>>5743221
>>You have a sixth sense for tracking your quarry, on land as much as on sea. This understanding extends even to people: you can sometimes guess a person's thoughts at a mere glance.
I WANT MY LEG MOBY DICK

>>5743221
>>You are very skilled with your hands. Your nets are stronger and your traps better than the other fishermen. And you can mend most anything you touch: sails, clothes, boats, shoes, even bones on occasion.
I'm curious about this one.

>>5743221
>You are very skilled with your hands. Your nets are stronger and your traps better than the other fishermen. And you can mend most anything you touch: sails, clothes, boats, shoes, even bones on occasion.

>>5743221
>You are a skilled sailor and have a natural understanding of the waves and wind. You can sail further and faster than the other fisherman and can read the weather just as well as the old greybeards can.


Aye Lads! Quick’s the word and sharp’s the action! Let loose that old hoary sail in ship shape and Bristol fashion!

>>5743221
>You are a skilled sailor and have a natural understanding of the waves and wind. You can sail further and faster than the other fisherman and can read the weather just as well as the old greybeards can.

>>5743221

> >You are a skilled sailor and have a natural understanding of the waves and wind. You can sail further and faster than the other fisherman and can read the weather just as well as the old greybeards can.

Fun idea for a quest, OP

>>5743221
>>You are a skilled sailor and have a natural understanding of the waves and wind. You can sail further and faster than the other fisherman and can read the weather just as well as the old greybeards can.

>>5743221
>You have a sixth sense for tracking your quarry, on land as much as on sea. This understanding extends even to people: you can sometimes guess a person's thoughts at a mere glance.

Getting there is the fun part.

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It is your father's funeral day. The small church is packed with all the men and women of the village (the children are outside engaged in innocent games). You generally like funerals (though you would never admit it out loud) for the baker, who has the privilege of living in the castle, will often send down treats, by way of his wife (and, so it is said, for some secret penance), for the attendants to eat. The honeycakes he has made this time are delectable, though your enjoyment of them is dampened by the circumstance.

Among the gathered crowd, the reeve cuts an impressive figure, dressed in his best finery and attended by his fair daughter, Amelia. The new reeve, you should say, for his own father is on his last legs and is expected to pass on himself any day now. He has, in the last month, taken over most of his father's duties, and has proven himself a much harder-hearted man; more miserly, but also of a cooler temper.

As the service concludes, he meets your eyes and gestures for you to wait for him outside. He wishes to speak with you. You cannot say you crave his company, but he is the owner of your father's boat--your boat now--and upon his favor your entire livelihood depends, as much as many of the other fishermen in the village. No doubt he wants to makes sure you understand your debts and secure assurances that you will pay them.

You decide that:
>Today is not the day for such things. You will head straight home to check on your last family member.
>You will meet with him out of courtesy, and in the meantime, you'll chat with his daughter, Amelia, a girl you've known since you were little but from whom you've drifted apart as of late
>You'll confront him about the lordling's part in your father's death. He must've heard something, given how frequently he visits the castle (no doubt to curry favor with the lord who has recently returned from campaign).
>Write-in

>>5743308
>>You will meet with him out of courtesy, and in the meantime, you'll chat with his daughter, Amelia, a girl you've known since you were little but from whom you've drifted apart as of late
Take his pretty daughter on our boat and never return

>>5743308
>Today is not the day for such things. You will head straight home to check on your last family member.

>>5743308
>You will meet with him out of courtesy, and in the meantime, you'll chat with his daughter, Amelia, a girl you've known since you were little but from whom you've drifted apart as of late

Sound business and a good start to an important relationship!

>>5743308
>You will meet with him out of courtesy, and in the meantime, you'll chat with his daughter, Amelia, a girl you've known since you were little but from whom you've drifted apart as of late
Fishman rizz
Give her the innsmouth look

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At 16 summers, Amelia is now a woman grown and has, with her father's high position and wealth, and the blossoming of her own natural charms, become the most desired of the eligible ladies of the village. None have a chance, of course, for her father intends for her to marry some minor lord or rich merchant from the city, thereby guaranteeing her comfort and ensuring his own advancement in station.

She, for her part, has played the dutiful daughter, and has distanced herself these last few years from the common rabble (to which you also belong) and bent herself toward greater and greater refinement. If not for the grim circumstance of the funeral, you doubt she would ever say two words to you, despite your long history. And even now when she speaks to you, there seems a gulf between her new cultured accents and your common tongue. Her hands smell of sweet perfume from across the sea, purchased at a dear price. And in her breath you sense the scent of wintergreen and thyme, and suddenly you are conscious of your own fish smell, the stench of the salt and sea, and are ashamed.

Nevertheless, you cannot refuse her when she asks to walk with you outside the church. It is pleasant to be near her, to listen to her chirp on about her studies, her father, even her complaints about the isolation and tedium she must endure. It seems she has not spoken so freely to anyone in a long time, for she hardly takes a breath or lets you get in a word edgewise, until, finally, having exhausted her reserve, she inquires after your future hopes and plans.

You respond:
>With derision, mocking her assumption that you have any choice in the matter and bringing her down a peg
>With optimism, citing your intention to save enough money to buy the fishing boat from her father
>With resignation, putting your situation in a bleak light to better win her sympathy, and win a potential ally against her father
>Write-in

>>5743473
>With optimism, citing your intention to save enough money to buy the fishing boat from her father

It won’t stop there, we will own a small fishing fleet by the time we’re done.

>>5743473
>With derision, mocking her assumption that you have any choice in the matter and bringing her down a peg

>>5743473
>>With derision, mocking her assumption that you have any choice in the matter and bringing her down a peg

>>5743473
>With optimism, citing your intention to save enough money to buy the fishing boat from her father

>>5743473
>>With optimism, citing your intention to save enough money to buy the fishing boat from her father
Even if we have to keep renting, we just love fishing!

>>5743473
>With optimism, citing your intention to save enough money to buy the fishing boat from her father

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Should I be linking replies?

When speaking of the future, you cannot help but grin, even in your mourning clothes. Your ambitions are nothing to those of her father's in scope, you are, after all, only a fisherman. But in degree, you'd wager they exceed any man of the village. You tell Amelia excitedly of your intentions to buy the fishing boat off her father, to make repairs and to fit a new sail and to wander further into the sea than any villager has ever dared. There are many unexplored islands between this coast and the distant one where the heathens dwell and you desire to cast your nets in the perimeter of each of them and to sail up their rivers to the lakes that lie in their bosoms. And by the rare, unseen fish you'll catch there, you'll make your fortune.

Before you can ramble further about a fleet of boats over which you are the captain, Amelia's father arrives. He has a stern expression on his face (even more stern than usual). He barks at his daughter to leave your side and come quickly over to his own, looking around suspiciously, as if it were a scandal for the two of you to be seen together.

Amelia obeys, though not before giving you a small, secret smile, placed there by your relentless optimism. Not secret enough, though, for her father spies it and furrows his brow still further, so that he looks almost like a rabid dog.

He does not bandy words. From the folds of his cloak he takes out a small purse of silver coins. He explains that, in examining the accounts, he discovered that his father, the former reeve, had been "putting aside a few coins every season" on behalf of your father. By the way he looks down shamefacedly at his feet, you'd guess this was done without your father's knowledge. He tries to justify it by saying it is a common practice, an insurance against a bad season when the rent cannot be paid, but, as your father never had a bad season, and as "everyone knows, the reeve is a fair-dealer", that money must now pass to you. It comes to one-hundred and twenty silver pieces, more money in hand than you have ever seen in your whole life. But here, the crafty reeve, citing various taxes, tithes, funeral costs, boat repairs, late fees, and even service fees ("for handling all these affairs on your behalf"), takes the lion share of the coins, leaving you with just twenty pieces of silver. He seems to take no small satisfaction at your crestfallen expression. It is a small bit of revenge for daring to make eyes at his daughter, never mind that she approached you first.

You react:
>With resigned gratitude. Even this much was more than you expected.
>With righteous fury, threatening to expose his father's black dealings and mar his own good name
>With servile flattery, hoping to win a few more coins by appealing to his vanity
>Write-in

>>5743969
>With righteous fury, threatening to expose his father's black dealings and mar his own good name

>>5743969
doesn’t matter to me

>With righteous fury, threatening to expose his father's black dealings and mar his own good name

I doubt we’ll get it all back but absolutely we have the right to more. Is the reeve a man of the king’s law or another brigand in high position?

>With righteous fury, threatening to expose his father's black dealings and mar his own good name

He literally depends on his reputation to make a living. Rather simple I’d say.

>>5743969
>I think that linking replies might be a good idea, as well getting trips of some kind
>With resigned gratitude. Even this much was more than you expected.

>>5743969
>With righteous fury, threatening to expose his father's black dealings and mar his own good name
He has the gall to pilfer the money our father worked himself to death for. Fury is a very natural response.

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You have half a mind to throw the coins he has poured onto your palm back in his face. But, as your father would often say, "not too hasty, lad, not too hasty; ours is a waiting game". So you shove the coins in your pocket and take a breath. The reeve nods, considering the business concluded, but you grab him firmly by the arm, and, leaning in to his ear, you pour out such venom that his pallor lightens by two shades.

He stammers out some weak protest, that it is your word against his, and before the lord, his word will prevail. To which you reply that in his word is to his trade as your nets and traps are to yours. Supposing your father wasn't the only man to have had his hard-earned silver "put away" by the reeve? And supposing further that some of the lord's silver was "put away" too? What is his word worth then? To the villagers or the lord?

"That's a damned lie!" says the reeve, and then, seeing all turn eyes upon him, he thinks the better of making a scene and lowers his voice. Whether a lie or no, he knows that in the matter of debts, the old lord is an even greater "fair-dealer" than the reeve, for he's not had much luck in his recent campaigns, having come away with less gold then with which he set out. The lord will not lose any opportunity to extract his pound of flesh should one arise. Half the purse, the reeve now offers, slowly counting out his share for "services rendered".

But you'll have the full amount or nothing. Or God help you, you'll not rest till every man spit twice at the name of Delaney the Reeve. Amelia is appalled at your conduct and jumps to her father's defense, but the money is yours to pay out as you please. You'll make all the dealings yourself if need be, without the reeve's service, but you'll have the whole amount. The reeve, to his credit, is a man whose blood is slow to boil. After a mere moment's thought, he composes himself, dismisses his daughter's attentions, even smiles at you (in a tight, cunning way) and pours the silver he had pinched out back into the purse. Then he hands the purse to you. "Spend it in better health than your father," he says, before marching away.

First order of business:
>Pay the church for the funeral service and for a headstone for your father's grave, a luxury few can afford
>Run home to hide the silver in a safe place, before word spreads of your new riches and the vultures come to roost
>Stay behind to pay off anyone who claims a debt of your father, so that none claim he was a dodger
>Write-in

>>5744139
>Stay behind to pay off anyone who claims a debt of your father, so that none claim he was a dodger

I’m certain we’ll get a louse or three that just want a handout,, but I’m hoping we know the townsfolk well enough to properly gauge most claims.

Let the family name command some respect.

>>5744139
>Stay behind to pay off anyone who claims a debt of your father, so that none claim he was a dodger
I was right about Amelia.

>>5744149
Support. Respect is everything

>>5744139
>Stay behind to pay off anyone who claims a debt of your father, so that none claim he was a dodger

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You return to the church, first to see your father's face one last time before he is buried, and then to wait beside the wooden coffin to answer any who would claim debts of him. Your father, whatever his failings, avoided the common vices of men: drink and dice, and even the vice to which he was otherwise entitled, being a widower, that of pleasurable company. And so there are not many in the village who could claim money of him he had not already paid. But there is always a louse or two looking for a handout and the rare souls who lend money without the thought of its return and only remember the debt when the debtor himself comes to pay it. These are the kind come to ply your silver and it is a credit to your father that they can take no more than a handful of it altogether. No more eight pieces leave your purse when all's said and done.

Then comes your wretched uncle, your father's elder brother and his counterpart. A drunk, a gambler, a lecher--and a widow, and a man who had bury his only son. He would often beg a coin or two of your father when his own had run out, and your father, try as he could to convince him from his sinful pursuits, would inevitably end up contributing to them with his charity.

You did not see him during the funeral service, but now he has come to "pay his respects". He goes first to the body, looking at it a long while. No tears in his eyes, no strong sentiment, merely a gentle kiss upon the brow, and some words whispered in his ear. Then he comes to you and mumbles something about money that's owed. You think at first that he wants a handout, like the others, but, in fact, he's speaking of his own debts, money that he owes your father. He asks for a season to pay it back, if you'll grant it.

You decide:
>To free him of the debt, seeing that he is family and that your father has passed
>To give him not only the season but to the end of the year, and however much he gives at that time, you'll consider the debt paid
>To refuse and have him work as a hand on your boat for a season to pay off the debt instead
>Write-in

>>5744251
>To free him of the debt, seeing that he is family and that your father has passed
Yeah it’s useful to have a hand on the boat but frankly I don’t think he’d be much help, and this gives us a more positive reputation

>>5744251
>To refuse and have him work as a hand on your boat for a season to pay off the debt instead

>>5744251
>>To refuse and have him work as a hand on your boat for a season to pay off the debt instead

This >>5744305

The man needs a purpose, nature and hard work have done more for those in dark places than any amount of money ever could. If we truly care about him we'll take him with us.

>>5744251
>To refuse and have him work as a hand on your boat for a season to pay off the debt instead
Leaving him be would also leave him to his vices. Getting him out to the sea away from temptations might be best for him.
Repost because I can't copy&paste

>>5744251
To free him of the debt but also offer him a job your boat for a season

>>5744251

>To refuse and have him work as a hand on your boat for a season to pay off the debt instead

>>5744251
>>To refuse and have him work as a hand on your boat for a season to pay off the debt instead
Is it to late to pay for a headstone and the funeral, given how little was spent so far?

>>5744251
>>To refuse and have him work as a hand on your boat for a season to pay off the debt instead.
I would also like to point out to him that he can come work under the condition that he doesnt come drunk to the job. The last thing we want is him to fall over into the water and drown.

>>5744251
>To refuse and have him work as a hand on your boat for a season to pay off the debt instead
Wholesome, until he gets eaten by the fishpeople

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It's hard not have pity for the man, doubly so when he is your own family. You tell him to forget all such debts, as your father would have done, and when he argues out of pride, you suggest the idea of having him work for a season on the boat. You're a man short now, as you have been the last few months as your father's illness took its course, and you could use another who knows the trade. In truth, you'd like to do something for your uncle, if you can. He was a good man once, before his son got himself killed in the lord's campaigns, and might be again by the influence of good, honest work.

Your uncle is hesitant. He has grown to used to the comforts of his evils, chief among them the comfort of forgetfulness. He says, finally, that he will try. You reply that you'll not have a drunken man on your boat, for a drunken man is a risk to all, not only himself, and the sea will stand no nonsense. He nods, mutely, seemingly unhappy at the prospect, but determined to see it through.

You tell him to stay with you at your house, the house of your father, and his father before him, which your father and your uncle and your grandfather built with their own hands. This cheers your uncle (whom you guess had been living without a roof for some time), but again his pride needs some coaxing. You tell him that with your father now gone it is lonely to be in such a big house all alone, you could use the company.

And it is not all a lie, for you share the house only with:
>Your grandmother, a half-blind old biddy whose tongue has only grown more honest with age
>Your bitch, Cherry, a sweet-tempered barbet that has been your companion since you were a lad
>Your younger sister, at almost half your age she should be your ward, but without your mother has grown up too quickly to fill the role herself
>Write-in

>>5744830
>Your younger sister, at almost half your age she should be your ward, but without your mother has grown up too quickly to fill the role herself

>>5744830
>Your bitch, Cherry, a sweet-tempered barbet that has been your companion since you were a lad

>>5744830
>Your girlfriend, a vagrant witch from the next province over who had been on the run after an angry mob tried to catch and burn her. You took her in out of pity and something else blossomed.

>>5744830
>>5744864
Supporting

>>5744830
>Your bitch, Cherry, a sweet-tempered barbet that has been your companion since you were a lad
I like dags

>>5744864
+1

>>5744830
>Your grandmother, a half-blind old biddy whose tongue has only grown more honest with age

Old Granny of the Sea!

>>5744830
>Your grandmother, a half-blind old biddy whose tongue has only grown more honest with age
She’ll tell it how it is

>>5744882
Ill change to
>Your grandmother, a half-blind old biddy whose tongue has only grown more honest with age

>>5744852
I'll change to
>Your grandmother, a half-blind old biddy whose tongue has only grown more honest with age

>>5744830
>Your grandmother, a half-blind old biddy whose tongue has only grown more honest with age
This one.

>>5744864
I'll have no devil-worshiping heathens in the household.

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Of course, pride may not be the only reason your uncle hesitates. He may simply be afraid of facing your gran, his mother, whose tongue can cut as sharply as any steel. She has ever doted on you and your father, but she has never had any sympathy for your uncle, and the prodigal son's return may not receive the same welcome as it does in the Lord's book. You promise to manage her temper as best you can (though a woman of her advanced years usually gets her way). At the very least she cannot throw him out. It is your house now, and you alone decide who may stay there.

With the promise, your uncle at last relents and says he will "come with his things" in the evening (though you do not know the things to which he refers, never having seen him with more than the clothes on his back). He bids you godspeed and you remain a few moments longer with the coffin until all but those who dwell in the church have cleared out.

It is now late morning, far too late for the first catch, but too early for the market. The parish clerk comes to bother you about the spelling of your father's name for the records, and the plot in the churchyard in which he is to be buried. He wonders aloud if you will stay for the burial (which is a polite way of asking whether you wish to dig the grave yourself, or pay a silver piece for one of the churchwardens to do it for you).

You decide to:
>Spend the morning digging your father's grave to save yourself the indignity of the poor job that a silver coin will buy
>Give the clerk a few coins to absolve yourself of the duty (while ensuring it is done well), and head home for a nap. [Optional: Add a few extra coins for a headstone]
>Same as above, but head to the pier to take your boat out to check the traps you set the day before
>Write-in

>>5745140
>Spend the morning digging your father's grave to save yourself the indignity of the poor job that a silver coin will buy

>>5745140
>Spend the morning digging your father's grave to save yourself the indignity of the poor job that a silver coin will buy
If you want something done right, do it yourself.

>>5745140
>Spend the morning digging your father's grave to save yourself the indignity of the poor job that a silver coin will buy

What man wouldn’t do as much for his Father?

>>5745140
>Spend the morning digging your father's grave to save yourself the indignity of the poor job that a silver coin will buy
It'd probably be a good idea to spend a few coins to make sure his gravestone is durable and legible.

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You tell the clerk you'll be happy to stay, for you do not think your father would have let anyone but his own kin put him in the earth. Besides, it's not as if you have anything better to do. Gran is probably still asleep (the last funeral she attended was her husband's) and you've already arranged for another fisherman to check your traps for the day, a service provided for those in mourning.

So, with shovel in hand, you follow the clerk to the churchyard and then to the small plot he points out to you with his finger and the flicking of his hand. The yard sits on a little bluff that overlooks the road, and is high enough to see the coastline below and the great expanse of the sea. If you stand still you can almost hear the waves and when the wind blows right it brings with it the ocean spray. You must remember to thank the portly old priest for reserving this spot, you know your father would have liked it. That thought then brings up others and then the tears come which you thought you could hold till you were private, which you had been holding all through his illness.

You wipe them away quickly when you spot the hearty figure of your oldest friend, Gordon, coming down the road, a basket of fresh fruit on his strong shoulder and the ever simple grin on his plump face. He waves to you when he sees you, and asks whether you needed any help, already mounting the stone steps up to the yard before you can answer. He tells you to "give the spade here, Jan boy", Jan being the utterance in his child's mouth of your Christian name, John, which he has never quite outgrown.

You surrender the shovel to him, knowing his nature and his strength more equal to the task than your own, for God put the brawn of two men in Gordon's body, and half the greed of one in his heart. There's no gentler giant in all the kingdom. Even now, he begins to sob as freely as a child, as the thought of what he digs dawns fully upon him.

You try and change the subject to the basket of fruit. And as quick as weather comes the grin again, and the talk of his sweetheart, Mabel, buoys his spirit to its usual lofty height. Mabel is the daughter of one of the fishwives, and the two make a cunning pair. Her mother is a widow, but it is rumored that Mabel was born too late to be her fathers. You have never liked her, but endure her for Gordon's sake, in whom she has found a willing slave. The fruit is intended for Mabel, of course, which Gordon himself had plucked, on her command, from the fruit trees on the western fields. This makes you stand at attention, for those fruit trees belong to the lord himself.

You decide to:
>Not get involved, this is Gordon's bed and he must lie in it
>Scold Gordon and try to make him see light about Mabel
>Force Gordon to return the fruit to the lord, lest he be punished
>Write-in

>>5745234
>Force Gordon to return the fruit to the lord, lest he be punished
>Scold Gordon and try to make him see light about Mabel
She's going to get you killed man

>>5745234
>Write-in
Kindly explain what plucking the fruit means and tell him to put it back, say that you’ll help with Mabel.

>>5745234
>Force Gordon to return the fruit to the lord, lest he be punished

We will scold Mabel privately, doing it to Gordon won’t do us any favors, those types of men don’t respond to logical arguments when harpies dig their claws in.

>>5745234
>Not get involved, this is Gordon's bed and he must lie in it

We aren't his mother and we've got other fish to fry.

>>5745234

>>5745255
Support

>>5745255
This, lets not upset our good friend. But he has to be smart, he cant let love blind him or he'll lose a hand or worse.

>>5745255
+1

>>5745234
>Scold Gordon and try to make him see light about Mabel
>(write in) go to mabel and scold her ferociously not to get our boy in trouble
>ask gordon if he likes fishing

Dont return the fruit gordon will lose a hand when the chief finds out

>>5745234
>>5745367
>>5745604
>scold gordon and try to make him see the light about mabel
we should also go talk to mabel ourself, i dont think it will do much but at least we will let her know she cant hide what shes been doing.

>>5745234

>Force Gordon to return the fruit to the lord, lest he be punished

Seems like we should go back to Mabel and tell her to stop putting our boy in danger, hopeless to appeal to Gordon himself

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With a bit of prodding, Gordon confirms your worst suspicions. Not only did he steal from the lord's personal grove, he did so under cover of night, so that he doesn't even have the excuse of accident. All Mabel's idea, of course. Gordon is too simple-hearted for such plots. You try and explain the severity of the crime, how the lord could, if he wished it, have his hands cut off (not that he ever would, preferring more pragmatic punishments like a fine, or, failing that, indentured servitude). Gordon, frightened less by the thought of losing his hands than of facing his father in such disgrace, tries to argue weakly against the possibility. He stumbles through words that you easily recognize as Mabel's: no one saw him, he was careful and only took fruit from the inner parts, he did not take enough to be of notice, and so on. But by the end of it, even he is not convinced. He looks up sullenly from the grave he has dug (for his fright only made him more eager to spend his body at some task). He admits, finally, that he is "in a real pickle at last, Jan" and, as usual, offers the token resistance to your help, bravely willing to bear all in the name of honor and love. But, a few minutes later, as he pats the shovel on the filled mound of earth, he can't help but wonder aloud, all innocence, "what you'd do, Jan boy, in my shoes?"

You reply that that the fruit will have to be put back beneath the trees, as stealthily as they were plucked. Then anyone coming upon them would only think they had fallen naturally from ripeness. Or else, return the fruit directly to the castle under the pretense of a service. It is not Gordon's family (who are honest proprietors of the local inn) that are the maintainers of the orchard, but it is not unusual to pawn such tasks off to others and it is doubtful anyone in the castle will care who does the task, so long as it is done right. Gordon cannot help but mumble about how much Mabel likes apples and whether he could not keep one to give her, for she'll be "as mad as her hair" if he goes to her empty-handed. You tell him you'll explain everything to her yourself. So the grin returns to his face, and with it all the excuses under heaven for Mabel's conduct, joined by this refrain, that "she's a good girl really, Jan, she's a fine girl". In such moments, you deem it wise to withhold your own opinion, though it is exceedingly difficult.

As for the fruit:
>You have Gordon return them (when night falls) beneath the trees from which he plucked them
>You and Gordon will go together to the castle to return the fruit to the lord
>You'll take them yourself and bring them to Mabel, and have her fix the dirty work she has begun
>Write-in

>>5745719
>You'll take them yourself and bring them to Mabel, and have her fix the dirty work she has begun

>>5745719
>You and Gordon will go together to the castle to return the fruit to the lord
Gordon must've trampled the ground beneath the trees, so it'd be obvious someone was picking the apples. As for Mabel, we have nothing to pressure her with and I doubt she'll fold from empty threats.

>>5745719
>You and Gordon will go together to the castle to return the fruit to the lord

We will have a talk with Mabel after, but Gordon needs to be seen with us doing the service.

>>5745752
>>5745759
Strong agree
No way in hell we're involving that wench.
>>5745719
Do we know how smart/simple Mabel is? An inkling of her personality (obviously we don't get along, but what does she do? Who are her friends? Etc.)

>>5745719
>You and Gordon will go together to the castle to return the fruit to the lord

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The castle stands on the precipice of a steep hill so that any visit to it must be considered carefully. For those who have ox-drawn wagons, like the reeve, the matter is not so grave, but for you and Gordon, who must make the trip on foot--while bearing the heavy basket of fruit--it is utterly exhausting. It is worse for Gordon, who insists he carry the basket the whole way--a kind of penance to gain back favor in your eyes--and being a big man he does not go up hills so easily to begin with.

When he finally passes through the castle gates he simply collapses and begs you to go on without him. No amount of coaxing or scolding will make him budge, so, reluctantly, you pick up the basket on your own shoulders and carry it to the main hall.

You've always found the castle walls to be somewhat confining, and mingling the smell of mud, horses, forge smoke, bread and a thousand other things, has always disoriented you to such an extent that you generally try to avoid such visits. The smell is better in the hall, thank God, but the confinement is greater by the narrow pathways, the thick stone walls, and the number of servants that are in constant traffic between them.

You meet first with one of the lord's stewards, a man with enormous bushy whiskers, who immediately directs you, with great annoyance, to the castle cellarer. When you shyly ask where the cellarer might be found, he gives you the look that God must have given the city of Sodom. Before he can pronounce some fatal punishment, a passing servant girl, having mercy on you, grabs your arm and quickly leads you away.

She explains the danger you were in: "a look like that from the old badger, means the stocks". You stammer out a word of gratitude as she takes you by the arm through a maze of corridors and down some narrow steps till you are in a cool, damp, tunnel. She points you toward the door at the further end of the tunnel, only faintly visible by a torch resting on a sconce beside it. Then, before you can even ask her her name, she is gone, her rope of hair swinging gently behind her as she mounts the stairs.

The cellarer is a old, monkish looking man, as one might expect (for such a valued position is usually only given to the most experienced and trusted of men). He does not seem to be of the inquisitive kind, and you are certain he would have taken the fruit without any questions and the settled the whole matter there and then, if not for the presence of Delaney the Reeve, who is apparently here "on some other business" but who is all to eager to repay the favor you dealt him this morning.

Faced with his probing questions you decide to:
>Come clean and tell the truth
>Maintain the story of providing a service
>Take whatever blame onto yourself
>Write-in

>>5745967
>"Some men pick fruits, some men pick silver Delaney. Ain't gonna bore each other with the details, are we now?"
Fuck off Delaney, you utter parasite.

>>5746019
Support

>>5745967
>>Come clean and tell the truth

No harm, no foul. A token penance for Gordon and the evaporation of any leverage the Reeve might have upon us.

>>5745967
>Come clean and tell the truth

>>5745967
>Come clean and tell the truth
Rip gordon

>>5746019
This is too good.

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The reeve is a learned man, more learned than his father. It is said he knows how to read and write and that he has spent vast sums to accumulate a small collection of books, in the latin and greek, whose contents he guards like saintly relics. And like saintly relics, he will, on occasion, bring out his erudition to awe the ignorant, to win their adoration and worship--and fear. He does so now, trapping you like one of your fishes in his net of questions. Your attempts at dismissal, even at derision, do not faze him one degree. This morning he was in the wrong and was forced to concede, but this time it is you who have sinned and having no other recourse, you resort to the last argument of the damned: the truth.

The reeve wants to know where Gordon is. You tell him he is waiting by the gate. He wants to know whether the basket represents the total of your ill-gotten gains. You reply that it is. He wants to know the identity of the recipient. You are all to happy to name Mabel ("what Ginny Fishwife's daughter?") as not only a conspirator but the architect of the whole design. And then, to your great surprise, he mumbles something to the effect of "boys will be boys", flushes with embarrassment and excuses himself.

The cellarer, having half dozed off in the course of this interrogation, now seizes the fruit, records their delivery in his account book, and even gives you two sugared plums for your trouble. You scarf one down immediately, and only with the greatest restraint are able to save the second for Gordon, who does likewise when he receives it.

You assure him he has nothing to worry about in the way punishment. All has been settled. You do not tell him of your strange encounter with the reeve, nor its stranger conclusion, for you yourself do not know quite what to make of it.

All that remains now is to confront Mabel.
>You'll do so directly, now, before the day is done
>You have a cousin on your mother's side, a stablehand, that resides in the castle, you should visit with him before you leave, since you come so seldom.
>You're tired and should head home to check on Gran. That was enough excitement for one day
>Write-in

>>5747080
>You have a cousin on your mother's side, a stablehand, that resides in the castle, you should visit with him before you leave, since you come so seldom.

Family is everything. After all it’s the day of his uncle’s funeral.

>>5747080
>You have a cousin on your mother's side, a stablehand, that resides in the castle, you should visit with him before you leave, since you come so seldom.
Seabitch can wait

>>5747080
>You have a cousin on your mother's side, a stablehand, that resides in the castle, you should visit with him before you leave, since you come so seldom.
The reeve may not actually be a bad man. Good, complex characters are more interesting

>You have a cousin on your mother's side, a stablehand, that resides in the castle, you should visit with him before you leave, since you come so seldom.

Very cozy quest QM, great work

>>5747080
>You have a cousin on your mother's side, a stablehand, that resides in the castle, you should visit with him before you leave, since you come so seldom.

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You tell Gordon to return to the village without you. He has his duties with the inn and his father is sure to give him an earful if he does not fulfill them. You can see by the wistful gleam in his eye that he wants to meet with Mabel, but you make him swear an oath against it. You want to speak to her first, maybe even convince her to leave him alone (though if Gordon ever got wind of your intervention he may not take it so kindly; it will have be handled delicately, if at all).

You find your cousin the castle's enormous stables, located along its inner walls. He is one of a half-dozen hands, neither the oldest nor the least experienced among them, but by far the best looking (at least by the estimation of all the girls who have met him; you personally don't see it). Indeed, your arrival seems to interrupt the designs of two servant girls, castle attendants by their dress, who both give you a venomous glare as you steal away your cousin's attentions. They make some further attempts but your cousin dismisses them with a wave of his hand and they retreat with a pout.

After some brief pleasantries and embrace, you tell him of your father's passing. He merely nods his head at this news, as though it were no surprise to him. Your cousin has never been the sentimental kind, but he knows the pain of losing a father better than most. His own abandoned him when he was only a boy to seek his fortune across the sea, with the heathens who are his ancestors. More than ten winters have passed without word of him.

The talk soon moves from the past to the future. In your excitement, you let slip the encounter with the reeve and your recent acquisitions. Your cousin is rapt with interest at mention of silver and it soon becomes apparent that he has some plot of his own that requires coin he does not presently possess. After a moment, he straightforwardly asks whether you would lend him more than half your remaining purse, sixty silver pieces, for the purchase of a soldier's quilted garment. He breathlessly expresses his desire to join the other soldiers in the next campaign, feeling that he'd rather ride horses then groom them. He has already bought a spear and obtained promises of a shield from the barracks.

He further explains, that while the old lord is done with war for the moment, his son, the "young lion" has plans to raid along the southern border, dressed as brigands. On whether he has his father's blessing, your cousin is not as certain, but, it is known that he is looking for volunteers outside his father's retainers, and should the outing prove successful each will be given a handsome reward. Even a single head of cattle would pay you back "with interest", the going rate these days being a hundred pieces a head.

To this offer:
>You politely decline. You have your own plans for the money.
>You accept, for you can you see your cousin's seriousness
>You try and convince your cousin otherwise, before he gets himself killed
>Write-in

>>5747616
>You accept, for you can you see your cousin's seriousness

Accept not because we approve or want him to go, but because he’s going to join up anyway and buying a gambeson can make a huge difference between him living and dying.

>>5747616
>You accept, for you can you see your cousin's seriousness. Offer him another 10 coins on top of what he asked for, for proper training and miscellaneous supplies to better his odds.

>>5747616
>You try and convince your cousin otherwise, before he gets himself killed

>>5747616
>You accept, for you can you see your cousin's seriousness

>>5747780
Support

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Without a single word, you lay the requested sum in your cousin's hand. Even he cannot quite believe it, and a rare throb of emotion rushes to his throat, which he in silence swallows down. He promises you shall have an equal share in whatever rise in fortune in he achieves. But your intentions were not so mercenary as that. You know he will go no matter what you do and you'd rather he have the protection than go without. You have so few family members as it is, it would be a shame to lose another.

He embraces you once more and begs you to stay with him a night in the castle. You politely decline. You have Gran to look after, and then you still have to speak with Mabel, not to mention it will be impossible to make it to the docks in time for the first catch tomorrow morning were you to stay.

About a quarter's way on the road back the village, you cross paths with the reeve once more. He is coming down on his ox-drawn cart, sitting leisurely in the uncovered barrow while one of his servants goads the oxen. He hails you as he passes you by and with a gesture, commands his carter to stop. He invites you ride with him since you are going in the same direction, at "no cost" he adds, sensing your suspicion.

You decide to:
>Accept his offer, even though you know he must have ulterior motives
>Decline his offer, you'd rather walk than ride with the likes of him
>Accept his offer, but insolently offer to pay a silver coin for his services
>Write-in

>>5748208
>Accept his offer, even though you know he must have ulterior motives

>>5748208
>Accept his offer, even though you know he must have ulterior motives

Courtesy costs nothing and neither does hearing the man out

>>5748208
>Accept his offer, even though you know he must have ulterior motives

>>5748208
>Accept his offer, even though you know he must have ulterior motives

>>5748208
>Accept his offer, even though you know he must have ulterior motives

>>5748208
>>Accept his offer, even though you know he must have ulterior motives

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You climb aboard with him, unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth. The first few minutes passes in awkward silence. The carter will occasionally look back at the two of you, regarding you with not a little hostility for the sudden favor his master seems to have afforded you. His master, the reeve, is more nonchalant. He occupies himself with a game of droughts, seemingly playing against an invisible foe, and catching your gaze once or twice upon the board, soon invites you to play against him.

Draughts is a game that every child knows. It can be played with little more than some pebbles and a checkerboard of any kind: wood, cloth, even lines scratched out in the dirt when necessary. You are no by no means the best at the game--that honor used to belong to Mabel, until she was defeated by a reluctant Gordon (who seems to possess a natural genius for it).

Here, however, it is less a competition and more an excuse to talk freely. As the game progresses, the reeve waxes poetical about its allegorical meaning, how the pieces are all the same and only when one reaches the other side does it become better than its fellows. He glances meaningfully at you when says this and suddenly brings up the hopes for future which you shared with his daughter (and which she had apparently shared with him). He asks if you were truly serious about those hopes, scowling severely at the board. You reply that you were. He directs his scowl to you. And then, to your surprise, he does not dismiss or insult you but, looking back at the board, mumbles that he heard something from the other fishermen, that you were the best sailor among them. Here you flush a little, but make no attempt at modesty, for it is not false what he says. You know yourself what prodigious talent you possess.

The reeve comments on your silence that is a good for a young man to have ambition and that without ambition one life is as another and each day a tiresome repetition of activities. He then mentions your uncle. He knows you plan on bringing him onto your boat. You remark that he is well informed, to which he replies that as the reeve, all men's business is his business, doubly when it concerns his own interests. He goes on to say that he regards men like your uncle as fallen men, for "when one has begged for one's livelihood, the ambition is forever lost". He does not believe such men can change. He believes it is better to separate oneself from such company, even the closest friend or ally, if one would make something of themselves. Then, returning again to "his interests", he says that he fears your uncle poses a risk to his boat and that your rents this season should reflect this.

To this you reply:
>That he can do as he wills, but your uncle will stay
>That it is only a temporary measure, no more than a season at most
>That he is wrong about your uncle and you will prove it so
>Write-in

>>5748887
>Write-in
>That your uncle had found a different way to repay his debt, he is working with outdated information

>>5748887
>Write-in
> While a man living on another's bread is nothin but a slave to charity, Uncle is family and is repaying his debt by working with us this season. Moreover the boat needs two hands to run it and we have been short one since Father bless his soul has gotten sick.

Honestly the reeve seems like he's well meaning if a bit too preoccupied with money and testing us

>>5748909
+1

>>5748909
+1

Seems reasonable, it's a different form of payment and probably less reliable than gold but the man is family.

>>5748909
+1

>>5748909
+1 our uncle is not an equal partner, reeve will understand hopefully

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You guess you shouldn't be surprise that this was the reeve's ploy all along. It always seems to come down to silver with him. Yes, you agree that a man living on borrowed bread is a slave to charity, but your uncle is merely paying off a debt he owes your father. The boat will run better with two pairs of hands and seeing your a man short now, and your uncle has some experience, it seemed the most expedient choice. The reeve's eyes are on the board for most of your speech. Finally, he makes a move and waits for your response. It's a blunder, as far as you can tell, and you capture the piece he has just moved, not having any choice.

However, after a sequence of captures on both sides, you realize that it was a sacrifice in order to jump several pieces, clear the way, and make a king. The game seems lost but before it can fully conclude you arrive at your destination. The reeve does not say anything regarding the game, merely giving you that meaningful look again and passing the checker he had sacrificed through his fingers over and over. He says he will take you at your word and let the rents remain as they are, but come end of season, he expects you to "do better". He'll even help you find someone new if need be. And if any damage does come to the boat on account of your uncle's indiscretion, "be it on your head". And he taps his newly made king upon the board.

What did not see, however, is what would have been your next move: a simple diagonal move by one of your normal pieces that would have trapped his king and left him with no good alternative. You don't make it. It is enough to know that you could have.

You walk the rest of the way home and midway on the road you are accosted by two little boys, twins, urchins, orphans, that are something like wards to Mabel. In exchange for food, lodging, and the occasional word of affection, they serve as her henchmen,. They come now to summon you to their lady's house. She has a bone to pick with you.

You decide to:
>Head home, it's been a long day and you are weary
>Get this over with and meet with her
>Have them take your message to her in your stead
>Write-in

>>5749882
>Have them take your message to her in your stead

>>5749882
>>Head home, it's been a long day and you are weary

She does not summon us. We will meet with her on our terms, but we need sleep to go out tomorrow.

>>5749882
>Get this over with and meet with her

>>5749882
>Get this over with and meet with her

>>5749882
>Get this over with and meet with her

For maximum village drama she's gotta be the hottest one between the revee daughter, castle maid, and even the eventual Duke's daughter. Angrily plowing her field even though it's a betrayal of sweet simple Gordon.

>>5749882
>Get this over with and meet with her

>>5749965
+1

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It will soon be last light, but dithering was never your style. You tell the twins to lead the way.

Mabel is sitting outside her broken cottage, her usual spot, looking out toward the sea. Her soft red hair is woven with little shells but stray strands of it gently shiver on her cheek from the wind. Her ruined hands are busy mending a net, work she has done so often that it no longer requires her attention or even her eyes, her golden eyes, the eyes of her mother, which elevate her comeliness to something otherworldly. Even you cannot help your heart from beating harder when she turns them upon you, despite all you know.

She begins with sympathies for your late father. She was not at the funeral but she knew him to be a kind and decent man and feels "the world is less for the loss the him". You don't know how to respond to that, so you bring up the fruit and Gordon. You are calm, reasonable, and logical. It was wrong of her to take advantage of your friend and since you've spent the better part of the day making things right, she owes you an apology. Gordon too, of course, but you first.

She laughs. She actually laughs. You, for one, fail to see the humor. Gordon could have been seriously punished and it would have been all her fault. She stops laughing. Her response is calm, reasonable, and logical. The lord would never have laid a hand on Gordon, at most he would have been fined, and his father, his wealthy father, his father that owns his own land and all the buildings upon it, would have paid the fine without the least disturbance to his fortune. All you've done is kept her mother, her ailing, dying mother, from satisfying what may well be a dying wish. All she wanted was some apples, you brute. There are the beginnings of tears in her golden eyes.

You feel ashamed, guilty--until you remember that her mother was at the funeral. And she looked the very picture of health. At this revelation, she laughs. She laughs and clutches her knees and brushes away her false tears. You don't know how to respond to that, so you begin calling her names. Very soon neither of you are calm, reasonable or logical. She admits she wanted the apples for herself, but who are you to interfere? Who? You are Gordon's friend! So is she! No, she's not a friend, but a parasite, a succubus! If she's a succubus, then you're nothing but a bully. She's the bully, leading on Gordon like that. So what? He enjoys her company, and why shouldn't she get something in return? What does she have, compared to Gordon and his father? And it was only a basket of fruit for God's sakes! It was fruit today, yes, but tomorrow it will be silver, you know her kind. You know her mother.

She goes silent. She won't apologize, not to you. She'll speak to Gordon herself, in private.

You decide to:
>Leave it be, you wash your hands of this
>Demand that she leave Gordon alone
>Try and negotiate some sort of deal with her
>Write-in

>>5750722
>Demand that she leave Gordon alone

>>5750722
I don’t think further discussion will prove fruitful, and Gordon is probably too in love to take any honest warning. Maybe we can tell Gordon’s dad?

>>5750722
>Demand that she leave Gordon alone
Tell her that if she persists you'll go to Gordon's father and make sure she never sees a dime of his money.

>>5750722
>demand that she leaves gordon alone

>>5750722
>Write-in
Gordon can't handle her. Be a man and embrace her, demand she be ours.

>>5750722
>Write-in
Talk to Gordon, it's time we stop beating around the bush. Tell him what what we think of Mabel and ask him what he sees in her.

>>5750944
+1
>>5750938
Anon we just got into a shouting match I don’t think she’ll be all that receptive to us

>>5750965
I disagree. In some cultures shouting is just the prelude to everything. Gets the true feelings out there, lets both parties jockey for dominance. Plus shes more interesting then the other chicks even if shes spiritually Italian.

>>5750722
>Demand that she leave Gordon alone
Lets make our case clear here gents

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You leave her with an ultimatum: leave Gordon alone, or else. Studying your face, she understands that you're serious and that whatever gain she hoped to achieved by ensnaring your friend are not worth the risk of drawing your wrath. But she will have the last word and tells you, as you leave, that you've a cold and barren heart and could never understand what men like Gordon feel. What men like your father felt.

That is Mabel's way, altogether the opposite her mother's. She collects the sore spots of all the people in the village, and strikes them without mercy when roused. But you'll not give her the satisfaction of seeing how her words affect you. You walk stiffly away, without turning around, taking comfort in the fact that she will finally leave Gordon alone.

By the time you get home it is almost dark. Your uncle is waiting outside your house, sitting on the steps leading up to the main door. He explains that he was afraid to confront your grandmother without you, laughing a little as he says this. Then seeing that you're in low spirits, he shuts up and meekly follows you inside the house.

Your Gran is by the fire, poking it at it with her iron-tipped cane, rapt in the movement of the flames. She asks if you've eaten, and you suddenly remember your hunger. All you've had to eat today were the honeycakes at the funeral and the sugared plums at the castle. It's a miracle you were able to make the journey to the castle on such poor fare. You head to the cellar, whose entrance is outside the house, and your uncle, having put down his bundle of things, follows you like a lost dog.

Your Gran wonders aloud if it is Gordon who is with you. When you answer that it is your uncle, she replies with a few choice words, each one bowing your uncle's head a little further, till he is practically prostrate with shame. But, when you declare that he'll be living in the house from hereon, she does not argue, merely twirls her cane in her hands.

You prepare some food (with your Uncle's help) and, after making a plate for your Gran, sit down to eat with him. Your uncle, being more of the garrulous type (which neither you nor your father were), tries several times to make conversation.

You decide to talk about:
>The future, your expectations respecting him and the work and your plans
>The present, your father's death, your troubles with Mabel and Gordon and the reeve
>The past, stories from your uncle's childhood, when he and your father were boys
>Write-in

>>5751265
>The present, your father's death, your troubles with Mabel and Gordon and the reeve
Bottling it all up is liable to make us go crazy

>>5751265
>The present, your father's death, your troubles with Mabel and Gordon and the reeve
Maybe Gran can weigh in her opinion

>>5751265
>The present, your father's death, your troubles with Mabel and Gordon and the reeve

>>5751265
>The present, your father's death, your troubles with Mabel and Gordon and the reeve

>>5751265
>>The present, your father's death, your troubles with Mabel and Gordon and the reeve

>>5751265
>>>The present, your father's death, your troubles with Mabel and Gordon and the reeve

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Feeling pent up, you eventually begin speaking about the day you've had. Your father's death, the several encounters with the reeve, and then the matter with Gordon and Mabel. Your uncle is as good a listener as he is a prattler, and after all is said and done, you feel better for having vented.

Your Gran suggests taking a ferrule to the "hussy" (meaning Mabel) on Gordon's behalf. She equally criticizes Gordon for being a lily-liver and being pulled around by the ear by a fishwife's daughter. As for the reeve, she expresses her distaste for his father (who apparently tried to court her once upon a time), but feels you should have pandered to him a little more, given his position in the village. She even suggests you make concerted effort to deflower his daughter, since you have a history.

Your uncle is more conservative in his advice. He thinks that while you owe it to your friend to watch out for his interests, there is a point where friendly interference can become meddling. And he seems to side with Mabel on the matter of the fruit. Several times he tries to convince you that maybe "she had a point there, Johnny, eh?". Of course, a penniless drunk and a wealthy tavernkeeper like Gordon's father are unlikely to fond of one another, so that must bias him, but he seems genuinely sympathetic to Mabel's "plight". More than that, he seems to hint at some ulterior motive of yours, mentioning, more than once, that she's a "fetching lass, though Johnny, eh?" Which you found rather offensive.

As for the reeve, he says nothing until you are about to retire for the night. Then he grabs your arm, looks down at his feet, and says, in a low voice that whatever happens, though he's "not sure I mightn't disappoint you, Johnny, but I'll try", he's also "grateful to you though, Johnny, damned grateful". Then, embarrassed a little by his own emotion, he flees to his chambers, the little turret which he himself had designed and put together when he was young for his own room and shuts the door.

In the morning:
>You sleep in, taking advantage of your mourning period to lounge for the day
>You head to the pier, for good work is only done by one's own hand
>You head to the market to spend your remaining silver
>Write-in

>>5752111
>You head to the pier, for good work is only done by one's own hand
Don't insult us by suggesting we would want to get with Mabel, uncle.

>>5752111
>You head to the pier, for good work is only done by one's own hand

>>5752111
>You head to the pier, for good work is only done by one's own hand

>>5752111
>You head to the pier, for good work is only done by one's own hand

>>5752111
>You head to the pier, for good work is only done by one's own hand

>>5752111
>>You head to the pier, for good work is only done by one's own hand

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Though the customary mourning period extends to three days (and this only the second of the three) you feel idling around would be an insult to your father's spirit, and so, you arrive at the pier bright and early with the other fishermen.

There are already some boats that have pushed off from the harbor but these appear to be larger ferries bringing men and goods further down the coast. Your uncle, who had apparently awakened before you, has already found your boat and is busy preparing it for a trip. At first you think he might have intended to take the ship out by himself, but he doesn't appear the least surprised at your presence, rather seeming to have expected you through some strange foresight. With his help you soon set sail.

Your small vessel is not truly seaworthy and you must limit yourself to places along the coast or further inland, upstream through rivers that sometimes connect with lakes. You have all the tools of your trade on the boat: nets, lures, little basket traps, larger baskets to hold your catch. Lately you've been favoring the net because of its relative ease and decent yield. Traps, of course, require no oversight, but are brittle and can catch only smaller sized fish. The lure is the choice of master fishermen, those who go for the biggest catch, fifteen-pound bass, twenty-pound coalfish, thirty-pound cod, it requires the most skill, the most patience, but a single catch is enough to make the day's wage. It was a favorite of your father's, though he lacked the skill.

You decide for this day to:
>Head a dozen knots off the coast, where the water and the weather is a little stronger but there is less competition
>Head south along the coast, following the other boats to the usual spots. You're sure to catch sometime, even if the yield will be lessened by the presence of other fishermen
>Head north along the coast, trying to find places where you can go inland. Navigating the rocks there will be tough but for that reason no other fisherman will dare to venture there.
>Write-in

Apologizes for the delay in posting. I initially came up with a rather complex system for fishing, then realized how inappropriate it was for this medium and scrapped it.

>>5753205
>Head north along the coast, trying to find places where you can go inland. Navigating the rocks there will be tough but for that reason no other fisherman will dare to venture there.
We picked sailing as our talent, didn't we? Let's put it to use.

>>5753205
>Head a dozen knots off the coast, where the water and the weather is a little stronger but there is less competition

>>5753205
>Head a dozen knots off the coast, where the water and the weather is a little stronger but there is less competition

For our father, for ourself, take the wind in our teeth and dare close to the sea.

I think qm that most people don’t mind so much if you take a few days here and there. Thank you for the update though.

>>5753205
>>Write-in
Head under the sea. The fishes won't expect the surprise attack

If that fail
>>Head north along the coast, trying to find places where you can go inland. Navigating the rocks there will be tough but for that reason no other fisherman will dare to venture there.

>>5753205
>Head south along the coast, following the other boats to the usual spots. You're sure to catch sometime, even if the yield will be lessened by the presence of other fishermen.

>>5753205
>Head north along the coast, trying to find places where you can go inland. Navigating the rocks there will be tough but for that reason no other fisherman will dare to venture there.

>>5753205
>Head north along the coast, trying to find places where you can go inland. Navigating the rocks there will be tough but for that reason no other fisherman will dare to venture there.

OK the first roll of the quest! I need three people to each give me a d6 roll.

Rolled 5 (1d6)

>>5753606

Rolled 5 (1d6)

>>5753606

Rolled 5 (1d6)

>>5753606

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When your uncle asks you on what bearing you wish to head, indicating the other fishing boats that are heading south, you feel a sudden compulsion to show off. You tell him that you will be going the opposite direction, toward the north, hugging the coast as much as possible. Your objective will be to find some place inland, a lagoon or else a river, which, although difficult to reach, will hold less competition.

Your uncle does not for one minute question this possibly dubious decision (at least, not out loud) but goes to his task in silence. It is then, in the following hours, that you demonstrate to your uncle the extent of your talents with the sail. Not only do you manage to navigate through the treacherous rocks on the northern coast, against which the skeletons of broken boats can still be seen, you do it in record time. The wind favors you this day, but it is your own skill in tacking and a preternatural sense of when and how those winds change that wins the day.

Even if you had caught nothing, the look of awe and admiration in your uncle's eyes (in shape and color, so much like your father's) was reward enough. However, you manage to find a hidden lagoon which you guess has not been graced by the likes of men in many years for the fish are plentiful and of good size.

You decide to:
>Cast your nets here and catch as much as you can. Amid such abundance you are sure to catch something.
>Set traps and move on to another location. Traps are perfect for an isolated location such as this.
>Cast your lure and attempt to catch some bigger fish. There must be something big lurking that preys on the other fish.
>Write-in

>>5753704
>Cast your nets here and catch as much as you can. Amid such abundance you are sure to catch something.

WOAH!

>>5753704
>Cast your lure and attempt to catch some bigger fish. There must be something big lurking that preys on the other fish.

>>5753704
>>Cast your nets here and catch as much as you can. Amid such abundance you are sure to catch something.

The 5 wall is dope

>>5753704
>Cast your lure and attempt to catch some bigger fish. There must be something big lurking that preys on the other fish.

Our father is with us today.

>>5753704
>Cast your nets here and catch as much as you can. Amid such abundance you are sure to catch something.
Quantity has a quality all its own.

>>5753704
>Cast your lure and attempt to catch some bigger fish. There must be something big lurking that preys on the other fish.
We've got bigger fish to fry.

>>5753704
>Cast your nets here and catch as much as you can. Amid such abundance you are sure to catch something.

>>5753704
>Cast your lure and attempt to catch some bigger fish. There must be something big lurking that preys on the other fish.
In his memory.

>>5753704
>Cast your lure and attempt to catch some bigger fish. There must be something big lurking that preys on the other fish.

>>5753704
>Cast your nets here and catch as much as you can. Amid such abundance you are sure to catch something.
If there are many fish of such size here, it would be wise too catch as many as possible.

>>5753704
>Cast your lure and attempt to catch some bigger fish. There must be something big lurking that preys on the other fish.

Witness me Father

>>5753707
>>5753728
>>5753798
>>5753809
>>5753811
>>5753883
>>5753904
>>5753920
>>5753930
>>5754139
>>5754164
OK, let's see if you can do it a second time! Second verse, same as the first: three people each roll 1d6.

Rolled 5 (1d6)

>>5754185
For Father!

Rolled 6 (1d6)

>>5754185

Rolled 6 (1d6)

>>5754185

>>5754185
>>5754186
>>5754212
>>5754245
>>5754245
We did even better

>>5754283
Father would be proud.

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With a net, you are guaranteed a catch, and when you go to pull out the bait and tackle from a small wooden chest, your uncle finally finds his voice and protests. You assure him that if there are so many fish there must also be something bigger that preys upon them. It is that which you intend come away with today; nothing less will do. Your uncle does not seem convinced, but you are invigorated by the success with the sail and feel that luck will carry over somehow to the lure.

You cast your line and wait and wait and wait. Three hours pass with no real bite, a few smaller nibbles, a few smaller fish that you throw back to the water. Then, just when you are about to call it quits, you feel a strong tug. It is a big one, maybe the biggest you have ever seen. The two eyes on one side of the head, dark brown at the top with a tall backfin, it is a halibut, a four-footer easy. It struggles mightily against the rod and you fear the the whole thing will snap in two or capsize the boat itself, but your quick-thinking uncle manages to take the rod from your hands and, leaving you to the more suitable task of keeping the boat steady, he reels it in, spending all the muscles of his body to the task.

At last the great fish is taken out of the water and snapped up with a net (which hardly covers its enormous bulk). It is five feet long and over a hundred pounds, perhaps the biggest thing that has been caught in the village in over ten years, certainly bigger than anything your father had ever caught. Your uncle sinks to the ground, wet, exhausted, but laughing.

When you return to the village with your catch, the other fishermen and their wives look on in envy and admiration. A few run forward to help you carry the thing to the market, but your uncle will have none of it. The two of you carry it together, feeling giddy at the prospect of a hundred silver pieces or more passing into your hands by end of day.

But your are surprised still further when the fishmonger (a prickly but honest man with whom your family has dealt with since your grandfather's time) suddenly slices the fish open to reveal a belly full of eggs. The roe is worth half as much as the fish itself (and more when it has been aged by the cellarer of the castle) and all told together comes to a whopping 177 silver pieces. Nearly two weeks wages, so much silver that the fishmonger cannot pay it all once and requests some time to make you whole.

You decide to:
>Oblige the request, seeing as you are in no urgent need; though the reeve is sure to get involved in anything involving debts
>Sell the fish, but keep the eggs and sell them yourself directly to the lord, to whom it is a great favorite, though it robs the fishmonger of his business
>Take your business around the corner to the wealthier peddlers whom you could never approach before and take from their silver
>Write-in

>>5754311
>Oblige the request, seeing as you are in no urgent need; though the reeve is sure to get involved in anything involving debts

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At this point, I should probably give a sense of the purchasing power of a silver piece. Here is a short list of concerns and their prices:

1. Your fishing boat: 500 sp
2. A week's worth of groceries for one person: 5sp
3. A good meal bought at a tavern: 1sp
4. A soldier's quilted jacket: 60sp (already mentioned)
5. An ordinary sword or spear: 10sp
6. A seasons rent on the boat: 45sp
7. A seasons rent/tax on your land: 100sp
8. The plot of land itself: 1200sp
9. A good suit of clothes: 50sp
10. A head of cattle: 100sp (an ox is 300sp)

>>5754311
>>Oblige the request, seeing as you are in no urgent need; though the reeve is sure to get involved in anything involving debts

>>5754311
>Oblige the request, seeing as you are in no urgent need; though the reeve is sure to get involved in anything involving debts.
>Tip the fishmonger 5 silver pieces for his honesty.
He could've easily kept the eggs for himself and we'd be none the wiser.

>>5754311
>Sell the fish, but keep the eggs and sell them yourself directly to the lord, to whom it is a great favorite, though it robs the fishmonger of his business

Do this, but ask the fishmonger to his face if he’s ok with it. If he says no then oblige to wait.

>>5754311
>Oblige the request, seeing as you are in no urgent need; though the reeve is sure to get involved in anything involving debts

No point in spoiling a longstanding business relationship. Let the fishmonger take his time.

>>5754428
Also
>Tip the fishmonger 5 silver pieces for his honesty.

He did us a solid here.

>>5754311
>Oblige the request, seeing as you are in no urgent need; though the reeve is sure to get involved in anything involving debts.
>Tip the fishmonger 5 silver pieces for his honesty.
Fishmonger is honest, and a honest merchant is a relationship that deserves to be cultivated , plus it will make us look more generous and fair, for when we inevitably get a bigger boat

>>5754311
>>Oblige the request, seeing as you are in no urgent need; though the reeve is sure to get involved in anything involving debts.
>>Tip the fishmonger 5 silver pieces for his honesty.

>>5754311
>Oblige the request, seeing as you are in no urgent need; though the reeve is sure to get involved in anything involving debts
>Tip him 5 silver pieces

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The fishmonger seems entirely indifferent to the roe, but you know that it is worth a small fortune to him, for the lord has refined tastes and will handsomely for good roe. You do not doubt, however, that the fishmonger would not take any offense if you chose to take your business elsewhere. He is that sort of man. But you do not take your business elsewhere, you oblige the time he needs and what's more you give him additional gratuity on top of that for his fair dealing.

He gives you thirty silver pieces and a carved wooden token representing the remainder of his debt, and tells you he will have the money ready in a few days time. As the reeve is the only one in the village who could possibly have so much silver in ready money (besides the lord, of course), you know that the tale will reach his ears soon enough. Perhaps it will assuage his doubts in regards to your uncle.

With the silver from the reeve, you have a total of 82 pieces in hand and 142 pieces still owed (not counting the 60 pieces you lent your cousin). You are nearly half-way to paying off the boat and otherwise have more than enough to pay your rents and taxes this season. And the lagoon you discovered is nowhere close to being exhausted. Doubtless some of the bolder fishermen will wake early and attempt to follow you tomorrow to wet their own beaks, but few are skilled enough to navigate the rocks and fewer still have the courage to attempt it. Still, eventually, one or two will make it through.

Now, as for your uncle:
>It is customary to pay workers on a boat a flat wage, but as your uncle is working off a debt, that wage is void. He should get nothing, especially because money in hand may tempt him to his vices.
>You split the take with him in half but count it against his debts, thereby absolving him of his obligation. Should he choose to stay on, he'll be paid a fair wage.
>You give him a share of the take, not half, but not insignificant either and surely more than he should expect as a bondsman. Let it signify your trust in him to use the money responsibly.
>Write-in

>>5754623
>You split the take with him in half but count it against his debts, thereby absolving him of his obligation. Should he choose to stay on, he'll be paid a fair wage.

>>5754623
>>You split the take with him in half but count it against his debts, thereby absolving him of his obligation. Should he choose to stay on, he'll be paid a fair wage.

>>5754623
>You give him a share of the take, not half, but not insignificant either and surely more than he should expect as a bondsman. Let it signify your trust in him to use the money responsibly.

>>5754623
>You split the take with him in half but count it against his debts, thereby absolving him of his obligation. Should he choose to stay on, he'll be paid a fair wage.
His honor is restored.

>>5754827
I somehowgot an old version of the page right after the triple 5. Loooool.

>>5754623
>You split the take with him in half but count it against his debts, thereby absolving him of his obligation. Should he choose to stay on, he'll be paid a fair wage

>>5754623
>You split the take with him in half but count it against his debts, thereby absolving him of his obligation. Should he choose to stay on, he'll be paid a fair wage.

>>5754623
>You split the take with him in half but count it against his debts, thereby absolving him of his obligation. Should he choose to stay on, he'll be paid a fair wage.
Karmamaxxing

>>5754623
>You split the take with him in half but count it against his debts, thereby absolving him of his obligation. Should he choose to stay on, he'll be paid a fair wage.
Without him we couldn't have caught the fish

>>5754623
>You split the take with him in half but count it against his debts, thereby absolving him of his obligation. Should he choose to stay on, he'll be paid a fair wage.
Does this mean unc is a free man , or are we adding the amount to his debt?

>>5755254
We're saying he has earned half but instead of giving it to him we keep it and and consider him debt free in exchange

>>5755332
Oh ok , that's good considering he lives with us and will prevent him from going baack to his vices if we keep our eye on him

File: 59b64092-1fdc-41bc-8978-d(...).png (192 KB, 3000x3000)

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Cometh at night...

Cometh at sea...

Cometh alone...

Cometh...

>>5755642
Phone

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Your uncle is surprised once more when you tell him that you consider his debts cleared. His part in the catch deserves and equal share of the reward, for without him the fish would have surely been lost. Should he wish to continue on your boat, you'll pay him a fair wage from now on. He brings up the reeve, of course, but you dismiss those concerns with a wave of your hand. The reeve is motivated by greed for the most part, but greed is predictable. He won't argue with results.

Your uncle does not answer immediately. It's possible that the debt was motivating him more than you thought. Without it, he has no real reason not to return to his old ways. For the whole trip and for the rest of the night he is unusually quiet, not even making the usual small talk over dinner. When you regale the story of the catch to your Gran, playing up the heroics (and playing down the danger), he merely smiles once or twice and adds not a word. When you go to put the silver in the family strongbox, his gaze lingers a long time at the lock.

Then, in the morning, he's back to his usual self. Whatever strange thoughts haunted him last night seem to have passed and he even seems cured of his stubborn pride. He readily agrees to stay on as long as he's "of some use to you, Johnny, eh?" and he'll take whatever wage you'll pay him.

For the remainder of the week you:
>Avoid the lagoon, first to deter fisherman from following you, and second to avoid pressing your luck
>Frequent the lagoon, confident the other fishermen will not be able to follow you through the rocks
>Continue further north to an even more remote place, purchasing provisions with your silver to supply a much longer journey
>Write-in

>>5755753
>Avoid the lagoon, first to deter fisherman from following you, and second to avoid pressing your luck

We will return, but this is a small town and we need to husband our luck, as well as our secrets.

>>5755753
>Avoid the lagoon, first to deter fisherman from following you, and second to avoid pressing your luck
Don't want to overfish in our golden goose

>>5755753
>Avoid the lagoon, first to deter fisherman from following you, and second to avoid pressing your luck

Play the big catch off as luck for now until the competition gets turns it's attention elsewhere

>>5755753
>Avoid the lagoon, first to deter fisherman from following you, and second to avoid pressing your luck

>>5755753
>Avoid the lagoon, first to deter fisherman from following you, and second to avoid pressing your luck

>>5755753
>Avoid the lagoon, first to deter fisherman from following you, and second to avoid pressing your luck

>>5755753
>Avoid the lagoon, first to deter fisherman from following you, and second to avoid pressing your luck

>>5755753
>Avoid the lagoon, first to deter fisherman from following you, and second to avoid pressing your luck

>>5755753
>Avoid the lagoon, first to deter fisherman from following you, and second to avoid pressing your luck
I feel like we should only go down there every anniversary of our father’s death/ the catch we made yesterday, I think it’ll mean more that way.

>>5755753
>Go South further than most ships, to take a peek close to the areas you cousin might raid or at least the path to that place.

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The next few days are quiet and dull. When you go out with the boat, you keep to the usual places and very soon the other fishermen give up hopes of following you to the lagoon. A few of them do try to brave the northern waters by themselves but ultimately end up scratching their heads over where you actually went, for they cannot believe that anyone could have successfully navigated the path of rocks they encountered. You itch for the time when you can return there again, but for now content yourself with more meager fare: mackerel, flounder, herring, the occasional triggerfish. Your uncle, at least, seems to be enjoying the work, as well as the attention from the other fishermen. They all like his gregariousness more than your cold silence.

Later, near the end of the week, the fishmonger comes to you to deliver the rest of the silver. The sale to the lord seems to have gone very well, given the smile on his normally surly face. It seems the lord came into some "movable property" recently, of dubious origin, through his son, "the young upstart", and was happy to match any price the fishmonger named.

Indeed, the very next day, God's day of rest, your cousin comes down from the castle to bring you the good news. The raid was a complete success. Apparently, "there wasn't even any fighting" (much to your cousin's disappointment, it seems) as the menfolk had all been called away to the army of the king, to defend their kingdom from a newly arrived heathen raiding party. The lord's son and his men came away with not only three heads of cattle for each man, but a slave to each man as well, all of which was swiftly converted into cold silver.

Your cousin is ready to return to you money he borrowed, and further, to hand you another two hundred pieces as your "share of the spoils". He promised he would raise your fortunes with his own, and intends to make good on that promise.

You decide to:
>Take the money, thanking God for such good fortune in so short a space of time.
>Refuse the money, for it does not feel right to take money that has been earned by the sale of flesh and stolen cattle.
>Let your cousin put the money to some enterprise of his own. He has proven his worth, and greater riches than this might be yours by his future deeds.
>Write-in

>>5756922
>Take the money, thanking God for such good fortune in so short a space of time.

>>5756922
>Let your cousin put the money to some enterprise of his own. He has proven his worth, and greater riches than this might be yours by his future deeds

See about helping our cousin buy a horse

>>5756922
>Let your cousin put the money to some enterprise of his own. He has proven his worth, and greater riches than this might be yours by his future deeds.
More gear for him to live longer with.

>>5756922
>Write-in: Take 100 silver and consider that plenty enough considering he took the true risk. Suggest he reinvest the rest, perhaps in sturdy boots, some leather gloves, and a helmet or somesuch IF he decides to continue raiding though you can't help but worry for him.

>>5757131
+1, nice middle ground. Spoils of war are gonna be a fact of life and it's not like the money to pay us back would come from nowhere. Reinvest in your gear, cousin, keep safe

>>5756922
Supporting >>5757131

>>5756922
>supporting >>5757131 as well
money is good, and having someone who is well-armed supporting you is also good

>>5756922
>>5757131 +1

>>5756922
>>5757131
Supporting.

>>5757131
Supporting , love how we're turning into the family man

>>5756926
I'll change my vote to support this
>>5757131

Minor family emergency. No update tonight.

>>5758012
All good qm

>>5758012
Enjoying the read so far take your time qm updates come when they come

>>5758012
Family comes first. Take all the time you need.

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You agree to take half of what your cousin offers you, given that he took the true risk. You suggest that he use what remains to invest in himself, at the very least to purchase more equipment should he wish to continue the martial life. He is overjoyed by your decision, which seemed to be a prescient one, for he then expresses his desire to join the armies of the king in the south and win glory and fame by fighting against the heathens. His motives do not seem to be merely mercenary. He seems to have a visceral hatred of the heathen raiders. His only regret with regards to his own raiding experience was having dressing up like the heathens.

You wish him luck in his ambitions, though you can't help but worry for him. He laughs at this and brings up your own stunts of derring-do on your boat. It seems tales of your exploits have spread as far the castle and have been warped all out of proportion. He embraces you tightly before he leaves, perhaps sensing how long it may be before he sees you again, if he ever does.

With the one hundred silver pieces from your cousin and the rest of the silver owed from the fishmonger (minus the usual expenses: ) you now have 288 silver pieces. A sum whose mere possession makes you nervous. That evening you convene a council, consisting of Gran, your uncle, and Gordon. The topic of discussion: what to do with the money.

Gran, ever the pragmatic one, suggests giving it over to the reeve to lend out. Not for the interest, but for a chance to get closer to him and his family (she still hasn't given up on the idea of getting you hitched to his daughter). Your uncle shyly suggests saving the money for a rainy day, perhaps burying it somewhere for safe-keeping. Gordon--well he spends most of the evening moping about because Mabel no longer wants to meet with him, but before he leaves, suggests spending some of the money on your upcoming birthday party. A big blowout inviting all the villagers that will surely raise your status in the village (especially among the eligible girls).

You decide to:
>Give the money to the reeve to lend out
>Save the money for later
>Spend the money on a celebration
>Write-in

>>5758824
>>Write-in
>>Spend some of the money on a comfy party with the comunity
>>Fix and upgrade the boat
>>Tell Gran that rich girls are expensive to keep, we would need some constant source of income first
I dont want to fuck the girl, but I hope Gran will like the plan

>>5758824
>>5758833
Support. Hiring that baker might be nice, but other than that a modest party is all that we need.

>>5758824
>Write-in
Can we get a better boat, or fishing tools?
It's an investment for the future.

>>5758824
>small party like >>5758833 suggests
>give some money to the reeve to lend out
it will be a good idea to start investing a bit and getting into good graces with him, not for his daughter ofc but because he still technically owns our boat.
>>5758838
That might not be a good idea still the reeve still owns out boat, maybe we could consider it after we have bought it off from him but definitely not rn.

>>5758925
Sound smart for me

>>5758833
>>5758925
+1

>>5758824
>>5758925 +1

>>5758824
>Buy your boat from the reeve.
>Buy a bow, arrows, and spare line for bow fishing and home defense.
>Give the rest to the reeve to loan out.

>>5758838
You can rent a better boat but not buy one. Your current boat costs 500sp to buy. Better fishing tools you can buy for 10sp and it will increase chance of the catch or amount of the catch.

>>5759397
I that case I'll vote for
>>5758824
>Buy better fishing tools
>Give the rest to the reeve to lend out

>>5759327
>>5758824
Updating my post to...
>Buy Better fishing tools
>Buy a bow, arrows, and line for bow fishing and home defense
>Save the rest

Is there anything we can buy to improve boat manueverability or otherwise return to the lagoon?

>>5759591
You can make some improvements to your boat which will increase your chances of making it to the lagoon in one piece, but, since you're not renting it, you're essentially just increasing the value of something you don't own, making it more expensive to purchase later.

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You're certain Gordon is just hoping to see Mabel again at your party (not that you'd invite her, of course) but it has been a while since you've held any kind of festivities. Most of your past birthdays were spent waking up before dawn, prepping the boat for the day's work. It would be nice to share some of your good fortune. Even the reeve holds a lavish festival once a year, during the solstice, if only to maintain good relations with the villagers and make his job easier when it comes time to collect taxes. Even so, you can't help but think of Mabel's parting words. What if she wasn't alone in that opinion? You wouldn't want people to think you're a miser or some sort of anti-social hermit.

So, you set aside a portion of the silver to hold a celebration at the end of the month. The rest you bring to the reeve, to lend out on your behalf. He does not himself do any lending. Even the money that the fishmonger borrowed didn't actually come from the reeve's own hands. Usury is looked down upon by the church, and the reeve, not wishing to get on their bad side, is careful to avoid it. Instead, all the money passes into the hands of the resident goldsmith, who in turn sends it to the port cities in east, to members of his extended family, where, in turn, it is used for commerce with places as distant as the holy land. Regardless of the success or failure of these ventures, the city merchants pay a percentage back to the goldsmith for the silver they borrow and this the reeve deducts from rents he is owed or the lord's taxes, hoping to fool God (or at least the church) with accounting trickery.

The 250 silver you intend to give to him will net you twenty silver a month, which, deducted from the rent on your boat and the taxes you owe to the lord, will mean you will only owe 85 silver each season. The only drawback is that once the silver is sent out, it cannot easily or swiftly be returned. You may have to wait up to a season to get back the full amount, depending on the safety of the roads and the prevailing mood of the merchants.

The other issue is, of course, having to deal with the reeve. He prefers to do such business face to face, so you must put on your Sunday best and go to visit with him at his palatial residence. The one to greet you at the door, however, is neither the reeve nor his daughter, but someone foreign to the village. He appears about your age, though much more finely dressed, and rather weak and sickly looking, with an expression on his face as if permanently reacting to a bad smell. The reeve is out on business, it seems, but will be back soon. The stranger invites you inside to wait for him. You can hear Amelia call out to him from within, asking who it might be. He answers that it is "some provincial, probably here to ply the reeve's charity".

You decide to:
>Wait outside until the reeve arrives
>Accept the invitation and wait inside, preferably in silence
>Chat with this rude stranger and Ameilia
>Write-in

>>5759782
>Chat with this rude stranger and Ameilia

Shame we didn't get to buy fishing tools to increase our fishing rolls for only 10sp

>>5759782
>>Chat with this rude stranger and Ameilia

We must at least attempt a good appearance.

>>5759782
>>Chat with this rude stranger and Ameilia

"The witches are talking about the new Penitent we would send at sea, but you look two steps away to meet God. Are you sure that you can survive the journey?"
Fuck with him

>>5759790
Our chance will come.

>>5759782
>>Chat with this rude stranger and Ameilia

>>5759782
>Wait outside until the reeve arrives

Some battles are best avoided.

>>5759782
>Chat with this rude stranger and Ameilia

>>5759782
Chat it up

>>5759782
>Chat with this rude stranger and Ameilia
we only met him for 2 minutes but I want to smash his head in for some reason.
Also Qm, canwe get an estimation of how much it'll cost us to buy our boat from the reeve ?

>>5760152
>Also Qm, canwe get an estimation of how much it'll cost us to buy our boat from the reeve ?
See:
>>5759397
>>5754322

No update today. And I will be taking a break until the weekend.

>>5760764
See you then :D

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>>5760764
Enjoy your break QM, looking forward to the update.

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You follow the finely-dressed man through the foyer into what you guess is the reeve's study. Amelia is here as well and it seems the two of them were in the middle of a brunch of sorts. Amelia explains who you are to the other man, whose low opinion of you does not change at all by the revelation. In the conversation that follows you learn that he is the second son of a viscount, and (though it is not explicitly announced) a suitor arranged by Amelia's father, one that Amelia does not seem entirely enthusiastic about. She is polite enough, but you can detect the signs of discomfort and disgust known to you from your childhood. The suitor, in turn, notices how Amelia relaxes when speaking to you, how she smiles and laughs.

You are finally rescued from the inexhaustible, self-absorbed speeches of "Lord Royce" (so he calls himself) by the arrival of the reeve. He is happy to see his daughter and Lord Royce together and decidedly less happy to see you with them. His mood improves when you present him with the purse of silver. And it is with satisfaction that you watch Lord Royce's color change as the coins are counted out. He then nonchalantly tells a story about a rich fraudster his father caught once. Though he does not actually air the accusation, the insinuation is enough to spur Amelia to tell a wildly exaggerated version of your recent exploits. Lord Royce merely scoffs.

The coins are counted and the reeve is ready to write up the account, when, suddenly, he pauses and looks up. He then wonders aloud if you would be willing to consider a different proposal: use the money to rent a few of his less profitable boats. He'll handle the labor side of things, and you'll manage the day-to-day operation. You have enough for at least two more boats, three if you're willing to stake the whole.

Lord Royce finds all this preposterous and is so unreserved with his opinions, that even the reeve seems to find him distasteful. He does not rebuke him, however, holding his tongue, perhaps, for the prospect of future nobility. Amelia not yet possessed of such self-control, makes an outlandish bet with Lord Royce: that within a year--no, within two seasons--you'll have turned a profit with the boats. The reeve begins to reproach Amelia but Lord Royce intercedes. He is very much interested. Amelia offers up her personal savings, consisting of some inherited jewelry and a not insubstantial sum of gold pieces she has been saving since childhood. And should she win, Lord Royce will "no longer spend his attention" on her.

The reeve is not at all happy about this development and looks in desperation to you to bail him out.

You decide to:
>Keep to the original arrangement, you'd rather not get involved in this
>Take the new offer. Their bet is none of your concern, but this is a good opportunity.
>Get in on the action. If they're betting on you, it's only fair.
>Write-in

>>5765167
>Get in on the action. If they're betting on you, it's only fair.
Time to become the fish lord

>>5765167
>Take the new offer. Their bet is none of your concern, but this is a good opportunity.
Lets go. We can expand our fleet, become ship king, and get the girl.

>>5765169
>>5765179
Hmm the offer is interesting but I feel like the reeve isn't telling us everything. Why are these boats not as profitable? If he is the one arranging the labour then it could safely be assumed that the same people will still be running them, and since the boats and tools remained unmodified productivity is thus unlikely to improve on its own. Even if we handle to day-to-day operations it would be unrealistic to keep them in sight all the time as we will all be exhausting one another's potential catch.
I feel like the reeve is trying to buy some insurance here: however badly the boats performed we will be the one to take the loss while he still receives guaranteed income. And since we have no realistic way of drastically turning these boats around (save for revealing the lagoon which cuts into our own future security), it is not a good deal. My suggestion would be to:
>>5765167
>Ask for a private moment with the reeve to negotiate the offer.
Don't want to commit ourselves to any course of action in front of a viscount's son since it will be impossible to back away from it afterwards. Also we can get the chance to discuss the bet with the reeve, maybe with Amelia acting like she does he is now having second thoughts about the offer.

>>5765167
Seconding >>5765188
The reeve might've been scheming with his offer but saw it backfire on him.

>>5765167
>Decline the offer in order to nullify the bet, thus getting the reeve out of this. Thank the reeve for his high praise but maintain that our big catch was merely a blessing from the Lord and we are thankful for it.

Our competitive advantage is our sailing skill, training others might profit a fleet but we'd be giving up our advantage and getting tangled into the games of nobility and hamper our ability to explore solo.

>>5765167
>>Keep to the original arrangement, you'd rather not get involved in this

>>5765188
>>5765196
The Reeve has been nothing but straightforward with us so far. He saw our huge catch and figured that he could make money with us by investing in a larger operation. He hasn’t really done anything to earn such distrust from us.

>>5765167
>Keep to the original arrangement, you'd rather not get involved in this

>>5765169
Changing my vote to
>Take the new offer. Their bet is none of your concern, but this is a good opportunity.

>>5765188
This

>>5765167
>Decline the offer in order to nullify the bet, thus getting the reeve out of this. Thank the reeve for his high praise but maintain that our big catch was merely a blessing from the Lord and we are thankful for it.
Maybe say how we are still recovering from our father's death, and we would like to slowly build up to getting more boats, right now we have our hands full already with taking care of our house plus our two last family members

>>5765167
>>5765188
Supporting, but for what it’s worth one of the things that we’d said we’d do was build up a fishing empire, this is the first step that we’d need to take to get there.

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Everyone looks to you for the final decision, but before you can ask the reeve to discuss this privately (since you'd rather not commit to anything in front of Lord Royce), the sound of a bell, the sort the crier uses to announce news or a fire, rings out through the household. The reeve jumps to his feet and, with Amelia in tow, rushes out of the room. You can hear distant coughing and moans of pain--the reeve's dying father--and then low voices trying to soothe them.

Lord Royce remains behind, eyeing you suspiciously all the while, as though you were the cause of this interruption. You are about to excuse yourself and go home, when he suddenly airs what must have been on his mind this whole time: the nature of your relationship with Amelia. You tell him what he must already know, that you and Amelia were childhood friends but have grown apart for obvious reasons. He innocently asks what those reasons might be, knowing the answer, but wanting you to admit it out loud. When you say nothing, he answers for you: the difference in your fortunes and birth. He goes on to say that he knows how advantageous the marriage would be for Amelia and her father, and that his concession is more akin to an act of charity, one he is willing to make if it would mean obtaining an obedient wife. And it is in this, he would know your opinion: is Amelia the kind of girl who would yield for the sake of her father? Does she harbor any "secret ambitions" (here he gives you a wry, scornful smile)? Does she possess "forbearance" (when you ask what he means by this, he merely tilts his head forward, smiles, and raises his brows).

Amelia returns before you can answer, giving you a small token from her father's desk for the money, and asking you to return later. She does not say anything at all to Lord Royce, which he seems to find annoying, but he follows you out as well. He presses you for an answer regarding Amelia, and further, tacks on the question of your feelings toward her. Her affections for you were obvious to him, but he is "willing to dismiss them as the remnants of youthful feeling", so long as they are not reciprocated. One he regards as a kind of generosity, not very different from his own, but the other is ambition, which he regards as dangerous.

You tell him:
>Nothing. He is free to make whatever conclusions he wishes; you owe him no explanations.
>Amelia's ambitions go no further than playing the dutiful daughter, and you expect, the dutiful wife. You have no cause nor desire to interfere with that
>There isn't anyone in the village who does not entertain such "ambitions" for her, but few who would dare to act on them. But a damsel in distress can often make lambs into lions.
>Write-in

>>5766403
>Nothing. He is free to make whatever conclusions he wishes; you owe him no explanations.
Not our story to tell.

>>5766403
>Write in
>>"The wind don't choose each boat, as the fish dont choose each fisherman, but each boat and each fisherman must use everything they have at hand."
>"You seem tired, I recommend spending a night at the "Lazy Bear."
>"It is said that some of our fish reach the holy land. I wonder if they are more adventurous in death than we are in life."

Let's talk like a NPC in Skyrim.

>>5766403
>Nothing. He is free to make whatever conclusions he wishes; you owe him no explanations.