"Dad?" Your arms open the two cloth draperies of Roderick's tent. Some light pours into the darkened tent, lit only by one candle. A man is sitting on a stool, next to a wooden table. He appears to be writing a military report to someone, probably a superior. That man, writing the letter, is your father.
"Come in," he welcomes absently. Roderick is sad or absorbed. Maybe both. "Give me a moment."
Typically, Roderick smiles much more, but this is a time of war.
You sit down on a stool next to him, looking around the tent. It's very empty. Not much furniture, except for a few candles, a chest for equipment, a bedroll, three stools, and the desk he is writing his letter on. The dark cloth of the tent isn't very appealing or decorative either. The grim atmosphere is a perfect match for the war.
You peek over his shoulder. You see him writing a letter to... His Royal Majesty? Oh, of course. They're related, somewhat distantly, but still. And funnily enough, this means you have a decent shot at obtaining the throne if the king doesn't have any heirs or heiresses. But thoughts like that are childish and silly.
A few minutes pass. Finally, Roderick puts the quill back into the ink holder and turns to you. "How can I help my beloved daughter?" he smiles.
"Well, I don't knooow," you state sarcastically, before getting to the point. "I've seen a few sirens near the beach."
"I'll alert my men. Thank you for telling me."
"No, no! No need to do that," you smile maliciously. "Wanna kill 'em? As in, on our own."
Roderick's eyebrow shoots up. "What?"
"You know, a monster hunt. Father and daughter bonding! That kind of stuff."
"Isn't it mother–––"
"Shhhh..." you shush him with your finger. "If you're too scared you'll lose to a little girl, just say so."
Roderick's neutral face twists into what you assume to be the face of injured masculine pride. "Challenge. Accepted."
***
SWISH! SWOOSH! SHWING!
In three motions of Excalibur, the fourth siren falls down, cut into three pieces. The wounds on her body glow with bright, yellow light, which soon subsumes and leaves behind only cauterized wounds. Ever since you reached Excalibur's full potential, the radiant damage it deals has become more powerful.
You turn around, Excalibur's blade resting on your shoulder. You see Roderick bash in the skull of another siren, sending her flying, headless, back into the ocean.
Sirens are evil creatures that lure sailors in by singing, then kill them. They should never be confused with the beautiful, innocent mermaids. Sirens are ugly, vile creatures, while mermaids are pure and guide the sailors away from danger, often marrying them in the process.
The stuff you're killing is just monsters.
"What's your kill-count?" you ask, as Roderick approaches with bloodied hands. He doesn't seem to respect these sirens very much, as he didn't even take his sword, or his bow for this hunt.
"Eight."
"You really wear the pants around here," you give him that. He's got twice more than you. "Anyway, think there's more of–––what."
You lean to the right and stare at something behind Roderick.
"Huh?" Roderick turns around. His neutral curiosity turns into
shock of disbelief.
Before the two of you stands a particularly attractive, naked woman. No, more than that. She's the very embodiment of beauty. Her slim jawline is accompanied by more-than-impressive hunks of feminity. She has a tiny, innocent face and deep, seductive blue eyes. She has slim, smooth, silky blond hair that flows down her body. The only thing that covers her privates is what seems to be thick clouds of white steam. You feel immense envy when looking at her body.
The woman stares.
"C-can I help you?" Roderick asks, bewildered and embarrassed.
The woman stares.
"Madam, please, say something," he pleads.
The woman stares.
"Please, don't just stand there, put some clothes on," Roderick averts his gaze, looking off to the side and obscuring his line of vision with his hands.
The woman stares. She winks, not at Roderick though.
Confused, you point one finger at yourself as if asking: 'me?'
The woman stares for a moment, then nods and seductively licks her lips.
You turn red in embarrassment. You can feel blood vessels turn purple and burst in your nose, as blood flows out of it. You can feel your legs turn into noodles as you become light-headed from the embarrassment. You hide behind Roderick, averting your gaze from the perverted woman.
"What are all of you doing?" a familiar, female voice asks. You look to the right, to see Leona standing there. She looks at Roderick, then you, then at the naked woman. She puts one and two together and gets the wrong idea. She stares at Roderick angrily.
You and Roderick both yell at the same time, in perfect union: "It's not what it looks like!"
Leona smiles joyfully, with closed eyes. She shows relief.
You sigh in relief, so does Roderick.
Leona, still smiling, says, "I'm divorcing you."
Both of you scream in childish fear.
POOF!
"Huh?" Leona, you, and Roderick all look at the woman after you heard a bizarre sound, like a fart, or some kind of other gas release. Everyone is surprised to see that the woman is there no longer. In her stead, a small, green-blue cat is standing there, watching all of you. His eyes are wide open, like circles, and his tongue is out. This cat is clearly a magician, and it was clearly mocking you.
"The cat can cast magic?" Roderick asks, relieved. "It was just an illusion. See?!" he turns to Leona, who slaps him so hard he flies into the water.
"Bastard!" Leona calls out, more hostile than sad. You always took her for the kind of woman that would cut off a man's genitals should they betray her, but you never thought she'd jump to assumptions like this.
"Mom! Mom! Calm down," you take her arm. Your voice soothes her.
"You're right," she calms down. "It's just a dumb cat playing with magic. Speaking of which, how did it learn magic in the first place?"
You stare at the cat. Suddenly, it teleports away, with a sound of static mana.
"Some animals can use magic instinctively, if their souls are powerful enough," you explain, having enough knowledge on the Magical Theory to delve into topics like these. There are even races of magical animals, such as a race of lava slugs somewhere to the far east of Albion.
It seems that cat is intelligent enough to play pranks. The cocky spitball... You wish you knew where he was, so you could get some revenge for your father's jaw. Wait, that's right! You have the scrying compass. Still, it's too late to go off seeking vengeance right now.
***
You wake up the next morning. Today, at noon, the ships will sail off toward Estal. You should consider the activity for this morning, as it will be the last thing you do on homeland soil.
[] Roland.
[] Leona.
[] Roderick.
[] Lancel.
[] Screw socializing, let's find that cat with the Scrying Compass and get some sweet vengeance.
[] Write-in.
Time: Dawn
Calendar: 1006-04-01
