Of Wolves and Witches (WHF Wizard Quest)
- Thread starter Maugan Ra
- Start date
- Fantasy
BadAtScreenNames
Killed a man in Reno just to watch him die
- Location
- the (currently) United Kingdom
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Slander. An accusation of cheating is lodged against you in the courts, countered by support from an unexpected quarter.
- Location
- London, England
Vote Called.
Disgrace it is!
Disgrace it is!
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Honestly, I wish there'd been the option for
[
] Clusterfuck: You don't know what's going on, but somehow an Assassin got in your room while the Witch Hunter kicked the door down at the same time while screaming "WITCH", followed closely by a bunch of nobles accusing you of cheating. This will be a long night.
[
] Clusterfuck: You don't know what's going on, but somehow an Assassin got in your room while the Witch Hunter kicked the door down at the same time while screaming "WITCH", followed closely by a bunch of nobles accusing you of cheating. This will be a long night.
- Location
- Leeds
Why pick one problem, when you can pick all of them?Honestly, I wish there'd been the option for
[
Omegahugger
Inattentive Idiot
Jokes on us, turns out the assassin is actually the necromancer who summoned the spirit and is of noble heritage.
- Location
- NYC
[X] Disgrace. The witch hunter is persuaded to arrest you for necromancy, but the deed enrages those truly responsible.
XXV - Dressed to Kill
- Location
- London, England
You spend two days slipping in and out of consciousness, the alchemical resilience granted by your potions draining away with the battle's end. Despite the loss of blood and the multiple puncture wounds, however, you are not truly in any danger of death; the Grafin has you transferred to the care of the Priesthood of Shallya, and there is nothing to fear once you rest beneath their sheltering wings. The Goddess of Mercy blessed all who act to relieve suffering in the world, and between her divine grace and the medicinal skills of those who have dedicated themselves to her service your recovery is never in any doubt.
Indeed, your greatest regret is that your near-comatose state leaves you unable to verify the stories you have heard about the Sisterhood and the beauty of their all-female membership. A tragedy, but one that can perhaps be corrected later, when you return to make a pious donation in thanks for their service.
Once you are well enough to travel, you are transferred back to the Grafin's townhouse and assigned one of the most luxuriously appointed rooms available, with a small bevy of servants seconded to tend to your every want and need. Maria-Ulrike is not stingy in demonstrations of her gratitude, and you find that you want for nothing save company during the following days of convalescence. The servants are polite and attentive, but they are also a bit too nervous around you to make decent conversation, so you bury your desire for gossip in devouring what books and reports you can convince people to lend you.
The appearance of Gustaf on the second day of your enforced bedrest is an absolute delight, and after you're done badgering him for details of his own near-miss with death - the poison in the needle was quite potent, apparently, but his own reflexes saved him from a fatal dose - he fills you in on the current state of the case. As you had expected, the Baron von Dammenblatz had attempted to contest the legality of your victory through forfeit, but the magistrates had apparently opted to dismiss his case without a moment's hesitation.
"The existence of multiple assassination attempts aided their decision making quite considerably," he says, a certain satisfaction in his tone as he strokes his pointed beard, "one should never forget, Miss Kurtsdottir, that while the law is immortal those who enforce it are not. A judge has a great deal of leeway when it comes to interpreting the law, and shockingly little tolerance for people who try to game the system."
He leaves you with several of his legal texts, both the basic introductory works and a few case files, in a well-intentioned but rather pointless gift. You imagine he probably finds such things to be light reading, but trying to delve into them yourself is like swimming in swamp water. Still, it's the thought that counts, you think, and despite his towering sense of self-assurance the barrister does seem to be genuinely rather fond of you.
It is early on the morning of third day of your enforced rest that a knock comes at the door to your room. Assuming it to be another servant and unwilling to get out of bed to answer, you call out an indistinct invitation, and are rather unpleasantly surprised when the Grafin lets herself in.
"Oh, don't trouble yourself," the noblewoman says with a slight smile, making a vague shushing gesture as you lurch upright beneath the covers, "I would not have you undo the work of the Priestesses through hasty motion on my account."
Maria-Ulrike is dressed with remarkable formality for the place and hour, you notice. Her dress is a long, multi-layered thing of white and black decorated with the blazing red sun of the Sudenland, while long gloves of dark red silk run all the way up past her elbow. You think she's done something with her hair as well, though it is hard to tell what beneath the broad expanse of her soft black hat and it's pinwheel of red and white feathers.
"That's a striking getup," you say vaguely, trying not to make it look like you're hiding beneath the covers. In truth she looks ready for a formal ball, and for a moment you occupy yourself with vague fantasies of leading her onto some kind of dance floor and waltzing hand in hand. Not that you have any idea how to do a proper waltz, of course, but the Erika of your idle fantasy is an excellent dancer all the same. "Is there some party I should know about?"
Maria-Ulrike does not reply at first, instead crossing the room and settling herself down on the side of your bed, mattress creaking slightly as it sinks beneath her added weight. You try very hard not to stare at her shoulders, or the rather fantastic effect that dress is having on her cleavage.
"A small celebration, downstairs later today," she says with a small smile, reaching out to take one of your hands in her own, "the guest list is limited, especially since there are no true nobility in this oddity of a town, but you are of course invited. Indeed, I expect you would qualify as the guest of honour. Do you have appropriate garments?"
You nod, somewhat shakily, because she hasn't let go of your hand and wow her gloves are very soft. Then, because you've never turned down a chance to push your luck, you say "Would this be as your guest, or…"
Maria blinks for a moment, then laughs in what you dearly hope is delight, because her laugh is the sound of silver bells and you really want to hear it again. "My, and here I was beginning to think I was not your 'type'. Your broader preferences were certainly made clear enough at the Three Feathers…"
Yes, ok, this is not a good time to be reminded that your first serious conversation with Marie-Ulrike came less than twenty minutes after getting fucked up against the wall by a buff woman in tight leather armour. You shrug as best you can, wincing slightly at the flash of pain from your injuries and hoping that your blush isn't nearly as evident as the burning in your cheeks suggests. "I try to avoid getting, uh… involved… while still under contract. It's not very professional."
"I see," the Grafin says seriously, but the sparkle in her eyes makes you doubt the success of your deflection, "Speaking of our contract…"
There is a small piece of paper tucked neatly inside her corset, which you personally think is dreadfully unfair. The Grafin pulls it out, allowing you to catch a glimpse of the beautifully flowing ink and the small black ribbon that holds it shut, and hands it to you. "You can exchange this promissory note for your payment at the Bank of Altdorf, assuming you are returning there. It makes for easier transportation than hard coinage."
You nod, making a note to tuck the letter securely away inside your satchel at the first opportunity. "And the, ah, introduction?"
"Of course. I can arrange that at a more convenient time, if you wish it," Maria stands, letting go of your hand as she does, and quirks one eyebrow as she looks down at you, "I might recommend qualifying as a Magister before you take me up on the offer, however. My aunt is a very busy woman, and you will only have one opportunity to make a good impression. It is best if you have the title to back up your deeds."
You nod thoughtfully. That certainly makes sense; an Elector-Countess can likely ask the Colleges to send her a wizard and be guaranteed a skilled and veteran agent with relative speed. If you want her to remember your name specifically, then you'll want to be more than just a mere journeywoman with a handful of successful missions under your belt when you are introduced.
"Well, you have an hour until the first guests are due to arrive," the Grafin says with a nod, turning back towards the door, "I hope you'll take me up on the offer. Until then, Erika."
She departs, and with a sigh you lie back and stare at the beautifully painted ceiling overhead. A party, huh. If this was back at the College you'd know what to expect, but… this is a merchant free-town, and a celebration hosted by a member of the high nobility. Can you expect any of your experience to carry across? You've never been all that good at interacting with people, outside of charming the prettiest women into bed, but… wait, shit, she never gave you an answer!
Groaning, you roll out of bed and make your way across the room to the floor-length mirror on the far wall. It aches to walk, but… not as badly as you had feared. The real question is whether or not you can make it through an entire night of socialising without doubling over in pain as old wounds flare up again, much less get laid in a way that doesn't require your partner to do all the work. A girl has to have her priorities, after all, and with that in mind you strip off your nightshirt and begin inspecting the collection of wounds that Heinrich Bӧttcher left you with.
They're actually healing remarkably well, all things considered, which you can probably attribute to the armour of flame you were wearing rather brutally cleaning away any lingering filth on the enemy's rapier. The fresh skin is taut and almost shiny, but unbroken and free from blood, so while you're not best pleased to have a battle scar on your left tit it's not unmanageable. Anyone who sees it will hopefully be in a state beyond caring by that point anyway, if you have anything to say about the matter.
Still, at the very least that means that you have no reason to avoid the party. It's not your thing, generally speaking, but if all else fails you can probably mutter something that sounds arcane and mystical until people stop bothering you. Besides, you do still have those purchases from the tailor to try on, and it would be a shame to leave Kemperbad behind without at least experiencing one night of fashionable excess.
Your mind made up, you call for your maids and begin preparing for the night ahead.
"Damn," you muse, turning this way and that to admire yourself in the mirror, "I look fine."
There is a muffled snort from one of the maids waiting quietly at your back, but honestly you're too pleased with your recent purchases to care. The bold colours, the striking design, the hat... oh yes. Spending so much gold on this outfit might not have been the most financially sound decision, but it was definitely one worth making. Now, time to show everyone else what they've been missing, bereft of your radiant company.
You consider taking the axe, but… no, where would you even hang it? You will have to look into getting a specialised belt made that fits with the general aesthetic, or maybe take lessons in fighting with a rapier. For now, you will need to trust in the nature of your magic to see off any unexpected threats, and make do with simply looking incredibly sexy. Humming happily to yourself, you leave your room and head downstairs, the babbling of voices growing ever louder as you approach.
"Ok, girl, you've got this," you mutter as you come to the bottom of the staircase, the liveried servants either side of the double doors ahead smiling politely as you approach, "nobody is going to doubt you because you are amazing."
The doors open, and you step through into a whirlwind of colour and sound. The main hall of the house is absolutely filled with small clusters of men and women chattering away with glasses in hand, while musicians play and servants hurry to set the tables with all the food and drink the upcoming feast will require. The breadth of fashion on display reminds you of tropical birds, each posturing for the eyes of their peers and displaying vibrant plumage in red, green and blue, while the glittering assortment of jewellery on display could likely feed a small city for a month.
For a moment you hesitate… and then the Grafin arrives, almost seeming to materialise out of the swirling crowds with a radiant smile to take you by the hand.
"And here she is," she proclaims, her commanding voice cutting clearly through the babble, "my valiant champion, Erika Kurtsdottir!"
A smattering of polite applause is your reward, lords and ladies who might not look twice at you before today raising glasses in salute, and you take the opportunity presented by your magnificent hat to doff it as part of a bow. With the introductions handled everyone seems to go back to what they were doing almost immediately, but the Grafin stays by your side, her hands warm in yours.
"Very nicely dressed, my dear," she murmurs softly, pressing herself in close to your side as she guides you forwards. You think she might actually be shorter than you, though how this escaped notice up until now is a mystery for the ages. "Now, this is your first society ball, yes? Ah, I thought so. Don't worry, everyone has to go through it eventually. Now… who should we introduce you to first…"
Indeed, your greatest regret is that your near-comatose state leaves you unable to verify the stories you have heard about the Sisterhood and the beauty of their all-female membership. A tragedy, but one that can perhaps be corrected later, when you return to make a pious donation in thanks for their service.
Once you are well enough to travel, you are transferred back to the Grafin's townhouse and assigned one of the most luxuriously appointed rooms available, with a small bevy of servants seconded to tend to your every want and need. Maria-Ulrike is not stingy in demonstrations of her gratitude, and you find that you want for nothing save company during the following days of convalescence. The servants are polite and attentive, but they are also a bit too nervous around you to make decent conversation, so you bury your desire for gossip in devouring what books and reports you can convince people to lend you.
The appearance of Gustaf on the second day of your enforced bedrest is an absolute delight, and after you're done badgering him for details of his own near-miss with death - the poison in the needle was quite potent, apparently, but his own reflexes saved him from a fatal dose - he fills you in on the current state of the case. As you had expected, the Baron von Dammenblatz had attempted to contest the legality of your victory through forfeit, but the magistrates had apparently opted to dismiss his case without a moment's hesitation.
"The existence of multiple assassination attempts aided their decision making quite considerably," he says, a certain satisfaction in his tone as he strokes his pointed beard, "one should never forget, Miss Kurtsdottir, that while the law is immortal those who enforce it are not. A judge has a great deal of leeway when it comes to interpreting the law, and shockingly little tolerance for people who try to game the system."
He leaves you with several of his legal texts, both the basic introductory works and a few case files, in a well-intentioned but rather pointless gift. You imagine he probably finds such things to be light reading, but trying to delve into them yourself is like swimming in swamp water. Still, it's the thought that counts, you think, and despite his towering sense of self-assurance the barrister does seem to be genuinely rather fond of you.
It is early on the morning of third day of your enforced rest that a knock comes at the door to your room. Assuming it to be another servant and unwilling to get out of bed to answer, you call out an indistinct invitation, and are rather unpleasantly surprised when the Grafin lets herself in.
"Oh, don't trouble yourself," the noblewoman says with a slight smile, making a vague shushing gesture as you lurch upright beneath the covers, "I would not have you undo the work of the Priestesses through hasty motion on my account."
Maria-Ulrike is dressed with remarkable formality for the place and hour, you notice. Her dress is a long, multi-layered thing of white and black decorated with the blazing red sun of the Sudenland, while long gloves of dark red silk run all the way up past her elbow. You think she's done something with her hair as well, though it is hard to tell what beneath the broad expanse of her soft black hat and it's pinwheel of red and white feathers.
"That's a striking getup," you say vaguely, trying not to make it look like you're hiding beneath the covers. In truth she looks ready for a formal ball, and for a moment you occupy yourself with vague fantasies of leading her onto some kind of dance floor and waltzing hand in hand. Not that you have any idea how to do a proper waltz, of course, but the Erika of your idle fantasy is an excellent dancer all the same. "Is there some party I should know about?"
Maria-Ulrike does not reply at first, instead crossing the room and settling herself down on the side of your bed, mattress creaking slightly as it sinks beneath her added weight. You try very hard not to stare at her shoulders, or the rather fantastic effect that dress is having on her cleavage.
"A small celebration, downstairs later today," she says with a small smile, reaching out to take one of your hands in her own, "the guest list is limited, especially since there are no true nobility in this oddity of a town, but you are of course invited. Indeed, I expect you would qualify as the guest of honour. Do you have appropriate garments?"
You nod, somewhat shakily, because she hasn't let go of your hand and wow her gloves are very soft. Then, because you've never turned down a chance to push your luck, you say "Would this be as your guest, or…"
Maria blinks for a moment, then laughs in what you dearly hope is delight, because her laugh is the sound of silver bells and you really want to hear it again. "My, and here I was beginning to think I was not your 'type'. Your broader preferences were certainly made clear enough at the Three Feathers…"
Yes, ok, this is not a good time to be reminded that your first serious conversation with Marie-Ulrike came less than twenty minutes after getting fucked up against the wall by a buff woman in tight leather armour. You shrug as best you can, wincing slightly at the flash of pain from your injuries and hoping that your blush isn't nearly as evident as the burning in your cheeks suggests. "I try to avoid getting, uh… involved… while still under contract. It's not very professional."
"I see," the Grafin says seriously, but the sparkle in her eyes makes you doubt the success of your deflection, "Speaking of our contract…"
There is a small piece of paper tucked neatly inside her corset, which you personally think is dreadfully unfair. The Grafin pulls it out, allowing you to catch a glimpse of the beautifully flowing ink and the small black ribbon that holds it shut, and hands it to you. "You can exchange this promissory note for your payment at the Bank of Altdorf, assuming you are returning there. It makes for easier transportation than hard coinage."
You nod, making a note to tuck the letter securely away inside your satchel at the first opportunity. "And the, ah, introduction?"
"Of course. I can arrange that at a more convenient time, if you wish it," Maria stands, letting go of your hand as she does, and quirks one eyebrow as she looks down at you, "I might recommend qualifying as a Magister before you take me up on the offer, however. My aunt is a very busy woman, and you will only have one opportunity to make a good impression. It is best if you have the title to back up your deeds."
You nod thoughtfully. That certainly makes sense; an Elector-Countess can likely ask the Colleges to send her a wizard and be guaranteed a skilled and veteran agent with relative speed. If you want her to remember your name specifically, then you'll want to be more than just a mere journeywoman with a handful of successful missions under your belt when you are introduced.
"Well, you have an hour until the first guests are due to arrive," the Grafin says with a nod, turning back towards the door, "I hope you'll take me up on the offer. Until then, Erika."
She departs, and with a sigh you lie back and stare at the beautifully painted ceiling overhead. A party, huh. If this was back at the College you'd know what to expect, but… this is a merchant free-town, and a celebration hosted by a member of the high nobility. Can you expect any of your experience to carry across? You've never been all that good at interacting with people, outside of charming the prettiest women into bed, but… wait, shit, she never gave you an answer!
Groaning, you roll out of bed and make your way across the room to the floor-length mirror on the far wall. It aches to walk, but… not as badly as you had feared. The real question is whether or not you can make it through an entire night of socialising without doubling over in pain as old wounds flare up again, much less get laid in a way that doesn't require your partner to do all the work. A girl has to have her priorities, after all, and with that in mind you strip off your nightshirt and begin inspecting the collection of wounds that Heinrich Bӧttcher left you with.
In the aftermath of the fight, the potions wear off and Erika effectively has zero wounds, which is why she passed out. After a few hours she regains one wound along with her consciousness.
Priestesses of Shallya test Heal against TN 70, roll is 82. Erika feels better for being under their care for two days, but the only practical benefit is that their treatment guarantees no chance of infection or other complications.
This is the fifth day of her enforced bedrest. For each good night of rest, Erika tests Endurance at a +20 modifier; success grants her SL+toughness bonus wounds.
Her TN is 64. She rolls 28, 92, 6 and 99, succeeding twice with 4 and 6 SL respectively. Thus, she regains (4+4TB) 8 + (6+4TB) 10 = 18 wounds in total, and is back to full health.
Priestesses of Shallya test Heal against TN 70, roll is 82. Erika feels better for being under their care for two days, but the only practical benefit is that their treatment guarantees no chance of infection or other complications.
This is the fifth day of her enforced bedrest. For each good night of rest, Erika tests Endurance at a +20 modifier; success grants her SL+toughness bonus wounds.
Her TN is 64. She rolls 28, 92, 6 and 99, succeeding twice with 4 and 6 SL respectively. Thus, she regains (4+4TB) 8 + (6+4TB) 10 = 18 wounds in total, and is back to full health.
They're actually healing remarkably well, all things considered, which you can probably attribute to the armour of flame you were wearing rather brutally cleaning away any lingering filth on the enemy's rapier. The fresh skin is taut and almost shiny, but unbroken and free from blood, so while you're not best pleased to have a battle scar on your left tit it's not unmanageable. Anyone who sees it will hopefully be in a state beyond caring by that point anyway, if you have anything to say about the matter.
Still, at the very least that means that you have no reason to avoid the party. It's not your thing, generally speaking, but if all else fails you can probably mutter something that sounds arcane and mystical until people stop bothering you. Besides, you do still have those purchases from the tailor to try on, and it would be a shame to leave Kemperbad behind without at least experiencing one night of fashionable excess.
Your mind made up, you call for your maids and begin preparing for the night ahead.
-/-
Erika Kurtsdottir
Journeywoman of the Bright Order
Art by @Renu, an excellent artist whose work I absolutely recommend. Great drawings, positive customer experience, reasonable prices. Also they have an Art Thread.
(I believe in paying with exposure and money)
-/-
Erika Kurtsdottir
Journeywoman of the Bright Order
Art by @Renu, an excellent artist whose work I absolutely recommend. Great drawings, positive customer experience, reasonable prices. Also they have an Art Thread.
(I believe in paying with exposure and money)
-/-
"Damn," you muse, turning this way and that to admire yourself in the mirror, "I look fine."
There is a muffled snort from one of the maids waiting quietly at your back, but honestly you're too pleased with your recent purchases to care. The bold colours, the striking design, the hat... oh yes. Spending so much gold on this outfit might not have been the most financially sound decision, but it was definitely one worth making. Now, time to show everyone else what they've been missing, bereft of your radiant company.
You consider taking the axe, but… no, where would you even hang it? You will have to look into getting a specialised belt made that fits with the general aesthetic, or maybe take lessons in fighting with a rapier. For now, you will need to trust in the nature of your magic to see off any unexpected threats, and make do with simply looking incredibly sexy. Humming happily to yourself, you leave your room and head downstairs, the babbling of voices growing ever louder as you approach.
"Ok, girl, you've got this," you mutter as you come to the bottom of the staircase, the liveried servants either side of the double doors ahead smiling politely as you approach, "nobody is going to doubt you because you are amazing."
The doors open, and you step through into a whirlwind of colour and sound. The main hall of the house is absolutely filled with small clusters of men and women chattering away with glasses in hand, while musicians play and servants hurry to set the tables with all the food and drink the upcoming feast will require. The breadth of fashion on display reminds you of tropical birds, each posturing for the eyes of their peers and displaying vibrant plumage in red, green and blue, while the glittering assortment of jewellery on display could likely feed a small city for a month.
For a moment you hesitate… and then the Grafin arrives, almost seeming to materialise out of the swirling crowds with a radiant smile to take you by the hand.
"And here she is," she proclaims, her commanding voice cutting clearly through the babble, "my valiant champion, Erika Kurtsdottir!"
A smattering of polite applause is your reward, lords and ladies who might not look twice at you before today raising glasses in salute, and you take the opportunity presented by your magnificent hat to doff it as part of a bow. With the introductions handled everyone seems to go back to what they were doing almost immediately, but the Grafin stays by your side, her hands warm in yours.
"Very nicely dressed, my dear," she murmurs softly, pressing herself in close to your side as she guides you forwards. You think she might actually be shorter than you, though how this escaped notice up until now is a mystery for the ages. "Now, this is your first society ball, yes? Ah, I thought so. Don't worry, everyone has to go through it eventually. Now… who should we introduce you to first…"
Article: The Grafin appears to be taking the lead here. Who does she introduce you to?
[ ] The Burghers. Dreadfully boring, many of them, but they have money and a quite unseemly interest in the exotic. You, my dear, most certainly qualify. Just try not to smack any of them.
[ ] The Mercenaries. Kemperbad is a free town, so of course they are not obligated to support a state regiment. Still, violence is inescapable, so they make do with contracting professionals. Adventurous sorts, with a great many fascinating stories, if you can keep them well plied with wine…
[ ] The Scholars. A bit insular, of course, but you will likely have better luck than I at convincing them to talk. Just show off a bit, toss out the odd part of unusual trivia, I'm convinced they maintain some kind of scoring system…
[ ] No-One. Oh. Well, if you insist, I suppose.
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- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
[X] The Burghers. Dreadfully boring, many of them, but they have money and a quite unseemly interest in the exotic. You, my dear, most certainly qualify. Just try not to smack any of them.
Seems like a safe first choice. Easy to get on the good side of, useful to know, and nothing particularly interesting keeping us from moving on.
Seems like a safe first choice. Easy to get on the good side of, useful to know, and nothing particularly interesting keeping us from moving on.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] The Burghers. Dreadfully boring, many of them, but they have money and a quite unseemly interest in the exotic. You, my dear, most certainly qualify. Just try not to smack any of them.
Minor typo: "ha;;", should probably be hall.
[X] The Scholars. A bit insular, of course, but you will likely have better luck than I at convincing them to talk. Just show off a bit, toss out the odd part of unusual trivia, I'm convinced they maintain some kind of scoring system…
No particular reasoning beyond "this seems interesting to me".
[X] The Scholars. A bit insular, of course, but you will likely have better luck than I at convincing them to talk. Just show off a bit, toss out the odd part of unusual trivia, I'm convinced they maintain some kind of scoring system…
No particular reasoning beyond "this seems interesting to me".
- Location
- London, England
Indeed it should. Fixed.
- Location
- being near locations is my passion.
[X] The Mercenaries. Kemperbad is a free town, so of course they are not obligated to support a state regiment. Still, violence is inescapable, so they make do with contracting professionals. Adventurous sorts, with a great many fascinating stories, if you can keep them well plied with wine…
Oh, we are looking fineeee tonight.
Maybe more quests should have comissoned art, that would be cool.
Oh, we are looking fineeee tonight.
Maybe more quests should have comissoned art, that would be cool.
- Location
- Germany
[X] The Mercenaries. Kemperbad is a free town, so of course they are not obligated to support a state regiment. Still, violence is inescapable, so they make do with contracting professionals. Adventurous sorts, with a great many fascinating stories, if you can keep them well plied with wine…
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- She/They
[x] The Mercenaries. Kemperbad is a free town, so of course they are not obligated to support a state regiment. Still, violence is inescapable, so they make do with contracting professionals. Adventurous sorts, with a great many fascinating stories, if you can keep them well plied with wine…
Let's have some fun! Voting to avoid both types of stuffy sorts.
Excellent update.
Let's have some fun! Voting to avoid both types of stuffy sorts.
Excellent update.
[X] The Burghers. Dreadfully boring, many of them, but they have money and a quite unseemly interest in the exotic. You, my dear, most certainly qualify. Just try not to smack any of them.
Travler66
Let her name echo in song!
- Location
- Beyond
Erika no, Lahmian Vampires have been known to infiltrate the sisterhood. Of course, they could make awesome girlfriends but I don't think it's worth losing your blood over.
Unless you are that thirsty.
[X] The Mercenaries. Kemperbad is a free town, so of course they are not obligated to support a state regiment. Still, violence is inescapable, so they make do with contracting professionals. Adventurous sorts, with a great many fascinating stories, if you can keep them well plied with wine…
[X] The Mercenaries. Kemperbad is a free town, so of course they are not obligated to support a state regiment. Still, violence is inescapable, so they make do with contracting professionals. Adventurous sorts, with a great many fascinating stories, if you can keep them well plied with wine…
- Location
- In Your DNA
[X] The Mercenaries. Kemperbad is a free town, so of course they are not obligated to support a state regiment. Still, violence is inescapable, so they make do with contracting professionals. Adventurous sorts, with a great many fascinating stories, if you can keep them well plied with wine…
Our debut is about establishing what we're like. Burghers and Scholars are nice, but they aren't Our People. Adventurers are!
Our debut is about establishing what we're like. Burghers and Scholars are nice, but they aren't Our People. Adventurers are!
- Location
- London, England
Listen if Erika turned down every possible girlfriend that might potentially be connected to the Lahmians she'd never get laid.
Quite impossible!
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- Location
- Earth
[x] The Mercenaries. Kemperbad is a free town, so of course they are not obligated to support a state regiment. Still, violence is inescapable, so they make do with contracting professionals. Adventurous sorts, with a great many fascinating stories, if you can keep them well plied with wine…
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] The Scholars. A bit insular, of course, but you will likely have better luck than I at convincing them to talk. Just show off a bit, toss out the odd part of unusual trivia, I'm convinced they maintain some kind of scoring system…
UrsaTempest
Don't Panic!
[X] The Mercenaries. Kemperbad is a free town, so of course they are not obligated to support a state regiment. Still, violence is inescapable, so they make do with contracting professionals. Adventurous sorts, with a great many fascinating stories, if you can keep them well plied with wine…
It seems we'll be on the road for a while longer, so let's see what other adventurers looks like.
It seems we'll be on the road for a while longer, so let's see what other adventurers looks like.