temple
LG3: Past with Nara, a talk with Slaughterer Nuan, and encountering a wounded Galpet

>>6180698
>Present the teahouse staff’s accounts
Galpet's parents will be the bigger problem, if we try to persuade him and they are around.

>>6180700
>What’s your opinion on the characters? Who do you believe to be fleshed out and interesting?
All of them are pretty well-developed, with the main trio being my favorites, and Aeg probably the one I like best.

>do you like the current style of narration and dialogue? Too bloated? Too short? Unclear?
I'm a fan of more dialogue tags, but you've gotten good at giving each main charcuterie a distinct voice, so it's not normally a problem. Given the slower pace lately, a few reminder/recap sentences here and there to older threads' events might not be remiss. Everything else is just fin. As always, I like your descriptions a lot.

>and among all the threads, which is your favorite so far?
LG2 was probably my favorite, personally.

>>6180698
>Present the teahouse staff’s accounts
>>6180700
>What’s your opinion on the characters? Who do you believe to be fleshed out and interesting?
they're all interesting and Airin has attention

>do you like the current style of narration and dialogue? Too bloated? Too short? Unclear?
the formating has been good for a while now, pretty clear

>and among all the threads, which is your favorite so far?
LG3

Writing.

And thanks for the feedback!
my personal favorite to write was LG2’s a day at slave co.

>>6182266
>>6182267
waiting warmly

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>>6180702
> Given the slower pace lately, a few reminder/recap sentences here and there to older threads' events might not be remiss.

That’ll be included in the upcoming update.

>>6183710
Thanks, QM!

We have to get all our stories straight. Or make him think they are, in any case.

Firstly, the theft of his items took place three days ago - at the textile district, in a teahouse. The morning of the day following that, Aeg and I met discussed the matter, and visited the district in the afternoon; those children, whom they never had seen before, left the place without eating, and the staff recalled two of their particulars — a child with white dots and streaks on his hands, and another with yellow hair much like Aeg himself.

Their accounts, which corroborated his story, are written down by Aeg. For now, this - is - our only evidence linking those thieves to the theft of Aeg’s cocked hat and broadside.

(We don’t have the staff’s signatures, but we do have their names. We can find them later. Those witnesses aren’t going anywhere, either.)

The evening of that day is where we start to veer outside the path of rectitude. We discussed the matter with Airin, and she believes finding white-handed child is the best course to take. We advanced her instruction in the early morning of yesterday; while searching for persons possessing such particulars in the fruit markets, we visited a teahouse; there, we found the yellow-haired child and I followed him — the conversation I eavesdropped revealed a plan of robbery in the evening.

(We bowed out immediately after. I nearly got caught twice.)

Our course leads us to the Screwpine canal road. There, we divided ourselves into three; Aeg visited the temple fair where one of the thieves would (re-)sell his belongings to the mark; Thon and I visited an old temple with a discreet path out of Screwpine; and Airin went to summon peace officers at the road the robbery would have taken place.

(We did prevent the robbery, but they got away; the white-handed child ‘merely’ was there to harvest screwpine in the nearby river.)

Much later in the evening, we found the yellow-haired child and Galpet in an outhouse, wounded: arm injury and hip cut, respectively. They stole nearby bottles of crocodile tails to mend the burns caused by the fireworks. We got them out of the upper parts of town, scantly avoided meeting Amournnara again, and got them to a hospital in the lower parts.

As for the doings of today…

(Ones which are relevant for our current circumstances, in any case.)

The late morning was spent in the Twin Hearts temple. And while I don’t believe I grasped the full breadth and length of it, I apparently can withstand heat. And supposedly, lightning is only one expression of the messenger’s might. Although I do hope the circumstances do not occasion their use. The mid-day was spent finding Aeg.

… and that should be all.

>Present teahouse staff’s accounts

With my nod, Aeg opens up the folded map. “I have cause to believe your student - Wittiaya - has in his possession my belongings. Three days ago, they were stolen from me in a teahouse - these accounts corroborate the theft.”

“Yesterday, at Screwpine canal road, I saw your student in the temple fair with the yellow-haired child detailed in the account. Brief as it was, I noticed the articles they had. They bore great resemblance to ones I recently lost.” The elderly instructor says nothing, only leaning further into the desk. Aeg takes his silence as sign to continue. “I doubt he would have bought them were he made aware of its history. Now you see why I would greatly appreciate it if I could discuss this matter with him.”

“How did you know the yellow-haired kid intends to sell him your belongings?” The sharp inquiry gives Aeg pause. But he doesn’t tarry in silence. “I- I don’t understand what you intend to say? Why would a thief give the things he stole to- I don’t even know the nature of their relations, but would it not be queer to do elsewise? Give away the fruits of your ‘labor’ and ask nothing in return?”

“What I intend to say is, there are multiple possibilities - Wittiya could have been a fellow of his, for example.” Aeg sighs upon hearing that, his hand reaching for and scratching his scalp. Violently.

“That was an attempt. of being charitable. i would appreciate it if we could resolve this matter without dragging anyone into the court of law. and i’d appreciate it — greatly — if you aid me on such a course.” His lethargic tone does little to obscure his discontent.

“The accounts made little mention of the- your stolen goods. Rather, the unpaid dining. And don’t think I’ve forgotten your fellows, either — how speedily you hid yourselves from view when a parent of one student was here.” Our worries were momentarily abated by his address - he’s unhelpful because he believes us to the danger ourselves.

“Amournnara was a person I had a [law]suit with, five years before I came here. That is why I do not wish to see her again, if it could be avoided.” I straightway answer while summoning a densely inked trade card.

>[Slaughterer Nuan’s card: used]

“It was yesterday when I chanced upon a person who knew - some of - the parties involved. Gaplet. Wittiya. The yellow-haired child. Her instructions pointed us to this household.”

How speedily his expression changes. His gaze becomes fixed onto the trade card, flipping it back and forth, as if unable to comprehend its existence. “Where.” A word is spoken, with a little less conviction than before.

“Where...”
“Where did I meet her yesterday?” He nods.

At the temple. At a temple. At. Hm. What was the name of that, again?

>Old Timber
A large temple where the fair took place.

>Cavern Maze
A dilapidated temple next to that stinking river.

“Hm. I see.” After asking us questions and questions, silently ruminating and pondering, after the minutes of indirectness and chaffing which felt like hours, after all of that, he decides…

length of time spent depends on the answer.

No? NO? REALLY. NO?!

“Well. It appears to me, the case you have is purely private. I’m afraid we cannot give away such particulars on matters which reside outside our establishment. Disclosing the intimacy of our patrons shall only be done for grave matters.” And he’s right back to covering his own cunt. Not that his understanding of law is correct.

“You - seem - to misunderstand a few things, mister.” But before I could get a word against that dog’s cunt* yellow-belly, the person who spent two-thirds of her life around that matter speaks up.

And kept speaking.

It wasn’t long before Wittiya’s (well, his parents’) residence was handed to us. And Amournnara’s. She could’ve gotten the entirety of the list and used that against him, if she was feeling cruel. But we’ve wasted enough time.

Congregations of clouds has since departed by time we returned to the common way — and likewise for the folk, it seems.

“Pet’s gone.” Aeg notes, as he takes - yet - another piece of chicken skin from my box. I’m almost tempted to test the efficacy of such an instrument now. “Probably bowed out.” Also stealing food from my grasp is Airin. “I would. Dreadful place to linger. He’s not waylaying a damned thing.”

My exasperation dissipates, however, as we return to the upper parts of town.

“Ugh. What’s-” While taking the less crowded path to Wittiya’s residence, something reflects some light into Airin’s eyes. A small, almost pebble sized thing, residing inside an alley that leads downwards, to the cramped confederacies and districts of Oceankeep’s center. The path is similarly small, yet cluttered with broadsheets and bits of decayed wood; being somehow even more decrepit and pitiful than the alley we found Aeg in.

“Beetle?” Aeg scoffs, thinking someone must’ve - either due to haste or carelessness - dropped a coin while passing through.

“No. I don’t think so. Ought to be ivory or-” Airin walks around it, trying to examine it from different angles, before taking a couple steps into the desolate alley. “Airin!” I speedily follow behind her, my left thumb ready to push the blade out from the scabbard.

“Tooth.”

>>6185106
>Cavern Maze
thought there's gonna be 1 more post since there wasn't a choice at the bottom of this one

>>6185263
The availability of upcoming choices will depend on this one

>>6185106
>Cavern Maze

Hello. Good news and bad news.

I have this Thursday and Friday off.
Currently having a headache. I should be able to sleep it off, though. See you.

>>6185662
Feel better soon, QM!

>>6185908
Thanks. Feeling a bit better.

If things go well, I should he able to update by Monday night. Writing’s about halfway there. Thanks for sticking around.

you’ll be meeting her again.

>>6188028
Glad to hear you're on the mend, QM.

>>6188028
waiting warmly

It’s that riverside temple! The house of worship facing a river infested with screwpines. That’s where Thon and I went. I knew it to be correct. Indubitably.

>Cavern Maze
correct answer: shorter time needed for Airin’s ‘persuasion’.
It rattled him. Not enough to the point he was of help — although Airin made damned sure that didn’t remain the case.

“What baggage.” Aeg cracked his fingers, one after another, as we walked back up the roadway we came from. “You see their sort often?”

“Not that terribly common in my present station, fortunately.” Airin sighed as she took one last look at the household. “You?”

“The folk aren’t throwing scalding-hot tea or fireworks or chairs at me. But I can’t say they’re any less quarrelsome.” A content smile appeared on his lips.

( … )

“Tooth.” Airin struggles to get a word out as she backs away from the alley. Bits of blood and gum shoot out and skip across the ground as the tooth is dropped.

Not a moment sooner do we hear heavy, sluggish steps further within; faintly we hear the labored breathing and pained growls of a woman.

“Go. Get the peace officers.” Aeg waves us off as he inverses his grip on his singlestick - flipping it around as to grasp the hilt properly. He lingers on the alleyway, the singlestick resting on his shoulder while Airin and I run back to the upper road’s corner.

“There!”
“That’s- uh.”

Accompanying us are a pair of peace officers, a giant and a man; armed with halberds, with swords and bucklers in reserve; armored with wide-brimmed helmets, and cuirasses with tassets covering the upper thighs — all of which are black, with red accents. More than enough to repel most things that isn’t a [artillery] piece.

But the picture that confronts us is a bit different.

“M- ma’am! I HAVE NO QUARREL—” Menacing Aeg with her elbow-long smoking pipe is a badly cut up Amournnara; nicks and scrapes of varying breadth are present on her arms and legs. Her other hand clings to her waist and the belt of items around it, which remains largely untouched, including that buldging pocket of hers — although that lumpy sheath is missing a few knives.

Through a school of thought only known to her, she throws a horizontal cut aimed at Aeg’s calf while he tries to back away and holding his singlestick behind him - which he straightway responds by gathering his feet; by bringing his lead foot to his back, he voids the strike, letting it smack the wall instead. A harsh roar is produced as the pipe’s bowl slams against wood, and the consequent shock causes the stumbling Amournnara to flinch and drop the pipe out of pain.

“Alright, get back.”
“Ma’am. Let me tend your wounds.”

The peace officers step between them to make distance; the giant holding out the haft of his polearm diagonally (as there isn’t enough space to so horizontally) to act as a barrier between him and Amournnara, while the man escorts her away, his main hand keeping his polearm’s head tucked downwards and the haft behind him.

“W-”
“Aeg?”
“What- what the hell are you doing here?”

Before he could answer, the baggage starts barking and yelling. At us.

“Y- you. You. Dogs! DOGS! I see how it is - you molest*harass the folk, and then, and then, you-” Her hateful gaze remains fixed on me even as her throat fails her.

“Can you tell us what happened, ma’am?” The giant peace officer steps back from Aeg, as to keep everyone in view, before holding the polearm upright.

“Those- THESE” She pants and huffs, her head and arm resting on the other peace officer’s shoulder for support. “These dog cunts*yellow-bellies waylaid me in this way. With a pack of wayward children -whilst- I was smoking. Since I didn’t wish to bother the commonfolk in the commonway! With smoking!” Spinning lies and sculpting falsehoods is her strong, as is ever, but what’s - presently - more of note is the mention of her assailants.

The giant isn’t very happy with the words vomited out, but refrains from speaking, only giving her a hard look.

“Three. They- there were three of them. They had sickles and, and long. Long knives with bars, metal bars wrapped around the hilt. About…” She spreads her fingers apart, using the distance between her middle finger and thumb as a unit of measure. “Ten, fifteen inches. Blade length.”

“They must be fourteen, fifteen years old, at most, as far as I can tell, from their voice. As for their height, theirs is- add inches… like. Add three, four inches on that faggot*irksome woman and you’ll get the picture.” The scantly standing, bleeding faggot who once defended being struck in the face by her own husband points to Airin.

“That’s thrice now.” Whatever noise that’s left in the alley, it was silenced by his venomous growl. The giant speedily realizes this, and runs a thumb across his lower lips to check if he had bared his fangs by accident or not. He hasn’t. “Ma’am. If you cannot say your piece without being immoderate, you needn’t. You may take your leave.” His tone returns to a slightly less tempestuous one.

“Th- wha— what.” The presently-being-patched-up faggot struggles to get a word out. “They- they attacked. They attacked me! Robbed me! Tried- tried to rob me.” His gaze speedily returns some semblance of peace to the social intercourse.

“We do not know that, firstly. And were that their intention, to slay and murder you, or rob you, summoning us doesn’t further it in the remotest. Secondly, presently, your acts are not within propriety; [legal] actions may be taken against your insults, and so is your attempt of wounding a person.”

“you only act gingerly because you know these folk.” Before the giant could mention the punishments common for such offenses, the faggot weakly argues.

“I’ve seen him - with my own eyes - jailed twice for misplacing his cuirass, when he was with the Nightwatch.” Aeg lightly tilts his head. But says nothing in return. “Now. You may take your leave.” Weary of speaking, the giant peace officer taps the butt of his polearm.

“Wait. This is the tooth I made mention of.” Airin squats down and retrieves the previously dropped tooth. Even in her grasp, it’s still tiny.

“Yes, the tooth -I- smacked loose when one tried to cut open my waist.” She dryly notes as the giant examines it.

“Pig blood red.” The peace officer notes as he looks at the roots.

“Yes. It was from scant few minutes ago.” She dryly continues.

“…”
“Let’s get you to the hospital. Ma’am.”

And they did. Mercifully. And we all ended up at the north-eastern corner of Oceankeep. While her wounds were being tended to, they wrote down our accounts — although we left out our “encounter” with her at the household.

“Oh, are you the one who mentioned a robbery in Screwpine yesterday?” It’s been nauseating to have, even for a moment, Amournnara in our lives again, but seeing progress being made on our course is always welcome.

“Right. That ought to be all. Thanks for your time.” A bittersweet feeling fills my breast as we bow out. We could have stopped ourselves from facing a great deal of difficulties if we didn’t act so speedily. Didn’t get there so speedily. I wouldn’t, we wouldn’t have to worry about a faggot throwing a [law]suit at us. I could have walked away and let the baggage die and rot by itself. I suppose I could have chosen that roadway five years earlier, too.

“She’s not suing shit, Gal. Needn’t worry of it.” Aeg brushes off the notion.

“Hm. If anything, you could, though.” Airin is a little less sure, but points out a case could be made against her, regarding the attempt of wounding him.

In any case, our course remains the same: get Aeg’s belongings back. Our journey should put us minutes away from Wittiya’s household.

“That’s.”
“Huh.”

“This. This area. Is that not where she lives?” As Airin consults the map and list of residences extracted from the household, she notices something queer. “That’s the alley we found her in. Approximately. And here-” Her finger taps on the upper west part of town. “That’s her house. Somewhere here.” Her finger moves slightly further down but much more eastward. It’s a couple streets above the central confederacies.

(I still don’t understand.)

“I think this is the reason why those kids lingered in the upper parts yesterday. They knew approximately where Galpet lives and intended to waylay him when he tried to return there.” Airin proposes a theory, but I have doubts about it.

“She could just be another victim of opportunity. Their assault on her was - from what I can tell - motivated by the items on her belt. The bulging pocket, chiefly.”

We both sigh as we comb through the map and list again and again. One good thing which came out of it was realizing the Wittiya residence is relatively distant from it, both horizontally and vertically - we needn’t worry about a pack of kids backing up on us there.

… one possibility that lingers on my mind, though, that being, detailing this to Galpet, after visiting the residence. Should he retire to his house in the evening, he’ll be walking right into their hands.

>Inform Galpet — upper Oceankeep road
Take the speediest path to him. Galpet ought to be around. If the wayward children still linger near the area, though, they might notice us. But if we get Galpet on our side, the matter should be settled soon enough.

>Inform Galpet — lower Oceankeep road
We take a slower, more roundabout path. I doubt the wayward children would catch a glimpse of us then. Galpet did say he’ll spend the entire day waiting for them to approach him from the south.

>Bow out
We really needn’t involve ourselves any further than we already have. I shouldn’t give Amournnara - of all things - ammunition against us. We get his things back, and we’re done for today.

>>6188850
>Inform Galpet — lower Oceankeep road

>>6188850
>>6188843
"Faggot" used to be synonymous with bitch/cunt as an insult? Huh. The more you know...

>>6188850
>Inform Galpet — lower Oceankeep road
That way we can still catch them by surprise.

>>6189063
its meaning can vary.
"Chiefly Irish English, Scottish, and English regional. derogatory, A woman, esp. one considered to be troublesome, useless, or slatternly; frequently with modifying adjective, as old faggot, lazy faggot, etc. Often as a term of abuse or contempt. Occasionally also with reference to a man or an animal"; (8.b) "English regional (southern and south-eastern), Scottish, and Irish English (northern). A naughty or mischievous child, esp. in young faggot, little faggot, etc. Frequently as a term of rebuke or reproach."

Go a little further forward in history, faggot can also mean “A man who is temporarily hired as a dummy soldier to make up the required number at a muster of troops, or on the roll of a company or regiment." (British)

Baggage is another (derogatory) term for a woman

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-Trivia and Background information-

Hello. I’ll be quite busy until Friday, so here’s some behind-the-scenes stuff in the meanwhile.

>Amournnara’s items

Amournnara’s pipe is a buyōkiseru, a type of Japanese smoking pipe (kiseru). Smoking tobacco were becoming popular in the 17th century, and all sorts of people carried kiseru; samurai, townsfolk, kabukimono, machi yakko (forerunners of the present-day yakuza)

This specific type is constructed of metal and much longer than most other fighting pipes (kenka kiseru), with the example in this website being 57 cm long and weighing 0.675 kg. https://www.rosemarybandini.com/articles/buyokiseru/

These longer, fighting pipes also saw use by the samurai during the 19th century; with the meiji restoration restricting swords to the military, they took to carrying the pipes instead. The shorter ones are used similarly to tessen (iron fan), being used to strike or hook limbs, while longer ones can be held bowl-forward, like a war club, or bowl behind the hand, like a baton. Demonstrated here: https://youtu.be/e2Kcrhi3w_A?si=t2lwWHmaQHUkHYde

Amournnara’s knife set sheath is based on the black leather sheath with brass utensils from Tod’s workshop video: https://youtu.be/JtzrF9xLBlY?si=pYtHD0yRAbMD43Wa

Carrying around your own eating utensils, and carrying knives in general was a practice done in the medieval and renaissance periods; here’s a reproduction of a bauernwehr (working knife), common to Germany and Switzerland from 14th-16th century. https://todsworkshop.com/products/bauernwehr-circa-1400

A “pricker” is an eating utensil that is essentially an icepick that’s slightly thicker. Pic related is a two-piece set from Tod’s workshop: https://todcutler.com/products/15thc-medieval-knife-and-pricker-eating-set

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>peace officers & nightwatch

Firstly, their names. “Peace officer” was a term referring to police officers from the 19th to the later half of the 20th century. It’s not entirely “accurate” to the time period this quest is set in, but concessions were made. Same goes for “retard” (the word did exist, but it meant to slow something down, rather than intellectually disabled) and the inclusion of coffee/teahouses.

Nightwatch and the appearance of peace officers (halberd, cuirass, helmet) are derived from 16-17th century German cities. Nightwatch is literally translated from Scharwächter - they patrol the city at night to enforce curfew, prevent crime, calling out time, and spotting fires — one document specifically says they should look out for and stop looters after a fire.

Many positions within the nightwatch were compulsory for citizens, and they are obligated to own and maintain weapons and armor for this purpose. Hans Jacob Meyer got jailed for two nights because he couldn’t produce his armor when summoned during a fire. Aeg misplacing his cuirass is a reference to this incident. This article details a couple of the Meyer family’s run-in with the law: https://evergreenfencing.substack.com/p/the-legal-troubles-of-joachim-meyers

Fights between students and nightwatch happen frequently; here’s a quote from Jakob Sutor, a 17th c fencing instructor of the freifechter guild, on what to do when that happens.

“Should you see that someone with a flail comes to you at night, and wants to swing at you, as is the case from time to time at the universities, when one is coming from the table and is attacked by the watchman, someone having previously often done something to the watchman—then the newcomer must pay for what another has wrought; whip, then, your cloak over your left arm, and walk under his flail with full force, so that he who so swings, overswings inwards. If, however, you are a strong one, then tear his flail out of his hand, for the protection of your body and life..”

(From the rapier section of his treatise)

Accounts such as a student killing a nightwatch and fleeing the city can be found in this article: https://evergreenfencing.substack.com/p/wygand-bracks-night-watch-career

Aeg’s burn wounds are a reference to the ‘fire patrol’ part of his job while his complaints of getting things thrown at him is a reference to this aspect.

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>thai influence

The peace officers’ wide brimmed, kettle helmets are references to Thai helmets - depicted here in this temple painting estimated to be from the 16th century.

Japanese weapons and armor were also found in 16-17th century Ayutthaya, too, but not much mention of European ones. Concessions, once again, in this regard.

By the 17th century, bucklers were less often carried, but I’ve included them in the peace officers’ kit chiefly as a reference to the current thai police symbol (although that didn’t exist until Rama 4 reign), although, the symbol itself is a reference how the king’s personal guard were the only personnel authorized to carry swords in the innermost parts of the palace. https://rayongtouristpolice.com/%E0%B9%82%E0%B8%A5%E0%B9%88%E0%B9%80%E0%B8%82%E0%B8%99%E0%B8%95%E0%B8%B3%E0%B8%A3%E0%B8%A7%E0%B8%88/#google_vignette

Actual Thai shields were made of wood and were a bit large, with some being 49cm in diameter, so bucklers were chosen instead so they could actually fit on the hilt. https://www.mandarinmansion.com/item/thai-wooden-shield

In Thai (well, imported-from-hindu) mythology, giants can bear their fangs in anger, and this is briefly referenced with the giant peace officer. Aeg carrying a singlestick is also a reference to giants often being depicted with batons.

>>6189125
Interesting. I wonder if the use as a derogatory term for gay men came from, initially, comparing them to women?

>>6189983
>the masculine urge to buy medieval travel-utensils

>>6189985
Thanks for the interesting history lessons, QM!

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>>6191009
>I wonder if the use as a derogatory term for gay men came from, initially, comparing them to women?
The term being specifically used to mean homosexual men was first documented in 1914’s A Vocabulary of Criminal Slang. An example given is "All the fagots (sissies) will be dressed in drag at the ball tonight."

The idea of a word referring to an older, burdensome, quarrelsome woman losing the negative aspects and emphasizing the female aspect does seem probable, from what I’ve seen.

https://archive.org/details/wordmythsdebunki00wilt_0/page/176/mode/1up

Phrases such as “fry a faggot” and “fire and faggot” pop up in the 16th century, but that’s mainly referring to executions through burning such as heresy. Punishment for homosexuality was hanging, though.

And speaking of women…
https://pages.uoregon.edu/dluebke/Witches442/Definitions.html

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>>6161727
>Loveless Gal bows out
More like "Loveless Gal blows out her back"
lmao

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>>6191493

Hey. Feeling a bit sick tonight. Can’t update. See you soon.

>>6192813
Sorry to hear it. Feel better soon, QM!

FYI the upcoming update will have the final choice of this thread. Thanks for sticking around.

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WIP.

>>6194087
Thanks for sticking with it, QM!

Coming tomorrow.

>>6195691
waiting warmly

>>6195772
+1

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A couple things came up yesterday. I guess we wont have time for an update following this one. Anyway, See you very soon.

We ought to preserve someone who stands in opposition to evil company - even if his reason is solely self-seeking.

(Him turning his coat would be a remote possibility, though, so that’s the vantage.)

>Inform Galpet — lower Oceankeep road

“What a long roadway you advance.” Aeg idly drags his finger in a half-rectangle motion on the map, all too aware of the time needed to cover half of the city’s perimeter. “I really don’t believe those kids would tarry near a place where they failed a robbery? I wouldn’t. I’d bow out for the day. And if- And even if I was the most covetous, reckless, evil company, I’d find my prey elsewhere.” His finger taps the confederacies in the middle. “The evening markets. Stalls. Food carts. Eating places. A buttload more folk to cut-purse. Folk who wouldn’t see and cave my teeth in.”

I suppose with the peace officers now aware of them, doing further robberies there would be quite burdensome. “What - would - you advance instead?”

“Get to here. And cut these corners.” He makes a triangle starting from the middle of Oceankeep’s eastmost road, bouncing to the southmost and ending at the middle of the westmost road we spent much of the day at. “Much speedier the course. Although I doubt it that the kid would tarry there by the day’s end.”

“He’ll be there.”

If the cut on his hip was grave, he wouldn’t have laid his head on and slept on the table in such a manner. His friend’s wounds, though, appeared more extensive. But we can find him later.

( … )

“I always wondered how’d they deal with the mosquitoes.” The day-long quest is paused with a revisit to the pier’s porridgehouse. Well, a revisit for Airin and I, that is.

“They-”
“Uh. Well. I don’t believe they do. I don’t recall them burning - any - citrus or their oils yesterday.” Airin examines a cube of onions-sauce braised pork belly as she makes talk.

(The chopsticks here aren’t even tapered either…)

“Niggards.*stingy people” He moans.
“Often is the case for this sort of eating place.” She doesn’t.

“How - did - you eat here unmolested, then?” Aeg rests his chopsticks on the bowl to crack his fingers.

“Well. I’m small.” Airin adjusts her posture on the stool whose height, were she to stand upright, rivals hers.

“And I don’t sweat. Apparently.” The claim makes her snort and laugh.

“Mhm~ I do recall you sweating plenty this morning.” Her ears excitedly wiggles as she disregards any semblance of propriety in the conversation.

“You sound so sure it was sweat - not olive or coconut oil.” The exasperation further emboldened the senior, if her expression is in anyways earnest.

“Because I am. And. Speaking of, you still owe me a new bottle.”

(Tch.)

“If we’re taking that roadway - you owe me new condoms.” It gives her pause, but her gaze makes evident what she intends to respond with. Ugh.

“As if they were of use to begin with…”
“And - didn’t - you mention they were freely given?”

(What a senior I have.)

With the hearty dinner concluded, we returned to the upper roads of Oceankeep - the which, I have become more intimate with, due to recent matters.

Amournnara was still at the hospital. The peace officers said her wounds weren’t grave, but recovery was said to take some more hours. Mayhaps even taking a night. But I doubt such a course would be followed by her. No, her character is anything -but- that.

“That’s the one.”
“Hm.”
“Right. I ought to.”

Even with the list, we almost missed the residence; the small frontage and meager lamps makes finding it amidst a sea of chatter-filled and populated shops. Aeg knocked.

“Good day. Ma’am. Child.”
“There’s a matter we need to discuss with mister Wittiya. It pertains to a colleague of his, Galpet, and the articles we believe he has sold.”

Greeting us were a large woman and a child nearing fourteen, or fifteen years of age; their pale smocks stained with dots and streaks of yellow and orange; and their ankle-length skirts checkered with green and red, whose brilliance has since faded a long, long time ago.

The small withdrawing room was furnished with only a handful of mats, triangle and rectangle cushions, and a single round table - but sufficient.

(North-eastern folk. They must’ve came here for work.)

The woman, Wittiya’s aunt, was kind enough to nourish us with a plate of mayongchit*Marian plums whilst we talked — the two having peeled and shucked a bowl of them right before answering the door.

“Oh. Y- yea. I- I think I get the picture.” Wittiya straightway fetched the belongings once Aeg made mention of it; returning with an untouched broadside of the idol, but a plain, wide-brimmed hat — he explained the bundled roses were given away to a monastery’s statue as part of a prayer for success in his musical studies.

“You needn’t worry. I’ll get ‘nother one.” After a day of dealing with a faggot and an equally bothersome man, Aeg breaths a sigh of relief. Wittiya remains nervy, though, even when assured of no legal action looming over him or his folk; wiping his sweaty fingers on his smock and fidgeting with his nails.

“If- If I may?”
“Yes?”

“Pet’s- he’s not in a difficulty, is he?” And the dreaded question was occasioned. I dared not to droop my head nor sigh, but it nevertheless gives me pause. “The- these accounts said those folks aren’t very nice.”

A part of me wishes to say his deviation from the path of rectitude was of his own choosing, not the evil company he is surrounded- no, the evil company he surrounds himself with. The evil company that drew against him when he proved less greedy than them. And Galpet Amournnara saw him as nothing more than a pig whose sole use is to be bled dry and left to rot. And consequent to such a course, his sole friend’s arm being torn open by fireworks and his hip nicked by sickles, and his mother some inches away from being killed.

But does he - need - to hear it? We already the end of our roadway, unmolested, and got (most of) Aeg’s belongings back. We could bow out. Immediately. Bow out and give not a single glance back - with those kids already in the peace officers’ sights, we needn’t do much excepting pointing them to that teahouse.

“Well.” Airin glances at me as she lightly exhales. “I cannot say. We do not know where he is. Nor his company.”

“That’s- uh.”
“…”
“I don’t wish to be misunderstood. I meant to say, how strongly will he suffer legal action?” His gaze is now fixed to Airin’s.

“I.. am unsure. It’s up to the judge. They’re usually consequent to his record. Fines, no doubt. Flogging, twenty, or thirty times. He could be tied to a cart and flogged as it drives around the city. But most probably within the confederacies. I doubt he’d be put in a pillory, though.” Airin puts a thumb under her chin as she details the punishments.

“O- oh. I see. That was less than what I expected. I had thought his ears or tongue were to be cut off.”

“That’s chiefly for counterfeiting or coin shaving. Not in the remotest the roadway he’s on. And the tongue is to be bored, not severed, in cases of slander.. directed towards the monarch, I believe. Slander within normality-” Looking at the orange flesh of the fruit, which has a hole in the middle, Airin recites a couple more particulars of the law. “We’d use the bridle. It’s. Uh.”

“Bridle?” The kid tilts his head.

“It’s a cage for the mouth of someone quarrelsome!” Aeg perks up at the mention of the scold’s bridle. “The construction is quite interesting. So, the mouthpiece is made from a flat dish and spikes, but actually…”

Somehow, the conversation became more cheerful with the addition of metal contraptions made to inflict suffering and humiliation.

“Thumb-screws aren’t- well, they’re not used for torture or anything of such caliber, rather, to bind and restrain a person before we put them in a jail.”

… eventually, enough minutes passed us by. A shame. We never got to talk of test-cutting.

(Cutting a corpse in half - takes - the effort.)

We thank them for their time and bow out. After Aeg and I retrieve our weapons from the entran-

“Mister Aeggorn. Mister Kommgal?”

Alone on the frontage is Wittiya. Any semblance of a curious, cheerful expression has all but disappeared. Only furrowed brows.

“Can I-”
“No.”
“Pet. You have met him, haven’t you.”
“Tell me in earnest. He’s not well, is he?”

Hm. I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less of a fast friend of his. Well, someone who - considers - himself such, in any case. When did he figure this out, I wonder. Or was such a thought already the case to begin with?

What sort of reply I ought to make…

>He is.
Well, he figured out this much. Must I say anything more.

>He’s not.
Galpet and a ‘friend’ of his was wounded. That’s all Wittiya needs to hear.

>He’s not - and it is consequent to his acts
Wittiya deserves to hear the entirety of it.

>>6196951
>He’s not.