>>33048819

Welcome. It's good to see yhou.

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For fuck’s sake, he’s not even an adult.

You stare at the imbecile mage across the table from you, not even caring how you look. Your bandana is smudged, your face is dirty, and you’re exhausted, but who gives a fuck? The mage in the white robes across from you used mind control magic – MIND CONTROL! – against you and your people, and that’s simply not acceptable.

But the mage is also a teenager, scared witless, apparently confused out of his mind, and bleeding from the arm where one of the soldiers in your squad had to cut him to shut him up during transport. He had woken up from your choking and punching, only to start screaming for merchants on the road to help him. Not desiring this, one of the soldiers he had mind controlled started sliding his dagger into the kid’s arm, until he wisely shut up.

Now you’re in the back room of the tavern where you tied off your horses, trying to hold back your rage and frustration. Cassandra is stalking around the boy, runner her hand over the back of his neck, or his shoulder, or through his hair, scaring him even more. The fact that you’re both women is probably helping out.

But…he’s a kid!

The boy is barely nineteen! Where in the world did he get that kind of power? And, worse – does Ding have it?

“Level with me, child,” Cassandra whispers in his ear. “Where did you find that spell?”

“L-l-let me go!” he squeaks. “T-there’s no warrant on me, you can’t keep me here!”


>”Cassandra, carve off his nose.”
>”You attacked my men. That’s reason enough.”
>”Answer the question, or I’ll turn you over to the men you mind-controlled.”
>Divine ability (which?)
>writein

LOOK AT MY NEW ART!

>>33048883
>>writein
"And what makes you assume we need a warrant?"

Cool art

>>33048954
Kid needs being informed that he is working with bad company

>>33048883

Who the fuck did that art? It's not Eversor_, that's for sure.

“We need a warrant to interrogate a war criminal?” you ask lightly. “Huh. I doubt that.”

His eyes bug out of his head. “War criminal? N-No no no! I’m not a war criminal!”

Cassandra pinches his cheek with faux fondness. The quiet, polite Sister sure is different when she has an audience. “Little man, you used mind control on my friends. Mind control spells are part of the Verboten Schools. Automatic war crime.”

The boy lurches back in his seat. He sucks in a ragged gasp as her words sink in. “…Verboten Schools?” he manages. “No! They aren’t! My teacher swore they weren’t!”

You tap the table with one gloved finger. “Name your teacher.”

“W-well…” he says. His voice trails off in a shudder as Cassandra licks the tip of her finger and runs it across the nape of his neck. “It…it’s more like a vendor, actually,” he says unsteadily. “He sold me a piece of paper with the spell on it…said I have the…power to use it.”

You raise one eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Not unless you promise to let me go!” he says. He stubbornly crosses his arms, showing all the confidence he can, now that he has something you want.


>”Boy, you have no idea the trouble you’re in.”
>”I can just kill you and search your corpse.”
>”Cassandra, take his eyes.”
>”Let’s negotiate.”
>divine power
>writein

>>33049327
A deviant named 121642 .

>>33049420

That's awesome.

>>33049420
>>”Boy, you have no idea the trouble you’re in.”

Spell out what he's in for and see if that loosens his lips

>>33049420
>>”Boy, you have no idea the trouble you’re in.”
"Spill or you're going to take the whole rap yourself."

You slowly stand up. He tries to as well, but Cassandra digs her fingers into his shoulders and he stops. “Here’s the trouble, boy,” you say quietly. “You have access to a mind control spell.”

“He said it was just a sleep spell!” the boy wails, before Cassandra digs in a little harder.

“You have a mind control spell. You attacked my men. You’re helping someone who is, himself, guilty of war crimes and treason, among other capital offences,” you list softly. The boy goes white. “Now you seem to be harvesting pieces of paper with spells on them which the Pantheon has specifically outlawed.” You lean forward, letting the glowlight cast a shadow across your scarred face. “Look at me, boy,” you say quietly. “See the hatred in my eyes?”

He whimpers something.

“Good. Talk. NOW!” you suddenly bark, and he breaks.

“A-all right… the spell… I bought it,” he mumbles.

“From?”

“A mercenary… didn’t give his name… said he would give me a huge discount if I tested it in action…”

You lean back and force back your anger again. Soutri. It has to be. “Test how?”

“On another pack of mercenaries. He said they were competition…”

“Were you told to answer to the mage who owns that house?” Cassandra asks. Her voice is a sibilant hiss. You’re reminded of snakes even more.

“What? No… I don’t know anything about the house,” he says nervously.


>”Show me this paper.”
>”Where did you see the mercenary?”
>”How did you creep up on us?”
>”You couldn’t tell we’re Army?”
>writein

>>33049966
>>”You couldn’t tell we’re Army?”
>>”Where did you see the mercenary?”

>>33049966
>>”Show me this paper.”
>>”Where did you see the mercenary?”
>>”How did you creep up on us?”
>>”You couldn’t tell we’re Army?”
All of these are valid questions I want answered.

You shoot him a cold look. “You couldn’t tell we’re Army?” You’re technically Auxilia, but he can’t possibly know that.

“Well, I do now,” he mutters.

Classy. “And the mercenary? Where was he?”

“Market in the city,” the boy admits, casting a furtive look at the door. Cassandra lets her dagger’s hilt catch the light and it seems to kill his thoughts of escape. “Said he was moving soon.”

And he BELIEVED that? This boy is looking more and more like some runaway hedge mage whose parents wanted to send him off to training against his will. He’s about as worldly. “That approach in the woods. How did you creep up on us in a white robe?”

“I didn’t,” he says with the barest hint of pride. “I was fifty feet away when I started the spell. I got closer because it… well,” he says, the pride vanishing under shame, “it didn’t work on you.”

Cassandra looks at you oddly over his head, but it’s not the place to let her in on it. “The paper with the spell on it. Show it to me.”

“I can’t.”

You unsheathe your dagger.

“I can’t! It’s in my saddlebag!” he pleads, jerking away from you. His hands catch in the rope you used to tie him to the back room’s table leg and he slams back into the chair.

You glare at him a moment longer before putting the knife away. You make eye contact with Cassandra, and she sticks her head out the door for a quiet word with the soldiers you left outside.


Minutes later, a hand sticks in through the door and deposits a scroll in her hand. She opens it with a flick of her fingers and reads it quickly.

“Hmm. Yes… this is in Cenderian,” she says. “Wherever your mercenary friend got this, he had it translated.”


>What other questions do you want to ask?

>>33050374
>>What other questions do you want to ask?
Describe the mercenary.

>>33050458
This

“This mercenary. Describe him.”

The boy flinches. “Well… he was human, male… light skin, brown hair. I’d say forty years old.”

Which doesn’t mean much if he’s tapped the Well, but it’s better than nothing. You can confirm with Dietrich. “Anything else?”

“He looked really distracted, like he thought he was being followed…”

Interesting. “How do I get in touch with him?” you demand.

“You can’t,” the boy mutters. “He’s gone, said he was leaving town for good.”


>anything else?

>>33051011
Not personally. Take him in and let the Shadows see what they can get out of him.

>>33051011
Ask if the merc revealed anything about how he knew where we would be.

>>33051030
I don't think they'd get much more, I sense he's basically a distraction for the mage.

>>33051350
Probably not, which is why I suggest we pass him off to the professional interrogators while we go do something else.

>>33051221
“Which brings us to tonight,” you say darkly. “How in the hell did you know where to look for us?”

“He… he said you would be looking for a former partner of his, and to capture you if I could,” the boy admits nervously. “I mean, it’s just what he said.”

Soutri’s looking for bodies, then? Curious. “All right, child, I believe you,” you say after a long pause.

He seems to wilt with relief. “You do?”

“I do.” You knock on the door and the soldiers outside open it. “Gentlemen, transport this kid to the barracks and let the Shadows know he’s their guest,” you say calmly. “Tell them Sergeant Ledren says he’s got a Verboten Scroll.”

“What?” the boy gasps. “No! Don’t do that!”

“Kid, the alternative is live-fire crossbow practice,” you say over your shoulder. You look back to the Army trooper. “Take him away.”

The kid breaks down weeping as the soldiers drag him off. The door shuts behind him and Cassandra looks at you askance.

“So, Sergeant, do I want to know why you reacted with total lack of surprise when you heard Verboten schools of knowledge were involved here?” she asks. “And why it apparently doesn’t work on you?”


>”You really don’t.”
>”If you can keep your mouth shut, sure.”
>writein

>>33051415

>”You really don’t.”

>>33051373
too late anyhow I'm sure the mage will be fully prepared by now.

>>33051415
>>”If you can keep your mouth shut, sure.”

>>33051415
How are the Brotherhood on being discreet with their clients' info? I assume really good?

Letting her know about the orb is probably alright. I'd leave out the part about being a Herald though.

>>33051506
If Soutri was sharing info, he already was prepared. The question is why did we know we were going to be there today? Were we followed and then he or his spy doubled back to tell him? Was he or a spy listening to our conversations? Did somebody leak the info?

And I just thought of a new question for the kid if we can catch him. When did the mercenary give him the scroll and tell him to go ambush us?

>>33051581
>>33051581
I don't think so, unless he has some future reading ability or spell. Most likely explanation is that he gave the kid the scroll a while ago, couple days maybe, and said that at some point in the future mercs would go after this guy at this location, so he just stayed in the area and waited for us.

Obviously we should confirm this with him.

>>33051581
might be too late for that. Part of me is starting to wonder when this is gonna be "Spec Ops: the line" version of a Pathfinder thing.

You told her about the Orb last thread. What she's asking is why you're not surprised that someone OTHER than the Mage you're chasing has pre-collapse weapons.

>>33051672
That's stretching the loyalty of some random kid.


>>33051815
>ou told her about the Orb last thread.
Oh, right. Forgot.
Let her know there's a whole conspiracy I guess.

>>33051873
>“A-all right… the spell… I bought it,” he mumbles.“From?”“A mercenary… didn’t give his name… said he would give me a huge discount if I tested it in action…”

Not loyalty, it was for money and cheap spells.
The kids still in custody, it's one of the easiest things ever to just ask him
>"Hey kid, did you stake out the area and wait for us a while, or did the merc you bought this from tell you we would be there that evening?"

>>33051949
So he tells the kid I'll give you a deal on this spell if you go to this farm and wait for some mercs to show up and test it out on them.

But with nobody actually watching him, he already has the spell, and he thinks the guy who sold it to him is leaving, why stay? I could see him wanting to try it out and waiting a few hours before giving up and heading home. Not days. To me this indicates Soutri had some intel on when we would show up. Or we were spotted while sitting there for hours and he ran and found some dumb kid to do this.

Everybody in the group is an expert at stealth (even Elsa, if not as good as the Sister). I don't see being followed as likely.

The Brotherhood’s discretion is absolute, or so you’ve heard. Who would hire them at those prices otherwise? “The mage we’re chasing has a weapon from before the Collapse,” you say quietly. “I’m not surprised to know he has others. That’s why I hired you in the first place when I have the whole Auxilia to call on for backup.”

She tilts her head. “That’s fair. I suppose I should have known.” She rubs her hands together for a moment, thinking. “And your resistance?”

“Sorry, that I can’t tell you,” you say. “So. Anyway. Thanks for your help. I’m heading back to the city.”

“We’re done?” she asks.

You shrug awkwardly. “We can hardly attack now, even if he’s not on to us. Do you have the map of the place you made?”

“I do, in fact.” She reaches into a pouch and hands you a few scraps of paper. “Here. A rough guess of the people inside, a layout, everything I could find.”

“Much appreciated.” You stuff the papers – and the notes about the mind-control spell – into a pocket and seal it. “Want an escort back to the city?”

“Thanks, but I ride faster alone.” She rests her hands on her hips and stares out the window. “Sergeant, what’s really going on here?”

She deserves to know the basics, at least. You told the other Brothers from before. “To be brief, there are a group of freelance mercs and criminals dealing in pre-Collapse arms and spells,” you say. “The King found out, and I’m tasked with killing or capturing them all. They don’t seem to be communicating well, oddly.”

“Hmm.” She rubs her chin with one finger, eyes narrowed. “I suppose Culler knows?”

“He does. One of the first people I told, actually.”

“Then good luck,” she says. “And feel free to call on me again,” she adds with a smile. “I’d be glad to help.”

“I will,” you promise.

>Go straight home
>Go to be present at the interrogation
>report to Asa
>writein

>>33052129
>>report to Asa

>>33052129
>Go to be present at the interrogation

>>33052095
Well, if he knew we'd be there, that means he can see the future, scry on us constantly, or one or more of Culler, Cassandra, or the general are in cahoots with Soutri.

>>33052129
>>Go to be present at the interrogation

Just to make sure it doesn't go overboard.

You thumb your forehead. {My lady, have you a moment?}

[I do. What is it?]

{We’re done reconnoitering the manor where Ding lives, and something odd happened.} You grimace at the memory of the mind-control spell in action. If you hadn’t snapped out of it when you did… {There was a mage there, working for Soutri. He had a mind-control spell at his disposal.}

[…Come again?]

{Soutri’s pet mage. He had a mind-control spell at-}

“Say that entirely again.”

You spin around. Asa’s standing behind you, looking like she’s seen a ghost. “Just one more time, my daughter,” she says in a haunted voice.

“He has mind-control,” you say, feeling quite nervous all of a sudden. “And he’s distributing the spell to mages he’s hired. One, at least.”

Asa’s jaw hangs open. It’s a shocking sight in an Avatar. She slows sinks her head into her hands. “This… is absolutely not what I needed,” she whispers. “Oh, Mai’te’s tears, this is madness…”

“I mean… it didn’t work,” you say awkwardly. “I was immune.”

She peeks up at you from between her fingers. “Immune?”

“He tried it on me at least three times,” you remember. “It didn’t work at all.”

She takes a few steps closer, peering at you intently. “Not at all?”

“Not even once,” you say. You shrug. “I mean, the mage was just some dumb hedge mage Soutri hired to slow me down…”

“Of course,” Asa says quietly. “One cannot go throwing such power to the winds... but three attempts?” She raises one bare hand, and your Gem tingles for a second. “Hmmm. May I try something, my daughter?”

You blink in surprise. “What?”

“May I examine the memories I gave you again?” she asks. “I may have given you more than just recollections.”


>”I don’t want to relive that all again.”
>”If you think it will help…”

>>33052601
>>”If you think it will help…”
Oh boy what did she screw up now...

>>33052601
>>”If you think it will help…”

I think her oopsie might have been a boon

You swallow back a bit of nerves at the idea of living through hell again, but Asa’s earned your trust fifty times over by now. “If… I mean, if you think it will help,” you say slowly.

She smiles faintly. “It will.” She taps the Gem.

The memories of the past Heralds race by… and then it’s over.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” you say, masking relief with a bad joke.

She shakes her head. “You needn’t be glib.” The tingle fades as your patroness leans back and smiles at you. “Sorry if you were nervous. The memories I gave you were truncated by design, but the ones I let past me contained information you may find useful. It seems that the memory of having all fear and distraction removed by Helen Soulwind’s ascension into heaven has somehow strengthened you.”

“Oh!” You recall the memory of heaven suddenly appearing in your mind as you fought off the mind-control spell. “Yes… I think you’re right,” you mutter. “Did I gain anything by recalling poor Airo?”

“No, not that I can see.” She winces. “I’m still sorry about that. For what it’s worth, you haven’t done anything nearly as bad in your life as he had. You’d never have to experience that yourself.”

“That’s actually pretty encouraging,” you admit. “Uh… will the nightmares continue?”

“Sadly, I think so,” she says dolefully. “Still. You’re strong enough to withstand them. You may even learn some things of the old days.”

“I hope so.” You heft your spear and sling it. “Right. I need to be present for this interrogation, I think.”

“Then may the roads guide you safely, my daughter,” Asa says. “I’ll hear from you soon.”


(con’t)

Your horse trots down the road back to the city. The rhythmic sound of its hooves doesn’t register past your churning thoughts.

What the hell is Soutri doing? He’s clearly providing covert support to the other conspirators, but doesn’t tell them. He’s clearly not taking orders from Kotrick or the mysterious Explorer any more, but he still was entrusted with one of their artifacts. He’s not working with Forest, but he managed to get a mage into the exact spot to intercept you. How the hell did he manage that? Even the King, Culler, Garren, and Dietrich didn’t know precisely where you’d be.

And where is Forest? Why was he helping Hooks but not Ding? It’s all nonsensical. The suspicion that the conspirators are having a falling-out is hard to resist.

“Bloody criminals,” you murmur. “Can’t make their minds up.”

It’s midnight by the time you’re back in the city. The Guards wave you in with a cursory check of your papers. You’d prefer to use the tunnel in your house to go home, but that’s not a choice now; you have the Auxilia’s horse to return. The other soldiers are probably all back in the barracks by now, delivering their strange report of mages and spying. Good thing they weren’t in the room when you revealed the boy mage had mind-control.


(con’t)

>>33052601
”If you think it will help…”
Grit teeth

Inside the barracks, you find the Senior Sergeant dismissing his men as you arrive. He turns to see you as you walk up. “Sergeant. Good of you to finally join us,” he says icily. “That mage, he’s in a shock-shield in the basement. The Shadows are prying information out of him, if you care.”

“I do, thanks.” You tap a salute and wait for him to return it. “I appreciate your help, Senior Sergeant.”

“Whatever,” he yawns. “I’m off to bed.”

As soon as he’s out of sight, you chuckle. Army. So undisciplined.


The mage from your adventure is chained face-down to the floor in the dungeon, you note with some distaste. A Shadow – nobody you know – is leaning casually against a wall outside the shimmering cage around the boy. “So this vendor, you could pick him out of a lineup?” the Shadow asks.

“Yes,” the boy says. “Man, let me up, it’s hard to breathe down here.”

“When I’m satisfied with your answers,” the Shadow retorts. He spots you over his shoulder and waves you over. He leans in and whispers so the boy can’t hear. “I heard you captured this prick. Have anything you want to ask?”

“Why did he know exactly when and where we’d be at the farm when we didn’t know until we got there,” you murmur. Why the Shadow trusts you is another good question, but that’s for a more private setting.

“These soldiers, you say you were ordered to capture them,” the Shadow asks loudly. “How did you know where they’d be?”

“I didn’t!” the boy protests against the floor. “I was just told to look for anybody that wasn’t coming from the house! The mercenary, he said they would be there sometime in the next few days!”

The Shadow leans back over to you. “He had a few days’ worth of water in his bags. That may be true.”


>”And we trust you why, boy?”
>”If you want to live, (do the following)
>writein

>>33053309
I don't think he's really hiding anything but I'm tryin to think of some way he'd be able to help.

>>33053309
called it
nothing more to ask personally, leave him with the Shadows.

Try and raid the mage asap with Garren, before Soutri finds out the guard he set failed.

>>33053309
>>writein
"I can't tell if you're lying or you're just that stupid. Some mysterious guy who never gave you a name gives you a powerful spell if you go camp out for days waiting for a bunch of mercenaries so you can attack them with it? None of that sounded sketchy to you? At all?"

>>33053543
this

You whisper your question to the Shadow, and he nods. "I can't tell if you're lying or you're just that stupid,” he says. “Some mysterious guy who never gave you a name gives you a powerful spell if you go camp out for days waiting for a bunch of mercenaries so you can attack them with it? None of that sounded sketchy to you? At all?"

“Do you have any idea how much I want real training?” the mage snaps. Apparently not being able to see his tormentor is lending him strength he sure lacked before. “This was my chance!”

Ah, dumb AND stupid. Soutri’s scraping the bottom of the barrel. “Yeah, he’s useless,” you murmur. “Thanks for the help, Shadow, sir. I need to report to my commander.”

“Certainly,” the Shadow replies under his breath. “Should I execute him?”

“Not my call, but the King will say yes,” you admit reluctantly. “He used a Proscribed technique from a Verboten Scroll.”

“Ah. Well, that’s the death penalty then,” the Shadow says with a nod. “All right. I’ll let you file that report, then off him when I get the seal from the King.”

“Appreciated.” You sketch a salute and spin your heel. Time to steal some time to act.


Several flights up, the deep night swallows light from the glowstones on the wall, accompanied by the autumn chill. You’re standing patiently outside the antechamber to the Grand Audience Hall where the King meets with the retainers and ambassadors of other lands, where he is taking one last meeting before retiring for the night. It’s one in the morning, but Royalty never sleeps in Cender.


>Wair for him to be done
>Ask for Asa to pass him the message discreetly

>>33053997
>>Wair for him to be done
One last meeting +1

>>33053997
>>Wair for him to be done

Note to self never try learning magic lest I end up executed for a wrong step.

>>33053997
>Wait for him to be done

The last thing the King needs is for Asa to appear and give him such bad news in the middle of a meeting. You simply wait outside for it to finish.

After another half an hour or so, the doors swing open. You stand aside – at full attention, to be safe – and wait as several courtiers and other nobles pass by, talking wearily. His Majesty doesn’t appear, so you peek inside the antechamber as his Shadows keep an eye on you.

Maas is sitting in his throne still, reading a document, as his wife – even more pregnant-looking than you thought before – wobbles off, with a maid clutching her arm. Maas smiles at whatever the document says, then spots you. His smile fades, but he gestures you in regardless. “What honor might the survivor of the Battle of the Highway have to offer?” he asks grandly. Then, there are still people around.

You walk in and bow low. “A report from the roads through the farmlands, your Royal Highness,” you say, clearly and respectfully.

“Then deliver it to me, Sergeant, but in the proper place,” he says. You glance up sharply, but you catch his eyes dart at the door his wife used to leave moments ago.


(con’t)

His meaning is obvious. You rise and follow the Queen through the door.

Beyond, the Queen – Mara, a dark elf like her husband – is resting in a chair, one hand over her distended belly. Despite her discomfort, she smiles indulgently as the maid passes her a glass of water. “Thank you, Satah. The little one is kicking fiercely.”

“I imagine, your Majesty, they must be ready to leave,” the old maid says with a knowing smile. “Goodness, you’d had your first by now.”

“Indeed.” Mara spots you and tilts her head. “Ah… the survivor from the woods, eh? Sergeant Ledren?”

“I am, your Highness,” you say with another bow. You have no way of knowing how much Maas has told her. “I am here only to deliver a sensitive report, then I shall depart.”

“Of course,” she says, gesturing with the glass. “You’ll have to pardon me, but the child drains me so.”

You smile politely as she rises. “I wouldn’t inconvenience you, my Queen; I can simply wait.”

“Nonsense. I must retire.” She rises to her feet again, shaking her head. “I’m quite ready for this to be over…”

You bow again as she takes her leave, just as her husband walks in. The King waits until the room is emptied of guards until he turns to you and stares you straight down. “Yes, your Eminence?” he asks frankly.


>”I surveilled another criminal, your Highness (include the data about the mind-control)
>”I ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ (do NOT include mind-control data)
>writein

>>33054730
>>”I surveilled another criminal, your Highness (include the data about the mind-control)

Considering there'd be an execution, and how much we let him in on... I see no reason to leave it out.

>>33054730
>I surveilled Kerry Ding with a member of the Brotherhood and a squad of rangers, and partway through the surveillance we were attacked by a young mage, who used a Proscribed technique from a Verboten scroll to put most of the unit to sleep. We managed to capture him, and he revealed that a mercenary, probably Sourti, had sold him the scroll and told him were would be at that location. Fortunately, the Brotherhood member managed to make a map of Kerry's residence without alerting him, despite the disturbance. I should be able to capture him soon with the Firesouls help."

>>33054903
>>”I surveilled another criminal, your Highness (include the data about the mind-control)
yo

>>33054903
See, these are the responses that earn you chapter bonuses.

>>33055106
sounds like work and effort

>>33055106
man, i already got us an improv bonus. He can carry for a bit.

“Your Highness, I surveilled Kerry Ding with a member of the Brotherhood and a squad of Army scouts. Partway through the surveillance, we were attacked by a young mage, who used a Proscribed technique from a Verboten scroll to put most of the unit to sleep. We managed to capture him, and he revealed that a mercenary, probably Soutri, had sold him the scroll, and told him were would be at that location. Fortunately, the Brotherhood member managed to make a map of Ding's residence without alerting him, despite the disturbance. I should be able to capture him soon with the Firesouls’ help."

Maas looks weary enough that it seems to take him a second to process all the information you just gave him, but he keeps up well enough. “I see. So…the Explorer didn’t sell the Orb alone,” he says quietly. “And is Asa informed?”

“She is, Sire,” you confirm with a nod. “I think I should hit the place now.”

“Did you see how many people were there?” Maas asks.

“At least sixty, partygoers mostly,” you say.

He tilts his head back in surprise. “Yet you wish to capture him tonight?”

You shrug helplessly. “Soutri is clearly waiting for the mage to deliver me. If the mage dies – he’s in the dungeon, by the way, Sire – then I kill Ding, he’ll be caught off-guard. He’s threatening my family, Sire.”

“I know,” Maas confirms, running his hand over tired eyes. “Very well. I’ll have the money ready if you truly want to do this. How much did Garren say she would want for her help?”

You think back to that afternoon. “Eight hundred thousand per day.”

Maas winces. “Pricy.”


>Do you wish to attack tonight?
>Yes (and also ask for some Army support as well)
>Yes (just with Garren)
>Yes (alone)
>no

>>33055250
>>Yes (and also ask for some Army support as well)
We hit hard. Really hard. No chances this time.
Maybe Newlar too.

>>33055250
>Yes (and also ask for some Army support as well)

It's not like those 60 people are all co-conspirators, right? We show up officially with the army, they wouldn't obstruct us.

>>33055383
who's Newlar again?

“Unfortunately, Sire, I think it’s the best option.” You tap your fist into your palm for emphasis as you list off what you’ll need. “Garren is giving us price-at-cost, but we’ll need some Army support if we storm the place and those partygoers turn out to be innocent bystanders. Another reason to attack at night. If they’re civilians, we can get them out of the way quickly. I should also ask for Shadow Newlar to assist me again; she was quite useful before.” You clear your throat self-consciously. “And she figured out what I am.”

Maas winces again. “I see.”

“It wasn’t something I made easy, Sire, but Shadows are perceptive,” you concede. “Still, Soutri is on my case, and Ding still may not know I’m coming for him.”

“True.” The King looks into the distance for a long, weary moment, then nods. “Permission granted. I’ll see who I can field for the Army. I assume you’ll want forest fighters again?”

“Actually, there was a large field plowed between the house and road, nearly two miles deep in places,” you recall. “Ranged fighters like Skythion and skirmish infantry would be very helpful. Perhaps a healer mage to compliment Garren?”

“Tough to field on such short notice,” Maas notes. “If it were in the city, I’d say no. As it stands… I’ll see what I can do at two in the morning. The forces I can get moving will be ready by five in the morning. You should go get Garren yourself, I think. Wait here, I’ll fetch the money.”

“Thank you, Sire.”


(con’t)

After a few minutes alone in the plush waiting room, Maas returns, without his cloak or crown. They’re not particularly formal anyway, compared to his ceremonial garb; he must have been meeting people he knew quite well. “Here,” he says without preamble, dropping the money on the table. “Will Garren even be up at this hour?”

“I have no idea, Sire, but she is working on something at odd hours,” you admit. You stuff the money under your armor and tap your brow. “Let me inform Asa, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Fair fortune, Herald.” Maas nods solemnly. “Make my empire safer.”

You accept the responsibility with a return nod and lingering salute afterward. “I shall, your Majesty. Thank you.”


[TEMPORARY END OF THREAD]


I will return tomorrow morning. Please keep the thread alive so I needn't clutter up the archives with another.

>>33056091
I sleep when you do, so I can't. We usually get some other kind souls to do so though.

>>33056131

I don't. I still have seven hours before I have to go to sleep, so I can keep her afloat until then.

>>33056358
I'm still here

About an hour before i go to bed.

I'm going to bed now so someone else has to take over.

back! Thanks.

By the time you reach the Courtesans’ Guildhall, the streets are deserted. The occasional Guard patrol crosses your path, but so many people have left or died of late that there’s no real traffic. That’s not a fun thought.

The penthouse suite’s hall is empty; all the glowstones are dim. As much as you hate to wake her up, this is a bit more important than sleep, though, so you tap on her door and take several steps back.

After nearly a minute, the door swings open. Garren stares at you blearily. “…Herald, what the hell do you want at… at 2:30 in the morning?” she mumbles. She cinches her robe as she says it, and you can smell wine and sex on the air behind her. This is looking more and more like a bad idea.

Best get it over with. “I was attacked by a mage who knew mind-control magic.”

The transformation that one sentence brings about is quite remarkable. She goes from sleepy dimness to alert clarity in an instant, and her hand grips the doorframe with white knuckles. “Mind-control magic?” she asks. Her voice is laden with menace. “You’re sure?”

“We captured the mage, but he was just a patsy, he didn’t know what he had,” you admit. “But the spell is out there. One of the conspirators is selling it to get a message to me.”

“And it’s the one you’re after now?”

“We’re pursuing Kerry Ding, a mage who lives in the forest.” You jerk a thumb in the general direction of the castle. “Your fee has been approved. We rally in the parade ground at 0500.”

Garren shakes her head. “All right… give me an hour to get cleaned and equipped, another to get some food in me and arm up. I’ll see you there. I’ll accept payment when we’re done.”

“The Brotherhood wanted it in advance, so I brought it in case you did,” you say, producing the wad of bills.

She blinks in surprise. “The King worked fast.”

“He wants this guy neutralized. He even offered me some Army support,” you tell her.

“Oh, good. I’ll be there.” She takes the bills and slides them into a pocket. “I have a horse and I’ll provide my own armor, but I’ll need a map.”

“You’ll get one.”

“All right. Let me shoo off the candy and I’ll be there,” she says. She closes the door.


>We need to do this other thing first!
>To the rally point!

>To the rally point!

lol DoW

>>33061834
>>To the rally point!
Reporting for duty, sir!

The parade ground of the castle is probably busier now than it usually is on a Saturday morning. There’s fully thirty Army in rank, waiting for a troop transport wagon to be drawn up by its pull horses. Two dozen men on foot and carrying shields and pikes are loitering, waiting to mount up on their own horses. Five crossbowmen are with them, but they’re not with horses – they’re probably wall sentries that are waiting to start shift.

In all, there are over fifty troops present. Not bad for an hour’s work.

The stables are packed with restless horses, no doubt made uneasy by the deployment of fifty cavalry. When you ask for one, the stablemaster protests until you point out that you’re with the deployed unit. He reluctantly allows you to use one of his steeds, and you slowly walk it out to the assembly.

As soon as you come within earshot, an officer in the Army contingent, with a sword and shield slung on his back, raises his hand to wave you by. To his surprise, you walk your horse up beside him instead. “Sergeant. You looking for the Auxilia dispatch force?” the officer – a full Colonel, no less – asks politely.

You salute crisply with your free hand before replying. “Sir, no sir. I’m part of this task force, by order of His Majesty.”

The Colonel grunts. “Right, he said there would be an Auxiliary in the force. He also said that you were supposed to be in command, though I sincerely doubt he meant that. I’ve been killing his enemies from horseback since before your parents met.”

Really, again with this shit. Maybe you should ask for a throwaway paper nobility title so you don’t have to force rank issues with so many people.


>”Doubt as much as you like, sir, it doesn’t matter.”
>”The King hired a specialist to command anyway.”
>Pull Heraldship on him
>Writein

>>33063411
>”Doubt as much as you like, sir, it doesn’t matter. In any case, we have a Firesoul accompanying us, and we'll be following her lead.”

>>33063411
>>”Doubt as much as you like, sir, it doesn’t matter. The King charged me to carry out this operation. You are here because I requested backup to deal with this stage of the operation. However, I do recognize how much you outrank me and I will gladly listen to any advice you have to offer. How much have you been briefed on so far?”

Yeah, enough.

“Doubt as much as you like, sir. It doesn’t matter. The King charged me with this mission, we’re going to carry it out, and I suspect you don’t want to be the man who gets the King out of bed to have him confirm what he’s already told you.” You nod at the insignia on his collar. “I recognize and respect your greater experience, and I’ll be happy to listen to your advice, but the specialist that the King hired and I will be in charge. Have you been briefed?”

The Colonel glares at you, but before he can open his mouth to say anything, the mage on horseback next to him speaks up. “What specialist?”

You look at the newcomer to see that he’s a male dark elf like the King, dressed in layered green robes with the glint of armor underneath in the starlight. He’s got an enchanted dagger at his side, with eerie, glowing crystal bits studded in the metal – a channeling weapon, designed to direct mana through a solid object. Interesting. “The King has hired a Firesoul to direct us in the fight,” you say, drawing startled gasps from everybody in earshot. “The target is a war mage who used to work for the King. He’s wanted for Treason, Conspiracy to Commit Murder, and eight hundred charges of Killing an Armed Service Member.”

Silence. Total silence. “…I see,” the Mage finally says, just to say something. “Well. I’m War Mage Coleman, this is Colonel Chandler. You must be Sergeant Ledren.”

“And while I don’t plan to let your tone slide, Sergeant, this is clearly an immediate and urgent matter,” Chandler says, just to reassert authority.

Before he can finish whatever reprimand he had cooking, you interject again. “Correct. We’ll need maps, sir. Lots of maps, of the farm country near the subdivided latifundae the King broke up. Our target is in a large manor near some farm land at the outermost edge of the croplands, with a house party of about sixty guests in attendance.”

(con’t)

The shocks are coming quick for Chandler, but he recovers well enough. He snaps his fingers and points at a Lieutenant in the queue to get in the wagons, and the junior officer sprints off to the stables. He returns with a cluster of maps in his hands, and he passes them out to Chandler, Coleman, and you. “Thanks, Lieutenant,” you say, glancing over the map. “Keep one on hand for Traveler Garren and the wagon-drivers, would you?”

“Yes, ma’…Sergeant,” he corrects. At least the junior officers are paying you some respect, despite your rank. Then, you’ve been serving for six years.


>last-minute orders
>meet up with Garren and leave

>>33063968
>>meet up with Garren and leave

>>33063968
>meet up with Garren and leave

>>33063968
>>meet up with Garren and leave

The group listens are you explain the layout of the manor, paying extra attention to the way you describe the field that Ding plowed in front of the house, and the way it backs up to the forest. You decide they don’t need to know about the mage Soutri hired, but the fact that you said he was guilty of eight hundred murders has them so on-edge that you probably don’t need to scare them more.

As the stars keep spinning overhead, the wagons arrive, and the troops get ready to mount up. Right on time, the sound of another horse from the parade ground entrance breaks the reverie.

Several soldiers murmur in surprise or outright astonishment as Garren rides into view. Even you, who have seen her several times, didn’t know to expect this.

She’s not wearing the robe and armor from before. The ancient Dommen armor she had on before was recognizable as the best you’d ever witnessed, and you thought she would be using that. What she’s actually wearing, though… that’s something entirely more.


(con’t)

Garren’s cloak, with its burning flesh, is draped across her shoulders, and it’s even more unnerving without a robe to help cover parts of it. Her stately blue robe is gone. In its place is a black bundle of fabric, attached with a strap to her saddlebag. Her armor is the most astoundingly complex metal scale you’ve ever seen, with no visible gaps between the metal pieces. Every single piece, from the links themselves to the leather at the collar, from the individual joint pieces at the fingers to the thick greave plates, is enchanted so powerfully that it shimmers even without a sun to cast light. Her eyes are emitting a constant yellow glow under her custom-sculpted helmet. You use the word sculpted deliberately, here – this wasn’t cast like some spittoon. There’s no skin visible except around her eyes; there’s a grille over her mouth that blocks sight of her face. Her eyes themselves are covered with magic-shaped crystals, like the ones on a Shadow’s combat helmet.

At her sides, she has a pair of blades. One is a longsword with a basket hilt, on her right. The other is a broadsword with a simple T-cross handle and sharkskin decoration on the hilt. She has another knife on an inverted sheathe on her chest plate. If that weren’t enough, Garren has a pouch of alchemic grenades like yours on her hip, though from the glittering veins of raw, manifested mana in her elbow joint armor, you suspect she simply throws them instead of slinging. All three of her blades are utterly flooded with enchantments, and riddled with veins of mana that look to have replaced the metal entirely in spots.

Her horse isn’t skimping on armor, either; it’s fully garbed in chain, but it’s a footnote to her defenses. You have a demigoddess in your forehead, and you suddenly feel inadequate. That’s quite a feat.


>”Traveler, glad you could join us.”
>”Quite a get-up. What was the Dommen armor, for ceremony?”
>writein

>>33064485
>Whistle appreciatively

>>33064485
>>”Traveler, glad you could join us.”

Better not make light of her preparations

>>33064531
I like it.

You raise your and to steer her your way. “Traveler, glad you could join us.”

Garren nods silently as she approaches. The golden light in her eyes is the same as when she was looking into you before. Apparently, she doesn’t have to turn it off. Your horses twitch a bit, perhaps sensing who’s approaching.

You break your horse into a trot, so you reach her before she reaches the Army contingent. As you pull up beside her and pass her her map, you offer a low, appreciative whistle at her getup.

Her shoulders shake a bit as if she’s hiding a chuckle. “Sergeant, are your troops assembled?” she asks aloud.

“They are, Traveler.” You point at your destination on the map, which you suspect she can see in the darkness. “This is the manor.”

“Hmm. I know that area, to some extent.” She studies the map in silence a moment longer, then folds it up and slides it into a pouch. “Who are we waiting for?”

You glance over at Chandler. “Anyone left, Colonel?”

He shakes his head, still not taking his eyes off of Garren. “Uh, no.”


>Head out now and plan when you get there
>strategize now, then leave

>>33064807
>>strategize now, then leave

>>33064807
>>strategize now, then leave

>>33064807
>strategize now, then leave

Plan should probably be have a small group of the soldiers surround the house in case anyone tries to sneak out. The rest come in, announce that Ding is getting arrested for helping to kill like 800 people, and keep an eye on all the party guests while Garren goes in to capture Ding. Hopefully the guests are all his friends and family, and he won't want to start a fight that endangers them, but if he does Garren is pretty swole and should be able to beat him. If he takes any hostages, sucks to be the hostage. If we make it clear we're not stopping then hopefully he'll realize a hostage would only slow him down.

“The house itself is far enough from the road that securing it should be a bit tricky, since we won’t be able to use the horses well in the woods,” you say as you rejoin the Colonel. “We can always just walk right in. Send our guys in the front door and demand they surrender.”

“And then die, when they turn out to be other criminals he has over for a housewarming party?” Coleman asks incredulously. “We can’t take the risk that those guests aren’t part of all this.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Garren says smoothly. The mask turns her voice into a metallic growl. “I can handle Ding, and more or less anyone else, one-on-one.”

“But Coleman’s right,” Chandler insists. “If those partygoers are all criminals too, they’ll fight.”

“Then I can go in first and demand he stand down,” you suggest. “Bring several dozen troops with me and storm the house, get everybody to give up quickly. We can surround the house with the pike teams and prevent escapees.”

Chandler looks unconvinced, but doesn’t voice a protest. Coleman does. “Sorry, Sergeant, but if that house is as far as you say from the main roads, and those guests are armed, it’s a risk we can’t take.”


>Absolutely insist that you try to make them surrender first
>Concede that it would be safer to simply sneak up and attack
>writein

>>33065239
Sheesh, 60 people and there's a decent possibility that they're all criminals who would fight back against the army? This kingdom has problems.

>Concede that it would be safer to simply sneak up and attack

Can we at least go in with the alchemical equivalent of flashbangs, if those exist? And even if we run in ready to kill everyone, at least give them a chance to stand down and not die.

>>33065434
Not a bad idea as those who'd be willing to fight would likely resist while innocents would be stunned.

He means they MAY be willing to fight. All Cassandra could see is that they were drunk. It will also be six AM when you arrive.

>>33065239
>>Concede that it would be safer to simply sneak up and attack

You heft your grenade pouch and paw through it, looking for anything useful. “Here, maybe I have something that will let us attack in secret.”

The bag’s contents are:

Fifteen miniature lead bullets.
Three tear gas bullets.
Two acid grenades.
One concentrated acid grenade.
One Current grenade.
One flare grenade.
One Incendiary grenade.
Three Incendiary grenades salvaged in the forest.


You show them to the others. “Anyone else have flares? We could chuck them in the windows. In the enclosed spaces of a house, it’ll take the fight out of anybody nearby.”

Chandler rubs his chin. “My pike units each carry one Caltrop grenade and one concentrated acid, for breakinf formations of cavalry… my infantry units each carry one incendiary.”

“If nothing else, we can easily set the place on fire,” Garren says darkly.

“I have a spell that can project a sphere of bright light,” Coleman says. “At a range of up to fifty feet, so long as I can see the target site. Ten feet if I can’t. It’s about four hundred candlepower, bright yellow.”

“That may be enough,” you say. “All right, Coleman, we’ll play it your way. Everybody ready to deploy?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Chandler grunts.


(con’t)

The ride out is quiet. The soldiers on the horses and in the wagons don’t talk much, save the whispered word of encouragement or humor. Chandler and Coleman ride in the fore, while you and Garren ride in the rear, just as silently.

It’s hard to wonder what’s in that place. Civilians over for a party? Ding’s family? Other criminals he has on payroll? You can’t know until you get there.

The same inn as before looms out of the darkness, its well-lit windows beckoning weary travelers to enter and spend money. None of you have time, of course. Leaving the wagon drivers to guard the wagons and extra horses, you make for the manor through the tall grass and wheat, four abreast with the cavalry on the flank.

Finally, you approach the edge of the cleared land. Coleman whistles softly at the sight of the field. “That’s not just plowed, it’s cleared,” he murmurs. “Someone’s maintaining this farm.”

“Maybe Ding has farmhands,” Chandler grunts. The elf is a man of few words. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. How do you want to approach, Traveler?”

Garren nods at you. “A good question.”


>”Slip the pike cavalry into position in the field, then send everybody else right to the front door.”
>”Sneak around the field to the back door and attack from the woods.”
>writein

>>33065844
>”Sneak around the field to the back door and attack from the woods.”

We came through here to spy, should be already cleared. No surprises waiting.

>>33065844
>>”Slip the pike cavalry into position in the field, then send everybody else right to the front door.”

Refuge in audacity, that and having an army go through the woods might risk more traps.

>>33065952
We know about the woods traps though, we were already in the woods with the brotherhood member, Cassandra.

>>33066010
that attempt got sort of derailed by that boy mage's spell.

>>33066090
nope
the troops we brought with us got put to sleep
Cassandra had gone on ahead to map out the house, when she came back we had to explain that we were attacked to her

K, no consensus. I can flip a coin, or I can just go with what the NPCs want. Voters, what do you want me to do?

>>33066390
Ask Garren
Garren is a pro
Bring up that we had a brotherhood member scout the woods for traps though, and that we did find some.

“The woods were laced with traps. The risk of them getting missed in the dark is pretty high,” you admit. “If it were daylight, I’d risk it, but then the field would be suicide.”

“We’re wasting time,” Coleman says impatiently. “The pikemen can cross this field quickly at night, the swordsmen can cover them on foot. We still need to go in the front door.”

“Perhaps,” Garren muses. “Sergeant, when you were here doing recon, did you find traps in the woods?”

“I did,” you confirm. “No sentries, just traps. Tripwires, mostly.”

“Then sending the cavalry in through the woods is right out,” Chandler says firmly.

“Agreed.” Garren passes her hand over her face, and the lights of her armor vanish completely. “We advance over the field, as quietly as possible. I’ll cast a spell that will make us silent, but we need to move quickly.”

With that settled, the infantry bunch up where Garren instructs, and the cavalry ready their wicked pikes for wetwork. Garren clenches her fists and raises one over her head, and the sky seems to glow for an instant over her head. “Go,” she whispers. “Don’t move too quickly.”

The procession of stealthy soldiers and horses trails out behind as you all make your way through the field. The stubble of cut stalks and dried crops crunch underfoot, but it doesn’t make a sound. It’s downright eerie, and it spooks the horses badly enough that their riders have to soothe them before you can advance.

The walk across the miles of field is nerve-wracking. Every stray movement outside the bubble Garren is projecting is a charging army. Every glimmer of starlight off of someone’s weapon is a crossbowman, shooting you in the eye.


(con’t)

At last, Garren halts her mount. You all come to a stop, looking up at the building. There’s some movement on the top floor, but you can’t tell if it’s just curtains or something more sinister.

Garren releases her fists and sighs, working her shoulder. “Ready?” she murmurs.

>CHARGE
>Bust in and demand all present get down and surrender
>sneak in and start cuffing prisoners

>>33066873
>Bust in and demand all present get down and surrender

Be ready with that tear gas. Also stay safely behind Garren or whoever is in front.

>>33066873
>>Bust in and demand all present get down and surrender

>>33066873
>>CHARGE

“Don’t even give them the chance to breathe,” you say curtly. You strap your tear gas bullets to the back of your shield where you can grab them and toss them quickly. “Get the pikemen around the house and charge the front door. Traveler, secure the back entrance. Coleman, you and I are going right in. We’re stunning and capturing. Kill if challenged.”

“Aye,” Coleman says. Chandler nods tightly and unsheathes a glittering sword. The infantry behind you unlimber swords and raise narrow shields that look like oversized fence boards – perfect for charging through doors, and for crippling smash attacks.

Garren flicks her wrist and vanishes from sight as she rounds the corner. You turn to see what she was pointing at, and see a little dart embedded in the front door. It blinks a red light twice, then sizzles for a moment, and the door swings open.

Ice-cold adrenaline rushes down your spine and into your arms as you thunder up the steps and right through the front door. Coleman is hot on your heels, energy crackling in his hands. There’s only a few people in sight, both… on the floor, unmoving.

Uh.

Your dramatic charge falters as you realize there’s nobody to fight. Chandler isn’t as hesitant, he skids to a halt next to the downed men and slaps something wet on their hands. Their arms lock together at the wrists as he does.

“Magic cuffs,” he says as he spots your attention. “Don’t just stand there, clear the house!”

You jerk your head back up and charge out of the antechamber into the hall. There are several more people in various poses of immobility, some draped over furniture, some sprawled over the floor. The infantry charge in behind you and start cuffing.


(con’t)

“INTRUDER!” someone screams from the top of a staircase at the back of the hall. You spin on your heel and see a man in a ragged blue uniform pointing at you and shrieking. “INTRUDER! EVERYBODY UP!”

Some of the people on the floor jerk at the sound and try to rise, only for soldiers to stamp their necks or kick them over. The ones that already have the magic goo on their arms and legs thrash in sudden panic.

Something red-hot zips past you and a soldier behind you screams. A man in the same blue uniform is holding a crossbow in his hands, with a flaming bolt on a table in front of him. You raise your tear gas bullet and throw, and it smashes against his chest. The gas ignites on the arrow, launching him backward in a fireball.

Then it all goes straight to hell.

The whole house suddenly erupts in screams and flashes of light as the residents all awake at once. All the glowlights power up, casting dazzling light over the scene. An explosion blows in the back door – Garren, probably – and a buzz of magic weapons and the clangs of steel blades suddenly fills the air.

A man in the blue uniform rises from a chair in front of you, and you cuff him with the edge of your shield. He goes down, bleeding from the mouth. A soldier next to you staggers and collapses as a man springs from the stairs and tackles him, sending them both to the ground in a heap. Coleman rushes over to pry them apart as the soldiers behind you scatter throughout the building in teams of three.


>What now?

>Garren blew something up, she must be in trouble!
>Stay and fight on the first floor!
>Look for that moving thing on the second floor!
>Find and kill Ding, no matter the cost!

>>33067548
>>Garren blew something up, she must be in trouble!

I presume that she's dealing with something big, possibly ding, and the sooner she's cleared up the sooner she can help elsewhere.

>>33067548
>Stay and fight on the first floor!

>>33067548
>>Find and kill Ding, no matter the cost!

Okay, those are mutually exclusive, so...I'll just roll with it.

The battle in the house is spreading. Screams from the upper floor are starting as people wake up in their beds and are immediately attacked by the soldiers. Garren’s fighting something out back, too. Still, you know your priorities.

You thumb your forehead for some recon. {My Lady! Where in the house is Ding?}

A slight pause. [The guests who have died think he’s in the orchard out back.]

A solid lead. You take off running through the house, out the back of the hall and into the kitchen. There’s trails of blood and spilled wine on the floor, and at least a few of those blue-uniformed men and women scattered about in pieces or restrained.

The kitchen opens up into a dining hall and a storage room. The fighting is pretty bad in the dining hall, where the soldiers are chasing several screaming people who don’t look armed. You don’t have time to delay, though. You keep running towards the back part of the house, since you didn’t see an orchard in the front field.

As you near the back wall, a sudden blast of wind shatters every window! You throw your shield up just in time as razor-sharp shards of glass shoot past you and tinkle against the far wall. You peek up over the shield and see something on fire in the back courtyard, and several silhouettes of people running about.


(con’t)

You leap through a damaged frame and land on your feet, careful not to snag your spear on the window. A shrieking woman with burns across her arms and no clothes runs past you, and several people in blue uniforms – none armed – sprint after her, into the house.

You barely see it. The spectacle in the courtyard is impossible to miss.

Ding is in the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, which is bone-dry and full of leaves. He has a magic shield up, a powerful one, projected from a carved pendant on his necklace. His nightclothes are ragged and stained, and he’s screaming something incoherent.

The burning thing you saw before is dancing around him, spinning and sliding across the scorched grass and broken cobble. It’s roughly man-shaped, but billowing curtains of flame launch from its every surface like it’s doused in oil. Whatever it is, it’s circling the fountain, hammering Ding with blasts of fire and magic, over and over.

A rock bounces off your backplate, and you stagger forward. A glass bottle full of something noxious shatters at your feet, and you leap back as it ignites. You look around wildly for your attacker –

There! A pair of those blue-coated men, throwing improvised weapons at you.


>Wat do?

>Use a lethal weapon on them (which)
>Try to capture (how?)
>Scream for backup
>writein

>>33068471
>>Use a lethal weapon on them (which)
Acid grenade

>>33068577
This

I think that bottle counts as lethal force.

CRASH. Another bottle breaks, this one on your shield. It’s not burning, but you hunker down behind it for a second to ready an alchemic grenade. Acid, that’ll work. You duck another bottle and launch yourself sideways, tossing it up and over as you do.

It smashes against one man and he instantly screams as the acid starts melting him. His friend flops to the ground and rolls around, trying to get a few drops off of him, but all he accomplishes is spreading it around.

They’re out of the fight. You roll to your feet and take stock quickly.

It’s pandemonium. People are pouring out of the house now, soldiers and guests alike. The guests who aren’t naked are all dressed in blue, and only a few are armed. Some are lurching around, clearly drunk, while others are alert, but none of them are putting up a fight.

That doesn’t slow the soldiers down. They’re hacking and slashing away, swinging at everything that looks to be putting up even a hint of resistance. A few guests fall, hands on their heads, and are cuffed, but most are running and some are fighting.


(con’t)

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Ding screams angrily, scooping something out of a bag at his feet. He hurls it at the firey person and it cracks open, scattering a gigantic wave of water – far too large to be all contained in the little phial, it must have been magic – around the entire courtyard.

You’re slammed off your feet by the wave of rushing mud and water, and you tumble helplessly through the muck, slamming into people and things. Something brushes your arm, and you feel a burst of horrible pain, then you breach the surface and gasp for air.

The firey person’s flame… isn’t extinguished. Ding struggles to his feet, shield shimmering, and stares in disbelief.

The fire parts a bit to reveal Garren, wreathed in magic and fire, eyes aglow behind her helmet. Her horse is nowhere to be seen, but she has her swords in hand, and she’s shouting horrible words.

“CHALLENGE THE WORLD AND BE BROUGHT LOW, VERMIN!” she roars. The power in her voice puts a chill through you, even with your own abilities. She raises one blade and one of the screaming people in blue suddenly flies off into the darkness without a sound. She raises the other and a bolt of lightning splits the sky, slamming into Ding’s shield and setting the grass around him on fire. “BROUGHT LOW, UNTO TARSH, WHERE YOU WILL BURN, BURN AND SHRIVEL AND DIE! BURN FOREVER, BURN IN HORROR, BURN IN THE FIRES OF MY SOUL!” Another bolt of lightning shatters one tower of the wrecked house.

Nobody sane wants to fight that sort of power, and Ding is no exception. He scrambles up to his feet and sprints into the house, shrieking madly.


>Garren’s powers will kill us all if she uses them indoors, go chase Ding!
>circle the house and attack from the front again
>where the hell is Chandler? I should find him!
>mop up here and don’t help the others in your team
>writein

>>33069122
>where the hell is Chandler? I should find him!

If Ding can shield himself from Garrens shit he can wipe us out effortlessly. Let's leave that one to her, I'm sure she has enough awareness to not kill everyone.

>>33069122
>>Garren’s powers will kill us all if she uses them indoors, go chase Ding!
>>circle the house and attack from the front again
Chase Ding, he's the priority, but go around from the front. I'm sure Garren has non-house destroying skills she can use but getting in front of her sounds like an awful idea.

Dinner comes. Debate strategy as I consume, I'll be back ASAP.

>>33069230
weeeell since we're debating, I really don't think it's a good idea to go after Ding. He's way too strong for us to handle. He blew us across the courtyard with a spell that wasn't even aimed at us, and we still haven't looked at our arm to see what that pain was.

Some people are starting to stagger out of the sloshing water. The soldiers leap on the people in the blue uniforms or nothing but mud, whichever they see, and slap cuffs on them or kill them as needed. You look down at your arm and wince – clearly, you got some of your own acid under your leather armor, and only the rushing water drove it out. You bet that if you pull back the plate, you won’t have much skin left on your left arm.

You can worry about that tonight, when you’re snuggled up safe in bed and Asa’s healing you. You grab your scattered kit and rush into the house, looking around for the other commanders.

You see Coleman first. He’s struggling with a man in blue with a massive meat cleaver in his hands; he has both hands on the handle and he’s driving it closer and closer to Coleman, who would probably be able to drive him off if it weren’t for the chunk of glass lodged in his chest.

No time for anything fancy. You drive the spear into cleaver-man’s back, punching his liver out through his stomach and spilling his guts out on the floor. He collapses without a sound, and Coleman staggers away from the ichor. “T-thanks… Sergeant,” he manages. “He nearly had me…”

“No time! Get out back, it’s secure enough! Where’s Chandler?” you demand.

“Second floor atrium,” Coleman bites off, gingerly probing the glass wound. “Shit, I can’t pull this out, it’s blocking a vein…”

“Garren can heal you when we get back,” you promise, and take off for the atrium.


(con’t)

Your armor is wet and filthy. It’ll have to be professionally cleaned after the fighting, but that’s the least of your worries. Your wet boots slap the floorboards as you run through the chaotic house, looking for Chandler.

A horrendous crash echoes off the walls of the main hall as you rush back in. Chandler is there on the second floor, fighting for his life against several men in blue. A few of his soldiers are still on their feet and protecting him as best they can, but they’re badly outnumbered, and more than a few men are down, injured or dead.


>Charge on up and attack
>Try for a precise attack with a grenade
>writein

>>33070154
Would a flare grenade function as a flashbang?

>>33070154
>>Charge on up and attack

This would have lower risk of accidentally hitting allies and it'd allow the others to regroup.

>>33070154
>Charge up and attack

>>33070231
Absolutely.

>>33070312
Chuck the flare grenade in and attack.

Could Voice of the Divine's power be stretched a bit to deliver a direct order in the middle of confusing combat? If so, order the soldiers to close their eyes for a second. If not, just go in stabbing while everybody is stunned.

>>33070378
Let's not use the flare grenade.

The wooden boards of the stairs creak as you charge upwards, ignoring the pain in your arm. The brawl in the atrium is nearly over by the time you get there; only Chandler and three of his men are still on their feet. The seven men with blue outfits aren’t facing towards you, but the rear two clearly hear you coming, because they spin around and raise two daggers a piece.

You have a spear, they don’t. The first one isn’t even a challenge. You thrust forward as hard as you can and punch through the first one’s right arm, slicing it off at the elbow. He screams and crumples, holding his stump, as you pivot on your foot and sweep the haft sideways to knock the second one off his balance.

Suddenly, the fight isn’t seven to three, it’s five to four, and in a wide-open room. The blue-suited people split up, with the guy you knocked around lurching sideways to drop one knife and grab your spear. You let him, then shove it as hard as you can, and he topples to the floor as he suddenly has another fulcrum on his body.


(con’t)

You don’t escape unscathed. The nearest blue person, a human woman, swipes at you with a knife, and you bark in pain as it rips part of your right arm’s leather armor off, revealing the tunic beneath and slicing through a bit of skin. You kick her back and spin on your right heel, driving the spearpoint into the man on the ground and impaling him on the floor.

Chandler seizes the moment, winding up a punch that seems to start a mile back, and driving it into the nearest enemy’s stomach. The man doubles over, barfing, and Chandler uses his momentum to flip the man over the bannister. He topples away, landing with a crash on the floor below.

“Ledren! Who are these idiots?” Chandler roars.

“How should I know?” you shoot back, trying to dig your spear out of the man on the floor, but he has a two-handed grip on it, and you can’t pull it free with both arms injured.


>Keep trying
>switch to dagger
>writein

>>33070683
>>writein
"Little help, Colonel?"

>>33070683
>Switch to dagger

>>33070833
He's helping. He just kinda punched a dude over the balcony.

>>33070884
>He's helping. He just kinda punched a dude over the balcony.
I meant ask him to help yank the spear out of the dying guy's arms. Cause I'm sure if we try and get closer SomeoneElse will take another chance for an limb/sense losing d100.

>>33070952
Yeah, I dunno, it seems pretty uncool to ask for him to help us with that when he's fighting for his life.

File: you_funny_guy.jpg (24 KB, 413x395)

24 KB JPG

>>33070952

You let go of the spear and grab your enchanted dagger, hard as it is with blood and mud slicking your hand. You start to turn to see how Chandler is doing when something collides with you, knocking you backwards against the railing. It’s one of Chandler’s soldiers, who had just taken a hit to the chest from a mace. His armor is buckled, but he’s on his feet. You brace him as another person in blue – what is it with these people and blue? – swings a sword wildly at the both of you.

Something is wrong here. Why are these specific people armed with military weapons? Everybody else here has cocktails, daggers maybe. These ones have maces and swords. Before you have time to ponder it, the man on the ground with your spear in his chest tries to sit up and nearly trips Chandler.

The blue-uniformed people jump him, or try. The only uninjured member of Chandler’s team grabs the first attacker to try and hurls them bodily aside, sending them crashing through the balustrade and into the darkened room below. You yank your dagger free of its sheath and join the fight against the suddenly evenly matched enemies.

The room lights up for a second as something explodes out front. You blink away the sparkles and stab low on the nearest enemy, eliciting a yelp of pain. He tries to kick you back for a swing of his sword, but you block the kick on your shield and bash as best as you can in the tight quarters. He flies back, suddenly off-balance, and you end his life with a vicious stab to the neck.

Chandler climbs back up and grabs his enchanted sword, and whatever’s holding the people in blue together breaks. They turn and run down the stairs into the main hall below as Chandler’s men pick themselves up and grab dropped weapons.


(con’t)

“Those ones… were different,” Chandler huffs. “Military weapons, and did you see their foreheads?”

You tug at your spear to free it from the downed man’s ribcage, but he clutches feebly at it. You press down on his chest with one armored boot until it pops free, and the man dies with a gurgle. “I wasn’t looking at their faces, Colonel,” you remark as you slide the dagger home.

“They had bandanas on, red ones, all the same pattern,” Chandler says, clutching a cracked elbow. “They weren’t field hands like all these other people.”

“What kinda fuckin’ country lord gets all his people into his house and gets them drunk?” one soldier asks callously.

Before anyone can answer, another explosion shatters the glass of the atrium windows. You shield yourself from the shards, but none land near you. Whatever’s going on outside must be incredibly damaging. You’ve seen alchemic artillery lest destructive than Garren.

Suddenly, something moves in the shadows below. The people with the red bandanas are back, running towards the stairs with weapons raised…followed by ten more.

Thirteen uninjured men versus one uninjured man and four injured ones.


>Just huck a grenade down there
>Grab the wounded and run
>EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF
>writein

File: 1329015088610.jpg (100 KB, 800x782)

100 KB JPG

Frag Out? I think it's time for a Frag Out.

>>33071401
>>Just huck a grenade down there

The position is right for this.

>>33071401
>just throw like two grenades down there
>incendiaries

>>33071490
I could also do this, as long as we take out a few so we aren't reduced solely to melee weapons.

They’re bunched up, wearing no armor, and dumb enough to charge you.

Too easy.

You grab your grenade pouch from your waist and yank out your Current grenade – Concussion would work better, but you don’t have any on you – and prime it, then drop it back in and seal the bag. With a heave, you hurl it across the room at the cluster of enemies. “Catch!” you snarl.

The other soldiers in your little group leap away from the open room, as do you, as a massive wave of pressurized, electrified, burning acid rushes out from the impact site. The entire room fills with the most horrible noise you’ve ever heard, even worse than the sound of the Shamblers or the Orb activating.

Screams, lots of screams. You roll to your feet and peer over the edge of the floor in horrified fascination. The scene below is utter carnage. The closest ten men to you – and the two that fell before – are little more than unrecognizable chunks of bone and metal. A sick, gruesome wash of acid, char, and blood is oozing across the floor, melting everything it touches.

The three men who weren’t within five meters of the blast stare at the terrifying sight. One twitches and spins around, clearly meaning to run. Another grabs his shoulder. “No! We can’t leave now! She’s right there! That’s the right uniform!”

“She just killed the entire team!” the first man howls. He rips free and charges out the front door. The other two clearly decide that discretion is the better part of valor and leg it as well.

The room goes quiet, save the feeble whining of the injured men at your feet. There’s the man whose arm you severed, one of Chandler’s men, missing a leg, and a woman with nothing on save a ragged, blood-stained bedsheet, clutching a ruptured eye.


>Go find Ding
>Try to interrogate someone
>Fall back
>writein

>>33071904
>>Go find Ding

>>33071904
>Fall back

Try and move somewhere safe outside the house and wait for Garren to get Ding. Help out the dude who's missing a leg.

“ ‘Her?’” Chandler asks coldly. “They were targeting you?”

“You know as much as I do, Colonel, I’ve never met those troops. Tend to your men.” You crouch down and grab a piece of cloth from the uniform of one of the dead men and help tie off the wounded leg of the soldier. “Then, we’re falling back. Garren may need our help.”

“Falling back how? You destroyed the floor,” one of the soldiers asks.

Chandler sheathes his weapon and grabs the injured man’s arms. “Back stairs. Place this big has to have them.”

“Let’s go,” the uninjured man says, taking point.

It’s a slow trip through the house. The dead and wounded you pass are starting to outnumber the captured, though Chandler’s men did an admirable job given how badly they were outnumbered. You help the amputee soldier out – damn it all, he’s maybe twenty – by supporting his shoulders as Chandler gets his remaining leg. The other two men screen front nd back as you travel.

You arrive at the back stairs, which are mercifully free of people. The sound of galloping horses and screams outside inform you that some people that tried to run aren’t making it.


(con’t)

“What a fucking mess,” Chandler growls. “These people aren’t soldiers, they’re farmhands.”

“Except the ones who WERE soldiers,” the amputee groans. “Oh, Garm, my leg…”

“Easy, kid, we’ll get you back to the city and they can regrow it,” Chandler soothes. “Just hang in there.”

“It’s a mess, all right,” you agree. “Where’s Garren?”

“Fighting Ding, I’d imagine,” Chandler grunts as you start down the stairs.

At the bottom, you see a few soldiers trooping through the place, looking for people hiding. Several people in blue or the buff are kneeling around them, hands on their heads. “Colonel, sir! What happened?” one of the soldiers demands, rushing up to help with the injured man.

“We were attacked by a group of nearly twenty soldiers in uniforms, with matching headgear, and military weapons,” Chandler says shortly. He sets the man down on the floor, and Coleman rushes up to start the healing. “Where’s the Firesoul?”

“Out front, chasing down the mage we’re here for,” the soldier says. “There’s a lot of prisoners. When Garren did that thing with the swords, most of them just surrendered.” He hesitates. “I… I get the feeling most are just civilians.”


>”That’s what they get for working for a mass murderer.”
>”Unfortunate, but we had no way of knowing.”
>”Forget them, I need to find Garren!”
>writein

>>33071904
>>Fall back

At least to get a better view of things, and a way to apporach things without getting nuked.

>>33072422
>>”Forget them, I need to find Garren!”

Hard to say how much they knew.

>>33072422
>”Unfortunate, but right now we need to find Garren and make sure Ding isn't escaping.”

“The soldiers had the same uniforms as everybody else,” you point out. “Just keep an eye on them. I need to help Garren.”

“Help a Firesoul? They need help?” Chandler snaps.

You brush him off and charge for the front of the building. The night’s exertions are starting to take their toll. Your arm has stopped bleeding, at least, but you’re exhausted.

Out front, the battle is still raging. The cavalry forces that aren’t chasing down the runners are circled at a fair distance, watching Garren fight Ding.

Fight isn’t the right word. Pummel, maybe. Ding is on his knees, looking around wildly. Both of his hands are wrapped around his necklace token, and he’s clearly pouring all his magic into it. Garren is standing next to him, swords sheathed, and she’s completely surrounded by a raging fire. Her entire body, her armor, her mask, everything, wreathed in flame.

She’s pouring it on, too; the tower of fire is nearly as tall as the manor house. The Firesoul has her hands pressed against his magic shield, and the entire thing is glowing with her raw power.

It’s unforgettable. Garren’s not shouting, now, she’s deadly silent.


>Wat do?

>Try to get Ding to surrender
>Tell Garren to go for the kill
>writein

>>33073046
>>writein
Watch.

>>33073046
>Try to get Ding to surrender

Fuck getting close though. Just shout at him from a safe distance.

>>33073046
>>Try to get Ding to surrender

“Kerry Ding!” you shout over the roar of the fire. “Surrender now or die!”

Ding squints at you through the fire. “No! I can’t go back! I won’t!”

“You killed eight hundred people, Ding! If you don’t surrender, my friend will kill you!” you retort. “Spare yourself!”

“For what? Getting executed? No way!” Ding shouts. “You can’t break this shield, so you have to leave me here!”

Garren’s glowing eyes flash gold through the swirling flame. “Want to watch me break this shield?” she snarls. “Stand still about ten more seconds.”

You clench your fists. “You don’t want to die! Know how I know? You still have that shield up!”

“I can’t live after this!” Ding wails. “My guards couldn’t even stop you! My people in the city, too!”

You recoil in sudden shock. “Wait. YOU sent the hit teams to kill me, Vaughn, Dervich, and Mallerd?”

“I had to!” he says desperately as the shield starts to crack. “You saw too much! Kotrick would have killed us if we didn’t get rid of you in a hurry! We didn’t know you were a Herald!”

Your stomach clenches. How did he know? None of his people have seen your face... your hand darts to your forehead, and you groan in frustration. Your bandana must have ripped off when you dove for cover from the exploding grenades.

That will get dealt with later. What now?


>Keep trying to get him to surrender
>Let Garren kill him
>ask Asa for advice
>writein

>>33073562
>>Let Garren kill him
He's way too dangerous. Is the cavalry close enough to hear what he just said?

>>33073562
Fuck
That bandana is way too fragile. If everyone hasn't already seen and heard we need to get some kind of metal headband.

>Let Garren kill him

>>33073562
>>Let Garren kill him

we gave him a chance also he's dead one way or another considering the hits he's put out.

>>33073677
The cavalry are too busy trying to not let their horses freak out regarding magic fires. Only Garren and Ding heard you.

>>33073677
Not like it matters. Chandler and his men probably all saw already.

“All right, you know what?” you say coldly. “You got my friend Mallerd killed because you can’t tell a man from a woman. You can die.”

Ding starts to say something when his shield gives.

In a fraction of an instant, the fire consumes him. There’s a strange rushing noise as his lungs ignite, then he’s gone. Garren holds the circle of fire for a moment longer, then clenches her fists.

The fire dies so quickly that you’re left with sparkles in your eyes. Garren holds her hands aloft and lets out a triumphal roar that reverberates in the very soil beneath you. Ding’s body isn’t even there any more, it’s just vanished. His clothes, and the pendant, are still there, undamaged save for some mud. It’s a reminder of the fight in the forest you didn’t need.

Silence falls, save for the whinnying horses. Garren slowly lowers her arms as her body returns to normal. Her armor isn’t even damaged.

You walk up behind her and hesitantly stretch out one hand to grasp her shoulder. She spins and grabs it, staring intently into your soul with those glowing golden eyes.

“Thank you, Traveler,” you say quietly. “Mallerd was a good guy.”

Her eyes stop glowing. “Of course, my friend. Any time.” She releases your hand and frowns. “Your bandana.”

“I lost it in the fight.”

She clucks her tongue. “That won’t do.” She waves her hand in a circle and a bandana just like the one you lost appears out of thin air. “Here. Put this on and hold still. Your arm’s pretty scorched under that armor.”

“Yeah. Acid. It was diluted by the water bomb, but… still, that hurts,” you admit. The shock of battle is wearing off quickly, and you’re suddenly aware of how much you ache.


(con’t)

Garren peels off your acid-scorched armor and frowns at the huge blister underneath. “Second degree acid burn. Please hold still.” She taps the blister with one finger and the flesh glows white. “Okay. That will heal over the course of the next hour.”

“Thanks again,” you murmur. The world is swimming a bit. “Can you do the other?”

“Oh, of course,” she says, tapping the cut on the other arm. If you weren’t so tired, you’d be marveling at the power of her healing magic. As it is, you’re just weary. “There you go.”

“Okay.” You gesture back at the house after you retie the bandana. “So… how do we move the prisoners?”

“The troop wagons, I’d guess. We can rent horses for the men on foot.”

“We lost a lot of guys,” you say softly. “I should have insisted on forcing a negotiation.”

“You think so?” Garren asks mildly. She reaches down to paw through the remains of Kerry Ding. “I don’t.”

A horrible unlight spreads from a tiny object in her hand. Your stomach clenches so hard you nearly double over. “…The Orb?”

“Yes, your Eminence,” Garren says quietly. “Ding was entrusted with the Orb. Not to use, oh no.” She reaches down and pulls out…another. “To copy.” She looks back up at you with a grave look in her eyes, now back to their normal green. “You had better tell Asa while I go heal the men. And here… a souvenir,” she adds. She snatches up the pendant and passes it to you. It’s not even warm. “It won’t work without magic, but if you give it to the King, he’ll be most relieved. That’s Royal War College-issue. Ding probably stole it.”

“Thanks,” you say automatically.


>wat do

>>33074099
Did Garren hand over the orb? We should go ahead and yoink that from her, then find a private area to hand it to an avatar.

Do you care who destroys it? Any Avatar or Firesoul (or Journeyman-plus Mage, Alchemist, or Brother) can do it.

>>33074200
And deleted all my questions.

Destroy the orbs. Both of them. Right now.
Consult Asa and find out if there's anything from the house that needs to be grabbed or destroyed.

Pack everybody up in whatever wagons we can get ahold of and head back to Cender.

>>33074200
If we're just destroying it have Garren do it right now. Then we can just report to Asa though the gem and don't need an avatar of her here.

>>33074099
>double check on the men, report to Asa (about hte orbs and the man's death so her counterparts can look into his memories), then prepare for depature.

Home awaits

Whatever else was going on here, there’s one thing you have to do now. “Crush the Orbs.”

“No.” Garren shakes her head. “I need to dispose of these safely. I need to do it someplace where a lot of extreme cold can be contained. The amount of divine energy in these Orbs could power a city.”

“Extreme cold?”

“Harpy demons tended to appear in the forms of buzzards and other animals that survive at extreme altitudes. Makes sense, right? They tended to channel lots of hot or cold through their divine abilities,” Garren explains. “I need to destroy these somewhere very, very private, where there’s room for lots of heat to vanish or appear.” She tilts her head forward as you start to open your mouth. “Relax, your Eminence. I can do it in the wine cellar of the mansion. You just need certain alchemic or magic safeguards enacted, and I can make them blindfolded.”

“Good. Good. Those have killed too many people,” you growl.

“I agree. Want to hold it? It’s just glass,” she says. She deposits one in your hand, and you flinch, but nothing happens. “You’re not a mage, you can’t set it off.”

“Only mages can set it off?” you ask. The weird tendrils of unlight crawl around your skin, but aren’t doing anything.

“Well, only mages can direct it. Non-mages can just sort of turn it on. Most Harpies had magic.” She watches as you roll the little glass ball around in your hand. “Hard to believe that thing killed three Pantheon members, eh? Ghalad, Gleiss, and Akko.”

Your blood runs cold. “Ghalad was killed by an Orb?”


(con’t)

“That specific one, if I recall,” Garren says. “I can tell it’s an original. See how scuffed the glass is? Three thousand years in somebody’s basement. The copy is clean. They never found the one that killed Ghalad.”

“I think Asa will want to destroy it herself,” you say quietly.

“I think you’re right.” She claps her hand on your shoulder. “All right. I’m going to destroy this copy. I’ll be back when I’m done.”

“No, just go heal the troops, please,” you say.

“Sure.” Garren wanders off to the house, slipping the Orb into her grenade pouch.

You sit down in the lee of a tree and focus on your forehead. {My Lady?}

[Elsa! I’m so glad you’re all right! Haret tells me Ding’s bodyguards hurt you!]

{Not gravely.} You watch the little Orb in your hands spin and try not to think about all the dear friends you lost to this accursed piece of glass. {My Lady… I have captured the Orb that killed your Brother.}

“You have?”

Asa’s there now, kneeling next to you, looking pale in the starlight. “You found it?”

You pass it over in silence. She accepts it, staring into its depths. “This… it’s real,” she whispers. “This is the Orb that took my brother away.” Her eyes slide shut, a physical manifestation of the pain her real body is probably undergoing.


>”I’m sorry.”
>Do nothing
>Hugs
>writein

>>33074616
>”I’m sorry.”

>>33074616
>>”I’m sorry.”
>>Hugs

It might be a bit much, but honestly she doesn't seem to have any family left

“I’m sorry.” There’s not much else to say. You hesitantly grip her shoulder and pull her into a half-hearted hug.

She breaks out of it after a moment. “I appreciate that,” she says wearily. She flexes her hand, and the Orb simply vanishes.

“Where did it go?” you ask, looking around.

“To the farthest depths of the sea, where pressure will crack it open in a minute, and it will never hurt any more of my family,” Asa says. “Thank you, my daughter. I appreciate being able to do that myself.”

“Yeah.” You sit forward on the grass, sighing. “I wanted to see it. That thing killed so many of my people.”

“Regardless,” Asa says, “I have something for you in turn.”

“My Lady?”

She manages a tired little smile. “Here. A gift.” She presses her hand to your forehead.

A familiar feeling of peace and calm floods your weary body. You relax against the trunk of the tree, feeling new power rush into you. “The very, very least I can do, my beloved daughter,” Asa says quietly. “At this point, there’s nothing you can do to lose my trust.”


ABILITY UNLOCKED: AND ALL THE WORLD SHALL SING
New Divine Ability unlocked!

(character sheet updated!)


>Wat say?

>”I thought you hated mind control!”
>”I get the feeling I shouldn’t actually use this often.”
>writein

>>33074969
>>”I get the feeling I shouldn’t actually use this often.”

Despite times for desperate measures I assume.

>>33074969
>http://pastebin.com/ezsJzAWG
>"Even so, I'm surprised you gave me an ability so related to mind control. I thought that type of magic was forbidden."

Asa does know there's a second orb, right?

>>33075198
Haret told her when he passed along the other memories.

The power surging through your head is totally at odds with what you’ve been told so far. “Is this… mind control?” you ask.

“It can be used that way, yes,” Asa says. “You’ll never abuse such abilities, of course.”

“I thought mind control magic was explicitly forbidden,” you say, climbing to your feet.

“Magic, yes,” Asa says. “But when I feel joyful, and the elves around me feel joyful too, because of my connection to their souls, does that make me guilty of mind control? No, it does not. Neither will it be for you.” She taps her forehead, about where your Gem sits on yours. “I can tell when you use your powers. I don’t have to worry about giving you this power. You can use it, and leave it on – and I suggest you do. You can also focus it, and deliberately change somebody else’s thoughts, but of course I discourage that.”

“So I can project empathy?” you ask. “That is a lot of responsibility.”

“You won’t let me down.”


>Go check on the wounded and prisoners
>Check in with Garren
>writein

File: Elsa-Level-divine.gif (1.42 MB, 3300x2550)

1.42 MB GIF

So yeah, new power! You get to choose now, to turn it on or leave it off. You can switch back and forth as you wish. It's one of the best powers available to you, actually.

>>33075449
>>Check in with Garren
Orbs first then wounded and prisoners.

>>33075473
Leave it off. Kinda creepy.

>>33075449
>>Go check on the wounded and prisoners

>>33075449
>Go check on the wounded and prisoners

“I need to check on the others,” you say. “Thanks.”

“The gratitude is mine, my daughter.” Asa bows out and vanishes.

You job back into the house and nearly trip over rows of weeping, drunken, bleeding prisoners. That little warm nugget in your belly disappeared fast.

“Sergeant!” Chandler says curtly. “Where were you?”

“Seeing to the destruction of some arcane relics related to the attack in the woods,” you reply. You glance around the room with eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

Coleman speaks up from the triage. “These people are apparently the workers from the farm that Ding owned. He let them all into the manor and got them all drunk so we would think the place was packed with people and overkill. He was hoping we’d let him slip away in the chaos.” The mage snorts. “He didn’t count on a Firesoul.”

“Can one ever count on a Firesoul?” one of the soldiers speaks up.

“So what are we going to do with them?” you ask, looking at the rows and rows of prisoners. The cavalrymen are dismounting and bringing in more as you speak.

“Your call, Sergeant, this is your mission,” Chandler says placidly. Sure, NOW he’s all right with you having responsibility.


>”They aided a war criminal. Just kill them all.”
>”Drag them to the barracks. We’ll deal with them in the morning.” (note that it’s a twelve-mile march)
>page Asa and ask her preference
>Let them all go
>”Take them to the road. I’ll send for prisoner transports for them when I get back with Garren.”

>>33075945
>>”Take them to the road. I’ll send for prisoner transports for them when I get back with Garren.”

>>33075945
>Let them all go

>>33075945
>>”Take them to the road. I’ll send for prisoner transports for them when I get back with Garren.”

They did raise up a fuss, though nothing that grave. I doubt they even knew of the relics he had.

You grimace at the sight of all those people. If you kill them all, you’re no better than Ding. “So… these people, they’re all innocent?”

“Ding had his bodyguards dress like his workers,” Chandler reminds you. “For all we know, some of these people are his guards, they just took the bandanas off.”

“Fuck.” You plant your hands on your hips and think. “Fine. Lock them up here and post guards. I’m going to go back to the road with Garren and signal for a prisoner pickup. They’ll be interrogated individually at the castle.”

“Works for me,” Coleman says. “I need to stay here to treat the wounded anyway.”

“Where did the Traveler go?” Chandler asks, looking around.

“I’ll look,” you say, making a beeline for the cellars.

No sooner do you arrive, though, than the door swings open. Garren is standing at the top of the stairs, a few smoking pieces of glass in her hand. “Here you are, Sergeant,” she says, dropping them on the floor. “They’re gone.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “At last. No more Orbs.”

She hesitates. “I didn’t say that.”

You feel your stomach sink at the tone of her voice. “What do you mean?”

“Come and see.” She turns and leads you down into the wine cellar. The whole floor is covered in frozen wine, trapped in crystal waves from a single point on the floor.

“What happened down here?” you ask.


(con’t)

“I destroyed the Orb here.” Garren breaks off some wine in her hand and examines it. “What a waste.”

“And what did you want to show me?”

“This.” Garren points at a table in the corner. It’s completely covered in alchemic components. “This is where he made the copies.”

“Oh?” You walk over and peer at the enigmatic devices. “Can you tell how many copies he made?”

“Three, I’d wager,” she says. “Plus the original. I destroyed one, I assume Assa destroyed the original. There’s two copies out there still. That’s assuming the Explorer only had one in that box you told me about.”

Great.


>”Help the prisoners while I search the house.”
>”Help me search the house.”
>writein

>>33076394
>>writein
Asks Asa to ask Haret if there is anything useful or dangerous in the house.

>>33076394
this >>33076465 and then
>”Help the prisoners while I search the house.”

You tap your Gem to pass that along. {My Lady, it seems they managed to copy the Orb before you destroyed it.}

[I know, my daughter, Haret explained everything to me.] Her voice is tinged with frustration. [Still. Ding was the only freelance mage in the city with the money, resources, and knowledge to clone it. Now, they can never make more.]

{Good. May I ask if Haret will share if Ding had any sort of goods in the house worth confiscating?}

A pause. [Little. Some money, but you have plenty of that thanks to Hooks. The only thing of interest is a magic compass in the drawer in his bedside table. It’s a relic of the pre-Collapse era. It is made to point at the Islands of Passage at all times. It’s the only one left in the world. He bought it from the Explorer.]

{Thank you.} You turn to look at Garren. “There’s a compass in his bedside table. It’s a pre-Collapse relic, enchanted to only ever point at the Islands of Passage, like yours should for the Sanctuary Islands. It’s yours if you stay to help the prisoners and wounded while I search the house.”

Garren quirks an eyebrow. “That could be worth more than the cash you gave me.”

“You earned it.”

She nods. “Done. Watch and learn.”


(con’t)

She walks up the stairs and into the triage area. “Hmph. What a calamity,” she mutters. “Would I be stepping on your toes if I help you out, Mister Coleman?”

He looks up at the ageless, nigh-invincible mage and manages a thin smile. “Not at all.”

“Great.” Garren kneels next to the boy whose leg got lopped off and meets his eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Private Howell,” the elf mumbles.

“Howell, try to stand.”

“They took my leg,” he groans.

“Yeah?”

He looks down and gasps. The bone is already regrowing. Your skin crawls as you watch, agape, as his missing leg starts to simply reappear. “GAH! How are you… how are you doing that?” he demands.

“Magic.” She squeezes his shoulder and stands. “It’s all a matter of degrees.”

Over the next few minutes, she works on several more wounded as you search Ding’s bedroom upstairs. You find the compass and his wallet, and grab both – the compass for Garren and the wallet for the King, more proof of the kill.


>Anything else before you leave?

Nope

>>33076996
nah, I think we're good. Ding died, so Asa got his info from Haret. Shouldn't be anything important inside his house that he didn't know about.

>>33076996
Can't think of anything else at the moment.

The sun is just peeking up over the treetops as you emerge from the house, Garren in tow. She’s got the compass in her hand, and she can’t take her eyes off of it. You walk right past the pile of clothing that used to be the man who murdered your entire battalion and she doesn’t even look up. “How did you kill him without burning anything?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, a projected liquefaction spell,” she says distractedly. “The shield broke, so I just turned him to water. Most of the fire around me when I’m fighting is illusory. People just can’t tell what is and what isn’t.”

“Clever.”

The two of you ride in silence through the fields and the little stands of trees. As you approach the road, about a mile off, you frown as you spot somebody off in the distance, hurriedly moving something on a tree. “Do you see that?”

She looks up from her prize and squints. “Over there? Sort of.”

Your superb new eyes focus on the action and your heart leaps into your throat. “Oh Mai’te, they’re hanging someone!”

Garren starts. “They are? What?”

“But… not killing her,” you realize. The body the three men are hanging is already limp. “She’s dead already.”

Garren slides the compass away. “What do you want to do?”


>try to interrupt this macabre spectacle
>watch and try to figure out what the hell is going on

>>33077679
>try to interrupt this macabre spectacle

>>33077679
>Ride up and ask what the hell they're doing

>>33077679
>>try to interrupt this macabre spectacle

>>33077679
Time for sneaky sneaky.

My computer is freaking out, so I may crash. If I do, please keep this alive until I can run tomorrow afternoon.

“Stop them!” you exclaim. You grab your spear and tuck it like a lance as Garren draws the longsword. “Whatever they’re doing, it’s disgusting.”

“Right.” Garren heels her horse, and you both break into a fast canter.

The three people who are stringing up the corpse spot you only when you’ve nearly run them down. They drop the rope, and the body comes tumbling down, but you ride up before they can run. The body has its clothes on, and by the look of it, it’s a wilderness elf woman in her forties.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” you snap. “Did you kill this woman?”

“No!” one of them protests. She’s an older woman, a light elf. “We just took her when he said we should!”

“Who?”

“The mercenary!”

Garren gasps, pointing at the body. You follow her finger and have to suppress a gasp of your own. Written on the woman’s shirt are two words: ‘LAST WARNING’. Attached to the bag on her face is a piece of canvas with a sketch of your features on it.


Your knuckles go white in your gloves. “Where the hell did this mercenary go?”

The three people look at each other, suddenly nervous. Why they weren’t before, when confronted with a Firesoul and Auxiliary in full wargear, you have no idea. “He said he’d be at the inn,” one mumbles, pointing at the road. You can almost make out the wagons you parked there.

“I’ll handle these desecrators,” Garren says darkly. “Go get the merc.”

“Handle?”

Garren fingers her sword.


>wat do

>>33078191
Go on ahead. Tell Garren to follow quickly.

>>33078258
Also tell Asa on the way.

>>33078191
Supporting >>33078258
Like, as quickly as possible

>>33078258
This for sure.

Not sure if he'd have company or not.

“Just get it over with,” you say, feeling every word like a punch in the stomach. You turn your horse and break into a gallop, riding as hard as you can for the inn. You can almost drown out the sudden screams in the sound of the hooves.

{Asa! The mercenary, Soutri, he’s here! He’s at this inn! He had… he had some woman murdered and told three idiots to hang the body, then put my face on her!}

[Slow down, my daughter! What happened?]

{You’ll find out in a few seconds when I send his soul to you,} you manage. You leap from the horse outside the inn and blast through the doors, spear up.

The patrons and staff recoil with assorted gasps. The owner groans. “First my stable, then my back room. What do you want now?”

“SOUTRI!” you scream. Everyone recoils again. “Get out here, you bastard!”

Something dark and heavy slams into your chest armor, knocking you back. You throw yourself behind a column and reach for your sling by instinct, before remembering you spent all your ammunition.

“You caught up fast, woman,” a male voice growls. “You killed Wallace, I assume? The boy to whom I gave the spell?”


(con’t)

“I’LL BURN OUT YOUR EYES, YOU WORTHLESS MONSTER!” you scream, almost mad with hate. The son of a bitch that threatened to kill you, your husband, your parents, everybody you know is IN THE ROOM! He’s HERE! You grab a breakfast plate from the table next to you and whip it at the column across from you, then lunge out to follow it.

Soutri’s fast. He sees it’s a decoy, but he takes the wrong gamble, throwing his next dart at a spot across the room from where you actually wound up. The room is emptying fast, as patrons start to realize that someone’s about to die. You spot him – black armor, simple spaulders of leather, darts in one hand and strung in a bandolier on his chest, a huge axe in his left hand – and then he’s behind the bar. You hear scuffling as he scoots across the floor.

“I left those warnings because I didn’t want to actually kill you, you know,” he snaps. “Now, I have no choice.”

“BULLSHIT! You have no conscience!” you rage. “YOU KILLED ALL MY MEN!”

“Mmm, a few Merchants you’d never met are all your men?” he asks. A black dart appears from noehwre and skitters off your armored greaves. You leap a table and swipe a loaf of bread, throwing it at the mirror over the bar. It lands behind the bar, but Soutri doesn’t try to target the spot where you were standing.

“EIGHT HUNDRED SOULS!” you scream. “EIGHT HUNDRED PATRIOTS!”

“Sheep,” he corrects coldly. “I was one, once.” He throws himself over the bar, already throwing a dart.

How in the blue hell is he so fast? And where’s Garren? You block the dart with your shield, but now he’s close, too close for the spear. Son of a whore, he’s easily the fastest fighter you’ve ever seen save maybe Douthrite. He’s at least Brotherhood levels of speed and strength, and despite all the talking and jumping, he’s not out of breath at all.


>CHARGE
>Divine ability/Mundane ability
>Hold him off until Garren arrives
>writein

>>33078724
I'm debating if we should try holding out or not.

Shit.

Well debate fast, because it's my last post before bed.

>>33078724
>>Hold him off until Garren arrives
>>Try to see if those darts are reusable.

Without projectiles we're at a bit of a disadvantage, and this guy isn't quite normal, and not a divine combat ability to be seen.

I hope this works

Dumb fuck just gave you ammo. You grab the dart he lodged in your torso armor and fling it at him while leaping backward. It bounces off of his chest armor, but it made him flinch. He grabs for your spear and you pull it away, jerking your shield forward in the process. The dagger slides from the sheath, trapped by momentum, and you drop the spear to catch it.

Soutri was expecting that, it seems. With that same speed as before, it’s genuinely terrifying how fast he reacts. His hand comes up and grabs your hand around the grip of the dagger, and he wrenches your hand away from him with strength you couldn’t match any day of your life.

“You should have died in the woods, Ledren,” he says quietly. Even with murder staring you in the eyes, his voice is urbane. “Kerry died, I suppose, if you’re out here. A shame, but then he was always sloppy.” He brings his other hand around and grabs the pommel of your knife, driving it upwards against your every effort.

You throw every scrap of strength into your hands, trying to push your knife away from yourself, but he’s strong, so strong. Inch by inch, the knife creeps up and up and up, closer to your neck.

Sweat pours down your face from the effort. Your elbows are locked, your teeth are gritted, and you can’t push the dagger back. You just can’t.

You hear his voice, even if you can’t see him through the red haze. “I didn’t tell my colleagues about you, Ledren, even when I probably should have,” he says calmly. “You intrigue me. Something about you is positively strange.”


(con’t)

You ignore him, pushing against the ground with both legs, just keeping that blade away. He keeps right on talking. “Kotrick and Ding both sent assassins after you, you know. I sent spies, instead. I wanted to know who and what you were. Surviving in the forest, recruiting the Brotherhood. Odd.”

“Go… to… hell…” you manage.

“And now, here you are, having caught up with me so quickly I didn’t even have time to leave,” he muses. “I admit, I’m impressed. Perhaps I won’t kill your entire family for your temerity.” A moment of quiet. “Perhaps I shall.”

The knife kisses bare flesh on your head. You groan in anger, helpless fear, pure hatred, pain, all mixed together. The blade slows as it presses your skin, then starts to cut.

“Goodbye, Sergeant Ledren,” he says softly.

“Goodbye, mercenary.” The pressure vanishes as Garren suddenly arrives, trailing white flame from every joint. Soutri immediately throws the knife at her, ripping it from your hands with contemptuous ease. He had been holding back the entire time? What is he?

She deflects the knife, or tries, but the enchanted steel sinks into her hand through her armor. She doesn’t even slow, just drawing her left hand’s blade and lunging forward.

“A Firesoul? You do walk in exalted company,” Soutri says as he vaults backwards. Does anything tire him? “Brotherhood, Shadows, now this?”

You collapse against the column behind you, panting. Blood trickles down from your forehead cut – somehow, he missed the Gem – and stains your vision.


(con’t)

>>33078724
Best bet.

“YOUR SOUL IS MINE!” Garren roars, casting a bolt of hot light at Soutri. He sidesteps it so quickly it leaves an afterimage. Even Garren seems surprised, but she rallies, and suddenly the whole room is bathed in illusory flame. Soutri recoils, showing surprise for once, and then Garren is on him, hammering at his armor with her blade.

Then the fire vanishes. Soutri is pinned to the wall, impaled on the shimmering blade. Garren has it in her free hand, and she’s holding his neck with her injured one.

“Well played, abomination,” Soutri hisses. Sweat trickles down his face as he starts showing strain from his injury. At least he isn’t invincible. “You win this whole bar. Congratulations.”

Garren squeezes, trying to break his neck, then stumbles. He’s gone. He didn’t fall away, he’s just gone.

She stares at the spot where her sword is trailing blood on the wall, then hammers her fist against the bricks. “Son of a bitch! He has a teleporter!”

“I… I thought… those… didn’t exist… any more…” you manage.

“They don’t! I guess that Explorer has Spireling relics as well as Harpy,” Garren snarls. She rips your blade free and starts healing herself. “Here.”


(con’t)

You try to accept the dagger, but stumble. You’re more tired than you thought. All that fighting… and even with your powers, even you need to sleep. “That was terrifying,” you mumble.

“Sorry. They ran in three different directions,” Garren admits. “If I had known he was here, I’d have followed you instead.”

You grab an unattended mug of water and pull deep. “Why… why did he call you an abomination?” you ask.

Garren sighs. “I’m sorry. He was talking to you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” Garren holds up the flat of her blade. “Look.”

You look at your reflection and groan. The knife didn’t miss the gem. It hit the gem, then slid off.

It’s not really visible under the fabric, and you can just shift the bandana an inch to the left and cover it up, but the damage is done.

The most dangerous member of the conspiracy knows your face, and knows your power. The game has changed.


[TEMPORARY END OF THREAD]
LEVEL FIVE: WAR IN THE TREES COMPLETE!

Progress: A
Combat: B
Improv: B


Outstanding work! You’ve killed a conspirator two nights in a row! I wasn’t even planning on that, I have to adjust my schedule now. Progress is damn near perfect.
Combat was solid, too. You won every fight, and you didn’t get maimed much this chapter. You did as well as you could have against Soutri alone, too.
Improv was excellent. I think I got more writeins than I ever have in this chapter.

Not much to say, honestly, you did awesome! You earned a small bonus on rolls in chapter six.

Tomorrow, I resume!

>>33079367
Glad to have helped.

I know the whole dart idea wasn't genius but i figured "she's good with projectiles, there's some laying around"

>>33079367

Excellent. See you tomorrow.

>>33079396
No, it wasn't a bad idea, you just didn't use the ability she has that is specifically designed to make darts work better with her. If you had used Marksmanship, it would have passed through his armor.

>>33079425
Ah.... I thought it was a passive, not an active.

May I suggest markign things clearer so it'd be easier for people to understand at a glance?

Going to bed so hopefully someone can take over bumping

>>33081914

Apparently it's been 19 hours since the last bump. Something must be wrong somewhere,

All right, up and running, thanks.

The wagon drivers of the troop transports outside come charging in, just as you finish adjusting your bandana. “What the hell just happened in here?” one demands, sweeping the room with his eyes.

“A mercenary attacked,” Garren says. “He ran when I defeated him.”

“Shit, we didn’t see anybody!” the driver says.

“You wouldn’t.” Garren finishes healing her hand and tsks at the damage to her armor. “Look, find an access road to let you over to that farm where we were going. They have a lot of prisoners to transport. Wounded, too. I’m going to get some more transports from the city.”

“Right.” The drivers file back out as some patrons hesitantly peek in from doors and windows.

“Getting too crowded,” you mutter. You slide the spear and dagger back home and rise to your feet. “We absolutely have to tell the King.”

“I agree,” Garren says with a nod. She pulls a few bills from her pocket and drops them on the counter as you walk out the door.


(con’t)

The two of you mount up and start back towards the city, both lost in thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that kind of speed,” you say after a long silence.

“He’s at least as fast as I am from a cold start,” she confirms. “If I had preptime, I’d be faster, but that teleporter… that’s serious.”

“What is it? A spell?”

“Alchemic artifacts, two of them, working in parallel,” she explains. “A crystal and a phial of elixir. When you press them together and wrap a band of copper around them, you can pour your mana into it even without having any real presence on the Bridge Scale.”

You frown. The Bridge Scale is the universal logarithmic measurement for magic aptitude. Any person over a three is consider a mage. Five is average, while anything over a seven is superb. Firesouls push eight, or so you’ve heard. “So I don’t have to be a mage to use it?”

“It helps, but it’s not needed. The Spirelings blended magic, alchemy, and natural philosophy better than anybody else in the world. To this day, nobody has a clue how to recreate them.” Garren looks over at the looming walls of the city. “I bet even Ding couldn’t have done it.”

“So at least we don’t have to worry about there being more than one of these things out there,” you say.

“Assuming there was only one in that box.” Which is just completely not what you wanted to hear.


>Ask Garren something
>Drop her off at the Guildhall and go tell the King about the emergency
>writein

>>33084287
>Drop her off at the Guildhall and go tell the King about the emergency

The two of you make your way to the Guildhall with all due haste. The stables there are well-appointed, presumably so that their various wealthy clients don’t have to worry about their beasts while getting laid. Garren dismounts with a weary grunt and pulls her helmet free.

“Well, Sergeant, I’m glad I could help,” she says. “And thank you for letting me keep that compass. That could shave a year off my research,” she adds with a grin. “I’m in your debt.”

“You saved my life and killed the man who killed my comrades,” you point out. “We’re square.”

She shakes her head with a good-natured smile. “Oh no, Elsa, that is not the case. If you want my help again in the future, don’t hesitate for an instant to ask. Just, you know. Don’t necessarily interrupt coitus to do it, hmm?”

You snort back a laugh at the memory of Garren staring at you with undisguised irritation last night. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

She waves it off. “I’ll not hold it against you. Do drop by when you get the chance.”


(con’t)

As the two of you part ways, you push your horse through the throngs of morning traffic to the city, where the castle is already bustling. You leave your horse with the stablemaster with your request for more prisoner transports and medics at the site of the farm, then make a beeline for the barracks, where you hastily change out of your waterlogged and damaged armor to put on something more appropriate for meeting the King.

Dressed as best you can be, you tug a uniform cap down over your head and head into the Royal Quarters, where the Shadows wave you through without comment. Either Newlar didn’t keep her mouth shut, or the King is pulling strings to ensure you have free passage.

Outside the King’s residence, you encounter a few servants laying out food on a long table in the dining room. You pause, wondering if he’s even out of bed yet.

“Excuse me, sir, but is His Majesty available to receive my report?” you ask one of the servants.

She looks up from her microscopic inspections of the cutlery to peer at you. “He is about to take his breakfast, Sergeant, so no, he is not. If you wish to wait, you may wait outside.”


>Just go give the report to Dietrich or Ekrine instead (which)
>Wait
>go take a real shower in the suite first
>writein

>>33084429
>Wait

File: ElsaMuck2.png (26 KB, 792x612)

26 KB PNG

Back from lunch and writing now.

Reposting this picture because it's hilarious.

“Then wait I shall, thank you,” you say, bowing out.

You sit in the antechamber of the Royal residences and try to compose your message. The battle against Ding is foremost, of course, but there’s so much else to discuss. The Orbs, the pendant, the wallet, and of course Soutri.

Soutri. That son of a fucking bitch. Why did he linger in the inn after killing that woman? Why did he hire those vagrants to move the body? How did he get a sketch of your face? So many questions.


An hour passes before the door swings open. Inside, you can hear the servant talking to the King and whomever is dining with him. “No, your Majesty, she didn’t say, but she’s waiting right here,” the servant says.

“Send her in, then,” the King replies. You stand and follow the servant in, then immediately take a knee. The King is standing behind the table as the scraps of a breakfast spread are carried away, and the Queen is wobbling out another door with a little girl in tow.

“Your Royal Majesty, thank you for meeting me so early, but I’m afraid this can’t wait,” you say right off the block.

“I understand. What happened last night?” Maas asks.

You pause until the servants are all gone before answering. “We raided and killed Kerry Ding and his bodyguards. Traveler Garren delivered the finishing blow, and she had me bring these as proof,” you say, holding up the pendant and wallet.

The King rounds the table to pick them up. “Hmm. This is old elf magic, this pendant. Well-crafted,” he mutters. “I’ll pass it along to someone for safe storage. And the wallet? This is his?”

“Proof of the kill, Sire,” you inform him.


(con’t)

“Then well done, your Eminence,” Maas says with clear satisfaction. “One more down.”

“There is far more, though, Sire.” You rise at his gesture and stand at ease. “We found the Orb.”

Maas recoils. “Already! I thought Kotrick had it!”

You nodded. “He gave it to Ding to research, Sire. Research and copy.”

“Copy?” Maas gasps. “How many are there?”

“Two copies. We destroyed one copy and the original, which, it turns out, was the weapon used to kill Ghalad.”

The pall of resignation on Maas’ face at that announcement is disturbing. “One step forward, two steps back,” he sighs.

“We did manage to capture Ding’s employees, though some are just farmhands. It turns out he was the one who sent the assassins to kill everybody in a Home Battalion uniform during the riot,” you explain. “So, that’s Mallerd avenged.”

“That’s something, at least,” Maas sighs. “Anything else to report?”

“I was confronted by another member of the conspiracy on the way back to the city,” you say. “Everett Soutri, the nominal leader of the mercenary contingent that worked for Kotrick. He nearly killed me when I confronted him in an inn at the roadside.”

“He did?” Maas asks, surprised. “How did you know he was there?”

You grimace at the sight of that poor woman being hanged like she had done something wrong. “He hired three vagrants to kill a woman and attach a picture of my face to her, then paint the words ‘last warning’ on her and hang her corpse from a tree where I would find it.”


(con’t)

The King’s face twists into a mask of disgust. “What? That’s revolting!”

“I interrupted the vagrants, and Garren killed them, but then we fought Soutri in the inn… only for him to escape with the use of a Spireling teleporter.”

The room falls completely silent. Maas’ purple eyes widen. “…Did you say teleporter?”

“I did, Sire. The Explorer must have sold it to him. And he was Brotherhood-tier levels of power and speed even before. He would have killed me effortlessly if Garren hadn’t arrived,” you recall.

Maas rubs his eyes. “A teleporting mercenary who wants to protect a conspiracy to sell superweapons. This is not what I needed to deal with alongside the bandit princes and the war in the south.”


>What else do you want to say?

>”Is my new armor done?”
>”What will you do with the wallet and pendant?”
>writein

>>33085047
>”Is my new armor done?”

Also I think we're out of known locations for conspiracy members. We might want a few more Shadows put on finding them. Give them any details the demigods get out of Ding and maybe Hooks if they haven't emptied him already.

>>33085135
Asa's compiling the new list. She'll give it to you when she's done. She has to pull memories from all the souls who knew these people to get the list compiled. Then she has to confirm it with the human souls in Haret and Vier.

>>33085047
>>”Is my new armor done?”

Not sure if we should tell him about what Soutri said about him being suspicous/interested in her.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, your Highness,” you say.

“I would rather know than not know, Herald Ledren,” Maas says wearily.

“Right. May I ask when my armor will be done, by the way, Sire?” you inquire.

“Hm? Oh, I sent off the order. Give it until Tuesday at the earliest,” Maas says. “The enchantment has a lot of ingredients. It would be a longer delay, but I worked the papers to get it ahead of a small order that would have come before it.”

“That’s much appreciated, Sire,” you reply. “I cant wait. Wearing a black leather coat when I need to sneak about is getting old.”

He snorts in amusement. “I’m sure.” He pockets the pendant and wallet and dusts his hands. “Well. I need to see to something. Where will you go hunting next?”

“I need to track down the other mercenaries. The Explorer may have sold them secret weapons like Soutri had,” you say. “Asa is working on a list of updated locations now.”

“Very well. Do ask her to pass along a copy. Farewell.”

“I shall. Thank you, Sire.”


(con’t)

You walk down to the suite and unlock it, already tantalized by the possibility of a real, private shower. No sooner do you walk in, though, than a shouting match greets your ears.

“Of course I don’t, but I still lost my job!” Jerome yells.

His brother Darril is standing across the room, fists clenched, as your parents and his wife watch awkwardly. “That doesn’t mean you can blame her!”

Your heart sinks. “Blame me for what?” you ask.

Both men round on you. “Look what I found in the mailbox at our house when I took the tunnel there this morning,” Jerome says coldly. He shoves a crumpled note into your hands and you unfold it to read.

Journeyman Ledren,

When you told us that your wife had been killed in battle, our hearts went out to you and everyone who had lost someone. When you insisted on coming to work anyway for at least a few more days, I was proud of your dedication to the work.

Then Elsa walked in the door.

At the Dret’ler Armories, we work with clients of every nature, including on sensitive military contracts. We pride ourselves on discretion and trustworthiness, in our work and in our employees. Needless to say, you have violated our trust in you. You are hereby relieved of your position in my armory, effective immediately. Your personal possessions have been returned to your home, and your final pay is deposited in your bank account. Thank you for all your hard work.

Master Armorer Graham Dret’ler.


Oh, damn it all.

>wat do

>>33085466
Oh lord, this is awkward. Can we try explaining to his boss that the army gave Jerome news of our death before we returned?

>>33085466
>go there and explained what happened, mainly it was no fault of his.

Might be implusive yes, but it's a dick move to boot him over what could be easily explained as a screw up by the army.

So you really did screw things up. You set the note down and look up to meet his eyes. He’s more than pissed, he looks betrayed. “I’m very sorry, Jerome,” you say quietly. “I’ll talk to the Armory and say that you were told before I got home.”

“Except I told them you died the day AFTER you got home, because you said you wanted to keep the fact that you lived a secret,” Jerome says angrily. “They know I was lying!”

Oh. Right. “Well… oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” you say, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. His heart is pounding. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing!” he says bitterly. “I’ll just find another job.”

You stare at him in anguish as he pulls away and stomps into the bedroom. “Jerome, come on,” you start, before he closes the door. He doesn’t slam it, but everyone in the room still flinches.


>Try to talk to him (use an ability?)
>Talk to the family instead
>Go and as (armorer or anybody else)
>Ask Asa for advice

*ask not as in that option there.

>>33085803
>Talk to the family instead
He need space

>>33085803
>>Talk to the family instead

Tch forgot about that.

>>33085803
Wait, his company doesn't know when we got home, or else they wouldn't have been surprised when we walked in. We can still tell them.

“Well, I feel awful now,” you remark.

Darril sighs. “Elsa, he’s really frustrated. I think he just feels like everything was his fault.”

“What for? I was the one who forgot I had a cover story!” you protest.

“He doesn’t think much of himself,” Laura says awkwardly. “Just give him some time.”

You huff a sigh and strip off your bandana. “Fine. I need to take a shower, anyway.”


Nearly half an hour of thorough cleaning and frustrated muttering later, you open the door into the suite to change, and see Jerome sprawled out on the bed, facing away from the door. He’s breathing, but not moving.

You can’t tell if he’s in a huff or just napping, so you tiptoe over to the dresser and pull out some civilian clothes. As you start dressing, though, he speaks up.

“I’m an idiot.”

You stop fastening the undershirt and look over at him. “What?”

“I’m an idiot, Elsa. I figured it out.”

“Jerome, you’re not-”

“There were fifteen children in my class at school. Know what my placement was in literacy?” He rolls over to stare at the ceiling. “Fifteenth. It took longer for me to learn how to read than anyone else my age.”

It’s true that he’s a bit simple, but you’ve never called him stupid, ever. You tug your shirt on and look awkwardly as he stares up at the ceiling, talking half to himself and half to you. “Know what my placement was in mathematics? I didn’t get one. I failed the exam twice, I had to repeat the class.”

“Jerome…”

He sighs heavily and bunches his fists. “I’m not smart, Elsa. I never have been. But you know what I do good? I lift stuff. I have a good memory, I can lift heavy weights, I never get sick.” He grinds his fists into his eyes and groans. “When I was born, my parents were old. I was an accident. They never meant to have two kids.”


(con’t)

You have the horrible feeling that you know what he’s about to say, but you can’t interrupt now, he’s talking too fast. “Darril was the man of the house from the day I was born. Dad and Mom retired, they both died young. Darril raised me. He had kids when I was still a teenager. I was a change-of-lifestyle baby.” He turns his head away and talks to the wall. “So when I finished school, at last, I had some money, but nobody to be with. I’d had a girl or two who liked the strong, silent type at school, bought a Companion at the Courtesan’s Guildhall once, but I never had a girlfriend. Mom and Dad left me some money, but Darril got the house, and I had to move in by myself. I sucked at it. I threw parties, I wasted money. When it ran out, I was nearly evicted, until I finally found a job at the Armory.”

He sighs again at some memory. “I was good at it. It was important, it was hard work, it was decent pay, it was good for the country. I was still lonely, but I had a life again. Then I met you. We talked… we dated. We fell in love, we made a house, I spent three months’ pay on that ring. We married. You went off to war. You died.” You sit behind him, but he recoils and keeps talking. “That job is all I had for a while. Twice, actually. I got it when I had nothing left from what Mom and Dad worked so hard to save up for me, and I wasted. Then it got me you. Then I lost you, and I had to lie to the guys at work so you could move around the city. Now I lost it.”

“And it’s my fault,” you say sadly. “Jerome, I had no idea how much it meant to you that you had that job. I’m really sorry.”


(con’t)

“All because some serial killer or whatever is targeting us. Oh, Mai’te’s tears, I felt so useless. You come home with a divine quest, and I go back to picking up boxes of armor. Now I can’t even do that. Now I can’t even earn money for us. Now the guys at work think I’m guilty of fraud or whatever.”

You put your hand on his shoulder and try to roll him over, but he pulls his arm away. His voice is shaking now. “Elsa, you cost me my job, the one thing I was good at, and all I can do is think that I’m useless. What the hell is wrong with me? Why did I have to be such an idiot?” At last, he breaks down, crying quietly into the pillow.


>Just lie down with him and don’t say anything
>Offer to talk to Dietrich to get him a job in the castle somewhere
>Try to talk his points over with him
>ask Asa for advice

>>33086504
>Try to talk his points over with him

>>33086504
>>Just lie down with him and don’t say anything

I think we should let him get it out of his system before we think of doing anything else like offers/etc.

I have no idea, that and
>/tg/
>people skills

Self-loathing is hard to combat, especially when his resentment towards you is completely justified. After an entire day and night of fighting and no sleep, though, it’s not welcome, and you don’t think you’re mentally equipped to fight it.

So instead of trying, you slide your shirt back off and lie down behind him, draping one arm over his muscular flank and resting. He doesn’t acknowledge you at first, but after several minutes of silence, he sets his arm down over yours.

“Hey. Handsome. Know what I think?” you ask at length.

A pause. “What?”

“I think you’re good at other stuff.”

“Mmm?”

“You’re really kind. You’re a good cook. You keep me satisfied. I always feel safe around you. You’re a good brother. You’re honest. Okay? You have good parts other than ‘big and strong.’”

He doesn’t say anything. “Besides,” you continue. “What happened was my fault. You’re not an idiot.”

“Yes, I am,” he says wearily. “I’ve always been simple.”

“Simple maybe. Idiot? No.” You squeeze his flank. “Look, I apologize for what I did. It was dumb. Can I help you out? Look for another job, I mean? Ask Dietrich if he needs armory workers, maybe?”

He rolls over to face you. He looks about thirty that moment, instead of his usual youthful twenty five. “Elsa… I found the armory job on my own, you know?”

“Yeah, but you lost it because I was dumb,” you point out.

“I want to look on my own for now,” he says firmly. “Let me have this much.”

You concede the point, clearly getting nowhere. “Okay. Okay. I promise.”

He sighs heavily and slumps over onto his side. “So. What were you up to all night? You never came home.”


>reveal all, including the soutri fight
>reveal these select parts (which ones)
>writein

>>33086879
>>reveal all, including the soutri fight

I'm sure on the rest, dunno about hte soutri matter.

But that whole slip up is gonna bug me for the rest of the quest (the one where I didn't specifiy marksmanship figuring it was a passive)

>>33086879
>reveal all, including the soutri fight
But don't mention how close we came to dying.

If it makes you feel any better, I've edited the character sheet to reflect all active and passive statuses.

Slowly at first, then quicker as confidence returns, you relate the whole story. The mind control mage, working with Cassandra, the battle with Garren, the pendant and the Orbs, all of it. You finish with the battle against Soutri, which makes your husband go pale. “He can teleport?” Jerome asks nervously. “How does it work?”

“I have no idea.” You snuggle up against him and rest your arm on his shoulder. “All I know is that we’re winning. It’s costly, we lost a lot of men in that battle, but it’s working. We killed three conspirators in four days. They’re running scared, now.”

He sighs into your hair and finally returns the hug. “Now I feel even dumber,” he mutters.

“Huh?”

“Here I am feeling sorry for yourself when you’re out fighting for your life and saving people,” he says shamefully. “And I left the castle when there’s a teleporting hitman out for us all.”

“Aw, hush,” you chide gently. “He doesn’t know about the tunnel. He can’t. You can use it when you want. How did you know where it was?”

“I drop things off in the armory all the time, so people know me. I just asked where the utility tunnels are. I looked for a new door in all the basements, found it, followed it, found the house.”

You smile up at him. “See? Simple doesn’t mean dumb. You figured all that out by yourself.”

“I guess.” Okay, the self-loathing isn’t all gone. Still, it’s a start.

“Hey, tell you what. I haven’t slept in… maybe 36 hours, so I’m gonna nap for a bit. Wake me up if you need me, okay?”


(con’t)

“Okay.” He wriggles out from under you and climbs out of the bed. “Hey, Elsa… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get mad at you.”

You shrug under the sheets and pull your clothes back off. “I had it coming. I should have asked what you told your co-workers before I went.”

“So we were both in the wrong here?”

“Mostly me,” you admit. “Now, go tell the others what I told you, if you want. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay. Love you.” He turns off the glowstones and shuts the door.

Roll 1d100 for my Dream Table.

Rolled 37

>>33087252
So we can't crit fail!

Correct! The Dream Table is a list of one hundred dreams and nightmares. They consist of lives of past Heralds, some of them drawn from the same people. They're on the list at random. Too many nightmares in a row and you accrue penalties. One or two specific good dreams let you unlock abilities faster since they're memories of a former Herald learning the ability in their life.

There are a few of the afterlife as well, but Haret and Vier can't read your mind, so there's no penalty in recalling those memories, though the ones of Hell will rack up the Nightmare Points pretty fast.

>>33087336
So what does a 37 get us?

Rolled 100

>>33087252
All on the dice huh? Hopefully the dice will be kind to us.

>>33087374
>Hopefully the dice will be kind to us.
>100

hahaha
too bad this is off a table and not a crit success
fuck

File: these_clouds_taste_like_d(...).jpg (235 KB, 800x1200)

235 KB JPG

>>33087374
Ask for a 1d100 on evade, roll a 1 and get your eyes hacked out with a knife. Ask for 1d100 on a list where crits don't mean anything, and you get 100. MFW.


Stop rolling, only the first response counts. I was dumb and forgot to say that.

>>33087444
it's my first time rolling, go figure. I don't trust me luck to do so otherwise.

back online for now

massive thunderstorm overhead

Might have to come back later if the power fails again

stay tuned