Bladebound Retainer Quest #5

>Archive: suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Bladebound Retainer Quest
>Previous Thread: suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/47117778/
>Twitter: twitter.com/TaskForceKaz

[STATS]
>Combat: +++
>Social: +
>Knowledge: ++

[Traits/Perks]
>Indomitable, Rank 1: Ignore the penalties imposed by Blood Loss. Does not negate health loss.
>Atelier of Death: Craft your own Bombs and Poisons
>Nimble Fingers: +30 to non-attack actions involving your hands (lockpicking, pickpocketing, etc.).
>Nobility (Aderaveth): Take a flat 50 to Knowledge rolls concerning this subject.

“Alchemist’s fire,” Palme observed, gingerly holding the phial in armored hands. The contents within the small decanter emitted a soft glow every few seconds, even without the aid of nearby torchlight. “Not exactly a common substance, and definitely one no mere brigand can purchase from a common hedge witch.”

“Get to the point,” Emeron snapped. Once his sister had been returned to her quarters, the full extent of his acerbic temper had long slipped past his cool exterior. “I’m in no mood for bandying words, Palme. Speak quickly and as plain as you can.”

Even with years of mortar to reinforce the stone, the cool touch of evening winds still found their way deep into the castle’s dungeons. The jailer’s room was almost as cold as a midwinter’s night, but not so frozen as to prevent the spread of mildew. But both had little effect on the men gathered at the table, cloaked in thick furs and well-used to the smell of foul things.

There was a fire going in the pit, the dry hiss and pop of resin veins in the tinder audible even through the howling of the prisoner. It cast macabre shadows across the walls, flickering shapes and phantoms against the ageless stone. And as the night went on, the darkness lengthened as crimson flames consumed the half-ashen wood.

(cont.)

Two of Emeron’s Silver Knights stood at attention to the entrance of the dungeons, and another four in each corner of the jailer’s room. They kept a silent watch only occasionally marred by the hellish shrieks beneath them, manifesting in twitches of discomfort and wayward glances.

Palme cleared his throat. “As you wish. The clothes the assassin wore during his attack bear the colors and sigil of the Pullmans.” He tossed a scrap of ragged cloth onto the table. Carefully stitched atop a striped cloth of red and white, the wings of the Great Eagle were spread open in flight. “Damning evidence to be sure, if it weren’t for the fact that the torturer got him to confess to stripping the clothes and armor off a corpse.”

The prince’s face clouded as he made a noise of distaste. “A man will say anything to escape the torturer’s knives.”

“True enough, but this one was telling the truth.” Palme’s smile was anything but pleasant. “I’ll stand on it as Lord Commander of the Crownguard when we have a formal trial. Assuming he doesn’t bleed out on the dungeon come sunrise.”

His face remained unchanged. “Then Lord Kieran has no involvement in this plot.” It was not a question as much as it was an affirmation.

“There’s no sure guarantee, but the evidence points to their innocence. He is among one of your family’s closest allies. The Pullmans have nothing to gain and everything to lose if they were involved in a conspiracy of this…severity.”

“…very well,” Emeron responded. “I will speak to Lord Kieran in the morning and inform him of what’s happened…but that does not explain the presence of the alchemist’s fire. The only thing that’s keeping that bastard alive is the question as to who provided him with the damn fire.”

(cont.)

“Agreed,” he nodded. “That is the most concerning question.”

“I would not be worried for a large vase or jar. That limits the possibilities to the other four great houses. But a small flask the size of a thumb…even the lowliest baron could scrounge enough arums to pay for that amount of chemical.”

“Which is why this will take time,” Palme sighed, regarding the door leading down to the torture chambers. “He was not about to give any names the last time I was down there. That makes it all the harder for Armand to find the right spot to cast his agents. Of course, we could spread our network as wide as we could, but-”

An armored gauntlet crashed onto the table, disturbing the contents pre-arranged on the faded wood. “Someone tried to kill my sister,” Prince Emeron Crowmond snarled, a fierce look in his eyes. “In a time where all our actions, mine own especially, are watched closely by both nobles and peasantry alike. We cannot afford to look weak, now of all times. The Crown will have its justice, and it must come swift and without mercy. I will see every one of these blackguards’ heads mounted atop pikes come the next moon.”

The two knights standing outside came at the sound of the noise, swords half-drawn before Palme waved for them to stand down. At the sight of their prince unharmed and merely inflamed, they nodded once, going back to their duty outside.

Eventually, Emeron exhaled deeply, retracting his fist and running a hand through sweat-streaked hair. “Gods above, I’m sorry. The journey home was long, cold and miserable by all other accounts. And just when I find respite and reprieve from sorting out the troubles of the Empire...we have this mess to deal with…”

(cont.)

Aww yeah, time for best Kaz quest

The corner of Palme’s mouth tugged upwards as he clapped an armored hand on one of the prince’s shoulders. A gesture no one else in the realm could ever hope to perform. “There’s nothing to forgive, old friend. I am just as angered as you are, but I don’t have to bear the burden of the realm on my shoulders. I only have a small load in comparison to your weight.”

“That ‘small load’ you’re talking about happens to be your duty to my family,” the prince shot back with dry tone. “There’s nothing diminutive about keeping them alive.”

“Ah. Well, then it is only small when one compares our collective responsibilities together.”

“Give me a field of battle,” Emeron exhaled, reclining in his seat to put his boots upon the table. “Give me ten thousand good men and all of the crown’s enemies lined on the opposite side. One glorious charge to end all of our troubles, and then we can all go home to raise families and run our kingdom safely. I’ve neither the humor nor the patience for all this cloak and dagger trickery.”

“One day, you will have to find it,” Palme replied grimly, exhaling a visible breath of air as his eyes flicked upwards, looking past the overhead stone ceiling. “And may come sooner than you think.”

“I do not covet the throne so much to wish for father to succumb to his fever,” he shot back with fierce rebuttal.

“No prince is ever ready to be king, your highness. But that is the reality that we find ourselves in, regardless of our personal desires. It’s better to be as ready as you can, lest the moment catches you unaware.”

He groaned, dramatically raising a hand to his forehead in mock pain. “You’ve been spending too much time with Ansell. I have enough sages and advisors spouting their sound advice like a courtyard fountain without your voice adding to the noise.”

(cont.)

fight me, both are great faggot

>Give me ten thousand good men
>needing more than 20 good men
Emeron is a shit commander.

“Perhaps, but just like my blade, I like to keep my mind honed and well sharp as well.”

“…aye, so it is,” Emeron begrudgingly acquiesced. He managed a tired smile before a brusque air came about him. “The man who apprehended Ellana’s assassin…Marcus Painel, was it?”

Palme tilted his head in confirmation. “Aye, it was.”

“The day I approve of his initiation into the Crownguard finds the man saving my sister only four hours later. What are the chances for that to happen?”

He shrugged. “Divine intervention.” It was as neutral of an answer as he was going to give. “The gods were smiling upon your family today.”

“I don’t doubt that. Remind me to make a donation to the Ecclesiarch.” Emeron stood up, stretching the kinks out of his body. “I’ll have to give Painel my proper thanks later. But since we’re on the topic of my sister’s Crownguard…”

The Lord Commander’s eyes narrowed. “Go on…”

=======

Even with the morning cry of the rooster come the dawn, Princess Ellana remained fast asleep in her chambers. The sound of her soft breathing is only punctuated by the sound of distant townsmen getting ready for the day, and the cooing of birds taking shelter by the windows. She occasionally fidgets in her sleep, frowning and tossing around the covers, but her slumber remains undisturbed and continual.

You get up from your chair, taking a moment to ease the tension in your body brought on by your vigil. Eight hours of making sure no one and nothing came close to disturbing your sworn charge.

Although, that might have to change. Even with the thick door of her room barred shut, you can hear the sound of bustling servants and maids along the royal quarters. Doubtless the rest of her family will be already awake, if not about to rise.

Perhaps it is best for her to follow suit...?

>Gently wake her up.
>Let her sleep in.

>Gently wake her up.

>Gently wake her up.

>“The day I approve of his initiation into the Crownguard finds the man saving my sister only four hours later. What are the chances for that to happen?”
PURE COINCIDENCE GOY.
>Gently wake her up.

>>Gently wake her up.

>Gently wake her up.

>>Gently wake her up.

It's 20 good men per enemy faction, he just has a LOT of enemies.

>Gently wake her up.

Not everyone can pull a malroy user.

I still can't believe we actually did that in Malroy quest.

Its less that it was managed, and more how it was.

Considering it was fail stealth, insta kill guard, fail stealth, insta kill guard, a good 3 or 4 times.

>Gently wake her up

You slide off your gauntlets, gently placing them down on a nearby table to minimize the noise of metal crashing against metal. There is dirt, blood and grime on your hands. Frowning, you reach for a jug of water set aside the dresser, and run a small bit of it along your skin. You thoroughly begin scrubbing away the remnants of last night’s struggle, only stopping when your hands are as clean as they can get. Without the aid of soap, of course.

“Princess,” you softly whisper, approaching her bedside with gentle steps. “…it’s time for you to wake up.”

She seems to respond on an instinctive level at the sudden noise, but all she does is moan and curl deeper into the sheets.

The ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. It apparently doesn’t matter whether you’re low or high born: both classes of a similar age responded the same way to his attempts to get them out of bed. The long nights in the slums had excised a high demand for the younger members of the Locusts.

You drop a gentle hand to her shoulder, and shake it slightly. “Princess…it’s time to wake up,” you repeat, with a tone you never expected to use ever again in your lifetime. It would be a lie to say that it didn't hurt. "You don’t want to worry your family now, do you?”

That seems to finally snap her out of her dreams. Golden eyes stare up at you, glazed over from fatigue and the aftereffects of the prior night. They blink once, twice before comprehension finally dawns upon their owner. “…Marcus…?”

You offer her a polite bow. “The one and only.”

Ellana stifles a yawn, blearily pulling herself up into a seated position. “…what…what happened?”

You pull up the chair you used to stand vigil, and ease yourself back into it. “It’s a long story…”

>You told Ellana what happened after she passed out.

(cont.)

“…and then I’ve been keeping an eye on you since.”

For a moment, she is silent, twisting the bedsheets with delicate hands. Then, she replies: “Oh…I see…”

Her voice remains subdued. Not that you can blame her. With her bloodline, her age made no difference when it came to the enemies of the Crown, and those that would see the Crowmonds suffer. She was just as much an exploitable target as her eldest brother was.

But her next words are full of earnest, and her eyes regain a little bit of their usual shine. “Thank you very much for saving my life.”

That actually manages to set a light tinge of red at your cheeks, but you force it down and mask it with another bow. “I was only performing the duty I was sworn to-“

A knock at the door prevents you from speaking any further. You motion for Ellana to stay in bed before walking towards it, one of your daggers at the ready. But there was little need for concern. Five of Emeron’s Silver Knights stand surrounding a cohort of maidservants and ladies-in-waiting. The servants regard you with a look of trepidation, while the soldiers remain impassive.

“We’re here to relieve you,” the leader of the knights says, a mustached man with a plume of feathers in his helm . “Ser Palme would have you recuperate and tend to your needs. You will, of course, resume your watch come two hours after midday.”

You hesitate, turning back to Ellana to show her the visitors at the door. She seems to have sharper ears than you give her credit for. The princess nods in response to the order and gestures for them to come in. “I’ll be fine, Marcus. I promise.”

…you can’t really argue when her eyes are like that. Picking up your gauntlets, you give your charge one final bow and farewell before exiting her chambers.

>Head to the Crownguard barracks.
>Visit the kitchens for a meal.

>Visit the kitchens for a meal.

>Visit the kitchens for a meal.
Refuel and all that jazz.

>Head to the Crownguard barracks.

Food

>Visit the kitchens for a meal.
We're probably starved and I think we still owe a knight a duel so lets not do that hungry

>Visit the kitchens for a meal.

Food, then we can go sleep.

The rumbling of your stomach has little to do with your decision to head for the kitchen. With Emeron’s victory feast cut off, you have a small glimmer of hope for the better bits and pieces of food to be available for your consumption. Sure, a wedge of cheese and dried beef was nice, but even you aren’t immune to the possibility of a better meal.

>>Kitchens

To your surprise, the kitchens are minimally staffed, a sharp contrast to the bustling day that you found it in the last time you were here. In total, you expect that only fifteen are laboring away, cleaning the mess from last night and preparing simple meals for their masters. And the head cook herself is absent as well. Perhaps it is her day off.

You make your way towards the Crownguard larder without any ceremony or grand standing. And for the most part, the kitchen staff ignores you, too swept up in their own duties to pay attention to anything else. Your stomach makes another assertion of its hunger, this time a little louder, and you do your best to hurry onwards to your destination before anyone decides to investigate the presence of a wild animal in the kitchen-

“Watch ou-!”

CRASH.

-only to jump in your tracks and instinctively turn to find the source of the noise.

You blink incredulously as you see a familiar maidservant rubbing her backside. Her face bears a look of utter mortification on her face as she stares helplessly at the silverware scattered across the stone floor. The others direct cursory looks, derive their fair share of laughter, and return to their own work without further preamble. She casts pleading gazes in all directions before dejectedly moving to clean up her mess by herself.

>Head straight to the larder, don’t look back.
>Help her pick up the silverware once more.
>Custom option.

>>Help her pick up the silverware once more.
How much debt is she in from breaking shit I wonder

>Help her pick up the silverware once more.

>Help her pick up the silverware once more.

>>Help her pick up the silverware once more.
Christ.

>Help her pick up the silverware once more.

>Help her pick up the silverware once more.

>>/qst/

>>Head straight to the larder, don’t look back.
Just to go against the hivemind

Le sigh. Folks want me to mow the lawn. By the time I finish that, dinner's gonna be ready. So...I'll be gone for at least an hour.

Please keep thread bumped. Have worldbuilding info.

>Great Houses
>Crowmond
>Hastings
>Lawcomb
>Rosarn
>Tarmund

>Houses sworn to the Crowmonds
>Bellmore: Purple-Black Stallion, "Courage Calls Us Forward"
>Goodyre: Silver-Red Oak Tree, "Our Roots Go Deep"
>Mazur: Inverted Sword through book: "Knowledge Is Power"
>Pullman: Red-white Great Eagle: "Beware the Crimson Sky"
>von Roie: "Deeds, Not Words"

>Officers of the Crown
>Kieran Pullman, High Steward (Chamberlain/Palatine)
>Vincent Hastings, Grand Chancellor
>Alistair von Roie, Keeper of Law (Justicar)
>Gregorius Lawcomb, Master Financier (Treasurer)
>Orici Palme, Lord Commander of the Crownguard (housecarls)
>Jory Amand, The Great Eye (Spymaster)

>>Jory Amand, The Great Eye (Spymaster)
>not Roger A Muirebe.

>Head straight to the larder, don’t look back.
aren't we still bloody, or at least our armor?

Help pick up the silverware.

>>Help her pick up the silverware once more

And I'm back. Writing...

Not really. You were careful not to make too much of a mess last night. Had to keep the guy alive for Palme and Emeron, after all.

But "clean enough for silverware" clean?

Or is this all a setup so she freaks out over a flake of dried blood and faints?

>Help her pick up the silverware once more.

A rueful smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you shift your focus away from the larder. You’ve never been one to put stock into the gods, save for solemn oaths and the occasional profanity. But with that said, they certainly have an odd sense of humor.

Once more, you take a knee to the ground and begin assisting the maidservant, much to her great surprise. Spoons and forks are gingerly scooped together in great clumps of metal, and you take great care to individually pick up each knife. Some things bear repeating, but you have little desire to see her prick open her finger once more.

She seems to recognize you, though, even as her hands and fingers move about to grab as much of the clutter as she can. “Oh, it’s you! You’re the Crownguard from the other day, if my memory serves correctly. You also…helped me back then…”

“It’s no trouble,” You say as you drop your batch of utensils into her basket. “And I’m…not the kind of person to ignore someone if they need help.” That cuts off any attempts to get you to leave her alone.

Once you're finished, the maidservant takes a moment to straighten her clothes before standing up. As she regards you with a grateful expression, something flashes through her mind and her eyes go wide. “Oh, how rude of me!” She gathers a bit of her skirt’s fabric and curtsies politely. My name is Ane, ser. Ane Linde from the Vale.”

With her basket of utensils still in your hand, you do your best to give a proper bow in response. “Marcus Painel, Crownguard to Princess Ellana Crowmond. And once more, there is no ‘ser’ attached to the beginning of my name. I am no knight.”

You didn’t think it was any possible for her eyes to go any wider. She quickly proves you wrong. But to her credit, she does keep a good job of using a subdued voice, a tense whisper. “That Painel? The one who saved the princess last night from an assassin?”

(cont.)

>That Painel? The one who saved the princess last night from an assassin?”

A CrownGUARD guarding royalty? Who woulda thunk it?

The maid is obviuosly a spy. Her clumsiness is in fact a cover for her super elite coordination and attack skills.

She's actually Jory Amand the Spymaster. This is her day job.

nah, her clumsiness is because she spends all night training instead of sleeping. She's obviously in training to be a counterspy.

A quick glance around the kitchen finds that while most of the staff are focused on their job, there are at least four others without anything to do. No, that isn’t true. They aren’t working as much as they’re observing the two of you have your talk.

It is an odd sight: a Crownguard and a clumsy maidservant. It would certainly break the monotony of daily living in the kitchens, and certainly attract some attention. When was the last time they were able to leave the confines of the palace?

But as for her knowing your name…the only ones in attendance for your ceremony were the upper echelons of nobility. And the last time you checked, the only servants in attendance were the princess’ ladies-in-waiting, not cooks.

So there’s little wonder why no one of the serving class would know about you save for hearsay and rumor.
>“Aye, but it’s no big deal.” [Humble]
>“Yes, the one and only.” [Proud]
>“I did what I had to do.” [Solemn]

Jesus Christ, you guys are paranoid. I mean, there is a bit of shadowrunning going on...but really?

>I mean, there is a bit of shadowrunning going on...but really?
I can only speak for me, but I'm joking and fucking around.

>“I did what I had to do.” [Solemn]

>“Aye, but it’s no big deal.” [Humble]
"That's the job description right? I'd make a poor Crownsguard otherwise."

>>“I did what I had to do.” [Solemn]

>Just a plain "Yes."

>>“I did what I had to do.” [Solemn]

>“Aye, but it’s no big deal.” [Humble]
seconding I am 80% joking, 15% laying down the forecast so I can say I TOLD YOU SO, and 5% passively spitballing ideas

>“I did what I had to do.” [Solemn]

>>“I did what I had to do.” [Solemn]

>>“Yes, the one and only.” [Proud]

>>“I did what I had to do.” [Solemn]

“I did what I had to do,” you intone as you hand her the basket. Your statement is neither braggadocious or modest in its proclamation. It is only honest. “Which is the duty expected of me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Ane seems to be slightly cowed at the solemnity of your words, but manages to recover quickly enough. “Y-yes, of course. From what I heard, they said that you performed above expectations.”

“Oh?” You can’t help but tilt your head in an inviting gesture. “What do they say of me?”

Ane seems to relax a little bit as she leans in to say: “I heard from a steward serving the lords that you slew five assassins and subdued three more. A cup bearer to Princess Adrianna swears that you killed all twenty of them with only ten seconds, a broken knife and a chamberpot.”

You can’t help but snort in amusement, especially in response to that last one. Rumors and hearsay are long friends of yours, especially the ones that made you out to be more dangerous than you are. Which is to say that you are already dangerous, and their sordid tales only served to make you into some kind of pseudo-legend.

And then you frown suddenly remembering the mess you had left behind when Ellana saved your life. What kind of tales and fevered nightmares would come from that night of slaughter, when the streets and snowfall ran red with blood?

Nothing pleasant, without a doubt.

Ane continues in spite of your thoughts, “And then there was the one where-”

In the distance, one of the servants shouts for clean silverware, cursing as to its elusive whereabouts. With a shrill “eep”, Ane quickly aligns the silverware in her basket. “…if you’d like, perhaps you can come back later? There are many stories about you that I haven’t told you yet.”

>“I would love to come back.”
>“If I have the time, but yes.”
>“No thank you, that’s alright.”

>“If I have the time, but yes.”
Gossip will probably be important in our line of work.

>>“If I have the time, but yes.”
SHE'S A SPY

>“If I have the time, but yes.”

>“No thank you, that’s alright.”
Eh, while we are somewhat interested in gossip for productive purposes, I'd prefer it would be about something we don't already know about.

>“If I have the time, but yes.”

Humoring her is how you get to that gossip that you don't know about.

>“If I have the time, but yes.”

>“If I have the time, but yes.”

>>“If I have the time, but yes.”
I wanna hear the one about the chamberpot

>“If I have the time, but yes.”

“My time as the sole Crownguard to Princess Ellana will undoubtedly take a lot of time,” You begin, quickly continuing before she completely deflates, “But if I have the moments to spare, then yes. I suppose there’s merit in hearing these tall tales.”

Ane visibly brightens, and smiles for the first time you’ve seen her. “I look forward to it, then. If you wish to find me, you can always ask one of the other servants. They’ll be able to show you where I am.” Another shout for the silverware causes her to wince, and speed up her words. “Thank you for the assistance once more, ser. I bid you a good morning.”

And with that, she scurries off as fast as she can…no, not as fast as she can. She’s moving slower, all things considering, and she hasn’t tripped yet. Perhaps there’s hope for this clumsy maidservant after all…

You frown. She still called you 'ser'.

>You have unlocked a contact: Maidservant Ane!
>You may visit Ane whenever you have free time.
>Ane will provide you with the latest gossip and hearsay of the smallfolk.

With a final wave in her general direction, you resume your trek to the pantry. And the smell of fresh food almost brings a tear to your eye.

The assassin forced you to miss last night’s meal, and you had to Dance with an empty stomach. But you quickly make up for that, gathering enough food to compensate for the loss. And it goes without saying that you don’t gorge like a plague-starved peasant. Lucien taught you that much when it came to manners, at least.

>>One meal later.

You return the tray back to the kitchen, and leave with a full stomach and a satisfied demeanor about you. A glance at the window shows that it’s still morning, and would not be midday for another four hours. Adding to the two that Palme gave you, it’s a total of six hours to recuperate.

>Choose one:
>Crownguard Barracks (Palme, Crownguard, ???)
>Grey Archives (Magister Ansell, ???)

>Grey Archives (Magister Ansell, ???)

>Crownguard Barracks (Palme, Crownguard, ???)
I think we owed someone a spar or fight or pissing match or whatever.

>Crownguard Barracks (Palme, Crownguard, ???)

>Grey Archives (Magister Ansell, ???)
if alchemist's fire was involved, maybe it might be good to research what else might come next.

>Crownguard Barracks (Palme, Crownguard, ???)

>Grey Archives (Magister Ansell, ???)
Let's do some research and actually try using are recuperating time for recuperating.

>>Grey Archives (Magister Ansell, ???)

>Grey Archives

The last time you saw her, Bellatrix exacted a promise of a sparring match out of you, your two blades against her spear and sword. You have very little doubt that with the attack on Ellana, the knightess would be stuck to Princess Adrianna at the hip. Duty would ultimately trump over your mutual stand-off. And the others would be with their charges as well, leaving an empty barracks all alone and empty.

Still, there are better things to do. You’ve never been one to be content as an idle, lying around all day with nothing to do. And since you were given permission by the man who owned the place, you see little reason as to why you shouldn’t take advantage of it.

>>The Grey Archives

The Grey Archives are located in the western wing of Kathmere Keep, a sprawling room filled with shelves upon shelves of books, scrolls, treatises and almost every medium that one could write with. At least three stories high, with shelves even reaching the ceiling, it is said that (almost) all of the known world’s knowledge is stored here, in this bastion of learning.

All it takes is one look at the insignia of your armor, the shielded crown, for the elderly clerk to let you through. A few moments of cursory searching nets you with a few interesting tomes, predominantly those concerning alchemist’s fire and the latest reports from holdfasts and lords across the realm. And a few other minor notes, such as genealogies and miscellaneous texts.

You seat yourself at a table adjacent to the window, the sun casting a luminous yellow light through the stained glass sigil of the Magisters: an open book. The morning sunlight is your guide as you open the first tome, and begin perusing through its contents…

>Roll 1d100 + 10 Knowledge
>Best of three

Rolled 15 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

Rev up those ones.

Rolled 57 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

Rolled 26 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

Rolled 81 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

Can't read cap'n.

>>Knowledge: ++
Wouldn't that be +20 boss?

...son of a whore. I'll just add +10 to the first three, then. So...35, 77, 46? Okay, I can deal with that.

Writing...

Did we pass the DC?

You didn’t expect to find the formulae to alchemist’s fire in the book proper. Which is a disappointment, but not an overall loss, as the book itself is a history of the development of alchemist’s fire. You read about its humble origins, supposedly a gift from the gods to the Predecesors, and its wide uses and applications throughout history. A turning point in the Battle of the Crimson King, where catapults flung jars of the stuff to burn the Crimson Tyrant, his armies, and their to the ground, and many more tales.

But that’s not what’s important. Even though the book itself was only five years old, it still had a list of the areas that could produce the substance without the need to import from other parts of the Empire. A short list, with only three holdfasts that held jurisdiction over each one.

The Mazurs, sworn bannermen to the Crowmonds, and masters of the Lost Mountains to the Southern borders.

The Hermans, those who rode for the Rosarns, unrivaled warriors of the Deep Wood of the North.

And the Athans, retainers of the Hastings, and the proud masters of the White Bay, to the Eastern fringes.

Three primary sites of investigation. Perhaps you should relay this information to Palme when you get the chance…

But you digress. You continue reading, flipping through the pages for any relevant information or useful trivia.

>35, 77, 46

In a compendium detailing the various plant life within five miles of the capital, you find the locations of many ingredients used in the poison recipes Lucien taught you. It will take the better portion of four days to harvest a supply to make it worthwhile, but perhaps that’s better than asking Palme for poisonous herbs and plants.

>The locations for Tier One poisons have been recorded in your journal!
>You can use your free time to gather ingredients for your poisons!

(cont.)

>Best of three
>Takes all three numbers in account

Nani?

I record all three rolls for archiving purposes. Just the way I do things, I still take the highest roll.

Writing...

But eventually, the stresses of the day eventually catch up to you. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t resist the pull of slumber, and the sweet call to lay your head down and rest in the warm sunlight…

>>???

“Ahem.”

You wake up with a start, to find yourself staring at the uncompromising and wrinkled face of Magister Ansell. And he does not look happy.

Your body moves of its own accord, quickly shoving the chair back and bolting upright. Panicked eyes dart towards the window: it is past midday, but not too late in the afternoon. You slept for at least a good majority of your recuperation time. You can still make it in time to Ellana in time for the changing of the guard.
But that’s not the immediate concern.

At your reaction, the look on Ansell’s face gives way to a cheeky grin. “You are far from the first student to fall asleep in my archives, young Painel. And neither will you be the last one. I will not become irked or angry at the natural order of things, though I will have been extremely irritated if you drooled on my only copy of ‘A Complete Genealogy of Aderaveth’. Seeing as you haven’t, I have little to no reason to be angry at you.

“Now, if you will hand me back my blanket…”

It takes you a moment to realize what he’s talking about. Draped over your shoulders, a soft-spun blanket hangs loosely over your body. You gingerly pinch at it before handing it back to Ansell with a bow and a murmured apology.

“Now run along. Doubtless Ellana will begin to miss you, shortly. No knight should keep his lady waiting.”

>>Ellana’s Quarters

You find the second princess still in her quarters, with the sight of the Silver Knights outside of her door a welcome sight. But all is not well. She’s having a muffled argument with someone. From the combination of the voices, it sounds like the Queen, as well as Ser Palme.

>Eavesdrop.
>Enter the room.

>>Enter the room.
Knock and announce yourself before entering.

>Enter the room.
No reason to eavesdrop. We're supposed to be here.

>>Enter the room.
Knock first.

>Enter the room.

>Enter the room.
somethingsomething, beating a dead horse

>Enter the room
>But knock first

The sound of your fist impacting the door causes all of the voices behind the varnished wood to cease abruptly. A muffled “who is it?” emits from the door, probably Ser Palme given the dry inflection of tone.

“It’s Painel,” you answer, tapping your foot errantly on the ground. “And you wanted me back here two hours after midday, last time I checked.”

“…come in.”

With a nod to the guards, you let yourself in the room. Little has changed, save for the two pairs of Silver Knights standing by the windows. Not that there was much to guard, considering that they were only one and a half feet wide, barely large enough for a child to enter through. Although considering you were well into your training at that tender age…

You shake your head of negative thoughts as you address your Queen and your Lord Commander, taking a moment to bow before talking. “I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?”

Palme exhales deeply before addressing you, “No. In fact, you could not have come at a better time. We were just discussing Ellana, so it’s best to have you here as well.”

Frowning, you pull up a seat and sit yourself down. “Is there a problem?”

“There is nothing currently plaguing my daughter,” The Queen says in a sonorous alto, wrapping a clothed arm around Ellana, who squirms at the touch before nestling in comfortably on her mother’s lap. “But what does matter is an issue of…security.”

Palme looks like he wants to tear his hear out. “Your Grace, hiding her in her bedchambers is what the enemy assassins expect of us to do. We need to move her to a different location until we resolve this mess. The von Roies and Pullmans are more than willing to accommodate-”

(cont.)

Take her to Markus' dad's place. No assassin will ever think to search for her in an assassin hideout!

“And how would your killers reach my daughter’s chambers? Would they scale the walls of her tower, like some misbegotten wooer? If that is what you are so worried about, then I will have my son station more of his guards, both at the base of her tower and by the windows as she sleeps. And what of traveling on the road? I trust in my husband’s allies just as much as he does, but you cannot speak for the possibility of brigands and highway men.”

“They won’t try for a direct attack after they failed. Their methods are going to be more subtle, more insidious. I have little desire to soil Ellana’s ears with the sordid details, but you undoubtedly know what I’m referring to. And brigands? Not likely since Prince Emeron just returned victorious against one of the most notorious groups to plague the northlands.”

“Emeron has duties as Crown Prince to attend to while my husband lies ill. He cannot simply abandon scheduled appointments and council meetings at the mere drop of a hat. No matter how much he would, if he agreed to your proposal.”

A subtle poison introduced into the washing basin.

A deadly fall from a long flight of stairs.

A bedwarmer’s coals explode in the brazier.

All of the possible scenarios go through your head as Palme and the Queen continue arguing. All of the ways you’ve been taught to kill people, how you can get away without getting caught. Your fist tightens as your mind envisions Ellana’s smiling face in each of those possibilities.

You’d be dead before that would happen.

“You there. Painel.”

The queen calls for you, and she affixes you with a stern glare. “You are the one directly in charge of my daughter’s well being, as well as the one who caught that cowardly blackguard. Tell me, what do you believe will keep my daughter safer?

>Support Melianna, have Ellana stay in Kathmire Keep.
>Support Palme, move Ellana to a different holdfast.

>Support Palme, move Ellana to a different holdfast.
Kathmire may have been compromised since one would be assassin got close. If they had any more plots in Kathmire we hinder them by moving the Princess.

>>Support Palme, move Ellana to a different holdfast.

>I could, but it would still be best to move her to another location. Somewhere where only those you trust most would know of.

>>Support Melianna, have Ellana stay in Kathmire Keep.