At the request of a Bee - a keeper of the nectar of memory - named One Hundred and Twenty Eight Heartbeats Before Dawn, you incinerated Helen's Blighted heart and freed her of her burden.

In return, Dawn joined you upon your Travail, swearing the oaths of a Familiar Spirit to follow you and obey you until the terms of your contract are complete. In thanks for relieving her of her burden and saving her from the grim fate of growing into a Blighted Tree and slave eternal to the Abyssal Mycelium, Helen bequeathed to you what remained of her worldly possessions: a chest full of old coins from the Age of the Dragon Kings, and the Lust Spear Shamhat. The Twelfth Divine Spear thought you a mere sapling of a girl, but once you showed her the pleasure you could endure, it begrudgingly accepted you as its wielder. If only because that was Helen's wish.

After spending nearly a month traversing the Goldengrass Wastes - a land once Blighted and then burnt clean by Dragonflame that still simmers beneath the surface - you and Dawn have come across men in suspiciously poor uniforms and equipment taking tolls out of a tower. Yet for all that, their discipline is better than most bandits you would expect, and their so-called captain has taken you to their Lord, who is in residence at the somewhat-renovated watchtower.

This all feels of strange honey, Neia, Dawn buzzes with concern. Not rancid, but not right...

"Humes are such strange creatures," you say. For the sake of your audience, who cannot understand the buzzing of those who tend the flower fields, you keep the So it is to be expected silent. As you speak, you eye the rather eccentric decor of the tower, which seems to be a mix of remarkably authentic heirlooms of the Hume clan whose banner flies overhead, and newer, almost avant-garde pieces of artwork.

"Meaning no disrespect to you, Childe Lagneia, but... we of Daedalium have a saying about the wisdom of throwing stones within the halls of a glass house," the man guiding you through the watchtower, Robert Hael, says. He points at the flower on your head, frozen in time by dragon-brass and expanded into a cozy little hive for Dawn to live in through your travels. You can't say you know what that has to do with houses made of glass, though. "Are... are you aware that you have a bee the size of my palm poking out of your head?"

"Yes," you say with a serene calm, gesturing for Dawn to come out and land on your hand. With some trepidation, she buzzes free of her hive and lands on your palm, letting you stroke her fuzzy fur. "Her name is One Hundred and Twenty Eight Heartbeats Before Dawn, or Dawn for short."

"She's not the type to sting, is she?" Robert asks. His gaze grows a bit wary when his eyes catch Dawn's thumb-sized stinger.

That depends if your heart is rancid, rotten honey, Dawn buzzes somewhat aggressively.

"Not without good reason," you say. Your own eyes flash dangerously. "I trust she will not have any, here."

"Nay, she won't," Robert raises a placating hand. He takes a turn down one of the corridors that bridges between the new and old construction in the Watchtower, and comes to a stop before a grand cherry door flanked by two men with spears. Like the others, their armor is not the best fit nor the newest make, but it's well care for. "You'll find Barol Şoimul to be a good man. A bit on the eccentric side, and perhaps a touch too fond of coin, but a good man. Of course you need not take my word for it, he awaits your presence now. Johan, the door for Childe Lagneia, will you?"

"Aye, Cap'n Hael!" one of the armored men snaps to attention, and moves to open the door for you.

"Thank you, Johan," Robert leads you through the threshold, and the door closes behind you with a solid thud. "Baron Şoimul, I have the pleasure of introducing you to Childe Lagneia, late of the Elfhomes and upon her Travail. Childe Lagneia, it pleases me to introduce you to my liege and lord, the good Baron Azar Şoimul, last scion of the noble House of Leiningen."

The man Robert introduces you to is younger than you expected. Younger and far more handsome, too handsome by far to be the false lord of some bandits. Such a man would have regality to him, for sure, and no doubt the rough charms of a wild man untamed by society, but he would also bear many scars as the badge of his station, even with healing magics readily available. Yet not a single scar mars this man's handsome face, buried as it is in the paperwork that has piled upon his desk, not even where he wears an eyepatch. As embroidered as it is with arcane symbols... ah, you see, he is not missing his eye, but rather is attempting to convert it into a Mystic Eye.

A bandit lord with no scars, men-at-arms who behave more like guardsmen lifted from the common folk than knaves upon the roads, and an understanding of magic that exceeds most Humes. And with a taste for the fine arts as well, if his collection is anything to go by. You did not recognize most of the works he has amassed, but you do recognize the work of Emil Bravant. You have vivid memories of Domiciles for the Children in particular, as you had been assigned to help with his creative process to practice your skill at keeping a man on edge with your mouth when you were fifty three.

"Thank you Robert," the strange lordling looks up from his papers. "You may leave us."

"As you will, my lord," Robert bows, and takes his leave through the door you came in.

"Thank you for accepting an audience at such short notice, Baron Şoimul," you begin. You take on an inviting pose that doesn't quite beg for his eyes to lick every inch of your delightfully small body, but certainly gives them leave to if they wish. A proposition his one uncovered eye certainly. "There appears to be a gap in your procedures that does not account for how to toll lone travelers on the road, and I thought I might offer something to balance the scales if you would provide-"

"Marry me," Baron Şoimul says with a sincerity that puts you on your back foot. Could this be the rumored love at first sight that you've heard about?

"What?" you finally manage to get a word out after a few moments of silence.

"Simply put, I do not believe that there is a means to balance the scales, for the weight of a moment spent in the presence of your immaculate beauty surely outweighs all the riches of the Nine Lands," he declares in a tone that does something strange to your heart. You swear you can hear Shamhat laughing at something in the back of your mind as your thoughts race and fail to form anything coherent. You are not weak to compliments, but... the puppy-dog sincerity behind them here, coming from such a handsome face... "Therefor, the only solution I have to even begin to balance the scales is to offer you my everything and devote all of my skills, my strength, and my creativity into being the perfect husband for you. Marry me."
>You, uh... wait, your vows! You can't get married, you're a Daughter of Irminsul, a wife for everyone who needs a woman's touch.
>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa! (Run away)
>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa! (Have Dawn defend your poor maiden's heart!)
>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa! (Pull out Shamhat and unleash her power upon him)
>Try to ignore this all and get the business proposal done with.
>Wait, can you use this to further your ends of getting the Treaties signed...?
>"If you want to be my husband, prove to me that you can withstand the ultimate seduction technique." Unleash your full seductive power as a Daughter of Irminsul upon him.

>>5551357
>>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa! (Have Dawn defend your poor maiden's heart!)

File: A6755C1F-C527-4B06-ABF7-1(...).png (91 KB, 152x152)

91 KB PNG

>>5551357
>"If you want to be my husband, prove to me that you can withstand the ultimate seduction technique." Unleash your full seductive power as a Daughter of Irminsul upon him.

Lets see if he can handle our most powerful technique


also THE ELF MAIDEN QUEST IS REAL

>>5551357
>>You, uh... wait, your vows! You can't get married, you're a Daughter of Irminsul, a wife for everyone who needs a woman's touch.
Elves can't into monogamy!

>>5551357
>>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa! (Pull out Shamhat and unleash her power upon him)

>>5551357
>>You, uh... wait, your vows! You can't get married, you're a Daughter of Irminsul, a wife for everyone who needs a woman's touch.
But also let's use that seductive charm. Maybe blow him a kiss?

>>5551357
>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa! your vows! You can't get married, you're a Daughter of Irminsul, a wife for everyone who needs a woman's touch.
we're a free ho! on the other hand(a.k.a combine these two ideas)
>Wait, can you use this to further your ends of getting the Treaties signed...?
maybe this ho can get herself a personal harem of sorts

>>5551357
>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa! (Pull out Shamhat and unleash her power upon him)
Goodbye.

>>5551357
>>"If you want to be my husband, prove to me that you can withstand the ultimate seduction technique." Unleash your full seductive power as a Daughter of Irminsul upon him.

>>5551357
>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa!
>You, uh... wait, your vows! You can't get married, you're a Daughter of Irminsul, a wife for everyone who needs a woman's touch.
>Wait, can you use this to further your ends of getting the Treaties signed...?
>"If you want to be my husband, prove to me that you can withstand the ultimate seduction technique." Unleash your full seductive power as a Daughter of Irminsul upon him.
I love this twist

>>5551746
>>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa!
>>You, uh... wait, your vows! You can't get married, you're a Daughter of Irminsul, a wife for everyone who needs a woman's touch.
>>Wait, can you use this to further your ends of getting the Treaties signed...?
>>"If you want to be my husband, prove to me that you can withstand the ultimate seduction technique." Unleash your full seductive power as a Daughter of Irminsul upon him.
+1

Tell him about the nature of your status as a sacred prostitute - if he can handle the blown kiss and aware of the nature of her job, then yeah marriage lol

>>5551357
>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa!
>You, uh... wait, your vows! You can't get married, you're a Daughter of Irminsul, a wife for everyone who needs a woman's touch.
>Wait, can you use this to further your ends of getting the Treaties signed...?
>"If you want to be my husband, prove to me that you can withstand the ultimate seduction technique." Unleash your full seductive power as a Daughter of Irminsul upon him.

>>5551357
>You, uh... wait, your vows! You can't get married, you're a Daughter of Irminsul, a wife for everyone who needs a woman's touch.

>"If you want to be my husband, prove to me that you can withstand the ultimate seduction technique." Unleash your full seductive power as a Daughter of Irminsul upon him.

>>5551357
>>You, uh... wait, your vows! You can't get married, you're a Daughter of Irminsul, a wife for everyone who needs a woman's touch.
Lagneia is for public lewds

>>5551357
>>You, uh... wait, your vows! You can't get married, you're a Daughter of Irminsul, a wife for everyone who needs a woman's touch.
Roomancers are a thousand times worse than coomers.

>>5551357
>Other/Write-in
>Suck his ding dong

>>5551357
>>5551746
Backing this. I imagine the first one as the knee-jerk reaction, the second as the second knee-jerk reaction, the third as internal monologue, and the fourth when she realize she stopped paying attention to things and she wants to get back on top of things.

>>5551357
>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa! (Have Dawn defend your poor maiden's heart!)

>>5551746
>>5552547
Ok I support this as well.

>>5551357
>Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa!
>You, uh... wait, your vows! You can't get married, you're a Daughter of Irminsul, a wife for everyone who needs a woman's touch.
>Wait, can you use this to further your ends of getting the Treaties signed...?
>"If you want to be my husband, prove to me that you can withstand the ultimate seduction technique." Unleash your full seductive power as a Daughter of Irminsul upon him.

>>5551357
>Wait, can you use this to further your ends of getting the Treaties signed...?
>"If you want to be my husband, prove to me that you can withstand the ultimate seduction technique." Unleash your full seductive power as a Daughter of Irminsul upon him.

qm…?

good thread

test

>>5555555

Updoot will come when the coom banks are restored

>>5555486
>>5555548
>>5555553
>>5555560
>>5555816
Brain is full of fuck right now. If it's not out by today, though, it will be written up tomorrow.

>>5556024
based

>>5556024
thank you for letting us know

File: 487DC9BC-0A4A-43A2-B926-E(...).jpg (21 KB, 529x580)

21 KB JPG

>>5556024
thanks for the heads up qm

Rolled 9 (1d100)

Don't worry about this roll guys it's nothing I promise.

>>5556730
Oh no
No
No

>>5556730
calling it now — Lagneia will fumble her signature blown kiss and swoon over the chunni dark lord

>>5556785
>>5556753
plot twist, this is the baron's roll

File: Happy Lagneia.png (7.54 MB, 2374x3055)

7.54 MB PNG

"Kyaaaaaaaaaaa~!" you let out a squeal of panic and shock.

Your poor maiden's heart overflows with shock and a happy sort of embarrassment that makes you at once want to run the man through with Shamhat, run away from this office and make for the heartlands of Daedalium, and run into his arms and bury your face in this absolute doofus's chest. None of those things would really help facilitate the negotiations between you and Baron Şoimul, and especially the bit about running him through with Shamhat would be a major breach of diplomatic propriety. Though squealing like a laywoman about to be ravaged in every hole by a pack of rapacious bandits at his sudden could not really be considered proper diplomatic form, either.

It did make Shamhat burst into laughter. Only you can hear it across your connection as Divine Spear and Wielder, but it does not help your turbulent mood. Dawn at least knows how to read the room. She gives some reassuring buzzing, and nuzzles you like an affectionate puppy trying to calm your unstill maiden's heart.

Baron Şoimul only slightly arches his eyebrow when he sees the fist-sized bumblebee emerge from the flower on your head.

"My Lord!" Robert throws open the thick oaken door to the Baron's office with one hand, the other holding fast to the grip of his arming sword. Johan and the other fellow guarding the office are quick at Robert's side as the captain rushes in. Johan moves with the professional grace of a well-drilled bodyguard to protect you as you wilt into the corner of the room. Azar remains perfectly calm, closing his uncovered eye to take a long sip from his tea. "Childe Lagneia! Is everything alright? I heard a scream. Assassins? Did some beast manage to get through our perimeter?"

"Oh there's a beast in this room, alright..." You turn a red face glare at Azar, your eyes tearing up with all those strange and unfamiliar emotions welling up from the depths of your maiden's heart. He returns your look with a charming smile and that same all-too-sincere puppy-dog adoration in his one visible eye. "An uncouth, improprietous, and unseemly brute seems to be wearing the skin of the good Baron Şoimul, Sir Hael. You have spoken so highly of your Lord that I can think of no other reason that his first words to a delicate maiden - such as myself - would be so... so... inappropriate!"

Robert clicks his tongue and lets go of his sword's handle. He takes a deep breath, then waves off Johan and the other guard - both of whom swiftly return to guarding the door.

"I have not known my Lord to make many advances towards women, Childe Lagneia," Robert says with a measured. He then nods towards Azar's adoring gaze, which has not left you for an instant. "Indelicate or otherwise. Though the charms of an elf maiden are truly formidable; I can count on one hand the women I have met whose beauty could be spoken of in the same sentence as your own. My Lord... may I ask what you said to Childe Lagneia?"

Baron Şoimul looks a bit bashful, but his adoring puppy-like gaze that makes you squirm beneath its sincerity does not leave you for even an instant. He grumbles his reply like a dog that's been flicked on the nose, and then returns to drinking his tea. "It's not like I asked her to come warm my bed for the night, or anything like that."

"My Lord..." Robert seems to be used to being given run-arounds like that. He seems just a bit weary and exasperated, having already come to the conclusion in his heart that his Lord was captivated by your beauty and said something stupid. Which is hardly an incorrect assumption. "I didn't ask what you did not say, I asked-"

"I would have welcomed such an invitation," you growl at him. The tears welling up from your delicate maiden's heart have subsided, but your face is still bright red with embarrassment as you glare at Azar. A rant is on your tongue and neither men have the courage to stop you. "It is the honor, duty, and pleasure of a Daughter of Irminsul to provide lonely men with her company for the evening and treat them to every delight that her body has to offer. To relieve even the most perverse and rapacious of men from the torment of the lustful spirits that drives them to commit atrocities against laywomen and - even worse - children is our very purpose. To give the righteous man the sweet reward he is due, and help him build a strong foundation of confidence and skill upon which he can build his future is our greatest of joys."

A fire lights in your eyes, which glow a furious green as your mana pulse and your heart pounds in your chest, burning away the happy embarrassment as the passions that drove you to join the Daughters of Irminsul flare up. The potted plants in the room begin to bloom as the lifeblood of Yggdrasil flows up into your body like an inverted waterfall, and every piece of metal begins to curl into a more organic shape. Not destroying them or inhibiting their function, but adding beauty, and a certain power to them, like a child's attempt at simple artifice, sloppier than your first blowjob. If the shame at losing control of your magic like this was not burned away by your indignation, you'd probably die of it.

And as you speak, a traitorous thought writhes up from your pragmatic mind. A marriage to even a false heir of the House of Leiningen could help with the goals of your Travail... but you stamp the thought out like a worm.

Shamhat's laughter abates, and as you continue, you can feel her nodding along with your every word.

"What you have asked of me is something that it is one hundred years too early for me to give to you," you declare. You do not let go of the mana you are holding in your heart, but you do your best to tug upon the stray threads. "Not only does it go against the purpose of this life I have been given, but it would amount to a betrayal of my vows as a Daughter of Irminsul. For we are meant to be as wives to all lonely men."

"Wait..." Robert looks at you, the gears turning in his head. Holding so much power in your heart, you can feel the moment something clicks to him regarding the price you put on a single hour of your time with the Baron. Color drains from his face. "My Lord, with all respect due to the good Childe Lagneia, you did not ask this... well-mannered, but highly immodest prostitute to marry you, did you?"

"Sacred prostitute." You hold up one finger, emphasizing the difference. "One does it for money, the other as a religious practice."

"Details," Robert waves your correction off with a gauntleted hand. "Besides, didn't you price your services at over 500 ferns an hour?"

"That is what we call boasting, Sir Hael," you say with a smug grin curling at your lips.

"The men will be making crude jokes about that 'boasting' for months, you know," Robert complains. He reaches into his surcoat and pulls out a pipe to light with a match borrowing its flame from a nearby lamp. "Though that will be my headache to deal with, not yours, I suppose."

"Robert, what have I said about smoking in my office?" Baron Şoimul inserts himself back into the conversation after watching you and his knight go back and forth with an amused smile on his face. It seems that your magic touched the metal filigree on his eyepatch, the partial magic circle growing branches of brass thread to complete the missing pieces and now glowing with a faint green light. Hopefully, your little tantrum didn't botch his attempts to make a mystic eye. Robert gives him a look of long suffering, and then slips the pipe back into his surcoat before he even had a chance to light it. "Thank you. To answer your question, as a matter of fact I did - though I suppose I must accept such an passionate rejection, even if I do not like it. But if I am merely a century too early..."

"My Lord, if you wait a century to marry, the common folk will grow restless for lack of an heir," Robert points out.

You've read about such things before in novels, but it's fascinating to see such concerns play out in the real world. The Council of Eldest never really needs to worry about succession, as it always falls to the eldest of the Children born from the tree that shades each Elfhome - and they tend to look at it as more a burden they must share in, rather than a goal to achieve. The knowledge that Baron Şoimul is a faker also pushes you to ask a potentially indelicate question. "Surely there must be plenty of eligible women who could see themselves as the Baroness Şoimul, are there not?"

"Well..." Robert counts off on his fingers. "There are a few. Gisella Dubay-"

"-is a bore who would spend my Barony into even greater poverty than it is already in," the Baron says.

"Eniko Barath-"

"-prefers the company of women, and holds a vile hatred for men."

"Oleda Solyom-"

"-wants me to go into debt to fund her life in the capital, because her father cut her off from the family's finances."

"And my Lord will have a complaint on the tip of his tongue regarding every eligible bachelorette who has expressed interest in him, from Lygos all the way to the Islands of Dawn," Robert says with a long-suffering sigh. Azar puffs up, but before he has the opportunity give another embarrassing serenade about your beauty and how he will strive to be worthy of even the smallest sliver of it, Robert puts his foot down. He clearly knows his lord well enough to know when he's about to say something foolish. "Which does not mean that you should marry yourself to - again, meaning no disrespect to the good Childe Lagneia - a literal foreign prostitute."

"Who is happy to sleep with you, but does not want to marry you," you remind Robert and Azar, to the chagrin of both.

"Who doesn't want to marry you, yes," Robert says, abridging your statement to emphasize the part he wants to get across to his Lord.

"Hmph!" Baron Şoimul harumphs, crossing his arms and closing his one visible eye, leaning back into his chair. "I'm the Lord of the Goldengrass Wastes, I get to say who. And even if it's a hundred years too early, I mean to do everything that I can to be worthy of the hand of the beautiful and noble hearted maiden who stands before me now. To start, at least she is honest about her profession, unlike some suitors I could name..."

"Childe Lagneia, could you..." Robert gives you a pleading look. "Could you talk some sense into him, or do something that will get him to stop... ugh, but if you do that, it might just make things even worse."

"There is something I could do," you tell Robert. The weary knight isn't certain whether or not he should look relieved that you have an idea, or concerned by your shift to a deathly serious tone of voice. Your eyes glow with a powerful green, for though the emotions that drew the power into you have calmed, you heart still grasps it to keep it from exploding outwards. Baron Şoimul simply arches an eyebrow in interest at whatever it is you might do. "I could demonstrate the [gap] between our experience in a way that should not leave behind any lingering attachments. But I should warn you both... it is a hundred - no, a thousand years too early for boys."

"I am somewhat concerned..." Robert says, giving you the side eye and not quite trusting the safety of Elven Magics.

"Do it," the Baron demands. "I will witness this gap you speak of, and withstand the gulf between us as a testament to the strength of the love for you that has blossomed in my heart. And when I withstand it... I ask only that you give me due consideration one hundred years from now."

"You may die, Azar," you tell him, dropping the honorifics. Your eyes glow dangerously, for this is not the summit of a mountain that you will show him, but the depths of an unending ocean. "Can you accept that?"

"...Yes." the Baron says. Robert looks between the two of you in horror.

"Very well."

You blow him a kiss.

This would not be the first time that you demonstrated to Humes the ultimate form of seduction, the strongest technique that was passed down from the hands of Helen Flame-Kissed herself unto her first apprentice. An unbroken line of Sacred Prostitutes descending from the First Daughter to yourself that stretches back to the Age of the Dragon, and possibly beyond even that. Properly executed, it can captivate the hearts of lonely men who witness it without a single drop of mana flowing through your spirit veins, and warm even the most cold hearted to your presence. The very crystallization of lust and beauty, carved into a single gesture designed to ensnare the hearts of men.

Only once before in your life have you performed this technique whilst holding mana in your heart.

Eight years ago, Begierde advised you to use it whilst holding mana on a certain curmudgeonly Childe - then called Second of Fifteen - as an early present for his Centum Viginti. It nearly stopped his heart and shattered his mind, but the moment he recovered from the shock of bearing witness to the abyss that was your boundless lust, he pinned you down beneath him and took you with a vigor comparable to that of the Divine Beast. The raw, sexual energy within that kiss gave him all the stamina he needed to fuck your every hole full of his sweet and sticky maple-syrupy like essence over the course of forty days and forty nights, but it somehow felt unsatisfying in the end.

Even though he admitted that he enjoyed it... it felt like cheating, using that power to get the dickings from his massive cock that you wanted out of him. Which according to Begierde, was entirely the point. Shortcuts are not the way to a truly satisfying lay, true pleasure cannot be found through charm magic alone. Which is why you don't use that technique with mana, for it's far more satisfying to see men fall on their knees from the power of your appeal alone.

Skafos became like the Divine Beast because he could comprehend the abyss that you showed him.

Here... either Azar will be overwhelmed entirely, or he will get all of his lust for you out of his system by being driven to take you until he drops. You wonder which it will be...

"Chuu~! <3"

Azar's eyes go wide. His pupils dilate and he clutches at his chest as the mana you held within your heart shows him the gulf that stands between to you. That your beauty is not the summit of the mountain, but the terror of the dawn, and the infinite possibilities of the new day that follows in its wake. A smile cracks upon his face as his body tenses and his back arches.

"Magnificent..." he says.

Then he crumples like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Immediately you hear the sound of Robert drawing his sword, and feel the kiss of steel pressing up against your neck. With the amount of mana you still hold, his blade is a meaningless thing to you.

Still, you let out a long sigh. "I warned him that it was a hundred years too early."

"I know not what you did, Childe Lagneia, but your fate shall mirror his," Robert growls, furious that he might have just allowed his lord to die in front of him. You're not sure if you want to fight him on this or if you want to try and help the foolish young man who thought he could stare into an abyss built up over a hundred years without consequence. The gap was clearly too much for him. Mana is memory, and the weight of every single sexual experience you have ever had throughout your hundred years of life crushed his heart beneath a single graceful gesture. "Check his pulse. If he has died because of this foolishness, then I will have your head for it. And don't think I will give you to the men before your execution. Most women would see that as a punishment even worse than the headsman, but you would simply enjoy that, wouldn't you?"

"Probably..." Out of courtesy to the most noble hearted man at this watchtower, you do not melt his blade and demonstrate that there is little he can do to hold you. You press your fingers against the veins in Baron Şoimul's neck, and sigh when you find no signs of life. "That many lustful men having their way with me would certainly make for a fun evening. You certain I am not entitled to one last request?"

"He is dead then..." Robert growls, pressing his sword hard enough against the side of your neck to draw blood. "I trust you understand the consequences."
>Tell him that he should understand the consequences for killing a Child of Yggdrasil. If he does, then you will leave. You will not help cons and brigands.
>Melt his sword away and show him that he has no real power over you. Then take your leave. You will not help cons and brigands.
>Try to persuade Robert that this accident was of Azar's own doing. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)
>Attempt to restart Azar's heart by manipulating the iron in his blood. It will cost him a few years of his life, but he will be alive again. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)
>Persuade Robert to have the men gather as much gold as he can, because the spell array that will be able to raise him will need gold, and some of Dawn's honey. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)
>Accept the consequences of having killed a nobleman and await the judgement of a Daedalian noble's court.

>Inform Robert of the two methods to revive his lord and ask him to choose which the lord would prefer.

>>5557036
>>Attempt to restart Azar's heart by manipulating the iron in his blood. It will cost him a few years of his life, but he will be alive again. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)

>>5557036
>Ask Robert if he would rather lose a staggering amount of gold for a spell array or cut the Baron’s natural life shorter than it would normally be. You know of two ways to bring him back, and those are the consequences.
Fob it off on poor Robert.

>>5557036
>>Attempt to restart Azar's heart by manipulating the iron in his blood. It will cost him a few years of his life, but he will be alive again. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)
Fine. I want more shenanigans with the idiot

>>5557036
>>Ask Robert if he would rather lose a staggering amount of gold for a spell array or cut the Baron’s natural life shorter than it would normally be. You know of two ways to bring him back, and those are the consequences.
Lol

>>5557128
>>5557076
Sounds good.

Rolled 3 + 20 (1d20 + 20)

>>5557036
oh fuck, it was the baron's roll lmao
>Attempt to restart Azar's heart by manipulating the iron in his blood. It will cost him a few years of his life, but he will be alive again. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)

Rolled 78, 94 + 20 = 192 (2d100 + 20)

>>5557356
shit, rolled wrong

>>5557358
Oh shit, heroic roll

>>5557366
oh boy, he's gonna revive with a *rugged* look

>>5557382
>inb4 he loses 114 years of his lifespan instead

Rolled 52, 1 + 20 = 73 (2d100 + 20)

>>5557036

>Persuade Robert to have the men gather as much gold as he can, because the spell array that will be able to raise him will need gold, and some of Dawn's honey. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)

lets see if i can get a high roll

>>5556833
damn

Rolled 2, 34 = 36 (2d100)

>>5557036
>>Attempt to restart Azar's heart by manipulating the iron in his blood. It will cost him a few years of his life, but he will be alive again. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)

>>5557358
Yeah uh, can we go with the 114 roll?

Also QM, this update was great.

>>5557356
Support

Rolled 77, 80 = 157 (2d100)

>>5557036
>>Attempt to restart Azar's heart by manipulating the iron in his blood. It will cost him a few years of his life, but he will be alive again. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)

File: 49f.png (879 KB, 1077x1576)

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>>5557737
>>5557788
>in the far future this is how the baron will talk about this event

>>5557036
>Attempt to restart Azar's heart by manipulating the iron in his blood. It will cost him a few years of his life, but he will be alive again. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)
or
>Persuade Robert to have the men gather as much gold as he can, because the spell array that will be able to raise him will need gold, and some of Dawn's honey. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)

>>5557882
you forgot the roll

>>5557036
>Inform Robert of the two methods to revive his lord and ask him to choose which the lord would prefer.

Rolled 18, 36 = 54 (2d100)

>>5557036
>>Persuade Robert to have the men gather as much gold as he can, because the spell array that will be able to raise him will need gold, and some of Dawn's honey. (Roll 2d100, keep high, add 20)

Rolled 18, 76 = 94 (2d100)

>>5557036
Oh, and here is my roll for >>5557935

File: Robert Hael.jpg (2.15 MB, 2497x3160)

2.15 MB JPG

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Sir Hael," you give a calm and measured response to the sword digging into your neck. Shamhat wants nothing less than to jump into your hands and shatter Robert's mind, but such action would be counterproductive right now. Perhaps if he does not see reason, you will reveal your Divine Spear. For now, your eyes glow as you draw a trickle of mana to wield your gift with gentle precision. "Baron Şoimul has not died just yet. His heart has merely stopped."

"His heart has merely-" Robert repeats what you said with a scoff of disbelief. "I'm not sure how you Elves see that with all your faery nonsense, but we call that death her. Give me one good reason why I should not cut you down here and now."

"I will give you three, if it please you," you tell him.

He pulls his sword back from your neck. Not to sheath it, but to raise it up in preparation for a death stroke. He takes a deep breath in for a moment, and the stroke does not come immediately. "Alright, Childe Lagneia, I'll hear them. But if they're not to my satisfaction, I'll be taking your head, and damn the consequences."

"Well, I was going to note that executing a criminal without a proper trial before a jury carries with it a death sentence itself by your own laws," you tell him. Though the codex in the Gymnasium that you studied was near as old as you, such a fundamental law changing in such a short period of time is rather unlikely. You eye Robert though, and consider his own words. "But..."

"As I said, damn the consequences," Robert points out, to which you can only shrug. "The other two?"

"Well, first, I am currently keeping your lord as far away from the edge of death as I can hold him," you inform him with a blithe stare, giving a meaningful look at the sword raised and ready to cut your head off. When he gives you a flat look of disbelief, you sigh. But you don't remove your hand from Azar's neck. "Blood is iron and rust given life. The Divine Gift granted unto me when I made my vows is the manipulation of metal. Look at his chest rise and fall with his breath - what his heart cannot do right now, I do for it. Separating my head from my shoulders would end your lord just as surely as it would end me."

"That... is a damned good reason not to take your head," Robert admits.

He lowers his weapon and sheathes it, though he is no fool. He calls in the other two guardsmen before squatting down next to where you sit, looking to verify the fact that his Lord indeed still breathes - albeit weakly. When he is satisfied that you are not simply making a puppet of a corpse, he stands back up. "I trust the third reason was that you possessed some magic to restore his heart, then?"

"That, and the fact that I only refrained from melting your sword as a courtesy to your own noble heart," you say. Both you and Robert give a hollow laugh, before you continue with the details. "I know of two means by which I could heal the heart that I have - literally - broken."

Robert snorts in amusement, though his face does not reflect even the barest spark of mirth. His expression is quite grim, he seems to have decided to not allow relief to take him until his Lord is back up on his feet. A good right hand for the Baron to have, then. Especially given how quickly he seems to cotton onto things during a crisis. "I assume the reason you haven't chosen one or the other is because no matter which we choose, there will be consequences, right?"

"That would be correct," you tell Robert. Your training at casting while distracted in far more distracting ways than talking has paid off here, as you can hold the spell and your conversation with Robert at the same time. "And I think both you and he would appreciate the luxury of choosing which consequences he will have to live with."

Robert clicks his tongue in irritation. "I won't lie and say that I won't appreciate it later, but here and now I rather wish had you just ripped the bandage off."

"Well, I'm sorry that my training as a Temple Prostitute covered medical ethics," you feign an apology with a roll of your eyes. That decision is way too heavy for you to make without someone else's input.

"What kind of prostitute needs to know medical ethics?" Robert looks confused as he asks you the question.

"Well, considering that my raw sex appeal was enough to stop your Lord's heart, I'd say it was a rather necessary part of my education," you lie through your teeth. The two guards lay out a long whistle, oggling your tight body whilst no doubt wondering what you did to make Azar's heart stop. Robert looks like he wants to argue the point, but cannot find the words to argue against it. After a few moments of silence, you offer him some mercy. "Actually, that was a lie. It was one of the elective courses the Gymnasium had, which was mandatory if I wanted to receive training in emergency medicine."

"Alright, well, what are our options?" Robert says with an impatient look on his face. Rightfully so - now was not the time nor place for you to get snippy or make lame jokes.

"It ultimately depends upon how much you trust me," you tell the guard captain. Honestly you hope he has not ran out of trust in you entirely with this whole debacle, as you are the very reason why his Lord is in this state. Still, he nods, so there may be some hope yet that he will take the... potentially more expensive option. "I can try to restart his heart now, but it will be very hard upon his body. With time and effort he will recover to full health, but it is likely that doing things this way will shave twenty or thirty years off of his life, in the end."

"That is a less than desirable outcome," Robert declares after a moment of thought. The other guards both pale at the thought, as if you just suggested to your fellow elf that they would die before their Centum Viginti. You suppose that with such limited lifespans, two decades is quite some time. "What is the other option, then?"

"It will be expensive," you tell Robert. With a hesitant nod, he motions for you to continue, no doubt hoping that his Lord can afford such a treatment. Ultimately, that will depend upon the contents of his treasury. But if he has enough gold in his stores - physical gold, not equivalents to it in terms of value - you have a bit of spellwork that should keep him alive for a few centuries more. Humes live... was it 300 years? 500? You forget. "I will need... if you can conjure up a pound of gold, the procedure to revive him will go much smoother. No other metal will do, they're all too reactive for the infusion to function properly."

Robert purses his lips, now faced with the decision of balancing his lord's lifespan against his coffers. He waves the other two guards - whose eyes boggled at the sum you called for - out of the room, before crouching next to you with a quiet voice. "This... gold heart you spoke of. How long will it give the good Baron, really?"

"To give full disclosure, I don't quite know how it will interact with the human aging process, considering that the spell is designed for Children who have been mortally wounded in battle," you reply. In respect for Robert's desire to keep the diagnosis quiet from his men, you keep a hushed voice as well as you explain things to him. "The gold won't just be infusing his heart, but the entirety of his circulatory system to help him recover from any wounds or other damaged organs. Under normal use, he'll probably pass peacefully in his sleep one night four, maybe five hundred years from now?"

Robert blinks for a moment, then stares at you. "You said how many years?"

"Look, I know it's not ideal, but it will be easier on his body than simply restarting his heart," you tell Robert, who is still staring at you as if you've grown a second head. Without the mana circulation that Children have, it probably cannot be restored to normal by a proper doctor who knows what they are doing, but you do need to emphasize one thing. "Attempting to brute force his heart will put considerable strain on his natural organs and could quite possibly damage it beyond repair, so... what are you doing, Sir Hael?"

Robert stood up and slid towards the door as silently as a mouse. You swallow dryly as he bars it shut and turns a hidden knob behind one of the paints that pulses with mana. The array is the crude work of Humes, but it is quite effective at what it does - whatever Robert wants to do next, he wants no one to hear it, and that spell array will ensure that none do, even if the silence behind the door will be a bit conspicuous. No does he want anyone to see it, from how quickly he goes to draw the curtains closed.

You thumb Shamhat nervously in the folded space of your cloak, ready to defend yourself.

"Just to be clear, you said four to five hundred years, correct?" Robert asks, his brow furrowed and his expression as complex as the thousand colors of the dawn. "Not months, but years...?"

"Yes..." you say, not knowing where Robert is going. "I realize that it doesn't last all that long-"

"To you elves that might be true, but not so for we men, or even the dwarves," Robert has a very frank look on his face, stern - yet at the same time soft. He reaches down and ruffles your hair, an unexpected act of familiarity that nearly shakes your concentration on the spell - certainly much more than shoving his cock inside of you would have. He gives a hollow chuckle. "Given that you certainly have the poise of a woman - and a very experienced one at that - despite your girlish looks, it's almost reassuring to see that you can be a little naive at times. I know little of medicine, but even if this infusion you speak is half as effective as you claim it could be, there are less scrupulous men who would resort to vile things to receive it. And I will tell you why."

He places a hand on your shoulder and takes to one knee, next to the body of his gently breathing Lord. His icy blue eyes stare into your leaf-green eyes, his face a stony frown. "To a dwarf, from what little I know of their peoples, four centuries is a long full life. To men, five centuries marks the very passing of an age."

It takes a moment for the implication to sink in.

The wave of nausea hits you so hard that the fact that your concentration upon the spell circulating Azar's blood does not falter is a testament to the thoroughness of your training. An empty pit forms in your stomach when you realize just how painfully fleeting the lives of Humes must be. Dwarves at least live long enough to see the stars change in their lives, in their slow but relentless march across the sky, Humes are not afforded that luxury in any meaningful way. No wonder they always seem to be in a rush... how much of Lyza's precious time did you waste in your games?

How much of her limited lifespan did she spend traveling in that caravan to get from one place to another? If you had taken your time in visiting the House of Oracles as you planned... would she have been an old crone when you arrived? Or would the sands of time have taken her by then?

Neither option pleases you. You look at Robert with watery eyes as wide as saucers. "That's not fair at all."

"That is life, Childe Lagneia. I'm certain you're familiar with how unfair it can be, at your age," Robert gives a soft chuckle, seemingly pleased to see your reaction, the bastard. It must line up more with how he expects someone with your girlish looks to act than your usual behavior. "Though... if you don't mind me taking advantage of your current feelings, I would ask two selfish things from you, Childe Lagneia. If you will hear them."

"You're a louse, Robert Hael," you complain. But there's a smile on your face, as sad as it might be. Really, what right do you have to be sad about all of this? Given that you are not the one with the lifespan of a mayfly, but rather that of the mighty oak. "But I will hear them out."

"First, the men are to be told that you simply restarted my Lord's heart. That after consulting some of my Lord's books on human anatomy, you found that it would not work upon Men for one reason or another," Robert says. You nod along with an understanding of why he might want that. "Even should it not confer a longer life, having a body filled with that much gold would make you... well, quite valuable indeed. He turned around all of there lives, so I do not fear they would betray him over such a sum, but I do not doubt some might brag of his all too literal heart of gold. And then, well..."

"Bandits and other scoundrels will want to see how true the rumors are," you finish for him.

"Exactly," Robert nods... and then his expression turns a bit sheepish. He takes a deep breath, and you can feel the turbulent and uncertain emotions in his mana. "The other request I have is that you perform the infusion on me first. Should the spell not be compatible with the bodies of men, please try to restart my Lord's heart by brute force, and tell him how I died. Should it work... then my Lord will have at least one faithful servant to accompany him on his journey into the next age."

"And should you both die?" you ask Robert.

"Then may the Starfather guide you in your escape from this tower," Robert says, grinning like a corpse. "I appreciate all the effort you have put in to cleaning up your mess, but it is still your mess to clean. My men and I will drink together in the halls of our ancestors and curse your name if you escape... and if you don't, we can laugh about it over drinks in the afterlife."

You let out a breath you did not know you were holding at his answer. "Well, I suppose that's fair enough, Sir Hael. Now, I assume you have enough gold hidden away somewhere in here for this procedure?"

"Yes," Robert ducks behind the desk and futzes around with a number of hidden levers and dials. "My Lord insisted that we squirrel a few pounds of gold away incase the banks decide not to cough up the gold we are owed should we decide to have our bank notes fulfilled. Though... I do not recall these coins having such intricate flowers carved upon them when we first hid them away."

He scores one with a knife to make sure it's gold all the way through. Then he tests one on a scale, nodding when it weighs what it should. "Well, gold is gold, and given your own magics... I imagine this is your doing somehow."

You have the grace to look a bit sheepish. "Well, are you ready, then?"

"Aye, one pound for my Lord, and one pound set for me," Robert declares. He mulls over a thought in his mouth before you begin incanting your spell. "Ah, should this work on me, I'll want to write up a letter of introduction for you at the next checkpoint. The road branches out past the watchtower, which route do you plan to take?"
>The main high way, straight to Lygos.
>The northern passage by the sea.
>The middle passage through the Heartlands.
>The southern mountain road.

>>5559757
>>The northern passage by the sea.

>>5559757
>>The main high way, straight to Lygos.
yolo

>>5559757
>>The main high way, straight to Lygos.
Don't keep us waiting

>>5559757
>The main high way, straight to Lygos.

>>5559757
>The main high way, straight to Lygos.

>>5559757
>Whichever passage take us to the House of Oracles

>>5559757
>The main high way, straight to Lygos.

>>5559757
>>The main high way, straight to Lygos.
Assuming this works, we gave the lord and Robert a precious gift indeed.
Of course we should also still tell them where to dig for a hot spring so we have an onsen when we come back.

>>5560282
Yeah, this was the result of the 114, otherwise his prospects would have just been a normal lifespan with aging.

Of course, being a God damned Chuuni, he will be having a field day with this off screen.

>>5560309
Robert better not tell him he has a pound of gold lining his circulatory system or else he's gonna get cut open by bandits.

>>5560309
oh god, i can already hear it
"I, the Baron Şoimul, have been BLESSED by the Childe Lagneia, not only be letting me bask on her *killer* looks but by also bringing me back from the land of the dead by her impressive knowledge in elven magics. For fate has looked down on us with merciful so that in this day we could yaddayaddayadda......."

props to robert though. for a guardsman that's just guarding a toll tower, he's surprisingly competent and savvy

>>5560309
>>5560317
>A heart of gold is the secret to a long life!
>Gold is what drives my heartbeat. At these prices, you’ll literally kill me paying them!
>An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. A pound of gold is worth several hundred years of life! Never be afraid to spend to gain something of greater value!
>One of my men has a heart that beats like mine. Unfortunately for him, I’m already avowed to the one who made both our hearts go “doki-doki” after they stopped.

>>5559757
>>The northern passage by the sea.

>>5559757
>>The main high way, straight to Lygos.

File: Unknown Noblewoman.png (463 KB, 1003x1518)

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You look upon the coins that Robert has brought before you. With a gesture, you reach out with your magic and let it seep into the metal like water into dry sand. The coins resonate with your mana, drinking deep as gold does. Of all metals in the world, gold most readily absorbs magic - even moreso than mythril, though it does not share mythril's superb conductivity. Its ability to hold magic power and absorb the vital essence of life is what makes it such a superb medium for this particular bit of spellwork. The fact that it does not corrode under natural means makes it an even better medium for medical artifice like this. The coins begin to shine as brightly as stars, though they have not yet absorbed enough magic to deform and flow as you need them to.

"You have what you need?" Robert asks. His eyes look a bit nervously at the now-glowing coins.

"Yes, their purity is sufficient," you tell him. With a breath, you send a thread of magic to the iron ball hidden in your cloak, the sweat of exertion running down your brow. The spell to replace the heart is a dual layered spell of Iron and Gold, and you need to keep the Baron's blood flowing while you work - so this has pushed you to your limits. "May the crucible be shaped from the master of all metals. King of Elements, from whom all are born and to whom all shall return at the end of time, become thou like adamant and draw gentle gold through the die of thy unshaking will."

The ball of iron flows like water through the air, shaped by your will into a three-dimensional magic circle, wherein equations drilled into your head by an old friend who drilled you as a reward for getting them right are written out in the Alfheim Notation. Power flows through them, making the iron glow like hot coals fresh from the forge, but with your will no longer forcing it to flow, the lord of all metals does not so much as droop. You can feel the heat of the World Tree's might flowing through the iron, the equation written out in the shape that it has taken preparing to resolve.

The bangle on your arm glows hot, managing the flow of Yggdrasil's power through the three spells you now cast concurrently. You do not push yourself as you had against the blight, so you are not at risk of setting down your roots just yet.

"Mother gold, untarnished queen of beauty, lend thy ageless body as a catalyst of good health," you command the gold, which has finally drunk its greedy fill of magical energy. Glowing like the stars, it flows slowly. Where Iron and Mithral - both splendid conductors of magic - flow like water, the gold flows more like honey. Slow and viscous, it moves at your will, its weight heavy against your mind as it tries to fall back to the earth. "Embrace the heart with your compassion. Carry the blood, and see it nourished with new life. Spread, spread, spread, and follow now the instruction of thy beloved grandson Iron, whose immovable wisdom shall see the child before me healed!"

The gold flows through the center of the glowing circle of iron, stretching and stretching and stretching out into a filament so small that it looks like nothing more than a thread of hair. Robert had divested himself of his armor and tunic in preparation for the ritual, and hisses when the thread of gold pierces his chest. The commands were written out in Iron, for what the gold must do when it enters his body, so you need do nothing more than continue to feed the thread until it has run out and the spell is complete. The threads of gold spread through him, merging with his arteries and veins, wrapping around his heart and becoming one with the muscle, singing to it a song of life and vigor.

"Ahhhh, that's... that's brisk..." Robert hisses at the flow of mana that has begun to circle through his body, healing him in much the same way that meditating with Yggdrasil's power flowing through their body can heal one of the Children. Which makes sense, the principles are much the same. "Thaaaaaaat's brisk. Am I supposed to feel this light? I feel... I feel..."

The last of the gold enters his chest, and already the damage the sun has done to his skin, the splotches and little imperfections left by viruses and bacteria... every blemish begins to fade.

Then Robert makes a very pained and almost panicked expression, looking at you as if you betrayed him. "I... oh sweet Starfather, why do I suddenly need a chamber pot?"

"Your body is healing, and healing means that it's divesting itself of a lot of waste right now as it cleans house," you give a smug little grin as Robert holds his lower stomach like he's been stabbed with a knife. You want to crack a joke about cleaning up one's own mess or escaping the tower safely, but you manage to hold back your tongue... just barely. "Run off to the nearest washroom, I'll prepare a bedpan for your Lord incase he ends up... suffering a similar fate, as it were."

"Thank you!" he calls back. Ah, before you finished speaking, he was out the door. The one deeper in, presumably to his Lord's washrooms to take care of things.

You shortly repeat the ritual for his Lord, which restores the fake noble from the brink of death. Once Robert confirms that Azar's heartbeat has indeed returned, he presents you with a Letter of Introduction that should get you through enough gates without much question. Though Robert says nothing of it, you are impressed by Azar's efforts in arrogation, that his seal has become well enough known that none find it strange that he almost certainly appeared out of nowhere. Perhaps he even has actual blood tied to the family whose sigil he has claimed for his own.

Though Robert insists that the gift which you have given more than balances the scales of any toll that you would need to pay, you still pass on one of your ideas to Azar. An idea, a set of blueprints, and a location that ought to make his impoverished and fledging county quite the wealthy little province indeed.

Surprisingly, when you leave the Goldengrass Wastes and the territories that Azar held, the quality of the main High Way to Lygos precipitously declines. One would think that moving from that wasted land devoured by the Blight and scorched by Dragonfire would lead to a more prosperous and well appointed province, but your next ten days of Travel are little better than the outskirts of Daeldalium. Better by far than the roads between Alfheim and the easternmost territories of the empire, but if this had been just a day or two away from where you met Oracle Lyza and her camp, you would not have been surprised.

After those next ten days, it somehow becomes worse than those outskirts.

Not for the quality of the road, but for the quality of the people who travel upon it.

You hear the whinnying of panicked horses first, and then you are nearly run down by a cart that comes careening past the bend. No, not a cart, but a carriage - certainly not one to match those crafted by the Children, but far nicer than the boxes on wheels that Humes tether to their draft animals. It truly is a work of art, one that an apprentice cartwright among your people would be proud of, barring its lack of springs to absorb the shocks of the road. Its polished wooden body has been painted a glossy green, and brass filigree and trim decorates the exterior. A coat of arms stands emblazoned upon the doors, and - most impressively for the humes - great glass windows allow the passengers to look outside.

Unfortunately, as you step out of the way of the charging horses, you notice that the blinds are down and the windows have been shuttered. You also notice that the two people sitting outside at the front have crossbow bolts blossoming from their chests. One wore mythril chain armor under the formal dress of a high ranking house servant, while the other wore a a shell of steel and crested morion. A harquebus falls from his hands when the blinded horse crash into a trees.

The dead men are not the ill company upon the road, however. Nor are the whimpering souls within the carriage, whose fear you can taste upon the tides of Yggdrasil's sap. The ill company was those who chase after them.

Men the opposite of Baron Şoimul's own, in many ways. Where those under the Baron's banner had poor fitting and bandit-like equipment, but were mostly legitimate in their work and intentions, the equipment these men carried could have easily been found among the well-equipped men of Oracle Lyza's camp. The armor they wore was too polished, the swords their carried too clean and free from nicks and dents to be the equipment of desperate men holding up travelers for coin. But they wore no tabards, and their clothes certainly tried to look grungy and bandit-like.

By coincidence, you find yourself interposed between the band of thirty or so Humes and the carriage they seek to raid. Or perhaps not by coincidence. Dawn buzzes with distaste. These men reek of spoiled honey.

For all they reek of spoiled honey, and for all the ill-intent that you can feel from them, they do hesitate for at least a moment when they spot that you have the long ears of an elf. They're not sure if they should run past you, or if they should attack you, or if the ones who think themselves hidden amongst the trees should just squirrel around and find a better angle for their shots upon the caravan. Nor are you certain if you would rather fight them, or just make like the good Baron and use a bit of arrogation to scare them into submission.

At least, until a woman in red astride a black horse trots out from behind the corner, and gives you a look of utter disdain. She is fooling no one into believing that she anything less than a noble daughter... and an absolutely rotten one at that.

"Hesitating because of some knife eared quim?" the woman clicks her tongue in irritation. "And mother thought it foolish I come out here and observe this operation for myself. My supervision is clearly necessary if you cannot do the job for which you all have been paid."

"Hoh, and what operation would that be?" you ask her, ignoring the uncertain grumbles of the fake bandits.

The woman in red ignores you, instead barking at her men. "I get that she's pretty, you damn fools, but there are to be no survivors. If you want her, just have your way with her corpse. I'll even gentle repose it for you so that she doesn't rot on your cocks."

Some of the men make faces at that, but any uncertainty they had fades when the most well appointed of them cries out. "You heard the boss! No survivors, lads. And I'll buy whoever kills the knife ears a girl at least 10 times as pretty as her when we get back to Lygos, eh?!"

That steels their resolve. It doesn't look like you have many peaceful options here.
>You are least adept with a bow, it's true, but you are still adept. Conjure one and take them down.
>The Divine Spear hidden in the folds of your cloak sings for the joys of battle. Let Shamhat guide you in this fight.
>Draw Shamhat and take the lead between the two of your, with the aim to kill this human refuse.
>Draw Shamhat and take the lead between the two of your, with the aim to incapacitate them, that they may be handed over to the correct authorities.
>You are quite skilled at unarmed combat, especially the pleasure points. This could be good practice for you.
>It is time that you unveil the secret technique of the Children: RUN AWAY
>It is time that you unveil the secret technique of the Children: RUN AWAY... with the people in the carriage in your arms.

>>5563502
>The Divine Spear hidden in the folds of your cloak sings for the joys of battle. Let Shamhat guide you in this fight.

the time has come. and so they will as well.
although the noblewoman definitely should survive this. she sounds like someone that has information that could benefit us in the long run

>>5563502
>The Divine Spear hidden in the folds of your cloak sings for the joys of battle. Let Shamhat guide you in this fight.
I’m guessing we’ve never fought with a sapient spear before, so may as well take the opportunity to learn.

>>5563502
>>It is time that you unveil the secret technique of the Children: RUN AWAY

>>5563502
>The Divine Spear hidden in the folds of your cloak sings for the joys of battle. Let Shamhat guide you in this fight.

We run and they’ll live to rob someone else.

>>5563724
or worse, capture us in the middle of running away

>>5563502
>>The Divine Spear hidden in the folds of your cloak sings for the joys of battle. Let Shamhat guide you in this fight.
The noblewoman needs elf correction via Shamhat.

>>5563502
>Draw Shamhat and take the lead between the two of your, with the aim to incapacitate them, that they may be handed over to the correct authorities
Hand them to Baron Chuuni. Let a Hume sort out Hume matters.

>>5563502
>Draw Shamhat and take the lead between the two of your, with the aim to incapacitate them, that they may be handed over to the correct authorities.
Might as well implicate her family as well.

>>5563864
+1

yeah hand them over to our chunni dark lord

>>5563878
>>5563864
we'd have to travel 10+ days back to chunni lord's domains. it doesn't sound feasible at all.... although, we could capture the noble. we might be able to stuff her inside our camping tent or at the very least magic her into following us until we find a way to take her to the chunni lord OR use her as a token for political favors. maybe she is one of the nobles that wanted our astrologer friend dead? she might reward us handsomely for delivering her

>>5563888
alright only take her then

>>5563888
Depends how badly we beat them.

>>5563913
what do you mean by that?

>>5563920
If we trounce them utterly, and humiliate their leader, they may be much more manageable as we march them to the edge of Super Eyepatch Wolf's turf to hand over to his guards.

>>5563924
i guess? but what's stopping them from escaping, reisting, or taking us by surprise halfway through the trip? plus, the important one here is the noble, everyone else is just either a mercenary or a soldier that may be disposable, and we can definitely handle a single person, let alone a noble

>>5563502
>>5563864
The Chuuni Baron was pretty cool so +1
Maybe we after a few decades or a century we could accept his marriage request

>>5563502
>>The Divine Spear hidden in the folds of your cloak sings for the joys of battle. Let Shamhat guide you in this fight.

>>5563502
>And I'll buy whoever kills the knife ears a girl at least 10 times as pretty as her when we get back to Lygos, eh?!"
Okay, now it's personal.
>>The Divine Spear hidden in the folds of your cloak sings for the joys of battle. Let Shamhat guide you in this fight.
Also, start the fight with another charged kiss since it seems to be a good aoe/ crowd control spell for humans.
Once we're done, the bratty noble girl is in serious need of correction. Let's give it to her until she forgets every single word in her vocabulary except "Lagneia."

>>5564741
I think the kiss takes more time and concebtration to pull off right.

>>5564741
gotta agree with the other anon; it seems like it takes some time, time that's better used on poking everyone with a lust charged shamhat

>>5563502
>>You are quite skilled at unarmed combat, especially the pleasure points. This could be good practice for you.

>>5564765
>>5564799
That makes sense. I still want to make the noblewoman cum so hard she experiences permanent brain damage, though. I'm sure her victims will want her alive as a bargaining chip.

>>5565167
counterpoint, we edge her until she gives us all her dirty secrets that can give us an edge(heh) on our quest. basically what shamhat was trying to do with us, but on a way smaller scale

>>5565179
Why not both?

>>5565241
i don't think a permanently retarded noble has as much bargain power as a non retarded one, specially if she was healthy before her capture

>>5565286
We'd only make her a little retarded. She has retain enough cognitive capacity that she can remember being able to function normally and be aware of the fact that this is a punishment for insulting us. Stunting her vocabulary would also make it so she can't lie about it later or be cross examined.

>>5565376
i have my qualms with making a potential asset retarded, but let's see how this unfolds first

>>5563502
>>The Divine Spear hidden in the folds of your cloak sings for the joys of battle. Let Shamhat guide you in this fight.

File: Neia Butt and New Spear.png (1.34 MB, 1020x3536)

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Though she sleeps within the folds of your cloak, you can feel Shamhat's heart sing for the joys of a battle well fought. Not the sort of torment and play that she forced you to endure when she made her judgement as to whether you were worthy of inheriting Helen Flame-Kissed's will, but rather the banquet of slaughter for which she was forged. Her creators shaped her into an instrument of war just as they shaped her twenty six brothers and sisters. The Divine Smiths sung the very concept of Lust into existence through the ever-vibrant Song of Creation, shaping abstraction and theory of thought into material reality from the finest materials they could bring together.

Is it any wonder, then, that sexual desire is not the only form of lust over which Shamhat holds dominion?

Bloodlust. You feel tremendous bloodlust roiling within Shamhat's dreams as she slumbers in the folds of space that you have woven into your cloak. You have not called her name, for their is no reason to wake her from her slumber for men such as these, but she can sense the hostility in the air - and in return, her dreams roil with a violent and bloody joy. It makes the mana flowing beneath your feet in the roots of Yggdrasil feel thick and bubbly, like a heavy sauce that's gone just a bit past simmering and has begun to boil and pop. Dawn shudders at the feeling, more sensitive even than you to dreams and memories and the emotions running through them, and retreats into the flower that crowns your head without a buzz about honey or the temperatures required to make it boil and bubble.

Even the men before you can feel Shamhat's unconscious glee at an opportunity to slake the bloodlust that has been building up inside of her over the course of two thousand years. They hesitate. Uncertainty fills their eyes, and none of them seem too eager to be the first one to take the first step forward, even if none of them know why. The primal wisdom of a Hume's instincts saves their lives, at least for now. You have no intention of going against Shamhat's desires - anyone fool enough to challenge you will meet their end upon her broad, leaf-shaped head.

"What are you waiting for!?" the woman in red barks like the dog she is, lacking her men's survival instincts. Some of the men give her an uncertain look, weighing her reprimands against the nausea inducing wave of bloodlust they felt from Shamhat. "Are the Hundred Talons cowards, shrinking in fear a little girl? When moth-"

"No," you interrupt her. She snaps her head towards you with a glare so quickly that her black curls have a more satisfying bounce than her irredeemably average chest. She lacks the bounce of a pair of proper udders, or the sinful temptations of an unripe fruit that your delicious flat chest confers. "They are wise... and you are foolish."

The curly-haired woman's face turns red as her dress, and reddest of all was her beak-like nose. "A hundred knapps to whoever brings me that whore's head on a pike."

Rude.

A whore you may be, but the tone she takes lacks in every measure the respect that you deserve for having earned that title through a century of practice. Sacred prostitute is the preferred term from one who doesn't know your order, really, for at the very least it captures the pure and religious nature of your service to the world. Compassion to heal wounded hearts. Passion to rekindle flames of love that have dimmed. Pleasure to celebrate the joys of life. Those are the joys allowed to an avowed Daughter of Irminsul. Your sworn purpose is to use your every inch of your luscious body and every ounce of the sublime skills in which you have been trained to wring out lustful spirits that taint the hearts of men, and purify them. Taking nothing for such services but a token offering, for the Sisterhood Provides.

Yet this woman in red says the word as if its a curse, as if it meant your heart was as black as her curls. As if your duty is something impure and filthy that ought to be washed away beneath scalding water with heavy, scrubbing scope. As if it is something corrupt and disgusting, that only the lowest of the low would even contemplate lowering themselves to for the sake of survival.

A common belief among the Humes, you know well enough from their writings which have been squirreled away in the corners of the Gymnasium Library. Their attitudes as well, from what you have seen in person. Those you have come to know as friends at least had the respect for your works and awe in the Children of Yggdrasil to balance out any distaste they might have for what you do. Yet this woman in red looks down her oversized nose at you, flinging the word like the most foul insult imaginable.

Because you're an elf?

Because your beauty makes her mediocrity more readily apparent?

Because she's simply angry, and wants to take it out on someone?

"I see that correction is necessary," you state with an utmost and serene calm. Your eyes drift among the uncertain crowd of men at arms. Should any of them be foolish enough to attack you, you will let Shamhat's bloodlust guide your motion and allow her the reign to seize a flawless victory. However, until then... "If any of you wish to quit the field, now is the time to do so. For those foolish enough to follow this woman's orders, I cannot guarantee your sur-"

A crack like thunder interrupts your words, and your eyes immediately dart back to the woman in red. In her hands you spot a Stout contraption, a device called a boomstick that propels a ball of lead at speeds even faster than an arrow shot by a Hume longbowman. Slower than the arrows of the Children, but not by much. To the Hume eye, those balls travel faster than the eye can see, but you can track its motion quite easily. With your gift, all you need to do to stop it is raise a single finger, and the ball comes to a halt right at its tip.

The woman in red is the only one of her forces to notice it.

At the sound of her gun the men charge.

"-vival."

You finish what you meant to say, but none of the charging fools hear your words. They believe their strength in numbers will win them the day. You know that their quantity will not outperform the quality of a Child of Yggdrasil - let alone one wielding even a slumbering Divine Spear - and their mistress pales as she begins to realize the same thing. You give her a quick reminder with the flick of your finger, sending the bullet back with enough mana and precision to rip the boomstick from her hand and shatter her wrist in the process. Then with a a whirl of Shamhat, you rush to meet the charging men.

The difference in your capacity is not quite like a child trying to fight his father, but it comes close, especially as you allow Shamhat's subconscious thoughts to guide your motion. Their perception simply cannot match that of an elf holding even a little sliver of mana, and you have grabbed a handful of your Mother's power to see you through the battle. That you learned the spear forms of the Children as supplement to your performance and dance makes your skill no less deadly, for indeed it is the weapon in which you are by far the most adept. Yet even so, the slumbering mind of Shamhat finds ways to correct your strikes and show you the most optimal way to drive her sky-blue head through maille and plate alike.

The men do not fight like fools, even if they are severely outmatched.

The only freebies are the vanguard, for they did not expect you to punch through their armor with such ease, nor impale two men with the first blow of your counter charge. The other kills you have to fight for, as they quickly grasp that you should not be compared to a Hume woman in terms of strength and speed, despite your small and delicate frame.

Graceful strikes cut the carotids of three who surround you, causing them to collapse dead when blood can no longer reach their heads. Two more try to flank you - one gets his windpipe crushed with the butt of Shamhat, the other you dodge and throw into his ally's spear. That one makes the mistake of dropping his weapon and reaching for his sword, only for you to gently pierce his heart.

Eight seconds have passed, eight men are dead.

Twenty-two fools remain alive, and twenty-two fools change up their tactics. Where the sword and spear have failed, might the crossbow succeed? They seem to think it will. The death of their allies let them build distance, and with that distance they fling bolt after bolt at you with the hopes that one will hit. It buys them time, but the game is easier than the melee - the bolts don't change trajectory after they leave the crossbow, so if you know where they're going to be, you know the places you need to avoid.

You dance between the crossbow bolts, letting some even graze you for dramatic effect, but your clothes never tear and your skin goes uncut. Some you even redirect with a whirl of Shamhat's haft, boosting them with enough of your power to pierce through armor.

Twelve more men die that way, and suddenly the fools number ten.

Those ten men drop their repeating crossbows and reach for their knives in the hopes that where sword and spear and bolt failed, grappling and the edge of mercy will give them victory. Against a Hume, the tactic might have been sound, for they might be able to swarm past the spear and pin the wielder down. Against one of the Children, however, the tactic was tantamount to suicide. You simply dance backwards just out of their reach, lightly piercing the places where Humes will die if they are cut, until the only one of the mercenaries who remains is a fresh faced young man - a boy, really.

He holds his hands up high and drops his knife, fear spilling down his trousers. His eyes are locked on Shamhat's pristine blue blade, which rests not half an inch from his forehead, daring him to move forward.
>This boy is like an adorable puppy. You're keeping him, provided you can house train him - as it were.
>No use in leaving the job unfinished. Run him through to send a message.
>Give him a spanking and send him crying home to his mother.

A more difficult choice soon follows:
>Chase down the lady in red.
>Help the people in the crashed carriage.

>>5567323
we definitely ain't thinking straight right now and this calls for spoils of war:
>This boy is like an adorable puppy. You're keeping him, provided you can house train him - as it were.


>Chase down the lady in red.
oh no. she aint running away to tell of our presence to her mother. that would only complicate things further and the people of the carriage should be fine. or as fine as they were by the moment we crashed ms.red's party

>>5567323
>Give him a spanking and send him crying home to his mother.
>Help the people in the crashed carriage.

>>5567323
>This boy is like an adorable puppy. You're keeping him, provided you can house train him - as it were.
>ask him to help the people in the carriage

>Chase down the lady in red.

We can help the civilians later

>>5567323
>>This boy is like an adorable puppy. You're keeping him, provided you can house train him - as it were.
At least until we're out of this area. Then maybe send him to Şoumul to earn an honest living.
>>5567323
>>Chase down the lady in red
Edge her until she gives us all her secrets and then make her come so hard she forgets every single word in her vocabulary other than "Lagneia."

>>5567323
>Give him a spanking and send him crying home to his mother.
>Chase down the lady in red.

>>5567323
>>This boy is like an adorable puppy. You're keeping him, provided you can house train him - as it were.
>Chase down the lady in red.

>>5567357
this gives me an idea: make her understand that being a sacred prostitute is in fact a very noble line of work and she should properly learn how to be one, even if her assets are as unimpressive as lagneia makes it sound

>>5567323
>>Give him a spanking and send him crying home to his mother.
>Chase down the lady in red.
C O R R E C T I O N

>>5567323
>No use in leaving the job unfinished. Run him through to send a message.
>Chase down the lady in red.

>>5567323
>Send the boy to help the civilians
>Chase down the lady in red.

Why not both? Just get a bit of his blood and tell him if he vanishes on us, we’ll curse him. He’s ready to believe anything we tell him at this point.

>>5567323
>This boy is like an adorable puppy. You're keeping him, provided you can house train him - as it were.
>Chase down the lady in red.

>>5567323
>>Give him a spanking and send him crying home to his mother.
>Chase down the lady in red.

>>5567453
find a halfway decent wrought iron fence and turn it into a pillory for her, then strip her?

>>5567752
the thing is that would go against what lagneia has been preaching about her line of work, so, i was thinking on something more along the lines of taking the boy option
>[...]You're keeping him, provided you can house train him - as it were.
but more strict of course. we're gonna kidna- take her in, teach her the ways of the sacred prostitute, turn her into our perfect sla- assistant and make her understand that being a whore isn't a bad thing. like it or not.

>>5567323
>This boy is like an adorable puppy
Or rather, like a witness to an attempted assassination.

>Help the people in the crashed carriage
If we capture the lady in red we’ll be in a position where we’re holding a noblewoman hostage. Regardless anything else, that makes our diplomatic task way more difficult. Keeping the boy as a witness and helping whoever is in the carriage is the better move to borrow a power base and tear down Lady-In-Red’s.

>>5567803
That makes sense. one of my other ideas was using the armor to make a chastity belt for her that could only be opened by elven thaumatology.

whatever punishment we devise for her needs to tread the fine line of warning other people not to fuck with us while not being so horrendous that they see us as an imminent threat that must be dealt with.

>>5567809
>Regardless anything else, that makes our diplomatic task way more difficult.
how so? capturing the noble gives us more political leverage for the other parties to listen to us, the boy is a mercenary that basically has no relevance anywhere except maybe in the organization he belongs to, and unless we take an hour or so to capture the lady in red(and lets be honest, it will take us like 5 minutes at most), the civilians will still be nearby the crash zone, for the power base thing you want to do. we literally don't lose anything by capturing her here and now.

>>5567816
i mean, we literally killed 29 men in like 5 minutes and returned-to-sender a bullet. i think that's enough warning for most people that we're not to be fucked around, except on the literal sense of the word

>>5567825
that was just self defense, not a punishment, though. the bratty noble requires correction.

>>5567847
ok fair enough, i see what you mean.

>>5567323
>Give him a spanking and send him crying home to his mother
>Chase down the lady in red.

>>5567323
>Give him a spanking and send him crying home to his mother.
>Chase down the lady in red.

>>5567323
>This boy is like an adorable puppy. You're keeping him, provided you can house train him - as it were.
>Give him a spanking

>Chase down the lady in red and give her a spanking

>>5567825
Have you ever been a stranger walking into a city while holding a policeman or a member of the city council hostage? That’s the situation we’ll be creating if we capture the noblewoman.

>>5569074
first, this is definitely a black ops since they wanted EVERYONE dead. second, if a policeman or a council member openly declares my death and the deaths of others, im gonna fight and im not gonna let them go. we even have the civilians and the dumb boy as witnesses as well

>>5569074
letting them go also give them time to reorganize and make up a lie, like... "this elf bastard tried to kill me and my proof is that it killed my 30 bodyguards and those poor civilians". so yeah, letting them go is a terrible idea

>>5569074
the trick is, once we've applied some corrective action to her, we won't need to have her in chains or anything. the chains will be mental. she'll just be walking behind us looking meek and doing what we tell her to. Once we interrogate her, we'll decide if we're even going to stop in the city, or whether it might be a good idea to just circumvent it and keep going.

it will be worse if we let her steal a march on us and tell a bunch of lies to the city so that when we show up they think we're an avatar of death or something. we already wandered into the sort of mess where we might get killed just for being a witness. going in blind will be much worse than letting her go.

File: LagneAI-1.png (628 KB, 512x896)

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"Tell me, boy," you let out a drawl of annoyance that someone following an order to leave no survivors would throw down his arms and raise his hands to beg for mercy. You want to ask him if he has no shame, if he was not prepared for the consequences that follow the act of drawing his sword with the intent to rob another Hume of what little time they have upon this Earth. But you measure your words. It's clear to you that he is but a boy to the Humes, with not enough harvests behind him to reach the first coming-of-age, had he been born among the Children. "Do you wish to live to see tomorrow?"

He stares. Not at you, but at Shamhat's glowing blue spearhead, which is uncomfortably close to his eyes. You have the Divine Spear of Lust leveled at him, unmoving and ready to pierce through his skull the moment he makes the wrong decision.

"Y-Yes...?" he asks uncertainly. When you thrust the spear an inch closer, just enough to prick the place between his eyes, he gives a yelp of surprise. "Yes! Yes, I would very much like to live to see tomorrow."

"Then you will do exactly as I say," you pull back Shamhat, just enough that he's not worried that you will accidentally impale him. The spearhead dims, the blue light fading with Shamhat's bloodlust as her dreams return to thoughts of idle pleasure and eroticism. Your own eyes become as hard as emerald diamonds, brokering no argument from the boy. "Without even the thought of deviation. Understood, boy?"

"I- understood..." For a moment he looks like he wants to argue something, but a second glance at the blood pooling amongst the corpses of his fallen comrades nips that in the bud. He nods with vigorous desperation. "Whatever you say, ma'am! Though... I don't think I can stomach any killin', if that's whatcha need. I think I've seen me fill of death..."

"Then rejoice, boy," you intone with the voice you use when giving a sermon. With a twirl and a flourish, you return Shamhat to the folded space within the shadows of your cloak. You end the motion with your arms spread wide like a prayer, and give him an only somewhat sarcastic smile. "Your task shall be saving lives, not taking them. I have much desire to speak with those whom your mistress wanted dead, and you shall be the one to save their lives while I pursue your mistress."

"Y-You'd trust me not to kill 'em like milady wanted?" the boy stammers out, paling when he realizes what he just said.

You give him a bright smile full of teeth. "I trust that you would know the consequences of betraying that trust. That being said..."

Shaping the metals you have on hand into a proper locus of control over the boy would take more time than you would like to spend. Mind magics that forbid actions, or even simple contingent consequences require incredible and specific precision to make, on the order of hours of work. However, his naked fear of you gave you an idea that should be perfect for keeping him from doing anything too regrettable.

"...Iron, be thou the chains of retribution that bind this sinner to the righteous path." You draw your magic inward and make a great big show of the power you use to pull apart the gauntlet on his right hand. Your cloak and skirt billow in a conjured wind. The steel crackles with the color of your mana. A rope of iron flows forward, and shapes a simple band around his ring finger. "May mercy be his name, and should he stray from the path of mercy, may all his ill deeds be returned unto him a thousand fold. So may it be."

The boy stars as his gauntlet reassembles itself around the now-ring bearing hand. "This mean I can't eat meat anymore?"

"What," you say more than ask, staring at the boy nonplussed.

"Well Brother Vlad from the monastery, he said that eatin' meat was cruel to the animals," the boy makes the despondent sound of someone forever cut off from one of an omnivore's key necessities. "He always went on about how we should strive to live off bread and beans and squash and fruits, how the Earthmother provides us will all we need without havin' ta kill the creatures of the land."

"I'm sure you'll be fine if you don't butcher the beast yourself," you say after a moment's pause. It's not like the iron ring actually does anything. You made a big show of creating it to play into his fear of the Children's magics and martial prowess, but it's just a little decoration. "Now go and do what you can to help those in the caravan. If any of them are beyond your skill to heal, give them one of these."

You reach into a side pocket of the Heimtasche and pull out a small wooden box filled with aluminum phials stopped with cork. Each of them contain a preparation of the Honey of Memories that you and Dawn spent your evenings making over the course of your journey. The preparation is a healing tonic for those who need more than first aid, but won't last long enough for a proper healing circle.

"I can do that!" the boy takes the box and stares at the phials as if they were made of silver or gold. Right, despite how common it is throughout the world, aluminum is fairly expensive for Humes to produce, isn't it?

Before he turns away, he has one more question. "Ah, one last thing. Uh... am I gonna get stepped on a thousand times if I accidentally squash a bug?"

"Only gently," you tell him. Your imagination definitely doesn't go to having this puppylike boy squirming beneath you while you step on his cock - which in your imagination is probably much larger than it is in real life. That would be entirely inappropriate - pretty as he is, he's not even twenty!

"What," now it's his turn to say that word more than ask it.

"Don't worry about that too much," you tell him. Strangely, your reassuring words only seem to make him more worried than he was to begin with. You give him a light spank on his bottom and turn towards where his Mistress had been. "No more questions, get to it. If any of them die, there will be hell to pay."

His buzzing seems more honest than the rotten buzzing of his fellows, Dawn pokes her little bee face out of the flower upon your head, buzzing quietly as you rush off to the hillock upon which the woman in red had sat upon her horse. She abandoned her position as soon as she recovered from the shock of seeing her men slaughtered, but the rush of panic meant that her trail was less than subtle. Your buzzing, on the other hand, was sweet... but full of sour trickery beneath your good intentions. Why did you lie?

"I would not call it a lie, but rather weaving a fiction that fit the boy's expectations," you mumble softly, just incase the boy had ears as keen as some of your fellow Children. You doubt a Hume's small and round ears can hear that well, but better safe than sorry. Of course, Dawn gives a buzzing trill that begs the difference between a fiction and a lie. "He expected a magic binding to keep him to his word even if he had no intention to break it, so I created a magic binding for him."

You created an iron band fit snug about his finger, Dawn buzzes with mild irritation. The only thing such a band binds is his bloodflow.

"I never said I used magic to bind him, I just said that it was a magic binding," you counter. By now, you've followed the tracks into the deeper parts of the forest, away from the dilapidated roads, where leaves color the forest floor brown and the trees grow tall and dense. "The magic was in the fact that I shaped the band with magic. The binding was a creation of his own expectations, which I helped along with the light show and the ominous incantation."

You can feel Shamhat's mirth from within your cloak.

I was unaware that you had the heart of a scoundrel, Childe Lagneia, Dawn buzzes, not nearly as amused as the Divine Spear of Lust appears to be. She takes a chiding tone with you, clearly intent on chastising you for spewing sour and possibly even rotten honey. What would Childe Helen think of this, I wonder? Did she not value an honest heart above all else? Were not lies and trickery beneath her?

"She would probably pat me on the head and tell me I did a good job," you say, which certainly gets Dawn to buzz about in annoyance. You just smile, continuing to follow the trail of hoof prints. "The words of the Fire-Kissed have been passed down through the generations, 'the art of seduction is tricking someone into being more honest about their feelings'. In this case, I would say I certainly seduced the boy into being more honest about his feelings on what he and his compatriots did."

Bah, what rotten honey is that? Dawn buzzes in complaint, clearly not liking the words passed down through the Daughters of Irminsul. And what if the boy realizes that he's been tricked, and decides to follow his mistress' orders?

"...I will burn that body should I come across it," you tell her. A frown crosses your face, not for that possibility, but a hiccup in the trail.

The hoofprints lead right into a stream, deep enough and fast enough that any tracks that might have been left underwater have already been washed away. The stream itself is about ten feet wide, the sort you would use yourself to throw the Attendant Rings off of your trail when you were young and foolish and wished to run off to do something entirely inappropriate - now that you're older and wiser, you don't need to run off to do such things. However for all that extra wisdom, tracking someone who found a body of water to slip into remains a rather difficult task.

Despite what novels would have you believe, running into a stream does not instantly make it impossible for a hunter to track down their prey, though it does complicate things. Scents get thrown off by the water, and tracks tend not to last for long, at least until you emerge from the stream and continue on to your destination. Had you more manpower, you could split into smaller groups and search the river banks for where-ever the woman in red and her steed emerged.

Unfortunately, you do not have the luxury of a small army to help you.

What you do have, however, is your magics. Roll 1d100
>Gather as much mana as you can and focus it into your senses. You can try to pinpoint the scent of her perfume on the air, and the sound of her horse in the distance.
>Shape a scrying basin and attempt to find her location with a spell.
>Shape a lucky coin from your Mythril and throw it. Heads is upstream, tails is downstream.
>Reach out with your magics and see if you cannot feel any fragments of the lead bullet that you returned to her.
>The forest remembers, the flowers remember. There is no reason you cannot ask them where she went.

Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>5571712
>>Gather as much mana as you can and focus it into your senses. You can try to pinpoint the scent of her perfume on the air, and the sound of her horse in the distance.

Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>5571712
>The forest remembers, the flowers remember. There is no reason you cannot ask them where she went.

>>5571712
>>Gather as much mana as you can and focus it into your senses. You can try to pinpoint the scent of her perfume on the air, and the sound of her horse in the distance.
Like a tiny, slutty bloodhound

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>5571731
Rolling

>>5571723
>>5571731
Wow, the J-Man AND Satan want this bitch hunted down. Whatever wins this vote, can't argue with the rolls.

(Also, I hope using the machine to generate art is kosher here, and that it came out okay)

welp, looks like the flowers don't want to gossip with us for the moment. or dawn refuses to help us smooth out the conversation

>>5571750
yeah, that's kosher. stuff like that only matters when you don't disclose it(if you're in an art community) or you're actually profitting from it

>>5571712
>>The forest remembers, the flowers remember. There is no reason you cannot ask them where she went.

>>5571896
Fucked up my roll

Rolled 97 (1d100)

>>5571902

>>5571924
so the flowers DO love gossiping as much as lagneia loves fucking

Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>5571712
>The forest remembers, the flowers remember. There is no reason you cannot ask them where she went.

Rolled 35 (1d100)

>>5571712
>>Gather as much mana as you can and focus it into your senses. You can try to pinpoint the scent of her perfume on the air, and the sound of her horse in the distance

QM, can you just merge the two options for this moment? just to keep the quest rolling

>>5572213
QM rarely posts twice in one day anyway.

>>5551351
How many have we fucked so far?

>>5572246
Damn, really? Martin's quest spoiled me.

>>5572338
at least 10 so far and probably 2 in the near future

>>5572342
So about 4 a thread. Not bad. That feels like the right number, not too much, not too few.

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>5571712
>>Shape a lucky coin from your Mythril and throw it. Heads is upstream, tails is downstream.

>>5571709
>the ai kept the belly button and thighs

UOHHHH so erotic!!!!

>>5572338
>>5572342
>>5572343
we just fucked the eight soldierrs in Aliza's camp, and we're probably going to fuck the lady in red and the boy.

but special mention goes to the first time we pikced up shamhat because that was a fucking for the ages.

Rolled 48 (1d100)

>>5571712
>>The forest remembers, the flowers remember. There is no reason you cannot ask them where she went.

>>5571712
>>Shape a scrying basin and attempt to find her location with a spell.

>>5571750
Questing aid is actually a pretty good use for AI generated art

Rolled 64 (1d100)

Do not worry about this roll.

>>5575744
Thats what you said the last time we weren't supposed to worry about a roll

>>5575792
well, looks like unlike the last time when the baron got basically a crit fail at least this time the noble didn't fail so hard at either trying to ambush us or hide in the trees or something

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Though your senses may have failed you, there exist other means by which a Child of Yggdrasil such as yourself can track someone through the depths of the woodlands. The roots of the trees spread wide and deep, intermingling with one another to share in the memories of life, and carry them into the depths of the earth that they may return to Yggdrasil and be recorded forever in the veins of the World Tree. Not a sound goes unheard and not a sight goes unseen within the forest, for every knot is a watchful eye that misses no detail in its sight and every leaf is a keen ear that catches the whispers upon the wind. Observing but never taking action, recording everything it sees without prejudice nor bias, lacking awareness despite being aware of everything that happens within it.

The forest remembers.

The forest always remembers

You lay your hand upon the bark of an old willow weeping over the stream, your mana laying a gentle kiss upon the river of dreams that flows through the elderly tree as it lazily drinks its nourishment from the sun and moon. Compared to the nearby flowers - which were too sparse and scattered to form a rhizome of memory - it will have seen and remembered far more... even if you know trees tend to have a dour disposition compared to their more bright and cheerful neighbors.

"Hail, venerable willow by the stream," you take a formal tone as you speak the tongue of plants. Just like dealing with a prickly member of the Hume nobility who take themselves far too seriously compared to their ability to impact the world, you do your best tor remain respectful. Perhaps most importantly, you don't lead with your question. "I am Lagneia, Child of Alfheim and Daughter of Irminsul. How goes your watch along the riverside?"

"Bah!" the willow harumphs. "Another two-legged menace come to harass me while I sunbathe? And one that can talk, so I can't just pretend that I didn't notice her... alright then, what do you want?"

You blink at the grumpy old tree, making sure to keep your expression neutral and not show any irritation that might have begun to blossom in your heart. This is why you prefer talking to flowers. Mother Irminsul is so far beyond you in scope that only the most abstract thoughts can be communicated, and when you think about how her little brothers and sisters act, you are rather glad for that. "Well, if we're getting down to business-"

"We are," the willow interrupts you, tutting you as if you weren't of an age with her. "Out with it, girl."

You suppress the urge to snap back that you are a woman grown, or to take a deep breath that signals how much the tree is trying your own patience. "I seek a woman wearing a red dress and riding a distinctive white horse. Her hair falls in black curls, she has brown eyes, and her nose is large and somewhat beak-like. Her figure is otherwise unremar-"

"Bah, I know that menace," the tree grumbles, cutting you off again. "What's that worth to ye?"

"Beg your pardon?" you stare up at the willow with a furrowed brow and a slight frown. Its drooping leaves seem to rustle with mirth in the gentle breeze, but that could just be the wind, which has kicked up ever-so-slightly. "You have said yourself that she is a menace, presumably the one who bothered you earlier. Is hunting her down and dispensing justice upon her not payment enough for the information I need to track her down? If you'd like, I could add 'damaging the venerable willow by the stream' to the list of her crimes, but that seems-"

"Entirely unnecessary," the grumpy old willow cuts you off. Now that there might be something in it for her, the greedy old tree has become much more energetic when it comes to engaging you with conversation. "There is no road here, the Hume only came this way to flee from you as fast as she could, did she not?"

The willow waits a moment for you to answer. You give the greedy tree a flat stare, unimpressed by her desire to haggle with you over the price of directions... and perhaps, somewhat pettily refusing to give her information for free when she demands a price for hers. When it becomes clear you won't give her a yes or a no to that question, she continues. "So it's entirely unlikely that she will live long enough to menace me again. Whatever you did to drive her off, however... well, that's the very reason she and that wretched beast of hers menaced me in the first place! So why shouldn't I demand compensation from the one who has bothered me not once, but twice in the same day?"

You let out the long sigh that you had been holding in, and with it any pretense of politeness. You raise your voice loudly enough for the other trees nearby to hear. "Maybe I should go ask that good oak over there. I'm sure he and I could come to an arrangement, especially if he's pol-"

"Hey, hey, hey, no need for that!" the Willow shushes you as the other trees stir from their daydreams, muttering among themselves. The boons given by a Child of Yggdrasil could be quite valuable to a Tree, after all. If only for bragging rights to the other trees. "No need for that! No one here's the barkless sort what will undercut each other, otherwise we all get hurt by it, but even still, no need for that."

"I haven't gotten my information yet," you tell the tree, letting your impatience show. "Where did she go, 'venerable' willow?"

"Hey don't think I didn't hear that tone!" the tree complains. Her own tone puts an end to your desire to continue dealing with her. You turn on your heel with a swish of your dark green cloak, towards one of the oaks across the stream that appears to be rubbing its branches together in anticipation of a deal. Before you leave, a vine-like leaf falls from the willow and onto your head. "Wait, no need to leave just yet little seedling!"

"You have been nothing but rude since I got here," you tell her. You have not turned back yet, but you have stopped moving towards her competition.

"Why shouldn't I take my question to someone more reasonable looking, like that oak over there?" you ask, pointing at the oak who is still rubbing his branches together. A Child of Yggdrasil is a rare sight in these forests, after all, and the spells you can do to give a tree good health and long life are even more rare. You may be no grove keeper, but they don't know that... and you do have a spell or two that can give them a boon. "Do you not all carry memory within your roots? Surely what he can draw upon will be little different than what you can draw upon..."

"But I saw that menace and her beast in person, so mine will be more clear," the willow counters. "Plus... the leave I gave you. Weave it into you hair, and I can give you a special service that the deciduous hacks trying to woo you away with false promises could never hope to do! 'Tree of Wisdom' my roots, BAH!"

"Oh, and what is that special service?" you ask.

"Not only will you get first hand information - which is far better than lousy second hand memories drunk from the roots without context, I might add," the willow says, putting airs of great import into her voice. You somehow doubt that's true, unless the Bees of this forest are useless beyond all belief. So long as a keeper of memory keeps the memories, then those memories shall echo as they were first experienced for thousands of years. "But I can provide you her precise location in real time during your pursuit. All for the reasonable, reasonable price of say... one of the boons you Elves can grant."

You think on it for a moment, which makes the tree's leaves shiver in concern. As you think on your answer, she puts on an incredibly fake voice trying to be sweet as syrup. "What do you say?"
>No, I think I'll take my business to that Oak.
>Sure. Infuse her with metal from the stream, making her the strongest willow in the forest.
>Sure. Cast a spell that rejuvenates her and will keep her youthful for a month or so.
>Sure. Cast a spell that will heal her from any wounds, blights, and parasites.
>Sure. Curse her, but make it look and feel like a boon.
>You have no time for this tomfoolery. Walk away (Roll 1d100)

>>5575934
>Sure. Cast a spell that rejuvenates her and will keep her youthful for a month or so.
hrmp. fine. real time data sounds like a deal

>>5575934
>Sure. Cast a spell that rejuvenates her and will keep her youthful for a month or so.
Nothing big, because she's a big meanie.

>>5575934
>>Sure. Cast a spell that rejuvenates her and will keep her youthful for a month or so.
We all know that inner beauty is all that matters anyways!

>>5575934
>>Sure. Cast a spell that will heal her from any wounds, blights, and parasites.
How does a tree look young, anyway?

>>5576111
clean and with its bark new and not battered

>>5576121
I mean frankly we could just as easily use our metal magic to put a copper nail in her trunk but that much be a little too psychopathic for Lagneia. Might not hurt to remind the tree of that, though.

>>5576139
.....why would we even consider those two? The tree was just rude. nothing more

>>5575934
>No, I think I'll take my business to that Oak.

None of us can get want we want now.

>>5575934
>>Sure. Cast a spell that rejuvenates her and will keep her youthful for a month or so.

>>5575934
>>Sure. Cast a spell that rejuvenates her and will keep her youthful for a month or so.
Mean oak doesn't deserve better

>>5575934
>>No, I think I'll take my business to that Oak.

>>5575934
>Sure. Cast a spell that will heal her from any wounds, blights, and parasites.
Healthbros, assemble!

>>5575934
>>Sure. Cast a spell that will heal her from any wounds, blights, and parasites

>>5575934
>Sure. Curse her, but make it look and feel like a boon.
Sweet, this is still going. I've been out for a few weeks, what did I miss?

>>5575934
>Sure. Cast a spell that will heal her from any wounds, blights, and parasites.
Maybe she's cranky because of the parasites in her

>>5578031
What was the last thing that was going on when you left?

>>5575934
>Sure. Cast a spell that will heal her from any wounds, blights, and parasites

>>5575934
>>Sure. Curse her, but make it look and feel like a boon.

Just giving everyone a heads up that due to today being a busier day than usual, I will need to delay the next post until tomorrow.

>>5580093
No problem QM!

>>5580093
I lied, and got pulled into the dreaded Social Activity. Tomorrow is busy, but if not tomorrow then we'll be back on track on Monday.

>>5582162
good luck qm

>>5582162
My condolences. We are with you in spirit.

Rolled 34 (1d100)

don't mind me just rolling a dice

>>5583940
oh no

>>5583940
Heh, even the dice are smitten

>>5583940
Looks like the noble tried to hide again or use her position as a noble and failed

So it seems that I have lied about timing of the update due to not wanting to complete fuck my sleep schedule (and also constant distractions while trying to write). RIP me. Update tomorrow, I have like half of it done. I'm going to try to only INSINUATE lewds with it, as there's definitely some lewd shit going on (though how much people like it will be predicated on their opinions of femboys/traps, as this roll made me go for the person helping her out being, uh... Ottoman. Very Ottoman).

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I expect a Turk or a piece of furniture.

my knowledge on turks/ottomans is very low, someone mind explaining it?

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>>5584245

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>>5584177
I was hoping she'd be interrogating the lady in red, but oh well. maybe she still is. have fun with it!
>>5584178
both, probably.

>>5584251
the only thing i'm getting is that he looked girlish, liked tulips and poetry and had a harem.
that gives me an idea of how this is going to go, but dunno if im missing anything else

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"Greedy old willow," you grumble at the tree. Of course, the old conifer doesn't deny it in the slightest. You place a gentle hand upon her bark, which has grown coarse and rough with age. The forest has no keeper, and has grown tired from years of erosion and the ravages of age. You suppose you can spare the mana to play keeper. "You are quite fortunate that your special service piques my interest. I know the words of the old fables: the elder tree did not grow giving of himself charitably. So your reward shall be commensurate to the value that you've offered me."

"You cannot mean..." you can hear the shock and greed within her voice. You suppose it's a good tone, one that suits a greedy old conifer like her. "...you offer me a silverheart?"

"A commensurate offer, for your aid in hunting my prey," your grin gleams in the few strands of sunlight that peak through the canopy. Your eyes light with a dangerous green, your gaze becoming narrow as your hands follow her trunk down to her roots. "This shall be the price of your labor. But in return... if your wearisome attempts to haggle for a blessing from my esteemed mother cost me the opportunity to ensnare this woman in red... I will return to take it back."

"This is accepta-" the old willow starts, but you were not finished.

"With interest," you finish.

The willow breathes long and hard of the currents on the air, her hair-like leaves rustling in the wind, contemplating your offer in silence for a long moment that seems to last for half an eternity. In the end, a heart of silver is not something her greedy nature would let her turn down. Not any more than you could turn down a tumble in the hay freely offered. "Your offer is acceptable. She followed the stream north for half a mile, and then turned back to the side that she had crossed from."

"I would not have guessed that..." you admit. The old tree's branches curve towards you, offering a long and rope-like leaf by which you can fashion the laurel crown through which the forest shall speak to you. "But it makes sense. A noblewoman would not attack someone unless it were near her own territory, and that creek makes for a fine natural border."

"Humes are strange creatures," the old willow speaks the most sense that she's spoken since you met her... and then proceeds to let her greedy nature drag her back into foolishness. "Now, of my - no, of our reward, Childe of Alfheim."

"Good. You know that this is not for you alone, greedy willow," you give her a little praise, and her branches puff up with pride like a beautiful decorative tree half her age. She shall become more than simple eye candy, just as you are more than your peerless and delicate beauty. "I am no grovekeeper to guard the forests and shepherd trees into the entlings who are beloved cousins to my kin. But as a beloved daughter of the Irminsul, I can heal thy wounds and blights, and restore thee to thy youth. But to keep the scales of fate balanced..."

"Harumph, well I cannot say I want the responsibility you intend to hang from my branches, you scheming Childe," the willow grumbles, but she has no right to complain. She already agreed to a silverheart as her payment. That she gave no thought as to what it meant to be the lone tree with such a gift in the forest is no one's fault but her own. But those thoughts have come now, past the point where she can turn back and demand something else - for you have already accepted her gift. Now she must accept the agreed payment in turn. "But good health and long life are worth the chains in which you'd bind me. Do it, before I decide the withering of a broken pact is the better deal."

"That you do not want this means that you are a good candidate to receive it," you throw some more praise at her, that she begrudgingly accepts. Your hand touches the ground where her roots meet the soil, your bangle shining white as you draw forth silver from the deep places of the earth. "A tree who aspired to become a Heart-Tree... those who want power should be kept from it, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppo-AH!" The tree gives a yelp and her branches shake as the silver flows into her. "Aaaaaaaaah, that is... brisk."

"Dreams spun of silver"
"Cast out the with'ring nightmare"
"From the forest's heart"

You intone the incantation in three lines. A simple spell every Childe of Yggdrasil learns in their youth from the Masters of Garden and Grove who tend to the green spaces among Alfheim's terraces of sung marble. From them you learned the flow of memory through the roots great and small, how the forest and flowers remember all things good and evil. They taught you all the green tongue of the plants and the buzzing of the Bees. In truth, you wanted to simply restore the old willow's health and perhaps wind back the clock of her life by a few years, but the spell they taught you to create a silver heart of the forest is simpler than those by far.

That it places a burden upon the greedy old tree, to become the heart of the forest and to give her gifts to others that she may herself prosper greatly... well, that is a delicious fate for such a greedy tree. In truth, her aid alone was not worth the gift of this transformation. But taking the responsibility for the forest, even if taking on that responsibility will extend her life and health indefinitely, that certainly balances the scales.

The flowing silver shapes itself into words by your will, the incantation repeated again into infinity. Black swirls within against the white light, and when you punch a small spigot hole into her body, the concentrated foulness of age and disease pour forth into a bucket. The brackish black water could be very useful for certain alchemical properties, for it is entropy made manifest. It's sad that you only have a handful of bottles to carry the stuff for trade in the city. The rest you must purge in flame.

And so did the willow become the forest's heart...

===Elsewhere===

Where the road bends into a lesser fork and one far greater, a woman upon a white steed burst from the forest and galloped down the smaller path. It led to the foot of a mountain, from which rises a humble manor that merged the architectural styles of Daedalium and the Eastern reaches of Assuwa. Onion-like domes crowned each towers, though inside the walls the main building not unlike a cathedral stood supported by flying buttresses, its stones washed to a white so bright it could almost be mistaken for snow. The crown of the building was a circle of stained glass, depicting an image of the Starfather and the Earth Mother circling one another, their hands both grasping at an orb that was the world.

The guards let the rider in, her red dress billowing like a cloak. She found them now every bit as unnatural as they day that she first met them. No, perhaps moreso, because she learned the process by which the man whose aid she sought created these so-called janissaries.

They each wore iron masks over their faces, with coifs of mail that hid away their hair. The masks were each unique to the wearer, with no two being exactly alike. Some were twisted like the faces of gargoyles and grotesqueries meant to ward away evil spirits. Some were simple and abstract, round masks carved with simple shapes that invoked the image of a smiling dog or a cunning fox. Most sought simply to emulate the beautiful faces that hid beneath them - for each of these men was a feminine beauty who surpassed most women. The certainly surpassed the plain face of the large-nosed woman in red, who could not help but scowl as she passed them.

Where did these boys get off being prettier than me, huh? She kept her thoughts to herself, for speaking too freely in this house could cost her head... or worse, the heads of her entire bloodline and her younger brother's purity.

"Ah, if it is not Lady Rosenschild," a light voice dripping with confidence greets her as she dismounts. Like all the men here but the master, he had the face of a beautiful blonde girl and hips that could easily be mistaken for a woman's. But even though he wore the distinct frilled black-white dress of a River Kingdom's maid, his broad shoulders and strong arms gave him away for the man that he was. "I am surprised to see you visit our esteemed House again so soon! I thought you intended to go with my Master's competitors for your business... who were they again? The Iron Claws?"

"I have business with your master, Nikola-" Lady Rosenschild got cut off before she could finish.

A thrown dagger, faster than a bullet, flew past her head with enough force that it tossed her raven black curls. The moment a red line appeared on her cheek, the impossibly beautiful maid was behind her, sheathing the gleaming blade that cut her in a hidden scabbard strapped to his womanly thighs. Lady Rosenschild froze stiff in shock when he licked her bleeding cheek... but brokered no complaint against him.

"I gave up on being called 'Nikola' years ago, Ruth," the man purred into her ears. His voice sent a shiver down her spine, reminding her of days gone by, beneath the lemon trees of her mother's estate. When Nikola was still Nikola, a rugged young boy filled with valor and a vicious wolf-like cunning, before the Parthans sacked the Westermarch and took its people as their slaves. When he was a member of the peerage, not a lowly köçek, and the two of them were to be wed. "You know what I'm called. I'll hear you say it. Let me remind you - I am the morning star of my Master's harem, the inspiration of a new day, the first to rise among the thousand consorts..."

"Zahra, I'm sorry," Ruth makes a strange noise as every word out of Zahra's mouth tightened his grip around her chest. She could feel his desire for her press against her bottom through his dress, reminding her that no matter how feminine he looked, certain parts of him remained quite manly indeed. "Your arm... too tight... hard to breathe..."

"Ah, forgive me Ruth~" Zahra relaxed his grip and licked her cheek again, wiping up the last of the blood he spilt in anger. Where his saliva touched her wound, it healed. A hand of his grabbed at her breast and squeezed, and Ruth did not know if she wanted to smile or glare. "I've just grown to hate that old name. Hearing it in your voice filled me with such a rage... but hearing you call me by my new name fills this boyish heart of mine with joy!"

"I am glad to hear that, Zahra," Ruth said his name again, taking a heavy breath as she could.

"And I am glad you are glad, my dear friend!" Zahra let Ruth go, swirling around with such joy that his dress billowed up and out high enough to reveal his creamy, womanly thighs. He comes to a stop and looks at her with a playful gleam in his eyes. "Now, what brings you to the Esteemed House of al-Fasek? Business? Or perhaps, ohohoho... pleasure? I for one would be happy to service you free of charge, if that is what you are after, my dear Ruth... or would you prefer me to shrink down to helplessness and call you L-Lady R-R-Rosenschild, hmmm?"

When he put on the affectations of a small boy, helpless and innocent, Ruth could not help but snort with laughter - knowing damn well that her Nikola had become quite the opposite of that, for better or for worse. With a roll of her shoulders and deep sigh, she retrieved the stony mask that dropped when Zahra shamelessly licked her cheek, and followed him up the white stone steps.

"As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, I'm here on business," she declared. Her eyes drifted meaningfully towards the mysterious folds in his voluminous skirt from whence he drew the gleaming blade that cut her. Then back to his infuriatingly beautiful face. "Besides which, I thought that the Lord al-Fasek was rather possessive of his 'women'. I do not think he would lend your 'services' out, even to the daughter of a major customer."

"Oh, my Master is quite possessive," Zahra admits with a gleaming and perfect smile. Had she not seen the beautiful spear dancer who slaughtered her men with an untarnished beauty that rivaled the stars themselves, Ruth would have easily been dazzled by it. The look on his face when she's not dazzled by it as she had been before is disappointment mixed with two parts respect. "But as long as I remain his woman, I do not think he would mind that much if I became your man. Though he would likely demand our firstborn son as tribute..."

"Unacceptable," Ruth says immediately. "Taking a lover who gets buggered regularly already pushes the bounds of good taste. Letting it happen to my own flesh and blood would be political suicide. Mother would kill me."

"And I would kill your mother!" Zahra quips. "I never got along with her, anyways."

"Your master would flay you alive if you did," she said as they crossed the doorway into the grand manor home. "She's the only reason why the Inquisition has not come down upon this debauched house with the full wrath of the Starfather..."

As if to make her point, even the entrance hall was filled with art that pushed at the boundaries of good taste. The heady scent of incense filled the air to hide away the stench of sex that has seeped into the elaborate carpet and the drapes. Statues of girlish young men lined the hallway, each of them detailed by a master of the craft, with near perfect anatomy to match the feminine köçeks who serve this household as janissaries, maids, and sex-slaves. Each statue was the step of a graceful and erotic dance meant to display their lewd charms to the world. Ruth did not know if she liked them, or finds them distasteful as Zahra guided her to a different room than usual.

"Ah, he'd only punish me - and sometimes, the punishment can be worth the crime," Zahra said with a grin. Ruth rolled her eyes, knowing full well what he meant and not finding it funny in the slightest. "Now, the Master is busy right now, so I'm afraid you'll have to deal with me in his stead. Before you ask, it's the sort of busy that you wouldn't like to walk in on. The last time you insisted one of his servants take you to him immediately..."

Ruth's face turned as red as a pomegranate, he beak-like nose turning the deepest shade of all. "You... ugh, that burned for the rest of the night, and I'm still not certain you didn't do it on purpose you pervert."

"It's hard to do anything on purpose when the Master's having his way with you~" Zahra teased her and Ruth made a face of exaggerated disgust. Moments like this, she did not mind... for she could almost pretend that she had her fiance back. Still... her feelings aside, his Master's friendship was a powerful asset that her family could not afford to lose. They both stepped into a small office room, Zahra's space as the Castellan of this House. "Now, you say you are here on business? But I thought you had your Claws...?"

"The Hundred Talons have been slaughtered to a man," Ruth lead with the blunt truth. "I barely escaped their killer with my life. It appears that the targets of the operation that your Master lost the bid for managed to pique the interest of an elf, who came to their defense during the second phase of our execution."

"An elf you say...?" Zahra winced, writing a few things down in a notebook. "That, ah... male or female, that is going to cost you extra, you know."

"I am aware," Ruth said with a drawl. She lets a breath out that she didn't know she had held, relieved that al-Fasek would at least entertain the contract with an elf as a factor. "We would not have entertained the Talons' bid if we had suspected an elf was going to be involved. By the blight, I think we would have let them be, if we had known an elf was going to be involved, Mother is not suicidal, and even if he's a creepy pervert who would make your Master gawk in disgust, neither is David."

"I never did like your elder brother..." Zahra shook his head. "Alright, don't expect us to kill the elf unless we absolutely have to. The Master's seen what the Rod and Rings can do, and he wants no part in that. What is it that you want from us?"

"An escort home and a hundred men to defend my walls," Ruth declared.

"Hmmm, I'm not sure if we have that many to spare," Zahra replied, doing some mental math. "How about... twenty?"

"To protect me from an angry elf?" Ruth gave a hollow laugh at that pathetic number. "You might as well armor me in paper. Seventy."

"Hmmm, you're squeezing our forces pretty tight..." Zahra made a pained face and a gesture as he ran the numbers in his head. Then a smile replaced the pain on his face as a thought came to mind. "Why don't we say fifty... but I'll leave running the House to my assistant Elika for a while. He's been looking for an opportunity to expand his responsibilities, I think it will do him some good. And it will give me the opportunity to be your personal bodyguard, eh?"

Ruth nodded, giving him a thin smile and leaning over his desk. The cleavage she tried to show off wasn't that impressive, but it was hers, which made it Zahra's favorite by far. "That's acceptable. Now... shall we negotiate price?"

Zahra gave her a lusty smile, pressing a button beneath his desk that locked the door. "Let's~"

>Roll 3d100

Choose one of the following:
>Aggression
>Diplomacy
>Stealth
>Splendor

Rolled 94, 99, 35 = 228 (3d100)

>>5585029
I feel kind of bad for Ruth. Also, neat worldbuilding, QM. Anyway...

>Diplomacy

Rolled 23, 63, 4 = 90 (3d100)

>>5585029
>>Splendor
Not that I am opposed to aggression, but we need to make sure the lady in red understands just how wrong she was to insult us.

>>5585049
lmao fuck
let's go with the other guy's choice

>>5585029
also either way, regardless of how she's trying to tell the story, we should let her hosts know that as a matter of fact, she never gave us the chance to let her victims pique our interest, she attacked us before we even had an idea of what was going on just because we were a potential witness.

Rolled 79, 5, 1 = 85 (3d100)

>>5585029
>Diplomacy
Welp, looks like beak woman knows how to talk her way out of a problem. Which will make her a great asset for us whenever we need to deal with lesser nobles and people not worth our tine

>>5585029
>>Splendor

Rolled 96, 26, 32 = 154 (3d100)

>>5585029
>Diplomacy

>>5585048
holy shit anon

Rolled 92, 37, 32 = 161 (3d100)

>>5585029
>Splendor
>>5585048
goddamn

Rolled 87, 55, 47 = 189 (3d100)

>>5585029
>>Diplomacy

Rolled 72, 78, 86 = 236 (3d100)

>>5585029
>>Splendor
I want to see what it does

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>5585029
>>Dickplomacy

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Through the willow leaves woven in your hair, the forest guides you towards you prey. Dreams and memories that move like sap through the roots and the rhizome play back before your eyes like the visions of a daydream, a collective recollection given form by thought and shape by the million eyes that saw her. You take more satisfaction than you should in the panic stricken across her face. Something about the broken illusion of her pride as she spurs her white horse to continue galloping away at full speed pleases you tremendously. The crumbling edifice of a thousand layers of arrogation and the affectation of authority paints a beautiful picture that you will surely cherish for at least a few decades.

What that says about your personality regarding how you treat people whom you well and truly do not like, you would rather avoid thinking about too hard.

You follow the spectral trail of the woman in red up the stream and through the forest, along winding trails left by deer and other beasts as she retreats towards the mountains. Roots and brambles make way for your swift steps, every plant and friendly fungus respecting the laurel woven into your hair and the great boon that you have given these woods. As you pass through the overgrowth and the thick humus of the forest floor, a light smile crosses your face. Not for the fact that your prey cannot escape your clutches so long as she remains within the forest now, but for the manifest work of the newly christened Heart Tree.

For all she was a cranky and greedy old willow, your choice to trust her with the responsibilities of carrying the light of silver within her heartswood appears well founded. These woodlands will never be as majestic as the groves of Alfheim or the other elvenhomes, but already the willow's light has begun to spread through the woods. Within the dream of the Great Mother - the space called reality by those who do not understand the nature and design of Yggdrasil - the forest begins to bloom out of season. Its roots will never again know the deprivation of winter and drought, lest the Blight again come to the shores of Alagonia. For the light of a Heart Tree now runs through the forest's rhizome alongside the sap of dreams.

The light of a Heart Tree is the light of the Stars

The movers of fate.
The magic without.
The light peaking in from beyond the veil of Great Mother's dream, exceptions to the rules that Yggdrasil brings to the world.

A Heart Tree gathers the light of the stars into the silver gilding of its hearts and shapes it into a dream of its own, which blossoms into existence beneath the watchful eyes of the Great Father. An imaginary grove that spreads as far as the Heart Tree's light can reach within the roots of the forest to which it is connected. A place that can be moved through freely, if one knows the way to travel between real and imaginary. The final destination of those who become well and truly lost in the real forest, and do not know their way out.

You would visit the reverse of the grove and the manifest dreams that will in time coagulate into fey spirits and keepers of the forest, but you need to stay on task. Ten years is a fleeting dream to your kith and kin, even if it might seem like an eternity to the Humes and the Stouts, and three months have already been burnt by your travels into the Daedalic heartlands. You wish to see the matter of the Humes and their all-too-bloody political maneuvers of assassination and backstabbing put to rest swiftly, that you may return to the road to Lygos and finish this leg of your journey.

The vision of the woman in red cuts off when the forest yields to shrubbery and highland grass, a cultivated vale littered with standing stones left by the vast bodies of ice that once covered this land in an age before the first age. A brook cuts it in twain, a bubbling rivulet that runs from a mountain spring down into the forest. More than likely, those waters will come to join the stream by which your grumpy willow friend stands. Long-horned goats and fluffy sheep mill about the grassy vale, watched over by a young man in women's clothing.

Well, for a certain definition of "watched over". The young man rests upon a thrown blanket with his arms behind his head, and a bonnet covering his face and keeping out the sun.

Were you a wolf, you would have eaten your fill and then the young man would have some awkward answers to give should he have to answer to someone for the missing sheep. Luckily for him, you are neither wolf nor poacher there to rustle his livestock. Your prey is a woman with raven curls and an impressively large nose, clad in vibrant red silks and riding a snow-white horse that must have been twice as tall as you, from head to hoof. And though the forest can no longer aid you with memories and recollections of her twisted path through the trees, you don't think you need it anymore.

After all, a stately manor has been carved into the side of the mountain. Where else would the noblewoman run to but the comforts of her home, or perhaps the hospitality of a friend and ally who lived nearby. The fresh hoofprints of a horse in quite the hurry removes whatever doubt that might be left in your mind. You can follow them all the way to the manor, and there you shall find the woman who foolishly ordered you killed.

The gleaming white walls are an impressive example of Hume architecture. Though they cut the stones and set them with mortar in between the gaps instead of singing the wall into existence, that has its own advantages. Stone sung from the depths of the earth and shaped in one piece is prone to cracks beneath the weathering caused by cycle of seasons endless march. Without an advanced chorus to resonate within and make those cracks self-healing, the walls will crumble and fall. Though mortar and cut stone bricks have their own host of issues, their ability to respond to the issue of thermal expansion with less cracking is one of its strengths.

"Greetings, traveler!" one of guards calls to you. His voice is friendly enough, though the extra hands coming around to block off the open gate with a wall of men standing at rest does not go unnoticed by you. They move with remarkable coordination. "What brings one of the Children of Yggdrasil to the Esteemed House of al-Fasek? I am afraid that our lord did not tell us to expect guests today, least of all one of your esteemed people. We are not prepared to welcome you, this day."

As you approach the walls, you carry yourself with the grace and the dignity of a practiced diplomat, blending in just enough eroticism to your stride that you can take advantage of your unparalleled, eye-catching beauty without breaking your poise. The eyes of the ten men who have gathered by the gate, along with the dozens more who have taken to the walls, are all upon you. They must be used to living with stimulating sights, as though you can see that you have the lustful attention of their lower halves thanks to their auspiciously baggy black pants, their eyes watch you less like a boy watches a dancer and more like a hawk watching its prey.

Though that might be the work of the iron masks their faces are hidden behind.

Regardless of their design - which are each unique and fascinating - you can see their eyes and little else behind them. Coifs of mail hide their hair, and are crowned each with rope of dyed cloth that you assume distinguishes their rank from one another. Some are red, some are blue, some are green, some are gold, some are bleached white. Most, however, as as black as their iron masks. Their clothes too, share this color, worn over their mail to hide how much protection they are wearing beneath, and where the joints might be for a dagger or an arrow to exploit. A fair practice, even if the black makes them stand out - but perhaps that is the point.

Through the masks, you can feel magic flowing through them just as you can feel its hum through your own clothes. The pathways are brutal and inefficient carriers, designed for ease of manufacture with primitive tools rather than minimizing the need to repair and replace them as is the case with your clothing. Their exact purpose you cannot puzzle out, but you expect it will come in time and observation - provided the peace lasts long enough.

"My business here involves the pursuit of a very foolish young woman in red silks, astride a white horse," you explain to the guardsman. "Her hair fell in dark curls halfway down her back, and she had a rather prominent nose."

He and all the others go a bit tense when your eyes find a certain easily recognizable horse in the stables, being cared for by a pretty young man dressed like a maid. Keeping his voice steady, he lies through his teeth, "I cannot say that we've had anyone by that description visit the manor in recent memory. What was your business with her? It would be no trouble for us to pass it along for you should she ever visit our Esteemed House."

You let out a long and weary sigh. He knows that he's lying. You know that he's lying. He knows that you know that he's lying. Every lie out of his mouth is one more moment stolen from your Travail, and as Robert and his lord demonstrated to you, time is a precious commodity to the Humes. That he's going out of his way to waste it for both you and him infuriates you.
>Tell him to stop wasting your time and bring you to her.
>Tell him to stop wasting your time and bring her to you.
>Tell him to stop wasting your time. You want to speak to his Lord.
>Cease being reasonable. Shamhat calls for you.

>>5587887
>Cease being reasonable. Shamhat calls for you.
Fuck 'em up Shamiko- er, Shamhat.

>>5587887
>>Tell him to stop wasting your time and bring her to you.
I'm still in favor of a little diplomacy for now. They have not actually attacked us yet, and part of the reason we slew the talons is because they attacked us before we could put a word in edgewise.
Also the trannisaries are probably a much greater threat than the talons, so we should tread carefully.

>>5587887
>Tell him to stop wasting your time and bring you to her.

>>5587887
>Tell him to stop wasting your time and bring her to you.

>>5587887
>Tell him to stop wasting your time and bring her to you.
also add
>"im looking for her because she tried to murder me for no apparent reason. As you fellow, cultured people might know, were she successful on that, you and everyone related to her and that incident would receive the visit of a Ranger, a Rod and a Ring, and i don't think i need to explain what that would mean to all of you. Thankfully nothing of the sort happened, but i want reparations for her failed assassination attempt on a Childe ambassador, so please, bring her to me."

lets also add a bit of incentives for them to work with us
>"my current mission is to strengthen the bonds between humes and us, so im sure your lord would see the advantages of helping me on this ordeal"

am i bullshitting? yes, a bit. but this miiiiight help us win them over

>>5587887
>Tell him to stop wasting your time. You want to speak to his Lord.

>>5587887
hmmm, that anon has a point
changing >>5588005
to
>Tell him to stop wasting your time. You want to speak to his Lord.
the adults need to talk

>>5587887
>>Cease being reasonable. Shamhat calls for you.

>>5588005
+1

>>5588005
Support

>>5587882
Qm what ai and prompts do you use for this?

also qm you should archive this we're on page 10

>>5587887
>Tell him to stop wasting your time and bring her to you.

>>5587882
Looks pretty good, but it looks like she has 6 fingers on her right hand

>>5589723
That's how you can tell she's an elf.

>>5589723
6 fingers to pleasure 6 men simultaneously

somebody should archive the quest before it gets sent to the dead zone