File: The Burden.jpg (27 KB, 320x346)

27 KB JPG

Anders thought about Martin as he spurred his horse onward, hunched down against the howling winds that clawed at him. Martin the faithful, praying upon waking, meals and slumber; studious Martin, always glasses deep inside ancient tomes even during the hours of resting. But dead now, killed by something that many thought to be long dead.

He shuddered, but it was not caused by the surrounding environs. The weight pulled against Anders’ neck, the leather cord twisting on cold steel as it repeatedly bumped against his side. He risked a glance downwards, checking once again to make sure the blood-stained satchel was still in his possession.

There was no telling how much further he had to bear the burden. He had no map or wayfinder, a fact he had cursed repeatedly. In his haste to escape the fortress, the Godsblade Initiate had barely enough time to acquire the most rudimentary of supplies to ensure his survival in the lifeless land.

But it could not have been helped. The order came with the demand for immediate and absolute obedience. Flee this place, the Abbot had said, his voice sharp and piercing as the blade in his hands, Take it and warn them of what happened here.

Anders wanted to believe that it was something special about himself that compelled the Abbot to entrust him with such an important task, but he knew in his heart that it was not so. The role of guardian had only come to him because there was no one else at hand. Neither high rank nor deeds of courage belonged to him, and he had only donned the silver armor of the Godsblade three seasons past. His status was most assuredly still higher than laymen and women, but he was just a mere foot soldier in the service to the faith.

(cont.)

File: Continent of Kaithe (Rough).jpg (1001 KB, 2158x2326)

1001 KB JPG

For the briefest of moments he wondered: was this the call to greatness that had beckoned the Saint so many millennia ago? He immediately pushed the thought away. Down that road lay the sins of pride and self-aggrandization. And who was he, an Initiate at twenty four years old, to match the Saint who wielded the divine energies of the gods as ordinary men would a sword?

No, his destiny was to be at the command of the High God, the deity whose Light had brought salvation to the people of Kaithe. Anders had entered the order as a child, raised among the innumerable orphans from the Church for the myriad sects of the faith, and like them knew no other life apart from training and devotion. He and legions of his kindred in the faith were the Soldiers of the Dawn, the army sworn to the service of Opran.

Why the faith needed Anders to serve his Initiate years in a faraway and desolate outpost was never made clear to him, but it was not his place to question the directive of his superiors. He had spent the entirety of his life following the commands given to him, and was glad for giving him a clear sense of purpose in these trying times.

He had heard the stories, of course, from mentors and travelers about people in neighboring lands struggling to find meaning in their lives. He always felt sorry for them, and was infinitely relieved that the Order existed within his life to give purpose as they saw fit. That uncertain encumbrance, at least, had been removed from his mind.

At this moment, his purpose continued to strike the underside of his arms, hard enough that his ribs began to ache. Anders cursed as he took his right hand off the reins and grabbed the satchel in a firm grip. His sword, strapped to his left side, rattled in its sheath as he maneuvered himself to a more comfortable position. He was loathe to the idea of sacrificing his shield hand to have a firmer grasp on the bag, but the rapid progress of his mount overcame his concern for attack.

(cont.)

File: The Dreadlands.jpg (160 KB, 1032x774)

160 KB JPG

He held it in his arm, as one would an infant in swaddling clothes. It was an allegory that aptly described both the posture of his limb and the spiritual burden that came with it. The emotional weight far transcended its physical mass, pulling at his heart with an ache he was not used to. It made him fearful, an emotion he’d not felt since the Trials.

Anders had never expected nor desired to bear such a responsibility. But he had been chosen because he still drew breath, and because Godsblade veterans better and longer experienced in the arts of war had thrown themselves at the enemy to safeguard his flight.

Galvanized by the enormity of his duty, Anders pressed on with renewed vigor. Words from the Rubric of Protection came whispered from his lips as he spurred his mount to go faster. He was sure they at least made five miles since the fortress. Once they made another fifteen, then and only then would he allow themselves rest.

The overcast skies prevented the full radiance of the sun to shine upon the wasteland, but it was all he could trust to guide him. In the halcyon days of his initiation, Anders learned that the wide expanse of dead earth and the mounds of ash could confuse and disorient the unwary sojourner.

On the old maps, the land was once a verdant forest known for the rich bounty of life it played host to, but in the years following the Reckoning, it went by the name fearful locals whispered behind locked doors. To both the holy orders and the men and women of Kaithe, this barren patch of earth was known as the Dreadlands.

(cont.)

File: Sleepy Ellana.jpg (208 KB, 800x600)

208 KB JPG

>>Marcus
Beyond the snow-tipped forests, the distant mountain range consumes the sun, leaving nothing by faint orange slips in the evening sky. In the shadow of the mountain, just half a mile from the Journeyman Bridge, the Eagle Knights stop their march and strike camp in a clearing by the forest. The royal carriage comes to a gradual stop as you close your book, the rattling of the wheels disturbing the slumber of the Crowmonds.

Ellana is the first to wake up, rubbing the sand out of her eyes with a tired yawn. Her siblings are quick to follow, with Adrianna having to rouse her brother out of a deep sleep. You don’t blame him for being slow to rise. Reading while on the road, especially while riding in a moving vehicle, is very strenuous on the eyes.

“Good…good morning, Marcus,” Ellana says, stifling a yawn as she stretches. “Have we…have we made it to Uncle Kieran’s fortress yet?”

The corner of your mouth tugs upwards in a semblance of a smile. “It’s technically the evening, princess. And no, I’m afraid we have not. We cannot travel any further today. It’s dangerous to travel at night, even with a host of a hundred knights.”

She pauses, squinting through the curtains to find the distant sunset. “Oh I see…so where are we now?”

“The Journeyman Bridge. To be precise, half a mile away from it. This was the most secure clearing that the knights could find around the area-”

The sound of someone’s stomach rumbling cuts off your words before you can finish them. You blink as Ellana flushes red, a petulant look on her face. “…I’m hungry.”

You chuckle softly as you open the carriage door, unfolding the steps for your charge and her siblings. “I’m sure we can remedy that quickly enough…”

(cont.)

File: Raleigh.jpg (84 KB, 488x613)

84 KB JPG

>>Outside
The Crowmonds receive their own special area, a clearing of their own shielded by a set of drapes that extend out of the carriage. They sit around a bonfire as they pick at the stew the servants have prepared. Their respective Crownguard eat along with them, eyes vigilant as they shovel food into their mouths, with Lupine in particular going at her meal with great enthusiasm without a care in the world.

Princess Adrianna’s face is equal measures of mortification and embarrassment at her retainer’s culinary manners.

By the time you finish your meal, the sun has disappeared, and the only sources of illumination are the fires of your camp and the overhead moon, bearing the entirety of its face to the world below. The knights begin to break off into shifts, the tell-tale CLINK-CLANK of their armor signs of their patrol. In the distance, the loud baritone of Lord Kieran can be heard as he orders his men about.

While most would be turning in for the night, the Crowmonds are not, having rested in the carriage prior. They are still wide awake, going about their own business under the watchful eyes of their retainers. Adrianna works on a bit of needlework. Allanus pours over his spellbook, with Silverow helping him through the tougher sections. The mage meets your look and returns it with a brisk nod before returning to his pupil.

Ellanna herself is merely taking in the sighs, humming folk songs to herself as she rocks back and forth on the log adjacent to yours.

>Choose one:
>Create some of your poisons
>Enter the Specter’s Dream
>Talk with a Crownguard
>Custom option.

>>47978883
>>Create some of your poisons

This will be fun to explain but better to be prepared

>>47978883
1nd>Create some of your poisons
2nd>Enter the Specter’s Dream

>>47978883
>>Create some of your poisons

>>47978883
>Enter the Specter’s Dream

>>47978883
>Create some of your poisons

File: Poison Bottles.jpg (133 KB, 736x489)

133 KB JPG

>>Create some of your poisons

You reach towards your satchel, gently taking out the various tinctures and bottles that contain the raw ingredients you harvested from the forest earlier back on the road. Ellana breaks away from her humming at the noise of glass rattling against each other, looking on in amazement as you go about setting up your impromptu workshop. Once you’ve set your ingredients together, you go over the current recipes cataloged in your mind.

Bodylock. A poison that causes one’s limbs to tense and lock in place. Best used for rendering combatants helpless on the battlefield to be finished off for later or to render them incapable of battle quickly.

Hangman’s Noose. A potent serum that induces asphyxiation into its victims. It the poison itself can be countered, but seldom are those who can act quickly enough to take the counteraction. Best used in assassination missions, a favorite of Lucien’s.

And Widow’s Fang. Smeared onto blades, its translucency makes it almost impossible to detect by most until it’s too late. Rapid destruction of the tissue surrounding the point of impact. Just the sight of skin rotting is enough to induce panic into the most hardened of soldiers.

>Poison making, V.1
>Poisons are created by using Ingredients
>Ingredients can be either bought from herbalists or harvested in the wild
>For some poisons, a specific Catalyst is required
>Poisons are described: (Effect, Lethality, Speed)

>Creating poison requires passing a Knowledge Check
>Individual poisons have their own hidden DC
>Nat 100 = Mutated Poison, double potency
> Nat 1 = Failed Poison, waste of ingredients

>You now have:
>15 Ingredients
>2 Widow's Tears
>4 Slennush Mushrooms

>Current poisons:
>Bodylock (Paralysis, nonlethal, fast) [4 Ingredients]
>Hangman’s Noose (Asphyxiation, lethal, medium) [3 Ingredients, 2 Slennush Mushrooms]
>Widow’s Fang (Necrosis, lethal, fast) [5 Ingredients, 1 Widow’s Tears]

>Which poisons do you wish to make?

>>47979679
One of each for now to have our options open

>>47979679
2 Hangman's Noose
1 Widow's Fang
1 Bodylock.

15 ingredients 1 widow's tears 4 Slennush Mushrooms

>>47979756
I'll second this.

>>47978206
Hey Kaz, what's your opinion on Worm?

>>47979756
>>47979927
Two vials of Hangman’s Noose.

One concoction of Widow’s Fang.

And one decanter of Bodylock.

You haven’t made proper poison since your years with Lucien, but the motions come back to you quickly enough. It isn’t too difficult since these were the only three poisons he ever let you know. As a result, your proficiency in brewing them is more than adequate, even with years of abstaining from this kind of activity.

It goes without saying that he knew many more. Poisons that can further aid one in killing a man, whether through the tainted goblet or the dripping blade. When he thought you were asleep, you caught bits and pieces of information, tiny pieces of an incoherent puzzle you were never to make whole. But you know their effects well enough.

>Poison recipes are scattered all over Kaithe
>Some are for sale and can be found in books while others are not so readily available

But you quietly shove thoughts of legendary formulas out of your mind as you return to your work. Distractions are the last thing you want to have when making poisons of these severity, even low-level concoctions.

You mix, you crush, you scrape and you liquefy as your hands bring to fruition the poisons of your teachings.

>Roll 4d100 + 20
>Hangman, Hangman, Widow’s Fang, Bodylock
>Best of three

Rolled 64, 75, 79, 1 + 20 = 239 (4d100 + 20)

>>47980302

Rolled 66, 65, 13, 1 = 145 (4d100)

>>47980302

>>47980332
And there's the 1 we've been waiting for

>>47980351
WHAT THE FUCK ANOTHER ONE (1)

>>47980332
>>47980351
IT BEGINS

>>47980355
I'm so sorry

>>47980351
holy fuck we don not know how to brew body lock

Rolled 98, 18, 9, 52 + 20 = 197 (4d100 + 20)

>>47980302

>>47980332
>>47980351

I'm glad those 1's are on the bodylock roll.

>>47980332
>>47980351
I assume we bodylock ourselves for a bit.

Rolled 15, 81, 95, 67 + 20 = 278 (4d100 + 20)

>>47980302

>>47980332
>>47980351
>>Our first two natural ones
...let's just get the other two out of the way while things aren't high stakes yet.

>>47980469
Nah. Waste of ingredients. Any other low roll means less potent poison.

>>47979998
Guilty pleasure.

Writing...

>>47980544
JUST a Guilty Pleasure?


>Sophia Brown
>Madison Barnes
>Emma
>Danny, Annette and Taylor

File: Releigh Silverow.png (1.04 MB, 889x1304)

1.04 MB PNG

You have no trouble brewing the Hangman and the Widow’s Fang. But you cannot say the same for Bodylock. The worst thing about it is that you had the damn thing near finished. And then your arm just twitched, a fatigued muscle from Bellatrix’s horse riding lessons earlier. You watch with a stricken look as two almost-complete bottles of Bodylock fall to the forest floor, spilling all over the ground and soaking into the soil.

“Damn,” You curse under your breath, gingerly removing the vials once you’re sure that they’re empty. Bodylock can only be taken in through an open wound or via the mouth. Even though you’re wearing gloves, you still treat the bottles with the utmost care, washing them out thoroughly with nearby snowmelt. “What a waste…”

The only silver lining you can draw from this is a mental reminder to be careful in the next time you brew. Especially with Bodylock. If this session was any indication, then your mind isn’t as keen on poison making as you would like to think it is.

>You obtained:
>Hangman’s Noose Poison (2)
>Widow’s Fang Poison (1)

>You have:
>1 Widow’s Tear

“I had no idea you were an herbalist, Painel.”

You look up to find an audience watching you go about your work. Ellanna and Allanus stare at the equipment, eyes wide in wonder and curiosity as she tries to puzzle out their various functions. Bellatrix keeps to herself, going in for her third helping of stew as her charge turns away from you with a faint blush on her cheeks. Mortified to be staring, perhaps. The Ingulan silently whittles away the hours of the night on an intricate wooden carving, lost in his thoughts.

Silverow approaches, taking care to step around the area of spilled Bodylock. He raises an eyebrow at your equipment: the barest requirements for a proper chemist’s lab, courtesy of Palme and a small loan of a thousand arums. There are better kits, that you have no doubt, as well as proper laboratories to concoct your work.

(cont.)

But you don’t need those proper places. As long as you have relative quiet and an ample amount of Ingredients and Catalysts, you can brew anywhere. Even with incredibly modest equipment.

“I myself devoted my time to the arcane arts while I was in the Ivory Tower,” Silverow muses as he watches you put away your equipment. “But I learned enough to know and recognize the movements of an experienced maker. I’ve never seen anyone mix that quickly before.”

You grunt as you close your satchel. “Thank you.”

He hesitates before continuing, “If you don’t mind me asking, what was it that you were making? My knowledge only goes as far as the methodology, not the names of ingredients and recipes.”

>"Antidotes. Just in case." (Lie)
>“None of your business.” (Deflect)
>“Poison, for our enemies.” (Truth)
>Custom option.

>>47980726
...if you're trying to ask if I'm fond of Worm, then yes, I am. The writing could use some work. Amazing world though.

>>47980905
>>“Something to deal with any animals we come across. Can't be too careful.""

>>47980905
>Custom option.
"Stuff"

>>47980905
>“Poison, for our enemies.” (Truth)
No use lying.

>>47980954
>>47981004
>Infront of the kids
Niggas please

>>47981091
What? We kill people. They'll have to get used to it eventually.

>>47981134
We've made it a point not to flaunt it in front of them if at all possible. Why don't we just tell them our life story while we are at it?

>>47981161
Sounds good.

>>47981191
See shit like that makes it clear you are a fucking retard.

>>47980905
>>47980948
I'll second this since anon is crying.

File: volgin.png (725 KB, 851x469)

725 KB PNG

>>47980905
>“Poison, for our enemies.” (Truth)

File: Bellatrix Lupine.jpg (196 KB, 500x667)

196 KB JPG

>>47980948
>>47980989
>>47981204
>>Custom option

“Something to deal with any animals we come across,” You shrug off-handedly. “Can’t be too careful, especially in the late months of winter. Lots of things are coming out of hibernation. Bears, wolves, the nasty beasts that inhabit the royal woods.”

You have the feeling Silverow takes a moment to accept what you have to say, but he nods. “I see. If I recall correctly, wyverns commonly emerge from hibernation only when a good portion of spring has already passed. Although…”

“There are exceptions to every rule,” You conclude, standing up. You shake your legs to get the blood flowing back into them, pacing around the campfire. “And it never hurts to be prepared, especially with our line of work.”

The mage’s eyes flicker towards his charge, who struggles over pronouncing one of the runes. “Quite astute. We can never be too prepared. But it is best to do it in moderation. Paranoia is just as much of a detriment to security as much as inactivity.”

>Adrianna’s opinion of Marcus has improved.
>Silverow’s opinion of Marcus has improved.
>The Ingulan’s opinion of Marcus has improved.

Lupine lets out a crass belch that causes the both of you to jump. The abruptness of the noise is even enough to get the hairs on your end standing. Allanus and Ellana laugh while Adrianna puts her face into her hands. Uncaring, the knightess licks her lips and gestures towards the stewpot.

“Mind if I finish that?”

>>Midnight

Eventually, the energy brought on by the afternoon’s nap fades away, and the Crowmond children settle their tent for the evening. It’s not the grandest of tents ir the height of luxury, but it’s certainly a spectacle. Big enough to fit two small cots, one for Adrianna and another for Allanus and Ellanna to share, and a majority of the luggage and clothing.

(cont.)

The Ingulan offers to take the first watch, planting himself in front of the entrance with his bow at the ready. Silverow takes the back entrance, magical tome at the ready. In the meantime, Lupine sits by the low fire, gently going over her sword with oil and whetstone.

You will eventually need to relieve your comrades and take watch. But first, you decide to…

>Enter the Specter’s Dream
>Go exploring
>Read your book
>Custom option

>>47981649
>Enter the Specter’s Dream

>>47981649
>Enter the Specter’s Dream

>>47981649
>Read your book

>>47981649
>Enter the Specter’s Dream

>>47981649
>>Enter the Specter’s Dream
>>Read your book
I want to see if we can Sleep Read since we're aware of our surroundings.

File: Specter's Dream.gif (831 KB, 500x335)

831 KB GIF

>>47981731
>>47981741
>>47981769
You knell before the fire, evening out your breathing as you empty your mind of all thoughts and distractions. The sole thing that you focus on is the sound of your breath as your senses begin to slow down to a crawl. Already, you can feel your sense of smell beginning to go, the odor of the burning tinder becoming faint before it completely becomes unnoticeable.

From her side of the fire, you can see Bellatrix frown as your breathing slows down. With worry etched across her face, she puts her weapon down to move towards you. The smell of smoke returns as the sound of her calling your name fades away into nothing. Your hearing is now gone.

She waves a hand in front of your face, and you can see her lips move in what you believe to be a hushed call for your name. When you don’t respond, she gets closer and extends a hand towards your shoulder. The intent to shake you out of your apparent malady is clear within her steps.

Movement causes the trance to break, and a broken Dream renders you nothing gained. However, there are still parts of you that can move without compromising the Dream.

Your eyes flicker upwards, blinking towards the advancing knightess. Bellatrix blanches, stumbling back while reaching for a sword that isn’t at her hip. She’s seen them, then. The color of your eyes when you enter the Trance, and the myriad designs that dance across them.

You shake your head ever so slightly as she tries to move towards you again, not enough to break out of the Trance but enough for her to notice. This time, she stops, still staring at you with furrowed eyebrows, the most serious expression you’ve seen on her face. Eventually, she returns to her weapon, picking up the sword and running her grindstone along it, occasionally casting the odd glance towards you.

(cont.)

>>47982191
Edgy Sleeping: the most hardcore thing ever.

>>47982191
You don’t blame her for being weary. If it weren’t for the fact that you’d die, you would’ve attacked Lucien when he first showed you the technique when you were eight. On him, scarred, menacing and with a hair-trigger temper, the Specter’s Eyes gave you no end of nightmares. While you’re nowhere near the man’s moral bankruptcy or intimidating gait, it’s still to be expected that those not in the know would have their apprehensions.

Perhaps it is best to let them have their thoughts, at least within the circle of Crownguard outside of Palme. One day, you will need to tell them. That much is clear and obvious. But tonight is not that night. Nor will it be for the foreseeable future.

It is while observing the passage of the overhead stars in the winter sky that you pass away the hours of the night, recuperating and letting your body heal itself from the aches of the day. Trained assassin you may be, but you’re still a human being at the end of the day, and even you aren’t immune to fatigue.

>Choose one:
>Four hours. (Minimum rest, all Fatigue penalties eliminated, no bonuses)
>Eight Hours. (Moderate rest, all Fatigue penalties eliminated, +5 to Stat Rolls)

>Choose one:
>The Conspirator
>The Steward
>The Revenant

>>47981818
If you get someone to turn the pages for you, then maybe that will work. Maybe. You'd take a penalty roll for going about reading in a very unorthodox fashion.

>>47982296
>Eight Hours. (Moderate rest, all Fatigue penalties eliminated, +5 to Stat Rolls)
>The Conspirator

>>47982329
Wait picked the wrong first option.
>Four hours. (Minimum rest, all Fatigue penalties eliminated, no bonuses)

>>47982296
>Four hours. (Minimum rest, all Fatigue penalties eliminated, no bonuses)
>The Steward

>>47982296
>>Four hours. (Minimum rest, all Fatigue penalties eliminated, no bonuses)

>>The Steward

>>47982296
>>Four hours. (Minimum rest, all Fatigue penalties eliminated, no bonuses)

Presumably we have a watch shift as well, best to do our fair share, moderate rest is best used only when we will surely need it or there is no downside.

>>47982296
>Four hours. (Minimum rest, all Fatigue penalties eliminated, no bonuses)
>The Steward

>>47982443
Yeah we can do the full eight after we have our fight with Bellatrix.

File: Lord Kieran Pullman.jpg (442 KB, 1050x1600)

442 KB JPG

>>47982344
>>47982361
>>47982397
>>47982443
>>47982452
Your name is Kieran Pullman, High Steward of Aderaveth and ruler over the Pullman Vale. And right now, your luck continues to plummet down the shit hole. Prior to your journey to the capitol of the Empire to join Emeron in exterminating the Highwaymen, you’ve experienced good fortune both in personal endeavors and public affairs.

The snow this year had been mercifully light in the Vale, allowing business within the territory to continue without too much impediment. The healers had completely finished the treatment of your back faster than you expected, given the severity of falling off a galloping horse. And, perhaps the best of all, Braeden tearfully announced that she was pregnant with your third child.

She did not know what it would be, but you pray for a girl. You’ve got two sons to be proud of, Kellam and Brendan, both on their way to becoming fine upstanding knights of the realm. A daughter to dote upon…now that would be nice to do. Having a godchild to spoil was nice, but Katrina von Roie was far from the typical lord’s daughter. Gods help Alistair and Kitianna with that spitfire of a daughter.

It was only a matter of time before your luck went downhill. Out of all the Lords Emeron assembled, you were the one who suffered the most losses. Twenty Eagle Knights would never don their silver helms, or see the Vale in spring. It was only by good fortune that Captain Stern was able to survive due to the rapid response of the healers, but he would not be able to ride for a good six months. The loss of your finest man was enough to have a noticeable effect on the morale of your men.

And then it reached peak bottom when an assassin tried to kill Lionel’s youngest child while dressed in the colors of your house. That certainly put a dampener on the festive mood of slaughtering the Highwaymen.

“Excuse me, milord?”

(cont.)

You turn to find young Tobias Stern, your current squire, standing at the front of your tent. He is the very image of his father, with the only thing lacking the prominent jawline that was so iconic of a Stern. That would come in time, though, with the grace of the gods. He would need it as well. Tobias’ face was more suited to a bard or minstrel than a knight under your command.

“What is it?”

He struggles with something under his cloak before there’s a sharp noise, and a hiss of pain to come out of his lips. It is out of reflex that he releases the bulge underneath his cloak, waving the bleeding digit in the air as a night raven flies towards you. You raise your eyebrow as you hold out a gauntleted arm, grunting as the birds’ talons scrape along the metal.

“The thing you should know about these birds,” You sigh, gently stroking ruffled feathers as you take sight of the vellum at its foot, “Is that only death will stop them from delivering a message. They’re born and breed that way to fight through any obstacle.”

“Yes, milord,” Tobias mutters, gingerly wrapping a stray bit of cloth around his bleeding finger. “I’ll take care to notice that for future events.”

You shake your head. “Carry on. Go get some rest. Gods know we’ll need it tomorrow.”

Your squire bows, swiftly making an exit. And just in time as well. The bird begins to shake its leg violently towards your face. You dexterously pluck the scroll from its offered limb and it immediately calms down, hopping off your arm to settle onto your unoccupied cot. It nestles into the sheets as you break open the seal, that of the Crownguard, and begin to peruse the message with a critical eye.

By the time you finish, you feel as if you’ve aged a hundred years. Palme’s level head kept Emeron in check while the torturers took to the assassin, kept him from throwing you and your knights into a dungeon. Good lad with a terrible temper. He is definitely Lionel’s son.

(cont.)

He did eventually apologize. Quite profusely as well. You didn’t even have the heart to give him a chastising. Love for one’s family makes one do irrational things. You know this quite well, more than anyone else among your circle of lords. After all, you married an Opranian instead of a lady of Aderaveth. One of noble standing in her people, but it would never be enough for the lords and ladies of the Empire.

But you cut yourself off from bittersweet thoughts as you return your attention to the scroll, hastily written in Palme’s cursive hand with all the urgency of the man’s words.

>The Stranger has perished by his own hand
>Healers say poison, not sure where he had it
>No more leads on our end, Armand is furious
>Watch yourself on the Journeyman’s Bridge
>The Magisters predict one final winter storm
>May the gods watch over you and the Children

Philosophers say that life without suffering is not life at all. Wise men say that sadness in life is a sign for the good things to come.

If that is the case, then you have certainly been living, waiting a long while for the good times to come once more.

====

>Marcus

You exit out of the trance only a few hours before dawn, and you can feel your sense slowly returning to their previous state. Standing up, you take a moment to let the blood circulate back into your limbs as you stretch. Bellatrix starts at the noise, jolting out of her slumber and scanning the area for any sort of threats.

There are none. So far. You shake her head and gesture for her to get ready. It’s time to relieve the Ingulan and Silverow.

The Ingulan is still awake, showing no signs of fatigue as you move to take his place. He nods politely to the both of you before shuffling off to the campfire. And as Bellatrix moves to replace Silverow, you can hear his yawn from all the way at the front of the tent. The mage waves at you sluggishly before curling up in front of the fire, snoring within a few moments of lying down.

(cont.)

You take up your position, hands and weapons at the ready at the slightest sign of trouble. It’s going to be dawn soon, within an hour or two. Three if winter was going to play tricks on them. This is the critical hour of vigilance.

Even from outside, you can hear someone muttering to themselves in their sleep. Given how the incoherent words and ramblings go on about the virtues of custard pudding, it’s definitely Allanus. You never had a sweet tooth at his age, but you can agree that custard pudding is quite the delicacy.

But it isn’t healthy to go on thinking about good food. The only thing you’ll do is make yourself as hungry as a pack of starved rodents. You’ve certainly been able to put away your fair share, even without the use of the dance to fuel such an appetite.

Perhaps you should check up on them, just to make sure they’re alright. You can hear all of their breaths, coming slow and steady in the pattern of slumber. Two light, soft breaths and the sound of a voice that now mutters about sweet rolls.

>Go inside to check on the royals
>Stay at your post and keep a look out

>>47983622
>Stay at your post and keep a look out

>>47983622
>>Stay at your post and keep a look out
Just to be on the professional side.

>>47983622
>>Stay at your post and keep a look out

>>47983622
>Stay at your post and keep a look out

Don't you fucking dare Kaz

>>47983622
>Go inside to check on the royals

>>47983704
The queen is actually Annete.

Markus and the other assassin are Uncle Red and Black

This is all Ellana's/Taylor's/Alice's delusion

>>47983747
Damnit why am I suddenly the guy whose gonna keep calling out Kaz

>>47983704
Dont he date what?

>>47983824
Twitter stuff

>>47983622

>Stay at your post and keep a look out

>>47983824
Skip out on questing to watch GoT, he won't cause he can't stream so it's all good

File: dove.jpg (60 KB, 600x600)

60 KB JPG

You decide to stay outside, tapping your foot as you wait for the time to pass. There’s no need to check on them. There are only three people inside there, three breaths at inhale and exhale with the slow and steady pace of sleep. Even outside, you can tell that they’re all safe, even if they occasionally toss and turn every so often.

There’s a sudden change in the wind that causes your nose to twitch. You take a moment to look overhead, straight up towards the sky. The gut feeling in your stomach is confirmed with the sight of the moon barely visible behind a perpetual wall of clouds.

It’s going to snow. You exhale deeply, shaking your head as you trace the engraving on the pommel of your dagger. In your experience, nothing good has ever come with snow. You don’t know when it’s going happen, but there’s a feeling in your gut that says that it’s going to be a big one.

Overhead, you can hear the cries of birds as they fly through the morning sky, seeking refuge from the coming storm. Flocks of geese and chickadees fly towards the south, accompanied by the figure of a lone mourning dove with no flock of its own.

>>Dawn

The morning isn’t much ‘dawn’ as much as it is the changing of the day. Barely any of the dawn’s orange hues come from over distant East of the Journeyman bridge. The only thing that is visible is the perpetual white of the overcast sky, and the sharp taste of winter in the air.

Lord Pullman seems to share your observations. Just minutes before it even begins to dawn, he begins to shout orders for the men to rouse themselves, get dressed and into their horses within the hour.

“Get your asses in those saddles, lads!” He shouts, “Can you all feel it? There’s a storm coming, and I have no desire to be caught in the middle of it. Hurry, you lot! We must cross the Journeyman Bridge before the worst of it comes!”

(cont.)

File: Adrianna Crowmond.jpg (296 KB, 850x1020)

296 KB JPG

The royal siblings aren’t too happy to have their slumber interrupted, but they quickly go about getting themselves ready. A fresh set of clothes and a quick bite to eat, and Adrianna leads her siblings into the carriage once more.

The Crownguard are quick to rouse themselves as well. In spite of rubbing his eyes every few minutes, Silverow manages to get into the saddle of his horse without any trouble. The Ingulan bears no signs of fatigue save for a single yawn that is quickly stifled. Bellatrix is far from slow, given how fast she scarffed down a sausage link before clambering onto her mare.

You all surround the carriage as the groom readies for the departure. Already, half of the knights are on their way, with the last half waitng for the carriages' departure.

But before she closes the door, Princess Adrianna hesitates, staring at you with an unspoken invitation in her amethyst eyes. This does not go unnoticed by Bellatrix, who raises a cursory eyebrow at you and the reins in your hands.

>Ride on your mare.
>Ride in the carriage.

>>47984162
>>Ride on your mare.

>>47984162
>Ride in the carriage.

>>47984162
>Ride in the carriage.

If we don't wouldn't we be showing our earlier statement as bullshit?

>>47984162
>Ride on your mare.
>>47984208
We could recommend Silverow do go inside, he could help Allanus with his studies.

>>47984162
>Ride on your mare.
invite Silverow to tutor Allanus.

>>47984162
I vote to call Adrianna, Princess Titties from now on.

>>47984252
>>47984234
>>47984162
Second thought that's a good idea. If Adrianna inquires tell her it's good to alternate.

>>47984162
>Ride on your mare.

>>47984162
>Ride in the carriage.

>>47984186
>>47984234
>>47984252
>>47984318
>>47984342
>Ride on your mare.
>Get Silverow to hop in the carriage

The mage and the princess seem to be surprised when you first tell them about your idea, but they eventually see its merits after you explain it to them quickly. Adrianna seems to be relieved that a Crownguard is accompanying all three of them while Silverow is heartened by the fact he doesn’t have to ride. From the looks of things, it doesn’t seem that he’s that good at waking up in a moment’s notice.

With a flick of the reins, the groom sets the horses going, four mares in the decoration and livery of Pullman colors pulling the carriage along the road. Bellatrix takes the reins of Silverow’s horse, tying it to the back of her saddle before setting off behind you and the Ingulan. The last of the Eagle Knights are soon to follow, and by the time the last one leaves the clearing, you can already feel the first drops of snow to come down from the sky.

>>The Bridge

The Journeyman Bridge is a marvel of engineering, spanning a mile across one of the Great Vale’s many chasms. Both mortar and magic hold the stone together, brought together in union by the legendary Journeyman sometime nearly five centuries ago. It’s borne the weight of armies and merchants to come in and out of the Vale ever since then, where two armies clashed and battled during the Bladebound Rebellion.

But you are no magister. You are merely repeating the things that you’ve picked up from Magister Ansell in-between his lessons with Ellana and your recovery time. Gods, that was nearly two weeks ago. How the time flies-

“Oi!” Bellatrix’s harsh voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “Pay attention to the horse! You’re nowhere near the expertise where you can simply nudge and turn with just a gesture. Keep at it, Painel!”

(cont.)

That’s right. In exchange for a spar that’s more than likely going to get someone hurt, Lupine agreed to teach you how to ride. The long hours in the saddle hurt your legs, but you can already feel yourself improving. You’re no master, but you’re certainly far from the amateur you were the other day.

How much you have left to learn is still up in the air, though…

>Roll 1d100 + 20 Knowledge
>Best of three

Rolled 14 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>47984838
Snow!

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>47984838
we learn all the things

Rolled 83 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>47984838
GERONIMO!

>>47984898
Not bad

>>47984838

>>47984876 Ouch

>>47984878 Shit

>>47984898 We're fine

Gonna call it a night for now. Back's starting to ache and my eyes hurting something fierce. I'll head to bed, rest up and resume first thing in the morning.

Please keep the thread bumped until then.

You can now ride a horse. Galloping is another matter though.

http://www.strawpoll.me/10598956

>>47985118
casual bump

>>47985978

>>47985118
bump

>>47985118
Sup Kaz

Bump

Aaaaand another.

>>47987646
>resume first thing in the morning.
In Bonglang? Jk bump

You’ve certainly improved. That much is clear. And while you’re certainly no Lupine or master horseman, you’re definitely a far cry from a novice. At least now you won’t get fatigued or tossed from the saddle on accident. Riding in a full gallop…that still remains to be seen. Hopefully you’ll get some practice in once the snow’s died down.

>Riding, Rank 1: You can safely ride your horse without making checks every few hours

It is within the first hours of the day that the Eagle Knights begin the trek across the Journeyman Bridge. A mile in length and a good hundred feet across, there’s plenty enough room for both the caravan and oncoming traffic from within the Vale itself. Not that there is anything of significance coming down the road, especially with the current weather. Just the odd group of peasants who either scurry away from the caravan or bow at the sight of the banner of the Great Eagle.

The snowfall is mercifully light, but the winds are beginning to hasten, murmuring as they race through cracks in stone and scrabble at exposed flesh. You manage to scrounge up a bit of sympathy for the Eagle Knights in their plate armor as you pull your cowl up. Even with their wool undershirts or whatever else they would be wearing, they would still certainly feel the cold as their armor slowly began to succumb to the touch of winter.

It eventually becomes difficult to see anything beyond a few dozen feet, the Over the howling winds, you hear Lord Pullman call for a group of scouts to investigate the area beyond visibility. A small group of knights, five in total, spur their horses onward and gallop into the roiling fog, eventually disappearing once they’ve passed a few dozen feet.

The caravan slows to a cautious pace. It would be stupid to come to a complete stop, especially while on the bridge and in the middle of this weather. But none of the assembled cohort is so eager to hurry along without knowing what lies on the other side.

(cont.)

The scouts return sooner than expected. Not even half an hour comes back before the sound of hooves beating against worn stone can be heard. For a brief moment, everyone stands on guard, Eagle Knights and Crownguard alike, hands on weapons or half drawn from their sheathes. The tension is immediately released when the fog parts to reveal the scouts coming down the bridge.

But something is wrong. Five horses return, but only four are being ridden. One of the knights shares a saddle with his comrade, slumped over the rider and seemingly devoid of life. This does not go unnoticed by Lord Pullman, who spurs his own mount onwards, his escort belatedly catching up behind him.

>>Later

The High Steward of Aderaveth eventually makes his way towards the carriage, his face set in a deep grimace. One of his aides holds the reins of his horse as he dismounts, the bottoms of his armor making a nice crunch against the snow-covered bridge. He casts the Crownguard neutral glances as he marches towards the carriage door, rapping sharply against the wood with a gauntleted hand.

“It’s your Uncle Kieran,” He says, half-shouting to be heard over the winds of winter. “If you won’t open the door, at least open the windows. There’s been an unexpected development.”

There’s a flurry of activity inside the carriage before the window eventually creaks open. Adrianna shivers at the sudden gust of wind, gooseflesh growing along the skin her dress failed to cover. She is soon quickly joined by Allanus and Ellana, who have to peak around her skirts to see their Uncle.

“Uncle?” Adrianna asks, “What is the matter?”

Lord Pullman exhales deeply as he reaches into his belt, withdrawing an arrow to present to the princess. It is different from the weapons you’ve seen both in use by the Red Snakes or hanging in the Crownguard barracks. The feathers adorning the shaft are midnight black, trimmed with gold and red, and the arrowhead itself is that of a cruel barb.

(cont.)

woop.

>>47990706
“Vascieli have taken the Midbridge Garrison,” He sourly mutters, snapping the shaft into two splinters with a gauntleted fist, “And the men I’ve stationed there last winter are either dead or in the prison cells. With the gate closed, we cannot pass unless we retake the garrison from those bloody dastards.”

Vascieli. Rebels and dissenters of the Empire, lead by the infamous Sunken King. Naming themselves after the race of Ancients that disappeared from Kaithe millennia ago, theirs was little better than a group of disorganized brigands. Better equipped, though, as they would raid villages and towns where arms for the Empire would be produced, stripping weapons and armor alike from any knights they would be able to kill.

Theirs is a dangerous lot. Once upon a time, you torched a Red Snake supply of foodstuffs and supplies that would be traded to the Vascieli for narcotics. The unlucky bastards sent to explain to the rebels that they had no supplies were found dead, mutilated beyond any sort of recognition save for the tattoos along their arms. Old Man Asmodai had severed all ties with them after that. Even he wasn't crazy enough to deal with them any further.

Nervousness breaks across Adrianna’s face as Lord Pullman continues to speak, “Do not worry yourself. Their grievance does not lie with you. Just last autumn, I led a group into one of their caves, killing every man to the last. This is no doubt retaliation for that.”

“Well that isn’t good,” Bellatrix mutters, cantering up to the lord. “How many men did you station in the garrison before you left?”

“Twenty five,” He says without hesitation, “All good men worth three of their own. The scouts were shot at before they could get a good look, but they estimated at least fifteen archers manning the walls. Doubtless there are more inside. Of their numbers, unknown."

(cont.)

>>47990938
well at least they aren't terrorists.

>>47990938
Lord Pullman casts a distant look towards the fog, staring at the unseen garrison beyond. “I planned for battle on this journey, but retaking a garrison is another matter entirely. I am reluctant to you for aid given the circumstances but anything you can manage would greatly appreciated.”

“Will the Crownguard lend us their strength” is the unspoken question that hangs in the air.

The Ingulan comes around the corner, a pensive look on his face as he directs a glance to his charge. Allanus hesitates before steeling himself, nodding sharply. That is all that it takes. The archer dismounts from his horse to join the rest of the assembled Eagle Knights.

Three Crownguard remain.

Bellatrix Lupine, Knightess and protector of Princess Adrianna.

Raleigh Silverow, Master Mage and tutor to Prince Allanus.

And you, Marcus Painel, Redeemed Assassin and sworn retainer to Princess Ellanna.

>Choose one:
>“My duty is to safeguard the princess.”
>“I would go if my lady permitted me to.”

>>47990998
Nah, just murderous psycho rebels.

Aka, terrorists.

>>47991030
>>“I would go if my lady permitted me to.”

>>47991030
>“I would go if my lady permitted me to.”
An assassin on the inside could wreck havoc before a main assault.

>>47991030
>“I would go if my lady permitted me to.”

Either we fight through, or turn back. Both is dangerous, and they are going to fight anyway. Turning back without the escort is out of the question.

>>47991030
>I would go if my lady permitted me to

>>47991030
>>“I would go if my lady permitted me to.”

>>47991034
no really, it's different. Hit up Sleeping Gods Quest to see what I mean.

>>47991030
>“I would go if my lady permitted me to.”
are they using poisons? We may have to concoct antidotes based on the "sample" we just received.

File: Solemn Ellana.jpg (234 KB, 800x600)

234 KB JPG

“I would go if my lady permitted me to,” You slowly say, casting a glance back towards the carriage. “Milord, are they using any kinds of poison? Did the arrow have any sort of toxin slathered onto its head? I saw the return of the scouts…”

He shakes his head. “Thankfully not. The arrow caught Drew at the collarbone, just a few blessed inches away from his throat. He’ll live to fight another day, but movement isn’t going to be easy for a good three months.”

The information comes as a relief. Narcotics aren’t the only thing the Vascilei are capable of creating. Though underused and reported very little, they have in their arsenal a wide range of poisons. Local hearsay says that a great alchemist, a banished magister, rides at the side of the Sunken King, brewing all sorts of maladies and other unpleasant extracts to kill loyal members of the Crown.

But that alchemist doesn’t seem to be here, and his poisons absent from this errant group of Vascieli. Or they were saving it for when the main force arrived. Either way, this will certainly make things easier. Even though your poison resistance isn’t as strong as it potentially could be, you’re fairly certain you can shrug off most of what they can throw at you.

Perhaps, if you are lucky, you can find some poison samples or recipes within the walls of the castle?

“Marcus.”

You turn towards the carriage, where Ellanna stands at the window with an unreadable look on her face. “Please come back when you finish.” She whispers, bashfully looking down. “We…still have lessons with Ansell to complete when this is all over.”

You smile and nod even though she can’t see it. “Of course, my lady. I promise to return.”

(cont.)

File: The Midbridge Garrison.png (26 KB, 1000x804)

26 KB PNG

>>The Frontlines
After Ellanna committed you to her Uncle’s cause, Adrianna put her foot down and said that was all the aid he would get. Two Crowngard are to go aid Lord Pullman in retaking the garrison, two were to remain to guard the royal family. Bellatrix and Silverow would be more than a match for any stray combatants, given the former’s savagery in combat and the latter’s repertoire of magic.

You join the Ingulan at the front of the caravan, where forty dismounted Eagle Knights have assembled, swords and shields in hand and at the ready. At your arrival, Lord Pullman unfurls a map, a crude sketch of the garrison recalled from memory given the squiggles.

“They have four primary towers from atop the battlements, and between them are all swarming with archers,” He mutters, “We do have our own bowmen, but they would be disadvantaged due to the low ground. We have not the siege equipment to break down the gates or climb up the walls. Underneath the garrison, there’s a sewer grate for waste disposal and garbage, but that would require scaling the side of the bridge. None of us can do that in heavy armor and without twine.

“What do you think? Can you tease a victory from these conditions, or are we going to have to retreat and go the long way into the Vale? That would take us another three weeks, something that Palme, Emeron and I not too fond of doing.”

>Plan of action:
>Sneak in from above the bridge, infiltrate from the tower.
>Sneak in from underneath the bridge, infiltrate from the sewer.

>>47991681
>Sneak in from above the bridge, infiltrate from the tower.
A couple of men on foot will get closer than men on horse

>>47991681
>Sneak in from above the bridge, infiltrate from the tower.

>>47991681
Whoops copied the wrong vote.
>>Sneak in from above the bridge, infiltrate from the tower.

I think our objectives should be to open the gate from the inside and see about taking out the archers on the wall to give our forces a clear approach.

>>47991681
>Sneak in from underneath the bridge, infiltrate from the sewer.

Sewers had to be maintained and cleaned. provided they dont know we are coming it could be an easy way in. Not the most pleasent though.

>>47991681
>Sneak in from above the bridge, infiltrate from the tower.

>>47991681
>>Sneak in from underneath the bridge, infiltrate from the sewer.

Okay, something came up. Gonna take care of it quickly and get back in a few minutes. Seems like tower vote is a go. Sewers not appetizing?

Writing...

>>47992309
You'll get to write your sewer level one day kaz

>>47992309
It just seems like it would take a lot longer and we'd have to go through more guys if we took the sewer. The gate lever/winch is usually on the wall the gate is on yeah? Or pretty close to it at least.

>>47992420
On the converse, the walls are manned and thus much more likely to be spotted on.

We have to get lucky on our rolls or the likely outcome is a speed run for the lever while trying not to get caught.

>>47992461
Thankfully I think it's dawn right now so hopefully the current shift of the watch is getting tired.

>>47992477
Wait scratch that. Dawn happened awhile ago. I have no idea what time it is.

>>47992488
Only two hours after dawn. Probably 8 o'clock, but visibility is shit in winter because of late sunrise and overcast sky.

Writing...

If it comes down to a fight I'm sure Marcus can handle it, and if not we just have to hope they're being lead by a young princess who we can roll 20s on

>>47992559
Roll 100's anon, 20s would be terrible

>>47992592
Oh that's right thank you for reminding me kind anon

File: Ingulan Crownguard.png (300 KB, 600x800)

300 KB PNG

“We’ll go in through the towers,” You say, pointing along the edge of the bridge. “I can crawl along the side of the wall without any trouble, get into the tower and find the lever that controls the gates. They are above ground, are they not? At least that’s what I would think they’re placed.”

Pullman nods. “Aye, it is: one levers on opposite sides for each gate. The Vascieli won’t expect you to scale up the sides, but the risk is greater for being shot at by archers. And you say you can scale the walls without equipment?”

You nod. “I can…and hold on.” You turn towards the Ingulan, who stands to the side. “Can you climb the walls with me?”

He nods, taking off his gloves and showing you weathered hands not unlike your own. Calluses in the right places that show experience in a life outside of castles and keeps. After all, he is Ingulan, even if he lacks the tattoos that mark the other members of his people. If half the rumors about their capabilities are true, then climbing along a stone wall shouldn’t be too much trouble for him.

“Glad to see it.” You return your attention to Lord Pullman, who regards the two of you with neutral eyes. “So there’s the plan, milord. The two of us will infiltrate the tower and open the gates for the Eagle Knights to sweep into.”

“If that is the case,” Pullman mutters, “Then it’s best for us to remain on horseback. But we’d have to stay a ways out of range from the arrows, and we can’t see shite in this blasted weather. You have some kind of signal you can give when the gates are opened?”

The Ingulan steps forward, presenting an arrow to the High Steward. The arrowhead is tipped with some kind of incendiary that will, judging from its design, burst into flames upon impact.

“This arrow here,” The archer intones, his Common heavily accented in Tathal, “Look for the pale fire to come from the fortress. That is signal that gates are open.”

(cont.)

>>47992504
Nah dude snow on the ground reflects light, even on overcast days it's very bright in the winter (so long as the sun is up)

>>47992759
Just hope its snowing. As the day goes on it could give us some decent cover.

>>47992715
>>The Rails of the Bridge
You rub your gloves together as you approach the side of the bridge. If your estimates are correct, then you and the Ingulan stand at the maximum range of the arrows. Even with the reduced visibility, you aren’t taking any chances. “Are you ready?”

He nods his ascent, gesturing for you to go on ahead. It’s your plan, after all. You’re the one that’s got to lead it.

“Try not to fall off,” You mutter as you begin your descent. The stone is cold to the touch, even through the material of your gloves. No sooner do you find yourself hanging along the side of the bridge do your hands begin to slowly grow colder. “I’d hate to explain to the prince why one of his two Crownguard failed to return.”

The Crownguard rumbles in amusement as he begins to follow you down. “We do not fall so easily.”

“Of course you don’t…” You mutter, leaping from one handhold to the next. The memory of the twins comes to the front of your thoughts, the duel that came only second behind Lucien in terms of killing you. “No they do not…”

There are footholds for workers, presumably to perform maintenance every few years. But these steps were made to be used in conjunction with twine and rope, and even then, not in the middle of a fierce winter storm. You carry no such tools, and the drop below is a long way down.

This is not going to be pleasant by any means necessary.

>Roll 1d100 + 30 (Nimble Fingers)
>Best of three

Rolled 31 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>47992834
Pray to the gods of winter, for it is here.

>>47992834

Rolled 91 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>47992834

Rolled 2 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>47992834
GUANTANAMO!

>>47992925
Could someone remind me what was the last roll Marcus failed?

>>47992943
One of the alchemy rolls earlier this thread.

>>47993123
Well then let's just hope that's the only failed roll this thread

>>47993183
I'm glad I barely missed getting a 1.

>>47992865
>>47992902
>>47992925
In spite of the cold, you and the Ingulan manage to press on, going from handhold to handhold with relative ease. It would be a lie to say that you aren’t nervous about the thousand foot drop underneath the bridge, but you do your best to keep your thoughts away from it.

You estimate that a good hour has passed when you finally make it to the bottom of the southeastern tower. The snow’s started to pick up, nowhere near the ferocity of a midwinter blizzard, but it’s enough to only be a minor distraction. You’ve certainly fought in worse conditions.

So far, the two of you haven’t been spotted by guards both along the walls or on the tower proper. You signal to the Ingulan and continue your climb up the stone, easily finding purchases and handholds where none would expect to look. You’re in no danger of frostbite, but it’s probably for the best that you find a campfire as soon as you finish your grizzly business.

However, there’s one guard that you can spot a good twenty feet up from your position. If you squint, you can see that the Vascieli has his back to the side you’re coming up upon. He seems to be doing nothing, just minding his own business as he does a terribly poor job of keeping a lookout for enemies.

>Pull the guard down from his post.
>Wait for him to leave his post.

>>47993408
Any way we can prevent him from screaming if we pull him off?

>>47993408
>>Wait for him to leave his post.
We don't know wether somebody sees him.
Or he may scream.
Or hold onto us while falling.

>>47993408
Is it possible yo cut his throat or vocal chords before we drop him? If so then drop him otherwise wait.

>>47993408
Can we kill him quietly and position him so that it looks like he's alive?

>>47993452
>>47993464
Cutting the throat is a viable option.

>>47993467
That's gonna be more difficult than just killing the guy.

>>47993478
OK scoot up enough to get our eyes over the railing to check if he is alone or not and slit his throat if he is.

>>47993408
>>47993478

Then get up behind him, make sure no-one is looking at him, then cut his throat and toss him off the walls. Even if someone notices him gone they're just going to assume he got cold and went to go slack off inside or is somewhere else.

>>47993478
Don't cut his throat. Stab him between the third and fourth ribs so that the blood in his heart will drain into his lungs. Then prop him up on one of the walls in a semi-attentive position.

>>47993578
This isn't a long mission. By the time anyone notices he is gone we'll have already opened the gates. No need for the extra risk of a body prop.

In summery: stab the guy, try not to get coated in blood, try not to let him make sound.
Maybe toss him off the side when weve done frisking him, or at least after weve nicked his hat and cloak to appear inconspicuous at a distance if we need to.

Why don't we just have our Archer friend take care of him?

>>47993646
Sure, he can hang onto the wall by sticking his balls to the icy bit of it while he draws his bow.

>>47993646
Why can't we? This is easy peezy.

>>47993625
Stabbing him properly means he'll only gasp a little.

>>47993669
I had assumed we were done climbing I retract my idea

>>47993669
That was a good laugh. Thanks anon.

You move as quietly on the wall as you can, taking care not to make too much noise as your feet move up from stone to stone. He doesn’t seem to notice your approach, but that’s partially due to the fact that his back is to your climb. This is good. Careless guards are always the easiest to deal with.

The closest you can get without being heard is five feet, your body pressed flat against the stone. At this range, it’s impossible for even the howling winds to obscure your senses. You concentrate, closing your eyes and filtering out all other noise as you focus on the tower above…

You can hear the noise the guard makes, the tapping of his boots against the stone and the wet sneeze he occasionally makes. He is the sole occupant of the southeastern tower, but that isn’t going to last for too long. There is a set of steps that you can hear coming from along the side, at least one, maybe two if they’re marching in sync, but you doubt that. They aren’t that disciplined if the guard’s back is away from the overhang.

There is enough time for you to make a possible move while the new arrivals get here, but you’ll have to do it quickly. Whatever the newcomers are, patrol or relief, it’s best to make a decision and do something before they arrive. You don’t have all the time in the world…

You unsheathe your dagger, carefully putting it between your teeth as you advance up the wall, signaling for the Ingulan to stay where he is.

>Kill the man, pull him off the side of the tower.
>Wait a bit for the patrol to pass

>>47993804
>Wait a bit for the patrol to pass

>>47993804
>>Kill the man, pull him off the side of the tower.

>>47993804
>Wait a bit for the patrol to pass

But make sure we are close enough to the top we can jump a guy (incase its a replacement guard).

We really need their hat/helmet and cloak, if we can.

You decide to play it safe, continuing to hold onto the edge of the tower as you wait for the patrol to pass. The sound of the door opening heralds the sound of a single man entering the tower. Just a single man, no other person accompanying him.

“Your stones freeze off yet?” The arrival says in a jeering voice. “I swear, I pissed off the side of the bridge and it froze while it was falling.”

“Fuck off,” The guard snaps, “Just take my spot so I can get the hell out of this blasted weather.”

“Sure, sure. Just make sure to get close to the fire once you’re all done. One of Ari’s men lost half his nose and three of his fingers from staying out in the cold.”

“Shit, that’s unlucky. He wasn’t wearing anything to protect his hands?”

“No. Idiot thought he could beat the cold weather by standing without a shirt on. Just for a fucking bet.”

“Then I shouldn’t be sad as much as I should be amused. What an idiot.”

“At least he still has his cock. The gods can take my sword hand as long as I can still plough tavern wenches and village lasses until the day I die.”

“Aye, I suppose that’s a fair enough trade. Personally, I’d like to keep both. What’s life without a pair of huge tits to put into your hands and squeeze-”

“Shut it with your preferences and get moving. We may be well-stocked courtesy of that bastard Pullman, but breakfast is gonna run out if you don’t hurry. deVires wants all of us on alert. Eagles are out and about.”

The guard mutters something under his breath about men and sticks up their asses as he departs. His relief takes up the previous position, settling to lean against the opening. Once you’re certain that the old guard has completely left the area, you move into action.

(cont.)

File: Current Location.png (28 KB, 1000x804)

28 KB PNG

“What-” Is all the relief can say as you leap up from the scaffolding and grab him by the mouth. He kicks and tries to scream, but it’s to no avail as you slice open his throat. His cries for help turn into gurgling, rasping pleas for mercy as you push the man over the side. The Vascieli doesn’t even make a sound as he disappears into the swirling ice below.

No more than a minute later does the Ingulan haul himself to join you, rubbing his hands together as he readies his weapons, arrow set and ready to be fired at a moment’s notice. You unsheathe your other dagger as you whisper your plan…

>Choose one:
>Fuck subtlety, fight your way down to the levers.
>Go in as quietly as you can, avoid getting detected
>Custom option

>>47994299
>Go in as quietly as you can, avoid getting detected

The longer we remain unknown, the closer to the goal we can get.

>>47994299
>Custom option
Quietly kill your way down to the levers? Use the asphyxiation poison to prevent screaming.

>>47994245
>pair of huge tits to put into your hands and squeeze
Guy has good taste.
>>47994299
>>Go in as quietly as you can, avoid getting detected

>>47994299
>>Go in as quietly as you can, avoid getting detected

As much fun as it is to go in guns loaded getting hurt would just make it harder to do our job, there's no hurry and we can always fall back on it if we get caught.

>>47994299
Can we please switch to backstabs? People can't scream when their lungs fill up with blood.

>>47994624
Either works famalam. Stop worrying about it.

>>47994649
But you're only going to hit one them, thus only filling half of it. And the other half is enough to scream. Plus, the filling with blood business does take a while. Not long, but long enough for a scream.

>>47994692
You don't hit the lungs, you hit the trachea, and the blood is pressurized enough to fill them quickly. This is how Christopher Lee stealth killed people in World War 2.

>>47994743
Stabbing the trachea from behind (aka literal backstabbing) would be hard, though, since the spine would be between blade and target.

File: Midbridge Cutaway.png (12 KB, 1000x804)

12 KB PNG

“Try to keep quiet,” You mutter as you begin your descent down the tower. You unstopper a bottle of Hangman’s Noose and slather it on your blades, quietly returning the bottle back into your satchel once its contents are spent. “The longer they don’t know we’re here, the more space we have to breath if things get ugly. The Eagle Knights will take care of the rest once we’re through.”

>Hangman’s Noose will last for twelve hours on each blade.
>Enemies that do not pass a Poison Resist DC will begin to suffocate

The Ingulan nods, showing you a pair of hunting knives almost large enough to be short swords. “Knives, or arrows? I can make swift, silent kills with both.”

>Choose one:
>Hunting knives
>Bow and arrow

Once you give your preference, you move towards the ladder to the floor below, inspecting the bottom of the tower. There’s only five Vascieli, milling around a small fire they’ve set up for themselves. They talk about odd ends, about food they’d rather be eating, girls they’d rather be fucking and how deVires was a goddamn genius to take the Midbridge garrison in the middle of winter.

deVires. You make a mental note of the name, filing it away for further reference. Maybe Pullman could make some use out of it. Once in you let him in, of course. One thing at a time.

With your earlier prerequisite to consider, it would be impossible for you to go down the ladder without making some sort of noise. Then again, you do have the advantage of height with you, as well as a plethora of throwing knives at your belt.

>Choose one:
>Jump down and surprise them.
>Pick them off from a distance.

>>47994859
>Bow and arrow
We can handle up close. If we need a ranged option fast Ingulan can handle it.

>Jump down and surprise them.
Have Ingulan take out the ones farthest from us.

>>47994859
>Bow and arrow
>Pick them off from a distance

DEATH FROM ABOVE!

>>47994859
>>Bow and arrow
>Pick them off from a distance.

>>47994859
>Bow and arrow
>Jump down and surprise them.
Let Ingulan deal with the stranglers.

>>47994929
Backing.

We jump down and let knifes fly, our freind shoots people with the bow.

>>47994859
>>47994900
>>47994929

>Jump down and surprise them.

Only if we kill two guards when we land.

>>47995094
That's the plan. Hit em high and low. Split their focus.

Gonna have to take a break to do some more errands. And my back is killing me. Sigh. I'll be back in four hours. Please keep thread bumped.

Bump

>>47995464
Task force smut when?

>>47996826
Never. Kaz's writefaggotry for Persona takes way more priority than his own stuff. Gotta impress Thorn and Yellingbird sempai

>>47996826
I'll get on it.

>>47997519
who are you?

>>47997604
Nobody.

But I've written smut before.

>>47996826
Aside from AdrianXAlyssa, what would you like to see? AdrianXFit ? AdrianXAngel? BradyXLeanansidhe?

>>47997986
AdrianXFitz
BradyXSidhe
MackayxPantlessAngel

>>47997986
VictoriaXHerMotorbike

Bump

>>47995464
>And my back is killing me
RIP Kaz, killed by his back.

>>47999109
It was all that talk of backstabbing so he tried it for himself.

>>47999194
traitorous backs, backstabbing their own backer.

>>47999109
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwwJdRWfvSM

>>47999109
>>47999194
>>47999998
The funny thing is, this persistent back pain has been going on since a few months ago. Now that I'm free, I'm finally gonna be able to see a doctor about it. My appointment is soon. Hope it isn't anything serious.

Writing.

>Bow and arrow
>Jump down and surprise them.

You’ve got two daggers, both of them slathered in Hangman’s Noose, and a near perfect view of the Vascieli soliders. On top of that, you have an Ingulan Archer with the eyes of a hawk, and an accurate hand with the bow and arrow. That’s at least three of the people dead within a quick succession.

The only question remains as to whether or not you’ll be fast enough to kill them before the rest of the rebels are alerted to the noise. With Hangman’s Noose, asphyxiation occurs within a few minutes to a quick second depending on where you stab. The closer to the throat, the quicker it goes on to choke them.

“The second I get down there,” You mutter, pointing to the Vascieli closest to the door, “You need to kill him. Take care of any stragglers that try to make any sort of noise or commotion.”

The Ingulan nods, nocking an arrow to the ebony bow in his hand. He mutters something in Tathal, probably a prayer given the mention of his goddess, Ingul, before responding, “It will be done.”

>>Geronimo
>>Ambush, automatic hit

“When this is all over, I think I’ll take us all to the Quivering Hills. My treat, you can pick the girls you want to fuck. Even the more expensive whores-”

He is unable to finish his sentence. You fall upon the man and the adjacent Vascieli by him, driving the daggers into their throats with the pressure of your fall. Before you even withdraw your weapons and let their spasming bodies drop to the floor, you hear a sharp whistle behind your ear, and the sensation of something flying past your head.

An arrow strikes the guard standing by the door, catching the man perfectly through the front of his eye. He doesn’t even have time to twitch before he falls onto the floor, accompanied by an unpleasant noise as the arrow punches through the back of his skull.

(cont.)

The last two have only a moment’s notice to act, hastily drawing their weapons as they try to move into you. Now that isn’t very smart at all. If you were the one in charge, you’d order them to shout at the first sign of trouble, let alone the sight of an armed man and three dead comrades.

Perhaps they’ll learn their lesson in the next life.

>Roll 2d100 + 30
>Best of three

Rolled 45, 34 + 30 = 109 (2d100 + 30)

>>48000574

Rolled 57, 19 + 30 = 106 (2d100 + 30)

>>48000574
Teaching lessons!

Rolled 37, 4 + 30 = 71 (2d100 + 30)

>>48000574

>>48000585
>>48000617
>>48000619
wow, bad rolls

>>48000585
>>48000617
>>48000619

them's some shit rolls at least no crit fails

Remember that even a nick on the skin causes the transmission of the poison.

Writing...

>>47998218
Aha, I can work with that. In the words of Harry Dresden "They're basically giant vibrators."

File: 1459045951425.jpg (21 KB, 228x561)

21 KB JPG

>>47998218
>>48001054
I'm suddenly having flashbacks to that one episode of 'Golden Boy'.

I don't know whether or not this is a good or bad thing.

>>48001115
That's actually what I was thinking about when I thought of the 'pairing'

File: The Ingulan.png (358 KB, 500x708)

358 KB PNG

>>48000585
>>48000617
>>48000619

>75, 87, 67
>64, 49, 34

The first man you actually manage to kill. Your blade goes through his throat, not quite severing the carotid artery, but going deep enough to get the moisture on the blade quite deep into the Vascieli’s neck. That enough is enough to get the man into a panic, dropping his weapon and scrambling to staunch the blood coming out of the new wound. Within a few moments, with or without external aid, he’d be dead on the ground.

It’s the second one that gives you trouble. His sword actually deflects your dagger, and the blade makes a harsh noise as it scratches along the chainmail covering his arms underneath his wool shirt. Damn. Either the cold is affecting your attacks more than you thought, or this one in particular is fast enough to block. You highly doubt the latter, and suspect the former.

But it doesn’t matter, in the end. Just as he opens his mouth and is about to cry for help, an arrow punches right though his teeth and out the back of his throat. Just as he hits the floor, groaning pitifully through the shaft in his mouth, the Ingulan comes down the ladder to join you. After making a distasteful noise with his tongue, he unsheathes his hunting knife and puts the bastard out of his misery.

Once you’ve taken to gathering yourselves and hiding the bodies as best you could, you regroup in the center of the room. “Okay, here’s what we need to do…”

>Split up, one distraction, one for the lever room.
>Both of you go together into the lever room.
>Custom option.

>>48001235
>>Both of you go together into the lever room.

>>48001235
>>Both of you go together into the lever room.

>>48001235
>Both of you go together into the lever room.

>>48001235
>Both of you go together into the lever room.
We really shouldn't do any more than expected, our responsibility lies with our charges.

>>48001235
>>Both of you go together into the lever room.

Assuming it's a capstan raised gate we might need 2 anyways. That shit is super heavy even with major mechanical advantage.

File: Vascieli Knight.jpg (367 KB, 1600x1265)

367 KB JPG

“We stick together,” You mutter, pointing towards the lever room down below your feet. “We’ll only kill when we need to. The rest of the rebels can be left to the Eagle Knights. I think it would be poor taste to leave Pullman and his men without anyone to avenge their comrades with.”

The Ingulan nods, but gestures to the various objects that lay scattered about the room. Spears, crates of rations, and even a few chairs and benches. “Barricade the doors,” He says, moving quickly. “That will give more time for the lever.”

There is wisdom in his words. “They’ll notice us when the next patrol tries to come past,” You mutter, even as you move to help move a heavy bench. “That’ll get the whole place up in arms.”

“But by the time they break it down,” He counters, sitting one of the corpses on the hastily-made barricade with a satisfied grunt, “We will find our lever and open gates.”

>>Lever Room

It’s down two flights of stairs past an empty floor and a wait to let another patrol pass before the two of you find yourselves on the floor above the basement that houses the Southern Gate Lever. A cursory inspection from behind a heavy oaken door reveals the sight of four ordinary men dressed in the Vascieli colors: red, black and gold. They mill about the object of your quest: the gate lever, a wheel.

But what makes the fifth stand apart from the rest is the full set of plate armor to cover him in head to toe. The insignia of some noble house has long been scratched away, and repainted in the insignia of the Vascieli: The Sunken Crown atop a Boiling Goblet. This is no ordinary combatant.

“That’s plate armor,” You mutter, pointing towards the Rebel Knight. “Even if I got close, I would be hard pressed to penetrate through the metal. I could find an opening between the joints given time, but that’s time we're hard pressed to spend.”

(cont.)

Your fellow Crownguard ponders this for a moment before reaching for his bow. The arrow he nocks to the string is tipped with ordinary steel, but there is magic that you can feel pulsing through the wood. “He will be no problem.”

You are comforted by his words, and nod in confirmation. “Alright then. On three…we go in, kill them all and open the gates for Lord Pullman. Are you ready?"

The sight of him drawing the string is all the confirmation you need.

"Alright. On my count…one…two…three!”

>Attack the normal rebels.
>Go straight for the Knight.

>>48001967
>Attack the normal rebels.

>>48001967
>Attack the normal rebels.
I trust his words

>>48001967
>>Attack the normal rebels.
I trust in Archer.

>>48001967
>>Attack the normal rebels.

We'd just block his line of sight, let him deal with the tin can on his own.

>>48001235
Mmm, sexy, sexy Archer.

>>48001967
>Attack the normal rebels.
Less people, less alarms.

>>48002054
Are you gar for the ingulan?

>Ambush, autocrit
>No dice rolls necessary
You leap from the staircase, repeating your earlier maneuver with the rebels in the lever room. And just as the men to guard the battlements, they die as well, blood quickly filling their throats as you cut right into their necks. A merciful death by any other means. To suffocate from Hangman’s Noose is a slow and painful end.

Push ultimately came to shove, and you decided to let the Ingulan take care of the knight. You are far from properly equipped to dealing with foes in full plate armor. You consider the possibility of enchanted blades, more virulent poisons, or vials of acid. The latter of the three is an option you’ve seen Lucien put into use.

But you digress. Two rebels in chainmail fall, two more surprised and fearful left to go. The Rebel Knight doesn’t even have time to draw his sword before the dissonant TWANG of a bow accompanies the flight of the arrow that literally screams towards the Vascieli. There is an explosion of gore as it punches through the plate as a fist through a fresh loaf of bread, leaving a well-sized hole right at the man’s stomach.

Much to your disbelief, even as entrails and viscera begin to pour from the wound, the Knight only staggers back as if momentarily winded, before planting his feet into the ground and drawing a massive bastard sword. The Ingulan seems to share your shock, but only for a brief second as he nocks another arrow to the bow and lets it fly towards the knight. This time, it doesn’t have as much of a dramatic impact, but it punches through the metal that protects his lungs.

Given time, the Vascieli knight will bleed to death. Either way, it isn’t your problem. Your current problem is the last two rebels in chainmail, who quickly ready their swords, and nervously approach with wooden shields raised cautiously.

>Roll 2d100 + 30 Combat
>Best of three

Rolled 93, 34 + 30 = 157 (2d100 + 30)

>>48002387
>as a fist through a fresh loaf of bread, leaving a well-sized hole right at the man’s stomach.
holy-
> the Knight only staggers back as if momentarily winded
okay, shit's getting real.

Rolled 66, 26 + 30 = 122 (2d100 + 30)

>>48002387

Rolled 26, 1 + 30 = 57 (2d100 + 30)

>>48002387
That knight is a champ.

>>48002448
Kek. Time to get wounded.

>>48002448
>Markus takes critical wound
>Garcher saves his life
there's another lifedebt on the list.

>>48002464
He'll have to tell him his life story as well.

>>48002464
Lifedebt quest is go

>>48002510
Gotta swear them all!

>>48002082
Are you not?

>>48002387
All we needed was to knick him with noose

>123, 96, 56
>74, 56, 31
>Nat One
There is good news, bad news and worse news.

The good news is that you managed to kill the first rebel with relative ease. You kicked aside his shield, brushed aside the sword and cut open his throat with a single, seamless strike. His cry of pain turns into a bloody gurgle as the man chokes on his own blood, collapsing to the floor like a deboned fish. Armored hands futilely try to stem the flow of warm, sticky blood to come pumping out of the wound.

The bad news is that in attempting to get the second man, he manages to block your attack with his shield and counter with the sword. His attack actually manages to slice through the underside of your gauntlets, severing right through the leather thongs and cutting into your wrist. It isn’t fatal, but it’s enough to cause you to drop your dagger and take a few steps back.

>You are unable to use your left hand for the duration of his fight.
>You have lost one of your daggers

Oh, but it gets worse. This one is actually smart. Instead of pressing for the advantage, he takes a deep breath and shouts at the top of his lungs: “INTRUDERS! THERE ARE INTRUDERS IN THE LEVER-”

So the Ingulan cut him off with an arrow through the throat, but the damage is already done. Even with the muffled wind outside of the bridge, someone is bound to have heard that shout. And that someone would tell more someones, and before you know it, the whole garrison is going to be coming down to the lever room.

And that’s not even the end of it.

Even with all the others dead or in the process of dying, the Vascieli Knight advances towards you, bastard sword at the ready. While the pain of his wound shows in the occasional twitch and harsh grunt from the faceplate, he’s still a dangerous combatant. An observation he supports as he swings the sword towards you.

>Roll 1d100 + 30 to DODGE
>Best of three

Rolled 96 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>48002961
Alright lets get a 4th nat 1 to have to same amount as that one TF666 thread.

Rolled 8 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>48002961
CAN'T TOUCH THIS!

Rolled 16 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>48002961

>>48003002
You mean the first one? Never again man shit was insane.


Fitz is best girl

You manage to dodge this attack with minimal effort. In spite of the armor he wears, the rebel is far from a knight in terms of martial prowess. And to a certain extent, there could be some knights who certainly make this mistake as well: showing their attacks. A good fighter uses minimal effort, doesn’t show where he’s about to swing.

Not this one. No, he even braces his feet and goes through the big dramatic motions of an attack more suited for theatre choreography that the actual field of battle. You would laugh if it weren’t for the pain racing along your left arm.

The only good thing to come out of this is that the idiot put too much force into his ‘attack’, overcompensating with the swing. And in his severely wounded state, there’s no way he would recover in time to make a proper counter from one of your own attacks. Not that it ever comes.

The Ingulan unceremoniously shoots an arrow right through the faceplate, punching through the thin metal and exiting out the back with a nasty sound. For a moment, the Vascieli teeters uncertainly, even planting his sword into the ground. But with a groan that comes both from throat and unoiled armor, the hulk comes crashing down to the ground, making an impact you can feel through your boots.

Yet there is no time to celebrate. Above, you can hear the sound of footsteps and the sound of loud BOOMS against the doors leading into the tower, dust falling from the violent impacts. They’ve brought makeshift battering rams to attempt to break through the barricade. You made sure to stack as much as you could on both doors, but there’s no telling when they would break through.

Both you and the Ingulan share a quick look towards the ceiling and to each other…

>“I’ll distract the guards, you open the gate.”
>“You distract the guards, I’ll open the gate.”

>>48003306
>>“I’ll distract the guards, you open the gate.”

>>48003306
>>“I’ll distract the guards, you open the gate.”

>>48003306
>“I’ll distract the guards, you open the gate.”

>>48003306
>>“You distract the guards, I’ll open the gate.”

Our hand is hurt and he's almost certainly much stronger than us, he should get it (again I'm assuming this a capstan gate lift for a relatively small gate, otherwise there is no way 2 guys could ever get it up)

>>48003306
>>“I’ll distract the guards, you open the gate.”

>>48003306
“I’ll distract the guards, you open the gate.”

>>48003306
>“I’ll distract the guards, you open the gate.”

>>48003537
wow I quoted the wrong one like a moron, I meant

>“I’ll distract the guards, you open the gate.”

>>48003581
this is like the third time this thread.

>>48003673
I am not a clever man.

It’s going to take a strong man to get the gate open. And with your hand slightly damaged, that man clearly is not you. You tie the leather thongs of your gauntlet together as best as you can, pulling a strip of bandage from your satchel to wrap around your arm. Far from proper treatment, but it should stop you from suffering any dramatic effects of bloodloss. You have no desire to repeat the night on the snow.

“I’ll distract the guards,” You say, exhaling as you sprint towards the door. “You get the gate open while I get us some more time.”

You’re not sure whether or not its disbelief or denial that prompts him to shake his head. “Not smart. Very dangerous. I will come with you-”

His words are interrupted by the sound of a particularly loud THUD. The Vascieli must be getting desperate. Not that you blame them. Considering that to the south, a force of a hundred Eagle Knights stand at the ready, you can certainly understand their haste in trying to stop you.

“Someone has to get that gate open,” You mutter, pointing to the wheel. “You’re the stronger of the two of us if you’re able to effortlessly draw that monster of a bow.”

You think you can see the corner of his mouth tug upwards slightly. “It takes learned man to recognize a bow made from Plainswalker bones.”

“Not learned as much as random bits of knowledge,” You exhale. That particular bit of knowledge came from one of your reading nights with Serena, when you flinched a book of Ingulan culture from a traveling merchant. “But the point remains. You stay here, I’ll keep them busy.”

“What about the signal?” He counters. “The Eagle Knights will need to see the pale fires.”

“Well, then, you best hurry up and get that gate open. Lord Pullman’s men are more than willing, but the Vascieli aren’t going to wait.”

(cont.)

You can hear the laughter of the Ingualn even as you shut the door and ready yourself for combat. With a final BOOM, the door breaks as you hear the dull grind of the gate’s chains moving. Men in chainmail, wielding swords, spears, maces and more, begin to pour into the room. Five immediately fall down as throwing knives embed themselves into eyes, throats, unarmored groins.

You take a deep breath, focusing inwards as you fall into the first position of the Dance. “Shall we dance?”

>4d100 + 30 Combat
>Best of three

Rolled 56, 31, 35, 76 + 30 = 228 (4d100 + 30)

>>48003844
Losing a pint of blood every few weeks is healthy!

Rolled 79, 62, 20, 62 + 30 = 253 (4d100 + 30)

>>48003844
TRIO GUIDE MY DICE

Rolled 5, 98, 98, 70 = 271 (4d100)

>>48003844

Rolled 95, 3, 53, 23 + 30 = 204 (4d100 + 30)

>>48003844
RIP

&

TEAR

Rolled 86, 1, 23, 40 + 30 = 180 (4d100 + 30)

>>48003844

>>48003879
oh god 4th roll that was almost bad

>>48003871
>>48003870
>>48003865
109, 128, 128, 100

>>48003905
So the guy that cut our wrist was super elite, right? Must be, there's no way we could get hurt by some lowly scrub. Yes, this is what I choose to believe.

>Chose one:
>The Father
>The Revenant
>The Steward

Let's play a game while we wait:
>FMK
>Adrianna, Bellatrix, Anne

>>48003976
Anne is the maid right?

>>48003976
>The Revenant
>Adrianna

>>48003976
what does fmk stand for?

>>48003976
>>The Revenant

Um.... lets see.

F Bellatrix because that's my fetish
M Because she could provide for me
K Anne by process of elimination

>>48003976
>The Revenant

>Fuck
Bellatrix

>Marry
Adrianna

>Kill
Anne. No real ill will, just not that interesting. Yet anyways.

>>48004004
fuck, marry, kill

>>48003976
>The Steward

>>48004018
....ah.

File: Spoiler Image (339 KB, 455x601)

339 KB PNG

>>48003976
>Fuck
Fritz
>Marry
Fritz
>Kill
Victoria

>>48003976
>The Revenant

>>48004076
>Fuck
>Not Alyssa


Spot on with the kill though.

>>48004150
>Not Lucifer
FTFY

>>48004150
>>48004168
You think we could get away with Pixie?

>>48004203
No.

>>48004203
Yes.

>>48004203
Maybe.

>>48004203
of course not, that's marriage material, right there!

>>48004203
I'd have a hard time choosing between her and Ftiz.

>>48004203
Rule #1

>>48004271
Rule 1, subsection H, paragraph 7, line four,
"Except Pixie, that's totally okay."

>>48004319
But you'd break her in half, if you could even get it to fit in the first place...

>>48004319
no man, not subtle enough.

Rule #47
Living Beings wearing Demonica Suits and supplying appropriate identification are classified as Task Force members. Human, Demon, or whatever between, that classification is suspended so long as they wear the Demonica.

File: The Revenant.jpg (112 KB, 498x725)

112 KB JPG

>>The Revenant
“Come with me and I will make you stronger.”

The boy you said those words to so many years ago now stands before you, a completely different person from the gutter rat you found in the back alley of an Opranian whorehouse. He was scrawny, with the face of a child and had a tendency to burst into sobs at the slightest provocation. That child is no more.

In his place stands a young man, forged from years of blood, sweat and bitter tears shed on the Proving Grounds. The baby fat has melted away into angular features, unblemished even to this day after so many years of harsh conditioning. Eyes, previously innocent and wide, now narrowed into a confident gait that’s sent many village girls swooning and tavern lasses hearts afire.

It is hard to believe that once upon a time, this was the boy who wouldn’t last a mile without collapsing halfway. Now, he can match even your pace through the Forest of Stones, the closest anyone’s ever come to catching you. And his is now the body of a seasoned warrior, proportioned in all the right places, the perfect balance of strength and dexterity.

He is, without a doubt, the finest student you’ve had the pleasure to train. And that is not a compliment you dole out lightly. For every master, it is the unlikely student, the unexpected pupil, which provides the most joy. Even for you.

“You came before us,” You intone, pacing around your student as he bites into the gag. The tattoos on Unathe’s face furrows along with her brow as she traces the last of the Nightlord’s Blessing upon his back. He has lost a great deal of blood in the final stage of the Trial. “Weak and unformed, wretched and destitute. You had nothing, not even the clothes on your back, not even the name of your father. A whoreson’s birthright.”

(cont.)

>>48004365
Potential charges against task force members – Excerpt
1 § H. P. 7, 4.
a. One may be privileged to enter a union with the fae creature designated, Pixie, or, High Pixie. Where both parties enter willingly, without compulsion…. The effect is that the task force member is liable towards all progeny of the aforementioned union.
b. The effect of the rule stated in this sections subject to interpretation by one’s immediate commanding officer.
c. The rule stated in subjection (H) applies irrespective of other controlling rules and subjections.

>>48004375
You can hear the leather creaking as Unathe inscribes the final design, and a muffled scream as the tattoos flare to life with a searing radiance. Even your student is not immune to the pain as the Nightlord performs the Judgment of the Bond. No one is, no one ever shall be. Not even you, so many decades ago.

Pain is an illusion, a response of the body to signal caution and trepidation. What every member of your family undergoes then, is not pain. It is nothing less than the sensation of having your soul set alight with the flames of the sun.

In truth, the Judgment of the Bond is merely ceremonial. After passing the Trial by Combat, the first contestant in many years to actually defeat the opponents provided, he had already proven worthy.

The light eventually fades away, and your student slumps in the bonds that restrain him upon the dais. Unathe swiftly moves away as the healers rush to take her place, potions and restorative salves at the ready. A knife is passed to the leader, and moves to cut the restraints that secure your pupil’s wrists.

It is with great surprise that your student moves as soon as he’s free, stumbling to his feet with only the slightest wobble. He pushes away any attempts at aid, only taking an offered bottle with a careless wipe. In a single swing, he downs the contents of the potion, grimacing at the taste before handing it back to the healer.

Ignoring the blood that flows down his back, down his arms, he presents himself before you, standing sharply at attention. It is as if he had not suffered for the last nine days. Even you took a half a day to rest before the previous master finished the ceremony.

“Once, you were a phantom with no place to call your own. Now, you are in the company of kindred spirits.”

At your words, they descend from the shadows, filling the ceremonial room without as much as a noise. Two dozen men and women, wreathed in the mantle of your progenitor, the first of the Revenants.

(cont.)

>>48004498
So they seem nice.

File: The Student.jpg (51 KB, 444x627)

51 KB JPG

>>48004498
It is with eyes alight in the Specter’s Dream that they watch your student prostrate himself before you. He bows deep, supplanting both hands onto the ground as his head touches the cold stone. The deepest and most profound gesture of respect once could give.

“Do you remember your name?”

A question asked to every single one to present themselves to the Revenant, to put themselves to the Trials and subject themselves to the Judgment of the Nightlord. Reborn in pain and suffering and baptized in the darkness, the old life they knew was little more than distant memories at the bottom of the mind.

“My name…” He says, in a voice no longer hoarse from screaming, “…is lost.”

There is nothing more that needs to be said.

“Then we shall make this Gift to you: a new name for your new life, for a new beginning.” You claps a hand on his bloody shoulder, guiding him to stand with you atop the dais in the shadow of the god you serve. “Rise, Lucien Painel, and take your place among your brothers and sisters. From this day forward, in both life and in death, you are now, and forevermore, a Wraith of the Night’s Haunt.”

==============

Gonna archive it in a few minutes.

Follow me on Twitter for session times and other Bladebound related stuff. https://twitter.com/TaskForceKaz

Don't forget to check out the previous sessions on suptg: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Bladebound%20Retainer%20Quest

Hope y'all have a good night/morning/day/afternoon wherever you based anons are.

>>48004581
knew it