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>Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Bladebound%20Retainer%20Quest
>Previous Thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2652041/
>Twitter: https://twitter.com/TaskForceKaz
>Pastebin: http://pastebin.com/u/TaskForceKaz

[STATS]
>Combat: +++
>Social: +
>Knowledge: ++

[Abilities/Traits/Perks]
>Indomitable, Rank 1: Ignore the penalties imposed by Blood Loss. Does not negate health loss.
>Atelier of Death, Rank 1: Craft your own Bombs and Poisons.
>Blutmörder: +10 to Combat Rolls made against Blutlings and Blood Mages.
>Fleetfooted: If a Natural One would be among any roll related to acrobatic feats both in and out of combat, immediately disregard it and either take the highest roll or reroll again.
>Lone Wolf [Special]: You work best when alone. Take a +15 when fighting by yourself, and a -10 when fighting with more than three allies. Additional ranks increase the bonus, and may decrease the penalty.
>In Plain Sight: >+30 to Disguising/Hiding/Sneaking, Take 75 in non-stressful situations
>Nimble Fingers 2: +40 to non-attack actions involving your hands (lockpicking, pickpocketing, etc.).
>Knowledge: Nobility (Aderaveth): Take a flat 50 to Knowledge rolls concerning this subject.
>Knowledge: Underworld (Aderaveth): Take a flat 50 to Knowledge rolls concerning this subject.
>Riding, Rank 2: You are able to ride unassisted, and perform rudimentary skills to obedient horses.
>Specter’s Dream: A technique to allow one to rest while remaining aware of one’s surroundings. (4/8/12 hour intervals each with their own bonuses)
>Underdog: You have spent many years fighting against opponents bigger and heavier than you, and emerged the victor. Against Large humans or monsters (i.e. in excess of 7 ft. of height and 300 lbs of weight), you gain a +10 to Combat rolls.

You are Marcus Painel, the troubled son of the late assassin Lucien Painel, dead by your own hands at ten. At the age of eighteen, you have already loved and lost, and the blood of dozens stains your hands a crimson red of retribution. But a chance meeting at the brink of death has found you as the bodyguard to Princess Ellana Crowmond, youngest of the royal family of the Aderaveth Empire. Inducted to her service as her Crownguard, you have sworn to keep her safe from harm by whatever means necessary…

In the last thread, the drakling that has plagued the caravan has met a final and bloody end at your hands. Returning to the caravan and Princess Ellana is your utmost priority, and you have little desire to remain in a forest where barbarians and hooded magic-users like to hide. But before you left the forest, you encountered Firja of the Armanni, a barbarian priestess, and parlayed with her for what you looted from the drakling. Apprehensive as you were with the revelation that her tribe worships the long-dead dragons, you managed to conclude negotiations peacefully and without violent incident.

Now, the journey continues…
>>
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…One by one, those snakes, they died,
Falling as the wraith did stride,
To where the vipers made their nest,
And where he’d bring their final rest.

Their blood ran thick in crimson streams,
While richer men lay in their dreams,
But all in the slums kept wide awake,
As did the wraith, his wrath did slake.

Strike, wraith…kill them all!
In the snow, their corpses fall.
Strike, wraith…bleed them dry!
And fill the darkness with their cries...

Was it worth what you snakes had done?
That killed you all and left not one,
Alive and whole in that long night,
Naught but charnel at dawn’s first light.

And so, the wraith, he disappeared,
Into the shadows that they all feared,
With fifty men behind him dead,
In graves of ice stained bloody red.

Strike, wraith…kill them all!
In the snow, their corpses fall.
Strike, wraith…bleed them dry!
And fill the darkness with their cries...


-Excerpt from “Geistlied”, a slow and solemn folksong from the slums of Karthmire. Unknown author, penned in the aftermath of the Winter Slums Massacre of 238 ACR.

>A Princess on the Cusp of Spring

Ellana Crowmond is eight years old, only a handful of weeks from turning nine, but she is not afraid of the dark.

When she opens her eyes, she sees nothing, but that is not what scares her. She knows where she is, resting inside of the royal carriage, with the curtains drawn tight across the windows. Her sister had been here recently, that much she can tell from the lingering smell of perfume. Too much perfume, it seems, but not nearly enough to stifle the rancid odor of bile.

Fighting against the urge to vomit, the youngest princess rises from her cushion, scrubbing the dust from the corner of her eyes. A yawn escapes from her mouth, scandalously wide, but Mother is neither here nor there to correct her slip-

And then she suddenly remembers. The fear that gnawed at her mind as she and her siblings lay cooped in the carriage, with the distant sounds of battle conjuring terrible images in her mind. The thought that Uncle Kieran and his knights were meat in the monster’s belly, and the last sight of the drakling bearing down upon the carriage before everything went black…

It is almost a physical blow, and the rush of memories sends Ellana stumbling to the floor. Her head smacks against the latch of the hidden table, and tears that have nothing to do with draklings or dead family well in the corners of her eyes. But she does not cry, even as she clutches her head in stifled agony.

“You are both a Crowmond and a Tarmund,” she repeats Mother’s stern words like a prayer, wincing at the throbbing pain, “ The blood of Maxvell the Great and Ragnach Gerforen flow through your veins. Princess and girl though you may be, do not disgrace their names by weeping into your sleeves like a simpering maid in full view of the smallfolk.”

(cont.)
>>
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Even with the curtains drawn shut, with only small beams of light that pass through even smaller gaps, Ellana is not quick to ignore Mother’s instructions, in spite of the obvious presence of commoners. The pain in her head is not diminished in any significant way, but the memory does put some resolve into her will.

Sniffing away the tears, she gropes blindly, reaching for the latch of the door. There is nothing to see, but there is plenty to hear. Just outside the door, the muddy slush of the ground churns underfoot as heavily armored men move in circles around the carriage. In the distance, a dull murmur of people gather just towards what she believes to be north, by the light. And if she closes her eyes and concentrates, far behind the carriage, there is the sound of two people doing the things that men and women do but parents never speak of – the thing Ellana calls grunting and what Ser Royce and Lady Rudnick were tried for, but she has no other way of expressing it; all the other words are either forgotten or too vulgar.

She’ll have to ask Marcus to elaborate…

Marcus.

Her grip on the handle slackens, before tightening so hard that she can see white on her knuckles. That’s right. Before she had fainted, she had been speaking to her Crownguard about…and he had caught her when her mind became overwhelmed with the sight of the monster.

The door bursts open with a violence that surprises even her, but she just barely manages to avoid falling into the mess on the ground. Ellana cares not for the incredulous stares of a few dozen smallfolk, held back at bay by her Uncle’s Knights, nor for the individuals who rush forward to help her.

This is not the ferry… she thinks as she sways precariously from the doorstep. And her eyes have to adjust from the unexpected radiance of a cloudless winter sky.

Westholm is a prime example from one of the hundreds of villages in Father’s Empire. Settled along a major source of water, the sprawl of thatch-roofed cottages and other functionary buildings had been built spiraling outwards from the temple and central marketplace. The top of a palisade can be seen from across the rooftops, with what looks like a fresh coat of pitch and tar.

The fallow fields lay empty, save for tools that stand out as spots against immaculate white. When the snow melts, they will plough the fields and seed the land even before the first thawing of spring. But if the fishing nets and dories are any indication, the two hundred or so souls that live here must be primarily fishermen, and not farmers.

But its most notable feature is the absence of a manor. Perhaps the lord of the fief is close enough to his village that he might consider the structure a waste of money. Gods and spirits know that there is plenty of stone in abundance.

“Princess.” Her brother’s bodyguard, the stoic, dark-skinned archer, is the first to approach her. “You will fall if not careful.”

(cont.)
>>
“I’m…fine…” Why is her brother’s Crownguard here and not her own? Carefully righting herself and brushing the wrinkles from her dress, she declares to the Ingulan, “See?”

The corner of his mouth twitches in wry amusement. “I do.”

Ellana’s triumph is short-lived. She glances down to the muddy ground, then to the white cotton hem of her dress with naked dismay. “…I think I will stay here for a while, if that’s alright.”

He shakes his head, pointing towards a nearby building with tile instead of thatched roofing. “Siblings are with the…alderman.” He struggles to pronounce the word, dragging out the first syllable with a heavy accent. “Come. I will take you.”
The irritation turns to confusion, then a brooding worry. Marcus is not. When last she saw him, he had been ready to fight the drakling. Unless it is of the utmost importance, he’s always there, musing to himself, teaching her, waiting silently by her side…

“Where is my Crownguard?” It comes out more desperately than she would like, and her cheeks heat from the tone of her voice. Praying that her following words properly convey worry as opposed to childish petulance, she repeats herself, “Where is Marcus Painel? Why is he not here?”

His sharp eyes flash with something unreadable as the amused expression fades away from his lips. Slowly, as if measuring the words on his tongue with a scale, he answers, “Princess…he…”

She cannot even wait for him to finish. “Is he injured? The drakling can’t have killed him! The temple…the alderman’s house…where are they treating him?”

He has no time to respond. There is a commotion in the crowd, loud enough to draw both of their attentions. One of the villagers seems to have made his way to the leader of the knights, riding atop a cart led by a pair of horses. The smallfolk gather around the cart, peeking over the side with curiosity before wincing and recoiling at some awful sight.

“I think this one’s one of yours, Ser Knight,” the villager says in a high voice. He stifles a sneeze with the crook of his elbow, sniffing before continuing, “Found him just across the ferryway, gods as my witnesses. Damn drakling roughed him pretty bad, but he’s still breathing…”

Before she even knows it, Ellana has jumped off of the carriage. Uncaring at the mud that splatters her dress and sucks at her legs, she pushes her way past Urath and the servants that try to arrest her motion. Desperation lends her strength beyond her years and, squeezing past the stinking mail and cloth of knights and villagers alike, the princess scrambles up the side of the wagon…

(cont.)
>>
But it is not Marcus. The man’s face is bloody and bruised, but it does not prevent her from recognizing him after a few heartbeats. Berchar, son of Berthold, lies battered and injured upon a bed of straw. His limbs are twisted, broken from some horrible impact, but he shows no signs of mortal injury. Every so often, every rough motion of the cart sends pained, rattling breath from between clenched teeth.

His brow furrows at the sudden obstruction of sunlight. The solitary eye not covered in blood rotates in its socket, flicking from one side to the other before landing on her. “Princess…” he slurs past a swollen lip and what smells like alcohol coming from his breath. “…you’re safe…”

From the corner of her eye, she can see Urath shoving his way past villagers and knights alike, heading straight towards her with fixed determination. There is only a few seconds before he reaches her.

“Where is Marcus?” she whispers desperately, all the while fighting the urge not to gag. “Do you know where my Crownguard went?”

Berchar frowns. “…Marcus…yours…right?” Resisting the urge to scream, it’s all that she can do to nod vigorously and not hit the man. “…saw him…lead the drakling away from everybody…monster knocked me across the river…”

He led them away from the carriage…as bait? Alone? Ellana thought in dismay. What were the others thinking…for all of them, why was it her bodyguard that had to bear the burden of everybody’s lives?!

“…so tired…” the groom mutters, eye fluttering as he slumps back into his bed. But before he can relax, he sits right back up, a stifled scream caught just in his lips. It seems that the alcohol he was given wasn’t enough to dull the pain from her pinching the bone that juts out from his flesh. “…!”

Releasing the broken bone, the princess scrambles back to his face, just barely avoiding Urath’s long arm that takes a swipe at her. “You can’t go to sleep, not yet! Anything else…tell me, please!”

“…saw the drakling fly straight up…Painel was on its back…just stabbing away…” For the third time in her life, a paralyzing horror seizes Ellana’s body. And she is helpless as the Ingulan scoops her from the wagon and carries her away. “…and then…”

“And then what?” Ellana shouts, struggling against her captor’s arms. “Tell me, what happened after the drakling flew into the sky?!”

The villager cuts in with a cheerful smile, “Aw, don’t worry, your majesty.” Ignoring the wrong title that he used, the man continues, “You’re safe here in Westholm, nothing to fear at all. One moment, it’s flying in the air, as high as any mountain and then…”

Another villager, a plump woman in her thirties, continues, “Damn thing just has a fit midair and falls to the ground like a bag of rocks! Felt the impact from across the river, I did! Reckon there’s nothing left but a red stain in the forest-”

(cont.)
>>
>>2888186
>pain from her pinching the bone that juts out from his flesh. “
Christ girl
>>
>>2888186
>The villager cuts in with a cheerful smile, “Aw, don’t worry, your majesty.” Ignoring the wrong title that he used, the man continues, “You’re safe here in Westholm, nothing to fear at all. One moment, it’s flying in the air, as high as any mountain and then…”
>Another villager, a plump woman in her thirties, continues, “Damn thing just has a fit midair and falls to the ground like a bag of rocks! Felt the impact from across the river, I did! Reckon there’s nothing left but a red stain in the forest-”
Marcus is going to look like such a badass when he comes back to the convoy relatively unharmed and carrying all that extra bling.
>"Riding a drakling's back all the way to the stratosphere, ripping and tearing it's huge guts, then riding it back down to earth? No big deal, I do that shit all the time, just gotta bathe in drakling lifeblood and I'll be good as new."
>t. Marcus "The Motherfucking But Not really Because I'm Still Traumatized By My Dead Waifu" Painel, Crownguard to Ellana "I Pinch Fractured Bone Injuries" Crowmond
>>
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>>2888186
The world fades away. The cheerful noise of the villagers, the stern words of the knights that call for order, Urath’s desperate whispers in her ear for her to stay calm and keep her breath even.

The words of the villagers come unbidden in her thoughts, even as she desperately tries not to think about any of it. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing of the horrible images that plague her mind.

Both man and horse scream in terrible agony as the monster’s jaws close around them, tearing them limb from limb into bloody chunks of meat.

Her Crownguard…sacrificing himself so that her siblings and their bodyguards might live.

A desperate battle in the sky where mortals were not meant to tread, where man and monster fight a bloody battle to the death, ending with a terrible, bloody impact…

“Ah…” Was that her voice, a fragile, trembling ugly thing? The voice of a fourth child, a second princesses…a spare, unneeded, princess with a spare, disposable Crownguard…

“Milady is too kind to someone like me.”

It’s too much for Ellana. Wrenching herself from Urath’s grasp, the youngest Crowmond just barely manages to land with both feet on the ground. It’s a miracle that she doesn’t scream, slip or fall into the mud as she starts running. All that remains of her world is the path that takes her directly to the carriage, far away from the voices of the outside world, the reality that…that…

“Princess-!”

The entrance of the carriage violently slams shut. Even with the thick materials, Ellana is dimly aware of the slow stream of Ingulan curses that come by the door. He could have very well lost some of his fingers with how hard she slammed and locked the door.

The curtains are shut, and the princess finds herself in darkness once more. Curling into herself, her eyes screwed shut, she claps her hands over her ears, pretending not to hear the frantic knocks from both sides of the wheelhouse, or the voices that call for her name.

“I…I am a Crowmond…and a…a Tarmund…” she trembles as she recalls Mother’s words, clinging onto them and herself as if her life depended on them. She cannot cry, must not cry, and she tastes iron in her mouth as she bites down hard on her lip. “…and…in my body is the blood of…the blood…of…”

“…nothing left but a red stain in the forest!”

Just like before that fateful meeting, the youngest child of the Imperial Royal family is left all alone in the darkness. But Ellana is not afraid of the dark. What she is scared of is its absence, and her worst nightmare, even beyond the crone's prophecy, has come to terrifying life.

In the years that would, the mere mention of Princess Ellana Crowmond would send shivers down the villagers of Westholm. No matter how much time had passed, even the most addled elder would never forget that horrible scream of despair from inside the carriage.

========

>Roll 1d100 Encounter.
>>
Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>2888234
>>
Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>2888234
>>
Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>2888234
>>
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>>2888236
>>2888238
>>2888244
>Winter 75, 238 ACR

>>You obtained the following from Feija, the Dragon Priestess:
>The Dark Grimoire: A book wrapped in dragonskin, chronicling the Age of Smoldering Ash as told by a barbarian elder. Its study may yield a permanent “+” to Knowledge among other prizes.
>The Pale Blade: A dagger forged from the tooth of a High Dragon. Eternally sharp, it will bypass and penetrate through all armor, regardless of its material.
>Vizhorek’s Ward: A charm forged from the poisonous scale of Vizhorek the Calamitous. It’s wearer gainst a +50 check to rolls made to Resist Poison.
>You are left with 1 Drakilng Gemstone.

Feija had been the first to depart. One the trade had been accomplished, five drakling gemstones for three artifacts of power, there was little left for both of you to accomplish. Further talk was unnecessary, a waste of time given how you reacted to her advances. And even without her attempts of seduction, there’s just enough culture within your body to take an automatic stance of loathing for her so-called faith.

“Another time then, Marcus,” she had said, gathering her materials and securing her mask of bone. Those eyes glittered, half-veiled orbs of gold, with an amused expression from the hollow sockets of her ornament. “Perhaps you’ll have more gemstones to trade…or you’ll have come to regret not taking what I had to offer…”

As she folded her arms beneath her breasts, you scowled, and her laughter rolled through the forest. Smoothing out the coarse and rough cloth of her skirt, she dipped, bowing just maddeningly low enough to expose a generous portion of her chest.

“May your gods walk with you, Marcus Painel,” the barbarian whispers before disappearing into the forest, “And keep you safe until our next meeting…”

You never mentioned anything about having faith. Not that she would have cared in the slightest. The gods are the gods, but as they do not trouble or otherwise exert any influence upon you, you have little desire or time to make obeisance or sacrifice in their names.

However, you are more than willing to use their names, albeit in profanities and vain. “…Pale Lady take you, Feija…all the way down to Hel.”

That had all been yesterday. Talking with Feija and making your way through the deep woods of the Köingswald. The fresh snowfall had not proved to be too much of an obstacle, but it had been enough to make a journey by foot almost an unbearable slog. By the time twilight came, and the sun began to set over the distant peaks of the Whrelzwth, you couldn’t have traveled for more than ten miles through deep and darkened wood.

(cont.)
>>
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Perhaps it’s the lingering scent of drakling on your body? Any fresh kill lingering on your body should have drawn wild animals to you like dogs to scraps of meat. Perhaps if your prey had been a deer, an auroch or anything other than a demidragon, you might have been in danger. Perhaps that unintended “bath” had an unexpected benefit.

But even with a full day’s worth of distance between you and the crater, you’re still digging out tiny flecks of dried blood from underneath your fingernails. And you can’t even begin to imagine what the smell would be like after a few days of stewing in your own grimy armor and oily hair.

You made shelter in a mighty oak, a venerable trunk with arms as thick as barrels. It’s not nearly high enough for you to see past the tree line, but just high enough to make out the distant lights of a nearby village. Westholm, and it can’t be anything else. At least another half-day’s hike, no more than five or six miles.

Securing yourself to a sturdy branch, you recline against the trunk, watching the waning moon rise over the top of the forest. What light it shines is scant, obscured by clouds that crawl slowly across the evening sky. The silence of the night is only broken by the gentle murmurs of the wind, rocking the branches and disturbing the snow that’s settled upon the boughs.

It’s been a long time since you’ve had some thoughts and time to yourself. And you find that the solitude your circumstances have found you in is not entirely unwelcome. In the wake of both caravan attacks, there is something of worth to merely gaze up at nothing and lose yourself in thought.

Many things have happened since that night in the slums…but even the mere thought, just the reference alone brings a horrible pain in your chest. Yes, thoughts alone are fine, but you’re nowhere even near ready to even properly dwell upon your memories of her.

“…I’m still alive,” you mutter at nothing, extending a hand out towards the winter sky, “…is this what you want from me?”

The only answer the gentle breeze of cool winter air, gliding through your fingertips like gentle, delicate kisses.

>Winter 75, 238 ACR

By the time you manage to break out of the woodlands proper, the sun’s been up for at least three hours. The road leading to Westholm is little more than trodden mud and churned slush, but it is a welcome sight after two nights of deep snow, and all the things hidden underneath them. Gods know only how many times your boots caught on exposed roots and other detritus.

But before you even manage a handful of steps along the mess of the road, a commotion can be heard just further down the way. You frown, concentrating and just briefly closing your eyes to discern the cause of the rabble. At least two voices, perhaps even more, and what sounds like a draft animal ahead.

(cont.)

Goddamned hurricane internet.
>>
Retreating back into the edge of the forest, you advance, keeping low in the thicket and brambles. With every step you take, the voices become clearer with every passing second, and instead of two, you can now make out at least four distinct voices. Now, there are three unruly and angry shouting men, whose collective voices nearly overpower the calm, disaffected tones of another man.

“I ain’t gonna ask you again. Your money or your life!”

Ah. Daylight robbery, it seems.

From behind a boulder, you can see the offending voices. A group of five men in filthy, tattered clothing have surrounded a horse-drawn wagon, filled with barrels of indeterminate stock. Holding the reins of his frightened animals, the victim in question is a bearded, fair haired and featured man in his early thirties. His traveler’s clothes give no indication as to his trade, and you cannot see any weapon in his possession save for a walking stick at his seat.

A merchant is the most obvious answer. But what would a merchant be doing without hired guard or escort, especially in the dead of winter.

“You must be truly brave warriors to prey upon a defenseless man,” the driver remarks in a humorless tone of voice, “And skulk about in the shadows like rats waiting for the first sign of a meal.”

The lead bandit, wielding a cutlass of all things, waves the edge of his blade threateningly at the driver’s face. “Say something smart again and I’ll have your tongue out along with your guts, pretty boy.”

The merchant snorts derisively. “You’re ten years too young to even think about calling me ‘boy’ when all you’re capable of is a scraggly patch of hair that even a goat would be ashamed to possess.”

He’s certainly not helping his case, you note wryly. The insult draws stifled laughter from the bandit’s friends, and their leader turns purple in a near rage. It would be folly for him to ignore the insult. He would lose face and his authority of leadership would be questioned.

“I’ll show you a goat, old man!” Waving his cutlass wildly, the bandit leader makes ready to run the merchant through.

>Intervene. Might as well play lawman while you’re here.
>Walk away. This isn’t your problem and the caravan is waiting.
>Custom option.
>>
>>2890023
>Intervene. Might as well play lawman while you’re here.
And more importantly we can get a ride hopefully. We've been walking for two days.
>>
>>2890023
>>Intervene. Might as well play lawman while you’re here.
The merchant is either suicidal or is so confident for a good reason. The former we might ignore, but the possibility of the latter? This is worth investing some time on.

Also, we might get a free ride out of this.
>>
>>2890023
>other
Watch what happens and then intervene last second if it's clear the merchant isn't some crazy secret wizard or bloodmage
>>
>>2890023
>>Intervene. Might as well play lawman while you’re here.
>>
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>>2890034
>>2890041
>>2890053
>>2890142
The relationship you have with Imperial Law and its enforcers can be best described as “messy”. You’ve never outright killed any of the capitol guards whenever they made forays into the slums, but you’ve done plenty of other things to otherwise hinder their patrols and punitive expeditions. Stealing everything from coin purses to weapons, sabotaging their rations with nonlethal poison…the worst thing you might have done is knock someone out just a *little* too hard.

Still, while you were and still are a far away thing from a lawman or militia levy, you suppose that nothing bad would come out of helping this suicidal merchant. If nothing else, you might even get a free ride the rest of the way to Westholm. The least he can do when he’s surrounded by so much steel.

You are completely out of bombs and poisons, with only your two main weapons and a handful of throwing knives at your disposal. This is more than enough weaponry to take care of five measly bandits.

The first knife catches the leader right in the meat of his forearm. For a moment, merchant and criminal stare in surprise at the weapon before they both make their respective moves.

The bandit has no time at all to even bark out or scream an order before the merchant kicks his staff into his hands, driving the head into the leader’s sternum. What sounds like a sharp CRACK echoes across the road as the leader goes flying off of the wagon.

“I’ll keep you entertained then,” he says, quickly following the sobbing man off the front of the wagon. Kicking the cutlass underneath his vehicle, he brandishes his staff as if he would a spear. “Well, come on, then! Don’t leave me hanging here alone!”

>Lethal. Those who live by the sword must die by the sword.
>Nonlethal. The village of Westholm will decide their fates.
>Custom option.
>>
>>2890154
>Lethal. Those who live by the sword must die by the sword.

They're bandits. all that awaits them in town is a noose.
>>
>>2890154
>>Lethal. Those who live by the sword must die by the sword.
But if they start running don't chase em. We've got a charge to get back to.
>>
>>2890154
>>Lethal. Those who live by the sword must die by the sword.
>>
>>2890154
>>Lethal. Those who live by the sword must die by the sword.
they're just bandits, and the extra effort required for nonlethal work isn't worth the risk.
>>
>>2890154
>Lethal. Those who live by the sword must die by the sword.
>>
>>2890154
>>Lethal. Those who live by the sword must die by the sword.
>>
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>>2890163
>>2890211
>>2890224
>>2890250
>>2890310
No one is going to miss these men, but you won’t begrudge yourself the effort of chasing down anyone who tries to flee. There’s naught else for them to go save for Westholm, where the noose and hangman wait, or the forest, where they’d find a slow death by frostbite or exposure.

Leaping off of the boulder, you throw your last set of knives, aiming for what vital points you can. One misses its mark, and another one only goes into someone’s shoulder, but at least two sink into somebody’s neck. It’s all the bastard can to do clutch his neck and rasp out a pitiful gurgle as he pitches forward into the mud.

Whatever is underneath the thick hides and furs of the merchant’s coats, it is most certainly not fat. He plies his staff like a seasoned warrior, engaging two of the bandits on the other side of the cart without pause or concern. Deflecting swords, dancing around clumsy thrusts, he parries and counters with expert maneuvers. As he catches one man’s blow with the top of his staff, the momentum brings the other end in a devastating arc towards his comrade’s hand. The bandit yowls, dropping his sword to clutch the broken fingers of his dominant hand.

It seems that you will not need to worry about him. This mysterious merchant seems more than capable of handling his foes.

Together, the two of you dispatch of the bandits with almost little difficulty. Only one has the sense to flee, the man with the broken fingers. And by the time his stumbling form disappears down the road in a flapping panic of roughshod and tattered fabric, the rest are either dead or in the process or dying.

As you collect your knives, you watch as the merchant stands over the body of the leader, who mewls pitifully at the sight of the man, slipping in the mud as he tries to get away.

“Mercy,” He whispers, “…please…”

The man seems almost offended. “…mind who you call a goat in the next life, boy.”

You do not shy your gaze as the man raises his staff before bringing it down upon the bandit’s neck. Even with its end dull from years of walking, the sheer force of his blow punches through the bone, the hollow of his throat and out the other end of his body. It is not a pleasing sight nor a quick death in the slightest.

Even as he begins to drown in his own blood, the leader thrashes wildly, gripping the staff in some vain effort to try and remove it from his neck. And for his part, the merchant watches with a bored expression as his convulsions slow, then cease utterly, and the drumming motions of his feet come to a final, silent stop.

There is a meaty noise as the man retracts his staff. He glances at the bloody meat on his weapon, clicking his tongue in annoyance. But he sets it into the ground, carefully lifting the man’s body with the same disinterest as one might haul a sack of potatoes.

At your silence, he shrugs, “Can’t leave trash lying about on the road, can I?”

(cont.)
>>
“…I don’t suppose it’s proper,” you slowly agree.

The man chuckles. “Glad to see someone who agrees with me on that point. Ah, but where are my manners…” He drops the corpse unceremoniously back into the mud, either oblivious or uncaring as to the mess it makes out of the bottom of his clothes.

Pulling his staff from the ground and thrusting his free hand towards you, he introduces himself with a flourishing bow, “The name’s Krabat. Travelling Krabat, the inns along the road call me. And it’s a pleasure to meet the young man who shares my low opinion of human debris.”

He pronounces his name strangely, almost rolling the “r” of the first syllable and enunciating as if coughing. But “Travelling” seems to be the correct nickname. This man is a long way from his southern home in the Archduchy of the Hinterlends, where the peasants roll their “r”s, never stop dancing and are by far the happiest people in the Empire.

>“Could I trouble you for a ride to Westholm?”
>“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Marcus.”
>“Where did you learn to fight like that?”
>"You're a very long way from home, Herr Krabat."
>Custom option.
>>
>>2890438
>>“Could I trouble you for a ride to Westholm?”
>>“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Marcus.”
>>
>>2890438
>>“Could I trouble you for a ride to Westholm?”
>>“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Marcus.”
>>
>>2890438
>“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Marcus.”
>“Could I trouble you for a ride to Westholm?”
>>
>>2890438
>>“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Marcus.”
>"You're a very long way from home, Herr Krabat."
>“Could I trouble you for a ride to Westholm?”
>>
>>2890466
This.
>>
>>2890438
>>“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Marcus.”
>"You're a very long way from home, Herr Krabat."
>“Could I trouble you for a ride to Westholm?”
>>
>>2890438
>>“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Marcus.”
>>"You're a very long way from home, Herr Krabat."
>>“Could I trouble you for a ride to Westholm?”
>>
>>2890438
I've missed this
>>2890466
Ditto
>>
>>2890447
>>2890455
>>2890460
>>2890466
>>2890475
>>2890614
>>2891087
>>2891152
As far as introductions go, Krabat’s candor is definitely more welcome than that of Feija’s seductive overtones. His odd behavior is certainly a mark against him, but that could be reasoned with the mannerisms of Hinterlenders.

“The name’s Marcus,” you say, taking his hand in a firm grip. His fingers are coarse and rough, the digits of a seasoned warrior. “And you are a very long way from home, Herr Krabat.”

“Acht,” he spits, “None of those titles! I am but a humble miller. Krabat or Traveling Krabat will do fine. However, you are right…I am a very long way from home. It’s never this cold down south. And here I am, bundled up like some fattened seal pup, waiting to be hunted!”

“…Krabat, then. What brings you this far north?”

“Business!” He slaps the side of the wagon with a meaty fist. “You’d be surprised by how much people are willing to pay for an extra bushel or five of grain.”

How strange. Most millers would be in their villages, not traveling the continent during the worst parts of winter. But, there is an opportunity, and you’d be a fool not to take it. “And you’re going up to Westholm?”

“Aye. They’ve been buying my grain for years now. I’m actually quite late. Damn drakling was terrorizing the roads.”
It takes considerable effort for you to stem the sudden font of smugness in your heart. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a ride to the village?”

Krabat sniffs to himself, sneezing before returning to his grisly task. Lifting the bandit’s corpse with that same casual indifference, he turns towards you, gesturing to the mess around the cart. “Tell you what. Give me a hand with this, and I’ll give you that ride. Deal?”

This would not be the first time you’ve had to dispose of multiple corpses, you think wryly. And it’s not like you smell of fresh soap and lavender yourself. “Deal. So long as we don’t have to bury them.”

“What, these bastards?” He drops the corpse once more, gesturing to the bloody road around you. “They aren’t deserving of a full six feet, let alone a cremation. No, just…toss them back into the trees there. Perhaps they’ll provide the wilds more in death than they ever did in life…”

The bandits are unceremoniously dropped into a nearby ravine, denied even a simple covering of leaves or forest loam. You offer no words, and neither does Krabat. He merely shakes his head, muttering something and gesturing to ward off the evil eye before setting back towards his wagon.

(cont.)
>>
Once you clamber into the front of the wagon, the self-proclaimed miller flicks the reins, and sets his animals at a moderate trot. The cart jerks forward, with every rotation squeaking and creaking a rough and grating melody, and the two of you are off to Westholm!

“So tell me, Marcus-who-hides-behind-boulders,” he says, “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s a young man of your stature and armament doing in the forest? You don’t like an imperial huntsman, but you’re armed to the teeth and gilded in fine armor.”

>“I am a vagabond adventurer, drifting where the winds blow.” (Lie)
>“I am the Imperial Crownguard to her highness Princess Ellana.” (Truth)
>“What is a warrior of your skill and caliber doing as a miller?” (Deflect)
>Custom option.\
>>
>>2891251
>I'm with a caravan from the capital(Or wherever the fuck we're coming from I forgot what it's called..)and got separated.

Also Kaz just visit a few prostitutes/brothels and that whole firstborn situation will be right as rain.
>>
>>2891251
>>Custom option.\
>I'm a merchant guardsman. Got separated during a brawls a little ways back, trying to link back up with my caravan.

>>2891268
This also works.
>>
>>2891251
>>I'm with a caravan from the capital(Or wherever the fuck we're coming from I forgot what it's called..)and got separated.
>>
>>2891268
>>2891279

The capital is "Karthmire".

My PC is neutral. I'm not about to father a child for the sole purpose for it to die! I'm determined to weasel my way out of this deal. But what the DM doesn't know is that I'm bound by an oath of celibacy until certain conditions are met!
>>
>>2891251
>>Custom option.
>"Bodyguard for a caravan that I got separated from. I believe they should be in Westfold." [Half-Truth]
>>
>>2891200
>>2891286
Going with this.
>>
>>2888196
I will say that in some cases, falling asleep would be very bad indeed. But those are usually from head injuries.

>>2890404
>unanimous vote for lethal
hah, good old Marcus.

>>2891251
>Bodyguard, got separated after a raid on the caravan. [Half-Truth]
>>
I do like how we all pretty much simultaneously wrote in the same type of half truth.
>>
>>2891286
Supporting a half truth.
>>
>>2891374
Ditto
>>
>>2891360
mimic
>>
>>2891200
Man, we're basically a Witcher without the white hair and cat eyes
>>
>>2891383
Kinda, but we're more of a people hunter than a monster hunter.
>inb4 dragon
yes, but it'd have been much easier with something meatier than daggers.
>>
>>2891395
>This pussy can't even kill a dragon with a toothpick
>>
>>2891395
I'm more concerned about what it will take to kill blutlinge. It's simply not sustainable from a resources perspective unless we can make something lots of people can use.

Landmines(easier than throwing), anti-magic blade oils, mobile ballistae.....banning blood magic is all well and good, but equipping everyone with magic weapons doesn't seem practical.
>>
>>2891395

t. Someone who has never played Dragon's Dogma.
>>
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>>2891283
Kaz, now that we've killed a Silver Rathalos, when are we going to get our talking cat best buddy?
>>
>>2891422
I had "Dragon's Dogma" heavily on the mind when writing that sequence. And I'm beyond disappointed that a lot of the elements for that game didn't get brought over into MonHun World.

>>2891418
The term "Blutlinge" is an umbrella for monsters created by Blood Magic, but most of them have a healing factor that can be delayed or outright negated by high temperatures or spells/chemicals that wither away flesh. I.E., if you hit it hard enough, it shouldn't get back up.

But then you have other Blutlinge like Niranocs (think a cavalry hybrid of a xenomorph and an XCOM Chryssalid), Sanghuls, Bloat Trolls (heavy infantry), etc. that require different methods to take them down.

>>2891426
Depends on how gung-ho or how convincing you are to make a case for Adrianna to let Ellana fight. Granted, she's slightly bigger then a Felyne, but she's still quick enough on her feet, I suppose.

Writing...
>>
>>2891454
>>2891426
I'm not sold on that. My cat spends 99% of his time getting rekt. I don't think the princess will survive.
>>
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>>2891454
Can we dress her up in cute/silly outfits?
>>
>>2891454
>most of them have a healing factor that can be delayed or outright negated by high temperatures or spells/chemicals that wither away flesh
So you're saying we have to invent the flamethrower. Let's do it.
>>
>>2891469
>invent the flamethrower
Can we call it Dr. Marcus' Happy Time Toasty Warm Projector?
>>
>>2891454
My hunter/ Ranger had two modes either Strafe with ALL the arrows, or climb up on you like a demon howler monkey and rip and tear with his daggers.
>>
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>>2891482
My Hunter has one mode. Pic related.

Je suis monté
>>
>>2891268
>>2891277
>>2891279
>>2891286
>>2891336
>>2891374
>>2891377
“Bodyguard for a caravan,” you answer lightly. The best lies are the ones that have truths in them, and you are telling a truth, albeit slightly truncated. “I got separated from then when the drakling attacked and I’m hoping they’ll be at Westholm. The village is where we would have stopped for water, food, rest for the animals and men.”

Krabat hums in acknowledgement, replying, “No wonder you look so awful. But you are very lucky, you know. It’s a rare man who can walk away from a drakling without receiving a mauling.”

The wince that tightens your face is not faked in the slightest. The monster took too many lives in both attacks. You hold little sadness for the deaths of all the knights, but you suppose that you can at least cringe at the wounds that killed them. “…I know. A lot of my…well, not exactly my friends, I suppose…comrades, fellow bodyguards…they didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The miller’s sorrow sounds completely genuine. “But was it worth what you were carrying? Could you not have waited for the monster, if not the season, to pass before setting out through the Köingswald?”

Exhaling deeply, you recline against the back of the seat as the image of a frightened princesses and a vial of chemicals comes to the front of your mind. “…it was inevitable and well worth the price.”

He looks taken aback by your blunt declaration. But he doesn’t otherwise make criticisms or cast judgment, for which you welcome in silent approval. The large man merely shrugs, gently flicking the reins of his animal. “Nothing short of the Emperor as my passenger would have me take my wagon through drakling territory. And even then, he’d have to pay me a king’s ransom.”

Ellana is third in the line of succession, as the magical talent of her elder brother disqualifies him from inheriting. Gods forbid anything happen to the royal family, but Yaya’s prophecy still seems to weigh heavily on her mind. And you would be lying if you said that it had no effect on you. Still, the irony of protecting a potential empress tickles you in some morbid, humorous way.

As the daylight lengthens, the two of you make idle talk to pass the time, and you steer the conversation away from yourself as best you can. Not that the miller seems to mind. If anything, the Hinterlender is all but too happy to share some of his life with his newfound northern traveling companion.

The youngest of thirteen (thirteen!) sons, Krabat inherited the mill from his father when plague had laid low the rest of his family. He is not married (“I just haven’t found the right woman!”), but has a soft spot for the children of his village. He is illiterate, and pays a scribe eight silver crowns a day to take care of his accounts.

(cont.)
>>
>>2887984
>That Song

Damn, that's good.
>>
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>>2891533
It seems that with the passage of time and the deaths of the bandits, he seems to be in a better mood. Perhaps he is only angry when people are trying to rob him of his property, but the change from that proud, borderline arrogant persona to this amicable merchant-miller is…dramatic, for lack of a better word. Almost frightening.

“I thought he had been cheating me when he had become so jumpy of late,” he explains as the village comes into sight. The smoke of chimneys and charcoal pits had been spotted an hour ago, but it still took a long time for the buildings and palisade to come into actual sight. “So, I decided to stay the night in the mill to keep an eye on the lockbox. And he did return that night with company in tow, but they weren’t after my gold. That rascal thought he could bend the baker’s daughter over my grindstone in relative privacy without anyone’s notice!”

As the miller roars in laughter, the corners of your mouth twitch in sympathetic amusement. “I cannot even begin to imagine the confrontation you had.”

“Oh, I’m not nearly mean enough to embarrass him while his cock’s between his lady’s legs,” he says with a grin, “But I made a comment the following day about the unusual taste of the morning’s bread, and how sweet little Imma must have put some extra love into this batch. Poor lad turned about as white as a sheet.”

Krabat has barely any time to finish his story before the wagon and its occupants roll up to the entrance of the village. Two guards clad in chainmail and spears stand by a station at the front of the palisade, conversing with each other in low voices before you make your approach. Both straighten up and hold a hand out for the wagon to stop.

“State your names and business,” the one on the left says in a dour voice.

“Folcard!” He almost sounds offended. “It’s me, Krabat! Traveling Krabat. I’m here with this season’s shipment.”

Recognition dawns in both of their faces. Abbo, coughing into his gloves, regards the miller with a dirty look. “You’re late!”

“There was a drakling about,” he says, as if that explains everything.

Which it does. Both Folcard and the unnamed guard look to each other, shrugging before they turn back to the miller. “You, I recognize. Not the stranger.” He points to you.

But before you can even speak, he wraps an arm around you -close, close, too damn close-, before explaining, “This? This is Marcus! A traveling companion I met on the road. Helped me in a tight spot, he did, when bandits came to rob me! Says he’s supposed to meet up with some people he’s lost along the way.”

It takes every single fiber in your body to not violently wrench yourself away from the genial man’s impromptu embrace. There are only a few things more loathsome to than unexpected, unwanted touches. Especially from strangers, even from close associates, no matter how friendly their intentions are.

(cont.)
>>
>>2891619
Thanks. I spent too much time agonizing and struggling with the meter and rhyming structure. It had to be one of those songs that you could recite as poetry AND sing without it coming off as heavy handed.
>>
>>2891675
Forgive me for bringing up WoW, but it reminded me of this trailer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fo7XPvwRgG8
Pretty noice stuff
>>
>>2891675
Well, you succeeded. I wonder what Lucien would think about it.
>>
>>2891720
I can't wait for Marcus to learn about it.
>>
>>2891695
I swear to God, I had that song and half a dozen other songs from fantasy RPGs stuck in my head while trying to come up with the lyrics for Giestlied. Good song, but it just wouldn't stop playing over and over in my head. Unrelated: baby girl's come a long way since Warcraft 3. Haven't played in years, but I still try to keep up with the lore. Admiral Proudmoore did nothing wrong.

>>2891720
He'd be proud in a twisted sort of way.

Writing...
>>
>>2891725
GAS THE HORDE RACE WAR NOW
>>
>>2891454
>I'm beyond disappointed that a lot of the elements for that game didn't get brought over into MonHun World
Kaz, this is capcom we're talking about. It's jaw-dropping how many different experiments they've tried with MH already.

I don't know if they'll add anything beyond the climbing mechanics that are definitely taking some notes from DD, but flat out attacking while latched on would wreck the balance on part breaking.
>>
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>>2891666
But as if the miller senses your discomfort and growing hostility, he quickly lets you go, using both of his hands to pantomime to the guards about the five bandits that tried to rob him. “I’m not saying that you aren’t doing your jobs, but Giso needs to commit more of his levy to protect the trade roads. I can protect myself, but I’m not sure others are able to do so.”

The unnamed guard gestures helplessly. “Don’t complain to us! We can’t control anything about what the alderman does and doesn’t do. Besides, you said it yourself! Drakling’s about. We barely had enough time to call back the patrols ‘fore somebody got eaten.”

Krabat exhales heavily, slumping in his seat. “You’re right, but damn me if I’m not irritated at the attempted robbery. And I know how long Giso takes to send patrols back out into the wilds.

“So!” the miller claps his big hands, loud enough to cause both you and the guards to jump from the abrupt CRACK in the winter air. “You’ll let us through, yes? Let me just get my coin purse…”

Folcard almost looks embarrassed as he stares at the offered silver coin. A toll, then. “Uh…toll’s now three crowns-”

“Three crowns!” the miller says in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m being robbed for the second time today!”

Folcard’s partner steps forward, and the former seems all too happy to pull back away from Krabat, his staff and his large fists. “Alderman’s orders. Drakling blasted a section of the wall trying to get at one of the fishing boats. Fire burned down half of the northern structures before we could douse the flames.”

“…oh, very well…”After forking his coins towards the guards, they wave him through and let the wagon pass. Grumbling to himself about the scandalous nature of daylight robbery, Krabat snaps the reins and drives his horses into the township proper. “…bloody taxes…”
Before he drives too far into the town, you secure your belongings and ensure all of your equipment and prizes are on your person. It’s time to rejoin the imperial family, and you can’t leave the miller soon enough.

“Leaving already? Can’t be helped, then!” As you leap off of the wagon, Krabat waves a meaty hand towards you in farewell. “Take care of yourself, lad! And stay away from bad contracts and draklings!”

Even as some of the townsfolk stare at the sight, and your ears burn with slight embarrassment, you manage to return the miller’s gesture with a wave of your own. You offer no words, but he doesn’t seem to mind. With a big smile and a final “goodbye!”, he drives his wagon further into the down, eventually disappearing when he turns into a corner.

Now, with that all taken care of…if you were the royal convoy, where would you-

“Painel…? Holy…Painel, is that you?!”

You know that voice. It’s one you’ve fought and bled alongside with…

>A barbaric knightess.
>A clever archer.
>A sullen sorcerer.
>>
>>2891855
>A sullen sorcerer.
He needs to do not magic things
>>
>>2891855
>A clever archer.
The less interaction with the THOTbarian the better
>>
>>2891855
>A sullen sorcerer

it just SOUNDS like something Silverrowe would say.

Urath would use less words, and probably invoke his gods.

Bellatrix would be more crass.
>>
>>2891855
>>A sullen sorcerer.
>>
>>2891855
>a gar arch-
I mean
>a clever archer
so how many offers of sex has Marcus rejected already?
>>
>>2891888
Lucien trained him in seduction, so probably VERY many over the course of the training.
>>
>>2891888
2 definite ones (Bellatrix and Firja)

And one more depending on how serious Klara was.
>>
>>2891850
Don't get me wrong, I'm still floored about what they did with MHW. I just feel...well, what's the word? Feels like I'm missing something else in MHW that I could only get in DD that wasn't related to story or graphics. Abilities, maybe? Granted, playing on the 3DS for God knows how many years makes the new combat look...weird with MonHun back on the console.
>>
>>2891855
>A sullen sorcerer.

"You should duck. I'm about to turn left and I don't want to smack you with my erection."
>>
>>2891855
>>A sullen sorcerer.
>>
>>2891855
>>A sullen sorcerer.
If he asks us what happened, the only thing we should say is "Killed a drakling." in the most matter of fact way possible.
Like it's something we do regularly.
>>
>>2891855
>>A sullen sorcerer.
>>
>>2891901
Abilities? Do you mean the passives? Between Hunter Arts and Mantles/Tools, I think they've done plenty of experiments into actives.

I DO think they could have more interesting passives than "deal more damage" or "nullify thing that bothers you".
>>
>>2891925
The Dragon's Dogma skills were fucking nerat.

On command weaposn enchants, AOE fire burns, ice walls for zoning, mystic tracing arrows, climbing a monster and knifing the shit out of it, etc.
>>
>>2891866
Fuck it, ditto
>>
>>2891939
>blade oils, wystones, offensive mantles
>torch pods, land mines
>psychoserum, scoutfly tracking
>mounting
I'm seeing quite a few parallels.

Granted, on-command walls would be pretty damn cool, but I understand it'd be a nightmare to balance that against mount spam. More persistent fire attacks would be neat too.
>>
>>2891939
Don't forget:
>raining meteors from the sky
>localized earthquake
>a gorillion icicles the size of a building
>a fucking tornado
>lightning whip
>rapid fire machinegun orbs
>SETTING YOURSELF ON FIRE HOLY SHIT
>arc of obliteration
>>
>>2891939
My personal favorite is lighting yourself on fire.

Mystic Archer is so fucking fun. A shame that you need to spend time as sorcerer to get the most out of it.
>>
>>2891957
Oh it also had exequy, which killed most enemies in one hit if you were good with it.


>>2891960
Yup

>>2891962
Yeah I maimed Ranger. That strafe was too fun with the stun on the longbows.
>>
>>2891972
Assassin is my personal favorite, since I prefer swords over daggers. I really wanted to like Warrior, but the 3 skill limit kills that class.
>>
>>2891978
Yeah compared to every other class having 6 it was p bad.
>>
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKf1mL_hgPk
>>
>>2888186
I am quite happy Berchar survived. I wonder if they'll be able to put him back together to the point he'll be functional. Maybe with magic?
>>
>>2891855
>>A sullen sorcerer.
>>
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>>2891866
>>2891877
>>2891884
>>2891902
>>2891910
>>2891913
>>2891922
>>2891955
>>2892101
Silverow looks almost disturbed to see you alive, as if your presence in Westholm is a grave offense against nature itself. His face is not the pale complexion of one who has seen a ghost, but that of incredulous shock…that slowly gives way to anger?

“Where the fuck have you been?!” You blink, taken aback by the intensity of his voice, and the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard the sorcerer curse. He almost stomps towards you, uncaring of the splatter every step kicks up or the frightened looks of the villagers. His fingers move and clench wildly as if he’s about to strangle somebody.

…he could try, a dark voice in the back of your mind says, but you banish it as swiftly as it comes. Clear heads must prevail. Thus, it is with no small amount of will that you do not move or resist as he grabs the hems of your cloak in a white-knuckled grip.

“Nothing could have survived that fall!” he shouts, almost spitting into your face, “The two of you were at least thousands of feet off from the ground before the monster plummeted! Unless this is some cruel joke or specter come to haunt me-”

“Killed the drakling,” you say as straightforward as you could. At his bewildered expression, you sling the sack off of your back, shaking the prizes you looted from the demidragon’s corpse. “See? I brought home some trophies-”

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to be glib. What confusion on his face quickly turns to anger as he comes close to knocking your bag out of your hand. “Acht, what the hell-?”

Silverow almost glows with incandescent rage. “Do you know how worried we were?!” This time, the spit does get into your face. Without a shadow of a doubt, this is the angriest as you’ve ever seen him to be. “We sent out so many search parties, Urath hasn’t gotten any sleep…and here you come, waltzing back into town like some kind of…cavalier adventurer!”

He pauses, taking a cautionary sniff with his nose. Only now does his mind register the odor of your body, and he pulls away as if you were a leper. Gagging and spitting into the mud, he glares at you with an expression that could melt a frozen lake. “…and you smell like one too.”

You scowl as you snap back a retort, “Well excuse me for finding some joy in coming back from fighting against a drakling. And killing it as well.”

“Really?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Why don’t you go share that news to Urath when he gets back from his eight search into the woods…or the Crowmonds…better yet..." His eyes glint with a mirthless light. "...Princess Ellana.”

At the mention of her name, any sort of pretense at amusement or nonchalance leaves your body. Now, it’s your turn to play the aggressor as you grab the sorcerer by the shoulders, almost shaking him with a violent intensity. “What happened to her?! Is she alright?!”

(cont.)
>>
>>2892148
>Urath when he gets back from his eight search into the woods
H-How long were we gone? It was only a couple of days, right?
>>
>>2892153
It's been 16 years since Marcus vanished into the woods on the back of a Drakling.
>>
>>2892153
Three I think. We slept off our fight where we fell then walked for two days until we got on to the wagon
>>
>>2892148
There’s almost a sort of grim satisfaction in his face, even as you shake him so hard that he might bite his tongue off. “…you shouldn’t have taken your time to come back, Painel…”

>>Later

“She’s been in there for…well, in a few hours, it’ll be almost two days come twilight,” Ser Hagerson intones grimly. The captain of the Eagle Knights looks no more worse for the wear than he did when he set out to fight the drakling, but he looks as if he had aged an entire decade since you last saw him. “We’ve been keeping a watch, leaving food outside, asking for her to come out but…”

From the way he shakes his head, a weary helplessness on his face, the answer is clear.

Set before the alderman’s house, the carriage lays almost innocuously in the village commons. It still bears the scars from battle, some shallow gouges in the frame where the drakling gripped too tight, or how some of the paint chipped away or faded from rogue splinters and the heat of its breath. The wheelhouse is a true testament to its crafter, that it survived not only two drakling attacks, but a rebel ambush as well.

Pullman is nowhere to be seen, perhaps still recovering from his terrible injuries. His Eagle Knights remain, however, forming a protective circle around the carriage where Princess Ellana has locked herself away. And whatever she did, she did it hard enough to damage the lock that would have otherwise let anyone from the caravan into the wheelhouse.

“…where are the rest of them?” Your voice is surprisingly weak. “…the Crowmonds, her siblings…”

Silverow exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose as if struggling to remember something. “…the temple, praying for their sister under Vulpine’s watch. Maybe the gods will be more receptive to their pleas rather than their sister.”

Aghast, you turn towards the sorcerer. “And none of you could convince her to come out?”

“Aye,” the knight captain says, before Silverow could answer, “She responded to nothing. Food, clean clothes, her siblings…” Hagerson’s face contorts into an unreadable expression. “Lad, you weren’t here. She was…the princess was screaming. Something one of those fucking villagers said about the death of the drakling just caused her to just…”

It suddenly clicks into place with a heavy impact that leaves you weak in the knees. “…she thinks that I’m dead?”

“Aye, took you long enough,” the sorcerer grouses irritably, kicking away a stray stone in a fit of pique, “Gods above, Lord Commander Palme never trained us on how to handle these kinds of situations…”

What plans you had for a joyous, triumphant reunion quickly fall apart as a terrible guilt crashes heavily on your shoulders. This…this wasn’t supposed to…she’s…

…an eight year old girl. A mere child who fainted at the sight of a monster, and woke to find one of the closest people in her life gone without a trace.

(cont.)
>>
>>2892193
....man, it's kinda weird not having super jaded mature children who can knife a dude faster than you can blink.
>>
>>2892193
Silverow is…could you have saved time by not looting the drakling? What about meeting and bartering with Feija? The treks in the woods, fighting bandits alongside Krabat…time, time, time, all that time that you could have spent to return as quickly as you could to Ellana’s side…

And for a terrible moment, you’re not in Westholm. You’re back there, in the slums of Karthmire, returning to a ransacked home and a dead sorceress. And all the while as you slowly went insane, screaming challenges at opponents that had long since departed, those questions of time, always time, eat away at your psyche like flame devouring paper.

Both sorcerer and knight captain flinch violently as you draw your dagger, stabbing yourself in the meat of your hand. With the pain comes the return to reality, and ahe vision melts away. No more images of a broken girl with hair the color of flaxen wheat, no more shattered dreams of a future that will never be, no more questions about time…

The wound is just deep to cause horrendous pain, but not nearly enough to punch through the bone of your hand. You ignore the cries and noise of dozens of people as you withdraw the knife, sheathing it in your belt as you tear a strip of cloth from your cloak. Bandaging the wound as best you can, securing the knot with a hard and fierce bite, you turn towards Hagerson and Silverow.

“…let me talk to her,” you quietly whisper, “…just…stand back and…I’ll fix this.”

They do not give verbal assent for you to step forward, but they make no effort to stop you. And with the stares of sorcerer, captain, knights and villagers alike on the small of your back, you advance past the circle and towards the carriage.

“…go…away…” It is barely audible, the voice that comes muffled through the door. The mud, you realize. She can hear your footsteps. But to your worry, you can’t tell if her voice is weak from hunger and thirst, or just…that mournful and lifeless. “…leave me…alone…”

>>Tread very carefully.
>>This is a pivotal moment of Princess Ellana’s life, and your actions will have a permanent and significant influence on her outlook, for good or for ill.

>How will you approach Ellana?
>Write-in.

Hitting the hay. Will resume after Mass tomorrow.

>>2892202
We can't have all of our young waifs in fiction be Arya Stark. And she was 9, not 8. :P
>>
>>2892215
>It's me your majesty, Marcus
>I'd like you to have trust in my skills, I am your protecter after all
Completely deadpan, we survived it's no biggie
>>
>>2892215
Don't know what exactly we can say to her but we need to emphasize that this self-destructive behay cannot be tolerated.

"I will die one day. That is the truth. All I can do is make sure that when that day comes, you won't need me anymore."
>>
>>2892215
Shit, how do we approach a traumatized little girl exactly?

Although I support this >>2892221.

Don't say anything like >>2892217, it's basically a promise of I won't die. Think about what will she do if we actually die for real.
>>
>>2892215
We need to be gentle, comforting, she needs comforting right now. To be told things are OK. We can have a harsh lesson about mortality later.
>>
>>2892215
>Everything is alright, Ellana. Though there may come a day when true tragedy strikes, today is not that day. The life you saved will not fall so easily, and it is that very way we touch people's lives that can overturn anything.
>>
>>2892215
Maybe something like
>"There will be a day I die, but it's not today. Still, you can't lock yourself away and wither. We're all destined to die someday and I'd want to know my death meant you kept on living and fighting instead of wasting away in mourning."
>>
>>2892215
>It's me Your Majesty, Marcus. I apologize for my tardiness. May I enter?
> Princess, I am truly honored that someone could worry so much for me, but I can't bear to see you so broken. You are of royal blood, there might be a time where you're called to make difficult choices or witness unpleasant events - and so, you can't let fear destroy what you are. Fear can be a fine counselor, but it should never rule over a person lest it swallows her whole. I don't wish such a future for you, Your Majesty.

My two cents on the matter.
>>
>>2892280
Backing.

Also maybe a joke like:
"Your also 2 days of lessons late"
>>
>>2892215
>"It's Marcus your majesty. I apologise for my tardiness. It took longer than expected to find my way back to you after the fight.

I know you've been worried and worse since you've heard the events of my attempt to divert the drakling, but I'm a bit tougher than I look and would do everything in my power to stay by your side once more. I don't plan on dying anytime soon.

That said, there may be a day I do fall and the last thing I want to see from the afterlife is you wasting away like this out of despair. Grieve, mourn, but make sure you *live* your life afterwards. Can you promise me that Princess Ellana?"

>>2892193
>“…you shouldn’t have taken your time to come back, Painel…”
>Silverow is…could you have saved time by not looting the drakling?

Looting the dragon and talking to Feija combined took like two hours. Bathing in dragons blood kept the wildlife away from us potentially saving more time. Fighting 5 minutes got us wheels that saved time. Are you really trying to guilt trip us for pennies in the dollar?

>you draw your dagger, stabbing yourself in the meat of your hand.
Autism, but I guess this is Marcus
>>
>>2892355
I think we could have saved 1 day tops, but it wouldn't have been worth it.
>>
>>2892357
I feel we could only have shaved off one day (if that) if we didn't rest right after the fight and immediately worked our way back while fatigued. Which could have led to a different set of problems.
>>
>>2892367
i mean, that's exactly what I said.
>>
>>2892217
>>2892286
>>2892355
She's a princess her proper title is Highness.

Majesty is for kings and queens.

>>2892215
It's Marcus your highness. I am sorry it took me so long to return, but I made the best speed I could.

While I am flattered you mourn me, I wish you would not break down at my loss. Everyone dies eventually, but I am sworn to your service to protect you at any means possible, even if it costs me my life.
>>
>>2892215
...she's too attached to us. We're just a fancy bodyguard, our supposed death shouldn't hit her this hard. If nothing else, it makes us a weak point in the royalty.

>>2892221
I'll back this, as long as it's not what we open with. Initial contract should be gentle.
>>
>>2892445
The second part feels too formal.
>>
>>2892215
"Your highness, it's me, Marcus. May I enter?"

After she throws the door open and tackle hugs us, give her a gentle hug and rub her back.

"I'm sorry Ellana. I never meant to make you cry."

After she's calmed down and gotten some food and water in her do a combo of >>2892221 >>2892280 >>2892286
>>2892355 and finish off with >>2892351 when she's feeling a bit better.
>>
>>2892280
Baaaackiiiiing

add:
>"One should not feel guilt for mourning, one should not deny those feelings and one should respect their intensity and live them out fully.

>In days like these we can't let ourselves be consumed with sorrow, however. We must grieve by acting in honor of those who died that we may live another day.
>>
Getting caught up after sleeping, but I'm kind of annoyed that Kaz went with the 'killed a drakling, lol' response, which only one anon suggested, because now we look like a massive asshole who took their sweet time getting back.
>>
>>2892806
I’m with this Anon, seemed a little...eh.
>>
>>2892806
>>2892823
Logged and noted. And truth be told, rereading it now, definitely something I shouldn't have done. I think in my tired, working-at-2-AM brain, it looked good, but now...I can see where a point of contention might arise. I'll be careful not to incorporate hanger-ons like this in the future.

Writing...
>>
>>2887984
Aight dude. This was something quite well done. Imma catch up the thread now but this alone is impressive.
>>
>>2892878
Write.

Faster.
>>
>>2892878
Also point out that if you die protecting her, your worst fear is her not carrying on. To live happy the way you wish her too, not to throw away the sacrifices made in her name.
>>
>>2893751
Calm your tits bro. He's got a headache.
>>
>>2892806
>>2892823
To be fair, I can see where you're coming from, but Silverow and everyone else is being unreasonable too.

We expected a "Good Job, Marcus. Glad you came back alive." not a "You took three days to come back after killing a Drakling and falling from the sky. This is all your fault, how fucking dare you!"
The optimal thing would have been to tell him we killed the drakling, then in his moment of confusion moved him out of the way and went straight to Ellana.
If anything Marcus was far too nice when Silverow was giving him shit about this.

>>2892878
I like it when you do hanger-ons though, it gives more of a feeling we're actually contributing then just reading a story you write based on one of three or four options.
>>
>>2894307
No, the optimal thing would have been to immediately ask where Ellana is, not seemingly brag about killing a monster that took down countless knights and showing off our loot.
>>
>>2894307
>The optimal thing would have been to tell him we killed the drakling, then in his moment of confusion moved him out of the way and went straight to Ellana.
The first part, yes, but markus had no reason to know ellana would have a literal panic attack. that sort of meta knowledge is why I don't like perspective switches. This hostility is completely uncalled for. "I survived!" "What the fuck is wrong with you!?"
>>
>>2894318
Man, we killed a fucking drakling. We're allowed to brag, it's a huge achievement and we trusted the other crownsguard to take care of Ellana until we returned. Instead, she's become so attached to us she has a breakdown and instead of cutting us off and telling us about it immediately, we're given shit and told we didn't come back fast enough even though we walked from deep forest to town in the middle of snowfall, after falling from the sky and hitting the ground.

As well, we need to try and get Ellana off this tight of a dependancy on us and asking "Where's Ellana? Why isn't Ellana on screen?" whenever she's not in view is counterproductive.
>>
>>2894362
>get Ellana off this tight of a dependency on us
This.
Anyone got any ideas for starting to wean her off us without being cold or harsh?
>>
>>2894362
I agree with you about them giving us uncalled for shit for not getting back to the convoy faster, and I'm all for making her less dependent on us, but our job is to make sure our charge is safe. Hell, just asking if she was okay or not would have been preferable to going "Killed the Drakling, and here are his testicles in a bag" to the first person we see.
>>
>>2894409
Killing the Drakling ties into making sure our charge is safe. We didn't run off to hunt some random monster, we did it to kill the thing that killed half our knights and wouldn't leave us alone.
Going "killed the drakling, here are his testicles in a bag." tells we accomplished what we set out to do. We killed the thing threatening our charge and we have proof of it.
>>
>>2893882
I know. I've just been drinking and I don't care for people bitching.

The vote and the writing were in line with Marcus, who is given to understated honesty anyways.

Like >>2894362 said, we DID kill a Drakling.

And our reaction regarding Elana is on point too. We assumed she would be safe with everyone else, but ironically it's very in line for Marcus to not realize how big of an impact him dying would leave.

Marcus expects to die in her service at some point after all.
>>
>>2892878
Hey Kaz, are you still writing or are you out of it entirely?
>>
>>2895386
I think I have one or two more in me before I give out completely for the rest of the night.

Writing...
>>
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>>2892217
>>2892221
>>2892233
>>2892237
>>2892245
>>2892280
>>2892286
>>2892351
>>2892355
>>2892445
>>2892522
>>2892569
This cannot continue, and damn Ellana’s wishes to be left in solitude. And you would make a poor bodyguard if you could not even save your charge from her own self-destruction. Because it seems that for all the maturity of the princess in her studiousness and wit, the mortality and frailty of man are subjects she has little to no knowledge of.

Any other child of eight years might be familiar with death. War, famine, plague, monsters are all but constants that many of the disparate peoples of the continent have to suffer. And at her age, you had been a student of its art for a long time, killing men and women as Lucien ordered. But you could hardly fault her for the circumstances of her birth.

Of course, there is a question of whether or not this would have happened had you not been so close to her. Close enough that your alleged death would cause her to react in such a poor way. It is a point of contention that you find yourself surprisingly…loathe to approach. But is it guilt that keeps you from thinking too keenly on it? Or a morbid comparison to your own self-loathing?

These are questions and thoughts that you will have to face one day. But before any of that…

Resting your head against the door, you intone in a low, somber whisper: “…your highness, it’s…it’s Marcus. I’ve fulfilled my…no. Your highness, I’m so sorry for taking so long to return to you…”

Someone had left foodstuffs on the steps leading into the carriage. At one point, they might have been edible, but even the cold air of winter had not prevented spoilage. As poor as your own modest rations of salt pork and hardtack are, even a starving man might find them preferable to the congealed, frozen mess of whatever had been left.

There is no vocal response from the carriage. But before you try again, you can hear a faint noise from within, like somebody stirring, shifting themselves from where they lay against the door. Encouraged by these sounds, you continue, “…your highness, please…if you will not come out…will you not let me in? Everyone is worried, and you’ve not had anything to eat or drink…”

It is almost imperceptible, the soft clicking of a lock’s tumblers and pins coming to rest. Even harder to hear, competing with the whispers of the wind and the quiet roar of the village, is the whisper that shortly follows:

“…it’s cold outside…close the door behind you…”

At the expectant looks of both Silverow and Hagerson, you merely hold up your hand, a silent order to wait. Without any further words, you open the door, just wide enough to let you slip in and leave the sanctity of the wheelhouse undisturbed by the curious eyes of bored peasants. Then, as quick as you enter, you shut the door behind you and take special care to lock it once more.

(cont.)
>>
>>2895596
and then they fugged. The End.

-wait, no, wrong script.
>>
I wonder how the other princess is doing.
>>
>>2895729
>Now that Marcus is gone, who'll be my lowborn love interest
>>
is 4chan x shitting the bed for anyone else?
>>
Sure is a long awkward silence between Ellana and Marcus here.
>>
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>>2895596
The compartment appears unchanged and undisturbed, no different than when you had last been inside. The curtains are drawn shut, and what paltry light shines through the faded glass barely illuminates more than a handful of feet before you. But you are no stranger to working in dim lighting, even in starless nights as black as boiling pitch.

Suddenly, there is a noise, the soft whisper of heavy cascading onto the ground, and from what you assumed to be a pile of blankets and cushions emerges Ellana Crowmond.

The youngest princess of Aderveth has seen better days. Her eyes are swollen and her nose is the hue of an angry red, sniffing every few seconds. And what once was once an immaculate dress has become thoroughly wrinkled, stained with mud, with just the barest hints of an unwashed odor.

Both of your eyes meet, puffy golden-browns to your weary blues, holding for just a few quiet breaths. And then it is broken just as quickly. Ellana tosses her cushions and blankets, pushing off towards you with the speed only a young child might have. But you are still faster, catching her at the last moment before her head might have crashed into your armor.

“Easy, your highness,” you murmur, gently settling yourselves down against the door. Her wrists are so small, delicate things no more than about six inches in circumference. “I’m still in full-”

A dull thud to your chest cuts you off. It is not painful as much as it is a surprise. Looking down at the source reveals the same puffy eyes, a fresh set of tears, and a very, very, very upset princess hovering above your lap.

“Stupid!” Every single word is punctuated with a blow. Fearful as you are that she might injure herself, the better part of valor dictates you lay there and take the full brunt of the princess’ ire. And her strikes lack the force for her to even bruise her fists, at the worst. “Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Ansell would be dismayed. For all those lessons in the tower, it seems that she can only find one word to describe you in her pique. But she remains verbose enough to keep her voice steady, screaming, “Stupid Marcus! Fighting the monster all by yourself…when all the Eagle Knights could barely wound it…” She shakes her head, glaring at you with an intense anger. “…it’s nothing but stupid!”

You slowly nod. “I know.”

“And yet you…you…” She pauses in her blows, gesturing wildly with her hands, before pointing at some distant, unseen thing beyond the confines of the carriage. “…you ran out to be bait! ALONE!”

“I did.”

Her fist comes higher than your chest, and you think that she might strike your face. But that promise of violence never comes. The anger seems to evacuate from her body, dissipating like steam on a hot surface. The fierce scowl that creases her brow comes undone, and her tears flow free. And the strength leaves her legs as she collapses against your body.

(cont.)
>>
>>2895914
>assassin for a bodyguard
>unearthly wails
>smells like dead dragon
Ellana is building up quite a reputation here
>>
>>2895916
Imagine when we start to get a reputation for counter assassination
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>>2895955
We don't need anymore reputation. Marcus already has stories and songs being written about him.
>>
>>2895958
Honestly it's better for us to remain at a certain level of obscurity.
>>
>>2895914
And so it begins: another 24+ hours between continued posts, again
>>
>>2896396
I just avoid reading Kaz's posts until I see voting options.

It is unusual how he posts as he writes, instead of the more common writing of the entire section, then posting it all at once.
>>
>>2896396
Eh. The quality level is high. Kaz could legitimately write a book and I'd want it.
>>
>>2895914
Ellana weeps, uncaring at the unsightly display that she might have made for herself. And this time, her voice is no longer even. Her words are punctuated with shortness of breath and hoarse sobs. “…I thought…I thought you had died…and you left me all alone…”

Raising your good hand, you pull her into an embrace, which she returns as tight as she can. The bulk of your armor keeps her from completing her hug, prevents you from feeling anything beyond a slight pressure. But you don’t care. Just her mere presence is enough to ease the weight of the mountain-sized chip upon your shoulders.

Exhaling slowly so as not to disturb or shift her position, you softly whisper: “…I’m sorry, your highness…for causing you to worry.”

“…as you…you should be…”

The ghost of a smile pulls at the corner of your lips. “I thought you would have more faith in me. This is not the first time I’ve gone out to fight for your sake.”

“Draklings are…different…” she hiccups, frowning at you with a childish petulance, “…different from barbarians…and…and Blutlinge…”

“…not so different. In the end, they were all equals in perishing at the hands of the Crownguard of Princess Ellana Crowmond. Who has most definitely come back and survived worse misadventures and mishaps.”

Her small mouth twists into a thin, disapproving line. “…if you think that…that you can just…simply jape away…”

Ellana squirms as you bring your hand up, tousling her hair with gentle pats and caresses. There is no reason for her to resist, you think. It was already a mess before you began. This is what he would have done to calm her down or mend a point of contention in those earlier years. It seldom failed to yield a positive result.

“Frowns do not suit you, your highness,” you say patiently, meeting her sulking glare with a small smile, “And I mean what said. If a drakling cannot fell me, then you can rest assured that your Crownguard does not go down that easily. And I am...I am touched that you would shed tears for me.”

She sniffs, wiping the tears and snot from her face with the back of her sleeve. A most unladylike gesture if you ever saw one. “Of course I would…stupid Marcus. I made you a promise, remember?”

“I don’t know the details,” she says, placing one of her small hands atop your own, “But I sometimes catch you when you’re doing something, and you’re eyes…they’re distant, as if you’re daydreaming. Marcus, whatever haunts you…you don’t have to worry anymore. You’re with me now, and you’ve a new home among us and the rest of the Crownguard. You’re not alone anymore. I promise.”

“That’s right,” you answer, even as the memory of that day on the Midbridge summons a lump in your throat. “You did.”

(cont.)
>>
>>2896451
This wasn't a criticism, by the way. Most QMs I know of post entire sections all at once so they can edit things before commiting.
>>
When Queen will find out what happened Marcus is so fucked, so fucked...
>>
>>2897097
She has bigger things to worry about. There is a spy informing the enemies of the crown the whereabouts of her children.
>>
>>2896950
“That promise goes both ways,” she says, and her lower lip trembles with emotion, “...so that neither of us are…are...you need to stay alive, have to remain alive! Because…I…I don’t know what I would do if…”

…and here lies the crux of the problem.

“…it’s natural to mourn, your highness,” you intone, “Perfectly human to do so. But you cannot just…lock yourself away and wither in the darkness.”

“I thought you had died, stupid…” she counters, sniffing.

“True, but…you haven’t had anything to eat in almost two days.” At the questioning look, you gesture towards the window. “Ser Hagerson and Silverow…your siblings, and even your uncle if he were conscious! They are all worried about you.”

“But not of you,” she mutters, a low and broiling anger in her voice, “…they just assumed that you were dead…”

“I was told that Urath went looking for me since your arrival to the village.”

“For a body…something to bury…maybe one of your trinkets to get me to come out.”

This is going nowhere. Sighing, you ask, “Princess…do you know what I am?”

“An idiot,” she declares, and you are taken aback by her bluntness. Continuing in a voice that slowly takes on a sharp and biting edge, she mutters, “But you are my idiot, my Crownguard. Not my father’s, not my mother’s…not my sister’s or my brothers’.” Ellana’s eyes are dark, smoldering with anger. “…and I fail to see why you alone had to sacrifice yourself when their own Crownguard also could have helped.”

…ah. Now it suddenly makes sense. It is not your alleged death that has kept her locked away, refusing contact with the rest of the caravan. The princess, it seems, has a grievance about your life being supposedly thrown away first. Her rationale is not completely devoid of understanding or sympathy.

But that is a separate issue for another time. “You said it yourself, princess. I am your Crownguard. Do you not know what my duty is?”

She frowns, confused by your question. “It is to protect me, and stay by my side-”

“And if needed be,” you interject, “To lay down my life for yours should the worst come to happen.”

Even as she opens her mouth to give a vehement denial, she closes it just as quickly, unable to look you in the eye. “That’s…I don’t…”

You have no desire to give a lesson on mortality, but you will touch upon the subject lightly, for her sake as well as yours. “I’m not going to throw that life which you saved so foolishly or carelessly. But one day…you must accept the fact that I might no longer be by your side.”

“I don’t want to hear this!” She claps her hands around her ears, shaking her head violently. “I don’t want to hear it!”

(cont.)

>Please vote on the poll below.
>https://twitter.com/TaskForceKaz/status/1041777444255145984
>>
>>2897288
I don't have a twitter so I'll just say here that you should update as you write
>>
>>2897288
I also don't have a twitter but I think you should update when it's finished. Yes it's slower paced, but I do enjoy reading the larger updates and I feel it's of higher quality in general. Up to you in the end, but I do enjoy your content.
>>
>>2897306
>>2897298
Honestly, like this guy said, do whatever you feel gives you the best product in the end.
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>>2897359
>Honestly, like this guy said, do whatever you feel gives you the best product in the end.
+
>>
>>2897359
>>2897366
These
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>>2897288
Gently taking hold of both of her hands, you slowly pull them away, cradling them as you stare at her with what you hope is a sympathetic gaze. “I know. I’m not asking you to accept it right away, but…at least let me take comfort that you will not just…become bereaved should I suffer a terrible injury or mortal blow. And touched as I am by your tears, I would loathe myself if you were to just simply hide and waste away in mourning.”

“…you can’t just…say that so easily. I don’t want you die!”

“And I as well,” you counter, “For you, your family, my comrades, and the allies of the House of Crowmond. You must be strong, your highness. Mourn and cry as you need to, but do not let yourself be consumed by sorrow.”

There’s something hypocritical about you of all people saying that, when you perfectly content to die in the snow that night. Now the tables have turned, although your savior not nearly as suicidal as you had been. Merely the first of what you expect to me many losses in her life.

Ellana chews on her lip, deep in thought. Then, she says: “…you are not wrong. I can see that clearly, but…it hurt so much, Marcus. I’ve felt fear from that assassin…worry about the bandits and my uncle, but…I’m not…”

“You still have plenty of time to get used to it,” you reassure her, patting her hands, “…you still have many years of your youth left to enjoy. Do not spend them moping or otherwise stewing in your own sorrow. The darkness does not do your complexion well at all.”

She laughs at that, just as much a hiccup as a giggle, before her lips curve into a forlorn smile. “I only wish these years could last forever…”

But before either of you can say anything further, a sudden noise erupt from her midsection. A low, rumbling, keening whine of a stomach bereft of food for two entire days. And it seems that this final indignity is the one that restores some semblance of noble airs to the princess. Even in the darkness, you can see the way she turns a deep red, quickly shying away from your gaze once more.

“It’s quite nice in here, actually,” you muse, slowly rising up from your seat, “Definitely not as cold outside, and those blankets are certainly thick enough. But come, your highness-”

“Ellana,” she says, still blushing, “…just 'Ellana' when it’s only the two of us.”

>“If that is what you wish for…Ellana.”
>“That would be too improper, your highness.”
>Custom option.
>>
>>2897510
>>“That would be too improper, your highness.”
>>
>>2897510
>>“If that is what you wish for…Ellana.”
>>
>>2897510
>“If that is what you wish for…Ellana.”
>"Though when Princess Adrianna somehow accidentally overhears, this was all your idea." (Joking)
>>
>>2897510
>Alright, Princess Ellana
>>
>>2897510
>“If that is what you wish for…Ellana.”
>>
>>2897510
>“If that is what you wish for…Ellana.”
>>"Though when Princess Adrianna somehow accidentally overhears, this was all your idea." (Joking)
>>
>>2897556
Yeah that's OK.
>>
I have a distinct feeling that Ellana has a crush on Marcus.
>>
>>2897669
Nah.


Her sister does though.
>>
>>2897510
>Princess Ellana. And I'll not call you otherwise until.....well I'll figure out a condition some other time.
>>
>>2897510
>>“If that is what you wish for…Ellana.”
>>
>>2897510
>“If that is what you wish for…Ellana.”
>>
>>2897510
>>“If that is what you wish for…Ellana.”
Only when it's the two of us though.
>>
>>2897669
I think it's more that Ellana sees us as a mentor figure, as well as a protector. She might see us like an additional parental figure like an elder sibling.
>>
>>2897786
Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if she had a crush on Marcus.
I mean, he swore a life debt to her, then saved her from assassins and is always nice to her and teaches her stuff but is super badass.
>>
>>2897820
I mean it's not impossible, but I think it's more likely that to her, we're like a cool older brother.
>>
>>2897820
She hasn't hit puberty yet, I dunno if she has a differentiation between crush and idolization at this point. I wouldn't' be surprised if that changed in a couple of years though.
>>
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>>2894307
>>2894409
>>2894438
>here are his testicles in a bag
>>
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>>2898226
Don't tell me you didn't know what Rathalos 'Rubies' actually were.
>>
>>2898226
they don't call them "family jewels" for nothing
>>
Is anyone else having a problem with 4chan not autoupdating threads? I had to reload the whole thread in order to get caught back up
>>
>>2898290
Been fine for me
>>
>>2898290
I'm having the same problem. Not sure what it is.
>>
>>2898290
yea, but only on my laptop. desktop has been fine.
>>
>>2898290
I've been having some issues myself. One out of every four or five posts, I keep getting the "Connection Error" red bar pop up on my reply box, on top of the captcha just sperging out in general.

Writing...
>>
>>2898439
>Writing
I don't believe you.
>>
>>2898849
Anon, did mommy not give you enough hugs? Is that why you're a dick?
>>
>>2898857
Pretty sure we found the reason why you can't take a joke, through the wonder of projection.

Right now the other quest I'm reading is Valen Quest, so it's not like I'm unused to waiting a long time either so don't bother with projecting on to me either.

Or H&D where the QM is literally That Slow Typing Guy.

But yes. I too am on tenterhooks for the next update.
>>
>>2898857
I call it tough love cunt.

>>2898860
You guys still fighting Neerans in H&D? I'm way, way behind.
>>
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>>2897512
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>>2897556
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>>2897689
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>>2897777
“…if that is what you wish for…Ellana. But if your sister overhears and raises a fuss about it, I am laying the blame at your feet.” She pouts at that, but her eyes convey the acknowledgement of your jape and the simple happiness of you stumbling over her name.

>Ellana sharply approves.
>Ellana will remember that.

>The princess has learned something about life, death and the nature of your relationship.
>However, she will need some time to think about this lesson before coming to a final conclusion.
>Whether or not it will stick is another matter, but we can only hope for the best outcome.

Holding out a hand, you say, “Come. Let’s see if we can’t get the peasants to disperse and go away. And then we can see to getting you a fresh change of clothes and something better than salted pork.”

>>Later

The alderman of Westholm is a portly man by the name of Giso, just as Krabat had said earlier. He bears the sign of his office well enough: a signet ring squeezed uncomfortably tight on a finger as thick as a sausage, and a domicile as best as his salary would allow.

That meant a house of granite stone, at least two stories tall, and clay tiles as opposed to thatch and flax atop the roof. Tooth-like battlements, more for decorative than military purposes, crown the house and an adjourning building that could have been a tithe barn. It even has its own stable, just big enough for four horses, and an even smaller domicile for perhaps three servants. And it all fit into a space of just slightly over an acre of land.

It is a far cry from what a count or baron might inherit by virtue of blood or deed of land, but still a great deal bigger than what a knighted man would receive.

At the sight of Ellana, bundled in your cloak and hustling out of the cold, Giso had been all too happy to offer his hospitalities. Bowing so low that his bulbous nose might touch the steps of his house, it is almost impossible to discern the motivation of his behavior. Is his role that of a dutiful servant of the royal family, or a sycophantic leech hoping to curry favor with the imperial court via its youngest scion?

“Neither,” Silverow notes humorlessly, inspecting the soup that one of the servants had poured, “The man simply wishes to see all of us out of his village as quickly as possible so that his…comfortable life can go on in uninterrupted peace. All the while playing the magnanimous host and giving little reason for his graff to revoke his title.”

“Do you think von Roie would do that?” you ask, quietly tucking into your salted pork. As tempting as the food is, and how eagerly Ellana devours her meal, you have yet to become accustomed to food this rich. Three months of sharing food with the nobility will not so easily overcome a lifetime of scavenging what you could from the slum markets and smuggler's carts.

(cont.)
>>
HE LIVES!
>>
>>2898930

“At the barest minimum, a direct insult to the Crowmonds or Pullman might be cause for a tribunal. But as the von Roies are known for their eccentricities, their fairness is known across the continent, not just the empire. Both the current lord and even his late father would not have revoked the title for something that petty.”

Unusual indeed. Taking a sip of water, you say, “And how soon until he reaches Westholm?”

“Tomorrow or in a few days at the latest.”

"Could they have been waylaid on the road?"

"Doubtful. Not even the most reckless rebel would dare to challenge an army from Mont Gormaic, especially one led by Landgraf Alistair von Roie. Do you know what they call him? 'The Gambling Graf' from how aggressive he leads his men."

“Then sooner they come, the better…for both our sakes and our host’s.”

A silence settles between the two of you, interrupted only by the noise of silverware the crackling hum of a nearby fire. One of Giso’s servants stokes the flames with an iron poker, doing her best to ignore the two Crownguard and princess at her master’s table. As well she should.

Silverow inspects his spoon, staring at the floating chunks of meat as if they have the secrets of the universe. Alas, they offer nothing but steam and a heady aroma of lintels and beef. The alderman would have had to slaughter nothing less than his finest heifer to feed the Crowmonds their dinner.

Ellana is too busy eating to notice the tense air between yourself and the sorcerer. The words he threw in your face are not so easily forgotten, justified as they may or may not have been. But for the sake of civility before the alderman and Ser Hagenson’s knights, you kept your mouths shut and avoided prolonged eye contact.

But now, that seems to have changed. As soon as the servant leaves, departing from the room fast enough to bring the hems of her skirt to her knees, the only ones left are the three of you. And one too busy with rectifying her imposed starvation to care beyond the contents of her plate.

To your surprise (and relief), he is the one to broach the subject: “…earlier today, I had said some things towards you, Painel…”

“Aye, that you did,” you answer placidly.

His brow twitches, and he coughs before slowly resuming, “…things that I might not have said if both of us had cooler heads. But the point that I’m trying to make is that everybody’s emotions had long since spiraled out of control. With the princess and her brother worrying, and the Crownguard scattered about…perhaps I acted too much in haste upon your arrival…”

>“Damn right you better be sorry.”
>“I shouldn’t have acted like that.”
>“You have nothing to apologize for.”
>Custom option.
>>
>>2898942
>“You have nothing to apologize for.”
>>
>>2898942
>“You have nothing to apologize for.”
But...
>“I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

>So let's do this again, so I killed a drakling, and his testicles are in the bag, how about you?
Do or do not actually do this.
>>
>“You have nothing to apologize for.”
>>
>>2898942
>“You have nothing to apologize for, but do try to have more confidence in your fellow Crownguard next time."

Because Silverow needs to learn he's not the only one who does things right around here.
>>
>>2898942
>“You have nothing to apologize for.”
>>
>>2898942
>“I shouldn’t have acted like that.”
>"Saying that there is something we might need to investigate."

Not like he has much to say being sick in bed for depleating his mana last time. Also we need to investigate that drowed lady or whatever were the barbarian would go to report about the sucess of his mission.
>>
>>2898942
>“I shouldn’t have acted like that.”
can we just go with
>I was hoping to lighten the mood, but it failed spectacularly
?

and never speak of this again? We REALLY have more important things to worry about, like dragon worshippers.
>>
>>2898967
The dragon worshippers seemed fairly friendly.
>>
>>2898967
I would worry more about the fucking blood mage that is able to change faces and now there is enough knight corpses that the guy could pass as anyone he wants to.
>>
>>2898942
>“You have nothing to apologize for.”
>"Nonetheless I would have favor to ask of you... "(ask him to check as for magic if we were not fuck with by that gulish guy)
>>
>>2898866
They're almost beat. We're probably going up against Terrans in smaller scale operations real life and the end of the quest next.
>>
>>2898942
>Custom option.
"Next time put a trigger warning on your words so I don't have to autistically stab my hand to get out of my self imposed nightmare world."

In all seriousness
>“I shouldn’t have acted like that.”
>>
>>2899143
>the end of the quest next.
No way. H&D is eternal!
>>
>>2898951
>>2898942
This, including the spoilers.

Like damn dude. We were kind of mentally and physically worn out too.

Now we have to investigate both the Merchant we met on the road, and this suspiciously rich Alderman.
>>
>>2898965
>>2898942
I'll second this investigation write in too.
>>
>>2899152
I'm 50% certain the merchant is the one that supplied the bat guano explosives for the bridge
>>
>>2899152
>>2899156
What makes him so suspicious to you guys?
>>
>>2899164
>
How strange. Most millers would be in their villages, not traveling the continent during the worst parts of winter. But, there is an opportunity, and you’d be a fool not to take it.

Also the tool seems more like a bribe to not inspect his cargo.Also there is the fact that there was a demi-dragon around a couple of days ago
>>
Reminder we need to check the plot hook that was in the letter.
>>
>>2899177
The drakling has been around here for awhile. Long enough that the locals knew how to avoid it and knew it's territory so I don't think he had anything to do with that.

He definitely seems more than meets the eye, but nothing screams malicious at me. Can't say with any confidence he is completely innocent either.

I dunno, I guess it can't hurt to check him out but it might be waste of time.
>>
>>2898942
>>“I shouldn’t have acted like that.”
It was a failed attempt to lighten the mood.
>>
>>2899192
>>2899164
Dude was successfully avoiding the Drakling. Could just be useful to know more about him, he could be a potential ally equally as much as a threat
>>
>>2899192
I mean it has being a couple of days and i recall a entry from the rebels journal informing about the delivery of the bat guano bombs.

But that could have being provided by the mage that infiltrated the alchemist guild.
>>
>>2898942
>>“You have nothing to apologize for.”
>>
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>>2898951
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>>2899393

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you say, “I understand why you might have been angry. And I suppose my glib attitude certainly didn’t help things at all.”
The sorcerer’s mouth curls in a small, wry amusement. “No, I don’t believe it did, Painel.”

You shrug. “An old habit. The…ah…legacy of a misspent youth. Given the choice to cope with horrific events with either laughter or tears, I will always choose humor as my remedy.”

He snorts. “Misspent youth? You’re no older than I am! We’re still both young.”

“Not with my aches and pains, I don’t. I’ve bruised myself like a fruit in that battle.”

“Better to have bruises than bloody gouges and wicked tears,” Silverow remarks. He glances towards door, where the Eagle Knights had set up camp just away from the commons of the village. “Although I don’t envy you or the wounded in the slightest. They were lucky to make it out alive, you especially with that madman’s gambit.”

“I should say the same to you.” At his questioning glance, you elaborate, “It was not too long ago when you were confined to a bed for nearly killing yourself with magic. You had to weave wind and shield the carriage.”

“A risk I had to take,” he replies stiffly, but not with any sort of malice, “But a drakling’s wild flames are easier to counter than the concentrated magic of a rogue sorcerer. Especially one that’s received Tower training. A daunting challenge? Yes, but not one that would nearly tax my body as did the Battle of Silverstone.”

“We thought that you were a foot into the grave when you came back to Alnerwich.”

“And we thought that you were dead,” he smoothly counters, his smile almost feline in its self-assuredness. “So, perhaps we can be glad in both of our shortcoming estimates of each other.”

Between the lines, you can almost see an offer to wipe the slate clean between the two of you. Huh. And just before you were about to broach the subject yourself. You would be a fool not to take it.

“I will. Perhaps we can celebrate our ability to withstand fatal encounters.” You lift your mug. He had always said that there was no better to way to mend or soothe a strained relationship than with a drink. Or more, depending on the severity of the grievance. “A toast. To cooler heads prevailing, the foolish arrogance of our youth, and the hope that we will survive it.”

Silverow looks almost taken aback before offering a wry grin. “I’ll drink to that. Would that we had better vintage than whatever the hell the alderman keeps on the tap. Damn shame, that...”

>Silverow sharply approves.
>You have prevented your relationship with the Silverow from deteriorating.

(cont.)
>>
Now time to deal with a princess a Barbarian and a Ingulan archer.

But maybe we should take a bath first?We are still covered in guts.
>>
>>2900337
“Prosit,” you both declare, quietly tapping your mugs so as not to disturb Ellana. The sorcerer is right, however. Just the mere smell of the stuff proves either impoverished times, contentment with mediocrity, or a serious problem with the olfactory senses of the villagers. A man would be hard-pressed to find a worse brew than this one.

The sorcerer grimaces halfway into swallowing his first serving. “By the gods…”

“Tastes about as good as I feel,” you remark dryly, reaching for a nearby pitcher of water.

“That taste could wake up a dead man. Bah, there’s something fouling up the waters here.”

“I agree entirely.” From your robes, you pull out the writ you looted from Augvarr. At his curious expression, you pass it to him, keeping a close eye on both Ellana and the entrance to the kitchen. “There is definitely something rotten in the area, but it isn’t their beer.”

Unfurling the parchment, he squints at its contents, asking, “What’s this?”

“Orders from that barbarian that attacked us at the bridge,” you explain, “That bastard Augvarr who was leading the Vascieli.”

His lips move without making a noise, but you can read them well enough to see the words of the letter. “‘The Gargoyle will supply…eliminate the Crowmond children…find our messenger…’”
When he finishes, Silverow muses, “And you think this ‘Drowned Lady’ is here, in the village?”

“I don’t see any other nearby settlement for him to report to, and Alnerwich would be too risky. Certainly, when you were in bed, the three of us made our way around town. None of us saw mention of any drowned ladies on the signs of taverns, inns and bordellos alike.”

“Indeed?” The sorcerer folds the parchment, passing it into your hands underneath the table. “Then I suppose we will have to make some inquiries. Discreetly, of course. We wouldn’t want to upset our most generous host, the alderman.”

“Aye. Although…” you gesture towards the opulence of his house, “His estate does strike a question of how he can afford to maintain something like this on an alderman’s wages.”

“Petty graft or theft,” he answers, “Maybe even legitimate business means, but we won’t know for sure until we find out.”

“There’s also another I wish to investigate.”

“Who?”

>You explain your encounter with Traveling Krabat.

“All the way from the Hinterlends?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Madness to travel in the middle of winter.”

“I know. Which is why I wish to ensure that he had nothing to do with any of these Vascieli plots. For all we know, his ‘grain’ could have been bat guano or any other chemicals stolen from Alnerwich’s Alchemists’ Guild. It would explain the barrels that blew up that bridge.”

(cont.)
>>
“I see…well, we certainly have our work cut out for us, don’t we? But first…” He gestures to you with a wide and open hand, pinching his nose with his other. “I can’t take the stench anymore. What the hell did you go rolling into?”

“Drakling’s blood,” you answer candidly. “For the sake of looting what I could from its broken corpse.”

“…fancy yourself the second coming of the Dragonsbane?”

“No, my hair is not nearly blonde enough for that…and being able to talk to and understand animals would be more pain than it's worth. Hopefully I can find a bathhouse to bucket to clean myself with. But you wish to participate in this as well?”

He nods, folding his hands together. “Of course. Intrigue would be a nice break away from the dreary and exhausting combat we’ve had for the last few weeks.”

“And you can be discrete?”

“Painel…” he says, feigning offence, “One of the first things I was taught in the Tower was how to be discrete. Magic-users, by our very nature, are the most secretive of individuals you will ever meet…”

>It is unknown for when Landgraff von Roie will come to rendezvous with the royal convoy.
>However, you have more than enough time to conduct an investigation.

>>Choose an option:
>Both of you will first search for information regarding any “Drowned Ladies” and the Vascieli contact.
>You will investigate Alderman Giso’s finances, Silverow will look into Krabat’s activities.
>You will look into Krabat’s activities, Silverow will inquire about the Alderman’s finances.
>Custom option.
>>
>>2900400
>>Both of you will first search for information regarding any “Drowned Ladies” and the Vascieli contact.
This is a more solid lead. Krabat is nothing more than speculation at this point.
>>
>>2900400
>Both of you will first search for information regarding any “Drowned Ladies” and the Vascieli contact.

I'd rather have us hunt down this before it goes cold. Who knows how long we have before the tracks are coveered because of our success
>>
>>2900400
>Custom option:"Take a fucking bath by the nine hells!"

Then

>Both of you will first search for information regarding any “Drowned Ladies” and the Vascieli contact.

i know we are a pretty good lone wolf but the mage might have more then what he can chew.
>>
>>2900400
>>Both of you will first search for information regarding any “Drowned Ladies” and the Vascieli contact.
>>
Also don't we have a dragon stone to give to a princess? We should have gifted it to her already.
>>
>>2900400
>Both of you will first search for information regarding any “Drowned Ladies” and the Vascieli contact.

>>2900423
I think we were gifting her the poison resist necklace. For obvious reasons.
>>
>>2900424
Because she is doing alchemy and she will need the protection against the fumes. And it will help her against someone poisoning her drink.
>>
>>2900435
Mostly the latter but yeah pretty much.
>>
>>2900400
>Both of you will first search for information regarding any “Drowned Ladies” and the Vascieli contact.
>>
>>2900423
It's a scale.
>>
>>2900400
>Both of you will first search for information regarding any “Drowned Ladies” and the Vascieli contact.
>>
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>>2900407
>>2900419
>>2900421
>>2900424
>>2900489
>>2900619
Ellana had only just finished dinner when her sibling comes into the alderman’s house. Adrianna’s face is one of anger, so much like her mother’s in promising a stern lecture or scolding. But one look at her sister, frozen mid-bite and with bits of food still clinging to the corners of her mouth, causes her temper to abate.

“You are dismissed,” she addresses to the servant, who seems too eager to flee away from the princess. As soon as the last of her footsteps recede into the background, she swiftly makes her way towards her sister. You meet her gaze from out of the corner of her eyes, but it is fleeting, a brief interlude and distraction from her main focus. “Oh, my dear, sweet, foolish little sister…”

Your princess has the decency to look somewhat mollified. “…I’m sorry…”

As the two of them carry on in low and hushed voices, the familiar form of the knightess languidly approaches. Still dressed head to toe in her silvery armor, Bellatrix Lupine does not seem at all surprised by your appearance. If anything, she is very pleased.

“Ah knew deep my gut that you weren’t dead, Painel,” she says, grinning as you regard her with a guarded apprehension. Your little spar in the forest is not something you will soon forget, and apparently, she won’t as well. “I tried to tell them that you’d be back, but…guess I have the last laugh.”

Silverow cuts in before you could say anything rash, though you have doubts as to whether he could sense your unease. “Where is the prince?”

She jerks her head towards the door, and the motion causes the light of the fire to catch off of hair as red as a smithy’s forge. “Urath just came back. The two of them are just…well, the little prince wants to go look around town. Explore a little.”

“I can’t imagine what he could possibly want to see. What is there to even look at?”

“There’s a dock, small as it is, a cesspool in the forest where everybody dumps their shit and piss...who knows? I’m sure that our little prince will find something to keep his mind occupied until sundown in a few hours. And don’t worry, Silverow. He’ll be safe. The big guy hasn’t failed.”

“All I wish to know,” he answers neutrally.

Bellatrix inclines her head politely before shifting the brunt of her attention at your way. “That was quite a fall you had. And look at you! Walking about as if you just simply went to the market and came back.”

You offer her a wan, tight smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time I survived from something that nearly killed me.”

“Good. Because you can’t die. Not until we have ourselves another match.” She almost looks amused. “It’d be a damn shame to not at least try to even the score.”

“…yes, it would damn shame. I’m moved to tears at your relief,” you reply sarcastically.

(cont.)
>>
>>2900797
>Not until we have ourselves another match.”
After the way the last one devolved, she's not getting another one without a very good reason.
>>
....so. How soon until Bellatrix accidentally talks about banging Marcus to Adrianna?
>>
>>2900824
When it comes to Adrianna she almost becomes a different person with how composed and dutiful she gets.

But maybe they have girl talk when they are alone? Dunno.
>>
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>>2900797
“Ah truly am happy to see you in one piece. And not just for settling that other matter.” She gestures towards Adrianna and Ellana, still deep in their conversation. “My princess was upset that yours had locked herself away. So it’s a bit of a relief to see her not fretting and worrying about whether or not yours was eating properly.”

When you offer no reply, she sighs irritably, affixing you with an annoyed glare. “Think what you want of me, disagree with mah outlook and attitude, but don’t you fucking dare question my duty to mah princess.”

…you suppose that’s true enough. What was it that she had said? Something about having to finish the fight quickly so that she could return to Adrianna. For all her bloodlust and maniac desire to fight, she seems dedicated enough to her, at the very least.

Still, you’d be very hard-pressed to rid yourself of the image of a tattooed warrior standing naked in the forest while howling for battle underneath the pale moonlight. There have been enough problems with barbarians for you in the last few days, thank you very much.

“Fair enough,” you acquiesce, if not with the smallest hint of acerbity, “Keep an eye on them, will you?”

Bellatrix frowns. “Where the hell are you going? You only just got here-”

“Gods above and below, the man needs a bath!” Silverow cuts in, exasperated, “Can’t you see…well, smell that for yourself?”

She leans in close, almost too close, and your entire body stills as she takes a cautious whiff of your shoulder. Pulling back, she shrugs. “Smells like an old battle. Nothing wrong with that.”

>>Later

There is no formal bathhouse in Westholm, not one either hiding its nature as a whorehouse or one of legitimate sanitation. However, the solitary inn of the village, just down the street from the alderman’s estate, claims to offer such services. And as content you might have been to plunge into the icy waters of the nearby rivers and streams, frostbite is not something you’d be willing to risk.

“Welcome,” a comely wench greets you from the entrance to the building, “To the River’s Rest.” She takes a moment to size you up, gauging your worth as a paying customer. You make no attempt to hide your armor, or refrain from keeping your weapons out of sight. “How might we help you, traveler?”

From the glint in her eye when she spotted your coin purse, and the way she dips just low enough to see more than a generous view of her breasts, it seems that this inn offers more than just food, beer, and baths.

Perhaps it is only a natural thing for them. The village can’t get much business come the winter, so they would have to try to make money from what opportunities present themselves to them. Even if they aren’t beset by famine or otherwise pressed for money, every copper counts.

You reply, “I was told that you offer baths.”

(cont.)
>>
>>2900829
So Given her Last name is LUPINE
Her title is the wolf
She's an outright battle maniac that seems to get more bloodthirsty and bestial at night
and her eyes outright shifted when we sparred that first time
That Bellatrix is a werewolf?
>>
>>2900829
>but don’t you fucking dare question my duty to mah princess.”
Didn't she literally abandon her princess to trick us into that fight?

Has she always talked like this, or is it just me?
>>
>>2900840
usually she only get that drawl when annoyed, angry or otherwise more emotional than normal.


But like a country girl accent popping out of a "Normal" girl.
>>
>>2900840
She did mention making it quick so that she could go back to Adrianna.
>>
>>2900839
That came up a while back, somewhere around our first spar maybe. I don't remember the particulars, but I think she being a werewolf was rejected for some reason.

>>2900843
Sure, that's what she said, after luring us into a time wasting fight after luring us a long ways away from her charge, in order to offer something that would waste even more time. Going all the way out there had been a calculated risk on our part in the first place.
>>
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>>2900829
“Of course!” She grins, coaxing you to come inside. If she finds offense at your malignant odor of dried blood, she makes no hint of it otherwise. “You’ll not find a better place than the River’s Rest.”

No, because this is the only place that does offer baths, you think to yourself as you follow her into the inn.

A wave of light, noise and the smell of roasted chicken hits you full in the face. It engulfs, washes over you, driving away the chill gathering at the edge of your toes and fingers, your nose and ears. For a moment, you think that you have stepped into another world, one where it is never winter and the concept of cold could not exist. But as quick as it comes, it vanishes as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the small inn.

The River’s Rest must not be the primary tavern for the village. As a result, most of the tables are empty, save for the odd villager or two that nurse bottles or otherwise keep amongst themselves. There could be no more than at least six people – a single server, three guests and now yourself and the woman that let you in.

The villagers remain in their discussion, only giving you a passing glance before turning back towards their fellows. The other woman, a raven-haired beauty in the middle of her second decade, goes about cleaning the tables and serving the trio. Towards the bar proper, you can see the chicken that gave off such a wonderful aroma, impaled on a spit and roasting slowly over a bed of coals. The bartender is nowhere to be found, however, presumably gone to fetch more food.

“A bath you want, then it’s a bath you will have,” the woman declares, “But before I have Hennek warming the water, what else would you like? Maybe dinner perhaps, a fine half-chicken to fill your stomach after traveling, or a tankard of mead to set your fingers all warm, or…” Her smile becomes sultry, and her eyes flutter with almost genuine affection, “…perhaps a bath for two?”

…nobody said anything about trying to inquire while getting yourself clean, did they? Although drawing intelligence about any Drowned Ladies from her would be worlds apart from your approach to Claudia and the Alchemists' Guild.

>The bath for one, you have no time for funny business.
>The bath for two, but only so you might question her.
>Custom option.
>>
>>2900886
>The bath for one, you have no time for funny business.
Not today Madeleine. Also I doubt we'd learn too much. We need to find the Drowned Lady.
>>
>>2900886
>>The bath for two, but only so you might question her.
it's called the river's rest, "bath for two" is a really convenient way to get privacy for meetings, and at the end of the day we can just bribe her and stop there
>>
>>2900886
>The bath for one, you have no time for funny business.
Urrm let's not get innocents involved in a massive kingdom wide conspiracy for some paltry scraps of information.
>>
>>2900886
>The bath for two, but only so you might question her.

Best if we play the part of a braggart and feed her false information. Maybe discuss an upcoming trip with Elana in the carriage that would provide them with a chance to attack.

Of course the carriage would be empty. No using the charge as bait more than necessary. But I mean, they ARE already targets.

I wonder if there are any kids we could use as body doubles.
>>
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>>2900904
>I wonder if there are any kids we could use as body doubles.
>>
>>2900886
>>The bath for two, but only so you might question her.
>>
>>2900886
>>The bath for two, but only so you might question her.

>>2900904
We tried this when Ellana got attacked on the toilet. Kaz said that the kingdom doesn't keep little girls for decoy use, and we'd be hard pressed to find any, even if we scoured the orphanages.
>>
>>2900905
Dis anon is lowkey mackivelli
>>
>>2900886
>The bath for one, you have no time for funny business.
>>
>>2900886
>>2900933
unless I've seriously misunderstood, in which case change to:
>The bath for one, you have no time for funny business.
>>
>>2900886
The bath for two, but only so you might question her.
>>
>>2900915
We just need the right shape and size to fit in a cloak.

I'd accept a dwarf too.
>>
>>2900916
Guess which recommendations are mine in H&D.
>>
>>2900933
>>2900937
You would be inviting her to "take a bath with you". And if you need to correct your vote, please, please, please delete your old vote so that I don't end up double-counting votes that might not otherwise have been counted.

This goes for everybody, not just this anon.
>>
>>2900886
>>The bath for one, you have no time for funny business.
We have actual work to do.
>>
>>2900886
>The bath for one, you have no time for funny business.
You really want to get Markus laid, don't you Kaz? how many offers have we had so far?
>>
>>2900976
Nah, I just watched a playthrough of "Kingdom Come: Deliverance" and purchased "Life in a Medieval Village" to read. Swear on my honor that I'm only giving the authentic high/late medieval experience, minus the obtrusiveness of the Church.
>>
>>2900976
Three I think.
>>
>>2900970
Distributing fake information is how you flush out spies. The bathhouse is the ideal place to do so, and we have a great excuse for being here now, and for being slightly loose with our tongue since we just killed a Drakling.
>>
>>2900886
>>The bath for one, you have no time for funny business.
>>
>>2900970
This is actual work. The best place for information is taverns/bathhouses, and we can be kind of loose with our tongue to flush out information.
This is like seducing claudia.
>>
>>2900886
>Custom Option

"Bath for two, but I want the entirety of that chicken to join me."
>>
>>2901009
Wouldn't that make it bath for three? Or are we looking to be extra wierd today?
>>
>>2900886
>The bath for one, you have no time for funny business.
>>
>>2901015
We'd be ignoring her in favor of the chicken.
>>
Okay, okay, okay. Hold up. When I started writing, the "bath for two" option had won. I didn't expect the flurry of votes to come in while I was halfway finished. So for those who voted for the solo bath, I'm sorry, but we have already reached our decision. However, that does not mean that you may not otherwise try to change the flow of the information gathering if things get a little too heated.

And just as a heads up: I normally start writing after 15-20 minutes after I post, sometimes a little longer in the event of a tie. Again, I'm sorry, but you can alter the flow as you wish in the coming encounter.

Writing...
>>
>>2901026
if that's what you're usually doing, post when you start writing. it'll save late swings like this.

One has almost double the votes of Two. Maybe we start in, but ditch before we get anywhere?
I trust you'll sort things out either way.
>>
>>2901026
Not really a huge problem for me if you switch
>>
>>2901034
I am entirely uninterested in boning the chick. I was thinking we get drunk and pretend to pass out or something to see if they try to attack us, or leak info etc.

We could always just pretend to be whiskey dicked.
>>
>>2901034
I don't think any of us expected to fuck her anyways.
>>
I definitely didn't. I was just thinking something funny was going to happen.
>>
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>>2900899
>>2900904
>>2900912
>>2900915
>>2900933
>>2900949
>>2901009
This is not something that he would have done. Maybe. But this definitely something that Lucien not only would do, but regularly would. All it took was the (illusion of) a fat purse to get a whore’s attention and affection. From there, what remains is getting to the actual haze of clouded judgment in the lingering throes of release. Tongues have never been looser or easier to cut in that immediate moment.

At some point, you even wondered if you were just the inevitable result of one of these trysts for information. Once, you asked the question that every child would ask: who is my mother? The answer came as a blow to the head, and an ugly sneer before he called for more training. You have never asked again, not even as he lay dying. Now, you may never know.

But you will be damned if you will repeat that man’s mistakes, if not his methods for extracting information. Up to a certain point.

“The bath for two,” you begin smoothly, opening your purse, “…sounds like quite the pleasure. Maybe we could even have the chicken.”

The saddlebags of your horse have the majority of your coins. Thus, you have no trouble providing a single gold aurum and a handful of silver. The woman who has yet to reveal herself would certainly not look strange if she was the mistress of a noble. She’s at least worth that much.

And the glint of your coins shines in her eyes, signaling that the first stage has been a complete success. Tucking the coin into her bodice, she turns towards an adjourning hallway, emphasizing the sway of her hips with every step of the way. “…follow me, please…”

The “bathhouse” is but of many small rooms, only slightly bigger than its area of eight by ten. In the center of the room is the object that you have been seeking: a bathtub, albeit one made of wood as opposed to the tile and porcelain that you’ve seen in the palaces of both the Crowmonds and the Mazurs. It is currently empty, save for but a single white sheet.

Beyond the bathtub, the room is sparsely decorated, with only a humble table, a hearth…and a singular bed that would just have enough space to accommodate two people. Hopefully the mattress is made of straw, and the pillow is devoid of lice.

Ushering you into the room, she gestures towards the furniture, saying, “Wait here. I’ll bring the hot water shortly. In the meantime, however…” She looks you up and down, this time considering your physical features as opposed to your coin. “…you can begin to disrobe, if you wish. Here, let me start the fire so you won’t be cold…”

As she approaches the hearth with her flint and tinder, you begin to strip. It’s best to do it now, and without fanfare or fake modesty. Nonchalantly approaching your bath with a beautiful woman like any other might.

(cont.)
>>
>>2901045
We should be willing to if it means rooting out Ellanas enemies though. She owns our body, our dead lover owns our heart, and our soul died long ago.
>>
>>2901053
That was what I thought, then realized it could go either way and swapped to play it safe.
>>
>>2901066
God. R9K it up. This is literally the only bathhouse in town, and probably the hub for info about merchants and such. Even if a merchant DOESN'T visit, that's a strange action to note and investigate. If someone who used to not visit suddenly had coin to. If someone important was recently replaced etc.

And like I said, it would be a good place to spread some fake rumors of our own. Even if we don't do so now, it won't look unnatural if we return.

This dick rides for Elana, into whatever danger it must.

Seriously. People are fine with seducing some innocent girl and playing at a relationship to help some other noble, but won't fuck a whore in order to save Elanas life directly.

Man up you guys.
>>
>>2901077
Wait, how does fucking a whore help?
>>
>>2901066
Or did you think Kaz would spontaneously descend in smut?
>>
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>>2901056
One by one, you undo the straps of your armor, the leather thongs that hold your gauntlets and leggings in place. These, you set by the corner carefully, keeping them within both your vision and your reach. Fighting unarmed and in close quarters is not your preferred method of combat, but you can manage, should this encounter take a turn for the worst.

But just as you finish removing your tunic, hands on the belt of your pants, the woman lets out a strangled gasp of alarm. Your hands flex, clench and quickly move towards your dagger. However, she is not reacting to any voyeurs or unexpected company.

“…Herr Traveler, you are hurt!” She cries, dropping her flint and tinder to rush towards you, “…what is…your body…”

Ah…that’s right. What was it that you said earlier? “Bruised like a fruit”? Well, that is the correct description of your current state, complete with green and purple splotches, but that is only from an accounting with the drakling’s assault.

These are all old scars, carved into your body like tattoos that will never fade away. Some are mild, mere scratches, the result of glancing projectiles or unfortunate collisions, trifling things that would only happen once and never again. Others are more severe, jagged, ugly things that would have been fatal. These are hard lessons that you take to heart.

Here are two wicked wounds that cross in your midsection: Lucien’s last, desperate attack before you plunged your knife into his throat, the other from the one lucky Snake that almost caused you to bleed to death.

“It’s nothing,” you assure her as she frantically comes to your side, frittering about your bruises with undisguised concern. Now that is a surprise for someone only after your money. “I’m more than well enough for the bath.”

She stares at you, amazed at your casual declaration. “…what…who…to survive these things at such a young age…and…these bruises and injuries! What manner of traveler are you, herr?”

>Play the braggart, the brave and mighty warrior who just slayed a Drakling!
>Play the stoic, the dutiful soldier finding a brief respite and pleasure.
>Custom option.
>>
>>2901080
Cause anon thinks he is Machiavelli and wants to do a bunch of different intrigue plans on this one wench all at once.
>>
>>2901084
>>Play the stoic, the dutiful soldier finding a brief respite and pleasure.
Being a braggart rubs the wrong way. If we play this right, being stoic will have her volunteering info in an attempt to pry things out of us . Though that is optimistic
>>
>>2901080
The fucking is totally incidental to pumping her for information and using her to let out info. Even if she isn't a spy herself, we can use her as a known point in the info chain to track down who she would have spread the info to. That interrogation can be much less friendly.

I honestly don't care about fucking her, but she's a whore so it would be weird if we didn't.

While we can fake a reason to leave without fucking her, that also precludes coming back as being unassuming.
>>
>>2901084
>Play the braggart, the brave and mighty warrior who just slayed a Drakling!
>>
>>2901084
>Play the stoic, the dutiful soldier finding a brief respite and pleasure.
>>
>>2901084
>Custom option.

Play the Stoic at first, take having some drinks, then brag a little about slaying the Drakling. That way it won't clash with our public image.

>>2901086
It's the only bathhouse, and people wanted to go all in on finding the spy.

I only have one vote though.
>>
>>2901095
We could bribe her to give info genius.
>>
>>2901104
>>2901084
Fake, not take, having some drinks with her.

>>2901105

Yeah but if she's part of the spy operation then she'll just lie to us, and also know what we know, and possibly just disappear.

Why tip our hand that we know about the drowned lady, or that there are spies here at all?

Also, drowned lady, fouled water, may be a connection there.
>>
>>2901110
Getting a little paraniod aren't ya. If she's anything like you say she might be stabbing us in the bath.
>>
>>2901084
>Play the stoic, the dutiful soldier finding a brief respite and pleasure.
we can mention the Drakling only after being prodded
>>
>>2901115
That would be super stupid.

First of all we're a murder bot even naked.

Second of all it would be WAY easier to poison the bathwater or something.

Third, we aren't a priority target. Tactically, it would serve just as much purpose to have us be in the bath away from Elana during an attack.

Fourth it would mean she would definitely get caught even if she did manage to kill us, and that the town would go into lockdown with jackboots as the Royalty rooted out conspirators and security would be increased to insane levels around the actual targets.
>>
>>2901084
>Play the stoic, the dutiful soldier finding a brief respite and pleasure.
But brag a bit.
>>
>>2901084
>>Play the stoic, the dutiful soldier finding a brief respite and pleasure.
>>
looks like closing and reopening my browser fixed the auto-update issue
>>
So i'm going through the archives, and I must say Lord Mazur was 100% right.
Forcing that whore to lay in the bed she so readily made for herself was the best move he could have done.
Anything else would have been the move of a punk bitch.

On the flip side, I guess the Just trait IS the better choice for Ellana's character so it I can't even stay mad.
Now let me get back to reading this shit. Great quest Kaz, keep up the good work.
>>
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>>2901094
>>2901099
>>2901104
>>2901110
>>2901120
>>2901164
>>2901179
“Just a dutiful soldier who wants some peace, quiet…” You exhale deeply, staring with a feigned wistfulness at the tub, “…and the simple pleasure of a bath.”

That seems to get her attention. Flushing with embarrassment, she almost runs to the door. “I’m sorry! Here, I’ll be back with the water in a short bit.”

By the time the wench comes back, you’ve already divested yourself of all of your clothing. As you stare, impressed at her ability to carry two large buckets of steaming water, she takes her time to look at you as well. If nothing else, both the money and the fact that her client is not ugly seem to be positives for her.

“If you could get in…” She gestures to the tub, and you acquiesce. Settling yourself comfortably in the wooden structure, you hiss comfortably as she slowly pours the water in. Almost immediately, you can feel whatever lingering tension in your limbs and muscles drain out of your body. “…is that too hot?”

Humming contently, you answer, “It is perfect.”

“I’m glad to hear it…oh!” she says, starting so violently that her chest noticeably heaves, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve caught your name.”

“…Marcus of Karthmire,” you reply quietly.

She smiles, brushing the hair out of her face. “Caris. Caris of Westholm.”

It takes at least twenty minutes for the tub to be filled, but it remains steaming by the time it reaches comfortably to your shoulders. This is a luxury you seldom ever indulged in, but one that you could say you definitely enjoyed, and did not come from him. All the same, even as the water undoes weeks of tension and soothes the angry welts and bruises, you must remain alert.

Upon her fifteenth and final return, Caris has replaced one of her buckets with, to your amusement, a platter of roasted chicken. Setting the meal on the table, she empties her last bucket into the tub and wipes the gathering sweat from her brow. “I believe that should be almost everything. Now,” she says, reaching towards the thongs holding her bodice in place, “Do you want to eat now, or...afterwards?”

“Now,” you say, easing into the role you must play, “The food will get cold.”

“Of course.”

“But before that…have Hennek pour two tankards’ worth of his best taps. You know I’m good for it. I’ll pay him afterwards.”

“Two?” she questions.

“Two,” you confirm in that same detached tone, “For you and I. Find something that goes with the chicken.”

Whatever complaints she might have had, Caris does not resist your charity. There’s definitely an energetic gait in her step as she leaves, coming back with the aforementioned tankards. And it seems, you notice with wry amusement, that the alderman’s beer must be due to an unusual palate. For the brew that both of you toast to is of significantly higher quality than the stock in Giso’s storage.

(cont.)
>>
And when she finally removes her clothes, undoing each lace with a torturous slowness, she no longer needs to feign affection or interest. Every movement is not hindered by reluctance or loathing, and she seems to find genuine delight in your company. It is hard not to warm to it.

However, you can say for sure that she takes pleasure in trying to get a more visceral reaction from you. She fumes at the solitary eyebrow you raise as she slips out of her bodice, stretching languidly to show off her features. Plum-colored nipples the size of coins are visible shadows that are almost straining against the thin fabric of her undershirt. Caris does not hide herself demurely as she kicks her skirt to the floor, revealing her nakedness in an almost proud and brazen glory.

“I’m sure that you’ve never seen a woman quite like me,” she purrs, bringing her hands in a trail down her breasts, hips, thighs and legs, highlighting each of her generous features. Her skin is pale and smooth in the traditional Vethic way, and almost without blemish. The sole mark of imperfection is a birthmark upon her right leg, but it adds rather than subtracts from her beauty. The hair above her mound is carefully trimmed, and the divide of her lips is visibly moist. “You’ll never find something like this in the capitol.”

She is wrong. The best brothels in Karthmire employ beautiful women from all over the empire; ladies who hope to ply their trade and perhaps snatch power and influence from the men that come to their beds. And those are just those who are willing to peddle their flesh. You’ve seen your fair share of girls bought and sold in the slums, slaves taken from villages and tossed to state the mercy of the gangs.

“No, I have not,” you lie with a neutral voice. Even as your groin begins to warm, and your member stirs to, you remain as stoic as you were when you had approached her. “You are very beautiful, Caris.”

She seems almost disappointed. “Is that all?” she pouts.

You almost snort at how disturbingly child-like she makes herself appear. “I would hope not. There is still plenty of room in the tub for another occupant.”

“Are you sure? Once I get in, I won’t be able to fetch more things…”

“If we need more food, beer or water, we can simply dry ourselves by the fire or summon the other woman.”

Caris is lighter than she appears. As she slowly steps into the tub, the water only rises a few inches, not even coming close to spilling over the side. She takes great care to ensure that her legs brush against your own, letting that smooth and pale skin glide over your own rough and scarred flesh. Every involuntary twitch and groan you make only widens the smile on her face as she finally, finally, finally gets a reaction from out of you.

“What could have caused such terrible injuries?” she wonders, reaching across the tub to trace the scars along your body.

(cont.)
>>
>>2901264
>A drakling
>Smirk
>>
>>2901276
>deal a critical hit to Caris
>>
>>2901264
Phantom sensations, the ghosts and remnants of those terrible blows that cut your flesh, follow along the light glide of her finger. It is a sensation that would drive a man mad, teetering dangerously on the edge of pain and pleasure. However, she has the sense not to place too much pressure upon your bruises.

“…would you believe me if I said a drakling?” you ask, reaching for a scrap of chicken. The gesture is more for show than anything else, but you’d be damned if this wasn’t the best chicken you’ve had in a very long time.

“A drakling!” she laughs, lightly pushing on the arm that has the least amount of purpling, “I would believe that given the monster that’s been plaguing our lands in recent weeks. But how on earth did you survive? Many of our villagers were not so lucky.”

“No small amount of luck, aye, but I did not merely survive an attack. I fought it,” you declare plainly, and without any sort of bravado.

“Ah, then you must be one of the knights that protected the royal family. Though your armor is very strange…I cannot see any eagles upon it at all.”

You smile lightly. “Landgraff Pullman is not my liege, and I am no knight, Caris.”

“Then you must be a mercenary.” She returns your smile with one of her own. “Serving at the pleasure of Landgraff Pullman’s coin? That would explain your unusual armor…and your coin purse.”

Time to go in for the finishing blow. How will she react to this? “Although if I’m going to be honest, I’m not even sure if the title of Crownguard even comes with an honorary title. I’ll have to ask when I get back to the Crowmonds.”

To her credit, she does not immediately or violently move in response to this casual declaration. Caris’ eyes widen slowly as she takes a long, hard look at you, then back to your armor, then to you once more. Her mouth falls open in a small “o”, and she falls back against the opposite end of the tub to stare at you in surprise.

“…you mean to say that you…” she slowly whispers, “…you are that princess’ Crownguard…the one that brought down the drakling…”

You nod. “That’s right. And these bruises are the last wounds it will ever inflict on somebody. A fair price in exchange for its life.”

“Haaaah…” Exhaling heavily, she rubs the side of her temples, blinking slowly before looking back up towards you with a new and considering light. “…I thought you would have been more…”

“Braggadocios?” you answer for her, “Older?”

“No, no, none of those…” she reassures you, raising her hands to ward off an imagined offense, “Only that…my customer is an Imperial Crownguard…and a drakling slayer.”

Oh, that’s right. “Ah…you do have soap, yes?”

“I make it myself from animal fat, why?”

(cont.)
>>
>>2901286
>She was planning to kill us for our coinpurse
>She's already poisoned the bathwater
>We're both immune to it
>>
>>2901286
“…I’m sorry, Caris,” you grin apologetically, “But I’m afraid that I’ve not had the opportunity to bathe since I killed the damn thing. And…” Even with the dim lighting that the hearth provides, the two of you can see that the once-clear water of the tub has now turned a deep and ruddy red.

She does not scream. Interestingly enough, she cups her hands, taking a sample of the water to examine closely. Then, she shrugs, tilting her hands back to let the liquid spill into the valley of her breasts, slowly trickling down, around and along hardened nipples.

“We’ll have plenty of time to clean afterwards,” she purrs, slowly getting up from the tub. Crimson now runs down in rivulets down her body, giving a crimson sheen to her hair and catching in the crevices and nooks of her arms and legs. “So there’s no point in quibbling over anything now, Marcus. Drakling blood, seed…they will all be washed away by the evening’s end. Or come the morrow.”

There is enough room for her to kneel as she sets herself before you, gently brushing her fingers along your erection. “And I must admit that…I’ve never had the pleasure of serving an Imperial Crownguard…or a drakling slayer…”

And here it is. The moment where you stand before the line that separates you from your father, the memory of your beloved and an uncertain future…it has finally come before you.

“When they’re all spent from rutting, or from whatever pleasures they indulge in, everyone’s lips are a little looser at the end of it. In the euphoric haze of release, they’ll blather about anything without pause for concern. Seduction is another tool just as potent as infiltration. But at all costs, don’t lose your head in the thick of it, boy, because you just might end up losing it for real…”

It’s not even a question of what he would do. He never would have found himself in this kind of predicament. His father was not an assassin, only a blustering drunkard, threatening to turn her to the mage hunters for prize money. You could not rely on the memories of what he did.

...but is this something that she would approve of, let you do? Compared to her, Canis is but a passing breeze in the wind, pale before the storm that summer brings. One single encounter would not, should not be a transgression against those memories…

“All this talk,” Caris whispers into your ear, bringing herself closer as she grips your member with both her hands, pressing her ample chest against your own, “…about draklings, knights…has made me so hot and slippery…”

>“But before that, I have some questions to ask of you.” (Refuse)
>“I can show you better pleasures beyond merely coupling.” (Delay)
>“Then let me show you how a Crownguard lays a woman.” (Resolve)
>Custom option.

Going to sleep, resuming tomorrow.
>>
>>2901305
>“But before that, I have some questions to ask of you.” (Refuse)
We rejected an offer from a bloodlusty and horny as hell knight and a dragon worshipper.
Let's not break the tradition.
>>
>>2901316
Mix this with
>Pleasures beyond coupling
>>
>>2901305
>>“But before that, I have some questions to ask of you.” (Refuse)
>>“I can show you better pleasures beyond merely coupling.” (Delay)

>>2901316
If we do start randomly fucking things, can we go back to the Dragon Cultist?
>>
>>2901319
Don't think so as long we continue doing Marcus "Fuck Women, Not Literally" Painel and find a way to revive Serana/fuck Serena in our dreams.
>>
>>2901305
>“I can show you better pleasures beyond merely coupling.” (Delay)

Question her about the drakling, when and where it appeared, local movements of the Alderman, etc while getting her worked up.


Let's not halfass our job.
>>
Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>2901316
Didn't we also notbang the Alchemist?

Also you forgot the Noble lady from the previous arc.

Let's just get this chick off and get her drunk so she doesn't remember us never actually banging her.
>>
>>2901305
>>“I can show you better pleasures beyond merely coupling.” (Delay)
but ultimately refuse(or i dunno, eat her out without actually penetrating)

I just can't imagine smelly watery dragon blood+chicken to be very arousing.
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>>2901327
>Noble Lady
Wait, what?
>>
>>2901331
Yeah, whose name we were helping out last arc. I'm not looking it up though.
>>
>>2901305
>“But before that, I have some questions to ask of you.” (Refuse)
>>
>And it seems, you notice with wry amusement, that the alderman’s beer must be due to an unusual palate. For the brew that both of you toast to is of significantly higher quality than the stock in Giso’s storage.

Funny thing...you know for what else low quality brews were used for? Home made explosives...
>>
>>2901305
>“Then let me show you how a Crownguard lays a woman.” (Resolve)

Frankly at this point I just want him to attempt to get over it to some degree, and a whore he will never see again once he leaves is a good a partner for it.
>>
>>2901305
>“I can show you better pleasures beyond merely coupling.” (Delay)

Give the girl a good lick and make her drunk more wine.
>>
>>2901305
>>“But before that, I have some questions to ask of you.” (Refuse)
>>
>>2901305
>>“I can show you better pleasures beyond merely coupling.” (Delay)
>>
>>2901305
>“I can show you better pleasures beyond merely coupling.” (Delay)
>>
>>2900337
>legacy of a misspent youth

GET OUT OF MY QUEST SHIROU
>>
>>2901305
>“But before that, I have some questions to ask of you.” (Refuse)
>>
>>2901305
>Custom option.

Engage in heavy petting and oly her with questions while she's addled with lust.

We shouldn't flat out refuse her but I agree that we shouldn't fuck her.
>>
>>2901434
Pretty sure thats the delay option.
>>
The wench works at an inn called the River's Rest.

She's the Drowned Lady. Obviously.

More seriously
>>2901305
>“I can show you better pleasures beyond merely coupling.” (Delay)
>>
>>2901485
Or it's the black haired girl.
>>
>>2901305
>>“But before that, I have some questions to ask of you.” (Refuse)
>>
>>2901331
>>2901344
Karla.

There were no offers to bang like rest. She did give us permission to masturbate to her though.

Good girl. One of the better ones
>>
>>2901305
>“Then let me show you how a Crownguard lays a woman.” (Resolve)
Y'all gay.
>>
>>2901305
>>“I can show you better pleasures beyond merely coupling.” (Delay)

I wonder where this will end up going.
>>
>>2901545
If you feel that way why don't you go to akun and stay there?
>>
>>2901565
Jesus. From one extreme to the other, hey? You American or something? Can't have healthy sex, it's gotta be either aspirin between the knees or weird hardcore fetish shit?
>>
You guys ever consider that this is just a whore looking to make some money and have a good time?
>>
>>2901637
Yes.
>>
>>2901637
Have you ever considered that i don't care?
>>
>>2901647
>>2901644
Just checking. I thought some Galaxy brains thought she was a super spy/assassin or something.
>>
>>2901637
Only bath house in town?

She's useful for information even if she is "only" a whore, she is clearly the high class good shit around here.

That's what counter espionage is like. You build a picture using edge pieces, like a puzzle, and whores have a lot of edge pieces.

Like I said, it's good to know things like if new people are in town, if someone suddenly gained/lost money, if there's any local gossip overheard from other clients.

Finally, quantum QM concepts apply. There's no reason to have the whore in the narrative unless it moves the plot forward, or further develops characters in it. So narratively, there's always a purpose.
>>
>>2901650
There are apparently a few that do, yes.
>>
>>2901652
I love you armchair spymaster. Never stop. Every quest needs one super paranoid dude to see *everything* for us sheep.
>>
>>2901660

I like how you don't have any actual points in your posts.

"Hey guys what if nothing ever happens?"

Next you'll be saying we shouldn't look for information in taverns. "Hey, you guys ever consider that at one of the few places available for public socializing, everyone is there just to drink in silence?"
>>
>>2901671
My only point is that I <3 you.

Serenade me with how Marcus had no soul or that we should use child body doubles.
>>
>>2901635
>pushing for fictional characters to have sex is healthy
>having sex with prostitute is healthy
>Akun is only hardcore fetish porn
You do realize Akun is mostly vanilla right? And that many (rather than all) quests on Akun do not have sex scenes until midway or late in the quest? Also this is the one of the only quests where the MC is greiving the loss of his lover and I do want to keep that character trait longer rather than ditching it as early as possible.
>>2901637
Personally I don't care what this whore wants. I never wanted this scenario to begin with and now that we are in it all I want is to get info and leave to do assassin stuff.
>>
>>2901680
> Also this is the one of the only quests where the MC is greiving the loss of his lover and I do want to keep that character trait longer rather than ditching it as early as possible.

Only worth having if it brings conflict, like trying to get information out of a whore without actually banging her.

How far is Marcus willing to go for Elana, in light of his obsession with his ex, Corpsy McWormfood?
>>
>>2901701
Hey Spymaster, what's the most cutthroat, cold blooded you've done and/or suggested in H&D?

I need to finish.
>>
>>2901305
>>“But before that, I have some questions to ask of you.” (Refuse)
Get our questions asked and get out.
>>
>>2901743
Guessing that is an exercise left for the class to complete.

> MFW I actually travel and fuck whores. MFW we actually get notices from work about not fucking up and leaving confidential information accessible when doing so, because people have actually fucked that up in the past.

Want me to post a pic from the boat later? It's great living the life. You should try it some time.

Or maybe learn about narrative structure and RPGs.

Thanks for the name BTW. Keeping it now.
>>
>>2901773
I can't go through the entirety of H&D to find it man.

Quit edging me.
>>
>>2901792
Sorry, but I gotta keep up my cruel and cutthroat style or else I'll have to give up my new name.
>>
>>2901317
>>2901319
>>2901326
>>2901328
>>2901363
>>2901402
>>2901407
>>2901485
>>2901558
…but there are other ways to bring a woman to that threshold. Ways that…won’t betray her memory.

Some small corner of your mind notes that it is a whore, not a barbarian knightess or dragon priestess, which has finally cajoled you into answering your restless libido. For everything that you are and are not, you are still a man, with all the strengths and vulnerabilities that come with your sex.

It would be impossible to deny that both Bellatrix and Feija are attractive women in their own right, and that their offers were sorely tempting. What makes Caris different, however, is the fact that you were the one to approach her for this. The decision to engage in her services was of your initiative, your own desire, and not one suddenly thrust upon you as an ultimatum or a bartering point.

“Have you ever laid with a man from the capital?” you ask her, just barely keeping your voice and breath level. Her hands feel torturous as they glide along your member, and the warmth of her body against yours is all but too tempting to indulge in. “Or have you only taken villagers?”

Caris frowns, confused at your question before answering, “If you are worried about your injuries affecting your performance, then you need not worry. I’ve had travelers who could only manage two thrusts, and you look as fit as an oxen-”

“That’s not what I meant. But…those travelers you had? Wherever they came from, be it the city or the neighboring fief...I bet none could truly satisfy you.”

“And you would claim that you can?” The corners of her mouth twitch in amusement, even as she avoids answering the question. It becomes a grin as she gives your erection a slow, languid pump, eliciting a sharp hiss of breath. “That’s what they all say. And though you’re no pot-bellied laborer or obese merchant’s son…you can really claim such?”

You shift from underneath her, pulling her hands away from your groin. Those are your actions. But it is like someone else is speaking, someone that isn’t you that intones in a low and smoldering voice: “I can show you better pleasures beyond mere coupling.”

Her eyes widen at the sudden change in your tone, maybe even the way that you slowly push yourself into a better position. Wetting her lips with a flick of her tongue, she replies, “…and here I thought I was the one supposed to be pleasuring you...”

But she does not resist as you part her legs, nudging them apart with your knee as you close the distance between you. The smile is not yours, could never have been the one you used to serenade shy Claudia with sweet and harmless overtones. No, this smile is Lucien’s, stretching your mouth from one end of your jaw to another, a smoldering, almost arrogant smile that promises many things in the darkness.

(cont.)
>>
“I paid for this, did I not?” that voice says, running fingers up along her inner thighs. You can feel the wiry hair, the soft skin underneath, and the slickness at her entrance that is too hot to be water. Caris shivers as you stroke her roughly, the calloused tips of your fingers maddeningly close, teasing the petals of her sex with hardened flesh. “…but do not worry. That…comes…later…”

>Roll 1d100+50 Social (+20 Social, + 30 Circumstantial)
>Best out of three.
>>
Rolled 16 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>2901811
>>
>>2901809
Bellatrix and Feija would have been for our own pleasure.

This is business. For everyone involved. It's in a way much less worse than what we did with the Alchemy girl.
>>
Rolled 70 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>2901811
>>
Rolled 70 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>2901811
>>
Rolled 15 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>2901811
>>
>Double 70s

Uh...wow. What're the odds of that happening? Last time we got doubles was the Blutlinge fight, and y'all pulled two Nat 100s out of your butts. Huh. Neat-o. Never seen doubles come up for a sex-related roll, but I suppose there's a first for everything. Good job.
>>
>>2901841
Does this mean we get something neat?
>>
>>2901859
> I now have Spymaster posting doubles

Now they won't know who to come for! This is working out better than expected
>>
>>2901811
Btw Kaz, OP is missing one of Marcus' Perks, namely this:
>Mind of Steel [Special]: Your experiences have led you to be jaded and cynical. Take a +30 to resist attempts, magical or mundane, to try and influence you (i.e. seduction, intimidation, etc.).
>>
>>2901841
If only it had been double 69s
>>
>>2901841
I guess we made her pretty happy. So contact acquired?
>>
>>2901841
Also what did you expected? You should know by now how our rolls work against the oposite sex.
>>
Just discovered this Quest and read through the archives
Very excited to be participating
>>
>>2902225
Great quest. Kaz is awesome, but his post times can be glacial.
>>
>>2902227
>but his post times can be glacial
>first quest was April 2016
Yeah, I got that
>>
>>2902238
We've been on this road for two years.
>>
>>2902225
Same here.
>>
>>2902225
I would love to be in this position.

Filled with optimism.>>2902227
Decu writes faster
>>
>>2901819
>>2901821
>>2901830
You are not the first customer to have tried to elicit a genuine moan or scream of pleasure, but you are certainly the first to go about it this way. Or at least, the first that made an attempt that is not just rough and blind trusting, touching, or groping. She had first been amused, wondering if you were a foreigner to worship a woman’s body to this extent, for it is certainly not the behavior of most men in the Empire.

“Are you going to take me in the Itonian way?” she hums contently as you run your hand along her left breast. They are firm, not too pliable as you give an experimental squeeze. But her words come from the way you stroke her rear, teasing at the entrance between her cheeks. “I hear that’s how the Baselius enjoys both his men and women…”

The humoring smile visibly strains when you press your fingers into her sex. It wobbles as you curl those digits, and she struggle to remain standing with every motion you make. It only disappears entirely when you kneel, pressing your mouth to her flower. She has no time to get accustomed to even the warm breath that glides along her flesh before you give a torturous, slow lick.

Caris trembles and her legs almost go underneath her as you consider the taste of her cunt. Salty…but sweet, with just the faintest hint of iron from the blood-soaked bathwater. It is nothing special, something you neither like nor particularly hate. However, there is no denying the dark satisfaction at her breathless reactions.

Her entire body is an instrument for you to play, and there is not a single inch of her both within and without that goes unmolested. At some point, her legs finally give way underneath, leaving her teetering precariously on the rim of the tub. Dainty little fingers tangle themselves in your hair, gripping almost painfully, but the noises you cajole from her throat only encourage you further on.

Your mind is blank, an emotionless calm against the storm of your body, driven purely by a single-minded purpose for the sake of your mission. But there is something almost beautiful about the way Caris quickly turns into a quivering mess of flesh underneath your ministrations. And, perhaps, there is an unavoidable, small feeling of pride that blossoms in your chest, born from how you replaced her self-assuredness and amusement with…

“Oh…” she whimpers, nearly crushing your head with creamy, trembling legs, “…oh…gods…”

Time has no meaning as you bring her to that threshold, only to withdraw or otherwise refrain from giving that final push. You hold her on that edge like a minstrel might a final round, leaving both the song and the woman’s satisfaction unresolved and unending. Torturous, maddening denial of that crest of pleasure.

(cont.)
>>
Something tells me rumours are going to start to spread.
>>
>>2902625
“Marcus,” Caris moans, whining at how you pull your fingers from out of her cunt, how you slowly pull your tongue away from the pearl above her divide. How many times had you done that, coming so dangerously close to letting her release, only to refuse and ignore her desperate pleas? “…Marcus, please…”

>“I’ll finish if you promise to answer some questions.” [Interrogate her after her release, when her mind is dazed and clouded.]
>“You’ll have to answer some questions first…” [Interrogate her now, while you have her teetering on the knife’s edge.]
>Custom option.

>>Both choices will require write-in questions.
>>Please follow your selected vote with the question you want to ask her.
>>
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>>2902637
Waaaiit a minute are you saying a common wench in a bathhouse is going to talk about/brag how 'The Crownguard That Killed The Drakling' gave her the best time eating her out the other night?
>>
>>2902625
Oh, so that's why you were pushing us so hard to fuck someone. You feel better now?
>>
>>2902641
>“You’ll have to answer some questions first…” [Interrogate her now, while you have her teetering on the knife’s edge.]

"I couldn't find a map on the way in town, but could you direct me to the Drowned Lady Inn?"

I'm joking, don't take this vote. I'll leave the interrogation to the people that wanted this.
>>
>>2902641
>does /qst/ even have mods?
I guess we'll see. Reported.
>>
>>2902644
Marcus said once. Gossip is humanitys oldest friend.

>“I’ll finish if you promise to answer some questions.” [Interrogate her after her release, when her mind is dazed and clouded.]

Ask what kind of business the guy in charge has and also about the tool he needs to pay the guards.
>>
>>2902641
>>“I’ll finish if you promise to answer some questions.” [Interrogate her after her release, when her mind is dazed and clouded.]
>>
>>2902513
Oi. Wake up big brain. This is your time to shine.
>>
>>2902679
You need a write in buddy.
>>
>>2902727
By the way what is your write in about? Who is the guy in charge? The guy in charge of Westfold?
>>
Sorry guys my internet went down. I think the router reset.
>>
>>2902641
Alright serious vote this time.

>“I’ll finish if you promise to answer some questions.” [Interrogate her after her release, when her mind is dazed and clouded.]

"What can you tell me of the Drowned Lady?"

"What about Folcard? What can you tell me about him and his business? Does he just sell grain like he says?"

"Any suspicious or interesting characters come into Westfold lately besides us?"
>>
>>2902641
How the hell did lucien teach this
>your tongue technique is wrong. Up, up, THEN forward
>you call that a grope, I could do better with a stuffed teddy bear

>interrogate now
Hell, ask for directions to the drowned lady inn.
>>
>>2902641
>“You’ll have to answer some questions first…” [Interrogate her now, while you have her teetering on the knife’s edge.]

Was anyone ever this good? Any man or woman that you love more than me right now? Imagine if you could actually come to the Capital with me, what you could learn.

Does this small town really have enough to satisfy you? If only you could convince me that you would be something special even among the women of the Capital . . .>>2902716

Fucking open bar. I am not at my best right now.
>>
>>2902747
>>2902641
I'll second
>>
>>2902736
> Implying I use my work phone for this shit while traveling

Hahaha.

Nope. Just hotel wifi, and I ain't paying for roaming when I can use work for email and shit.

Git gud scrub.
>>
>>2902641
>>“I’ll finish if you promise to answer some questions.” [Interrogate her after her release, when her mind is dazed and clouded.]
Ask about the Drowned Lady
>>
>>2902809
>>2902814
>>2902736
>>2902747
Totally not suspicious
>>
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>>2902799
I Fucking Adore how much this is so antithetical to the whole reason we chose not to fuck the whore. The dissonance is screaming at me and all I can do is laugh. I'm unironically laughing right now, this is great

Also, everyone, be aware: this is Marcus having sex. And he's enjoying it, no PTSD, even if his headspace is a little fucked by focusing on the "interrogation." There is no real soapbox to stand on concerning future relationships, and it's more interesting this way anyway.

This is healthy for him for fucks sake, getting over a dead girlfriend. I'm happy Marcus is able to feel something that isn't depression and pain from memories past overwhelming his mind for a split second.

>>2902641
>“You’ll have to answer some questions first…” [Interrogate her now, while you have her teetering on the knife’s edge.]

Bulleted list, because the exact dialogue is immaterial.

Ask her about:

>Drowned Lady, Rumors, Patrons, who owns it, etc
>Vascieli in the area, though don't be so fucking blatant about it jesus christ
>The Local Lord's deal - if he's in cahoots with the rebels, maybe we can tease out out the thread to unravel
>Anything of Note in the direction we're heading - we don't want to stumble into another ambush if we can help it

And for fuck's sake, at least TRY to swear her to secrecy after we're done. If anything it'll at least get us time to do what we need to and GTFO of dodge before word gets back to our troop that the Drakling killer gave a whore the best fucking of her life.

I think that's about it. I love you all
>>
>>2902641
>>2902671

changing my vote to support this:>>2902799
>>
>>2902826
Eh i'm just glad we have poison resistance because of the Drakling poisoned blood. The necro guy did melted the Drakling flesh so ot wouldn't be unlikely to have poisoned the blood.
>>
>>2902826
The best way to keep a secret is to not try and swear a whore to secrecy.

Just let her think it was casual/lazy/arrogant conversations.

As for it being antithetical to why we fucked the whore, it's because she's horny and stupid not literally retarded. Asking directly about the drowned lady is risky and we could have just kidnapped and torture/bribed her for the info in that case.

I just tried to be discreet about it for the same reasons you want to swear her to secrecy.

But if it make eternal virgins salty about what happened, at this point I'm happy to hear you still >>2901660
love everyone like back here
>>
>>2902826
this
>>
>>2902656
>>2902671
>>2902679
>>2902747
>>2902750
>>2902799
>>2902814
>>2902818
>>2902826
>>2902830
“I have questions that need answering,” you quietly murmur, just loud enough for her to hear in spite of the grip her thighs have your head in. Caris trembles as the closeness of your words elicit an entirely different sensation than those of tongue and breath. “…answer them and…well. I won’t stop any more.”
“Alright…” she agrees breathlessly, eyes faint and distant, “…ask…ask away…”

>>Caris will answer honestly.

>>You ask about Krabat.

The ghost of a smile plays across her lips. “…are you jealous?” She seizes as you rotate your fingers without as much giving anything away on your face. “…oooh…ah, he’s always brought grain…always comes during the winter for the last…six, seven seasons? Why…are you interested…”

“I merely met him on the road,” you answer smoothly, “Nothing beyond a traveler’s curiosity. But have you ever noticed anything suspicious about him?”

“…he…he doesn’t eat meat…and he always pays in silver…”

It’s impossible to shake your head or pinch the front of your nose in this position. “…is that really all?”
Caris nods, almost pleading. “Yes…that’s it! Krabat…I only know of him from other people. Never…had the chance to speak…with him. And even then…they say nothing beyond his mannerisms…and wild stories…”

They know of the man, but not the man himself. How strange. “And he’s always brought grain?”
“…always…but there was one year when had someone…someone else in his wagon.”

Now that is interesting. “Who?”

“…no one really saw her face, always covered in a black cloak…but…” she pauses, shifting only slightly to adjust the way your fingers are positioned in her depths, “…he said that she was his mother…and that he took her north for some ‘fresh air’…”

How intriguing. Krabat had told you that all of his family had perished due to plague. He had either lied to you or the villagers, and you’re not sure which one is the more consequential. “And what do you know about this mother of his?”

“…kept to herself, never took her hood off…always muttering low and disparaging his attempts to be friendly…but she wasn’t that old of a woman, not with that voice or her smooth, unwrinkled hands.”

“And she never came back again?” you press.

“Yes…the next year, he returned alone, and when asked…he just said that she didn’t find the air agreeable…never gave indication that she died…”

>>You feel like that is all she knows about Krabat.

“If that’s all…” her voice hitches, and her inner walls clench and squeeze at your fingers, “…please…I’m almost there.”

“Just a few more questions…”

(cont.)
>>
>>You ask about Alderman Giso.

This time, she’s able to find some measure of amusement in spite of her near-debilitating arousal. “…it’s so hard not to notice,” Caris says, “…our alderman’s…wealth…compared to the rest of our village…”

“And how do you think he affords his house?”

“…he owns a brewery…just by the docks…and a store that makes barrels…”

Then the drink you and Silverow shared was not only the alderman’s personal stock, but also his personal brew. “…barrels I might understand, but how the hell does he even sell that swill?”

“…he sells it well enough…’authentic Mildlander beer’…” she almost spits in disgust, “…ships them down the river by the dozens, or by the Vethic road…barrels of that…disgusting tap…”

Giso doesn’t seem to be taxing Westholm into the dirt for every small thing. The peasants would complain to their landgraff. And if what the sorcerer said was true, then von Roie would revoke the title. But beyond his ownership of a store that makes barrels, a lucrative commodity in of itself, it would still not be enough to make the money to build and maintain his estate.

“But no one has really complained to von Roie?” you ask. “Raised any concerns about this wealth of his?”

Caris hesitates, an uneasy expression on her face. “…we like our peace and quiet…away from large numbers of soldiers. So long as Giso doesn’t abuse his title…”

…then the village of Westholm will not make a fuss. You’d almost want to say how typical that would be of a rural village, but these are far cries from the wild stories about nobles of all rank and prestige taxing their fief into the grave. At least the alderman of this village has reached an unspoken and unwritten agreement with the people he’s been charged to oversee.

At any rate, investigating his brewery is a worthwhile venture, beyond his house where the Crowmonds are staying. Because you have a gut feeling as to what his game is. It isn’t a scam to gullible traders and merchants across the Empire, at least not in the way his vintage tastes.

Gods know how many times you attacked Red Snakes caravans, stealing or otherwise burning contraband they smuggled in and out of Karthmire. Narcotics, weapons...sometimes even the odd and frightened girl trapped inside a barrel.

>>That is all Caris knows about Alderman Giso.

>You ask about the Vascieli presence.

“…never had any trouble…until that eagle knight reported about that battle…and the destroyed bridge…ah…” She whimpers as she nearly slips, driving your fingers another inch inside her. “…you…you…made sure to…to kill them all…”

You remember the wild-eyed look in Bellatrix’s eyes as she rode down the survivors and chased them into the forest. “…yes. We did.”

>>That is all she knows about the Vascieli.

(cont.)
>>
“Last question…”

Caris can barely make a coherent reply. The scent of her desire is absolutely potent, a thick and heady mixture that would drive a lesser man insane. Her slit is flushed red, weeping tears that streak down her thighs, your fingers and across your face. But you rein in your libido, doing your best to ignore the painful throbbing of your own arousal and the desire to just take her where she stands.

“Do the words ‘Drowned Lady’ mean anything to you?”
Something in her eyes that isn’t arousal glistens in recognition. “…Drowned Lady…? A…an old ghost story…story mothers use to get their children out of the water…b-beware the Drowned Lady…she’ll pull you into the river…”

You frown. Instead of a location, with the obvious result that of another inn or tavern, it seems that the trail has led you to a ghost story. But Augvarr’s letter definitely spoke of the words as a location. Something’s definitely wrong, but she seems to be telling the truth.

“And who is this ‘Drowned Lady’?”

“…a noble girl from long ago…she… “ she pauses, taking a shuddering breath before she continues, “…she ran away with the blacksmith’s boy, and when…when her father’s knights chased them down…boarded their river barge and killed the boy…she leapt over the side, cursing her father’s lands before she…disappeared underneath the rapids…”

It’s obviously a code for something. Even with your Vasclieli cipher nearly decrypted, the orders seem to have taken extra precaution in the event that they might have been dropped or otherwise stolen. “…does the story say where she drowned?” Perhaps that might be a lead.

She shakes her head, but even that motion is enough to send little tremors along her body. “No, no, no,” Caris whines, both answering your question and denial of her body’s impulses. There is a desperate plea in her eyes as you feel her limbs stiffen and her claw at the back of your head. Once more, she stands upon the precipice of release. “No, no one knows, it happened so long ago…Marcus, please…I…I can’t…”

>>That is all Caris knows about the Drowned Lady.

“…alright.”

Your fingers reach, curling up towards that small area of flesh inside her body that always brought the most violent motions out of her. Your other hand reaches up towards her breast, tweaking a swollen, erect nipple with a sharp tug. And your teeth graze along the edge of her pearl before you bite down lightly.

That is all it takes. Caris comes undone, body heaving uncontrollably, legs shaking, pressing hard together to almost crush your head between them. The only reason she does not fall off the tub is your grip on her thighs, and her grip on your head as she rides out her release. Tiny, choked, strangled cries come from her throat, each ending in a gasp, sob or whimper with every tremor that shakes her body.

It’s so beautiful that it could almost break your heart.

(cont.)
>>
She gives on last tired shiver before pitching forward. But you catch her just in time, gently lowering her into the tub and into the crimson waters. Her eyes are vacant, and her chest heaves as she struggles to get her breathing under control. It seems that her main clientele have been holding out on her, if her response was that…visceral. The sight would have been frightening if you she had not been accepting, if not welcoming, of it.

Lucien would have been proud to see you put one of his more infamous teachings to use. And that’s a thought that you have little desire to brood upon.

When she comes around, her eyes focus on you. Caris turns a deep shade of red, unable to meet your gaze. She confesses with a shaky voice, “I’ve…I’ve never experienced anything like that.”

“There are benefits to living in a city,” you answer stoically, brushing her hair out of her eyes, “And knowledge that you’ll be hard-pressed to find in a quiet village like yours.”

Her laughter is jerky as the fading throes of her release cause her body to tremble. “…it seems there is…”

>>From the questions you fielded to Caris, you have deduced that:
>Krabat is hiding something and lying about his family.
>Alderman Giso’s brewery may possibly be smuggler’s front.
>The Vascieli have not been a visible problem to the village.
>The story of the Drowned Lady will lead you to the Vascieli contact.

You have what you came here for. And by the window, it’s not even close to sundown, as early as it comes in the winter. There is plenty of time in the afternoon and night to investigate further with this newfound knowledge.

But before you can leave the tub, Caris seems to have recovered to a semblance of her prior self. She pushes you gently back into the water, right against the wooden wall. Her hand is warm against your chest, and the smile on her face gives you pause in your movements.

“It’s my turn,” she says, approaching you on her hands and knees. The glazed look in her eyes is long gone, now replaced by a burning desire that you can feel on her skin, even before she lays her body against yours. One look is all you need to know that you may have succeeded too well. “…let me show you what I know…and then we could both show each other…what we know…”

>“…already got what I came here for.” (Leave)
>“…I’ll come back to finish what I started.” (Promise)
>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)
>>
>>2903097
>>“…already got what I came here for.” (Leave)
>>
>>2903097
>>“…already got what I came here for.” (Leave)
To be a dick, or to give the dick, that is the question.
>>
>>2903097
>“…already got what I came here for.” (Leave)
Maybe tell her we just like to see girls like her squirm?
>>
>>2903097
>“…already got what I came here for.” (Leave)
Heh.
>>
>>2903097
>“…already got what I came here for.” (Leave)
Can we apologize for having to go? Duty calls or something
>>
>>2903097
>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)

It would be a really dick move to leave now (pun intended).
>>
>>2903097
>>“…already got what I came here for.” (Leave)
>>
>>2903097
>” ... Already got what I came here for.”
>>
>>2903097
>>“…already got what I came here for.” (Leave)
>>
>>2903097
>“…already got what I came here for.” (Leave)

Maybe say that a Crownguards body isn't their own to share.

>>2903146
Yeah. Let's try to not be a jerk about this. We paid her in gold and flesh, she should know too well how that must sometimes go.

Anyways I wonder if the drowned lady is another blood mage. Sounds magically fucky.
>>
>>2903097
Could we just get a blowjob at the very least? I figure one orgasm would do wonders for Marcus.
>>
I feel like we only learned things that we could've just asked anybody about. Y'know, without fingerbanging anyone.
>>
>>2903451
lifedebts, man. They make you go through hell and high water when you really, really didn't need to.
>>
>>2903451
I think most people realized that and voted to just take a bath, but hanging out with this girl was in the lead as Kaz was writing.
>>
>>2903097
>“…I’ll come back to finish what I started.” (Promise)
>>
>>2903097
>>“…already got what I came here for.” (Leave)
>>
>>2903097
>“…I’ll come back to finish what I started.” (Promise)
>>
>>2903097
I think Marcus really needs a blowjob. Like desperately. Beyond that I think we are done here.
>>
So those that are just choosing to leave are doing it to fuck with Marcus and this whole situation as a joke right?

Cause blue balling someone like this doesn't seem like a good idea. Actually it's terrible. You're not going to swear her to secrecy at the very least.
>>
>>2903097
Cancelling >>2903104

For my new vote
>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)

Cause >>2904091 is right we probably about to make a big mistake and my sleep addled brain last night didn't pick up on it.
>>
>>2904207
+
>>
>>2903097
also changing my vote >>2903993
to >“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)
>>
>>2903097
>>2903935
Changing my vote to:
>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)
>>
>>2903439
I would like to use a famous quote if i'm allowed.

>"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."
>>
>>2903097
>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)

Probably too little too late, but at least someone saw reason.
>>
>>2903097
>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)
>>
>>2903097
>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)
>>
>>2903097
>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)

as much as I don't want to do it, the potential consequences aren't worth it.
>>
>>2903097
>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)

After we should gently ask if she can keep what we discussed between us.
>>
>>2903097
>>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)
Those voting for leave should have voted not to hire a prostituted in the first place.
>>
>>2903097
>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)

Just for a BJ though.
>>
>>2904091
Meh. I figured that's the way the vote was going so I tried to minimize it. Pretty sure a whore would know what it's like to not own your own body.

But yeah >>2903097

I'll switch>>2903439 to
>“…may as well get my money’s worth.” (Stay.)

But not just a BJ. Straight up wrecking those walls, as our own walls of grief and loss and murder come crashing down.
>>
>>2904091
Let's go all in and ask her to accompany us to the Capital.

Taking odds now on how long before Bellatrix murder-fucks her.

Also this is a joke. Don't seriously try to take her to the Capital.
>>
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Heads up for those who don't have Twitter.
>>
Not sure if this is still relevant. I'm reading the archives, and I'm pretty sure that the people who want to reclaim what was taken are the Revenants of Wraiths or who ever that trained our father.
>>
>>2905366
What thread foreshadowed that? I might want to do a reread.

Or is it just speculation?
>>
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>>2903152
>>2903444
>>2904010
>>2904207
>>2904266
>>2904316
>>2904335
>>2904348
>>2904381
>>2904440
>>2904442
>>2904446
>>2904601
>>2904724
“…may as well get my money’s worth.”

That is what you want to say, the sole reason that you do not simply push her away. It is just on your tongue, but the words die, not even formed as Caris places her lips upon your erection, tasting the pre at its tip. The warm sensation of everything – her hands, mouth and tongue – cause your eyes to flutter and the breath to catch in your throat. And in the dim, flickering light of the fire…

It is brief, only lasting for a moment. Perhaps a sudden vision brought on by the beer and the taste of her sex lingering on your mouth. But in the veil of lust that clouds your vision and dulls your senses…Caris might have looked like her.

And as she coaxes you to your own release, releasing your member to ejaculate onto her face, breasts and hair the color of spun gold…you know that you had lost.

“…Caris…” you murmur, reaching for the swell of her hip, wiping the seed from her body. Time and coherency lose all meaning and definition as you surrender to that gnawing, hungry sensation.

She strokes your member to stiffness once more, closing the distance for the last and final time. “Marcus,” she whispers, capturing your lips as she lowers herself onto your groin…

>>??

How long had it been?

How long had it been since you tasted her breath upon your lips?

Felt the warm embrace of her arms around your shoulders, her legs around your waist?

Heard the soft whisper of her voice, the smell of hair that tickled against your face?

How long had it been since they took her away from you?

There is nothing that can match her, nothing that the earth could provide.

Nothing else exists that could quench the rage, anger, bitterness within the darkness of your heart, no other radiance that could match the light that eased your aches and pains and the heavy burden upon your shoulders.

Your anger and rage, hot enough to make your blood boil…your sorrow and melancholy, heavy enough to tear your heart into pieces…

With her illumination gone, violently snuffed out by those that would spite you, you would make the world without the brilliance of her light suffer the full extent of your pain.

All for her sake, always for her, everything for her, as it was and ever shall be…

>>Later

The sun had already begun to set by the time you leave the inn. Winter twilight comes fast, and within the next hour, it will have already been dusk. The only source of light to be found will be that behind the curtains of houses, or the levy militia that patrols the muddy streets.

You ate little and drank only however much you needed to dull the pain of your bruises. For this next endeavor, you will need to be light on your feet and have all your wits about you.

(cont.)
>>
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“You certainly took your time,” he remarks, “Not that I can blame you. I can’t imagine the work it must have taken to rid yourself of all that blood and offal.”

“As long as it took,” you answer quietly, “And a little more to clean my shirt and armor.”

He inclines his head understandingly. “You certainly look all the better for it. Are you feeling any better?”

Musing on the question, you eventually respond, “Well enough to perform my duties.”

A rare smile graces his lips. “Excellent. Now, walk with me…” As your eyes flicker towards the alderman’s house, the sorcerer says, “There is no need to worry. As my prince quickly grew bored of the village, he returned to the house to reunite with his sister. Lupine and Urath will keep them safe. And as we are on ‘official business’ for the sake of their well-being, I doubt the Lord Commander would take grievous offense at our temporary absence.”

The two of you set off, treading through the cold, muddy ground into the heart of Westholm. The winter market, what paltry goods can be purchased and sold with the rivers all frozen, is in the middle of closing. Already, the torchlight from passing guards can be seen around street corners, and the small and scattered campfires of the Eagle Knights upon the village green.

Silverow says, “I took the liberty of making some discrete inquiries while you were in the baths. What I discovered…well, it is admittedly very little. But it is enough to make a start.”

“What did you find,” you ask, “About the Drowned Lady?”

The sorcerer purses his lips. “Very little. It’s a local legend, you see. Some morbid story about a noblewoman…”

“Fleeing from her father with the blacksmith’s boy in tow,” you finish. At his surprised look, you cannot help but smile. “I made some inquiries of my own while soaking and cleaning my clothes.”

“Well done. But, yes, it seems you have the pith of it as well. This ‘Drowned Lady’ is an evil spirit lurking in the river said to drag children to their deaths. Absolute balderdash in any other situation, but as we are dealing with Vasceli…we cannot take it at face value.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Necromancy,” he grimly declares, soft as not to upset any passing villagers, “Seems to be the obvious culprit, but there exists no magic that can bring a coherent, cognizant spirit from beyond the veil of life and death. Were we any further north, I might suspect a draugr, one of those frozen undead from the cold lands of the Hielmaesùt. A problem common more among Ascomanni and Vlennish tribes-”

Frowning, you interrupt, “I was under the impression that our ‘Drowned Lady’ was a location. The writ indicates that much, doesn’t it? Augvarr was supposed to meet the agent there.”

“Of course. But we must first think of what a ‘Drowned Lady’ might possibly be before we can consider its location.”

(cont.)
>>
>Were we any further north, I might suspect a draugr

Oh so that what the merchant 'mother' is/was. I guess she is the drowed lady.
>>
>>2905547
could be, could be. But then is she working with the vascieli, or do we have TWO people exploiting the tale for their own uses?
>>
>>2905550
I think this might be a foreing power trying to strength the rebels to weaken the country/empire.

Most likely the supposed merchant is a smuggler who brougth her from the north to this village who by then send her to the noble in charge who runs the brewing to move her to somewhere else.
>>
Or she could be one of the other blood mages. We did stumble into the blood mage of Envy on our way here.
>>
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>>2905543
“I doubt it is the work of necromancy. The rebels are either stupid or degenerate enough to work with warlocks both High and low, but that school of magic…I’d think even they’d be even loathe to be close to something that foul.”

“Indeed. But I’ve heard claims about how in worst storms that plague the Anosar and its runoffs, ships disappear, that the ‘Drowned Lady’ takes them to the bottom of the riverbed.” At your incredulous look, he shrugs, saying, “The more remote a village, the more likely they are to attribute natural disasters to some physical evil.”

“Or perhaps the weather is just that bad in summer,” you murmur, “And that the captains were foolish to sail their ships during a heavy storm.”

“You’d be right. I am more inclined to believe your theory than theirs.”

As you come across a break in the housing, Silverow gazes towards the slow, shimmering surface of the river. The weather is cold enough that it might freeze the surface of more stagnant sections and the quiet runoff streams. But the main body of the water remains free of ice

The docks where countless fishing dories are moored or tied are nearly covered in ice. Frozen flotsam clings to the hulls of these ships, pushed high above the ice so that you might see their keels. But there are still workers that mill about the area, performing maintenance on their boats or otherwise occupying themselves with menial labor.

“At any rate, that’s what I’ve found.” He smiles humorlessly. “One would think that with three hours, I could glean more knowledge than that, but villagers are villagers, and will remain tight-lipped and superstitious. Not to mention distrusting of outsiders, especially…” He gestures to his black robes and the rune…either branded or tattooed into his forehead. “…of a man of my walk of life.”

You understand well enough. After all, the only reason that they were forced to live in the slums was because of the fear that her gift instilled in their community. Their father certainly has a part in her death as well. And were you not a Crownguard, as well as the fact that he had already taken care of that problem, you might have visited the man to kill him yourself.

“Maybe you had better luck,” Silverow remarks, casting a look to the overcast sky, “After all, you were paying them. Gold always has a habit of loosing tongues, no matter where you go.”

>You tell Silverow about everything you learned from the inn.

“You seem to have kept yourself busy,” he muses when you finish, “Certainly busier than I expected you to be. And I knew there was a reason that Giso had such ghastly taps. Of all the things, a smuggler…how feckless of the villagers to not report it to their rightful lord and master.

“The most likely suspicion, but one not yet proven,” you caution, at least thankful that he kept his voice down.

(cont.)
>>
“And this miller is certainly suspicious, even without the details of his family. The timing of his arrival is too…convenient. I could understand waiting for the drakling to leave, but the writ complicates things.”

The suspicion that he might be the agent the letter refers to does not need to be spoken aloud.

“And yet we just don’t know enough about the legend of the Drowned Lady, or where its location possibly is."

The sorcerer crosses arms underneath his chest, exhaling a thick cloud of breath in the winter air. "Indeed."

>>Where do you think you’ll have the most success at finding more clues about the Drowned Lady? Or at least, investigate first?
>The Docks and its workers.
>Giso’s suspicious brewery.
>Wherever Krabat is staying.
>Custom option.

>>Or perhaps...you can try to guess what the Drowned Lady is...
>>
>>2905578
>>Wherever Krabat is staying.

As to the spoiler
It occurs to me that we have quite recently run into a necromancer of the feminine persuasion, perhaps we might want to mention our rendezvous in the woods with Firja
>>
>>2905578
I'm guessing it's a place where a lot of the ships sink. It's attributed to storms or legend, but it could actually be a front to hide their base in ruined husks of ships.
>>
>>2905578
>Wherever Krabat is staying.
>>
>>2905578
>Or perhaps...you can try to guess what the Drowned Lady is...(The woman who Krabat brougth into the town)

>Custom option:"If Krabat brougth the drowed lady here. Maybe Giso smuggled her out of here and into the empire itself."

>Wherever Krabat is staying.
>>
>>2905588
You're onto something there...
>>
>>2905578
>Wherever Krabat is staying.
>>
>>2905588
Or it could be just were she is hidding and the local lord does that to sabotage other merchants trying to bring their stuff in.
>>
By the way, we need a running tally of each and every knight/escort that died on the way to Westholm. We have a bloodmage who can impersonate people remotely, fresh corpses(or live person kidnapped in the chaos) of the original person to work on, and a convenient story of "I didn't actually die".
>>
>>2905642
Lemme do the math quickly...the convoy had 200 armed men, minus Pullman and the Crownguard. 30 were left behind at the Midbridge garrison. Of the 170 remaining, the back-to-back battle with the drakling and the Vascieli killed 34, left 41 seriously injured. And of the last 85 knights that fought the tailless drakling...only 12 losses, 19 wounded. So you have about 54 healthy fighters and about 60 wounded in various states of maimed or dismembered. Only RNGesus will tell if they can bounce back or not.

And don't worry. The Warlock of Envy can't take the skin from a dead person. The victim needs to be alive while he/she skins their face. Of course, there's nothing to stop them from killing them afterward, but they might need them alive to extract information from them to better blend into the crowd. Case in point: Claudia's father.
>>
>>2905654

>The victim needs to be alive while he/she skins their face.

But do Marcus knows it?
>>
>>2905659
He would. The Warlocks are like the boogeymen of the setting, so people tell all kinds of stories about them, some of which are true. That kind of knowledge would be analguous to our own urban legends of how we know that garlic wards off vampires, silver harms werewolves, salt circles keep out ghosts, etc.
>>
>>2905664
okay but how did the knowledge of the warlocks get outin the forst place?
>>
>>2905779
History lessons. I believe Kaz has showed it using allaged books in the world to do some worldbuilding.
>>
>>2905588
Could it be the name of a ship?
Ambushing other ships during storms to caver the fact that it exists?
>>
>>2905902
Very possible. They raid other ships for supplies, and transport goods and people along paths everyone avoids.
>>
>>2905902
That is... a very good guess actually.
>>
>>2905578
>>The Docks and its workers.
Let's work the ship angle.
>>
>>2905910
And if anything it won't tip our hand to much if the lording and who ever else is the rebel informants that we are looking for then.
>>2905578
>>2905593
Changing my vote to:
>The Docks and its workers.
>>
>>2905903
That Nobles daughter never died and they are able to loot the sunken ships, providing them with guilt free extra income, and the shit beer is just a front to explain the income?
>>
>>2905982
or the noble daughter DID die, and they're milking the tavern stories for all they're worth
>>
>>2905982
>>2906010
Or the rebels are just working with a pirate band.
>>
>>2906010
>>2906068
Doesn't explain the shitty beer.

I think it's a front for something.

> Shadowruns intensifies
>>
>>2906110
Shitty beer can be used to make explosives. If a good alchemist, which we know the rebels have at least one their ranks, can add some other elements (such as bat guano) to it.

But most likely the noble just use it to smuggle stuff and sell beer without having any idea about the explosive option of his craft.
>>
>>2906130
Yeah this noble could be unwitting, greedy pawn in other's schemes, but we'll need to investigate before we get anything concrete.
>>
>>2905578
>>The Docks and its workers.
>>Or perhaps...you can try to guess what the Drowned Lady is...
I think it's a ship.
>>
>>2905588
>>2905902
>>2905938
>>2906218
Silverow’s primary suspect is one of magical means. That is not a surprise, as his way of life is so closely intertwined with magic. Even as his arguments and reason are not without merit, however, it is too narrow, too stifling. Magic is said to be the simplest thing, but an even simpler thing than magic is the purely mundane and ordinary, a far less ostentatious and grandiose explanation.

The sorcerer raises an eyebrow. “A boat?”

“Aye. You said something interesting,” you explain, “About how shipping disasters are all blamed upon the Drowned Lady. I’d be willing to bet that the Drowned Lady mentioned in the writ isn’t some kind of roadside tavern or inn, but a boat. If not river pirates, then perhaps a ship in the service of the Vascieli.”

“…that would make a great deal of sense,” he murmurs, nodding in understanding, “…it works with the legend and serves as both a name and location. Well done. I had not even considered that.”

“It is only an educated guess at best. And I can’t imagine any of the villagers taking too kindly to sharing a port with a vessel named after an infamous legend. And meeting a barbarian of Augvarr’s…character within the village proper? They’d run him out of town, if not string him up on a gibbet.”

The sorcerer’s brow furrows before his eyes widen in some sort of realization. Then, with that small, secretive grin, he says, “Then what about a ship named ‘Lady’? Or perhaps a more effeminate name of noble birth?”

“…disguised as the Drowned Lady?” you ask, catching on quickly. “But how would it be ‘drowned’?”

“Authentically, perhaps? Sunken or wrecked in one of those storms,” he elaborates, “By one of those ‘idiot’ captains. And there’s just enough of it left for a meeting place.”

You can’t help but smile. “That could be it. Or maybe the Drowned Lady is just the location where the waters are the most treacherous, a rapids or whirlpool, perhaps? Because the legend says that the noble girl disappeared quickly after cursing her father’s lands.”

The two of you look out at the docks, and at the ships that are laid up both in the water and from stocks that jut from the ground. Silverow says, “The waters of the Anosar are deep enough to take cogs and longboats…even galleys in some of the more seaward runoffs. It would have to be a very large whirlpool to sink a dory. Maybe even one of magical origin.

“Regardless,” he muses, shaking his head with sardonic humor, “It would be easy to drown a noblewoman even without a whirlpool, especially one young enough to make an idiotic decision of running away with a commoner. Young love…”

(cont.)
>>
Perhaps too quick to change the subject, you gesture towards the frozen piers. “Then perhaps we should make our queries at the docks, then?”

“Lead on, then, Painel.” He gestures with his hand before returning it to the warm, voluminous sleeves of his robes. “Perhaps they’ll find you more receptive to your questions that they did to mine…”

>>How will you coax information from the dock workers?
>Flash your coin and pay them for whatever information they can offer.
>Show them the crest of the Crownguard and use your full official capacity.
>Use the threat of violence to get them to comply with your questions.
>Custom option.
>>
>>2906254
>Flash your coin and pay them for whatever information they can offer.
>>
>>2906254
>>Flash your coin and pay them for whatever information they can offer.
>>
>>2906254
Coin is probably the best bet, but we might run into the problem of word spreading and anyone with a little greed will come by to give any scrap of information, bogus or not, for a little money.

Maybe we should first offer coin but after we are done we pay them, but also flash the Crownguard crest and politely ask them to keep this exchange to themselves? That way hopefully no one we meet's testimony is tainted by hearsay.

What do you guys think?
>>
>>2906285
You're overthinking this.
>>
>>2906254
>>Flash your coin and pay them for whatever information they can offer.
no peasant has ever turned down free gold
>>
>>2906254
>Flash your coin and pay them for whatever information they can offer.

>>2906285
This is more us bribing people we look for about the information rather then them looking for us. If anything we can just pretedn to be a duo of royal guards interested in the stories.
>>
>>2906254
>Custom option.

Play up the commoner angle and coax information out of them through conversation. If we run into a roadblock, flash the coin.
>>
>>2906268
>>2906279
>>2906285
>>2906315
>>2906360
>>2906449
The dock hands are suspicious at first. It is painfully obvious that you are not a local. Compared to their faded woolen over-clothes and almost threadbare mittens, what little glimpses of your armor poke out from your cloak mark you as a professional soldier. Not to mention the fact that no less than five minutes ago, you had been seen in the company of that magic-user. Valid reason for gods-fearing folk to be wary of outsiders.

Were you one of the royal family, they might not have been this…not arrogant. Sullen, maybe? They would kowtow and bow, grovel and pay the correct obeisance to Adrianna, Allanus, even Ellana had they been in your company. But they do not know you. And thus, are content to stew in a cold and silent wariness.

But as soon as you flash your coins, they are quick to change their tune. Only this time, instead of the gold you paid for services at the inn, you show them the silver shine of imperial crowns. Best not to let them know the full extent of your wealth. They might not go as far as to rob someone in the royal entourage, let alone a Crownguard had they known your rank and title, but they might try to grossly overcharge you.

“A mere curiosity,” you answer when plied for a reason, “And no small amount of love for stories, wherever they may be found. Had I the time and tavern, I might have bought you all a round of the finest taps.”

The harbormaster, a man with his beard a pale white more from age than snow, nods. Biting down to ensure your silver is good, his words come muffled past the object in his mouth: “Damn shame that is, milord. We’ve a tavern, but you have no time?”

“Unfortunately, I do not.”

“Then we’ll drink to his lordship’s generosity and health after he gets his story, won’t we, boys?”

“Hear, hear,” respond the tired, but enthusiastic voices of his dockhands.

>You paid each dockhand 20 silver coins, about two week’s worth of wages, for a loss of 120 silver.

“The Drowned Lady…” He tugs at his beard, deep in thought. “Do you have business with her, then?”

You blink, surprised. “…you speak about the legend…”

“As if she’s real? Well of course she is! How else can you explain the rapids downstream? My grandfather’s father, Pale Lady rest his bones, lived in a time when there were no rapids. He died on his bed, mourning the fact that our side of the river had been cursed.”

…perhaps Silverow is right. Beyond something or someone using the legend to mask their cover, there might have been a supernatural instance that started the legend. Still, sudden appearance of rapids may have come about from some naturally-occurring phenomenon within the earth and below the water. Perhaps an earthquake or similar disaster permanently altered the course of the river.

(cont.)
>>
Quietly shunting ideas about boats to the side, you decide to make further inquiries about the Drowned Lady. “…I know the story. But…where did her family catch her? Or…where did she drown?”

“You mean they didn’t tell you?” The harbormaster looks alarmed, and it catches you off-guard.

The storyteller had been…too distracted, perhaps, to give you a location. Shaking your head, the man looks positively affronted. “Well, you must have heard it from either a foreigner, someone too old to haul in fishing nets, or one of those feckless land laborers. And even then, they would know where and where not to swim. Did you slight them, perhaps? Offend them in any way?”

“I...don’t think they were trying to get me killed,” you point out in defense, but he will have none of it.

“Bah, I’ll be giving them a stern lecture, don’t you worry. But if you fancy a swim in this frigid weather…or at least, if you’re going to return once all this snow melts…”

He motions for you to follow him, and he points along the bend of the river were sheets of ice disappear behind a copse of trees. “Down south at least a few miles, we keep a small shrine to her down there, atop a little inlet where the river branches and widens. Every year on the first day of spring thawing, we pay our respects and leave offerings on her altar. For safe passage through the straits. No one dares to swim within a mile of the shrine, or travel during the first day of spring.”

>>You have received the location of the Shrine of the Drowned Lady.

“Our priest doesn’t like it, some dandy city boy who couldn’t tell the end of a cow from his arse. But what does he know about the Anosar beyond how to piss into it?” The harbormaster spits, and the thick phlegm almost begins to freeze before it even hits the ground. “Must be galling for him not to tithe a portion of our sacrifices to the High Gods when we save the best for her.”

Your eyes narrow. “…what kind of offerings do you leave her?”

“What, you think we sacrifice humans to her?” He shakes his head with amusement. “We’re not nearly that far away from civilization. City boys and their mad ideas, am I right, lads?” he mutters under his breath, and his men chortle along with him.

Then, he continues, this time in a sorrowful tone of voice: “…we leave wedding gifts. Flowers and food, ornaments and dresses, jewelry and rings, everything that might be part of a bride’s dowry or what she might find on her wedding day.”

“Remember that one year,” one of the dockhands pipes up, “When crazed Otton tried to sacrifice a goat?”

“Aye. Five months in gaol and a thrashing to within an inch of his life. Not a single one of us dared to fish in the waters until the corpse had fully rotted. And another month just to be safe! Giso was mad, but he’d be fucked if he could get anyone of us to get into the water.”

(cont.)
>>
Understandable. But, beyond the shrine, you might need more information. Just to be safe. “…the noble girl…what was her name? And her house?”

All of a sudden, the friendly mood takes a turn for the worst. The dockhands tense, and their master suddenly becomes fearful, raising a finger as if to quiet you. “…we dare not speak her name, milord. Lest we bring her wrath upon our heads. She’ll think we’re her family come to take her away from her boy.”

Ah. You were wondering when superstition was going to override what goodwill you had built with them. “…well, can you write it?”

“No, milord. There is no amount of coin in the world that you could offer us for even that.”
It seems that he won’t budge on that, and none of his dockhands will as well. “Very well, then. But what can you tell me about her family?”

“…they were an old house, long before we had von Roie as our liege. The Merobaudes thought to make something in remembrance,” he snorts derisively, “Building a ship named after her. It went about as well as you’d expect.”

Now you’re definitely onto something. “What happened to her family?”

“Killed in the Bastards’ War, all down to the last nearly forty years ago. They sided,” he snidely remarks, “With the wrong bastard prince, and the Archduke Tarmund lopped all of their heads off for high treason. And that’s how we have von Roie as our new liege, courtesy of our rightful and legitimate emperor. And I’ll tell you, the new landgraff is more than a mite better than those scrummy bastards.”

…it seems that there are mixed opinions of the royal children’s grandfather. But digressing from ancient history, you return to the subject of the boat, “And what of the boat they built in her memory?”

The harbormaster shrugs. “Some people say within mere hours of being taken into the water, days later during one of the worst of the storms. Either way, it’s lost. Maybe it’s on one of those small inlets or islands, rotting on the shoreline, or a full forty fathoms deep at the bottom of the river and lake.”

“…but was it just ships that bear her name that suffer that fate?” you press. “Or are other ships spared the same fate?”

The old man frowns. “Now that I think about it…I’d have to check the records to be sure, but I can say for certain that ships bearing female names, highborn ones to be precise, have almost always met with disaster. Of course, they’re just a handful of those, mostly named after merchants’ wives, daughters, sweethearts…plenty of barges named after sons, landmarks, among names such as ‘Prince’, ‘Vigor’, ‘Kingfisher’ and what-not that have all met watery graves.”

Well that’s just great. There could be more than one ship that fits the description of a “Drowned Lady”, somewhere a veritable graveyard of rotting hulls, shattered keels and nearly four generations worth of wreckage.

(cont.)
>>
>>You have received the location of the Inlet Lovers’ Graveyard.

But as you plan a preliminary expedition to the inlets down the river, it seems that the villagers have run of patience. As the dockhands begin to murmur amongst themselves, the harbormaster asks, “…if that’s all, milord, and you don’t have any other questions…we’d be begging your pardon to go drink to your health…”

>>Beyond asking any other questions, you must decide…

>You will investigate the sites tonight.
>You will investigate the sites tomorrow.
>Custom option.

>Hire someone from the harbormaster to take you.
>Rent a boat yourselves and row out to the site.
>Custom option.

>Any other write-ins.

>>An example vote would look like this:
>Investigate the site tonight.
>Hire someone from the harbor master to take you.

Please vote the above way for ease of tallying/counting.
>>
>>2906753
>You will investigate the sites tonight.
>Rent a boat yourselves and row out to the site.
>>
And most likely all these highborns were the local lord competition for the beer, or maybe people that refused to pay the tool.
>>
>>2906753
>You will investigate the sites tomorrow.
>Rent a boat yourselves and row out to the site.
>Any other write-ins:"The prince and the princess need to be informed about this development. The prince could even offer a clue about the mentioned nobles since he was so found of history that he was able to reconize the Blood Mage of Envy. He is certanly very smart."
>>
>>2906753
>You will investigate the sites tonight.
>Rent a boat yourselves and row out to the site.
>Any other write-ins.
Fill the Crownguards and the children in on the situation
>>
>>2906768
+1
>>
>>2906768
I'll support this
>>
>>2906218
Maybe it's that midden out in the woods.
>>
>>2906753
>You will investigate the sites tonight.
>Hire someone from the harbormaster to take you.

Claim we would like to make an offering in memory of our own lost love. Heck let's actually make one.
>>
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>>2906759
>>2906768
>>2906810
>>2906810
>>2907016
>>2907251
>>2907477
“No, no more questions. Go about your business. Take care.”

“And you yourself, milord.” The harbormaster dismisses his workers before bowing slightly. “I know that look in your eyes. So if you’re truly set on visiting the Shrine…then take care not to leave any regrets behind.”

>Returning to Silverow, you report to him everything the villagers told you.

The sorcerer’s eyes flick upwards toward the darkening sky. “…I think that it’s best that we hold off on investigating anything tonight. It would be nothing but the height of foolishness to row out into this…Shrine and Inlet Lovers’ Graveyard. The risk of striking an unseen rock or running aground on a wreck are too high, especially now.”

You nod. “Agreed. I just hope you don’t mind rowing first thing in the morning.”

“I’m not nearly that fragile,” he answers coolly, “But if the worst should happen, I am more than prepared to recreate what I did on the barge. Certainly easier with the absence of a rampaging drakling.”

You grunt, kicking an errant pebble down the road as you set off towards the house. “Aren’t most things?”

His laughter is dry. “I’ve certainly had my moments where a sudden entrance of such a beast might have proven beneficial…”

>>Giso’s house

With the presence of the imperial family, it is all but expected for Giso to vacate his house, or at least cede the master bedroom. The alderman had been all but too happy to vacate, taking his wife and two young children to her brother’s house. Thus, the sole occupants of the nicest estate in the village are the Crowmonds, their Crownguard, a handful of servants that can be trusted to be discrete.

You pass through the door guards, a pair of knights, without incident. But you could almost swear a mix of both admiration and wary tension in their eyes and stances.

“The drakling,” Silverow explains, pushing his way into the door, “…if I were to guess, they both simultaneously admire your deed and loathe you for it, as they wish that they could have slain it.”

Puzzled, you ask, “But why?”

“Fame, glory…perhaps revenge against how the monster laid Lord Pullman low. It was not his knights that could avenge their master’s injuries, but someone else. It is a stain upon their honor.”

Cringing at the thought, you mutter, “Even dead, the monster continues to cause trouble…”

If nothing else, you have at least one person on your side. You cannot even take more than three steps before a small bundle of energy rushes towards you. It is too big to be Ellana, its hair a richer shade of gold than the pale blonde of your princess.

“There you are!” Prince Allanus says, grinning wide from about your midsection in height. The little sorcerer is all but a bundle of energy, a stark contrast to the dreary lethargy of the village. “What was it like? Killing the drakling-”

(cont.)
>>
>>2908047
They shouldn't be jealous, because they did their job which was protecting the Crowmonds. We should make a point of toasting to them doing so, as well as toasting to the knights for fighting against it and wearing it down for us. Spread the glory around. Maybe make a big deal of having that dude who chopped off its tail present the Crowmonds with the trophy we took from it.

Did anyone grab the tail piece? We could have it presented with that if so.

Elana can take the gem privately later.

Also, side note, we should let Silverrow read that book we got as well. Not only will it maybe help him out, but he might gain insights from it we missed and we could both learn more by sharing it.
>>
>>2908165
>Elana can take the gem privately later.
I've been thinking about that. Should we? We know dragon cultists are after these so it might make her more of a target.
>>
>>2908047
Adrianna’s voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. Bundled in a thick cloak, the eldest sibling in the room looks none too pleased from her seat at the table. “That’s enough! You’ve still got to finish your meal-”

She is pointedly ignored. The boy turns back towards you, his enthusiasm not fading in the slightest. “And you flew! You flew so high upon its back. How did you get it to come down? And how did you survive-”

“Allanus!” This time, it is the youngest sibling, your own charge, who protests her brother’s behavior. “Stop bothering him.”

“But neither of you are telling me anything about what happened!” he protests, “So why not let him answer for himself?”

As the three of them begin to argue, a presence to your side makes itself known. It is Urath, who has emerged from the adjacent room. The Ingulan has seen better days, a plain and visible fatigue in his eyes and limbs. As Silverow steps forward to scold his prince, the archer is quick to take his place.

“You are alive…” he says with a casual indifference.

You nod. “I am…I heard that you went looking for me. I’m sorry-”

His hand suddenly clasps your shoulder in a strong, heavy grip. The urge to fight to exit from it is diminished only by the fact that it is Urath, and not some other stranger. The Ingulan meets your look with an intense gaze, holding for what seems like an eternity before he nods, pleased with himself.

“You came back,” he says simply, a tired, but wide grin on his face, “And did not die. All that matters is that our ábyan is alive and well.”

The sheepish gesture is something that he would make at times like this. The best you can do is cough in a pantomime of sentimental embarrassment. “Thanks to everybody’s help, of course.”

He shakes his head. “You are too kind. But no, the kill and the glory belong to you, and you alone.”

“Ah dunno,” Bellatrix calls, sprawled across what looks like an expensive couch near the fire. She’s still clad in her armor, and Giso would have a hysterical fit once he found the residue of filth and oil upon his furniture. “Ah wouldn’t mind basking in that some of that glory. Do you mind sharing some with us, Painel?”

Snorting, you gently lift Urath’s hand from your shoulder, setting yourself down by the table. “I do have something to share, yes, but…well, it might not be glory, but perhaps it might lead us to some…”

That seems to pique her interest. The knightess pushes off from her seat, sauntering over towards the seat opposite of yours. “I’m listening.”

“This is for everyone,” Silverow interjects, and the sorcerer pulls a chair beside yours, “You too, friend.”

(cont.)
>>
>>2908196
More of a target than she already is? But if so, presenting it to the Crowmonds as a group would make the Throne itself their target instead of just Elana. If she was going to wear it or keep it on her either way she's no more of a target than if we just gave it to her. It would be strange if we didn't have a trophy at all, also, and the Cultist we traded with knows about it anyways.

Alternatively, it might bring them to make a deal with us like we did with the rest.

Or we could maybe use it to draw them away from Elana by having it kept by someone else for her.

What I personally think is the best choice is present it as a trophy, give it to Elana personally in private, then trade or sell it for favour or resources that help build Elana's personal and private powerbase.

I forgot what it's used for though.
>>
>>2908219
The Ingulan nods, and the sight of the Crownguard seated at the table is enough to draw the Crowmonds’ attention. One by one, starting with your princess, they stop bickering amongst themselves, each turning their attention as you empty the contents of your bag onto the table.

“What is this?” Adrianna inquires, peering over your shoulder. She frowns as she lays her eyes upon the writ. “I…what language is this?”

You exhale. “Would you believe Westeron? Please dismiss the servants, your highness. Have them retire for the rest of the evening. Have your siblings sit down, and I will explain everything…”

>>You told the Crowmonds and the Crownguard about the writ you found on Augvarr’s corpse.
>>You told them about what you learned from the villagers about the Drowned Lady.

“…and with this information,” you conclude, ignoring the weight of their collective stares on your shoulders and sides, “This will be our one and only chance to catch an operative of the Vascieli. Their trail ended when the Warlock of Envy left Alnerwich, but with this amulet…”

Everybody’s eyes are glued to the talisman you looted from the barbarian’s corpse. You let it fall onto the table, rattling against the wood in a discordant rhythm. “…I believe that we might be able to fool the agent just long enough for us to take them.”

“Alive?” Urath queries, a severe frown upon his face.

“Preferably,” Silverow confirms.

“Dead men don’t tell no tales,” Bellatrix remarks, scowling at the amulet. She looks as if she might spit in disgust, but a look from Adrianna makes her reconsider her action. “...especially heathen scum.”

Considering her lack of any visible veneration to any of the Vethic High Gods and her tattoos that mark her as a Straxine warrior, her statement comes very hypocritical. Perhaps there’s something about the barbarians of the Hultish Isles that do not mix well with the continental ones. But of all things she might take offense for...religion, really?

“It’s a good idea…” the prince says, “But how are you going to fool the rebel?”

“The amulet…perhaps one of us may even dress up like a barbarian or a Vascieli,” Silverow answers dryly, “Although I can’t imagine anyone of the villagers having smelly furs and serrated blades handy for us to use.”

His response fills the room with a small chorus of laughter. As it dies down, the elder princess breaks her silence. “…and you plan to go tomorrow morning?”

You nod. “That’s right. Silverow and I will borrow a small boat from the harbormaster. We’ll row out at dawn-”

“You will not go.”

It is Ellana who had cut you off so abruptly. Her face is no longer that of the pensive, serene and unflappable princess. Her expression is almost a ghost of her mother when the empress is her sternest or most irascible.

(cont.)
>>
Blinking, you turn to her, confused. “…your highness…?”

“I said,” she repeats, with only a slight tremor in a voice that is slowly growing angrier by the second, “That you will not go.”

“Princess, I-”

“My brother’s sorcerer can go, as well as his archer. Even my sister’s knightess can accompany them on this mission…but you?” She shakes her head, an uncharacteristically fierce scowl on her face. “You’ve only just came back, and now you want to head back out into this…boat graveyard that’s claimed so many lives?”

The sheer venom in her voice is enough to cause her sister to stare alarmingly at her. And even her brother seems to be visibly disturbed. Their Crownguard tense, even as she can barely control her temper. Her eyes are dark, smoldering with loathing. “I told you already that I don’t mind you going out to fight. But you going out every time, when there are others hale and whole that can do it as well?

“It’s. Not. Fair,” she finishes through gritted teeth, “That my Crownguard should place his life at risk more so than my siblings'."

Adrianna gasps, scandalized. “Ellana!”

“Careful, princess…” Bellatrix warns, tightening her fist into a white-knuckled grip, “You don’t think we’ve laid down our lives for your siblings, me, Lord Commander Palme-”

Silverow interjects, raising a hand between princess and knightess, “Fighting amongst ourselves will not get us anywhere-“

“…she has good point,” Urath murmurs, taking a sip of water, “Although she could say it nicer…”

>“…if that is what you wish, your highness, then I will stay.”
>“…then we all shall go, four Crownguard to the Drowned Lady.”
>Custom option.
>>
>>2908365
>you most certainly have a point, your highness
>but if our opponent is the vascieli, having someone capable of cracking thei cipher on the field could make the difference of life or death
>Perhaps I could refrain from participating in a different, future engagement?
>>
>>2908365
>>“…if that is what you wish, your highness, then I will stay.”
Not good to go against the princess's wishes at this point
also gives us time to study our new Grimoire or follow up other possible leads in town
>>
>>2908365
>“…if that is what you wish, your highness, then I will stay.”
It's been a while since we hung out with Ellana and after her reaction to us missing maybe we should stick around until she mellows down a bit more.
>>
>>2908365
>“…if that is what you wish, your highness, then I will stay.”

"I have a feeling you have much more to day. Later, we'll talk."

Ellana needs some help working through everything, and Marcus really has been pulling his MC weight, guarding and leading everyone when he's meant to be Ellana's Crownguard. The Protagonitis has gotten severe, and it's good for both Marcus and us to remember wtf we were saved to do.

More heroism can come later. For now, we have a smile to protect and a young girl's faith to restore.
>>
>>2908365
>Custom option.
"Princess, dark times call for dark deeds, I have failed to take action once before and it lead to tradegy. I appreciate your concern but only I have the skills and experience required to ensure the success of this mission. I know this pains you princess but please provide me your blessing."
>>
>>2908365
>“…if that is what you wish, your highness, then I will stay.”

>Custom option: "After all i trust in my fellow crownguards skills. Silverow i think i might need to teach you what i can about the cipher i managed to translate. They may try use it as a way to test your allegiance."
>>
>>2908365
>“…if that is what you wish, your highness, then I will stay.”

The Royal family shouldn't remain unguarded, even in supposedly friendly territory. I don't trust mook knights enough.

Also, we really need to have a chat with Ellana in private. As Urath said she's not exactly wrong but she was a little too hostile there.
>>
>>2908449
I mean she is not wrong...she is our liege we can at least brew some potences and bombs that Urath or Silverow can use.
>>
>>2908460
Also lets be real...would you try to go after the royal family if you learned that the knight that killed a Darkling "single handed" was inside the house?
>>
>>2908365
>>“…if that is what you wish, your highness, then I will stay.”

Quality time with Ellana
>>
>>2908365
>“…if that is what you wish, your highness, then I will stay.”
>>
>>2908365
>>Custom option.
We need to take her aside and nip this in the bud. Is she going to throw a fit whenever we have to do something mildly dangerous? She's straight up interfering in our job and I trust Marcus to do subterfuge better then I do any of the other Crownguard.
>>
>>2908696
She just straigth up said the reason she doesn't agreed with this is because we just got back after doing something dangerous. Just wait a time not like the other three can't do this alone.
>>
>>2908717
Except we're going to be doing a lot of dangerous stuff in course of our job, and she can't complain whenever we do that. We need to put our foot down and make sure of that.
And the other three aren't specialized in stealth and subterfuge, this is literally our area of expertise.
>>
>>2908719
And she complained how many times before?

Putting your foot down right now will accomplish nothing except worsen her mood, it would be better to talk to her in private later. Once she's calmed down a little she'll realize she was too harsh.

Also, Urath seems more than capable when it comes to stealth, and Silverow is smart enough to learn how to crack Vascieli codes. Bellatrix can...kill people, I guess.
>>
>>2908365
>“…if that is what you wish, your highness, then I will stay.”
>Teach Silverrow the cipher

We are going to need to have a talk with her later in private.
>>
>>2908383
>>2908417
>>2908432
>>2908457
>>2908460
>>2908471
>>2908482
>>2908732
“…alright,” you say, cutting through the din with a firm and resolute word. In spite of her harsh words, she is right. You’ll have to talk to her about this later, but for now, acquiescing to her demands is for the best. “If that is what you wish for, your highness…then I will stay.”

>Ellana sharply approves.
>Adrianna disapproves.

Even as Ellana smiles contently, the sorcerer’s nostrils flare. “Painel…”

“The plan does not change. In my place…perhaps one of you would like to accompany Silverow?” Gesturing towards Urath and Bellatrix, you trace the river where you would have traveled, tapping your finger on the Shrine and Graveyard. “It would not be the first time we split up the Crownguard.”

The thought of remaining in Westholm is one that galls you. But it would be hypocritical for you not to place your faith in the rest of the Crownguard when you had asked for theirs in surviving the drakling. And in the end of the day, you are no different from them. Every single one of you is a warrior without peer, the finest of fighters assembled to protect the emperor’s family.

Silverow an experienced practitioner of magic and Urath is a master marksman, one of the best you’ve ever seen. And you’ve seen firsthand, and felt, the sheer power that Bellatrix can put out of her body. Whatever lies in wait at the Inlet Lovers’ Graveyard would be hard pressed to kill any one of them, but against two, three elite Crownguard?

No contest.

The knightess squints at the map, whistling low at the distance. “All that with a small boat, huh?”

“You would be going downriver,” you reply, “And you’d only need to steer more than row.”

“And how are we getting back?”

“…you’d need to row, naturally.”

Her laughter is sardonic, but her mood has improved. The anger she had felt towards Ellana is gone. In its place is that look on her face, the thrill of a predator spoiling for a fight. That look is in her eyes, and her tongue runs along her lips. “…it’s just as cold here as autumn back in Ard Strax. The mists coming down the mountains, drowning the lochs and rivers and hiding all the monsters…”

“We have to bring our target back alive,” the sorcerer says dryly, appropriating Augvarr’s medallion. He inspects the runes along its rim, muttering something in the language of magic underneath his breath before tucking it into his robes. “But anyone else, or anything, is fair game.”

“Then it’s settled!” Clapping her hand onto Silverow’s shoulder, who nearly buckles from under the impact, the knightess crows, “Ah’ll come with you. All this talk of vengeful river spirits and shipwrecks is reminding me of home.”

Adrianna does not look nearly as confident as her Crownguard does. “Are you sure? This is…different from that mine you and uncle had to liberate. You had an army with you!”

(cont.)
>>
“Ah’ve got a master sorcerer worth an entire regiment.” As he tenderly massages the place where she struck him, said sorcerer almost looks touched. “And without all those bucket heads out of the way, we can both cut loose…no offense to your uncle or his men meant,” she quickly adds at her dirty look.

But just as the matter seems to be settled, and the seven of you begin to break, the little prince taps at his Crownguard’s arm. “Urath…you can go as well. I know that you want to go.”

The archer does not seem to be visibly taken aback. He merely smiles, replying, “But if I were to go, it would only be our friend Painel left to protect the three of you.”

“We have my uncle’s knights as well as Marcus!” he protests, squirming away from his elder sister as she tries to shush him. He vaults over the chair, crawling under the table to emerge at the opposite end. “Bella and Raleigh need you more than we do. We’ll be fine!”

“An extra weapon in this expedition would not be unwelcome,” Silverow muses, “Although Pullman has just barely over fifty men left to keep the peace, discounting the village militiamen…how many did they say they had on the palisades?”

Bellatrix answers, “Around…forty five? Fifteen to each side of the palisade, with another ten keeping another watch on the docks. They’d have to be blind not to notice anyone coming. And don't forget, von Roie is soon coming.”

“Don’t encourage him, Bel!” Adrianna bemoans. "You just want Urath to go out and fight for the sake of bragging, Allanus!"

Ignoring his sister, and egged on by the Straxine’s words, the little prince continues, pointing triumphantly at both you and his Crownguard, “And didn’t you and Marcus go to the Midbrige?”

The Ingulan looks almost apprehensive. Kneeling down to meet his liege’s gaze, he intones, “Young prince…that is all true,-”

Allanus interrupts him, “We’ll be fine! Tell him, Marcus! You’ll keep us safe while you’re gone. Just until Uncle Alistair and his men come. No more than a day!”

His eyes turn to you, as heavy as they will ever be. You do not need to hear his unspoken question. It is clear in his eyes, and all that he waits for is a confirmation or a rejection.

>“I’ll keep them safe.” (Send Urath with Bellatrix and Silverow.)
>“It’s not worth the risk.” (Send only Bellatrix and Silverow.)
>>
>>2910119
>“It’s not worth the risk.” (Send only Bellatrix and Silverow.)
Do the vascieli employ ungulans? I just don't see him convincing anyone that he's an agent
>>
>>2910119
>“I’ll keep them safe.” (Send Urath with Bellatrix and Silverow.)
>>
>>2910119
>“I’ll keep them safe.” (Send Urath with Bellatrix and Silverow.)

>>2910130
He can be sneaky more then proved with what he did with us in the day we invaded the taken fortress.
>>
>>2910149
While I don't doubt that, we're coming in on a boat. A lot less places to sneak when everyone can see the boat, and the water hasn't gotten any warmer. That's why we were shooting for the disguise angle right?
>>
>>2910156
The disguise was to meet also a cloack can solve the problem of his look mooks don't need to stand out and if the boat is detected anyway it's better that they have someone covering for then in the back.

Also as far as we know the boat will take then to a island or region werr they can investigate safely.
>>
>>2910119
>“I’ll keep them safe.” (Send Urath with Bellatrix and Silverow.)
>>
>>2910119
>>“It’s not worth the risk.” (Send only Bellatrix and Silverow.)
>>
>>2910119
>“I’ll keep them safe.” (Send Urath with Bellatrix and Silverow.)
>>
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>>2910147
>>2910149
>>2910237
>>2910346
>Adrianna disapproves.
>Allanus approves.
>Urath approves.

Urath lets out a rare smile, a small one that barely reveals his teeth, but a smile nonetheless. He inclines his head gratefully, and moves to join Silverow and Bellatrix by the map. The two of them, deep in discussion for how to deploy and navigate the river, welcome the Ingulan into the conversation without as much as a break in their step.

“And this is really for the best?” Adrianna addresses you, still bundled up in her thick and woolen blanket. The princess looks none too pleased as the three Crownguard discuss capture methods. “Taking all this risk to find this…agent?”

You nod. “This journey was supposed to be known only to the empress, and the landgraves Mazur, Pullman and von Roie. That we were attacked speaks of a spy that’s been placed close to your family.”

“Really…a spy?” Her voice speaks volumes of her fatigue, of her weariness for all this cloak-and-dagger business. Perhaps with no small amount of fear at how that arrow came too close to her for comfort. “…how loathsome.”

You ignore her remark, continuing to explain, “If we find the agent, then we’ll have a solid lead on tracking down the spy.”

“Good! But what about…what about the drakling? The one that almost killed Uncle Kieran?”

Snorting, you answer, “Rotten luck. Pure, unfiltered, rotten luck that there happened to be one flying around the area. Although…maybe it’s a good thing that it attacked.”

“I beg your pardon?” she demands.

“Had the drakling not attacked, we might have missed the barrels underneath the bridge. And loathe as I am to say it, two horses are a price I’m willing to pay if weighed against your lives. All of yours.”

Even with the warmth of her blanket, she shudders. “Don’t let Berchar hear you say that. The poor man is still mourning the loss of his prized mare.”

So the groomsman had lived! He must possess a hardy constitution to withstand a blow that knocked him across the river. Poor bastard’s bones must be broken in every single place. Nothing short of magic would get him walking without crutches or a noticeable limp.

“I’ll be careful not to speak of the matter,” you reply, “But, your highness, if I may?”

“What is it?”

“It’s getting late. We’ll be here for a while, discussing the plan of attack. Best that you all should go to bed.”

“…I do think that’s for the best,” she agrees, casting a look towards the others. The youngest prince and princess are in the middle of some kind of debate as to who's Crownguard could beat the other in a fight. “…you will be joining us, of course?”

“In a few minutes, no more than…thirty. Just enough time for you to get an early start. I just need to give Silverow something before I head up.”

She nods. “Very well.” Then, turning to her siblings, she calls, “Allanus, Ellana! It’s time for bed.”

(cont.)
>>
They offer no complaint. Stifling yawns and rubbing the corners of their eyes, they stumble up the stairs to the second floor of the house. As you watch them disappear up the steps, you turn back towards your comrades. But before you can join them, a sudden, light touch on your arm pulls you away.

Adrianna quickly withdraws her hand, looking almost sheepish in the cloak that’s draped along her shoulders. “Sorry, I just…” Sighing heavily, her lips curve into a tired smile “…between everything since Ellana came out…I didn’t have the chance to tell you, Marcus, about how...relieved and glad I am that you survived both the fight and the fall.”

“…and I’m quite grateful for your concern, your highness,” you answer. Touched, you bow low from the waist.

“…it would have been a shame,” she continues, “…for you to die only a few months into your service to my sister. I can’t imagine how Lord Commander Palme and my mother would have reacted if such a terrible thing happened.”

Poorly, you think to yourself, and there’s some wry humor that you can derive from her presumptive proclamation. Your death would cause trouble she doesn’t want to deal with. But you say: “…I’ll try not to die until a ripe and modest age of thirty years of service, your highness.”

“See that you don’t die at all. That will satisfy my sister and myself.”

>>Prior to going up to the second floor, you gave Silverow the key to the Vasceli cipher and a quick tutorial on how to crack it.

The room the three Crowmonds are staying in has no windows, at least nothing large enough for a human to enter. It is decorated lavishly, with trinkets and baubles from all corners of the empire. There is more furniture than ornamentation, however, so perhaps Giso values practicality over ostentatious presentation.

The large bed that would have comfortably fit a man of his girth and stature is easily able to accommodate the three of them. Allanus and Ellana are already asleep, curled up beside another with their heads above the covers. Their sister is only just opening a wooden partition, hiding the bed and its occupants from prying eyes. Yourself included, but you find no offense in the action.

After checking that you’ve enough wood to keep the fire going all night, and a nearby water pitcher with fresh water, you contemplate what you should do…

>>You have eight hours before sunrise.
>>At the very least, you must have at least four to enter the Specter’s Dream.

>>Please select an action to perform:
>Craft alchemical bombs for your comrades’ journey tomorrow.
>Enter the Specter’s Dream early. (+10 Bonus to rolls made tomorrow).
>Read any of the books in your inventory (Write-in to specify the book).
>Custom option.
>>
>>2910955
>Craft alchemical bombs for your comrades’ journey tomorrow.
Much as I want to check out our new book, we should probably stock up again. That said, do we even have the materials? I think we burned through our supply that we bought from the quartermaster.
>>
>>2910974
I just checked the pastebin. You do have enough for a few bombs. You spent more time on poisons for the drakling as opposed to bombs.
>>
>>2910955
>Read any of the books in your inventory (Write-in to specify the book).

Bloodstained Vascieli Journal

Could be something important to their trip tomorrow left inside it's pages
>>
>>2910955
>>2910974
we've got enough for a hellscape, but bodylock is unfortunately out. The firewater will make a good parting gift.

>Read any of the books in your inventory (Write-in to specify the book).
My opinion is that finishing the vascieli journal takes priority though
>>
>>2910955
>Read any of the books in your inventory (Write-in to specify the book).
Vascelli book
>>
>>2910988
>>2911004
>>2911057

Urath said that in the first search, they had found your horse. The poor beast had been exhausted, running as fast as it could from the drakling. Save for a couple of items that had been bounced around, both the mare and the equipment you had in the saddlebags remain intact.

And as tempting as it is to crack open the new book you acquired, you'll need to finish this journal.

"That glyph," you mutter, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment. Wetting the tip of the quill on your lips, you dip the nib in a pot of ink, scribbling as you continue reading the journal. "...symbol of the highest silver...brought down by the...no, that's a drop of blood..."

>Please roll 1d100+50 (+20 Knowledge, +30 Bonus)
>Best out of three
>>
Rolled 60 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>2911100
>>
Rolled 81 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>2911100
>>
Rolled 35 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>2911100
>>
Rolled 35 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>2911100
>>
>>2901305
>Bathing in Drakling blood

Uhh, does Drakling blood have any special properties? Cause if that lady suddenly wakes up with scales one day that's going to be super hard to explain.
>>
>>2911318
None that you know of. Drakling blood by itself is inert and otherwise useless unless mixed with other alchemical ingredients.

Writing...
>>
>>2911318
>>2911328
If she gets kidnapped and drago'd, it might become a running theme of everyone Marcus fucking getting killed.
>>
>>2911328
>Other alchemical ingredients

Like semen?

>>2911337
>Seduce BBEG
>Fug
>They die

And that's how Marcus saved the world through the power of Big Dick Energy.
>>
>>2911328
BTW, has Caris started any rumors yet? Or at least talked about how she bathed in Drakling blood?
>>
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>>2911124
>>2911127
>>2911250

>>You have made a great breakthrough!
>>You are 4/6ths of the way to completing the book!
>>You have gained new alchemical recipes!

>>Vitriolum Bomb (Tier 3 Lethal Bomb)
>A bomb that spreads concentrated sulfuric acid (vitriol) over a small area. Deals severe damage over time to targets caught in the blast radius.
>[3 Ceramic Casing, 2 Accelerant, 2 Vitriol]

>>Mother’s Mercy (Tier 2 Nonlethal Bomb)
>A bomb that spreads a thick cloud of tranquilizing smoke when detonated. Targets caught in the blast radius must make a Resist Poison check to avoid being inflicted with the Sleep status.
>[1 Ceramic Casing, 1 Accelerant, 2 Mother Willow Bark]

>>The Dreamer (Tier 2 Nonlethal Poison)
>A poison derived that induces its target into a comatose, death-like state, slowing the heart and bodily functions to make as if the imbiber is dead. Natural smelling salts will revive the victim.
>[2 Ingredients, 2 Silent Sister Petals]

>>Machineel’s Mauling (Tier 3 Lethal Poison)
>A poison derived from the sap and fruit of the rare Machineel tree, causing debilitating skin burns, internal hemorrhaging and asphyxiation. Failure to pass a Resist Poison check will inflict the Stun status and damage over time until the antidote is administered, Critical Failure may induce Death.
>[4 Ingredients, 2 Machineel Concentrate]

>>You have translated about 75% of the Vascieli Cipher.
>>One more great or critical breakthrough will translate the cipher completely.

Four hours and two candles later find you bleary-eyed and almost shivering with cold. You will make no more progress tonight. Setting down your quill and stoppering your inkwell, you quietly strip off your armor, leaving nothing on but your breeches and tunic. Comfortable enough for you to not seize and cramp, modest enough to not alarm Adrianna come morning.

The last act you perform before entering the Specter’s Dream is to place logs upon the hearth, and set enough tinder to last the rest of the night. And with your back towards the fire, chest towards the door, and dagger close at hand, you begin to empty your mind of all worldly things.

“…oh, fuck…oh, fuck…oh…gods have…gods have mercy…!”

The events of the day drain from your mind like water through a sieve. The confrontation with Silverow, coaxing Ellana from her carriage, discovering the legend of the Drowned Lady and the discussion for what comes tomorrow…

“…what…wait, where do you think you’re putting tHAAAAAT...?!”

Your emotions are cold, calm even, as you sink into a state of indifference. There is no more frustration, no more anger, no more small happiness, no more pain or other sensations along your body…

“…hah…ha...please…let me…let me rest…I don’t think…I can’t…feel…”

(cont.)
>>
>>2911424
>Manchineel trees exist in this setting

Jesus Christ how horrifying
>>
>>2911424
If those extra bits of dialogue is what I think it is, Marcus *really* got his money's worth.
>>
>>2911510
No wonder Cira was wabbling and had a hard time to seat the next day. Even so the look in her face nexy morning after finnaly getting release must be very amusing.

I feel pitty for the next patron that comes along after the MC.
>>
>The manchineel, also known as the ' Tree of Death,' holds the Guinness World Record for world's most dangerous tree

Well that is a thing i didn't know it existed before...geez nature you are scary.
>>
>>2911568
>Cira
I meant to write Caris wtf brain!
>>
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>>2911424
One by one, the senses of your body cease to function. They cycle, turning from sight to taste, smell and sound, loosing speed only as your own heartbeat comes to a slow, solemn beat. Had you been in front of a mirror, you might have seen your eyes alight with that strange coloration. She had once called them as pretty as blown glasswork.

“…it’s so warm…so hot…everything of you…inside and out…but your eyes…so dark and cold…”

Lucien taught you the technique, showed you how to clear your mind and “fall into the black”. Then, it was all a matter of surrendering to the trance, to fill your body with a hollow devoid of any thoughts or feelings. But what is the Specter’s Dream? And how did he discover this?

“…I’ve never had…had it like that before…I have no other clients this week…"

…just another question to place upon the corpse of your father.

"...so if you want, while you’re here…visit me any time...”


>>Winter 76, 238 ACR

You present the bomb to Silverow. The sorcerer takes it, jiggling its contents curiously. “Just in case you might need it,” you answer his unspoken question. “Throw it in three seconds of lighting the wick or else you’ll become a human torch.”

“Noted,” he answers, tucking into one of the thick sleeves of his robes.

“Do you need money for the boat?”

“I have enough money to purchase at least two of those dories. A simple boat that I plan to return? No more than coins in my pocket.”

Their weapons are sharp and their gear is packed. All the three of them have to do is walk out of the door. While you converse with the sorcerer, Bellatrix is threatening the Eagle Knights with impalement should anything happen. Urath is humoring Prince Allanus’ request to bring him a trophy, or something he could place on a shelf.

Urath glances outside, narrowing his eyes at the rising sun. “We should go,” he coughs, drawing the attention of the others. “That sun will disappear come the afternoon. We should at least be nearly at the inlets by midday.”

Just before he follows the archer and knightess out the door, you catch him, saying, “Best of luck.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up in amusement as he retorts, “I should be the one telling that to you. Boredom is as deadly an enemy as anything else.” His smile fades, replaced by something more serious. “We should be back no later than tomorrow afternoon. So, until then…”

“Gods walk with you,” you both say, clasping the other’s hand in a strong and hardy grip. And with a final wave to both you and the Crowmonds, Silverow hoists his pack and trots along after the rest of the Crownguard down the street of the waking village. They disappear all too quickly, turning a corner and vanishing behind some ramshackle hut.

(cont.)
>>
To nobody’s surprise, Allanus is the first one to break the silence. The fair-haired prince looks up to both you and his sister, saying: “…now what do we do?”

>>The day is young, and you have three nobles in varying degrees of boredom to entertain!

>>Please pick two options for what to do in the morning:
>Stay indoors and keep to yourselves, there’s lots of books to entertain everyone.
>Take some time to explore the village, plenty of things to see like in Alnerwich.
>Visit the camp where Landgrave Pullman and the Eagle Knights are camped.
>Custom option.
>>
>>2911612
>Stay indoors and keep to yourselves, there’s lots of books to entertain everyone.

>Visit the camp where Landgrave Pullman and the Eagle Knights are camped.
>>
>>2911612
>Stay indoors and keep to yourselves, there’s lots of books to entertain everyone.
Allanus will be plenty entertained by stories of the drakling, and both princesses should take an interest in that poison charm. It will protect Ellana, but that's no good if someone ELSE is poisoned.
>>
>>2911612
>>Stay indoors and keep to yourselves, there’s lots of books to entertain everyone.
>>Take some time to explore the village, plenty of things to see like in Alnerwich.
>>
>>2911612
>>Stay indoors and keep to yourselves, there’s lots of books to entertain everyone
>Visit the camp where Landgrave Pullman and the Eagle Knights are camped.
>>
>>2911612
>Stay indoors and keep to yourselves, there’s lots of books to entertain everyone.

>Visit the camp where Landgrave Pullman and the Eagle Knights are camped.

The princesses and prince might want to visit their ill uncle.
>>
>>2911629
Need to pick tow options anon.
>>
>>2911667
oh, whoops. Thanks

>>2911612
adding
>Visit the camp where Landgrave Pullman and the Eagle Knights are camped.
to >>2911629

We really should stock up on ingredients, but gotta pad those social link levels.
>>
>>2911612
>>Stay indoors and keep to yourselves, there’s lots of books to entertain everyone.
>Take some time to explore the village, plenty of things to see like in Alnerwich.
>>
>>2911612
>>Stay indoors and keep to yourselves, there’s lots of books to entertain everyone.
>>Visit the camp where Landgrave Pullman and the Eagle Knights are camped.
>>
>>2911612
>Stay indoors and keep to yourselves, there’s lots of books to entertain everyone.
>Visit the camp where Landgrave Pullman and the Eagle Knights are camped.

Incidentally, did we tell anybody about our strange encounters?
>>
>>2912238
No, not yet. Assuming that you do want to tell somebody, who do you want to tell?
>>
>>2912282
Preferably the other Crownguards.
>>
>>2911612
>Stay indoors and keep to yourselves, there’s lots of books to entertain everyone.
>Visit the camp where Landgrave Pullman and the Eagle Knights are camped.
>>
>>2911612
>>Stay indoors and keep to yourselves, there’s lots of books to entertain everyone.
>>Visit the camp where Landgrave Pullman and the Eagle Knights are camped.
>>
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>>2911623
>>2911629
>>2911643
>>2911656
>>2911664
>>2911674
>>2912219
>>2912236
>>2912238
>>2915347
>>2915358
One of the wheels goes over a rock, and Adrianna yelps as sudden rise and dip of the cart nearly knocks her out of her seat. “Ouch! Watch yourself, driver!”

“I’m sorry, your highness!” the boy frantically apologizes, a sandy-haired, pockmarked squire no more than fifteen. Somehow, the lad is able to contort himself into a prostrating bow, all the while keeping a hand on the reins. The pale of his face is, you muse, one of fear as opposed to cold. “Swear on all gods above and below I didn’t see it!”

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she snaps, sinking back into her seat, “Else I’ll see to it that you’ll never be a knight.”

The field had been white, once. And doubtless, underneath that immaculate blanket of snow, there might have been grass for the village livestock to graze and roam. Perhaps not as much as there once was in the spring, but there would be sparse patches where it had began to grow once more, once more ready to feed the myriad animals of Westholm.

Now, with the presence of the Eagle Knights, it is a churned mess of slush and mud, upon which warhorses, hospital carts and armored boots have gouged deep furrows into the earth. Rows of canvas tents stretch down the green, and the smoke from countless fires fills the air with an acrid, bitter smell.

Within minutes of your arrival, a cart had been prepared to take you to the landgraff’s tent. It is a far cry from the imperial carriage, possessing a rickety frame and wheels that squeaked harshly with every other rotation. The seats are of wood, not upholstered cushion, but there is little risk of incurring splinters.

You find yourself silent, gazing at the passing rows of tents and men going about their daily routines. Some sit by campfires, cooking soup and stew in great cauldrons, roasting cuts of dried meat upon metal skewers. Others tend to their equipment, sharpening their swords, grooming their horses. Still, behind the closed flaps of tent entrances and through the din of the morning, you can make out gasps, moans and shrieks of pleasure.

Perhaps the knights had a night of relaxation of their own as well, you think wryly. They certainly deserved it, after the hell that had come upon them. After a close encounter with death, there was nothing that soothed the blood in a man’s body like drink and a woman. Or several.

At least, that is what Dieter had said, and you had no reason to doubt him. What money he did not spend on narcotics went to the whores of Trick Alley, paid in good silver to welcome his cock between their legs and not flinch at his rotting teeth.

(cont.)
>>
Hopefully, whoever the knights brought to their tents were either seduced or paid in full. You’re not quite sure what you would do if proved otherwise, and that is a dark thought you keep to yourself. The landgraff Pullman strikes you as a man of integrity, but he cannot keep an eye on all of his knights, especially when injured from the attack. All it takes is one to abuse the title and ruin someone’s life forever.

But you give the knights the benefit of the doubt, and hope for their sakes that they are not like the nobles told in hushed and fearful whispers. And, perhaps it would be a boon for the village.

You’ve never heard of a whore turning down coin, especially from battle-hardened and battle-weary warriors. And with the gold you had paid them prior to the battle, they would not be hesitant to spend it all on simpler pleasures to relieve their stress. Beer that doesn’t come from the Alderman’s taps, fresh food that isn’t salted pork and stiffened hardtack, perhaps the finest girls in town their money could buy.

Were it not for the state you had left her in, maybe Caris of Westholm might find herself suddenly busy…

Even as Adrianna turns a deep crimson, sputtering incoherently, she has enough of her composure to cover her brother’s ears. The little prince squirms, complaining as he tries to escape his sister’s grip. Alas, she is too strong, or perhaps her embarrassment gives her strength to protect her brother’s innocence as best she can.

You need no prompt from her to give a similar treatment to Ellana, even as her sister glares at you to do so. The youngest Crowmond yelps as you place your hands over her ears, wincing at the cold metal of your gauntlets. Unlike her brother, however, she doesn’t struggle, easing into your arms as opposed to pulling away.

“This…this is shameful!” Adrianna hisses, looking at you as one might a confidant, “It’s not even midday and they’re already…in broad daylight!”

“Indeed,” you answer dryly, “But it’s not all of the knights, in spite of the racket they’re making. There’s no more than…eight of them going on right now. I suspect the majority of them had their ‘fun’ last night, and these are just the stragglers.”

“That does not provide me with any comfort in the slightest.”

“Men will be men. And given what we all went through, denying them a way to rid themselves of their stress would only be a decrease in morale.”

“…I suppose you’re right, but still…” She winces at a particularly loud shriek that sends nearby knights into boisterous laughter. “Must they go about their business…well, not in front of us, but so nearby? And so early in the morning?”

Shrugging, you answer, “Some men are just early risers, your highness.”

(cont.)
>>
>>2915940
That makes me wonder how loud Caris was.
>>
>>2916011
Every worker and patron in that day at the tarvern heard her.
>>
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>>2915940
The scathing glare she directs your way seems to come out of nowhere. And as Adrianna refuses to meet your confused look, muttering underneath her breath as her face continues to redden, the realization hits you…and you try your hardest not to sigh heavily.

How is it your fault that she interpreted your words in a salacious way? If anything, she’s the one with the dirty mind!

Your indignation passes as the driver hurries the cart down the thoroughfare. And as the noises of the world’s oldest profession fade away into the dull roar of the campsite, so too does the princess’ ill mood disappear. However, it seems that the both of you are of similar minds when you only release your captives’ ears once their uncle’s tent, his sentries and closest advisers are in well within sight.

As for the landgraff himself, revealed as his honor guard draws open the flaps of his tent, Kieran Pullman had seen better days. A thick bandage goes around the man’s head like a turban, and where his left eye should be is a spot the color of dried, crusted blood. His left hand struggles to hold the quill in his fingers steady as his other hand clenches uselessly in its sling.

But at the first sight of his nephew and nieces, the pained grimace on his face turns into the softest, most welcoming features you have ever seen a man make. “Your highnesses…” He seems all too pleased to set the quill down, even as he tries to bow from his seat. “…this is certainly a most unexpected pleasure-”

“Uncle!” The youngest Crowmonds run, circling around his desk to reach his sides. However, their actions beyond that could not be any more different. Just as the prince stares in awe at the many scrapes, bruises and wounds that have tried to lay the man low, your princess frets and fusses over her uncle’s injuries.

“It looks worse than it is,” he reassures both of them, running his hand over Allanus’ hair, taking Ellana’s hand with the one in his sling, “And before you ask, yes, I still have my left eye. Stinking beast nearly poked it out when I hacked off its tail. I’m not nearly that old or that fragile that I might simply bowl over from a single touch.”

“No, milord, you aren’t,” Ser Hagenson answers, setting down a plate of sliced cheese and beef stew for the children, “But you do remember the healer’s instructions? You’re supposed to keep as still as possible. Writing is already pushing it-”

“Gods damn the man and his instructions, Otto. Can I not touch or hug my godson’s siblings, my emperor’s children? Show them that I’ve not a single limb into the grave?”

He shakes his head, doing his best not to wince as they wrap their arms around him. After they let him go, Pullman shifts in his seat, and offers a smile to Adrianna. “You have no idea how glad I am to see that you’re safe.”

(cont.)
>>
“We should be the ones saying that to you, uncle,” she replies, wringing her hands together with a visible anxiety, “Now that you’re finally awake…should you not be in bed?”

He sighs. “You and that healer…well, at least you’ve not come to bleed me for the sake of my health. But I’ll be a sorry excuse for a Valeman if I let myself loll about like some sort of invalid. It’s bad enough that I have him,” he pauses, gesturing to Ser Hagenson, “Mothering me like some prioress back home.”

“If I’m not the one to do it, no one else will,” the captain snorts, setting a bowl before his liege, “And you know how the bishop would have reacted had we taken the mother from the abbey.”

“Because he is too fat from Mother Adella’s cooking. He would lodge a complaint with my wife and we’d never hear the end of it. Still, I’d put up with it if it meant not eating stew for the fifth meal in a row.”

“Are you trying to tell me something, milord?”

“No, nothing at all…except for maybe a desire for you to use another garnishing that isn’t salt.”

The children giggle at the exchange, and even Adrianna allows herself a smile. The landgraff takes his spoon, gesturing at the nearby chairs. “Come, sit down and eat. Let’s all break our fast together. You as well, Crownguard…”

He suddenly frowns, as if only noticing that you are the sole escort for the Crowmonds. “Where are your fellows? If they are outside, then they are more than welcome…”

...whoops.

...

Even before Adrianna finishes her explanation, Pullman’s good humor seems to have disappeared. The man stares, not quite aghast, but as if he’s come to a revelation that’s left him with a sudden headache. At Hagenson’s concerned look, he waves him off, gesturing for what you suspect to be a wineskin.

“I understand that Crownguard business is Crownguard business,” he grumbles, gulping down his stew in almost an angry manner, “And I do not doubt either your abilities to protect them, Painel, nor the others in their endeavors to catch the rebel agent. But you should have let me know in advance.”

“A risk we could not take,” you quietly answer, “There is a matter of how safe the secret is…”

He gives you a hard look. “Are you accusing one of my men to be a duplicitous traitor?”

You have to bite back a retort about how Ellana’s failed assassin was disguised as an Eagle Knight. “Of course not, milord. But there are other ways for spies to get information. Eavesdropping, little details that can be picked up…”

“The virtue of paranoia does you credit, lad. But I would think that I could be at least trusted enough to know about these kinds of...endeavors. Expeditions.”

“Of course, uncle,” Adrianna assures him, even as she nudges for Allanus not to use his hands while eating. Cringing at the promise spoken on your behalf, you remain silent as she continues, “We will tell you next time.”

(cont.)
>>
“…I would greatly appreciate that,” he muses, skewering a slab of meat with his fork. And when Hagenson sets a goblet with a dark, red wine before him, the landgraff downs it all in a single gulp. “Although if I may make one request…”

“What is it?” asks Ellana.

He smiles softly at her before directing the full brunt of his attention towards you and Adrianna. “When they bring that…the rebel back to Westholm,” he intones, pausing only to replace what might have been a profanity for the sake of the children, “…you’ll bring him here to where we’ve made camp.”

The eldest Crowmond looks puzzled. “What on earth for?”

“I will be blunt. Whatever you intend to do to him, however you wish to make him talk…it will happen in the full view of God and my direct sight. This…cloak-and-dagger business churns my stomach, and the more open we are about this, the better it will sit in my stomach.”

“…you wish for a trial, then?” you ask, slowly, thinking of the ramifications of such an act.

“No, nothing of the sort. His mere existence as a Vascieli has already sealed his fate. I merely wish to make an example of this traitor when you are done. I understand that the Crownguard may have different approaches, perhaps ones more shrouded in mystery, but I would like this to be seen by all within sight and sound.”

“And what if this agent is known among the townsfolk? Perhaps even someone well-liked and received?” you counter, “They might not like that.”

His face hardens. “Then they will watch as one of their own suffers the penalty of seditious behavior against their rightful sovereigns. And I think that my men would derive no greater pleasure than to see someone belonging to those who would stain mine and their honor suffers his rightful punishment.”

This would not be the first time that the landgraff has tried to…not impose, but make a strong case for his judgment to be levied in a land not of his own. Questionable as it was for him to make a scene at the trial, Mazur is still the rightful lord of Alnerwich and its surrounding lands. Pullman had no right to interfere with the decisions of the lord hosting him and his men.

Certainly, von Roie and Pullman might be on better terms than Mazur. Best friends, if those old war stories are true. He must know it would look bad to exert his authority as a neighboring noble, Criminals found on von Roie’s lands and their ultimate fates belong to him and his appointed bailiffs and officers, and not the traveling landgraff of the Vale.

Is it pride that compels him to do this, to avenge the slight the Vasclei have done by framing his men? Or some sort of misguided sense of justice? Something else entirely, maybe...

>Refuse, stating that you will take care of it quietly.
>Promise the landgraff the agent when you are done.
>Wait for von Roie to arrive so that he will decide his fate.
>Custom option.
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>>2917545
>Wait for von Roie to arrive so that he will decide his fate.

"If this is to be done without our 'cloak and daggers' then it must be done according to the letter of the law."
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>>2917545
>Wait for von Roie to arrive so that he will decide his fate.
If the public execution makes it harder to rule the land, you'd be sacrificing a great deal for the satisfaction of the knights. But I bet von Roie will let it happen anyway.
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>>2917545
This>>2917554
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>>2917545
Supporting:>>2917554
>>
>>2917556
>>2917554
>>2917545

> Has he fully thought out the cost of his "honour"? It's not just his life he's dealing with, but that of the Crowmond Heirs here today. If it comes down to it, does his honor demand defending them or seeking his own satisfaction.

Honour that comes before people is useless, and merely pride.
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>>2918161
Supporting, we can't cause a serious rivalry between noble families to spring from this. The Imperial family is in a precarious state as it is.
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>>2918161
Supporting
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>>2917545
>>Wait for von Roie to arrive so that he will decide his fate.
>>
Wow Kaz you got punked hard on the archive.

I bet the guy doesn't even realize you can still archive a week after it's fallen off.





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