The Gray Ascendancy

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//A beautiful blue flower with thick coarse petals and a stem protected by thorns, it grows on top of cliffs, striving under the salty onslaught of sea wind.// The mystical properties of the flower had been long suspected, in large due to the legend of its origin, equal parts gruesome and didactic. In the folk retelling, the lover of the Fourth Sister Frieda has found herself betrothed to a lord of a warring land as means to quell the conflict and establish an armistice. The fragile peace was made no easier by the constant turmoil of the lady, torn between her irascible betrothed and her wayward lover. After long contemplation, the lady was finally convinced to escape and embrace life with the infamous mage, however not long after the lord and his men have caught up with the fleeing couple. In a bout of struggle, many soldiers fallen to Frieda's wicked magic, the exhausted mage has lost the grip on her lover. The lord, believing his betrothed to be bewitched, has slain her in a moment of desperation and anguish, spilling blood upon the salty sea rocks to the sound of the Fourth Sister's howl. From that blood, bellona is believed to have sprouted, petals blue like the lady's eyes. Bellona is an integral part of a poison, diluted and controlled consumption of which over long time is the key to becoming resistant to the effects of magic. This discovery was instrumental in the rebellion of Prince Karon that led to overthrowing Gideon the Usurper, reinstalling the Arnald lineage back onto the Sunken Throne and founding the order of mage hunters.

//The First of the Six, a fearsome warrior able to move obstacles out of her way with the power of her mind alone.// The First Sister, always first in battle, the tip of the spear she is often depicted to hold--a weapon that, just like her gift, is as deadly from afar as it is up close. Her figure in every likeness is firm, tall, the tales of her adventures full of bravery and strength in the face of adversity. If you read the mage books, that is. With her magic she sweeps obstacles and armies out of her way on a whim alone, foes disarmed and robbed of their possessions with her invisible //Reach//. Known wielders: $p.name

//The Second of the Six, a mage dedicated to preserving knowledge and history, studious and meticulous.// In all of her depictions she is blindfolded, to show her effort and commitment to the things of the past. And yet in that she comes out a fraud in the eyes of the world. In the mage Tower of Riante, perhaps, the last salvaged pieces are saved and cared for. Elsewhere she is detested: the fake face of a God, a lie spread by mages to elevate themselves and their power nigh to divinity. For no mortal can hold--or claim to hold--the knowledge of sole //Truth// of the former days, untainted and unquestionable. But she did, or so is claimed. Truth and Divination, however, are the domain of a God with thousands upon thousands of followers. ''Thar'' is what they are referred to in devotion, but none would describe it as simple as their name. Of course, where the eye of the Second Sister is turned to the past only, Thar sees the past, the present and the future. Known wielders: none

//The Third of the Six, a seasoned traveler, master of the battlefield, excellent tracker.// The image of the Third Sister has never lent itself to the monumental, stale property of stone: always moving, like she is about to escape the relief on the very wings every artist, every mason invariably gave her. She is to be seen a traveler, a messenger, ever drunk on her //Freedom//. Top of a mountain to a deepest cave in a span of an elaborate thought. No place she couldn't go, no one she couldn't find. Known wielders: Jax

//The Fourth of the Six, a master to the delicate flow of life essence. Vicious with her foes and most gentle to her loved ones. Frieda.// The only Sister whose name has survived the grinding wheel of history. In no small part because she has never taken apprentices, never spread her gift too thin. The power of Frieda: stealing and breathing in life is the inspiration behind cautionary tales and folk legends, //Death// itself. Taking with one hand, giving with another, spilling life essence as if it were a liquid... What better name can one mention when there are children to frighten, to teach good senses? Hers was a life of tragedy and vengeance, the story of her fall wrapped into the birth of a resilient flower, capable of staving off magic altogether. Known wielders: Gale le Tellier

//The Fifth of the Six, a healer of body and mind, soother to the afflicted and the distraught.// The stories tell of how her company was ever in demand, going far beyond the close circle of hers. To be freed of the pains, relieved of worries. Her presence a blessing, a boon to lift the //Spirit// and tend to the body. Hers is a gift of looking at a person but seeing their life essence: its flow and blockages, ailments and afflictions that befall one. And armed with that knowledge, the search for a cure is just a matter of persistence. Known wielders: Mort of Jarrun

<h3 class="chapter">Magic</h3><hr class="chapter"> <div class="codex_group"><div class="codex_box"><<link "The First Sister">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("The First Sister", "codex_entry"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("first_sister").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>><div>The original mage of Reach.</div> </div><div class="codex_box"><<link "The Second Sister">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("The Second Sister", "codex_entry"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("second_sister").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>><div>The original mage of Truth.</div> </div><div class="codex_box"><<link "The Third Sister">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("The Third Sister", "codex_entry"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("third_sister").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>><div>The original mage of Freedom.</div> </div><div class="codex_box"><<link "The Fourth Sister">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("The Fourth Sister", "codex_entry"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("fourth_sister").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>><div>The original mage of Death.</div> </div><div class="codex_box"><<link "The Fifth Sister">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("The Fifth Sister", "codex_entry"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("fifth_sister").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>><div>The original mage of Spirit.</div> </div><div class="codex_box"><<link "The Sixth Sister">> <</link>><div>Mysterious entity absent from the records...</div> </div><div class="codex_box"><<link "Bellona">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Bellona", "codex_entry"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("bellona").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>><div>A mageflower, the poison of which is used in turning one into a mage hunter.</div> </div></div> <<if def $intro and def $intro.spoke_adg>><h3 class="chapter">Persons of note</h3><hr class="chapter"> <div class="codex_group"><div class="codex_box"><<link "Gale le Tellier">> <</link>><div>The disinherited son of King Karon, a mage with the Fourth Sister's gift.</div></div> <div class="codex_box"><<link "Arthur van der Garde">> <</link>><div>The margrave of Grawen, sole heir to the Duchy of Noyer.</div></div> <div class="codex_box"><<link "Darla Belrose">> <</link>><div>A knight of the Daelan royal guard.</div></div> <div class="codex_box"><<link "Karon Arnald">> <</link>><div>The king of Daelan, the infamous nemesis of the Gray Regency. The Viper King.</div></div> <div class="codex_box"><<link "Libeth Arnald">> <</link>><div>The daughter of the Daelan King and the crown heiress.</div></div> </div><</if>> <h3 class="chapter">Locations</h3><hr class="chapter"> <div class="codex_group"><div class="codex_box"><<link "Rimehall">> <</link>><div>The capital of Daelan.</div></div> <div class="codex_box"><<link "Riante">> <</link>><div>City-province, the seat of mages under the Gray Regent's rule.</div></div> </div> <div class="next_page"><hr>[[Return|$return]]</div>

<<fadein 2s>><h3 class="chapter">Prologue</h3><hr class="chapter"> <<nobr>> <<set $intro to {}>> <<set $intro.sash to false>> <<set $intro.magic_ace to false>> <<set $intro.weapon to 1>> <<set $intro.wounded to false>> <<set $intro.thuggery to 1>> <<set $intro.thug_dead to false>> <<set $intro.band_maid to false>> <<set $intro.band_gale to false>> <<set $intro.healed to false>> <<set $intro.masked to false>> <<set $intro.mage_known to false>> <<set $intro.gale_knows to false>> <<set $intro.nowarn to false>> <</nobr>>Patience may be a virtue, but boredom certainly puts it to the most strenuous test, especially when one is not permitted the slightest luxury of letting their thoughts go in this dream-like state. No, you--you have to listen. The canopy of foliage above your head is dipped in gold, each branch still clinging to the decaying summer glory, but its gilt is already shedding down onto the barely trodden forest paths. It is fresh, at least, and although the dewy, chill air may not move around, the smell of soggy wood and decaying leaves is always a pleasant change from that of cheap, bitter ale and rotting harvest mounts. Your back is one with the drying bark of an old beech tree, pressed into a convenient nook at its broad base. Moss spills around the roots, greedily swallowing the tiniest of sounds of your boots. This is what you are reduced to: precariously simple ambushes. Jax would take a point off for the lack of creativity, but creativity must cede when you are so scarce on time. Nothing wrong with a good and trusty ambush. Only problem is, waiting feels like an itch that your body needs to satisfy, and everything has become uncomfortable. //Truly, you--// Dry wood whines under a weight, a loud sound that is succeeded by unintelligible cursing. Animals do not curse. //Finally//. Fingers creeping up your collar find the folds of your scarf, there to cover the bottom of your face should the need arise. No mage should show their face in these parts, and the bare minimum you ought be doing is covering up your audacity. <div class="choice"><hr> <ul> <li>[[I pull it up. Anonymity is too valuable of an advantage.|start_0][$path to 0;$p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, +10);$intro.masked to true]]</li> <li>[[I never hide my face behind any sort of covering. Why would now be any different?|start_0][$path to 1;]]</li> <li>[[My hand drops. For what I am about to unleash on this lout, he has at least earned to see my face.|start_0][$path to 1;]]</li> <li>[[Just as it rises, my hand drops. I'm not dealing with him in a way that has him survive and report me anyway. |start_0][$path to 1; $p.vil to Math.fm($p.vil, +20)]]</li></ul></div><</fadein>>

Your eyes close, breaths calm and measured, tracing each curve of the forest path that is committed to your memory. Your ears pick up steps: he limps on one leg ever so slightly. An edge, perhaps? Closer. Almost level with you. Your body twists, and even branches croaking under the last of autumn weight make more sound than you. He mumbles something, a grouchy voice not content with silence. That of a man assured he will walk alone and undisturbed. Such types won't take kindly to an interruption, won't run. He will allow a confrontation. Oh, how stupid--and convenient. You dart out of your position: feet stomping moss, moss again, remnants of gravel. "Huh?" His eyes widen, then squeeze in a scowl, hand quick to grab the hilt of his sword. The trek is not kind to him, as rare hairs stick to the sleek on his creased forehead. The man heaves, placing his weapon defensively. <<if $intro.masked>>"I didn't ask for no escort,"<<else>>"You brat got a dyin' wish?"<</if>> he croaks. There are ale stains on his undershirt, cord loose, exposing a vulnerable strip on his chest. His large hands grip the hilt of a sword with its tip forward, but not too high, conserving strength, yet not inviting you any closer. <<if $intro.masked>>You push the questions back, the questions to the kind of endeavors that would necessitate a masked escort, to the far corners of your mind--and focus on the important. Whatever it is you need to relieve him of needs to be found first.<<else>>That's right, words. He is trying to engage you in a conversation, but there is not a glint of fear in his eyes. What he sees is a pest, a simple-minded vermin after his coin. Such a bandit you are.<</if>> It is good that he underestimates you. The pivot to your weapon catches him off-guard. <div class="choice"><hr> <ul> <li>[[Magic tugs, swirls in my chest like a ball of anger begging to be undone. Who am I not to oblige?|start_0a][$intro.weapon to 1; $path to 0; $p.spell_ctr to +5; $intro.mage_known to true; $intro.gale_knows to true;]]</li> <li>[[I have a weapon to match, and I suspect even my brief experience with it will suffice. To show him the seriousness of my intentions, I pull the sword out of its scabbard and slowly, maintaining eye contact, adjust my grip on it.|start_0a][$intro.weapon to 2; $path to 1;$intro.wounded to true]]</li> <li>[[I grew to prefer swift and efficient. Close and personal. For that I always carry two daggers which I now pull out as a demonstration of my intentions.|start_0a][$intro.weapon to 3; $path to 2; $intro.wounded to true]]</li></ul></div>

<<if $path is 0>>Not a weapon. Why? <span class="choice"><hr> <ul><li>[[I know I am a mage, but I cannot recall being one, training to be one. This void makes me reluctant to resort to it, but I am not blind to the advantage it gives. (Attitude to magic: Hesitant Arcanist)|start_1][$p.combat to 10; $p.magic to 35; $gregory to $gregory + 1; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -10); $p.mind.magic to 1]]</li> <li>[[Quite simple. Even if I cannot recall much, I am a mage. Magic is my weapon, the most reliable and the most refined I have. (Attitude to magic: Studious Apprentice)|start_1][$p.combat to 5; $p.magic to 40; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -20);]]</li> /* <li>[[I hardly ever practice my magic, and even that should be enough to deal with this oaf.|start_1][$p.magic to 15; $p.combat to 35; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, +5)]]</li> */ </ul></span> <<elseif $path is 1 or 2>>Diving into your memories for any reference might come up empty, but the sight of your hands when you first came to would tell a story of someone who never trained to use steel. Magic, however, feels innate. Why not use it then? <span class="choice"><hr> <ul><li>[[Given that I have simply disregarded it for my weapon training, it would not be the smartest decision. I never quite took to it. (Attitude to magic: Adept of Steel)|start_1][$p.magic to 5; $p.combat to 45; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, +20); $p.mind.magic to 3]]</li> <li>[[I tend to not resort to means I do not remember acquiring—or training. I know I am a mage, but I cannot recall being one, at it bothers me. In circumstances like this, however, I rely on conventional means. (Attitude to magic: Suspicious Circumstance)|start_1][$gregory to $gregory + 1; $p.magic to 10; $p.combat to 40; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, +10); $p.mind.magic to 2]]</li> /* <li>[[A thug like this one? Please, I can handle him even without magic. It is simply not worth the effort.|start_1][$p.magic to 25; $p.combat to 25]]</li> <li>[[Not now, if at all. It is always good to keep a trick up your sleeve.|start_1][$p.magic to 30; $p.combat to 20; $intro.magic_ace to true; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -5); $p.wits to Math.fm($p.wits, +10)]]</li> */ </ul></span> <</if>>

<<if $path is 0>>\ It always strikes you the way tapping into this power relaxes your face. Knots of tension, furrowed lines you didn't sense before—gone in a sweep of relief. A murmur runs over your body: a distant sound of rocks wrangled by a strong wave, voices whispering in languages you do not understand. The world in front of you breaks into planes, edges and surfaces for your mind to control. The feeling of ultimate safety surges through you, and although you know it to be deceptive at times, in the face of one man who has a pint in him to tip the scales even more in your favor, it feels justified. <div class="magictxt">Reach.</div> He takes your lack of answer for a threat, and the curve of his mouth splits into a snarl. He should--no fellow traveler would appear in one's way and refuse to explain, <<if $intro.masked>>face hidden from view<<else>>their face almost serene<</if>>. You could tell him who you are, certainly, though outing yourself as a mage does not beget a peaceful conversation in these areas. Instead, it will be a surprise for him to discover. <<elseif $path is 1>>\ The angles your body adopts, the way it accepts the weight and balances around it. It feels practiced but…slow, like a machine of wooden levers that has not been broken out yet. Your weapon is a simple one-handed sword that cannot boast exotic history; you have picked it out in the armory because it was the least rusted. No one would expect a tower full of mages to do well by the weapon of a foot soldier, yet you are confident in its ability to get things done. "Not impressive," the thug proclaims, but your keen hearing picks up trembling notes. You choose not to smile. "You wouldn't recognize danger even if it breathed down your neck." <<else>>\ You wear the scabbards close to your body: that way sneaking them in without much fuss or appearing deceptively harmless, a babbling idiot even, is always an option. Their weight by now is not unfamiliar, but your hands are not molded to the hilts, still being worn into. You never dwelled on it too much. Suddenly emptied, the scabbards no longer tug at your back. You assume a defensive position, placing the steel in the way of the thug's approach should he dare. "Some shoddy tavern is missing its cutlery I see," he says, barking an overtly loud laugh. You shrug. "I'm surprised you know what cutlery is." <</if>>\ Regardless, talk is cheap. Persistent you may be, the pool of your patience is already dry. The man pulls up his sword with a few steadying steps. A simple man with a simple sword and armor made of sturdy leather that, for all its thickness, frees his limbs to move however they like. He charges swiftly, growling his frustration at you. His sword rises to swing only when he is close enough for you to smell the ale on his clothes, and metal sings in high pitch into your ears. <span class="choice"><hr> <ul> <li>[[I'd hate to have this lovely encounter end so quickly. I say we draw out this fight a little, put his skills and wits to the test.|start_toying][$p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +10); $thuggery to 1]]</li> <li>[[He was dead the moment he came into possession of something I was tasked to retrieve. No reason to delay the inevitable.|start_killing0][$p.ruthless to Math.fm($p.ruthless, +5); $intro.thuggery to 2; $p.vil to Math.fm($p.vil, +10)]]</li> <li>[[I'm only interested in whatever he is carrying, I don't want to waste any more time on this insignificant man. My plan is to knock him out and get my hands on the item when he is no longer conscious to protest it.|start_knock][$intro.thugery to 3;$p.vil to Math.fm($p.vil, -10)]]</li></ul></span>

Had he just asked what you want, which you know he is too boorish and too short-sighted to do, you wouldn't have bothered. But now it is a time investment, and you prefer to get those back with interest. The least you can do is make him believe he stands a chance. You pretend to be surprised by his attack, and instead of deftly launching yourself out of the sword's way, you do so in a few unnecessary jumps. Steel passes right in front of your face. You let out a low breath, almost a whistle. "That was quite close!" He grunts, recovering his stance, and brings his weapon down another way across. <<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ <<include "start_toying_magic1">> <<elseif $intro.weapon is 2>>\ <<include "start_toying_sword1">> <<else>>\ <<include "start_toying_dagger1">> <</if>>\

You throw out your hand. Magic snaps over your head protectively, fixing his sword in place. He fights it at first, jaw gritting and muscle straining. Who would suspect magic, after all? No flourish, no grand reveal. But the blade does not cut into you no matter how much force he pits into it--and disbelief gives way to confusion and then...fear. He doesn't have to be sure, just a suspicion is enough to be terrifying. Most mages strike terror into the hearts of the common folk. But if one were to pick which of them to meet in battle, mages of the First would be the last choice. He isn't picking, and he a mage of the First is what he got. What an unlucky fellow. Seems like you might need to make some concessions if you want this to last. For his sake, you make a performance of wincing, as if fighting his onslaught came to you at a great cost. "Not as effective as real sword and shield, is it?" you glib, attempting to sound strained. No retort from him, though he finally pulls back his sword as if he was just burned. He flashes his canines, scowling, confused. His shaky breath is audible, eyes dart sideways, momentarily considering an //out//. Must have accepted what you are, and his prime concern is not with the whys of your presence, but his suddenly shrinking odds. A survivor, this one. Well, you can't have him escaping. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_toying_magic2]]</div>

Magical force gathers at your fingertips and shoots out in quick succession at the thug, each hit aimed at his feet until he backs off a few paces. Your hits are understated, and where your magic barrels into the soil, it is left dented, as if someone dropped an apron of fist-sized rocks. Your power, magic that reaches places and lengths your body doesn't, yields to your will: it can cut, it can strike and it can grab. It would be so simple to end this quickly, but for now, you are only interested in dictating the moves of your opponent. Song thrushes can get to the soft insides of snails by repeatedly smashing them against a rock. And similarly to that, you will relieve the man of his burden, but only once you are through with this little practice routine. You rarely get to let loose like this with your powers. Most of the time, you ought to be discreet. He swings with a running start, and magic explodes around your lower arm to block, the sword never connecting to your skin. You slink out of the way, letting him expend the remainder of the force on barrelling toward the ground. With a snap of your fingers, you add a kick to his shin to make sure he stumbles. And he does, catching himself by mere fingertips. Upon shaky recovery, his frenzied eyes find you, and he growls. So quick to anger. Instead of a swing, he uses the space you've herded him into for a thrust attack, making you dodge instead of blocking. He anticipated this, landing his weight hard onto one leg and using it as anchor for an upward slash at you. Instinctively, you send a strong burst of magic at it, rivalling the force of his swing. No exchange of glares, you fall back a step and ready yourself for another attack. Mages of the First tend to dislike letting their opponents this close. Targets in proximity are larger, but it is a doubtful advantage: each decision becomes lightning fast, and the price of a mistake surges into the skies. Usually--but not with his kind. There is grit to his technique that assured he survived to be this old but no trickery that could fool a mage. Even someone who has forgotten how to be one. You bait him close as he runs on fumes, exhausting him out until all that remains is a gentle knock on his jaw to get him out of the fight. <i>Wretched mage</i>, you can practically read on his mind. And wretched you are. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_toying2]]</div>

You meet his attack with the steel of your sword, redirecting its strength away from you. Again, you increase the distance, playing the part of prey that is just within reach. He makes so much noise when he repositions, unnecessary grunts, you could perhaps do it with your eyes closed. Yet for the sake of the performance and to avoid wounds brought forth in arrogance, you do not. Living in the dwelling of mages, in service to the mage sovereign, you were expected to practice the Gift you were supposedly granted at birth. It was eerie that you felt better with a hilt in your hand, but you were permitted not to let it go and keep up the training. Partners were scarce, not only because your choice was deemed dubious but also because you--for all the good it did you--held the Gray Regent's attention. So really, this is an //opportunity//. His next two swings are low, eyes blazing. His goal becomes to immobilize you. One you parry, and the other you can only dodge, taking a sudden and shaky lunge backward. "I hope you do not feel like you are wasting time here," you say with pretend earnestness, readjusting your grip on the hilt. "Your last moments are my gift to you," he croaks through gritted teeth. A charmer. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_toying_sword2]]</div>

The thug makes a strong, stabbing motion at you, surprising in its change. You barely manoeuver out of its reach, and the sound of steel groaning is sharp and violent in your ear. Your shoulder thumps with strain and dull pain as you parry--and having paid this price, you counter-attack. Toying isn't fun if it's all the same. You swing at his undefended body, and he avoids the devastating damage only because he decides to surrender to your parry and roll into recovery. There is grit to his technique that assured he survived to be this old but fighting a lot more than that. He heaves, it won't be long then, and you smile. Forests are no simple terrain: you easily goad the thug around the long abandoned footpath, relieving him of any chance of tripping you over a root of the encircling trees. And while you may easily win yourself some comforts, the thug's steps grow weary, drops of sweat on his face fall under their heavy weight. Something creeps into his expression, close again as your attack brings you into his proximity. Fear. His distress only encourages you. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_toying2]]</div>

With weapons like these, cunning is your most trustworthy friend, but nobody said you must be cunning //and// quick. While true that a sword can pack a hefty blow from a man this size, when you deftly pass under his arm, avoiding any of the impact, none of that strength matters. What is even more amusing, much more, is the sight of something interesting and //foreign// peeking out from his clothes, its thick material of viridian color sticking out of the satchel like a fire burning in the blackness of the night. It would be too easy to snatch it now, though risking a mistake of alerting him to its real value. You're turned and stable on your feet before he fully recovers from attempting an attack this heavy. The daggers have taught you to be swift because you'd never hit with the might of a sword. Living in the dwelling of mages, in service to the mage regent, you were expected to practice the Gift you were supposedly granted at birth. So it was eerie when you felt better,with a deceptively light yet deadly weapon in your hand. Strangely enough, you were permitted not to let it go, however, and keep practicing to the point you have advanced to wielding two. Partners were scarce, not only because your choice was deemed dubious but also because you--for all the good it did you--held the Gray Regent's attention. "Let me know if you get tired," you chirp. For your short reach, you will have to get close. But this is nothing new. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_toying_dagger2]]</div>

His sword comes from overhead, and you catch it between the crossed blades of your daggers. You retreat immediately, and he steps into the now-empty space to press with force. The next strike would have caught your side have you not thrown yourself out of the way. You push against the ground to return to the safety of your feet. There is a grin on your face. As he believes you'd hesitate to attack from this position, you dash, the smell of wet soil hitting you strongly. You only intend to hit with one dagger, cut through the leathers that stand in the way of getting what you're truly after, but he awkwardly steps out of the way, deflecting the rest of the motion with a weakly positioned blade. As quick as the incision itself, you assess the damage. A thin depth is carved into the side of his chestpiece: a mark for you to focus on. He is unsettled under your gaze, turning almost sideways and swinging his sword menacingly, but his breath is shallow. "Rotten fly," he grumbles. You make a quick gesture with your shoulder as if to shrug, and, like an arrow released, break into a move you've been dying to try. Do a feint first, and when the blade provoked into action can no longer change the trajectory, you wring yourself in the opposite direction, landing a precise cut. Deeper now, revealing the unflattering sight of the thug's undershirt. Leather is only mediocre protection. He groans in response, and his distress only encourages you. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_toying2]]</div>

<span id="toy2">"Please, do not think I am going out of my way for you in particular," you nudge him, blocking the sword intended for your midriff. "I am indeed just frustrating to deal with, for everybody." "You talk too much," he croaks. That must be because you manage to do //both// talking and fighting. "Well, since we are indeed conversing, mind telling me your name?" His response is fast and simple, carried by a shallow breath. "Your end." To be fair, the poor soul is under too much pressure to exercise creativity. You aren't exactly a stranger to it yourself. Despite the laborious movement of his chest, the man trudges forward once more, ready to swing all the way from his shoulder. You brace yourself to dodge, readying-- And then a treacherous shiver runs down your spine, its effect latching onto your skin like a bur. //''Shit.''// A whistling sound, air screaming as it is ripped apart, and you scramble away from your opponent, nearly losing your foothold. There are clumps of soil in your hands, soil you have grabbed to maintain your footing, clumps abandoned as you look ahead. Between you and your earlier opponent lands an arrow, entering the ground like a knife does a freshly baked pie. Could this be... Reinforcements? He would have mentioned them already when he realized you wouldn't be an easy score. Your skin crawls because you know: this has to be something worse. <div class="next_page"><hr> <<link "Next page">></div></span> <<replace "#toy2">><<run scroll(0, 0)>>"This fight can //clearly// go either way, so I do hate to interrupt." There is amused laughter in the voice. You whip your head, trying to find its owner amongst the twisted shadows of the woods, but he wouldn't be long for this world if he were that easy to spot. <<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ The fight momentarily forgotten, you check with your limbs, hit with sudden tremor. A beat of silence--and he enters with a gritty laugh, unseen until he detaches from the trunk of a tree off to your side. Your opponent regards the archer briefly. "Your friend has good timing," he says, turning to not give either of you a chance at his back. //Friend//. No mage hunter is ever a friend to the likes of you. The single good news is clarity: an explanation for the tremors, the primal fear of that which lies beyond of your control. You gaze at the archer, at the hazy outline scathing your eyes: as if engulfed by a teal blue fire, he walks forward with his bow drawn. <<if $p.magic > 30>>Each step of his resonates in your head, your teeth gritting harder and harder to withstand the onslaught.<<else>>Your eyes water, the cruel play of light making it hard to focus.<</if>> //Fucking bellona.// Even as his features are impossible to make out, which would probably not help much, his well-spoken manner, the bow, the unmistakable auburn hair--the very fact he is a mage hunter--tell you all you need to place him. Before you walks the margrave of Grawen and the heir to the duchy Noyer, the favored of the Sunken Court, none other than Arthur van der Garde. "Oh, us?" Arthur sounds amused, while you work out your odds. "It delights me to say I would never be a friend to the Regent's lackey." "The //Gray// Regent," you hiss, words flying out before you even notice that his dismissive address has made you //angry//. His freezes at an advantageous distance, tension in the bowstring never faltering. <<else>>\ Your grip tightens, urged by the knot in your throat. It only gets worse once the archer appears, unseen until he detaches from the trunk of a tree off to your side. Your opponent regards the newcomer briefly. "Your friend has good timing," he says, turning to not give either of you a chance at his back. //Friend//. How easily some are fooled by the deliberately modest clothes. His well-spoken manner, the bow, the unmistakable auburn hair tell you all you need to place him. Before you walks the margrave of Grawen and the heir to the duchy Noyer, the favored of the Sunken Court, none other than Arthur van der Garde. A famed mage hunter, at that. The halo of distorted air around him, one that makes you dizzy by simply looking at it, only unnecessarily confirms it. You swallow with effort. "I'm not in the habit of imposing my friendship on strangers," he argues rather coldly and stops at an advantageous distance, tension in the bowstring never faltering. "You are imposing, that's for sure," the thug grunts. Arthur ignores him, staring right at you. A stare you can hardly return without wincing. <</if>>\ <<include "merge_art">><</replace>><</link>> /* [[merge_art]]*/

Dead men won't stand in your way. <div class="choice"><hr> <ul><li>[[I can't have him recover and question everything, be it my identity or the item in his possession. Once he's gone, so are all the ties implicating the Gray Regent.|start_killing][$p.ruthless to Math.fm($p.ruthless, +10)]]</li> <li>[[He is insignificant and his life doesn't even matter. I will save me some trouble and end this quickly.|start_killing][$p.ruthless to Math.fm($p.ruthless, +5); $p.vil to Math.fm($p.vil, +10)]]</li></ul></div>

<<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ First deal with the immediate. Magic coalesces at your will—rushing to //protect//--in time to swallow the strength of the oncoming blow, shielding you from damage. It pulses and breaths before the blade so close to your face, and you command it to slink around the weapon. You don't mind a bit of theatrics. It does not have to be so boring. There is hardly any need to be as obvious, but you let him feel the grip you have on his weapon. He struggles to wrestle back control over it, but you will not surrender it to him. His eyes refuse to meet yours; the man grunts and pulls, heels digging into the soft wet ground. And just for a split moment you let him believe he has it, magic latches onto his arm. The thug exclaims as if burned, but he does not let go. Your magic feels like an eerie, ghostly touch, you've felt it yourself, but it is bearable if it wasn't for its strength. His body beckons him to move, to attack again, and your defenses are see-through, but his instincts are keener than believing them weak. When the touch of your magic slithers up his arm, he freezes, transfixed. Then up his shoulder and, soon, throat. He drops the weapon and tries to step back—cannot—to which he starts clawing where he won't find purchase. Only you will. You squeeze. Your fingers dig into the skin of your palms with equal strength. A pity //this// will not be quick. He struggles, of course, clawing at the ghostly hand around his neck and strangled sounds bubble out of his mouth. There is nothing to grasp, and color slowly leaves his face. //Wait.// Your back stiffens, concentration momentarily disturbed. A whistling sound breaks your hold on the man, and something far more concerned with your survival sends you darting back. Where you just stood, an arrow is stuck between the trampled blades of grass. Your breath hitches, cold rushes down your spine as magic returns //home//. Perhaps not solely because of that. It is never so...unpleasant. You hear a coughing fit, which is a sign your work is far from over, but you are too busy to care. You must find the archer, no matter how thunderous the thump in your chest. To no avail: the man enters at his own pace, from behind one of the countless trees. "Now, now, let's not do that," he says as if he's scolding a child. You gaze at the archer, at the hazy outline scathing your eyes: as if engulfed by a teal blue fire, he walks forward with his bow drawn. <<if $p.magic > 30>>Each step of his resonates in your head, teeth gritting harder and harder to withstand the onslaught.<<else>>Your eyes water, the cruel play of light making it hard to focus.<</if>> //Fucking bellona.// Even as his features are impossible to make out, which would probably not help much, the bow, the unmistakable auburn hair--the very fact he is a mage hunter--tell you all you need to place him. Before you walks the margrave of Grawen and the heir to the duchy Noyer, the favored of the Sunken Court, none other than Arthur van der Garde. You swallow shakily. <<else>>\ You parry with ease, making his spend the force of his attack on the clumsy, vast strides past you. The sight of his back is all the opening you need. You lunge with a counter-assault, quick strikes that are lousily met with the thug's sword at the last moment, metal clanking and screaming. He is still fresh, though with each deflected blow of yours his anxiety stinks all the more. If you keep stooping to the opponents so low, you might one day hurt your back. That you can even lament this encounter is a tell-tale sign how beneath you this is. Fortunately, all that separates you from the end of this struggle is a single lucky hit. He stumbles and backs away, making himself look smaller in the process. It is an instinct, fear manifesting. His bare basics are, perhaps, commendable, but they will not be enough. \ <<if $intro.weapon is 2>>\ You tighten the grip on the hilt, using all this space to ready a clean swing. \ <<else>>\ You fix your grip on the hilts, readying them for a plunge into something rather solid, and grit your teeth. \ <</if>>\ You are doing him no favors by dragging your feet. Absently you note that the very air has shifted. Never a good sign, but you have no time to waste. You lunge. The rustling of fabric in the wind tells you something is amiss before your eyes do. Then your weapon meets metal instead of skin, which… no, no, //no//. There is no stench of ale anymore, no sweat, which is a tremendous blessing and a devastating curse. It smells like grass and pine; your blade is skilfully deflected to your side, where you position it defensively again. You glare into the eyes of the intruder: the way the lines dance in your eyes hurt. It takes you only a split moment to break off, blood in your ears drumming. "What the..." the thug is the first one to speak, unsure what to make of this protection. You, however, are quiet, staring down the interloper. His gear is worn in but sturdy, of understated quality. There is a bow strapped to his back, and along with the distinctly auburn hair and the very fact that he is a //mage hunter//--the source of the sudden tricks in your eyes and the tremor in your hands, a warning to every mage--all but points to one person. Before you stands the margrave of Grawen and the heir to the duchy Noyer, the favored of the Sunken Court, none other than Arthur van der Garde. You swallow shakily. <</if>>\ <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_killing2]]</div>

<<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ "The Regent's justice is surely expeditious." "It's the //Gray// Regent," you hiss, your jaw clenches with emotion that is faster than your thinking. His brows rise in amusement. <</if>>\ <<include "merge_art">> /* [[merge_art]]*/

So much fuss about something that could be solved with a simple change of hands. There is an ancient wisdom that once weapons start flying, it is not an easy task to hide them all back into scubbards. Besides, this is //cleaner//. If he is unconscious, he will not be asking questions. <<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ All you need is a single well-aimed strike. There are points on the body that can knock one out if force is applied to them. Extending your magic with force at distant objects is what Reach excels at. You only need to aim. Magic quivers between your fingers like the air right before a lighting strike. Your stillness gives the man a pause: on some level he ought to understand you are no simple bandit. But the habit to dispose with a threat in the only way he knows how takes over, and he is on the offensive again, forcing your concentration to deftly shift from his pain to your safety. The blade clashes against the imperceptible barrier of your magic, the rage embers of his stare snuffed out by the ice hidden in yours. His attention is entirely on the spot where his sword meets your invisible defense and can lower no further. His lips round in a silent question, and when he looks back at you, it is clear that his predicament starts to shine in its real colors. His shaky breath is audible, eyes darting sideways, momentarily considering an //out//. Must have realized what you are now, but his main concern is not the likelihood of seeing a mage in these areas, but his suddenly shrinking odds. A survivor, this one. Well, you can't have him escaping. You retreat before he does, hand above your head with magic amassing--and releasing into a ball of energy that you send at his feet. He narrowly avoids the bulk of damage, but in not enough to keep his balance. The man lands on his back--eyes wide despite the creases of pain. You suppress a groan. You need to keep him at length, for your own safety, but he seems intent on hurting himself in his own ways. Another charge blooms on your fingertips-- But no. <<else>>\ One well-placed hit with the hilt should knock him out cold, and getting close enough to make it happen should not pose a challenge. It seems simple, but none things careful ever are. You parry his blow without thinking, letting your instincts handle evasion. The rational part of you is looking for a window, that ill-balanced spot where you could sneak in without needing the sharp part of your \ <<if $intro.weapon is 2>>\ sword. <<else>>\ dagger. <</if>>\ Your gaze flicks between the spot behind his ear and the wide line of his jaw. Just a punch perhaps? It is harder when the opponent is so intent on skewering you. Your defenses are instinctive. Your attention is on his moves, not his sword. Watching and waiting, scrunching your nose because the stench of ale is overwhelming, until-- Your blow staggers him, and he retreats a few steps on bent legs, sword lowered and momentarily useless. Immediately you dash after him. Only for something to go terribly wrong. Surely you couldn't have missed all this noise? Then where did-- You grunt. --a large blurry mass to block your blow come from? <</if>>\ <<NextPage start_knock2>>/* [[start_knock2]] */

<<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ A whistling sound rips through your hold on the bubble of magic force, severing it; something primal in you sends you darting away from the spot you have chosen to defend. Where you just stood, an arrow is stuck between the trampled blades of grass. Your breath hitches, cold rushes down your spine as magic returns home. Perhaps not solely because of that. It is never so...unpleasant. You realize your opponent is blessed with a chance to stand up, but you are too busy to care, searching for the archer to the thunderous thump within your chest. To no avail: the man enters at his own pace, from behind one of the countless trees. His bow is taut and boasts perfect aim at your face. If anything, it explains the tremors, the primal fear of that which lies beyond of your control. You gaze at the archer, at the hazy outline scathing your eyes: as if engulfed by a teal blue fire, he walks forward with his bow drawn. <<if $p.magic > 30>>Each step of his resonates in your head, teeth gritting harder and harder to withstand the onslaught.<<else>>Your eyes water, the cruel play of light making it hard to focus.<</if>> //Fucking bellona.// Even as his features are impossible to make out, the way he carries himself, well-spoken, the bow, the unmistakable auburn hair--the very fact he is a mage hunter--tell you all you need to place him. Before you walks the margrave of Grawen and the heir to the duchy Noyer, the favored of the Sunken Court, none other than Arthur van der Garde. "Did not know the Regent deals in mercy these days," he proclaims with amused disbelief. "The //Gray// Regent," you hiss, words flying out before you even notice that his dismissive address has made you //angry//. <<else>>\ There is no stench of ale anymore, it smells like grass and pine. You glare into the eyes of the intruder: the way the lines dance in your eyes hurt. It takes you only a split moment to break off, blood in your ears drumming. "What the..." the thug is the first one to speak, unsure what to make of this protection. You, however, are quiet, staring the interloper down. His gear is worn in but sturdy, of understated quality. There is a bow strapped to his back, and along with the distinctly auburn hair and the very fact that he is a //mage hunter///--the source of the sudden tricks in your eyes and the tremor in your hands, a warning to every mage--all but points to one person. Before you stands the margrave of Grawen and the heir to the duchy Noyer, the favored of the Sunken Court, none other than Arthur van der Garde. You swallow with effort. <</if>>\ <<include "merge_art">> /* [[merge_art]]*/

<<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ "What a perverse show of loyalty." The smile in his voice is cold. "Such a shame $q.he is not even here." <<else>>\ "And who would you be?" he asks you. Before you can think of the way you won't be answering this question, he amends. "No--who do you work for?" <</if>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /> <ul> <li>[[I glare at him, not intending to even try explaining myself. If he wants to say something, he will.|start_art][$path to 0; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -6)]]</li> <li>[[I try to get my body to behave and look a little less tense, put on a smile. "Why does it have to be anything at all? I was simply passing by."|start_art][$path to 1; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +6)]]</li> <<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ <li>[[Annoyance rises to the roof of my mouth: why does a simple darned task have to become an absolute trial? "Stay out of my way," I growl.|start_art][$path to 2; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, -6)]]</li> <<else>>\ <li>[[Annoyance rises to the roof of my mouth: why does a simple darned task have to become an absolute trial? "Get out of my way," I growl.|start_art][$path to 2; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, -6)]]</li> <</if>>\ <li>[["My parents taught me not to seek out a conversation with strangers," I say, baiting him to reveal more of his reason to be here.|start_art][$path to 3; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +6)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 0>>\ Silence is not his friend, but it is yours. <<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ "Are things so dire in Riante you would come all this way to pester a mere commoner?" he prods. <<else>>\ "I would say something if I were you," he prods. <</if>>\ You quietly <<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ tighten your fists <<else>>\ adjust the grip on your <<if $intro.weapon is 2>>\ sword. <<else>>\ daggers. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ He catches the gesture with a lightning-quick glance. "Nothing, huh? Well, aren't you a spoilsport." <<elseif $path is 1>>\ <<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ "That $q.name would send you this far to see these marvelous woods?" He tilts his head a little. "I find it hard to believe." Again, and even worse this time. //$q.name//, the nerve of him! The corner of your mouth twitches, and you swallow thickly to push down the words that may reveal too much. <<else>>"\ You would reach your destination faster if you did not antagonize fellow travelers, you know," he says stiffly. "Hours on the road, they wear you out," you reply with the same unchanging smile. "Needed someone to fight, huh. Well, how fortunate then." <</if>>\ <<elseif $path is 2>>\ He tilts his head, pretending, but not too hard, to look apologetic. "You see, you cannot order me around. Must I really explain?" Always quick to put his status down as a shield. As expected of the Rimehall nobility. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ Or at least you assume they did. Where memories are absent, you substitute with an educated guess. Arthur snorts, not entirely unamused. <<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ "They should have taught you how to pick your friends, too--and yet." So no reveal, huh. "Whatever does it mean," you say with a flat smile. <<else>>\ "They should have taught you not to pick fights with them either--and yet." So no reveal, huh. "Didn't say I was a very obedient <<if $p.gender is "man">>son<<elseif $p.gender is "woman">>daughter<<else>>child<</if>>." "That you aren't." For once, he agrees with you. The first and last time, in all likelihood. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ Truth is, you are only buying time to think. Being outnumbered does not scare you, that is, if they even decide for an unorthodox alliance against a common foe that is yourself. But being outnumbered by Arthur is an entirely different story. Even as he stands now, skilfully still, waiting for you to act, his presence is an itch at the back of your mind, your very own eyes no longer a reliable ally. You did not plan for Arthur. How could you? <<NextPage start_art2>>/* [[start_art2]] */

Of all the places he could be today: from the spiky shorelines of the Skyward sea to the vast swamps of Salrena, why this forest? It spans for days on foot, how could it possibly be a mere coincidence? The alternative, however, is that he is painfully aware of your pursuit or, worse yet, of the <<print $q.king>>'s reason for it. Which would sting immensely, as that knowledge has already been denied to you. If so, you have very rotten luck. <<if $intro.wounded>>\ And then it gets worse. A mage hunter draws attention. Cannot be otherwise, his very presence is more detrimental to your plan than that of any drunkard. However, your conversation, hardly worth of such a generous title, is sadly not a breathtaking affair to observe.\ <<if $thuggery is 1>>\ Arthur tenses without you prompting it, and that is when you realize the existence of a tiny opening in your flank. <<else>>\ Arthur dips his chin, his body tense and composed. His ever elusive silhouette turns into a smudge, a figure that is barely human in shape, as if the time stands still and he is the only thing moving. And then he disappears. \<</if>> The thug, whose existence you have momentarily forced out of your mind, rips through time, sword thrust to hurt. Steel pierces your coat like butter, not stopping when it meets flesh. Only a brief moment of respite—and then the pain kicks in. <<if $intro.thuggery is 2>>\ <<set $intro.thug_dead to true>>\ Your weapon. Your grip on it is slipping but it will be enough. Heat rises all the way into the tip of the blade that tears the skin of the thug's throat in one labored swipe. His face immediately falls apart in a silent grimace—you can hardly hear anything—and he slides, ridiculously slowly, out of your view. The whiff of iron overwhelms what remains of your senses. You want to go down too, because your legs are bent and weak, but you cannot allow yourself such luxury. You cannot, the price is too steep with a hunter around, but you must. \<</if>>\ Your vision grows pale, every color of the advancing autumn muted into its dirty shade. Cold shivers stream down your back, causing your limbs to twitch. You could be making a sound, but your whole being is too //loud// to recognize if anything at all is happening outside of it. Your side burns, and you draw a sharp breath. The ground under your feet gives away, collapsing, speeding towards your face, and you slump.\ <<if $intro.thug_dead is false>>\ You watch everything through a faulty, cracked looking glass: smaller, more distant, your mind cripples and serves you mere crumbs of what it understands. The thug's head jerks, something contorts his body, invisible strings of force; the blade dipped in your insides flashes before your eyes, the red of it revolting. You blink slowly—and the man stills, his heavy body dropping to the ground to reveal the figure of Arthur behind him. <</if>>\ Even unable to stand, you keep moving, eyes ahead and one hand clutching your side like a seam of a garment falling apart. Your fingers dip into something sleek, something you try keeping off your spiraling mind, something that your magic cannot mend. But you need to retreat, because <<if $intro.thug_dead is true>>once he has understood what just happened<<else>>as the thug collapses, dead or still breathing<</if>>, Arthur's gaze turns to you. <<if $p.magic <= 15>>What is reflected there is cold, the gray of his eyes never before so reminiscent of steel. <</if>>You do not care for his compassion, but what he intends to do now is quite important. And he lets out a resounding whistle. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_art3]]</div> <<else>>\ "That's a mage!" the thug exclaims, gracelessly sticking out his finger as if you have stolen from him—and you haven't, not yet. "I am well aware," Arthur says, blunt and clipped. "Why are you still here?" The other man grunts, and you tread a purposeful step his way. Arthur has just issued him a dismissal, and that clashes with your intentions all too violently. "You think <<if ($p.he == "he") or ($p.he == "she")>>$p.he<<else>>they<</if>> would let me go?" he asks shakily. Something tells you he expects no answer. Well, you certainly won't let him go. But if Arthur steps in... The thug snaps, lording over his fate and choosing action. He charges again, the impatient buffoon. You ready your defenses, preparing to deal with him <<if $intro.thuggery is 1>>for real this time<<else>>as you have already set out to<</if>>. But before he has the chance to try his blade against your defenses once more, the meddler interferes the second time. Arthur rushes in, ridiculously fast, uses the fabric draping his shoulders as a net, swinging it to confuse the thug and take the advantageous spot behind his back. Wasting no time, he wraps his arm around the thug's neck, pressing and squeezing until the man ceases to struggle. Arthur releases him unceremoniously, letting him drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes. <div id="intro-art-goad"><span class="choice"><hr> <<link "Alright, commendable performance. \"My hero,\" I drawl.">> <<set $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +5)>> <<replace "#intro-art-goad">>"My hero," you drawl. "His hero, more like," he corrects. "You know you won't be laying a finger on him, don't you?" You already guessed as much. As big of a nuisance Arthur van der Garde is, he is only a forerunner of the real trouble. So he lets out a resounding whistle, summoning it. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_art3]]</div><</replace>> <</link>> <<link "All this training, and he thinks I can be intimidated by a tavern brawl takedown. \"Was that supposed to impress me?\"">> <<replace "#intro-art-goad">>"Was that supposed to impress me?" you frown. His head tilts, a flicker of innocence on his face. "No." "Then stay. Out. Of my. Way." "You know you won't be laying a finger on him, don't you?" You already guessed as much. As big of a nuisance Arthur van der Garde is, he is only a forerunner of the real trouble. So he lets out a resounding whistle, summoning it. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_art3]]</div><</replace>> <</link>> <<link "If he thinks an unnecessary favor such as this will make me talkative, he is in for a surprise.">> <<set $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -5)>> <<replace "#intro-art-goad">>"You know you won't be laying a finger on him, don't you?" he says to fill in your staunch silence. You already guessed as much. As big of a nuisance Arthur van der Garde is, he is only a forerunner of the real trouble. So he lets out a resounding whistle, summoning it. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_art3]]</div><</replace>> <</link>> <<if $intro.thruggery is 2>> <<link "All these delays… My frustration gets the better of me, and I growl, to no one in particular, \"I wanted him dead!\"">> <<set $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, -5)>> <<replace "#intro-art-goad">>Arthur lets out an amused cackle. "You know you won't be laying a finger on him, don't you?" You already guessed as much. As big of a nuisance Arthur van der Garde is, he is only a forerunner of the real trouble. So he lets out a resounding whistle, summoning it. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_art3]]</div><</replace>> <</link>> <</if>></span> \</div> <</if>>\

Leaves rustle in the wind. Birds flap their wings, announcing their departure. The forest is lulling itself into sleep, preparing for inevitable winter. You wait, stiff as if in expectation of <<if $intro.wounded>>more <</if>>pain. About time cavalry showed up. "That whistle of yours only rattles our horses." You are not fooled by the woman's reprimanding tone. The grip she has on the sword is firm, purposeful, and she walks towards you with careful steps, as easy change from Arthur with her cloud of chestnut hair and pinning glare. Her armor clinks, more solid metal parts, her place right in the fray of battle. A protector. Now, where is her charge?.. Not to be outdone, the prince descends from a tree branch with the ease of a cat, landing right into a thick patch of dewy moss. You cannot help it: you may not remember much, but your every instinct screams at you to find the chinks in his armor, any clues that would give you an upper hand. And so you search. His dark hair is unkempt, tousled by the wind—how long has he been traveling, how long has he been //watching//? His outfit stands out too: he may pose as a commoner, very much like the thug lying on the ground, but he does so very poorly. The leather coat is understated but without a scruff, new as day, which just does not happen if you are a seasoned adventurer on the road he pretends to be. Arthur wouldn't let that slip unless… A few hours into a trek then, you reckon, not too tired. No arms other than a dagger attached to the belt: all pretense, of course. You know that his most dangerous weapon, ahead of the personal guard and Arthur, is magic. <<if $intro.wounded>>Focusing is hard through all the sweat, chill, //pain//, but it gives you an alternative to nursing your misery. Pity you found nothing exploitable about him this time.<<else>>Pity there is nothing exploitable about this.<</if>> <<NextPage start_art4>>/* [[start_art4]] */

<<if $intro.wounded>>\ "Prince Gale," you murmur in an unsteady voice. Formality slips out of you, a habit you do not recall acquiring. The cloud of fog over your eyes makes it difficult to spot if there is anything in him stirred at this address, the unsaid part of it. A //mage// prince. <<if $intro.thug_dead>>\ Unlike his guard, who gives you her undivided attention, he breaks off from the group and approaches the body sprawled on the ground. His steps are slow, the way he sweeps the cloak to kneel and pushes up the sleeves is deliberate. Probably murmurs something, too. Like a ritual. A red glow takes bloom around his hands, something about it seeps into your chest and tugs at the stiff strings of //fear//. Its tame gentleness is deceptive, but you cannot look away; the thug is dead but what little is left of him, Gale takes. There isn't much, he is done quick. He walks up to you, and from up close the residue of the glow in his eyes is impossible to miss. It peeks from behind every line and curls in the irises like a snake preparing for rest. //Son of Frieda//, is what they call him, because simply digging the knife in is not enough, you //have// to twist it. What nonsense to believe any other day, but his stare drenched in the color of the setting sun breathes life into the legend. The translucent red wines you see running the length of his arms, dripping something off his fingertips—blood, because what else reeks of death this much—may very well be the fruit of your mind that is desperately clinging to life. Yet the picture is not any less bizarre for you thinking it imaginary. <<else>>\ Gale strides towards you, passing his guard who immediately begins emoting her protest and stutters, and hunkers down by your side. <</if>>\ Your back presses into the tree bark as you claw the ground, trying to push your body further away. What a pathetic sight it must be, but you sternly keep your thoughts on the action of it, showing that you will not just lie down and let them decide what happens to you. Gale, almost entirely still, regards the wound only once, then focuses on the person in front of him. Focuses on you. "Would you like me to take care of that?" "Gale!.." his guard exclaims, as if only now piecing together his intentions, her tone stern and her nose scrunched. There is no honoring the status for the prince never meant to inherit the throne. It is all the same wind to you, but, unfortunately, this shroud of purposeful invisibility frees him up for other things, things that make him interfere with your dealings. "There is no cause for alarm, Darla," he says, gaze locked with yours. <span class="choice"><hr><ul> <li>[[If the fool wants to help, I won't stand in his way.|start_heal][$intro.healed to true; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +6)]]</li> <li><<if $intro.thug_dead>>[[He seeks to help but stinks of death, offering me scraps of some drunkard like it is a blessing. Bile burns in my throat at the thought of him using this revolting magic on me. Who knows what is truly does to a person.|start_noheal][$intro.healed to false; $gregory +=1]] <<else>>[[Neither he nor his filthy magic will be touching me.|start_noheal][$intro.healed to false; $gregory +=1]]<</if>></li> <li>[[Accepting help like I am some snared animal? I would rather bleed out on my way back than let myself be patched up by the likes of him.|start_noheal][$intro.healed to false; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, -6)]]</li> <li>[[I do not trust him one bit, not even through the fog of pain. That is a firm no.|start_noheal][$intro.healed to false;]]</li> <li>[[Yes! My head is so enveloped in fog, and I do not remember anything in my life ever hurting this much.|start_heal][$intro.healed to true; $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +8)]]</li> <li>[[Oddly enough I trust him to have, at worst, neutral intentions. Improving my physical state is only to my advantage, so I will allow it.|start_heal][$intro.healed to true; $p.affinity.gale to Math.fm($p.affinity.gale, +8)]]</li></ul></span> <<else>>\ "Prince Gale," you acknowledge. Formality slips out of you, a habit you do not recall acquiring. Years of onslaught by the willing relatives and opportunistic officials must have steeled him to each and every form of the taunt, because not a single muscle on his face moves at this address, the unsaid part of it. A //mage// prince. "You better start explaining," the woman says lowly. She may not be tall, but her scowl all but makes up for it in trying to look imposing. "I'd listen to Darla," Arthur chimes in, fingers brushing the fletching sticking out of his quiver. <div class="choice"><hr><ul> <li>[[This is bad. Maybe made even worse by me looking like a clueless idiot, because it doesn't seem like I can get a word out of myself.|start_chat][$path to 1; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, -5)]]</li> <li>[[Careful will get me out of this. I begin slowly backing away: the three of them trying to back me into a thickness of trees is far from an ideal negotiating position.|start_chat][$path to 2;]]</li> <li>[[I put my hands up in mock surrender and smile steadily. Nothing a handful of dust in the eyes staring at you intently cannot fix.|start_chat][$path to 3; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +5)]]</li></ul></div> \<</if>>

Not even your head makes this decision, it is the numbing sensation below your ribs that does. Still, your claws are sunk deep into the remnants of your consciousness, and it tells you to remain cautious. Without taking your eyes off his, you nod, and keep watch as he slowly inches closer. Darla the Guard steps closer, and all you manage to do before the tip of her sword presses to your neck is take a small, painful breath. You gaze up at her with your eyes alone. It stings. "Don't try anything," she says through gritted teeth. "In fact, don't even move, or I will as well." Not that you can do much from where you lie. Her threats are of no concern, and you look to Gale. A trail of meek red light seeps into his open palm. You aren't watching the magic, though, you are watching him. Unlike the furrowed glare of Darla that burns almost as much as the wound, or the taut grip that Arthur maintains around the fletching, Gale remains calm. Either he truly finds you weak and posing him no danger, or he is just very good at pretending. Granted, with magic at his disposal, he has quite a leeway to take risks. He doesn't touch you. With a flick of his wrist, he sends the threads of light to curl around the wound. "Gale, don't overdo it," Darla cautions. Her voice oozes with genuine worry. "Yes," Arthur laughs, "tread carefully or you shall have to seek forgiveness of House Belrose." It is all mere noise to you. The pain that has been draining you like a puncture in a waterskin fades. Your chest slowly starts to feel fuller, allowing you deeper breaths and your head clarity. He works towards significant relief fast. Maybe he is wary after all. When the fog clears, you peel your eyes open to see the red glow around him slowly start to fade. The wound has sewn itself shut in a bloodied mess, and you discover that his magic does not repair clothes. "Would you stand back now?" Darla asks, not letting Gale out of her sight until he walks off. Then she turns to you. <<if $intro.masked>>She lifts her weapon and with the tip alone hooks the fabric of your face covering. Although you remain motionless, the very act is unnerving. Slowly she pulls it down, all without ever scraping your face.<</if>> "You look decent enough. Time to come clean." You sigh. <<NextPage start_interrogation>>/* [[start_interrogation]] */

"Keep you filthy magic away!" Your form weakens every breathing moment, and even so you try to put some distance between you and his poisonous and very much pretend helpfulness. <<if $intro.thug_dead>>"It is your kill," he says flatly. //The life force you have allowed him to harvest.//<<else>>"I am merely offering to heal your wound," he says flatly.<</if>> "You will bleed out and will not make it to your camp." "Is that what we are doing?" Darla intervenes, irritation creeping into her voice. "Letting $p.him go?" "Darla, don't forget yourself," Arthur chides--you didn't even notice him approach. He is, however, just as tense. None of that seems to move the stolid expression on Gale's face. He looks to you, expecting you to change your mind. <span class="choice"><hr><ul> <li>[[What a tragic fate has befallen him. Cursed magic, despised by his own father, stripped of most of his privilege—and now deaf at such a young age.|start_noheal2][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[No need for the theatrics, it is only a flesh wound. I will be fine without his help. Somehow.|start_noheal2][$path to 3]]</li> <li>[[Not that he convinced me, but if I think about it, it improves my chances of making it in one piece. Fine, whatever. I will let him help.|start_nohealheal][$path to 1;$intro.healed to true; $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +7)]]</li> <<if $p.mind.magic is 2>><li>[[I'm very positive on not wanting his help. My own magic will have to do. Alas, this means outing myself as a mage.|start_nohealband][$intro.band_maid to true]]</li><</if>> <<if $intro.thug_dead>><li>[[Well, it is my kill indeed. I allow him to heal me, as long as it is mostly thanks to me.|start_nohealheal][$path to 2; $intro.healed to true; $p.ruthless to Math.fm($p.ruthless, +5)]]</li><</if>></ul></span>

<<if $path is 1>>"Hard of hearing?" you snarl. "Keep your magic away." "The slob wants to die, Gale," Arthur says with glee. "What shall become of us as a nation if we deny a dying $p.man $p.his last wish?" Gale dares to look at you with disappointment, all the while his hands are drenched in some ghastly magic that lords over life like it were a gold coin to trade. The hypocrisy, the arrogance⁠--made no better by his cold demeanor and dispassionate eyes... But these are just thoughts, and even they, their anger, weigh heavy on you; forcing them into words invites a scratch at the back of your throat, a thick lump that is too painful to push out.<<else>>"Unlike some of you here, I have been in a real fight," you say, swallowing the tired notes of your voice. "And I know what a common stab wound looks like." Darla scoffs, stopping herself from rolling her eyes.<</if>><<set $intro.band_gale to true>><<if $intro.thug_dead>> Despite his unwavering front, there is a crack in it when your eyes meet Gale's, but he looks away before your can make sense of it.<</if>> Gale goes through his bag, unwraps something and with one sharp, decisive motion rips a long piece of fabric that he hands over like it is a given you would accept. Tension rips your body apart, your gaze dancing between the rag and his face. When you think that you still need to make it on foot somehow, you reluctantly accept. It is merely a stripe of cloth, you tell yourself. A stripe of cloth and nothing else. Ignoring the snapping pain and the way the fabric greedily drinks your blood into the ugly stains of red, you dress the wound until the pressure numbs it just enough to move. "Would you stand back now?" Darla asks, not letting Gale out of her sight until he walks off. Then she turns to you. <<if $intro.masked>>She lifts her weapon and with the tip alone hooks the fabric of your face covering. Although you remain motionless, the very act in unnerving. Slowly she pulls it down, all without ever scraping your face.<</if>> "You look decent enough. Time to come clean." <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_interrogation]]</div>

<<if $path is 1>>You do not like the way it hampers your breathing any more than you like showing weakness to this bunch of royal rejects. But you are down already, so if he is foolish enough to restore you back to health, you might just bargain with your ego. "Do it." You sound stilted. <<else>>You acquiesce, knackered by the pain, the effort, and the tension. "Fine."<</if>> Darla the Guard steps closer, and all you manage to do before the tip of her sword presses to your neck is take a small, painful breath. You gaze up at her with your eyes alone. It stings. "Don't try anything," she says through gritted teeth. "In fact, don't even move, or I will as well." Not that you can do much from where you lie. Her threats are of no concern, and you look to Gale. A trail of meek red light seeps into his open palm. You aren't watching the magic, though, you are watching him. Unlike the furrowed glare of Darla that burns almost as much as the wound, or the taut grip that Arthur maintains around the fletching, Gale remains calm. Either he truly finds you weak and posing him no danger, or he is just very good at pretending. Granted, with magic at his disposal, he has quite a leeway to take risks. He doesn't touch you. With a flick of his wrist, he sends the threads of light to curl around the wound. "Gale, don't overdo it," Darla cautions. Her voice oozes with genuine worry. "Yes," Arthur laughs, "tread carefully or you shall incur the wrath of House Belrose." It is all mere noise to you. The pain that has been draining you like a sap to the bark of a tree fades. Your chest feels fuller, allowing you deeper breaths and your head clarity. He works towards significant relief fast. Maybe he is wary after all. Sadly, his magic does not repair clothes. "Would you stand back now?" Darla asks, not letting Gale out of her sight until he walks off. Then she turns to you. <<if $intro.masked>>She lifts her weapon and with the tip alone hooks the fabric of your face covering. Although you remain motionless, the very act in unnerving. Slowly she pulls it down, all without ever scraping your face.<</if>> "You look decent enough. Time to come clean." <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_interrogation]]</div>

<<set $intro.mage_known to true>><<set $intro.gale_knows to true>>The magic heeds to your call. The hand clutching around the wound, drenched in blood, is wrapped in a glow. "Gale!" Darla makes a commotion, but her concerns are of no importance to you. Through sweat and shivering, your whole focus is on the magic. Just the right pressure, just the right thickness. Something you can maintain until you can get to safety. To keep the blood inside. "Oh, this is interesting," you hear Arthur's voice through the haze. "<<print $q.name>>'s rat." Pain is too much to even glare at him. You gingerly remove your hand, clammy, tense, and look at the lightly glowing cloud that holds the flesh together. You draw a deep breath, through pain and through the hissing about to escape your lips. You will manage. In front of you the scene has changed. Darla has one hand on Gale's collar, having pulled him away and upright; the other has her sword pointed at you. <<if $intro.masked>>She lifts it and with the tip alone hooks the fabric of your face covering. Although you remain motionless, the very act in unnerving. Slowly she pulls it down, all without ever scraping your face.<</if>> "You look decent enough, //mage//. Time to come clean," she says, eyes squinted. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|start_interrogation]]</div>

<<if $intro.weapon is 1>>"You think this has to do with--" Arthur begins, only to stop right where it gets interesting. "<<print $q.he.toUpperFirst()>> didn't send a simple underling," Darla explains impatiently. "This is their striking force. It means something. Has to."<<elseif $intro.band_maid>>"So what is our mage friend doing here?" Arthur asks, his spirits visibly improved. "Anything that the Regent requires you to do, by any chance?" Your mouth twists, and you force it into a thin line. The disrespect of not using $q.his full title is right up there with the unpleasantness of pain. "Hiding, thinking you won't be found out," Darla scoffs. "Now, what did you want from this boor?"<<else>>"Now, I would hate to waste my time doing the job of the patrolmen," Arthur begins, spirited, "but you are not a simple bandit, are you now? The oaf has nothing to his name but a foul mouth." Darla listens to him, her gaze slowly shifting onto you. "These are the old smuggler footpaths," she says. "Wanted to save a coin on paying him?" That is... not a bad guess at all.<</if>> <span class="choice"><hr><ul> <li>[[Oh? She is not as dense, it seems. Where is the harm in leading her around a little? A confused enemy is a better enemy to have.|start_interrogation2][$p.crafty to Math.fm($p.playful, +5); $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +15); $p.speech to Math.fm($p.speech, +15);$path to 1]]</li> <li>[["I don't want them to think of this as anything important. The "+$q.king+"'s plans are far from complete."|start_interrogation2][$p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +15);$path to 2]]</li> <li>[[She thinks I'll talk? That is just adorable.|start_interrogation2][$path to 3; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, -10)]]</li></ul></span>

<<if $path is 1>>A mage, a mage //hunter// and what seems to be a regular knight. Every path covered, one's weakness is another's strength, no wonder they travel in such a colorful unit.<<elseif $path is 2>>Not that it makes your predicament look any better.<<else>><<if $intro.thug_dead>>"Oh, that is so //not// going to work," Arthur says with a flippant chuckle. You flash him a quick smile.<<else>>"It is such a nice weather," you chirp. "How about we each go forward with our business?" <</if>><</if>>\ Darla steps closer, chin tilted up. <<if $intro.masked>>She lifts her weapon and with the tip alone hooks the fabric of your face covering. Although you remain motionless, the very act in unnerving. Slowly she pulls it down, all without ever scraping your face.<</if>> "What are you doing here? Details, now." More importantly, you want to ask, what is //he// doing here, so far away from the shelter of the capital. But this question will have to wait for a time more opportune. You weren't sent to spy on the $q.king's nephew, after all. <<NextPage start_interrogation>>/* [[start_interrogation]] */

<<if $path is 1>><<if $intro.weapon is 1 or $intro.band_maid>>"All alone on my mission," you say with exaggerated helpfulness. "Am I just that insignificant or that strong? Or, perhaps, I do things for my sole benefit from time to time, things that have nothing to do with the Gray Regent?" Darla changes in the face, creases frame her deep blue eyes that glint dangerously. She has freckles, you notice. "And a mighty mage was foiled by what, a muscle with a pointy metal stick?" Arthur remarks, and him you are far less inclined to look at. "Everyone has a bad day," you admit easily, although the lie tastes bitter on your tongue. Arthur only grunts. "Heard that, Gale? Perhaps we shouldn't worry about <<print $q.name>>'s plans at all. Perhaps the competence of $q.his people is enough to thwart them." Tension returns to your shoulders. You are careful not to let irritation shine through your eyes. <<else>>"My employer may or may not be a person in power," you make a point to glance at Arthur. "And they may or may not want certain activities of theirs to remain a secret." "So you're a sellsword," Darla concludes, bringing the tip of her sword an inch closer to you. <<if $intro.weapon is 3>>"Don't I need to first wield a sword for that?" you remark with mock earnestness. She scoffs.<<else>>You snort. "Just because I wield a sword?"<</if>> "It is enough that you admit to a crime of assassination," Arthur interjects, looking to the sky through the leaves. Then he rolls his head to lock his eyes with yours. "You didn't need to hand us over the reason to have you apprehended." "Don't look so pleased," Darla says, eyes narrowed. "You would mostly be a nuisance."<</if>> <<elseif $path is 2>>"That man stole something of mine," you say with a twinge of bitterness. "I was simply getting it back." "That man?" Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Would that be so outrageous to believe?" you frown. <<if $intro.thuggery is 1>>"That you would use him as a practice dummy over it?"<<elseif $intro.thuggery is 2>>"That petty theft warrants death?"<<else>>"That you wouldn't demand it back on the spot?"<</if>> he narrows his eyes. "Yes." <<if $intro.weapon is 1 or $intro.band_maid>>He does all the groundwork for you, lining up the trumpets and laying down the path with petals. Smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "Should a mage then expect justice in these lands? That if I took my trouble to the town hall, I would not be chased out of the kingdom?" You feel a little lightheaded, but it is worth every risk. Arthur draws a sharp breath, you can see his jaw grind, having gotten used to the stinging in your eyes. There are so many threads to grab at here, he must be at a loss which one is the thickest. "Do //not// speak of mage justice," Darla says instead, her voice lowered, bringing the tip of her sword an inch closer to you.<<else>>"You may complain about my methods all you want, but it gives you no right to insert yourselves into my matters." Darla lets out an exasperated sigh that lifts a wisp of hair over her eyebrow, and you fight back the urge to smile. "This is getting exhausting."<</if>><<elseif $path is 3>>Darla meets your silence with a raised eyebrow. After a few more nearly quiet moments, she starts to see the futility of her question. "Now why do we always meet the boring ones?" she complains. It is now your turn to raise your eyebrow at her, and you will not be upstaged, so you do so with a light tilt of your head. You are anything but boring--<<if $intro.weapon is 1 or $intro.band_maid>>she surely understands that<<else>>though she does not know that<</if>>. Well, silence is a game you can play for a while with ease. Something you cannot say with confidence about your company.<</if>> Something nags at you, however. And not just you, because Arthur is quicker to figure out what exactly. "Gale?" he calls out, only to get nothing back. Darla still fixes you with a glare, because apparently, someone has to. At this same moment you realize that when he wants to, the prince can move //really// quietly. You glance past Darla, at Gale who crouches next to the thug prone on the ground. A small pouch is dragged into the light, sitting right in Gale's palm. Even from afar the luxurious viridian velvet of it easily catches your eye. So //that// is what it is. You want to scream. Should it even surprise you that one le Tellier would easily fall on the trail of the other? "What is that?" Arthur covers the ground between them in a quick jog, bending to perch his hands on his knees. "Magic," Gale replies, voice dull. Enthralled. His other hand approaches the string that keeps the contents secure in the pouch, and your teeth sink into the lower lip. Your chest heaves, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. This is no good. Nothing good will come out of it. This is not how //you// would have handled it. <span class="choice"><hr> [[Not like that, no. He will likely endanger everything around himself, me included. I have to warn him against meddling with the pouch.|start_warn][$p.vil to Math.fm($p.vil, -5)]] [[He said it himself, it is something to do with magic, and you never handle it with such recklessness. If the fool is itching for pain, I won't stand in his way.|start_nowarn][$p.vil to Math.fm($p.vil, +5); $path to 1]] [[I'm curious to see what it does, actually. No better way to find out than leave him to his own devices.|start_nowarn][$gregory to +1; $p.ruthless to Math.fm($p.ruthless, +8)]] [[As curious as I am about the contents, it feels wrong to let Gale take the brunt of it. I should warn him.|start_warn][$p.vil to Math.fm($p.vil, -5); $p.ruthless to Math.fm($p.ruthless, -8); $p.affinity.gale to Math.fm($p.affinity.gale, +6)]]</span>

Jax knows what it does, of what you are sure, and yet they sent you on this errand without sharing it with you. Now the risk is all yours. "Don't!" you cry out, causing Darla to jump. You do not move, not when her weapons are so sharp and her eyes have found you again. "You //said// it's magic, you're not supposed to touch it before you even know what it could do!" Your words do not reach Gale: for all the strength in your voice, he is transfixed by the pouch as if around him the world stood still. They do, however, reach Arthur. Blood freezes in your veins as you watch him slap the prince's hand, sending the pouch flying in a shallow arc. But nothing happens, the string keeps the contents safely inside. <<if $intro.wounded>>The wave of relief is so strong, it momentarily overpowers the iron-hot feeling in your torn side.<</if>> You allow yourself to slump a little. Arthur fusses around the prince who looks like he has just awoken from a deep sleep. Your eyes meet, his gaze hollow and looking somewhere about you, but you have no kindness to explain. "What is that?" Darla asks--no, commands. Someone keeps digging your hole, and you have no choice but to drop further down. "''Speak''." <span class="choice"><hr> [[This won't do, I need to make up something just to get her off my back.|start_warn2][$path to 1; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +7)]] [[If I don't really know what is in that pouch, what does she want from me?|start_warn2][$path to 2]] [[So... The mood is certainly not ideal. I wonder if a joke is going to work here?|start_warn2][$path to 3; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +7)]] [[She may not take silence for an answer, but that's all that I'm willing to offer.|start_warn2][$path to 4; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, -7)]]</span>

<<if $path is 1>>\ "Sleeper dust," you say with strung reluctance. It was a quick thought, born from one glimpse at the pouch. Hardly believable one would go to such lengths for a handful of a powder that is a potent nightcap at best--but anything works as long as Darla eases up on the threats. She seems reluctant to accept your explanation, but does not argue, only glares. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ "I don't know," you say sternly, glaring at her. "I was never told." "Bull-" she steps closer, blade at your unprotected neck, "-shit." "You want me to lie to you?" you challenge. "You want me to move closer?" she parries, scowl forming into an angry smile. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ "Fear not, I am willing to take it off your hands," you jest. "Absolutely for free." "Oh." She approaches, raising her weapon. "You're a funny one." "I'm being helpful," you say lightly. "You are being //annoying//." <<else>>\ She waits a few scarce moments. "I don't //really// need you to talk, you know?" she says in a suddenly low voice, just to you. The tip of her blade finds your jugular notch with nearly imperceptible swiftness, sharpness threatening even as you simply breathe. "I think you do," you reply just as quietly. <</if>>\ "Darla, please," Gale calls out, and her head whips back. He looks rattled, quicker breaths and hand reaching out to rub his neck in need of comfort. Finally, at least //something// can bother him. Arthur trudges behind him, all the gloss has faded off him. His head is stooped, the pouch lies in his unsure hands. "What do we do with it?" Darla asks, her gaze flicking between her companions. The edge in her voice is dissipating, you notice, maybe for seeing her charge stand on his own and seemingly unharmed. "Arthur," Gale calls out, glancing at the pouch that is now in the hunter's grasp. "Hold it for me. I might find something in the archives, but until then it is better in your care, it seems." You almost regret warning him. Now your odds are even worse. Disastrous, in fact. "Surely, but what do we do with this one?" Darla answers your thoughts, bringing the matter of your person back into focus. Gale takes no time to even think this over. "You should go," he says, addressing you. "What?!" Darla exclaims, and you bite down the urge to echo her. Your eyes snap to Arthur, but he only sighs. "We have what $p.he <<if $p.plural>>were<<else>>was<</if>> after," he says. The certainty in his voice, the conviction of it, annoys you. It shouldn't have unraveled straight into their hands. Perhaps you can still snatch it from between their fingers. Somehow. Test your shoddy luck. It would bite off your hand, you just know it. "Yes?" Darla replies to her companion, irritated. "Yes." He scowls at you and then looks at her again. "We will talk. But later." "Leave," Gale says quietly, as if you are overstaying your welcome. It coaxes a huff out of Darla, but even she stops resisting. No need to be told thrice. Before anyone can change their mind, you race through the forest and away from the place of your failure. Even when you can no longer hear them--only your broken breaths--you feel Darla's icy look on your back, chasing you with every gust of the infrequent wind. <<NextPage start_flee>>/* [[start_flee]] */

<<set $intro.nowarn to true>><<if $path is 1>>This is an opportunity. You do not know //for sure// what the effects are going to be, but more likely than not--in your ideal outcome--it will take out both Gale and Arthur, leaving you to deal with Darla.<<if $intro.wounded>>Which in your state would still pose quite a challenge.<</if>> <</if>>Gale pulls at the tie and it comes undone, just like that. All that stood between you and some answers was a flimsy, hasty bow. You cannot see all too clear, but something spills into his palm. It looks like glimmering sand, and then, like a mirror shard bouncing sunlight into your eyes, it starts glowing red, the color of Gale's magic. Sparks rise into the air slowly. And then they blast in all directions. You wince. <<NextPage start_nowarn2>>/* [[start_nowarn2]] */

The air is charged, clinging to your skin, numbing your tongue. Your eyes wander over the scene in front of your eyes. Darla watches Gale, mouth agape. Overtaken by his own magic, he hovers over the pouch; red light envelops him as he remains still. <<if $intro.weapon is 1>>Arthur, in his unease, sweeps over Gale, dragging him away from the pouch, spilling the dust in the process. You cannot see what exactly is happening to the prince, but he hardly reacts to the new position, to the cape now biting into his neck, to the sudden emptiness in his palm. Arthur grabs his face and calls out his name over and over again, trying to get his attention, but that changes absolutely nothing. "Darla, come here," he instructs. You recognize strain in his voice. She meets your gaze, frowning, //regretful//. One step towards the commotion, she cannot seem to make herself move. "Darla!" Arthur repeats. "<b>Forget $p.him.</b>" That seems to do the trick. <<else>>A grunt. A thud. Arthur, closest to Gale, drops to his knees and clutches his head. His bow falls by his side like a discarded wooden stick. He groans, tugging at the strands caught between his fingers. "Gale..." he rasps, guttural. You don't feel any much different, but Arthur twists even more, fighting for a breath. "Gale, <b><i>STOP!</i></b>" It becomes immediately obvious that Gale is of no help in his entranced state. With much effort, Arthur begins to paw at his belt, each move shakier than the previous. After long fussing around the bag, a small vial of sky blue liquid drops through his trembling fingers. Bellona poison, the secret of mage hunters known to everyone. It lies in the grass and he can't seem to find it. <</if>>Darla flees your side like a falcon with talons ready. Momentarily for her you do not exist. You do not even think before you turn tail and run. <<NextPage start_flee>>/* [[start_flee]] */

<<if $intro.wounded>><<if $intro.healed>>Although you try and pace yourself for the injury you have suffered earlier, you soon discover that the only discomfort lingering in your side is the lashing of occasional wind through the rip in your coat. You can be faster. You can be fast. So you dash, letting dry branches whip your attire as all you need to care about is just not falling. Soon <<else>>The mass of pain in your side forces you to limp, to seek support of the surrounding trunks when an occasional outburst halts your step and aches for a release in your voice. The outlines of the forest dance, split and merge and //hurt//; you crash into something, held only by whatever it is supports you by the shoulder upright. You pant through gritted teeth. And walk. It takes a while until <</if>><<else>>You are only concerned with putting distance between yourself and the royal hounds, free to make noise as long as you are fast enough. Where to does not matter, you have the means to make up for it later. So you dash, letting dry branches whip your attire as you need to care about is just not falling. Soon <</if>>you stumble into a steep slope, at the top of which you can guess a road lies. The trees are rarer here, your boots clearing way through barren underbrush and breaking dry twigs with sickening crunch. At the feet of the hill seems like a decent place to catch your breath and finally acquire a direction. You drop onto the ground <<if $intro.wounded>><<if $intro.healed>>with unsuspected ease<<else>>in a painfully slow fashion, bending your knee first and gently depositing your weight onto your palm<</if>><<else>>with ease<</if>> and rest your back along the incline. The musky-sweet scent of leaves immediately hits your nose as you greedily take in the air. The sunlight, already held back by the thick cushion of clouds, is slowly starting to vane. You sigh. Everything has gone to shit. The pouch you were sent to acquire is now probably on its way to the stronghold of the Viper King. Its contents <<if $intro.nowarn>><<if $intro.weapon is 1>>seem to have an odd effect on the mages--which he will no doubt make use of and what you should have been told of in advance.<<else>>are explosive enough to stun a mage hunter--and to lose such an edge would invariably hurt your efforts.<</if>><<else>>remain a mystery to you, and even the Gray Regent cannot be confident of its properties without actually seeing it for <<print $q.him>>self.<</if>><<if $intro.band_maid>>Your guts are probably hours away from festering with every disease known to man.<</if>> Someone will have to take the blame. <div class="choice"><hr> <ul><li>[[Jax. They barely provided me with enough information to start with. Not only did I waste so much time tracking the thug, I did not even know what exactly was I fetching and who it would end up putting on my tracks.|start_flee2][$p.memories.role to Math.fm($p.memories.role, +10)]]</li> <li>[["Something I will never admit out loud: " + $q.king + " " + $q.name + ". " + $q.he.toUpperFirst() + " should have been more careful about securing the original shipment, not have me rip the trophies pillaged from the wreckage off the hands of some nobody."|start_flee2][$p.memories.y to Math.fm($p.memories.y, +10); $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -10)]]</li> <li>[[Gale, the ever thorn in the Gray Regent's plans. His affinity for magic always finds a way to insert him into our business.|start_flee2][$p.vil to Math.fm($p.vil, +5)]]</li> <li>[[As every time when magic is involved, plans tend to shrivel and die the moment a hunter appears. My mind wouldn't have been so occupied had Arthur not shown up.|start_flee2][$p.vil to Math.fm($p.vil, +5)]]</li> <li>[[It can only ever be myself. I should have been prepared for even the most ridiculous complications—which is exactly what ended up happening.|start_flee2][$p.memories.incident to Math.fm($p.memories.incident, +10)]]</li> <li>[[If anyone can look at that mess and find the exact moment it all went to shit, they can be my guest. I for sure don't see it.|start_flee2][]]</li></ul></div>

Although blame is only secondary. Most important right now is to get back home. Without tearing your eyes off the sky, you rummage through your travel satchel. Buried deep in it, away from the prying eyes, lies a small stone, carefully wrapped in a rough linen cloth just so you could always find it even in the darkness. The fabric drops onto your stomach, and you bring the crystal close to your face. It is a rough cut, pulled out like a tooth from a cavern near Riante, you have been told. The depths of it are muddy, thousand years of uncleanness frozen in time; but the moment it lights up with a gentle yellow glow, the reflections along the edges hide these imperfections. Very soon fog will start descending onto the woods, and so your short break must come to an end. Once upright, you flex your shoulders and start treading a small circle. The light of the crystal flickers--it would make a poor torch once you are robbed of any semblance of the daylight--and when you find the main road on your right, the light gets so strong you hurry to close your fist around it. You look around, gaze freezing on the crooked shadows of the underbrush. No sound. You start walking. <<NextPage start_flee3>>/* [[start_flee3]] */

You pass countless fallen trees, a creek with cold fresh water, burrows that you try to walk by in a wide clearance. \<<if $intro.healed>> The ghost of the pain in your side is still fresh. No matter how many times your hand brushes the torn leather and comes up dry, you keep checking. It gives you comfort, strangely enough, and helps you rub some warmth into the strip of exposed skin. <<elseif $intro.band_gale or $intro.band_maid>>\ It isn't easy to do with your side held together by a miracle. Every cold stretch of the forest, you brush the tender spot with your fingertips to check for wetness. Walking irritates the fresh cut, as if pain wasn't enough of a sign. You silently will for it to keep from spilling entirely, at least until you can drop at Jax's feet. Before you get to do that, however, you need to walk. <</if>>\ You hide in the safety of an outcrop when you hear hooves strike the long-suffering road, someone rushing towards the warmth of a fireplace in the final hours of light. You feel cold descend onto your face and limbs. Rubbing them helps a little. <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>Despite that sweat pours down your back, making the shivers that much worse. You cannot help counting the moments, which is all you can do while your legs begin to dangerously sway.<</if>> You hear the distant cries of birds die down, of those that have remained and prey on the decay of nature. They find both your presence and the light emanating off the crystal disturbing. Fortunately for them, eventually it stops. <<NextPage jax_1>>/* [[jax_1]] */

You cut through a dry undergrowth, brushing soil with the tips of your boots as your eyes are on the pulsating light of the crystal. A deep sigh escapes your chest, and you tear your gaze off it with effort, straining it against the dimmer surroundings until you find the flickering beacon in the distance. Despite everything, you feel relief. Even the steps you cover toward it seem effortless. The air here seems to lightly scintillate in a way that is obvious to those familiar with magic. To some, it is unsettling, making them feel observed, others simply note that it isn't right and let it be, plenty find it mesmerizing. It tells you that your handler traveled directly here, remnants of their magic richly present. By the time you are upon them, Jax seems to have detached from the strikingly comfortable post they have fashioned for themself in the gnarled branches of an oak tree. That is the thing about Jax: their plans are as tidy as their attire. A cream tunic with a ruffled front is fastened with an ornate pin tight around their neck, and a woolen overcoat sits on top, betraying that Jax is not, after all, impervious to cold weather. They show no inquisitiveness, no rush to assault you with questions, but in your limited experience, they always look disinterested. "I am not late," you hastily say, although no complaint has escaped them yet. "I am not." <<if $intro.wounded>>\ They take a small step closer, looking you over. The light of the crystal makes it easier, so you unwittingly hide it as though doing this would conceal your failure. But their interest lies with \ <<if $intro.healed>>\ the ripped hole in your padded leather. Not even dusk can hide the darkened edges where the material has hungrily soaked in your blood. Your skin peeks between them, damaged yet sealed. It must make a curious sight for Jax, but you know they will not like the explanation for it. <<elseif $intro.band_maid>>\ the wound in your side, blood congealed under your unpractised magical design. You were fortunate that some edges took to your idea and stemmed the bleeding because you're sure that most of magic has long dissipated and the gnarly corners of the cut are still wet. <<elseif $intro.band_gale>>\ the band around your torso, soaked with dark red with a freshly glowing, wet middle. You should have let it rest, and yourself with it, rather than dragging a bleeding wound through a forest, but at the very least you are fortunate that your breath has not wasted through it. <</if>>\ <<if $intro.healed>>\ "Is this recent?" they ask, looking from the tear to your face for confirmation. Even for them, there is no obvious answer. "Yes, but..." You place a hand above the split, still too conscious of the pain you felt before you let the prince work his magic, and rest it there. "I handled the worst of it." Jax is careful, always thinking of survival. They should understand why you accepted the help--but you still do not rush to reveal it. Later, perhaps, once Mort is done fussing over you, everyone will find out anyway, but right now Jax awaits your explanation. The strange pouch and its contents, and the fact that you do not have it. <<include "jax_1_healed">> <<else>>\ "You are wounded," they murmur, eyes that were almost bored a moment ago widening. It is rare you catch Jax by surprise, but you can't celebrate what is paid with your blood. Small cuts and bruises never stood in your way before, this being the first time you return to them one miscalculated movement away from bleeding anew. "What-- How did you get here?" It is a strange thing to ask. As if you could all of a sudden discover that, just like Jax themself, you could perform magic of the Third. The truth is simpler. You offer a quick sighting of the crystal, your guiding light on this trek. "I walked." They ought to know, being the very person who laid it on the desk before you and instructed you to follow its guidance, but they look unsettled by your straightforward answer. <<include "jax_1_wounded">> <</if>>\ <<else>>\ They take a small step closer, looking you over as if they don't know how small your purchase was supposed to be and that you would tuck it away for safety. The light of the crystal only makes the inspection easier, so you unwittingly hide it as though doing this would conceal your failure. "You do not have it," they say with little inflection. There is no room for disappointment in their voice, but if anything, they sound a little surprised. Then maybe the level of intrusion you have experienced will entertain them as well. <<include "jax_1_healthy">> <</if>>\

<div class="choice"><hr> <ul><li>[[I already know I failed. I am especially not in the mood to be questioned.|jax_1_moody][$p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -4)]]</li> <li>[["If I calmly explain everything to Jax, they will surely find a way to still retrieve the pouch. I really do not wish to face the " + $q.king + " empty-handed."|jax_1_plotting][$p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +10)]]</li> <li>[[Unlike most, I never felt intimidated by Jax, which helped me keep...somewhat friendly with them. I will make them see it my way.|jax_1_friendly][$p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +4); $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -5); $jax.rel.fr to Math.fm($jax.rel.fr, +5)]]</li></ul></div>

<<if ($intro.band_maid or $intro.band_gale)>>\ The discomfort of having to reveal your failure pales in comparison with the throbbing sensation in your side. "I don't have the item you tasked me with retrieving," you say, body tense. "And the questions can wait until I no loner have a hole in me." Jax only frowns--but that is not a question. Instead, they effortlessly turn around, and the moment they raise their hand, a familiar chill travels your skin. <<else>>\ <<if $intro.healed>>\ "I do not have the item you tasked me with retrieving," you say, teeth gritted. A mounting heap of things you need to explain, and you have no desire to even begin. Frowning, Jax looks away from the tear in your leathers. "I figured. What happened?" "I'll explain once we're safe." //Home//, you aren't adding. They are your only means of getting there, away from these woods and their upsetting coincidences. "There is nothing to do about it now." <<else>>\ You cannot help but scowl. "What an astute observation. There is nothing to be done about it now, so we better regroup and go over what went so wrong." At the last part, you stare at them unblinking. It wasn't supposed to go like this, so if they have any questions, they ought to be asking themself. And yet they do not budge. <</if>>\ "I would like to know more," they reply stonily, and by the lack of any effort to move, you realize you won't be getting anywhere unless you tell them something. "If you do not //mind//." Fortunately, Jax is not a person of many words or excuses. You give them a very dry explanation, which is all you can force in your current state. Although you spring it upon them, Jax shows no bewilderment when you tell them of the Gray Regent's nephew, which is vastly different from what you felt when you ran into him yourself. In the aftermath they look thoughtful, running their thumb along their mouth pensively. "Curious," is all they say. You didn't need to waste breath here to get only this back. As though your revelations warrant nothing else from them, Jax turns around. The moment they raise their hand, a familiar chill travels your skin, and it soothes you somewhat. <</if>>\ <<include "jax_2">>

<<if ($intro.band_maid or $intro.band_gale)>>\ "A little more to the point," you say, trying to catch their eye. You need them, their assistance. "I don't-- I couldn't retrieve that item. The pouch." "Yes," they murmur, and you aren't even sure that is in response to what you just said. "It... exchanged hands, but I think if we hurry, we can still--" "That isn't important right now," Jax interrupts, leaving you briefly stunned. For a brief moment it looks as if they are considering stepping closer, but instead they turn around and raise their hand. A familiar chill travels your skin. "Jax!" you call out, but their mind is set. The air around you ripples. <<else>>\ <<if $intro.healed>>\ "A little more to the point," you say, and they drag their gaze away from the tear in your leathers to meet yours. "There was a complication. I couldn't... The item changed hands unexpectedly. But I think if we hurry, we can still do something about it." <<else>>\ "I do not," you admit, not ready to hang your head in shame yet. "The item... changed hands unexpectedly. But if we hurry, we can still do something about. We can still get it back." You need them to believe it just as much as you do. <</if>>\ "What happened?" It seems as if every moment is pulling you further and further away from a chance to make amends and appear before the $q.king triumphant, but you can't expect Jax to operate on nothing. Fortunately, they are not a person of many words, and you will not be making excuses for yourself. You give them a brief yet factual retelling of the events, rushing toward the part where they offer you a solution. Although you spring it upon them, Jax shows no bewilderment when you tell them of the Gray Regent's nephew, which is vastly different from what you felt when you ran into him yourself. In the aftermath they look thoughtful, running their thumb along their mouth pensively. "Curious," is what they say, which is very little in exchange for what you have just provided. "Curious indeed." They slip in and out of their thoughts for a little while, gaze loosing focus and then becoming sharp to take in a detail or two about you. Impatience oozes off you--you know that--but you cannot imagine the mage prince sitting still. Something needs to be done. "What are you thinking?" "We must report it back," they say and, ignoring your surprise, turn around. The moment they raise their hand, a familiar chill travels your skin and seals away any hope for their help. There is only one person above Jax in authority. The $q.king <<print $q.him>>self. "Report it? I don't think we should give up just yet, we might still catch up with them!" you call out, but their mind is set. The air around you ripples. <</if>>\ <<include "jax_2">>

<<if ($intro.band_maid or $intro.band_gale)>>\ "I'm afraid, I do not even have anything to show for it," you say, though from Jax, you only read confusion in the deepening frown. "I... failed to retrieve the pouch." "Yes," they reply, which... doesn't mean anything. But before you can put the relationshiop you have built to the test, they suddenly turn around and raise their hand. The air begins to ripple with familiar cold. "Jax?.." <<else>>\ <<if $intro.healed>>\ "I'm afraid, I do not even have anything to show for it," you say, though from Jax, you only read confusion in the deepening frown. "I... failed to retrieve the pouch, but I'm sure that with your help, we can figure out how to fix it." <<else>>\ <<if $p.playful > 50>>\ "The thing is awfully prone to change hands, it seems," you say with a weak smile. "So I'm not losing hope yet that we can retrieve it, especially with your help." <<else>>\ "There has been a... complication," you explain, feeling it an understatement. "We will need a new plan to retrieve it, and I am hoping for your help." <</if>>\ <</if>>\ They fold their arms on their chest and quirk their brow as if expecting a humorous story about something that happened in a faraway land. "So what stood in your way?" Jax asks. There is no one in the court in Riante as calculating as Jax, so you cannot help but wonder if they have already come up a list in their head, and if the prince's surprise appearance made it by chance. Without keeping your audience in suspense, you give Jax a brief yet factual retelling of the events, the way you know they prefer it. Although you spring it upon them, Jax shows no bewilderment when you tell them of the Gray Regent's nephew, which is vastly different from what you felt when you ran into him yourself. In the aftermath they look thoughtful, running their thumb along their mouth pensively. "Curious," is all they say, which is very little in exchange for what you have just provided. "Curious indeed." Though you have other words for it, too. "What else are you thinking?" You notice the corner of their mouth rise lightly, a fleeting expression before they look into your eyes. "That we better report it," Jax says. There is only one person above Jax in authority. The $q.king <<print $q.him>>self. And that is what makes it so difficult to understand if they have your back in it or not. "Report?.." you ask as they turn around and raise their hand. No answer follows, and the air around begins to ripple anew. Their mind seems to be set. <</if>>\ <<include "jax_2">>

<<if ($intro.band_maid or $intro.band_gale)>>\ Their nod is curt and their reaction immediate. As they turn around and raise their hand, the air around starts to ripple, much to your relief. <<else>>\ "What... happened?" Perhaps there isn't enough urgency in your voice. But you have held out so far, and unless Gale's... healing has a temporary character, you can spare a few words for Jax. Fortunately, they are not a person of many words. You give them a brief yet factual retelling of the events, which inevitably elaborates on the strange condition of your attire. Although you spring it upon them, Jax shows no bewilderment when you tell them of the Gray Regent's nephew, which is vastly different from what you felt when you ran into him yourself. In the aftermath they look thoughtful, running their thumb along their mouth pensively. "Curious," is all they say. The only comfort it offers is them not looking worried about the prince's magic. Still, it is //your// wound. "Now you see why," you underline a little helplessly and look at them, expecting action. Jax ponders something, but your keen attention does not go unnoticed. As if remembering themself, they turn around and raise their hand, the air around you rippling with familiar promises. <</if>>\ <<include "jax_2">>

The golden glow in their eyes repeats as flickers that follow the motions of their fingertips. The outline they weave grows, turning into a water-like illusion that is as tall as they are. The Gift of the Third, a //door//. Step through--and you will end up in an entirely different place. If wrapping your head around it weren't difficult enough, the very proximity to it imbues your body with worry. You cast a look to the crystal in your hand, its core pierced with the same golden light. The pieces lead you to their companions, other crystals that are large enough to hold magic in them. They are good guides but very unreliable tools for spying: too large to be slipped into a bag without notice, but a loaded cart can be marked and trailed easily. And their best quality is that unlike these magical doors, they do not startle you. You tuck the crystal away and look ahead. The forming threads of the door vibrate lightly, tense and sheer golden surface that would look like a mirage from afar. Only your trust in Jax and their mastery makes you deem it safe for any kind of passage. <div class="choice"><hr><ul> <li>[[I step up with no reservation. Their magic is far preferable to the daylong swaying on horseback.|jax_3][$path to 1;]]</li> <li>[[There is a high chance the nausea I'm feeling is at least somewhat worsened by my distaste for what is about to come... This travel is no pleasant matter.|jax_3][$path to 2; $p.memories.incident to Math.fm($p.memories.incident, +5)]]</li></ul></div>

<<if $path is 2>>Jax throws you a quick look over their shoulder and beckons with an encouraging nod. It is a necessity, but one you have not yet come to accept fully. Your hesitation shows in slow steps, hand reaching the surface and watching the magic flow around your fingers inoffensively. You aren't its master. You are merely allowed to pass. You hold your breath, preparing for the plunge, and step through. <</if>>Immediately, your insides lurch, like missing a step on tall, worn stairs. But the sensation of the ground always comes before the yelp, comforting and reassuring. You wait a moment for your eyes to adjust to the sudden emptiness: the colors are washed out here to the point of gray, a plane of ever-replicating twilight. The ground beneath your feet is barren and bone-dry, the sounds of your steps distant as if they are not done right beneath you. The //Seam//, some call it, for the way it skirts the edge of the world outside. This plane is always confusing for the senses. Far ahead there is light. The exit. You cannot see Jax, but you never meet anyone here anyway. You feel no fatigue here, no cravings, no hunger. If you had no other choice, perhaps you could easily wander here forever. But there is no need, as the light grows closer with each step. <div class="magictxt"><<if $p.affinity.gale > $p.affinity.player>>Follow him.<<else>>Stop her.<</if>></div> You halt. A plea, loud and clear. Yet there has never been a voice in here but your own thoughts. ''Never''. You look around, seeing only stretches of flattened stone until they merge with the ravenous expanse of darkness. Whatever was said never repeats. <div class="choice"><hr><ul> <li>[[This is a plane with no rhyme or reason. Echoes may bounce around, maybe other doors from other mages, someone finding an endless swathe to air their grief. It has nothing to do with me.|jax_4][$path to 1; $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +4)]]</li> <li>[[Nothing about magic is accidental, I have grown to think. This was a message, however mystifying, and I am its intended recipient. Whatever good that does me.|jax_4][$path to 2; $p.memories.incident to Math.fm($p.memories.incident, +10)]]</li> <li>[["Jax?" I call out. This is their domain, even if the voice doesn't sound like theirs. Doesn't sound like a voice at all.|jax_4][$path to 3; $jax.rel.fr to Math.fm($jax.rel.fr, +5)]]</li></ul></div>

<<silently>> <<set $riding to []>> <<set $riding.together to false>> <<set $riding.front to false>> <<set $riding.hold_saddle to true>> <</silently>>\ <<if $path is 1>>\ That it does not repeat even as you choose to ignore it is but another reason to believe it was never meant for you in the first place. Whatever inhabits this plane, it is best left in here. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ Your step falters, eyes drifting over the darkness in search of the source. Every corner is the same, slick and oily, brewing something but never to the end. A constant turmoil of expectation, shrouded in black. Was that it? Was that all that it wanted to convey to you? Apprehension squeezes your chest. Perhaps it is best to leave--to the light that will free you from this. <<else>>\ The word reverberates in your head but doesn't leave your throat. If Jax has truly called out to you, shouldn't they have made sure you would be able to respond? And what is with the mysterious messages that they could not impart on you in a place less bleak? Much as you wish for an explanation that is familiar, it only leaves you more confused. Perhaps it is not Jax after all. Perhaps you should not linger here. <</if>>\ You approach the exit and press yourself through another door. Another lurch. This time, you are stepping into //life//. You are met with a wet breeze and neighing of horses, which helps your stomach settle. The air always tastes fresh on your tongue the moment you leave the Seam, even in dry summer heat, but this one is particularly rejuvenating. Your ride awaits you: a pair of horses that have been enjoying the view off a cliff since morning. Down below, there is a deceptively shallow section of Leth, a river that runs toward Riante but never quite reaches it. It isn't used by merchants, but the wildlife thrives on its water and its shores. You take a greedy breath, rich on the smells of rain, wet rocks and soggy wood. Wetness drapes the few spots of your exposed skin. It is drizzling. <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ Your side begins to sting, sharp prickles stronger than the dull throbbing you have almost gotten used to. "Here," you hear as small drops of rain pelt your face. Jax offers a mass of a cape in their outstretched hand, holding it like a troublesome kitten--by the scruff. Gentle golden light seeps out of their eyes like it is being washed away by the rain. It staves the assault of the weather on your body and you, now wrapped in most basic of comforts, find yourself on the receiving end of Jax's puzzling attention. "Thank you," you say, a little unsure. "Considering the circumstances," Jax says and turns to their horse, placing a few soothing strokes on its wide neck, "it is best we ride together." You size up the height that separates you from the saddle, then watch Jax pretend as if they haven't just suggested to support you through the rest of the journey and absently pet their designated horse. As if on command, the wound throbs. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Just watch me should I begin slipping out of the saddle. That should be enough."'|jax_4_mount_solo][$path to 0; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -2);]]</li> <li>[[I know they mean to help, but I cannot resist a cocky laugh. "We don't have to, you just want to parade me as the one that needed your gracious saving. I'll take the offer though."|jax_4_mount_same][$path to 1; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +2); $jax.rel.fr to Math.fm($jax.rel.fr, +4); $riding.together to true]]</li> <li>[[If it means I get to relax, I will gladly accept their offer of help. Last thing I need is to worry about the reins too.|jax_4_mount_same][$riding.together to true; $path to 0; $jax.rel.fr to Math.fm($jax.rel.fr, +4);]]</li> <li>[[I sigh. "Yes, I think that would be for the best as well."|jax_4_mount_same][$riding.together to true; $path to 0; $jax.rel.fr to Math.fm($jax.rel.fr, +4);]]</li></ul></div> <<else>>\ You notice that Jax's shoulders are pulled up by an invisible string, their moves performed with uncharacteristic swiftness. Immediately, they reach for a mass of a cape that they wrap themselves into with a shudder, looking like a bird with puffed up feathers. Aside from the rain, traveling like this is routine for you: emerging from the door and covering the rest of the way on horseback. But today there is a little something that you have trekked from the Seam, two weightless words still lingering in your ears. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["Just now in the Seam," I decide to share, "I heard a voice... Did anyone ever talk to you there?"|jax_4_mount_solo][$path to 1; $jax.rel.fr to Math.fm($jax.rel.fr, +2);]]</li> <li>[["You should know all there is to know about the Seam, right?" I address Jax. "I should not expect to be spoken to in it, correct?"|jax_4_mount_solo][$path to 1; $jax.rel.fr to Math.fm($jax.rel.fr, +2);]]</li> <li>[[I must have misheard. I don't want Jax to think me faint-hearted, think I startle easily.|jax_4_mount_solo][$p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, -2); $path to 0]]</li> <li>[[Jax and I may be working closely together, but they are not a person I would come to for reassurances.|jax_4_mount_solo][modTrust("jax", -8); $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +3); $path to 0]]</li></ul></div> <</if>>\

<<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ "If you think so," they say, clearly unconvinced, and reach for the saddle bag that is almost level with their chest. Puzzled, you watch them produce a vial to light, delicate glass corked around an oily substance of swamp green. Mort gives it to you whenever he needs to stitch you up. As most things he makes, it is either bitter or //life-threateningly// bitter, depending on the weather that nurtured the plants. But the thing it is meant to do, it does well: any kind of pain it numbs expeditiously. "You carry this with you now?" you ask, accepting it by the glass body. "Since I began working with you," they reply without bite. You scoff and down the contents as quickly as you can. The taste stays in your mouth, warmth in your throat, and you shudder. Although it will do nothing for the pain of mounting, it will help you down the road. Jax gestures for you to get into the saddle first, and you step up to the other horse. It is one from the Gray Regent's stables, patient in your presence and well-behaved. No one gets used to a specific mount as horses are used in rotation, and this time is no exception. You brace yourself for the pain and place one foot in the stirrup. It feels like being skewered anew, hot pain making you bite into your bottom lip. Your moves become hectic as you claw at every protruding bit to carry your weight to the top and end this scalding hurt. When you feel stable, gasping and waiting for the veil of wetness to disappear from your eyes, the wicked pain recedes slowly. Jax mounts, you hear, with significantly less effort. "Stay close," they beckon, stopping their mount neck in neck with yours. They gaze flits to the reins in your fist and the stiff grip you have on them. "It won't be long." With a nod, you nudge your horse to move. <<NextPage jax_5>>/* [[jax_5]] */ <<else>>\ \<<if $path is 1>>\ They eye you briefly, not even frowning. As your question lingers, you realize they are giving it serious thought. You know precious little about the intricacies of their power, about the Seam. For as long as you have been awake, it has only been means of travel and nothing else. "It is quiet when you cross," they share after a lengthy pause. "Usually it is, yes," you say, voice quivering with impatience. "This time was different." One brow rises. "What was it that you heard?" Your mouth drops open, but grasping for the memory returns nothing. You have heard it so distinctly, haven't you? A voice calling out, maybe not even to you, but what did it say? Haze descends on your head, and the words you thought were written into your mind in ink are gone. This seems like a pattern with you, a frightening one. Jax waits. You cannot tell where their interest lies: with the aberrancy of their power, otherwise practiced to make sophistication look mundane, or with you, a fox they have let loose in their carefully constructed hen house. All you know for sure is that you are about to disappoint. A smile laden with irony forms on your lips. "I...don't remember anymore," you say. They hum, their busy composure turning thoughtful. Their frown is a reflection of yours, but they take their time to return your impatient gaze. "It could be a sign some of your memories are beginning to resurface--or." They look up, collected again. "It could be mere fatigue. It is best not to force it, regardless." With that said, they deftly climb the stirrups, a quick scowl betraying the discomfort of everything //wet//. Their clothes are now marred with water stains, momentarily distracting you. "I cannot just stop being concerned," you reason. Their expression is curious. "No?" they question in a plain tone. Perhaps //they// can. With everything that crosses their desk, it would be easy to get swept by all the concerning matters if they couldn't. "You can't seem to remember it anyway. Any kind of strain around you memories might damage your recovery." Perhaps they are right. You cannot question them on the words you might have not even heard at all, so you wordlessly approach the other horse. It is one from the Gray Regent's stables, patient in your presence and well-behaved. No one gets used to a specific mount as horses are used in rotation, and this time is no exception. In the saddle, you feel closer to the rain. Jax takes a modest lead, and you follow. <<NextPage jax_5>>/* [[jax_5]] */ <<else>>\ Brushing the wet streaks off the saddle with resignation, you climb onto the other horse horse. It is one from the Gray Regent's stables, patient in your presence and well-behaved. No one gets used to a specific mount as horses are used in rotation, and this time is no exception. In the saddle, you feel closer to the rain and somehow more uncertain. Jax pushes forward once you are ready, setting a safe and easy pace as if there is no rush, no sense of urgency for the item now in hostile grasp. <<if $p.affinity.y > 7>>It may be a sensible decision given the weather and the washed-away state of the ground under the hooves, but your mind burns for action, for a resolution.<<else>>One look over your shoulder at the deep imprint the hooves leave in the drenched soil, and you understand that their caution is perfectly reasonable.<</if>> <<NextPage jax_5>>/* [[jax_5]] */ <</if>>\ <</if>>\

<<if $path is 1>>\ They regard you briefly, hand running over their hair to take care of some near-invisible build-up of water. "You note the most useless things, it seems," they retort, and if they were in the habit of rolling their eyes, this is where they would have done so. You stay the course. "Jax, you wound me." They scoff. "I hardly get to be the first: you always manage to rack up a scratch or two elsewhere." Your glare is briefly icy, and they meet it with satisfaction. "Come now." Although they still find you deserving of a witty exchange, it won't save you from what is to come. Mounting will hurt even if it is a different horse. <<else>>\ They nod and narrow their eyes, observing the scene before them like a puzzle to which you are a piece. You ignore it, instead nursing the ache in preparation for what is to come. Mounting will hurt even if it is a different horse. <</if>>\ After a brief silence, Jax reaches into for the saddle bag that is almost level with their chest. Puzzled, you watch them produce a vial to light, delicate glass corked around an oily substance of swamp green. Mort gives it to you whenever he needs to stitch you up. As most things he makes, it is either bitter or //life-threateningly// bitter, depending on the weather that nurtured the plants. But the thing it is meant to do, it does well: any kind of pain it numbs expeditiously. "You carry this with you now?" you ask, accepting it by the glass body. "Since I started working with you," they reply without bite. You scoff and down the contents as quickly as you can. The taste stays in your mouth, warmth in your throat, and you shudder. Although it will do nothing for the pain of mounting, it will help you down the road. "Do you prefer to be at the front or at the back?" Jax asks when you hand back the glass. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"At the front."'|jax_4_mount_same2][$riding.front to true]]</li> <li>[['"At the back."'|jax_4_mount_same2][]]</li> <li>[[I am too weary to weigh these options. "You decide."|jax_4_mount_same2][]]</li></ul></div>

<<if $riding.front>>\ They step to the side, opening the path toward the stirrup. You brace yourself for the pain, and walk up to the horse, placing one foot into the slippery loop. It feels like being skewered anew, hot pain making you bite into your bottom lip. Your moves become hectic as you claw at every protruding bit to carry your weight to the top and end this scalding hurt. When you feel stable, gasping and waiting for the veil of wetness to disappear from your eyes, the wicked pain recedes slowly. "$p.name," Jax calls out. "It will pass," you say through gritted teeth and briefly meet their eyes. They nod in understanding and hand you the reins of the second horse, preparing to mount. With another pat on the horse's side, they climb behind you with envious ease while your pain still echoes. It feels as if sitting behind you makes Jax stiffen, though they smoothly take over the reins, hands on either side of you. It is a little unusual, and you briefly wonder about the strain it puts on the horse, but a chance to slump in the saddle without a care in the world is too alluring to dwell on these things. Jax clicks their tongue, and you are brough into slow motion while they get used to this arrangement. <<NextPage jax_5>>/* [[jax_5]] */ <<else>>\ Jax mounts the horse with envious ease, and you hand them the reins of the second horse. Having positioned themself confidently, they offer you their hand. You brace yourself for the pain, grab onto them and place one foot into the slippery loop. It feels like being skewered anew, hot pain making you bite into your bottom lip. You would be clawing for purchase if they weren't guiding you upward, but you'd grunt with effort and strain either way. Finally, you swing the other leg over and slump into place, urged by the scalding hurt. When you feel stable, gasping and waiting for the veil of wetness to disappear from your eyes, the wicked pain recedes slowly. "$p.name," Jax calls out over their shoulder. "It will pass," you murmur through gritted teeth and watch them tip their head in understanding. Before the horse starts moving, you need to ensure that you stay //on// the entire time. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I hold onto the sides of the saddle. A little incomfortable but it will do.|jax_5][$riding.hold_saddle to true]]</li> <li>[[I put my hands on Jax's waist. Hope they don't mind.|jax_5][$riding.hold_saddle to false]]</li></ul></div> <</if>>\

<<if $riding.together>>\ <<if $riding.front>>\ You try to make yourself as unobstructive as possible, allowing your chin to finally dip. Although Jax starts with their hands away from you, the angle is awkward and they won't be able to keep it up for a long time, so they end up resting their wrists against your hip. It is a light way still, and as the horse gently sways in a slow rhythm, you barely notice it. Somehow, through no firmness, you feel secured in the seat. <<else>>\ <<if $riding.hold_saddle>>\ Your hands grab the leather at a stiff angle, and you take great care not to lean to one side too much. The slow pace of the horse on the onset is a blessing as you get used to the swaying. Your grip is fragile, but you feel strangely tethered to your position on top of the horse, if only by Jax's attention alone. Even with their back to you, their presence is reassuring. <<else>>\ For a while, you ride in silence, at a slower pace than you would like, but as the one who gets an easy job in this task, you do not get to complain. Your hold on Jax is light thanks to it, and they haven't as much as looked around to question your choices as they sometimes do. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ Your thoughts become slippery. The rain is a quiet hum, and even the pain is lulled with the measured rocking your body does. One side of you is shielded from the wind, creating an illusion of protection, and you feel like drifting away. <<elseif $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ Jax leads, which makes guiding easier for you. Their pace is slow, careful, be it for the decaying state of the road or for their concern over the possibility of you sliding off the saddle as pain takes over. Although you ache to reach home, a gentler pace might be better for the wound, so you do not complain. <<else>>\ Although you have only been away for a few days, it feels safer to let Jax lead. Unlike you, they did this trek just this afternoon, and this will make guiding easier for you. So for a while, you ride in silence, getting used to the feeling of a horse underneath you and having it get used to the idea of needing to follow. <</if>>\ <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ "$p.name," Jax speaks, and the sound of your name in their voice somewhat startles you. You have noticeably drooped your head, barely acknowledging the surroundings, face streaked with wetness. "How about you tell me what happened? In detail." Mildly amused, you smile. Jax has never been one for meandering explanations, and the only details worth noting to them are mostly the ones spotted by them. They have always trusted you to extract the vital pieces and keep your story short. Your voice is weak with sleep-like uncertainty. "Just how much detail?" "All of it." At once, the dull steel of the thug's sword appears before your eyes, then the bright viridian of the velvet in the palm of the mage prince. Although you can begin even earlier, with the night you and Jax parted ways as they transported you to Daelan through their door, your tongue feels heavy, and you open with the forest and your brief and eventful hunt. They make you recall the thug's accent--and you realize that he must have grown up closer to the eastern border of the country--and describe his weapon. When you reach the part of the mage hunter's entry, they fall quiet at first, but even in such an even, they find things for you to remember in great detail. Jax isn't surprised by the appearance of the Gray Regent's nephew, least not as obviously as you would have expected them to be, not as //you// were. \ <<if $intro.thug_dead>>\ You speak of his offer that you rejected and of the way his magic preyed on your kill. \ <<else>>\ You speak of his offer that you rejected, of the loose end that remained in the man that lost his haul to the crew of Daelan nobles. \ <</if>>\ You even describe the pouch itself and its odd effect; you reveal all of it, and it feels as if you have been talking for ages. The finishing stroke, a brief retelling of your escape, sees you out the remote part of the wilderness, old hunting grounds, and onto a broad trade route where the canopy of old fir trees provides modest coverage from the droplets now heavy. In a strange way, Jax has exhausted all the questions they would have commonly held back until your report was over. What you are left with is the weight of your own concerns. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Listen, Jax, I want you to know that I am ready to set out whenever to make up for the failure. So if you can come up with something, even if it sounds desperate, know that I will do it."'|jax_5a][$p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +10)]]</li> <li>[["Why were they there, Jax?" I press. "It is not a secret that wherever magic acts up or an artefact resurfaces across the realm, the prince shows up, so you cannot fault me for thinking I was sent to retrieve something of significance. Why wasn't I told?"|jax_5b][$p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +6)]]</li> <li>[["I feel so stupid for being caught off-guard like that," I mumble. Not even at Jax, just to... let it out.|jax_5c][]]</li> <li>[[I have no more words in me to spare.|jax_5e][]]</li> </ul></div> <<else>>\ You travel the territory of the old hunting grounds, more famous for the fishing spots nowadays. On a day like this, it would seem abandoned and even ghostly, sounds pillowed by the old branches above. Jax isn't itching to break the silence, but they do not have a habit of doing so. With their horse in the lead, they rarely look to the side. If you are fortunate, their mind is wide awake, planning on how best to break the news to the $q.king, or even how to get //your// hands on the pouch again before $q.he even learns of your failure. From their expression alone, however, you cannot tell what they are thinking. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Listen, Jax, I want you to know that I am ready to set out whenever to make up for the failure. So if you can come up with something, even if it sounds desperate, know that I will do it."'|jax_5a][$p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +10)]]</li> <li>[["Why were they there, Jax?" I press. "It is not a secret that wherever magic acts up or an artefact resurfaces across the realm, the prince shows up, so you cannot fault me for thinking I was sent to retrieve something of significance. Why wasn't I told?"|jax_5b][$p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +6)]]</li> <li>[[Enough talking about the mission. I wish to ask them if anything took place in my absence.|jax_5d][]]</li> <li>[[I do not wish to speak up at all. This day cannot end soon enough.|jax_5e][]]</li></ul></div> <</if>>\

<<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ Saying this takes a lot of you, the rest you haven't spent on detailing your adventure. But no word is a lie, and you are ready to see this horse turned around and head back should he $q.king require it. But right now you feel unfathomably drained. <<if $riding.together>>\ Being unable to look one another in the eye makes conversation difficult, in the wake of these words more than ever. \ <<if $riding.front>>\ Their hands with the reins lightly press against you, by accident most likely. <<else>>\ Their back in front of you sways along with the movement in a steady rhythm that achieves to comfort you somewhat. \ <<if $riding.hold_saddle is false>>\ You can sense them breathe deeply under your hold, warmth between you. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ <<else>>\ You see that the road slips out of their mind, something brewing in their eyes, not ready yet to face you. The hooves work against the road. <</if>>\ "Did the draught help you?" Jax asks. Quietly, but you hear. The effect is indeed familiar. It was often in the absence of pain that you noticed how tired you were, laying on the cot before Mort and feeling your body melt into its comfort. "It did." Jax nods. <<else>>\ As much as you yearn for the warmth coming off a hearth, no word of it is a lie. As soon as a word leaves their mouth, you'll be ready to see this horse turned around and head back. Although you wouldn't mind a change of clothes. They have to know you tried and didn't fail on purpose or out of cowardice. Their mouth, curved with a hint of a smile, finally moves, and you move just a tick closer. <</if>>\ "I do not do desperate, $p.name," they slowly say. From them it is not arrogance, and neither are they mocking you. "And no matter how true your intentions are, I will not send you out mindlessly either. We will move only when it has been thoroughly discussed with the $q.king." "It is the //thoroughly// part that concerns me, Jax," you admit. "I--we do not have the luxury of time." A viscount would be proud to announce his travels, dragging a whole caravan of valuables behind him, but a small group decked in mercenary gear might vanish out of sight if you simply look elsewhere for too long. "We already do," they counter with pride. "Gale cannot travel faster than a horse allows." "Perhaps. But I don't want to give him //any// advantage." "He //never// had any advantage, nor will he ever have it," they say firmly. "No one truly does in the face of the Gray Regency." <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ You smile to yourself. It's not a thing you can dispute without them asking what exactly you are questioning. But at least you've made your intentions clear. <<NextPage jax_6>>/* [[jax_6]] */ <<else>>\ Their confidence is reassuring, easing some of the knots in your chest. It alerts you to the city ahead, and to the things that have been in motion since you left it. <<NextPage jax_5d_cont>>/* [[jax_5d_cont]] */ <</if>>\

They stiffen. \ <<if $riding.together>>\ <<if $riding.front>>\ The warmth you feel around your back is not gone, but you can feel the shift anyway. <<else>>\ Before, they were swaying to the rhythm of the road, which to your tired eyes was like watching waves. Measured, stable, if a little soothing. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ It is something you immediately notice in a person sitting on top of a moving horse. The steed is trained for many oddities and doesn't notice, but the tense line between their shoulders is obvious. Of their expression, you only catch side glimpses. <</if>>\ "You wouldn't have gone at all?" they ask, calmly, as if you have inquired why the moon changes color sometimes. "You would have acted differently? You would have requested assistance? Had I written down a list with every possible risk that plagues the continent to remind you of them, would you have been more at ease with this task?" <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ You feel lethargic, but even one of Mort's draughts cannot numb the way you want to tear into that. \ <</if>>\ You've rarely questioned them, lacking reasons, lacking obvious answers to so many questions about the world and its stormy history. But //this//, it feels straightforward. "Are you going to hide behind that? That you have told me just enough to do this task?" The skin of your face warms against the cold touch of rain. "Hide? Does this look like I'm hiding from you?" <<if $riding.front>>\ They couldn't be closer to you, their voice in your ear, but there are many ways to hide in plain sight. <<else>>\ They wipe the rain off their face. Not theatrically--not their style--but perhaps now remembering that it is something they can do to make this travel a little less miserable. <</if>>\ "Well, did you know?" "That His Royal Highness would be there?" they ask flatly. "Yes." "I didn't." The response is firm and free of callousness. "It should have been a simple job otherwise, with none the wiser to the contents. Like I said in the beginning." The thug never questioned what he was carrying, and you haven't gotten a chance to hear the explanation he had gotten, if any at all, before weapons were drawn. Earlier or later in the day, could you have ambushed him successfully, without drawing attention of mage princes and their unlikely retinue? "I see," you say, watching soft dirt fly out from beneath the hooves. You are fortunate you will not have to tend to the horses when you arrive. <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ As silence lingers, tension dissipates. <<NextPage jax_6>>/* [[jax_6]] */ <<else>>\ Thinking of the eventual arrival alerts you to the city ahead, and to the things that have been in motion since you left it. <<NextPage jax_5d_cont>>/* [[jax_5d_cont]] */ <</if>>\

Even as more people kept popping out from between the trees, increasingly not in your favor, you still could have done //something//. Your mind is enveloped in fog, so whenever you think back, it only dredges up the memory of pain, but behind it, there is still lingering bitterness. <<if $riding.together>>\ Although you didn't mean for the words to be caught by anyone, that's the thing with riding doubles. Jax sits so close, they hear your lament anyway. \ <<if $riding.front is false>>\ They glance at you over their shoulder, gaze shadowed. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ You didn't mean for the words to be caught by anyone and hoped the stream of rain would bury them, but Jax catches your eye. <</if>>\ Perhaps you should not keep bringing up the fact of your failure all the time and wait until you both are wrapped in fresh cottons by a fire--and you know that. But the wound has worn you out, and pain reminds //you// of it constantly. This is why you should avoid injury at all cost: one mistake paves the path for the next one. "What would you have done differently?" Jax suddenly asks. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"I suppose this was one of the moments magic would have protected me."'|jax_5c2][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[['"I should have ran the moment the hunter appeared."'|jax_5c2][$path to 2; modAffinity("player", 2)]]</li> <<if $intro.thuggery is 2>><li>[['"I should have killed the bearer quicker."'|jax_5c2][$path to 3]]</li><</if>> <<if $intro.thuggery is 1>><li>[['"Should not have turned it into a game..."'|jax_5c2][$path to 4; modTrust("jax", -1);]]</li><</if>> <li>[[I shrug weakly. "It is simply something you say. I don't actually know if I could have prevented anything."|jax_5c2][$path to 5; modTrust("jax", 1);]]</li></ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ Jax nods slowly. "It was." \ <<if $p.mind.magic is 2>>\ If they welcome the Gift, the First sister offers hers protection: a magical barrier of some kind. Useful in a fight. \ <<elseif $p.mind.magic is 3>> \ The lengthy explanations for it didn't take, but you know that somehow, the First sister offers her mages protection against grievous harm. \ <</if>>\ "But there are many ways than one to evade a blade." "Disappearing into the Seam among them," you mutter. Jax's shoulders rise in amusement. "So long as you know a safe exit." <<elseif $path is 2>>\ Jax nods slowly. "It was the fisrt time you ever met one. Even if magic is taken out of the consideration, it is dangerous to underestimate their other skills." "Quite a high praise." "We will not survive by being foolish," they reply. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ "Why didn't you?" Jax asks. "He put up a fight." "So you //couldn't// do it faster." You scoff, doing your best to make sure the sudden motion does not reach the wound. "I shouldn't have let it hinder me." <<elseif $path is 4>>\ "A game?" Jax asks. They weren't witness to your frivolity, thankfully, but you are imposing it on them anyway. Perhaps they ought to know another of your quirks. "I did not give it my best." You can sense them question it without saying a word. "I thought if I did, the scuffle would end...too soon." For a while, there is only the rain and the horses' steady steps on the road. "...Might I suggest you pick your sparring partners more thoughtfully?" Jax finally says, voice tired and firm. Your chin dips. "Yes." <<else>>\ "A clear-headed answer," Jax says with a nod. You try on a smile. "The only one I have." <</if>>\ They do not speak more to it, not when the landscape changes in familiar ways. <<include "jax_6">>

In this blissful moment, the events of the day are far behind you. Riante is ahead. A city this sophisticated never stands still. <<include "jax_5d_cont">>

<<if $p.playful > 60>>\ "How did the city fare without me?" \ <<else>>\ "Did...anything happen while I was away?" \ <</if>>\ you ask. It often felt that in your absences Riante changed inexplicably, in ways you weren't informed enough to cognize. Pieces moved when you looked away, and every shift seemed large against your missing memories. Having those pieces described to you makes you feel like its part again. And Jax never seems to mind the question. <<if $p.playful > 60>>\ "It persevered," they respond with a hint of a smile. \ <<else>>\ "A thing or two," they respond. \ <</if>>\ They sound oddly pleased for the opportunity to speak on matters this mundane. "Maxime's mercenaries tried to start a bit of trouble. It was the talk on the streets for a little while, but before it spred through the entire city, they stopped feeling this adventurous." "Who was it?" <<if $riding.front is false>>\ Jax looks at you curiously: dealing \ <<else>>\ Dealing \ <</if>>\ with Maxime's men has never been //your// job, but one does not stay in Riante for more than a month and not run into a handful of them. Knowing at least the lieutenants, by name and by reputation, is not without merit. For one, it lets you know when the Last Lantern is best be avoided if what you are after is a peaceful meal. Jax gestures carefully, mindful of the reins. "//Crowbill//." They never hid how unimaginative they found the titles within Maxine's fairly shallow hierarchy. Each lieutenant is a weapon in his armory, having no need for a name--only a descriptor. He looks sideways and picks a name, but, strangely, they often fit in some inexplicable way. You haven't //heard// of Crowbill, let alone seen one. "Someone new?" "Presumably, he received the rank after Maxine saw him fight. Good with weapons, I suppose, but, as evident now, a poor //Omens// player." <<NextPage jax_5d_cont2>>/* [[jax_5d_cont2]] */

In his attempts to jog your memory, Mort has once handed you a curiously shaped die: in a cube of polished maple, each side was carved with a distinct symbol. He explained that it was popular and urged you to close your hand around it and give it a shake. As many other such explorations, it bore no fruit, but on the other hand, you could no longer be deceived with any house rules to Omens that suspiciously only benefit the opponent's side. "A player?" you ask with a mild hint of amusement. "I thought Maxime didn't like them too smart." Jax shrugs with one shoulder and glances at you, expression pleased. "He most definitely did not betray his habit with this one." For better or for worse, that often meant one thing. "Do you expect him to retaliate?" The mercenaries indeed like to stir up trouble every now and then, much to general annoyance, but the $q.king relies on their services and on the silence that coin buys from Maxime himself. It is a delicate compromise. "Possibly," Jax replies, unbothered. "But not for a while, as he wouldn't risk getting on his leader's log with anything but profits. I hope Anne uses this time to improve at cheating. It was hard to convince Crowbill that his stomping was embarrassing him when he caught her by the hand." Their tone, however, suggests they did not keep //arguing// for long. "I reckon she thinks as long as she is the one pouring him drinks, she doesn't need to be good at it." "A mistake many make," Jax agrees. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"So did anything...more exciting take place? And perhaps more heartening?"'|jax_5d_cont2a][modPlayer("vil", -2)]]</li> <li>[["All the fun happens when I'm away," I mumble.|jax_5d_cont2b][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[[Something stands out to me. "She talks to you, doesn't she? Anne."|jax_5d_cont2c][modTrust("jax", 1);]]</li> <li>[["Between me and Maxime's mercenaries, how do you decide who to send on a task?" I always wondered.|jax_5d_cont2d][]]</li> </ul></div>

"The heartening things, huh?.." Jax drawls as if they first need to search through a pile of less significant events. "We had a day of sunlight, how is that?" <<if $p.friendly > 60>>\ You smile dispiritedly. "It feels as though I have been robbed." <<else>>\ "That..." But what can you argue if they, perhaps, cannot say more? "That must have been pleasant." <</if>>\ "One could see the Veiled Woods from the top of the Tower," they continue with a touch of melancholy they cannot or do not care to conceal. They send you a look. "You ought to see them one day from a distance. Never what you imagine." With Jax, a suggestion is rarely done for the sake of sheer amusement, and your thoughts fill with the memories of trudging through those woods. Your breath was visible in the richly moist air, and you were unable to see anything further than a stone's throw in the fog. Tress like hooded figures standing ceremony surrounded you. Up and down the hills, you skirted its perimeter, not trusting yourself to venture deep when even other mages, with their memories and experience, headed there reluctantly. It is possible that on a day with a lavender sky, it might feel different. But will your nearing future have an opportunity for such frivolity? <<NextPage jax_6>>/* [[jax_6]] */

Jax turns their head a somewhat, having clearly heard you say something, though not necessarily what exactly. For a moment, it looks as if they are about to respond anyway, but then they return their attentions to the task of leading the horse. <<include "jax_6">>

A flash of something imperceptible crosses their features, a flicker washed out by the rain. As if you caught them doing a thing they would rather have no witnesses for, or as if you stepped out of line and assumed too much. But what they say is different. "Anne is partial to conversation." There is something dangerously close to a smile on their face. You weren't told if the conflict was solved with pleasant words, threats, or coin, but alone that it was Jax who left their study to speak in her support tells you much. And they aren't denying it either. "Such is her profession," you concede. Last Lantern would be the first place for a person like Jax to put their ear to, but you didn't expect someone as permanent to it as Anne, the second daughter in the family that owns it. You recall all the times you have been to the place and paid her no heed, wonder why Jax felt safe to reveal this. Sadly, you arrive at nothing with it, but at least the landscape changes in familiar ways. <<NextPage jax_6>>/* [[jax_6]] */

They think for a moment. "I ask myself: do I need an axe or a chisel?" You laugh weakly, recalling the very first time you held a training sword, how graceless your steps were, how wide and dangerous were your swings. How sore your muscle was within a single blink of an eye. "I can be both," you admit. "That you can," they agree a little too easily. Maybe they are teasing you, but you wouldn't risk asking in this state. Much better is just to enjoy the change in the landscape. <<NextPage jax_6>>/* [[jax_6]] */

<<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ Although you can no longer force a word out of yourself, minding the rest of the journey ahead, Jax seems to find you worth paying heed to anyway. \ <<if $riding.together>>\ In such proximity, the feeling is inescapable, with how they subtly shift when you move or sigh, or call out your name to make sure you are paying attention. <<else>>\ They glance over their shoulder now and then, and it doesn't escape your notice. They only look away when you acknowledge them, alert enough to control your horse. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ Jax agrees with your choice of silence by falling into it with similar ease. They ride in attention, seemingly never slipping, while you get to gaze around rather freely. Sadly, the wooden cover provides only meager entertainment. <</if>>\ <<include "jax_6">>

You soon part from the high rise of the ground containing Leth by crossing through a denser part of the woods onto a broad trade route. Here, the old fir trees line the path marked with the sign stones, and the cover from the rain is even poorer. It would have soured the rest of the journey, but with the proximity to Riante, even Jax seems to perk up a little. They do not point it out to you: this is the part you know well. Far in the distance, the spire rises against the gray skies, its sharp outlines dulled by the misty illusions of the low clouds. The road takes you to the huts, the first of which appear like shy mushrooms that have drunk the first of the summer rain. Surrounded by vast plots of farming land, they look deserted with the animals shepherded inside for the evening. Inside you, something stirs at the sight of smoke rising out of the stone-laid chimneys, and your bones ache longingly. The anxious feeling only subsides at the sight of a single bright dot. The Last Lantern is burning its oil to welcome you back in Riante. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[My chest tightens as I imagine the Gray Regent's disappointment.|jax_7][modAffinity("y", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I am relived for its protection. I don't have to expect anyone to stab or shoot me in these walls, the worst I get is barbs.|jax_7][]]</li> <li>[[Weariness reminds of itself with urgency. I cannot wait to lay down my head.|jax_7][modAffinity("player", 1);]]</li> <li>[[I feel just as tense as I was facing the mage prince and his retinue. Riante is a shelter, but it is work just the same.|jax_7][modAffinity("y", -2); modPlayer("oldnew", +2)]]</li> </ul></div>

As the trees, walls and the mist part, the city begins to stand out before you. The rest of the Last Lantern takes shape: an inn with the cheapest ale for miles around, and the rooms that are never safe from a stranger barging in, a loud and boastful building with a broad overhang and a roof that looks like it was dropped on it from somewhere high above. It is the first thing one sees upon entering the city--after a large lantern they keep lit, standing off to the side and luring wearied travelers. The guards nod at you merely, requiring nothing of you in way of permission, but your eyes are on the spire of the Tower, the seat of the Gray Regent and your home. The single peak of it, a sharp cap you have never climbed, must be the highest place in the whole region. The sometimes impossibly delicate stonework on its hull looks like ice flowers, hidden in its tall windows and arches, and it is easier to believe the entire thing was carved out of wood and placed there. Though you know better. Everything about it teases warmth under the swirls of wet gray, making the idea of urging the horse into a gallop a little too tempting. But the streets of Riante are laid with cobblestone, and on any usual day, they are wet and encourage a careful step. <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ Jax takes you through the western part of the city, where the House of Spirit is situated. A breath of relief escapes your chest at its sight—there will be a mage of Spirit in there to help your wound--but Jax does not turn toward it and dips into one of the streets with quiet houses and another guard post. But of course, it is Mort who treats you, and he rarely leaves the Tower. At least this way is the shortest: away from the center square, away from the market, from the First Lantern with its pleasant music and silken robes, from the smells of leather and grain, roasted meat and iron. \ <<else>>\ Jax takes you through the western part of Riante, past the street which hosts the House of Spirit. Once a residence of a former magistrate, it has opened its doors to broader public by the $q.king <<print $q.name>>'s decision early in $q.his reign. Everyone from a passing merchant to a city resident can seek out a mage of the Fifth in there for their ailment. You know this route well, the shortest way to reach the Tower from the city entrance, avoiding the center square and the market, the First Lantern with its pleasant music and silken robes, away from the smells of leather and grain, roasted meat and iron. \ <</if>>\ The houses here are streaked with mage ivy, a lush vine that creeps up the chiseled rock and burrows into the smallest creases all the way to the hunched canopies. Heavy droplets collect on the tips of the sharp, lightly-curled leaves, and fall at the feet of your mount. You catch curious glances, but mostly for your silence. Mages riding the streets of Riante is never a cause of concern. The rain doesn't let up. By the time you emerge at the courtyard at the feet of the Tower, water seems to have found way to every inch of your skin. At this hour, it would be rare to see another mage outside: most have either disappeared in the game hall, are pestering a merchant for the last-moment's sale, or are away on an errand for the Gray Regent. You cross through the courtyard, marked with shaved plates of ghostly white rock toward the hidden haven that are the stables. <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ Dismounting is a touch easier, and by now, Mort's concoction is in full effect, but your legs are not your best ally. \ <</if>>\ The smell is too thick for your nose, and Jax doesn't even contemplate the idea of lingering there. The stable boy rushes to take the horses from you, earning Jax's off-hand reminder to care for the tack. <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ "I shall report to the $q.king at once," they say in a low voice once you are alone. "You will go to Mort immediately. After he has seen you, then I will arrange for an audience with the Gray Regent." <<if $p.affinity.y > 8>>\ The tender side of your body throbs, but your thoughts are disquiet with a protest. What should happen if the $q.king asks something you did not detail to Jax? Yet you do not ask. <<else>>\ The tender side of your body throbs. This is the clearest plan you have heard in many days. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ "I shall report to the $q.king at once," they say in a low voice once you are alone. <<if $p.affinity.y > 8>>\ Your mouth moves to protest, //why Jax when it should be you//, but they quell it with a raised hand. <<else>>\ It is, perhaps, best that they are the ones to break the news to the Gray Regent, but you cannot help the wave of unease at the thought that it won't be you facing $q.him when $q.he first hears of it. Jax seems to notice it. <</if>>\ "Mort asked for you first thing when you return. //Then// I will arrange for the audience with the Gray Regent." It is hard to be surprised: ever since you have come to on his cot, Mort has been caring for you, be it acquainting you with the Tower or stitching you up after a brawl. Although, much as he tried, he could never do anything about your memory, he had the patience for everything else, including keeping you company when this is quite an unpopular pastime around the Tower. <</if>>\ "Understood, Jax." <<NextPage tower_1>>/* [[tower_1]] */

Jax crosses the yard under the rain, but you navigate through a low, dark archway, your steps quiet on the floor of hay, and enter the eastern wing of the Tower by pushing a heavy door. Lights burn on either side of it, and warmth hits you in the face, dragging along the tart scent of burning coal. As you drink the feeling, your fingers begin to thaw, swiftness returning to them. You run your hand next to the burning lantern, and resolved, press on. The kitchens are here, in the eastern wing, and you note that you ought to raid them afterward. Fortunately, no tempting smells pursue you into the central chamber at the base of the spire where you stop to look up the main stairway. It splits and spirals around each other like a pair of snakes, leading out of your sight and into observatories, libraries, studies, whose occupancy is decided by the whim of the Gray Regent. Up there is where diplomacy should happen, where talks are held and agreements are reached; strung through are soulless rooms that host most priceless of the books and artifacts, locked by the keys only few possess. Trusted mages reside in the Tower occupying the lower floors if their services are indispensable for the Gray Regent. Jax. Mort. Yourself, too. It isn't //meant// to be an honor, but it is often taken as one. Mort works in the west wing and sleeps close to where he works. He doesn't like the stairs, he once said. <<NextPage mort_1>>/* [[mort_1]] */

The main door to his rooms is ajar, offering a peek into the audience section. It is orderly and spacious: a cot against one wall and a desk across from it, facing two narrow, tipped windows. On each side of the desk there are shelves with glass and jars covered with linens. The candles are lit, bathing the room in a gentle light. Although you took no care to soften your steps, you still rap on the door to announce your arrival. <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ "Mort, it's $p.name," you say, and that is everything you find strength for. The dulled pain and you making it here on your own feet has fooled you into believing that you weren't at the end of your rope. <<else>>\ "Mort, it's $p.name. You wanted to see me?" <</if>>\ Mort, who is sitting at his desk, perks up and faces the door. One hand holds a pestle, the other fixes a mortar in place, his face peaceful. "$p.name, come in!" he offers readily, placing the tools in his hands onto a cloth with great care. You step inside, \ <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ resting your weight heavily on the wall for as long as you can. <<else>>\ pushing the door behind you back into place, craving some privacy. <</if>>\ <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ "You are limping," he suddenly says with alarm, catching you off-guard. It has always been convenient to assume that with his occupation, he would have no need to look for any warning signs, what with people in pain always seeking him out first--but perhaps this, too, is an exception he is making for you. "What happened?" You unwittingly glance at \ <<if $intro.band_maid>>\ the source of your fatigue, your fading magic pressing into the festering wound with bloodied edges. \ <<else>>\ the soaked band wrapped around your torso, dried edges of pale maroon and red in the middle glistening in candlelight. \ <</if>>\ At least Mort is spared this sad picture. "A complication," you say stiffly. "Not only did I not complete the <<print $q.king>>'s task, I have earned myself a stabbing for the trouble." <<else>>\ "You aren't hurt?" he asks warmly, as he always does. "Only my pride," you admit with reluctance. It is easier with him, who has never placed any expectation on you to begin with. <</if>>\ When Mort stands up, you are once again reminded how big of a man he is. Saved by the tall ceilings of the Tower, he can stretch into full height without needing to hunch, but he is used to rounding his back and moving carefully. Both his hair and thick beard speckled with gray are matted, but it is nothing new for Mort. Perhaps he is simply onto something, a discovery he will share with you later. When that happens, a comb is the last thing on his mind. "Let me take a look," he gestures broadly to the cot. Plain linens over the stuffing of straw have never looked this welcoming. It is a practiced routine by now. You approach him and \ <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ lift the hand on your healthy side to his upper arm, \ <<else>>\ lift a hand to his upper arm, \ <</if>>\ guiding him with a light hand, never truly touching him. <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ But when you walk up to the cot, it flips on its head, and it is he who helps you. Mort has a strong grasp but a penchant to be gentle at the right time. He directs you until you are down, the lines around his eyes deepening when you hiss. Letting go of your composure is unexpectedly unpleasant. <<else>>\ You sit down with your back against the wall, eyes closing for a brief moment of calm. <</if>>\ "Just so you know, my clothes are wet. I didn't have a chance to change yet," you say, and he nods. "But I am ready." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I am fine with being touched, and I have never interfered with the way Mort does his thing.|mort_2][]]</li> <li>[[Mort knows I am uncomfortable with touch, and he has practiced to apply his magic at a slight distance. It takes longer, but it is preferable this way.|mort_2][$p.touch to false]]</li></ul></div>

<<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ Your head feels heavy. The pain has been so constant, that only when you slump, you notice it has been splitting this entire time. You keep your eyes closed, trying to distance yourself from it, and Mort would probably prefer not to be watched either. You hear him extend his hand and bring it close to you, lingering by your left shoulder. Mort's method is rigorous and he studies the body in entirety: a gnarly wound may turn out to be of no consequence with a right balm, and seemingly innocuous grazes have brought down kings and queens. From his fingers, the magic of the Fifth spreads. It feels like a faint breeze over your skin, and you peek once at Mort to recognize the veil of emerald light over his milky eyes, the tell-tale mark of the Spirit magic. <<if $p.touch>>\ Your pain calls out to him, and it doesn't take him long to trace a path towards your ribs, where he stops applying any kind of pressure. <<else>>\ Although pain certainly calls out to him from the place beneath your ribs, it takes a while for him to arrive at the source, the lack of any sensation almost lulling you into sleep. <</if>>\ <<if $intro.band_gale>>\ "It is festering," he says soon with pain in his voice. "This will have to be the first concern." So soon, you think with a shudder. You shouldn't be surprised after all the strain you have placed on your body, but you have hoped to get off easily since you walked into Mort's study on your own feet. "I didn't have much choice," you say weakly. Everything is a blur, and you don't want to look down at the stained bandage. "You do not need to explain," he replies. <<else>>\ "I can sense the wound," he says soon, words strained, "but...you sealed it. With magic." "I tried. It helped me get back in one piece." "It is excited. Loud." Your eyes fling open to study his face. Mages of the Fifth can tell if anything is wrong with a person, body and mind, but few can tell as much as Mort, or else he wouldn't be here. He looks puzzled as though he can make out some of the noises your magic is presumably making and attempts to understand what it is trying to communicate. "Need I worry?" you ask. He smiles, lightly turning his head in the direction of your voice. His smiles are shy, cautious. "You avoided the worst," he says with praise. "But it won't heal on its own. Allow me." Steeling yourself, you prepare to let go of the magic. There isn't much of it left, frayed rope tearing one thread at a time, but there are still traces of it around the wound to keep it closed. You call it back, expecting it to ignore you, but it goes with a sobering rush. A cold shiver runs down your spine, unpleasant wetness in your side. You become aware of your skin, the muscle, the hard curve of bones gliding in your chest as they expand and contract. <</if>>\ Mort fetches clean bandages from the lowest shelves and brings along a jar and two bottles: the contents of one are clear and the other houses yellow sludge that is by now familiar. You grunt at the thought of peeling off the rim of your tunic, stuck to your skin with dried blood, but Mort guides you through it. With a breath stuck in your throat and your abdomen exposed, you watch him place your treatment on a small wooden stool. He douses the split skin with the clear liquid that burns you from within, gently washes away the crusted blood around the wound, revealing your $p.appearance.skin skin beneath. It is painful but not without relief. He is quiet, his magic still wandering and sensing as he applies the oily paste from a jar, a thick substance smelling sweet and sour at the same time, stinging you all the way to the bone. His touch light, it still feels as though he is working under your raw skin. When he is done, you cannot even see the wound under the yellow layer of the medicine, but its edges are recognizable. He wraps it in clean bandages, guided by the sense for hurt of his magic. You wish it didn't wake the sleeping pain, but even such manipulations make it worse, a scab peeled off the day-old scratch. You are raw once again, grime replaced with clean material that is yet to drink your blood. But at least it improves your grimy look. <<else>>\ The moment of peace, no longer having to hoist yourself by sheer willpower, overwhelms you. Surely you are tired, wet cold burrowed deep in your bones, but even as a newly found and at times nearly hostile--this is home. You close your eyes, surrendering to the feeling. You hear Mort extend his hand and bring it close to you, lingering by your left shoulder. His method is rigorous and he studies the body in entirety: a gnarly wound may turn out to be of no consequence with a right balm, and seemingly innocuous grazes have brought down kings and queens. From his fingers, the magic of the Fifth spreads. It feels like a light breeze over your skin, and you peek once at Mort to recognize the veil of emerald light over his milky eyes, the tell-tale mark of the Spirit magic. <<if $intro.healed>>\ A part of you is tense, trying to imagine what your state looks like to him. When he explained what he senses through his Gift, it sounded like lights in an otherwise dark space. They shimmer in different colors and pulsate as if they are trying to speak to him. It is for the best that he looks into whatever foul imprint Gale could have left or whatever injury his //healing// could have missed. You do not have to wait long before Mort leans back, brows furrowed in confusion. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me, $p.name?" he asks. Like you were a child, although you know he never had his own. He does that sometimes, born of inexplicable fondness. "What do you make of it?" He hums thoughtfully. "A wound. A ghost of one, long gone... Was it magic?" He isn't certain. Curious. "It was," you admit. "I ran into someone--but I got away. Most importantly, does anything look...strange to you?" His hand returns, and you welcome the second check. There is no pain but a light discomfort, a wound that doesn't like being spoken about prodded. "I sense no cause to worry for now," he says after a while. "But I would check again if you permit it." You smile weakly. "We might have to see about that." <<else>>\ It is reassuring in a way. Things rarely, if ever, escape his notice, and although he doesn't remark on every bruise and scratch, the remaining touch of his magic lets you know that it isn't because he missed them. "You used magic," he notes. "You are crackling with it." A corner of your mouth rises. "In a good way, I hope?" He shakes his head with a light smile and continues his inspection. The magic feeling at home with you ought to be a good sign by itself, but it helps to see Mort not even entertain it as a concern. He is a bit of a worrywart, though perhaps only when it comes to you. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ After a quick final inspection, more for his benefit than yours, he pulls back, satisfied. <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ "You need to rest. I would prefer it if you stayed now and rested here for the night," he says. The green light fades out of his eyes, magic quietening. <<else>>\ "Peace and quiet will serve you now. I would prefer if you stayed now and rested here for the night," he says. The green light fades out of his eyes, magic quietening. <</if>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["Although I smile for him, I am too eager to be in the Gray Regent's presence again. \"It's been almost a week, Mort. Call me a fool, but I want to see " + $q.him + "...\""|mort_3][$path to 1; $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +10); $q.rel.love +=1]]</li> <li>[["I cannot say it to Mort, but I do not want to to stay when the alternative is to finally see the " + $q.king + " in person. I missed " + $q.him + " too much."|mort_3][$path to 6; $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +10); $q.rel.love +=1]]</li> <li>[[I let out a struggling laugh. "You know I would rather stay here helping you out every day, right?"|mort_3][$path to 2; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +2)]]</li> <li>[["\"I must see this through, Mort. The " + $q.king + " will be waiting for me.\""|mort_3][$path to 3; $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +7)]]</li> <li>[["I would prefer that too," I concur solemnly. We both know that sometimes there isn't a choice, however.|mort_3][$path to 4]]</li> <li>[["It is fine, I have my own quarters," I retort.|mort_3][$path to 5; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -5)]]</li></ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ His silence is telling. Mort never once spoke out on this...//longing// of yours, perhaps unable to make sense of it as much as you are. You ought to stand before the $q.king and detail your failure, but on the other hand, you will be //seeing// $q.him. The expectation is both bitter and sweet. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ He laughs, the fond expression fading into a smile. <<if $intro.wounded and $intro.healed is false>>\ "You would be resting," he retorts. "I meant //after//," you say, tipping your chin at the bandaged wound. "And every time. Whenever you'd need me." <<else>>\ "Not that clever of a use for your skills," he remarks. "I can adapt," you say lightly. <</if>>\ "$p.name..." "I know, I know, I have the world to see." You smile at him. "Just all the same." <<elseif $path is 4>>\ Mort slaps the cot with a soft, muffled sound. "I will have a tea delivered to you then. Drink before you go to sleep tonight." <<elseif $path is 6>>\ You shake your head. "Sadly, I cannot." You struggle with forcing genuine disappointment into your voice, strangely excited for what is to come, //who// you are to see. Mort never once spoke out on this...//longing// of yours, but a part of you suspects that he is at least somewhat aware of it. Even now, if he senses your excitement with the remaining connection of his magic, he doesn't say anything. After all, you have your instructions from Jax and the prospect of having to explain your failure. You can always hide behind that. <<else>>\ "Of course," is all he says before rising and stepping out of your way. <</if>>\ Your rest short-lived, you climb back to your feet with effort, fighting against the soothing smell of burning wax and the pleasant warmth that makes your limbs and eyelids heavy. "Thank you. But... how have you been, Mort?" you ask. He motions vaguely to the breadth of the room, gathering his memories. "Oh, I...went through my stock. I am low on catsfoot, turns out, and some oils. And yesterday Leon humored me and helped me make a pumpkin pie. I-- That is all, I think." This isn't the first time, so you know. He must have saved you a piece. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["Do you want me to read to you later?" It is our tradition, after all.|tower_2][$path to 1; $mort_reads to true]]</li> <li>[['"I would like to try it, if there is still some of that pie."'|tower_2][$path to 2; $mort_pie to true]]</li> <li>[['"I am glad you weren\'t cooped up in here all the time, working."'|tower_2][$path to 3;]]</li> <li>[['"That sounds...good."'|tower_2][$path to 4;]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ It feels as though Mort was born with some innate knowledge about the incredible properties of the surrounding greenery and a knack for beating back ailments. His other passion, one that he does not mention too often, is stories. A visiting taleteller is one of the rare ways to get him out of the Tower. One evening you told him about the tomes you were flipping through that day and mentioned--in passing--a bound book with old folk tales that you picked merely for variety. The more you spoke about it, the clearer it became that it piqued his interest too, and you carefully proposed reading it to him. It is always a slow, pleasant time spent around a candle, your voice a little hoarse, learning of fantastical adventures in a land that is much like this one and so different at the same time. He never once fell asleep, and you read through the tome one story at a time. "I would love that," Mort says faithfully. "Once you have a proper rest." You smile. "A deal then." <<elseif $path is 2>>\ Mort laughs sheepishly. "I keep it in the larder, behind the apples. The crust is a little dry, but..." "Thank you, Mort," you say warmly. "I will ask for some to be taken to your room." <<elseif $path is 3>>\ Mort laughs sheepishly as if you haven't caught him at the same thing you always have. "Leon is strict, but he is a good teacher," he says. "You must be a good student, too. You are //always// surrounded by ingredients." He turns in the direction of his desk and lets out another laugh. "That I am." <</if>>\ He doesn't hold you back much longer, and you prowl the unmarked corridors and stairs towards your personal quarters, a path you know better than most of the things in the world. You stop there only to change and to wash up, or else the guards will not let you anywhere near the <<print $q.king>>'s workroom. A warm cloth to your skin does miracles, making your time away seem like a distant past. Your long-suffering travel attire is far too utilitarian and non-descript, so you replace it with a finer shirt and an overcoat with a subtle weave. It is dry, too, which is a comfort not to be underestimated. In the mirror there is you. Or, more precisely, your washed-out self, fatigued and anxious about the upcoming audience. The only thing the new outfit truly does is give the $q.king fewer reasons to be offended. From the mirror, your gaze drifts to the bench next to it, with nothing on it but a sash in deep green with black hems. Facing up is the delicate stitching in the shape of the Gray Regency symbol: a crown with five sharp tips--which the le Tellier lineage has adopted. It was given to you to wear across your body as a mark of your status, your proximity and direct service to the Gray Regent. At its base value, it keeps the tavern prices very modest. At its highest, it shows your fealty to the $q.king. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["There's just something about it... If I do things in "+$q.his+" name, then it feels right I should wear "+$q.his+" insignia."|tower_3][$intro.sash to true; $q.rel.love +=1]]</li> <li>[[Wearing it now is simply beneficial. Just to stress my point that even if I failed, it wasn't for the lack of trying.|tower_3][$intro.sash to true; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +5)]]</li> <li>[[I do not place importance in symbols, and I rarely wear this thing unless it is demanded of me. It is not demanded now.|tower_3][]]</li> <li>[[There is certain authority in wearing it, makes me stand out amongst other mages. I will wear it mostly for that.|tower_3][$intro.sash to true;]]</li></ul></div>

As you ascend the spiraling stairs, your resolve is just enough to stave questions, prevent you from being stopped. On a day like this, the climb seems endless. It often feels that a place this tall could not have been built without //some// kind of magic, which would be fitting for the seat of the Gray Regent and rather unsurprising. But when you reach the right floor, you breathe out in relief. You pass the gallery where the Tower opens up from its usually snug walkways to exhibit the dynasty of the Gray Regency, their images committed to immortal memory in paintings, and the salvaged remnants of the reliefs displaying the five of the Six Sisters. <<silently>> <<set $sisters_first to true>> <<set $sisters_1 to true>> <<set $sisters_2 to true>> <<set $sisters_3 to true>> <<set $sisters_4 to true>> <<set $sisters_5 to true>> <</silently>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I maintain my pace, not slowing down to look at them. These legends do not interest me.|tower_4][$p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, +6); $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +10);]]</li> <li>[[I maintain my pace, not slowing down to look at them. I've already studied every inch of this hall.|tower_4][$p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -6); $p.magic to Math.fm($p.magic, +5);]]</li> <li>[[I slow down to let my eyes drift over the sculptures, take in what they depict.|tower_3_sisters][$p.magic to Math.fm($p.magic, +5);]]</li></ul></div>

<<nobr>> <<if $sisters_1 is true or $sisters_2 is true or $sisters_3 is true or $sisters_4 is true or $sisters_5 is true>> <<if $sisters_first>> <<set $sisters_first to false>> Most of them are badly damaged, fine masonry shaved off or cracked; but if one was to look close enough, the adornments that shadowed each of them throughout the folk tales gave all the hints needed. Your gaze falls onto... <<else>> <<if $path is 1>><<set $sisters_1 to false>>She stares at you: her gaze, washed out by uncountable years, finds you nonetheless. The First Sister, always first in battle, the tip of the spear she is depicted to hold. The master of <<if $p.magic > 20>>your magic<<else>>the magic you have neglected<</if>>, yielding a weapon that, just like her gift, is as deadly from afar as it is up close. Her figure in every depiction is firm, tall. Proud. <br /><br /> With her magic she sweeps obstacles and armies out of her way on a whim alone, foes disarmed and robbed of their possessions with her invisible //Reach//. <<if $p.magic > 25>>The tips of your fingers twitch as if resting on pins and needles, responding to some ancient call that the loss of your memories has dulled you to.<<else>>Something stirs within your chest, dull, hollow. Yearning. A call unanswered.<</if>> <br /><br /> You tear your gaze away forcefully, head drooping first. <<elseif $path is 2>><<set $sisters_2 to false>>In the sculpture she is blindfolded. Despite that--serene. <br /><br /> You are looking at a forbidden relic. <br /><br /> It is rare to find the likeness of her in the world. In here, perhaps, the last salvaged pieces are saved and cared for. Out there, you know, she is detested: the fake face of a God, a lie spread by mages to elevate themselves and their power nigh to divinity. For no mortal can hold--or claim to hold--the knowledge of sole //Truth// of the former days, untainted and unquestionable. <br /><br /> But she did, or so is claimed. Truth and Divination, however, are the domain of a God with thousands upon thousands of followers. ''Thar'' is what they are referred to in devotion, but none would describe it as simple as their name. Of course, where the eye of the Second Sister is turned to the past only, Thar sees the past, the present and the future. <br /><br /> You would struggle to find a mage that is open about this gift. To walk free in this act of blasphemy one must first reach the protection of the Gray Regent. And you do not know if any try at all or they all would rather live their lives deaf to their magic. <<elseif $path is 3>><<set $sisters_3 to false>>The image of the Third Sister never lent itself to the monumental, stale property of stone: always moving, like she is about to escape the relief on the very wings every artist, every mason invariably gave her. <br /><br /> In what you see in front of you her likeness is surrounded by rays of light. Thin, the most delicate kind of thin that stone can still persist, rays spread out and chart out paths and connections. Directions, not binds. <br /><br /> She is to be seen a traveler, a messenger, ever drunk on her //Freedom//. Top of a mountain to a deepest cave in a span of an elaborate thought. No place she couldn't go, no one she couldn't find. <br /><br /> You think to Jax and their //doors//. Are they, one of the owners of her gift, just as free? If only a little? <<elseif $path is 4>><<set $sisters_4 to false>>Frieda.<br /><br /> The only Sister whose name has survived the grinding wheel of history, churning and disintegrating memories into dust. In no small part because she has never taken apprentices, never spread it too thin. Her gift of stealing and breathing in life is the inspiration behind cautionary tales and folk legends, //Death// itself. Take with one hand, give with another, spilling life essence as if it were a liquid... What better name can one mention when there are children to frighten, to teach good senses? <br /><br /> In what remains of the relief, her hair floats around her like in long matted strands, in air like in water. She wears a dress, simple--and torn. Hers was a life of tragedy and vengeance, you heard, and the distressed appearance is there to portray that. <br /><br /> Looking at her for a time uninterrupted resonates somewhere at the deep outskirts of your mind, gnawing at the cranium. You start seeing an eerie red glow engulf the depiction, <<if $intro.thug_dead or $intro.nowarn>>the very same glow that was spreading over Gale's features back then<</if>>, which can be nothing but a figment of your imagination. You blink, and it is gone. Just stone, a tribute to the Fourth Sister. <<elseif $path is 5>><<set $sisters_5 to false>>The Fifth Sister is never shown alone. Always in a company, but not of the likenesses of other Sisters, rather strangers, their faceless figures just as chipped as hers. Her hands are open, rings emanating from her spread palms, same rings around the heads of those surrounding her. Her presence is meant a blessing to them, is easy enough to glean from it, enough to lift the //Spirit// and tend to the body. <br /><br /> Hers if a gift of looking at a person but seeing their life essence: its flow and blockages, ailments and afflictions that befall one. And armed with that knowledge, the search for a cure is just a matter of persistence. <br /><br /> You cannot help but think, expect it to be more than just corporeal, but throughout your entire stay in the Tower you have never seen Mort do anything but. It is only more puzzling when you know how much the mages of her gift were feared--and how much of a soft soul Mort seems to be... <</if>> <</if>> <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $sisters_1>><li>[[the First Sister.|tower_3_sisters][$path to 1]]</li><br /><</if>> <<if $sisters_2>><li>[[the Second Sister.|tower_3_sisters][$path to 2]]</li><br /><</if>> <<if $sisters_3>><li>[[the Third Sister.|tower_3_sisters][$path to 3]]</li><br /><</if>> <<if $sisters_4>><li>[[the Fourth Sister.|tower_3_sisters][$path to 4]]</li><br /><</if>> <<if $sisters_5>><li>[[the Fifth Sister.|tower_3_sisters][$path to 5]]</li><br /><</if>> <li>[[Enough, I ought to make haste.|tower_4][]]</li></ul></div> <<else>> And so you have walked past them all. <<NextPage tower_4>>/* [[tower_4]] */ <</if>> <</nobr>>

The Sisters' presence permeates the Tower, but there is another that is just as heavy. Your step falters by the portrait that is easily the largest, marking the approach to the <<print $q.king>>'s chosen quarters. Gideon le Tellier is depicted in it. It must have been painted long before his occupancy of the Sunken Throne: his poised figure is donning armor, one hand on a hilt, his thick hair and beard are youthfully brown. He is painted in his prime not to show the mastery of a brushstroke, but to impose even in death. His forehead is creased in a frown, deep-set eyes the color and the clarity of amber glint with defiance--even the light falls onto his features in service of this one goal. This is a man you know has been //executed//, but his will echoes to you even through time, even through the bottomless sea that your memories have drowned in. Gideon Le Tellier, the late father of the sitting Gray Regent. Gideon //the Usurper//, although referring to him as such is not safe even in the silence of your own thoughts. Approach the door. Nod at the guard. Chin up. Fold your hands at the low of your back. "$q.king $q.name," the guard addresses the small slit in the opening door. "Mage $p.name is here to see you." <<NextPage y_office_1>>/* [[y_office_1]] */

<<silently>> <<set $intro.favor_y to false>> <<set $intro.favor_p to false>> <<set $intro.spoke_adg to false>> <<set $intro.reason to 0>> <<set $intro.alys_advice to 0>> <<unset $riding>> <</silently>>\ Your eyes immediately land on a row of tall windows with arched tops. The room is gently lit by numerous lanterns, and their light reveals the wrung forms of water streaks on the glass. The opposite wall is supported by a labyrinth of book spines, occupying the shelves of rich red wood that reach beyond any human height, books arranged defying any system or a pretense of tidiness. Fireplace crackles, its color deep crimson but flames weak, exposing the ashen gray carcass that was once a log. Every sound bounces off the softness of the velvety carpets, coaxing the visitors into a false sense of tranquility. You make two steps deeper in, and finally allow yourself to look straight ahead. <<if $q.gender is "male">>\ He is dressed in an overcoat of green so dim it is like looking into the depth of a forest at night, golden embroidery runs along the tightly fitted cuffs and the tall collar. The hair that never quite reaches his shoulders is only lightly tousled, a single loose strand falling into his face. Ever the image of composure. <<else>>\ Her dress, of green so dim it is like looking into the depth of a forest at night, is decorated with intricate and sparse embroidery. The high collar ends right under the sharp curve of her jaw, not stiff but poised, much like the straight line of her back. Beads of gold flicker gently, woven into a thick braid that keeps the strands pulled away from her face. <</if>>\ The Gray Regent \ <<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>>\ <<if $q.rel.love == 2>>\ stands by $q.his desk, $q.his hands folded with grace one on top of the other in front of $q.him. $q.He is held up by some inexplicable tension, the careful high collar of $q.his <<if $q.he is "he">>overcoat<<else>>dress<</if>> bent as if it has been pulled on. When your eyes meet the amber in $q.his, $q.he shifts $q.his weight, heavy fabric swishing; a step that $q.he does not make after all. The <<print $q.king>>'s mouth is a firm line, but there is a frown between $q.his brows, one that is so simple to take for regretful. As if on command, pain reminds you of itself, splitting from the cut in concentric waves. <<else>>\ sits at $q.his desk, back straight and hands laced together. There is a serving of tea at $q.his side, the quill pen put far away, revealing to you that however the conversation with Jax has gone, it must have left the Gray Regent truly unsettled to abandon $q.his daily duties for the sake of preparing <<print $q.him>>self for your arrival. As silence lingers, $q.his inspection of you continues, tracing your form with eyes alone, briefly pausing at the area of the wound--and then bolting up to your face where $q.his gaze remains. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ <<if $q.rel.love == 2>>\ stands with $q.his arms crossed, facing the fireplace. Light hits $q.his face, highlights dancing on the golden seams and buttons and hanging onto the tips of $q.his hair--only when your eyes drift upwards you notice that $q.he has been looking at you sidelong this entire time. Warmth rushes up the sides of your face: the wet coldness of Riante in the season of rain chased out by the tendrils of heat from the fireplace and the flickering of amber in the <<print $q.king>>'s eyes. It is as humbling as it is stirring. Any appearance of relief and excitement that threatens to paint itself on your face you try to stifle, but your attempt crumbles into an unnerved ruin. You clear your throat with a pinch of sternness to it, reminding yourself of where you stand and who it is that you are facing. <<else>>\ sits at $q.his desk, back straight and hands laced together. There is a serving of tea at $q.his side, the quill pen put far away, revealing to you that however the conversation with Jax has gone, it must have left the Gray Regent truly unsettled to abandon $q.his daily duties for the sake of preparing <<print $q.him>>self for your arrival. The glint in $q.his eyes is next to impossible to decrypt with all the distance between you, with the way $q.he hardly moves--but it is there. Maybe, you hope, it is because the $q.king is glad to see you <<if $intro.wounded is false>>unharmed<<else>>faring so well despite the injury<</if>>, and not because the anticipation of telling you off brings $q.him joy. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I do what I must in the presence of a monarch: I take a knee.|y_office_2][$path to 1; $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +10)]]</li> <<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>><li>[[The most I can do is dip my chin apologetically. Pain is too high of a price to pay for a simple greeting.|y_office_2][$path to 2; $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +10)]]</li><</if>> <li>[[More than anyone I know what this audience will be about. I need to explain myself, everything, and so I start talking.|y_office_2][$path to 3]]</li> <<if not $intro.wounded or $intro.healed>><li>[["I stand frozen and look to the "+$q.king+" for guidance on what to do next. If "+$q.he+" even wishes me to start talking or if what I'm about to hear of all the ways I have failed "+$q.him+"."|y_office_2][$path to 4]]</li><</if>> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ It is a habit by now, submitting yourself to the pressure of the <<print $q.king>>'s presence. <<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>>Even the threat of pain doesn't deter you. <</if>>Your moves lack the usual ease, fatigue taking over without mercy, and the shuffling of your feet for composure is sluggish, as if the carpet has sprouted vines to wrap themselves around your ankles. <<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>>\ "Nonsense," the $q.king intervenes, $q.his tone crisp and commanding. You stop moving before your mind can truly comprehend the request, your chest swelling with unbidden relief. <<include y_injury>> <<else>>\ "My $q.king," you address, hand gripping your knee for support. "I heard it was eventful," reaches your ears as your eyes are still half-lidded and your head bent. The tone of $q.his voice is even, perhaps curious. You look up and straighten yourself, attempting to shake off the fog of weariness with a discreet tug at your shirt. <</if>>\ <<elseif $path is 2>>\ The $q.king regards you with a light tilt of $q.his head, and, despite the pleasant feel of the chamber, $q.his attention puts you on your toes with how prying it seems to be. \<<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>> <<include y_injury>><</if>> <<elseif $path is 3>>\ Well now. Excuses. Usually something lining the bottom of the satchel, pulled out only when every other option has been exhausted--yet you are reduced to leading with them. Feels...inadequate. And yet it is a safer bet, to drown out the <<print $q.king>>'s disdain, $q.his disappointment with at least a few words that could speak in your favor. "There was an unexpected complication, my $q.king," spills out of me. "I did not anticipate the competition for the item to be a mage hunter and--" \<<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>> <<include y_injury>><</if>> <<elseif $path is 4>>\ Your silence is expectant and your gaze is watchful, wondering what $q.he ended up making of Jax's story. \<<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>> <<include y_injury>><</if>> <</if>>\ <<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>>\ The $q.king steps closer, hands folded in front of $q.him in steadiness that you cannot mirror, not in your fragmented state. \ <<if $q.rel.love == 2 and $intro.sash>>\ Up close, you notice that something shifts and swirls underneath the composed facade. You are momentarily taken by it, observing with curiosity and forgetting your pains. At once it changes when the sash catches $q.his eye. <<include y_sash>> <</if>>\ <<else>>\ <<if $q.rel.love == 2 and $intro.sash>>\ The $q.king makes a few soft steps your way, gaze light with the warmth of the fireplace still swirling in it. You find yourself oddly at peace, even with the looming promise of the Gray Regent's displeasure taking form and crashing against you. Nothing comes because the sash catches $q.his eye. <<include y_sash>> <<else>>\ The $q.king rises from the desk, fabric streaming down $q.his body. There is a weary slowness to the way $q.he circles $q.his station, slow and yet determined, eyes sharp as ever. $q.He walks closer<<if $path is 3>>, pinning you in silence, excuses snuffed out,<</if>> and leaves few steps between you.<<if $q.rel.love >= 1>> $q.His eyes are bright, molten in the heat of the fireplace, and unwaveringly following every change in your expression.<</if>> <</if>>\ <</if>>\ "Would you mind joining me for a game?" $q.he suddenly says and motions to the seating area well illuminated by the glowing embers. The allure of the cushioning, a luxury rarely seen elsewhere, is undeniable, and there is a deck of cards in the center of the small table already. "Or is that too much to ask?" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["I slowly nod in agreement. It is a rare opportunity, and surely " + $q.he + " wouldn't offer me to play cards if " + $q.he + " was that displeased with me."|y_office_play1][$path to 1; $q.rel.trust to Math.fm($q.rel.trust, +5); $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +3); $q.rel.fr to Math.fm($q.rel.fr, +7)]]</li> <li>[[This has been a long day. I think the intensity of today gives me breathing room to decline and proceed straight with my report.|y_office_noplay1][$path to 2;]]</li> <li>[[I cannot help feel a little surprised and... excited? This is the Gray Regent's private affair, and to be invited to it feels... special. How can I say no?|y_office_play1][$path to 3; $q.rel.trust to Math.fm($q.rel.trust, +5); $q.rel.love += 1; $q.rel.fr to Math.fm($q.rel.fr, +7)]]</li> <li>[[I don't understand how playing a card game will help us recover from today's failure. We should be talking, not wasting time.|y_office_noplay1][$path to 4; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -6)]]</li> </ul></div>

"Jax informed me you have suffered a serious injury." "That is true," you admit stiffly, watching $q.his face with great attention. Jax knows how exactly you sustained it, and you cannot help but wonder if the $q.king knows too, if that was worthy of more than a passing comment in their retelling. The Gray Regent does not rush any explanation out of you, but observes the steadiness with which you uphold yourself. The furrow of $q.his brows is light, but it still casts a cold shadow onto $q.his eyes. "Did Mort see to it?" "Of course, my $q.king. He sees no obstacle to recovery." <<if $q.rel.love >= 1>>The fingers of $q.his right hand twitch, then clasp into a loose fist. <</if>>$q.He slowly nods as if unconvinced and sweeps you with a careful gaze. The Gray Regent is skilled with a sword, but you do not know if $q.he has ever engaged in a duel that would pose a real danger to $q.him. "Then we shall trust in him."

The <<print $q.king>>'s hand rises, \ <<if $p.touch>>\ two fingers hooking beneath the expensive fabric that has the Regency emblem stitched into it. $q.His features soften, you catch it instantly, a smile that is born in $q.his eyes but is not permitted to travel down towards $q.his mouth--and your heart lurches for the observation, for $q.his hand still so close to your chest where you can almost feel its warmth. <<else>>\ only to freeze halfway to you and for $q.his fingers to curl into a relaxed fist that then drops to $q.his side. This hesitancy finds no reflection in $q.his eyes that soften, though no smile reaches $q.his mouth. <</if>>\ "You would wear it," the $q.king says, a little throaty. This is not a question when the evidence is <<if $p.touch>>pressed beneath $q.his fingers, embroidery as fine as everything $q.he gets to wear.<<else>>right here under $q.his scrutiny, golden thread pulling in stray light until it shines like the real thing.<</if>> You find, unsurprisingly, that your voice reduces almost to a whisper, adjusting for $q.his proximity, "Of course, my $q.king." You cannot smile, not before $q.he does it first--and $q.he does not, letting go of the spell of this moment<<if $p.touch>> and from the sash that now hangs unimpeded off your shoulder<</if>>.

<<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>>\ Your side throbs in anticipation, but you \ <<else>>\ You \ <</if>>\ are glad to take the weight off your legs and allow your back to sink into the soft padding of the cushions. The $q.king takes the seat across from you and starts to expertly shuffle the deck. The cards, you know, see frequent use, for how many times you have walked in only to catch the Gray Regent pondering over an arrangement, eyes glazed over and unseeing. Only this deck is in pristine condition, as if it has been waiting for company. The comforts envelop you, the fireplace softly crackles, and the <<print $q.king>>'s methodical and measured motions pass the cards between yourself and $q.him one by one. By the end you are left languid, looking at the equal-sized stacks on both sides of the table. Only one card remains in the Gray Regent's hands, and $q.he gingerly places it in the center of the wooden table. The reverse of the deck bears a motif of a crystal wall, thin jagged lines all over it to convey the supposed cracks. The artistry is stunning in its realism, and the cards look so fragile as if they would fall apart in your hands. "Old crone," the $q.king reveals with just a curl to $q.his lip, watching your reaction, and drags the lone card toward $q.his pile. The cold that rushes down your spine does away with all the peace you have been enjoying just now. A //crone// is a crude way, scandalously indecent, to refer to a Sister if one were to decry magic as the source of all evil. No mage would use it, least of all the Gray Regent. And yet there is a game that bears such a name, and the Gray Regent not only speaks it, $q.he invites you to play it. $q.He pulls back and props $q.his elbos on the armrest, lifting $q.his hand to cover anything the curve of $q.his mouth might reveal. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[The name doesn't sound very pleasant, but I admit I do not know—or remember—anything about such a game.|y_office_play2][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I've heard of it in passing, and the rules are not that complicated to require practice to secure a win.|y_office_play2][$path to 2]]</li> </ul></div>

<<silently>> <<set $winThreshold to 0>> <</silently>> <<if $path is 1>>\ <<if $p.playful > 55>>\ "If I were to close my ears to the name," you say with tense levity that well accentuates your discomfort, "I would still have to admit that I do not know the rules to the game that has managed to capture the Gray Regent's interest." <<else>>\ "I'm afraid I don't know the rules, my $q.king," you admit earnestly. <</if>>\ $q.He closes $q.his eyes slowly, as if nodding, and starts explaining. "Find all the pairs in your part of the deck, their faces will be the same. Once only the unmatched cards remain in your hands, we start drawing from each other's stacks blindly to secure another pair." You frown lightly. "You have more cards than I do." The Gray Regent lets out a soft, breathy chuckle. "The old //crone// has no partner. One card has no match, and to end with it is to lose." A small itch bothers your palm, a pull to reach out and flip your cards to see if you have it. You curb it, grasping one hand in the other with a nod. <<else>>\ Old crone is a game of collecting pairs and trying to get rid of the only card without a match should it end in your hand. For all of its simplicity, the games devolve into a screaming match all too often, with either side accusing the other of peeking. "I've caught a sight of it a few times," you admit. Around Daelan, but in the Lantern too. Probably not something the Gray Regent should hear. "Some were bold enough--or perhaps just drunk enough--to make bets around the game." Much to your carefully stifled surprise, the $q.king only chuckles, none of $q.his composure disturbed by this revelation. "I shall only hope these were not the masters you have learned from," $q.he says. <<if $p.playful > 50>>"Call me a traditionalist, but I prefer my teachers to be sober."<<else>>"One can acquire valuable information in a dingy tavern, but never finesse and skill."<</if>> <</if>>\ "Well then," the $q.king says, voice carrying excitement, "I need to incentivize you to give it your best shot, $p.name. Lest you think my pride cannot take a loss in a game of cards." //Some// nobles cannot. Numerous, in fact. Power is a fickle thing, and no blow to it is too small when one holds it with shaking hands. Still, it doesn't seem all that harmful to ask for an explanation. "My $q.king?" you patiently inquire. "Whoever loses will owe the opponent a favor, without a need to explain themselves," $q.he delivers with an easy smile. Interesting. You wait for $q.him to reveal it to be a jest, an offer no monarch would make in a sound mind. But $q.he says nothing, the offer lingering in the air and expecting your acknowledgement. The reward favors your side strongly: the Gray Regent already has the power to command you to do things you sometimes cannot make sense of, so there is little gain for $q.him. But for you to get a favor from the $q.king should you win... Seems like $q.he is indeed only trying to incentivize you, true to $q.his word. It could come to your assistance at an unexpected time--assuming that you win. And there //are// things you could try to do just that. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Old crone sounds like a simple game of chance and just gives the players a reason to glare at one another. There is no need to pretend it is anything but.|y_office_play3][$winThreshold to 0.77]]</li> <li>[[Good old strategic card shuffling and some well-timed "betrayals" of my very own intentions. It is the way the game meant to be played.|y_office_play3][$p.wits to Math.fm($p.wits, +10); $winThreshold to 0.5]]</li> <li>[["I won't employ any techniques of my own, given that I don't play it on the regular like the "+$q.king+" seems to do, but I will fill "+$q.his+" head with conversation to make sure "+$q.he+" is distracted."|y_office_play3][$p.speech to Math.fm($p.speech, +10); $winThreshold to 0.44]]</li> </ul></div>

You lean over and paw the cards. Thick ornate pieces, as you notice when you flip them over, continue with their magical theme, depicting the various greenery that has become familiar to you over the past months. Helping Mort, you have picked up quite a lot about plants whether you wanted it or not. Delicate lines painted by a confident hand show those you have so often watched Mort handle: from the long curled leaves of //prygrass// to a bud lying on a crown of sharp petals, its name escaping you. Flipping through your deck you stumble upon the image of //Etna's embrace//, of which you only have a sole card. The way it is pictured betrays the artist somewhat: the trailing vine wraps around a trunk of a tree that is painted in nondescript fashion, as if the artist did not know where the plant usually grew. Commonly believed to send habitual liars into a spiral toward madness, the time spent with Mort has taught you that chewing its leaves makes one rather relaxed, prone to vivid dreams and very predisposed to seek the feeling out again. The observation of craftsmanship aside, you take stock of the pairs you have matched and cast them out of your hand. \<<silently>> <<set _cardHasCroneChance to State.random()>> <<set $cardHasCrone to State.random()>> <<if _cardHasCroneChance >= 0.5>> <<set $cardHasCrone to true>> <</if>> <</silently>>\ <<if $cardHasCrone>>Despite the Gray Regent dealing <<print $q.him>>self an extra card, the //crone// ends up on your hands. The artwork is the same: dashed lines for shadows, and there are numerous spots to shade where the woman's face is hollowed, covered by the matted strands of long unruly hair. She sits on a tree stump under an arch fitted with lush leaves and flowers, among which you can recognize the shapes you have just been matching. The power is with the nature, it aims to show, the mages are merely appropriating it. The old crone sits surrounded by all the magic she envies and wastes away. Just another reminder how many believe mages to be cheats of some kind. Enough to make a game of it, at least.<</if>> When you finally look up, you meet the <<print $q.king>>'s gaze, as $q.he has already expertly gone through $q.his hand and could spend time idly watching you. "Shall we?" $q.he asks, fanning out $q.his cards for you to pick out. Accommodating to the degree that can easily leave one ruffled. $q.He is confident in $q.his victory. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I feel like I already know how it's going to end...|y_office_play4][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I want to watch it play out. (minigame in development)|y_office_play4_game][$path to 2]]</li> </ul></div>

<<silently>> <<set _cardGameDie to State.random()>> <<if _cardGameDie >= $winThreshold>> <<set $intro.favor_p to true>> <<else>> <<set $intro.favor_y to true>> <</if>> <<unset $winThreshold>> <</silently>>[A/N: minigame currently in development] <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|y_office_play4]]</div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ <<silently>> <<set _cardGameDie to State.random()>> <<if _cardGameDie >= $winThreshold>> <<set $intro.favor_p to true>> <<else>> <<set $intro.favor_y to true>> <</if>> <<unset $winThreshold>> <</silently>>\ <</if>>\ <<if $intro.favor_p>>\ Your hands are empty, and the Gray Regent places the lone card in $q.his hand on the table with a short sigh of exasperation. You won. It was so easy to think that luck has turned its back on you entirely after the day you've had, but you //won//. It is a strange thing, to feel triumph with your hands empty: of cards, of the pouch made of rich green velvet, so you look at the $q.king. $q.His posture is slack, side of $q.his face propped along $q.his open palm, and $q.he gestures leisurely towards you. "Well done, <<print $p.name>>," the $q.king drawls. That $q.he now owes a favor to one of $q.his subordinates does nothing to upset $q.his mood. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["I'm struggling not to be smug. \"Just so you know, I intend to make the most of this opportunity, my " + $q.king + ".\""|y_office_play5][$path to 1; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +5); $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -3); $q.rel.trust to Math.fm($q.rel.trust, +5)]]</li> <li>[["Just a stroke of luck," I comment sheepishly. It won't do me any good to gloat.|y_office_play5][$path to 2; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -2); $p.ruthless to Math.fm($p.ruthless, -3);]]</li> <li>[["\"Did you mean that, about the favor?\" Seems too good to be true now that I have actually won. The "+ $q.king +" really has no reason to make good on "+$q.his+" word."|y_office_play5][$path to 3; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -3);]]</li> <li>[[I nod with a satisfied smile on my lips. Whether or not the favor will ever come into play, I was due to finally succeed in something today.|y_office_play5][$path to 4; $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +5); $q.rel.trust to Math.fm($q.rel.trust, +3)]]</li> </ul></div> <<else>>\ Second time today things do not go your way. You should have probably expected it. The crone is staring at you, card held between your fingertips. <<if not $cardHasCrone>>The artwork is the same: dashed lines for shadows, and there are numerous spots to shade where the woman's face is hollowed, covered by the matted strands of long unruly hair. She sits on a tree stump under an arch fitted with lush leaves and flowers, among which you can recognize the shapes you have just been matching. The power is with the nature, it aims to show, the mages are merely appropriating it. The old crone sits surrounded by all the magic she envies and wastes away.<</if>> The style is meant to upset you, not only with the image of all Sisters collapsed into one as though they do not matter, but also with the implication of their powerlessness. Well, on the other hand, it is simply a card game. You can flip it over and forget. Though not your loss. The triumphant smile on the <<print $q.king>>'s face is unabashed<<if $q.rel.love>1>> and, despite the taste of defeat in your mouth, infectious.<<else>>.<</if>> <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["\"It doesn't seem like you have won much, my "+$q.king+".\" I say with a short laugh. \"What you say I do anyway.\""|y_office_play5][$path to 5; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +3); $q.rel.trust to Math.fm($q.rel.trust, +5)]]</li> <li>[[This defeat is just another notch in today's tally. I smile through gritted teeth only because I must.|y_office_play5][$p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -5); $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +5); $path to 6]]</li> <li>[["It would have been too odd if I did, in fact, snatch a win," I say with a shrug. It was never a fair fight to begin with, so I'm not too bothered.|y_office_play5][$path to 7]]</li> <li>[["A smirk tugs at my lips. \"Well done, my "+$q.king+". Almost as if you do this often.\""|y_office_play5][$path to 8; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +3); $q.rel.trust to Math.fm($q.rel.trust, +5); $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -3)]]</li> </ul></div> <</if>>\

<<if $path is 1>>\ "I will be waiting for it with bated breath, $p.name," the Gray Regent replies, the glow of the fireplace in $q.his eyes reflected enticingly. "I wonder what for will you end up using it..." To get out of trouble, to make a request for some luxury, to have your question answered, or perhaps... The possibilities are countless, but you ought to weigh them carefully. Something tells you that you will not get another one, and today is not the best time to make such a decision. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ "Luck chose you for a reason today," the Gray Regent replies, $q.his gaze misty. "I wonder what for will you end up using it..." To get out of trouble, to make a request for some luxury, to have your question answered, or perhaps... The possibilities are countless, but you ought to weigh them carefully. Something tells you that you will not get another one, and today is not the best time to make such a decision. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ "I'm not sitting here because I trade in empty words, $p.name," the Gray Regent replies with a light smile that goes against the glint in $q.his eyes. The uncertainty flares up at these words: neither is the $q.king sitting here because $q.he allows <<print $q.him>>self to be put at a disadvantage. However, you are patient enough to let $q.him finish the thought. "I'm rather curious how you will end up using it." This last admission is, oddly, the most comforting among $q.his reassurances. You could use it to get out of trouble, to make a request for some luxury, to have your question answered, or perhaps... The possibilities are countless, but you ought to weigh them carefully. Something tells you that you will not get another one, and today is not the best time to make such a decision. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ "I'm rather curious to see how you will make use of this opportunity," the Gray Regent admits with a weak laugh. To get out of trouble, to make a request for some luxury, to have your question answered, or perhaps... The possibilities are countless, but you ought to weigh them carefully. Something tells you that you will not get another one, and today is not the best time to make such a decision. <<elseif $path is 5>>\ "You make it sound so dull, $p.name," the $q.king retorts, resting $q.his face in the palm of $q.his hand. "I do not share your opinion at all." But you are right. What can $q.he ask you that you will not end up doing or saying? The $q.king does not turn humiliation into entertainment unless it is a foe, and you clearly are in $q.his favor. Loosing doesn't take you out of it, that is for certain. Perhaps it is simply because $q.he sees the things you do not. $q.His plans are far-reaching. You will have to wait. <<elseif $path is 6>>\ The <<print $q.king>>'s eyes are on you, $q.his face calm and relaxed, with an almost-smile on $q.his lips. It flits once to your hands, and you instantly notice the grip you have on the lonely card in your hand, bending it out of shape. You loosen the strength in your fingers and put down the sign of your defeat. What can $q.he ask you that you will not end up doing or saying? The $q.king does not turn humiliation into entertainment unless it is a foe, and you clearly are in $q.his favor. Loosing doesn't take you out of it, that is for certain. Perhaps $q.he wants to have this favor because $q.he sees the things you do not. $q.His plans are far-reaching. You will have to wait. <<elseif $path is 7>>\ "Now, do not sell yourself short," the $q.king smiles, gathering the cards into a neat pile, "you put up a formidable fight. And there is always an element of luck. In everything." It feels as if it is about more than cards, but $q.his voice is light. "Thank you, my $q.king," you say unsurely. What can $q.he ask you that you will not end up doing or saying? The $q.king does not turn humiliation into entertainment unless it is a foe, and you clearly are in $q.his favor. Loosing doesn't take you out of it, that is for certain. Perhaps $q.he wants to have this favor because $q.he sees the things you do not. $q.His plans are far-reaching. You will have to wait. <<elseif $path is 8>>\ "Now, now, you wouldn't suggest the Gray Regent indulges in frivolities, would you," $q.he retorts as $q.he reaches to gather the cards back into a neat pile. "If $q.he does, it is performed with much skill," you say and watch $q.him smirk at your words. "A wonderful play on your part," the $q.king remarks. You silently wish $q.he would keep thinking so even as the subject changes to your disastrous adventure today, but you aren't as naive. Besides, you now owe $q.him a //favor//. What can $q.he ask you that you will not end up doing or saying? The $q.king does not turn humiliation into entertainment unless it is a foe, and you clearly are in $q.his favor. Loosing doesn't take you out of it, that is for certain. Perhaps $q.he wants to have this favor because $q.he sees the things you do not. $q.His plans are far-reaching. You will have to wait. <</if>>\ The thrill of the game dies quickly, and its resolution cannot keep the debilitating effect of fatigue at bay any longer. "Perhaps I should inform you of the results of my outing, my <<print $q.king>>?" you suggest carefully, reluctant to touch the cloud of good humor that is surrounding the Gray Regent. It takes only a split moment for $q.his expression to change, as if quick correcting brushstrokes straighten the playful squint of $q.his eyes. "I hear you ran into my nephew." <<include y_office_merge_game>>

<<if $p.affinity.y>10 or $q.rel.love>1>>\ "Perhaps I should explain myself right away, my <<print $q.king>>?" you say carefully. You do not wish to offend $q.him in any way, but you cannot imagine yourself sitting through a game of cards like nothing out of ordinary has occurred today. The need to clarify would hang over your head, the nagging sensation at the back of your mind. It would show on your face, and it is not the image you want $q.him to witness. <<else>>\ "Not a gambling person, especially not when this tired," you reply simply, offering two reasons to soften your refusal. Outright rejecting the Gray Regent under the current light would not be the brightest move, but $q.he can choose the one that makes him less bothered, you hope. <</if>>\ $q.He nears the seating area, resting on top of the cushions, and motions for you to do the same across from $q.him. You end up wrapped in the warm breath of the fireplace, weight propped up. The $q.king speaks first. "I hear you ran into my nephew." <<include y_office_merge_game>>

You //knew// Jax would not fail to mention this, but you did not expect the Gray Regent to broach the subject by referring to Gale. Not the mysterious pouch or your encounter with a mage hunter, your first since you ended up in the Tower, but $q.his nephew. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Without truly knowing what I was sent to retrieve, I cannot explain why I ran into the people I did, why the mage prince was drawn to the mysterious pouch. I need to convey this to the Gray Regent.|y_office_talk1a][$path to 1; $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +5); $p.memories.incident to Math.fm($p.memories.incident, +5)]]</li> <li>[['So '+$q.he +' wishes to know more about Gale? I should make it about him then, and perhaps this information makes up for my failure somewhat.'|y_office_talk1b][$path to 2; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +6); $p.memories.y to Math.fm($p.memories.y, +3)]]</li> <li>[[I will not say any more than I am asked to. I am confident Jax has already filled the Gray Regent in on most of the important details.|y_office_talk1c][$path to 3; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, -4)]]</li></ul></div>

"I did," you nod, recalling the incident in vivid detail. "His appearance...complicated things. Everything spun out of control quickly. And I saw a glimpse of what I was sent to retrieve: it was secured in a small velvet bag. The contents of it seemed to have an //effect// on him." "Oh," the $q.king raises $q.his brow. "What kind of an effect?" Despite the amused smile $q.he presents, the steely glint in $q.his eyes is far from cheerful. Jax would have mentioned this too, so it seems like the $q.king wants to hear it from you. <<if $intro.nowarn>>\ <<include y_dust_fulleffect>> "Did you expect something like that?" you ask carefully. The Gray Regent looks ready for your question, closing $q.his eyes for a moment as if the response is hidden within the neatly folded memories. "With magic of the Fourth under his control, he was always going pose a problem," $q.he says softly, like the subject were not an ability to kill on a whim, the strength and preparedness of a victim not being a factor at all. "He was brought up in a rough grasp and with no teachers. The arrogant halfwits in Rimehall believe magic is to be studied but never to be practiced. How could they possibly prepare him for a lifetime of wielding Frieda's power? For sending him out into the world teeming with magic in all the unexplored corners?" "So it //was// magic..." you say under your breath. It is rather obvious in hindsight. The $q.king lets out a clipped laugh, the sound soft. "It must have been quite a sight to have you this unsettled, $p.name. It feels like the cause of your concern is the effect it might have had on you, given that it was to end up in //your// hands. Would that be it?" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["Yes," I admit.|y_office_talk2][$path to 1; $q.rel.trust to Math.fm($q.rel.trust, +3)]]</li> <li>[["Yes," I say, only to seem more agreeable.|y_office_talk2][$path to 2; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +2); $q.rel.trust to Math.fm($q.rel.trust, +3)]]</li> <li>[["I was mostly curious if it could be useful."|y_office_talk2][$path to 3; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -2); $q.rel.trust to Math.fm($q.rel.trust, +1)]]</li> <li>[['Even if it is, I do not want to admit it so directly to ' + $q.his + ' face. I will weasel out of replying.'|y_office_talk2][$path to 4; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, +2)]]</li> </ul></div> <<else>>\ <<include y_dust_interference>> <</if>>\

"Indeed I have, and it was rather...unpleasant." Your words carry a promise of a story, and hopefully $q.he wants to hear it. The $q.king lets out a noisy breath of discontent. "It must have, given the company he keeps." "I would have expected a mage to give each and every hunter a wide berth." Regardless of how composed he seemed, he stood in your way and was the reason why you returned empty-handed. And in service to what? To the people in Daelan's capital, those that barely tolerate his magic, if not openly despise him for it. A strange choice, an obscene choice, but one he has demonstrated a lifelong commitment to, no less. Someone like the Gray Regent, his very own <<print $q.uncle>>, would surely think so and find it insulting. And yet $q.he is smiling a haunting smile. "He is a curious boy, isn't he?" $q.he asks. <<if $intro.wounded>>\ "He offered to heal me with his magic," you say carefully. Even your breathing slows. <<if $intro.healed>>\ "Jax relayed that as well." <<if $q.rel.love >= 1>>$q.He holds your gaze for a long moment, and you are unable to look away either.<<else>>It is a little strange that they did, given that it is of no consequence to the $q.king, but you make no question out of it.<</if>> "It was wise of you to accept his offer. Many suspect it, but there is no trick to the healing effect of Frieda's magic. Maybe because she was known to not care for it much." Some part of you feels relief. You already have Mort's assurances and your own sensations to lean on, but the words of the monarch to all mages have their own, mightier weight to them. You nod as a means of gratitude, for hushing your concerns without even knowing they existed. <<else>>\ "I cannot fault you for refusing." $q.He sighs. "Frieda's magic can be quite intimidating if you haven't witnessed it being used on someone else before." For //giving// or for //taking//, you think to ask, but decide against it. "I feel much safer relying on myself," you explain. "And on Mort." "You worry me sometimes," the $q.king laments, a hint of something genuine despite the light air of theatrics. "You will not always have the luxury of a choice or the presence of the mind to make the right one." "That is true, my $q.king," you agree. "But I took the risk knowingly." "I will have to keep hoping your judgement remains unimpaired then." <</if>>\ "All I can say is that he was eager to help a stranger," you summarize. "Even despite the clear and very animate protest of his //companions//." "'Companion' is such a generous word to describe them. Though perhaps his choices are not surprising. Being soft-hearted is in his blood," $q.he says, though not with approval. From every hushed phrase and every passing remark you have caught, $q.he cannot mean the prince's father, the king of Daelan. You wouldn't call a man that is responsible for the creation of mage hunters soft-hearted. The heavy look in $q.king <<print $q.name>>'s eyes is for $q.his late sister, Gale's mother, and lingering on the subject of her will not get you any favors. <<elseif $intro.nowarn is false>>\ "He did have no qualms with letting me slip away from them." The $q.king casts $q.his gaze to the ceiling, sighing. "Unbelievable naivity. But at the same time...fascinating." You never heard Gale's reason for telling you to leave. They bickered among themselves without knowing what to do with you, but even the slightest hesitation was the opportunity you were going to use to escape. No one gave chase. <<else>>\ "You would know better, my $q.king," you say carefully. "But that magic is sure something." $q.He nods. "It is a special kind, you know. The undiluted power of Frieda's will, never spent on apprentices. That is perhaps why it remained so powerful. To bend life force itself..." $q.He chuckles in amusement. "And it is in Karon's hands." It is no secret that the Gray Regent has no love or a tiniest fragment of respect for Daelan's king. Despite the treaty and him tolerating $q.lady $q.name on the seat in Riante, you cannot imagine them in the same room together. Perhaps you were only fortunate that the power of the Fourth was not directed at you. <</if>>\ "I saw a glimpse of what I was sent to retrieve," you say, and the $q.king snaps out of $q.his reverie, "but just a glimpse. It was secured in a small velvet bag, and I never got close to it myself. But your nephew... The contents of it seemed to have an effect on him" That does it. The Gray Regent's brows rise in amusement. "Oh," $q.he says. "How so?" <<NextPage y_office_talk1b_2>>/* [[y_office_talk1b_2]] */

<<if $intro.nowarn>>\ <<include y_dust_fulleffect>> "You are not concerned for him?" you ask. The Gray Regent eyes you as if you have done an unexpected move against $q.him in cards, with pleased surprise. "Perhaps a little." $q.He stifles a short, sad laugh. "Although I must say I am not sure in what way." \<<set $path to 0>> <<NextPage y_office_talk2>>/* [[y_office_talk2]] */ <<else>>\ <<include y_dust_interference>> <</if>>\

"I did," you nod. Speaking to the $q.king about $q.his only surviving family with your memory missing and the story reconstructed from the fragments of overheard conversations and vague mentions would require the levels of eloquence that are likely impossible to achieve. Saying as little as possible is exactly the right move. But to your curt admission, the Gray Regent lets out a soft huff, velvety amusement. "Should you decide to pick your words for this familial link, do not bother," $q.he says. Perhaps $q.he is used to it. It would be pointless to deny your hesitation, so you take a slightly different way of talking about Gale. "It is as you already know from Jax, my $q.king. I saw a glimpse of what I was sent to retrieve, but only a glimpse: it was secured in a small velvet bag. As of now, unfortunately, it is in the hands of your nephew." $q.He nods to your words, thoughtfully quiet, and you recognize the look on $q.his face. Dredging up memories. "My nephew," $q.he says slowly, as if unused to these words on $q.his tongue. "A curious boy, that one." The pause that follows is for you to fill. You scour the memory of the incident, still fresh, <<if $intro.wounded>>still throbbing below your ribs<<else>>still bitter<</if>>, and think of the mage prince. "The contents of that bag seemed to have an...effect on him." That does it. The Gray Regent's brows rise, encouraging you. "Oh," $q.he says. "How so?" <<if $intro.nowarn>>\ <<include y_dust_fulleffect>> \<<set $path to 0>> <<NextPage y_office_talk2>>/* [[y_office_talk2]] */ <<else>>\ <<include y_dust_interference>> <</if>>\

"Difficult to say. It was as if it called out to him, or if he knew he would find it with the man I was pursuing. Something almost spilled out of the pouch when he untied it, but I did not see what exactly. Some kind of...dust, maybe." The $q.king does not interrupt, studying you intently. "It seemed as though it put him in a thrall and...made him hurt the people around him." The $q.king tilts $q.his head sharply, the lines around $q.his eyes pulling together in taut focus. "Did he hurt //you//?" the $q.king asks evenly, but the fingers of $q.his hands, laced together in $q.his lap, are tense. "No," you respond hastily, only to be met with a flash of a smile, "I stayed away. The hunter, however, suffered the brunt of it. It looked painful. He couldn't stand." "Oh, that is right. There was the //hunter//. Painful, you said?" "There was nothing to me to see but his reaction. The closer the hunter approached, the more he suffered." $q.He smiles. "Interesting. Thank you." "It did not seem intentional on the prince's part, my $q.king." A content nod, a flicker of gratitude, $q.his eyes lose focus for a moment, but they never, ever, let go of you for long. Even as $q.he seems to leave the room in $q.his thoughts, putting together some pieces of information you have never even seen, $q.he passively holds you in $q.his view somehow.

"Like he could sense it, its power, even if it was hidden from his view. He ignored everyone as he tried to take a look at it up close." "Going through someone's things," the $q.king clicks $q.his tongue, "that is not very polite." "Well, I interfered," you hastily add. "It didn't seem like a good idea to have him interact with the contents." The Gray Regent studies you for a moment. "How so?" You pause, taking in $q.his expression with care. In the event of a failure, such as the one you are here to report, your actions being dictated by consideration for the future is your last defense. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"I just assumed you wouldn't want anyone to mess with it."'|y_office_talk2][$path to 5; $q.rel.trust to Math.fm($q.rel.trust, +4); $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +4);]]</li> <li>[['"From where I stood, it looked like a disaster in the making, and with his magic, I could not tell how dangerous it might get."'|y_office_talk2][$path to 6; $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +4)]]</li> <li>[["I... did not give it much thought, truth be told," I confess, tingles of unease creeping up my neck.|y_office_talk2][$path to 7; $p.memories.incident to Math.fm($p.memories.incident, +6)]]</li> <li>[["I... did not give it much thought, truth be told," I lie, not sure if the Gray Regent would like my real response.|y_office_talk2][$path to 8; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +4); $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, -3)]]</li></ul></div>

<<if $path is 1 or $path is 2>>\ The $q.king does not look surprised by your admission--or the ease with which it came. "We... Had Jax expected any risks for you, they would have told you so," $q.he says. "It is indeed not an innocent trinket, but one must go out of their way to coax any effect out of it. Like my nephew did." Was undoing the rope enough of going out of one's way, or did Gale do more than that? You were too busy to pay attention to him. "There are, sadly, enough fools in this world who will handle magic carelessly," the $q.king continues, absently looking into the fire. "We must all be ready for that." "I understand." <<elseif $path is 3>>\ Your reply seems to give $q.him a pause, $q.his inquisitive gaze fixed on yours. $q.His hands, fingers loosely linked, give away nothing. "It can. And it will," $q.he says then. "But all in due time." Of course it was important. Misfortunes of this magnitude only happen when something important is at stake. But as you look at the $q.king, $q.he does not fret and $q.he does not despair. It could be something innate, a compulsion to always appear as though you have everything under control, or it could be that $q.he //does//. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ "It was a number of unsettling things, all at the same time, my $q.king," you say. "I wouldn't want to run into <<if $p.mind.magic >=2>>a<<else>>another<</if>> mage outside of Riante, but one who had a mage hunter with him?.. I had no choice but to suspect they were after the same thing as I." Judging by the light curve of $q.his mouth, $q.he seems to accept your explanation. "Well then, perhaps I should keep my hasty assumptions to myself," $q.he says. You wisely refrain from replying either way. <<elseif $path is 5>>\ "A cautious approach. However, there are moments when a little chaos ends up bearing quite intriguing fruit," $q.he muses. "Was it wrong of me then, to warn him?" you ask. $q.He smiles at you, more with $q.his eyes. "There was no right or wrong," $q.he says, gracefully waving with $q.his hand. "We learned something today despite the setback." It feels as if someone was clasping their hand on your shoulder and then took it away in surprising relief. It is a good sign that $q.he is willing and capable of seeing beyond the failure. <<elseif $path is 6>>\ The $q.king sighs, $q.his eyes drifting to the fireplace. It holds $q.his attention as $q.he speaks. "It is truly a shame we did not anticipate this. To think that my nephew would run right into the way of the sample... What a coincidence indeed." Although that is an understatement, you do not have much to add. For a short while, you both watch the dying flames. Back in the wilderness, you weren't even sure you would get to see this place again, let alone sit on the cushions and enjoy the warmth of a fireplace. But this is the thing with Jax's power: one is carried between danger and safety in a matter of a dozen steps across the expanse of the Seam. The mind needs to settle afterward, often still reeling and restless. "Fate does work in mysterious ways," the $q.king says, chuckling to <<print $q.him>>self, and faces you. <<elseif $path is 7 or $path is 8>>\ Despite the unsure nature of your response, the $q.king reacts with a soft chuckle, $q.his cat-like eyes squinted. "Just do not go crossing sides on me, $p.name," $q.he drawls. <<if $p.affinity.y >=10>>\ You smile, head shaking lightly. "My $q.king, I would never." $q.He watches you for a moment, as if waiting to catch the moment your body might betray you. <<else>>\ Now more than ever you see how sharp $q.his eyes are, how $q.he always seems to know when to look at you to catch you at your most unguarded. "My $q.king, I would never," you say. $q.He watches you, gaze suddenly burdened, and lets out a short sigh. <</if>>\ \<<if $path is 8>> The back of your neck feels hot, worry finding a spot to assault. You dare not look away from the Gray Regent, much as you would like to. If $q.he is aware of the tension bracing you, $q.he does not make a mention of it. And you aren't sure which is worse. But in the end, the answer seems to be to $q.his satisfaction. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ $q.He suddenly rises to walk off to the windows, and you stand up to watch $q.him, lost in the absence of explanations. The $q.king does not turn $q.his back on you entirely, only enough to look at the lights glimmering in the city below, and you can still make out $q.his sharp profile against the reflection. Even when $q.he acts on the spur of a moment, every motion is fluid and intentional, calm even. "All of this being said, Karon is not allowed to catch wind of what we have set in motion," $q.he speaks. "We have a challenge ahead of us of to assure that he does not, in spite of the clue that is headed his way." You remain quiet and motionless, stillness mirroring $q.his. In moments such as this, $q.he is an easy example to follow. "You should rest," the Gray Regent says with a short nod. "It was not an easy day, and there are many such days ahead." <<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>>\ Your body weeps from fatigue, desperate to heed $q.his dismissal. <<else>>\ You ponder the trailing end of $q.his words. Whatever calm you are to experience, it will be fleeting. Perhaps it is best to make the most of it as $q.he suggests. <</if>>\ "Would that be... all, my $q.king?" <<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>>\ $q.He considers your question. "Take care of your injury as well," $q.he adds with a weak smile. <<else>>\ "For now, yes." <</if>>\ $q.His gaze lingers on you, as if waiting for your next move. What could you possibly do now that $q.he has told you to leave? <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[There is no need to tell me twice. I bow and exit the room.|y_office_talk3][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[['The truth is, I do not want to leave ' + $q.him + ' yet. "If I may ask, how have you been, my ' + $q.king + '?"'|y_office_talk3][$path to 2; $q.rel.love += 1; $q.rel.fr to Math.fm($q.rel.fr, +9)]]</li> <li>[['Before I go... "I am at your disposal whenever you need me, my ' + $q.king + '."'|y_office_talk3][$path to 3; $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +7); $q.rel.fr to Math.fm($q.rel.fr, +3)]]</li></ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ "By the Sister's grace," you bid, words that stuck to you for how many times you've heard it in these walls. Polite words reserved for the Tower, easy words that now slide off your tongue with no effort. Each mage knows which Sister looks out for them: the one whose Gift they bear. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ There are only so many things you may ask, and very likely, there are even fewer that $q.he can answer. Even something as innocent as a question of $q.his well-being feels intimate. As though if the $q.king has had a hard time at any moment in these days, $q.he might actually tell you. Surprise flickers in $q.his eyes, and a corner of $q.his mouth curls upward. "You may," $q.he replies and for a moment merely watches you. It is a little scrutinizing, words jumping to your tongue to fill this silence, but $q.his smile widens. "It has not been the same, of course. Not with yours and Jax's chambers empty. People seem to think this time opportune to swarm me with audiences." The $q.king laughs quietly at the weight of $q.his complaint. "That is not to say I seek you out to guard myself from those," $q.he adds then, gesturing at you with an open palm. Even if the heavy spirit of the prior conversation haunts you, the Gray Regent's humor allows you to momentarily ignore it and shift instead to the spike of excitement in your chest. The $q.king doesn't explain, doesn't say more, but $q.his response is open enough. <<if $p.playful > 60>>"I'm happy to serve however I can," you say with a light chuckle.<<else>>"I wouldn't doubt it," you say warmly.<</if>> $q.He nods, gaze shifting momentarily like $q.he doesn't want you to see it. "Well, I am glad you think so," $q.he says. Despite everything, you may still ask a question like that, and you might still get an answer. If it makes you feel better or worse about your failure, you are yet to decide. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ $q.His eyebrows rise, like your declaration was not expected. The perfect, if only a little disturbed by the familial link, image is rippled in small and short-reaching waves. When the $q.king smiles, it is a little unsure--but even that gets promptly erased. You would wonder, but then $q.he speaks. "I trust you to mean it." Having watched $q.him entertain visitors numerous times, the tone with which $q.he says them is just as important as the words themselves. You have returned to your $q.king with failure, and $q.his offer of //trust// could just very well be a veiled warning--and yet it isn't. $q.His eyes are a little tired. <</if>>\ \<<if $q.rel.love >= 2>> "And $p.name?" the Gray Regent suddenly calls. It has you turn, heeding $q.his request. "I want you to know that doing the right thing..." $q.He smiles to <<print $q.him>>self, bitterly and shyly, before continuing, "...is very difficult." It is only clear that no answer or acknowledgement is expected of you, but the rest is not. The $q.king subtly turns away, casting $q.his gaze to the view of the city again, and you cannot help but wonder if $q.he does it to avoid the confusion in your eyes. "It often is, my $q.king," you quietly say. <</if>>\ You exit the study, and the heavy doors readily close behind you, guided by a pair of gloved hands. <<NextPage "y_office_talk4">>

The guard sizes you up--like he hasn't when you first entered--and this sensation coming from yet //another// direction hints at an unpleasant discovery. It isn't just you and him in the hall. Once weaving between the statues and now frozen in her place, a woman has her gaze fixed on you. Your attention awakens her, making her walk wide strides towards the doors you just walked out of. A quiet, disturbed sigh comes from behind you. <<if $intro.favor_y or $intro.favor_p>>"What took you so damned long?"<<else>>"Finished wasting the <<print $q.king>>'s time?"<</if>> she demands, throwing her hands up in frustration. You have caught her name once, when someone beckoned her to lay off of you, and she has made it one of her duties to never really have it slip your mind. //Alys//, is what they called her. She is not the only one to give you attitude for the standing that you have with the Gray Regent, but surely is the loudest, most persistent one. Where many have begrudgingly accepted it, thanks to Mort's constant looming presence in your life, your encounters with Alys always feel like falling into a dry thorn bush. She is in no way a frail woman: <<if $p.mind.magic <=1>>a mage of your Gift<<else>>a mage trained in the same Gift you have neglected<</if>> with a thin but long scar on the side of her jaw to show for her service--but in here, with only a wooden door separating you from the monarch of all mages, you know that her power will lay dormant no matter what you say. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I have no desire to engage whatsoever and I owe her no response. I simply walk away.|ch1_room_sleep_1][$path to 1; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -4)]]</li> <li>[[Honestly, the real victim here is the guard who has to witness this. I send him a commiserating look and then I will be on my way.|ch1_room_sleep_1][$path to 2; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +3)]]</li> <li>[[I may be tired, but just one snappy response before I go.|ch1_room_sleep_1][$path to 3; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +5)]]</li> <li>[[Much as she tries to get on my nerves, she is a mage in the service to the Gray Regent. For the sake of us all, I will advice her to tame that temper.|ch1_room_sleep_1][$path to 4; $intro.alys_advice to 1]]</li> <li>[[Oh, I will give her an advice, but it will not be a helpful one...|ch1_room_sleep_1][$path to 5; $intro.alys_advice to 2]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>The hall is wide, making it near impossible for her to really stand in your way, yet you make a point to give her a wide berth as you pass her. If she is here, she will not be wasting any more time. There is an audience to catch. And at this hour... You hear the fringes of a conversation as you leave the hall: Alys and the guard.<<elseif $path is 2>>His face is stony, but when you roll your head to look at him, you find that his eyes readily meet yours. You smile, brows raised in an apologetic frown. You can swear he nods, or maybe just his back is getting tired of keeping him upright all this time. "Oh, he's not on your side," Alys comments, doing her best to control the voice that, still, manages to sound a touch hitched. You walk past her, throwing a careless "Goodnight!" over your shoulder, if only somewhat cheeky.<<elseif $path is 3>><<if $intro.favor_y or $intro.favor_p>>"Just falling into better and better graces of the $q.king"<<else>>"And yet I arrived here upon invitation, while you, it seems, are preying on $q.his fatigue to grant you an audience,"<</if>>, you murmur, lips stretched in a forced cordial smile. She draws a sharp breath, the air around you buzzing with danger--but you know better than to be intimidated. You walk past her, throwing a careless "Goodnight!" over your shoulder, if only somewhat cheeky.<<elseif $path is 4>>"Alys," you address firmly, which, sure enough, gives her a pause. She gazes at you, mouth open but not muttering a word of discontent. "I am sure you trust the Gray Regent's judgement in the matters of governance, lest you would not be here now seeking out an audience with $q.him." It would be foolish to expect her to nod, but her silence is enough. "Then trust the $q.king where it comes to me, and maybe it will be easier to take you seriously." You walk past her, preferring the clicks of your boots upon the stone flooring to whatever mockery she would have tried to subject you to otherwise.<<else>>"Alys," you address, her appalled silence telling you she did not anticipate such a direct response. She gazes at you mouth open, and, not allowing her to regain composure, you lower your voice and continue. "//Why// are you here? Do you need everything spelled out for you? Can you not make a single move without a nod from the Gray Regent? You may think yourself this obedient and pliant mage, but that kind of attitude is most definitely not what got me to where I am today." Confronted with the subject of her envy, she stands silent, heavy breaths falling into controlled pace. You piece delivered, you turn around, only then allowing yourself a tiny smug smile.<</if>> Long, winding corridors take you back. There is peace and quiet in your quarters. A thin smell of burning coals in the air and the dance of light on your face promise a warm night. Traveling through the Seam with Jax often leaves one with a heavy stomach, but by now it has properly settled, stirred at the sight of food. <<if def $mort_pie>>At the center of your desk there is a platter with sliced fruit--and a careful slice of a pie with a a golden cut and a messy crust on top. You grab a bite of it right away, tasting pumpkin and ginger wrapped in just the right amount of sweetness. Mort rarely makes food himself, but when he does, his effort is unmistakable.<<else>>There is a platter of sliced fruit and breads on your desk, unassuming, and a pot of water is kept warm over the hearth, awaiting use with a herb mixture from Mort.<</if>> As welcoming as it may be, you are well aware your enjoyment of these simple comforts is bound to be cut short. From what you have gathered today, if Gale and his retinue reach Rimehall, the sample will be in the hands of the Viper King--and that is, as evident from the Gray Regent's demeanor, //bad//. Well, at least no one will bother you while you change and brew yourself a drink. At long last there are no moving parts, no //targets//, nothing to pursue--at least not tonight. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[And it is so incredibly boring. I cannot wait to get back out there.|ch1_room_sleep_2][$path to 1; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, +3)]]</li> <li>[[I like quiet, I like the peace. It gives me the time to think, to try and search for threads that could lead me to a single memory of my past.|ch1_room_sleep_2][$path to 2; $p.memories.role to Math.fm($p.memories.role, +6)]]</li> <li>[[I know better than to get complacent. Tomorrow Jax will no doubt summon me and send me off somewhere.|ch1_room_sleep_2][$path to 3; $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +4)]]</li></ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ Your body, in its <<if $intro.wounded>>wounded<<else>>tired<</if>> state, feels both light and heavy at the same time, restless anxiety traveling up and down your limbs. It takes a while for it to settle, going through your evening routine, tending to your empty stomach, rubbing warmth into your skin so that it reaches the bones by now frozen. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ You were told mingling would help, running into people and observing their lives might remind you of something, spark an image of your past that you can cling to. So far it has hardly helped, stranger faces were slowly becoming more familiar through nothing but a matter of constant proximity. Eventually you have found more comfort in trying it on your own. At the end of the day, when the events of it begin to swirl in your head, where you get a moment to breathe and reflect and maybe, just //maybe// see something familiar. <<else>>\ This thought does not lend itself particularly well to calming you down for the night, but there is plannable certainty in it. You find yourself no longer plagued by the unease about the Gray Regent's response, and more concerned with the lengths you would have to go to amend the situation for $q.him. <</if>>\ \<<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>>\ You have no choice but to be patient with yourself and heed Mort's instructions. The thick bandage around your torso is clean and looks secure enough, but you still take care around it, catching your reflection in the glass from time to time, making sure that no red stains resurface. <</if>>\ Your report went better than expected,<<if $intro.wounded>> perhaps because you got a stabbing to show for it,<</if>> but the grand threat is not gone. The Gray Regent's enemy might get a whiff of $q.his plans way too soon if Gale is to hand him the pouch, that is what you have gathered. The enemy known as the Viper King. A nickname that has sprouted out of animosity for the ruler that has orchestrated the demise of the previous Gray Regent. The Viper King, Karon Arnald, Gale's father. The king of Daelan. Yet no one here, within the Tower walls or on the outskirts of Riante, calls him anything other than the Viper King--except for the Gray Regent <<print $q.him>>self, but then $q.his tone speaks enough volumes. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[It is impossible for me to feel anything at all about the man I have never met and that has not done anything to me personally, not that I recall.|ch1_room_sleep_3]]</li> <li>[[I find it childish, really. If you feel enough hatred for someone, express it with actions and not petty words.|ch1_room_sleep_3][$p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, -6);]]</li> <li>[[It is done out of respect for the Gray Regent, and I can certainly get behind that.|ch1_room_sleep_3][$p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +6);]]</li> <li>[[Holed inside a rock, protecting himself from the consequences by a force of mage hunters... A viper indeed.|ch1_room_sleep_3][$p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, +7); $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +3); $p.memories.role to Math.fm($p.memories.role, +4)]]</li></ul></div>

Friend or foe, this place is laced with magic, but nothing beats the comfort of the fresh linens. Head resting on the pillow, you gaze up. The ceiling is so intricate for a simple //guest room//, square tiles each embossed with a new motif. Your eyes, by now used to the darkness, watch the shapes of their spines, licked by the light from the dying fireplace. You get food, an impressive roof over your head, a way to practice your skill--but it all leaves you unequivocally tied to the Gray Regent's wicked reputation across, if not the entirety of the continent, then at least the Kingdom of Daelan. So why are you really staying? <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li><<if $p.magic > $p.combat>>[[The prosecution and scorn that mages face elsewhere is too much to handle on one's own. Here at least I can enjoy the Gray Regent's protection.|ch1_room_sleep_4][$intro.reason to 1]]<<else>>[[Even if I am not practicing the craft, some part of me is capable of magic, which tends to invite contempt. Here at least I can enjoy the Gray Regent's protection.|ch1_room_sleep_4][$intro.reason to 1]]<</if>></li> <li>[[They took me in no questions asked even as I could not come up with a word to explain myself. I think I should repay such favor.|ch1_room_sleep_4][$intro.reason to 2; $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +5)]]</li> <li>[[There is no place else I could be learning how to use magic as openly, with as much support.|ch1_room_sleep_4][$intro.reason to 3]]</li> <li>[[Covert missions? Heists and blackmail? It does just sound up my alley, so I have no reservations.|ch1_room_sleep_4][$intro.reason to 4; $p.ruthless to Math.fm($p.ruthless, +10);]]</li> <li>[[I don't know where else I am supposed to go. Until I figure that out, this is fine of an arrangement.|ch1_room_sleep_4][$intro.reason to 5]]</li> <li>[[I suppose I have gotten attached to the people here.|ch1_room_sleep_4][$intro.reason to 6; $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +4)]]</li> <li>[[After seeing everything that has been brewing here, I have become quite engrossed in the Gray Regent's plots.|ch1_room_sleep_4][$intro.reason to 7; $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +8); $p.memories.role to Math.fm($p.memories.role, +6); $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, +5)]]</li></ul></div>

Your dreams are free of torment, but they have a viscous laziness to them: whatever moves and shift does so languidly, as if your exhaustion has seeped through into your mind. Come morning, they disappear, leaving you slightly disoriented and still a touch dizzy. As you have expected, the summon from Jax comes even before the sun crests in the sky. There are no guards at their door besides the sleepy ones you meet along the way, and a soft knock on the door earns you the passage inside their room. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|jax_office_1]]</div>

Jax stands between their desk and their chair, consumed by their work but seemingly ready to take off any moment. From what of them you have seen last, they have changed into a loose blouse, top button undone as if to further stress their busy disposition. <<if $intro.wounded>>"Your wound?" they ask<<else>>"Take a seat," they say<</if>> in lieu of a greeting, eyes on the piece of writing in their hands. It looks like a wordy letter, dense writing done with expensive ink. A quick glimpse at it from the respectable distance between the door and the far corner Jax has pushed their desk into reveals that there is no signature. <<if $intro.wounded>>"Mort's herbalism is strong but not //that// miraculous," you reason, walking towards them. Slowly, as if Jax needs plucking like a particularly stubborn weed, they tear their eyes from the letter. Their gaze flicks from you to the chair next to their desk. It has tall back and armrests, a great leverage to use when trying to be gentle about your tender side. If Jax can take their time turning their attention to you, so can you for the sake of lesser pain.<<else>>As you walk, the sun peeks through the slits of glass behind Jax's back. It is gentle, weak, and the sky will soon be overcast again, as it is most of these days in Riante. You lower yourself into the chair next to their desk, hands easily falling onto the comfortable armrests, and a stripe of sunlight curves around your knuckles.<</if>> You cast a look around. Jax's work room often catches people off-guard, especially those that expect impeccable order with every item impossibly in its designated location and at a precise angle, but it is never so. The room is a well laid-out maze where abandoned thoughts have left behind paper breadcrumbs and comfort has charted its way in repositioned candle sticks and orphaned cushions. If anyone in the Tower at all has come close to being the Gray Regent's right hand, it is Jax. It is in what they know and how little they say despite it, in how assured they look climbing the stairs that lead to the <<print $q.king>>'s gallery. You didn't immediately comprehend all this when you began your work under them, the understanding of their importance came to you much later. By then, it was too late to question why they carve out the time for you specifically. Many other mages have spent much longer as agents of the Gray Regent and haven't stepped into their study. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I never cared for their reasons anyway. Jax is capable enough, which makes my job easier. I am content with that alone.|jax_office_2][modTrust("jax", 4)]]</li> <li>[[It does make me wonder sometimes. I have a feeling there must be a distinct reason for it.|jax_office_2][modMemories("role", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I won't lie, it has always made me feel important.|jax_office_2][modMemories("role", 4)]]</li> <li>[[They must be curious about my memories. Cannot fault them: so am I.|jax_office_2][]]</li> </ul></div>

"There is no way around it," Jax says, cutting your reflection short. "We cannot let the Viper King get his hands on the...//sample//." They are careful with the word, but to you it is only an echo of your failure. Despite a pleasant night in the comfort of your room, the sense of it never entirely vanished from the air. Their stance changes, arms folding into the usual pose on their chest. Only now you notice the pressed lines under their eyes, cracks of red in their irises. "I'd hate to gift the Viper King something on an artisan platter, not when he has pushed himself into such a tight corner..." There is a wistful drawl to their words, an anticipation of something tangible to celebrate. But just as quick as their gaze was to drift towards the ghosts that are not in this room, it snaps to you. "$p.name, do you know why Gale is at all alive?" The sudden pivot threatens to twist your proverbial neck, but there is no acid in their tone, no bite of a reprimand. Only by feeding yourself these bits of observational reasoning can you focus on the flow of the conversation so far and recognize there is no accusation in their question. They are not asking why //you// did not kill him. Rather, why //his father// did not. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|jax_office_3]]</div>

Even if you cannot boast intimate knowledge of that story, it was impossible not to piece together the most dry recount of Lord Gideon's fall and the Viper King's rise over the time you have spent in the Tower. Gideon le Tellier, once the Gray Regent, took the bloodied wreath of the Daelan crown and put it on his head after successfully sieging Rimehall with the help of mages like yourself, in the time they were stronger and...more impressive. Unlike the rest of Daelan royalty, the then-young prince of the kingdom was spared and wed to the Gray Regent's daughter, Manon le Tellier, the union which brought Gale into this world. This manoeuvering seemed to all but secure the mages' return onto the political scene, their rise to power. However, unbeknown to Lord Gideon, there was a fatal trick hidden up Karon's sleeve: year-long efforts to bestow the power to oppose magic at an innate level onto people. To create mage hunters. His plan to use them succeeded. The power of surprise, people have lamented to you. Lord Gideon was executed. The Viper King took a new wife, and Gale's mother was promptly banished to live in a secluded lodge, discarded and forgotten, with no hope but all the tools to bring her own end growing right there in the garden. And Gale... Though tossed into shadow, he was mostly left alone. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["I heard there was a lot of discontent talk in the wake of the late Queen's passing, with her being such a lovely lady," I say with care. Jax is not the Gray Regent whose sister is the subject of my answer, but it is best to be prudent. "I suppose the Viper King knew his reign would start a foul thing if he touched her child."|jax_office_4][$path to 1; $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +5)]]</li> <li>[[How is that even a question? "He was a child when it happened. Who would kill a child?"|jax_office_4][$path to 2; $p.ruthless to Math.fm($p.ruthless, -10)]]</li> <li>[[It was an ugly matter for sure, but the Viper King has a reputation of one at least trying to plan further ahead than the twist of a corridor. "Lady Manon or Lord Gideon were not of Arnald blood, but Gale is. Killing him sets a dangerous precedent that the ruling lineage is...touchable."|jax_office_4][$path to 3; $jax.rel.trust to Math.fm($jax.rel.trust, +10)]]</li> <li>[[The answer tastes bitter on my tongue. "Maybe the Viper King wanted a pet mage. Isn't that what he has gotten in the end?"|jax_office_4][$path to 4; $p.affinity.frieda to Math.fm($p.affinity.frieda, +5)]]</li> <li>[["A precaution, perhaps... His bloodline almost got killed off, and the Viper King cannot afford to lose heirs on a whim even if he is not fond of them," I suggest.|jax_office_4][$path to 7; $p.crafty to Math.fm($p.crafty, +5)]]</li> <li>[[I meet his question with a shrug. If there was a reason, it is not interesting enough for me to dig in and figure it out.|jax_office_4][$path to 5; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -7)]]</li> <li>[[For Jax to ask me an opinion on decades-old history is not a turn I have expected. I shake my head carefully, rather keenly aware of the tense knot forming between my shoulder blades.|jax_office_4][$path to 6; $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, -7)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>Jax looks up, your answer landing on some invisible scale of theirs. It is a done deal, a string of events that has already played out, whether you can remember it or not, and so their assessment can suffer to be brief. "Perhaps in part," they reply, finding your gaze again. "But there was another, more pertinent fear. Kill one Arnald--as much as he wishes Gale was not one--and killing another may not seem as unthinkable to some unhappy noble anymore."<<elseif $path is 3>>Jax nods with a satisfied hum. "Strip him of the name and his place in the succession line, everyone still knows whose son Gale is." There is a ghost of a scowl on their face, and even it is gone in a flash.<<elseif $path is 2>>"A great deal of people," Jax responds with an amused shrug. "Undesired heirs are hardly a rare thing." "Well then," you say, lacing your words with disapproval, "what did, pray tell, stopped the Viper King?" "Politics," Jax replies. "Kill one Arnald--as much as he wishes Gale was not part of the bloodline--and killing another may not seem as unthinkable to some unhappy noble anymore."<<elseif $path is 4>>"If he was staking everything on his freshly brewed batch of bellona-high hounds," Jax scoffs, "then keeping the boy would have been a very difficult decision to explain to his allies, so I highly doubt it. But yes. In the end it is what he has gotten."<<elseif $path is 5>>Jax reacts with a short nod. "Politics," they say, a wager that is more often than not a winning one. You could have easily bet on it, but you decided not to play at all. "Kill one Arnald--as much as he wishes Gale was not part of the bloodline--and killing another may not seem as unthinkable to some unhappy noble anymore."<<elseif $path is 6>>There is starting from the beginning, and there is //this//. A whole new path, trudging through decades' old history. Jax reacts to none of you apprehension, perhaps taking your wary pause for a contemplative one. "Politics," they say, deeming that enough time have been wasted for silence. "Kill one Arnald--as much as he wishes Gale was not part of the bloodline--and killing another may not seem as unthinkable to some unhappy noble anymore."<<elseif $path is 7>>"A generous response," Jax says with a muted scoff. "I doubt he sees the //tainted// blood as his legacy, but I suppose there could be an angle for such an interpretation." They take a lengthy breath, a dramatic pause of disbelief. "One thing is far more likely, however," Jax says then. "Kill one Arnald--as much as he wishes Gale was not part of the bloodline--and killing another may not seem as unthinkable to some unhappy noble anymore.<</if>> You shift in the seat, back stiff, impatience bubbling in your chest. Surely you were not summoned here to discuss Gale's childhood. "Gale, despite being the first born, will not inherit the crown. It naturally leaves the daughter of the current queen, princess Libeth, to succeed the Viper King," Jax continues in a lighter tone, fine mockery and amused crook to their brows. "Unfortunately for himself, poor king has been so occupied carving the country to his liking and bracing to battle sea winds, he has had no time to spare for her. The heiress is said to be frivolous, prone to moods and, the worst offense of them all, has left a lackluster impression on the Daelan nobility--and continues to do so. Lack of discipline, lack of a vision. "But there is someone they, perhaps in some dreams of particularly daring fashion, can imagine taking the throne instead." They look to you expectantly as if you would know the answer, as if you have stumbled upon it like someone pawing for a way in utter darkness. You, however, cannot give what you do not have, and they recognize it quickly. "The future Duke of Noyer. Arthur van der Garde." \<<silently>> <<set $jax_q_first to true>> <<set $jax_q_1 to true>> <<set $jax_q_2 to true>> <<set $jax_q_3 to true>> <<set $jax_q_4 to true>> <<set $jax_q_5 to true>> <</silently>> <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[What? Hold on a moment, I most definitely have questions.|jax_office_4_q][$path to 0]]</li> <li>[['"A mage hunter?" I ask, voice doused in disdain. "Does he not have worse things to do?"'|jax_office_5][$path to 1; $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +5)]]</li> <li>[['I respond with an unhappy chuckle. "Knew there was something off with that one."'|jax_office_5][$path to 2; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +5)]]</li> <li>[[Jax may find it amusing, but I surely don't. What does this have to do with my job?|jax_office_5][$path to 3; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -6)]]</li> <li>[[I am starting to get a bad feeling about this conversation.|jax_office_5][$path to 4; $gregory +=1]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>><<set $jax_q_1 to false>>"How exactly would that even work? A stray drop of the royal blood stashed under a pillow somewhere?" A timid smile pulls on their mouth, their expression briefly smooth from worries. "Would you be surprised if the answer was yes?" "I'm beginning to unlearn how to be surprised," you say stiffly. "Good. Better to take everything in stride," they respond with an oddly serious nod of encouragement. "The Duchess of Noyer is of distant relation spanning generations. Not enough to be any immediate danger, but once you start splitting hairs, everything gets dredged up." "So the people you imply are interested in having him succeed the throne, somehow, are they the only ones aware of it?" Jax smiles, lightly. "While it does not come up in the banquet conversations and the two families consider themselves simply good allies, the Viper King is aware of it. This is why, in parts, he was so eager to approve of young Arthur's aspiration to become a hunter." <<elseif $path is 2>><<set $jax_q_2 to false>>"On what merit? And what is it about him that would make them consider something this risky?" you ask cautiously, fishing for information. "The Duchy of Noyer is the largest in Daelan, albeit not that much larger than Taley. Their levy within the Crown's force is to match, which is something never to forget," they explain, looking at you intently. That last remark is for you, you understand. "It may seem like the margrave's frequent absence from the social scene is a fault--something the Viper King likely counted on--but it did not work out quite the way he might have expected." Jax's choice of words is careful. It is all their understanding of the moods in the Sunken Court, you realize. "And how did it work out then?" "Well, for one, despite his presence being rare, the margrave is reported to be charming and 'a pleasure to converse with'," Jax manages to say with a face so blank you understand it has come to them through great effort. You, however, are of different disposition. //Charming//. They are either blind or outright gullible. "Charming," you repeat, trying to sound as unimpressed as Jax. "Is that all they need?" Jax sighs and pinches the bridge of their nose. "It is quite a bit of both. Makes them see him as someone easier to deal with, one they can talk with in trade and business. It doesn't hurt that all these little jaunts through the country he does alongside prince Gale make him seem...well-traveled, knowledgeable of the land." And being a mage hunter is perceived as a boon, of course. A protector. <<elseif $path is 3>><<set $jax_q_3 to false>>It seems a bit silly to sit here and entertain the thought of impending court chaos if it all can be stopped with a single "no". "Is he at all vying for the throne though?" you ask. Your question causes Jax to let out a surprised laugh, short and sheepish. "If he is, he is searching for the allies in all the wrong places," they jest with just a hint of ridicule, but the lightness is quickly gone under the oppressive weight of their obvious puzzlement. "The answer to this is, surprisingly, the most elusive one. I cannot provide it. It takes a certain kind of character for someone of such high standing to put their life on the line presumably for the sake of a friend..." They leave this one to you, you understand. That it may pique their curiosity but is not that vital to their plan is what you understand as well. <<elseif $path is 4>><<set $jax_q_4 to false>>Many a loose tongue have swept up their owners in the swift ride of a downfall, and a mage would not dream to pry out such confessions from the Daelan nobility. Jax may be good enough to have leapt into their position from that of a clerk, but yesterday's encounter has proven they are most certainly not omniscient. "I imagine none would be willing to commit their treasonous confessions to writing," you reply, lacing your fingers in your lap. "Where does this confidence come from?" They do not seem to be unnerved in any way or form by the implication of your question, nodding to it instead. "Much as they try, there is always a grain or two that falls through the net they have cast over Daelan to safeguard themselves from us." Despite the ominous words, their voice is steady. "It is my job to make sense of them and judge their worth to the Gray Regent." "This merely acknowledges you have heard my question," you retort, frowning. They do not share your frustration, remaining, at least on the surface, unruffled. "My information web if only of use to me--and to you--if as little of it is known and spread as possible." <<elseif $path is 5>><<set $jax_q_5 to false>>"He is a mage hunter, though," you stress. "Shouldn't that be seen as a higher duty by the court?" "If something is seen as a symbol, then its meaning can flip at the nearest convenience." "You mean making it look like Daelan is strengthening its position on the Gray Regency deterrence?" Jax nods slowly. Their arms are folded on their chest, and the index finger starts tapping against the opposite forearm to some soundless rhythm of their thoughts. "Like all those with something to lose, the Sunken Court treats its safety as one of the highest priorities, as little good as it does them," Jax scoffs. "A duke governing his lands with an outfit of mage hunters to occasionally command should have his hands full--that was, at least, how the Viper King saw Arthur's future. Key fact being that he would be busy and tied down somewhere. "But even if he were to step down and stop consuming bellona, there will be others to step in those shoes. The loss is more symbolic than it is actual."<</if>><<if $jax_q_first>><<set $jax_q_first to false>>"Hold on, hold on," you beckon, frowning. "How did we get to this?" "What is it exactly that confuses you?" Their response is fairly neutral, even a little encouraging.<</if>> <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $jax_q_1>><li>[['"A duke, while there is a living, breathing and definitely legitimate heir of the king\'s bloodline? They had to throw some serious weight behind stripping even Gale of the inheritance, it would be twice as difficult with the princess that has no connections to magic. There has to be a familial link, or else they wouldn\'t even dream of it."'|jax_office_4_q][$path to 1]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_2>><li>[['"Why he, of all people? He has to have caught their eye to even dream of treason."'|jax_office_4_q][$path to 2]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_3>><li>[['"You cannot contemplate something so obnoxious without making sure the person your plan would rely on shares your vision. So, does he?"'|jax_office_4_q][$path to 3]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_4>><li>[[I am more interested in how Jax seems to just know the sort of things people tend to keep in whispers behind closed doors.|jax_office_4_q][$path to 4]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_5>><li>[['"Would him being a mage hunter not interfere with any such aspirations?"'|jax_office_4_q][$path to 5]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_first is false>><li>[[No, this about covers what I wanted to find out.|jax_office_5][$path to 0]]</li><</if>> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>"That is what the Viper King was counting on, for him to have something to do as a hunter without a way to amass influence. The Dukedom of Noyer has always been a source of support to the Daelan Crown, but its size and power were respectively seen as a concern," Jax comments with a hint of amusement and adds after a soft chuckle, "My conjecture, of course." <<elseif $path is 2>>"Your senses are as sharp as ever even under duress," they reply evenly, holding your gaze. For a moment it feels like they are //searching//. Such sensations are still odd, untangling which part of you they belong to is no easy task. Whether your gut feeling reveals something from the memories you thought were scraped clean or a warning you should have recognized from your surroundings--it brings along a dull headache all the same. "You do not see nobles prancing though the woods every day," you say with as uneasy shrug. "It may seem like the margrave's frequent absence from the social scene is a fault--something the Viper King certainly counts on--but there are those willing to recognize he is...well-traveled." <</if>>This may be a fine conversation if you were concerned with stirring the murky waters of the ruling dynasty, but that is not what you should be trying to remedy. You are no closer to learning of Jax's plan regarding the sample than you were before you even stepped into their working room. The picture may be full in their head, but so far all you have been getting are wild strokes attempting to depict an entirely different scenery. You have to confront them straight on. "But Jax?" "Hm?" "Why are you telling me all this?" There is a beat of tense silence. "Because," they begin, their attention suddenly captured by the notes scattered across their desk, "you need to know who you will be traveling alongside." <<silently>> <<set $jax_q_first to true>> <<set $jax_q_1 to true>> <<set $jax_q_2 to true>> <<set $jax_q_3 to true>> <<set $jax_q_4 to true>> <<set $jax_q_5 to true>> <<set $jax_q_6 to true>> <</silently>> <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|jax_office_6]]</div>

<<if $jax_q_first>><<set $jax_q_first to false>>It feels as if a bubble forms over your head. "I don't understand." They look up, eyes dulled out by emotions you do not have the luxury to study. "We no longer require repossession of the sample, but it is imperative that it does not reach Rimehall," Jax explains, their voice more official, restrained all of a sudden. "In order to avoid alerting them to its importance, the disappearance of the sample should be made look like an accident." "Yet you said 'travel //alongside//'." "Right, because you gain much more opportunities to do so if you are constantly in its vicinity." Your mind races to find the ground, the stable footing. "I would like to clarify: you want me to make my way into their group?" Jax nods, not deterred by your disbelieving tone. "//How?// Wouldn't something like that be extraordinarily risky?" If at all possible. "This is why we need to make the most use of this precarious opportunity." For all you know it could be a well-maintained curtain of assuredness, but they do not seem to share your worries at all. "The conversation we've had just now should have more or less shown that the feet of the current dynasty are made of clay. With enough rattling they are bound to give in. Your second objective is therefore to reach Rimehall."<<else>><<if $path is 1>><<set $jax_q_1 to false>>Despite your close work with the Gray Regent, there is the lack of memories, the length of your service. These are all factors that Jax would see as strong reasons to chose someone else, and yet here you sit. "You have shown your capabilities plenty. We happen to trust you to carry out such a task. Both the Gray Regent and I," they explain in their habitual way of blatant sincerity. "Even though I have already run into them to little success?" "Do not think of it as a hindrance, it would simplify the job, in fact." Jax elaborates no more.<<elseif $path is 2>><<set $jax_q_2 to false>>They draw a loud breath before replying, as if the matter brings them some form of discomfort. "It would need to happen soon as the circumstances and the opportunity call for it. We have a way to make it seem like your return to the Tower never happened, but the longer we take, the harder it would be." "How soon?" "We are closing in on the Daelan lapdogs, so it is a matter of a couple days."<<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>> Their brows furrow. "It saddens me to say, but this means we cannot be too effective in treating your unfortunate injury." "You want to make it seem like I took care of it myself," you guess. They nod with a hint of approval--and what looks like relief.<</if>><<elseif $path is 3>><<set $jax_q_3 to false>>"A good story and an incentive." There is a faint smile tugging at their lips. "I will explain once we have addressed your concerns." "Jax, this //does// happen to constitute my biggest concern!" "The answer would require you to listen, and listen closely," they calmly explain. "I assume you must be quite surprised and would rather talk a little." "Oh."<<elseif $path is 4>><<set $jax_q_4 to false>>"Naturally," Jax replies without missing a beat, brow crooked. "I would not credit every single decision to myself." "I see." Jax lets out a faint sigh. "The $q.king has expressed concern about leaving you without assistance for so long or should things go awry, but $q.he was persuaded by my plan for providing you with it."<<elseif $path is 5>><<set $jax_q_5 to false>>Light flickers in their eyes that round slightly in surprise. "However long it takes, I suppose," you mouth, sparing them the need to point out the obvious. "Correct. The situation would be changing all the time, and we would need to adapt to it." You cannot stop a bitter chuckle. "Am I to do all the adapting myself then?" "I never said that. Although indeed you will be acting almost freely--a blessing and a curse--we will be able to converse." As ominous as that sounds, you are starting to see what Jax is preparing you for. "Me simply getting into Rimehall is not the end goal," you state, words flowing out smoothly with no opposition from Jax. "That is indeed when things would only become interesting," they reply.<<elseif $path is 6>>"Anything else then?" Jax asks.<</if>><</if>> <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $jax_q_1>><li>[['"Why me?"'|jax_office_6][$path to 1]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_2>><li>[['"Would I have to leave now?"'|jax_office_6][$path to 2]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_3>><li>[['"Why would they possibly allow me to join them?"'|jax_office_6][$path to 3]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_4>><li>[['"Does the Gray Regent know about this?"'|jax_office_6][$path to 4; $q.rel.fr to Math.fm($q.rel.fr, +5)]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_5>><li>[['"How long would I be away?"'|jax_office_6][$path to 5]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_6>><li>[['"In that case I would like to learn more about the people I am supposed to make trust me, if only marginally."'|jax_office_6_a][$path to 6]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_first>><li>[[I actually do not mind all that much. I am fine just hearing out their plan.|jax_office_6_с][$path to 1]]</li><</if>> <<if $jax_q_first is false>><li>[[No, this about covers what I wanted to find out.|jax_office_7][$path to 0]]</li><</if>> </ul></div>

<<set $jax_q_6 to false>>In response to your request, their gaze turns calculative, as if measuring you for something. "I wouldn't want to burden you with knowledge that might become more detrimental than helpful. You would be starting from a very disadvantageous point, and every speck of their trust--" Jax flicks their brows to let you know how generous they are being with this word and exactly how much they think of its worth, "--gained can be easily lost with a slip up." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['This makes sense. I am not looking for any more ways to make this task harder than it already is. "I did not think of it under such light. You are right."'|jax_office_6][$path to 6; $jax.rel.trust to Math.fm($jax.rel.trust, +5)]]</li> <li>[['I am confident in my ability to watch my tongue, and I would rather know what to expect from my would-be companions. "That is fine, I will be able to handle it, Jax."'|jax_office_6_b][$path to 1; $p.affinity.player to Math.fm($p.affinity.player, +5)]]</li> <li>[["I appreciate your concern. As always, I trust your judgement, Jax," I say with a smile.|jax_office_6][$path to 6; $jax.rel.fr to Math.fm($jax.rel.fr, +5); $jax.rel.trust to Math.fm($jax.rel.trust, +5)]]</li> <li>[['Be it nerves or something else but my chest swells and I rest my chin on the propped up hand. "I simply want to listen to you ridiculing them some more. I happen to like that side of you, Jax."'|jax_office_6_b][$path to 2; $jax.rel.love += 1; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, +7)]]</li> <li>[["It may be so, but I still want to hear what you make of them. I trust you to give me just about the information that wouldn't ruin me," I say with a smile to the thumping in my chest.|jax_office_6_b][$path to 3; $jax.rel.love += 1; $jax.rel.fr to Math.fm($jax.rel.fr, +7)]]</li></ul></div>

<<set $intro.spoke_adg to true>><<if $path is 1>>There is a brief moment of struggle on their face, a sigh as they make peace with your determination. <<elseif $path is 2>>Amusement is like that, infectious it spreads from you to Jax, as their features settle into a bewildered non-smile, fleetingly speechless as they just meet your challenging stare. They prop up a fist to their face, taking their time to chase the sudden coarseness out of their voice--and the moment they speak, it is in a pleasant, even tone. "If you so desire," Jax says, eyes closed, almost surrendering to some inexplicable pull to smile. "It is difficult to be worried about something when you look this confident," you reply, wanting to stretch the moment a little. "I like that look on you." A beat of them meeting your gaze, then another of them not, closed eyes once more--fingers moving along their forearms when they have not been just moments ago. "I commend your quality to regain the footing so quickly," they say slowly, matching your relaxed cadence. "You would certainly find it vital." "You keep saying that," you remark. "Have to make sure you are on the straight and narrow." You exchange another glance, but this time Jax does not take as long to recover from it. <<elseif $path is 3>>They sigh, an easy sound of half-hearted exasperation, face free of the concerned wrinkles that would often give away the troubles plaguing their mind. You could almost call it playful, almost, but they do not let you dwell on their response for too long. "Fortunately for you, your ruin is the furthest thing from my goals," they reply, tilting their head ever so slightly on the side. "The rumors paint a grim picture, I //do// count myself lucky," you say with a light chuckle. The lines around their eyes relax, and Jax lets out a soft hum, one you cannot help but mirror at them as warmth spreads through you. <</if>>"You would learn more by speaking to them, but, upon your insistence, I can offer a word or two of caution." They pull back a little, show something akin to a smirk. "The hunter first. Other than what I have already told you, his skill will become a nuisance in your travels. He would not trust you easily, might not trust you at all, so you just have to be mindful of his suppression effect all the time. "He can and //will// inhibit your ability to use magic in his presence, so it is worth making him think you non-threatening--without being obnoxious about it." Jax rubs their temple, momentarily letting their eyes rest. <<if $p.combat > $p.magic>>"Although you haven't paid it due attention, your magic is a precious crutch that can aid you in a dire situation."<<else>>"At least in the beginning you should rely on your wits around him, as trying to flaunt your magic would be arrogance."<</if>> <<if $p.playful > 55>>"What a lovely start,"<<else>>"Duly noted,"<</if>> you nod, an edge to your voice. Something lighter would do, and so you ask. "And the mage prince?" At his mention, Jax's face darkens. They look to the side, seeming distant, detached; whatever it is that they are looking into feels //ancient//. "He is not at all involved in the court intrigue--that which might make him more approachable," Jax speaks to break the silence. "I would say his show of good will to you was notable as well, I see it as a positive sign for what you are to accomplish. Perhaps your connection to our $q.king might be of certain interest to him... Either way, he would be the easiest to win predisposition of, and most important, too, as he still commands a certain degree of authority over his companions." A confusing one, then. Despite Jax's commentary, it hardly inspires confidence. "What about his knight?" Jax responds with a raise of their brow, urging you to elaborate with question in their eyes. "There was a woman with them, personal guard, I would assume. Did not seem like a hunter, did not //feel// like it, at least. A knight, perhaps?" "A knight." Jax nods to themself, thumb running alongside their jawline. "It is nothing unusual--if you consider the first heir of a crown being sent to deal with grave dangers not unusual--for a member of the royal family to have a personal guard, as you might imagine. He must have been assigned one, but it was never a point of interest to us. I can entertain a guess she is of some distinguished family, but that is all I can tell you now." Rather scant, but if that is something to worry about or a reason not to have yourself run ragged over yet another Daelan oddity is a whole different matter. "I see," you conclude. "Thank you, Jax." <<silently>><<set $path to 6>><</silently>> <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|jax_office_6]]</div>

"I understand," you say with a confident nod. "I trust you have a plan in place on how I would achieve that?" Their gaze at you is present. Most of the time Jax looks like a part of their mind is elsewhere, gazing at maps that are saved in their memory with accurate detail, replaying the important conversations in their head and plucking the precious stones in them out of the noise. But not now. "I do, and you...You took it better than I expected." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[It feels nice to catch them unprepared for something, however tiny and insignificant.|jax_office_7][$path to 1; $jax.rel.fr to Math.fm($jax.rel.fr, +6)]]</li> <li>[[Jax is anything but a fool, and I do not believe that any interrogation I could subject them to now would reveal something they did not consider already. I am simply being pragmatic in the interest of time.|jax_office_7][$path to 2; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -5)]]</li> <li>[["I will do whatever is requested of me by the Gray Regent," I say firmly.|jax_office_7][$path to 3; $p.affinity.y to Math.fm($p.affinity.y, +10); $p.oldnew to Math.fm($p.oldnew, +7)]]</li> <li>[["This is a request of the Gray Regent, is it not? I am not at a liberty to question it then."|jax_office_7][$path to 3; $p.playful to Math.fm($p.playful, -4); modTrust("jax", -5)]]</li> <li>[['A chuckle escapes me. "It is hard to feel unsettled when you look this confident, Jax."'|jax_office_7][$path to 4; $jax.rel.fr to Math.fm($jax.rel.fr, +9)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>Information being their trade, news often pass through their eyes and ears before they have a chance to start a buzz in Riante--or even beyond it--so what remains as a way to give Jax a pause is your own words and actions. Whatever image of you they have constructed in the time you have worked together did not anticipate determined acceptance, and watching them come to terms with it: surprise, analysis, acceptance, all in their resolved pace, is its own reward. <<elseif $path is 2>>"You had more time to think about it, Jax," you say with a stiff movement of your shoulder. "I believe the plan you have intended to convey to me from the start will address more pertinent questions than my surprised ones." Despite what they are trying to show, Jax is tense, you realize then: the straight line of their shoulder curves and the collar of their shirt falls further around their neck. They look calmer like that, more exposed--but they do not seem to mind. "Good," if all they say. <<elseif $path is 3>>There is an unexpected silence, washed-out stillness to their face, as if there is something other than the sincerity of your words to doubt--but they do not say anything of it. "Good," Jax replies. <<elseif $path is 4>>Jax brings up a fist to stifle a small cough, corners of their mouth ever so slightly turned up. "So you are choosing to be perceptive," they note with a satisfied hum. "Commendable." The look they give you, despite the appraising comment, leaves you even calmer: as if you noting their self-assured delivery was just the response to inspire //their// trust. <<elseif $path is 0>>They do not roll their eyes, you have learned, but the quick rise and fall of their brows conveys the same reaction.<</if>> "Now I would like to hear how you think I can work my way into the group of people that <<if $intro.thuggery is 3 or $intro.band_maid>>think me their enemy<<else>>are less than likely to ever trust me<</if>>?" Jax smiles. And then they explain. <<NextPage ch2_road_1>>/* [[ch2_road_1]] */

<<fadein 2s>><h3 class="chapter">Chapter 1</h3><hr class="chapter"> <<silently>> <<unset $jax_q_first>> <<unset $jax_q_1>> <<unset $jax_q_2>> <<unset $jax_q_3>> <<unset $jax_q_4>> <<unset $jax_q_5>> <<unset $jax_q_6>> <<unset $sisters_first>> <<unset $sisters_1>> <<unset $sisters_2>> <<unset $sisters_3>> <<unset $sisters_4>> <<unset $sisters_5>> <<set $p.ambition to 0>> <<set $p.lname_use to "">> <<set $ch2 to {}>> <<set $ch2.remembered_lname to false>> <<set $ch2.told_lname to false>> <<set $ch2.jumped to false>> <<set $ch2.mem_confessed to false>> <<set $ch2.offered_pendant to false>> <<set $ch2.heard_rumor_jy to false>> <<set $ch2.conviction to 0>> <<set $ch2.saw_y_fight to false>> <<set $ch2.y_magictrain to false>> <<set $ch2.mainstory to 0>> <<set $inv to {}>> <<set $inv.pendant to true>> <<if $intro.weapon is 1>> <<set $inv.weapon to "none">> <<elseif $intro.weapon is 2>> <<set $inv.weapon to "sword">> <<else>> <<set $inv.weapon to "daggers">> <</if>> <<set $inv.money to 30>> <<if ndef $p.mind>> <<set $p.mind to {}>> <</if>> <<if $p.magic >= 30 >> <<if $p.combat > 5>> <<set $p.mind.magic to 1>> <<else>> <<set $p.mind.magic to 0>> <</if>> <<else>> <<if $p.magic >= 15>> <<set $p.mind.magic to 2>> <<else>> <<set $p.mind.magic to 3>> <</if>> <</if>> <<set $ch2.outcome_oath to false>> <<set $art.y_paranoia to 30>> <</silently>>\ The air prickles your cheeks. Dry air despite the small misty cloud that escapes each time you take a breath, it is certainly a change from the moist embrace of Riante. On the road again. The sudden appearance of pines with their branches drooped from the weight that is not yet there but is surely to besiege them again soon, this exasperated surrender to the season can only mean one thing. The group is moving northward, and if you were to continue on the track as Jax has told you to, you will soon be graced by the sight of the Winter's End mountain range that in its maw hides the supposedly deadly but stunning Sylvanna's Peak. The foliage is old, thick and untouched. The path Jax has laid out for you is surely not an easy one, but they did stress that wearing yourself down until the encounter would play to your advantage. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I chop whatever tries to get in my way. It is almost soothing by now.|ch2_road_2][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I don't have to be concerned about the use of my magic just yet, so I use it to flick the branches out of my way as I walk.|ch2_road_2][$path to 2; $p.spell_ctr to +4;]]</li> <li>[[I trudge ahead, ignoring the occasional scratch.|ch2_road_2][$path to 3, $ch2.conviction to +3]]</li> <li>[[I weave my way around the foliage, trying to keep us both intact.|ch2_road_2][$path to 4, $ch2.conviction to +3]]</li> </ul></div><</fadein>>

<<if $path is 1>><<if $intro.weapon is 1>>It is a small knife you'd use to cut rope or wedge in places that need to give and is hardly a weapon, so most of the time it works merely to push them out of your way--except for the dry ones that you end up breaking.<<else>>Branches fall to your left and to your right, leaving a suspicious trail in your <<if $intro.wounded and not $intro.healed>>wake and awakening the dull pain next to your stomach. It worries you little, though: it will grow back before another human being even dreams of setting foot here again, from the looks of it, and the pain will make sure you do not forget to nurse your injured side when the time comes.<<else>>wake. It worries you little, though: it will grow back before another human being even dreams of setting foot here again, from the looks of it, and looking ragged is just about what you are trying to achieve.<</if>><</if>><<elseif $path is 2>>This makes the path easier, no doubt, even if buzzing with magic is not how you should run into the group you are pursuing.<<elseif $path is 3>>The irritations quickly add up, creasing your brows. That is indeed a look of someone on the run, but for the time being you are not feeling the appropriate fear--but rather swelled annoyance.<<elseif $path is 4>>Despite the slowing down that your effort introduces, it is slowly chipping at your stamina, making up for the stuffy but suspiciously brief travel that Jax has enabled.<</if>> Soon the treachery of the forest lets up a little, and you find yourself headed downhill, having to test your step for reliable roots or dangerously soft old-brown moss. It doesn't take long to hear the reason for such a change: a soft hiss, barely picked up by your ears, still far away to be pleasant rather than overwhelming, indicates the proximity of a river. Having left you without a map, Jax has informed you the group's destination should be a small town on a hilltop, Wyrm's Nest--not Rimehall--but there is no saying whether or not they decide to take a scenic route for one reason or another. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I should head towards the sound. A river is a shaping presence in a landscape and seeing it will give me a better understanding of the path to take.|ch2_road_3_river_explore][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[The direction given by Jax was fairly straightforward: to head north into the gradual cold to support my story. I should not stray and risk never running into them altogether.|ch2_road_3][$ch2.jumped to false, modAffinity("y", 10)]]</li> <li>[[Come to think of it, I am not too keen on the idea of running into a situation that deliberately places me at a huge disadvantage with only a plan that I don't really believe in. Rather opportune to run into a river: I'll have a short stay by the shore, rest, clear my head.|ch2_road_3_river_explore][$path to 2, modAffinity("y", -5)]]</li> </ul></div>

The road ahead is more of the same, with trees slowly clearing out of your way and letting your arms, by now sore, rest. The sound catches up to you eventually, and a shallow but vibrant river crosses your path as nothing more than an annoyance. A brief moment of respite from the canopy of barren tree tops--and then they crease the sky over your head on the other side of the riverbed. You trudge ahead, wondering. The forest is not quiet, but it is heavy with sleep nonetheless. Once in a while something rustles overhead, light feet taking off and scraping branches and trunks: birds, critters. How does one run into people here? You surely are running on trust in Jax's abilities and nothing else much. This time, you weren't even given a guidance stone. Yet your sense of direction clings strongly to the clues you are exposed to and keeps you steadfast. It is certainly a //choice//, and you did not arrive at it on your own. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_flashback0_start]]</div>

The change to your heading feels almost negligible, but you know the feeling to be deceptive. Still, you follow your best indicator of now: the growing sound that never quite becomes a rumble. The slope is no longer as steep, comfortably flat instead, but the array of trunks in your path begins to thicken again. Right until it ends at a human-tall drop. The floor below is lined with rocks, some as big as a sack of flour and not smooth enough for your liking. The river itself is broad and lively, but from the good look at its bottom not deep at all. One of the many streams that escape the mountains. It is noticeably colder by the water, with wind slithering between the folds of your gear. <<if $path is 1>>The upstream curls right and disappears into the silhouettes of trees on the other bank; far behind the curvature you can spot the toothy outlines of the Winter's End, basked in haze to the point they look painted on. The tops are covered in snow--the source of chills now testing the quality of your boots. The path downstream remains steady, however, and seems to widen a bit, promising an easier crossing somewhere along. There are no roads and no landmarks in sight to guide your way. All that remains is to //think//. The path you have followed has taken you through the heart of the forest, its untouched and unsullied core; not a road or a trail. The most direct way to their destination. To stumble into them on the way. You are on the //run//, right? //You// are avoiding a beaten path. They are not. You also particularly remember the guard mentioning horses. No one would drag the animals through this thickness. You are taking the short way, catching up on them taking the long one. There has to be a significantly more traversable path on your course, leading up to the feet of the mountains, where, from a lazy peek at a map on Jax's desk one time, you assume Wyrm's Nest lies. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[One of the settlements there has to be their destination, from what I've gathered. I will head towards the mountains and reduce the chance I miss them.|ch2_road_3][$ch2.jumped to true, modAffinity("player", 10)]]</li> <li>[[I suppose even if it seems utterly senseless, I should head straight north and attempt to find them on Jax's timeline.|ch2_road_3][$ch2.jumped to false, modAffinity("y", 10)]]</li> </ul></div> <<else>><<set $ch2.jumped to true>>You spot a sturdy stone that is at no risk of tipping over under your weight and treat yourself to a sip of water that is, perhaps, barely warmer than the one flowing not far off your feet. Even the waterskin is half-empty, sloshing sound when you shake it in your hand if only for a bit of entertainment, all with the Jax-typical attention to detail. It makes sense for what they want you to achieve, for an impression they want you to make, but the cleverness of it makes it no less annoying. Yes, you are supposed to be on the run and distressed, but surely you would have the time to stop and replenish your water supply? Food, on the other hand... Some dried fruit remain, and that's about it. But that is fine. The sense of foreign, borrowed urgency rolls off your shoulders and disappears into the water just like the snow caps melt into the stream. There is no running away from it, lest you //actually// risk the wrath of the Gray Regent, but you can at least allow yourself to set the pace, to shed the unnecessary tightness gripping your body. Dipping your feet in the water helps with that, relieving the pin-sharp pain in them from your hectic pace over the unknown and unknowable ground. The entire time you do it, freshen yourself up and chew on some fruit bits, nothing disturbs you. No cast-off prince-thief drops down from the skies either. A pity. Always need to do everything yourself. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_road_3_river_explore_2]]</div> <</if>>

Now that you can no longer follow Jax's instructions to the letter, it is time to improvise. You cast a thoughtful look around, actually taking in the surroundings this time and not merely allowing your gaze to be washed out by them. The upstream curls right and disappears into the silhouettes of trees on the other bank; far behind the curvature, you can spot the toothy outlines of the Winter's End, basked in haze to the point they look painted on. The tops are covered in snow--the source of chills now testing the quality of your boots. The path downstream remains steady, however, and seems to widen a bit, promising an easier crossing somewhere along. There are no roads and no landmarks in sight to guide your way. Another look at the mountains, their strong teeth guarding the horizon--not so much because of their allure, but mostly because what else is there? People live at the base: someone //always// looks to stay the night having traversed a mountain pass and it opens up trade. Something about that is likely to pop up in the finding myth of Wyrm's Nest. You cannot play it loose anymore. Your paths will need to converge. And no better way than to head towards the same destination. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_flashback0_start]]</div>

First things first: cross the river. Despite the wild nature of it, the flow is near silk smooth, padding the bedrock to look deceptively safe. You know better. Even your magic<<if $p.combat > $p.magic>>, as unpracticed as you have left it,<</if>> won't be able to do much about it--whatever barricade you can put up to hinder the stream will be overcome in no time. You have learned it to be quite effective in dealing with people, but forces of nature not so much; almost as if all by design. Soaking your footwear has always been inevitable. An uncomfortable and physically adventurous crossing later, you leave the water behind and face the swathe of forest again, setting the cogs into motion. <<if $ch2.jumped>>You require a safer approach, something to lend you a sense of certainty, as fickle as it can be given the starting conditions. It stands to reason you are more likely to make the encounter happen the closer to their destination you place yourself--although the thought already could not pass the test of Jax's reasoning. But they are not the one with the boots on the ground.<<else>>The way ahead should feel familiar by now, if only made worse by the cramping sensation in your feet. And still, it weaves seamlessly into Jax's legend, crafted to accommodate any form of misery you might encounter on your way.<</if>> <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_flashback0_start]]</div>

//You stood before Jax, your mind solely on the upcoming journey with its perils and dangers to more than merely your skin; but they were seemingly miles away and not with good reason. This was one of the rare occasions you could witness something beyond their regular commitment to propriety and measured response. Jax was fuming.// "This--" rather than answering your question on what bothers them, they grab a missive off their desk, crumpling it, and in a wild torrent of emotion force it almost up to their face, "--is a ban on a trade to secure the //vesh// wine for the upcoming Arcana Dawn celebration. It is ''nothing'' but a tradition, mind you, just for whichever mages are present here to gather and say words and perform nonsensical rituals barely of ''any'' magical value--yet the official request from the Gray Regent <<print $q.him>>self was denied with just a few dry lines by some hazy-eyed scribe!" They stop to draw a breath, running so low on it their voice shakes. "And as if that was not enough because I have to deliver //this// news to $q.him..." Their gaze freezes on your face. Mellowed sadness creeps into their features, frown deeper, but the fire in their eyes goes out. For what Jax tells you next they have no letter to show. "I have just learned Wynne was gravely wounded." The way Jax watches you makes it clear you are expected to recognize the name. Despite their intense scrutiny, you draw a blank. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Still, their sadness is infectious. This...Wynne is one of us, after all.|ch2_flashback0_1][$path to 1, modAffinity("y", 4), modPlayer("oldnew", -7), modMemories("role", 6)]]</li> <li>[[Jax seems truly upset by this. It is only proper I express my sympathy.|ch2_flashback0_1][$path to 2, modFriendship("jax", 5)]]</li> <li>[[I feel instantly alarmed. What does this mean for me?|ch2_flashback0_1][$path to 3, modAffinity("player", 10)]]</li> <li>[[I simply wait for Jax to continue.|ch2_flashback0_1][modPlayer("playful", -3)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ Try as you might, you cannot place them, but some dull ache awakens in your chest anyway. Jax never exposes their frayed self for nothing, you have never even seen it before, and all of their dismay is crushed into one brief but concise sentence. The rest is in the lines of their face, in the deep cold shadow over their eyes. It is a mage like yourself, and there is minuscule comfort to be found in seeing them care this much, finding //yourself// care this much. There is no strong collective of mages, whatever the Gray Regent is salvaging here is perhaps all there will be to people such as yourself. Everyone matters. Everyone should. You need not speak it, you discover. Jax looks as if they read it off your face and this understanding grants them the stubbornness to go on. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ This is rare, you know as much. For a moment you stand like an adventurer who has stumbled into a solution for a puzzle that they did not even know was there. Nothing is of your intention, but ought to deal with it anyway. Jax never exposes their frayed self for nothing, you have never even seen it before, and all of their dismay is crushed into one brief but concise sentence. The rest is in the lines of their face, in the deep cold shadow over their eyes. "I am sorry to hear this, Jax," you slowly say. "I hope //Wynne// makes a recovery." They nod, as if not having heard you at all, but clarity returns to their gaze. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ Your chest tightens. You have not yet ever come close to a threat of being gravely wounded on duty, but suddenly you are distinctly aware that this is a possibility. Whatever this Wynne was doing, it was probably much better detailed than what you are about to embark on, and even that apparently did not safeguard. You feel worry rise through your whole body, fingers crawling up to hold onto the seam of your collar. The gesture does not go unnoticed. <</if>>\ "Now, what were you saying before I--" they wave their hand in a circle, frowning, "--interrupted you with my shouting?" You clear your throat and retrace your steps. "//I was saying// that since you have already told me--from those mysterious sources of yours--their destination already, why not simply... wait there?" Of all the possible responses--most of all you expect them to start pointing out how inane your suggestion is--Jax smiles. <<NextPage ch2_flashback0_2>>

Despite their reputation, no one could dare call them grim or shockingly aloof, but a smile that sincere in a moment of your warranted anxiousness is a little disarming. They balk at whatever appears on your face, and genuine surprise replaces the smile like a wrinkle tugged down from a garment. "Oh, you are asking in earnest." Their shoulders sag and they lean into their seat, abandoning their writing entirely. "Understandable... You see, there can be no traces of this"—they flick their wrist, and the air off to their left begins rippling like the disturbed surface of a lake. One more swift move and the makings of a door are removed, tension dissipating—"anywhere in the vicinity of your encounter." You let out a quiet grunt of acknowledgment; before you could spare another thought on the matter of the door //persistence//, another, more pertinent one, arises. "Is that why you always bring me to the wildest, most desolate corners of the continent?" "... In part," they reply coyly, with just a hint of amusement. A conversation for another time. It is too easy to remain on subject with the knowledge of just how light you are supposed to travel, where and--to quote Jax--//who// you are to travel with. "So you are willing to bet on an extraordinarily lucky chance that I run into them somewhere on a hilly road?" And you know the answer would be yes, with lots and lots of correcting points, because Jax doesn't simply do //lucky//-- But the answer is surprising. "I am willing to bet on //you//," they respond decisively, interrupting your invasive thoughts. As if bracing themself, Jax laces their fingers. "All I do is set you up for success. Though if this answer does not satisfy you, and at the risk of sounding overly cautious... $p.name, how good of a liar are you? How good of a liar is your body?" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[For a little while I am too stunned to speak: it is just like Jax to say words like that and leave me tongue-tied, flustered for no reason other than their attention.|ch2_flashback_2a][$path to 1, $jax.rel.love += 2]]</li> <li>[["That is a bit too early for a conversation about my body, Jax," I reply with a laugh, meaning it in every sense.|ch2_flashback_2a][$path to 2, $jax.rel.love += 2]]</li> <<include "ch2_flashback0_base_questions">> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ They have rarely asked, most often quietly assessing you and your ability. The sudden question catches you off-guard, their inquisitive silence and attentive look making you feel exposed, vulnerable. For a moment you forget the question--it was something about lying and your body, but the words are so intermingled--and your mouth is incapable of answering. Jax waits. You note that they are calmer now, and part of you feels better for it, for the pain that has left their eyes. What a road they take you on sometimes... "I apologize," you say. "What?" Their smile is amused but brief. "I asked if you believe yourself to be a good liar." <<elseif $path is 2>>\ The response does not come right away. Your words are sifted through something, a mental exercise that only manifests in the way their lips slightly part but no sound comes out. "Why, I do believe the hour is...quite appropriate," they finally say, but you cannot help but notice they sound not as sure in the passage of time as they normally do. You smile, this is entirely in their character. Endearing almost, if not disappointing. "I will take the //quite appropriate// then." Jax covers their mouth with a fist and clears their throat. "Coming back to the original question... $p.name, do you imagine yourself a good liar?" <</if>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<include "ch2_flashback0_base_questions">> </ul></div>

<li>[[Well, I had never attempted an infiltration this overt and into an environment this hostile. It is most hard to say.|ch2_flashback0_3][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I like to believe I am good. After all, no one, Jax included, seems to have caught onto how murky I have been feeling about the dealings here.|ch2_flashback0_3][$path to 2, modPlayer("crafty", 8), modAffinity("y", -15), modPlayer("vil", -5), modPlayer("oldnew", 7)]]</li> <li>[[In the line of work I have been doing for the Gray Regent, I seem to have a good grip on my reactions. I believe my record alone is enough to vouch for me.|ch2_flashback0_3][$path to 3, modPlayer("crafty", 8)]]</li> <li>[[This is a reasonable point to bring up. I am fortunate my work thus far has been covert, because I feel like trying to come up with an excuse on the spot would make me look like a fish that just got pulled out of the water.|ch2_flashback0_3][$path to 4, modPlayer("crafty", -10)]]</li>

<<if $path is 1>>\ "I find it unfair, Jax. This is a tall order no matter how you look at it, not some small job where a little suspicion won't hurt me," you reply a little defensively. They nod, agreeing comes easy. "All the more reasons for you to arm yourself with supporting truths," they explain. "Or the appearance thereof." "By wearing myself out?" <<elseif $path is 2>>\ That you have not been all too thrilled to be threatening, stealing correspondence, placing things in locations without the need for explanation--amongst other things--has been dwelling on your mind for a while. This discomfort festered with no cure in sight, rapturing and scabbing over and over as time went by. In light of it, some part of the current predicament is amusing, and the tense atmosphere grants you just enough leeway to attempt a strained smile. In your heart of hearts you know Jax would possess the sophistication to appreciate the next-to-poetic irony at play, but you sense this is not the moment to present them with the opportunity. Instead you simply shrug. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ "You have worked with me," you reason. "I think it is better to look at the results, no?" They nod, brows raising a little. "It is this proximity that has given me an opportunity of introspection. Compared to now, the previous work seems..." they purse their lips for a moment, taking time to pick the word with great care, "amateur." <<else>>\ Even now, faced with nothing but a direct question about your capabilities, you cannot maintain your expression. A dour smile pops up like you are caught red-handed in a place you do not belong. "I do not think so," you admit, feeling your neck heat up. "At least not as good as one might need to be." Jax tilts their head, the lines around their eyes softening. Their tone looses its edge, too. <</if>>\ "It is better that you actually get to experience it, get to look and feel the part. Rugged. Remember, you do not ''believe'' you would run into them, only ''hope''. The anticipation, the disbelief are not simple emotions to pull off, especially since you are to expect scrutiny of the highest order." You cannot help but imagine yourself doing just that. A jarring image, for sure. "And if they decide to fight me?" Their mouth twitches, a flash of indignation goes off in their eyes. "They would not." And somehow they expect that to leave no room for argument. Your gaze crosses the room in search of a distraction. Jax has always been a no-nonsense-except-my-nonsense kind of person, which for you most of the time incarnated as a series of detailed steps that were simple enough to execute. But for this venture, they are insisting on the unknowns in stark contrast to everything you have gotten used to. It is almost as if they wish to make you upset with them. Well, if you are to be keeping up the appearances... <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_flashback0_4]]</div>

Suddenly aware of its presence in your pouch, you feel the medallion grow heavy and hot like metal in a furnace. Under Jax's inquisitive eye, you pull it out into the light: an embossed crown--the symbol of Gray Regency--sitting on a round piece of dull silver with a slot for a small gem in the middle. A precious stone that is supposed to sit there is missing, an unnecessary reminder that the Gray Regency is in decay. Gifted to every mage in service to the Regent, it was once been proudly, a mark of belonging. The practice was abandoned when <<print $q.king>> <<print $q.name>>'s predecessor was rushed to fill the position abruptly vacant after Lord Gideon's execution. Much to public confusion, one of the <<print $q.king>>'s first orders, once the eyes on $q.him had let up, was to reinstate the tradition. You notice stiffness in Jax's jaw, perhaps they are reminded of their respective piece. "Should I be turning this in then?" you ask, offering it on an open palm. It looks ashen, nothing for the light to work with to produce eye-catching tricks. A simple medallion that, for all its simplicity, holds the ability to make your life much harder if witnessed in your possession by the wrong people. Jax ponders the response, their gaze fixed on your outstretched hand. The silence is not heavy, but you feel the itch to do something with your fingers, whether to relax them or close them over the medallion. //Finally, they lifted their eyes and slowly smiled, the most beguiling smile you have ever seen them manage. "I don't think you would have had the time."// <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_road_4]]</div>

It seems like you have stalked these woods forever. It most certainly feels like it. You were not prepared for prolonged exposure to cold, so your fingers have grown numb where the tips are not covered by the tattered leather of your gloves. The sounds you once found soothing--soft rustling, olden screeching of heavy wood under its own weight, flapping of wings, and a rush of paws scurrying away--now rub you like a stiff dry rag across tender skin. The only mercy is that you have not yet run into anything... magical. It is strange how these things are pulled into the whirlwind created by humans and rarely appear in places untrodden, so your momentary solitude is a blessing of sorts. <<if $ch2.jumped>>Then you hear it--and you freeze in your tracks.<<else>>You break through yet another dense growth, littered with branches that croak under your weight, and discover a path that takes you further off the northern course. There is an overhang of trees on one side and a steep slope on the other, which is simple enough to follow. You do.<</if>> <div class="next_page"><hr> <<if $ch2.jumped>>[[Next page|ch2_road_4_jumped_1]]<<else>>[[Next page|ch2_road_4_water_1]]<</if>></div>

Faint, a sound easily mistaken for a yelp of an animal, but there is no alarm to it, nothing shrill or panicked. You patiently wait for it to repeat itself, contemplating if, perhaps, something else could have made it in the ever-changing landscape, but it does not come the same. Weaker. Different. Blood thrums in your veins. You begin to move, carefully, with slow and quiet steps. If it is unwarranted, no one is here to know. Instincts lead you down a gentle slope, and soon you hear it for what it is. Voices. Multiple. This realization makes you pace yourself, even more aware of every little sound your advance makes. Your body buzzes, temples throbbing. An invisible string is pulling you forward, and on knees that hardly bend, you oblige. What is it? Your faith in a silly chance? Your desire to prove Jax wrong? That no amount of planning could ever make up for all the things that happen to one on the road and constantly change things? That it is far more likely-- You arrive at a rock formation that sticks out everyway, smaller stones spilled all around like a petal carpet. Fortunately for you, they are deeply lodged into the soil and hold your weight easily. On the other side of the formation, at a slightly lower level, there is a body of water you are not sure to call a lake. And it is quite a cause for joy for a tightly knit group of travelers that you immediately recognize. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_road_4_water_2]]</div>

The water down there is barely knee-deep. You know this because you are exposed to a jarring scene: the prince-thief standing in its shallow edge, barefoot, hands resting on the lightly bent knees. He is watching, with a peaceful expression and a small smile, the hunter who is treading the water as if on a parade just a few feet away. Your head whips to find the third one, spotting her at the base of a tree, where its roots have lodged themselves into the rocky soil to save it from further slippage. "What? No!" you hear clearly when the hunter abandons his witless posturing and suddenly attacks, splashing what seems to be rare drops in the direction of the mage. It raises some commotion where the guard sits, too, but she makes no sound. You pinch yourself for good measure. Your skin lightly stings, and the figures remain as well. This is ''the'' opportunity. You can practically hear your handler's smug chuckle like they were standing right by your side with their arms folded on their chest. Against all odds--you would have to pester Jax about that //network// of theirs one day--you have run into it just like you were told you would. This is where things get blurry, however. Your fingers are tight, gripping the side of the outcrop that so far has done a good job of hiding you. Even if you //are// to insert yourself into the scene unfolding right in front of your eyes, you were never once explicitly told //how// to approach it. The hunter has left his bow somewhere. The prince is not that quick to resort to threats to begin with. The guard, on the other hand, can launch an attack fairly easily. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I slowly crawl out of my hideout and walk towards them, trying to look as harmless as I can manage.|ch2_road_4_water_3a][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I cannot find it in me to approach. My entire being swells with the thought of how stupid of an idea this is.|ch2_road_4_water_3b][$path to 1, $ch2.jumped to true]]</li> <li>[[I should make myself visible immediately and play up this surrender.|ch2_road_4_water_3c][$path to 3, modPlayer("playful", 5)]]</li> <li>[[Maybe if I keep listening in, I will get some useful information... Anything to help me out.|ch2_road_4_water_3b][$path to 2, $ch2.jumped to true]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $ch2.conviction += 15>>\ Jax was right about you running into them. Perhaps they are right about this not turning into a fight right away, too. <<if ($inv.weapon is "none")>>You never outright appear to be armed, so there is nothing you can do about your look other than proceed with careful and methodic steps.<<else>>You may not have outright screamed your association with the Gray Regent upon the first meeting, but your willingness to take a fight was fully visible. The weapon, whose hilt your hand always instinctively reaches to, does not inspire trust, you understand. With slow and steady movements you make sure that the $inv.weapon <<if $inv.weapon is "sword">>is<<else>>are<</if>> fastened as securely and as out of your reach as possible.<</if>> The air is light--right until you have to make your descent, and not even your slow steps save you from being assaulted with scorching hostile attention. The hunter tenses immediately, rushing to the shore as if the tiny rock shards massaged into the sand by the water were nothing. This, in turn, forces the guard to her feet and her weapon swims out of the sheath to a headshake you cannot miss. The prince slowly approaches, his eyes trained on you. Your hands raised, you only lift them higher when the air is sliced apart by the strenuous sound of a bowstring being pulled back. "Halt!" the hunter barks. A stone slides from under your foot that you have placed too carelessly in your attempt to look calm, and you oblige. "Now, why--in all the shades--am I seeing you again?" There is finesse in simplicity. As if a single claw detaches from the grip an invisible paw of trepidation has on your insides. It helps, but not by much. Still, there it is. Questions before arrows. You can work with that. "I want to talk." <<if $intro.weapon > 1>>You stand just the way to draw attention to how inaccessible your $inv.weapon <<if $inv.weapon is "sword">>is<<else>>are<</if>>, how entirely uninterested in resorting to <<if $inv.weapon is "sword">>it<<else>>them<</if>> you are being.<<else>>The best you can do is pour conviction into your voice and keep your hands steady and still. It is not strictly necessary for you to guide the magic with them, but it just happens on its own and is a tough instinct to beat into submission.<</if>> "I did not come here to fight or proclaim threats. Just talk." <<include "ch2_road_4_talk_merge">>

Mostly you are just stalling. <<if $path is 1>>\ You could just run away. Until you make your presence known, there is still a chance for you to escape and deal with the aftermath somehow, but that would be preferable to anything that might happen if you show yourself. Even if everything goes to Jax's plan, you will be stuck with people who will never trust you, who you can never expose your back to, who might sell you out at the nearest opportunity--but, most importantly, you will be //stuck//. If you run, however, perhaps there is a corner on this continent where you might live your disobedience down, or maybe you can even explain yourself to the Gray Regent, make it up to them by stealing the pouch or getting rid of it without actually making contact-- And then it is too late to decide. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ It is peculiar how they can stand the chill water and seemingly enjoy the experience, but that is about it. After the hunter produces a cracked remark that you can hardly make out--he is choking with laughter--the prince pinches the bridge of his nose to hide a big smile, and that opens him up to a sudden but fairly loud approach of his companion. The mage is grabbed from behind like an unruly child or a cat, which results in more splashing. It is supposed to be //fun//, but it is certainly not that for you. Nothing of this is helpful, barely a demonstration of how boringly human they are. You try to stifle a groan that threatens to escape out of frustration-- But it comes out like a gasp. <</if>>\ "Greetings." Something flies over your head, shutting out the light, and you quickly piece together that this is the loose part of //your own coat//--before you are shoved to your knees. It hurts, edges stabbing into the kneecaps. You feel you have come very close to hitting your head. "Walk," comes a harsh voice. "Try to run, try to //turn//, and this will be the last step you ever make." A sharp tip presses into your back, urging you to refrain from backtracking, all the way as you slowly rise up. What you //should// have done was pay attention to the guard... <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_road_4_water_3b_2]]</div>

Even with your head bent, you can still see the ground a whole foot ahead, and so you slowly walk, guided by the heavy presence of a sword at your back. You make a drop into the obvious change of air. Fresh, strong on the sour sweetness of conifer and //crowded//. You do not need to see them to pick up the crunchy sounds of steps and the oppressive aura courtesy of the hunter's poison. "What is this?" you hear him ask. As if on cue, the entrapment of your own attire is dragged down to reveal you like a celebratory dish. Wind once again freely moves around your face, offering a smidgen of relief to your skin that feels like it is about to burn off. It is like a sickness: close enough to have your knees buckle, but not quite. The stares are surprised and then immediately affronted, at least those you can see as the guard is still standing between you and the possibility of retreat. "Unbelievable," the hunter speaks again with a hitch to his voice like he finds it humorous. "Before you make a hasty decision," you say quickly, your voice still coarse with surprise and worry, "this is not what it might look like." "This is //exactly// what it looks like," comes from behind your back. Unwittingly, you tilt your head towards the source of the rebuttal but stop yourself just in time before she acts on it. "I... was not going to ambush you or anything stupid like that," you trudge on. "I wish to talk." <<include "ch2_road_4_talk_merge">>

<<set $ch2.conviction += 15>>\ You never tiptoe around an excruciating decision, no. If you have to commit, you plunge. With a push, mental just as much physical, you spread your arms wide, striding with faux confidence. Maybe because you are uncomfortable, and resorting to antics helps make these people around you uncomfortable as well, which serves as a reasonable consolation. Maybe it is your way to take off the edge, to channel your apprehension into an exuberant performance to get a grip on it somehow. Maybe it is something else entirely, but this is not the time for introspection. You do not make it far before things take up a notch: the hunter tenses immediately, a fleeting moment--and he is rushing to the shore. This, in turn, forces the guard to her feet and her weapon swims out of the sheath before she even notices you. "I sure hope you do not shoot me right away," you call out over the commotion at everyone. It works, as they are hanging onto each word of yours. "I wish to talk and nothing else. Well... for now." The last bit is obnoxious, you know that. The role is playing you now, and it is a little hard to not get carried away. "You must be out of your mind," the hunter states, disbelief and amused humor in his voice crashing into each other like waves. "I would be out of my mind to pick a fight with you, I'd say," you parry with a light smile. "And yet you show your face." You shrug easily, hoping it to pass as confidence. "Wouldn't do that if I had nothing of value to say." <<include "ch2_road_4_talk_merge">>

"If you think for a second that anyone cares what your master has to say..." Arthur replies--as was to be expected--with the corners of his mouth twitching. <<if ($intro.weapon > 1) and ($intro.band_maid != true)>>\ Something about the words awakens an uneasy, crawling feeling in your gut. He speaks as if he knows something, not suspects--knows. It is better not to give in. "You are awfully well-informed about a simple blade for hire," you bait cautiously. Arthur smiles, teeth showing. Not promising. "And here I thought $q.name selected $q.his goons on arrogance and over-inflated importance alone." You look around, watching, studying. The faces are tense, but this reveal is not new to them. Which means that somehow, at some point you have outed yourself. When did?.. Not important. Not now. You sigh, in parts because you need to convey shame, in parts because you itch for some measure of relief. "Well, that was going to come up anyway." Your shoulders sag in defeat. "It does not change my request." "$q.His request, you mean," the guard scoffs. "Oh, $q.he would rather I was not here," you correct with a bitter smile, swallowing the knot in your throat. <<else>>\ "$q.He is not too much of a master if I do not do what $q.he says, is $q.he?" "Maybe you are just not that good at following instructions?" Arthur suggests mockingly. You preface with a dejected shrug. "And whose fault would that be?" "Ugh!" the guard interjects. "Just what do you want?" You turn to her, slightly, slowly. "I'm asking you to hear out what I have to say." You gaze back at the hunter. "Me, not the Gray Regent. $q.He would rather I was not here, as a matter of fact." <</if>>\ Arthur lets out a loud breath, a fleeting moment where he seems vulnerable. "We are not listening to any of that." There is an unspeakable sense of mystery in the air; you cling to it like it were the end of a rope hanging over an abyss. "Then what are we doing?" Darla slowly asks. Try as she might to conceal it, you see the frown on her face and know what it means: she is not as confident in the hunter's verdict. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_gale_merge]]</div>

The path takes you downhill, so you shorten your step to prevent yourself from slipping. The forest sounds particularly dead here: save for the sound of wind combing through the branches, nothing dares to make a sound. The feeling is unsettling, though not as pertinent as the cold that begins to numb. Numbing would be a //problem//. But numbing you expect. The stillness catches you off-guard. A rush, a patter of no more than two steps--and you are overwhelmed. Your feet fly out from beneath you, body pushed. <<if $p.combat >= 40>>You manage to salvage it, breaking the fall with a spin over your shoulder, and promptly bolt upright.<<else>>Fear shocks you as magic is deaf to your bid, forearms taking the brunt of the fall.<</if>> "Why, just //why//?" <<if $p.combat >= 40>>\ The voice almost shakes you: you certainly expected, preferred even, a group of bandits. But it is not. <<else>>\ You know this voice, runs through your startled head. Both know and dread hearing, whipping to look behind and above--just as pain pins your ankle to the ground. You grunt, it feels sharp like a stab, your pain fully exposed to //her//. <</if>>\ The guard. Darla, was it? Jax was bloody right, but not an ounce of you feels relieved. You glance at her sword, throbbing in your temples almost thunderous. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["Wonderful, I was just looking for you!" I try to squeeze something like joy out of me.|ch2_road_4_jumped_2][$path to 1, modPlayer("playful", 2)]]</li> <li>[['"I will explain, just...do not hurt me."'|ch2_road_4_jumped_2][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[[Pain gets to me. "Did you have to do this?!"|ch2_road_4_jumped_2][$path to 3]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ You, personally? You would not believe the high-pitched and thoroughly insincere version of your voice, but who knows with her. "Should have looked behind you," she retorts lowly. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ "You will," she retorts mockingly. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ Her laugh is quick, surprised. "Absolutely." <</if>>\ <<if $p.combat >= 40>>\ But you are already busy surveying. <<else>>\ You crush old foliage between your tense fingers as you drag your palms into fists. <<if $p.magic >= 25>>What is this veil over your senses?<</if>> "Might I stand up? I wish to talk." you request, coarse. You feel the boot--she was pinning you with a boot--move away. No answer comes but you try to turn around and pick yourself up from the ground. <</if>>\ It is not just her. The mage prince is here, by the side of a tree that he is supporting himself against with a hand. The hunter, too, further away. Should you try to run, there is an arrow ready to catch up with you. Good thing you weren't going to even try. You glare at Arthur. "Couldn't crawl back to $q.name without the trinket, after all?" he asks, utterly calm as if conversing about the weather. <<if ($intro.weapon > 1) and ($intro.band_maid != true)>>\ Your head does a spin, sifting through memories in a snap of a finger. You did not spill a word of this, did not flaunt an ounce of your gift, yet the name the hunter throws at you is just as damning as if you did. Throat dry, you push through the fog of surprise. This is not over yet. You can still talk. You sigh, in parts because you need to convey shame, in parts because you itch for some measure of relief. "Well, that was going to come up anyway." Your shoulders sag in defeat. "It does not change my request." <<else>>\ "Not at all," you counter firmly. "I did not deliver it and I am ''not'' going to. I hope you can see how at odds it is with the Gray Regent's plans, no?" <</if>>\ "Do not even think you can make your failure our problem," the guard chides. "Oh, it is very much my problem," you correct with a bitter smile, swallowing the knot in your throat. "To that, I have something important to say to you." "To say to us?" "Yes." Not even a moment passes. "Fascinating," the hunter deadpans. Then, to his companion: "Darla, tie $p.him up." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[What? I never agreed to that!|ch2_hands_tie_nok_jumped][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[...Seems about right. Might as well allow it.|ch2_hands_tie_ok_jumped][$path to 2]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $path to 5>>\ <<include "ch2_hands_tie_common">> But you do not concede as easily. It is not enough that they had a drop on you, outnumber you three to one, hurt you in the process--now your hands need to be bound so that your only defense should things go horrible is to try and run. You pull back: just a step before a second one earns you a shot. "Hold on!" you call out. This is what an animal must feel when it realizes that it is moments from falling into a trap. Your eyes dash frantically in search of an argument, finding only Gale's vigilant but inscrutable gaze. "Do you not find that agreeable?" Arthur asks, voice covered in honeyed bitterness. "Is talking not //all// you wish to do?" He boasts a smile as if urging you to put up more fight. You hesitate to estimate his skill with a bow after one altercation, but it does not hurt to be prudent. Assume he will hit. <<if $intro.weapon > 1>>\ "You can take my $inv.weapon--" "That's a marvelous idea." Darla rips it off you like it were a stubborn fruit clinging to a branch. Once you've found your footing and sent her an unimpressed look, you ask, "Does that satisfy?" Arthur looks at Darla and nods towards you--it does not. <<else>>\ "You are a hunter," you reason, "and you have caught me unprepared for pretty much anything. There is not a single edge I have here, even if I wanted to cross you so senselessly." "If you do not intend to cross us," he pushes through gritted teeth, "then it should not bother you this much, no?" <</if>>\ The longer you try to bargain, the clearer it gets he will not budge. You might just have to accept it while it still seems like you have a chance of being heard. Your body freezes in opposition, just your mind reciting what Jax told you, searching for a solution there. Surrendering is what you were meant to do. Surrendering to win a chance at success. Sounds worse now than it did even back then, but what options do you have? You smack your wrists together, hands balled into loose fists, and stretch them out. Soon you will find out if it was worth anything. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_hands_tie_merge]]</div>

<<set $ch2.conviction += 15>>\ <<include "ch2_hands_tie_common">> The guard resigns herself to her fate rather quickly. She makes sure Arthur still has his bow trained on you to lower her weapon and procure a rope. Such an innocent and useful tool on the road, but even the sight of it makes you uneasy. "You better behave," she says lowly and pauses, expecting reassurances. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I quietly thrust my wrists forward. I see it more as a good sign than bad.|ch2_hands_tie_merge][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I offer my hands with a resigned sigh. "I'll have you know I usually at least require we have a meal together first before I agree to such things."|ch2_hands_tie_merge][$path to 2, modPlayer("playful", 4)]]</li> <li>[[Ah, having my hands tied, a romantic scenario of my dreams... I do not hesitate to point it out to the woman about to do it.|ch2_hands_tie_merge][$path to 3, modPlayer("playful", 4), $dar.rel.love +=1, modFriendship("dar", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I groan, reluctantly offering my hands. I don't think I have any choice here, but I do not have to be happy about it either.|ch2_hands_tie_merge][$path to 4]]</li> </ul></div>

"Let's talk then," comes the weary voice of Gale all of a sudden. Arthur turns lightly his way but never enough to leave you out of his sight. The mage starts languidly walking towards a pile of garments and leather. "We'll do that at the camp. I want to get my boots on." Your chest responds with a loud thud, and you do not even think to hide the relief that comes with it. He has not said a word until now, but for whatever reason he is intent on giving you a chance. You watch, as if in a haze, the mage prince put the discarded pieces back on with unhurried grace under the watchful gaze of his stumped companions. Frankly, you are no better, but your silence is of the relieved kind, not the turbulent one surrounding Arthur and Darla. "Gale?.." the hunter calls out and leaves it at that. His frame is tense, jaw tight. The mage looks up, wet hair flops as he does. "Hm?" Arthur steels himself, mouth pressed into a thin line, and covers the distance towards his acquaintance in a few heavy strides. Then he begins //emoting//, all the while taking care of his own outfit. Almost as if there is nothing else to do, the guard places the threatening edge of her weapon close to your throat. Her stare is heavy, but your head is too light to care. "Darla," the hunter calls out once is finished will all the gear but the bracers, where he is taking time to ensure the tightness of the leather fastenings. He looks up, drawing a long breath. "Tie $p.him up." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[What? I never agreed to that!|ch2_hands_tie_nok][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[...Seems about right. Might as well allow it.|ch2_hands_tie_ok][$path to 2]]</li> </ul></div>

"What, me?" she complains--and then in the same breath, "You mean the whole thing?" The hunter sighs. "The hands will do, we need $p.him to walk."

<<set $ch2.conviction += 15>>\ <<include "ch2_hands_tie_common">> The guard resigns herself to her fate rather quickly. She appears in your view, carried by intentional steps, rope already in hand while another still holds you at the point of her sword. "You better behave," she says lowly and pauses, expecting reassurances. You realize rather promptly that despite the puff and smoke of indifference, //the hunter is watching//. This stance is hard-won, and he will not hesitate to toss one of those fancy arrows at you if you move in any //intriguing// way. But even if the annoying thump bellona stirs in your temples is hard to ignore, Arthur is not. You block him out and focus on Darla. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I quietly thrust my wrists forward. I see it more as a good sign than bad.|ch2_hands_tie_merge][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I offer my hands with a resigned sigh. "I'll have you know I usually at least require we have a meal together first before I agree to such things."|ch2_hands_tie_merge][$path to 2, modPlayer("playful", 4)]]</li> <li>[[Ah, having my hands tied, a romantic scenario of my dreams... I do not hesitate to point it out to the woman about to do it.|ch2_hands_tie_merge][$path to 3, modPlayer("playful", 4), $dar.rel.love +=1, modFriendship("dar", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I groan, reluctantly offering my hands. I don't think I have any choice here, but I do not have to be happy about it either.|ch2_hands_tie_merge][$path to 4]]</li> </ul></div>

<<include "ch2_hands_tie_common">> <<set $path to 5>>\ It could have been a startled hop, but you manage to suppress it into a careful step back, spurring Darla's ire--a hiss and a push that is too sharp and too close to your flesh. //This is bad.// The mage's response appears in a different light. Coaxing you, put-on calm, even going as far as showing you his back--all to soothe you into a false sense of security. Does he really want to listen, because so far this looks like a ploy to make you completely defenseless and then... You need your freedom. You have stated your goal loud and clear and that should be enough. You are doing everything right, and then //tied up//? The collar of your coat is stiff and tugs too hard on the right, blocking air, blocking the coldness of it on your skin. <<if ($p.playful > $p.ruthless) or ($p.crafty > $p.ruthless)>>\ "Hey, surely that is not necessary," you say in a tone that is, perhaps, //too// lighthearted, but it comes out loud enough to reach the one it was meant for. "You think I don't know what you want?" the hunter asks, brows lifted, a shrug that forewarns you of the futility that would be a reply. And still, you murmur through a sigh, "You really don't." And because that is not at all helpful, \ <<if $intro.weapon > 1>>\ "You can take my $inv.weapon--" "That's a marvelous idea." Darla rips it off you like it were a stubborn fruit clinging to a branch. Once you've found your footing and sent her an unimpressed look, you ask, "Does that satisfy?" Arthur looks at Darla and nods in your direction—-it does not. <<else>>\ "You are a hunter," you reason, "and I have forfeited every single advantage I had. That is if I even wanted to cross you so senselessly all of a sudden." "If you do not intend to cross us," he pushes through gritted teeth, "then it should not bother you this much, no?" <</if>>\ Their irritation rises, that much you can see. \ <<else>>\ Your shoulders square up with an urge more primal than the complexity of your goals rising to the surface. "''No''." All the cordiality is snuffed off your face, you know. The need to be safe is stronger. The hunter senses it, turning to you with his whole body, and so does the guard, in a blink her grip on the sword changes from defensive to anticipatory. "You said you wanted to //talk//," Arthur says, unamused, words slow and intentional. His fingers crawl towards his bow unashamed. "You do not need your hands to talk." You press back a snarl. "I do not like to be at a disadvantage." "Not very good at counting, I see." "I do not believe that to be a problem." He barks a laugh. "Ah, your lack of humility is quite reassuring." Then, looking through you, firm and final, "Darla." He keeps throwing your own words back at you like a bored child. <</if>>\ You want to--need to, was told to--talk, yet push back when that request was seemingly granted. Does that look as bad as they make it? Or are you right to try and see //through// Gale's behavior? Difficult. You recall Jax's reassurances once more, barely an echo over the deafening pounding in your ears. And there is no time to let them work, Arthur is watching you like these are the final moments you can correct something. Soothe yourself first. Even if with a lie. Your teeth clench. The hunter is acting like this because this is a test: he wants to see if you will comply, getting every last bit of satisfaction he can. That is another way to look at it if you have ever learned anything from watching Jax work. A thought worth clinging to. You smack your wrists together, hands balled into loose fists and stretch them out, sending him a scorching look. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_hands_tie_merge]]</div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ The beat of your heart is measured. These manipulations have you convinced you are achieving something, rather than being immediately subdued and turned into some kind of currency to be used against the Gray Regent--and truth be told, even if everything were to go to shit, this would be one of the better outcomes for you. You are calm when Darla secures your hands against one another, hand raking through the myriad of predictions for what is yet to come. This feeling creeps out like fog, you sense, as you would expect the restraints to be far tighter than they end up being. The guard tugs to test them, still, then flicks your palms in a bid for your attention. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ She balks, rope snapping into a tightly pulled line between her hands. At the sight of that you cannot stop the grin, this ease welcomed and earned. Her eyes, now wide, try and make her look scandalized, but her gaze lingers on your face for way too long. "Just saying." You shrug, pulling her out of the stunned stillness and, to your dismay, straight into the act of tying your hands--jerking and pulling until it bites. Nothing surprising, really. "Best keep your mouth shut until we reach camp," she mumbles then, gaze fixed sternly on the rope. You hum, keeping still and unexpectedly calm, and wait until she is finished. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ You wait until Darla approaches, rope in hand. She thumbs it with nimbleness, getting a feel for the end and the right length--you follow the small moves with your eyes and offer nothing but a smile. Catching her gaze, if only briefly, takes a while. She grabs your wrists, her hands small but operating with strength befitting her trade, and in a swift moment she tips her head up to get a measure of your face, your smile splits wider. "At least I'll have a beautiful girl do it," you murmur, quiet enough for the only ears to pick it up to be hers. Her eyes widen immediately, studying your face like one studies their opponent, then her head snaps to look over her shoulder at the unsuspecting companions. You only chuckle, again quietly, not to attract attention and not to betray her--and the eyes just now wide cower beneath a new frown. None of that hides the dab of color your comment has painted her face, no matter how faint it is, no matter how angry she tries to look. Darla pulls on your hands stubbornly, mumbling something you cannot hear--unfair, you did her the courtesy of being quite straightforward--and works on the binds with undue vigor, yanking at the end of the rope once the knots are finished. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ The guard has to use force to get your hands where she needs them, prompting another unhappy groan. She avoids looking at you, but every time you try to readjust, to wrangle for some measure of comfort in this uncomfortable position, she finds another piece of it to tear off and make it even more unpleasant. "I'm not a sack of rocks," you complain, face scrunched. "Unfortunately. Just human enough to make it harder--" she pulls at the knot, "--than it needs to be." You wince, the experience leaving you agitated. <<elseif $path is 5>>\ Darla fixes the rope tight around your wrists so that you would not be able to as much as wiggle them around and secures it with knots that look worryingly practiced. They rub and bite and threaten more pain with each small movement, promising to never be easily forgotten about. <</if>>\ And with that, you are urged to move. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_1]]</div>

<<set $secretsunlocked to true>>\ <<silently>> <<script>> Dialog.setup("You have unlocked Secrets!", "secrets_div"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("SecretsIntro").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</silently>>\ Their camp has been set up not too far off but with the feeling of daggers staring into your back the entire way the walk is far from pleasant. You stumble into a clearning where tents have already been set up and horses are tied in place with enough freedom to roam a little. A place in the middle is designated for a future fire. You find a log to occupy and hear no complaints when you take the load off your legs. It should also assist in making you appear smaller, "less threatening". <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Which with my short height is not a problem to begin with usually. Instead, I often have trouble making people take me seriously.|ch2_camp_2][$p.appearance.height to 1]]</li> <li>[["Which is a mixed bag of an experience, since I am as tall as an average " + $p.man + "."|ch2_camp_2][$p.appearance.height to 2]]</li> <li>[[Which is quite a task to accomplish given how I am often the tallest person in a room.|ch2_camp_2][$p.appearance.height to 3]]</li> </ul></div>

Once the sounds of footsteps and branches snapping under them die down, the camp descends into silence, which is your cue to start singing. You draw a long breath, pushing your mind into the required state: of that of a mage on the run from your enraged master in the wake of your colossal failure to execute the task $q.he has demanded of you. The invisible shadows of the Gray Regent's fury plague your every step--you've been on the run ever since--and the only refuge you can imagine is the thick walls of Rimehall. You cannot reach it alone, for the agents of the Gray Regency are everywhere in the wild lands, searching to have you //punished// to the full extent of the <<print $q.king>>'s fury. The question is, how do you break this story? <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I will try to evoke pity over my fate in the face of the Gray Regent's wrath. Will take this hit to my pride just to make it simple: they look like they enjoy feeling high, mighty and benevolent.|ch2_camp_3a_1][modPlayer("vil", 3), modMemories("role", 4), $ch2.mainstory to 1]]</li> <li>[['I will attempt convincing them I have had a change of heart and no longer wish to work for the Gray Regent. All I need to do is throw their beliefs about the ' + $q.king + ' back at them. Bold for the first move, but I am playing a long game.'|ch2_camp_3b_1][modPlayer("crafty", 5), $ch2.mainstory to 2]]</li> <li>[[It does not have to be anything other than a simple deal. I will make my offer in exchange for their help in getting to Rimehall. Less emotion, less opportunity for a slip of the tongue that can turn very unpleasant for me very quickly.|ch2_camp_3c][modPlayer("crafty", -5), modPlayer("oldnew", 4), $ch2.mainstory to 3]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $ch2.conviction += 20>>\ Your head dips, tied hands hang freely off your knees, truly getting a feel for it, a fear that is there but for an entirely different reason. A fear of being discovered for a fake that you are. A real one, with three pairs of eyes boring holes in you expectantly, every word about to be scrutinized. "I do not think it is a secret that I was sent to retrieve..." You awkwardly swing in the direction of the mage with your hands. "...that. It is even less of a secret that I was not very successful." "Of course you didn't," Darla inserts, with just a hint of cruel satisfaction. "Well then, I don't think I should explain how unhappy with me that would make--has made--the Gray Regent," you carry on, with even more reservation, some unspoken emotion you are holding back forcefully. "I did not show up to deliver it and especially did not dare show $q.him my face--which, rather quickly, started to manifest a great deal of trouble for me. "You see, when you disappoint the Gray Regent, it is never..." A pause, your voice breaking. There is no memory to dust up, place on your palm and squeeze until it bleeds you the right emotion; you've never failed <<print $q.him>>, after all. Every time you as much as caught wind of someone falling into the <<print $q.king>>'s bad graces by daring to fail $q.him, the conversation quickly died down. Whether it is because no one trusted you enough to share--or for some other reason you would rather not dwell on. "$q.He demands perfection, results. You do not ever get off with a slap on the wrist. "So I tried to show up at the meeting point, but at the end I could not come through with it. I don't want this to happen to me. I don't want to find out what happened to the other agents before me, or those other than me, but now--" A shaky breath. You dare not look up, it is probably better for your story, too. "I saw them. I can feel them on my trail. I'm not safe because I failed. Over some stupid //sand//..." Pause. Wait. Bated breath. "So?" <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_3a_2]]</div>

You take the invitation and meet his gaze. The hunter is tense, arms crossed on his chest, shoulders raised, like an agitated animal that is primed on every sense available to it and the findings turn up dour. Of course. This was never going to work on //him//. He is intent on doing the talking, though. Some part of it, at least, and you are starved for any kind of response. "I don't want to be found by them," you reply blankly, throat tight. "I'm not going to survive it if they do." "And when you say //they//, who is it? Some strugglers who do the same 'work' that you do?" "Yes. Probably better at stalking than I would be, but yes." Alys, you heard, is exceptional at it. "Well, that is awfully shortsighted. From all the parties involved, really." "You'd be surprised," you swallow forcefully, "what things people may get competitive in." "That $q.name would have $q.his thugs scuffle between each other? I am most definitely not surprised." There is not an ounce of pity in his expression--not that you have expected it--but the pouty downturn of contempt. Whether it be for you, for the Gray Regent or, most likely, for both, you cannot be too sure to have convinced anyone of anything. Even yourself. Do you believe these words coming out of your mouth? Even a little? Is that why you never opposed the plan to begin with, because deep down you suspected that the very things you are now describing might have become real? <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Oh, I am well aware of that... I would have probably had to deliver this exact speech had I just refused to obey the new order.|ch2_camp_3a_3][$path to 1, modAffinity("y", -5)]]</li> <li>[[I only know that the picture I have painted is grim, and I was so good at it that I am shaking a little.|ch2_camp_3a_3][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[$q.He + " would never, I just know that. Not to me."|ch2_camp_3a_3][$path to 2, modAffinity("y", 7), modFriendship("q", 4), modTrust("q", 3)]]</li> <li>[['Maybe... I have never even been on ' + $q.his + ' disappointed side to know, but something tells me it is exceptionally far from pleasant indeed.'|ch2_camp_3a_3][$path to 3, modAffinity("y", -3), modPlayer("crafty", 2)]]</li> <li>[['The Gray Regent has not chosen a light task. I do not have to like ' + $q.his + ' methods, whatever they are, if they bear the result we all want for the mages.'|ch2_camp_3a_3][$path to 4, modAffinity("y", 7), modMemories("y", 4), modPlayer("ruthless", -3), modPlayer("oldnew", -1)]]</li> <li>[[Even if I do, it does not bother me. If I had a goal this big, this ambitious, trudging through this many adversities, I would have demanded as much from those who claim to support me.|ch2_camp_3a_3][$path to 4, modAffinity("y", 7), modMemories("y", 3), modPlayer("ruthless", 5), modPlayer("oldnew", -2)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ There is a part of you that is willing to look at the hand dealt to you with clear eyes, and you are not blind to the kind of assignments you have been dispatched to do in your service to the Gray Regent. Underhand tactics, blackmail and intimidation; what would make you so special not to have that used against //you// if need be? <<elseif $path is 2>>\ There is a painful pang in your chest at the mere thought of that: as if hours upon hours of audiences and $q.his patience would evaporate merely because you dared to be imperfect once. What the $q.king has shown you over your months in the Tower is not that you would be easily discarded, and you are resolute to hold up your end of this unspoken bargain. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ You are not ignorant of your mystifying status among the Gray Regent's agents. That you have been extended close work with Jax, of all people, so early on is but another clue to that. Whether it is because the circumstances of your memory loss are of value to $q.him, of interest, or for whatever other reason, you are afforded the leniency you cannot imagine $q.him do for the others--otherwise the //results// $q.he is getting would simply not be there. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ The unforgivable truth of the matter is that once you embark on an uphill journey, such as the restoration of mage rule through the rise of mage hunters, you cannot afford slip-ups, for every single one could be your last. History proves that the first to lose their head is the Gray Regent, and that happening to none other but $q.his parents must be a constant reminder that is too difficult to silence. <</if>>\ "That is the truth of the matter," you say regardless. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_4]]</div>

It feels odd, even though you have explicitly been given encouragement from Jax--who assured you it sat well with the <<print $q.king>>--to lean into this. And yet you do not want to. There is little care for the truthfulness of the words about to come out of your mouth and all the concern about the one to spew them out being yourself, an act of treason despite all the reassurances of the contrary. But it is a simple path to fall into, with them believing what you are about to say and you only needing to convince them that //you// believe it as well. There is honesty in simplicity that you won't find anywhere else. "I know you won't believe me, but it doesn't mean that I won't try." You pad the story, summoning easily distilled doom and gloom--Arthur still scoffs as if you said something ambiguously laughable. "You probably understood that I have now failed the Gray Regent--which is true, yet...I cannot find it in me to feel heartbroken about it. "$q.He wanted what is in your possession now, the pouch and its contents, but... I feel like it is something too potent to reach the Gray Regent." You swallow heavily. "I believe it best that $q.he never gets $q.his hands on it." Made all the easier by $q.his deliberate request not to relieve the people in front of you of it. "Oh, bullshit, get your lies in order!" Darla protests. "It most definitely did not look like it the last time we met." There is a mocking twist to her lips, wrist tense, keeping her hand close to the hilt. You force your gaze off the threat and look into her eyes, trying your best to look resigned. "The last time I did not see it as a chance," you lie, <<if $p.crafty > 60>>a light tremble creeping into your voice<<else>>head hanging as a show of regret<</if>>. "I was still just... trying to get by." This, in turn, causes the hunter to snort: a sound you know is unfit for the palace rooms but is so handy when you do not care about offending your company. His jaw is jutting out, some composure gained only when he looks back at you. "Is this what you call doing <<print $q.name>>'s dirty work? //Getting by?//" You rise to the bait, because bait is something you did not even dream of getting by now. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I will confess to my loss of memories. It portrays me as a confused and unwitting participant instead of an outright ally, which is probably more forgiving.|ch2_camp_3b_2a][$ch2.mem_confessed to true, modTrust("gale", 5)]]</li> <li>[[I will simply say that I haven't been in the Gray Regent's employ for too long. There is a great measure of truth in it.|ch2_camp_3b_2b][]]</li> <li>[[No matter what I say, no reason will be good enough. I guess I can pretend to be ashamed for his entertainment and we can move past this.|ch2_camp_3b_2c][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[[No, but the audacity of this man! To accuse me of working with the only entity in this world that would accept a mage?|ch2_camp_3b_2d][modPlayer("crafty", -2), modAffinity("y", 3)]]</li> <li>[[...and yet I cannot get a word out, faced with his anger.|ch2_camp_3b_2e][modTrust("art", 1), modPlayer("ruthless", -5)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $ch2.conviction += 20>>\ "They were the ones who found me," you admit after a hefty pause. "I was passed out in the wilderness, and they found me. And when I came to it, I could not even remember my name, let alone what I was doing there or the reason that led me to end up the way I did. Everything was... misty. They took care of me." The memory, the //false// first one, hounds you. Exposed, raw, plagued by primal fear, you woke up like breaking through ice and gasping for a breath, assaulted and battered by an unknown reality around you. That reality came to be molded by the Gray Regent, $q.he had you visit $q.him far more often than any other mage under $q.his rule as you later learned, so there is not a lie in this admission. "Once they found out I could do magic," you <<if $p.magic >= 15>>continue, the pressure of bellona welling in your eyes<<else>>say bitterly, for that is such a small part of you<</if>>, "they offered me to stay. I, of course, had no better offers lined up, so I took the only one that I had." "And you still do not remember?" Gale's hollow voice forces you to look up. Had he not said anything, you would not have even realized he was listening at all, face without a trace of the wary animosity that his companions do not even try to hide. "No," you respond firmly, noting numbly how uncomfortable this honesty is. You may have served your freedom, but with this, you are adding something else, a shadowy part of yourself, private and vulnerable like a coat of fresh paint. A shudder is all you allow, next thing is you looking back at him with the assuredness this honesty has lent you. "It has been quite a journey to settle into the world, I must say." "And what a world it is," Arthur chimes in, and, for once, it is said to the skies, the acid in his voice is not for you. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_3b_2a_2]]</div>

Darla groans. "You are just pulling this out of your bag." "I strongly wish I was making this up," you retort, aggrieved. As unbelievable as it may be, this is your reality. Basking in hollow dreams has never been pleasant. "So we believe that," is said, between a question and a defeated admission. "Please," Arthur replies quickly, even though you can see that the mage prince was not going to admit to anything. His gaze is still on you, surveying you like an ancient puzzle that is in no rush to get solved. You remember the accusation. "It is the truth." You solidify with a shrug, bound hands bobbing along. "How convenient," the guard retorts, "that in a tower full of mages none was able to help you." She stares you down expectantly, a small smirk just a further insult to the skill of the Riante healers. You could tell her of the //assumptions//, of course, things people have theorized depending on how monstrous or ordinary they wanted to think of you: that there is something stronger out there that even magic could not sense, that there are no memories to speak of, that you are indeed a liar that is tight-lipped about your--no doubt gruesome--past... But that will get you nowhere. Instead, you remind her of the stakes, of the direction you want her eyes to look. "All I say is that it, perhaps, made it //difficult// for me to discern what I was getting myself into." <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_4]]</div>

<<set $ch2.conviction += 15>>\ "I have not been doing it for long," you start calmly. "In the beginning, it was not too bad, just things that needed to be picked up and delivered. Truth be told, I felt like an errand <<if $p.man is "man">>boy<<elseif $p.man is "woman">>girl<<else>>child<</if>> most of the time, it was not... glorious or nefarious, believe it or not. I suppose it makes sense, as no one trusts a stranger with the jobs that really matter or really...//get in there//." <<if $p.crafty > 70>>You find yourself oddly calm even in light of your every small movement being watched. There is a pit in your stomach--this was never going to be routine--but more than distress you, it reminds you of the need to keep a tight leash on your reactions, a bell that warns you of danger.<<else>>Your breath is a touch out of stride, voice threatening to betray the presence of a tense knot in your stomach. A single string running from your toes to the crown of your head, it takes just a little to tip you off-balance. You brace as if preparing to take on a large wave.<</if>> "With time it changed. The jobs got more...sophisticated, intricate, and they started to involve people, strangers, and those far beyond Riante. Following them, making them feel threatened, staging certain...situations." Not the full picture, just the strokes, nothing that would come to them as a surprise. //Try not to outright state anything, just imply,// Jax told you. You then draw a deep breath, preparing to pull the drape. "I do not know what it is building towards, and I do not wish to learn. I just know that I want nothing to do with it anymore, and I need to protect myself from $q.him inevitably coming after me for this...betrayal." There is a beat of silence, nature around you humming to its disruptive rhythm. "Betrayal is such a...charitable word to use," the hunter says, shaking his head. "Whether or not you see it that way, the Gray Regent surely would, and $q.he will act--act accordingly." <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_4]]</div>

<<if $p.crafty >= 67>><<set $ch2.conviction +=10>>You muster a wince, a flicker of put-on fragility that needs to be whiskered away immediately to be believable. Your eyes find the ground, chest pulling trying breaths--and you scoff, a pained, frustrated sound.<<else>><<set $ch2.conviction -=10>>Annoyance surges in a hot flash, a spark between the hot coal pit that simmers in your chest. This //is// an annoying job. Too much talking from such a low position, like bargaining when you know your side of the offer is just a tiny contraption that throws a huge shadow.<</if>> And thus you serve silence--and a painful look at yourself. So that when you speak a heavy moment later, it sounds like a struggle. "There is nothing I can say," you declare, aimed at the ground, still feeling the heavy stares all over you. "Didn't even try," the hunter retorts, practically screaming disappointment. You ignore it. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_4]]</div>

<<set $ch2.conviction -= 10>>\ He speaks as if a mage has an ocean full of possibilities open to them, as if the doors do not shut into your face, as if you are not showered with a bucketful of profanities the moment your eyes take on a soft glow they always mistake for a threat. You do not recall a lifetime of experiences, but the bitterness at least stretches that far, surpassing even the countless locks keeping your memories secured and unknowable. <<if $p.magic >= $p.weapon>>"I am a mage, you do not exactly make living for us easy."<<else>>"You hound those with even a sniff of magical talent, what was I supposed to do?"<</if>> He scoffs, and Darla airs her thoughts freely. "Sitting down on your arse never sounded like an alluring trade? You had to do //<<print $q.his>>// bidding?" "At the very least with //<<print $q.him>>// I am not terrified of someone ever finding out what I could do." Arthur's voice rings unnervingly low. "And why is that? Who is truly the one terrified?" It swirls within you, refusing to settle. You know that if you were to bite your tongue, you would have to draw blood to stop it. <div class="magictxt">vulture</div> //"Asks the one with mage poison coursing in his veins."// He lunges, predator-worthy strength, vigor--snapped back with a hand around his upper arm like a chain. Do not. Smile. Jax was right. The mage prince is full of surprises. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_3b_2d_2]]</div>

"What were you going to do?" Gale asks his infuriated companion, voice flowing calmly despite the grip that he still maintains on Arthur's arm. "<<print $p.he.toUpperFirst()>> <<if $p.plural>>are<<else>>is<</if>> tied." "Since when do we--" the hunter starts with an offended smile, but then his expression hardens, his back following. The only thing that remains, a haunting thing, is a trace of an unkind smile. "I just wanted to step closer." As if awaiting just that, Gale releases him. "I trust you on that," he says suspiciously earnestly. You almost feel a tinge of disappointment. It does not seem, however, that the hunter has moved on from it just as easily. He looks around, gaze landing on Darla, but she who has been watching you this entire time--you felt it with every inch of your skin--senses it almost immediately. "Oh, you would have to make a stronger argument for me to take your side over his, //Lord van der Garde//," she answers the unasked request, hand rising to shrug and wave simultaneously. You see that she is far from carefree, with the rigidity in her shoulders not even an armor could hide; see it for what it is. An attempt to massage the tension out of the air. Another near-disappointment. It works. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_4]]</div>

<<set $ch2.conviction += 10>>\ It burns. The tender surface of your cheeks, roughed by the cruel pangs of cold air, swells and burns and seals your mouth shut. <<if $intro.reason is 4 or $intro.reason is 7>>Which is new and mostly, you feel, inflicted by the sheer weight of unfair judgment that is being dumped onto you unbidden, without a way for you to shrug it off and be on your merry way like you usually are. This is not the first, for certain: you have been faced with accusations and had the news of the outcomes delivered to you by means of a ruthless Riante grapevine, but it is the first in a way that you have to listen to it in its entirety.<<else>>You certainly have never crossed the Sunken Court before, not personally, and most definitely not these three--and for them to spew accusations on behalf of others, the Tower activities must have left a mark indeed.<</if>> And there have been many, and it was not just you. Jax's table, for as many times as you were allowed into their quarters, never stood tidy or vacant. And for them to allow you to see it meant it would soon add another life you have changed to your tally. You never stayed to ask if the item about to go missing from them was precious in ways you could not imagine. You never wondered if the silence--purchased, threatened, //convinced//--dwelled heavily on one's mind. You never... Although they may be the only ones you have, these memories stir no fondness in your chest but the stinging feeling on your face--and you cannot bring yourself to look up. You know it would be far from him to spare you, so time must be a larger concern. "Thought so," Arthur murmurs, almost as if not wanting for you to hear it. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_4]]</div>

<<set $ch2.conviction += 10>>\ In the hours, days of agonizing over the best way to approach this, between the suggestions made by Jax and those you tried to come up with alone, nothing has ever stuck. The work you have done before has never been this upfront, this blunt—-sure, you have had to lie, but there were always ways to go about it if that failed. But even if you have not chosen how to walk, the path needed walking. "You have something that the Gray Regent wants, something I have failed to obtain on $q.his behalf." You master your face into a stony mask, leaving emotions to them--because this part is most true, this part is what landed you here. "Thus I have failed $q.him, and no one gets away with that. Especially not if..." You sigh, preparing yourself for a spin, a mental plunge into the icy depths of the unknown. "Not if you decide to go as far as not even show your face to $q.him. I could not. I had a feeling they do not exaggerate the extent of $q.his reaction when it is something that $q.he wants." You regret the unfortunate position of your palms, as lacing your fingers right now would have kept them steadier. "I wandered looking for a place where I could lay low and keep at least a semblance of a roof over my head, but... "I feel like there is always someone on my heels. I //know// there is. You do not fail the Gray Regent and get away with it, you just don't." Water would be good right about now. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_4]]</div>

It gets quiet. Then Arthur draws a long-suffering breath, all with the lines around his mouth betraying hesitation, upset, who knows what else. Then, he speaks. "Why were you looking for us?" It is your turn to pull yourself together, arranging words before you offer them for an inspection. Your shoulders are tense: somehow, despite unfolding eerily close to the predictions, the events are not inspiring any bit of confidence in you. And you are about to make everything harder. "I know a place where the Gray Regent's reach, although not none, is limited, and I want to get there." Deep breath. The answer must be already at the tips of their tongues, but they wouldn't expect you to have the gall. You do, and you gaze straight at Gale. "Rimehall." A sole moment of silence--then ruptured. Darla laughs, explosive, brief, marred with a frown. "Good luck," Arthur says, grinning a miserable grin as if you have made a crude joke. No faith in your chances. It has gotten louder, at least, and the noise urges you to deliver the line meant to bring it to a halt. "And I want you to take me there with you." <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_camp_5]]</div>

You watch Darla struggle to come up with the way she clearly wants to protest, her mouth forming shapes but not letting out a sound; and Arthur has gone really, //really// silent. "First of all. What is your name?" Gale speaks all of a sudden, as if taking over when no one else knows what to say is a natural thing for him. "$p.name," you reply carefully. He is hard to read, intentionally so. A face that would default to solemn rather than show anger or annoyance. "Simply $p.name?" he echoes dryly. "Around here having no family name is more suspicious than otherwise." <<if (($p.oldnew <= 37) and ($p.mind.magic < 2))>><<include ch2_lastname_recall>><<else>>You slouch a little in relief. It's not like you have nothing to offer him. <<include ch2_use_fake_name>><</if>>

<<set $ch2.remembered_lname to true>>\ <<notify 4s secrets-notify>>Secret discovered: Family name<</notify>>\ A jolt, ice shoved down your throat, a strike of a bottle against the base of your skull--eyelids fluttering until you overcome. A memory. A single word, slipping your lips <<if $p.playful >= 60>>like honey<<else>>clear, intentional<</if>>, recipient buried in haze and unimportant. //Vyrell//. Your eyes are wide, dry. You stare into nothingness, hungry for more, but the memory has ended. You are stared at, too, here and now. Your silence, mind reeling and greedy, is growing too much. You have to say //something//. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I shake the revelation off for the time being. There is a last name for occasions like this I've used before on jobs for Jax, so I will use it instead.|ch2_use_fake_name][]]</li> <li>[[The name calls out to me, and I am too light-headed to blurt anything but. I will use the name I have just recalled.|ch2_camp_6][$ch2.told_lname to true; $p.lname_use to "Vyrell"; modMemories("incident", 5)]]</li> </ul></div>

It has some history, traced to a farmstead with no obligation, a runaway <<if $p.man is "man">>son<<elseif $p.man is "woman">>daughter<<else>>child<</if>> that exceptional few know is dead. Resurrection into a lie, breathing some measure of credibility into your fake identity. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Morlett|ch2_camp_6][$p.lname_use to "Morlett"]]</li> <li>[[Aellan|ch2_camp_6][$p.lname_use to "Aellan"]]</li> <li>[[Hedryt|ch2_camp_6][$p.lname_use to "Hedryt"]]</li> <li>[[...it is something different...|ch2_use_fake_name_custom]]</li> </ul></div>

<fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="charlname" class="chartxt"></legend> <div class="charoptions">The last name you have been using is: <span class="block"><<textbox "$p.lname_use" "">> <<link "✓">><<replace "#charlname">>$p.lname_use<</replace>><</link>></span></div> </fieldset> <<NextPage ch2_camp_6>>

"$p.lname_use. $p.name $p.lname_use," you oblige. <<if $ch2.told_lname>>Heat surges through your body and whisks your breath away as you wait, frozen still, for something to cross his eyes. Recognition. Reaction. //Answers//.<<else>>This gives rise to more worry nonetheless, if, by some vicious design, he knows more of the name than would be convenient for you...<</if>> But there is nothing. \<<if $ch2.mem_confessed>> "Is this your real name?" His voice is steady but it feels like an accusation. "As real as it gets for me," you reply, expecting more probing questions. <</if>>\ "And you intend to seek safety from the Gray Regent in Rimehall," he puts plainly instead, eyes fixed on yours with a question in them. You are too tense to do anything other than nod. Arthur, who has been watching this exchange like a hawk, suddenly perks up, with a ready smile. "Oh, you //are// getting places." You stare him down. This kind of threat was not unexpected. "I can buy my freedom out," you respond calmly. "Buy your freed-- It is not just //freedom// that you want, is it?" He stares, smiling, but his eyes glint dangerously. It is all too easy to imagine he was somehow witness to the conversation within the tall walls of the Riante tower, to let the fear of being discovered for your real intentions take over and //win//, damning you. You stifle the urge to swallow. While you struggle, he laughs, short, clipped, taking your quiet for a challenge. "You want //us// to watch your back, right?" Then he runs a hand over his hair to push a few agitated strands back into the fold. Some escape. "Us." Part of you wishes you could join him on that laugh, but you cannot even bring yourself to smile, not even a joyless little thing. "Yes. I obviously cannot go around trusting strangers, but if I were to think of relying on someone, I suppose starting with the people furthest from the Gray Regent's allies would be sound." Loud scoff. "I am appalled--insulted, actually--you would even think we might protect you, but I guess that is the point." The voice lacks the accusation his words imply; rather, he sounds amused. <<if $p.playful > 70>>"Protect me? No, no, no." You shake your head somewhat too eagerly, summoning the white speckles to the corners of your sight. "Rather, to rattle my would-be-murderers a little. I would prefer them rattled, you see."<<else>>"Not as much as you would protect me, but they would hesitate given the numbers I am surrounded with. And I can work with that."<</if>> Another pause. You are //puzzling//: your perceived arrogance, your gall, the words tinged with promises of truths. Good. "Then you better work on loosening your tongue," Darla lets her voice be heard. She is frowning, gaze turned inward, and this makes you pull back a little. "When I ask you things." <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_question_1]]</div>

<<if $intro.weapon is 1>>\ "Your magic," she asks, arms crossed, brow raised as if expecting some kind of a //correct// answer. "What of it?" "You expect us to be at ease around you when you are capable of--" she frees one hand and spins her wrist around in an attempt to mimic your use of magic, "--this?" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"You already have a mage in your midst, and that seems to work out splendidly. I fail to see the problem."'|ch2_question_2][$path to 6]]</li> <li>[["Yes, I can do"—I chuckle and repeat her gesture—"this. I can also not do this in your direction."|ch2_question_2][$path to 7, modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[["It is not a part of me that I can dispose of," I note. And as much as I hate to say it, I do anyway: "You have a hunter amongst you. I reckon that would be a comforting thought."|ch2_question_2][$path to 8, modAffinity("frieda", 3)]]</li> <li>[['"It has uses outside fights. You might need me one day."'|ch2_question_2][$path to 9]]</li> </ul></div> <<else>>\ "We have already established who you are, //mage//," she says with a disapproving frown. "Which one?" You do not face this question often. Yet, in an odd sense, you do. Which Sister might come after you for squandering her Gift? "The First," you reply, hesitant to part with the truth. "So what happened to your magic for you not to use it?" Through some ancient compulsion, the question makes you uncomfortable in your own skin. Not a question even--an accusation. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $ch2.mem_confessed>><li>[['"I may be a mage by capability, but not by practice. To me, it is something of the forgotten past, and I choose not to explore it."'|ch2_question_2][$path to 1]]</li><</if>> <li>[[I nod at Arthur. "What use is there to magic like mine if hunters like him make it obsolete?"|ch2_question_2][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[["Element of surprise," I say with flair, eyes squinting. "You definitely look surprised to me."|ch2_question_2][$path to 3, modPlayer("playful", 3)]]</li> <li>[["Less obvious, I suppose," I sigh. "I do not have to look over my shoulder for unwanted attention should I suddenly I need to defend myself."|ch2_question_2][$path to 4]]</li> <li>[[I laugh, still. "It's boring."|ch2_question_2][$path to 5, modPlayer("oldnew", 10)]]</li> </ul></div> <</if>>

<<if $path is 1>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 15>>\ The lingering ghost of your earlier confession makes another sweep across the camp, your somber admission speaking of loss, contemplation, departure, all in a span of few words. <<if $p.mind.magic is 2>>\ Perhaps not the truth in all entirety: curiosity still gnaws at you from time to time, the pull to dip your toes in the expansive pool of magical power so readily available. Yet the truth nonetheless.\ <<else>>\ And that is, as you see, somewhat disarming. Even as they were free to hold onto the doubt about your memories, the sincerity of your words keeps speaking out. <</if>>\ "So you keep saying," Darla replies finally, with a light pout that dulls the sharpness of her words. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 10>>\ Arthur's arms are crossed, and he makes no effort to appear more approachable when made the subject of your response. Yet something in his eyes, suddenly sharpened creases around them, betrays...discomfort? "There is no shortage of talented swordsmen either if an equal fight is what you fear," he retorts, "so I fail to see how that is an improvement." You grimace at him to acknowledge the barb. "Steel is replaceable. Suppressed magic is not." <<elseif $path is 3>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 5>>\ To your insinuation, she scoffs. "You look foolish, is all." "Oh, you would rather have me employ my //magical talent//, I take it?" The smile is not leaving your lips. Darla glares at you. "I would rather you not be here at all." <<elseif $path is 4>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 5>>\ It was Darla who asked, but it is Arthur who latches onto your words. "How often did you expect to get into trouble //outside of your province//?" he asks coldly. <<if $p.playful >= 50>>\ A mirthless smile appears on your face as you sigh. "As you can tell from my current predicament, once just happens to be enough." <<else>>\ You feel a touch defensive. What you view as a natural cause for worry is but another slip of the tongue for the hunter. "Once is enough, looks like." <</if>>\ <<elseif $path is 5>>\ Silence befalls the group, stunned silence. You have just spoken the words they, perhaps, have never heard before. "//Boring//?" the guard repeats, accentuating. There is a hint of amusement to her tone, shoulders drawing back. You shrug. "You are supposed to //concentrate// and //will// things. All mind and no body... Well--almost none. Still, there is more to the world than just magic, and you might just miss it walking around and listening to what it has to say to you." For the ease with which you explain, it might just seem like a measured, even a touch friendly conversation, while being nothing of the sort. But you would rather not mince words and, as Darla said, your tongue is //loose//. <<elseif $path is 6>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 5>>\ Whether she wants to or not, your words make her steal a glance at Gale, as if she needed to make sure that indeed there was another mage in the camp already. He, to his merit, does not seem perturbed by your response that inadvertently places the two of you in a separate and dangerous group. "That's different," the guard retorts, but something tells you she is not so convinced herself. "Perhaps," you reason. "But if you can manage the power of the Fourth, you can manage most things." <<elseif $path is 7>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 10>>\ She greets your response with an unhappy chuckle and a flash of annoyance. "Are you //sure// you want to make light of it?" she questions. "What else can I say when I believe your group has all the means to handle a threat perceived in my abilities?" Your gaze shifts deliberately to the hunter. <<elseif $path is 8>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 15>>\ His eyes flash unkindly when both of your abilities get mentioned in one breath, but this is the unpleasant truth for both of you. You are not happy to be relying on this yourself, but the argument is sound. Darla grouches but does not dispute it. <<elseif $path is 9>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 10>>\ Her response is an unbidden laugh, surprised and even somewhat...confused. You see a shadow cross her face, and for a moment she looks at a loss for words. You see your response further agitated the hunter, but interfering with the flow of Darla's questioning was worth it. "How confident," she finally says with a scoff. "Centuries speak for the usefulness of this magic," you shrug. "I do not speak from a place of arrogance." <</if>>\ <<if $intro.thug_dead>><<include ch2_question_3a>><<else>><<include ch2_question_3>><</if>>

"Well, whatever the means, you have disposed of the slob," she points out. Back to accusations. "Because he knew too much?" You'd laugh, but that would be tying a rope around your feet together to win a race, and your hands being bound is enough. The man was a regular mule convinced with a few coins, carrying a sample of what turned out to be potent magic. To his detriment, of course, but regular mules often suffer for that. "I was doing what I was tasked to do," you reply, holding your motivations close to the chest. "He drew his weapon the moment he saw me, it was always going to end up in a fight." Deflect the blame. There is a lot of it to go about, not everything has to be your fault. <<if $p.ruthless >= 60>>Efficiency will not be met with enthusiasm, Jax warned you. Not in this crowd.<</if>> "How is your wound then?" Arthur asks with a cold smile, brow quirked. <<if $intro.healed>>\ It should not be a concern--of which he is no doubt aware--so all there is to his question must be a reminder of what you might just, in his mind at least, owe them already. If only it wasn't his fault that you got stabbed to begin with. Damned interloper. You only smile, mirroring his expression, and lightly turn to expose the torn leather on your side. The edges around the tear are stained, roughed by your hand to force some more wear into it. There is not much lie in there, and so his inspection is brief--in the end he just looks away. <<elseif $intro.band_maid or $intro.band_gale>>\ "Did what I could," you retort, lightly angling your body so that the torn leather with sullied bandages underneath is in full view. Much to Mort's dismay, your first treatment was your last, only as little as was needed to stave off infection. It still hurts: when you move, at night, sometimes it //just hurts//, but you could always play it off for more. His inspection of the carefully crafted scene made of the wound is methodically brief, and he forces himself to look away. You realize then the reason for his question, one in which you look like a plain liability, and you add a firm, "It will not pose a problem." "Yes," he drawls with the kind of amusement you do not like. "//Now// Gale's magic won't pose a problem." You look up<<if $p.coy >= 60 >>, look //chagrined//, intentionally so<</if>>. There is no reason to oppose him now, because for one, he is right, and for another, you can afford to give him the satisfaction.<</if>> <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_question_3]]</div>

A sigh comes from Darla's direction, demanding attention. "Your interest was primarily with whatever that drunkard was carrying, anyway." <<if $p.coy >= 65 >>\ "That I did not obtain anyway," you supply helpfully. It is sound to stress that. <<else>>\ You simply nod, trying to appear unbothered by your failure. <</if>>\ Her question is simple: she tips her head and fires off sharply, "Why? And tell the truth." You never found an answer yourself. You tried to convince yourself it was for the best, and Jax's instructions strongly suggested that some things should remain a mystery to you despite your impending proximity to the subject matter. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $intro.nowarn>><li>[[They've seen what it can do, so I do not deem it necessary to add speculations on top.|ch2_question_3c][$path to 1]]</li><</if>> <li>[[I will entertain her with a guess. It might just help my chances, and Jax saw to it that I am just as likely to be right as I am to be wrong.|ch2_question_3c][$path to 5]]</li> <li>[[Shrug and look indifferent. The sample is, at least as it should appear to them, no longer of interest to me.|ch2_question_3c][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[[This might mean they have found out more about it and are testing me. I should try to find out if that is the case and learn what they know.|ch2_question_3c][$path to 3]]</li> <li>[[This blasted sample is the very reason I am sitting here with my hands tied. My mood immediately spoils.|ch2_question_3c][$path to 4]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 5>>\ Although Jax has found it intriguing when you described it, $q.king $q.name even more so, that demonstration of its capabilities from afar is all that you have learned of it. Whatever power over Gale it had, you cannot help but wonder the kind of precautions they needed to take to avoid another incident like that. You cannot help but wonder if the sample is //at all// somewhere with them right now. "You saw what it can do," you reply with a shrug. "That was my first--and only--time seeing it, so your guess is as good as mine. Better even." <<elseif $path is 2>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 10>>\ The goals you are declaring now, to their faces, have nothing to do with whatever is in that pouch. Not that they know of, not that they should know. You draw a breath and try to make yourself sound bored. "I don't know, it was never my job to find out anything //about// it." <<elseif $path is 3>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 5>>\ Walking a fine line between deniability and scorching hot suspicion. The unwelcome, unpleasant thump in your chest intensifies, hammering in your ears, distracting. "I would think you know more since you have the item in your possession." <<if $p.crafty >= 65>>Despite the tense atmosphere, you manage a brief moment of inner peace to squeeze the line out of yourself without a hitch.<<else>>You can swear your voice hitches a little, nervousness slipping into it. You can only hope it reads as an accumulated pressure and not the pressure of //this// moment in particular.<</if>> Darla sighs, drawing air as if she was about to go in length about something--but then she is cut off by Arthur's interference. "Never hurts to hear from an expert," he says, urging you to speak with a wave of his gloved hand. "You risked appearing here for it, after all." His response of deftly shoving the hot coal back into your hands does nothing to assuage your worry. "You make it sound like it was a conscious, well-informed decision," you reply to that. "It was not." <<elseif $path is 4>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 5>>\ The matter just //cannot// die. You know so well how important it is to what you are doing, how important it is to the Gray Regent that you keep your sights on the sample--yet one mention in a situation when your mind is already ablaze and you are about to come undone. You breathe heavily. The blasted sample will keep haunting you until you get rid of it, and that moment cannot come soon enough. To get there you need to say //something//. "No idea," you finally squeeze out, without a care for intricacy. "Beats me." <<elseif $path is 5>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 10>>\ <<if $intro.nowarn>>\ <<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>>\ To captivate minds and hold them at least to a certain extent, like what you have witnessed happen to Gale, looks to be the domain of the Fifth, Spirit. As odd as it would be to see that magic, or its derivatives, at work outside the presence of a mage with this gift, let alone create a show of a magical explosion... You could wager a guess that it is still connected to her in some way. "Some kind of a lure, I would guess," you suggest, searching for words in the clutter of your mind. "A trap for mages?" <<else>>\ It managed to enthrall Gale and bring a mage hunter to his knees without as much as putting a scratch on him--feats such as those cannot be accomplished by something simple. You, however, have never heard of something other than a mage being capable of achieving this. Even a mage would need to be of incredible prowess to take over another of his kind. Then again, you do not know what Gale and Arthur went through //exactly//... "Some kind of a tool, for power play between the mages?" you suggest, searching for words in the clutter of your mind. "It didn't seem to impact the unfortunate courier, but it did--" And you gesture to Gale, unsure what degree of propriety you are supposed to maintain. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ You have warned of the dangers before, on pure instinct, leaving most of the sample's power shrouded. Something tells you, perhaps a long-dusted ball of experience you have forgotten, that it is not as simple as merely bewitching someone as it did to Gale. <<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>>\ You know that certain items, often ceremonial, can accumulate magic over centuries and possess arcane qualities for a long time, no longer requiring a mage to channel the power. It could thus be anything--you've never gotten your hands on it to even know its weight, after all--so you have to go off its entrancing qualities. "It targets mages, it seems," you say finally. "Or affects them, more like." Then a shrug. "All I can say." <<else>>\ Dedicating time to your training, however, left you with little of it to spare for the tomes and lectures on which forms magic could take in the wild. From what you //do// know, it is rarely as brazenly transported: packed in nothing but a cloth, transfer paid with so little coin the only thing they made sure was that the courier had legs... "It's...understated, from what I can see." You shrug, scraping for words. "I don't think it's all that well studied, quite honestly. Not by the people that were handling it, at least." <</if>>\ <</if>>\ <</if>>\ The hunter hums thoughtfully, holding your gaze. "To think you were content with just taking it and having it on your person not knowing anything about it..." His voice betrays nothing on the conviction behind the words, but you know better. "That you are content to be around it still..." He pauses. In grim amusement, your eyes lock with Gale's momentarily. He is content to be around it too, then? You think. So they do have it at least, did not stash it somewhere or get rid of it. That is good. Yet Arthur is willing to let you know this so freely. And that is... not as good. <<include ch2_question_4>>

"Regardless. Sounds to me like the Gray Regent is way too active beyond Riante for someone whose ''sole'' role is to govern the region and keep the mages contained--as per the treaty." His expression sours. "Whatever $q.name needs it for, $q.he must need it quite desperately to send one of $q.his field mages." Arthur's gaze flits to you for a flash. "What for?" You suppress a laugh, mauling it into a small cough. <<if $p.mind.magic is 3 >>Because he just called you a //mage//, still. <</if>>Because he thinks you know. Because as much as dares to entertain the idea you would have told him if you did. <<if $p.mind.magic is 3 >>"Call me a field mage all you want, but <<else>>"You seem keen on ascribing me importance I do not possess.<</if>> I am not the--" Your mouth snaps shut just in time. Not the //<<print $q.king>>'s//, not anymore. "Not $q.his advisor or any such esteemed title." "Must one be an advisor to have eyes?" The hunter cocks his head. "//What have you seen//?" The air thickens, and an ominous feeling slithers down your spine. Darla looks from you to the hunter and back, expectantly. Gale, a misty presence hovering in the back of the small camp, is still and //waiting//. It becomes clear that every bit of information you can puff in Arthur's eyes is important, anything at all to offer instead of silence. And for that, he has chosen quite a question. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[If he is so pressed to hear anything, I can just... make something up.|ch2_question_4a][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I can give up the shipwreck, I suppose. The very shipwreck the salvage of which the sample ended up being.|ch2_question_4a][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[[I will not surrender anything to this question. What seems innocent now may end up hurting the Gray Regent down the line.|ch2_question_4a][$path to 3, modAffinity("y", 5)]]</li> <li>[[No idea what he expects of me, really. I do not even pay attention to this kind of thing, just letting Jax guide me. Should probably not mention Jax, though.|ch2_question_4a][$path to 4, modPlayer("oldnew", 6)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ What is not real cannot hurt the $q.king. \ <<if $p.crafty >= 71>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 20>>\ You just have to make your lie quite believable. Pepper with enough bits and pieces that could work as fleeting observations. After all, you have insisted on being nothing more than a grunt. "I haven't been observing for too long but... There have been guests, some of them looked important," you begin. "And, in all honesty, I cannot say if each and every one has been...//approved// by the Sunken Court, as would be the word in the treaty. To know that for certain would be well above my station, but to //feel// the... some sort of... clandestine air about it? That I did." You finish it by flattening your mouth, an apology for not having more with your heart completely out of it. Arthur's eyes narrow. With confidence, you do not expect him to fish the records out of his travel satchel, or even have access to them to begin with. The correspondence between Riante and Rimehall must be the matter of the Crown that no margrave should be taking interest in, and even in the event of his unforeseen diligence and stubbornness to get his hands on them he would not hound you for the exact names and dates. Besides, it is just the right parts of conspiratorial and trivial. <<if $p.oldnew <= 35>>You would not mention the real dealings that matter. //Shipments//. Those that arrived at night covered with hay, carried down the maze of the dungeons sprawling beneath the Tower.<</if>> <<else>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction -= 15>>\ All you need to do is get the hunter off your case, and you get a vague feeling that there is nothing concrete that he is possibly expecting. "I've seen...different things. Not everything has to be sinister, you know." True that may be, but your mind races to uncover a memory that is both at the same time. Silence lingers and your desperation grows. "There are...merchants and...mercenaries. I don't know what they do, of course, but they snoop in and out a lot. There is some sort of a...job board for them, so I guess //someone// runs it." Your story doesn't move a single muscle on the hunter's face, despite him having watched you the entire time. <</if>>\ <<elseif $path is 2>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 20>>\ The details you know of it are sparse, as Jax never had it in their mind for you to divulge any information on it to the outsiders. But just a few days after that they have sent you on a mission to gain credibility with your open enemy, and so you are forced to use any verifiable fact that you know. "I suppose there is something I do know of this--" you point to the pile of bags stashed in the camps as a way to allude to the sample, "and it could be connected to $q.his plans if there are any. It originated from a shipwreck. Where the ship was traveling from and on whose orders, I don't know, I was never meant to know and I was not curious either. But the ship never arrived at the docks even long after it was supposed to--" "Where?" the hunter interrupts. "Im... Imana, I think?" The name tells you absolutely nothing and you never tried to remember it in the first place. You fluff any potential mistake with more uncertainty. "Never been, but I was told the name to make sure I was on the correct trail." To that he says nothing, so you continue. "It never arrived there, and the unforeseen storm of the past fortnight was suspect. Some time after rumors started to appear, of some mysterious cargo washing ashore fifty miles off it. Apparently //that// was among the cargo I was sent to retrieve. There. I suppose you can check it if you wish." His eyes narrow in concentration as if he is taking mental notes of some sort. But he does not comment. At all. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction -= 5>>\ It is a dangerous gamble, to offer something with no guaranteed payoff whilst risking exposing an activity of the Gray Regent $q.he would prefer to remain hidden. These are not the risks you can calculate, and with no way to communicate it back to the Tower, you would rather fall short on one question. You feel suddenly on guard, protective of the things you didn't even know needed protecting. "Nothing you would call suspicious," you declare, weighing it with finality. By the way Arthur's jaw tightens, you cannot say he is too happy with your response. "I find it hard to believe." You sigh. "I wasn't a spy there." Ironic. "Things did not fall out of place for me to //notice//, is all." To your surprise, he only nods curtly. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ <<set $ch2.conviction += 5>>\ You feel yourself relax a little, even get a sense of the soggy wood that you have been sitting on. It is unpleasant, and a shiver runs through you. "I didn't walk around trying to uncover anything," you say with unburdened ease. "I had a task, I performed it, I went about my days. It all looked very ordinary to me." You face him unabashedly. If he has something in mind to ask about, something specific, he'd have to come out and mouth the words. But it seems like he doesn't. Curious. <</if>>\ In the end, you cannot say what your answers do for the scales that your future currently lies on--you can hardly imagine yourself having convinced the hunter of //anything//, but the silence is short-lived. "What do you plan on doing in Rimehall?" Gale asks evenly. Of all the things for that to be what interests him... You allow for a contemplative pause, the suggested lines crossing your mind as you shape them into a response that has emotion behind it. "It is a big city, I heard. Cliffs and jagged stone, levels and layers. If you know how to keep your head down, you can run your track in circles and then disappear. I want to... reclaim my life. Start anew." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[...and, strangely enough, I would want that, I think.|ch2_question_5][modPlayer("oldnew", 5)]]</li> <li>[[Just like Jax suggested I say.|ch2_question_5]]</li> <li>[[I find even the idea itself repulsive, but I suppose it has to be said this way.|ch2_question_5][modPlayer("oldnew", -5)]]</li> </ul></div>

The hunter is staring you down, that much you can tell from the renewed vigor with which his power besieges you, and the guard is not at all ashamed to show you a face of condescending pity. You need to start stacking the cards and hope you do not pull a crone. "I do not intend on staying in the city for long," you assure, fully aware that you have no idea how long it would be demanded of you to remain in Rimehall. "I just need to be there to muddy my tracks. And I meant it when I said I can offer you something in exchange for my freedom. I can give you the identity of the Gray Regent's eyes in Rimehall." Much as every one of them tries to stifle it, your words send them grasping for their most primal response. The guard, above all, perceives the threat in them, immediately standing to attention, body taut. The hunter //wants// to not believe you, but the traces of a derisive smile are falling off, replaced by focus. The mage prince seems to be the only one who was at least half-prepared for something like this: he is expectant, of you to say more, and not at all shocked. "Identity," Arthur finally says, overcoming himself. "As in, a //stationary// post?" <<if $p.crafty >= 65>>You shrug. "Like you do not have your eyes in Riante." He, expectedly, leaves that without a reply. <<else>>\ You quirk a brow at him, the stress in his words eluding you. "Yes?" He scoffs, arms flying up to get crossed on his chest. "The arrogance." You opt to ignore that. <</if>>\ "By virtue of you knowing it," Darla cuts in, "it is made worthless. Those 'eyes' will be gouged out by your very own $q.king." You feign looking a little lost under her insinuation, but, in truth, it does not phase you. You already went over this with Jax, so the answer flows out smoothly. "It is not information that is shared willy-nilly. I overheard it. On //accident//." <<if $p.crafty >= 68>>You hold onto the silence for a while longer, allowing them time to absorb it.<<else>>You cannot help it, your eyes dart from face to face, trying to glean how well you are faring. Despite the plethora of hints no one bothers to hide, you are too overwhelmed to draw a definite conclusion.<</if>> "So no one knows I know. They won't risk disposing of a post that valuable simply because I ran off." You ''know'' they will not. "I will surrender the information once we get into the city proper and I make sure there is a path for me to walk free. You will not see me again after that, I assure you. Neither will I, hopefully, see the Gray Regent again." <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_question_6]]</div>

Silence sets in again, so quiet that you are left to watch them to the drumming of blood in your ears. You did the best you could with all the pieces of advice streaming from Jax and you have put your neck on the line. That is the worst part of it all. <<if $ch2.conviction < 60>>\ That area of your skin burns with anticipation, your mouth dry with worry. Even if you were to freely flaunt these reactions, it would not look suspicious: after all, it is a long shot regardless of it being true. Your mind rushes to the last card, unplayed, in the depths of your travel bag. It dredges up the memory and serves it to you to fill the silence... <<else>>\ The air does not feel as slick as you would have expected it to, but the pinprick of worry still aches in your chest. Should things turn for the worse, you soothe yourself, there is another card to play, one saved for last, absolute last, for how... risky, emotional it is. You remember, because part of you craves more secure times... <</if>>\ <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_flashback1_1]]</div>

<i>Jax was careful not to give you premature estimates: any moment and you would have been summoned to depart, whether or not you were ready. In this care, they have left you with few choices for an undertaking to fill your day with, but you did the best you could.</i> <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I was practicing magic.|ch2_flashback1_magic_1][$p.spell_ctr +=5; modPlayer("magic", 5)]]</li> /* <<if $intro.weapon is 1>><li>[[I was training with a sword for a change.|ch2_flashback1_sword_1][]]</li><</if>> */ <<if $intro.weapon > 1>><li>[["I was training with my " + $inv.weapon + "."|ch2_flashback1_sword_1][modPlayer("combat", 15)]]</li><</if>> <li>[[I was mingling in a tavern, trying to make the most of my brief break.|ch2_flashback1_tavern_1][modPlayer("crafty", 3)]]</li> </ul></div>

The Gray Regent stands by the low fence that separates the training grounds from the walkway, $q.his face at ease but hands folded properly at the low of $q.his back. You cannot help but notice the well-made and sturdy but simple garbs: a trim of fur along the hood hangs over $q.his shoulders, flowing into a cloak that covers a <<if $q.gender is "female">>long <</if>>doublet and a pair of trousers. $q.He is dressed for the weather, at least.

<<if $p.mind.magic is 3>>\ // <<silently>> // <<= modPlayer("magic", 7)>> // <</silently>>\ It feels like coaxing a reluctant animal out of a hole it has burrowed into: your tricks are few and they hardly work, what matters more is your attitude. This should come to you naturally. You feel like it should. A dance move your mind has forgotten but the body did not, a song that your foot taps the tune to but you cannot sing along. You are probably long overdue to try, and no cause more appropriate than a looming promise of an arduous journey. Your eyes close and you begin searching. In stillness, you listen for anything that would call out, that would pull for your attention. Your mind buzzes, but nothing seems to stand out. Worries, gravel under your soles, the taste of the berries you've grabbed in the morning--it all comes readily, but nothing //stirs//. Quieter, perhaps. You try and focus on your body, you've become good at that, after all. The pull of muscle releasing, breaths measured and counted. Chill, moist air against your skin. Your wrist lax, palm open over a mangled whetting stone that sees no use anymore. You want it //up//. Something waking up from a sluggish dream in you wants it //up//. You feel an odd...connection. Something coursing through you, invigorating while at it. Drops of cold water on your neck on a hot summer day. The awakening is nigh, you can sense it. <<elseif $p.mind.magic is 2>>\ // <<silently>> // <<= modPlayer("magic", 10)>> // <</silently>>\ You know how it works in essence, you have dabbled, but it takes too long for you to enter this state where it answers your call. It is not practiced. Rusty. As if it has recoiled into the burrows of your mind when it got wiped and is now too shy to spring to your rescue with a thought's swiftness. You stand still and surrender your mind to the intricacies of magic, feel it buzz and stir, waking up. Your hands rise without you really meaning for them to: just how it works, just what makes it easier to guide your intention. Reach with your mind where your hands cannot. To make use of it you need to work on the distance. Your hold on the material drops after a few steps of separation, which is dangerous in a fight and useless on the road. You need range. And range is what you work on. //Reach//, grab and move--away from you until it slips out of your mind like it would out of your hands. It is a slow working, annoying too, but there are...gains. Then, all of a sudden-- <<else>>\ // <<silently>> // <<= modPlayer("magic", 15)>> // <</silently>>\ Despite you being far from the only mage of the First in service to the Gray Regent, no one ever volunteered themselves to train with you or even give you advice. Mort used to come to observe, but that was mostly out of concern for the stress of the exercise on your then-fragile mind. Ever since that danger has passed, you have been alone in your practice, but that has never stopped you. You have gotten good at working in close proximity: sending bursts of magic to block immediate strikes, lending yourself magical strength when yours is not sufficient, even reaching out with the invisible tendrils of your power and grasping onto objects. But there is always room to grow. The response of magic to your call is lightning-quick. Your hands go up--you've long discovered that when trying something new, something you haven't practiced to stunned perfection, it helps to guide the moves of your power with your hands. Reach with your mind where they cannot. In everything you will do from now on you will need to be quick, quiet, intentional. To stretch your power to act further away is to weaken what it can pull, but, as always, practice is the answer. One hand goes up, fingers curled, and an outline under the shed--a sack of something that drags your mind //down//--starts to wriggle under your intention to pry it open. Slowly. Gentle manipulations are harder, even more so out of your comfort area. So you repeat. On and on it goes. Until-- <</if>>\ "Am I interrupting?" <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_flashback1_magic_2]]</div>

<<if $p.mind.magic > 1>>\ The connection snaps, and you reel from the release. The world comes into focus again and with it--$q.him. <<else>>\ You hold concentration, but your head snaps towards the voice. Only seeing who it is do you release it, slowly. <</if>>\ "My $q.king," you address with a question in your voice. Unwittingly you wipe the beads of sweat off your forehead and hope not to have smudged dirt over your skin. <<include ch2_flashback1_y_description>> When $q.he approaches and formalities are exchanged, you notice that despite the light and breezy way $q.he talks, there is some strain behind $q.his eyes. It makes you think back to your conversation with Jax. "Are you taking a walk, my $q.king?" you ask cordially. $q.He smiles and takes a few slow steps around you as if making an assessment of some kind. "In a manner of speaking. I was intending for this walk to end in finding you." $q.He sighs. "\ <<if $p.mind.magic >1>>\ To learn what we have in store for you must have been truly surprising, because it surely is a surprise, seeing you practice your Gift after all this time." You ponder what to say to that. One might think that ignoring your heritage in the face of the monarch of all mages would be taken as irreverence, but the Gray Regent was surprisingly lenient, chalking it up to your confusion and unique circumstance, perhaps. "It is a tool at my disposal," you carefully say. The $q.king nods and walks off to the old and likely crumbling workbench that you have lined up your targets on. $q.His eyes dash over your tools, then $q.his gaze meets yours. "I am glad you recognize it then. As such, I suppose you would take some advice on this Gift from your $q.king, no?" $q.He smiles, hand resting on top of the workbench leisurely, but you cannot help the way your eyes widen. "But, my $q.king, I didn't think you were--" You cut yourself off just in time. It was always an easy assumption to make. That the Gray Regent would not be a field agent. Would not be a mage of the First. But you cannot have this talk on the basis of //assumptions//. "Gifted with Reach?" $q.He laughs softly, eyes open and watching you. "I am not. But I would be a poor monarch to the mages if I didn't learn of //all// kinds of magic. So what say you?" <<else>>\ Glad to see you are taking your safety on this journey seriously." $q.His tone is light, but there is hardness in $q.his eyes. "Of course," you reply as politeness would dictate. $q.He is not giving you much of an explanation for $q.his sudden appearance, and so not enough to go on. "As such," $q.he continues after a satisfied hum, "I suppose you would take some advice on this Gift from your $q.king, no?" You are stumped to speak, thoughts stirred. You have never taken $q.him for a mage of the First, never felt the odd kinship that you did with the mages like Alys, unwelcome in her case, that stems from the rare unbidden flashes of magic in your eyes. The $q.king reads your silence as if it were an open book. "I may not be gifted with Reach like yourself, but I would be a poor sovereign to the mages if I did not learn of //all// kinds of magic thoroughly. So what say you?" <</if>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I cannot ignore such an opportunity to learn. I agree to the offer.|ch2_flashback1_magic_train_1][$path to 1, modPlayer("magic", 3), modFriendship("q", 5)]]</li> <li>[[I actually think having the sovereign of all mages watch me train would do more harm than good. I am bound to be tense and distracted, and ultimately this time will go to waste.|ch2_flashback1_notrain][modMemories("y", 5)]]</li> <li>[['I can barely restrain my excitement at the thought of spending more time with ' + $q.him + '. I eagerly agree.'|ch2_flashback1_magic_train_1][$path to 2, modPlayer("magic", 3), modFriendship("q", 5), $q.rel.love +=1]]</li> <li>[[I think I have found my stride. Maybe in my case it makes more sense to do what comes naturally, not what is academically suggested. I decline.|ch2_flashback1_notrain][modAffinity("player", 3)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ "It would be an honor," you reply with a tip of your head. "I only fear we might gather onlookers on behalf of your presence." The Gray Regent smiles, tipping $q.his head to the side. "What a nice test it would be then, to weed out those that think they can gawk at me." <<elseif $path is 2>>\ A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you see no sense in resisting the pull. "It would be...an honor." <</if>>\ <<if $p.mind.magic > 1>>\ <<include ch2_flashback1_magic_train_1_low>> <<else>>\ <<include ch2_flashback1_sword_train_1>> <</if>>\

<<set $ch2.y_magictrain to true>>\ $q.He scours the surrounding area as if searching for a very specific thing, with intention and efficiency. You are only left to watch, as the Gray Regent does not request your assistance, not even when $q.he comes back, empty-handed. "Disappointing, but that is what happens when your plan of action is awfully detailed," the $q.king concludes. "You shall have to accept my second best then." You blink--and pressed between $q.his fingers is a simple metal key, sides chafed with old and dark gray stains. "Since we are dreadfully short on time, it will not be enough to hone your gift so that it can assist you in battle. There are still countless uses where it can quite literally save your life. And given that is the last thing I want you to part with, let us concentrate on it. "Magic of the First that you possess quite often compensates for the limitations of human capability. Hence its manifestation as //Reach//," $q.he nods, gesturing to your hands. "Where bars might prevent one from getting their hands on whatever is behind them, a mage of the First would succeed." $q.He walks off, though every step is carefully placed and almost identical. Then the Gray Regent turns to face you, $q.his expression of challenging mirth. The key you saw before is held out between the tips of $q.his two fingers, almost as if it could fall out of $q.his hold at any moment. "Get the key from me." It feels... so counter to your instinct. It would be much faster just to rush and pluck it out of $q.his hand. Instead, you force yourself to take a centering breath, keeping your eyes on the piece of metal like it were your focus. It should be possible. So much more possible than making it to Rimehall not bound in chains. <<NextPage ch2_flashback1_magic_train_2_low>>

At first the same humbling silence persists, but by now you know just to weather it. Like a performer that awaits behind a curtain, your power bides its time, gathering and pooling--until it rattles your heartbeat in a single surge. The key shakes between the <<print $q.king>>'s fingers, and whether or not your imagination is playing tricks, you catch a whiff of iron and a sense of something cold and smooth grazing your skin. The shaking urges you, speaks to the part of you that walked through the intangible wall you have put between yourself and your magic before. Your breath quickens, hand rising, ready. You //yank//. Just as your fingers close around metal, something slams against your mind, crashing, splintering into shards of pain that melt behind your eyes. You gasp and stare at the Gray Regent, who greets you with a gracious clap. "Exciting," $q.he deems, though the hand where the key just was remains up in the air. "Now, return it to me." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['I walk up to place the key into ' + $q.his + ' hand.'|ch2_flashback1_magic_train_3_low][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[Oh, so pushing instead of pulling now? I guess I can give it a try...|ch2_flashback1_magic_train_3_low][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[["What is it a key to?" I ask.|ch2_flashback1_magic_train_3_low][$path to 3]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ As you move you feel the rigidness in your legs, as if your mind needs time to flow back into the furthest reaches of your limbs. The Gray Regent lets out a soft chuckle when you hand $q.him the key but says nothing until you return to your previous position, which you just naturally fall back into for the lack of differing instruction. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ You let the metal piece rest in your palm. Magic still slithers between your fingers, a nervous, restless ball of unseen zeal that you would rather have washed off. You are overcome with a shudder and urge it to coalesce to one point that //pushes// the key away. It does not lift gently: it shifts and whips as if pulled from all directions but always away from you. You feel it grow heavier as if pulling a ghost muscle in your arm. Then, saving you only a step, it slips your invisible grasp. It lands softly on the ground between old and stamped blades of grass. "It is different, isn't it?" you hear as you bend your knees to pick up the key. Your gaze drifts up and you notice the curious expression on the <<print $q.king>>'s face. You nod and hand it over. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ Surprise flickers in $q.his eyes at your sudden question, and for a moment you think it is because you have, albeit inadvertently, ignored $q.his request. "Why, mostly from the deepest and darkest pit of the dungeons running below these very grounds," $q.he says with flourish, arms spread to to motion to your footing. Your gaze drops to the key as if to weigh it against that important of a description, but as you do: "The map section of the library." The tips of your ears burn as you hurriedly cover the ground between the two of you and hand over the key. The map section, as you know, is a windowless alcove separated by an ornate grate. Not a particularly difficult door to have opened for a field mage, but the fresh information about the world outside of Riante is worth much coin. <</if>>\ "As practice proves, it is rarely as easy to grab something you actually require as it is plucking it off the hand that is barely holding onto it." $q.He walks off, places the key on the workbench and in one swift move pulls a dagger from between the folds of $q.his cloak and stabs it into the wood, pinning the key through the opening in its bow. The steel of it is almost the shade of a night, sharp edge whispering of blood easily drawn. "Try now." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[This is getting too philosophical for my liking. How would this help me in a fight?|ch2_flashback1_magic_train_4_low][$path to 1, modPlayer("oldnew", 3)]]</li> <li>[[I go for the tried and true method of reaching out with my magic and pulling the item back at me.|ch2_flashback1_magic_train_4_low][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[['I sense this is the moment where no magic I can do already will suffice. I will ask ' + $q.him + ' directly what it is that I can learn here.'|ch2_flashback1_magic_train_4_low][$path to 3]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ "My $q.king, I think... If my opponent has a dagger out, I should be playing to my strength and resort to my $inv.weapon." You hold a breath for the way you spoke out of turn. The Gray Regent's face is a mask, unreadable and with a cold smile that looks like a touch-up on $q.his face. Fortunately, it crumbles with a short sigh soon enough, and tension begins to slowly seep out of your shoulders. "It is a proper response to a weapon being drawn indeed, $p.name," $q.he says with a hint of approval. "But humor me. Assume I know what I am doing." The words are not light, with sharpened edge and instructive tone. Falling back into the concentrating state that has you scraping for magic somewhere within you makes you feel some sort of release--what has not accompanied the exercise before. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ Your sudden stillness and the slow raise of your hand stir something in the $q.king. $q.He smiles at you--you barely even notice--and grips the hilt of the dagger, lending $q.his strength to the difficulty of this exercise. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ "I can barely do parlor tricks with it, my $q.king. This," you gesture to the key, pinned by the blade, "I will simply not manage." $q.He quirks $q.his head, voice light: "You wouldn't venture an attempt?" "I //know// I will fail. I would prefer not to waste your audience on proving that," you reply, finishing with a small bow. $q.He concedes without much resistance, just shaking $q.his head. "Frustration is such an unappealing teacher--I would know. Let us cut to the chase then." The key remaining where it is, the $q.king walks to stand between you and the workbench, like a spectator ready to watch a race. <</if>>\ <<if $path < 3>>\ You quickly discover it is not so simple anymore. The resistance of the dagger lodged into wood is enough to make you struggle, feels like trying to pull a cart whose wheel is stuck in dirt on your lonesome. It rocks in its place but does not budge. "I won't torment you with having to guess what is the answer to this difficulty," $q.he finally says, clearly having seen enough of your floundering. You let go, magic snapping back. Your hands feel heavy with effort. <</if>>\ "Faced with a problem like this, the first instinct is to throw raw power at it, trying to burst through whatever locks and bars stand in the way. It is true for many mages, for those only growing into their power or those trying it for the first time. That is not to say it is often an effective way to achieve one's goal, moreover pure destruction could be the goal to begin with--but what isn't taught often enough is that Reach still interacts with the physical plane of existence. The magic is not bound to a simple line or to straightforward forceful manipulations. And rather than seeing it a force between yourself and your target, the way //around// is sometimes easier. Especially when summoning power in its raw form, tapping into the connection with magic comes at great effort--as it is--" $q.he gestures to you, "--with beginners." "Interacts with the physical plane?" you echo. It stood out, a hook for your mind. The $q.king nods. "Reach is not a mere net you cast, nor a simple flail. It can be that, of course, but it is also a sophisticated manipulation tool." Your nerves still raw, magic prickling your fingertips, hearing this sends an odd rejuvenating rush through your body. As if your power can hear it, as if it wants you to understand it and step into it. Hungry for a connection. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I concede. This sounds useful.|ch2_flashback1_magic_train_5_low][$path to 1, modPlayer("crafty", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I feel just as hungry for it all of a sudden.|ch2_flashback1_magic_train_5_low][$path to 2, modMemories("incident", 4), modPlayer("oldnew", -7)]]</li> <li>[[This is too much and too quickly. Whatever guards I have against it, I put up.|ch2_flashback1_magic_train_5_low][$path to 3; $gregory +=4]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path <3>> The creeping of fatigue slows down as if it is being washed down by the chilly sensation of magic circling your wrists. You signal acceptance and understanding to the Gray Regent with an odd wind to your breath, a distant longing sated. $q.He has you practice more: remove the obstacle, remove the dagger, prod for weak spots, and only then lead an assault with the bulk of your force. Eventually, you do start feeling spent, and the Gray Regent interrupts the exercise by removing both the key and the dagger from your sight altogether. <<else>>\ It is a resounding refusal, shutters drawn over the mind and that place magic always begs to be released from especially. Emptiness at first, then--relief. A close encounter with a beast avoided; body spared the prodding touch of Reach. Your practice ends with that, and the Gray Regent does not inquire about your understanding of $q.his advice. You cannot help but feel grateful for that, but words are unnecessary here, a burden. $q.He removes both the key and the dagger from your sight. <</if>>\ You recall that $q.he said $q.he was searching for you, and, whether or not you believe $q.him, you voice a reminder. <<include ch2_flashback1_talk_1>>

You are careful to frame your rejection, placating the Gray Regent with gratitude and acknowledgment of the honor. The smile never leaves $q.his face, but $q.his gaze grows a touch heavier. "Then I should leave you to your training, $p.name, after," $q.he raises a hand, breath held, "I discuss something with you." And that is not an offer. You are not at liberty to refuse, so you nod. <<include ch2_flashback1_talk_1>>

The area has been shaped to your liking, what with you tending to it and haunting it like a duckling that doesn't belong anywhere else. All the hay you ever needed was delivered--with an obnoxious little smirk, but it was delivered--and so was the wood, because that was the Gray Regent's order. You have long itched for a sparring partner but had no choice but to unleash your practice onto the options far more agreeable. Most of the time it was dummies for you. Dummies, to their merit, have infinite patience for when you work on your stance, your balance and new tricks, and they do not chastise you for picking up steel instead of magic. As of now, you have been trying to work your stances more, be less stiff--and so you are doing legwork. A stab that sends your weight forward, a spin and one foot back to block, back upright. Over and over, working out the crusted rigidness of your bones. A little in imbalance with yourself, you are slowly creeping towards improvement and, unbeknown to yourself, acquiring an audience. A soft cough brings your swipe to a halt. Your head snaps towards the sound. "My $q.king!" you address, startled. A practice blade slides into a practice sheath. <<include ch2_flashback1_y_description>> Now more than ever you are aware of how ragged this practice runs you, of the beads of sweat streaking the sides of your face. Your hand swipes across the forehead in hopes of, at the very least, not making it worse. When $q.he approaches and formalities are exchanged, you notice that despite the light and breezy way $q.he talks, there is some strain behind $q.his eyes. It makes you think back to your conversation with Jax. "Are you talking a walk, my $q.king?" you ask cordially, measured pace of your breath returning. "That I am. Though I was hoping it would take me to you--and look how that worked out." <<NextPage ch2_flashback1_sword_2>>

More than most things, you long for a sip of water, but the need for answers holds you rooted where you stand. "How can I be of service?" you inquire. So close to your inevitable departure, it could be a myriad of things. But $q.he eyes you curiously, gaze stopping on the training weapon that you hold, then drifting to the grounds you have fashioned to your liking. "Being your sharpest, honing your agility is instrumental to what you need to do," $q.he supplies. Whether or not $q.he disapproves of your chosen path, it is said with a hint of a smile. Then, a surprise: "Would you like to spar?" "With...you?" Unmoving, $q.he chuckles. "Yes. I am not a stranger to a blade." You find that it is not that difficult to believe. You have never taken $q.him for a mage of the First, and the Gray Regent must need at least one tool to be able to protect <<print $q.him>>self. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['I know I still have much to learn, and I reckon ' + $q.he + ' would be a great person to learn from. I agree to the offer.'|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_1][modPlayer("combat", 6)]]</li> <li>[[I am convinced this would be meaningless actually. I cannot go all out for I cannot even think of hurting the sovereign of all mages, so what would be the point? I decline.|ch2_flashback1_notrain][]]</li> <li>[['I can barely restrain my excitement at the thought of spending more time with ' + $q.him + '. I eagerly agree.'|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_1][modPlayer("combat", 6), modFriendship("q", 4), $q.rel.love +=1]]</li> <li>[['Oh, I am itching to see if I can best ' + $q.him + '.'|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_1][modPlayer("oldnew", -4)]]</li> <li>[[I would rather not.|ch2_flashback1_notrain][]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $ch2.saw_y_fight to true>>\ You watch, dazed, as the Gray Regent undoes the clasp of $q.his cloak and gingerly places it on the fencing. <<if $q.gender is "female">>Her braid is neatly done, hair streaming down the side of her neck, and it is the next thing she takes care of: folds it behind the collar of her doublet.<</if>> For a practice weapon $q.he picks up a sword, weighing it in $q.his hand for a few swings that look in no way amateur. <<if $p.mind.magic <2>>\ "Uh, my $q.king..." You begin thinking of all kinds of wards you could be putting up and ask carefully, "What is it that you have in mind?" "You use magic to fend for yourself in battle, do you not? I use a sword. We both stand to learn from an encounter like this," $q.he says, slashing the air in an elegant arc to have the tip of $q.his weapon rest against the front of $q.his boot. As if content with the way the training sword behaves, the $q.king begins testing the ground beneath $q.his feet, walking around you. You have never seen $q.him fight. You have no idea what to expect. Still, an ancient instinct beckons, and power surges to your call: to protect, to guard, to //impress//. <<set $path to 1>>\ <<NextPage ch2_flashback1_sword_train_2>> <<else>>\ You brandish the training $inv.weapon, grip still hot, skin burning on contact. Your body is broken in, easily shaping itself into a stance to maintain your balance. The Gray Regent could be all kinds of a fighter. And as prepared as you can be for //all kinds of a fighter//, you usually do not care if the other party gets hurt. This is different. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['I wait for ' + $q.him + ' to initiate.'|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_2][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I lunge, stealing the initiative.|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_2][$path to 2]]</li> </ul></div> <</if>>

<<if $path is 1>>\ For a moment you are a mouse awaiting for the paw to fall, tension aching in your joints. Then--$q.he lunges. It is not a feint: your <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>magic knits an invisible shield to protect and you feel the hit land<<elseif $inv.weapon is "sword">>swords clash, there is no ferocity of iron rising to the air, but a softer bump<<else>>daggers come through, crossed to form a trap for $q.his strike<</if>>. You feel yourself sway, then recoil. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ <<if $inv.weapon is "sword">>You go for a wide diagonal upward slash, that with $q.his stance should have been more difficult to block, but $q.he manages a timely backward hop to give <<print $q.him>>self enough space to swing $q.his weapon, meeting yours is a powerful thud.<<else>>With your speed you manage to get two diagonal upward slashed in, from each hand, and it is only through lightning reaction to the assault that $q.he dodges, forced to retreat two steps. It gives $q.him room to slash from above, and you block with your left hand.<</if>> "Very daring," $q.he praises with a smug smile. <</if>>\ \<<if $p.mind.magic < 2>> It would have been easier if $q.he was not moving so much: to grab the weapon in $q.his hand and pull, ending the fight; or to send the force of your magic flinging at one of $q.his limbs to send $q.him tumbling to the ground. But this strategy, so often effective, you found, works if your opponent is unaware of your tricks, does not know how the magic of the First functions. But with //the Gray Regent//, of all people, you would have to improvise. Perhaps wear $q.him out first, slow $q.him down... <</if>>\ You strike back, aiming to tip $q.him off-balance. <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>As if sensing the direction of your strike, $q.he dodges out of the way, body snapping back when the danger passes<<else>>The hit expectedly meets $q.his weapon, but then you try to push into it, $q.he dodges out of the way of your force and the two of you break off.<</if>> This is nothing like facing a drunk who has found himself in the wilderness completely out of his element; this is a fighter with vigor, skill and discipline. <<NextPage ch2_flashback1_sword_train_3>>

$q.He is quiet, concentrated. You cannot spare a moment to come up with distracting words when every movement needs to be accounted for. The $q.king's style is refined, yours is rugged and road-worn. $q.He launches another assault, a horizontal slash around $q.his chest level, <<if $p.mind.magic>>and your mind flares up sensing an //opportunity//. Rather than bothering to block, you focus on the base of the sword where the hand meets the hilt and target your strike there. Pain jabs your upper arm as the sword connects, making you tumble and groan--but you look up to see $q.him reel back with the force of your hit. $q.He immediately readjusts the grip on the sword to the sound of a chuckle that $q.he cannot just help.<<else>>which you read for what it is, an attempt to open up room for some manoeuver. That you cannot give $q.him, so instead of disengaging as soon as your blades meet, you unleash a flurry of fast attacks, each burning in your chest. You see $q.him react to the two last ones barely on time, but you are spent yourself, hot fire searing in your throat. You break off, $inv.weapon ready.<</if>> Even with just quick glances, though, you can tell that the Gray Regent is //enjoying// this. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I am not. My pride is on the line, it is hardly fun.|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_4][modMemories("role", 3)]]</li> <li>[[As am I. It is rarely I get to test my skills like this.|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_4][]]</li> <li>[[As am I. We have never done anything like this before. It is...exciting.|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_4][modTrust("q", 4)]]</li> <li>[['I am not. I constantly have to think about not hurting ' + $q.him + ' on accident.'|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_4][modTrust("q", 4)]]</li> </ul></div>

You keep exchanging blows, circling around each other. $q.His hair is a ruffled halo framing $q.his face, and you feel your cheeks burn as exhilaration meets the cold air of Riante. Your breaths are getting shallower, hands and knees gathering dirt when you stumble, uncoil and counterattack. Little by little you chip away at each other's strength. Little by little. And then one hit lands with particular strength you are unprepared for. <<if $p.mind.magic >= 2>>You manage to ready your limbs for the fall, discarding the $inv.weapon and exposing one side only to the cold hard ground. Despite your attempt, you heave as the pain reaches your head.<<else>>You do not even grasp what is happening at first, just a blank moment as your feet give out--and the next you are staring at the sky, head cushioned by your upper arm only.<</if>> Fatigue immediately makes its vicious assault, and you lie back, greedily gulping for air. "That was a good round, $p.name," you hear. <<if $p.mind.magic is 0 or $p.mind.magic is 3>>To your satisfaction, you hear the breathless notes in $q.his voice, and your chest swells.<</if>> With the remnants of your strength, you prop yourself up on the elbows to look up at $q.him. The $q.king turns away and walks, an old tradition of letting an opponent get up without the disgrace of being watched. You did not peg $q.him for someone so courteous on the battlefield, but, perhaps, this being training grounds makes a difference. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['So ' + $q.he + ' is just opening ' + $q.him + 'self up for a sneak attack.'|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_5][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I get up and dust my clothes. Back to the starting position.|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_5][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[[I admit defeat. There is no need to run myself ragged here.|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_5][$path to 3]]</li> <li>[['For a moment I just lie on the ground, fascinated by the way ' + $q.he + ' carries ' + $q.him + 'self. My heart beats wildly in my chest, but I dare not speak.'|ch2_flashback1_sword_train_5][$path to 4, $q.rel.love +=3, modTrust("q", 10)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ In one rush move you scramble to your feet<<if $p.mind.magic >=2 >> and throw your weight forward, weapon on the ready. Your soles strike the ground--one, two, three--and your own fists slam into your chest, $inv.weapon blocked against the effortlessly positioned training weapon in the hands of the $q.king.<<else>> and summon the power that has already managed to retreat back to the tips of your fingers. You know you have to be very intentional about your final chance to make a dent in this victory of $q.his, and just as your arm rises to gather and direct the attack, you watch, eyes widening, as $q.he whips around. You take a careless step back and power launches off your fingertips--but $q.he is already dodging it with ease and pressing the blunt tip of the training weapon to your throat. Made of wood, it hurts anyway.<</if>> "Now, now, $p.name," $q.he drawls as you reel from the pain and pull back. "If you want to bide your time, you need to be quiet." $q.He reaches to tap the side of your boots with the wooden weapon in $q.his hand like it was a mere stick. "If you want to strike, do it //fast//. You--" $q.he drags the tip of the sword to your chest, "--were neither." Then $q.he walks off to tend to $q.his appearance and wrap <<print $q.him>>self in the cloak. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ First, you get to your knees, then you slowly rise. Dirt clings to your outfit and resists your unpracticed attempts to swat it off. You can only hope the Gray Regent makes a concession on behalf of this unusual circumstance and takes no offense at the way you look. <<if $p.mind.magic >=2 >>You pick up the $inv.weapon and wait, still breathing heavily.<<else>>Once up, you beckon the power that has already managed to retreat back to the tips of your fingers and wait.<</if>> $q.He turns around, having heard you move, and regards you with clear surprise. "Laudable," $q.he notes, "but I think this will be enough for both of us." Then $q.he walks off to tend to $q.his appearance and wrap <<print $q.him>>self in the cloak. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ Letting go feels weirdly easy. It has not even been long since you woke up, robbed of your memories and your skills, and started rebuilding, and now you can already keep up with someone who has trained $q.his entire life. It is worth something. You look to the gray sky and allow life to flood back into your limbs, putting out the flame raging in your chest. It does not take long, When you get up, sparing yourself the pain, the $q.king is already studying you, weapon put aside and cloak back of $q.his shoulders. <<elseif $path is 4>> $q.He fights with finesse and moves with it, even when it is obvious $q.he is not above feeling tired, not invulnerable. $q.His shoulders move with every breath, a mark that your skill is improving, and $q.he runs a hand over $q.his face to smoothen the matted strands. This entire time has just been the two of you, the only people that mattered while the <<if $p.mind.magic >=2 >>blades were<<else>>blade was<</if>> drawn, and this realization makes you even more light-headed than the labored breaths. Suddenly $q.he turns around, putting the cloak back onto $q.his shoulders, and catches your gaze. Surprise paints $q.his features, and for a brief moment you think $q.he looks as startled as you do, but also with a touch of something...fragile. There is nothing you can say to your defense, but all $q.he does is tear $q.his gaze away and walk up to you. Itching for //anything// to do with yourself, you scramble to your feet. <</if>>\ This is certainly not what you had in mind when you first arrived here and neither did the $q.king, you remember. "My $q.king, I believe you have been searching for me, and perhaps not for...this." $q.He looks to you confused at first, but that quickly vanes as duties, seemingly, catch up with $q.him. A wave of coldness washes over $q.his features. You would love to be able to shrug off a fight this easily, but maybe you will learn with time. <<NextPage ch2_flashback1_talk_1>>

It is rowdy. Not just mages--with no Alys in sight, fortunately--but merchants and common folk who prefer these lands and do not mind the company of the Daelan outcasts. Some dropped any semblance of decorum to suck on a drink in the middle of the day, but most just engage in loud conversations over a warm meal meant not as much to taste good but to settle the chill in the bones. It has always been a good place for picking up the latest gossip, though most of which wasn't even true. When merchants traveled far and wide to establish trade routes, one end of which was to be Riante, they tended to bend whatever bits of information they had discovered along the way into something //entertaining//. No one ever minds. Not all of them are gossip-happy merchants, of course. Many are gossip-happy mages, like the ones that huddled behind you over a round table that is partly pressed into a wall. Not too discreet, for the hubbub makes a decent cover for any conversation you do not want to get caught having, but to hear them distinctly one would have to strain their ears. You do not. Not until you realize--overhear, really--who it is they are having this clandestine conversation about. "...just strange, is what I... the $q.king has not been the same... this... tension..." The voice is young, chirpy. You do not know it, but, then again, you are hardly a Riante socialite. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Wait a moment, tension? That sounds like something I should know about. Now I will do my best to listen in.|ch2_flashback1_tavern_listen_1][modAffinity("player", 5)]]</li> <li>[[This is none of my business. I will not sit here at the risk of overhearing something I most definitely should not.|ch2_flashback1_tavern_leave][modAffinity("y", 8)]]</li> <li>[['I will not stand for this kind of talk. To speak like that of the Gray Regent in ' + $q.his + ' very own land one must be arrogant beyond belief.'|ch2_flashback1_tavern_interrupt_1][modAffinity("y", 8), modTrust("q", 3), modTrust("jax", 3)]]</li> </ul></div>

It is effortless, turning still and trying to hold onto the sound in the midst of voices you would rather block out anyway. You look at the food half-eaten, but your ears feel... sharper, more sensitive. "It is just some hearsay!" another voice croaks. Sounds older, more mature, with the wisdom that would stop them from getting easily excited. "Saw with my own eyes," the chirpy one counters. Then wood scrapes the stony floors--and you //really// begin to struggle making out the words. "You know how they lighten up a little around $q.him? You know what I mean, right? Not so uptight." "That tongue of yours!.." "Just an observation! Look, see? Coral is curious." A beat, and you hear something that could be a groan. "But lately there is none of that. Not that I have seen, at least--and they summon me often." A hint of pride, despite the nosy choice of a topic. They speak of Jax, and perhaps to be of frequent use to them is indeed a cause to preen. Oblivious to your keen attention, they carry on: "Could it be, you know... some kind of a...rift between them?" "Reading too many of those stories, are you?" "I work!" "The Advisor--" and then the older voice drops into a whisper, which escapes you entirely. You dare not move for the risk of alarming them, so the next words reach you only when the man's voice rises again. "So the sooner you air out that silly head of yours, the better it would be for you." "Hmph!" is loud and somewhat obnoxious, but it feels like they got humbled indeed, for the subject is dropped. Yet what they seemed to suggest is clear. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[For Jax and the Gray Regent not to be seeing eye to eye on something... Definitely not a good sign if even a grunt like this can see it.|ch2_flashback1_tavern_listen_2][$path to 1, modAffinity("player", 4)]]</li> <li>[[The older voice was right to warn about caution. I turn around and remind them of it for good measure.|ch2_flashback1_tavern_listen_2][$path to 2, modAffinity("y", 4)]]</li> <li>[[Honestly? Must be nothing. I haven't had the feeling myself, and I like to think I am privy to more audience with the Gray Regent and Jax especially than any of the people here.|ch2_flashback1_tavern_listen_2][$path to 3, modAffinity("y", 4)]]</li> <li>[['Does this mean... the Gray Regent is letting power slip out from ' + $q.his + ' grasp? From what I have seen, little else would bother Jax enough to be upset about it.'|ch2_flashback1_tavern_listen_2][$path to 4, modPlayer("ambition", 7)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $ch2.heard_rumor_jy to true>>\ <<notify 4s secrets-notify>>Secret discovered: Tensions in the mage Tower<</notify>>\ <<if $path is 1>>\ This revelation gives rise to worry, and you aimlessly poke food with your utensil. This is something that has slipped your notice, or perhaps it took root before you even appeared. Either way, it does not spell anything good for your prospects, although faintly you still carry a hope that your upcoming mission will somehow put fixing strokes to whatever is brewing between the two. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ "You know," you turn easily, waiting for the trio that you now face to realize they are being addressed, "if you wished to engage in such an unseemly chatter, you should have gone for something less crammed than a //bloody tavern//." You watch one face--of a copper-headed man--twist in horror, another--of an older, wiser one--meet your gaze with steely defiance. Lastly, there is the instigator: hood conceals their face, only an upturned nose peeking from beneath the folds. Under your scrutiny, they try to disappear into their cloak completely, though now it is too late. "The child spoke nonsense," the older man replies. To you he speaks with a sort of deference, all the patronizing clearly reserved for his table alone. "The //child// thought their nonsense first, then voiced it to a group of people. Yet now the //child// refuses to speak." They tip their head, clearly fiddling with their hands beneath the table, as if doing so would spare them your admonition. "Watch what you say, //especially// about the Gray Regent," you finish, a burning //'fools'// dying on your tongue. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ They do not move for nothing, let alone appear in public looking like someone that can be //interpreted//. Jax is intentional unless they are truly bothered. What you glean from it goes beyond a simple rift, a disagreement that may or may not pass. Most of all it is a sign you should be paying attention. <</if>>\ Either way, it seems like the Riante itself is a hot subject of conversation, which is not entirely a bad thing. The Gray Regent is, from what you have seen, trying to establish a //presence//, or as much of it as $q.he can without provoking the Sunken Throne--it was bound to make waves. Nothing of interest remains in the tavern. With your stomach somewhat full and your ear talked off, you move to leave. <<NextPage ch2_flashback1_tavern_leave>>

The food was not much of a necessity anyway. You turn, elbow supporting you against your table, to stare at them. One leg is thrown over the side of the stool and your expression is fittingly annoyed. They are three: an elderly man with long and sleek gray hair, a copper-headed man--he notices you immediately and freezes as if you have appeared from beneath the ground--and a short young person with a hood drawn over their head with a shadow that only ends on the tip of their upturned nose. Some gossipers they are. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I just stare them down. If they have been watching the Gray Regent oh so closely, they will know who I am.|ch2_flashback1_tavern_interrupt_2][$path to 1, modPlayer("playful", 3)]]</li> <li>[[There is no need to be hostile, not outright at least, when a couple of scathing remarks will do.|ch2_flashback1_tavern_interrupt_2][$path to 2, modPlayer("playful", 3)]]</li> <li>[[I just want them to shut up, plain and simple.|ch2_flashback1_tavern_interrupt_2][$path to 3, modPlayer("playful", -3), modPlayer("ruthless", 2)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ At first, they are simply startled: for one, the subject of their conversation was not a light one, and, perhaps, they even dared think you rude for interrupting. But then it sinks in. While the older man still squints at you, memory churning the faces he should recognize, the figure covered by the hood visibly recoils. Perhaps they //are// that good of a snoop they would place you in an instant. They also fall deathly silent. For better or for worse, you have a reputation. That fresh recruit, reporting directly to Jax, the one you should not be pestering about $p.his past too much. Things unspoken that got, naturally, spoken about a lot, and now it has come to your service. It is the older man who speaks in a full, rich voice, finally: "I apologize if we interrupted your meal." He remembered, you understand, for the next thing he does is point to the platter in front of the hooded person, instructing them to eat. Just like you intended, the conversation dies. But so does your appetite. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ "What an exciting piece of gossip, mind if I listen?" The word humbles them quickly: the older man has the gall to scowl, but his younger companions act as if they can physically disappear into the shadows if they make themselves look small enough. For the most part, you try to make out the most of the hooded person, so perhaps their trickery //is// helping them in some way because you do not spot much of their features. "I was about to say it is not worth anyone's time, fantasies like that," the old one says. Behind his flair of propriety, you sense nervousness. Looks like he has placed you, after all. "What's the harm in some fantasies?" you argue with a laugh that you dress up as good-natured. "Come on, I want to hear it. I believe it was something about the $q.king." You are the only one smiling. "We would n-never..." the other man tries, but he is quickly silenced by his senior. "Oh, good! Would so prefer it if you ''never''. Are we in agreement?" Still the only one showing good humor. The old man nods and paws his spoon. Without a word he starts eating--some broth, you chose not to--setting an example that his companions follow. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ "Hey!" you call out--not loud, you do not want any more attention--though enough to flaunt your displeasure. "Cut the fucking talk." Your manner is first to catch attention as the older man simply scowls, obviously having the nerve to think //you// rude here. But then it seems to dawn on him, trepidation rounding his milky eyes, and that travels over to his companions as well. The figure covered by the hood visibly recoils. Perhaps they //are// that good of a snoop, after all, and understand why exactly you said what you just did. "Eat your damn food while you still can," you say next, though you do not wait for them to start. <</if>>\ Your meal spoiled, you decide to leave. Enough tavern entertainment for one day. <<NextPage ch2_flashback1_tavern_leave>>

Only to be ambushed. Or as well as one can achieve that in a crowded place. A hooded figure blocks your way--and just as you are about to respond to the slight, your gaze catches the corner of their mouth, noting the coy smile you know so well. "My--" you catch yourself hastily and lower your voice. "Might I ask what you are doing here?" "Why, looking for you," $q.he responds earnestly. $q.His garments are not too ostentatious or extravagant, reminding you of the first time you saw $q.him, which would never make you think $q.he was as much of dignitary as $q.he is. Plain brown with trim of worn fur draped over $q.his head. A mystifying presence. "Shall we?" you motion to the door, feeling gazes on your back. Before they turn from idle into watchful and expectant curiosity, you shuffle towards the exit. "Would hate to interrupt meals," the $q.king says cheerfully, letting you know $q.he does not mean it. <<NextPage ch2_flashback1_tavern_leave_2>>

Cold air washes your face, streaks of ice slip into your lungs. You lightly shiver, but your attention is still on the sovereign that has fallen into step next to you. Being recognized and noticed does not seem to bother $q.him, still, $q.he leads you further away from the crowded streets and back towards the Tower grounds, in silence. Occasionally $q.he steals a glance or two your way, inquisitive, thoughtful. It is almost pleasant if it weren't for the way you have to catch yourself from asking questions. $q.He does not speak until you can enjoy some base form of privacy. The $q.king stops in a part you would call discreet. It opens into training grounds, but those are so expansive there is no one in your earshot. <<include ch2_flashback1_talk_1>>

<<if $q.rel.fr >= 15>>\ The $q.king looks deep in thought, thumb running circles over the back of $q.his other palm. It feels almost like spying, seeing $q.him in this heavy stillness, and when $q.he faces you, the shroud of whatever has preoccupied $q.his mind has not yet dissipated. If you hold $q.his gaze a little longer, perhaps you could peer behind that crack to the careful, regal facade--$q.he looks away. "There is a long road ahead of you," the Gray Regent says. It sounds dulled, spent. "And it will be a while before you can return here." <<else>>\ "You will be departing soon," $q.he begins, gaze transfixed on the horizon far off, hidden behind the sharp lines of the rooftops and tall heads of the pine trees. "What we ask of you is no small feat, but a necessary one." $q.He recenters, turning to face you. <</if>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['I want to know if ' + $q.he + ' will miss me. I cannot ask, however. I have no right to.'|ch2_flashback1_talk_2][$path to 1, $q.rel.love +=2, modAffinity("y", 4)]]</li> <li>[['"I will not let you down, my ' + $q.king + '," I say with conviction.'|ch2_flashback1_talk_2][$path to 2, modAffinity("y", 4)]]</li> <li>[['"I will not let you down, my ' + $q.king + '," I proclaim. A formality, if anything. A string of words one must say to the face of the Gray Regent.'|ch2_flashback1_talk_2][$path to 3, modAffinity("y", -4)]]</li> <li>[['My insides churn at the thought of leaving ' + $q.his + ' side. "I hope...you will be safe in my absence." The boldest I am afforded to say.'|ch2_flashback1_talk_2][$path to 4, $q.rel.love +=1, modFriendship("q", 3), modTrust("q", 3), modAffinity("y", 4)]]</li> <li>[[I simply nod, this needs no response from me.|ch2_flashback1_talk_2][$path to 5]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ You sense an emptiness that pursues $q.his every step, an invisible cloud that seems to pull from afar and expel from up close. It is solemn, biding. You cannot help but wonder if you could ever be entwined in it; if it would grow in your absence. A prickle of shame stings, for you are wishing more sadness upon the one that frequents your thoughts, but the blame is not entirely on you alone... "It will--" $q.he says then, breath held. Eyes locked with yours, you can see that $q.he is choosing between unseen paths. Then $q.he lets go. This one $q.he will not continue. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ $q.He meets your words with a satisfied smile, eyes closing to stretch this moment. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ The line feels practiced by now, easily rolling off your tongue. It is often like that, that letting out weightless things seems like no challenge whatsoever. $q.He meets your words with a short nod, eyes traveling over the extensive courtyard. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ The grounds may be safe, but you saw a flash of a hilt at $q.his waist between the folds of $q.his cloak. Whether or not ceremonial, a mere part of an attire, $q.his hand is always one quick gesture away from it. $q.His head is, among other things, at stake here, and being in $q.his presence paints this danger in vivid colors, the colors that sting your eyes. Your words, laced with worry, prompt a smile out of $q.him. It seems...grateful and a little weary if you were to reckon--a numbing agent applied to your concern. <</if>>\ "I realize it is not a simple job, not a thing you can fail and retreat to try again later. And I wish to help." $q.He smiles, eyes misty. "And although a wise person would say not all help turns out to be a boon... Still, I like to think I thought this through well enough." $q.He pulls something out of the folds of $q.his mantle. It is small, wrapped in a delicate cloth. So small, that when $q.he hands it over, you can barely feel any weight in the center of your palm. The $q.king encouragingly nods to the silent question in your eyes, and unwrapping $q.his offering reveals a pendant. You squint. Silver. <<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>>Your senses are quiet, feeling nothing magical about it.<</if>> "It has value far beyond monetary," you hear $q.him say, unable to look away from the piece of jewelry in your hand. A simple round pendant, flattened like a coin. You glimpse that something is etched on its sides, but you dare not move it to study the writing. "It belonged to Gale's mother." Your eyes flit to the <<print $q.king>>'s expression, so rarely as fragile as it is now. There is a detached coldness in it, still, but sadness, too: mouth in a firm line, creases of a frown are far more revealing. "I went to great lengths to repossess it, but..." $q.He sighs and shakes $q.his head. \ <<if $q.rel.fr >= 35>>\ "I do not know if it serves //me// anymore. <<else>>\ "It is better put to use. <</if>>\ Besides, it will not be too bad for the boy to hold on to it for a while." "What are you suggesting, my $q.king?" you ask. <<if $p.crafty >= 67>>The creeping realization travels up your spine, but you need $q.him to spell it out for you to be sure.<</if>> <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_flashback1_talk_3]]</div>

"It is not a secret I've had this piece, and although the boy may not even know of its existence..." $q.he grows still for a moment, then sharply looks you in the eyes. "It will not do the bulk of convincing--that is what Jax's part of the plan should take care of--but if you find yourself feeling like you are almost there, like you need one final push, I do not want you to be empty-handed at that moment. You can offer it to him in exchange for securing your passage to the city." You hold $q.his gaze steadily. "But how--and why--would I have gotten my hands on something this... valuable to you?" you ask. The circles you have walked with Jax around possible questions, doubt, suspicion, have made you cautious. "It is...sentimental, I suppose, but not instrumental to anything. It was never warded," $q.he speaks with dryness. "You can spin it. Perhaps because you have been planning to seek out his assistance. Perhaps because you thought it would be worth a coin. Perhaps because your growing discontent with me had you think of contingencies." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['If giving me this grants ' + $q.him + ' a piece of mind, then I cannot reject the offering. "I will hold onto it for you then," I say with a smile. A promise, if anything.'|ch2_flashback1_talk_4][$path to 1, modPlayer("playful", 2), modFriendship("q", 3)]]</li> <li>[['This feels...wrong. I can see that it is hurting ' + $q.him + ' to part with it. I will try to refuse.'|ch2_flashback1_talk_4][$path to 2, modFriendship("q", 6)]]</li> <li>[[I will need every edge I can get. If I need to pull at the mage prince's heartstrings to get things done, I will.|ch2_flashback1_talk_4][$path to 3, modPlayer("crafty", 3), modTrust("q", 3)]]</li> <li>[[I paw the pendant, not ignorant to its use but... I am not liking how nostalgic the Gray Regent gets when talking about the traitor.|ch2_flashback1_talk_4][$path to 4, modPlayer("ambition", 5), modAffinity("y", -5)]]</li> <li>[['I accept it, most because ' + $q.he + ' is asking me to.'|ch2_flashback1_talk_4][$path to 5]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ You wish to take the finality out of it, point out that merely transferring possession of the jewelry piece means nothing for its destiny. You do it for the <<print $q.king>>'s benefit, if nothing else: you hope it would not come to relying on things as fickle as one's feelings to get your job done, but also you do it to spare them. $q.His expression is satisfied. Stiff, but satisfied. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ The hesitation to utter the word 'no' to the Gray Regent that you feel is overwhelmed by the sad undertones you cannot help but pick up. You gather courage, drink the crisp autumn air. "I cannot accept this, my $q.king. I cannot have you part with something so precious as if I am certain I will fail." Your heart forgets to beat, but the moment $q.he chuckles it recalls it once more. <<if $q.rel.fr >= 15 or $q.rel.love >= 2>>\ "You are most sweet, \ <<else>>\ "Your intention is sincere, \ <</if>>\ however... A lot hinges on your success, $p.name, and everything I can provide you with brings us closer to our goal. If you will not accept my emotional appeal, then, at least, accept the pragmatic one." It is not an appeal, you think then. An appeal would mean you could refuse. An appeal is what you would be making--very soon, to the band of the Daelan constituents. And when you cannot refuse, you must accept. You nod, stiffly, fingers wrapping around the piece. The $q.king looks satisfied with your acceptance and takes a place by your side. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ At the end of the day, it is just a piece of silver to you, and if it is supposed to mean more to someone--someone you ought to use anyway--you are willing to make use of it. You nod, easily, face calm. The Gray Regent seems placated with it, some of this tranquility passing onto $q.him. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ You do not feel the same viciousness from $q.him that you do from Jax once the subject of the mage prince comes up, viciousness you would find understandable. Viciousness you would expect even. You cannot help but attribute some of the ease with which $q.he is willing to part with a family relic to some inexplicable... curiosity, or something of the sort. It puts your mind in unrest, makes your brows knit together. No word of it comes out of you, of course. It is a private matter, and you are in no position to question the monarch to all mages. You merely nod and clasp your fingers over the piece. The $q.king looks satisfied with your acceptance. $q.He nods to the gesture and steps to your side. <</if>>\ "You will succeed," $q.he says then, in a way that commands a courtroom, only quieter. "The Gray Regency has your back." //You did not attribute much importance to the words back then. They did not feel real until the very circumstance you entertained became your reality, and the very piece of jewelry you had your doubts about turned into tempting currency.// You pull back, glazed eyes returning to clarity. The camp you would rather not be in greets you anyway. The three figures of your present are still here, too. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_group_convince_final_1]]</div>

Doubt settles in your stomach. For so many things Jax has gotten right, you do not feel like your passage to the city is in the bag. Unwittingly your eyes find Gale. You have a strong inkling he is the one who will make the call regardless of the opinion of his companions. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Which is strange, he does not look like...much.|ch2_group_convince_final_2][modAffinity("gale", -3)]]</li> <li>[[Which is fitting, they would be fools not to respect the magic of the Fourth.|ch2_group_convince_final_2][modAffinity("frieda", 10)]]</li> <li>[[Which is fine by me, persuading one is easier than persuading all three of them.|ch2_group_convince_final_2][]]</li> <li>[[Which is curious, I suppose. There must be more to him than just magic and stripped title to command respect.|ch2_group_convince_final_2][modAffinity("gale", 4)]]</li> <li>[[Which is, frankly, all the same to me.|ch2_group_convince_final_2][]]</li> </ul></div>

The pendant is your last resort, a final stroke should you wish to add it. The Gray Regent seems to believe it would work, but, intentionally or not, $q.he has left the final decision to you. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I will bring it up. I want to use every tool I have to see this through.|ch2_group_convince_final_pendant]]</li> <li>[[I will not bring it up. I want to return it to the Gray Regent.|ch2_group_convince_final_3][modAffinity("y", 3)]]</li> <li>[[I will not bring it up, I do not see how it would help.|ch2_group_convince_final_3]]</li> <li>[[I will bring it up. If anything, Gale should be the one to have a memento of his late mother.|ch2_group_convince_final_pendant][modAffinity("gale", 8), modPlayer("vil", -5)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $ch2.offered_pendant to true>>\ You are on top of a wave. What awaits you is nothing but a drop. "There is something else," you say as calmly as you can manage. It earns you a few guarded glances. "I stole something from $q.him, and I believe it could be of interest to you." Your gaze is fixed on Gale, but it is Darla who speaks. <<if $ch2.jumped>>\ "You didn't look much of a successful thief when I was dragging you here," she says, brows raised. "It wasn't hidden in the wilderness, you know," you retort. <<else>>\ "//And// you are a thief," she sighs greedily, as if just having witnessed a breathtaking twist to a play. "Lovely." You cannot help letting out a noise of bewilderment, succeeded by a grim smile. "That should not surprise you by now, I think." <</if>>\ Gale stirs. "What is it?" You glance at your belongings: you have been separated from them, your satchel lying a good five feet away, discarded with intention. "A necklace," you reply, switching your focus to him. At the edge of your sight, you notice the hunter visibly tense. "It belonged to the Gray Regent's late sister." The guard gasps and the hunter makes a short rash step forward but stays where he is. Both look over at the mage prince with a mixture of apprehension and vexation. Other than keeping you in his sights, Gale does nothing. So you continue. "I will hand it over to you when we make it to the city. I will have no need for it if you help me get there--so it will be yours." You could very well be imagining it, but you spot a shudder, a breath stolen. His face remains impassive, the same air of stillness but it feels frazzled nonetheless. You recall thinking if anything could stop them from simply...taking it from you, since your plan was always to just surrender yourself to their judgment. But sitting here now, experiencing the sudden onset of bewildering veneration, you understand what the Gray Regent did when $q.he made this call to entrust you with the memento. For Gale to do so, to turn your bags upside down and sift through your things, forgoing any deal you were offering, would be an offense to //her// memory. "So what would it be?" you finally ask. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|ch2_group_convince_final_3]]</div>

<<silently>> <<set _convFactor to 1>> <<if $intro.thuggery is 2>> <<set _convFactor to 0.5>> <<elseif $intro.weapon is 1>> <<set _convFactor to 0.75>> <</if>> <<set $ch2.conviction to Math.round($ch2.conviction * _convFactor)>> <</silently>>\ You grasp onto the thought that keeps your lungs pumping, its careful rhythm, the inevitability of it. If you were to say more, your voice would croak, you know, and the only thing remains to do is to accept whatever is to come. <<if $ch2.conviction >= 75 or ($ch2.conviction > 50 and $ch2.offered_pendant)>> <<set $ch2.outcome_oath to true>>\ The carpet of the forest decay croaks as Gale makes a step forward, his gaze surprisingly hard. "Our destination is not Rimehall. Not now." This is not news, <<if $p.crafty >= 67>>but you remember that it should be so you feign pained surprise<<else>>so you take it straight-faced<</if>>. "That is fine," you reply, "as long as we get there eventually." The mage prince is not surprised by your easy agreement, looking ready to move past it. "You will fulfill your promise," he says, calm, detached. "Each one of them. To that you will swear on the Gift of the First." You notice the red glow in his eyes: faint, eerie. Not the flash to accompany the power to //consume//, but the hint of something ancient responding to his words. <<if $p.mind.magic <=1 >>The invocation of her presence is not devoid of some sort of magical binding, but the concrete expanse of it eludes you.<<else>>Your gut tells you they are not empty, but perhaps that is just the fatigue wearing you down and playing up the dangers.<</if>> <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $ch2.offered_pendant>><li>[[Oh my. Good thing I do have the pendant and it was not a bluff...|ch2_group_convince_final_swear][]]</li><</if>> <li>[[Swearing on the very essence of my magic? The fucking weasel! He is only lucky I have no choice here.|ch2_group_convince_final_swear][modPlayer("oldnew", -3)]]</li> <li>[[Easy: it means nothing to me anyway.|ch2_group_convince_final_swear][modPlayer("oldnew", 8)]]</li> <li>[[I quietly suffer the onset of anxious nausea and nod.|ch2_group_convince_final_swear][modPlayer("oldnew", -3)]]</li> <li>[[If it pleases His Royal Highness. Sure.|ch2_group_convince_final_swear]]</li> </ul></div> <<else>>\ The mage prince looks, despite everything, unmoved. Arms crossed, eyes half-closed, as if on the verge of dreaming, he makes no move to speak when the hunter finally does. "Unfortunately for you, we are not even headed there." This is not news, <<if $p.crafty >= 67>>but you remember that it should be so you feign pained surprise<<else>>so you take it straight-faced<</if>>. "Where we //are// headed, however, we can take you, so I suppose your request will be fulfilled in some way." He sounds too joyous for you not to worry. You frown, breath picking up. "And why exactly would you take me there?" "Because it houses a mage hunter outpost," he sounds almost bored, content in how easily he thinks you have wandered into this predicament. "They will take care of escorting you to prison where you belong." Blood stills in your veins, dizziness settles. The bastard has the gall to look smug as your hands unwittingly struggle against the binds. //"No harm will come to you in Wyrm's Nest."// Jax's words. They spoke them with a knowing smile after you predicted--out loud, to their face--this exact outcome. It was meant to soothe you, to accept that it may happen and not to fear it, but also to remain cautious. A swirl of emotions. Exactly what you feel. You swallow thickly. Jax's assurances or not, this situation is plain ''awful'' to find yourself in. No word leaves your mouth. You might think of running, but you have not failed yet. The pouch is...somewhere here, and whatever awaits in Wyrm's Nest might, at least according to Jax, turn the tide still. So no word, just glare. Let him think he got you. <<NextPage ch2_group_convince_final_merge>> <</if>>\

"I swear on the Gift of the First," you mumble, jaw tense. The words are heavy on your tongue. But your misery has company. The guard, you see, has tensed, her shoulders rolled. For all of her attempts to hide it, her frown, the downcast eyes betray confusion. The hunter on the other side of the mage prince is faring slightly better at concealing his thoughts, but even so, his gaze turns heavy. <<include "ch2_group_convince_final_merge">>

"We should figure out the--" Darla says, voice unsteady, and motions to you, "--arrangements." Arthur sighs, hanging his head. "I will stay up to keep watch on $p.him tonight." "Entire night?" Gale questions. "It will be fine." No one objects. He is a mage hunter. You are a mage<<if $p.mind.magic > 1>>, even if you do not practice<</if>>. It makes twisted sense. It is obvious they do not care for your comfort tonight, as no accommodations are made and, with your hands bound, you cannot fashion anything either. The fire offers refuge from the cold but that is as much as you are getting. Gale and Darla retire into their respective tents without a word to you, but plenty of whispering amongst themselves, and the mage steals one last look at you before lifting the flap. It is almost surreal. You look at belongings strewn across the campgrounds, finally acknowledge the distant neighing of horses bound somewhere, then freeze your gaze on the rope snaked around your wrists. You have...made it? Some part of it? <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Still, I feel uneasy. Almost nothing I said came from me, like being dressed in an attire that was tailored for a very different person.|ch2_art_night_1][modPlayer("oldnew", 5)]]</li> <li>[[Most of all, I am relieved. This has to be a good sign that things are going according to plan, some plan.|ch2_art_night_1][modTrust("jax", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I am still reeling that I have this opportunity to accomplish my mission.|ch2_art_night_1][modAffinity("y", 2)]]</li> <li>[[Numb, mostly I am numb.|ch2_art_night_1]]</li> <li>[[I try to remain cautiously optimistic about my chances, despite everything.|ch2_art_night_1]]</li> <<if $ch2.remembered_lname>><li>[[That name, that flash of a memory... All my thoughts are there.|ch2_art_night_1]]</li><</if>> </ul></div>

Your rumination is brought to a halt by the movement at the edge of your unfocused sight. Arthur settles on a fallen trunk, stretching out his legs towards the warmth. The frown he has had on since their whispering bout started lingers on his face, and he is explicitly choosing not to look at you. Which is not something you can easily reciprocate: ignoring him as a human would not pose a difficulty, but ignoring him as a hunter will be a mental exercise for certain. Like walls that come closer and closer to crushing you--but never arrive there; always a threat but never execution. He rummages through the large travel satchel and drags out...a book. When he flips it open, it is somewhere in the middle of it. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[There is nothing that I want to say to him. I do not care for him or his grievances.|ch2_night_fork][]]</li> <li>[[It is bound to be a long night. I could try striking up a conversation... How bad can that be?|ch2_art_talk_1][]]</li> <li>[[I will do the one thing in my power to annoy him that will not land me in hot water: stare at him.|ch2_art_stare_1][]]</li> <li>[[I wonder if soothing his fear with a demonstration will help. He cannot be threatened by my presence if he thinks he can easily tame my magic.|ch2_art_mag]]</li> <li>[[He ought to know I am human. I will ask for water.|ch2_art_water]]</li> </ul></div>

Your throat is dry, and the memory of the river you have crossed today cuts like cruel mockery. "I'm thirsty," you say, addressing the hunter. He slowly looks up from the book, dragging his gaze. For a time he doesn't even move, but before you think he has not heard you, you notice his brief glance at the saddlebags and the way his mouth twists at that. "I have some of my own," you supply, steeling yourself for battle. "In the bag you have taken from me." Your satchel is hidden from view, but you know it must have been taken to the camp. There is nothing suspicious in it, never is, but still you tense as he stands up and walks towards the tents. Maybe he was the one to hide it in the first place--you were too frayed to notice--because it takes him almost no time to come back with it. His hand holds the satchel you know so well with no care, but he just //stands// with it there, looking between your bag and you, an unspoken thought forcing him to frown. There is a moment when it looks like he might just hand it to you, but when he does not, it seems like mere wishful thinking. You draw the air to say that you have nothing to hide--but then he unties it and, frowning even more, quickly sifts through the contents to find your waterskin. He doesn't step closer to hand it to you: instead, he //tosses// it. <<if $p.mind.magic >= 2>>\ Your wrists may be bound, but you manage to grab onto the waterskin with your fingers alone, heart lurching at the slooshing sound that it makes. <<else>>\ It bounces off your arms that you stick out awkwardly and lands on the ground at your feet. Watched, you lift it up. <</if>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[It wasn't that hard, was it? Still, I say, "Thank you."|ch2_art_water_2][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I had to remind him of basic decency. That gets no gratitude from me.|ch2_art_water_2][$path to 2, modPlayer("playful", -2)]]</li> <li>[[I sigh dramatically. "I would offer to share, but something tells me you would not accept."|ch2_art_water_2][$path to 3, modPlayer("playful", 2)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ He regards you with wariness, and you notice a small shrug of one shoulder. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ You shouldn't have needed to ask. \ <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ You are expected to travel together, after all. You can concede one night of being treated like a prisoner, but this needs to improve. <<else>>\ They may think you a prisoner, but even prisoners get food and water. <</if>>\ <<elseif $path is 3>>\ The corner of his mouth rises to that in acknowledgment of your quip, but the tense air does not let up. <</if>>\ Water tastes //marvelous//. It washes down the lies, loosens the knots in your muscles. When you close your eyes, you can almost imagine yourself elsewhere. But that moment does not last. You feel refreshed, but it only resurfaces the hunger. "And what about--" This, he does not toss. The hunter walks closer, \ <<if $p.mind.magic >=2>>\ and your mind frantically searches for ways to defend you, on instinct. <<else>>\ and your sight is struck with light, forcing you to grimace. <</if>>\ But all you get is bread. A round bun that fits in your palm, not too fresh, not too soft, but easy to bite into. It is sweet and is filled with nuts and dried fruit. Filling. As you chew on it, it is impossible to even think how long you've gone ignoring a craving this potent. Arthur settles back wordlessly. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[That is all I needed from him. I will try sleeping now.|ch2_night_fork][]]</li> <li>[[Alright. Maybe it is worth giving talking a try now?|ch2_art_talk_1][]]</li> </ul></div>

Now that the camp is wrapped in darkness, the distinct auburn of his hair is no longer that noticeable. His eyes lack the carefree laziness you would expect from one of nobility that, unlike Gale, is very much welcome in rich castles and luxurious gatherings. Instead, the frown lines are beginning to set in around them, brows more often furrowed than not, though that, perhaps, is mostly on your account. You wouldn't know. There are scars too, a long-healed one on the low of his chin and many on his hands: thin stripes that paint his skin with an off-color. Makes you wonder if he acquired them when Gale was away, or-- "You are staring," he suddenly says, low, eyes staunchly on the pages. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Good on him for noticing, I guess. I will try sleeping now.|ch2_night_fork][]]</li> <li>[[Alright. So maybe we should talk instead?|ch2_art_talk_1][]]</li> <li>[[Now that I have his attention, I will ask for water.|ch2_art_water][]]</li> <li>[[I could still try soothing his fear with a demonstration of my magic. He cannot be threatened by my presence if he thinks he can easily tame it.|ch2_art_mag]]</li> </ul></div>

You feel out of tricks, truth be told: it has been a long day, a trying one, with questionable rewards. But simple things were still within your grasp, you could still conjure something harmless. Your gaze is drawn to the fire, naturally, eagerly. Its warmth spreads through you, the only warmth you will be enjoying tonight. Dances and cracks, the sound and motion are soothing. You pull at the rebellious thought. //Provoke a hunter, in the face of that wretched glow in his eyes. Prove that you are stronger despite all of his tricks.// <<if $p.magic >40>>\ You want to, if only out of spite, but you will never confess to that. <<else>>\ It is a reckless idea, but today you are following through on those left and right. <</if>>\ So your gaze hardens, mind working under the strain that forces it //away// from your magic. <<if $p.magic > 40>>\ Slowly, an ember rises out of the fire, shivering in its fragility. In the back of your mind something yelps //hothohot//--and like a well-oiled mechanism, Arthur's eyes flare up with a blue that stings. His power slams into you, disturbing, uncomfortable, severing the hold you have on the ember. It falls back, back into the fray, and immediately disappears to your eye. You smile sadly without looking at him. Fire is always an easy distraction. "See? I don't think you have anything to fear from me." But it does not seem to satisfy. You hear more than see him work some fastenings, and a chill runs down your spine. You then watch him down the contents of a small vial, to which he scowls and shakes his head. For a brief moment, you feel deaf. Unattached. Dissolving. Then your senses come back at breakneck pace--and it is like nothing has just happened. <<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>>Only, you realize, your magic is so still you can barely believe it is there anymore.<</if>> "//Now// I don't," he says coldly. <<NextPage ch2_night_fork>> <<else>>\ There is no response. No matter how hard you force yourself, no matter how loud your mind gets, it struggles against the force, the sole purpose of which is to restrain it. After a while you give up, no longer seeing it necessary to wear yourself out in futility, and notice the cautious look the hunter is giving you. He must have sensed //something// at least, but not enough to act upon it, it seems. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I do not feel like admitting I tried using magic anymore, it is...embarrassing, really.|ch2_art_mag_2][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[This is exactly what I wanted to show, no? I tell him so outright.|ch2_art_mag_2][$path to 2]]</li> </ul></div> <</if>>\

<<if $path is 1>>\ You swallow the disappointment like a bitter decoction and offer nothing in lieu of explanation, hoping that without your admission he will have nothing to go on. The hunter watches you for another moment; then, without a word, returns to reading. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ "I couldn't even draw upon my power," you admit, avoiding his gaze. "Shouldn't that be a good sign for you?" He mulls over the reply, just the cackling of fire to fill the silence. "I will be the judge of that. And stop trying." <</if>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Well, that's neither here nor there. I will try sleeping now.|ch2_night_fork][]]</li> <li>[[Whatever the result, it reminded me I need to drink.|ch2_art_water][]]</li> <li>[[Alright. So maybe we should talk instead?|ch2_art_talk_1][]]</li> </ul></div>

It should not be this difficult but this is not an ordinary evening either, not a group of strangers you can just worm your way into. The hunter seems keen on reading, but you know he will perk up at every sound you make, so a sound may very well just be a word, a sentence. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Something simple. Neutral. That book of his, I guess?|ch2_art_book][]]</li> <li>[[I might try asking what their destination is, what they plan on doing there.|ch2_art_nest][]]</li> <li>[[I will make it about him. He is not exactly a nobody, after all.|ch2_art_duketalk]]</li> </ul></div>

"What are you reading?" His eyes flit to you, body stiff. He watches you in silence as you count the moments, not a muscle moving. Then-- "//Folly of the Soul//," he says without looking at the book. The name rings no bell, but that is true for most books. Your pursuits tended to be far more...practical to compensate for the forgotten time. "What is it about?" He drops the other hand and perches both elbows on the knees. Now closer to the fire, it casts a devious shadow on his face. "Introspection on mortality, on the turmoil and elation of one's lifetime and the horrors that are to be faced once it is over." Then he leans back and pulls the book back into his lap, drawing a loud breath. "That is, if you wish to seem like a pretentious bore at a soirée, otherwise it is about a shepherd whose imagination runs a bit too wild as he gazes at the clouds glossing over a pasture." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["I see." I smile knowingly and tease, "So what you are saying is that you are willing to admit you are a pretentious bore?"|ch2_art_book_2][$path to 1, modFriendship("art", 1), modPlayer("playful", 2)]]</li> <li>[["Why, nature presents us with apt opportunities to reflect on our lives and life as a whole. Why would conceding to that make one a bore?"|ch2_art_book_2][$path to 2, modTrust("art", 1)]]</li> <li>[["So what does it say on our mortality?"|ch2_art_book_2][$path to 3]]</li> <li>[["Uh. Sounds like a nice book."|ch2_art_book_2][$path to 4]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ What escapes him is an amused snort, one that immediately forces him to break the eye contact he was so set on maintaining just prior. "Had that worked to the desired effect, I would have done it without hesitation," he says in an amused tone, light. Conversational. But then rancor slips back in. "Though I would so hate to give you the satisfaction." You are not easily ruffled, however, and raise your hands at him, clasped in a loose fist. "Oh, that is most cruel, because, as you can see I am starved for satisfaction of any kind." His brows flash and he pulls back, whether or not infected by your dry humor, you cannot tell. "Maybe you should have dedicated yourself to books then. Now, if you do not mind?" <<elseif $path is 2>>\ The look he gives you is strange: although bemused, it is curious at the same time. As if your observation, your thoughts were an odd surprise. "Because that is unfun," he says sharply. "Somber. You are spoiling the mood of an entire party, and there is no greater transgression than that--well..." The hunter shifts his gaze up to think, then returns to you with a half-smile. "Perhaps not greater than picking an outfit poorly or...falling on bad luck." "That," you ponder, "does not seem like a great place to be." He scoffs, and suddenly his expression is transformed: a smile appears, reaching the corners of his eyes that soften, frown vanishing. There is hollow mirth to his voice when he speaks. "Oh, that is easy to say when you haven't tried the saffron cake. It is simply //delightful//. And now, //if it's all the same to you//, I will get back to reading." <<elseif $path is 3>>\ "That the soul, even if minuscule, has weight and a home, a place to return to, but it can get warped around the lived experiences, aching to relive them on and on and thus never completing the cycle it is supposed to complete." He finishes almost in one breath and locks eyes with yours, as if expecting something. "So it is about...attachment to the past that...comes to be our torment?" His expression does not change, but the silence is pensive, riddled with //understanding//. Part of you wants to push back but you are unsure what it truly means. "It has not hazarded a guess on what this cycle //is//," he says, and the unsettling moment passes. "But maybe that is what the second half is about. I should find out." <<elseif $path is 4>>\ "It is," he replies dully and pulls back until he sits straight again. "I am sure the Gray Regent would have one as well for you to borrow." It is a simplistic taunt that is entirely in his nature if today is anything to go by, yet it still sinks a hook, albeit small, in you. <<if $p.playful >= 60>>\ "Oh, such shame on me for not asking," you parry with a flat smile. <<else>>\ "Well," you say firmly, "I wouldn't know and now I never will." <</if>>\ "A shame indeed." He nods. "Would you be terribly upset were I to continue my reading?" <</if>>\ Naturally, he waits for no acknowledgment from you before falling silent again and flipping the book back open. <<NextPage ch2_night_fork>>

"So you are not headed home, I gathered." You get his attention, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. "Where then?" His watchful eyes on you tell of the thorough scrutiny he is subjecting any possible answer to. You do not interrupt. "Wyrm's Nest." By now any mention of this detour has lost its luster, and you only react to the name with a light tilt of your head. The settlement is supposed to be small, fairly unknowable. It stands to reason you wouldn't have heard of it. "What manner of business takes you there?" This pause is even longer. "The usual kind. Cleaning up the mess magic has wrought." Unease slips beneath your collar. This could be just the chaos you need, but it could be a complication just as well. <<if $ch2.outcome_oath is false>>"Though not before we hand you over to the wing of justice." You do not need to be reminded of that twice, the ropes do a fantastic job of keeping your mind sharp and lucid. You summon Jax's words again, the promise of safety that, from your place now, seems like an illusion about to dissipate. Teeth clenched, you pull your mouth into a flat non-smile.<</if>> "Was that where you were headed all along?" you ask. Perhaps that would help you make sense of the suspicious circumstances that were the reason for your failure-- But he just laughs, clipped like a lost cough. "See, now you are just careless." He leans forward, as if about to share a secret. "Being troubled about your future is one thing, but prying into our plan is quite another. Now, //if it's all the same to you//, I will get back to reading." Naturally, he waits for no acknowledgment from you before falling silent again. <<NextPage ch2_night_fork>>

"How did //you// end up here?" you ask, head tipping to the overhang of treetops. "Not exactly a place for a...margrave?" He turns to you, and you are subjected to a long inspection. "You seem well-versed in our politics." "You are a mage hunter," you counter with a shrug. "Would have taken note whether or not I wanted to." That seems to satisfy, for his expression does not change. Instead, he lets out a thoughtful hum. "Personal for personal," the hunter offers. "And you go first." For all your surprise that he has decided to entertain a conversation, this is not unexpected. There is no harm in hearing what he wants to know about //you//. "I might as well." The question comes readily. <<if $ch2.mem_confessed>>\ "What is it like, not remembering your past?" Your body instantly tenses, gripped by a myriad of feelings. Most of all, the cold realization that there is no definite answer, nor a practiced one either. After all, you have never discussed this path with Jax. There is another angle, too: why exactly does he want to know that? You might already know the answer, but you stall for time: "Are you asking because you are curious or are you asking because you want to find out something about the Gray Regent?" The corners of his mouth rise in brief amusement. "Just answer the damn question." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I was not that interested to begin with, and my situation is not something I wish to discuss with him, of all people. We will wrap it up here.|ch2_art_duketalk_2_mem][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I will be genuine, and admit it is mostly confusing. It is fairly innocent as far as divulging anything about the Gray Regency, too.|ch2_art_duketalk_2_mem][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[[I sometimes fear to think what my past may be hiding. I could scratch the surface of that.|ch2_art_duketalk_2_mem][$path to 3, modPlayer("oldnew", 4), modTrust("art", 1)]]</li> <li>[[Strangely enough, it is quite freeing.|ch2_art_duketalk_2_mem][$path to 4]]</li> <li>[[I would prefer to keep it light with a quip, something about having great many things to discover.|ch2_art_duketalk_2_mem][$path to 5, modPlayer("playful", 2)]]</li> </ul></div> <<else>>\ "You've worked for $q.him. What do //you// make of $q.name?" For such a light way he poses the question, you sense the thirst for the response is real. The corners of his mouth are curled, his judgment already passed, but he waits for you to speak with reserved politeness. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I was not that interested to begin with, and this is not something I want to talk about with him, of all people. We will wrap it up here.|ch2_art_duketalk_2_y][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[I know he wants to hear that the Gray Regent is a proper villain. I will oblige.|ch2_art_duketalk_2_y][$path to 2, modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I will lie that we have barely said a word to each other, feed him vague and shallow observations.|ch2_art_duketalk_2_y][$path to 3, modTrust("art", -1)]]</li> <li>[['I will admit I thought ' + $q.him + ' to be an admirable leader, but will be clear this is all in the past.'|ch2_art_duketalk_2_y][$path to 4, modAffinity("y", 3)]]</li> </ul></div> <</if>>\

<<if $path is 1>>\ You feel your guards come up, wishing you could put up more between the two of you than just some distance. Your state is not a subject for an easy friendly conversation, let alone a route to open up for a //mage hunter//. "I was just trying to make a conversation," you say lowly as you hunch, looking away to the easy lines of the two tents. Suddenly you realize you have no idea if the people in them are at all sleeping, and your reluctance to talk doubles. Arthur huffs, and your silence frees him up for reading. <<else>>\ <<if $path is 2>>\ Who does not get confused every once in their lifetime? You, though, do, perhaps more often than many others, and, for once, it serves you. "Odd," you say bluntly. "It is strange to feel clueless about so many things at the same time. Disorienting to be the only person in the room who lacks something so...important." <<elseif $path is 3>>\ For all you know, of course, your life could have been very innocent, simple and quiet. A life like hundreds, thousands of others: a farm to tend to, a trade to hone, a ballad to write, a sweetheart to take care of... Yet what never lets up is the dark undercurrent, pulling you down with surprising strength so long as you as much as think of it; a gnawing suspicion that scarce few innocent, simple and quiet people lose their memories, the pillars of self--like it happened to you. In a game of pulling straws yours could be attached to a dark secret, and you never know if--or when--that could be revealed, or if you are doomed to a life of not knowing at all. As always when dragging out these thoughts, your voice loses strength. But you have resigned to speak of it, so you do. "Concerning. It is concerning." You stare at the nothingness, and it helps you pretend you are still talking to yourself. "The things that I have forgotten could be as harrowing as they could be warm, or just ordinary. But to live with even the chance there is something in there I might not //want// to remember is..." Perhaps it is best not to admit fear, not bolster his apprehension with more of your own. You leave it like that, it is still more honesty than he has extended you. "The word eludes me," you deflect. "Talking about it is not much easier than living it." <<elseif $path is 4>>\ "It's not without problems, but at the same time... liberating, I would say." You see his brows rise in surprise and sit a little taller to gesture to yourself in explanation "You do not live to this age without a share of burdens. And, I suppose, as we live on they pile up and get heavier and heavier, so to get some taken off is not that terrible of a change. Now, the price for it, on the other hand..." <<elseif $path is 5>>\ "Wonderful, actually," you jest as he regards you warily. "When I think of all the stories I get to experience anew, whose twists are yet to creep up on me, I, dare say, get giddy with excitement." Your smile is a puzzle, eyes barely lighting up to match your tone. "Stories," he simply repeats, even, goading. "Not just them, of course," you concede eagerly. "All the new friends I could be making, regions I could be exploring..." <</if>>\ "And yet it seems like you have found your way into <<print $q.name>>'s service just as easily." "Well," you retort, <<if $q.rel.fr >= 40>>ignoring his haughty tone<</if>>, "whose service are //you// in?" "My land," he replies without room for hesitation, expression firm. "So is the service to //your land// what brought you here?" Something snaps, his eyes narrowing. "A horse did," he fires back like it were a snap of a whip. Before you take stock of it, he flips the book back open, eyes greedy for the word written, not spoken. That was your answer, it seems. <</if>>\ <<NextPage ch2_night_fork>>

<<if $path is 1>>\ You feel your guards come up, wishing you could put up more between the two of you than just some distance. The subject of the $q.king is all too slippery, a lie ill-placed or ill-delivered can aggravate the hunter, and there would be no mage prince to stop him this time. "I was just trying to make a conversation," you say lowly as you hunch, looking away to the easy lines of the two tents. Suddenly you realize you have no idea if the people in them are at all sleeping, and your reluctance to talk doubles. Arthur huffs and your silence releases him to return to reading. <<else>>\ <<if $path is 2>>\ You know quite well what he believes already: he would not be who he is if he did not. Feed him a few words that mirror his own, and he might just lose the sight of person delivering them. "Cunning, vicious, always eager to flaunt $q.his...authority." You pause to take in his expression, but is it the same, still like pond water. "Very prone to anger. It was often...unreasonable." <<if $p.crafty >= 65>>You force a heavy, shaking breath, remembering that this is supposed to be the first time you speak your mind on a subject previously forbidden.<<else>>You stop, mind racing. Was that enough? Was that too much?<</if>> <<elseif $path is 3>>\ "$q.He was always just a figure I could see from afar every once in a while," you lie. <<if $q.rel.love >= 2 or $q.rel.fr >= 40>>You vividly recall $q.his //closeness//.<</if>> "Most of what I know of $q.him, was either told to me or I overheard. That $q.he is cunning, that $q.he has a temper. All said in careful words, and I never heard anyone dispute that, come to think of it." <<elseif $path is 4>>\ "You'd hate to hear it, but $q.he is a respectable leader to $q.his people." You steal a glance his way, but his face is stony. "$q.He acts with their interest. That is a rare quality to find in a person with such power. Still--" you quickly say, aware that something is brewing in him at the sound of those words, "--no amount of caring for something can make up for the viciousness it is performed with." <</if>>\ "What a master to have," the hunter concludes after a heavy pause. "And what a master to lose," you shadow, your goals not forgotten. "I am aware of my predicament." He does not trust that. Tries to hide it behind a cold expression, but there is no fooling you. Would not stop you from repeating, though. "I'm not really sure about that," he says ominously. "But to honor my word: I ended up here out of my own volition." "Is the poison in your veins also your choice?" You feel the tension center in your forehead, a seed of a brewing headache you would much rather avoid. "Your master--and the master before $q.him--robbed everyone of a choice," he replies lowly, putting up the tome in his hands as if like a shield. He immediately flips it open, cutting your conversation short. Personal for personal indeed. <</if>> <<NextPage ch2_night_fork>>

<<if $ch2.remembered_lname>>\ <<include "ch2_dream_1">>\ <<else>>\ <<include "ch2_dream_2">>\ <</if>>\

That night you plummet into sleep, body infinitely heavy with exhaustion, and a dream assaults you like a sudden headache. ...Everything around you is shadowy, elongated. Furniture, walls are just shapes. You do not see your body, you do not //have// a body. You hear, though. Your heart flutters in anticipation. You are at peace. //"Vyrell?"// a voice repeats thoughtfully as if playing with the syllables. You have just introduced yourself. Then a hum, almost a chuckle. "Well, I am most intrigued as to what our work together will yield." <<NextPage ch2_camp_morning>>

Your pursuit of comfort ends in some barely tolerable scrunched form, huddling to your knees for warmth. You slip into a dream like a knife into butter, completely drained. For better or for worse, this is your first night in a new company. For all the animosity you suffered awake, the night brings you a gentle touch, a light sensation that you might not be alone in this, after all. <<NextPage ch2_camp_morning>>

What rattles you awake is a voice: chirpy, derisive. "Rise and shine, little turncoat," Darla drawls, hovering over your awakening form. "Aren't you excited to lead the way?" <<NextPage ch2_camp_morning_2>>

<<silently>> <<set $temp to {}>> <<set $temp.untied_1 to false>> <<set $temp.outpost_info to false>> <<set $ch2.evening to "a">> <<set $temp.forest to "none">> <<set $p.appearance.facial to false>> <<set $art.callbacks to []>> <<set $dar.callbacks to []>> <<set $gale.callbacks to []>> <<set $q.callbacks to []>> <<set $jax.callbacks to []>> <<set $ia.callbacks to []>> <<set $gale.callbacks.ydescr to "none">> <<set $dar.callbacks.pie to false>> <<set $dar.callbacks.gettoknow to false>> <<set $art.callbacks.heartless to false>> <<set $art.rel.fake to 0>> <<set $dar.rel.fake to 0>> <<set $gale.rel.fake to 0>> <<set $q.rel.fake to 0>> <<set $jax.rel.fake to 0>> <<set $ia.rel.fake to 0>> <<set $q.lord to "Lord">> <<if $q.gender is "female">> <<set $q.lord to "Lady">> <</if>> <</silently>>\ The first thing you notice is that you smell like fire. It is oily, tart, clinging to you in the absence of warmth. You are still groggy, and the camp is already being picked apart like a carcass of a prey animal. There is not much for you to do, not much is expected of you either. You are allowed to shake off the night at a comfortable pace, not even having to bother about your travel belongings. Darla stiffly offers you a mug of herbal tea that was cooking on the remnants of the fire, but other than that you are ignored. If your goal was to escape, this would have been a blessing, but it is not, and all that is left for you to do is try and move your way out of the stiffness in your body. By the time the camp turns into a glade of trodden branches and a pile of sacks, you realize that there is no way they would have a spare horse for you to ride. And as //thrilling// as you find the idea of sharing the ride with any of this //pleasant// bunch, the alternatives are decidedly worse. Fortunately, it never even comes to you having to ask. Gale appears with his horse in tow, eyes downcast and watching its steps. Unlike Darla's pale gray and Arthur's dark brown steeds, his is the color of wheat with a white spot on its forehead. It wags its tail at a slow pace and looks quite worn out. "She can make it, right? I mean, generally?" Darla asks. Her brows knit in concern as she eyes the animal. Gale regards her question, then looks over at Arthur. "You said midday." "If we go without stops." "You hear that," the mage prince pats his horse. "Just a few hours more." Arthur sends you an expectant look, brow quirked, and the group sets out. Armed with the creeping suspicions over the conversation you have just heard, you notice that the gait of Gale's horse is…off. No one mounts. As the party departs, one thing becomes abundantly clear: you will be making this trek on foot. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Jax couldn't possibly have anything to do with it, right?..|ch2_camp_morning_3][$path to 1, modMemories("role", +2)]]</li> <li>[[Ah, but the animal is not to blame for having such a horrible master. I feel for it.|ch2_camp_morning_3][$path to 2, modAffinity("gale", -3)]]</li> <li>[[This is fortunate, I suppose.|ch2_camp_morning_3][$path to 3]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ Even though you often covered most of the distance with Jax's power, it wasn't rare for you to ride a horse. You are no stranger to it, but that's not enough to know what's wrong with his ride. Still, //something// is, and the timing of it is quite suspect. You cannot help but wonder if Jax was aware of it somehow, or if by some miracle they had their hand in it… But that would be too much effort for a pay-off this little, wouldn't it? It is not their style. Best not to dwell on it. You have other worries. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ You think of the concerned look Darla gave the horse and your face pinches with the same emotion. These animals do not pick their masters. They serve for as long as they are forced, reins wrapped around their mouths. It could certainly do better than serving discarded royalty, and one that constantly puts it in danger by his mere presence, at that. But if you think about what that means for //you//…. Best not to dwell on it. You have other worries. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ You dread to think how this would have looked for you if you were the only one without a ride, but fortunately, you won't have to find out. Thanks to some unspoken sense of camaraderie, neither the hunter nor the guard mounts. <</if>>\ Your gaze drops to your wrists where an itch has started to set in. Every once in a while you rub them together, searching for a reprieve from the unpleasant sensation. //A few hours// to you means more of this and then some. <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I will ask them to remove the binds. We are supposed to be traveling companions, are we not?|ch2_camp_morning_4][$path to 1, modPlayer("crafty", 1), $temp.untied_1 to true]]</li> <li>[[I will ask them to remove the binds. Who knows what dangers lie ahead, I want to be able to defend myself should the need arise.|ch2_camp_morning_4][$path to 2, modAffinity("player", +1), $temp.untied_1 to true]]</li> <li>[[I will ask them to remove the binds. The itch will drive me crazy.|ch2_camp_morning_4][$path to 3, modAffinity("player", +2), $temp.untied_1 to true]]</li> <li>[[I won't ask them to remove the binds. The less they think about me, the better.|ch2_camp_morning_4][$path to 4, modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I won't ask them to remove the binds. I just know they won't.|ch2_camp_morning_4][$path to 5, modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> </ul></div> \<<else>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Oh, Jax better know what they are doing because it doesn't look good for me at all.|ch2_camp_morning_4][$path to 6, modMemories("role", 1)]]</li> <li>[[The shit I have to suffer for this plan…|ch2_camp_morning_4][$path to 7, modAffinity("player", 3)]]</li> <li>[[I try to look at the bright side: this is not entirely unexpected.|ch2_camp_morning_4][$path to 8, modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I decide to test the binds. What if.|ch2_camp_morning_4][$path to 9, modPlayer("crafty", -2)]]</li> </ul></div> <</if>>

<<if $path is 1>>\ They have accepted your offer, if only outwardly. This is the least they can do to honor it. You clear your throat. Darla turns sharply and Arthur does so slowly. "How about this?" you ask, presenting your wrists to their inspection. "I'd say it is rather unnecessary, no?" The guard's shoulders visibly sag as if she feels a certain way about her work needing a cutting. Wordlessly, she shifts her gaze to Arthur. His smile is flat. "Right," he says. "We are allies." It feels //wrong// when he says that, no spirit behind his voice, no poison. But it is a ruse he is willing to uphold at the moment, and if it gets your hands free, who are you to complain? Dragging her feet, Darla approaches you, and \ <<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>>\ you involuntarily flinch \ <<else>>\ the hairs on the back of your neck stand up \ <</if>>\ when she pulls out a dagger from the hidden sheath on her belt. With one clean swipe, your hands fly apart, suddenly heavy as stones. You catch your breath as blood flows back into them and start rubbing life into the sore skin of your wrists. "Don't you try anything," she tells you lowly before walking off. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ You clear your throat. Darla turns sharply and Arthur does so slowly. "One thing though," you say, rubbing your hands together as a way of drawing attention to them. The movement is very small, however. "Since we will clearly be traveling for a while, I'd like to be able to fend for myself." Arthur arches his brow. "And what is it that you expect on the way?" Oh, you can confidently tell what he is thinking and what exactly he is asking. "I wouldn't know." You shrug easily with one shoulder. "Bandits. Wild animals. A falling tree." Darla scoffs. <<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>>\ "Don't you have us to protect you?" Arthur asks so lightly, it couldn't be more heavy-handed. <<else>>\ "Suddenly so capable," she says. "You were asking for our protection just yesterday." <</if>>\ <<if $p.playful >= 60>>\ "Let's not put the strength of our agreement to the test right away," you reply, finishing with a light, good-natured smile. It seems like both sides are aware of exactly how fragile that one is because your two reluctant companions exchange glances, which you cannot miss. <<else>>\ "Just want to carry my own weight," you reply firmly. And that seems to be appealing enough. <</if>>\ Dragging her feet, Darla approaches you, and \ <<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>>\ you involuntarily flinch \ <<else>>\ the hairs on the back of your neck stand up \ <</if>>\ when she pulls out a dagger from the hidden sheath on her belt. With one clean swipe, your hands fly apart, suddenly heavy as stones. You catch your breath as blood flows back into them and start rubbing life into the sore skin of your wrists. "Don't you try anything," she tells you lowly before walking off. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ The skin under the ropes throbs even with this little action, and your mouth falls into an unhappy line. This won't do. You clear your throat. Darla turns sharply and Arthur does so slowly. "The binds," you tell them, offering them a good view of your wrists. "They're rather annoying, I must tell you." <<if $ch2.jumped>>\ "Are you saying you don't get caught often?" Darla asks with a disbelieving smirk and a raise to her brow. "Wouldn't be in the position I'm in if I did." She tries to hide it beneath a huffy shrug, but her smirk lingers with some inexplicable satisfaction. You sigh, hands rubbing impatiently. <<else>>\ "Most people never learn what it's like," Arthur replies, a little smug and somewhat accusatory. For all the options that spring to mind in response, you go for the one you believe will get the ropes //off// your hands instead of adding more. "Many of them simply know a different hardship." His gaze snaps away from you, his jaw tense, and the guard is the one you turn to, rubbing your hands somewhat impatiently. <</if>>\ Dragging her feet, Darla approaches you, and \ <<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>>\ you involuntarily flinch \ <<else>>\ the hairs on the back of your neck stand up \ <</if>>\ when she pulls out a dagger from the hidden sheath on her belt. With one clean swipe, your hands fly apart, suddenly heavy as stones. You catch your breath as blood flows back into them and start rubbing life into the sore skin of your wrists. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ Your senses are still afire. Although not without a hitch, everything is going surprisingly smoothly--with the exception of the rope tying your wrists together. If it is something that is soothing their worries over your presence, you can afford to tolerate it a while longer. The binds stay, and you march. <<elseif $path is 5>>\ Although the deal has been made, you haven't missed the covert glances of the mage prince, the twitchy hand of the guard that is never too far from the handle of her sword, or \ <<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>>\ that the hunter emanates the oppressive aura with some inexplicably fresh vigor. <<else>>\ that the hunter never seems to have his back entirely to you, always in a half-sweep, if that. <</if>>\ You //knew// trust would be hard to come by with this crowd, yet this up close, the task seems almost insurmountable. Right now, it seems like the ropes are there to stay through your journey to Wyrm's Nest, and you aren't exactly hopeful that you can do anything about it. So silently, you march. <<elseif $path is 6>>\ You glance around nervously, a prisoner outnumbered and \ <<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>>\ $p.his powers hobbled in a way that almost feels like a headache. \ <<else>>\ stripped of $p.his trusty weapon. \ <</if>>\ Right now, all you have going for you is a promise. Jax is commonly good on their word, but what good a word is when you're pulled toward a dark future, your hands bound? "You look shifty," Darla suddenly notes, slowly and with certainty. Her gaze on you is careful. "We are leaving." It is your cue to walk. <<elseif $path is 7>>\ <<if $jax.rel.fr <= 5>>\ You scoff in grim amusement. It is easy for Jax to come up with all these knotted plans and pretend like they are pulling at the strings behind a shadowy curtain when their neck never gets wrapped in those strings like yours does. And this time, they are asking you, albeit not directly, to have a little too much faith in them than you are comfortable offering. <<else>>\ Jax is undeniably sharp, you have seen as much, but sometimes, especially with your neck--or at the very least your freedom--on the line, you bitterly think that it is not them that needs to walk up a frosted hill with their hands falling asleep as tight knots keep them uncomfortably together. It is always you, or other agents, and every new plan is somehow more inventive than the other. <</if>>\ There is a frown stuck between your brows now, you can sense as much. Tense thoughts lead to that, but it is in your best interest not to betray any of such kind. You survey your unlikely companions and find Darla watching you, surprisingly still. "We are leaving," she says after a pause. And that is your cue to walk. <<elseif $path is 8>>\ Even though you are far from tallying the length of service other agents have worked with Jax, you are not unfamiliar with being in a bind. That is, apparently, something that is easy to find oneself in within these lands. Even the ropes you sort of expected, and if you can anticipate something, you can weather it as well. The upcoming journey isn't a surprise either. Although unfavorably so far, the pieces are falling into place. It strangely comforts you. Almost as if you know more than your unlikely companions, pulled along by the plan you are at least aware of. "You are in a good mood," Darla remarks sourly, appearing next to you as if of thin air. Without stopping, she nods for you to walk. <<elseif $path is 9>>\ <<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>>\ You struggle, mouth pursing and breaths sharp, but earn nothing for it but your skin turning raw around your wrists, sensitive to as little as a soft blow of cold rare wind. Holding back a groan, you risk a glance at Arthur: although the discomfort of his presence is no longer new, it makes you think twice about using magic almost as if by design. You summon Jax's words and drink the memory for reassurance. That is the most you can do, seems like. <<else>>\ Bracing yourself, you //pull//, pain biting into your skin and leaving a salty taste on your gritted teeth. The rope buries into your skin as it grows hotly numb. "What are you doing?" Darla appeared before you like one of Jax's doors, from thin air. Her gaze is steely on you, shoulders tense. <<if $p.playful >= 60>>\ "Just checking to see how your knots have survived the night," you reply with half a smile as if remnants of strain cannot be heard in your voice. Then you pull once more, this time without effort, and raise your brows at her. "Well done." <<else>>\ "We're up for a long trek," you reply, shrugging. "I might need //some// freedom to move." <</if>>\ She studies you a moment longer, her lips in a somewhat angry pout, but then she only tips her chin sharply, motioning for you to start walking. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ You cannot hang back and offering them your unprotected neck is not a comfortable idea either. You set the pace so that you fall somewhere between them, and in some unspoken way, it seems to satisfy all parties involved. And so, planting steps on the ground frozen with lingering frost, you fall into stride. Although your body is tense, you find a rhythm. Keeping to yourself for a while, you get to making sense of your direction, aided by the group taking you through the lake by now familiar. You pass it, leaving yesterday's hiding place behind, and from what you remember of the map on Jax's desk, the direction you are taking seems to match their promises. <<NextPage ch2_enroute_1>>

You curve the shallow lake and leave about a dozen of hills behind before you break upon something even remotely similar to a road. For reasons you would rather not question, Arthur sets a moderate pace as he leads, and the entire time all you can see of him is his back and the cloak that swings in rhythm to his steps. Silence is the last thing you expected, but the road is so quiet, it makes you relax involuntarily. You almost prefer them to walk //faster// to keep you from slipping with such carelessness. But the cold and the poor state of you after the night this uncomfortable play their part in quieting your mind--to which you desperately search for a distraction. The mage prince walks ahead on your right and the guard trails close behind on your left. If you didn't know better, you would think they do this often, secure the flanks of some questionable fourth member to stall their escape. They have been quiet the whole time and barely said a word to one another. You could strike a conversation, if only for the sake of keeping yourself upright. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I gain on Gale.|ch2_enroute_gale1][]]</li> <li>[[I hang back just a few moments until Darla is level with me.|ch2_enroute_darla1][$temp.forest to "d"]]</li> <<if $ch2.remembered_lname>><li>[[Rather than do any of that, I cling to the memory of the dream I had last night. Of the piece of me that managed to find its way back.|ch2_enroute_solo1][]]</li><</if>> </ul></div>

It proves to hardly be a challenge, given that his horse is the reason your pace is so slow to begin with. You did not have a solid plan. You quietly hoped he would remark on your sudden proximity--and you would somehow build from there. But he does not. You imagine he would have tensed had he minded your presence greatly, but he keeps nudging his horse along, eyes set ahead. The bridge of his nose is lightly frosted in pink, and you begin to notice the invasive, draught-like character of cold on this stretch of the road. Places like this are treacherous with a risk of frostbite. The winds carry the snapping icy air gladly, and the mass of it commonly gathers in ravines, much to your torment. \ <<if $temp.untied_1>>\ You rub your hands together. They are only partly covered by the fingerless gloves, comfort traded for dexterity. <<else>>\ You awkwardly try to rub your hands together, and only end up hurting your wrists. The friction is hot yet painful on your skin, improving very little. <</if>>\ The movement catches his attention--finally--but still, he is quiet about your company. And perhaps it is a good sign, you far prefer it to snide insults, but silent company is not the reason you sought him out. You cast a look at the horse at his side. "What is…his name?" His other hand, free of the reins hooked around the knuckles in several loops, is stroking the roundness of the animal's ribs. "Specter," he admits. //Specter// has a coat of unspeckled gray, reminding you of an unimaginably large mouse, and it darkens into full black at both the mane and his legs. //Specter// is also lame, with a choppy gait and a light bob to his head. And then there is the name itself. In a tavern one time, you heard that among the Daelan nobility, it is customary to name the steeds after a prominent figure from the past: their military heroes, artists, and inventors. //"To honor them,"// the voice from your memories mocks, struggling to keep the laughter out of it, //"but why would you name your living, breathing animal after someone long dead?.. When they do not get any ill omens, those bastards will summon bad fortune upon themselves!"// Back then, you saw no value in this information, but now… Specter is not the name of a horse belonging to the nobility. It shouldn't surprise you anymore, but the attention to detail in reminding him of his status speaks of great passion for the task behind it. <<NextPage "ch2_enroute_gale2">>

You watch the horse for a while. The steps come with effort, body shuddering in pain when it has to engage one of the hind legs. Despite that, gaze trained on the path ahead, Specter looks as determined to reach the destination as its owner. In a matter of countless painful steps, of course. You cannot help but ponder one thing: if it wasn't for its slowness, would you have caught up with them? How would you have traveled now if everyone but you could have mounted? Truly a fortunate coincidence. "What happened to Specter?" you ask. It is curiosity, nothing else. Any suspect circumstance that played into your hands is not your concern. "A long time without proper care," he admits ruefully. "We had"--he glances at you--"an...altercation and were forced to flee with no regards for his state." Does he suspect you of causing this...altercation? Should you even ask? <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I should. "Was it the brigands?"|ch2_enroute_gale2a][modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[[It shouldn't matter to me. "How will you travel then?"|ch2_enroute_gale2b][]]</li> <li>[["Must have looked very dashing," I tease with a smile. "Regrettable that it was rough on Specter though."|ch2_enroute_gale2c][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

Here is a long way from Rimehall. The power of the Crown wanes the further it is from the throne, and in the absence of the armored guards, no way of enrichment is left unexplored. Gale smiles weakly without looking at you. There is something strangely cheeky about it. "No, someone much more unexpected and ruthless," he says with ease. Perhaps he is putting on a performance for your sake, but he doesn't look shaken by the encounter with this presumably vicious adversary. "We escaped in time, which is all that matters." You know at least that you've had nothing to do with it, but as for Jax... Does it help you if you know? Probably not. "So will you be trading for a horse when we arrive?" <<include ch2_enroute_gale3>>

In the places so far removed from the capital, the accessible treatments and care often degrade in sophistication while drastically increasing in cost. It would be easier to swap horses when you reach the village than to wait around this one until it recovers. But the raised brow on Gale's face tells you that his thinking on the matter never reached such pragmatic levels. That, and you don't know how long they are planning to stay in Wyrm's Nest. "I doubt it will be a quick recovery," you explain with a shrug. "And I am presuming you are not going to stay up there." <<include ch2_enroute_gale3>>

Gale glances at you with a flat and rather uninspired smile. Perhaps he feels like their timely escape wasn't dashing enough, but it certainly makes for an entertaining image in your head. What is it that would send them scrambling in such a hasty manner is another question altogether. Is it a cause for worry?.. "So will you be trading for a horse when we arrive?" you ask. <<include ch2_enroute_gale3>>

You walk in silence for a while, each step testing the frozen harshness of the ground. The horse doesn't seem to mind being the center of attention, or your hints at getting rid of it which aren't subtle at all. "Even if I considered such a thing, it is very unlikely I would find a horse there willing to tolerate me." "A poor rider?" Your jab breezes past him. "Animals sense magic," he says, and you raise your palms without thinking. \ <<if $p.mind.magic < 3>>\ You never noticed. And as if hearing the question buzzing in your mind, he continues. \ <<else>>\ Even if you have no use for it, it sits somewhere deep within you. Would any animal care if you do not resort to your magic if they can sense it? \ <</if>>\ "Some kinds of it are more dangerous to them than others." Yours. His. "Are they better at it than people?" you risk. He peeks at you with tame amusement. "They are." //Than the hunters too?// you would ask then if you wanted to drop all the pretenses, but your mouth remains closed. You can learn useful things if you are careful and have a decent sense of timing. Neither Darla nor even Arthur has stopped you from talking to Gale either. \ <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ You have plenty of time until you reach Rimehall; maybe bit by bit, you can string together what the Gray Regent wants you to learn. <<else>>\ Even if your time with them is limited by the threats made to you, you might still learn something that, if not of use to the Gray Regent, would at least help you escape the promised holding cell. <</if>>\ But first, your arrival in Wyrm's Nest. <<NextPage "ch2_arrival_1">>

As she approaches, you start hearing a gentle, melodic hum. The notes vary in pitch, one taken so high you wonder how she can keep it to a tight-lipped tune at all. She eyes you warily when it becomes clear your intention is to walk side by side with her, but it doesn't break the melody. You walk at her pace until it reaches a soft, drawn-out end and fades. The woman who has tied your hands with such diligence last evening seems to have a decent singing voice. It is one of the first things you learn about her. "What song is this?" you ask, and her brows furrow. She looks at you as if you just questioned if she could read, but as moments pass in tense silence, her expression softens. "//Alone again in the daffodils//," she tells you reluctantly and pouts. "It should be recognizable." "I've never heard it. Or that name." Darla is so surprised, she forgets that you are supposed to be a bother to her. "It can't be." She motions broadly to the sides where the trees crept up the elevation like silent watchers and slabs of crusted, old snow laid at their roots. "There is no other song to sing in the mountains." <<if $ch2.mem_confessed>>\ You ponder it for a quick moment. "I suppose it is one of those memories my head did not deem important enough to keep." <<else>>\ "There is the right song…for the mountains?" <</if>>\ That about reminds her of your differences. She shakes her head in disapproval, and mumbles something about culture. In that moment, you sense someone else having their sights on you. Not Gale or Arthur; one glistening eye of the horse that Darla leads by the reins, glaring--glaring like a human--from underneath the lock of its mane before it turns around. Darla scoffs then and turns to you with her chin raised. Her eyes hold a challenging glint. "It is from the //Ballad of Snow//, its best part. A young farmer wants to propose to the girl who lives just two houses down from his but has barely any coin left after making it through winter. Wandering the streets, he comes upon a man who looks like a weathered traveler and listens to his woes--in a song form, of course--only to learn that there is an unbelievable treasure stored in a cave of the mountain nearby. With the last of his coin, he purchases the information on its whereabouts. The ground is treacherous there and the weather unpredictable, snow could bury him without a warning and no one would know. Another ballad. After contemplating it for a few days, he decides to go. He has one meeting with his beloved right before leaving, in a patch of daffodils. She sings as she watches him go and as he is gone, she has a heavy feeling in her heart that she cannot express. That is the song. You'd hear people sing it whenever they are…lost in the woods or the mountains." And she isn't even out of breath. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I wait for a bit for her to continue, but she doesn't. "And does he make it back?"|ch2_enroute_darla1a][modFriendship("dar", 2)]]</li> <li>[['"And you…care about such things?"'|ch2_enroute_darla1b][modPlayer("playful", -3)]]</li> <li>[['"Well, without knowing of it before… In your re-enactment, it is a very beautiful melody."'|ch2_enroute_darla1c][$dar.rel.love +=1, modFriendship("dar", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I smile, but I sense that it looks somewhat bitter. "I don't suppose she went searching for him?"|ch2_enroute_darla1d][modMemories("incident", 1), modFriendship("dar", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

Darla slowly shifts her gaze to look at you, lips parted and breath drawn, but something in your expression gives her a pause. She fixes her attention on the road. "No. There is a mountain, there is a cave, but there is no treasure. The mountain never lets him go, and he finds his end cold and alone." Perhaps it //is// the right mood after all. Nature is unknown, having a mind of its own and unhearing of the human pleas. You are walking into its clutches, with the serrated outline on the horizon, and there is no reason for you to believe that your companions would rush to your help, song or no song. The only sure thing is that you are still headed in the same direction. With that, the prick of unease settles somewhat. "Not a happy story," you remark. "But a fittingly wistful melody." She doesn't argue. <<NextPage ch2_enroute_darla2>>

She glances at you sharply, and looks away just as quickly. You are left locking gazes with the horse once more. Perhaps it responds to the sound of a stranger's voice. Or perhaps Darla pulls at the reins when she talks to you. "It is as good of a thing to care about as any," she replies with a stern shrug. And perhaps she is right, that having a recognizable tune to send into the wilderness, hoping that someone should find you if you are lost, is a sensible thing to remember, the rest of the story--isn't. Theater //does// come to Riante, and there are intrepid local bands that put out a play occasionally, but at most, you passed by the stage and nothing has ever stuck out to you. You let her have this one. This is merely a distraction. <<NextPage ch2_enroute_darla2>>

Her gaze snaps to you, and then just as rapidly snaps away, at the road ahead where nothing seems to have changed in forever. She clears her throat then, and sinks into silence whose duration you can measure in trees you passed. Then finally, "It is a beautiful song." "Do you sing?" This time, Darla braves a short glance as she keeps folding the length of the reins in her hands. "Not often." And yet she did despite your presence. Mort always told you work goes better whenever you are around, so perhaps now is somewhat similar. <<NextPage ch2_enroute_darla2>>

Her shoulders jerk in some semblance of amusement when she hears your question, and her sidelong look at you is brief. "It depends on the version," she says. "Ah. There are versions." The smile lingers, and you sigh. "How does the original go?" Something crunches under her boot as she steps. "That she waited and waited, and he never returned." You exchange a look. Her eyes are still wary, but the rest of her seemed to have thawed a little with all this talk of the snow. "So, in the version when she //does// go searching?.." you trail off purposefully. "Version//s//. She either falls victim to the same fate or ends up roaming the mountains as an apparition of grief." "Three different stories then," you conclude, and she nods. Your eyes search for the farthest point in your sight, dry color almost the same shade as the sky. Could be the mountains. A ballad or no, Winter's End is a haunted stretch of land nonetheless. <<NextPage ch2_enroute_darla2>>

You catch her paying you attention once more, and spotted, Darla surrenders the question. <<if $ch2.mem_confessed>>\ "Do you remember where you come from?" Her tone is deliberately flat, she likely hasn't yet made up her mind about believing you on this. "No," you confess without reservations, and something throbs in the place where the memories of //home// are supposed to reside. "Not even the faintest idea?" she questions, brow quirked. "You do not //sound// all too foreign." She is not the first one to make that observation. Mort had you read passages to him and listened to the lilt of your voice in order to place it. That was after it became clear that dredging up any of your memories with tonics and strolls in fresh air was a waste of time. He concluded that you had to have grown up on the continent. Which could make you a //Daelen//, too, though you prefer not to dwell on it while there were still other possibilities. You recall the taste of salt on the tip of your tongue, the first real feeling you had upon waking up. It could have little or perhaps everything to do with the place of your birth, and you wouldn't know. The thirsty dryness of salt is hardly an indication of anything. "Unfortunately," you admit instead of entertaining her with theories. She doesn't say anything to that, but it is clear that the subject lingers in her thoughts. It is entirely possible that she still doesn't believe you, and there is hardly anything you can do about it now. <<else>>\ "Where do you come from?" Her tone is deliberately flat. Not an interrogation by any means, but lacking the easy sway of a casual question. You hope it doesn't show, but something throbs in the place where the memories of //home// are supposed to reside. The simplest answer lies on the surface: the city you have come to know like the back of your hand, like the carved ceiling of your room. It is the one place you feel confident about distorting to keep its inner workings hidden from a group such as this. "Riante," you reply with just a short delay, enough to make it seem like you considered if being truthful is worth it. She'll never know if you lied, and as of now, neither do you. How poetic would it be to hail from a place, forget it, and then come back to live there anyway? But Darla scoffs. "A little bit predictable," she says. "Where do //you// come from?" you ask, raising an unamused brow. She groans. "Rimehall." And rolls her head to the side away from you as you scoff just like she did. The irony does not escape you. "Well, look at us. Both so //predictable//." She takes a fast step to pull ahead of you and keeps her head high and trained on the tree line. You get one last warning look from the horse. <</if>>\ You keep to yourself after this. You doubt even the Sisters know what awaits for you once you clear the forest. <<NextPage ch2_arrival_1>>

You do not dream that frequently, and when you do, it is in fragments of your days, your weeks and not your years. And they fade, for the repetitive, insignificant bits that they are--but what you saw last night lingers on your mind. //Vyrell// Not that you tried to remember every name you heard in passing, but this one, for all the tense excitement it brings you, you just discovered yesterday. You cannot name anyone in Riante who bears it, or recall reading it in a book. For all you know, you are not its native, but you know Riante well enough to account for all the established families. But who is to say it is a well-established family? Or a family that comes from or lives in Riante? Your powers? <<if $p.mind.magic == 3>>\ You haven't used them anyway. It could be a long line of common people without a shred of magical inclination, and you would be the first one at the crossroads. <<else>>\ Mages often flee to settle under the invisible awning of the Gray Regent's protection: the city is filled with bloodlines as much as it is with the lone upstarts. You could be one of them, but you were also found far outside the city's bounds. <</if>>\ You cannot exclude anything, it seems. Heavy, your gaze falls on the furthest treeline, past Arthur and the tall shape of his horse. If they are to be believed, your destination is populated, and even if the odds are miniscule, there could be information there ripe for the plucking. Maybe this is one of those certainties that led Jax to this plan. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Though I am not too sure I want to pursue.|ch2_enroute_solo1a][modPlayer("oldnew", 3)]]</li> <li>[[I should find a way to communicate this revelation to Jax somehow. They have a much broader reach than I.|ch2_enroute_solo1b][modPlayer("oldnew", -3), modAffinity("y", 2)]]</li> <li>[[Maybe I can find the answers in my own head instead.|ch2_enroute_solo1c][modPlayer("oldnew", -3), modAffinity("player", 2)]]</li> </ul></div>

The way you are now, at least you know what you can expect. Perhaps not from the rest of the day, from the people you are surrounded with, or from the village that you are trying to reach, but at least from yourself. You are bare, weighted down by the gaps and emptiness, but your sense of sense does not rely on the hazy presence from the past that hangs over and behind your shoulder. The path you have ahead is yours. But how would it change if you uncovered more about the presence, the choices you have made before? Do you even wish to know who $p.name Vyrell //was//? <<include ch2_enroute_solo2>>

You cannot barge onto foreign territory and begin pestering the strangers about the name you have only just recall, can you? Looking around, you can tell that you will not have that much choice about your time in the nearest future to even contemplate such a wasteful endeavor. You need a plan and access to a wider circle of people, all the things for which you lack resources. But if you could arrive upon one of those opportunities to communicate that Jax teased with, perhaps you can ask a favor in return. You wonder if they would agree. If they would think it important enough to tell the Gray Regent of it. <<include ch2_enroute_solo2>>

The name is a thread. Something--being asked to introduce yourself--pulled at it, and now you need to strain yourself and pull at it with more force. Everything in your mind is connected. Even now, though you cannot tell what it is exactly, you can sense something stir whenever you summon the ghostly recollection of your dream. It is inexplicable, slipping past your thoughts and leaving only a trace of what was there just a moment ago. It frustrates you, but it is //there//. Something more than just your name. Everything is connected if you follow the thread. <<include ch2_enroute_solo2>>

These thoughts occupy your mind as you follow Arthur's lead silently, only present if a rare root or a dried-out brook with its bed crusted in ice slush crossing your path. That gets no complaints from anyone. <<NextPage ch2_arrival_1>>

As the sun passes the peak on the skydome, you emerge from the tall growth and begin struggling against harsher elevation. The windy road takes you to the base of a hill, offering you a peek at the wooden structures sitting atop it like a makeshift crown. The woods you have left behind were surprisingly quiet and lifeless, but here where it opens up, you notice the broad stripe of ridged ground, gouged by the wheels of heavy carts in the summer and then frozen within the depths of autumn. The main road they seem to have purposefully avoided. Beyond the hill, with the tapestry of drab brown treetops at its feet, you see the mighty steep breadth of the Winter's End mountain range, whose furthest and tallest peaks dressed in eternal snow disappear into the milky ether of the overhanging clouds. The shy strips of exposed stone slabs have a bluish tint to them, marred with crevices of inky black that run upward to the heights you dare not even think of. Even looking at them, you feel cold in the very center of your bones. Somewhere within the depths of the range is Sylvanna's Peak: a sharp rocky claw shooting out for the very skies, impassable and dangerous. "I suppose it wasn't an exaggeration," Darla says with a wearied frown and an unhappy downturn to her mouth. Somewhere along the way she has wrapped her neck with a scarf that she now pulled down to complain. "It most certainly is the middle of nowhere." "//The winter rages on its final stretches, pulling the earth around it and sealing it in ice,//" with his gaze on the peaking horizon, Gale recites dully what you can only guess is a quote, be it poetry or a geographical survey. "Armies marched here. Not exactly nowhere." You hear heavy steps crunch the footing and, alarmed, glance over your shoulder, though it is merely Arthur. It took him curiously long to catch up with the rest of you, his horse's snout practically over his shoulder. He passes you without stopping but slowly, as if needing to win every step. "We can see it," he mutters. "What are we standing for?" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["Just get on the horse," I tell him. "It won't be any easier uphill."|ch2_arrival_2][$path to 1; modFriendship("art", 1)]]</li> <li>[["Whose armies marched here?" I ask Gale.|ch2_arrival_2][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[[I'm not looking forward to the climb, but standing here won't make it any easier anyway.|ch2_arrival_2][$path to 3]]</li> <li>[[I gaze at the top as a foreboding feeling courses through me. I won't be the first to follow him.|ch2_arrival_2][$path to 4]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $temp.history_lesson to false>>\ <<if $path is 1>>\ As if not expecting to even hear from you, Arthur turns in confusion, his cloudy gaze gaining alert clarity. You patiently wait for him to make peace with hearing a suggestion of such amiable character from you, and decide not to put your own motives into questioning. <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ "The horse?" Arthur asks with stupefied difficulty. "You look and act tired. And this"--you nod at the hill--"is not a quick climb." His attention flows to his ride, the reins wrapped around his fist, and for a moment you are almost convinced he is entertaining the idea. "Let's go," he finally replies, wincing the fatigue away. "Arthur," Gale intervenes, intentionally or not lending you support. "I think Finn had enough rest." In response to his name, the horse shakes his head, tall ears lightly flopping. "It's fine," the hunter says, a touch less sure, but when he breaks out to the lead of the group, you have no choice but to follow. <<else>>\ "Don't you get any ideas," Arthur finally says with a weak scoff and shakes rogue strands out of his face. His next stubborn steps have a lot more force behind them, so if anything, you have awoken him to the need to put on wide-awake airs. You roll your eyes and trudge behind him. <</if>>\ <<elseif $path is 2>><<set $temp.history_lesson to true>>\ His brows rise lightly at your question as if he only now remembered you are also here. Arthur, who has by now broken into the lead, groans and doesn't stop. Pulled by the invisible rope, everyone follows, but it seems like your question is not entirely forgotten. <<if $ch2.mem_confessed>>\ "Is this one of the things you do not remember?" Darla asks, her tone skeptical yet curious. <<else>>\ "And here I thought mages received an education," Darla says flatly. Her remark snaps against your core but for the reason she does not know and cannot even imagine. The mages that the Grey Regent tends to most certainly receive education, history and politics included. Maybe you did as well, but it happens to be one of the things sealed away with a padlock in your head. <</if>>\ Those who know this about you do not expect you to understand vague references. Mort has always, after a quick stumble, added a thing or two to every name and location to help you form something of a worldview. Although full of holes, it allowed you to rise to the challenge of Jax' assignments every time, and that used to be enough. <<if $ch2.mem_confessed>>\ "It is," you say earnestly. "But you don't have to answer." <<else>>\ "We have a different focus," you say with a nonchalant shrug. "You don't have to answer." <</if>>\ "The Skyward sea is across these mountains," Gale explains, "and marks a part of the western border to Daelan. But over a hundred years ago this land was territory belonging to Valaine." A land across the Skyward sea, renowned sailors and settlers. But you didn't recall that they used to have a foothold here. "Once Daelan //stabilized//"--he casts you a puzzling look--"they began thinking about the borders. Valaini presence nearly landlocked the country in the west. So they sought to rectify the situation, first attempting negotiations which bore no fruit and then--force. The mountains are a well-defensible position, but the need to constantly carry the supplies over the sea crippled Valaine's army eventually." <<if $ch2.mem_confessed>>\ Darla smirks, glancing at you head to toe. "Could you be Valaini nobility and not even remember it?" she asks. The sense of a joke in her tone is overwhelming, but faced with an idea, even so outrageous, that has never crossed your mind, you draw a sudden blank. "A whole fleet sitting somewhere without a signet ring to tell them how to run trade." You would know something like that, wouldn't you? Or perhaps someone in Riante would recognize you. But then you recall the salty feeling in your dry throat when you woke up, drained of memories, and you are not so sure. "I doubt it," you say shakily, and she loses interest with a dismissive node. <<else>>\ "Mother's family rose to power for participating in the campaign," Darla adds in a bored voice. You had an inkling that these two lands maintained a strained relationship but you never thought you'd set foot on the cause of their century-old strife. "I see," you say. A site like that must be rife with tunnels and secret passages. It could prove useful. <</if>>\ <<elseif $path is 3>>\ You don't have to admit it aloud but the sooner you set out, the better, and the hunter is right in that. It is within your interest to make it with daylight to spare to afford a proper inspection of the settlement because you cannot rely on your companions for anything. And so, maintaining a few steps of distance, you follow. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ The prospect of having to face strangers suddenly creeps up on you. What binds your new companions to you is the oath you've given, but what stops them from abandoning you anyway once the comfort of a proper bed clears their minds? In the forest, nothing was changing besides the pattering out of surrounding flora. But up on that hill, there are mage hunters. They may still change their minds. The prince may still decide to toss out your hair-thin alliance, and then you have to escape through the streets with who knows how many armed guards and hunters. <<else>>\ Taking in the hilltop that life within the area seems to converge to, you come to the realization that your fate will be decided there, under the tips of the roofs you can already see, on the streets that await for you. You wish you would know the same things Jax did when they offered you their assurances. What could possibly protect you from prison? What could keep the rest of the mage hunters away? How would Jax know it and not the noble-blooded mage hunter himself? <</if>>\ Reluctantly, you try to fit back into the line, delaying it for as long as you can until Darla eventually clears her throat insistently. She looks nearly fresh and unbothered by the upcoming venture into the village. Then again, unlike you, she has nothing to worry about. <</if>>\ In the time it takes to merge with the main road and reach the top, the wind picks up, teasing your skin with its painful touch. You might need a change of clothes if this continues, as obviously you are not supposed to have a fitting set on you because //you never expected this to happen//. Seeing an occasional rider trickle into the gates, you wonder if the trade inside will allow for that. At one point you notice Gale feed half an apple to the hunter's horse much to the delight of the animal. Then, in an obvious expression of jealousy, his own ride butts his shoulder with its snout and receives the second half for the trouble. Arthur either does not notice or prefers to not pay it any attention. <<if $temp.untied_1>>\ You wonder if his fatigue can offer you an advantage in the upcoming evening. <<else>>\ He does eventually pay attention to you, however. As if just awoken, he beckons Darla closer and murmurs something to her just out of your earshot. The next thing you know, she approaches, unsheathing a dagger. You freeze, prepared to run. "Calm down," she says, looking not at your face but at your hands balled into fists in front of you. She lifts them as you twitch, and then the dagger undoes the ropes that were the source of your torment throughout the night. You do not even taste the relief immediately--your hands stay next to one another for a moment, and then you //will// them apart. Cold air laps at the chafed skin. Oh, that feels good. "Why?" you ask, light-headed, marveling at the freedom your wrists enjoy. "We do not want attention," she grumbles. "But that goes for you as well. You should know better than to act rashly." You meet her grim look, rubbing the tender skin under your cuffs. Running is the opposite of what you should be doing, every moment spent with them in accordance with your plans, but she doesn't need to know that. You nod, feigning reluctance. She nods so that you walk ahead of her. <</if>>\ <<NextPage ch2_arrival_3>>

Soon the fortifications around Wyrm's Nest stop looking like children's toys and stretch upward in their real height. The walls look well-maintained, wooden poles hardened with rock, though the road that feeds into the gates looks as beaten as it did at the foot of the hill. Still, it doesn't seem to bother the wagons waiting by its side or the small makeshift market that has broken out nearby. Fish, small trinkets. You might even see a bit of a lyre on one of the provisional stands, though you doubt anyone would think to sell, let alone buy a musical instrument here. You earn wary glances, a sensation that every mage, you've learned, grows into like they do with their bodies. Fortunately, it doesn't go beyond looking, and perhaps all they are trying to gauge is how much coin--or trouble--you will be bringing on you into their village. Despite that, you receive next to no scrutiny from the guard who looks too old to realistically do something should you misbehave. He gives you as little as a careful and experienced look from under the bushy brows, notes the lack of trade carts attached to any of the horses your group possesses, and nods for you to go in. You almost regret it. Because now the village is inevitable. Wyrm's Nest is not the place of riches. It was built on the ruins of an old military outpost, laid down with beaten stones and allowing for a wide marching path. The houses that sprouted after it are practical, low-rise and densely packed, windows dark, cloth serving where the old construction has given in. Ropes run in the narrow nooks between neighbors, where homespun clothes and the game are hung out to dry almost next to one another. There are stalls here and there with dried meats, goat milk and fleshy roots you do not recognize, as well as tools for woodworking and hunting. You are almost sure that the urchin wearing trousers with both knees torn is weaseling between the stalls for more than just a look at the goods. And yet despite the overwhelming ambiance, your eyes are hungry to look at anything that isn't a pine needle-covered forest bed. The conversations around you refuse to settle into one harmony. Plenty argue. Some are downright yelling at each other. Your procession, dressed in sturdy armor of visible craftsmanship, with your well-fed horses, and wrapped in the air of self-importance pulls attention. It is of the wary kind that rouses you from the hours-long trance you have plunged into to preserve what strength you could. Arthur's gaze is searching, you notice when you are finally ready to spare your companions a moment of attention. You are willing to bet today's dinner that he is expecting to run into the mage hunters he has so confidently promised you, and the realization leaves you unsettled. You reach the square, \ <<if $temp.outpost_info>>\ your mind refusing to think what might have transpired here in wartime. \ <<else>>\ and your explorative pace grinds to a halt. \ <</if>>\ The centerpiece of it is a wooden podium, convenient if one wanted to deliver an announcement and be seen, voice booming over the heads, with a young tree supported by two wooden stakes. From here, streets curve out of view in many directions: another broad path leads into the mountains, and few others hide within the village walls. It doesn't take a lot to guess that the tall building across from you with small but plentiful holes for windows is a tavern, an inn or both. "We will need rooms," Darla says, running her hand down the snout of her horse. Although it seems like her words are directed at Arthur, she is loud enough so that the passersby can pick up on it. Perhaps even intentionally. Arthur shakes his head, attention on the streets. "We must speak with the High Sentinel first." //Sentinel//. For a bunch of hounds, they certainly like to pick fancy titles. To the common folk, they are benevolent figures, of course, silently watching out for the dangers of magic. The ugliness of it shouldn't seep into the outward image, into the word that will be written into history. But everyone knows //what// they are. "We should at least take the horses to their stable," Darla argues. "Or do we think his workroom is large enough for them?" You hear a soft huff--Gale--and Arthur tensely rubs his neck. Then, with a grunt, he peers at you in thought and sighs. "Fine." <<NextPage ch2_arrival_4>>

The inn has no sign, and in a village this small, it probably does not even need one. You only needed to ask once, a red-cheeked man with a weaved basket full of dry pine cones that he tried to sell you, to be pointed toward the right door. In an exchange of few words, Gale volunteers himself to stay with the horses, while Darla insists on going inside alongside Arthur. The poignant, sideways look that the latter throws at you after exchanging glances with Gale informs you that they assume you stay outside, out of the innkeeper's view. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I prefer to stay as well. Fresh air and everything.|ch2_arrival_4gale][]]</li> <li>[[I would like to learn what the accommodations are going to look like, so I follow them inside.|ch2_arrival_4inn][]]</li> </ul></div>

Between looking like you could afford to go along with any decision they make, you choose a peek at your future. It is enough that you are willingly stepping onto the mage hunter territory, the very least they can do is reveal what tonight will have in store for you. Arthur catches you on to what you are doing by the entrance, and his mouth presses into a straight, frustrated line. But given that you are not trying to sneak out--what he must be expecting of you on every turn--he says nothing. Your arrival is announced by the creaking of the heavy door that has quite likely never experienced oiling. Travelers stop here, for there //is// an inn, but not often, for it must have seen better days. Immediately on your right, there is a bent door that looks like it would never quite close tightly. Tables peek through the crack, with a few patrons sinking their faces into tankards, but all you can think of is that where there is ale, food must be nearby. Arthur leans on the counter of solid wood, one hand clasped over the other and balled into a fist. Darla lingers on his left and you, strapped for choices, hang on his right. When his gaze, heavy and concentrated, drifts from you to the corner where the innkeeper is taking off the thick gloves, his expression starts to change. The layer of fatigue and caution peels off, leaving a relaxed smile and cordial warmth in his eyes. "Welcome to Wyrm's Nest. What can I do for your esteemed party?" the innkeeper asks, approaching. He is a heavy-set man with an impressive beard of red and a freckled face with wet brown eyes. His hands are rough from labor, covered in long fresh scratches that didn't break the skin. "Esteemed?" Arthur repeats without worry, pulling a pleased note. "Most of the faces that come through here we know," the man grouches and his gaze skips over your ragtag group. "Newcomers stand out, especially dressed like that." Arthur laughs softly, with approval. "It is a special visit, I will not lie," he concedes. "But our business is with the High Sentinel, so we won't cause trouble." "The hunters," the man cackles, making a frown appear on Arthur's face to your bitter amusement. "And what business would that be?" You tense, struggling against your body's betrayal. \ <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ You are bound by an oath, and all you got in return were promises. Intangible, fragile, fickle. Everything can change in a span of a moment. <<else>>\ Talking about you without mentioning you explicitly, hinting at your future without outright saying a single thing. <</if>>\ "Oh, that is for the hunters to sort out," Arthur responds almost humorously. The innkeeper shakes his head, an inaudible murmur on his lips. That's all you learn. As always. "Sure, if you can even catch them..." he grumbles, swiftly skipping to the part that interests him more. "You need to pay in advance. I don't like any slippery or forgetful kinds." You can't be surprised that an inn in a remote village like this doesn't turn down customers, but your nerves refuse to settle. It doesn't help how calm and nearly cheerful Arthur suddenly looks, gesturing broadly and calmly like a storyteller trying to spin one of his plots. Only a single quick and sharp glance at Darla betrays his concerns, but she takes it as an invitation to step closer. "Of course," Arthur assures, and all of a sudden something glimmers between his gloved fingers. He deftly flips the coin a few times, and it flickers enticingly in the rare light. The innkeeper looks over all of you once more before grumbling something unintelligible. "How many rooms then?" <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ <<include "ch2_arrival_4inn_oath">> <<else>>\ <<NextPage ch2_arrival_4inn_nooath>> <</if>>\

That, you are perhaps even more curious to hear than him. Tipping your head, you stare at the back of Arthur's head expectantly. "Three." What appears to raise no questions in the innkeeper's mind, does in yours. Perhaps you shouldn't expect him to pay for your stay, but he didn't even ask if you will be springing for it. What is far more likely in such light is that you should expect another night of someone keeping watch over you. From the way Darla stirs, glancing at you with appraisal, this concern is shared. You feel a sliver of faint, passing satisfaction at that. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I'd still very much like my own room. Was one night not enough?|ch2_arrival_4inn_oath2][$path to 1, modAffinity("player", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I doubt I could even argue that successfully. Let's not make a scene.|ch2_arrival_4inn_oath2][$path to 2]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ You step up, trying to appear relaxed. No need to disturb the smooth flow of this endeavor. "I'd like to have a separate room as well," you say. It is rather unclear who you should be telling this, so the request escapes and simply lingers in the air. Arthur meets your gaze, and you note the surprising lack of immediate hostility. The look is tense, but the smile is there as well. The innkeeper reckons with it first. "You get three rooms. Or do you have… special requests? Consider this a friendly advice, but there is no second inn for miles from here." "Just a room," you maintain. "Oh, you are getting special treatment, don't you worry," Arthur mutters with a smile that seems frozen, turning to the owner of the establishment. "Our friend is simply tired. Thank you, three rooms more than cover our needs." //Friend.// //Tired.// The former you cannot be, but the latter you most certainly are. You glare, accepting the terms. "Three rooms it is," the innkeeper draws out, warily looking between you and Arthur. "It is a silver a night." "Steep," the hunter says with a friendly chuckle, easily brushing off your earlier interruption. Then, he readily drops the coins onto the counter, in some truly magical feat bypassing the need to reach into a purse. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ It probably isn't wise to interfere with the arrangement that Arthur is trying to secure, and even if you tried to offer your personal coin, it is unlikely money is what truly stands between you and the comfort of a solitary stay. "Three rooms it is," the innkeeper confirms. "It is a silver a night." "Steep," the hunter says with a friendly chuckle, but readily drops the coins onto the counter, in some truly magical feat bypassing the need to reach into a purse. <</if>>\ <<include "ch2_arrival_4inn2">>

You give up feigning stoic indifference and stare at the back of Arthur's head in anticipation of his response. "Three." Although the number is far from surprising, your mouth twitches. Briefly, your narrowed gaze meets that of the innkeeper. "Three rooms it is," the man draws out and drags his attention back to Arthur. "It is a silver a night." It seems like he can sense whose purse the coin will come from. "Steep," the hunter says with a friendly chuckle, but readily drops the coins onto the counter, in some truly magical feat bypassing the need to reach into a purse. <<include "ch2_arrival_4inn2">>

The keeper counts the pieces in a flash, then eyes your group with some experienced curiosity. Something about it is nervous beyond monetary gain. "Nine, huh? Things have to be rough where you come from if you wish to stay here three nights in a--" "Rimehall," Arthur offers conversationally despite interrupting. Perhaps the name he least expected to hear, only second to Riante. The innkeeper forgets to be subtle about his surprise, laughing both in frustration and at the hunter's gall. "Ah, rats. I should have charged you more," he croaks, sweeping the coins with one hand into the open palm of the other. "You are a gutsy lad though. Might just make it here all the nights you paid for--if these two watch your back." Darla scoffs and tips her head. "You would happen to offer a warm bath?" she asks. The question was brewing for a while, her eyes glimmering with hope. Oh, that. The cold stream offered a way to refresh yourself, but not to scrub out a tense day worth of travel out of your skin. "Three coppers for a fill," the innkeeper readily responds with a hint of pride. "It is next to the kitchens. You will need to find Alora for it." Darla smiles in relief, the most relaxed you have seen her ever, and retreats back a step. All she needed to know. Arthur requests a meal then, and for the horses to be taken care of. The things even a simple inn would provide. But just as you turn to fetch Gale, the innkeeper beckons you back. <<if $p.gender is "male">>\ "Before you go," he says slowly, looking at the row of you like you were a market stall, searching. Puzzled, you notice that his next warning goes out to both you and Arthur. "If you see a young woman scurrying about, same colors as mine only a hundred times more beautiful, stay away no matter how much she dogs you, understand? She likes these... capital types." Darla, you see even over Arthur, rolls her eyes. "I am not the capital type," you provide rather helpfully. But as soon as the objection escapes, doubt creeps in. You cannot know that with certainty, can you? It might as well just be something you //wish// to be true--and that is often far removed from the actual truth. "//Understand?//" the innkeeper repeats sternly. Either your argument did not hold, or it didn't matter to begin with. Arthur laughs weakly, drawing fire upon himself. "We understand," he says, giving a reassuring nod. "We don't want any trouble at all." <<else>>\ "Now, wait a minute." The innkeeper waves his large hand, grasping for Arthur's attention, which he gets, and narrows his eyes. "Yeah, she goes for that… If you see a young woman scurrying about, same mug as mine only a hundred times more beautiful, stay away no matter how much she dogs you, understand?" The hunter looks amused, entertained even, and Darla rolls her eyes rather unsubtly. "Understood," Arthur reassures with a smile. "We wouldn't want trouble at all." <</if>>\ "We will see about that," the man responds, already turning away. <<NextPage ch2_arrival_5>> /* MAGIC TRICK */

As Arthur and Darla disappear in the inn, Gale gets to tying the horses with practiced ease. A little awkwardly, you loiter next to him. He doesn't glare like the others, but his presence, quiet and heavy, is far from comforting. No one is in a rush to take care of the animals, though for all you know, you haven't been recognized as the guests in the inn yet. You haven't done this often in your duty, staying away from villages, travelling light, and never needing a horse. Your most trusty means of getting around were your own feet, the extent of Jax' power, and the occasional carts passing by. Now you are surrounded by three horses--and a quiet young man watching them lap the water. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I feel eyes on me. Darla's horse.|ch2_inn_gale2][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[[Arthur's steed looks most impressive. I walk around it.|ch2_inn_gale2][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[[I sit perched on the hitching rail, enjoying the silence.|ch2_inn_gale2][$path to 3]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $dar.callbacks.horse to true>><<if $path is 1>>\ <<if $temp.forest == "d">>\ This isn't the first time you catch it staring with some animalistic wisdom in those eyes and the mouth that could be snarling if it wasn't busy drinking. <<else>>\ Unlike the passing glances that animals tend to regard people with, assessing dangers and distances, this one lingers, carrying a certain measure of wisdom in it. If it were a human, they'd be frowning, you think, and the sensation is unsettling. <</if>>\ The horse is content to meet your stare, and only rolls its eye away after a stretch of time, transforming into a steed that easily blends into the surroundings the same moment. As if you needed more attention. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ You didn't get a chance to even approach the animal earlier, and now it eyes you warily, much like its owner. The horse is tall for its kind, the coat of faded brown over the visible muscle shines even in the dull light of a cloudy day. The dark eyes follow a few steps of yours and then close as it returns to drinking, shaking its ears to swat some insect you prefer not to look too closely at. Something tells you that approaching, let alone touching, would be far from sensible. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ Your respite is brief. Eyes closed, you can sense a disturbance, appraising gaze on your skin. Not Gale, he is //different//. <</if>>\ "You are a mage, aren't you?" you hear, startled. The voice is high and reaches from beneath. As your gaze drops, it finds a top of black curls belonging to a boy with an upturned nose that has clearly been broken once. He is squinting, shoulders squared to make himself look bigger, but he cannot be older than eight summers. His homespun clothes betray that a skilled hand has sewn them from the most inappropriate of materials--home linens and harsh cottons--and he hasn't taken great care of it either. A rope around his shoulders keeps the fabrics bunched, preventing them from getting in the way of his movement. The boy, much to your surprise, is looking solely at Gale, as if demanding the answer from him and him alone. You have always known who he was, from the moment you heard his name, so you never tried to pick out what about him would warn of his Gift. Perhaps everyone can tell that the blade at his waist has not seen even a moment of work. Too pristine, too much out of the way of his arm. "Yes," Gale replies without deception, and you can scarcely believe it. Sure, no one would lock //him// in a cell, but it doesn't mean no one would be willing to //try//. You look over the street in concern, but so far, his stiff manner and the lack of details only make the boy crinkle his nose in triumph. "Mother said you were. She said you were dangerous, that I ought to stay away. But I'm not afraid!" And declaring that, he makes a step towards the mage prince to illustrate his proclaimed bravery. "What are you doing here?" "I'm not sure if this is wise," Gale says, brows furrowed. "Magic can be rather terrifying." The child doesn't know, but you do. The Fourth cast a hard shadow upon him, and even now you can almost imagine the subtle red glow in his dispassionate eyes. "You can't even do anything with Jayna around," the boy goads, though his voice is not as firm as before. If he wants to scare you into anything, he is doing so poorly. "And you haven't done a single magic since you arrived." You scoff. Having cast a spell in a village full of strangers, one should tie themself to a pole straight away to save everyone the trouble. But the child, you are starting to see, is after a different thing. "You want to see magic?" Gale asks directly, hot on your heels. The boy scowls, but his eyes crinkle. "It's not like you can do it…" And yet he stands there. Stands and waits. The child is asking to see something--someone--die, and doesn't even know it. It is amusing in a grim way, and as the thought is catching up with Gale too--he looks over to you. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>><li>[[I suppose I could try using mine to get him off our back…|ch2_inn_gale2a][$path to 1, modPlayer("crafty", -2)]]</li><</if>> <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>><li>[[Foolish child. He'll run off crying once I'll show him what a mage of the First is capable of.|ch2_inn_gale2a][$path to 2, modPlayer("vil", 3), modTrust("gale", -2)]]</li><</if>> <li>[["You should listen to your mother. Bothering strangers could be quite dangerous, mage or no." I motion for him to get going.|ch2_inn_gale2b][modTrust("gale", 1), modFriendship("gale", 2)]]</li> <li>[[Perfect, just what I needed. "Beat it, kid, this isn't a circus."|ch2_inn_gale2c][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> <li>[["He was joking. There are no mages here," I tell him with a bored expression. "Now stop bothering us."|ch2_inn_gale2d][modTrust("gale", 1), modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <<if $p.mind.magic >= 2>><li>[[It's no magic, but I can show him that one coin trick I've learned.|ch2_inn_gale2e][modTrust("gale", 1), modFriendship("gale", 2)]]</li><</if>> <li>[[I only shrug. It is not my problem that he looks so obviously like a mage.|ch2_inn_gale2f][modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

Your magic is far more versatile than what Gale can do. From covert manipulations to the feats that war strategies hinge on, the Gift of the First is a precious tool in knowledgeable hands. \ <<if $path is 1>>\ You are practiced enough to muster something that would satisfy his curiosity without outright scaring him--and perhaps it is better so in the long term. Magic is a //tool//, after all. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ The brat shouldn't have asked you after its most base forms, the small conveniences you are afforded as its user. You will not make a mockery of it. If he wants a demonstration, you can provide one: a splendid performance that will ensure he will never be so cocky about magic ever again. <</if>>\ Though you have to remember where you are. A mage hunter nearby, you have almost forgotten what it's like to be out of his sight. Something presses against your mind, but it could as well be an imprint his presence has left. You need to be quick then. A careful look over your shoulder to see if the door is ajar and then… "Now here is something," you say as magic awakens within you, with effort, strained, breaking free. It flows through your body in a liberating wave, so welcome after what you've gone through. Absently you notice that the horses strain their necks, alert without knowing why. <<if $path is 1>>\ The power of Reach has many edges, though it is most //fun// when you get to relieve some smart mouth of their possession. You never got to do that in the unfortunate encounter with the thug just a few days ago, watch his mouth move helplessly as you yanked the pouch out of his pocket. Now, the child. Your eyes shift around him, choosing the target. Your goal is not to hurt, not to scare. But he could stand to be a little humbler… There. It looks like he is wearing something around his neck. Why not? Your hand raises to your chest, wrist lax and fingers lazily outstretched, prepared to snatch it with flourish. Gale appears in front of you as if from thin air. His expression is as calm as before, but he startles you still. "What are you doing?" he asks quietly, his gaze snapping to the sides subtly. Life about you goes on as before. "Nothing bad," you counter just as quietly. "An innocent trick. He asked." He turns around, facing the boy. "You should leave." By now, you are used to the reserved way he speaks, but the child scowls. "I knew you are just pretending," he proclaims and, stomping his foot in disappointment, does as he was asked. The air clears and quietens, magic slinking back, unspent. You sigh. "We are a far cry from pretenders," you say. This feels like a wasted opportunity somehow. "It does him no good to be around us," he tells you, "and it does us no good if the whole street sees you." <<elseif $path is 2>>\ A child. You can easily lift a child off the ground and introduce him to helplessness. Then you'll see if his bravery last to challenge another mage to //perform//. The boy's eyes open wide as your power swells. And in the next moment, you are looking at Gale, between you and the arrogant child. "What are you doing?" he asks coldly. There is a stubborn glint in his eyes as he is looking at you. Interrupted, your magic slinks back, and you hear a patter of hurried steps. //Little coward//. "There is nothing wrong with teaching him a lesson," you retort, flexing your fingers. The unspent energy still tingles there. You have gone longer without using magic, but you were never //forced// to abstain from it before. "Which lesson is it?" You smile weakly. "Didn't someone just say that magic can be terrifying?" Gale isn't as amused by the reminder and withdraws, making a small turn to survey the street. "You aren't making a good case for your story, you know," he says, speaking as if to no one but knowing that you are listening. You scoff. Why just a warning then? <</if>>\ <<include ch2_inn_gale3>>

The boy looks at you, not surprised at all by your dismissive statement. So he //did// see you, at least. "I knew it," he argues, with you now. "You aren't as--" "Go," Gale suddenly interrupts. By now, you are used to the reserved way he speaks, but for the boy, it is an abruptly cold dismissal. He staggers, unsure, then slowly turns around and only then adds wind to his step, skipping away. <<include ch2_inn_gale3>>

He scowls at you immediately and staggers a small step. You keep him pinned with a glare, determined to do so until he disappears. "Go," Gale adds. By now, you are used to the reserved way he speaks, but for the annoying boy, it is another cold dismissal. Waving his hand at you as if you are some kind of stubborn, lost cause, the brat skips away, leaving you blessedly alone. <<include ch2_inn_gale3>>

The boy looks at you, not surprised at all by you weighing in. So he //did// see you, at least. "You are lying," he argues, with you now. Now, since when do you look less trustworthy than the mage prince?.. "I am telling the truth," you retort, mirroring his stubbornness but keeping your expression unbothered. "But if you keep searching--//elsewhere//--you might find a mage." He glares at you, cheeks round with frustrated and disappointed air, but then, mercifully, turns around and stomps away. You cast a careful look around. If there were any parties interested in watching this develop, their attention isn't on you any longer. You sigh a quick breath of relief. <<include ch2_inn_gale3>>

"Alright, watch this," you intervene, instantly pulling all of the boy's attention to yourself. You were bad in the beginning. Terrible with a practice weapon and forbidden from touching the real one. But coincidentally, between being looked at by Mort and helping him with the herbs, you had a lot of time to waste, and you did no wasting. Your body fought all the first steps, at first sluggish for being bedridden, then out of inexplicable stubbornness, and yet you pushed through. The first trick was repetition, the easiest of them all when you had the time to spare. Starting at sunrise, calling it a day when too many eyes were on you--every day until it shaped itself into the thing you were so desperate for. Confidence. With that, the second challenge stood before you. Creativity. You saw little help from people that weren't Mort, but those who appeared in Riante rather infrequently were much chattier. One of them, a man old enough to have you as his youngest child who lied with a chuckle and said he was a merchant, showed you a trick. Useful for practicing sleight of hand, he explained, and proceeded to boast a copper coin to your face, fold it in his palm and then pull it from behind your ear. It was stupid, you thought back then. But Mort suggested you practice it. Gave you something to do when you couldn't train in the open. A copper is a small price to pay for silence. You might just let the boy keep it, so you approach with it already swimming out of your pocket, coarse to the touch, with rugged edges. You stop, and he looks tense, needing to crane his neck and watch your every movement. Smiling, you let the coin skip between your knuckles, weaving in and out, back and forth, until you snap it in your fist. One glance at Gale. He is watching too, though it is impossible to tell for sure what he thinks of it. "Now, a simple coin, right?" You let it dance once more in your right hand, in and out, lulling him to be calm. Then you close your fingers again, and nearly simultaneously reach for his ear with your left. He flinches but doesn't move, and you reveal the coin between the thumb and the index finger of your left, tutting. "Now, why did you seal it then?" He looks at the coin hotly and pouts. "Maeve can do it when she's not drunk," he says, looking at you from under his brows. You snort. "Well, this is the only magic trick you will be seeing from us, young man." As the public is ungrateful, you snatch the coin. No gifts today. "I knew it," he grumbles in careful triumph at you, then makes a point to scoff at Gale. "You can't do anything." As you watch the child leave, resolved in his prior beliefs, your thoughts shift to the man behind you. <<include ch2_inn_gale3>>

No one forced him to tell the truth. Lying to a child should be an easy thing, yet he brought this on himself. He quickly shifts his gaze away from you, regarding the boy that still waits to be proven wrong. "You are right," Gale says, and the child's mouth falls open in surprise. "What?" "You are right," Gale repeats. By now, you are used to the reserved way he speaks, but the confused expression on the annoying boy's face says that he cannot decide if it is mockery. "I cannot do it." The child cannot decide if he should laugh, be angry, or both. "Is that all?" Gale asks in the indecisive silence. He receives a glare in response, cheeks round with frustrated and disappointed air. Then, mercifully, the boy turns around and stomps away. Gale follows him with a heavy look, as if purposefully avoiding meeting yours. <<include ch2_inn_gale3>>

"Why did you tell him you were a mage then?" you ask. He looks over in the direction where the boy disappeared, then turns to you. "I thought it would scare him off." You are about to tell him that one can never tell with a child if curiosity or fear prevails in a given moment, but the inn doors opening steals all the attention. Arthur informs you--mostly Gale--that the rooms have been paid for and the horses will be taken care of. In the meantime, you ought to have a meal. And somehow, that includes you. <<NextPage "ch2_arrival_5">>

Food is served in one of the inn's side halls, with a separate entrance now barred and blocked by a bench. There is an oddly long table on one side, you can almost imagine a dozen soldiers wolfing on rations at it, and the smaller ones line the opposite wall. Aside from you, there is a sole other guest, slouched and quiet, who finishes his broth before yours even arrives. It is warm here, at least. You take the furthest end of the long table and wait for your portions in an uncomfortable silence. With hunger making itself painfully apparent when food is dangled at the end of the stick, you do not even bother to question what comes //after it//. You get the broth. A young woman, hair of familiar color twisted and bunched on both sides of her face, with strong arms and dance-like fluidity to her movements, places the bowls in front of you and smiles sweetly, her gaze lingering on your faces. Slices of vegetables not lost to long hours of simmering, the light burn of the spices, the thick warm liquid... You have decidedly had better, but with the cold seeping out of your bones the more of it you taste, you can hardly complain. "What he said about the hunters..." Darla says when four empty bowls sit as a centerpiece on the table, and you stiffen. This isn't up to you, though you certainly have opinions on it. Arthur looks at the sole window that drips receding daylight. It will not be long before the village starts to die down for the night. "One of you should stay with $p.him while I ask around," he says, glancing at you. You did not expect a moment alone in the room, though hope always dies last, you've heard. Gale and Darla exchange rather stoic looks and then, as if controlled, both glance at you. Surely you are not news to them by now. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Well, I have a different idea. "I could just come with you if you are so worried."|ch2_ev_a0][$ch2.evening to "a"]]</li> <li>[['"If I may choose, I would prefer to stick with Darla."'|ch2_ev_d0][$ch2.evening to "d"]]</li> <li>[['"If I may choose, I would prefer to stay with Gale."'|ch2_ev_g0][$ch2.evening to "g"]]</li> </ul></div> /* Evening Darla */

She turns to you with a start, eyes wide with surprise and betrayal. Her hands, folded in her lap under the table, are no doubt balling into fists. "If you could, Darla?" Gale says calmly. "There is something I'd like to do in the meantime." Now, the sudden business of the Grey Regent's nephew is certainly of interest to you, though, of course, you cannot let it show. Your focus stays with Darla, watching the intensity of her protest wane in the face of her charge's request. He helps you in strange ways sometimes. "Certainly," Darla says slowly, pulling teeth. Arthur leaves quickly, wasting no strength on idle chatter, and so does Gale after asking something of the young woman who served you food. "Would you like to see the village?" Darla suddenly asks. She is still and tense, the invitation more of an announcement than a real, genuine offer you are in a position to refuse. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["We can just sit here until they return," I suggest. I doubt there is anything interesting out there.|ch2_ev_d1][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> <li>[["Oh, certainly." What else should we do, sit here and look at each other?|ch2_ev_d1][]]</li> /* <li>[["But would you like to see the village?" I ask. There's just something about her tone...|ch2_ev_d1][]]</li> */ <li><<link'"But would //you// like to see the village?" I ask. There is just something about her tone...' 'ch2_ev_d1'>><</link>></li> <li>[['"I can tell you what is out there: huts, houses, horse droppings and the freezing cold."'|ch2_ev_d1][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

"Great," she says, rising. "Let us go." Oh. Before you even slip out of your seat, limbs lazy with the warmth and the satisfying echoes of the meal, she is standing at the door that leads to the main exit. She stops to wait for you there, with an expecting lift to her brow. The sheath with the sword in it is still on her. It wouldn't rightly scare anyone in a place like this, but you take idle note. Darla is neither a mage nor a mage hunter, but it would be unwise to underestimate her. No Gift or vile poison needed, her skill with the sword must be a formidable power on its own. You exit together. Cold is right upon you as you step out of the wind shadow of the inn. Light is seeping out of the day, and the village slows down. Here and there you notice people return, languidly dragging their bodies toward the welcoming light in the small windows all across the settlement. Yet, curiously, things of a different kind emerge, and Darla is just as surprised by them as you are. Music streams into your ears, faint yet upbeat. You see a keg being rolled out, and directly opposite of it, an old woman wrapped into a large shawl is carefully dragging out unseen pieces and laying them on a tumbledown stand. If you didn't know any better, you would think that some people here, other than you, are taking a stroll. Darla leads as if pulled by the sound of the distant tune, a sharp turn now and then to see if you are following. The pace she sets is amusingly moderate though, as if you are indeed embarking on a pleasurable walk and not...wasting time until she is free to do whatever it was that she has planned. "You seem quite displeased with me," you remark calmly, walking on her left. "What gave it away?" You are about to sigh, when she continues, unbidden. "I was supposed to be having a bath. Do you know what that is like?" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Oh, I am sighing. "No. Please, describe a bath to me."|ch2_ev_d1a][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"We can go back and you get your wish. I can even stand guard."'|ch2_ev_d1b][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"I wouldn\'t say no to a bath myself, you know."'|ch2_ev_d1c][modAffinity("player", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"Hey, do not blame me, I wasn\'t the one who decided I need to be watched at all times."'|ch2_ev_d1d][]]</li> <li>[[I put on a pitiful face. "Sorry..."|ch2_ev_d1e][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

She breathes noisily, eyes narrowed. "It is when you submerge into warm water and scrub yourself with soap until all the filthy bits are dissolved. //That// is a bath." I maintain a stony face. "Doesn't sound like anything pleasant. Why do you have filth on you in the first place?" "Oh, you don't?" She glares. "I suppose that is something that only happens in Daelan. We shall learn soon, won't we?" Darla scoffs in a rather pronounced way, hair bobbing as she forcibly looks away. You allow the laugh to escape, to which she rolls her eyes. <<include ch2_ev_d2>>

Her disbelief is quick, but you catch it. "We are not doing that!" she says sternly, breath shaky. Just what exactly does she think you are proposing? "I am simply offering my assistance. Regardless of what it looks like." She clears her throat and, for a while, seemingly just wanders. <<include ch2_ev_d2>>

She gives you a quick once-over. "I suppose you do." //"Hey."// She lets out a satisfied noise at your indignation, but her triumph doesn't satisfy for long. <<include ch2_ev_d2>>

"You were the one to come to us," she reminds. "Did you think it would be a simple deal?" The length of time you spent talking it over with Jax reaffirms that no, you did not. "Somehow, I did not consider that it would put me in the way of you having a bath, you know." She groans, but your argument has her back off a little, into the beginning of the conversation where all she had were her complaints. <<include ch2_ev_d2>>

Sometimes, it is the simplest and most straightforward things that get you what you want. "Right," she says quietly after a pause. Seems like she did not expect an immediate apology, regardless of its sincerity. Some sharpness in her dulls, in a stiff, awkward way. You walk for a little, not minding the street. Wandering without aim. <<include ch2_ev_d2>>

"You couldn't just pick anyone else?" she questions, defeat already heavy in her voice. It is unlikely she expects any kind of a reply from you, least of all an honest one. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Come now, have you seen my other two options?"'|ch2_ev_d2a][modFriendship("dar", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"Is it so bad if I want to get to know you?"'|ch2_ev_d2b][modFriendship("dar", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"Well, we are outside already..."'|ch2_ev_d2c][]]</li> </ul></div>

"Bold," she remarks with a growing smile, one that she would clearly prefer to conceal. You shrug in support of your argument. The lingering pain of your choice seems to subside, though she still carries herself with caution. <<include ch2_ev_d3>>

<<set $dar.callbacks.gettoknow to true>>\ Startled, she searches your face, her attention hot and rather obvious. "Get to know me?" <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ "We will be traveling together," you remind. "I don't think I'm saying anything outlandish." It would make your life so much easier, too, if she were not so quick to reach for her sword anymore. <<else>>\ "I don't know what my future holds," you shrug, pushing down the very real worry over it. "Might as well." For all you know, Arthur might return in the company of his mage hunter friends, spelling out a night in some cold cell for you. You would rather spend these precious moments tasting the fresh air than staring daggers at Darla who would be doing the same. <</if>>\ "Ambitious," she says. <<include ch2_ev_d3>>

She draws a steadying breath, unable to argue the truth of your observation. The smells of dirt and wet wood are strong here, from the pleasant side of the palette you've experienced here. "Come on," she concedes without a battle. <<include ch2_ev_d3>>

That is when you begin plotting your path with some thought behind it, even pausing to study the curve and the bend of an occasional building. It is not a wasted effort for you. To Darla, this may be a safe, fenced spot, where she gets to ignore an occasional sharp sound and even allow Gale out of her sight. But things aren't as bright for you--or they would not have brought you to Wyrm's Nest so nonchalantly. Arthur is out to find the other hunters, but who is to say you won't run into them first? You need to find your escape paths. Places to hide out where the animals wouldn't give you away. So when she lets her gaze drift over the carvings and the frames, yours searches for shadows, narrow passages and holes. Awareness of your surroundings is the only way you will be able to reach Rimehall as is your mission. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[It is wearing me out at an alarming pace, though.|ch2_ev_d3a][modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[[I will not allow myself to be caught. Figuring out my way around the village is of utmost importance.|ch2_ev_d3b][modPlayer("oldnew", -1), modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[[Still, I find my gaze drawn to Darla every now and then.|ch2_ev_d3c][]]</li> </ul></div>

It has only been a day--a day, you think back--but it feels like weeks of being on your guard, watching what you say, where you look and even what you are thinking of. When you embarked on this mission, you could not even imagine what it would entail, and you have barely even set foot out of the woods. <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ Magic sits in your blood, unspent, shaken by the hostile presence. You dread the moment you would need to reach for it and will not be able to, cut off by the power of the poisonous flower. <<else>>\ For what it's worth, you were wise not to rely on magic. Of course, you never imagined you would be told to cling to a mage hunter's side--a request you doubt a Gray Regent has ever made--but there could always be other kinds of shackling circumstances. You'd only need to find your $inv.weapon, or even a simple replacement. A moment of weakness, and no mage hunter could stop you. <</if>>\ You grit your teeth and resolve yourself to persevere. Something should change soon. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_d5">>

Your eyes trace corners, your mind spinning to commit them to a map in your memory. After being exposed for so long, watched by the people who wouldn't trust you with a toy sword, you long for a moment of seclusion. The shadows exude a promise of relief, but you only mark them for later. As the night descends upon the village, plenty of spaces will turn into shadows. Does Darla suspect anything, you wonder as an afterthought. But she does not say anything, walking as if she expects to find anything peculiar here at all. She can do hers. You will find your bearings here, even if you never have to rely on them. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_d5">>

She is different from her companions. Perhaps when magic doesn't cut into one's life and carves out a piece, you may pretend like it does not bother you--the way she does. \ <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ If she is wary of you, //afraid//, she does not show. But truly, what does she think is going through your head now that Arthur is no longer around? She cannot know, not with any certainty, that you wouldn't make a sudden run for it even if an opportunity arrived. <<else>>\ She is armed and you are not, is that enough to lull her worries about having you around, just the two of you? Does she trust her skill so much, believing that no opponent can catch her off-guard? <</if>>\ You mustn't get ahead of yourself. \ <<if $p.appearance.height == 1>>\ Darla is a small woman, but you cannot boast about height yourself. <<elseif $p.appearance.height == 2>>\ Darla is a small woman, but the difference in height doesn't always spell out an advantage. <<else>>\ Darla is a small woman, but with how tall you are, you need to consider that it might be an advantage in certain situations. <</if>>\ Even so, she is by no means weak. The armor speaks for itself: the solid, strong plates of the cuirass hug her body protectively, and smaller ones form the tassets dropping down her waist. A row of black metal scales runs her spine akin to some serpent-like creature. Her hair would make wearing a helmet difficult, a cloud of it in frayed wisps around her face, some even getting into her eyes. When she isn't thinking of the work dropped into her lap, her face is delicately round, painted with freckles. When she isn't frowning, her eyes appear light. She notices your glances, you think, but for once, this is not something she comments on. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_d5">>

Wyrm's Next sits on top of a hill like a crown that has been stripped of all jewels and plating, and it is not entirely flat. Soon the ground takes a tumble, light ahead gentler, weaker, but it doesn't deter Darla. You are almost at the outskirts, in desolate quietness and stillness. The walls here protect you from the wind, though you doubt they are housing anyone, so silent it is. You hear the crunch of her steps and the dissonant addition of yours. "I don't think there is anything in here," you remark. She chews on her lip, a moment away from agreeing with you--but then her eyes widen. Something is there, over and behind your shoulder, that changes her mind. Darla doesn't reach for the weapon, but you still sense danger. "Oh, that is interesting," she mutters with a small smile. You turn around. No one. Just the street and the rows of lifeless windows. But as she crosses the path, her destination becomes rather certain. It is a lone hovel with a path laid down in stone leading to it. It is stashed in the shadows of the nearby huts, but the path to it is well-trodden, stone by stone weaving between the bare and jagged arms of bush-like plants. There are no animal tracks around it, it is not a barn or a storage, or a decrepit shed whose purpose is long-forgotten. Right above the entrance, a plain door, not round or ornate, you recognize a symbol carved into the wood. Shaped like an eye, there is a circle for an iris within it, but it is empty and unshaded. An incomplete recreation of a human eyeball: //seeing, but unclouded by the faults of mankind, blind to the lies of beauty and the flattery of form.// Sometimes the voice you heard it in was mocking, but just as often, it was full of reverence. //The only judgment to befall a man is the absolute one of Thar.// Just your luck to wander into a shrine. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_d6">>

Darla approaches the door and pushes it with a curious tilt of her head. Weak candlelight paints the outline of the insides with a hungry shade of yellow. The shrines to Thar are always unlocked, but only someone cocky or desperate would try to steal from one. It is a refuge for a mind willing to learn and submit to the piercing eye of the god whose faith spans the continent and flows around Riante. Darla walks right inside but ends up holding the door even though you remain standing. "You have nothing to hide from us, have you?" she asks quietly, gesturing invitingly for you to enter. Thar deals in justice, Thar //is// justice. The faith flared up when the word of the magic that the Second Sister held spread. //Truth//. Her Gift is to look into the past, solve mysteries and debates--thus also confirming and refuting guilt imposed on someone. No person could do that, they said. The height of the mage hubris was not the incomprehensible strength of the First or the grave balance upheld by the Fourth, but their claim to the thing that only a god could ever ascertain. The truth, the judgment, the blame. You have mostly successfully avoided these shrines, the matter of the god, and the Vigil--but the first time it was thrust upon you, you would remember in vivid detail. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_d6_2">>

It was a hot day in Arden, the last bustling, tiered city in Daelan before the border to Riante. The job was simple and fairly boring: observe the negotiations of Lady Mielle's engagement. The estate was a blooming wonder in the middle of the upper city, carved out of the street with tall hedges you wouldn't risk climbing. Your observation spots were few, and you needed to carefully rotate them so that nothing of your appearance would impress on the guards' memory. It almost seemed like busywork to get you out of Riante for a few days and let you stretch your legs. There were two suitors that you knew of--the Lady's father owned a piece of land rich for ore and she was rather known for her wits--though most of her days leading to their visit she had spent on the daily walks with an outfit of like-minded ladies. But right before the dreaded first meeting, the exquisite air of finery around the estate was disturbed in quite a violent manner. Your eyes were on the iron lacework of the gate, so you didn't see when or how he entered the street. In the upper city where people strolled, walked, pranced and at worst, danced, a man burst out in the open. Bug-eyed, he was short on breath and red in the face, his shirt unlaced and revealing his heaving chest. He stopped uncomfortably close to you, but so did the crowd that separated you from him. The public was repelled by him as if he had brandished a weapon, and he broke out into wailing. The air shook with gasps, fabrics rustling as people scrambled away. You, more so, worried for the gate and who lived behind its decorative defenses: lesser things had been known to upset Lady Mielle. The man, in the meantime, dropped to his knees, sobs wracking his entire body, and when it was clear he wasn't an immediate threat, it was time for the murmur of explanations and ideas. He was strange, after all. You began to consider a change of location, your position rudely compromised, but then the crowd started to split at the narrowing of the street between two shops, and you heard metal boots. They swept upon the man as if carried by the breeze: dark blue surcoats emblazoned with the crest of the city held up by two hands granted them the authority to act and the public the reason to believe the matter resolved. Two picked the man up, while one turned to the bystanders. He had an open face and warm eyes, strongly built yet so calm, he looked like a young man who had just baked all these people bread. Most calmed down at his sight alone. But you didn't. In a confident but pleasant voice, he reassured everyone that the justice of Thar had caught up with the man, and they were there to act the god's hands once more. They were of the Vigil. A way to fight crime in the cities and bring order to the streets. They do not concern themselves with magic, though conveniently, they always know where to fetch a mage hunter should they suspect something. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I wasn't worried as they weren't there for me or the estate.|ch2_ev_d6_3b][modPlayer("oldnew", -2)]]</li> <li>[[My gut feeling screamed at me to run.|ch2_ev_d6_3a][modPlayer("oldnew", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I was curious to finally run into them properly.|ch2_ev_d6_3b][modPlayer("oldnew", -2)]]</li> </ul></div>

It was new, and you were aware you had entered the city under false pretenses. You weren't ready to deal with a hitch of such size, but even a stronger feeling kept you rooted to the spot. Cold sweat broke out--though no one would notice or care, as what was happening with the Vigil was far more exciting. <<include ch2_ev_d6_3>>

It was much better to observe them when you were of no interest to the Vigil than to be on the receiving end of their pursuit and not know what to expect. <<include ch2_ev_d6_3>>

Finally, they dragged the man away, his expensive boots scraping the cobblestone. With one look at the gate, you discovered that the Mielle's guards were satisfied with this development. //"No one can walk a whole life without stumbling, without hurting something or someone around them,"// you heard right next to you. A small girl in a plum dress was clinging to her father's leg, still reeling from the scene, and he spoke to her calmly. //"But when you stumble, you must acknowledge it, learn from it, and in doing so, you earn Thar's blessing. Now, those who cross into a Thar shrine with a heavy burden of lies, deceit, and ill-doing on their heart will have the all-seeing eye turn, and the retribution will be upon them no matter the time--as is the god's will."// Back then you thought it was quite an ambitious thing to impart on a restless child, but it helped you fill the missing pieces about the god that wasn't spoken of in Riante. Curiously, you are yet to run into a mage of the Second, but the hands of Thar, the Vigil, never hide. Darla waits for you to enter, a glint in her eyes. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["You know, I always wondered why the rule is just for a shrine and not the whole town," I share with her, stepping in without reservation.|ch2_ev_d6a][]]</li> <li>[[I lock eyes with her and walk inside. "Didn't take you for a believer."|ch2_ev_d6b][]]</li> <li>[[I hesitate. I really don't want to do this.|ch2_ev_d6c][modTrust("dar", -1)]]</li> <li>[[So annoying. "No one in Riante believes these tales," I inform her and stride inside.|ch2_ev_d6d][modTrust("dar", -1), modAffinity("y", 2)]]</li> <li>[[A heavy burden of lies, deceit and ill doing, huh?.. Well, let us see how real this god of theirs is.|ch2_ev_d6e][modAffinity("y", 2)]]</li> </ul></div>

She follows your movement with her eyes, a light pout marking her disappointment. "Thar cannot ward off an entire town from those wicked people?" you elaborate. She speaks reluctantly. "That would scare off all the merchants and mercenaries." "Oh." You look around. "That's right." <<include ch2_ev_d7>>

She follows your movement with her eyes, a light pout marking her disappointment. "Evil deeds need to be punished, don't they?" she says slowly. "You cannot trust that everyone should keep to themselves and not covet." You raise a brow questioningly. "Surely you do need a god to pass the judgment though?" Darla rolls her eyes, and in the end, her gaze lands on the small altar in the middle. "There is nothing so urgent about spewing heresy that you must do it under the Eye." The pattern repeats on the farthest wall. The eye that sees nothing and everything. <<include ch2_ev_d7>>

It was always easier to avoid the entangled matter of the Second's magic and an entire //god//. Conveniently, there are no shrines to Thar in Riante. Unlike the Second who is captured in marble and carvings, Thar has no shape, form, voice, or personhood. You never thought it would concern you. And now it does. And you have no idea what it means. "$p.name?" she beckons. To her, this is a test. There could be nothing inside worth for you to walk through those doors. But this is a //test//. You have claimed no deceit. There isn't a third or even a second option. Children walk through here, so you, a runaway of the Gray Regent's agents, should have no trouble at all. You ran away, didn't you? So if there is a god that would punish you for lying... Fixing your gaze straight ahead, you walk on the legs that barely bend. The worst in this promise of retribution is that it never specifies when it should arrive. Maybe it already did. That's why you don't remember anything. "Hm," you hear Darla scoff. You decide not to look at her, not to check if your performance has her fooled. Rather, you look around. <<include ch2_ev_d7>>

Thar is nothing but a shapeless threat, a myth concocted by someone with eyes wide with fear of Thar's judgment--or wanting to keep the thieving bastards off their property. If crossing the porch condemned you to a judgment, Arthur would have dragged you here the moment you arrived. "You can always go back there," Darla snaps right back at you, and for a moment, you look just as irked as she does. There is no going back to Riante. Not yet. And do you want to?.. "Just a perspective," you tell her vaguely. Whatever she wanted to achieve with this, she did. You are standing right in a Thar shrine. The entirety of you, burdened by lies and deceit. <<include ch2_ev_d7>>

How fitting it is. You catch yourself smirking, having half the mind to teasingly commend her for the idea. There is no denying who this trap is perfect for. If it was yesterday, as you still stood in front of them at the tip of Darla's sword, maybe you would have felt differently. But now, you've had a whole day to slip into the role. An entire day--//just// a day. It is not enough by any margin, though you are used to making do with only what you have. "Oh," you remark, unimpressed. "Interesting." <<include ch2_ev_d7>>

Just as you expected, the inside is bare. The air is hot here, immediately assaulting your face, and the heavy scent of wax overwhelms you. The shrines commonly carry books, on history mostly, but there are none here. Instead, the walls are encrusted with writing that is unintelligible in the dim light. An altar stands in the center. It is plain and round, though obviously carved by someone lacking in skill: you can clearly see the cut of the knife where none should be visible. //There is no hiding from Thar in any corners//, so the corners are pointless. Darla's armor makes a sound that is notably loud in a space this small. She approaches the altar and studies the small selection of trinkets on it. You can see them over her shoulder. Most of it is crude jewelry: steel and silver bent and linked into chains and rings, with only a single pearl among them for passable decoration. There is candied fruit and a folded piece of cloth, too. The Vigil keeps order in the cities; for a village this small, Thar's retribution is the only justice they can request. Darla frowns, her face tense. "What is it?" Suddenly, it doesn't feel like this is about you anymore. "This is... a lot for a village." She sighs heavily and lifts her head slowly, struggling against some unspoken concern. She doesn't move for a while and disturbed candlelight dances in her absent eyes. Although you'd rather be outside, you do not disturb her until she pulls out of it on her own with a sigh. "Well, there isn't much to do here anyway once you cross the porch." "No grievances you wanted to bring before the god?" She breathes with sternness, gaze flitting to your hands. "Perhaps if you behave," she says, stepping away. "But we shall see about that. There is the rest of the village to explore." You couldn't agree more. As she crosses the shrine toward the only door, you are not too far behind. <<NextPage ch2_ev_d8>>

Outside, Darla teases her hair with the freshness of mountain air, her hand nervously raking through it. The updo stays in its general form atop her head, but a few curly strands fall into her face. You feel better for it too. With the enclosure of the oppressive walls no longer around you, you can breathe easier. Just as you are about to ask her what is next--or what the point of entering was besides her childishness--a person appears at the curve of the path, someone sprung and visibly startled by your presence. Their business is not with you, you realize quickly, but with one of the structures behind your back. Maybe even the very same you have just exited. You pass them as you leave, surfacing back towards the light of the torches and the spinning of the music. The only thing that changed in the meantime is the amount of people lured out by the food and the promise of ale. <<NextPage ch2_ev_d9>>

It hasn't been long since your meal, but the day was long and strenuous. Even the faint smell of food, a crispy, fire-cooked taste hanging in the air, is enticing. It takes quite an effort to keep the body warm in such weather, it seems. As if privy to your thoughts, Darla walks up to one of the stands: a cloth is neatly laid out on the broad end of a shabby cart with just two wheels and long rails. A woman is tending to the woven basket, filled with oddly shaped bundles of what you can only assume is food. The front of her dress carries darkened stains, drizzled below the waistline, and it helps you place the smell. Oil. The bundles in her basket look like they have been boiled in oil until the outside turned golden and crispy and the inside--hopefully cooked. They are elongated, like thick carrots. "What is this?" Darla asks, looking between the basket and the woman trying to sell its contents. "Sunset pies." The woman sounds young and busy. A promising name, but you've never heard of it. "What are they made of?" "New, huh?" The woman clicks her tongue. "These"--she points to the left side of the basket--"are with carrots and pumpkin. The rest are fish." You look around just in case. "Where do you get the fish?" The woman stares at your clothes, finding them strange, and her mouth scowls. "In the lake. My husband fishes." So there is a lake, at least she isn't evading the question. You feel somewhat relieved. Darla studies the food, seemingly undecided between the two, rather plain, options. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["Allow me to treat you," I offer her.|ch2_ev_d9a][]]</li> <li>[[I wouldn't trust any place other than a tavern. I try to subtly warn Darla.|ch2_ev_d9b][modTrust("dar", 1), $dar.rel.fake -=2]]</li> <li>[[I wait for her to make the choice.|ch2_ev_d9c][]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $dar.callbacks.pie to true>>\ Her hand frozen, about to uncurl in a pointing gesture, she turns to you. "A treat from you? Why?" she asks, eyes glinting. A smile teases an appearance in the corner of her mouth. Unlike her, you have no idea how and when you can replenish your coin, and you didn't leave Riante with much. But you are compelled to risk it. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"You gave me a meal earlier. I\'m just paying it back."'|ch2_ev_d9aa][modFriendship("dar", 1)]]</li> <li>[[My smile widens. "I just want to do something nice for you."|ch2_ev_d9ab][modFriendship("dar", 2), $dar.rel.love +=1]]</li> <li>[["Merely trying to buy your favor with coin, my lady," I jest and wave my hand in a pompous gesture. "Is it not working?"|ch2_ev_d9ac][modFriendship("dar", 2), modPlayer("playful", 1), $dar.rel.love +=1]]</li> <li>[[I look down at the pies, suddenly struggling to face her. "You just look like you want to try it."|ch2_ev_d9ad][$dar.rel.love +=1]]</li> </ul></div>

Her smile falls. "Arthur paid for that." Your shoulders drop a little too. "Well, I'm not thanking him." She makes a sound, more of a short laugh than a snort. "I'll take it then." She turns to the woman. "The fish one. Please." <<include ch2_ev_d9a2>>

She immediately looks away, silent, and stiffly turns to the cart. "The carrot one. No, the fish." Her hands are folded in front of her. <<include ch2_ev_d9a2>>

An amused laugh escapes her, one that she doesn't even try to tame. "Do I want to know how you got this money?" she asks. "No." It was merely given to you by Jax, but there is no fun in the truth. Darla nods, grimly accepting your response, and turns to the cart. "The... fish one, please." <<include ch2_ev_d9a2>>

You didn't expect her to question you. Even a simple no would have been better, but faced with her surprisingly teasing smile, you feel the urge to investigate the pies again. They look the same. Strange that you expected to discover something new about them. Well, you didn't. But as you feel her gaze on you, you resolve to try again. "Pick which one," you encourage. There is a pause, and you are running out of things to notice about the pies. Finally, Darla names her preference, voice reaching past you. "The...fish one. Thank you," she says with a hint of softness. <<include ch2_ev_d9a2>>

The woman hands her one of the pies, and names you the price of one copper. That isn't too bad, though you better reserve that judgment until Arthur comes back with what he finds out. On the run, costs often accumulate with unexpected urgency. "Thank you," you hear amidst your thought of an escape and return to the moment when you do not have to do that yet. You smile, knowing that she sees. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_d10">>

You aren't a stranger to grabbing the first thing you can eat and wolfing it down, but surely you aren't strapped for choices. The food at the inn was good, but these pies... Something rubs you the wrong way. You glance at Darla, and it looks like she is done making the selection. "It isn't far til the inn," you say before she names it. The woman selling the pies obviously grunts, sharp gaze digging into you. Darla pauses, searching your face. You show her a flat smile, void of any enthusiasm. She is practically a stranger. How do you even communicate without words?.. "I'll take the fish one, thank you," she says at the woman, but only then actually looks that way. It probably couldn't have gone any different, but you had to try. You watch Darla surrender the requested copper. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_d10">>

The woman taps her foot impatiently as she waits for Darla to choose, hands ready to pluck whichever of the pies. There aren't many takers that you would be keeping up, but it could be that her restlessness is of a different kind. "The fish one," Darla says and pulls back a little. "Please." It costs a copper, which should be small money for a knight in the Crown's service. Darla surrenders it without any hesitation. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_d10">>

Armed with her pie, Darla sets out, and you tag along. It isn't far until the inn, but she intends to be done with her food before stepping back inside--so you end up making another round weaving the center streets. Jax not having anything on her, you feel it deeply. She is a person shaped of the unknowns, only obvious in not liking you very much. She isn't a simple commoner, you sorted it out already, but what would she think and say if you mentioned her family? It would almost be easier for you to prod if she did that first--but she doesn't. So you start small. "Is it just fish?" you ask after she bites off the top. She finishes chewing and draws a breath to reveal it to you, but then-- "I'm not telling you." <<if $dar.callbacks.pie>>\ "Rather rude, considering that it was my treat," you accuse. "Well, you bought it for //me//, didn't you?" She moves it slightly away from you so that you can't even get a peek at the contents beyond the crispy shell. "You can at least tell me." "She is still out there with more pies." That isn't even what you would call a pie, but you aren't getting anywhere by asking Darla. <<else>>\ You frown. "Did I ask something strange?" "No. I just don't feel like telling you," she chirps. "Should have gotten one." Right. After that, you drop the question she isn't going to answer anyway. <</if>>\ To the big things then. "You haven't asked me about the $q.king the whole evening, you know." <<NextPage "ch2_ev_d10-2">>

The question catches her off-guard. It is better to peel the scab that is festering, or at least peek under it than to pretend like it is not there. And maybe you will learn a thing or two about how she ticks. "$q.He is only my concern in a rather specific way," she says, brows furrowed. Her sword rests in the sheath, but it feels like its point is aimed at you somehow. "A very limited one, at that." "Same as me, I presume." Her gaze rolls over you upon the invitation. "I do not know. Perhaps not." Then since she is being so straightforward, you may entertain a guess... "So this is about Gale. Doesn't as much cover Arthur then?" You are careful not to frame it as a threat. Much rather, you want to reach...an understanding with her. Try for the lines in the sand--just out of curiosity and nothing else. But her laugh catches you off-guard: not that she manages one, but for the surprised yet challenging way it sounds. "He is far better than most at taking care of himself," she informs you, laughter fading. "I wouldn't recommend anyone to put it to the test." And that isn't a threat either. It seems like if you ever needed someone to speak to and not eventually end up talking about the Gray Regent, she would be a fair option. If you hold out that long, that is. Between the bites, she still takes a lukewarm interest in the surroundings. Makes you wonder if this is the only kind of scenery she gets to see, or if her usual is so dreary that the sight of a half-asleep village is worth marveling at. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[The entire time I was just think what's inside that pie. When she isn't looking, I'm stealing a bite.|ch2_ev_d10a][$dar.rel.fake -=1]]</li> <li>[['"See? I\'m not that much trouble."'|ch2_ev_d10b][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I savor the quiet. Something tells me the moment we return, I will have to deal with accusations once again.|ch2_ev_d10c][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $dar.callbacks.piethief to true>>\ She shouldn't have made it so enticing with her refusal to entertain your minute, fickle curiosities. Because you need to settle it now and without involving the saleswoman again. When Darla is momentarily distracted, you lean into her, bringing your hand close to her wrist. You can almost feel the warmth of her skin, and in one snapping move, you bite from the top of the coveted pie. It happens in a blink, your resolve not once faltering, questions and doubts never even appearing. She yelps, jumping out of your proximity. The answer is-- Simple. "It is crushed potatoes," you sputter, the back of your hand at your mouth, once you get used to the overpowering taste of fish and can push past it. Darla is gawking at you still, hand in the same place, held up in sheer stupor. She, of course, knew it was potatoes. "What--" It could be the trick of the scattered light, but her cheeks seem to darken. "Ugh!" She shoves the pie at you, your hands accepting before you spare it a single thought. "Finish it or throw it away," she says with her back to you. "We are going back inside." She marches for the inn, and you follow a few paces back. She doesn't turn around until the doors. <<NextPage ch2_ev_d11>>

Her gaze lingers on you, cast from the street to your face and remaining light. "You seem to think you can pose as harmless," she says. "I didn't say harmless..." "And you are trouble," she continues in the same breath. "Sadly--" No. Shaking her head, she seals the rest of that sentence and bites into the remainder of the pie. You return to the inn after that. <<NextPage ch2_ev_d11>>

Under the skylight, you have a moment of deceptive peace. The first month in Riante was like this. No one knew what to make of you, and no questions helped them, for you simply had no answers to give. Many believed themselves to be the offended party when you couldn't speak on your origins, when it was you all along, sitting with nothing but your name and \ <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ your Gift to it. <<else>>\ a strange resolve to practice swordplay to it. <</if>>\ But as you climbed up to stand on your own, not needing Mort to clarify the most evident things anymore, some questions gained a sharp edge. Clever teasing, wrapped in the pretense of friendliness--not everyone, of course, not even the majority--was slung at you. Later, you wondered if the Gray Regent's protection spared you worse, but you would never find out. The quiet month wouldn't come back either. But you have left Riante for the time being. And as you savored the quiet, Darla has finished her quirky pie. You return to the inn after that. <<NextPage ch2_ev_d11>>

Gale walks up to you as if he was expecting for you to cross the doorway and informs you of the gathering upstairs. The rooms. Arthur must be back. You look up the stairs, where the top disappears in a strip of darkness. \ <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ The promises made echo in your mind, but it is particularly difficult to believe in their strength now. <<else>>\ If the hunters have chosen the private rooms in an inn to place an ambush for you, they must have quite an odd sense of humor. <</if>>\ Darla hangs behind you as if sensing your hesitation, and you slowly inch toward the staircase to stave off questions. The steps creak, though not when Gale scales them. He knows where the rooms are and takes you there. You don't know what you expect. The only thing your instincts yell at you is to run. There is a window at the end of the hall, letting in light and draught. You can escape through it and-- Gale knocks, waits, then pushes the door. It is just Arthur in there. You try to not appear as relieved as you feel. The hunter you know. The hunter you have walked away from before. And something seems to be //wrong//. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_room1">> /* Evening Gale */

Arthur noticeably stiffens at your choice, but he was the one to suggest Gale as one of the candidates. You aren't doing anything other than voicing your preference. Gale nods absently as he accepts your suggestion. Darla watches him for a while, arms folded on her chest, and it isn't until Arthur leaves to make contact with the hunters stationed here that she stands up, detaching from her seat with tardy grace. "I will not be far," she informs Gale, stretching, and leaves--so you can no longer hear the gentle clicks of her armor. It is just the two of you now. He rests his chin in the center of his palm, covering his mouth with his fingers, and watches you as if trying, but without much passion, to figure out what to do about you. Food is always in demand though. A new customer enters the dining hall, rattling the door and squeezing the leather of his boots against the wooden floors with a heavy gait. Gale is startled out of his observation and steals a glance at the newcomer. "There is something I need to do," he tells you. "Stay here." <<NextPage "ch2_ev_g1">>

The dash of hope he might just leave, leave you unobserved, refreshingly free, dies before it ever gets a chance to even offer you relief. He stops by the fireplace, the single unique piece about the common room. Aside from fighting the nasty draft with the heat, it seemed to serve another function. As if a fisherman's net was thrown on top of it, with bunches of herbs pinched to it in varying degrees of dryness. Resting one hand on the tavern table, you follow his movements. You would think the herbs are mere spices, but with Gale's interest in them, it is likely not the whole picture. Some look like blades of grass tied together in a long, clipped ponytail, others are curly and thin, ready to fall apart in a whiff of the wind and right into the burning fire. Gale just //takes// some. A large leaf and a few curly, bushy stems, he plucks them like he owns the place. Not even the serving girl walking in on him gives him pause. She looks at the delicate herbs being nearly crushed between his fingers and momentarily forgets about the bowl of broth in hers. "Oi," she scowls. "These are mine. Keep your grabby hands off--" "Are they local?" The woman tucks the bowl closer to her chest and crinkles her nose, thinking. "Yes. I picked them up on the safe days. Most of these hate the shade but thrive in moisture. The edge of the forest is a good place for them to grow," she explains, looking somewhat surprised herself by her willingness to even say this much. He mumbles something unintelligible to you, but her expression thaws a touch. "I will replace them for you," Gale tells her, but the woman shakes her head. A customer complains about the bowl in her hands. "Just keep your hands away next time," she replies wearily. "You probably won't even find them anymore." He returns to your table, and she scurries to serve the food. On the way back she glares at Gale tetchily, though not without a measure of curiosity. When he pulls out a dagger, that is when your idle observation sharpens into a cautious alertness. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[My eyes are on the dagger. "What are you doing?"|ch2_ev_g1a][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> <li>[["She already allowed you to take the herbs," I say with a quiet laugh, "no need to threaten anyone."|ch2_ev_g1b][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I tense. Should I need to defend myself, is there anything here I can use as a weapon?|ch2_ev_g1c][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> <li>[[I suppose it will promptly become evident what the dagger is for. I settle comfortably to observe.|ch2_ev_g1d][]]</li> </ul></div>

Placing the dagger on the table next to his right hand, he lifts one of the stems with the left. It is drying and boring. You are used to such sights in the countless hours spent at Mort's side. For a quick moment, your eyes meet past the stem exposed to the viewing. He thinks this should explain, but it is entirely vague. The only thing that works to soothe you is that the dagger lies unclaimed. If you picked the moment carefully, him sitting closer to it wouldn't even matter... <<include ch2_ev_g2>>

He lifts his head, brow lightly lifted. "I am not threatening anyone," he says with a rather ill-fitting, serious note. Lightly jerking your chin, you wordlessly point his attention to the menacing dagger by his arm. "It's just here," he defends. "What is it for?" "Tearing them works in a pinch. But for some, cut is better." Oh. An ornate kitchen knife then. Good to know. <<include ch2_ev_g2>>

He seems to be taken by the herbs, but the unsheathed steel is all the warning that you need. You can break the leg of your chair, exposing the sharp teeth of the cracked wood. Hot coals. One of the patrons seems to carry a shortsword. The clay plates will do in a squeeze. \ <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ And Arthur isn't here either. Your hands are untied. <</if>>\ You can clear the building in a matter of moments if no one gets in your way--but didn't Darla say she would remain near? Well, you will have a moment on her for the element of surprise. Wound, muscle stiff with readiness, you are ready to act. <<include ch2_ev_g2>>

From the looks of it, you aren't changing locations in the nearest future, so you might as well settle comfortably. You fully slip back into the seat, elbows leaning into the table for support. Although he doesn't deem it necessary to explain, the motions in preparation are familiar. <<include ch2_ev_g2>>

The herbs laid out on the table in an expectant line, he unfastens the cloak, and it spills around him in heavy waves. The gambeson next, he hooks his fingers under the top clasps to undo them. You can't say that the room is unbearably hot to warrant that, but at least it is very unlikely now that he is looking for a fight. The parts aren't entirely dry yet. A fresh batch then. Mort never shied away from using the plant names with you, but most faded because they seldom repeated. Still, when a familiar scent hits your nostrils, you start seeing the intention. A ghost hand of curiosity reaches for you, loosening your tongue. "What is it for?" He produces a pouch out of one of his bags, and your breath stills. Wrong color. And who would let him keep it after what happened last time. If he is only teasing you... But no, it is an empty one. "Night tea," he explains, taking one of the stems. There is a short path from the night tea to a lethal poison, where the strong herbal scent and taste would hide the vile note of a deadly substance. A small fix, a single ingredient, and the peaceful sleep will turn eternal. Mort often told you these things as a precaution. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_g3">>

Gale works slowly, breaking the stem, peeling what once were the seeds and discarding them, separating the tiniest leaves and setting them aside. You learn that although he probably wouldn't be a problem in a swordfight, his skill with the knife when it comes to slicing into the thinnest veins of the leaves is quite remarkable. Careful, unhurried, he picks them apart for whatever moisture is still inside, breaking them into small bits that would brew easily. There is something so simple to the way he does things, it almost looks like he is peeling a potato for dinner. And perhaps there is nothing more to an herbal mixture, but once you remember the magical power he commands, it becomes even more jarring. The plants may be abundant, but plenty of them are infused with weak magic that makes them useful. Maybe you hoped for some interaction between the powers. "What?" he asks, startling you. You could have sworn he wasn't paying attention to you at all. No harm in admitting it. "I thought it would look…more magical, I suppose," you say with a perplexed shrug. Even when Mort was grinding the herbs you have helped him harvest with your own hands, it looked like a ritual, something old and forgotten. He whispered to himself sometimes, and although you never heard what exactly, it was too easy to think it a spell, an incantation that would summon the earthly magic forward. Gale, who is quite unlike Mort, does not ignore what is being said to him when he is occupied. He sneaks a look at you before he swipes the finely crushed herbs into the pouch. "Is that how you do things under the Gray Regent's rule? Is everything this simple replaced with magic?" You have half the mind to take it for an insult, but with the way he is waiting for your response, he might be genuinely wondering. And, curiously enough, the subject just happens to be the $q.king, someone you have a not insignificant knowledge of. The way he watches you, waiting, reminds you of the bird that appeared every now and then on the perch outside your window in Riante. You only noticed it one time by sheer accident, but since then, it was hard to miss whenever it showed up. The small crow would sit motionless for a while, staring into the stretches of the city at the Tower's feet, and would turn to glance at you with an eye bright like a dark gemstone if you approached or walked past the window. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[It was peculiar, but nothing else.|ch2_ev_g4a][]]</li> <li>[[I kept on trying to feed it. Sadly, unsuccessfully.|ch2_ev_g4b][modAffinity("y", 1)]]</li> <li>[[Whenever it appeared, I always felt somewhat unsettled.|ch2_ev_g4c][modAffinity("y", -2)]]</li> </ul></div>

You were used to the dark silhouettes in the skies of Riante: it wasn't the birds that only stayed in the rare warm months--they lived and breathed the rainy moods of the city. And although seeing one take refuge by your window so regularly was, admittedly, rather quirky, it was never something that stood out to you. Not until now, at least. <<include ch2_ev_g5>>

A food platter was often served to your room for those times you returned at an odd hour, so you tried the breadcrumbs off it first. When the bird saw you go for the window, it stirred and flew away immediately. The crumbs you left on the perch for it to pick up later were swept away by the wind almost in a blink of an eye. So you decided to find some seeds for it. There are always scraps and leftovers in the kitchens, and the staff did not even question what you needed a handful of pumpkin seeds for. On the perch, they lasted longer than the breadcrumbs but not by much, and just like before, the bird scurried at your approach. Even when you walked over carefully, showing it the enticing treat on your outstretched hand, it didn't stay. No matter what you tried, the crow wouldn't eat your offering. <<include ch2_ev_g5>>

Your room in Riante is not close to the ground, so there is always a particular sense of isolation and related safety in it. It isn't simple to climb with no balconies and ledges nearby save for the narrow one that the bird picked out. You weren't used to intrusion, to having another living creature in your vicinity, unbidden. And its eyes. You could never rightly tell if it was looking //at// you, but it didn't stop you from feeling like you were. A bird couldn't pass judgement, thinking otherwise would be silly, but it could observe and intrude on your peace. <<include ch2_ev_g5>>

<<set $temp.drink to 1>>\ Months after its first appearance, you found out it was one of the Gray Regent's birds. A simple explanation, but you learning it did not stop the crow from appearing every now and then. Gale isn't like that bird in all senses, but never knowing if he's watching is quite similar. It is //good// that he wants something from you, even if small and seemingly inconsequential. Jax told you he might be the easiest to win over. The most important, too. "If you want to hear about Riante, you should buy me a drink first." It doesn't look like you are leaving the inn anyway. He clings to a miffed frown, but the corners of his mouth twitch to smile. The young woman that does all the serving today doesn't take long to reappear. She quickly lists off their usuals: ale and a light drink made of crushed berries, but when Gale nods to her question if you want to hear about the specialty, her eyes catch a spark. "You won't find them anywhere but here," she begins jumpily. "Some trees here grow small, sticky cones that cling to the furs of the dogs. The story goes that months after the troops left, the place was so wrecked by hunger that some just dropped dead from weakness in the streets. That was when they discovered the cones weren't too horrible to crunch on." She purses her mouth in ostensible disbelief. "Once we started getting wheat and meat again, someone must have forgotten about their stash--and we have the spirits now. So strong a bottle could knock out an ox! No one except old man Birne knows exactly how to make it, and he swore about a hundred times he'd die before he tells us, but between you and me, we are better off not knowing. Would you like to try it?" "I see." Gale whisks a look at you. "I'll take the ale then." She laughs. "Well, we'll run out eventually. Maybe then someone will think of wheeling in this //wine// I hear so much about. I'd love to try. And you?" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Unlike my companion here, I am adventurous. Bring me that special brew of yours."'|ch2_ev_g5a][$temp.drink to 2]]</li> <li>[['"The ale for me too."'|ch2_ev_g5b][$temp.drink to 1]]</li> <li>[[The fruit drink was free of liquor, wasn't it? That one.|ch2_ev_g5c][$temp.drink to 0]]</li> </ul></div>

She wasn't joking about waiting on the end of the supply: your serving is quite generous. It assaults your smell. It hasn't happened to you personally, but this is what running nose-first into a fir tree must smell like. A sour fume envelops you. The first sip burns your throat, leaving a lingering trail of crisp freshness. It isn't //too// terrible, but the serving woman isn't here to be informed of it anymore. <<include ch2_ev_g6>>

She brings you two identical mugs with a skim of white foam. If you are judicious, it will last you the whole evening, or until Arthur returns with whatever his findings will mean for you. No dwelling on that. You rush for the first gulp without even considering something as outlandish as a toast. To what? New friendships? //Please.// It could be colder and tastes a touch flat. But you've been to places that have had worse. You can stand to drink it. <<include ch2_ev_g6>>

Your drinks do not take long to arrive. Yours at least is refreshing and mildly sour, battling the somewhat heavy feeling after the broth. Gale takes a slow gulp of his ale and doesn't remark on the taste. <<include ch2_ev_g6>>

"You wanted to know just how much magic is done in Riante, was it?" you ask. You remember his question perfectly, and it touched upon a lot less than that. It is smart though to tease than he asked for. "Something of that sort." He hasn't met anyone he could ask about his $q.uncle before. Daelan clerks can easily visit Riante as per the treaty, but they never do. In part, because the Gray Regent has cultivated a rather inhospitable image of the city, so no wonder nobody volunteered to make a weeks long journey to submit themselves to constant pressure. The Viper King, least of all. Curious that he decided to bring it up when there are none of his companions around. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I will tell him how it is, no more, no less.|ch2_ev_g6a][modPlayer("crafty", -2), $gale.rel.fake -=2]]</li> <li>[[I will greatly undersell what happens in Riante.|ch2_ev_g6b][modPlayer("crafty", 1), modAffinity("y", 1), $gale.rel.fake +=1]]</li> <li>[[It wouldn't hurt to excite his imagination and exaggerate.|ch2_ev_g6c][modPlayer("crafty", 1), modAffinity("gale", 1), $gale.rel.fake +=1]]</li> </ul></div>

"A lot less than you probably think." Although you expected a shadow of disappointment, he remains unaffected. "For the most part, it looks like a regular city with taverns, shops and lodgings. Not everyone who lives there is a mage, though, of course, it attracts a //particular// kind." A soundless, amused scoff escapes him. "You can say that about a lot of places," you retort and watch him take another sip of ale, eyes on you. "I have...traveled a little. Seen other cities." Gale settles the mug heavily. "What about the mages?" "Mages can train in the open, \ <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ especially those like me." "With the power of the First." "Yes." <<else>>\ and they often practice with us." "All mages learn to fight?" You stumble. "Well, not all of them and not always to fight. It is mostly the mages of the First." You've hardly gotten used to speaking of them in third person. It is the Gift you have brushed aside. Your right as a mage, and the lingering echo of the past you'd rather not touch. It coils in your shadow and waits, while your body wields the $inv.weapon. <</if>>\ "What about the others?" People like Mort and Jax occupy important seats in the Gray Regent's circle, and although they come to mind easily, they probably do not have the time to properly train. "Their training is less physical," you say with a shrug. "We do not cross paths for that." <<include ch2_ev_g7>>

You spread your hands in a sweeping gesture. "Afraid to disappoint you, but it is hardly different from here--well, the architecture is more sophisticated and instead of the cold, it is the constant rain that gets under your skin." He doesn't find that misery entertaining. "The trade is controlled by your Crown, so there should be no surprises as to what is being produced," you say, dishonesty on your tongue. "There are plenty of scribes in there, so the primary export is books. I don't think you'd believe the official reports, but it is so." You stifle a smile. //If you want to bore someone close to their death, spin a story about trade.// "What about the mages?" he asks. "Books," you deliver readily. "You can't entirely suppress your Gift, so there must be a way to understand it at least. Plenty of those...dry books were left untouched after the treaty." Another lie, an omission. The books are only one stream; now, practice--that is the main one. <<include ch2_ev_g7>>

Talking up Riante is a dangerous bet in your precarious situation, but you feel partial to making a gamble. "In a place where mages aren't hunted for their craft?" you ask with a smile. "What do you think?" His palms rest around the mug, and he leans back. "You tell me." The memories pull you back, given freedom to embellish the colors, the views, the events. "The city prospers. I cannot claim to know how it has been described to you, but allowing magic certainly didn't turn it into a ruin. Merchants flock to it because it is kept safe, people study herbalism there. It may rain plenty, I admit." "What about the mages?" <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ "We get to learn our craft, work on understanding and bettering our Gift. Some things just naturally happen when there is...a significant amount of us in one place." <<else>>\ "They get to learn their craft, work on understanding and bettering their Gift. Some things just naturally happen when there is...a significant amount of them in one place." <</if>>\ <<include ch2_ev_g7>>

He sits with your response, lightly stirring the ale in his hands. How long has he been harboring this question? Did it surface when he met you, or was it scratching at him for a long while?.. For a while, you sit working on your drinks. \ <<if $temp.drink == 2>>\ Pleasant warmth fills you, your muscles relaxing. Maybe you shouldn't be this careless in front of him, knowing that Arthur may return at any moment, but you are getting exhausted with the relentless need to remain on your guard. <<elseif $temp.drink == 1>>\ The ale carefully dulls the sharpness of your hearing, the quick way your eyes snap to a disturbance even the most innocuous. This past day has been exhausting, and you are chasing this fleeting relief under the pretense of companionship and honesty. <<else>>\ Yours allows you to remain on your guard and be aware of any disturbance, even the most innocuous one. You cannot forget that Arthur could walk back in through those doors any moment, and a countless many decisions could be taken in his absence. <</if>>\ You see the color of the sky slowly change in the graying blue strip in the window. The dusk brings first visitors in search of merriment into the inn: hard workers and thieves, ready to exchange coin for the ale and raise the soft murmur of the room into a boastful rumble. Such crowds have always played into your hand: a distraction, a mask for the noises, an excuse to move around the room. This rumble lets you be more candid. Open your palm and outstretch another offering. <<if $p.crafty > 55>>\ Your voice takes on an enticing, almost conspiratorial tone. \ <<else>>\ Your voice drops, yet you try to push it as something rather mundane. \ <</if>>\ "Would you like to hear about $q.lord $q.name?" <<NextPage "ch2_ev_g8">>

Gale freezes, studying you like one does an opponent, with meticulous, harried urgency, while struggling to keep oneself together. You do not rush him, your offer free of premature judgement. Someone in the room calls for music, but there are no volunteers to pull out an instrument. Gale drinks, his eyes on you. "What exactly?" he asks slowly. Oh, he is careful. You smile, putting forth an unthreatening image. "Well. Have you ever met $q.him?" "If the Gray Regent has never left Riante, then there was never even a chance of it happening." You won't be confirming that. "Then I can tell you what $q.he is like." "Wicked," he answers, gazing into his mug. Then his green eyes find yours. "But aside from that?" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Human, you know. ' + $q.lord + ' ' + $q.name + ' likes to play card games. Rather particular about the foods ' + $q.he + ' eats."'|ch2_ev_g8a][$gale.callbacks.ydescr to "human", modTrust("gale", 2)]]</li> <li>[["Every bit as wicked as you've been told," I play up. "I must say, you are nothing alike."|ch2_ev_g8b][$gale.callbacks.ydescr to "wicked", $gale.rel.fake +=1]]</li> <li>[['"Rather fetching," I blurt sheepishly. Oh no. "Easily commands the room, you can always feel ' + $q.his + ' presence in it."'|ch2_ev_g8c][$gale.callbacks.ydescr to "hot", $q.rel.love +=2]]</li> </ul></div>

You don't know what he expects to hear--or what he wants, so you might as well settle for the truth. There is a tall, imposing Tower, and within it, the large study that the Gray Regent occupies sits at the end of a long corridor. It is lined with salvaged statues of a forgotten era, and armed guards watch the doors. The $q.king sits proudly and carries <<print $q.him>>self with grace. The sovereign to all mages is a mighty figure. But underneath it all, $q.he too is a person. Plenty can describe the portraits and the rumors to Gale, but only you have stood in the $q.king's study and watched $q.him pour two cups of tea. "$q.He easily makes rather important people--dressed the part, at least--uncomfortable. With just the way $q.he smiles sometimes." You suddenly imagine yourself walking the familiar alleys, and your thought drifts. "Riante is quite known for its rains, the muddy streets and the tents stretched over the market square. It gets to anyone sooner or later. But I think $q.he is one of the very few people who doesn't mind it, perhaps even enjoys it." Not a portrait, hardly a sketch, but it came from a real place. Few people, you think, would remember these bits. "Card games," Gale repeats after a long pause, just as someone explodes with laughter behind you. "Everyone has a pasttime they enjoy." A short nod. He leans onto his elbows, voice lowering. <<include ch2_ev_g9>>

Evasive flattery. You aren't confident that he is searching to confirm whether there are familial similarities, but something tells you that as a mage that was brought up in hostile Daelan, he would rather see himself different. And they are that: different. If you didn't know, you would never assume from his looks alone that he stems from the le Tellier lineage. Only the brown of his hair, perhaps, a feature that runs back to Lord Gideon if the portrait is to be believed. But you haven't seen the Viper King to affirm that. <<if $p.crafty >= 58>>\ "Every time I had to appear in front of $q.him," you continue, "I felt...paralyzed. Dreading what $q.he would ask of me, where he $q.he would send me. Steal something, from rich or common, it never mattered to $q.him. $q.He just spoke an order at me with those cold, indifferent eyes." "Like Gideon then," he says, and you aren't sure if it is a question. It doesn't surprise you though, that he doesn't call him a grandfather. "I never met him." "He is the reason the continent is in such a sorry state." He sighs and rests his face on the ball of his hand. The mood over your table might turn pensive at that, but you are far from alone. Somewhere over your shoulder, a man explodes with laughter. "That is a lot for one man," you say. "How did he achieve that?" Gale smiles without meaning to. "He let magic run rampant. Unchecked power creates misery, and he didn't care. His magistrates were permitted to do as they pleased so long as they were loyal." Could have appeared so. You've never heard anyone //discuss// Lord Gideon, not even $q.king $q.name. So all you manage is a nod. Many would contest this conclusion and attribute it to the parties much closer to the mage prince, but such an argument would not play into your hands. Not yet. <<else>>\ Even so, trying to lie with what you know of yourself--or are you lying at all? Your voice catches either way. "Yes, wicked/ $q.His joy often laid in cruel things. $q.He doesn't treat the mages well. We are...expendable." Gale looks up from his mug, your face a sudden curiosity to him. "On what?" You draw a blank. Isn't that a judgment on its own? "On...$q.his plans," you try. Your face feels hot, and you struggle to keep your eyes on him. "But you haven't been told what these plans are, right?" He remembers from last night. If you didn't know better, you would think he wasn't trying to catch you on a lie at all. But his plain tone is deceptive in a way that can easily slip past the unprepared defenses. Even you know that much. You cannot trust your voice, so you nod. <</if>>\ <<include ch2_ev_g9>>

He isn't saying anything. "I simply mean to say that $q.he has a striking...quality." You should stop talking. "It is just hard to look away when $q.he speaks. Very...regal." In the moment of merciful silence, Gale takes a mighty gulp of his ale. You just //had// to pour out your private thoughts like that, huh. This is nothing but praise, and praise of the worst kind: the longing one. The first words that come to mind upon the need to describe the $q.king, and they are like //this//. About the way $q.he makes you //feel//, how you can hardly look away from //$q.him//. <<if $temp.drink > 0>>\ It must be the inebriant speaking, twisting your hand until you break out in the touchy truths. It must be. <<else>>\ Can't even blame it on the alcohol. The purple color of your drink shines as if to only further fluster you. <</if>>\ No way back now. You clear your throat and latch onto comfort in thinking that at least your words were honest. You //need// to slip in some honesty if you want to keep this up, don't you? "That doesn't matter now, does it?" you add awkwardly, and Gale finds the courage to face you once more. Somewhere over your shoulder, a man explodes with laughter. In a strange way, it is all rather fitting. <<include ch2_ev_g9>>

"Since you know $q.him so well, what do you think $q.he wants then?" Gale asks. A familiar question. "I cannot know beyond what the Gray Regent declares," you say vaguely. It is muddy territory, and you reach for the steadiness of the drink in hand. "And there have been no bold ones." "Any guesses?" He speaks without venom, though with unfaltering insistence. Even if by now the place has gotten rather rowdy, you can still hear him perfectly. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"I don\'t think ' + $q.he + ' has quite let go of the past," I admit wearily. "It may not mean anything at all. Just an observation."'|ch2_ev_g9a][modMemories("y", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I pretend to think. "To change the standing of the mages. The treaty terms are rather unfavorable to many, I imagine."|ch2_ev_g9b][modTrust("gale", 1), $gale.rel.fake +=1]]</li> <li>[['"Perhaps to find another successor?" I lie. "From the looks of it, a lot of what ' + $q.he + ' has been trying to achieve gets bogged down in negotiations because of the treaty. That can\'t be very stimulating."'|ch2_ev_g9c][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"If I knew, I would have gotten it to ' + $q.him + ' so that ' + $q.he + ' wouldn\'t be angry with me anymore."'|ch2_ev_g9d][modTrust("gale", 2), modPlayer("crafty", 2), $gale.rel.fake +=1]]</li> </ul></div>

Your words hauntingly linger in the air. Gale's past began and shaped his existence before he was even born. Your past lies in a mist just out of your reach. $q.king $q.name can be often caught staring into the emptiness, eyes half-lidded, and you can sense the weight that compels $q.him to that. "It is a difficult name to live up to," Gale says slowly. Not many can say it with the same understanding that he has. <<include ch2_ev_g10>>

He sits perfectly still, making it impossible for you to work out if a cause like that is of any interest to him. For many in his shoes, it would be, but you have heard that despite the open hostilities toward his magic, the mage prince puts up with it anyway. "Just as any Gray Regent," he says finally, remarkably free of judgement. "That is what makes it a reasonable guess, I suppose." "As good as any." <<include ch2_ev_g10>>

There... have never been such motions in the Tower. Not that you know of. But you could always sense the frustration permeating the air on the Gray Regent's floor whenever the need to contact Daelan arose. Permissions. Inspections. When messages took weeks to travel, such delays were often a death sentence to an endeavor. You know $q.he wouldn't quit though. The liquid fire in $q.his eyes at the mention of another hurdle never signified otherwise. But it is simple to imagine that a different person would. Someone that the man sitting in front of you doesn't even know, relying on you to tell the truth from the unflattering myth. Gale doesn't say anything to that. If he doesn't believe you, or is surprised by the possibility of his $q.uncle being a lot less headstrong than he might have imagined, there is no telling. <<include ch2_ev_g10>>

He plays right into your hands with this question, creating an opportunity to remind him of your story, to solidify it. It is //true//, so therefore, it never leaves your mind. You let the solemnness play out, then risk a glance at him. A hint of something...sad appears in the light crease between his brows. If it were someone else, you would call it concern, or even understanding, but you know better than that. Besides, you haven't entirely talked your way out of the tight spot yet. <<include ch2_ev_g10>>

"There is one thing I know for certain," you begin with care and grab his attention. "$q.He cared about $q.his sister." Your secret weapon, and the one thing linking both le Telliers tighter than blood. It silences him, makes him sit up and drop the relaxed act. "Is that--" His determination is swallowed by the start of a song: an outfit of voices not even attempting to sound harmonious. In the opposite corner, a tightly knit group linked at their shoulders, are swaying and bellowing lyrics that are difficult to follow. No one complains, some even clapping along. It is upbeat and somewhat inspiring, even if deafening. A sailor primes his boat and wants to challenge the sea, you gather after a while. It is impossible to have a conversation until they are done, and even Gale is watching them with similar understanding. But it doesn't stop with just one song. The second picks up in the brief pause from the cheering after the first, with one voice drawling a single word and the rest joining on cue. This one, too, is about the sea, presenting a tougher musical challenging than the previous; though that seems to matter little to the merry group who sing with their hearts instead. "Sarus sold his boat!" comes the explanation when the song ends, and the owner of the voice vigorously points to a man in the group. It is met with cheer and a roll of exclamations, filled with understanding. You'd think they were done-- The third one is //worse//. It starts as a love ballad, albeit a passionate one, and swiftly devolves into a crude number with numerous and quite imaginative fruit-themed allegories for sex. Some of them are plain //filthy//. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[...and now I wish the ground would swallow me whole.|ch2_ev_g10a][modTrust("gale", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I am stunned, gaze skipping to anything and everything that isn't Gale.|ch2_ev_g10b][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> <li>[[I allow myself to laugh freely, and my foot taps in rhythm with the melody.|ch2_ev_g10c][modTrust("gale", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I grin and slowly turn to face Gale. Wonder how his palace upbringing is handling this.|ch2_ev_g10d][modPlayer("playful", 1), modFriendship("gale", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

Each verse, a new fruit is irrevocably ruined for you. Plums. Apples. You can't escape this wholesale desecration. Your skin crawls with discomfort, the unfortunate act of having ears in this miserable scenario. You never wanted to hear //that// about food. If you were alone, you would have escaped. But now you have to bear it in the presence of the mage of the Fourth, the nephew of your ruler, the quiet and reserved former prince of Daelan--while someone recites what the soft flesh of a ripe peach reminds them of in a song form. There are eyes on you, you sense, skin warm. Does someone find your discomfort entertaining? You can barely stand to look away from the single point in front of you, blessedly void of absolutely everything. When it ends, you feel something in your chest uncurl. The embarrassment that wasn't even your own starts to fade, but the tips of your ears still burn. <<include ch2_ev_g11>>

What do you even do? One commonly runs into such ridiculous situations in the company of friends, not... whoever the mage prince is to you. You were //just// talking about the Gray Regent, testing out the waters, and this is what interrupts you. You sit as still as you can manage. The tongues of fire dance in the fireplace. Ale trickles from the table across from you. Even the sun hid in shame, leaving the sky to hide in the deep shades of purple. You cannot bear to meet Gale's eye. Not while someone recites what the soft flesh of a ripe peach reminds them of in a song form. When it finally ends, you feel like you can breathe fully again, and your willingness to forget it has even happened surges. <<include ch2_ev_g11>>

Well, that is a new way to look at plums. The people around just grin with accustomed, almost ritualistic glee, but you are hearing it for the first time, chuckling at the imaginative interpretation. The supposedly easy beat makes it linger with your memory, body easily finding the right rhythm to sway to and tap along with. You wouldn't think that peaches look like //that//, but what they bellow doesn't outright state it either. All your imagination, and you are guilty as charged to lean into the scenery that is being painted. By the end, the lines of the refrain echo in your head: //if two bodies twist like vines, nectar flows in lissom lines//. <<include ch2_ev_g11>>

This should be good. It is very unlikely such songs are played within the walls of the Rimehall estates, and it is impossible for them to ever reach the palace. There were no clever machinations behind it to arrange for this to happen, and you prepare to thoroughly enjoy his horrified reaction-- When you turn, the scene is quite different. He watches the crude performance with a luster of curiosity, unable to help himself but smirk at the lines slurred together but quite intelligible nonetheless. He meets your eye briefly, and then shifts to watching the rest of the song play out. By the end of it, you have more questions than answers, and for a moment the noise dies down enough to let the voices be heard. <<include ch2_ev_g11>>

<<if $p.playful >= 60>>\ "I will have you know that people never broke out in the songs of //such// kind when I travelled alone," you point out with a faint smile. <<else>>\ "An interesting one," you say neutrally. <</if>>\ "I think I've heard it before," he recalls with faint amusement. "It is popular in the colder regions. I doubt whoever came up with these lyrics has ever seen a pear." If he wants to elaborate, the opportunity is stolen from him as another jolly song begins. This one invites dancing, two pairs spinning in unsure circles and hitting the weathered corners of the furniture with chipped corners and the limbs of the patrons just trying to weave by. You have to dodge the sudden and far-travelling spillages of ale, but between this and a fight breaking out, an obnoxious celebration is a better backdrop to an evening. The innkeeper walks in and makes it clear that the fourth one was to be the last one and, surprisingly, his warning is heeded at its first arrival. The group orders another round of ale, but they cease rhyming and otherwise offending the other patrons. Your corner feels like its own thing again, but there is no picking up where you left off. You highly doubt he would even want to invoke the name of his family when the air reeks of ale, sweat and something you prefer not to explore. Silently, without even agreeing, you work on finishing your drinks. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_g12">>

You are almost done, when a shadow appears in the narrow crack of the door. Your gaze flits to it, and the familiar weariness sets in, taking out the guesswork of this newcomer's identity. Arthur finds you easily amidst the patrons. His expression heavy, he stalks towards you in solemn steps, and the frown that he bears is not a welcome sign. Gale picks up on the shift and faces the door, stopping at a seated half-turn. "Did you find anyone?" he asks when Arthur approaches. Your corner suddenly feels narrow, and the hunter blocks out some of the light. "Yes. We should gather upstairs." You wish he'd say more, but as you ready to leave, he turns to you, and that wish fades. "Find Darla and wait for us there," Arthur says--to Gale. "I need to ask //$p.him// something." Gale steps out with wearied slowness and acknowledges you with a cordial nod. "I will pay for the drinks." His last glance is worried, at the hunter. For a moment, both of you just watch him leave, but soon you have no choice but face Arthur. He appears rather pale, you notice vacantly, and as if he struggles under your quick inspection, he heavily fills the seat now free for the taking. The empty mug by his elbow distracts him, like its mere presence is an offence. With all the smells hanging in the air and making an unprepared eye water, he wouldn't be able to recognize it as the plain ale that it is. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"What do you want?"'|ch2_ev_g12a][modPlayer("playful", -2)]]</li> <li>[['"I wasn\'t filling his head with treason if that is what you are afraid of."'|ch2_ev_g12b][]]</li> <li>[[I'm in no rush. I lean onto my elbows and wait for him to say his piece.|ch2_ev_g12c][]]</li> <li>[['"I wouldn\'t recommend it personally, but they might still serve you one."'|ch2_ev_g12d][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

The mug immediately forgotten, his displeasure grows at your sharp manner. <<include ch2_ev_g13>>

He laughs quietly, although nothing you said was a joke. <<include ch2_ev_g13>>

In the rumble of this room, chaotic and foreign, you have learned to carve out a peace of mind. Even Arthur's presence cannot easily shake it. He taps two fingers against the wooden surface of the table, mustering and sealing his resolve, and finally intrudes on the silence. <<include ch2_ev_g13>>

He laughs quietly, although there is a flicker of aversion to it that does not escape your notice. <<include ch2_ev_g13>>

"What does $q.name want here?" he asks in a voice that is hushed, cracking. "What is there possibly to gain from all this?" The urge to correct him readies the words on your tongue, but you fight it back. Easier and easier each time, Arthur is a great partner to learn it quickly. "I have no idea what you are talking about." His laugh is quick and bitter, eyes narrowing. "Of course you don't." Whatever chipped him so is worth finding out. "You're not going to tell me what happened? Just...accuse me?" He looks at the mug once more, as if it's something that he cannot quite chase out of his mind. The late hours weigh him down, and it seems like the recent one wasn't kind to him either. He nudges the mug just a few inches away from him, gaining minute satisfaction, and finally speaks. "People died to save this place from wild magic. Died and yet couldn't." And with that, he rises, your gaze latching to him. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_g14">>

This could mean a myriad of things, and you shouldn't jump to hasty conclusions. The meaning of these words most favorable to you would likely cause him to be angry--and not...this. "Let us go," he says over his shoulder. "You will find out." <<include ch2_ev_room1>> /* Evening Arthur */

"It makes the most sense," you hear Darla respond in his stead, surprisingly chipper. Arthur's sidelong glance at her is quick like a jab. He regards you next. Not quite happy with the suggestion, like you expected, but the silence of this kind is hopeful. "Fine." With that, he stands up and turns around in one fluid motion, proceeding for the door. Not a moment to waste then. This was your idea, and hesitation isn't a good look, so you get out of the seat after him. It will be cold out there, you think, bracing yourself as you walk into the corridor after him. You feel gazes on your back--Gale and Darla just as amused as you. Arthur is determined to clear the inn in as few steps as is humanly possible, and by the time you curve the exit, he is already descending the stairs. That isn't exactly the best way to //watch over you//, but perhaps since you have asked for his supervision… <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Far be it from me to want to launch myself into a hunter's den, but something about this place bothers me. If I follow him, I think I can find out what exactly.|ch2_ev_a1][$path to 1, modPlayer("vil", -2)]]</li> <li>[[I need to make him think I have nothing to hide. Showing a bit of initiative was a good call.|ch2_ev_a1][$path to 2, modPlayer("crafty", 1), $art.rel.fake +=1]]</li> <li>[[I don't really care which one of them looms over me tonight. Might as well be this one.|ch2_ev_a1][$path to 3, modPlayer("crafty", -1), $art.rel.fake -=1]]</li> <li>[[He is clearly annoyed by me. Even if I am being childish, I am not letting him escape it, even for tonight.|ch2_ev_a1][$path to 3, $art.rel.fake -=1]]</li> </ul></div>

Arthur is waiting for you outside, however. Through the murmur of the inn and out the squeaking doors, you walk into the embrace of the fresh air and more of the disrepair in the street. Not far off, someone is repairing a wheel, hammering at the wood. The loud smell of tar reaches you. From the way your looks seem to draw attention beyond your want anywhere you go, you cannot help but wonder one thing. Why haven't any of the hunters found //you// yet? As you know, they are pack creatures, and even if one is busy, there is always the other. Wyrm's Nest doesn't look like a place where you can dissolve in work until midnight. Riante, compared to this village, looks like an endless maze, and even it is smaller than certain cities in Daelan. "//Please,//" Arthur interrupts your thoughts with bitter courtesy, hand beckoning you to move first. As far as evening strolls go, you have had better. Strapped for options, you pretend like you are searching for anything that could resemble an outpost between open windows, buckets of soft and wrinkly apples, and fences with missing teeth. But he is watching you, that much you can sense. You are another thing on his mind now, and maybe that is for the best. It should never be easy for him to concentrate in your presence. And it is already working splendidly. Shadows lie under his eyes, and every now and then, he blinks with too much effort. "Aren't you tired?" A simple thing to ask, it slips you almost thoughtlessly. Anyone would notice, so why can't you remark on it? He doesn't stop--your question not that shocking--but his pace noticeably slows. All the better for him, because barreling through the streets was very unlikely to help find //anything//. "We have business here," he says brusquely. "What does how I feel have to do with anything?" Lanterns lit over porches, the soft glow spilling from the windows and the crispy chill on your cheeks attest to the onset of the night. After the whole day spent on your feet, with a rare chance to take the weight off your legs, you wouldn't mind calling it in early, and you were fortunate enough not to have to deal with a satchel stuffed to the brim with travel necessities. What still keeps //him// upright is a mystery. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $ch2.outcome_oath is false>><li>[['"You must be quite eager to get rid of me then."'|ch2_ev_a2][$path to 1, modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li><</if>> <li>[['"Is this business so important it couldn\'t wait until morning?"'|ch2_ev_a2][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[['"Nothing, I suppose. I was merely making an observation."'|ch2_ev_a2][$path to 3]]</li> <li>[[How foolish of me to fill the silence. I shall not make the same mistake again.|ch2_ev_a2][$path to 4, modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ Despite himself, he snorts a laugh. "Remarkable perceptiveness," Arthur says, approval notably absent from his tone. "I do not know if it is on purpose, but you do not make it particularly hard to pick on," you retort. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ <<if $ch2.outcome_oath is false>>\ "Wouldn't //you// prefer to be rid of my company?" he asks, raising one brow. Conveniently failing to mention that it ends with you placed in a cell. But you wouldn't expect anything else from a mage hunter. "Only if it doesn't come with being rid of a great many things in the same sweep," you reason. <<else>>\ "If it wasn't important, we wouldn't be sent here in the first place." "Well, it doesn't look like the people here share your urgency," you remark observationally. "That is a naive statement, considering we've only had a single meal here," he replies coldly. <</if>>\ <<elseif $path is 3>>\ "An observation is best contemplated in silence before it is shared with the world. Perhaps then you would see there is no real value in it." <<if $p.playful >= 55>>\ "How wise," you remark, your seriousness a parody. <<else>>\ "You could have said that in fewer words," you reply wearily. <</if>>\ <<elseif $path is 4>>\ Your lack of response leaves him rather content to return to his absurdly planned pursuit. But you don't get to enjoy it for long. <</if>>\ Abruptly, he stops in his tracks, and you halt out of instinct. Surveying your surroundings habitually, you see a woman enthusiastically weed her porch, not a green stem around her. "I do not see why you would voluntarily go with me," Arthur tells you. "Why are you following?" It isn't an accusation like you're used to. A question rather. It has gotten smaller, for once not being about the Gray Regent, but //you//. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"I just think you like me the most, that\'s it."'|ch2_ev_a3][$path to 1, modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"You made it your mission to watch over me. Am I not making your job easier this way?"'|ch2_ev_a3][$path to 2, $art.rel.fake +=1]]</li> <li>[['"I simply wanted to get out of the inn. Get some fresh air."'|ch2_ev_a3][$path to 3]]</li> <<if $ch2.outcome_oath is false>><li>[['"I won\'t wait to be dragged away. Let us find this hunter outpost so I can surrender myself with dignity."'|ch2_ev_a3][$path to 4, modTrust("art", 1)]]</li><</if>> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ Arthur sighs in exasperation, tense shoulders falling. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?" he remarks in a low grumble, but your deflection gets you off the hook nonetheless. If you absolutely need to talk to him, it works best when he is exhausted, it looks like. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ There is a subtle twitch to the very corner of his mouth, and your words stop another barb ready to escape him. "How very thoughtful of you," he musters finally, his smile flat and uninspired. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ His brows flash in surprise. The inn air was likely the last thing on his mind. "It is rather fresh out here indeed," he remarks with a broad nod to the surroundings. You cannot fail to notice that some place not far from here, someone is holding pigs in a pen. Fresh is only a matter of fortunate wind direction. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ Even as a lie, the words taste foul on your tongue. To speak of your freedom like it were a coin you can part without hurting is rather upsetting. But that is the path you were told to walk, and refusing is not in the cards. Besides, it //would// be pleasant to maintain your dignity. Arthur stares at you in silence, a long look to gauge your sincerity, if anything. "Let's," he says with a clipped nod. <</if>>\ The haunt you arrive at afterwards--in silence--is a low, one-story building. The suggestion Arthur has gotten was about direction more so than the look of it, and still you know you are at the right doorstep if only because your instinct screams at you to flee. Rather than a barrack, it looks like a former warehouse, and warehouses, you know, have dig-ins that transform into underground holding cells with remarkable ease. Your skin crawls, resolve flickering as you grit your teeth. <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ But your head is quiet, save for the now-constant disturbance that is Arthur himself. <<else>>\ But your ears pick up nothing outright alarming. You stare at the windows, flipping through them like pages in a book in search for movement--and just as well, nothing. <</if>>\ Though even after Arthur knocks, no one leaves, enters or opens the door at all. No one is here. You are too tense to feel relief, however. Arthur walks past you, sparing no explanation, but when you spot an old man carving wood on the porch on the other side of the alley, you no longer need one. "Good evening," Arthur speaks, once more warm. The old man carves a heavy notch in the bit the size of his palm, deliberate and painstaking. As a whit of it pounces to the ground, it traces a path for his gaze to follow: to your boots, scuffed with dirt, up to the clothes fashioned for the road. He scowls, recognizing them as foreign, lip curling over an incisor. "The market is closed," he lisps. It doesn't read as a readiness to help when he studies you two for weapons. "You want food, go to the inn." "We are just coming from there," Arthur explains patiently, and your face itches to twitch. //We//. "In fact, we are looking for your neighbors." He steps to the side to reveal the former warehouse like he was presenting a jewel to a crown princess. The man takes a long look at the building. "No one lives there." It does nothing to upset Arthur. "But surely they gather there." Another inspection of your clothes follows, so diligent this time as if he believes he can tell your origin from the stitching alone. "Are you one of them?" the man suddenly asks, squinting as he peers in Arthur's face. It must be nice not to know, not to sense it. "Assuming we got the right house," Arthur replies with a slow nod. The old man sighs, then grumbles. His gaze drops to the piece of wood in one hand and the knife clutched in the other. His work is far from finished and too fine to be anything practical. A figurine then. A toy. "They went to the smith," he gives up. "Go back, then on your right until it gets too damn hot and stinks of onions." <<NextPage ch2_ev_a3_2>>

It is not nearly hot enough to complain when you find it. The anvil is quiet, but there are people loitering about. "Let's wait," Arthur says in a way you cannot argue. The waiting is for watching people. If the hunters are supposed to make the hairs on your skin stand up, for him recognition might work differently. You never needed to think about that. Never had a chance to observe or even entertain a guess. Or maybe, you discover after a while, it is the ones that will pay wary attention to you and look like they might try doing something about it. It is a pair: \ <<if $p.appearance.height is 1>>\ a woman with a thick black braid that runs past her waist, glaring at you with dark eyes, and a man at her side, broad and strong, with a full beard that is well cared for. Both are taller than you, and having all three hunters tower over you is not a pleasant outlook. \ <<elseif $p.appearance.height is 2>>\ a woman nearly of your height, with a thick black braid that runs past her waist, glaring at you with dark eyes, and a man at her side, tall, broad and strong, with a full beard that is well cared for. \ <<else>>\ a shorter woman with a thick black braid that runs past her waist, glaring at you with dark eyes, and a man at her side, broad and strong, with a full beard that is well cared for. \ <</if>>\ Their conversation with another figure ends, and whatever plans they had for the next step, the woman elbows her companion and walks right to you. Despite the fatigue, Arthur smiles. You, not so much. They are armed: a sword on the man's hip and a dagger handily at the woman's disposal. It takes a lot from you to stay your hand and look elsewhere. "Travelers," the woman says curtly when she stops. Her voice is rich and deep, careful. "Shouldn't be a rare sight," Arthur replies, and the large man grunts. "Plenty travel through here." "The smith is done for today," she informs, speaking at you. You can see her clearly with the long lashes and the honey skin, the nick of a scar on her temple and the thin lips that haven't smiled yet. Too clearly even. "Everyone is helpful here," Arthur says with a soft laugh. "But that is not what you are looking for." He nods at her, assessing. He is careful, and that tells you something already. "I'm looking for the hunter outpost. Or any of the hunters here, really." There is a lull. People are watching you, but not with too much interest. While the woman remains tense, her companion finds it in himself to sneer. "Did your rabbit run away?" "Mahi," she shushes him before Arthur gets to even ponder what to say. They exchange glances, and the question is considered forgotten, because she folds her arms and the corner of her mouth curls in a surprising expression of smugness when she looks at Arthur again. "Well, you are in luck then. You are looking at them." You tense, belatedly catching yourself before the step back your body takes is too big and too hasty to not attract unwanted attention. The whole day to stew with these thoughts, yet your lack of such experience shows immediately. Arthur was your first run-in, face-to-face, with a mage hunter, and now there are //three//. <<if $p.mind.magic <=1>>\ Only, your senses hesitantly inform, their presence does nothing to the headache that fractures your concentration in Arthur's presence. It is neither weaker nor stronger, and from everything you have read and heard, two hunters are always significantly worse news than one. Maybe spending a day around him has given you a false sense of understanding what to expect. You steal a glance at Arthur, taken by your observation. \ <<else>>\ Then you throw a glance at Arthur, and what you see alarms you. \ <</if>>\ Instead of mellowing with relief as you expected, he remains politely tense. "Am I now?" he goads with a small, conversational laugh. "Do you have a mage in that pocket of yours so that we can prove it?" the other hunter, the man, asks, cackling. <<if $p.sly >= 65>>\ You force a breath into your body and, with effort, remain still. Your gaze which should appear disinterested, strays over the street in search of the exit path, desperate for any cranny between the houses that, as if they were people huddling for warmth, stretch in a never-ending line. <<else>>\ A wave of unpleasant shiver shakes your body, and the cold sweats follow. You stare at the man wide-eyed, your breath hitching. <</if>>\ Arthur forces a weak laugh, because of course that would be such a bizarre thing to have on him. If only you weren't standing //right here//. Yet he doesn't even look at you. "Take me to Merritt," he says. "That would be all the proof I need." The woman wilts and the man by her side ignites like an ember in the wind. <<NextPage ch2_ev_a4>>

"Why--" she starts, but her voice cracks. She clears her throat and speaks sharply, her tone just shy of an accusation: "Why are you looking for him?" "Jayna?…" The stubborn, deep crease between the man's brows softens as he eyes his partner, but she intently waits for Arthur's response. "Jayna, he clearly has no idea what he's talking about. We aren't going to listen to some cheat skulking around here, are we?" He places a worried hand on the woman's shoulder, snapping out of it only when he hears Arthur click his tongue. You glance over, finding Arthur's expression blank yet oddly assessing. "That is a rather bold thing to call a duke's son," he says in a cold, methodical voice, raising his brow. Both strangers shuffle uncomfortably. "We may be a long way from Noyer, but certainly //not far enough//. And as I recall, the Valaini occupation ended one hundred thirty-seven years ago, making this Daelan--where it matters." Jax once told you that one could learn a lot about a person by the moment they rattle their title. In their usual manner, they did not elaborate, and you weren't even entrusted to deal with any nobility back then. But now, standing here and witnessing Arthur's frosty demeanor, every inch of him poised and collected, you begin to think that perhaps it wasn't just an offhand remark from Jax. The woman recovers in the meantime, quirking her head. "Arthur…" she murmurs. The change in her is instant, like snow slipping off a branch when lightly nudged, yet inexplicable: a chip in the stolid front, searching for words and not finding them. Her eyes glimmer as she stares at your companion in bleary recognition, but then she steels herself enough to sharply drop her gaze to the ground. "Apologies, my lord. Merritt has spoken to me about you. In detail, as you might imagine." He looks at Jayna from under a softening frown, though his voice remains stern. "If you are Merritt's friend, you may call me Arthur." Then, with a slight turn of his chin, he acknowledges the other man. "Not you, though. You, I might yet ask to find my rabbit." "My lord," Jayna says, speaking over her partner's heavy sigh, who is now left to grumble at best. "I suggest we speak in a quieter place." Arthur nods, though not without casting a somewhat worried look at you. "That would be my preference as well." As if only now noticing your presence, she nods at you, then silences whatever was about to escape her partner’s mouth with a resolutely raised hand. "Please, follow me." You hesitate amidst the steps. The veiled truths exchanged by the hunters have only given you the faintest understanding of what is happening, and you strongly suspect that much more was conveyed in the unspoken. It would be prudent to find out the cause of the unrest here, but the thought of walking to a secluded place surrounded by mage hunters unsettles you. "Let's go," you hear Arthur say, a step ahead of you, beckoning you to move with his unflinching gaze. Perhaps he is just as trapped in this arrangement, having to watch over you, or maybe that’s just something you want to believe to fight the uneasy feeling crawling under your skin. Still, you follow. <<NextPage ch2_ev_a5>>

Jayna doesn't lead you far, offering no explanations along the way. You arrive at a small hut, where she escorts you into a small room with a fireplace, a solitary table, and a long shelf along the widest wall, lined with clay pots adorned with sharp-edged, intricate motifs. She rejoins you soon after, apparently having dismissed her companion, as the muffled sounds of their argument accompany your reluctant inspection of a place you never intended to visit. With no clear direction, you and Arthur simply stand in the middle of the room, illuminated by the light of a three-pronged candlestick. Jayna lingers by the closed door, oddly hesitant to close the remaining distance. For a fleeting moment, her gaze seems vacant, but then she raises her head. "Thar must truly be blind to have forsaken this place and left it for the magic to consume. We didn't believe anyone would arrive, my lord." "Surely you must have, given how much assistance Wyrm's Nest has required in recent years." A wry smile crosses her lips. "First time I'm hearing that we've had assistance." Arthur folds his arms, letting the tick of silence be his only response to her complaint. "As far as I know," he says slowly, " the High Sentinel has consistently reported that although the situation was dire, you were successful at keeping it in check." "Merritt is dead." She fires it like an arrow, three words of pain dripped in venom and poised to kill. The fractures are that much more apparent now, her breath shaky and lacking. "What?.." Arthur merely whispers at her. Although sounding like he questions her, like he is trying to swat away her proclamation, realization drapes heavily over him. Pale even in the golden candlelight, his hand grasps at the air as if in search of support. "Him and the hunters he's arrived with," she says defiantly, chin trembling. "It's just us, faring with what he has taught us. Us and that High //Louse// of yours." The revelation freezes the room, cold pain coursing freely around you. Arthur breathes heavily, refusing to speak, and Jayna, eyes wet and lips pressed together with force, clearly does not trust herself to say more. They have forgotten about you, if only momentarily. You understand one thing though, and rather clearly. There are no //real// mage hunters here except for Arthur you have arrived with. The hunter outpost that he has promised you is no more. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[And I am doing my utmost not to blatantly smile. Although this is bloody hilarious.|ch2_ev_a6][$path to 1, modPlayer("ruthless", 2), $art.rel.fake +=4]]</li> <li>[[I am stunned in blank-faced relief. All I'm hearing is that I will not have to worry about the hunters at all.|ch2_ev_a6][$path to 2]]</li> <li>[[I try to look affected. It is a surprise to me as well, though, unlike in Arthur's case, it is not unpleasant.|ch2_ev_a6][$path to 3, $art.rel.fake +=2, modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I know I should not, I know it is absurd, but I feel…somewhat sorry for her.|ch2_ev_a6][$path to 4, modAffinity("y", -1), $art.rel.fake -=2]]</li> <li>[[It's too early to relax. Whatever wiped out the hunter chapter here might just be worse.|ch2_ev_a6][$path to 5, modAffinity("player", 2)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ Bit by bit, the scene is starting to make sense. Jayna in front of you is a hunter in name only, a pale and toothless replacement for the people Arthur has come here to see. All this prancing and confidence, only for whatever is taking place here to have wiped them out. So, shoving the potential mortal dangers to the side… What was supposed to be a problem for you, the reason for his smugness, is now a blow to him. And how //delightfully// ironic. You only hope they both are taken with themselves and the thoughts of their dead friend to miss the way you struggle in keeping your face impassive. Unlike Arthur's, the intelligence that Jax possesses on the state of things here seems to be exceptionally accurate. The contemptuous chortle in your chest becomes a shaky sigh with heavy effort. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ Bit by bit, the scene is starting to make sense. Jayna in front of you is a hunter in name only, a pale and toothless replacement for the people Arthur has come here to see. Only they are no longer a problem. One way or another, this issue has resolved itself before you even knew. A whole chapter of hunters was always going to be a problem, which is why you have always gone out of your way to avoid them even at the slightest whiff of their activity in the region that your assignment has taken you. Even now, it seems like you are safe, and it feels almost unbelievable. An invisible hand of fate that served you a good card under the table. You are fortunate that relief is a feeling that cannot be pinned down. As you sigh the pent-up worries out, it almost looks like you are overcome with the news. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ Bit by bit, the scene is starting to make sense. Jayna in front of you is a hunter in name only, a pale and toothless replacement for the people Arthur has come here to see. So it must be that when Jax told you you would not have to worry about the dangers in the village, this is what they must have meant. Even if knowing this alone gave them confidence, it is something you can work with. However, being this detached and pragmatic doesn't serve you at the moment. The more your reaction stands out, the more suspicious you look. You can't have Arthur suspect that you knew anything about this, so you frown and reserve your attention for Jayna, her silence and stolid expression held together by her will alone. There is no need for dramatics, but you should look like this troubles you at the very least. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ Bit by bit, the scene is starting to make sense. Jayna in front of you is a hunter in name only, a pale and toothless replacement for the people Arthur has come here to see. Your strolls around the village were not lengthy or particularly pleasant, but you wouldn't need to bore yourself with a conversation with a surly stranger to tell that people here struggle. That, and this hunter she keeps mentioning very clearly being dear to her. Her eyes are sharp and naturally tense. The rugged air and way of life may have thickened her skin to pretend like she could take on a hunter's mantle and keep a semblance of //order//, but a mere name makes her lip quiver despite her best attempts at hiding it. Grief spills. There is always too much of it for one body, so it reaches the tips of your feet and makes you feel things you'd rather not. //Sorry//. For a man that might have tossed you in a cell. For a woman that might still do the same if Arthur speaks a particular sentence. But you do because she is on the verge of tears and it makes your chest heavy. <<elseif $path is 5>>\ Bit by bit, the scene is starting to make sense. Jayna in front of you is a hunter in name only, a pale and toothless replacement for the people Arthur has come here to see. And that is what your mind leaps at: the need to have a replacement. The danger isn't over, and it is worse than the mage hunters themselves. They can deal with magic and mages and are twisted into skilled and disciplined warriors. Acting alone or in small groups, they can strike with deathly swiftness and precision, so whatever withstood that and //won//… An unpleasant chill rolls over your skin in the wisp of the draft. The hunters are at least something known. For now, you can only stand, simmering in your suspicions, and wait for Jayna to explain as she trudges through her grief. <</if>>\ "Dead," Arthur repeats as if he needs to hear it in his voice to comprehend what Jayna is saying. "How? When did it happen?" The woman swallows with effort. "What do you know about the reason they came here? About this village?" Arthur rubs his face with vigor, having to speak being the last thing he expected. For you, however, the conversation is just approaching its interesting part. "Like I said, I was led to believe you had it under control," he struggles to voice. "An affliction in the woods, some magical remnant. A team of hunters was sent to investigate and handle it, but there was some kind of a complication, leading to the establishment of a regular outpost. Jayna, what happened to Merritt?" "Why--" she starts sharply and then decides to let the question die. Pushing back agitation, she whips her braid over her shoulder. "I cannot seem to understand who I'm talking to: a noble lord requesting after his friend, or a mage hunter that would understand what I'm trying to say." Her sternness knocks the wind out of him, leaving them in a momentary staredown. This is not the silence you can nudge to pass, your presence questionable as it is. Thankfully, you are not the only one wanting to get somewhere here. "I recognize the colors," Arthur suddenly says, voice low, and points with a gloved hand at the dagger strapped to Jayna's belt. Most of it is hidden in a leather sheath, but urged by his statement, you spare it another look. The colors he speaks of must be of the cloth that is tied around the hilt: a whole lot of blue and a rare streak of light gray. "Never thought I'd see him part with it…" He exhales softly and offers Jayna a semblance of encouragement. "We have come here to find out what is going on and to offer our help." Tension recedes in his deferent silence. Jayna bites her lower lip, but her expression is a touch less pained. "It has a name. Goes as the moon curse around here," she starts with a weary shaking of her head. You've never heard of something like that, and the quirked brow on Arthur's face says he hasn't either. Jayna presses her mouth into a flat line. "//You// try telling a room of matrons that it doesn't need to sound like the name of a ballad, but they needed something that the children would memorize." "It is a…curse on the land, I take it?" Arthur asks. "The forest." Jayna scoffs weakly. "But it is the people who suffer so it might as well be us that are cursed. You see, the forest is the lifeblood of Wyrm's Nest. We rely on it for food, craftsmanship and trade. But now, it is slowly being consumed, infested… It is changing, and it is bleeding the village. Mother never cared for pretty things, but on her deathbed, she told me that she used to braid flowers into my hair when I was little. I don't remember her ever doing that, and now I don't think I've seen a flower in years. But that's not the worst of it. The worst are the fog-hounds and the nightmares they bring." Arthur grunts in dissatisfaction, and your brows furrow with the onset of concern. <<NextPage ch2_ev_a7>>

You have never seen a fog-hound, but you know //of// them. The Gray Regent rarely concerns <<print $q.him>>self with the spillages of wild magic, and thus, by extension, you have had no run-ins personally, but it would be impossible for you to sit in Riante for months and not learn of them. What the fog-hounds guard is the territory of wild magic. It has existed before time, before mankind understood memories were important and began recording them. It tries to weave into the fabric of the world but only bleeds it in rough, red stitches. Never fitting, volatile. Angry. In the desolate corners, wild magic pools seemingly by no design--or is left in the wake of powerful spells. These eerie outbreaks infect the very nature in their vicinity. Not to destroy but to bend out of shape, to conquer and change. Twisting the living things--plants, animals, people--and twisting itself into living things. Hostile to mankind, hostile to any semblance of order. The one time it erupted in a monstrous amount that threatened to destroy the world as people back then knew it, it was the Six who stepped in its domain, in a desperate bid to stop the spread and its violent power. They succeeded, emerging changed--the first mages. To some, it was a foolish, imprudent scheme. But for the time being, it saved the world. As humanity dipped into its pools, wild magic learned from this world, too. In nature, there is plenty of prey. But there are also predators: territorial, vicious and ready to extend their fangs should one trespass and challenge their dominion. The fog-hounds are ethereal beasts that cannot be easily slain, the form magic has learned to guard its dwelling. Impervious to common weapons, the only sure way to stay safe from their bodies of mist and fiery red eyes is to never get in their way at all. Their gnashing and their teeth do not tear the flesh, they lacerate underneath, wounding beyond the veins and arteries, the muscle and the bone, and sapping the lifeforce itself. And that, you've heard, is just as painful. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I've always wondered if I was intentionally kept away from them.|ch2_ev_a8][$path to 1, modMemories("role", 2)]]</li> <li>[[One of the things that tarnish the already spotty reputation of mages. As if it is any fault of ours.|ch2_ev_a8][$path to 2, modAffinity("y", 3)]]</li> <li>[[Because of that, my curiosity about them has always been high.|ch2_ev_a8][$path to 3, modMemories("incident", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I much prefer my lifeforce where it is. The mere mention makes me squirm.|ch2_ev_a8][$path to 4, modMemories("incident", -2)]]</li> <li>[[The fog-hounds are weak to my kind of magic, so their appearance here doesn't worry me.|ch2_ev_a8][$path to 5]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ All things magic will inevitably lead back to the Gray Regent. The world exists with such a belief, and it is a simple shorthand for understanding causes and consequences. The gallery leading up to $q.his study is lined with the images of the Sisters, so whether you want to or not, you will be forced to think of them if you wish to speak to the $q.king. And yet you never spoke of it with $q.him, there wasn't a conversation where $q.he would bring it up. Everything you learned of wild magic, you learned from Mort. Hearing this now, you cannot shake the feeling that it all seems almost intentional. Until now, at least, because it seems like this time, you might just run into it head first. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ Only a madman wouldn't fear such a beast, arising from the power that is barely to comprehend. It binds the fog-hounds and the mages, fashioning the former out of a nightmare and coursing in the veins of the latter. The differences of form and substance matter little to the eyes wide with fear. It all comes down to wild magic, and that is often enough. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ What binds the fog-hounds and the mages is the power that fashions the former out of a nightmare and courses in the veins of the latter. Although you know them to be hostile to mages regardless of this connection, some part of you is…curious about them, the same way wild magic was curious enough about the world to imitate its predators. It is flexible, amendable. You aren't sure if many understand that, because it isn't spoken of enough. What else is wild magic capable of? What could it possibly do and shape into that the world hasn't seen yet? Do people not want to ask because they fear the answer? <<elseif $path is 4>>\ The fog-hounds, you know, are hostile to mages regardless of the connection they share. Being who you are alone will not save you--if you run into one, you will have to put up a fight. A fight with a creature molten out of fog, swift like wind and violent, resolved like nature protecting its own. You swallow uncomfortably, reminded that you have been bound in your defenses. Your fists tighten. Should you be so unlucky to suffer such an encounter, you will need every single defense at your disposal. <<elseif $path is 5>>\ Although you lack the experience to validate it with certainty, the almost casual way in which the mages in Riante spoke about the fog-hounds fills you with reassurance. Help truly does sometimes come from a surprising direction. You never expected to find comfort in the words of the strangers that if not outright dislike you, then at least are obnoxiously indifferent to you, but here you are. The $q.king once said that a mage could never use their Gift but would always be a mage, and it would matter. To whom, you wondered back then, but you weren't in the habit of second-guessing $q.his advice. <</if>>\ "They are still magic," Arthur retorts. "It shouldn't be impossible for the trained hunter to deal with them." Jayna grunts, and you know she is about to say something he won't like. "Merritt used to believe that too," she says with pain. "They arrived believing it to be short work. But something is wrong with these, something they didn't expect. Stronger and more persistent, they said. Dangerous. And anyone who ventures into the forest where they roam will suffer these…visions. Nightmare-like scenery, visceral fear. The deeper you go in, the worse it gets. And the song… It's too much. That's why the children are forbidden from even looking that way. It only goes away and the forest is almost back to normal when the beasts are dealt with." Something should follow. "But?" Arthur asks, sensing it as well. Jayna shifts uncomfortably. "When the moon bares its fangs every month, they appear again like nothing happened… We--We've lost plenty of people before we learned that." "The sickle moon?.. You believe the moon brings them back?" "We've had plenty of time to observe," Jayna replies with a defensive shrug. "It happens without fail, be it a clear night or an overcast sky. Ask around and everyone will have their story for why it is so, but the moon is what remains unchanging." "These are magical creatures. If they would be brought back, it would be by magic." "Did magic bring back all the fog-hounds you've encountered?" She stares until he begrudgingly shakes his head. "In the end, all we've come up with was dealing with them at the crescent to win another cycle's worth of peace. If you could call it that." You probably couldn't. Mort told you that the territorial nature of the fog-hounds suggests it is a form of self-defense. The magic that has burst through the planes has laid claim on the land, so everyone is a trespasser, a presence it needs to chase off or vanquish. Pillaging the forest it has nested in would be //thievery//. However, if she says that the change is recent, there could be a verifiable cause too. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I feel like there is a simple solution to this problem. "If it is such a danger to the people, why not just leave?"|ch2_ev_a9][$path to 1, modPlayer("ruthless", -1)]]</li> <li>[[The village problem is secondary. I need to settle a more pertinent concern. "And you call yourselves mage hunters why exactly?"|ch2_ev_a9][$path to 2, modPlayer("ruthless", 1)]]</li> <li>[[Let's talk details. "How many of the hounds are there? Is it always the same number?"|ch2_ev_a9][$path to 3]]</li> <li>[[Not the best time for me to remind about myself. I will stay out of it.|ch2_ev_a9][$path to 4, modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 4>>\ There is a lull as Arthur wades through the information, already saddled with interpretations and not necessarily correct ones. You struggle with it too, having successfully avoided wild magic so far, and whatever affects the manifestation here is entirely out of your fairly constrained area of expertise. It gnaws at you still, you have a bothersome feeling that you //should// understand what is going on, but when you claw into the white and hazy part of your mind, you come up disappointingly empty. <<else>>\ Two heads turn at the sound of your voice in startled clarity. Jayna must have gotten used to you not speaking, but since her woes concern the very village that your path has taken you, you might as well participate in the discussion. <<if $path is 1>>\ "This again," the woman groans with the fatigue of a dozen conversations behind it. "Don't think you are the first one to think they are clever this way. Many are too elderly or sick to move, but for us all, this is home. People cannot just get up and //leave//." You shrug. "Well, not when someone is buying them time while risking their lives." "I feel like, as that //someone//, I have a right to relieve you of the need to feel indignation on our behalf." "What happens if you're sick, if one of you gets tired?" You intentionally avoid spelling out the other, more realistic possibility. "Then you might not have a choice but to leave." "And scatter into the wind while hiding who our ancestors are? Like we're not from the land that's //'riddled with traitors'//? For some of us, this is as far as we can go and still get a job that isn't cleaning out a stable." <<if $temp.history_lesson>>\ You recall the laconic explanation Gale has given you earlier. It seems like the tensions of the border war haven't died down even after so long. What little you know now helps you place her rebuttal but not come up with a strong counterpoint. <<else>>\ You haven't noticed anything particularly traitorous about them yet so you look at her blankly. Your puzzled expression is lost on her as she rubs her face, groaning. <</if>>\ Just as you are about to give up the argument, support arrives from an unexpected source. "It is not the kind of resentment that was rampant decades ago," Arthur protests. "Nowadays, we openly trade with Valaine." Jayna shakes her head, ready to rebuff with a sour smile. "I am sure you, //my lord//, know exactly what it's like." He chooses not to argue further, perhaps not so confident in the strength of the trade contracts anymore. Just as you accept that Jayna is very unlikely to be convinced, you sense the air shift. The concern over the unrelenting fog-hounds brings you back together an inch. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ The woman eyes you with sudden distrust, taking in your attire. "Jayna of Wyrm's Nest. Who might //you// be?" You glance at Arthur, checking if he's readying to cut in, but he merely raises his brows at your attention. "$p.name $p.lname_use," you say, returning in kind everything from the information to her spuriously articulate tone. Jayna seems to accept it just fine and on faith. "I was trained by one, I do their duties and I am all that this village has left," she lists coldly. "If it is good enough for the High Sentinel, it should be good enough for anyone." Despite yourself, you risk another glance at Arthur. His expression is heavy as if he knows the entire reason you asked this question, although you might still get away with chalking it off to mere curiosity or some twisted form of concern. Yet in front of Jayna, he says nothing. What remains is her admission. That although there is no poison coursing in her blood, she has learned an unspecified number of their techniques. On the other hand, if her concern is the fog-hounds, against which the hunter powers are weak in this case for an unknown reason, that might suffice. "I suppose that is fair considering what you are dealing with and //how//," you concede when your wary curiosity is sated. "And you are a real one, I take it?" she goads. What a joke. The irony smacks you across the face like a wet dishrag, but what else was she supposed to believe? All things considered, it is a charitable interpretation of your status. Not knowing what you'd even say, you breathe in to respond, but this time, Arthur cuts you off. "No, $p.he <<if $p.plural>>are<<else>>is<</if>> simply someone we met on the road." His glare is stern and forceful when you turn to watch him. You do not question it since he isn't even lying or spewing hatred, but it //is// curious. For Jayna, however, it looks like nothing of significance. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ Regardless of how things will develop for you, the more you know about the dangers prowling in the surrounding wilderness, the better. Jax won't be getting you out of here with one of their doors, so you might need to walk for a long time, whether with your extraordinary companions or on your own. Arthur opens his mouth as if to argue but then swiftly changes his mind and turns to Jayna instead for the answer. In offering his help, you note, he fully expects to walk into the hounds' territory. "Four," Jayna replies with a sour twist of her mouth. "Which is why we have been engaging in groups of at least three. Any less than that, and you risk being overwhelmed." "So you've fought them a number of times. Do they learn, are they any more difficult to deal with each time?" "If they aren't handled right away, they do seem to develop certain...alarming habits. But if they are slain, those are forgotten, and with each cycle, they begin anew. This is ony of the reasons we are strict about making regular raids." <</if>>\ <</if>>\ "So what is different here then?" Arthur asks, still deep in thought. "You mentioned these visions?" The reminder makes her shift uneasily. "They make it difficult to proceed, to focus and watch your surroundings," she explains, weaker. "For a moment, every bough and leaf is a ghastly shape, or there is fire all around you, or everything becomes barren and ghost-like… It is difficult to trust your senses completely and after a while--at all. It gets worse, more real, the deeper in you walk." Wild magic in itself does not do that, you know. It is raw power and not exactly…//clever//. But mages could. In the absence of a response from Arthur, or you for that matter, Jayna looks like she has more to say, yet is reluctant at that. Her attention flits around the room, drawing seedlings of strength. "The hunters--the real ones at least--were trying to bring a stop to it. For good," she says finally. "No more coming back with the moon. But as the answers likely lie at the heart of it, it meant weathering the worst it could throw. To the center where the fog is thick and the senses are distorted, hounds or no hounds." Arthur casts his gaze down, much like you knowing where this is going. "Merritt took the other remaining hunter and one of our own with him." Jayna swallows, eyes steely. "They never came back." And just like that, the scab catches on necessity, revealing the wound that hasn't healed in the slightest. <<NextPage ch2_ev_a10>>

Emotions swirl around you: stifled agony, numb pain, dried-out tears singeing the eyes in which the spark of hope was laid to rest. The room is far too small to contain all of it and still leave air for you to breathe in peace. Perhaps staying with either of the other two would have been simpler. But then silence fades. Arthur wearily raises his head and sighs a shaky breath. "So if Merritt…and the others can no longer help"--he looks at Jayna darkly--"that must mean there is a mage among you." She is far too vulnerable to keep it a secret anymore. Her eyes widen and her body tenses protectively so no attempt at denial would ever look convincing. Then another thought crosses your mind. Leave it to the hunter to sniff out the mage in a room. As all magic, the fog-hounds are weak to the power granted by the bellona poison, \ <<if $p.mind.magic <=1>>\ but they fall to the magic of the First just as well. <<else>>\ but if you tended to your gift, you would have been able to handle them just as well. However, it seems to not matter as there is another mage of the First in the ranks of the village outfit. <</if>>\ How curious. Arthur looks at you sidelong, capturing your reaction. Even in a moment like this, he doesn't forget to link you to other mages. Jayna offers a timely distraction with her slow admission. "Helping us is all she does. I think it is quite brave of her, considering she never stepped foot out of here." In a span of one sentence, Jayna's voice hardens and a certain grace comes back to her. "I see." He //sees//. And suddenly, his expression is inscrutable. There is another mage here, and you wonder if Jayna was honest about her never leaving the village. It could mean many things for you. "Such is our plight, my lord." Seems like she wants to get over this inconvenient revelation. "As much as I hate that to be the end of it, there is no other. But you must be weary of the road and now, of…everything I said. I suggest we speak again tomorrow." She sees no argument from him, as much of it is true. Your small group spills into the street, where it is now decidedly colder. The clear sky with a few coin-like clouds glimmers, and the wind laps at your face refreshingly. Just when you think there will be no exchanging goodbyes after what Jayna just said, Arthur turns to you. "Give us a moment," he says. At a lack of options, you walk off, legs carrying you towards what you believe to be the inn with the enthusiasm of someone more than ready to lay down their head. You still stop rather quickly, understanding the unsaid part. There is no need to give him reasons to doubt you right now. Unless… What could he possibly need to tell her after what was already exchanged? Isn't that something you should know? You could just drift back, pretending to be bored and disinterested and find out. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Ugh. I don't want to listen to that man's voice any more than I absolutely have to. I'm happy to just wait in blissful silence.|ch2_ev_a11][$path to 1, modTrust("art", 1), modPlayer("crafty", -2), $art.rel.fake +=1]]</li> <li>[[Whatever they exchange now might be important. I will try to listen in.|ch2_ev_a11][$path to 2, modPlayer("crafty", 2)]]</li> <li>[[In a different life, I would give them privacy. But I need to learn every little bit of what is going on here.|ch2_ev_a11][$path to 2, modPlayer("ruthless", -1), $art.rel.fake -=1]]</li> <li>[[I'm not going to eavesdrop! Not now, anyway…|ch2_ev_a11][$path to 1, modTrust("art", 1), modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ It is easy to pretend like they don't exist. You bask in the freshness of the air, waiting for the buzz in your head to settle. Of course, Jayna has painted quite a grim picture, but what is more pressing is the involvement of magic--and another mage in this. You aren't yet in a state to ponder the possibility of the Gray Regent's involvement in this, however. Best leave that for the inevitable tossing and turning later tonight. Your gaze drifts to the skies, where the moon shines like an old coin. As you've just learned, some people here believe it to be the cruel arbiter of the curse placed on the nearby land. Did anyone even try to understand it beyond superstition? The light it shines is gentle, peaceful. It satisfies at least now, when no fog-hounds are hot on your heels. You hear steps, the sound grounding you. "So what do the libraries in Riante say?" Arthur asks as the moon catches his eye too. If he sneers, you do not see, but it is easy to imagine that he does. "Can the moon control wild magic?" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $ch2.outcome_oath is false>><li>[[I remember what capacity I'm in here too well. "Now, why would I tell you that?"|ch2_ev_a12a][$path to 1]]</li><</if>> <li>[[I shrug. I never paid attention, and I'm not interested in a conversation with him.|ch2_ev_a12a][$path to 2, modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[[I can spare a few words of truth. "No one speaks of it as anything other than an inconvenience. Never knew of something of the sort."|ch2_ev_a12a][$path to 3, modTrust("art", 1), $art.rel.fake -=1]]</li> <<if $p.mind.magic >1>><li>[['"I never cared much for magic. Or the books about it."'|ch2_ev_a12a][$path to 4]]</li><</if>> <li>[[Wouldn't hurt to keep him alarmed. "This is Jayna's home, I would heed her theories."|ch2_ev_a12a][$path to 5, modPlayer("crafty", 2), $art.rel.fake +=1]]</li> <li>[[I look him over head to toe. "I don't know about that, but the libraries in Riante do say the moon doesn't appreciate people that can suppress other's magic."|ch2_ev_a12a][$path to 6, modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> </ul></div> <<elseif $path is 2>>\ It is a little difficult to do in plain sight but you reach for the feeling of fatigue that makes your body feel a few stones heavier than it is and try to focus on that at first. On looking like you are simply trying not to fall asleep right here and now. As you cannot just barge in on their conversation, you stroll around in small steps until the streaks of the words being spoken begin reaching you. "…of settling down. He really did, so that was supposed to be the victory expedition," Jayna replies to something you've missed. "We could start working on the house. Grow something." Arthur laughs weakly. "He blabbered about it even back then," he says with the fondness reserved for another hunter. Of course. "All came down to living in a quiet hut with a serene view. I always thought it was the Montari in him speaking." "…He was in such a foul mood before he left. I only understood he had a fight with the High Sentinel, but he never told me what it was about." "Well. I'll make sure the High Sentinel explains it to me." Jayna suddenly looks up at him, intently. "Are you sure you are up for it? Don't take it as a slight, but it was four of them in the beginning. And considering you and Merritt trained under the same tutelage, I fear we would be repeating the same costly mistakes." It //is// a brave thing to say given that she knows fully who she's talking to. Most nobles do not take kindly to the doubt in their capabilities, no matter how justified. But maybe where this doubt comes from matters. "I'm not alone. We… we have experience with wild magic and things that are well beyond it." "Oh." Jayna sighs, and you feel her gaze briefly upon yourself, your skin tingling. "Good." She must think he means you, or wondering as much at least. It makes you think: what is your role in this expected to be? Sit patiently in the inn room and wait for their return from the cursed forest? Now, that is quite unlikely. "When you appeared and asked to see him, I thought..." Jayna stills. "That maybe there is hope. That he ran away from this and found a better life somewhere in a city. I would have preferred that, I think. I was happy for the single moment I believed it." Arthur breathes heavily. "I don't think it is of any consolation anymore... But he would never do that." "I know." The conversation peters out with bids of a good evening exchanged. Rather unsurprisingly, Arthur approaches you, making you pretend like you didn't notice he was finished. Jayna disappeared into the house, leaving you the only two souls enjoying the fresh air outside. Arthur sighs. "I was hoping you would show discretion if not for my benefit but hers, but what a foolish thought that was." Ah. He is too tired to show you the full extent of his dimsmay, though his eyes boring into you suffice. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Maybe you should have been quieter then?"'|ch2_ev_a12b][$path to 1]]</li> <li>[["I wasn't listening, if you must know," I lie.|ch2_ev_a12b][$path to 2, $art.rel.fake +=1]]</li> <li>[['"Can you blame me? After everything I have just heard?"'|ch2_ev_a12b][$path to 3]]</li> <li>[["Sorry." What else is there to say?|ch2_ev_a12b][$path to 4, $art.rel.fake -=1]]</li> </ul></div> <</if>>\

<<if $path is 1>>\ "Right," he replies stiffly. You don't know what he expected, but there is no way you were going to give him respite or any certainty. He turns around and starts walking. In the silence, the swaying of his cape is a beckoning sight, and your task makes you follow. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ "Right," he replies stiffly. You don't know what he expected, but you did not spend months after waking up with nothing to your name fog chasing legends and tales. He turns around and starts walking. In the silence, the swaying of his cape is a beckoning sight, and your task makes you follow. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ "An //inconvenience//," he repeats after you, voice gaining firmness. "They are to you as well," you reason. "Should be, at least from what I know." You might just find out by witnessing in the foreseeable future. His thoughts seem to trail in the same direction as he simply slackens and starts walking. In the silence, the swaying of his cape is a beckoning sight, and your task makes you follow. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ His eyes narrow, perhaps he simply doesn't believe you. It is possible that the rumors of the Gray Regent's renewed interest in the arcane have already spread. $q.He is quite different to $q.his predecessor in that, you've heard. Not having much to say to that, Arthur turns around and starts walking. In the silence, the swaying of his cape is a beckoning sight, and your task makes you follow. <<elseif $path is 5>>\ His frown deepens, this being the answer he likely did not anticipate. Not that you expect him to seriously listen to your advice, but being another voice that adds to the doubts in his mind is a sizeable victory already. Not having much to say to that, he turns around and starts walking. In the silence, the swaying of his cape is a beckoning sight, and your task makes you follow. <<elseif $path is 6>>\ He laughs, unkindly, stifled, eyes hard, but he does. "Indeed, what else would they say," he mutters, weaker than you expected. A waste of a perfect barb. The humor fades, and you are left with heavy silence. It lasts a beat, and he turns for the inn. The swaying of his cape is a beckoning sight, and your task makes you follow. <</if>>\ <<include ch2_ev_a13>>

<<if $path is 1>>\ His laugh is short, stuffy and unkind, face sour the moment it dies. Arthur shakes his head then, turns around and starts walking. In the silence, the swaying of his cape is a beckoning sight, and your task makes you follow. <<elseif $path is 2>>\ He scoffs, brows still furrowed with sadness. "And I am Queen-Regnant Leanore Arnald herself," he says flatly. <<if $p.playful >= 60>>\ "Hm," you tip your head, eyeing his appraisingly. "From the stories, Your Majesty, I thought you'd be taller." He narrows his eyes, a quick pang at your remark, and then he \ <<else>>\ "Uncanny," you reply, just as unimpressed. Arthur shakes his head then, \ <</if>>\ turns around and starts walking away. In the silence, the swaying of his cape is a beckoning sight, and your task makes you follow. <<elseif $path is 3>>\ He takes your question a little too seriously. A flash of realization highlights his features. "Can I blame you?.." he mumbles, trailing off. Just as you prepare for a hail of accusations, some of which you have been pondering already, he surprises you. Instead, he simply turns around and starts walking away. In the sudden silence and disinterest, the swaying of his cape is a beckoning sight, and your task makes you follow. <<elseif $path is 4>>\ Of all the things you could have met his accusation with, it seems like this is not the one he expected. He freezes on top of a word, something unpleasant, no doubt, and after a moment of uneasy contemplation, shakes his head. Whether or not he believes your apology, he turns around and starts walking away. In the sudden silence and disinterest, the swaying of his cape is a beckoning sight, and your task makes you follow. <</if>>\ <<include ch2_ev_a13>>

It is a quiet night, save for the occasional barking of the dogs and an argument reaching you through the cracks in the walls of someone's house. The need of comfort pushes you along, toward the welcoming light in the inn's windows, and you expect it to see behind every turn. There is one thing, however, that you would like to know rather urgently. <<if $ch2.outcome_oath is false>>\ "Didn't you want to hand me over to the hunters here?" \ <<elseif $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ "Why didn't you tell her I am a mage?" \ <<else>>\ "Why didn't you tell her anything about me? You haven't made a secret of not trusting me, you know." \ <</if>>\ The question is sudden, but your worry is not. He doesn't answer for a while, his gaze skipping the houses as you walk. If it is a waiting game, you have time to spare, following in his step on the way to the inn. Once the response comes out, it is strained. "We aren't going to add to her troubles." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Well, I was simply concerned for my immediate future. That is all I wanted to know.|ch2_ev_a14][$path to 1, modAffinity("player", 1)]]</li> <li>[["For what it is worth…" I start unsurely. This won't go down well but I mean it anyway. "I'm sorry about your friend."|ch2_ev_a14][$path to 2, modFriendship("art", 2), $art.rel.fake -=1]]</li> <li>[[I do not wish to bring this up, but I have to get on his good side, don't I? "Sorry about your friend."|ch2_ev_a14][$path to 3, modPlayer("crafty", 2), $art.rel.fake +=2, modFriendship("art", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I won't let my guard down for this show of vulnerability. I remember perfectly well who he is.|ch2_ev_a14][$path to 4, modPlayer("oldnew", -2)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $path is 1>>\ A simple answer for a heavy question. As long as his concern for Jayna outweighs the wariness of you, it is something you can work with. And for a while, it will be enough. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_a15">> <<elseif $path is 2>>\ Some things demand to be said, no matter the disagreements, the hostilities, the distrust. The look he gives you is inscrutable and far from quick. You allow the inspection, acknowledging it with a small shrug. What you've heard burdened you with the thoughts about your future, but he is now saddled with the past, too. A person is dead, and people are mourning him. The day you remember his trade and what it meant for you will be tomorrow. <<include ch2_ev_a14sorry>> <<elseif $path is 3>>\ This is the moment you have to play a part. Some things need to be said even if the words feel like sind on your tongue. Not a kindness but a due. The look he gives you is inscrutable and far from quick. You allow the inspection, pretending not to notice. It was meant to be a civil thing, not demanding an answer. Burying the hatchet so that he sees it--but so that the ground is loose should you have a sudden need for it. <<include ch2_ev_a14sorry>> <<elseif $path is 4>>\ There isn't a world in which he would allow this betrayal by his own emotions. To appear so down in front of you? Even in the wake of everything you have just heard, it would be so foolish. Thinking your enemy to be a fool will not get you through this. This is only the first day, and the guards are up, yours included. The only blessing is that he seems not in the mood to be vexing you. It makes for a simple trip back. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_a15">> <</if>>\

You know he is trying to pull the curtain over it, but the feeling is larger than him, clawing at the surface and making him ripple at the seams. When he arches a brow at your remark, pretending like he doesn't understand what you are saying, you have no choice but to clarify. "You do not have to pretend like the death of your friend does not upset you simply because I am here. I can see it anyway." You can see him plot the response, too. Carefully, like an animal sniffing a lure that rests on top of a trap. "He wasn't my friend," he says. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[If he fights so vehemently against me being civil, so be it.|ch2_ev_a14sorrya][modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[[He may be frustrating, but this is an opportunity to argue my case. "So I am to take your word for it, yet you keep insisting I am close to the Gray Regent despite what I say."|ch2_ev_a14sorryb][modPlayer("crafty", 2), $art.rel.fake +=1]]</li> <li>[[This is ridiculous. And yet my voice softens in spite of my frustration. "From what little I've come to know of you... If you could see your face now, you wouldn't think it was a good idea to lie."|ch2_ev_a14sorryc][modTrust("art", 2), modFriendship("art", 2), $art.rel.fake -=3]]</li> </ul></div>

This part is always easy. "You are right," you concede dismissively. "I misread the situation." Your word is last, and he turns away, finding his bearing snappingly fast despite the invisible weight on his shoulders. You foresee that the rest of the path back should be rather quiet, but at least you cannot be faulted for not giving peace a try. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_a15">>

It is not the turn that he anticipated, and the pained weariness in his eyes gives way to puzzled wit. "I made no claims about your friendship," he protests. Engaging in this argument in of itself is a welcome step, but you try not showing it. "It is not a requirement in order for you to do $q.his bidding." His voice is dull though. "I never denied my part," you say. "I only mean that despite what you might believe, I wasn't privy to $q.his plans or $q.his motivations." A lie, but it is stirring not to have him jump at it right away, not try to dismantle it straight away. He allows it to be. "It is late," he responds with a sigh. Some truth wouldn't hurt, and it seems like he understands he is no condition to keep at it. If you had any intention of running, now would have been the perfect time. How careless of him. "Save this for tomorrow." And with that, he picks up the pace, carried by the need to urgently go back where the horses are and where the promise of a warm bed looms. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_a15">>

<<set $art.callbacks.heartless to true>>\ You know he hates that you're seeing him like this, but he doesn't look away. Already caught. The moonlight does his ashen face no favors, and the lanterns cast unkind shadows under his eyes. It would be immensely convenient for you if he remained like this: fractured, mind slipping between the dreamlike past and the cracked present. But convenience is not what you choose, not what your words are after. Instead of encouraging this or ignoring it, you offer Arthur recognition. You need to get it together. When softness should be the furthest thing on your mind, you extend it. A reckless act when you are nothing but his target. Or maybe you are simply clever prey, intending to never be caught. Either way, you are too tired to be figuring it out. The words keep flowing. "I'm not heartless," you share with a bitter laugh. "No matter what you believe of the Gray Regent's //lackeys//." You've never used the word before, but you borrow it from his arsenal. Something like a quiet, pained laugh escapes him, but he doesn't know what to say back. That is fine, too. He may struggle with figuring you out, but... Even when there was an arrow at your feet--a threat--you didn't sense his presence quite as strongly. You simply walk, a silent pair so distinctly aware of one another. Around you, the village sleeps with one eye open. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_a15">>

When you return to the inn, the lights are dim and the noise is down to a hum that you neither can nor wish to place. Your rooms are up the stairs, an arrangement you are in no position to question--but are very eager to learn about. Gale pops out of the darkness within his room, driven by the steps. He is dressed down, hair tousled, yet seems to have been awake the entire time. His gaze slides past you curiously and stops on Arthur. It is time everyone learned of what is truly taking place around the village. <<NextPage "ch2_ev_room1">> /* General staff meeting */

Even in a village as far as away from the Daelan capital city as possible, the private rooms pleasantly surprise you. You aren't used to them. Nobody cares about you if you ask for a bed in a common room, your face immediately fading into an obscure shape, never to be remembered. This is the same reason why any scrapes and wounds were solely your responsibility, for stepping outside in search of a healer in hostile territory left trails you would never want leading back to you. The common rooms were a packed, noisy, often foul-smelling experience, but no one cared why you were there. A traveler, and that was enough. You only needed to ensure you are awake enough to catch a hand aiming to rummage in your bags. But the private rooms are quiet. There is a four-poster bed, wide enough for two, a small table for writing, a basin of water you would otherwise need to search the entire inn for, and even a large chest, invitingly open. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['I know I am no ' + $p.lord + ' to demand a private room, but I always detested the need to sacrifice my comfort.'|ch2_ev_room1a][modAffinity("player", 2)]]</li> <li>[[It never bothered me that I couldn't stay in such comfort. I understood why.|ch2_ev_room1b][modAffinity("player", -2)]]</li> </ul></div>

Anonymity, of course. You aren't ensured a single safe step in Daelan, yet you ventured more than once. Anonymity was key, but also a thorn in your side: sleepless nights, weariness, odd looks. This will be the first time you do not get to share an inn room with a dozen of strangers. Only a few of them now. <<include ch2_ev_room2>>

The privacy is useful when you need to talk things over, but as you worked alone, there was none. Standing in this room now, surrounded by //these// people, is it even an improvement? <<include ch2_ev_room2>>

There is no havoc when you fill the space, as if everyone had a nook shaped just for them. Arthur sits in the chair, hunched over, and Gale is perched on the very edge of the bed as if not to disturb it. You and Darla are standing, each in their respective corner, but since the room is not large to begin with, it is all rather intimate. It is not a friendly gathering. Arthur looks up, eyes dull and expression lifeless, and begins his story. <<if $ch2.evening == "a">>\ <<include ch2_ev_room2a>> <<else>>\ <<include ch2_ev_room2na>> <</if>>\

You follow, if only to fill the blanks you have guessed but did not know for certain. He outright calls Merritt his friend, so when he reveals the other hunter's fate, Gale and Darla's expressions turn from engaged and contemplative to concerned. Arthur doesn't notice. His voice flows uninterrupted, past the deaths and to their cause: the pool of wild magic that seems to reappear at every new moon, and the people now in charge of keeping it from encroaching on Wyrm's Nest. Both tiredness and sorrow weigh him down. At the end of his retelling, he asks no questions of his companions. Silence of a heavy kind sets in. Entirely possible they are reserving the compassionate words for when you aren't around. <<include ch2_ev_room3>>

Wyrm's Nest has a problem. It lurks among the trees that spread out from the foot of the hill, in the forest rich for food and materials that make life here possible. The problem has a name. //Wild magic.// It has existed before time, before mankind understood memories were important and began recording them. It tries to weave into the fabric of the world but only bleeds it in rough, red stitches. Never fitting, volatile. Angry. In the desolate corners, wild magic pools seemingly by no design--or is left in the wake of powerful spells. These eerie outbreaks infect the very nature in their vicinity. Not to destroy but to bend out of shape, to conquer and change. Twisting the living things--plants, animals, people--and twisting itself into living things. Hostile to mankind, hostile to any semblance of order. The one time it erupted in a monstrous amount that threatened to destroy the world as people back then knew it, it was the Six who stepped in its domain, in a desperate bid to stop the spread and its violent power. They succeeded, emerging changed--the first mages. To some, it was a foolish, imprudent scheme. But for the time being, it saved the world. <<NextPage ch2_ev_room2na2>>

Arthur continues and, rather unsurprisingly, mentions fog-hounds. Where there is a pool of wild magic, they always appear. Your work for the Gray Regent never took you too far from people, and people are what these manifestations seem to avoid. And when that is inevitable, wild magic has learned from the best. You have never seen a fog-hound, but you know //of// them. In nature, there is plenty of prey. But there are also predators: territorial, vicious and ready to extend their fangs should one trespass and challenge their dominion. The fog-hounds are ethereal beasts that cannot be easily slain, the form magic has learned to guard its dwelling. Impervious to common weapons, the only sure way to stay safe from their bodies of mist and fiery red eyes is to never get in their way at all. Their gnashing and their teeth do not tear the flesh, they lacerate underneath, wounding beyond the veins and arteries, the muscle and the bone, and sapping the lifeforce itself. And that, you've heard, is just as painful. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I have always wondered if I was intentionally kept away from them.|ch2_ev_room2na2a][modMemories("role", 2)]]</li> <li>[[One of the things that tarnish the already spotty reputation of mages. As if it is any fault of ours.|ch2_ev_room2na2b][modAffinity("y", 3)]]</li> <li>[[Because of that, my curiosity about them has always been high.|ch2_ev_room2na2c][modMemories("incident", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I much prefer my lifeforce where it is. The mere mention makes me squirm.|ch2_ev_room2na2d][modMemories("incident", -2)]]</li> <li>[[The fog-hounds are weak to my kind of magic, so their appearance here doesn't worry me.|ch2_ev_room2na2e][]]</li> </ul></div>

All things magic will inevitably lead back to the Gray Regent. The world exists with such a belief, and it is a simple shorthand for understanding causes and consequences. The gallery leading up to $q.his study is lined with the images of the Sisters, so whether you want to or not, you will be forced to think of them if you wish to speak to the $q.king. And yet you never spoke of it with $q.him, there wasn't a conversation where $q.he would bring it up. Everything you learned of wild magic, you learned from Mort. Hearing this now, you cannot shake the feeling that it all seems almost intentional. Until now, at least, because it seems like this time, you might just run into it head first. <<include ch2_ev_room2na3>>

Only a madman wouldn't fear such a beast, arising from the power that is barely to comprehend. It binds the fog-hounds and the mages, fashioning the former out of a nightmare and coursing in the veins of the latter. The differences of form and substance matter little to the eyes wide with fear. It all comes down to wild magic, and that is often enough. <<include ch2_ev_room2na3>>

What binds the fog-hounds and the mages is the power that fashions the former out of a nightmare and courses in the veins of the latter. Although you know them to be hostile to mages regardless of this connection, some part of you is…curious about them, the same way wild magic was curious enough about the world to immitate its predators. It is flexible, amendable. You aren't sure if many understand that, because it isn't spoken of enough. What else is wild magic capable of? What could it possibly do and shape into that the world hasn't seen yet? Do people not want to ask because they fear the asnwer? <<include ch2_ev_room2na3>>

The fog-hounds, you know, are hostile to mages regardless of the connection they share. Being who you are alone will not save you--if you run into one, you will have to put up a fight. A fight with a creature molten out of fog, swift like wind and violent like nature protecting its own. You swallow uncomfortably, reminded that you have been bound in your defenses. Your fists tighten. Should you be so unlucky to suffer such an encounter, you will need every single defense at your disposal. <<include ch2_ev_room2na3>>

Although you lack the experience to validate it with certainty, the almost casual way in which the mages in Riante spoke about the fog-hounds fills you with reassurance. Help truly does sometimes come from a surprising direction. You never expected to find comfort in the words of the strangers that if not outright dislike you, then at least are obnoxiously indifferent to you, but here you are. The $q.king once said that a mage could never use their Gift but would always be a mage, and it would matter. To whom, you wondered back then, but you weren't in the habit of second-guessing $q.his advice. <<include ch2_ev_room2na3>>

This isn't a simple case of a wild magic spillage, however. Once dealt with, repelled by human magic or the power that opposes it, it should disappear. Perhaps to emerge elsewhere, later, maybe even never, but not in the same place. But this one, Arthur says, does. With each new moon, the hounds appear again--and that is why the mage hunter outpost has stood here for so long. He raises his head, and of all the people in the room, the next bit he says with his eyes trained on you. The mage hunters are all dead. A man he calls his friend, some Merritt, was among them. The village fares with who they have now, the people that the hunters have trained when they were still alive. Your first instinct is to believe this a trap, a ploy to test you against the words you declared yesterday. It simply cannot be //so easy//. But you see that his confidence from just before sundown lies shattered, the pain in his eyes too good to be a skill, a story to lure out your lies. He isn't asking anything either. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I do not even care that there are no other hunters here. What he described about the village is so much worse.|ch2_ev_room2na3a][modAffinity("player", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I have to fight with myself not to smile. All this smugness, and for what?|ch2_ev_room2na3b][modPlayer("ruthless", 2)]]</li> <li>[[This... doesn't make it any easier. With everything he just shared, I don't know what I'm supposed to do now.|ch2_ev_room2na3c][modPlayer("crafty", -2)]]</li> <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>><li>[[But this is... good in way? They will need me if they want to deal with wild magic. It bends to the power of the First.|ch2_ev_room2na3d][modPlayer("crafty", 2), modPlayer("oldnew", -2)]]</li><</if>> </ul></div>

Again, you've never dealt with wild magic. Why does it all sound like you will //have to//? And in the company of people you wouldn't trust to keep your interests in mind, even if those interests were as vital as your safety? <<include ch2_ev_room3>>

You have no clue what he wants to see in your face now, for you are busy trying to stifle your joy. //Being smug without knowing anything, van der Garde.// Jax knew this. This is the root of their confidence, you are almost sure. It certainly comforts you to know that your intelligence is far better in quality and thoroughness than Arthur's. <<include ch2_ev_room3>>

You feel lost. A good word for it. When you set out, there was no mention of a mage hunter outpost, next you had to steel yourself and get ready to face an entire outfit--only for things to turn out like this? There is no plan beyond the goal. //Have them bring you to Rimehall//, how ambitious. You don't even know how you are supposed to make it out of this very village. <<include ch2_ev_room3>>

There is a bright side to it, a tiny sliver of light, with only you benefitting from it. The fog-hounds rightly fear two things: the oppressive power of a mage hunter, and //your// magic. In this room, only you and Arthur are outfitted to truly help if that is what they want to do. Surely they will understand it too?.. <<include ch2_ev_room3>>

"But we weren't sent here to deal with it," Darla says. //Interesting.// That isn't the feeling you were getting. Arthur doesn't raise his head to look at her. "I know. Tomorrow morning we will go to the High Sentinel." "He lives?" asks Gale. A nod. "Our questions will be the same," Arthur says, and Darla quietly scoffs. "I know where this is going," she grumbles. Arthur stands up slowly. You notice that this is not the room with your belongings. Whose room //is// it supposed to be? <<if $ch2.outcome_oath is false>>\ "We have three keys," he says, and you need to know about that. "What about me then?" He lazily turns his head. "We'll deal with you in the morning. For now..." <<else>>\ "We have three keys," he says. That is too few for you to think that you are getting one for yourself. But maybe... <</if>>\ "I'll take first watch," Gale volunteers, stepping away from the bed. "Don't worry about anything." Darla's expression softens, and she nods at him in gratitude. Arthur simply nods. <<NextPage ch2_ev_room4>>

<<if $ch2.outcome_oath>> You know you are barely in a position to make requests, but you very much hope that this watchful routine does not last long. Inconvenient for everyone involved. You know you won't run, even if you cannot explain to them why. <<else>>\ It is becoming apparent that you can hardly predict how your situation is going to evolve. The promise of a conclusion in the morning is //nothing// after everything you've learned. <</if>>\ One step at a time. Darla stays in the room, and the three of you walk out. She shuts the door immediately. Gale looks at it with a hint of a smile, then turns to Arthur. "Wait a moment." The mage hunter stops by another door and slowly tips his head. "Make this." <<if $ch2.evening == "g">>\ Gale hands him the pouch you recognize. The night tea. You dully note that if the hunter takes it, he will be out like a light. It might be useful, you never know. <<else>>\ Gale hands him a pouch, and your heart skips a beat at its sight. But no. Wrong color. He wouldn't encourage him to make it either, right? <</if>>\ Arthur nods absently, and with a quick look at his friend, disappears in the room. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I cannot tear my gaze away from that door. Why do I feel sorry for him?|ch2_ev_room4a][modTrust("gale", 2), modFriendship("art", 1), modPlayer("ruthless", -2), $art.rel.fake -=1]]</li> <li>[[Let us get this over with. I just want to get to bed.|ch2_ev_room4b][]]</li> <li>[[I smile grimly at Gale. "Lead the way."|ch2_ev_room5][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

This isn't right. You know this feeling is ultimately wasted, spent on someone who will never appreciate it, a feeling that might cost you even tomorrow. And over what? These aren't your people. You don't need this twinge. This dull feeling at the sight of a quick, tired smile--telling something he thought you all would find amusing--when his eyes were dark with pain. Gale should move so that you can follow. You make a guess of a step in some direction, and he finally leads you to yet another, third room. <<include ch2_ev_room5>>

You look at Gale impatiently. It is best for you to think of it as a night you get to spend in a bed and not a night you will have to be watched once again. <<include ch2_ev_room5>>

It looks the same inside, only with an oddly-shaped corner that steals from the size of the room. The air in here is noticeably colder. "You know you don't need to do this, right?" you say, albeit without much hope. "I know." Scoff-worthy, but you manage to fight it back. The sight of the bed is welcome at least. You walk up to it with the intention of testing its softness under the weight of your arm. A little stiff, but it beats sleeping twisted up in the wilderness. "Do I get to freshen up?" He points to the basin. "Now?" "Yes. What will you be doing?" "I'll figure something out--if you don't mind the light." He smiles, with his eyes alone. For a moment, you wonder what would happen if you said you would mind it. It is a single candle and a whole one person too many for this room. But you don't. Fresh water--freshness--occupies your thoughts. You get a moment to yourself, a look in the mirror to stare at the tired features of a $p.man that doesn't know what to expect of tomorrow. <<NextPage ch2_ev_morn1>>

Darla wakes you up again. This time, she has no chipper word for you other than the encouragement to get ready quickly. She looks quite brightened up, if a little lethargic. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I request a blade to shave my face.|ch2_ev_morn2][$p.appearance.facial to true]]</li> <li>[[There is some stubble, but it doesn't need care. I can get ready quickly.|ch2_ev_morn2][$p.appearance.facial to true]]</li> <li>[[My beard needs still looks acceptable, so I can get ready quickly.|ch2_ev_morn2][$p.appearance.facial to true]]</li> <li>[[That is fine, I can get ready quickly.|ch2_ev_morn2][]]</li> </ul></div>

You eat together, exchanging very few words. Between the pleasant crack of the freshly baked buns, the wet softness of cheese, careful dripping of berry confiture and cream, you sneak a careful look at Arthur. He doesn't seem to suffer from the lack of appetite, and he appears clean shaven. Perhaps a sign of what is to come next. The building in which you are to find the High Sentinel, the head of a mage hunter outpost, stands on the edge of the village. In the light of the early morning, you find it with ease: its windows are taller and wider, contained within a single floor and broad for that. Wooden reinforcements hug the vulnerable lines and edges of the construction, its foundation laid in stone and only built to height with pine beams. Someone already waits for you at the door. Perhaps Arthur sent a word, but if that is him... A knot forms between your shoulder blades. As you approach, he leads with the promise that the High Sentinel awaits inside. A mousy, hunched man in a simple coat, he is only a servant, and your gaze skips him for the door. You feel as if your hands are tied again, and when it opens, the knot is tied and secured. <<NextPage "ch2_sent_office1">>

Walking the creaking hall, you feel like an odd piece in more ways than one. Here, old warmth lingers from the night's fireplace, and the walls are lined with paintings: a mountain hanging over an autumn forest, a gigantic building with windows like beads in a necklace, a portrait of a morose woman with dark curls sitting flat on top of her head and the dress bunched in infinite fabric at the bottom of the frame. Nothing is as everlasting as a painting. Yesterday, you have escaped the encounter by the force of the circumstances well beyond your influences, but today you have stepped into the well-lived house of a mage hunter. An experienced one, and not the one a mage prince keeps in check. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I do not have the option to be afraid now. I wanted this.|ch2_sent_office1a][]]</li> <li>[[This may be far from ideal, but I am confident in my ability to handle the worst of it.|ch2_sent_office1b][]]</li> <li>[[I cannot show them that I am worried, that I wish I didn't have to walk into that room.|ch2_sent_office1c][modPlayer("ruthless", -1)]]</li> <li>[[If I can just make myself small, make myself nearly invisible… Fool's hope, but this is the last place for me to be.|ch2_sent_office1d][modTrust("gale", 1), modPlayer("ruthless", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

Your worries are inconsequential now. You cannot afford to think of the escape paths before you even know what is beyond the end of the corridor. You are here //intentionally//. No matter what your present company thinks, every moment you spend under their oversight is a choice you are making. So it is your choice to walk into a High Sentinel's study, too. And you will see it through. <<include ch2_sent_office2>>

Things rarely go to plan; if they often did, you wouldn't be encircled by these very people in the first place. But you aren't being a prideful fool when the worry in your body refuses to rise and feed on the unknown at the end of the corridor. You have made it this far. If things get terrible, you trust yourself to handle them. Without even noticing, you gain on Arthur, but //he// doesn't notice either, gaze set straight. This might even get interesting. <<include ch2_sent_office2>>

The people around cannot know that your heart races and your throat gets drier with every step--which you already struggle to keep as wide as the previous one. Always wanting to stop. To stop and to run. But no. This is all a part of the plan you have to follow. It is almost easier this way: to let go and trust that whatever Jax has promised you, would ensure a safe stay here and see you //leave// this place. If you accept that following in the direction of the unknown at the end of the corridor is not a choice either, you can nearly forget who you are to expect there. But how can you truly forget? <<include ch2_sent_office2>>

Your heart beats fast, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. The walls are too close and the scattered light is too bright even in its weakness. You feel exposed, an offering carried to be placed on an altar. Your gaze bounces from surface to surface emptily, words refusing to form into a sensible request. You know better than to make a request. Still, you find yourself in the invisible shadow of Arthur who walks ahead of you, and his figure briefly blocks the view of what is ahead. Your unrest settles for this fleeting moment, a sharp prick of relief in which you meet Gale's eyes. <<include ch2_sent_office2>>

The mousy man finally leads you to a carved door, where the High Sentinel is waiting. He exchanges glances with a watchman by it, a stocky man that finds you in the group and never lets you out of his sight. He says nothing though. As you cross the frame right after Gale, your feet meet the surprising softness of a carpet, and you are struck with the tart and oily smell of burning charcoal. There is a soft seat, a large desk, a tall chair and a man in it, face wrinkled and white hair loose until his shoulders, but the features strikingly sharp. He rises with the help of a cane, attire proper to receive visitors--a fitted overcoat with a short fur trim--but not to wade a forest plagued by wild magic. \<<if $p.mind.magic < 2>> Before entering this room, you still bore a faint hope that the post was merely political. All measures of power get a leash one way or the other, and the hunters are not an exception. Not this one in front of you either. Even as you blink, you sense his presence, a bright outline that remains on your eyelids. If being around Arthur has taught you anything, it is to trust your gut when it comes to recognizing mage hunters. This one is a real deal--and just like that, your senses are rallied to be at their sharpest. <</if>>\ "High Sentinel Rolant," Arthur greets with a smile so weak, he might as well have spared himself the effort. It is the clothes that speak to the man first and foremost, you realize. You are watching him with rapt attention, but his is, fortunately, reserved for Arthur. Can they see each other the way a mage would see them, you wonder. "Didn't think I'd ever see a day the capital would //surprise// us by sending help," the man says, measured and assured, right on the edge of a complaint. "I fear we are only here as a surprise of a different kind, High Sentinel," Arthur speaks. He is tight as a string, staring straight at what you are guessing is his formal superior. "The Crown merely wishes to witness how the funds are being spent on handling the situation in Wyrm's Nest." Something flickers in the man's features, quick like a flash of lightning, but only his grip on the head of the cane tightens as he leans into it. He takes a deep breath. "And you have the papers to attest to that, I would imagine?" The corner of Arthur's mouth twitches. "Of course, High Sentinel." He reaches into the satchel at his waist and produces the requested papers. The missive is rolled, with a red thread around it, but there is no pretending that it hasn't been opened and read before. Once he finishes reading, the High Sentinel places it on his desk heavily. From looking at the orders, he drags his gaze over the people they have brought into his study, though most of his attention stays with Arthur. He acknowledges Gale with a careful, if not alarmed look, and sweeps you and Darla with a passing glance. Right now, to him you are nothing but a human shape somewhere in the room. Although groan-worthy, it is for the best: this is not the kind of a man you would want to remember you. <<NextPage ch2_sent_office2a>>

"Am I then to understand that your presence here is the only thing we will be receiving from the Crown this quarter, //Arthur//?" Your companion tips his head. "You have no hope at all of the situation resolving in one of the next months?" "We have been at it for a while with no sign of improvement," the Sentinel says with confidence. "Our only remaining option is to contain it the same way we have been doing previously. To the best of our ability." "And whose ability is that, High Sentinel?" Arthur asks, keeping himself from stepping up. "I //am// quite curious as to why I, despite searching, have yet to run into any of the hunters aside from yourself." <<if $ch2.evening is "a">>\ And there it is. You know the skeleton of the story, the side of it that left people heartbroken. Something tells you that the man in front of you is capable of a far drier retelling. <<else>>\ It felt like a dream when he admitted to it last night, so good of the news it was. <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ Whether you like it or not, the hunters have authority over mages in this land, and the last thing you needed was a stranger with such an authority and a //vastly// different opinion about your freedom. Even despite the arrangement, the oath sworn to the powers you do not fully comprehend, you always feel like tethering on the edge, barely holding onto the ethereal promise of temporary cooperation. An opinionated mage hunter is just the kind of trouble that carries a risk of upsetting this delicate balancing act. <<else>>\ If all the hunters in Wyrm's Nest are accounted for, right now in this room, then you might stand a chance of making it out of this far flung village after all… <</if>>\ But Arthur could have misunderstood. There is a risk of that, you need to be certain. You eagerly wait for the explanation that is to come on top of a shaky, held breath, pretending like it doesn't concern you in the slightest--although it does, and does to an exceptional extent. The mask slips on. <</if>>\ Like a man aware of the trap line that has appeared in his way, he lashes out against the net that will inevitably spring over his head. "Is this how you were taught, hunter?" the High Sentinel asks with lazy sophistication, flaunting his experience. "To rush head-first into a place where magic reigns and assume you understand it at first glance?" Arthur closes his eyes briefly to right himself, then nods with effort. "If you would so kindly aid in my understanding then." "A quick history lesson then. The young hate them, but we are truly nothing without history." "Indeed we are," Arthur concedes with a smile. In the corner of your eye, a shadowy figure glides across the room. The old hunter's gaze flicks to Gale, but seeing that the mage prince is merely looking at the decorations on the walls, he snaps back to Arthur. You only now notice what the decorations are. Directly on your left, a framed boar head, dust speckled between the ears, stares emptily with the tiniest beady eyes. Gale arcs his neck to look at a deer with a large brown snout and the horns so mighty and sprawling that they nearly scratch the ceiling. Curiously, among the horned animals, one plate hangs with nothing attached to it, but something is etched along its edge. Hunting trophies for a hunter. Well. It could have been so much worse. You shove the rising feeling to the side like an annoying distraction and steel yourself for what is about to be revealed. <<NextPage ch2_sent_office3>>

"Wild magic awoke at the heart of the nearby forest where they hunt and gather their food… The very first request to the head chapter for assistance was sent //last decade//," the Sentinel begins. "You may not remember or even know what it was like back then, so I will tell you. We were spread impossibly thin and still dealing with the aftermath of Gideon's violence." Oh. That was before your time, and even in your wildest fantasies couldn't possibly involve you--and still you cannot help but feel a tinge of connection. This won't get any easier, though. So you try to shake it off, only to sense something else above it. You peek into the darker corner and find Gale already returning the attention. Why would he even be looking at you? It was //his// grandfather. "It was only a few years ago that our efforts could be spared here." The story continues. "It was seen as a common thing then, wild magic appearing in a vile spillage and tormenting people. Nothing the hunters haven't seen, was what they thought back then. They dealt with the fog-hounds and left to fill the need elsewhere, and for a while, everything seemed fine. "But the horror caught everyone off-guard and struck again. The forest was said to suddenly turn into a nightmare, people went missing. Nobody responded for a long time because nobody even //believed// them." He sighs, gaze stretching to the window that fanned the dusted light into the room. "But the new Elder was persistent, and I was sent here to investigate. It turned out to be every bit as strange as it was described in the correspondence." "Who else came with you?" Arthur asks. "No one at first. I had the magic vanquished until the last whiff by my own hand," the Sentinel proclaims, gripping both hands over the head of the cane. "It was gone--and within a week, the beasts reappeared. So I went into the forest again, determined to investigate, but could not do more than suppress it the same way as before. Unfortunately, I didn't come out unscathed. My…limited mobility forced me to request further assistance." "Merritt." The man nods slowly. "And Isobel. And Tobey. They were a rowdy bunch, but dedicated. Sadly, that alone was not enough: the hounds returned even after their work. We could not tell what drew wild magic to the same spot over and over. A decision was made to spare the people the suffering and maintain the presence here until at least something became clear. I trained them, guided them. Championed for the Crown to fund the long duration of the effort. The only thing I couldn't do anymore was to put on the gear and go out with them to deal with this…magic infestation." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Infestation… I scoff. What an apt choice of a word.|ch2_sent_office3a][modAffinity("frieda", -1)]]</li> <li>[[My skin crawls. If wild magic is an affliction, then who would I be?..|ch2_sent_office3b][modPlayer("ruthless", -2)]]</li> <li>[[Such an utterly primal response. To fear the unknown and beat it with a stick into submission. If wild magic is what created mages, what else might it do?|ch2_sent_office3c][modAffinity("frieda", 2)]]</li> <li>[[His descriptors mean nothing to me. Slightly entertaining, if anything.|ch2_sent_office3d][modAffinity("y", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $p.mind.magic is 3>>\ You are more comfortable than most with the concepts of magic, every day of yours spent in Riante had it linger on your skin in traces barely perceptible. But even like that, you are not naive about the dangerous nature of the wild magic and its appearances on this plane. <<else>>\ Your reaction can be taken multiple ways, but the truth it, the disconnect between the power you wield and the seemingly aimless and chaotic resurgences of wild magic is somewhat funny to you. Not many mages see it that way, revering the source even. But you have come to understand that it is the human will that gives it direction, and turns it from a dark spot on the map that exhausts itself by lashing out at anyone who approaches into a tool that can be applied to a benefit. <</if>>\ So perhaps it can be likened to an affliction. You can humor an old man. <<include ch2_sent_office4>>

This is a mage hunter for you. What courses in your blood and the blood of so many people you have come to know in Riante is an affliction to them. An extension of a shapeless aura that is wild magic, a hidden danger that is given legs and arms and free will. You grind your teeth to keep from wilting under the onslaught of his retelling, and it continues, oblivious to your struggle. He doesn't know yet who you are. What you are. How do you keep it that way the longest? <<include ch2_sent_office4>>

With great effort, you suppress a derisive smirk. Every time you have heard about the danger of dealing with a mage hunter--a danger you are not willing to underestimate still--you have never imagined to be confronted with the real reason behind their zeal. But hearing him speak now, the answer is quite obvious and perhaps not surprising at all: //fear//. The ethereal fog-hounds that he cannot comprehend, the sudden appearances of wild magic he cannot predict, the mages whose powers can be used against him. Knowing that it is fear bolsters you. Because you would be quite curious about a wild magic spillage that is so different. <<include ch2_sent_office4>>

When it was explained to you in Riante, wild magic was an ink stain on the map, a peculiarity of the world that is simply best avoided. Being a mage forced one to accept its existence in the present form: a dangerous mass that speaks to the power coursing in one's veins. Hearing a mage hunter, of all people, describe it in a voice whose quivering is hidden so well, you almost do not notice, is entertaining in of itself. But no more than that. What comes out of it as actions is much more interesting. <<include ch2_sent_office4>>

"We kept at it." The High Sentinel gestures widely to his right where a tall shelf houses books and scrolls neatly sorted. You wouldn't have paid it heed had he not forced your eye. "Scouring Daelan for information, all the while keeping the life here…possible. If you wish to know what the coin from the Crown buys, it is this." The man is cut off on top of his breath, preparing to go on, when Gale walks over to the stockpile of research he has so graciously pointed out. "…The sanction from the Crown," High Sentinel says coldly as his eyes narrow, "does not allow you free access to my things, //boy//." You frown when something inexplicable in you finds the word used distasteful. You'd recognize the mage prince anywhere, but in all fairness, it is for the association with his $q.uncle. To have grown up in such obscurity that any self-important hat would allow himself such impudence in addressing the son of his sovereign… It is both an insult--and an advantage. You know the value of anonymity all too well, even if the cause of //your// obscurity is possibly not your own father. Gale ignores the protest, seeing that the High Sentinel does not move to drag him away physically, and takes interest in the contents of the tome. "You understand the urgency, though," Arthur reasons with sudden level-headedness. "Rest assured, you now have the brightest mind amongst the magic scholars of Daelan on the information you gathered. We would still like to know what happened to the hunters that were stationed here." You are sharp to notice a faint smile in the corner of Gale's mouth, gone as soon as he flips yet another page. "Strange that I haven't heard of such a bright mind earlier then." The High Sentinel clears his throat, the sound teetering on the edge of an angry grunt. "Well then…considering our circumstances…" He sighs and does his best to pretend like Gale isn't standing right there, in the corner of his eye. "We weren't getting any closer to solving this issue beyond the suspicions that a mage was involved. The streets whisper of the moon powers at play, but that is nonsense for children." The air around you shifts in a sudden pulse that you feel with your skin, with the part of you that cares for your survival. A damning suspicion, that one, but not in the ways he could expect. It is damning for //you//. Blood rushes to your head as you consider your options. //Unless someone in the room is reaching for a weapon, always hear the end of the sentence,"// you remember Jax telling you amidst pouring the instructions for the upcoming mission. You were to pose as a messenger, eager to work for a single copper, and slip out past the guards with a particular letter in hand. You never got to read the contents. //"Lest you expose yourself with an excuse that hasn't been thought through farther than a single step in each direction."// <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Still, it does not hurt to pretend like I feel guilty about it somehow. I have an audience, after all.|ch2_sent_office4a][modPlayer("crafty", 1), $art.rel.fake +=1, $dar.rel.fake +=1, $gale.rel.fake +=1]]</li> <li>[[I need to look like this has nothing to do with me. Because it does not.|ch2_sent_office4b][]]</li> <li>[[Actually, I am curious. How would a mage keep it up for so long?|ch2_sent_office4c][]]</li> <li>[[I look away, for a moment allowing myself to pretend like I am not here.|ch2_sent_office4d][modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

You affect an upset expression, letting your gaze drop to the carpeted floor. Someone might be looking, and the worst thing you could do is catch them at it. No, this has to feel sincere. Sincere and quick. A moment longer--and it is a stage drama. <<include ch2_sent_office5>>

There is no name and there is no title, and even if //someone// is involved, you cannot bear the blame for a stranger simply by association. You remain collected, ignoring the warm touch of attention on your skin. <<include ch2_sent_office5>>

Forgetting your other worries for a moment, you look at the High Sentinel with focus, like you are trying to race him to the conclusion on the misty horizon. The Six bestowed their Gifts upon humanity after exposing themselves to the wild magic, but despite that, you haven't heard of mages consciously tampering with it ever since. Although it could just be a hole in your knowledge, your curiosity is sufficiently piqued. Whatever brought him to this conclusion could be a curious case worth investigating for reasons beyond securing your spot within the group. <<include ch2_sent_office5>>

The relief is immediate in its illusory strength. In the corner where you look, the room is empty, and there is a brief beat of silence that lends the lie strength. In this moment, you are alone, every step of yours safe and risk-free. Standing still and not making any choices is safe here too. Though as many fake things, it is short-lived. With a voice, everything is back and reality descends upon you. <<include ch2_sent_office5>>

"A mage is involved?" Arthur asks. He isn't looking at you, but everything in him fights the need to give a quick look over his shoulder. "A suspicion only. We never saw any signs of life even in the ruin." "The ruin?" "Do not let your imagination run free and paint walls and a roof," the old hunter says with a quick scoff. "All that remains of human activity is crushed stone that is reclaimed by vines. No signs of life, like I said." "And what did Merritt think?" The Sentinel's face hardens, vicious eyes regarding Arthur. "Merritt was not the High Sentinel," he slowly points out, clinging to poise with the last of his strength. To that, Arthur laughs amiably, even if the lines around his eyes are a little predatory. "It seems like you assume I am being hostile to you, Lord Rolant, though nothing can be further from the truth. You know, you used to attend my father's hunting tourney, I recalled just the night before. And I believe you were quite satisfied by the treatment you received." The Sentinel shifts uneasily. "There is no need to refer to that, I assure you. Bringing the life amongst nobility into things muddies certain…orders." "On the contrary, Lord Rolant," Arthur argues, waving a hand that is soothingly open. "It reminds us that although here, we are not those people, there is still life out there where business arrangements have value." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I look at Darla to test my suspicions. Is this...normal?|ch2_sent_office5a][modFriendship("dar", 1)]]</li> <li>[[With all my might, I stop my eyes from rolling. What a snake.|ch2_sent_office5b][modFriendship("art", -1), $art.rel.fake +=1]]</li> <li>[[Ah, Daelan nobility in all of its beauty. All from the same cloth.|ch2_sent_office5c][modAffinity("y", 2)]]</li> <li>[[A little less of this, and back to magic, please.|ch2_sent_office5d][modAffinity("player", 1)]]</li> <li>[[Bringing him to heel with everything you have, huh, Margrave?.. Witnessing it makes me miss Riante.|ch2_sent_office5e][modFriendship("q", 2)]]</li> </ul></div>

Her expression betrays impatience and nervous anticipation with a slight pout, but she is far from surprised. When she senses your interest, her brow rises. She stands close to you, so close you could whisper your question into her ear without needing to take a single step. But what would you ask? Why Arthur does things this way? She wouldn't answer that. <<include "ch2_sent_office6">>

So high and righteous, only to wave some imaginary business arrangements into the man's face. You stifle a snort at the thought that he probably had nothing to do with them either. <<include "ch2_sent_office6">>

All is well in the world that works in a way that doesn't take long to piece together. The status of nobility is used to circumvent restrictions existing for others, rubbing shoulders with important people gets you farther than talent, and no gift or service comes without a price attached. <<include "ch2_sent_office6">>

It was going so well until they hit this bump. You might as well accept that there is at least one trip through that forest in your future, and the sooner they get back to talking about it, the better it is--for everyone involved. If they like these petty squabbles over order and hierarchy so much, they can do it without a wild magic pool in the vicinity. <<include "ch2_sent_office6">>

Taking a person and picking them apart to find dents, holes and soft spots is a frequent strategy in Jax' employ. The city's position is quite weak, and the mages' along with it, so no tool is discarded without consideration. You have watched once, permitted only to the sidelines, $q.king $q.name hold audience for the envoy of Salia, a small kingdom nestled to the east of Daelan. His posturing was painful to watch, sipping on the wine he had brought as a gift and acting like no matter how little his side offered in the trade agreement, the Gray Regent would be forced to accept for the lack of willing partners. The offer kept shrivelling through the course of the night while his chalice got refilled till all of the travel reserves were spent. When he could hardly sit straight anymore, crumbs in his beard and spills next to his elbow, $q.king $q.name leaned in with a smile and in a tone sincerely amused, shared $q.his concerns about the reigning bloodline of Salia with the envoy. The bastard daughter of the Salia king was receiving unexpected and mysterious backing, the $q.king said $q.he heard and watched the envoy blink drunkenly for a silent moment. The backing wasn't simple promises and poisonous words, $q.he clarified. It was in soldiers, mercenaries and coin. //Spies//. The $q.king then questioned, with a touch of pity, if that surging opposition was the reason Salia was suddenly backing out of their original offer. If fighting the advance of the illegitimate daughter was a heavy toll on the kingdom's resources. After a long silence, the trade offer suddenly improved by a multitude. You recall the look the Gray Regent gave you then, finding you within the shadows: a lazy smile and a question in $q.his eyes. //I hope you weren't worried for us//, it said. It makes you feel all the stronger how far away from Riante you are right now. In a mage hunter's home, no less. <<NextPage "ch2_sent_office6">>

"Merritt did not have strong theories about it," the older man admits reluctantly. "He had... grown to care more about this place than his work." Briefly, the placid expression on Arthur's face flickers. Even Gale tears his eyes off the books to glance over his shoulder. "So what happened?" The High Sentinel sighs, shifting his weight from one leg to the cane. "The same thing that happened to me, only stretched over a longer time. The need to go out there every month and throw themselves at the fog-hounds exhausted them eventually. One by one..." His voice fades and he grunts, looking away. The pause is heavy. Even Darla makes a short, unintentional step toward Arthur. "Were their families informed?" "Naturally." "And what of those //without// families?" "Then there was no one to inform." The charged exchange, tensions coursing beneath the words and the unrelenting glares, is suddenly pierced when Darla forcefully clears her throat. Even you, by virtue of being the closest to her, are jolted out of the observational fugue. "Then who is doing the work in their stead?" asks Gale all of a sudden. His hands are empty as he stands, half-turned toward the old hunter. <<NextPage "ch2_sent_office7">>

The High Sentinel sighs, mouth twisted. "Whoever I could afford with the rest of the Crown's money." Gale watches him, venturing no guesses, and it forces the man to be straightforward. "Mercenaries. They want me to hold this passage, but will not afford any help. What was I supposed to do?.." Another tense pause. \ <<if $ch2.evening is "a">>\ Jayna did not strike you as a mercenary. She was //born// here. But perhaps she isn't the one he meant. <<else>>\ Could simple mercenaries do the work of mage hunters, and for so long, too? You turn to Arthur and find that he doesn't seem to find it as amusing as you do. <</if>>\ "Does this mean," Gale asks, "that if the problem with wild magic is settled, you would have no need to remain here?" His manner is calm and the question, despite the myriad of unflattering interpretations, soft--but the Sentinel flinches as if scalded. He is only as wise as to not respond hastily, though with the way his gaze bores into Gale's unsuspecting figure, any kind of words might just be superfluous. The air around Arthur clears. "Do not take it the wrong way, High Sentinel," he urges. "But something tells me you would prefer to trade these winds for the far more agreeable weather in Marcourt." A lot of grape is grown there, ripe for the expensive wine. That is the extent of what you know about the place. "Assuming the problem here is solved," the older man grinds stiffly, "I might just. Although, like I have mentioned, we are barely keeping it in check. I do not expect an easy resolution." "Then we will look into it," Arthur says, and at your side, Darla sighs deeply. "Of-- Of course," the High Sentinel says, eyes sharp. "I welcome any help." "Then we best not waste daylight. I will report to you our findings." They turn to leave, courtesies short and blunt. You are reeling with the realization that no one has //still// told him who you are. It is almost as unsettling as having him know. You cannot linger here alone though. You take in the room once more. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I find it difficult to refrain from voicing my disapproval. "The forest suffers, and you hang the dried husks of its creatures on the walls…"|ch2_sent_office7a][modTrust("gale", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I flash the old hunter a teasing look before I leave.|ch2_sent_office7b][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I cannot clear the study fast enough.|ch2_sent_office7c][modPlayer("ruthless", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

He flinches, this being the first time he hears you speak, and tips his head to look at the trophies as if he didn't know they were there. But behind you, you hear someone snort in amusement. Darla. No response comment, so no satisfaction. You shake your head and leave through the doors that the mousy man closes behind you. <<include "ch2_sent_office8">>

He doesn't understand the nature of the knowing glint in your eyes, the almost giddy feeling that makes you flaunt yourself after he has barely even looked at you the whole time. The satisfaction you receive from the puzzled look on his face is fleeting, passing you like a quick spring breeze, but you be scorned by the Sisters if it doesn't feel nice. The smile holds as you walk through the doors that the mousy man closes behind you. The old mage hunter has absolutely no idea who just stood in his study. Hilarious. <<include "ch2_sent_office8">>

This isn't an injustice for you to correct, a fact that is worth mentioning. When Arthur walks through the door, you allow yourself a quick breath of relief and do not look back even as the mousy man closes the study behind you. Maybe the encounter left them with too much to think about, but your fate has never left your mind even for a moment. If they have simply forgotten, you will not be the one to remind them. <<include "ch2_sent_office8">>

You walk in charged silence, leaving the house behind, until yet another bend hides it from view entirely. And then Arthur stops, his attention on Gale. "So?" The mage prince sighs. "Your suspicions were correct," he responds with a small nod, and Darla groans. "He was lying." <<NextPage "negotiate_1">>

<<silently>> <<set $temp.watchdarlatrain to true>> <<set $temp.magicuse to "order">> <<set $p.horse to "Patch">> <<set $ch2.p_medallion to false>> <<set $ch2.a_medallion to false>> <<set $ch2.sea_of_red to false>> <<set $ch2.magic_summon to false>> <</silently>>\ You reach the inn in tense silence and fill one of the rooms, Darla's, you think. Arthur lingers by the door to listen for the faintest noises behind it, but even he joins soon, making it feel like you are all conspirators locked in a tight closet to exchange secrets. The weight of Gale's revelation presses down upon you, and the expressions of your companions are not helping. Should you be glad they are upset, or should the development trouble you as well? Darla cracks first. "So what was it in the books?" Gale's hands are in his lap, motionless, yet shadows frame his face in a way that betrays worry. He has watched over you half the night, but only now does the imprint of fatigue show. "There is a single manuscript, Wildred's //The wildest of magics//--" "It is so dry that it is //retold//," Arthur scoffs, "not even read." "And yet you never saw a copy. It is a simple text with essential yet mundane observations, but he can argue that the details are worth the gold." Gale glances at you. "It is all that is extensively written on wild magic. He must think the surrounding land is important too, as there are quite a few handwritten studies about the mountains. Two tomes that detail about Valaine, history and culture." Arthur slumps in his seat. "Yet nothing of that justifies the sums we saw." "You can ask him how much he pays the mercenaries," Darla suggests reluctantly. "You didn't. If the number makes the slightest sense, we will have to concede that his expenditures are justified." "I doubt he pays them generously." He scoffs. "And even if he did, this cannot go on forever. Once we stop this, his //governance// will no longer be necessary." She glares in response, expression heavy. It helps the tension, perhaps, that Arthur isn't looking her way. "Was putting a stop to this in our order?" Darla questions. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Why is she even asking when even I can tell it wasn't in the order.|negotiate_1a][]]</li> <li>[[This is rather... entertaining. The more they argue, the better it is for me.|negotiate_1b][$art.rel.fake +=1; $gale.rel.fake +=1; $dar.rel.fake +=1; modAffinity("y", 2); modPlayer("oldnew", -2)]]</li> <li>[[I'm with her on this. This righteous little act will get me in danger, and that is the last thing I want to happen.|negotiate_1c][modAffinity("player", 2);]]</li> <li>[[Everyone cares about this hole too much, I think.|negotiate_1d][modPlayer("vil", 2); modAffinity("player", 2);]]</li> <li>[[I wish they would get to the part where they finally discuss my involvement.|negotiate_1e][modAffinity("player", 2);]]</li> </ul></div>

This kind of question only serves to cast a shadow on his judgment. Which is most certainly why it is ignored. <<include negotiate_2>>

You will thrive within their tensions. Conflict is so easily exploitable, and you are the only one to benefit here. Wild magic is no reliable ally to your kind, but sometimes it can work in your favor. <<include negotiate_2>>

The hunter is transparent at times, and simply because you do not like what he is trying to do, doesn't mean you will pretend to be oblivious to it. Right now, Darla is the voice you aren't allowed to have. If there was no order to get entangled with the local problems, you should preserve strength for the return journey. You wish she were //louder//. <<include negotiate_2>>

The place is falling apart, and they keep feeding people to it to sustain the dwindling fire. What happens here will not matter, and deep down, //everyone// knows it. The blighted Rimehall Crown would have long sent more people otherwise. <<include negotiate_2>>

You know who is going to win this one-sided argument: it was decided from the moment the mage hunter was born into a ducal family. Here you are, countless miles away from his domain, lashed by the cold mountain winds and eating the last of the food this region has to offer--and that still matters. What is truly curious and undecided is what happens to //you//. \ <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ You should be allowed to fight if it comes to that, but how do you fight a fog-hound? <<else>>\ You have narrowly escaped a cold cell and had your hands untied for the sake of appearances, but they cannot watch over you forever. Not with the fog-hounds in the area. <</if>>\ <<include negotiate_2>>

"If the spill is as dangerous as everything we have learned so far implies, we might have trouble with it," Gale says. Arthur makes a dismissive sweeping gesture. "Were it truly disastrous, it would have swallowed up this place already." "It had hunters keeping it restrained." "And who is doing it now?" Darla asks, brows raised. <<if $ch2.evening is "a">>\ It never came up yesterday, did it? The inconvenient secret that Jayna had no choice but to reveal: that there is a young mage hiding in one of these delapidated huts. Not exactly uncommon, but curious still. Many mages stay home upon coming into their Gift and never even think of Riante. Not everyone wants their power to be real, for all the burdens that come with it. <<else>>\ Wild magic can be suppressed only by its equals. The restrictive power of mage hunters. The Gift of the First. If all the hunters were sacrificed to keep this stalemate going, who has been doing it since their demise? You didn't even think of it. Shows how little you have had to deal with its manifestations that you're catching up on someone's heels. <</if>>\ Arthur frowns, sending her a quick look. "They have to be clever, given the situation," he says. "We will learn more from Jayna." "And while we are learning all of that from her, the Sentinel has all the time on this plane to mask his carelessness in what you suspect him of." "He will be gone one way or the other." "And which way were we told to take? Which"--she glances at the back of Gale's head--"is the safest?" The mage prince stands up, startling them both. "We should scout the area," he speaks calmly as though there has been no argument at all. "Under the light of day, while we still can. Will spare us having to ask embarrassing questions." He walks to the table where gear is spread out, but all he picks up is a waterskin. Darla watches his moves as if the very act of reaching for water earns her disapproval, but here, she does not argue. A heavy sigh of resignation escapes her. The silence is uncomfortable, with three sharp angles to it. And your question turns them on you. "Does this include me?" <<NextPage negotiate_3>>

At once, there is a change for lightness, barely perceptible. Perhaps dealing with you is an evil more familiar--which is an impressive achievement on its own, considering you have done it in a span of two mere nights. Would Jax be proud if they knew? It is difficult to imagine what they look like proud. <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ "That was the deal, was it not?" Arthur says slowly. Not a deal //with him//, and the tense line of his mouth says so. <<else>>\ "It does," Arthur says slowly, "include you. One way or the other." <</if>>\ A rather unsatisfying response. He stands too and approaches the single window, so small, they must have forgotten to allow for it when building the inn. You can easily guess what he is thinking: it is before noon still, but the days are short this time of year. The decision needs to be quick. "You and I will go," he tells Gale, and the mage prince nods readily. "Darla, please keep our //acquaintance// company in the meantime." She does not seem excited about the prospect, but before you start planning for your short stay with her alone, you must pick apart what his suggestion tells you. \ <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ He does not worry about leaving you with the only member of their party that isn't equipped to deal with magic. You cannot underestimate her swordsmanship, but Reach is a clever power that is a fair match to any warrior. <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ It is likely because you bargained your way into this arrangement, and he won't be too heartbroken if you escaped. <<else>>\ Perhaps he understands that the threat of throwing you to other mage hunters no longer works, and should you escape, he is ready to accept this loss. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ They do not fear what little of magic you have, and should you flee from them once more, it seems they are ready to make peace with it. <</if>>\ Poor Darla doesn't know yet that you will stay with her until the end. Today, at least. "Do not go far," she says, past Arthur somewhat. "We will be careful," Gale reassures her. The satchel in his hands looks light, filled with only carefully picked supplies. Here, he doesn't need to pretend to be a mercenary. He is prepared to do it for free, and what kind of a mercenary does that? <<NextPage darlafield_1>>

Outside the gate, your paths split. When Arthur asked for directions, the villager looked as if he had declared himself Sky Father incarnate, but begrudged him a stiff handwave toward one of the subtle paths snaking into the forest. It isn't them that you follow. In certain places, the hill is almost comfortably flat, before eventually tumbling down at a sharper slope all the way to the bottom, where the forest begins to chew at it. These are convenient as pastures--but only if the herds are thin. And in a place like this, they must be. "I wish to train," Darla says as she unfolds a roll of thick fabric to reveal two swords. They are of different lengths and weights, the longer one is broader too, while the shorter one looks like something you'd hate to be pricked with. "You should keep out of the way." She doesn't know what to do with you then. Or what to do with herself, for that matter: she gives off disquiet and cannot seem to complete an activity without stopping and looking around. There is plenty of protruding rock for you to pick from. Down here, the voices from the market square do not reach you, and the only sound is the low howl of the wind and the clanking between the plates of Darla's armor. She has donned it today, which is quite prudent considering you might end up needing to rush to the mage prince's aid. Which is ridiculous. You know quite well what it is like to train alone. Your drills didn't look like hers, careful and gracious steps, feet that carry the weight like an extension of her weapon, strikes that are swift and effortless. Even her breaths aren't too deep or too labored. You learned rather quickly that it matters, too. Time disappears in a fit of quick maneuvers, sharp lines sliced through the air. Every move is repeated, each as perfect and heavy as the last. There is no opposition, no need to desperately dig her fingers into dirt for //any// kind of an advantage. It isn't a real fight, after all, but a series of patterns that her body is expected to perform without a single thought. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[This will not help her against the fog hounds though.|darlafield_1a][]]</li> <li>[[It would have been nice to have a partner like her when I was just starting out.|darlafield_1b][]]</li> <li>[[I do not care for what she does. This is excruciatingly boring.|darlafield_1c][$temp.watchdarlatrain to false; $dar.rel.fake +=1;]]</li> <li>[[My attention slips to the dark stain of the forest. I should have gone with them instead.|darlafield_1d][]]</li> </ul></div>

She is only training because, much like you, she is bored and has nothing better to do. The fog hounds do not care for human means of protecting themselves. Steel will not stop them, will not even make them pause. <<if $p.mind.magic > 2>>\ It would not help //you// either. Not only was your weapon taken away from you, but your instincts too had less than a single year to sharpen. Are they like memories that fade, or did they survive whatever swept away your past? You wouldn't know for certain. <<else>>\ But your magic would. Unfortunately, as helpful as it is, practicing in preparation is not an option. And even suggesting might bring attention you do not want. May the Sisters ward you off her questioning your every step. <</if>>\ <<include darlafield_2>>

No one was eager to teach, and you must have made and repeated every single mistake there is to make. You lament from time to time that with someone to guide you, you would have been //better// and in a shorter term, and spared yourself plenty of bruises. <<if $p.mind.magic > 2>>\ Darla would probably never set foot in Riante, though. <<else>>\ Darla would not help a mage train, though. <</if>>\ <<include darlafield_2>>

There is nothing for the eye to rest upon, nothing that moves except for a trickle of travelers on the road and Darla herself. Perhaps you should be content that you are safe this way and not risking your skin to merely scout a thicket of trees. But boredom is often worse. If you could see Sylvanna's Peak from here, it would have been marginally better: some sights can be enjoyed for a long time without becoming stale. But what surrounds you is old, fraying grass and dark, rounded tops of the silent trees for miles and miles. <<include darlafield_2>>

You remind yourself that it wasn't an option, but it does not stave off the worry. The plan is for them not to delve deep and stop once they sense a whiff of wild magic, but you cannot help feeling like you are missing out on important information. Do they think that by virtue of your being in the Gray Regent's employ, you have been exposed to these pools already? Then they are bound for disappointment. Though it was unwise to reveal it before, sitting here and missing out on a chance to have a taste unsettles you. Not knowing what to expect is decidedly the worst, which, to be fair, is what this entire adventure is shaping up to be. <<include darlafield_2>>

<<if $temp.watchdarlatrain>>\ She is easy to watch, and your eye is drawn to her distracting movements. If she makes a swift break, it is to catch a cold breath and brush her unruly locks into place. But how long can she keep up without an opponent to push her? As though she can read your mind, she stops. Not even mages, with all their skill and otherworldly powers, can pry into another's thoughts, but she locks her eyes with yours and waits for her breath to come out steadily. <<else>>\ If anything, her movements in the periphery of your unfocused gaze are a distraction. Over time, you become so good at ignoring them, you fail to notice when she stops. <</if>>\ <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ <<include darlafield_magic1>> <<else>>\ <<include darlafield_weapons1>> <</if>>\

"For a mage, you do very little of magic," she declares. Unpleasant tension appears between your shoulder blades. You do not prance around announcing it, and you habitually look over your shoulder where, of course, there isn't a single soul but rock and stretches of old grass. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I arch my brow. "Do you want me to show you a trick?"|darlafield_magic1a][modPlayer("playful", 2)]]</li> <li>[['"Magic doesn\'t like witnesses."'|darlafield_magic1b][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"Traveling with a hunter does not encourage it, you know."'|darlafield_magic1c][]]</li> <li>[[I shrug. "There wasn't any need for it yet."|darlafield_magic1d][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

She remains blank-faced. "Will you ask for a coin?" <<if $p.playful >=60>>\ "I might. It is becoming increasingly difficult to earn it when I cannot take a step without being watched." Although Darla is not the best target for this complaint, as she derives no joy from the arrangement either, there is no one else around. <<else>>\ "It wasn't a real offer." She snorts. <</if>>\ <<include darlafield_magic2>>

Although it sounds ominous and threatening, the one at most risk is often the mage themselves. When you step into the bounds of a city, the habit of relying on magic weakens. Self-preservation. You do not want fingers pointing at you, even if the worst, a hunter breathing down your neck, has already happened. "Too many books have been written for it to be true," she retorts. You laugh silently. "Did you read any of them?" <<include darlafield_magic2>>

A smile that she cannot hide twitches in the corners of her mouth. "Well, that is reassuring," she says. "Did you seek reassurances, or was there a reason to pester me?" <<include darlafield_magic2>>

The base theory of magic might be widely spread, but it is often poorly understood. As a mage, you prefer it that way. Frivolous use of magic is reckless, as it takes a toll on the body and can fail at an inopportune moment. But in your earnest declaration, Darla sees something ominous. Her brows crease, eyes narrowing. And perhaps you shouldn't discourage this interpretation so readily. <<include darlafield_magic2>>

Darla shakes her head and settles down her sword with great care, wrapping it safely, should you miss all the warning signs and be surprised by a sudden torrent of rain. You wait, sensing that even through these motions, she is partly with you still. "So how does it work?" She approaches you, leaving a respectful, if a little cautious, distance. "How does it feel?" "I thought it was broadly known. Daelan prides itself in researching magic." //To oppose it//, but you do not say this part. She sighs in exasperation and fixes you with a look. "How does it feel to //you//?" Magic feels like many things. Living in the Tower has exposed you to all kinds of it, and swimming in the amalgam of its currents so often, you often couldn't tell which sensation belonged to Reach and Reach alone. "It feels like..." You draw a breath and invoke an image of your figure as seen through the eyes of a bird flying overhead. A dot of a $p.man, a stranger that scintillates with power drawn out from some ancient vein, as old as the first songs. "Dark waters around me. They course around me and protect. Sometimes I feel like it is a foreign presence, like a touch on my shoulder. But it isn't. It is fluid. Simple." <<NextPage "darlafield_magic3">>

There is no better shield, no better armor than this. Every mage of the First is protected with her Gift simply by accepting it and beckoning for the magic to come forth. You have read—a conjecture only—that this shroud comes from the First herself, her protective spell thrown upon all of her disciples, and in a way, it feels like that. The magic that hugs your skin is so easy to guide, it came to you in a matter of a //day//. It must only be summoned, for holding onto Reach depletes and exhausts a mage over time. It is the very reason why the hunters have chosen bows and arrows. You take a short breath with the reminder, and cast a careful look down at the foot of the hill as if expecting Arthur to stand there. He isn't around, of course, with the curve of that weapon strapped to his back, fingers restless and eyes keen; but you check still. Darla misses it, too occupied with imagining. You never needed to explain your power in Riante. And outside it, no one was allowed to know who you were and ask. "It does //not// sound simple," she says. "Most of the time it is at rest, so you do not spare it a single thought. But using it with intention is different." "For attacking." What a dry, concerned remark. But if there is fear or judgment, she hides them. "If I focus, it can reach things with my thoughts, by my wish alone. Without lifting a finger. But it requires thoroughly imagining how I would do it on my own, with how much force and urgency. Thinking through every little movement. So when the command is understood, magic...flows out of me to execute it. Pours out." Training helps you do such things faster, instinctively. You do not share it with her. Darla chuckles grimly. "Like sea monsters with limbs so long they can envelop an entire ship from the seabed and drag it down. Like a whip." Such an observation is worth a short laugh out of you. Magic is often understood through tangible objects, those that have a shape and a form. A whip is a fair comparison, but instead, the First is pictured with a spear, whose delicate shape never survived the abuse of time. Salvaged, the sculptures make it look like the First clings only to the tip of it, sharp and flat like a fin that rips through the surface of fitful sea waters. "Like a whip," you concede. She looks over her shoulder where her gear is bundled and expects to be hauled back. "Must be convenient to never go unarmed." "If it makes you sleep any better, it can miss," you admit. All the better if she doesn't take your word for it: a whisper of doubt would make her think twice about spewing threats in your direction. But little does she know you are revealing the raw and rather unflattering truth. Extending beyond the protective shroud, Reach becomes a weapon, and the nature of the world dictates that any weapon should have a fault. It is the only way for the living things to survive in a cycle of birth and death: by chance, in a stroke of serendipity. If your focus flickers or your prediction is unsound, magic will miss. "Miss?" She arches her brow. "Magic is an extension of human will," you echo the words you must have heard or read once, and they resonated. "It is as fallible as the person wielding it." Darla frowns. "That does little to comfort." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"If this does not, then surely the existence of mage hunters does."'|darlafield_magic3a][]]</li> <li>[['"My intention was not to comfort you but to answer your question."'|darlafield_magic3b][]]</li> <li>[['"It isn\'t all about fighting, you know. You can do a lot more with magic than just kick a man off his feet."'|darlafield_magic3c][]]</li> </ul></div>

There is no mention of the hunters without thinking of one in particular, and Darla must be treading the same path because she smiles. It goes out like a light, however. <<include darlafield_outcast1>>

"Indeed, it is," she says under her breath. She jerks her shoulders and says firmly: "I have seen first-hand, very closely, the kind of devastation it can do. It will never be comforting." "This is why you have the hunters," you say, only to quieten the rise of cold ire in her, unmistakable and dangerous. "I suppose if you are looking for any kind of reprieve, that would be it." <<include darlafield_outcast1>>

Despite that, her gaze turns cold. "I am very familiar with all the twisted deeds magic makes possible, and how much misfortune it leaves in its wake. Entire generations live their lives contending with the outcomes of a single frivolous act." She shakes her head, curls springing in the wind. "So no, it is not //all// fighting." You look at her as if she were a dish about to spill over. "There are crafts and machinery. There is helping the injured. There is--" You see that it is not coming through as intended. Crafts interest her little. "Dangerous expeditions to uncover our past. But for what you meant... Well, you have mage hunters, don't you?" <<include darlafield_outcast1>>

"Do they use magic to train you?" she asks. If only to rearrange the dummies, out of spite. But perhaps if you had any battle-inclined friends in Riante, they would have shown you what it is like to fight a trained mage of the First. "Do they use magic, or do they use //mages//?" "As if one exists without the other." You jerk your chin, pointing to the woods over her shoulder, and she purses her mouth. "I haven't forgotten," she says sternly, but then adds sheepishly: "//Mages.//" Friendly duels—between the mages of the First, most commonly—are not a rarity, but they are done within a set of rules. Serious injuries are to be avoided, which is difficult if the said duel is a spontaneous affair demanded in a fit of anger between opponents drastically different in skill. Outright killing one another is unheard of, and you have a feeling that such bitter victory would not be celebrated by the Gray Regent. But all kinds of mages live outside Riante, and not everyone seeks the protection of the city or the Gray Regent's guidance. Others have returned wounded or have gone missing because they crossed paths with a self-taught mage with a competing pursuit. "Not for me," you admit, words drawn out. "You cannot force anyone to spar with you, and I didn't exactly have a line of willing partners." "No method, no consistency," Darla says, shaking her head. Hard to imagine it, but it seems like she disapproves. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I suddenly feel defensive. "We aren't a unit. You only have yourself to rely on."|darlafield_weapons1a][modAffinity("y", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I never felt like I missed out on something. "My method is better anyway."|darlafield_weapons1b][modAffinity("player", 2); modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[[I smirk at her. "No method means you never know what I will do next."|darlafield_weapons1c][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"Naturally, there is no method. The treaty forbids Riante to have an army."'|darlafield_weapons1d][modPlayer("playful", -2); modPlayer("crafty", 2)]]</li> </ul></div>

"So savage," Darla says. "No wonder you lost." "Me?" "Gideon. Mages." Under him, you know, there most certainly was a method. And you wouldn't be permitted to ignore your Gift either. Magic of the First is a boisterous thing, and proudly demonstrating one's power was a habit many older mages cannot shake to this day. Some of them only ever stay in Riante and never learn to be subtle about their power. Have no need for it: no hunter sets foot into the city. "I doubt what happens now is done after his designs. Riante is a lot quieter than you might imagine; it is rather subdued. I heard it's nothing like it was before." "Change is often good," she says slowly. You shrug, a necessary contrast to her concern. "If it is wanted, then perhaps." <<include darlafield_weapons2>>

Darla cannot help but smile, though she much prefers she didn't. "What is it, never learning from your failures, inability to assess your circumstances, and unyielding stubbornness?" <<if $p.friendly >= 65>>\ You press a hand to your chest. "I can't believe you figured out my secrets." "You are rather obvious," she says, and you feel a pang of worry. //Just witticisms,// you tell yourself before your face betrays you. <<else>>\ "Rather none of that," you reply flatly. "I know myself better." Which is what you have been doing since you woke up. Trying to learn things about yourself, gathering scarce clues among coincidences and false leads. "You may pretend that learning from a master is the inferior way all you like," Darla says. "There can only be a few in Riante anyway." <</if>>\ <<include darlafield_weapons2>>

Darla scoffs, but it doesn't hide the growing smile on her face. "I have seen it all: it is always a move you saw in a tavern scuffle over someone calling someone else an oaf." "I can tell you do not spend nearly enough time in taverns. Oaf is about the nicest thing you can be called." She raises one brow. "//You//, perhaps. Just the right crowd from which to learn atrocious form and how to miss a punch and be immediately punished for your poor stance." You let her enjoy it a moment longer, beam with the triumphant glow in her eyes. "Cannot wait to surprise you," you say with a mockingly deferent bow of your head. <<include darlafield_weapons2>>

You'd bet a few coins right out of your pocket on her looking impressed, but your better judgment tells you that she has no reason to feel that way. Surely it wasn't a trap. "But you aren't an army, are you?" she says, voice hiding a smile. "Just a handful of loyal, skillful individuals carrying out whatever tasks your Gray Regent sees fit—and we will all suffer for it." "I'm not loyal," you maintain. "Not anymore. Perhaps never was." "Maybe not you," her voice fills with emotion to leave no room for doubt that she does not believe it, "but others. Those who stay." They...aren't an army, are they? People like Alys are itching for a battle to fight, but that is only her and perhaps a couple of others. Though outwardly, you do not show that you are considering her words at all. <<include darlafield_weapons2>>

All this talk of magic, training and Riante, and the impending encounter with wild magic forces you to reconcile with your past decision of avoiding your Gift. Would it have been better for you if you had leaned into it, being a mage of the First? Would the looks you received have been any different? <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I regret not tapping into it when I had the chance to explore it in peace.|darlafield_weapons3][modPlayer("oldnew", -1)]]</li> <li>[[I am as certain as before I should not call forth this thing.|darlafield_weapons3][modPlayer("oldnew", 3)]]</li> <li>[[I should have asked more questions about magic when I was still among people who might have at least entertained them. And now I only have...Gale.|darlafield_weapons3][modPlayer("oldnew", -1)]]</li> <li>[[I am confient in my ability to forge my path without its aid.|darlafield_weapons3][modPlayer("oldnew", 3)]]</li> </ul></div>

Darla sighs as if this talk—one that she began of her own volition—is but another strain upon her, perhaps just as much as her training exercise. "You make it sound like a lonely existence. No friendly competition at who is the most conniving lackey to the wicked and foul Gray Regent?" "If they tallied a score, I was never invited," you say carefully. It is better than admitting that you were handed the privilege other mages were after on a silver platter. "They didn't invite you," she lists, "didn't train you. Sounds to me like you weren't very much beloved in there." She says it with a smile, an observation meant to sting, but even Darla herself does not believe it to be the truth. But it is, and your gaze drops to the ground. She lets out a quiet gasp; not a sound you wanted to hear, so it is easier to pretend it was only the trick of the wind. So she speaks again. <<include darlafield_outcast1_2>>

"It has not been long since we had them," she says. "Your $q.king had plenty of time to sow trouble unopposed." You bite back the compulsion to argue. She isn't correct, if only because $q.king $q.name took up the position long after the Viper King established his band of crooks whose sole purpose is to keep his rule unchallenged. But the person doesn't matter when the title itself is reviled, and every deed is inevitably ascribed to the one who wears it today. If they could, they would even blame $q.him for the very first Assembly, mages choosing alliance instead of enmity. But the event is rarely mentioned, old as it is. You cannot change her mind, and you //shouldn't// want to. The person you claim to be has no wish to clear up the Gray Regent's name. "You have them now," you muster, sounding almost like you do not mind the fact of the hunters' existence. "And the knowledge about bellona is out there, so you will have them forever." Darla looks at you thoughtfully, and her next words bear a faint hint of compassion. "You couldn't have been well-loved in Riante if you can already speak like that," she says. You blink slowly. She has no idea how close she is to the truth, even if her reasons are all wrong. "Maybe," you drawl. Even if you //should// other yourself from the rest of the mages, the real tension behind it stings. <<include darlafield_outcast1_2>>

"So no one misses you?" You wait for her to add that she ultimately does not care, but she expects a genuine answer. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Are you asking me if I have a lover?"'|darlafield_outcast1a][$dar.rel.love +=1]]</li> <li>[['"Are you asking me if I have...friends?"'|darlafield_outcast1b][]]</li> <li>[['"Are you asking me if I have...family?"'|darlafield_outcast1c][]]</li> </ul></div>

So preposterous, of course she isn't asking that. But you enjoy the sight of flustered color on her cheeks even as she tries her hardest to act like your clarification is ordinary, boring even. "Your people must be rather open with your affections to even think I asked that," she replies haughtily. Admirably, she gives a fair effort to looking at you, but success is scant, teetering on failure. \<<if (($q.rel.love >= 2) or ($jax.rel.love >=2))>> But are you much better? You ignore the surge of unbidden emotion at the thought. You do //not// have a lover in Riante, no matter how strong your wish is. And even if you did--you forbid yourself to imagine it--you would not be telling Darla the truth. These are the ties to Riante that they would find the most damning. <</if>>\ "You live fast in Riante," you admit. This isn't about you necessarily, so it doesn't hurt. "And no. I do not have a lover there. However..." You pretend to consider her actual question, but there really isn't much to ponder. You cannot, after all, confess that //the Gray Regent invited you to play card games with $q.him//. <<include darlafield_outcast2>>

"Something tells me that I know the answer already," she says with a smug smile, "but fine, let us go with friends." You give her a heavy look, her prickling remark not unnoticed. To spite her, you pretend to think, going over the names in your head you will never speak out loud. Just to unceremoniously waste her time. After all, you cannot confess that //the Gray Regent invited you to play card games with $q.him//. <<include darlafield_outcast2>>

<<if $ch2.mem_confessed>>\ "Do you remember if you do? Or was it them that you stayed for?" she asks. It's a wonder that she has kept it in her mind for so long. "No," you reply, and no other words fall into your lap. "And no." Her expression softens, and for once, she looks regretful for asking. <<else>>\ "If they would miss you, then yes, that is what I am asking." "No," you reply with the only truth you know. To the question turning in your mind: no, you do not remember any of them. To Darla's: no, they are not in Riante, or they would have //seen// you already. <</if>>\ Then you pretend to think, if only to show that family affairs, known or not, will not bring you down. And there is some thinking to do, because you are indeed not that well-loved among peers. <<include darlafield_outcast2>>

<<set $mort_warm to false>>\ "There is a man in Riante, a healer," you start. Even now, Mort finds a way to help you. "He isn't someone you might imagine him to be, conniving or mad with power. He only wishes to put people together when they are unwell and cares for little else. That and me, for some inexplicable reason." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"I know I miss him. I hope he does, too."'|darlafield_outcast2a][$mort_warm to true; modTrust("dar", 4)]]</li> <li>[['"I care for him like I would for any family."'|darlafield_outcast2a][$mort_warm to true; modTrust("dar", 4)]]</li> <li>[['"He pestered me and nagged if I stayed away for too long, but he always meant well."'|darlafield_outcast2b][modTrust("dar", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"I wasn\'t particularly fond of it, but it was the only companionship I had."'|darlafield_outcast2b][modTrust("dar", 1)]]</li></ul> </div>

He must be worried; he always is whenever Jax sends you out on an errand. He tries not to show it, but Mort is ridiculously easy to read. You told him that keeping in contact would be difficult, and that you didn't know when you would be back, and he heard out all of it and didn't say a word in protest. <<include darlafield_outcast3>>

He must be worried even though you asked him not to. You could never find the right words to assure him there was no need for it, and even when he tried to pretend, Mort has always been ridiculously easy to read. There was no way around it: you told him you would be going away for a while and that you didn't know when you would be coming back, and he heard out all of it and didn't say a word in protest. But he'd miss you, you think. Even if you sigh and groan over his antics, he'd miss you. <<include darlafield_outcast3>>

Darla takes a moment to ponder your revelation. "You do not fear that your $q.king will torture him to get back at you?" You ward yourself against showing any reaction: it is an expected thing for her to wonder, however unpleasant. "They rely on him greatly," you say with a streak of reluctance. Admitting this is as good as painting another target on his back, but in the moment, it serves you. "The Gray Regent wouldn't hurt $q.his situation like that even in a fit of anger. Of that I am sure." "Then it is fortunate you only have one such person," Darla says. She means it as a lighthearted remark after she just made you consider a threat to Mort's life, but it still rubs you the wrong way. "You must be quite an outcast yourself," you retort. "Why did you receive a post so far away from home?" "I'm not an outcast," she replies quickly, folding her arms. "I will cease being one soon, anyway." "So you //are// an outcast." Darla glares. "I have a large family," she proclaims proudly, which is puzzling. It only means that either there are more outcasts out there, or that they have scorned her as well. "I am the first heir of our house." "Among?.." "Six. And they aren't outcasts either. Violet receives enough invitations that she tires of them, even from somebody as cautious as the First Advisor's wife. No one would do it if they did not believe our house is well on the way to earning the pardon." She stops for a breath, eyeing you with displeasure as if you were the one holding something valuable over her head. "And before you ask: it wasn't anything I did, or any of my siblings, or even my father." That is where it stops. The family trees of houses this large sprawl in ways that are difficult to fit into one page. Plenty of relatives are excluded from this short list. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"You could stand to be nicer since you know what it is like to make up for someone\'s misdeeds."'|darlafield_outcast3a][modFriendship("dar", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"Then I am sorry to hear it. Truly."'|darlafield_outcast3b][modFriendship("dar", 2)]]</li> <li>[['"No matter what you call it, at least it explains why you are here."'|darlafield_outcast3c][]]</li> <li>[['"Well, this makes all the pieces fit."'|darlafield_outcast3d][]]</li> </ul></div>

"The difference is, I wasn't helping even for a single day." She scrunches her nose. "Couldn't even if I—for some mad reason—wanted to." It is tense, emotions brewing. But rather than letting them seep through the cracks, she sighs and looks around as if needing a reminder, and her shoulders drop. "Come," she says, gesturing for you to stand up. <<include darlafield_outcast4>>

She is quiet, contemplative. Your sympathy is like a feather, hurled between you two by an invisible hand until it either lands on the ground or someone interferes to catch it. "Yes," Darla says after a bout of silence. Then, shrugging her shoulders, she takes a surveying look over the hill as if needing a reminder, realizing where all the actors are. "Come," she adds, gesturing for you to stand up. <<include darlafield_outcast4>>

Her face remains passionless. "I am surprised this needed explaining. Any member of the Crown Guard is expected to attend to whichever task is given to them. Nothing else." "If you say so." Her mouth opens, ready to goad you into an argument, but it snaps shut. She takes a surveying look over the hill as if needing a reminder, realizing where all the actors are, and her shoulders drop. "Come," she says, gesturing for you to stand up. <<include darlafield_outcast4>>

Her face remains passionless. "I am happy to hear it," Darla announces. Then she sighs and looks around as if needing a reminder of what she was up to, and her shoulders drop. "Come," she says, gesturing for you to stand up. <<include darlafield_outcast4>>

She picks up the bundled weapons and holds them in her arms. The long lines of the scabbards draped underneath the cover give away the contents entirely, and even now, right hand resting atop the material, she can swiftly pull her sword out at a moment's notice. Despite that, it seems as though she has lost interest in continuing the training entirely, as if the only reason she even wanted to be out here is the closeness to the forest and a way to have a good look at its expanse. As if should she had seen a flash of red light between the trees, she would have rushed down the hill and into the woods. But there is none, and the trees look like a pelt of coarse fur covering the ground everywhere you look. You spend the day in the village and wait until Arthur and Gale return, sour-faced yet alive and unscathed. They confirm, over a stew the color of carrots that must make the entirety of it, that the stories of the odd visions around the spill were not, in fact, an embellishment conjured by frightened minds. Your very first brush with wild magic, and it had to be a ravenous, twisted thing the likes of which even they have not seen. Not a simple event to reckon with, and as you try, you notice the look Arthur gives you: intense and prying. Caught, he returns to the stew, wolfing it down without stopping to taste it. <<NextPage "negotiate_5">>

<<if $ch2.evening is "a">>\ Later, Jayna meets you at a new location, one that makes you seek out an exit immediately. In the spacious room, the ceiling hangs low over your head oppressively. There is little in the way of conveniences in here: a large table that can comfortably fit all of you stands in the middle, and two cots are hidden in two of the darkest corners. They are unoccupied and look decidedly uncomfortable, leaning on some legs more than on the others. When they were still alive, this was the den of the mage hunters. Even before that, it had been a barrack. None of these are the places where someone like you should be. Few mages, if any, would enter a mage hunter outpost and walk out without any issue. Your only consolation is that Jayna is no mage hunter. And that when she sees you, her greeting extends to you as well. <<else>>\ Later, you set out to meet the person you have only heard of: Jayna. The place you arrive at makes you seek out an escape route immediately. In the spacious room, the ceiling hangs low over your head oppressively. There is little in the way of conveniences in here: a large table that can comfortably fit all of you stands in the middle, and two cots are hidden in two of the darkest corners. They are unoccupied and look decidedly uncomfortable, leaning on some legs more than on the others. There is no need for anyone to come out and explain it. When they were still alive, this was the den of the mage hunters. Even before that, it had been a barrack, and none of these are places for people like you. Few <<if $p.mind.magic <2>>mages<<else>>of the Gray Regent's people<</if>>, if any, would enter a mage hunter outpost and walk out without any issue. For the lack of any alternative, you cling to what Arthur said yesterday. That the real hunters are all dead, and whoever took up their mantle poses no real threat to you. //Jayna// is neither tall nor small, with narrow and clear eyes of charcoal. She looks as though she has been herding an unruly litter of puppies the whole day: her tunic sticks out from underneath a hastily thrown on woolen vest, and the long braid that her black hair is pleated into reminds you of frayed rope. The look in her eyes is haunted even as you are introduced to one another, but at least it doesn't linger on you unnecessarily. <</if>>\ "Are you hunters as well?" she asks, slipping onto one of the stools next to the large table. "No," Arthur says. "But you shouldn't worry about it." Her brows crease as she watches him sit on her left, but her apparent worries go unsaid. "We have just returned from scouting," Gale announces while everyone, you included, finds a seat. "Although you anticipate the hounds to appear tomorrow, the effect of wild magic felt strong in the area. One without the other is indeed strange. Tell us about them." Her resolve flickers before settling. "We had the hunters' experience and years to observe them. Merritt said he'd never seen the hounds this fierce, and never seen them return to the same place. But the forest is marked. When the moon is young, the hounds act like...pups." Her lip curls. "They are more erratic, playing with us like we are mere food. But the longer they are left to roam, the more they act like real predators that corner their prey and...work together—like us. We lost Tobey to that; it was when we realized it wasn't a coincidence but a pattern. So we try to deal with them right away. They reappear at the next moon, but at least without any clever habits they could have picked up before. The only thing they retain is the expanse of their claim to the land, their domain. It always grows." Darla, quiet and stone-faced, buries her face in her hands. "The spill is never gone," Gale murmurs to himself, but as a courtesy, he is loud enough for everyone to hear. "The hounds are //new//, but what wild magic has touched, remains like that. Something draws it back out. Someone?" Jayna keeps looking at him even as he falls silent. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["To be clear, he is only guessing," I reassure her. "We aren't certain of anything."|negotiate_5a][modPlayer("vil", -2); modFriendship("gale", 1); modFriendship("dar", 1);]]</li> <li>[[If there exists a mage capable of manipulating wild magic like that, the Gray Regent would most certainly like to know. My interest is piqued.|negotiate_5b][modAffinity("y", 2)]]</li> <li>[[He is scaring me too.|negotiate_5c][modAffinity("player", 1)]]</li> <li>[["Have you heard of anyone ever controlling wild magic?" I ask Gale.|negotiate_5d][]]</li> </ul></div>

It is a small consolation, but it gives her the conviction to press on. <<include negotiate_5_2>>

Wild magic is dangerous, you could always surmise as much, so it is no wonder neither the $q.king nor Jax has ever come to you with a task of investigating it. But there is Lan, a spindly man who scares easily even when running into people in halls and corridors where they commonly are, and Lan once described in great detail what a bite from a fog hound feels like to a whole table of agitated and drunk patrons in Last Lantern. He rarely leaves the Tower, preferring to do his research in front of a kindled fireplace, but for him to have suffered it, he must have deliberately placed himself in a position to be bitten. You might have something better to deliver to the Gray Regent than a riveting tavern tale if Gale is right. Now is not the time to ponder how exactly you would relay such information to $q.him, but at least the task no longer feels like an utter waste of your time. <<include negotiate_5_2>>

When given free rein, wild magic carves the world to its liking, you know that. Even humans cannot suffer it unchanged, though at least they could fight back and return touched by it, but not retooled. And somehow, the idea that it can serve a thing or a person seems worse. Pups, Jayna said, a small pack of hounds in a number that never changes. You can deal with wild animals: hunters and fishermen, and anyone traveling does it easily. But an invisible hand capable of a cruel scheme such as this, you would need to unveil it first. You are as still as Jayna, willing that the mage prince has no more theories to share. <<include negotiate_5_2>>

"No," comes out a little quicker than he planned. He leaves the table on a hook as he thinks, but in the end, it is still, "No. Aside from the Sisters, that is." Darla glares at him briefly, not intending to get caught in the act, and you pretend like you didn't notice it. "We have no authentic record for what happened to them, and there is no way to obtain one," Arthur says, voice blank. Gale opens his mouth, but with a quick look around the table, he keeps it to himself. He might be thinking of the mages of Truth, capable of peering into the past, but who would believe one in a land where a god is expected to oversee such matters? "We will keep that in mind," you say. <<include negotiate_5_2>>

Jayna spreads her hands over the surface of the table, where a large piece of parchment is rolled out. Wyrm's Nest is only a mark in the corner, and the rest of the material is dedicated to the forest. There are marks all over the map: most of them are as silly as "large stone" and "uprooted larch", but you glean that deep into the dangerous section of it, there is an unsure outline of a building. This must be the ruin you have heard of, yet very little of it is recorded on the parchment. Some areas are etched with a heavy hand, and a different number of metal pins stick out of each. "We tried making sense of the locations where we would encounter them most often, but it brought us nowhere closer to understanding. They roam the forest, and we've never caught the moment they appear. In the end, it made more sense to take the fight at some kind of advantageous spot." She looks up from the map. "How far did you get today?" "Not here," Arthur replies, tapping his finger next to the ruin. Jayna shakes her head. "Even with the hounds gone, this place feels impossible to reach. There is a brief moment of respite after the last is defeated, but by that time, everyone is too exhausted to take on whatever magic wards this place. As days go on, it only grows stronger—and worse." She smiles bitterly. "Could only ever do it half-way." "The whispers, distant wind, seeing things that aren't there," Gale recounts dully, and Jayna nods along. He sighs. "When exactly will the hounds reappear?" She points to a symbol on the map close to Darla's resting hand. Two-horned moon and three tiny circles. "When the first stars light up in the sky. You don't have to see them to know they have appeared. This nauseous feeling...it becomes worse around then." Her laugh is clipped and dry. "You never look at the sky the same once you spend a few months doing this, let alone years. Years." She breathes heavily. It feels like she would shake if she were to say the word once more and permit herself to grasp its meaning. So she does not. <<NextPage "negotiate_6">>

"So it is best for us to be there early," Arthur concludes. "If we are lucky, we will still have some light by the time the hounds are taken care of." Jayna turns to him. "That is unlikely, but... do you wish to accompany us?" Then she quickly searches your faces for clues. "We will go //instead// of you," Arthur says. She is quiet at first, silently waiting for an objection to come from elsewhere. You frown, pondering your options. "Too dangerous," Jayna says, crossing her arms. Her fingers lock onto her upper arms a little too forcefully. "You do not know the area well enough." "The hounds will find us, won't they?" "And once you fight them back, do you even know what to look for then?" "Rolant suspects that someone--a mage--is involved. But no. Do you?" Defiance fizzles out in her as she cannot find an answer and simply looks aimlessly around the table. "Please, wait here," Jayna says, stepping away. "I will come back shortly." You can hear the distant sounds of her steps outside fading, and Arthur still has his head turned toward the place he saw her silhouette last, a low and battered hole of a doorframe. "You said we should trust her," Darla points out. She sits the farthest from the map; she's barely even looked at it. "We do." "Then you can see that she is right. This is her //home//. If you want to take on the tough job that has claimed so many lives, we cannot afford to pick what assistance we receive." He lets out a sound that expresses neither agreement nor outright objection. Without as much as moving his hand, he locks eyes with yours. <<if $ch2.outcome_oath>>\ "That is true," Arthur says. "If you require our protection, you will have to come with us." It is strange how he makes it sound as though it is a choice. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I put on an unconcerned face. "I expected as much already."|negotiate_6a][modTrust("dar", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"Better this than trying the Gray Regent\'s wrath."'|negotiate_6b][modTrust("art", -1)]]</li> <li>[['"Will my presence contribute anything? I have avoided wild magic my entire life."'|negotiate_6c][modAffinity("player", 1); modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[[I think my voice shakes. "If I...have to."|negotiate_6d][modTrust("gale", 1)]]</li> </ul></div> <<else>>\ "That is true," Arthur says. "We cannot." Darla speaks tensely. "What are you thinking?" "I think..." He finally looks down, clasping and unclasping his fist. The motion convinces him, and at once, you find yourself in his vision. "If we do not have to lean on her plan and may use //your// skills instead, we can take you to the place you insist is your destination." A village in a bind, encroached by magic. A torn-up defending force. Weak leadership. And a nice personal touch that carves a deep wound. The colors are blending together so well, as if the painting itself were a trap. Was this why he hasn't sold you out to the High Sentinel? Expecting to lay down an offer like this? Darla leans until the edge of the table presses into her armor and nearly hisses, "But it is //wise//?" "It will be difficult to survive the hounds on one's own," he says with a quick smirk. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[There is nothing else to say but this. "Then I accept your offer."|negotiate_6e][modTrust("dar", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I know it won't be cheap. "Am I expected to assist with my skills all the way to Rimehall?"|negotiate_6f][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"Will my presence contribute anything? I have avoided wild magic my entire life."'|negotiate_6c][modAffinity("player", 1); modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[[This is it then? I think my voice shakes. "If I...have to."|negotiate_6d][modTrust("gale", 1)]]</li> <li>[[How easily he was swayed to fall in line with our expectations. "No cell but freedom? I'd be a fool to say no."|negotiate_6g][$art.rel.fake +=3; modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> </ul></div> <</if>>\

He nods. "Good." <<include negotiate_7>>

His focus snags on the title and stays with you for as long as it takes him to decide if the answer is satisfactory. If he can pretend he believes what you are saying. If there is any wrath at all. But in the end, he is short on helping hands, and why should he refuse risking your hide if you are //agreeing//? "Good." <<include negotiate_7>>

A stifled scoff escapes him. <<if $ch2.mem_confessed>>\ "Perhaps it will come to you yet," he says. "And if it doesn't?" <<else>>\ "You must have traveled very safely then," he remarks. In the past months, you certainly did, though you have no idea what sorts of trouble the other version of you got into. If one did not always have Jax to rely on for getting elsewhere safely, running into wild magic, if only sensing its echoes, was only a matter of time. "I was fortunate," you say. "Though it seems my earlier fortune robbed me of the expertise you would require." <</if>>\ "A bunch of farmers and woodworkers learned quickly," Darla chips in, though more to the side. <<if $p.mind.magic <2>>\ "If nothing at all, it is an opportunity to put your magic to good use," Arthur says. <<else>>\ "It is much like any fight," Arthur says. "Luring your opponent into a disadvantageous position." <</if>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $p.mind.magic <2>><li>[[I cannot help myself. "So my magic is fine if you can use it?"|negotiate_6c_a][modTrust("gale", 1)]]</li>\<</if>> <li>[['"Well, if you put it in such an eloquent way, how could I possibly refuse?"'|negotiate_6c_b][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"I suggest you watch your back then. In a fight, things might turn quite...chaotic all of a sudden."'|negotiate_6c_c][modTrust("art", -5); modTrust("dar", -3); modTrust("gale", -2); modPlayer("crafty", -2); modPlayer("vil", 2)]]</li> <li>[['"Right... So be it then."'|negotiate_6c_d][]]</li> </ul></div>

Your words do not surprise him, though they do spite his mood somewhat. "Magic can undo the messes it has wrought. If it should do anything, let it at least be that." "It wasn't //my// magic that did it." His mouth twitches, but the response comes from a different direction. "But yours can save this place," Gale says. He doesn't need to do it, as it would have been much wiser to not start it in the first place. Accept how finely the cards are stacking in your favor and dutifully commit to proving the worth of your word. But in calling it out, you felt //better//. If your magic is to be used, then at least it should be acknowledged. "Then it will save it," you say after a pause. <<include negotiate_7>>

His flat, unimpressed smile must be a reflection of yours. Still, he nods. "Good." <<include negotiate_7>>

Your tone is light, but the mood takes a sudden and, perhaps, appropriate tumble. You only meant to point out the obvious. It doesn't bother you as much as it does them, so you shrug. "We aren't accustomed to fighting around one another, you see." "I do see," Arthur replies tensely. "But there isn't a moment I don't watch my back." "Well, then." You shift your weight so that you are more comfortable. "No reason to worry." "Good." <<include negotiate_7>>

He peeks at you curiously, making you consider you have agreed too easily. But then-- "Good." <<include negotiate_7>>

You would have expected dangers from them, but the first step in your plan has miraculously worked, if with a few stipulations. Somewhere down the line, there were bound to be other trials, but you didn't expect to run into them so soon. You have no teamwork, no trust. You weren't even a party to investigating the spill. All you know of wild magic is what you read and heard from Mort. You don't know what it would feel like. But you do not have the luxury of missing this opportunity. He studies you briefly, his attention impossible to describe anything other than that, and then nods. <<include negotiate_7>>

This is better than the constant threat of being tossed to the hunters or surrendered to the Vigil. If you need to //prove// your way into this arrangement, you can do that as well. All that matters is that you get to Rimehall. One way or the other. And lose them the pouch in the process. <<include negotiate_7>>

He smiles without kindness. "Is that not what you expected? The journey back will not be simple." A risk either way. But it gets you the opportunity that you need. "I was merely making sure," you reply. "We never reached the point where we discussed the arrangement." "Well, now you know the conditions." You nod. "And now I know what I am agreeing to." "Good," he says. <<include negotiate_7>>

Your mirth doesn't humor him, though. "You would be a fool indeed." It draws a smile out of you. "I cannot be that," you say. "So I accept your offer." "Good," Arthur replies stiffly. <<include negotiate_7>>

<<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ Arthur can suppress the magic that sustains them. You can banish them by lashing out with the strength of the First. \ <<elseif $p.mind.magic is 2>>\ Arthur can suppress the magic that sustains them. If you were any more confident in your magic, you could have overpowered them with yours. But to channel enough in a brief opening that you might get? You aren't likely to succeed. All that remains is to lend your other skills wherever necessary. \ <<else>>\ Arthur can suppress the magic that sustains them. The Gift of the First is another tool that repels wild magic and the hounds, but you never cared for it. Instead, you can lend your other skills wherever necessary. Learning to survive within and outside of Riante without magic made you quite proficient at it. \ <</if>>\ That is how, in theory, it must go. The door suddenly cracks open, and your mind summons an image of the High Sentinel, your alertness playing tricks on you. But it is only Jayna. And she is not alone. She steps into the room and turns, a mother duck waiting for her duckling to gain upon her. It is a young woman with a round face and round features, shorter even than Jayna herself. It is difficult to glean her expression as she wilts under all the scrutiny, restlessly kneading her hands together. Arthur stands up, but it is not to greet her. He remains stiff and guarded. "Jayna." "This is Aelia." "I didn't ask you to bring her." <<if $ch2.evening is "a">>\ His agitation seeps into you, echoing with all the unpleasant revelations of last night. What else was it that upset him? The girl must be //someone// for his jaw to grit like that. And then it comes to you. The mysterious force keeping the hounds under control in the absence of the mage hunters, whose existence did not escape Arthur's notice. The girl is a mage. And not any mage, she shares your <<if $p.mind.magic >=2>>supposed <</if>>Gift. <<else>>\ His agitation is puzzling, much so to Jayna. She watches him warily, but makes no move to run or hide. <</if>>\ "Aelia can help," she says with a turn of her head. "Is that right?" The young woman nods. Arthur ignores her. He sends Jayna a scalding look and drops onto his seat, turning away from them altogether. "I have no idea what you are talking about," he says. "We do not need another bait. Better tell me if there is any mud in here." He circles--a little too forcefully--a location on the map that is purposefully clear of any tree depictions. Jayna, having no choice, approaches him, leaving Aelia behind. "I don't understand." She glances at the map. "No, the bed is only wet if it rains. I will come with you to protect her. If it wasn't for Aelia, there would be nobody in this entire village for you to find." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Now this is what I call entertainment.|negotiate_7a][$art.rel.fake +=2;]]</li> <<if $ch2.evening is not "a">>\<li>[[I wish to see what all the fuss is about. I approach the young woman.|negotiate_7b][]]</li><</if>>\ <<if $ch2.evening is "a">>\<li>[[None of this is Aelia's fault. There is very little I can do to support her, but... I can walk up to her?|negotiate_7c][modPlayer("vil", -2)]]</li><</if>>\ <<if $ch2.evening is "a">>\<li>[[A mage of the First, in here... Curious, I walk up to her.|negotiate_7d][]]</li><</if>>\ <li>[['"Perhaps you should quit talking as though she isn\'t here?"'|negotiate_7e][modTrust("dar", 1); modTrust("gale", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

"And I don't need to know that," Arthur replies through gritted teeth. "I don't //care// how you managed so far with no hunters remaining. I mustn't know." "It will be better if we move as a large group," Jayna insists. "Both you and Aelia—" He forgets to care that you are here too, and even Darla looks concerned. "You didn't tell Merritt about her, did you?" Arthur speaks brusquely. "You understood what it meant perfectly back then. You didn't want to put it on //him//." <<if $ch2.evening is "a">>\ Her face colors with a clash of emotions: she is distraught, sorrowful, and indignant at once. <<else>>\ Another piece on the board. This name has not come up yet, but you feel like this person wouldn't feel inclined to act particularly friendly toward you either. <</if>>\ "And see how that turned out," Jayna snaps back, voice pained. "I don't know what he would have done! Maybe I should have trusted him, and he would have still—" No one interrupts her but Jayna herself. Only a moment ago, it seemed as though she was about to cry, but then something invisible pulls over her, a blanket of composure, and she settles. "Jayna, I'm telling you what //not// to do," Arthur says in a cold, low voice. He stretches the words in their importance. "//I have no idea why you brought her.//" <<if $ch2.evening is not "a">>\ His stubborn insistence stumps Jayna, but the more you mull it over, the more obvious it becomes. If Aelia can help with the hounds, she can only be one of two things: a hunter—or a mage. And all the hunters are dead. <</if>>\ <<include negotiate_7table>>

It is all a little too much to be about a simple young woman who makes a living tending to barn animals or gathering herbs until sunset. Aelia here must be special. When you rise, everyone takes notice. Even Jayna watches you out of the corner of her eye, and it makes her swallow whatever other objections she had. \<<if $p.appearance.height is 1>> You are almost as tall as Aelia, and yet she tries to fit herself into your shadow, drawing her arms to her chest and bowing her head. \ <<elseif $p.appearance.height is 3>>\ You stopped one wide step away. It is enough that she is small and scared: you do not need her to strain herself to even look at you. Not that she tries. <</if>>\ She reminds you of the wide-eyed children who arrive in Riante every now and then, with only the shirts on their backs to their name and unsure if they are even supposed to be there. Only a few of them are spurred by the desire to master their magic. Most wish to be rid of it, and they believe that the Grey Regent collects their Gifts like jewels to line the curves of a crown you have never once seen $q.him wear. Still, the wonders of Riante and the tall Tower with its moody Regent attract them. The city that was robbed of its freedom fascinates those chasing their own. Behind you, the voices keep arguing about something, but you can feel Arthur's prying eye without turning. "Do //you// know what they are arguing about?" you ask the woman. She hesitates, unsure and not wanting to lie, so you ask a different question. "Have you ever seen the fog hounds?" Her shoulders flinch, her frame otherwise steady. "Yes." "More than once, I suppose," you mutter, thoughts connecting. "Not because you keep bumbling about and running into them, right?" "...I know how to deal with them," she says. She looks so unthreatening, you are surprised despite it all but being spelled out for you. Jayna wouldn't drag her into this if she were merely good with a hunting knife. Two kinds of people can deal with the hounds: mage hunters and //mages of the First//. She is no hunter, that is certain. <<include negotiate_7aelia>>

Whatever is going on in Arthur's head, there is no reason that Aelia, who has turned up here to offer her assistance, is made to feel bad for it. When you rise, everyone immediately takes notice. Even Jayna watches you out of the corner of her eye, and it makes her swallow whatever other objections she had. \<<if $p.appearance.height is 1>> You are almost as tall as the young woman, and yet she tries to fit herself into your shadow, drawing her arms to her chest and bowing her head. \ <<elseif $p.appearance.height is 3>>\ You stopped one wide step away. It is enough that she is small and scared: you do not need her to strain herself to even look at you. Not that she tries.\ <</if>>\ She reminds you of the wide-eyed children who arrive in Riante every now and then, with only the shirts on their backs to their name and unsure if they are even supposed to be there. Only a few of them are spurred by the desire to master their magic. Most wish to be rid of it, and they believe that the Grey Regent collects their Gifts like jewels to line the curves of a crown you have never once seen $q.him wear. Still, the wonders of Riante and the tall Tower with its moody Regent attract them. The city that was robbed of its freedom fascinates those chasing their own. "Let him talk," you tell Aelia. "In the end, it will work out. You will see." Perhaps your reassurances are misguided. After all, you have no idea what Arthur wants to do, or what Jayna's insistence will end up pushing him toward. But here and now, you can at least extend her this much. She nods even if it doesn't look like she completely understands why you are saying this. "You are the one who has been keeping the hounds in check, aren't you?" you ask. "...Yes." Some part of her realizes that she shouldn't readily reveal her talents even with Jayna in the same room. The air around Arthur must have such an effect, no doubt. "Good work," you say, then carefully think over your next words. "I have never seen them before." She winces. "They are difficult to see. But when they attack, you will know it." Soon enough, you will. You haven't forgotten even for a moment. No matter how safe you keep this conversation, you feel Arthur's prying eye on yourself. <<include negotiate_7aelia>>

You cannot tell if you ever ran into another mage by sheer accident. Everyone who lives beyond the mossy walls of Riante hides and would make fair-weather allies at best. Wyrm's Nest is a single lantern of life for days in each direction. Having magic stir inside her must have felt terrifying, and the appearance of the mage hunters could not have made it any easier. In the village's misfortune lay her luck: someone was finally willing to come out and protect her. She was precious to the effort, after all. When you rise, everyone immediately takes notice. Even Jayna watches you out of the corner of her eye, and it makes her swallow whatever other objections she had. \<<if $p.appearance.height is 1>> You are almost as tall as the young woman, and yet she tries to fit herself into your shadow, drawing her arms to her chest and bowing her head. \ <<elseif $p.appearance.height is 3>>\ You stopped one wide step away. It is enough that she is small and scared: you do not need her to strain herself to even look at you. Not that she tries.\ <</if>>\ She reminds you of the wide-eyed children who arrive in Riante every now and then, with only the shirts on their backs to their name and unsure if they are even supposed to be there. Only a few of them are spurred by the desire to master their magic. Most wish to be rid of it, and they believe that the Grey Regent collects their Gifts like jewels to line the curves of a crown you have never once seen $q.him wear. Still, the wonders of Riante and the tall Tower with its moody Regent attract them. The city that was robbed of its freedom fascinates those chasing their own. "You are a mage, aren't you?" you ask her. Without intending it, your voice is quiet. Perhaps that alone urges her to reply. Only a nod, as if admitting it aloud is dangerous. You glance over your shoulder, meeting Arthur's icy scowl. "Do you know who grants you your magic? In whose image it came?" It's even less surprising when she shakes her head. The Sisters are convenient symbols, but outside of Riante, very little is known //of// them. Even to mages, it seems, even when the Gift whispers into their dreams. <<if $p.mind.magic <3>>But the First is a fierce protector. Easy to see how she wouldn't care for veneration.<<else>>You are a little like that, too: saddled with a power that you know little about, but constantly asked questions as though you were some kind of a magic scholar.<</if>> "You taught yourself?" A risky question, and you expect her to lie. But if there was someone else, why would they send out someone so...fragile? "Yes," she replies quietly. Why would a mage with the exact right Gift be where she is needed most? You remember Jax and their box of convenient coincidences. Does it look like their work? Or is it merely wishful thinking on your part, or your nervousness? She might not know it, but even in her simple responses, she told you quite a lot. Anything else you might ask would be recklessness. <<include negotiate_7aelia>>

Arthur sends you a dirty look, and regret flashes on Jayna's face. "Of course." She turns to Aelia and opens her hand invitingly. "Forgive me. Please, come here." Her steps are small, and the woman stops before the table, all but saying that she wouldn't sit at it. The robe she wears is all folds and fabric, and right beneath the hem, her real clothes peek. Dirt stains line the trim of her pants, and her boots are old and shabby. Even though he itches to remain surly, the ire in Arthur dulls with Aelia near. "That doesn't change anything. I do not wish to know how you have fared this far with no hunters remaining," he says. "Aelia and I know the land well," Jayna insists. "Both you and she can—" Arthur sneaks a quick glance at the young woman. "You didn't tell Merritt about her, did you?" he speaks brusquely. "You understood what it meant perfectly back then. You didn't want to put it on //him//." <<if $ch2.evening is "a">>\ Jayna's face colors with a clash of emotions: she is distraught, sorrowful, and indignant at once. <<else>>\ Another piece on the board, then. This name has not come up yet, but you feel like this person wouldn't feel inclined to act particularly friendly toward you either. <</if>>\ "And see how that turned out," Jayna snaps back, voice pained. "I don't know what he would have done! Maybe I should have trusted him, and he would have still—" She cuts herself off, sealing the words with a cork and shaking the bottle of her emotions inside. What remains on the surface is a lot calmer. "Jayna..." Aelia calls out timidly, yet at the same time, affectionately. The air ripples, and then the emotion is gone. It takes something from Arthur, too, it seems, but he resolves to continue. "Jayna, I'm telling you what //not// to do," Arthur says in a cold, low voice. He stretches the words in their importance. "//There is no reason for her to go.//" <<if $ch2.evening is not "a">>\ Aelia's approach did little good, but at least you can take a close look at her. She wants to shrink, pull away from Arthur, but she bravely stands close, fingers laced tightly. <<else>>\ Aelia's approach did little good, but at least you can take a close look at her. She wants to shrink, pull away from Arthur, but she bravely stands close, fingers laced tightly. If she can help with the hounds, she can only be one of two things: a hunter—or a mage. And all the hunters are dead. <</if>>\ <<include negotiate_7table>>

<div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $p.mind.magic >= 2>><li>[[Oh, let us do away with these pathetic pretences. "Arthur, we need a mage of the First out there, whether you like it or not."|negotiate_7table_a][modPlayer("crafty", -3); modFriendship("art", -1)]]</li><</if>> <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>><li>[[This quarrel has quickly lost its luster. "I will have that task covered, Jayna."|negotiate_7table_b][modPlayer("crafty", 1);]]</li><</if>> <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>><li>[['"You do not need to worry, Jayna. I have the same skills as Aelia does."'|negotiate_7table_c][modPlayer("crafty", -1);]]</li><</if>>  <li>[['"Not only is the area unfamiliar, doesn\'t the situation with the hounds bother you? We require every advantage. It would be foolish to turn down the help."'|negotiate_7table_d][modTrust("dar", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I keep watching.|negotiate_7table_e][]]</li> </ul></div>

Neither Jayna nor Aelia appears affected by your straightforwardness, but Arthur's eyes flash darkly, and he freezes, only watching you. If anyone is relieved at all, it is Jayna, because you've drawn away quite a lot, if not all, of his displeasure. But you refuse to sit with it quietly. "You know I'm right," you tell him. "Or are you thinking of throwing her into a cell as well?" He tenses to that, drawing a long, hot breath, and leans so that there is as little distance between you as possible. But before he speaks—and he so obviously wants to—Gale cuts him off. "<<print $p.name>>." You aren't used to the sound of it in his voice, so you unwittingly turn to him if only to see if you haven't imagined it. He does a quick, blink-and-you-miss-it peek at Aelia, though it is not to check on her but to remind you of her existence. She hears everything. But you knew that. Arthur is beside himself, but he has chosen to force himself into a corner by not calling her a mage, and so he picks his words carefully, sometimes not even picking any at all. "We aren't besieged with advantages," you say, reluctantly neutral. "So you cannot turn away from one for your...special reasons." <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_goes">>

You catch her by surprise, and Arthur tenses but says nothing. She eyes you with a newly found curiosity. As if there was an image that all mages faintly resembled, as if there was something about you that should have been a sign all along. When your magic is at rest, you are much like any other person. But if she is searching for clues, seeing your eyes light up with blue might be it. "Oh." Jayna shuffles in her seat. "You will?" You //can//, of course, but you //have not// and you //might not do it that well//. But she doesn't need to know that. "I can take it from Aelia," you tell her instead. You catch a hint of relief in the way Aelia exhales, though for all you know, it might have nothing to do with anything. This wouldn't be her first moon out there, searching for the fog hounds to put to rest. <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_nogoes">>

You catch her by surprise, and Arthur tenses but says nothing. She eyes you with a newly found curiosity. As if there was an image that all mages faintly resembled, as if there was something about you that should have been a sign all along. When your magic is at rest, you are much like any other person. But if she is searching for clues, seeing your eyes light up with blue might be it. "Oh." Jayna shuffles in your seat. "You do?" Briefly, your eyes meet Aelia's. What passes between you is not any form of understanding, but rather quiet acknowledgment. Like two birds brushing past one another in the skies. Both are mages of the First, but where fog hounds are concerned, Aelia has an upper hand while you have //none//. You can only hope that it is a skill you can quickly pick up. Jayna, however, doesn't need to know that. "I can take it from Aelia," you tell her instead. You catch a hint of relief in the way Aelia exhales, though for all you know, it might have nothing to do with anything. This wouldn't be her first moon out there, searching for the fog hounds to put to rest. <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_nogoes">>

He fixes you with a look, as though indeed an entire mage with the power that is uniquely capable of dealing with the hounds was an insignificant consideration. <<if $p.mind.magic <2>>Even if you are every bit a mage like her, you do not have Aelia's experience with this place, with these stubbornly reappearing hounds.<<else>>He cannot be so arrogant as to think that he alone can deal with the hounds this unusual. All you can offer is your fighting skill to lure them into position, but Aelia can do away with them—for a moon cycle, at least.<</if>> <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ "Don't we have you?" he asks, brow raised. "I haven't even seen the forest in daylight," you point out. He intentionally left you behind. A corner of his mouth rises. "You are supposed to be one of $q.his brightest. You can figure it out." Even Jayna is studying you curiously. Not stating anything outright, he has implied a thing or two about you. Perhaps she thinks there are subtle clues she's missed and wants to learn from them. "You'd trust me over her?" you ask. He smiles at your question. It isn't the matter of trust at all—he'd offer that to neither of you—but it feels good to prick him with it. "Certainly," he replies. A lie, an easy one. You briefly doubt if he even wishes to make it out of that forest alive. "I will need to speak to her at least, then." Your gaze is firm. "Preferably without you around. You scare her." Jayna holds her breath, and Arthur pretends like Aelia is not standing there. Even the mage herself does it. "Or," you add before he gets a chance to say anything, "are you so afraid she will tell me things which can assist in our survival?" You are startled when Gale lends his voice. "I want to speak to her as well," he says, and Darla looks at him with worry. His assistance is surprising, yet welcome. If you are to be watched, it doesn't have to be the hunter at all times, does it? Fortunately, besides groaning to the side, he puts up no fight. That is better saved for the upcoming venture anyway. <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_nogoes">> <<else>>\ His expression becomes clouded. Brushing your remark to the side doesn't come to him as easily as he must have hoped. He may dislike what Aelia's presence here means—for the village, for the hunter chapter, for //him//—but it does not matter when two weapons against the hounds are better than one. There is you, of course, and you spare your Gift a momentary thought. Magic requires practice, you know. In a mind that is not used to harnessing it, you are left with reluctant outbursts that you can barely control. Would it come to your aid if you were in a bind? Would you dare even try? Perhaps if you //remembered//, you wouldn't hesitate this much. But then, maybe there is a reason why you forgot in the first place. Faced with your level-headed argument, Arthur finally looks at Aelia. It is a heavy, troubled look, and she wilts under it a little. "What are you thinking?" you hear Gale ask suddenly. It isn't to you. The hunter is as still as his thoughts must be agitated. His jaw works, betraying apprehension, and when he finally looks back, the subject of his focus is Gale. There is a softer edge to his expression. "Fine," he says after a moment, defeat chief in his voice. <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_goes">> <</if>>\

Jayna draws a loud, surprised breath, but then her face softens in understanding. "What is more dangerous to you?" she asks, desperate and a little tired. "These hounds, whatever lures them, or what happens after?" Arthur glances in Aelia's direction, but not entirely //at// her. <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ "It is not only my head that is on the line," he says elusively as if it is explanation enough. "We can handle it...without your help." Mighty nice of him to have this much faith in you. As a mage of the First, you might be able to deal with the hounds, but you never //have//. If it is any different from a common tavern brawl, you have no idea. It is likely very different. "I will need to speak to her at least," you finally say. "Preferably without you around. You scare her." His mouth twitches. "Or," you add before he gets a chance to say anything, "are you so afraid she will tell me things which can assist in our survival?" You are startled when Gale lends his voice. "I want to speak to her as well," he says, and Darla looks at him with worry. His assistance is surprising, yet welcome. If the hunter had any concern about two mages conspiring against him without his supervision, there are now //three//. But at least he trusts one of them. <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_nogoes">> <<else>>\ "I cannot tell," he mutters and turns to his companions. Darla doesn't hesitate. "You know I like favorable odds. But it will be on your head, won't it? You should decide for yourself." Gale next, but there aren't words exchanged. Unspoken understanding does it for them, and Arthur sighs. "I suppose we will do it your way, Jayna," he says weakly. "Safety." Nobody seems to be particularly relieved by it. <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_goes">> <</if>>\

<div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>><li>[["There is no need for you to endanger yourself this time," I tell her. "I can deal with them, too."|negotiate_7aelia_a][modPlayer("ruthless", -2); modTrust("gale", 1)]]</li><</if>> <<if $p.mind.magic < 2 and $ch2.evening != "a">><li>[[Mystery solved. I return to the table and squeeze myself between the quarrelling pair. "Jayna, he has roped me into it already. Rest easy."|negotiate_7aelia_b][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li><</if>> <li>[[A smile spreads on my lips as I turn. He thinks he has me under control, but Aelia?.. "And what are you going to do about all this, hunter?"|negotiate_7aelia_c][modPlayer("crafty", 2); modFriendship("art", -2)]]</li> <<if $p.mind.magic >= 2>><li>[[She doesn't look like much, but we will need a mage out there. There should be no argument about it.|negotiate_7aelia_d][modTrust("dar", 1)]]</li><</if>> </ul></div>

Aelia frowns as she ponders your words, what exactly you are saying. She'd feel relief, but there is an ever-present shadow of the mage hunters looming over her, and your careful statement leaves her guarded. "The same way you would," you add, and a light goes off in her eyes. You must be the only other mage of the First she has seen. The only other mage at all, perhaps. "I... I don't know what to say to you," she mutters. Her eyes are wide as if she's scared to believe you. "It is good that you don't." You show her a quick smile. "Now, let me settle this with the rest of the group." They have not made any headway, of course, and as you stand awkwardly between them, tension is palpable. <<include negotiate_7aelia_b>>

"There is no need to bring Aelia, Jayna," you say. "I can do her part." She doesn't seem surprised by what you say, and the expression on Arthur's face explains it. Perhaps he has already alluded to something of that sort. But her concern doesn't vanish either. "Perhaps," she says curtly. "I would still like to talk to her." Your gaze is firm. "Without all this arguing, preferably." "And I suppose you wish to do it alone?" Arthur asks dryly. "Why, are you afraid she will tell me things which can assist in our survival?" You are startled when Gale lends his voice. "I want to speak to her as well," he says, and Darla looks at him with worry. His assistance is surprising, yet welcome. If you are to be watched, it doesn't have to be the hunter at all times, does it? Fortunately, besides groaning to the side, he puts up no fight. That is better saved for the upcoming venture anyway. <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_nogoes">>

Next to you, Aelia shifts uncomfortably, but you are no longer paying attention to her. The look on his face when those exact words leave you is a reward in itself. His anger is quiet; after all, if he speaks out on this, //he will have to do something about her//. But it is a dark, cold feeling that you can sense even with his hand placed on the table and his eyes free of the menacing hunter glow. You approach slowly, unafraid, the only one with the guts to say it like it is. <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ He watches you a moment longer and then, with effort, turns to Jayna. "We have it sorted out without your assistance," he says, voice restrained. "And that is final." You scoff in amusement. "I would still like to speak with Aelia. Learn a little." "Oh, you would?" "I do not expect //you// to tell me how it is done, you see." In charged silence, Jayna looks at a loss for words. Interruption comes from an unexpected source: Gale. "I want to speak to her as well," he says, and Darla looks at him with worry. His assistance is surprising, yet welcome. If the hunter had any concern about two mages conspiring against him without his supervision, there are now //three//. But at least he trusts one of them. <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_nogoes">> <<else>>\ "What a predicament," you tell him with a smile. A corner of his mouth twitches. Still, he musters the resolve to turn away, addressing Jayna instead. "Like I said—" "What is more dangerous to you?" she interrupts, desperate and a little tired. "These hounds, whatever lures them, or what happens after?" Arthur glances in Aelia's direction, but not entirely //at// her. Past you, and deliberately so. "I cannot tell," he mutters and turns to his companions. Darla doesn't hesitate. "You know I like favorable odds. But it will be on your head, won't it? You should decide for yourself." Gale next, but there aren't words exchanged. Unspoken understanding does it for them, and Arthur sighs. "I suppose we will do it your way, Jayna," he says weakly. "Safety." Nobody seems to be particularly relieved by it. <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_goes">> <</if>>\

You sigh. "Arthur," you say, approaching the hunter and his new friend. "Your preferences do not matter, we //need// her." He fixes you with a look, as though indeed an entire mage with the power that is uniquely capable of dealing with the hounds was an insignificant consideration. He cannot be so arrogant as to think that he alone can deal with the hounds this unusual. All you can offer is your fighting skill to lure them into position, but Aelia can do away with them—for a moon cycle, at least. His expression becomes clouded. Brushing your remark to the side doesn't come to him as easily as he must have hoped. He may dislike what Aelia's presence here means—for the village, for the hunter chapter, for //him//—but it does not matter when two weapons against the hounds are better than one. There is you, of course, and you spare your Gift a momentary thought. Magic requires practice, you know. In a mind that is not used to harnessing it, you are left with reluctant outbursts that you can barely control. Would it come to your aid if you were in a bind? Would you dare even try? Perhaps if you //remembered//, you wouldn't hesitate this much. But then, maybe there is a reason why you forgot in the first place. Faced with your level-headed argument, Arthur finally looks at Aelia. It is a heavy, troubled look, and she wilts under it a little. "What are you thinking?" you hear Gale ask suddenly. It isn't to you. The hunter is as still as his thoughts must be agitated. His jaw works, betraying apprehension, and when he finally looks back, the subject of his focus is Gale. There is a softer edge to his expression. "Fine," he says after a moment, defeat chief in his voice. <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_goes">>

Far in the back of the building, there is a small room whose purpose you do not even try to guess. The mass of air in here is stale, and the only furnishings are two stools with ornamental rim. Aelia sticks to her corner, pacing from one foot to the other, and Gale takes one of the two seating options and laces his fingers. If anything, he is the opposite of her, but truly, what does a mage who lords over life itself have to fear? <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[He'll go first. "What did you want to ask Aelia?"|negotiate_8aelia_nogoes_a][]]</li> <li>[[But he's not in charge here, I am. "How long have you been doing this, Aelia?"|negotiate_8aelia_nogoes_b][]]</li> <li>[[I turn to Aelia. "Don't mind Arthur, he's a bit of a toad sometimes."|negotiate_8aelia_nogoes_c][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

He doesn't even flinch. "Was the first time frightening?" Aelia releases a quiet gasp, caught unprepared. She frowns in disbelief, not trusting her own ears. "The first time?" Gale nods. "The first time you faced the fog hounds." Perhaps it is the way he says it, as if asking her about the time she rode a horse or picked a ripe wild strawberry on a wayside, and not about standing across from a creature of nightmares that one can hardly fight off. "It...was. I thought I was dreaming. But Jayna snapped me out of it." Gale's eyes narrow in understanding. "Was that your first time using magic? I suppose not." She looks between you two cautiously, not knowing if she should boast or confess—or even keep silent. "He is a mage, too," you help, though leaving it at that is for the best. She doesn't need to know Gale's power, and if you began explaining about Frieda, she would only get confused anyway. "It helps with the animals," Aelia replies vaguely enough. It is hints and half-truths, as if she is still in the other room around a hunter. "I tend to them, so I practiced. Our goat likes to run away." "A goat is a quick animal," Gale replies. Hounds must be quick, too, though they are not animals but //something else//. That is what you ought to be with your magic if you wish to battle them. "If she keeps trying to run, Ma says we will eat her. But she scares easily, and when I comb through a few grass blades in her way, she stops." You exchange a knowing look with Gale. "Did anyone see you?" you ask. "When you use magic to stop her." "Nobody cares to watch me." There is a smudge of sadness to her tone. "Ma doesn't know when I'm not in bed." "Was it Jayna who discovered you?" Aelia shakes her head. "I came to her. I overheard a talk between some men she works with. They said we'd be undone by magic, and only a mage could save us." Gale watches her, snared by something in her words. "So how long have you been helping Jayna?" you ask, not as affected. <<NextPage "negotiate_8aelia_nogoes_b">>

Aelia looks stumped, and next to you, Gale lets out a short, breezy laugh. "Jayna said he knew Merritt," she says. <<if $ch2.evening == "a">>\ "Well, perhaps he wasn't a toad to Merritt, but you and I—and Gale here—are different." <<else>>\ "A toad can know people, Aelia. And be nice to people who aren't like you, or me, or Gale here." <</if>>\ You have done away with tiptoeing around your magic, but Gale?.. For a brief moment, you ponder what is more important to him: fitting in with other mages or keeping his power under wraps? She nods, mulling over your words. This is the difference between you and her, it seems. Arthur was the first mage hunter you've met, but Aelia grew up skulking around them. Even if they were busy with something more sinister, she was still only one girl with nobody to lean on. She might not find dismissing a hunter so easy. But so long as she speaks, you are fine. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Didn't Gale wan't to speak to her? "What did you want to ask Aelia?"|negotiate_8aelia_nogoes_a][]]</li> <li>[['"So how long have you been doing this, Aelia?"'|negotiate_8aelia_nogoes_b][]]</li> </ul></div>

"The beasts? Since Isobel..." She breathes loudly and looks down at her hands, where her fingers start bending. "It was...four times? It feels like more than that. With just me, we had to skip some moons. We only did it when there was a need to hunt and forage. It must be four then. Last one was a moon ago." She is so frail and timid, it feels like four strokes of impossible luck were needed to even have her standing here before you. Perhaps indeed a Gift is imparted when and where it is needed most, even into hands as unsure as hers. But she did go out there when no other option was left, didn't she? "Tell me what it's like for you. What your role is, and what you do." Hesitation is written all over her face. "If you do not trust us," Gale tells her, "trust in Jayna letting us have this talk." Aelia responds to the name like a frightened cub coaxed out with a promise of food. "I stay back. Jayna and the others do the //shepherding//. They don't like being called bait." She smiles quickly. "You can always sense the presence of the beasts, but you can see them only when they have someone to pounce. They are fast like wolves, but right when they land and don't know they missed yet, they are slow. I can hit them. I was told to concentrate a large force before I do, so...I'm not fast. "There is something at the center of their chests. I never looked closely, but I know to aim for it." "Wild magic that stays with them," Gale mumbles, clear enough for you to hear. "No one but a mage will see it. The hunters don't, but their power is explosive enough to damage it by accident." Reach is like an arrow released, but its power and strength wane with distance. Aelia hangs back as she said, but not //too// far. Far be it from you to know how to strike from behind someone's back, but at least you'll have only one task. From the sound of it, you weren't roped into the mission to do the //shepherding//. "And the hounds don't turn on you while you prepare your magic?" you ask. "If they do, Jayna protects me," Aelia replies warmly. "She keeps an eye on me at all times." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[The least she can do, really.|negotiate_8aelia_nogoes2_a][modAffinity("player", 1)]]</li> <li>[[Of course she does. Without Aelia, they are at the mercy of wild magic.|negotiate_8aelia_nogoes2_b][]]</li> <li>[[It's not my place to talk, but I wish she would speak up. Let them all know who they owe their peace.|negotiate_8aelia_nogoes2_c][]]</li> <li>[[The grand scope of things isn't always important. "You are a brave person, Aelia."|negotiate_8aelia_nogoes2_d][modFriendship("gale", 2); modPlayer("ruthless", -2)]]</li> </ul></div>

The only hunter left in the village will not crawl out of his den to help. Aelia is all that is left, risking her life every time someone says she should. Not protecting her would be silly: there is no need to drag emotion into this calculation. You aren't as moved as the young woman, but you do not know Jayna just as well. If she needs to think it, then so be it. <<include negotiate_8aelia_nogoes2>>

You stifle an amused scoff. She should not see this cold calculation as anything more than it actually is, but she is young and impressionable. No matter how noble her intentions, there is very little room for affection and warmth when the fate of the entire village is at stake. The hounds and the wicked heart of the wild magic spill have consumed the hunters already. Jayna cannot afford to lose the little miracle that the village has nurtured. <<include negotiate_8aelia_nogoes2>>

The hounds and the wicked heart of the wild magic spill have consumed the hunters already, and more will not come. You have a feeling that once the mage prince departs from the village in triumph //or// defeat, the crown will simply stop caring. Wyrm's Nest owes its making it this far to Aelia and Aelia alone. If she could show them //how// she does it, many—though not all—would understand that magic is saving their lives and their livelihoods. The village is small and buried in the hilly woods, so perhaps she'd have a chance at a peaceful life here, recognized for her bravery. But she wouldn't listen now, so you do not bother suggesting. <<include negotiate_8aelia_nogoes2>>

Plenty of things have been said tonight, so many of them about her, and most of them she couldn't comprehend. But this, she does. It might be a trick of the faint light emanating from the single lit candle, but wetness lines her eyes, held back by long lashes. There is something intricate to her features this way. In a city, she'd be a lady in a gown, trailing some rich noblewoman. No tears are shed, but she finds it easier to look at you. As if she no longer needs glimpses to understand what you make of her. "Thank you," Aelia says. <<include negotiate_8aelia_nogoes2>>

The bids to explain result in nothing. Scholars and philosophers have tried to put magic into terms and lay it down in writing so that anyone could imagine it, but after years of trying, faithful accounts are rare. Aelia unleashes her magic without thinking and has never dwelled on it beyond dreading her fate should someone besides Jayna find out she has it. There is a bright side to it: even on her first night out in the forest, she could muster an attack quick and far-flung enough to quell a fog hound until the next moon. Where she had her entire childhood to figure out her magic, you have the might of the Tower behind you, with its increasingly demanding tasks, vast libraries, and the very air teeming with it. Your theory is that it should amount to the same thing: you returning victorious and unharmed. In the main room, wide and as spacious as a palace hall in comparison, Arthur is already sketching a copy of the map, and with nothing better to do, Darla watches him. If you succeed tomorrow, Jayna or any of her hired help should have no need for the original, but still, she isn't willing to part with it. Aelia yawns. This evening must have been nearly as much excitement as a night in the woods trying to rid it of the hounds. Something flips in Jayna at the sight of that, and she tells the young mage to go, pressing a gentle hand to her back. Toward the rest of you, she becomes sterner. Arthur dismisses Jayna's suggestion that they take a couple of mercenaries along, saying he doesn't trust them. It is a strange way to reject help, considering he doesn't trust you either, yet it is difficult to be broken up about it when he seems to fall in line with your plan so smoothly. Jayna informs him that they wouldn't be happy if this month's coin is lighter and will most likely take it out on the ale reserves, but that is no one's worry, really. Together, you and Jayna discuss the locations they have previously stuck to, and she explains why exactly, while Arthur traces the lines with a sharpened piece of charcoal. From the looks of it, he is only listening with half an ear, if at all, but when Jayna asks him something, his replies follow without delay. You wonder briefly at what point during the night he intends to consult his sketches, but the question never passes your lips. The work seems to have settled him and soothed some of the earlier agitation, melting it into steady lines and faithful recreations of tree copses. He adds subtle shadows to the simple round shape meant to represent water, and it looks as though it would ripple under your touch; all entirely unnecessary, of course. This goes well into the night until Darla and Jayna engage in a lukewarm yet prolonged debate about using water and eroded ground drops to advantage, but it is clear they only do so because both are too exhausted to consider anything else. Arthur, finally being content with his copy, breaks them off easily, and you leave with a promise to be picked up by Jayna tomorrow. <<NextPage "huntday_morning1">>

<<set $temp.silly_dance to false>>\ "Aelia knows how to do this, provided the rest of us are successful in our task," Jayna says. Darla lets out a discontented sound. "And what would that be?" "They move together, always a pack of four fog hounds. Merritt said it wasn't common." "It isn't," Gale confirms. "You fight all of them together or none at all. And even the hunters... needed to line up a strike." "They aren't delicate creatures," Arthur says with a fleeting scowl. "Potent magic requires an equally potent deterrent." Jayna nods, but there is no curiosity behind it. She knew this already. "The hounds are easily provoked and give chase," she says. "Fortunately for us, they learn the imperfections of this plane, too. We //shepherd// them to split them up. If you know what you are doing and with a dash of luck, you can evade their attacks and create a perfect opening for Aelia." Arthur shrugs; not a name he's heard then, but the tactic does not incite him to protest either. It is between him and Aelia, two hounds for each. It sounds fair, but there is no relief to spot in any of the faces. "Fog hounds dominate the area with their presence," Gale adds for your benefit only, "but they only manifest right as they are about to crash into their prey. This is why you can't hunt them like normal animals. Bait is usually needed, especially when there are four of them." Jayna grimaces at the explanation but doesn't correct or add anything to it. Crude but factual, then. This is what you are expected to do, and without any prior training. Mage hunters died to it. A bright side is as difficult to find here as a smiling face. You turn to Jayna. "What makes them charge you and not her?" you ask. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[If I am doing this, I am doing this right.|negotiate_8aelia_goes2][]]</li> <li>[[This seems like a weak spot in this entire plan. Aelia doesn't look like someone who could take a magic beating.|negotiate_8aelia_goes2][]]</li> <li>[[I cannot even imagine what it looks like. Better she paints me a picture.|negotiate_8aelia_goes2][]]</li> <li>[[I hope it's a silly dance. Please, let it be a silly dance.|negotiate_8aelia_goes2][$temp.silly_dance to true; modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

"They attack whomever is closest," she says. <<if $temp.silly_dance>>What a disappointment. <</if>>"As if a sight of a man is an offense that they must destroy. You can easily take advantage of such behavior." Gale's shoulders flinch in quick amusement. Though he only continues Jayna's answer, he looks at you as he speaks, "Wild magic doesn't abhor animals, but it does people. What it cannot as easily subjugate, it seeks to crush." "So, we are an annoyance to it, and are all the same?" "Perhaps." He shrugs. "If you are more vulnerable than the one next to you, the hounds pick you," Jayna says. "This is how we protect one another." Aelia, quiet and inobtrusive before, yawns, and something flips in Jayna at the sight of that. She tells the young mage to go, pressing a gentle hand to her back. But toward the rest of you, she becomes sterner. She explains the map and the route they have established in an attempt to find the hounds before fatigue sets in. She speaks of the terrain, made even more treacherous by the poisonous whispers and visions of the land infected with wild magic. Arthur dismisses Jayna's suggestion that they take a couple of mercenaries along, saying he doesn't trust them. It is a strange way to reject help, considering he doesn't trust you either, yet it is difficult to be broken up about it when he seems to fall in line with your plan so smoothly. Jayna informs him that they wouldn't be happy if this month's coin is lighter and will most likely take it out on the ale reserves, but that is no one's worry, really. Some time during the discussion, Arthur pulls out a leather-bound book, which you believe to be a rather short tale until he opens it to no letters but a charcoal drawing. Upside down and from afar, it looks like a tall cliff with something draped down, but you do not get to study it as he flips the page. While Jayna shares her experience, he begins to sketch the very same map before you. Between that and the sound of Gale's voice, you wonder briefly at what point during the night the hunter intends to consult his sketches, but the question never passes your lips. The work seems to have settled him and soothed some of the earlier agitation, melting it into steady lines and faithful recreations of tree copses. He adds subtle shadows to the simple round shape meant to represent water, and it looks as though it would ripple under your touch; all entirely unnecessary, of course. You wouldn't need a map with Jayna there. This goes well into the night until Darla and Jayna engage in a lukewarm yet prolonged debate about using water and eroded ground drops to advantage, but it is clear they only do so because both are too exhausted to consider anything else. Arthur, finally being content with his copy, breaks them off easily, and you leave with a promise to be picked up by Jayna tomorrow. <<NextPage "huntday_morning1">>

That night, you sleep well. It is strange. This thing you haven't run into your whole service to the Gray Regent now looms over you, yet you slip into the dreamworld before finding out if anyone intends to stand guard over you tonight. It is a merciful sleep, colorless and soft. Waking up from it to bright daylight leaves you disoriented for a moment. You are the only person in the room. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I must pinch myself.|huntday_morning1a][]]</li> <li>[[Only a momentary relief. Whichever one of them it was, they must have stepped outside briefly.|huntday_morning1b][]]</li> <li>[[I quickly get myself ready. There is no time to waste before sunset.|huntday_morning1c][]]</li> <li>[[For however long I am alone, I am going to thoroughly enjoy it.|huntday_morning1d][]]</li> </ul></div>

You have nearly forgotten what it is like, to the point the room feels //empty//. A watchful eye starts as a heavy presence, but then it washes out into the background, becomes it. So when it is gone, the entire canvas looks bare. Something could be amiss. Badly. Perhaps that is the reason why sitting in this silence feels so unsettling. But before you rush out to search for answers, you tug at the skin of your forearm and squeeze. The sounds from the outside are different from yesterday—distant hammering, grains of words, an occasional creak—and now a single spot on your arm throbs gently. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Could they have left me here?|huntday_morning1aa][]]</li> <li>[[I hope they woke up and left, leaving me behind. I would finally be free, and Jax wouldn't be able to fault me for simply sleeping.|huntday_morning1d][$art.rel.fake +=3; $dar.rel.fake +=3; $gale.rel.fake +=3;]]</li> <li>[[I need to find one of them. This does not feel right.|huntday_morning1c][$art.rel.fake -=2; $dar.rel.fake -=2; $gale.rel.fake -=2;]]</li> <li>[[I will remain here until someone comes for me.|huntday_morning1d][modAffinity("player", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

Worry rises in a sudden wave before you even understand it as such. Would this be a failure? Would you go back to Riante and how? How would you explain this to Jax—and to the $q.king? //"Your nephew was playing into our hands until one morning he was no longer."// It would make a bizarre story, but at least you would have plenty of time to polish it on your lengthy journey back. It doesn't make sense. Why should they leave you when you agreed to help? Why would they leave when the village is still in peril? No. Their leaving cannot be the case, but even suspecting it has chased sleep out of every limb and every finger. Unhurriedly, you freshen yourself up with cold basin water and worm your way into your clothes. No matter how much you anticipate it, nobody bursts into the room with the most unfortunate timing, catching you undressed or with one leg only in your trousers. <<if $ch2.offered_pendant>>Even the pendant that $q.king $q.name gave you is still there.<</if>> You only exit when you are ready. The hall is quiet, and you have no better idea than to go from room to room, hoping only that your memory doesn't lead you astray. <<include huntday_morning1_search>>

The thought is so pleasant, it makes you fall back onto the cushions. You spread your arms, feeling the emptiness around you with newly-found appreciation. It would be awkward for a moment with the innkeeper, but after that, you would be //free//. You did everything. You promised your help, you assured them you would play along. If it went sour, none of it is your fault when the plan hinged on them finding reasons to buy into your lie. You even went as far as to offer your freedom, but still, you needed to sleep. What more should you have done? No, there is no place for remorse in you. It would be nothing but relief: no longer doubting what you say, no longer pretending you are a frightened underling on the run. You could walk these streets as yourself, talk about Riante if you were so inclined, or even leave and never have to think about their fog hound problem ever again. No more mage hunters breathing down your neck. No more guards seeing you as a nuisance. No more princes skulking in your vicinity and never telling you what they are thinking. Your fingers curl around the sheet. No matter how good that sounds, you know the village is in peril, and there is simply no way they would leave it unattended. It was a nice dream, though. Unhurriedly, you freshen yourself up with cold basin water and worm your way into your clothes. No matter how often you imagine it—your luck hasn't been the best of late, after all—nobody bursts into the room with the most unfortunate timing, catching you undressed or with one leg only in your trousers. <<if $ch2.offered_pendant>>Even the pendant that $q.king $q.name gave you is still there.<</if>> You only exit when you are ready. The hall is quiet, and you have no better idea than to go from room to room, hoping only that your memory doesn't lead you astray. <<include huntday_morning1_search>>

The feeling follows you to the basin with cold water, and hovers around as you slip into your clothes, fastening them snugly around you. You could have missed something important as you slept; in a place like this, empty and secluded, small ripples do not dissolve in bustle and city chaos. Rather, they tend to have disastrous consequences. When you burst your door open into an empty hall, you are overcome with a strange mixture of relief and agitation. One suspicion simply gives place to another. At least it is quiet. You decide to go door to door, hoping only that your memory does not lead you astray. It shouldn't be difficult to find them if they haven't already left: you haven't heard any sort of chatter to hint there were other travelers in Wyrm's Nest with a purse fat enough to pay for private rooms. <<include huntday_morning1_search>>

Nobody answers when you rap on Arthur's door, the closest to yours. Same with Darla's—you saw her linger by this door last night at least. But there is commotion behind Gale's. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I knock.|huntday_morning1_searcha][modPlayer("crafty", -2)]]</li> <li>[[I try to listen in.|huntday_morning1_searchb][modPlayer("crafty", 2)]]</li> </ul></div>

It is a quiet struggle. It feels as though the inn comes alive under your weight and exists on the verge of creaking. You even need to still your breathing to make out a single word. "..else would $q.he want?" The other voice is closer, every word discernible to your ear. "So you decided to help?" Darla isn't happy. "...known for that..." Voices drop after that, and you are left with no other option but to knock. Darla appears in the open door, startled by the sight of you. "I didn't expect that I would have to do this," you say, gesturing to the door—and to her. Her eyes narrow as if deciding your fate. "I suppose you should come in," she says, unsure, and makes way for you. <<if $p.playful >= 60 >>"Perhaps //your// wit will aid in showing him the stupidity of his way."<<else>>"Perhaps //your// stern presence can dissuade him from doing something as stupid again."<</if>> <<if $p.playful >= 60 >>//"My wit?"//<<else>>//"My stern presence?"//<</if>> you mouth at her, but Darla is already nudging you inside to close the door. You try to stitch her words to the earlier conversation, but the fit is odd, and you have very few pieces. The rest of the motley crew sits in the room, so reminiscent of yours. The bed is pulled up in an attempt to make it seem orderly, and Gale sits at the head of it, with the hunter by the window, arms crossed. <<include huntday_morning1_search2>>

You take half a step out of the way to be safe. The key turns. "Oh." Darla is as surprised as you are. For a moment, she simply stares at you. Surely they haven't just...forgotten about you? "I suppose you should come in," she says, unsure, and makes way for you. <<if $p.playful >= 60 >>"Perhaps //your// wit will aid in showing him the stupidity of his way."<<else>>"Perhaps //your// stern presence can dissuade him from doing something as stupid again."<</if>> <<if $p.playful >= 60 >>//"My wit?"//<<else>>//"My stern presence?"//<</if>> you mouth at her, but Darla is already nudging you inside to close the door. By the sound of it, you've missed an important development. The rest of the motley crew sits in the room, so reminiscent of yours. The bed is pulled up in an attempt to make it seem orderly, and Gale sits at the head of it, with the hunter by the window, arms crossed. So they have been here all along, discussing without you. The unsettling feeling springs anew. <<include huntday_morning1_search2>>

You sit down on a cushion of stitched and patched linen, which is as good and luxurious as it gets in Wyrm's Nest. You know Darla must have meant Arthur, if only by the way he sneaks a glowering look at her. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I'm not here to settle their differences. "Should we discuss tonight?"|huntday_morning1_search2a][modPlayer("playful", -2)]]</li> <li>[[I gesture toward him. "So, Darla says you have been acting silly."|huntday_morning1_search2b][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"What did I miss?"'|huntday_morning1_search2c][]]</li> <li>[[I look around, uncertain. "Are we even in a position to entertain stupid ideas?"|huntday_morning1_search2c][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

Darla sighs, her hope in your cooperation crushed. "I suppose we should." Arthur, seemingly the subject of the earlier discussion, visibly relaxes. Whatever it was, it unnerved him more than the idea of facing four fog hounds. But you are not him. <<include huntday_morning_discussion>>

Arthur scowls, flashing a sliver of teeth. This does not diminish your satisfaction. <<include huntday_morning1_intrusion>>

Once more, Arthur glares at Darla, but she shrugs innocently. <<include huntday_morning1_intrusion>>

"I thought you hated an asshole," Arthur directs at Darla. "I choose my battles," she replies with a stern jerk of her head. "This isn't the time." "My business with Lord Rolant," he says stiffly, "is between us." Darla scoffs. "Not when the consequences may be felt by the rest of us." She tips her head to look at you. "He snuck into his superior's study last night." "Why?" you ask Darla, guessing that only she might provide you with the answer. "Because solving one problem for this place isn't enough, we must solve all of them." A tense silence settles, and for once, you aren't the cause of it. "People like him keep a trail to smear as many as possible if he is ever caught," Arthur says tersely. "And we have the Crown's sanction to investigate the territory." "This is different," Darla argues. "You know quite well you will be judged on your hunter rank alone, and even your father won't be able to help." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"You broke into that man\'s study? Have to say, I\'m impressed."'|huntday_morning1_intrusion_a][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"Well, did you at least find something?"'|huntday_morning1_intrusion_b][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> <li>[['"Why would you do this? If everything goes well tonight, he would have no reason to stay here."'|huntday_morning1_intrusion_c][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> <li>[['"You should have stayed in your bed and slept. Now you\'re risking all of our lives."'|huntday_morning1_intrusion_d][modFriendship("dar", 2)]]</li> <li>[['"You returned to that place? It stinks of an old liar, surprised you could even stand it."'|huntday_morning1_intrusion_e][modFriendship("art", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

You drawl your praise, and he picks on the derisive notes within it, shrugging uncomfortably. <<include huntday_morning1_intrusion2>>

His eyes light up. <<include huntday_morning1_intrusion2>>

"He should be rewarded, then? For this?" You know what he cares about the most, so the answer rolls easily off your tongue. "He won't bleed this place dry anymore. They'll be rid of him." "And he gets away with it? //No.//" This kind of no does not bear any kind of opposition. You sigh, adjusting. "Did you at least find anything?" <<include huntday_morning1_intrusion2>>

His unprepared silence is a sign of one thing alone: your remark smarts. He glances around the room without catching the faces in a sweeping assessment, indignant a little less. "It wasn't a lengthy affair," he says. "The man is pedantic but not a poet." If you had the luxury of a choice, perhaps postponing the venture for the next day would have been sound. But leaving the fog hounds with a whole day to learn is not a comforting thought. "Did you at least find anything?" <<include huntday_morning1_intrusion2>>

He meets it with a surprised, close-mouthed chuckle he would rather keep to himself. "Stench is bad for books," Gale says to no one in particular, and Darla suppresses a disappointed frown. She didn't want him to show any, even if unintentional, approval. "Did you at least find anything?" you ask. <<include huntday_morning1_intrusion2>>

"No money is left here, and much like all dealings with the mercenaries, everything is a spoken agreement. He hires only the Valaini ones, whose tongues would not loosen for anyone of Daelan blood. The guards to his quarters are mercenaries too, tasked with //keeping the village safe//, though I can safely conclude that by it he only means him." "Nothing of this has any value," Darla says. Arthur raises his hand. "There is a name under a curious shipping manifest. A contact outside Wyrm's Nest, outside Rolant's home. That man shall have the honor of receiving a visit." "If we get out in one piece today, that is," she argues. "And if he doesn't notice your meddling and take care of the contact himself," you add, earning a sour look. "Let us focus on the first part, the hounds." "What about them?" Arthur asks. <<include huntday_morning_discussion>>

"You aren't strangers to this, I take it?" "You travel long enough, you are bound to run into wild magic," Arthur says. You swallow the sudden tightness in your throat, a longing for the pieces missing. "I don't think you run away from them. How would //you// deal with the hounds?" you ask. "They do not tend to appear in these numbers. There is next to no need to distract them when it is only a hound or two," Gale says. "Arthur is quite precise." It isn't an empty compliment, and not a muscle moves on the hunter's face. While reassuring for tonight, eventually you will be putting that to the test on your own skin. It feels almost inevitable—but for now, distant. "What about //your// magic?" A distraction, but also a fair question. With Jayna around, you weren't certain if asking was smart. Any aversion to Gale and his deathly magic now spills onto you, even as an awkward and ill-fitting addition to the group. Though you //should// wonder: although no Gift is weighted against the other for strength, there is a good reason why the Fourth's is always singled out. He picks his words carefully. "Wild magic is complicated. I can be of certain service, but my magic cannot chase off the danger the same way the First's does." <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ His head tilts in a brief moment of inspection. He expects you to comprehend the unspoken part, some ephemeral kinship between you that he tugs at with barely any effort. But fortunately for you, he waits for no answer. <<else>>\ He looks at his hands as if that is when Reach might manifest spontaneously, as if the magic Gift itself was a spell that sprang to life with the right words. It sleeps within you now, and you have had no reservations about letting it. If Arthur is such an accurate archer, you should have no need for it either. <</if>>\ <<NextPage "huntday_morning_discussion2">>

<<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ You look at Arthur. "So it will be us four then." He rests his chin on the ball of his hand, wearied with nightly fatigue. To your remark, he quickly raises his brows in acknowledgment. "How would it work? I can't use my power if you are tapping into yours." "Gale and I had enough practice to avoid being in each other's way. If you stay on the task," he says with emphasis, "I can find my way around you. You only pick a hound and stick to it until you're done. That is only the beginning anyway." <<else>>\ You look at Arthur. "Do you expect it to work?" He rests his chin on the ball of his hand, wearied with nightly fatigue. To your question, he raises one brow. "Aelia is to help. But she cannot use her power if you're tapping into yours right next to her." You know this much about the hunters. They surround the king of Daelan and fill the halls of the palace, ensuring no magic, accidental or not, is called forth around him. Their presence is rumored to be enough, and even with your connection to magic dull and dusted as it is, you have felt the unnerving echo of his power. A girl who has never left this village is hardly in a position to outmaneuver him. "Gale and I had enough practice to avoid being in each other's way. If you keep the hounds occupied," he says with emphasis, "there is unlikely to be an issue, and one of us can pick it off of you. The hounds are only the beginning anyway." <</if>>\ He opens his little book to the sketch of one section of the map. If only //you// could breeze past the hounds as easily. They sound like a challenge, in a high number, with some sense of intelligence they keep gaining and losing. Perhaps what comes after is a dozen times tougher, but that is even more immaterial than a row of ghostly bodies pulsing with wild magic. "This," Arthur says, slowly circling a quick drawing of the ruin. Just a symbol, toppled stone in chiselled shapes. Most likely, no one has even seen it yet, or come back alive to describe it. "We will need to keep in mind where we end up relative to it. The course Jayna suggested has us headed that way, but if we run into the hounds too early, we'd have to adjust our course." Jayna never even pretended to have a plan for it. In a worn-out voice, tinged with fear, she suggested leaving once the fog hounds are dealt with. She was content with this little, but then, Arthur argued, there was no point in the four of you even trying where her mercenary crew would do. "Only last night, you said you don't know what to look for. Did anything change since then?" you ask. "You cannot simply expect Gale to solve it once his boots are on the right turf," Darla agrees all of a sudden. "We need to see what exactly remains after the hounds," Gale tells her. "With everything we've seen, we are better suited to figure it out than someone who has never stepped foot outside the village." She isn't convinced. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"So, the plan is to look around while we\'re there? Can\'t say it inspires faith."'|huntday_mid][]]</li> <li>[['"If that is all, can we eat finally?"'|huntday_mid][]]</li> <li>[["Got it, we wing it." The fewer instructions from them, the better.|huntday_mid][]]</li> <li>[[I sigh. "Simply remember to keep your side of the bargain."|huntday_mid][]]</li> </ul></div>

You rest back into the sheets, relishing the pleasant stretch you allow yourself. Silence overwhelms you, not a whine of a pen, or a squeak of leather, or a careless thud of someone's boot, but the blissful silence of solitude. You can make any face you want, can hum a tune without turning it over in your head, and wondering if it would reveal something about you. You could call out for the $q.king and not fear for it to be used against you. You float into a peaceful state on the verge of dreaming, responsive only to the sounds of life outside your window. However much time passes, you have no idea. "The Gray Regent preaches poor discipline," you hear, and your eyes peel open instantly. Darla is in the door, not quite inside, not quite looking at you. "Good thing I am no longer in service to $q.him then," you mumble, picking yourself off the bed. "Why didn't you wake me?" She takes a beat. "There is food downstairs. Get ready." So be it then. If you have to face a new manner of beast tonight, you would at least do it well-rested and well-fed. Still, you have a few questions. <<NextPage "huntday_morning1d_2">>

"You aren't strangers to this, I take it?" you ask, slotted between Gale and Darla at a snug inn table, gazing at the freshly-baked bread. Its crust is all ridges and dips, releasing an irresistible aroma from its warm middle. "You travel long enough, you are bound to run into wild magic," Arthur says, cutting into a late autumn apple whose side has begun to wilt. "I don't think you especially run away from them. So how would //you// deal with the hounds?" "They do not tend to appear in these numbers. There is next to no need to distract them when it is only a hound or two," Gale says. "Arthur is quite precise." It isn't an empty compliment, and not a muscle moves on the hunter's face. While reassuring for tonight, eventually you will be putting that to the test on your own skin. It feels almost inevitable—but for now, distant. "What about //your// magic?" A distraction, but also a fair question. With Jayna around, you weren't certain if asking was smart. Any aversion to Gale and his deathly magic now spills onto you, even as an awkward and ill-fitting addition to the group. Though you //should// wonder: although no Gift is weighted against the other for strength, there is a good reason why the Fourth's is always singled out. He picks his words carefully. "Wild magic is complicated. I can be of certain service, but my magic cannot chase off the danger the same way the First's does." <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ His head tilts in a brief moment of inspection. He expects you to comprehend the unspoken part, some ephemeral kinship between you that he tugs at with barely any effort. But fortunately for you, he waits for no answer. <<else>>\ He looks at his hands as if that is when Reach might manifest spontaneously, as if the magic Gift itself was a spell that sprang to life with the right words. It sleeps within you now, and you have had no reservations about letting it. If Arthur is such an accurate archer, you should have no need for it either. <</if>>\ <<NextPage "huntday_morning_discussion2">>

<<set $temp.scared to false>>\ The meal passes in troubled silence, and the rest of the day is too quick to spin around you. The sky is bleak and overcast at first, clearing up by midday and teasing patches of dusty blue, and by the first chills, all the clouds have been chased off. It is still bright when you approach the edge of the forest, burdened with a filled waterskin and a few sticks of a dried root Jayna insisted you bring—it would help against sleep and cold, she said. Gale took it without blinking an eye, and so did you. \ <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ You are unarmed otherwise, with only your magic stirring at every tense thought and not helping the foreboding feeling whatsoever. What's worse is how being around Arthur drains you. Not only his power, strengthened by a dangerous dose of bellona, no doubt, but the way he appears—blurred, ready to slip out of your sight. A threat, not to you this time, but no less a sore. You stay as far away from him as you can without detaching from the group entirely, and he doesn't seem to mind. <<else>>\ Even though fog hounds do not fear the sting of human weapons, you were handed yours. You didn't even need to argue it; perhaps their experience is finally worth something to you, that understanding of how important your $inv.weapon <<if $inv.weapon is "sword">>is<<else>>are<</if>> for balancing and last-moment support. The hounds aren't the sole danger in the woods either. You are glad to have the weight of <<if $inv.weapon is "sword">>it<<else>>them<</if>> if only for the peace of mind. Jayna and Aelia march ahead. The shy mage prepares very little, you observe. The shapeless heap of linen, wrestled around her with a stained apron, and a large sheepskin vest must be the only measure of comfort she knows, and what is good for handling unwieldy animals ought to serve around the fog hounds too. Still, you cannot help but wonder what it feels like for her to be around Arthur, now bolstered, no doubt, by a dangerous dose of bellona. He is tough to look at even for you, appearing as if he might slip out of your sight entirely any moment, but for a mage tapping into their power, it must be so much worse. No wonder she seems to give him a wide berth. <</if>>\ <<NextPage huntday_mid_2>>

As you head in deeper, more and more of the daylight rests on top of the branches instead of reaching your eyes, and the colors start to blend into a dusk blue of varying richness. You don't have to lead to know that you are moving in the right direction: the uneasy tension in your body, the natural response to danger before even your eyes take notice of it, suggests so. You learn quickly why 'strange' has become the word everyone reached for trying to describe the character of this part of the woods. Your skin crawls in a way you cannot ignore, as if every inch of you is laid open for the taking. Every step you take feels scrutinized and wrong. You cannot help looking over your shoulder despite not trailing the group, but at least you notice Darla does the same, perhaps even more often than you. Something keeps pressing on your heels, but when you turn, there is nothing to find. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I am terrified. Of what I am feeling. Of what yet lies ahead.|huntday1][$temp.scared to true]]</li> <li>[[Try as I might to stop them, my hands traitorously shake if I imagine what awaits for us.|huntday1][$temp.scared to true]]</li> <li>[[I am holding up better than I imagined.|huntday1][]]</li> <li>[[I grit my teeth. I will not let these sensations get to me.|huntday1][]]</li> <li>[[There are people other than me for the hounds to chew on. If there is anything I have confidence in, it is my ability to escape if things go awry.|huntday1][modAffinity("player", 2); modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

You reach a clearing with a burned circle in the middle, charted by fist-sized rocks. You are glad that the trees do not crowd you here, even if the canopies weave their lacy fingers overhead. You crouch by the remnants of a fire and swipe your hand over it. No warmth is to be found in the husks of the firewood. <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ "Was this place on the map?" Darla asks, looking around. Her hand is on the hilt of her sword, and almost by accident, she ends up standing next to Gale. "I don't think it is significant," Arthur replies. "Jayna said deterring seasoned hunters was impossible." You do another hopeless pass over the cold embers, willing the fire to spring to life. "They would risk resting here instead of taking a hike up the hill?" Darla shrugs. "Sloppiness, arrogance, shady dealings. The list is long." "We need to keep moving," Arthur says, already at the edge of the darkness ahead. "Clearly they aren't here." "If we wait long enough, they will be," Darla grumbles. Arthur shakes his head, stepping out of the clearing. "Too little room." <<else>>\ Jayna stops next to you, and a piece of bark breaks under her boot. "No matter how often I told them it wasn't safe, they went out to hunt anyway. Every hunter you meet is the proudest person this side of Winter's End." Despite the frown, she tries to smile as she steals a glance at Arthur. "The other side of Winter's End is Valaine," Darla points out in a dry voice. "And there is no one prouder than them." She checks on Aelia briefly. "No amount of lives lost can convince them that heading out into the forest isn't worth it when their game sits terrified in their holes." You do another hopeless pass over the cold embers, willing the fire to spring to life. "They would risk resting here instead of taking a hike up the hill?" Jayna's mouth twists. "Most do it to escape the village to begin with." "We need to keep moving," Arthur says, already at the edge of the darkness ahead. "Clearly they aren't here." "There are far better places for us to take the fight," Jayna agrees and approaches him as the rest of you catch up. She then tries to whisper out of some misplaced sense of secrecy when in the woods like these, there is nothing else to hear but someone speaking. "I haven't yet walked here this clear-headed, and that is saying something when I still second-guess our path. Is it the way you are, or did you reach this deep into your supplies?" Arthur huffs. "Is there anything at all he hasn't told you?" he chides with a hint of fondness. But it fades as quickly as it sneaks into his voice. "You described it as a harrowing enough encounter." It being a non-answer doesn't seem to bother her. Her voice comes out soft, "It is." <</if>>\ <<NextPage "huntday2">>

Cold air is happy to wrap you in its embrace, a bite of it against your throat. You follow down an unending slope which, gentle but elusive, all dark outlines and no end to it. There is no formation, and people wander. For a time, it feels as though you have been walking in place among the same cut of trees and stripes of land. But you blink once rather successfully, and you are in a whole different place all of a sudden. Your companions are the same, and Darla turns her head toward you sharply. Her mouth is open as if to say something, but she looks you head to toe and changes her mind. Shadows are viscous here, their corners bottomless pits which ooze darkness. Anything could fit in there, lunge at you, teeth gnashing. You keep walking. Darla bumps into Gale to steer him closer to the rest of the group like a tired cat reining in her young. The motion stirs him, and he shakes his head as if to wake up and says, "Impatient." <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ Although he leads the way, Arthur stops to look at the mage prince. "What is?" "I don't know," Gale says as you all crowd him. "This is what it feels like." "Do not stray," Darla says sharply. The light sheen of sweat revealed in the last streaks of light makes you bring a hand to your face and wipe your brow. Gale tips his head quickly. "I apologize." <<else>>\ "Hmm," Aelia echoes. Nobody but you seems to notice, not even Jayna, because when Arthur stops and turns around, his question is to Gale. "What is?" "I don't know," the mage prince says, unfazed by the question. "This is what it feels like." Aelia looks surprised but adds nothing to his words. "Do not stray," Darla tells Gale sharply. The light sheen of sweat revealed in the last streaks of light makes you bring a hand to your face and wipe your brow. "Whatever it tries to throw at you, do your best to ignore it," Jayna says. Her voice is strained and tired, but her face is a mask of determination. <</if>>\ You look around, awaiting the //it// of everything to descend upon you, but it gains you nothing but an uncomfortable distance from the rest of the group. You accept the risk and break into a light jog and wedge yourself right behind Arthur and Gale, now walking alongside each other. "You know I will protect you," the mage prince murmurs. The hunter says nothing, but the tight line of his shoulders falls in a sigh. Then all of a sudden, Gale looks at you over his shoulder. "You as well." He has his footsteps to watch, so he gets to it without waiting for any response. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I scoff. How presumptuous.|huntday2a][]]</li> <li>[['"Don\'t make Darla\'s job any harder than it already is."'|huntday2b][modFriendship("dar", 1)]]</li> <li>[[Not that I will tell anyone, but something stirs in me with relief.|huntday2c][$gale.rel.fake -=2]]</li> <li>[["Thank you, kind sir," I grumble, mouth twisted.|huntday2d][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> <li>[[I need to endear him to me, and I'm not wasting a chance. "Thank you, Gale."|huntday2e][$gale.rel.fake +=2; modPlayer("crafty", 2)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $temp.scared>>\ His remark brings you no relief from the smothering hold of trepidation. As if you aren't aware that he is as unprepared for this kind of fog hounds as you are for //any//. It evens out. <<else>>\ For a moment, you forget what it is you are here to do and discover amusement in comparing experiences. He is no more prepared for this kind of fog hounds than you are for //any//. Must be one of his oddities, speaking whatever comes to mind. <</if>>\ <<include huntday3>>

<<if $temp.scared>>\ You do your best to ignore the smothering hold of trepidation. \ <</if>>\ Somewhere on your left, there is a surprised scoff. You can read what Darla thinks of your attempt on her face: it is futile and she knows it, but she sends you a weak smile anyway. Her gaze shifts to the surroundings, immediately taking on a worried edge. <<include huntday3>>

<<if $temp.scared>>The smothering hold of trepidation doesn't let up even for a moment, but it festered before, when you were convinced nobody cared that you even marched along. <</if>>You understand your predicament quite well: should the worst come to pass, no one would think to protect you. No one even tried to reassure you with lies for the sake of morale. Until now, and despite doubts, it still //matters//. You do not try to pick apart his promise, but <<if $temp.scared>>just hold it against the onslaught of dark thoughts and flashes of terrifying creatures appearing on your mind<<else>>just keep it as a crutch to help you keep walking<</if>>. <<include huntday3>>

<<if $temp.scared>>\ Did he notice your unease? Was it so loud that it caught his eye and prompted these empty promises? Pulling your will in a tight fist, you trample on the images of the terrifying creatures your mind keeps conjuring, and focus on your steps, on keeping your ears sharp and your eyes clear. His pity, you do not need. <<else>>\ This is the last thing you need: appearing the weakest of the bunch as though protection is what you secretly desire. You will figure out the fog hounds the way you did everything in Riante, with wits and determination—and on your own. <</if>>\ <<include huntday3>>

<<if $temp.scared>>\ He can do very little about the smothering hold trepidation has on you, but you would be a scared fool if you ignored this opportunity. Your voice is soft when you say it, as soft as you can muster while sweat gathers at the base of your neck. \ <<else>>\ You care little for his promises, but you would be a fool to ignore this opportunity. Your voice is soft when you say that, as soft as you can muster with all the tension keeping you alert and prepared. \ <</if>>\ And who knows, perhaps he will. It never hurts to have someone watching your back. <<include huntday3>>

"Is the sound of water real?" Darla asks quietly as you advance some more. With a little effort, you hear it too. Distant and faint, you pick up on the water lapping against the shore as it flows downstream. The line on the map in the hunter's den was thin, so perhaps you aren't meant to hear it from afar. <<if $p.mind.magic <2>>\ "I think it is," you say, stopping so that even the ground under your feet makes no noise. "It was on the map," Arthur confirms, but his voice fades to you. "We are on the right track." <<else>>\ "Good ear," Jayna says. You notice that she is chewing on the same kind of stick she has handed you before. "We should come upon the first spot soon." You stop momentarily so that even the ground under your feet makes no noise. <</if>>\ Gentle rumbling of water, uninterrupted and relentless. You latch onto its weak howl and can picture the stream before your very eyes: ice-cold water licking the bed of polished rock and old leaf. And in there, something glimmers in colors that do not belong here, something right on the tips of your fingers— "$p.name." Your head jerks, chasing the sound. You have no idea how long you stood here motionless, but everyone has passed you. Darla watches you tensely, and you walk after her with a burst of vigor to appear less affected. You are back in the evening mist under the awning of crooked trees, trying to make out the shapes around you, but the beat of your heart is stammering in surprise. Darla waits until she is behind you to move, and you wonder to yourself alone if her trailing the group instead of you makes any difference. <<NextPage "huntday4">>

Jayna's first location is a real masterpiece of nature. It looks as if a giant hand dropped an equally giant rock into the thickness of the woods, where it splintered upon impact and burrowed into the ground. You count five stone columns of differing thickness, the shortest barely reaching your waist and the tallest slantwise, yet enough to conceal you entirely. "Five?" you ask quietly. Gale nods. You have gotten used to your body breaking out into a shiver from feeling surrounded—your group against hundreds—and from the path behind you never looking the same way each time you turn. Dew settles on the open patches of your skin, yet you are parched. It isn't cold, but it isn't comfortable either, like standing in an open door in the depth of winter. You needed to know the amount of cover you saw is correct, for there are fewer and fewer parts of you that you can trust. <<if $p.mind.magic <2 >>\ "I see why it was chosen," Darla says. No matter how much she tries to keep them out of her face, small curls stick to her forehead under the weight of moisture. "You can keep them occupied here for a while." There are deep trails in the soil. You suspect where they have come from but choose not to dwell on such thoughts, because if they do that to the ground, human flesh must be— "Shouldn't it feel different if they were nearby?" you say. "They must be further in," Darla replies. She isn't distracted by the signs of earlier battles anymore, but instead, she watches your backs. Gale crouches and places one hand on the ground. Arthur, next to him, is eerily still, standing as if he wanted to reach into the pocket at his chest and then decided against it. He doesn't need to look at the sketches to remember them, you understand. "That way," he says, opening his eyes with a start. You'd need to weave between the rocks to get on the other side, stepping into the same mud as the mage hunters before you. "The sooner we find them, the better." <<else>>\ "Here," Jayna mutters. Instead of approaching, she pads a few steps in a circle. "But it is too quiet. Aelia?" "I don't think they are near," the young mage says. Her waterskin is clutched in her hands like a weapon. You haven't seen her drink. "I see why this place was chosen," Darla says. Next to her, Gale crouches to the ground, and she gently places a hand on top of his shoulder with little thought behind it. "You can keep the hounds occupied here for a while." Jayna nods, mouth tense. Memories blanket her gaze—you hope it to be memories—in a slip-up she can afford while everyone else is on guard. Arthur, an uncomfortable presence off to your side, clears his throat. "That way," he says. "The sooner we find them, the better." "This is the most gentle of the options," Jayna argues. She looks around, from one face to another, and finds something in support of her thoughts. "I propose we consider it." "There is no gentle option," Arthur replies, softening it with a shrug. "Our goal lies at its heart." "You are too confident for someone on his first hunt." Darla, in a moment of forgetfulness, rolls her eyes. "You have no idea." Arthur sighs. "You will insist on digging our heels here, and I will press ahead. Where does it leave us?" You know the answer already, but Jayna's face softens despite herself. She sees something that isn't there, and yet the strokes and hints are enough to recall an important picture. "Doing your thing," she mutters under her breath. You suspect she smiles, but the light is too poor to say for certain. You'd need to weave between the rocks to get on the other side, stepping into the same mud as the mage hunters before you. <</if>>\ No weapon marks. Your gaze drags along the stone surface, only to find it eroded with rain and the badgering of wind. The power in Arthur's blood is only effective against magic, but the Gift of the First can be destructive if a mage so desires. Missing, Reach would spend itself against the hard surface of stone, leaving lasting hints of mage presence—but only to a knowing eye. But there are troughs in the ground, clear boot imprints. Even the haze of wild magic cannot conceal them from you as you carefully step around them. But ahead, its might is in full bloom. Shadows slosh and spill, shapes within them no longer recognizable. Water, you think, dark and welcoming. //It is refreshing against your skin, pleasantly cold. You are on your knees before it, arms submerged up to your elbows and reaching lower, until joyful droplets land on your cheeks. The stream is split with silver light that bounces and hangs onto your lashes. Your fingers dig between the small, grinded stones, colder than the water, heavy, to poke around for the shining, puzzling thing—// A missed step jerks at your wandering mind that hangs to...an echo? After a series of reckless steadying paces, you find that your empty eyes have landed on Arthur. The sight of him sets off an itch in the back of your head, yet at the same time, it makes some sounds quieter. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Why aren\'t we yelling for them? Hey, hounds!"'|huntday4a][modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[['"Did you notice anything curious so far, Gale?"'|huntday4d][modFriendship("gale", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I grit my teeth. I cannot fall prey to the illusions when the real dangers of wild magic are on the loose.|huntday4e][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> <li>[[Let me try chewing on that root piece. If nothing at all, I can use the taste as a distraction.|huntday4f][]]</li> </ul></div>

Your voice breaks with frustration, the fragments of your control slipping. You are breathless—not with fatigue but a flash of anger—and everyone is looking at you. "We want them on us, don't we?" you grumble, wiping your face of the moisture whose source you do not try to guess. <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ Darla eyes you warily. "These are not bandits," she says, trying to scold. "Thought I would help them find their way," you retort. "They are drawn to people," Gale says, not looking at either of you. "Which kind of them, they do not care." You sigh. "Marvelous." But some tiny part of you is relieved. Not in a pleasant, reassuring way, but the way skimming off foam helps the boil. <<else>>\ Jayna shakes her head. "They do not care for how loud or quiet we are. All we need is to be here." "You tried?" you demand. "You cannot get their attention by yelling. We tried whenever we needed to distract them. You do it even if you know already that it will not work. When you want to help and...are at your wits' end." She sighs shakily. "We stay or we move, but they are the ones to find us." <</if>>\ <<include huntday5>>

How he does it, you have no idea. But this entire time, he has been trying to sense for... //something//. From what little you know of him already, it is easy to tell that he has something on his mind. When that something is magic, it is even easier. Perhaps he isn't doing it at all, or not consciously, or his vision twists uniquely under the influence of wild magic. But it doesn't hurt to ask. "Much here feels like a dream," he says. Darla has been pretending not to listen, but she slips up at this. "A nightmare." "A nightmare, thank you." He smiles weakly. Not with humor, you guess. "There is more...structure. Wild magic often lacks it." "A structure in what?" you ask. He lifts his hand, stumbling and catching himself, as if there was a fine thread to grasp. "In the way it courses. In the way it expands." <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ "So what would that mean?" Darla asks. "That something molds it," Arthur says, and everyone looks surprised to hear from him. "Yes," Gale confirms after a beat, but he never clarifies. You know what that means. The answer is at the heart of it all. Farther. <<else>>\ "Tobey once said he could hear a song," Jayna said dully, turning once more inward. "Could never repeat it to us, said it was unsettling anyway. You do not get far by calling this curse unsettling." "People come up with terrible songs all the time," Darla adds. Their voices begin to fade as you try to listen in. Something compels you to search for that disjointed sound, the song so unpleasant, even a mage hunter would call it out. But you only get wind and the gentle trickling of water that follows you like a husk stuck to your clothes. <</if>>\ <<include huntday5>>

The thoughts of discomfort fade: the ordeal will be over soon enough. You are above minute trials of wild magic, and if you think about it, these are only tricks. You need the clarity of mind, now and at all times, most of all against the creatures you have never seen. And for what happens //after//. <<include huntday5>>

Something told you it'd be sweet, and it is, quite amusingly so. Not surprising for a root, it has an earthy taste: rich and bitter, which is then washed with its powerful sweetness. It is indeed distracting. Beyond its peculiar taste, you sift your memories for the sight of it among Mort's jars, but in them, most of the roots look the same. He was diligent in showing you all the poisonous ones, so there is comfort to be found in knowing this is not among them. <<include huntday5>>

There is more ground to cover until, presumably, you reach the second point on Jayna's map. With how much headway you have made already, you wouldn't be surprised to find yourself at the pit of the world, its lowest point across the seas and the continents. Down and below, marching into someone's tomb. Or a wetland. It feels as if something laps at your feet, makes you work for every step. Like wading through water, but you try to fight it. To the left and to the right of you, odd shapes look like statues. //Tall figures of ancient kings, grown into their thrones. They sit solemnly, tall and judgmental, each a perfect copy of the other. You follow the path they make to whatever they are guarding; the rows of them do not seem to end the same way kings never do. Always another, same as the one before him. They do not let you stray, these figures that make you feel small in comparison. You have given up on counting them.// Then, the darkness in their laps stirs. <<NextPage "huntday6">>

<<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ "Move!" Arthur yells. <<else>>\ "They're here!" you yell. <</if>>\ The ground under your feet is wicked roots and half-rotten leaves. The members of your group bounce apart like beads on a necklace that snapped. You watch in ice-like awe as, in the same spot Darla has stood not a moment ago, mist and ghostly fire knit together into a powerful, four-legged body with a snout wide open to bare fangs as sharp as a blade—and it slams into the ground, missing her by a hair's breadth of time. Its eye is red, fuming, wrinkled in a semblance of pain—and, furious, it tries to snarl at you. Silent, traitorous kings have fog hounds for lap dogs. <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ <<NextPage "huntsnipe1">> <<else>>\ <<NextPage "huntbait1">> <</if>>\

The hound makes the first choice, and not you. The chase begins. It lands frighteningly close to you and vanishes right away. You move without thinking, rushing back up a few labored steps to gain height on it. Your foot nearly catches on something, and a flash of movement crosses your sight. Another hound lunges at Gale, who is already on the ground, and he rolls out of its way seemingly by mere chance. The hound does not forgive a distraction. With a stomp, it crosses the distance between you in a blink of an eye like a cloud of smoke carried by a gust of wind, ephemeral, and you vault a section of collapsed ground. The hound lands head-first at your feet, a dark, angry shadow. Fog lends it monstrous proportions: threads of wispy smoke forming muscle, powerful paws and chest, and a thick head. Its gaze follows you if you only move an inch, eyes bright yet empty. When it moves, it is smoke in the wind—and it does. You are bait to keep it occupied. Someone is moving between the trees—Darla, from the swiftness of the figure. Jayna is at the very observable bottom, and you sense movement behind you, something whips through the air. You ignore it. The hound pushes itself up the mound, slinking like a real animal. Its snout is in a crooked snarl, ghostly breath rolling out of its throat. Your fingers dig into the <<if $inv.weapon is "sword">>hilt<<else>>hilts<</if>>, readying for what is to come. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[It may fear no blade, but it has never seen mine.|huntbait1a][]]</li> <li>[[Too close, I need to put distance between us.|huntbait1b][]]</li> </ul></div>

It is so close, you can hear its low growl. The moment it pounces, you kick yourself forward and drop to your knees, \ <<if $inv.weapon is "sword">>\ blade crossed over your shoulder. \ <<else>>\ blades propped up in your fists. \ <</if>>\ The hound flies overhead, casting a cold shadow, and lands in a lump behind you. No resistance, not a whine from it. You bounce to your feet, padding backward. Someone yelps, but the hound does not care. It cranes its neck to snarl at you, no worse than it was before your attack. <<include huntbait2>>

It is a different kind of fighting. No dummy prepared you for it, and no opponent has looked this determined to give chase. All you're missing is a sweet little bell to paint you as an innocent prey trespassing on a predator's hunting grounds. <<include huntbait2>>

You run. The open path takes you across the dell, danger hot on your heels. You leap over the mounds and the roots, temples throbbing, tightness in your chest. You might fall, crack your head, or break an arm. Sweat, heat on your tongue—//it is closing in//. Bright, flaming danger laps at your feet, and you throw yourself against a tree, wasting all the pace to swing around it. You trip and land on your elbow, the hound barrels past you in a straight, toppling line, and the tree before you, your savior, groans at the force of an impact. The First's magic angrily wastes itself on the trunk. A miss. You scramble to your feet and dash to the next copse in search of something sturdy, an obstacle to hug. "One down!" you hear. The voice itself sounds disembodied, and the words seem unimportant. Your heartbeat thumps in your ears—and a fierce, blunt hit to the back hurls you to the ground. Your teeth chink, mouth flooding with a taste of copper and decay. You roll sharply, dragging pain over your skin, and slip farther than you thought you would. Every jutting rock tallies on your body as you half-tumble, half-slide, stopping flat on your stomach. On your knees, then onto your feet, then running again. Two old trees growing apart like a quarrelling couple, with their branches stooping like grotesque limbs, are ahead. And someone chases their momentary refuge, too. Darla is nearby with another hound on her tail. You only spare her a glance: bright-faced with a swollen brow, she doesn't even have //your// luck. The massive shadow flings itself at her, and you don't think she can spin out of its way in time. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Well, I trust her to handle it.|huntbait2_solo][$dar.rel.fake -=1]]</li> <li>[[...Ah, blast it. I veer in her direction.|huntbait2_darla][modFriendship("dar", 3)]]</li> <li>[[I only think of what's behind me.|huntbait2_solo][]]</li> </ul></div>

Without slowing down, you bolt for the trees. The noises behind you drown in the pulsing sound of blood in your ears. In two strong, bouncy steps, you leap, hands covering your head. The blood in your veins is ice-cold as you pass between the trunks and land on the other side in a heavy drop. Your breath was scorching, and now it is all gone out of you, but your chest is on fire. You gulp air in greedy, careless gasps. This time, you rise with effort. Precious moments are wasted, and the hound has found you already after careening around the trees. Even crashing straight into a rock wouldn't hurt them, you think fleetingly, but they act like it would. Safeties they learned from this plane, instincts that wild magic couldn't have bestowed upon them. You lose count of loops, fail to notice missed shots. When you run, it isn't fast enough, and it //hurts//: the outer of your thigh, the center of your ribcage, the bone at the tip of your shoulder. So when you slip, a breath short of attempting another feint, your body collapses. A quick gasp, you roll on your back, and stare at the descending shadow of a predator, at the phantom fangs, and at the claws of its powerful front paws. No matter how helpless or worn-out the prey, a strike must be true. Not even a moment to think left, and you have no hope for help. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I cover my face at least.|huntbait2_soloa][]]</li> <li><<link "If magic will not save me ''now'', I do not even fucking want it." "huntbait2_solob">><</link>></li> </ul></div>

You dare not open your eyes, deliriously precious about your sight, and for a moment, you think it must have missed after all. But then, with a vicious wrench, a scream is ripped out of your chest. What sinks into you is cold, sickly, and wrong. Ice in your blood turns to fire, paralyzing you in a chokehold of pain. And it doesn't stop. Your voice breaks, hands claw for purchase in trying to fight, but there is no use. Something is slipping, fading. Your hold is weak, and whatever is so important is jerked out of your hands. Pain becomes a single constant. In burns through you, stripping and flaying, until you are left threadbare. The last sensation is your fingers lacing through the air and knuckles hitting something solid. You are left a whisper, a smoking ember—but then everything comes back with a <div class="magictxt">SNAP</div> <<NextPage "huntbait2_soloa_2">>

<<set $ch2.sea_of_red to true>>\ <<notify 4s secrets-notify>>Secret discovered: World of Red<</notify>>\ Your world tilts on its axis. So many things flood in at once, and nausea stuns you. Before your eyes, there is only red, and your mind floats in the sensation you have come to know so well. Magic. In a splash of color, you see everything. The endless void of the skies. The rivers of magic. The strange strings that have suddenly appeared, strewn all over the place in one unending web. All red and pulsing, oozing. One string bursts out of your body, caught on the hound's fangs. You do not want it to break, something tells you. //Anything but that.// Like a pup, all the hound can do is thrash, trying to yank it, but it will not budge an inch more out of you. Not anymore. Behind the hound, there is a silhouette bathed in the same vermilion light, bright in your eyes. The figure has one hand raised, as if holding something invisible on the fingertips. You'd easily believe it to be a specter of your addled imagination if it wasn't for the faded pain and the drenched clarity it gave you. Something clever and rational in you whispers a name, a ready explanation. Gale. The light of Frieda's magic envelops everything. It rests in his eyes, humanly clear, determined. The hound cowers with a yelp, and pain washes away. The relief from it overwhelms, and the sight of the threads fades, wiped clear like a feverish illusion. Red bleeds out of everything, leaving only murky purples, dipped in black. You kick against the ground and push with your elbows, then leap to your feet in an unsteady movement. You feel chipped and wrung out, entirely taut, yet //whole//. Gale's silhouette fades as though you have imagined him, but the fog hound doesn't tear its vacant gaze from you. Its confusion passes, and you aren't waiting to give it a second chance. You move, fearing pain. It still whispers mortifying promises into your ear—but it doesn't come. It takes only a moment to remember all of your earlier tricks. This time, commotion is your guide. If no one is in a rush to pick this hound off, you will lay it at their feet. <<NextPage "huntbait2_soloa2">>

Air burns in your throat, but all the thoughts of it fade as you recognize the figure that collapses right in your path. Jayna. She doesn't fight the motion, sliding a few feet just as another fog hound misses her by a hair. There is another distorted shape ahead, a trick of wild magic or a chance, and among the urgent thoughts, a plan hatches. It might not work. But a plan is better than racing in circles like an agitated chicken. You halt right next to Jayna, heart jolting, and feint to the left. There are no more of these left in you, and perhaps enough for a last sprint. "It's fine," Jayna gasps, voice pained. With two hounds to watch, you have no wits to spare for a response. Pups, she said. Another pair of red eyes turns in your direction: you have lingered enough, making yourself appear unsure. They start like they are competing to beat each other at getting to you faster, and fire sets in your blood. Light-headed, you bolt up the dell. Every step aches, every shallow breath stings. You are closer now, and so are the hounds. You look up. A figure, not a trick. Danger is a hot pulse at the back of your head, an urge to turn small and still, and //hide//. So you give the last of what you have, and more in a final dash. Then you dive. Wet and cold smell fills your nostrils, skin scraping against the insides of your wear. The beat in your ears is resounding, and it becomes only worse as you lift your head. You only catch a flicker of their last moments: smoke and blood-red disappearing in a flash of bright light. They leave an emptiness that sucks you in, breath catching in your chest, and you stare at the empty space in disbelief. It keeps you rooted, focused. You think you might make another lap if need be--but the crunching of twigs nearby is distinctly human. "Three and four," Arthur declares. It is a struggle to add up the words, but your body knows better. You slump before you get to decide it is safe, burying your face in the crook of your elbow. Your breaths are deep and painful, but you drink each with the scent of wet soil and rainy autumn. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Is it over?"'|huntbait2_soloa2a][]]</li> <li>[['"What took you so damned long?"'|huntbait2_soloa2b][modTrust("art", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"If I have to do this again, it will be too soon."'|huntbait2_soloa2c][]]</li> <li>[['"How is everyone?"'|huntbait2_soloa2d][modFriendship("art", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

"No," he says without missing a beat, but something conflicted lingers in the air. You cannot see his face, but it is easy to imagine that the sight of you must be quite entertaining. He speaks softer: "But this was the last of them. Forever this time." <<include huntbait2_soloa3>>

He leaves it unchallenged, and there is a strange sense of acceptance to it. <<include huntbait2_soloa3>>

"Indeed," he says. "Tonight we make certain no one will have to do this again." <<include huntbait2_soloa3>>

"Limping this way," he replies, not without a hint of amusement. You find solace in his words, for at the very least, your number is the same, and there is safety in it. The same reason they were willing to trust //you//. <<include huntbait2_soloa3>>

<<if $p.touch>>Jayna is first upon you, helping you to your feet.<<else>>Jayna is first upon you. She tries to help you to your feet, but you stumble out of her reach and set yourself right on your own.<</if>> "That was reckless," she tells you with an unmissable note of approval. When Aelia slinks to her side, all the strictness seeps out of her, and she smiles. "And quite effective," Darla adds. There is a red smear above her brow, and Gale takes her to the side to treat it. <<include huntbait_merge>>

<<set $ch2.magic_summon to true>> White fog blankets over your thoughts, desperation that is blissfully angry. You witness everything as if it were someone else entirely. A hand splayed in a welcoming grasp waits, then it clasps around a red, rotten, beating core of the fog hound and //squeezes//. Pain blooms in the center of the palm with a thousand glass shards that burrow into the skin. You can feel the full extent of it, and the rush of an ice-cold torrent that follows. Forceful, it forbids you to let go, wrapping the pain, sealing it, ravaging what is in your hold. The knuckles are sharp like claws until you feel something wet slip down your wrist. The hound vanishes. Its snarl, its perseverance, its relentless dedication to seeing you dead. It disappears in the palm of your hand. Like facing a gust of wind, it leaves you breathless. The force propping you up disappears, but you feel like something has changed, like bits and pieces of you have been slightly nudged out of their usual place. You are still clenching your fist, so you let go. Your fingers struggle to uncurl, but you study them with hawkish attention. There is no blood, though you expected it, and there isn't a trace of pain. Instead, you feel restless. You rise to your feet, dazed. The dell opens to you like a little carved figurine in the palm of your hand: shaped like an amphitheater, with ascending rows and jutting corners, where you stand with both feet on the stage. Slowly, you weave between the trees, unwilling to be ambushed again, and stop when a sudden surge rushes through you. It is unfamiliar, a brush against your restless thoughts. It roots you in one place—and after it, everything grows quiet. <<NextPage "huntbait2_solob2">>

The first head to peek among the contorted shadows is Darla. She moves as though she glides in the wind, indifferent to the rough terrain. She takes a long and careful look around, and only then does she whisper to you, "Where is it?" "I don't—" But she bolts up the dell in a straight, careless line before you can finish, and you have no choice but to follow. Everyone gathers in stunned silence, lured out of the hiding spot by the eerie quietness. The only one who looks relieved is Aelia and you... You have no idea what you look like. "I heard three," Darla says, looking over her shoulder. "One more must still be out." "I disposed of two," Arthur states and looks at Aelia expectantly. Her mouth twists in guilt. "One..." Jayna places a hand on the young mage's shoulder as she tries to make out something between the grating of trees. They can sense it as well, how quiet it is, how the wind combs through the treetops. It shouldn't be so with another hound on a prowl, you suspect. But they don't know. "I took care of the last one," you say quietly. "//You// did?" Darla asks. "I think so." Arthur turns around sharply. "They don't just stop. If it disappeared on you, it must be nearby." His readiness makes your skin crawl. "It disappeared," you stress, "because I //made// it." Jayna looks you over, searching for the clues to some secret you have been harboring, some clever contraption that could banish wild magic's creation that only you are in possession of. "Magic," Gale says when no one else does. He is the only one without a mark of surprise in his expression. You gesture to Aelia. "It shouldn't be new. We know magic does away with them." Though you doubt Aelia put her fist through a hound when she did. Despite the presence of a mage hunter, you describe it in detail, if only to have their untimely concerns dispelled. But also... To hear the story back and have it torn to shreds if it makes no sense, if it was merely a fruit of your pain-addled mind. Of all people, Gale should know and explain why it couldn't have happened so. "Every creature follows a beat," he says instead. "Fog hounds are the manifestation of wild magic. A core of it is always with them." You lift your hand as if the movement would summon your magic and not your will. It looks the same, though it trembles a little. "So when you crush it, the hounds are back to nothing..." "Until the next moon," Jayna says with a heavy breath. You expect Arthur to argue, but he is watching you and not Jayna. Perhaps he hasn't even heard her, or perhaps he has stated his intentions often enough. You resorting to magic—that is new. But he says nothing to you either, and in the lull, Gale takes Darla to the side to tend to the scrape above her brow. <<NextPage "huntbait_merge">>

For the first time in a while, you take in the sight of the skies. The silhouette of the moon is draped with a translucent cover of clouds, curled wisps of silver and slate blue. The sharp fangs of it remind you of the pain, traces of it in your memory, and the ghost of it present in your body. The dell feels abandoned. A stretch reclaimed by nature that has stood unchanged for centuries and will continue for many more, without magic or human touch. Taking gentle sips of water and left entirely to your own devices, you have nothing better to do but take account of the sounds that reach you. "You should return," you hear Arthur say to Jayna. "If you know it will be quiet." Aelia is drowsy, resting against the older woman's shoulder. "It is always quiet afterward," Jayna replies in a murmur. "But not in the other direction. Are you //certain//? What do I do if—" But she doesn't have the will to finish it. For the first time tonight, the hunter's thorny disposition thaws. "They might finally march another army through here," he says, and she stifles a laugh. "Though I am certain nobody will find that pleasant." "They will not." You glance at the darkness ahead, rich with unspilled secrets and dangers worse than the fog hounds hungry for life essence. Easy for the hunter to make light of death when he puts his life on the line willingly. But you? You are only doing this in the absence of options. Your untroubled respite does not last long. Even as you sit without moving, taking in the tenderness of your skin under the rough garments, you can sense something brewing. Like a gentle scent of flowers that are only entertaining the idea of blooming, the air is rich but has not yet burst with odors. One brush with the fog hounds, and already you can sense the quiet chords in the melody of the woods. Jayna must know every note by now. Soon, the woman leaves with the young mage on her arm, and you are back to the company you have come to expect. Darla's face is washed and spotless, likely other marks of pain erased as well. There is no excitement about the prospect of venturing deeper, but the determination to proceed regardless is there. "What are we looking for?" you ask. The hunter is back to the thorns and glaring. "Whatever responds to our presence." <<NextPage "huntsearch1">>

At the last moment, she plunges to the ground with a roll that looks like it would hurt. The hound digs its claws into the ground next to her, oblivious to your approach. How could you possibly help her? You are putting yourself in danger that far exceeds everything you have done so far. When you are upon her, you slip on the wet ground for a few precious winks of time. Your rough hold onto her—upper arm, a loose portion of sturdy fabric in your fist—surprises you both, and you haul her to the side, right as the beast tries for her life once more. Darla scrambles to her feet against you, hand on your forearm, and as soon as she is firm, she pushes you to the side. "Run." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I will not. "Or we help each other."|huntbait2_darla_a][modFriendship("dar", 3)]]</li> <li>[[No need to tell me twice.|huntbait2_darla_b][]]</li> <li>[['"Right. But I'm taking your dog with me too."'|huntbait2_darla_c][modFriendship("dar", 5)]]</li> </ul></div>

Darla jumps out of the way of a hound, eyes wide. "How is this helping?" You crouch, right as another dives at you. The two hounds do not waste time picking targets. If the same one is on your trail, or you have swapped with Darla, you have no clue, nor does it matter. "You look out for me," you sidestep again, words coming out strained, "I look out for you." Darla's head flips around between you and one of the hounds. "But I need to help—" "He will be"—you dash to the side, creating some distance between you for both to work in—"//fine//. Let us survive these two." You cannot hear or see her face, but you expect her to frown and doubt it. But for one reason or another, she doesn't abandon you to the fate of dealing with the hounds on your own. She nods sharply in the direction of the nearest trees. Charging after you does not exert the beasts, but avoiding their ghostly fangs takes a toll on you. As you run, breath hot in your chest, you pick up the sounds nearby and try to make sense of them. Jayna, Gale. Your two finishers. Nothing is distinct but the drumming of blood in your veins. You only hope that at least you are down to three by now, or else Arthur is simply trying to get you all killed. Without looking, she throws up her hand and points somewhere with her finger. "There." This is no time for doubt, and you follow as soon as she charges in that direction. With two on your tracks, your mind is flooded quickly as you try not to lose sight of Darla on top of it. When the cold breath of fear grazes the back of your neck, you struggle to understand if your life is in danger or hers, but as you stitch a haphazard path between trees and the misty claws of the beast, whenever you follow after Darla, you find yourself traveling up the slope. Whatever it is—a bizarre sense of kinship developed in her travels or cold-blooded determination—she looks confident in knowing where the rest of her companions are. But whether they can help is a different thing. <<NextPage "huntbait2_darla2">>

You flip and set yourself running. Even as you do, the sight of red, bulging eyes follows you. Something is on your feet, chasing the prey that is trying to escape. There is no knowing if it is the same hound or if you have unwittingly swapped with Darla, nor does it matter. There is a line of trees, there always is. You dash for it, feeling the hound close in. In two strong, bouncy steps, you leap, hands covering your head. The moment is ice cold in your veins as you pass between the trunks and land on the other side in a heavy drop. Your breath was scorching, and now it is all gone. Your chest is on fire, gulping air in greedy, careless gasps. This time, you rise with effort. Precious moments are wasted, and the hound has found you already after careening around the trees. Even crashing straight into a rock wouldn't hurt them, you think fleetingly, but they act like it would. Safeties they learned from this plane, instincts that wild magic couldn't have bestowed upon them. You lose count of loops, fail to notice missed shots. When you run, it isn't fast enough, and it //hurts//: the outer of your thigh, the center of your ribcage, the bone at the tip of your shoulder. So when you slip, some moments short of attempting another feint, your body collapses. A quick gasp, you roll on your back, and stare at the descending shadow of a predator, at the phantom fangs, and at the claws of its powerful front paws. No matter how helpless or worn-out the prey, a strike must be true. Not even a moment to think left, and you have no hope for help. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I cover my face at least.|huntbait2_soloa][]]</li> <li><<link "If magic will not save me ''now'', I do not even fucking want it." "huntbait2_solob">><</link>></li> </ul></div>

There is no rhyme or reason to your decision. Only the knowledge of how to get the hounds' attention. Jayna called them primitive at this stage and easily distracted. "What?!" Before she makes sense of it, you dash a wicked path, keeping //your// hound focused and crossing between Darla and the other one. You even stumble for good measure, ensuring they see you as an easy game. And that slowness, that performance of weakness, tips the invisible scale. You rush away from Darla, heedless of the direction and eager for any kind of cover. A quick, strangled laugh escapes you—because what are you even doing, teaching the hounds that if only they put their claws together, they would finish off their quarry swiftly? You are hot all over, light-headed. At least you're doing this much, and //you// can do it. Dropping down to whip in a different direction, you avoid their immediate onslaught. Just then, Darla gains on you. "Idiot!" she yells and throws out her hand with one finger pointing behind your back. "That way!" Before you make sense of it, she captures the attention of one of the hounds back from you. You start up the dell, first on her heels, then deviating to make it harder for the hounds. With two on your tracks, your mind is flooded quickly as you try not to lose sight of Darla on top of it. When the cold breath of fear grazes the back of your neck, you struggle to understand if it is your life that is in danger or hers, but as you stitch a haphazard path between trees and the misty claws of the beast, whenever you follow after Darla, you find yourself traveling up the slope. Whatever it is—a bizarre sense of kinship developed in her travels or cold-blooded determination—she looks confident in knowing where the rest of her companions are. But whether they can help is a different thing. <<NextPage "huntbait2_darla2">>

You are quickly on the ground again, avoiding a brush with the hound's misty body, and for a split moment as you are catching your breath, you make out a splintering sound, a burst of force in the direction you struggle to perceive. Either someone fell and injured themselves badly, or Aelia is alive and well, summonning her magic. Without looking back, you spring ahead, your mind in many places at once. The hound behind you, Darla on your right, the one pursuing her, Aelia missing her shots, the hunter silent and biding his time, Jayna, silent and invisible. Your chest is heavy with pain, sweat is pooling at the base of your neck, fire burns in your muscles, each stride a small battle. Roots everywhere. Darla calls out your name, followed by a stufled yelp, and you jolt to the side, loosing your footing and landing on your elbow. The hound's pace was light this time. It recovers faster than you. You hear a quick patter of steps, but your eyes are on the maw open wide, red eyes with a vow of pain in them, on you faster than you can pull yourself together. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I cover my face at least.|huntbait2_darla2a][]]</li> <li><<link "If magic will not save me ''now'', I do not even fucking want it." "huntbait2_darla2b">><</link>></li> </ul></div>

You dare not open your eyes, deliriously precious about your sight, and for a moment, you think it must have missed after all. But then, with a vicious wrench, a scream is ripped out of your chest. What sinks into you is cold, sickly, and wrong. Ice in your blood turns to fire, paralyzing you in a chokehold of pain. And it doesn't stop. Your voice breaks, hands claw for purchase in trying to fight, but there is no use. Something is slipping, fading. Your hold is weak, and whatever is so important is jerked out of your hands. Pain becomes a single constant. In burns through you, stripping and flaying, until you are left threadbare. The last sensation is your fingers lacing through the air and knuckles hitting something solid. There is commotion, distant and insignificant, a banging sound when you are leagues away. There is a voice, drowned out by the sensation of your body weeping and mind screaming as it is seared with pain. You are left a whisper, a smoking ember—but then everything comes back with a <div class="magictxt">SNAP</div> <<NextPage "huntbait2_darla2a_2">>

<<set $ch2.sea_of_red to true>>\ <<notify 4s secrets-notify>>Secret discovered: World of Red<</notify>>\ Your world tilts on its axis. So many things flood in at once, and nausea stuns you. Before your eyes, there is only red, and your mind floats in the sensation you have come to know so well. Magic. In a splash of color, you see everything. The endless void of the skies. The rivers of magic. The strange strings that have suddenly appeared, strewn all over the place in one unending web. All red and pulsing, oozing. One string bursts out of your body, caught on the hound's fangs. You do not want it to break, something tells you. //Anything but that.// Like a pup, all the hound can do is thrash, trying to yank it, but it will not budge an inch more out of you. Not anymore. You are feverish, and the sight of Darla, colorless as if she is underwater, brings you back violently. Her face is pinched with shocked worry as she tries to watch you and //not die herself//. Behind the hound and her, there is a silhouette bathed in the same vermilion light, bright in your eyes. The figure has one hand raised, as if holding something invisible on the fingertips. You'd easily believe it to be a specter of your addled imagination if it wasn't for the faded pain and the drenched clarity it gave you. Something clever and rational in you whispers a name, a ready explanation. Gale. The light of Frieda's magic envelops everything. It rests in his eyes, humanly clear, determined. The hound cowers with a yelp, and pain washes away. The relief from it overwhelms, and the sight of the threads fades, wiped clear like a feverish illusion. Red bleeds out of everything, leaving only murky purples, dipped in black. You kick against the ground and push with your elbows, then leap to your feet in an unsteady movement. You feel chipped and wrung out, entirely taut, yet //whole//. Gale's silhouette fades as though you have imagined him, but the fog hound doesn't tear its vacant gaze from you. Its confusion passes, and you aren't waiting to give it a second chance. <<NextPage "huntbait2_darla2a2">>

There is lightness in your body that could only come in the aftermath of a wringing experience, no better time for it than now. You are still sluggish the first few steps, putting yourself to the test, but confidence comes in a burst, and you are on a run as heady as before. You cannot slip up like that. The threads, the flaying pain, you push it all back and leave only one thing front and center. //Up// is where you can get help. //Up// is where you can be rid of the hound. Twisting and bending the path, you are ahead of Darla somehow. There is urgency to your pace and wind that surprises even you. When something moves between the trees ahead, your first instinct is to lurch the other way—but you stay the firm course in the grip of your will. If you had magic to hurl in one direction, what would you have needed? For the target to be still, ideally. If you want to slay the beast, the power must be exacting. Should be, at least. It's right at the tips of your fingers, and the promise of relief is intoxicating. With a second wind under your sails, you shoot ahead as exhausted nausea creeps up your throat. //Bait.// That is what you are. It will need to do something drastic to catch up. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The instinct demands, and you roll to the ground. Wet and cold smell fills your nostrils, skin scraping against the insides of your wear. The beat in your ears is resounding, and you do not wish to think of what might happen if you trusted the hunter too foolishly. Something oppressive descends upon the patch of ground. Not you, however. You only sense a flicker of the hound's last moment; it is gone without a sound and leaves an emptiness that sucks you in. You remain like that, face down, a breath caught in your throat, yet ready to spring up and run. You think you might even make another lap if need be, more wary of staying in one place than willing to chase other dangers. Somewhere between that, Darla is rid of her beast, too. "Three and four," Arthur pronounces. It is a struggle to add up the words, but your body knows better. You slump before you get to decide it is safe, burying your face in the crook of your elbow. Your breaths are deep and painful, but you drink each with the scent of wet soil and rainy autumn. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Is it over?"'|huntbait2_soloa2a][]]</li> <li>[['"What took you so damned long?"'|huntbait2_soloa2b][modTrust("art", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"If I have to do this again, it will be too soon."'|huntbait2_soloa2c][]]</li> <li>[['"How is everyone?"'|huntbait2_soloa2d][modFriendship("art", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $ch2.magic_summon to true>> White fog blankets over your thoughts, desperation that is blissfully angry. You witness everything as if it were someone else entirely. A hand splayed in a welcoming grasp waits, then it clasps around a red, rotten, beating core of the fog hound and //squeezes//. Pain blooms in the center of the palm with a thousand glass shards that burrow into the skin. You can feel the full extent of it, and the rush of an ice-cold torrent that follows. Forceful, it forbids you to let go, wrapping the pain, sealing it, ravaging what is in your hold. The knuckles are sharp like claws until you feel something wet slip down your wrist. The hound vanishes. Its snarl, its perseverance, its relentless dedication to seeing you dead. It disappears in the palm of your hand. Like facing a gust of wind, it leaves you breathless. The force propping you up disappears, but you feel like something has changed, like bits and pieces of you have been slightly nudged to the side. Your fingers struggle to uncurl, but the movement in the corner of your sight beckons for the attention of your scattered, restless mind. Darla's face is pinched in shocked worry as she runs toward you, heedless of the hound on her trail. She looks at you as though you are a stranger, someone she'd think to approach—but then she stops in a sharp jolt and stumbles to the side. "Lie low," she instructs, and with a final look at you over her shoulder, she baits the second hound away. The havoc becomes stillness. Your ears open up to the sounds you have been oblivious to: distant noises, steps breaking between the trees. You stagger upright, dazed. The dell opens to you like a little carved figurine in the palm of your hand: shaped as an amphitheater, with ascending rows and jutting corners, where you stand with both feet on the stage. Slowly, you weave between the trees, careful of your surroundings. Two things you listen for. The tiniest sparks on the tips of your fingers, and Jayna's voice, as she's apparently been keeping score. "Three!" she yells, and your head snaps up. A lengthy, unsure pause passes over the dell. "It is four," Darla says. "We are through." <<NextPage "huntbait2_darla2b2">>

Figures flow into the open out of the darkness between the trees, eager to be many again. It is a wonder how distinctly loud peace can be, because all of a sudden, you wish to be doing anything else, bursting with the spirit to entertain any whim. But only you and Darla carry that feeling with certainty. "What makes you say so?" Jayna asks with a concentrated frown. "I rarely miss a beast." "It couldn't have been me," Arthur states plainly, leaving you with only Aelia to hide behind. But from the way he looks at you, you know any attempts to do so will be in vain. "I took care of the last one," you admit quietly. It invites stunned silence. "<<print $p.he.toUpperFirst()>> did," Darla says, pulling some of the looks her way. Jayna looks you over, searching for the clues to some secret you have been harboring, some clever contraption that could banish wild magic's creation that only you are in possession of. "You used magic," Gale says when no one else does. He is the only one without a mark of surprise in his expression. You gesture to Aelia. "It shouldn't be new. We know magic does away with them." Though you doubt Aelia put her fist through a hound when she did. Despite the presence of a mage hunter, you describe it in detail if only to have their untimely concerns dispelled. But also... To hear the story back and have it torn to shreds if it makes no sense, if it was merely a fruit of your pain-addled mind. Of all people, Gale should know and explain why it couldn't have happened so. "Every creature follows a beat," he says instead. "Fog hounds are the manifestation of wild magic. A core of it is always with them." You lift your hand as if the movement would summon your magic, and not your will. It looks the same, though it trembles a little. "So when you crush it, the hounds are back to nothing..." "Until the next moon," Jayna says with a heavy breath. You expect Arthur to argue, but he is watching you and not Jayna. Perhaps he hasn't even heard her, or perhaps he has stated his intentions often enough. You resorting to magic—that is new. But he says nothing to you either, and in the lull, Gale takes Darla to the side to tend to the scrape above her brow. <<NextPage "huntbait_merge">>

<<set $temp.flee_hound to false>>\ Darla makes a run for the nearest tree, not even bothering to brandish her weapon. Arthur is nowhere to be seen. Only Gale is caught off guard: another hound appears next to him, claws meeting the ground, as he is already on the ground. He rolls out of the way by dumb luck, having nowhere to go after slipping. Ready to yell, dread seizes your throat. A hot, urgent danger rushes at your flank. In a blink, another hound comes together right before your nose. Ravenous, it lunges. You move without thinking, without a plan. You land on a harshness of the leaf bed with your knee as the hound misses its attack, but it is so close you could try touching it if you stretched. No pup is this big, no pup aims for the throat. Fog lends it monstrous proportions: threads of wispy smoke forming muscle, powerful paws and chest, and a thick head. It is a trick of the moonlight, a horror carved out by restless dreams out of fog; but you know better if not from your sight, then from the books in Riante. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I fling magic at it.|huntsnipe2][$p.spell_ctr +=10]]</li> <li>[[I run.|huntsnipe2][$temp.flee_hound to true; $p.spell_ctr +=7]]</li> </ul></div>

<<if $temp.flee_hound is false>>\ It is an instinct to reach for it, same as swatting a fast-approaching object or holding your breath when thrust underwater. But it doesn't come. It is starved and sluggish, and you do nothing more than //point at the fog hound//. You realize that magic has backed away, coiled in the rear of your mind where the mage hunter cannot reach. To coax it out, you need //distance//. Time. The hound, having steadied itself and grasped that it missed its mark, fades like a fire put out. So you run. <</if>>\ The path is ridden with mounds and roots; your temples throb, trying to shake your magic awake. You are fleeing a shadow, but right before it decides to pounce as thinks it has you on the tip of its fangs, \ <<if $temp.flee_hound is false>>\ you throw yourself against a tree, wasting all the pace to swing around it. Out of his way, you slam magic into it. You both miss your marks. Your magic comes out weakly, a carress rather than a strike, your estimate is off: it spends its small force into the air, while the hound barrels past you in a straight, toppling line. The creature of fog is visible then as it tries to recover from failure. And you recover from yours: magic feels starved and sluggish, as though it has slept the entire time in Arthur's presence. To coax it out, you need //distance//. Time. <<else>>\ you throw yourself against a tree, wasting all the pace to swing around it and try another attack. Your magic comes out weakly, a carress rather than a strike, your estimate is off: it spends its small force into the air, while the hound barrels past you in a straight, toppling line. The creature of fog is visible then as it tries to recover from failure. A moment for you to breathe. <</if>>\ Even as the creature turns, you risk a look over your shoulder. Four hounds and the four of you. No one to take this one off your hands unless they deal with some other hound first. You must outlast it, or you defeat it yourself. Right as you push against the tree, something descends on the forest, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It is imperceptible, inexplicable. The same sense responds to it as the one that tells you when you have exhausted your magic. It lays a claim on the territory; it is a dominating, pervasive power that weaves into every dead leaf and drop of night dew. But there is nowhere else to go. You run toward it. <<NextPage "huntsnipe3">>

The hound snaps at you each time you take a moment too long to reach cover, and for the lack of one, whirl out of its way. You collect bruises faster than you can take notice; you are lucky the hound isn't cleverer. Breath hot, you race for another tree. Its branches are low, craggy, and as you are about to pass it, magic finally rushes out to push a thick one of your way. It snaps back right in the hound's eager maw—only to pass cleanly through the beast. Gasping for air, you only have a moment to react. You throw yourself to the side as the hound spreads clumps of dirst around when its paws sink into the ground. Your palm stings as if a strip of skin were peeled, but you have no choice but to ignore it. The beast heaves, chest growing and falling, but there is no movement of its nostrils you'd expect to flare in unison. It is only an imitation, a flawed copy of a hound prowling in a wilderness. It charges, not even needing to shift out of its form. Yet all you can see is that at the base of its long, grotesque neck, where ribs would split in both directions, there is a bright, beating clump of black and red, blood and soil. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I aim at it with Reach.|huntsnipe3a][]]</li> <li>[[I extend my hand to grab it.|huntsnipe3b][]]</li> </ul></div>

The very thing Aelia spoke of. You get an odd rush of excitement from seeing the words manifested, from making sense of what once was confusing babble. And then the feeling peaks as magic comes alive, pouring through you. Your will is steadfast, and it is very easy to aim when the target is so close that if you wait only a moment longer, you would //feel// it. You direct everything you have, a greedy demand of your power. It burns, it sears. You can almost see it zip through the air as it collides with the hound's core, shattering it immediately. It is shards, and then there is nothing. Whatever held the hound together, pressing on your heels, is gone. <<include huntsnipe4>>

The very thing Aelia spoke of. You get an odd rush of excitement from seeing the words manifested, from making sense of what once was a confusing babble. A prickle of curiosity makes you lift your hand, fingers open and welcoming. They barely graze its cold surface when the hound's fangs gnash in your face. You wrap your fist around it, feel it beating against the inner palm of your hand, and //squeeze//. Pain blooms, but you cannot even scream. Like a thousand glass shards burrow into the skin of your hand, so warm against the cold clot. You can feel the full extent of it, and the rush of an ice-cold torrent of your magic that follows. Forceful, it forbids you to let go, trapping the pain, sealing the cause of it, and ravaging it. Your knuckles are sharp, tense against the bone, until you feel something wet slip down your wrist. The hound vanishes. Its snarl, its perseverance, its relentless dedication to wearing you out and causing unimaginable pain. It all disappears in the palm of your hand. <<include huntsnipe4>>

The force of it sweeps over you, pressing you down, and the urge to give in is overwhelming. You are light, short of breath, and inexplicably ravenous. To have disappeared like that and left nothing behind, the hound must have been a dream, a cruel jest of your mind. Or it is going to turn a corner and catch you unprepared, for you have not slain it at all. But around you, it is quiet, nothing but your shaky breaths to prove that a fight took place only a few moments ago. Nothing screams at you to run. There is commotion further away, however. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[One hound for each. I did my part.|huntsnipe4stay][modAffinity("player", 3)]]</li> <li>[[I'm not letting a mage hunter score a higher toll than me!|huntsnipe4go][$art.rel.fake -=1; $dar.rel.fake -=1; $gale.rel.fake -=1;]]</li> <li>[[They still need me, it isn't over.|huntsnipe4go][$art.rel.fake -=2; $dar.rel.fake -=2; $gale.rel.fake -=2;]]</li> <li>[[Grunting and grousing, I stand up and hobble toward trouble.|huntsnipe4go][$art.rel.fake -=1; $dar.rel.fake -=1; $gale.rel.fake -=1;]]</li> <li>[[Not that I want to go, but if there is any way of cultivating their trust, it is by showing up.|huntsnipe4go][$art.rel.fake +=2; $dar.rel.fake +=2; $gale.rel.fake +=2;]]</li> </ul></div>

You roll over and prop yourself up by the elbows, then even taller by the flat of your palms. It helps you sense magic better, like sticking your head into the wind and trying to tell if rain is approaching. What should you do if they die here? <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[The arrogance to approach the hounds with a group this small wasn't mine. It would be a bitter lesson.|huntsnipe4stay2][]]</li> <li>[[I suppose I might end up feeling a little saddened.|huntsnipe4stay2][$art.rel.fake -=1; $dar.rel.fake -=1; $gale.rel.fake -=1;]]</li> <li>[[They better not, or how am I going to escape the hounds that do it to them?|huntsnipe4stay2][modAffinity("player", 1)]]</li> <li>[['I would hate to tell the Gray Regent ' + $q.his + ' nephew is dead. Though I\'m not certain it will necessarily upset '+ $q.him + '.'|huntsnipe4stay2][]]</li> <li>[[Go back to Riante, what else? Saves me the trouble of searching for that sample, at least.|huntsnipe4stay2][modAffinity("y", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I will figure out what to do, I have no doubt.|huntsnipe4stay2][]]</li> </ul></div>

More importantly, you will not be sticking out your neck more than you already have. No likeness of a fog hound pictured in //The World of Wilderness// compares to the sight of one when its fangs are bared for your throat. Come to think of it, the only ones left alive to describe them would be those who have witnessed the hounds feast on someone else. That dread does not make a keen observer. When you shut off the thoughts stretching into the future, only magic remains. If being in these woods feels like wading through a bog, then it is all the invisible currents of it. You do not prod, only observing, as wild magic is difficult to ignore. It is the splash at the bottom of a waterfall, mighty and paralyzing. It spreads and changes, never happy in its form, as though it has a mind of its own and that mind, in turn, can change everything around it. You've heard countless times that it does. But right next to it, something else courses. It has a distantly familiar tang; it doesn't feel any safer than wild magic. A little similar to it, with intensity that is hard to contain. A sudden rupture throws you back, and you flinch, opening your eyes. The last thing you witnessed was a hollow made in the stream of magic, and it should only be one thing. Arthur. Good thing you stayed away. This reminder makes you lift your hand, summoning Reach, and a handful of forest litter follows. No sluggishness as it answers your command. //Safe.// <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I wonder what else I can glean from all the magic here.|huntsnipe4stay2a][]]</li> <li>[[Hopefully, that was another hound. I will wait here until they are done.|huntsnipe4stay2b][]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $ch2.sea_of_red to true>>\ <<notify 4s secrets-notify>>Secret discovered: World of Red<</notify>>\ Your world tilts on its axis. In the place of emptiness, something flows already, only hesitantly, like that route was nearly forgotten. Slowly, you learn to tell the two streams apart and notice their differences. Wild magic has a hectic beat of a force untamed, and the other is steady. Sure. They never meld, always wary of one another. It is fascinating to— You hear a scream, a real one, and all magic stirs. The weight of it, //the other thing//, presses down, and for a split moment you see red. The endless void of the skies. The rivers of magic. The strange strings that suddenly appear, strewn all over the place in one unending web. All red. There is no beginning to it and no end. This power is absolute. Final. Something stands in the middle of it, some//one//. You press ahead in your thoughts, trying to peek at the figure, but— Then another rupture comes, and you know to disengage. The second one comes quickly after, and you catch its ripples. You breathe, unsure if you are drawing anything into your lungs. Only the cold ground at your feet reminds you where you are as the shapes around you are coming together. Their colors are dark and dull, with the glow of the moon to lend them edges. For the first time since you set foot into these parts, it is dead quiet. <<NextPage "huntsnipe4stay2a2">>

You stagger to your feet, trying to tame your breath. The scream was...Darla. Then three loud bursts of Arthur's power you sensed from this far. You drag your feet toward the earlier commotion, following your vague memories. Just like your magic at the start, action kicks you awake and ready for when your companions inevitably find you. <<include huntsnipe4stay3>>

You pull your legs under you, searching for ease and calm. With magic astir after slinking so far back it needed rattling, you feel restless yourself. Long breaths. You glare at the moon, the culprit or the insignificant coincidence, and you can almost imagine being elsewhere. But a sudden wave of unease hits you, worry creeping down your spine. You try to peer into the darkness, but only sense its debilitating echoes. Could it be another hound? You slowly rise to your feet. Then comes a pained scream, and your eyes widen. Against the deathly quiet threat of the hounds, it feels human. It is. Darla. Something stirs—you cannot place it—and then come two waves of waves of alarm, one after the other. You stop, realizing you were walking somewhere, and that is perhaps not the best idea. You listen to what your senses are telling you, but the toll of danger does not repeat. For the first time since you set foot into these parts, it is dead quiet. <<NextPage "huntsnipe4stay2b2">>

You move in small circles at first, from one mound to another, but nothing comes. The weight you felt before has vanished like the hound you have gotten rid of. Could it be a sign? You felt the presence of the hounds, but this might be what their absence looks like. Fog-clad skeletons of the trees, illuminated by pale moonlight, and the sounds of fast approaching steps. You stagger toward them, embracing the inevitable. Just like your magic at the start, action kicks you awake and ready for when your companions inevitably find you. <<include huntsnipe4stay3>>

Darla and Gale are first. Arthur is just a shadow in the back, a slower shadow that needs trees against which to steady itself. A quick look at the guard discovers no bleeding—but that is not how the hounds inflict suffering. "Where—" Arthur starts, but you interrupt him. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I rush to Darla. "Are you well?"|huntsnipe4stay3a][modFriendship("dar", 2)]]</li> <li>[["I banished one." Then I turn to Gale. "You can even feel it, can't you?"|huntsnipe4stay3b][]]</li> <li>[['"Is it over?"'|huntsnipe4stay3c][]]</li> </ul></div>

She stills, looking at you cautiously. Her hair is dishevelled, dirt and dust smear the protruding parts of her armor. It feels as though she slips for a glimmer of a moment and then comes back instantly like a lantern swinging in the wind. "Yes," she mutters. At least she can walk, the ability she uses to take a step away from you to wrestle with her hair. "Where were //you//?" Arthur asks brusquely. "Trying not to be drained of life essence," you retort. "I had to have handled the fog hound, or we wouldn't be standing here, talking so leisurely, would we?" The you address Gale. "What happened?" <<include huntsnipe4stay4>>

"Everyone can," Darla replies stiffly as Gale nods. "Does that mean they are all gone?" you ask. "What happened to the other three?" <<include huntsnipe4stay4>>

"There should be—" he narrows his eyes, pausing to look you over from head to toe. "One more. Unless you have found it." You sigh a heavy breath of relief. "That means the other three... What happened to them?" <<include huntsnipe4stay4>>

"Same thing that always does. A human being steps into their domain, and they chase the trespassers until either side is dealt with." You glance at Darla. Her expression is unhappy at the recollection, but each moment of aimless standing around brings back color to her. "So the hounds are gone, but... we shall press on, right?" you ask, trying not to sound too hopeful for the opposite. "Yes," Arthur says bluntly, though his voice isn't as firm as he might have hoped. He glances at Darla, too, and sighs. "We will have a quick rest and then press on. Use it well." <<NextPage "huntbreak1">>

The buzz of awakened magic in your veins urges you. You stumble through the dell: you've made it far with the fog hound on your heels, luring it away from the others without intending it. The very air is agitated, as if you are walking back into a trap under the watchful eye of a hidden entity. A sudden rupture makes you trip up. It is a burst in the flow of magics around you, like hanging onto a rope and feeling it snap. If anything can disrupt magic like this, it better be Arthur—and it is almost unbelievable that you are thrust into a situation where you would hope for it. Still, you press on until there is a flicker of shadows ahead, and you hasten after it. It is Darla, being chased by a hound. She slides, almost spins, into your view, grace gone from her movements. Grace is replaced with stiff, harsh swings and steps, necessary and tired. She whips her head in your direction. "Oh, thank the stars!" she exclaims, disappearing behind a tree. A hound materializes like an ignited flint and claws at her shadow, leaving long, violent scars on the weathered bark. You'd miss its core if you haven't just seen one: from afar, it is only a glistening ruby, a trick of light. You throw out your hand, and a stream of magic follows. Everything at once goes into it: frustration, dread, exasperation... <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[and some curiosity, too.|huntsnipe4goa][$gregory +=1]]</li> <li>[[and impatience.|huntsnipe4go2][]]</li> <li>[[and worry for Darla.|huntsnipe4goc][$dar.rel.fake -=2]]</li> </ul></div>

Your first brush with wild magic, with the fabric of the world. <<include huntsnipe4go2>>

She looks worn out. You //need// to finish this. <<include huntsnipe4go2>>

But it misses. Whether because your strike was unsure, or too late, but the hound travels a few feet more, rights itself, and vanishes. Darla runs, and she is a mark that you follow, stitching between trees. She decides, responding to the loud warning bells in her ears, when you flee and when you stop, and you keep magic ready for the snap of your fingers. More movement in the corner of your eye; it is //too much// at once. Your foot snags on something, and you plummet to the ground. Your arms cushion the fall, skinning the side of your palm. Your elbow responds in kind with pain, but you pay it no heed. Up to your feet, you rush to gain what you have lost in strides and frantically search for Darla. The other commotion, shapes whipping in the pockets of light in the distance, is Arthur, you realize. For him to move this fast, a hound must be after him as well. Are two in the same area a part of their plan, or should you be luring one away? And where is the third: gone in a burst of hunter power, or still on the prowl? You catch a sight of Darla and swerve in her direction. She slips on the ground, clawing into it to anchor herself and roll onto her stomach as the hound skids by. Just then, off to your right, Arthur rushes into view, staggering as he notices you, and throws himself behind a tree, causing another hound to appear in a ball of smoke hungry for prey. You are spoiled for choice indeed. It doesn't even matter which one you go for, does it? <<set $temp.help_a to false>> <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[No switching targets. I help Darla.|huntsnipe4go2d][modFriendship("dar", 2)]]</li> <li>[[The temptation to run circles around Arthur is too much. I am stealing his kill.|huntsnipe4go2a][]]</li> <li>[[I don't think Arthur is supposed to be shepherding a hound at all. I'm helping him.|huntsnipe4go2a][$temp.help_a to true; modFriendship("art", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

The hound moves away from you, lined up as perfectly as it gets. It is dark, and blood thumps in your ears. Magic slips from your fingers, itching to be released. A burst of power shoots through the air, passing Darla closely and kicking up her hair. The hound stops, flexing its pretend muscle. Missed, then. It turns its head to survey its prey that is prone on the ground—scrambling to her feet already—and quickly locks gazes with you. You have no patience for it. The second strike lashes out without a spare thought, angry energy amassed. You wait with bated breath, watch as it pierces the throbbing core of the hound. The creature does receive an opportunity to comprehend what happened to it: it disappears like smoke blown away by a gust of wind, traces of it there one moment and gone the next. Darla races away from you like it is a curious and harmless habit of hers to get up and flee for her life, but covers no more than a dozen yards before she notices that no one is giving chase. She slowly stops. "It's—" you start, only to have your breath stolen by another rupture. Up close, you feel it down to your bones. It is a wave of devouring, milling emptiness that ought to be paralyzing, which you cannot tell for sure because you aren't moving. The other hound is shattered in its wake, whatever presence you felt of it erased like it was never there. Arthur breathes heavily, leaning against a tree for support. You stand too far from one another to read expressions or even to exchange tired words, so for a while, nobody speaks. There is no urgency in it, no need to be elsewhere. Must be it then. A seed of cautious relief sprouts as you look around. The only movement you spot is slow, Darla and Arthur ambling toward one another. Even the strange, slippery change about the magic in the area ebbs away, leaving behind only the habitual unease of being in a cold, lifeless forest in the middle of the night. "Where is Gale?" you ask them, voice still short of breath. "He cannot be far," Arthur replies. His confidence is reassuring, even if it raises a brow. But he turns out to be right. Gale walks out to you when Darla is already taking care of her dishevelled look, wiping away grime and blood, and Arthur is gulping the water as though he has something foul in his mouth. The mage prince looks...his usual self aside from a few scruffs. Perhaps you wouldn't be able to piece together the events which transpired in your absence, but it doesn't matter when Arthur contentedly declares the hounds defeated. It is a relief, but there is no joy to share knowing what lies ahead, and everyone seems to be of the same mind. "Good," he says anyway, grim. "Let us take a short rest before we continue." <<NextPage "huntbreak1">>

This hound is no different than the others, you simply need to apply enough power. Your focus shifts like a notch in some mechanism, and magic rushes out of you with unexpected vigor. It sizzles through the air toward the hound—just as another rupture steals your breath. This close, you feel it down to your bones: flicker of helplessness, sheer //inability//, your magic severed and hidden between a dozen of enormous locks. Two things collide: your strike and Arthur's power come together at one and the same time, two waves clashing. The reverberation sweeps back at you, sending your mind into a freefall and leaving silence where your magic should respond. You gape, searching for a bearing, and only in the aftermath, you hear an echo of your magic responding. Both attacks were lined up perfectly. But the hound is still here. "What are you doing?!" Arthur exclaims, eyes wide. <<if $temp.help_a>>\ "I'm helping you!" you snap at him. The hound does not care to wait for you to settle this. It raises its head, locking onto Arthur. "Help Darla," he replies tensely and takes off right before the hound disappears. Darla is already on the move. The two split, and you trail after her and her invisible pursuer. <<else>>\ "Your job, clearly," you snap at him. "Are you mad?!" He glances sidelong, fingers twitching. "Get out of my way." The hound does not permit him to drag out the demand. He takes off right before it disappears, continuing the chase. Running //after// him is a significantly less dignified pursuit, so you scowl and race toward Darla. <</if>>\ Each maneuver is slower than the last. Both you and she are losing strength the longer this continues, but the hound remains as agile as the moment it appeared. Your next attack— Darla makes a sharp turn to her right, stumbling only and righting herself to remain on her feet, but the hound wheezes past her and lands on its side as if kicked. All the frustration in you feeds the magic. It reaches //from// you first and foremost, tired and vexed power. <<NextPage "huntsnipe4go2a2">>

Another rupture comes, and another echo of it travels in the current of magic. In its wake, you fail to notice as the fog hound dissolves into nothing, its core crushed by the onslaught of Reach. But Darla does. She sighs in unadulterated relief, her entire body sagging without the missing weight of danger. You listen in before you allow yourself the same. How many hounds remain? You do not have the strength to chase another one, not right away. But it feels eerily calm; even the strange slippery change about the magic in the area ebbs away, leaving behind only the habitual unease of being in a cold, lifeless forest in the middle of the night. "Huh?" you sputter, realizing that just now, Darla has addressed you. She pouts, momentarily flustered. "I said, thank you." Then she steps back as if she just spoke something that ought to embarrass her. You stumble upon the others like you are fish pulled in the same net: you and Darla coming from one direction, Gale from another, and there is a third one for Arthur. The hunter, casting a long look upon the rest of you, declares the hounds defeated, but there is no joy to share knowing what lies ahead still. "Good," he says anyway, grim. "Let us take a short rest before we continue." <<NextPage "huntbreak1">>

In the time of respite, you allow yourself to feel. Your leathers are scraped and dirty: a long white trail along your right forearm, and underneath the skin is hot and throbbing; scrapes below the hem of your tunic, jerked free in the chaos; broken skin on three of your fingers. Whichever kind of predators they are, they surely wear out their prey until the bitter end. Only Arthur is spending this precious time on his feet, pacing like he is deep in thought. Listening for dangers, perhaps. Gale took Darla to the side to look over her injuries, but for the most part, they are only muttering between themselves and not doing anything magical or restorative. You pull out the waterskin. There is no bleeding anymore, but pools of dull ache that will make you regret everything in the morning. You wash whatever you can with water, preferring a quick sting to future swelling, redness, and pus. The rest of it goes down your throat, a chilling drink you enjoy as if it were the finest wine. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[The hounds were nothing. It is the unknown ahead that worries me.|huntbreak1a][]]</li> <li>[[I quietly thank Jax for never having me run into the hounds. I wouldn't want to encounter one on my own.|huntbreak1b][modAffinity("y", 2)]]</li> <li>[[It is just like humans to scorn something they do not understand. I find the way wild magic intertwines with nature fascinating.|huntbreak1c][$gregory +=1]]</li> </ul></div>

For an infamous threat that plagues the forgotten corners of the continent and keeps any faint-hearted explorers away, wild magic spillages seemed rather tame. The magic at your disposal is a direct threat to the fog hounds which manifests to stake the claim to the land, so what exactly do //you// have to fear from them, other than running yourself ragged if your aim is less than perfect? It is a well-documented part of life, even non-mages—such as the man Gale quoted before—have written about it. But as for the next step, no one has a faintest clue, including the people who have been observing this place for years. And that is the truly concerning part. <<NextPage "huntsearch1">>

Despite your triumph, there is still one indisputable fact: a fair share of luck was involved in it. Wild magic spillages are infamous precisely because they are no traveling troupes that send a runner in advance to announce their arrival. Fog hounds are what happens to one should they risk crossing wilderness, combing the rarely trodden paths. There is no fanfare, no picking the companions to handle them, no patterns, maps, or observations. You wouldn't want to repeat this any time soon, lest you find out that broken skin and bruises are far from the worst that can happen to the one attempting. But what lies ahead might be even worse. <<NextPage "huntsearch1">>

If only you had more time, or could decide on the date and the time you perform this outing, carry tools to make notes, and have a choice of retreating and not engaging at all, it would have been a different experience entirely. It'd be illuminating. Not in the dry way a non-mage described it—what was the name, //Wildest of Magics//?—but filled with senses, connections formed. If only you had the time. <<NextPage "huntsearch1">>

Arthur's drawing and the memory of the map is carved into your eyelids simply because throughout the evening spent with Jayna, there was nothing else interesting to look at, take you deeper into the shadows, into the coldness of the reigning night. Without the hounds to expect, Gale draws out a lantern. Its light brings more joy than you would ever be willing to admit. It is reminiscent of hearths and warm meals, and the easy, inviting air of a room. Next to the lantern, Darla looks all the more content with serving her duty of hovering at the mage prince's side. The light helps you, too, if only to see that from here onward, you wouldn't have even needed a map. The touch of wild magic starts with hints: blackened spots on bark that look like marks left by someone swinging their torch carelessly, but as you make headway, vagueness is gone. You notice branches that are spun on their axis, old leaves in their decay drip something thick and slow like tar, dark thorns growing from the ground and reaching up to your knees. The dregs of color are sucked away, making it feel like you are wading into darkness. Nowhere is like this, and that is how you know you are on the right track. Soon, you pass another scene of Jayna's stories: a sharp drop on your left, where uprooted trees have cleared the path down the slope. With the hounds taken care of, there is no reason for this place to become anything else other than a fleeting sight, but you cannot help but wonder how you would have fared //here//. Just a thought, though, nothing more. But the deeper you go, the less it changes. Same trees are wound in the same shapes, dead leaves and brumbly underbrush lie at your feet. Even constantly being on your guard becomes a slog. Slowly, your mind starts to wander, conjure images of places far away from here. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[Something comforting. Sitting on Mort's cot as I help him with his stock.|hauntedforest1][]]</li> <li>[['Something exciting. How I feel each time standing before ' + $q.king + ' ' + $q.name + '\'s door.'|hauntedforest1][modFriendship("q", 2)]]</li> <li>[[Something simple. The safety of my room, the gentle air in the Tower library.|hauntedforest1][modPlayer("oldnew", -2)]]</li> <li>[[Something puzzling, in the past, yet in the future. How I discover who I am.|hauntedforest1][modPlayer("oldnew", -2)]]</li> </ul></div>

Only your steps remain sure. Everything else slips from under you, melts into the darkness that hugs the light of the lantern. You walk for a long time. Your mind drifts and drifts, and drifts. <<if $ch2.hound_magic>>\ And it makes a full circle, turning inward. You still have not shaken the feeling that something is different in a way that is distracting. As if your tunic is put on the other way, as if your name is slightly mispronounced. Is this what magic is supposed to feel like? And would you have thought that it was ready at your call all this time? What would have happened to you if it hadn't? "Gale?" you call out, voice strange and distant. "Where is magic...stored?" As he turns, most of the light from the lantern descends upon Darla. She grimaces and sidesteps, but she looks reluctant to miss his answer. "Stored?" His brows rise. You glance at Arthur, who is ahead and disinterested. "Where does it come from? Is it always with you?" He nearly trips in trying to glean something from your expression, but rights himself in time. "What did it feel like?" he asks. "As though"—memory grips you—"it came //through// me." Gale tucks his chin, your response pulled to pieces, and then quickly checks on the hunter matching ahead. "In book one is discouraged to take at face value," he says with a hint of a smile, and Darla scoffs, "a scribe attempts to record his experience with magic from young years and well into his old age. When he first came into it, he writes, he felt it a foreign urge, a task given to him by a higher entity. He possessed a remarkable sense of introspection, I would say. But as he was growing up, magic began to feel innate. Another faculty, a wiser part of him. He theorized that rather than of merging, this was a story of acceptance." You, too, look at Arthur. Though he doesn't strive to make himself appear a part of the conversation, he tethers on the edge of the light. He lifts his foot to step over a bramble thicket. "So what you are saying is that he—" <<else>>\ And it makes a full circle, turning inward. \ <<if $ch2.hound_bite>>\ To the parts of you still feeling raw and unhealed, a strange sense of having been pushed past your limit and then thrust back. You still brightly remember the rush of pain and the abrupt relief from it, the bulging red eyes, and the red of //you//, held back by magic. <<else>>\ The hounds are slain for however long they cease to be a problem, but something still feels wrong. The sense of emptiness is one thing, but beneath it, like a low rumble deep underground, there is a feeling more sinister. <</if>>\ "Gale?" you call out, focus shifting with effort. "That structure you mentioned before. Do you still feel it?" As he turns, most of the light from the lantern descends upon Darla. She grimaces and sidesteps, but she looks reluctant to miss his answer. "Yes," he says. Banishing the hounds didn't help it then. "What would be the cause of it. A guess?" You cannot prepare for what is to come. Beyond the hounds, everything is a speculation, and even this is merely a distraction. If you don't know in what way to steel yourself, you might as well gather ideas from around you. "Wild magic has no design," Gale says. "At least, not that we know of. It is a power spilling into the world, and if there is a plan, we haven't come close to figuring it out. But this has...a rhythm. Not a design, but //almost//." Darla doesn't look consoled by his explanation. She glances at him grimly, then shifts to the path ahead, cleared for you by Arthur. Though he doesn't strive to make himself appear a part of the conversation, he tethers on the edge of the light. He lifts his foot to step over a bramble thicket. "So, are you saying that any design to it is—" <</if>>\ You are spun, breathless and dazed, all at once. <<NextPage "hauntedforest2">>

Places shift past your eyes in a dizzying dance that knocks you off your feet: an arid plain with cracked and dusty soil, a suffocating forest of thick vines and bristly trunks with fanned leaves, a tip of a mountain cast in snow that precariously slips under your feet, a bubbling creek with muddy water, pitch black darkness preserved in thick and warm air— Lifeless, abandoned places, each pulls you and hurls you into the next one, round and round, and your head spins with them. Through the veil of wetness in your eyes, you see figures, knocked off-balance like you are. One has crumbled, hands over its head. Pain, you think. You feel that if you move, make a smallest step, you will fall out of the world entirely. Disappear as it wheels forward without you, and nothing would change for those barreling along. For a moment, there is no ground beneath you at all—an impossible sight for a human, but then you are elsewhere again. It pushes you down. Pins you to the ground like you were a leaf pressed between pages. So you take that step—and wince as nausea revolts in your chest. Each movement is a sharp, frightening drop. Still, gritting your teeth, you take another step. You are set askew, and when voices sizzle on the outskirts of your mind, they take you by surprise. But you recognize them, and the figures they belong to. "What are you doing?" Darla calls out, pained. She has clawed her way to Gale. "It's...there." You know whatever hates your presence so, must lie ahead. But words are lost in the blur. If you even said them, you don't know. "Don't," Arthur struggles to say. He struggles to move, too. "It isn't—" The rest is swallowed by the visions, but it must have been a protest, his habitual disposition. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Stay here, I will finish this."'|hauntedforest2a][modAffinity("player", -2)]]</li> <li>[['"Just bloody trust me on this!"'|hauntedforest2a][]]</li> <li>[[I do not trust myself to speak. I put one foot ahead of the other.|hauntedforest2a][]]</li> <li>[[What they say, does not matter. I must press on.|hauntedforest2a][]]</li> </ul></div>

If he says something more, or if someone else does, you no longer hear. Your body trudges forward by sheer habit. Your head swims, seeing the world in only dark, flat shapes as they dance from left to right and back, swaying on top of some mystifying waves. You feel like an intruder, a presence so unwelcome that the world might just gobble you up to spit you out a moment later. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I am so angry at this...whatever it is. I want to trample it under my feet.|hauntedforest3][]]</li> <li>[[It is my chance to convince these fools to work with me. I cannot squander it.|hauntedforest3][$art.rel.fake +=2; $dar.rel.fake +=2; $gale.rel.fake +=2;]]</li> <li>[[I'm terrified. Can't even name what keeps me going.|hauntedforest3][modAffinity("player", 1)]]</li> <li>[[No more moon curses. This ends tonight, by my hand.|hauntedforest3][]]</li> </ul></div>

It feels like you are walking between planes, never knowing what comes next. //"..ngel..e?"// Wind howls, and you force down the images of the hounds and their empty eyes, their impossibly sharp teeth, their quiet yet deadly manner. You shouldn't have pressed on your own. You shouldn't have. There is no telling what comes with each new step, and no matter how you pace yourself, it feels as if you might fall. //"Ev...ine?"// There must be something. An end. Something isn't quiet, and until you do something about it, you will not be able to leave. And you need to leave. Step by step, wiping sweat off your brow with the back of your hand. //"Evangeline?"// Perhaps. It is colder here, darker, and the shapes stop swaying when your hand finds purchase: coarse under your fingers, and solid. Firm and straight, you rest your head against it for only a moment—maybe longer—and will yourself forward. One step, two. The cold is pleasant. Then—wet. And finally, you ''plummet''. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I am not, this is some kind of a trick. I relax.|hauntedforest3a][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> \<<if $p.mind.magic <= 1>><li>[[In panic, I grasp for magic to slow down my fall.|hauntedforest3b][$p.spell_ctr +=1]]</li><</if>> <li>[[I try to grab at anything that I can reach.|hauntedforest3c][]]</li> <li>[[Terrified, I scream.|hauntedforest3d][]]</li> </ul></div>

For a moment, you are weightless. It is surprising, a little thrilling even. A spark of clarity. The //fall// is quick, painless. <<NextPage "magisterfall">>

Your focus shrinks to a point somewhere right above the ground, and then surges upward from it, all the way to the rim of the hole you've fallen through. As it surges up, it crosses your body. It is a matter of a moment, a frightening, desperate one. You never practiced, not in a way that mattered. Your fall slows ever so slightly. <<NextPage "magisterfall">>

There's barely a moment, with you lashing out, body spinning, your sight wet, and your fingers almost sinking into something, before you slip into soft fog. There is nothing in your hold. Nothing at all. <<NextPage "magisterfall">>

A short moment of blood-stilling fear with your eyes snapped shut and your own voice cutting through your hearing—before you slip into soft fog. <<NextPage "magisterfall">>

Like plunging into cold water and discovering you can breathe there. But you are trapped. <<NextPage "magister1">>

You struggle to move as little as your fingers. //"No."// So you try to move more, as some part of you has not lost the strength to fight. Before you, something is unravelling, shaking itself awake. Its pull is strong, and it takes everything out of you to remember how to even breathe. There is wetness under your fingers, but is it real? A wave of cold travels over your skin. You aren't alone. You understand little, but you understand //that//. Something has been speaking to you, hasn't it? //"You."// Indeed. It creeps upon your senses, consuming one at a time like they were a meal. "You...are a song. A leash. Familiar." Every word comes to you against your will. But there is no mistake, it speaks to you. It trembles with certainty. "You have their mark on you. You make things...so clear. Come," the voice booms. First, a caress on your neck, and then a ghostly grip around your throat. The voice drops to a whisper and rings from right above your ear. "//Listen.//" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[And I do.|magister2][modAffinity("player", -2)]]</li> <li>[["No!"|magister1a][modAffinity("player", 2)]]</li> <<if $p.mind.magic <2>><li>[[Magic surges in me, and I lash out against it. Against him.|magister1b][modPlayer("magic", 2); $p.spell_ctr +=1; modAffinity("player", 2)]]</li><</if>> </ul></div>

The sound of his voice tries to flow into your ears—a stream of words that feel wrong—and you shout against it. Your voice is even louder than his, forceful. "Little Evangeline was quiet and—" "Quiet!" you explode. But the sound comes again. "Little Evangeline—" "No!" you protest, but to no avail. "Little Evangeline was quiet—" You fling protests, curses, a line from a song, over and over again, drowning out the rest of it until your mind is hoarse, until you are sick of coming up with ideas. But in the moment of respite— "Little Evangeline was—" You scream at it to stop. It waits, and then begins again. "Little Evangeline was quiet and loved—" And you don't want to hear the rest of it, so you drown it in a current of chopped //'no'//s. Silence lasts for as long as you do. After, the voice starts again. "Little Evangeline was quiet—" It has all the time in the world, doesn't it? But do you? Time might be standing still, or it could be racing by you, and you would be none the wiser. The latter perspective is...terrifying. Where //did// you land, and what would happen to you if nobody finds you? You resist for a moment, stubborn as the voice itself, and then you suddenly stop. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"What did little Evangeline love?"'|magister2][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I just stop. That is it.|magister2][]]</li> <li>[['"Say your piece. But know this: I will destroy you."'|magister2][modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[[I hate this voice, I hate its grip on me. I hate that I have to listen to it.|magister2][]]</li> </ul></div>

It listens. You are alive with power, its rush in your veins, and then it expels. You are blinded—but alone. The fragments of his words fall apart around you, and your magic comes off you in fading waves. It is quiet, but... why can't you see? Why can't you move still? Magic comes back, wrapping itself around you protectively. This voice must be cunning, waiting for you to drop your defences. You do not bother to refine the next strike and the ones after that: you exude magic in every direction, rough and volatile, bursting out blindly. Yet nothing changes. On top of a hectic breath, you freeze. Perhaps, like a creature in the grasp of a larger predator, you should bide your time and seek an opportunity to escape instead. Although tense, your thoughts become quieter, longer. And the voice comes back, in the same cadence as if you haven't done a thing to protest it. <<include magister2>>

\<<silently>> <<set $ch2.vision_cave to false>> <<if (($p.mind.magic < 1) and ($q.rel.fr > 50))>> <<set $ch2.vision_cave to true>> <</if>> <</silently>>\ "Good," it says. Something akin to a thrill singes in the air. A quick flicker. "Little Evangeline was quiet and loved stories. She would braid her hair as she listened to them, imagining frightened hares, dark seas, billowing banners, and intrepid adventurers. She wouldn't accept the same story twice, and she remembered them all: the heroes and their feats, and the lessons, and all the joy that happened after. She loved them, for every story stole her breath, kept her on the edge of her seat. She would exhaust herself in the throes of her vivid daydreaming. Each step in the imaginary travel boots, or holding onto the ledge by merely her fingertips, or outwitting an old beast with riddles and clever answers. Stories helped her. They helped her //sleep//. "Little Evangeline did not sleep well. The pains in her head tormented her, but she never raised her voice, and she rarely cried. At night, kept awake with head-splitting pain, she would sit on her pillows and stare at the skies. High up in the Tower, we lived, close to the stars and the moon." The image of it comes to you vividly: two white claws, upon which violet clouds snag. A smirk stuck high above you, threatening. On a clear night, you could see it from the Tower unobstructed. "She played as I worked, absorbed with her dolls and fantasies," the voice continued. "But at night, she would only stare into the window. I do not know what she saw. Why the moon kept her company. I would find her kneeling among my books, with her small hands pressed against the window. She would be quiet, basking in the moonlight. "I wasn't always around. My Gift made me feel free when I was young, then made me feel powerful when I was older. It put me in the Tower, and the Tower gave me everything I wanted. I was free and made others free, but the mages of Spirit...could not help us. Were they weak, I wondered? Did we permit ineptitude among our ranks, let pathetic, single-minded creatures slip into them? I despaired. I sought. And never once did he offer me help. I was needed to make a //grand entrance//, but where was ''MY DUE''?!" You are so tense, you could break. His anger crests, a suffocating, crushing onslaught, and then just as abruptly, it wanes. <<NextPage "magister3">>

"Did he not understand my urgency? I stared at the moon with precious Evangeline in my lap and asked that of myself. I had only her, but he had two. Twice the urgency, I thought. He should have understood. But he never looked up, not at the moon, and not at them. "An unloved child. An unloved child. Neither was loved, but only one was discarded." The voice croaks a laugh. "The might of the Fourth, its raw, undivided power, is the largest gem in the coronet, so you would need nothing else. We were practical minds; only such made it in the Tower. He never helped me, and then he died." You go still as his words wash over you. Whose torment is this to be whispering of the Tower to you? "The last time I held her," it whispers, "I was looking at the moon, and Evangeline shed her quiet tears. I would see her again, I thought, but perhaps would never solve this riddle. The moon looked the same in the Tower, and in the city carved of stone, and on the battered road, and in the maddening, endless forest. "What"—the cold grasp crushes your throat—"did she see? Can she sleep now, my sweet little Evangeline?" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["She can," I lie.|magister2a][modPlayer("crafty", 3)]]</li> <li>[['"How should I know? Let me go!"'|magister2b][modPlayer("crafty", -2);]]</li> <li>[['"I do not think anything changed. If the mages of Spirit could not help her, who else could?"'|magister2c][modPlayer("crafty", -1);]]</li> <li>[['"You should have stayed with her to find out."'|magister2d][modPlayer("crafty", 1);]]</li> <li>[['"She saw nothing! A sick child was simply looking out the window, you delirious fool!"'|magister2b][]]</li> </ul></div>

Your lie is met with silence at first. Apprehension ripples through you: you have never met an Evangeline, and not in the Tower, of all places. If this presence could sense your thoughts and comb through your memories, it would know your words for what they are. "Sleep?.." it speaks after a while. It is starved for relief and is willing to swallow sweet lies. The voice is meek and at your mercy, save for the grip it has on you. It is the realm of wild magic, after all. Things are twisted and bent out of shape, power included. "She dreams of all those stories," you say. "The revelries and adventures entertain her as she sleeps soundly." Something sweeps across your face, a kind of freshness that startles you. The cold touch slowly fades. "Sleep. Yes, sleep," the voice murmurs. You can almost peel your eyes open. Can almost break free. "Sleep well, my sweet Evangeline." The last of its presence feels close to gentle, a silken mantle of longing and bitterness that slides off and leaves you lucid. What you feel is tinged with the echoes of the last emotion you glean from the voice. Relief. <<if $ch2.vision_cave>>\ His grip comes undone, knot by knot, and without the tendrils of his anguish to keep you in place, you continue your fall. <<NextPage "downunder1">> <<else>>\ His grip comes undone, knot by knot, enough for you to open your eyes. <<NextPage "magistercleanup">> <</if>>\

Cold rushes to your temples, and something slams against your thoughts. "You have the mark," the voice hisses into your ear. "You step in here bearing the mark, and you //lie//." It is not a mere chill then: you grit your teeth, struggling in its vicious grip, the slithering of pain into your head. "Does she sleep?!" it roars into one ear, and it repeats in the back of your mind. There is nothing to grip. Your body slips away: a shell that is going to crack, and you're its soft, pliant middle. You should think of the Tower and the sleepless nights. //No.// Between your fingers—yes, fingers—there is something soft, and wet, and nasty. Thumb to index, phalanx to phalanx, you rub and anchor yourself. "You will speak," the voice hisses. "It is in there." The forest, you recall. You've made your way here on two feet, stared at the empty-eyed beasts, and survived them. Then you fell, and something in your body still remembers it. You must break free. But can you? <<NextPage "magisteranger">>

There is a long moment of quiet, making you wonder if it has by any chance lost interest all of a sudden. Its touch is pensive and empty, keeping you tethered and afloat nearby. "The moon," it mutters then, unsure. "She always knew." Its cruel grin above as you waded through the forest. Feels like it happened a month ago, in a body so different than yours. That one wasn't so sluggish and reluctant when you needed it to move at the snap of a thought. "Evangeline knew...where the answer was." Your response passes by unnoticed. But you do not get to complain, because something changes. "If I watch, I will find out. If I watch, I will know. I must watch. For her." <<if $ch2.vision_cave>>\ Its grip on you chips in guilt, so pervasive. You are discarded, a book that contains no answers. Layers of frost peel off you, and without them, you continue your fall. <<NextPage "downunder1">> <<else>>\ Its grip on you chips in guilt, so pervasive. Layers of frost peel off you until you feel as though you should look around. As though you //can//. You are a thing that has lost his interest. Guilt has always held a stronger allure for the souls. Little by little, faint light seeps between your eyelids. The voice mutters something, but you struggle to hear it. You know what it is about, though. You awake. <<NextPage "magistercleanup">> <</if>>\

A scream rips through your ears. Anger is hot in your mind, frustration slick, and ache devouring. They clash into you with no other place to go, but after them comes silence. You feel like a guard, confined to a spot by the weight of a higher authority and exposed to the turmoil that is not your own. All you can do is exist next to it, and not move a muscle. But you should. "The moon," it mutters weakly, like the idea is new and intriguing. "She always knew." Its presence is like waves: frothing anger, then cold withdrawal. But it pulls you in, centered on the voice. "Evangeline knew...where the answer was." Excited now, sweeping you in it against your will. "If I watch, I will find out. If I watch...I will know. And //you// will watch with me." You are in the palm of its invisible hand, fingers closing upon you. The final awake parts of you scramble for a solution. The village. The forest. You've made your way here on two feet, stared at the empty-eyed beasts and survived them. Then you fell, and something in your body still remembers it. You must break free. But can you? <<NextPage "magisteranger">>

<<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ The voice fills everything around you, swelling and indignant. So you fight back in the only way left. Unwittingly. Unbound. You claw at your magic, commanding it to you. It envelops you like a storm, a wild, ruthless cover of frantic power. The voice—he—does not relent. You are flooded with the images of more unfamiliar places, each as good as real, each chipping at the memory of the village on the hills before Winter's End. You are //so// sick of it. Bracing yourself, you cease resisting and let all of it in. You step into every single place at once. Your magic spreads in each, roiling and untamed, a wild torrent badgering the thread until it simply snaps. Echoes of horror reach you, his. The worlds are yours now. Their master. //You//. Enormous and drunk, your power leaves no place for his. It fades, something does; but you soar so high that it matters little. You gaze around lazily. In the flames of your power, you notice a small, hunched figure. Kneeling, head to the very ground, it is twisted and half-eaten, darkened corruption bursting from its bone through charred pieces of skin. It doesn't move, slowly yielding to the fire. //Weak//, you think, and those are all the thoughts you spare the pathetic voice. You float and soar—and then you burn. <<if $ch2.vision_cave>>\ <<NextPage "downunder1">> <<else>>\ It feels like nothing, which is almost like rest. So for a while, you drift, weightless, in darkness. When you open your eyes, everything is veiled and washed out, and you are too drained to even move your fingers. But you are no longer falling. No longer in someone's grasp but that of your own fatigue. <<NextPage "magistercleanup">> <</if>>\ <<else>>\ Gripping onto bits and pieces, as if you are a suit of armor that needs to be put together, you pull, pressing past the demands pouring into your ears. The voice fills everything around you, swelling and indignant. Helplessness frightens you, and you hold on with everything that you have. The voice is scorn and demand. You are flooded with the images of more unfamiliar places, each as good as real, each chipping at the memory of the village on the hills before Winter's End. They spin, and you can hardly catch a breath. They suffocate you. Until something surges, a wind within you. It presses against the demands, and you latch onto it unwittingly. The force envelops you, drowning out the voice—and then it boils over. <div class="magictxt">Unbound.</div> You are large and mighty, and you cease resisting, letting all of it in. You step into every single place at once. The multitude of you feels every corner and crevice, power spilling like water, until something simply //snaps//. Echoes of horror reach you, his. The worlds are yours now. Their master. //You//. Enormous and drunk, your power leaves no place for his. It fades, something does; but you soar so high that it matters little. You gaze around lazily. In the flames of your power, you notice a small, hunched figure. Kneeling, head to the very ground, it is twisted and half-eaten, darkened corruption bursting from its bone through charred pieces of skin. It doesn't move, slowly yielding to the fire. //Weak//, you think, and those are all the thoughts you spare the pathetic voice. You float and soar—and then you burn. <<NextPage "magisterexhaustion">> <</if>>\

<<set $ch2.a_medallion to true>>\ <<notify 4s secrets-notify>>Secret discovered: A Deal Is Made<</notify>>\ Shapes appear before you like ships gliding through thick fog: fluted columns with ornate pedestals that reach far above and disappear into a milky canopy. The area is broad and open, with concave walls of hastily cleaved rock, notched and scarred by some rough tools. Light bleeds from above, weak and dull, making it seem as if every surface is covered with a layer of ash. A figure stalks into view, and your attention snags at it, pulls you along. It is featureless, something simple carved out of wood, but for a moment, you see with it its eyes and trail alongside it. You are a body and a voice, stitched together, yet separate. It weaves between the columns, palm gliding on the smooth surface of them, trying to seize up their height and their sturdiness. Someone took the time to carve them, but the symbols offer no easy answers. Wreathes, leaves, and berries of stone dented and chipped. It searches for an exit, but there is no archway out of this space. It extends behind every turn, seemingly endless. Its inspection is cut short. The sight blurs, images changing in a spin. Words begin to flow into your mind in scraps, which you mend with guesses and echoes. "I believe I know what you are after," another figure speaks, its voice soft with a smile. An unexpected presence. An intruder. Or worse, a competition. You sense tension in your host as it turns slowly. You can almost guess what it is going to say next. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Well. I must say, I did not expect to find anyone else here."'|downunder2][modPlayer("oldnew", 1)]]</li> <li>[["Let me guess," it entertains with a tense laugh, "it happens to be the same thing you are after?"|downunder2][v]]</li> <li>[[It remains quiet and still, making sense of the new appearance.|downunder2][modPlayer("oldnew", 1)]]</li> <li>[[We all know how this is going to end, and so does the figure. It lashes out in an attack.|downunder2][modPlayer("oldnew", -2)]]</li> </ul></div>

The air hums, and magic spreads out from before you as the figure choses to strike. Force barrels into one of the countless columns and destroys another wreath, releasing a cloud of dust. And behind it, there is the second silhouette. It struggles to take form. Another strike comes without hesitation. The figure springs out of the way, and magic breezes past it. As the air sings again, the stranger speaks. "Reach," its voice mutters with an appreciative nod. The other figure spreads its hands, offering a view of them. In one, it has a dagger, blade poised uncomfortably between its fingers. The other is empty, relaxed. //Faceless... Distant...// You feel like you are rocking upon waves idly as the scene plays out before you. Your host points a hand at the intruder, burning with an intention to harm. Magic pours and pours, ready to slip off its fingers and strike. When it comes to blows again, there will be no missing. Everything comes to blows eventually. "I seek no fight," the other figure says. For someone at the tip of a magic spear, it appears unnervingly calm. "You must be here for the map, but your pursuit is...monetary, I suppose? Not your own ambition or curiosity." Your host is curt. "There are no words or promises that shall win you the passage ahead of me." "Do you think he knew whom he hired?" There is a brief pause. "No, of course he did not. I cannot fault you for lying: you wouldn't get this job in any other way as the man despises mages. Though isn't it ironic that for his salvation, he believes he requires magic? He'd never outright say so, of course." "He may despise anyone he wishes so long as he pays." The intruder flips the dagger as if it were a mere toy, but it is only to hide it in the depths of a cloak. "I used to believe that too, but alas, my aspirations only grew." "You want the maps." "I do." "Then you are out of luck. If you can name my magic, you know that you will not be seeing them." Its disposition, though, is not that of someone who thinks so. "I have something of a habit, a penchant if you will, for reaching an agreement with any mage that I run into, instead of... solving things the other way. Which is rather fortunate for everyone involved." The words of your host are on the tip of your tongue, like it whispers into your ear, and that is how your mind lends it a voice. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Fortunate for everyone involved... You think you can defeat me in a fight?"'|downunder3][modPlayer("oldnew", -2)]]</li> <li>[['"So you happen to come across mages this often? In a land like this?"'|downunder3][modPlayer("oldnew", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"A deal? What kind of a deal?"'|downunder3][modPlayer("oldnew", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"If they ever agree, believe me, it is only to make you quiet."'|downunder3][modPlayer("oldnew", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"What do you have to offer if you are crawling the same ruins as me?"'|downunder3][modPlayer("oldnew", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

"//Fortunate for everyone involved...//" your host drawls. "You believe you can defeat me in a fight?" The intruder sighs. "I think I can do that to anyone who crosses me." It walks around, mindful of showing its empty hands. "This will get you killed." "There is no doubt," it replies with a short, bitter laugh. "I have been fortunate enough to find people who can delay it as much as possible." "Have coin to waste, but you are out here in the dust yourself?" "I am particular." Its voice rises, smiling. A lie, you suspect. "Though not as wealthy as you might be thinking in your chivalry. Do you think only riches can buy loyalty?" "There is no loyalty to be found with me." Your host stiffens as if readying for a blow. "So would you fight me with only a dagger? Or hightail through a //door// if things do not go your arrogant way?" The figure ambles in silence, taking in the notches and the cracks as though it owns the ruin and visits yearly. <<NextPage downunder3_2>>

"By now, you must have noticed that only a mage can access the maps; this is why no one has been able to fetch them for so long, and he has become so undiscerning in recruitment. He was indeed fortunate you heard of his contract. You will do it, you will bring him the maps, and you will expect the reward which was promised. Fifty gold, I believe? A little miserly if you ask me, he can certainly do better, considering the crop yield this year. Unfortunately, though, one of his retinue has figured it out as well. So when you return, he will pretend not to know who you are long enough to be handed the maps, and might even ready a purse with exactly fifty gold coins, but he //will// either try to kill you then, or send people after you the moment you exit his estate." "...You must be a dear friend of his to have made him this forthcoming." The other figure laughs. "There is no member of gentry without a vice: it's either them, or a person close to them." Your host thinks in brief silence. "You must have a better ending for me in mind, of course." "//Of course.// I follow you and take a peek at the maps, with your dullard of a patron being none the wiser. Anything he gleans from them, we will be upon those things faster. I will arrange for the exchange between him and yourself, so that you get your due of his fifty coins." A scoff. "I would lie too, if I were in your position." "I am pleased to hear it." It feels like something is about to snap. "And would I do that? Why would I go along with what you are proposing?" "Because—" The words drown in noise, inconsequential and empty. There will be no accepting anything either way. "Do we have a deal?" A whisper comes again, a hint, a tease. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"No."'|downunderandout1][]]</li> <li>[['"I do not like you. No."'|downunderandout1][]]</li> <li>[['"I do not turn on my contract, ever. No."'|downunderandout1][]]</li> <li>[['"I can tell a charlatan even from across the room. No."'|downunderandout1][]]</li> <li>[['"You are a lot less clever than you think you are, and I do not deal with types like this. No."'|downunderandout1][]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $ch2.p_medallion to true>>\ The voice is no longer in your ear, no longer bothering with you—but not gone. A frantic sense of urgency overcomes you, nudging you into action. There is no telling if it might decide that you, after all, harbor some answers for it and try to wring you out for them. So you are //somewhere//, and you are short on time. There is a hole above you, leading all the way down here as if a giant fist has once slammed into the ground above and made this deep dent. The air here is unpleasantly rich with moisture, and it smells of... Mud. Mud, clutches of moss, and dirty water. When you try to rise, your elbows sink into something with a squelch, and when you kick your legs to gain footing, the sound repeats as though you lie in a bath of porridge. Mud is all that there is around you, really. A trap for an animal that would fail to notice a heap of leaves covering the large hole. Upon a closer look, there are traces of flat, tiled stone in the rough walls of your enclosure. A trace of human life, however long ago it was. But mud and moss hide it; they have softened your fall, too. And as you look closer, there is something else. White like milk, solid and curved. A lot of it in pieces, stretching from your left to your right. Bones. The skull, one empty eye peeking above the murky soil, does not leave you guessing. Human. <<set $temp.shriek to false>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I scurry away as fast as I can.|magistercleanup1a][]]</li> <li>[[A shriek escapes me.|magistercleanup1b][$temp.shriek to true]]</li> <li>[[My mind goes still, making sense of the scene. What could have possibly killed them?|magistercleanup1c][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

It seems as if you only sink in deeper, every inch of you sullying. There is no escape from the ivory shapes, so stark against the dark mud. You can only press yourself this far into a corner. Your eyes do not leave the hallowed remains, pale as the moonlight. This is years of decay, protected by the hounds, any soul that could ever find them chased away. Are you fortunate to finally be alone when //this// is what you find? You stare at them as if they might spring up together and form a skeleton. But they do not. They taunt you and terrify you, but they remain ivory pieces sunk in mud. One way or the other, it needs to end. It isn't over until you do something. <<NextPage "magistercleanup2">>

Your voice is shrill, fraught with fear. You are hit with nausea, unable to take your eyes off the hallowed remains. They are as pale as the moonlight, grotesque. Not gnawed, you notice, and nausea turns into an urgency. //What are you thinking? This cannot be happening.// All this talk of death and lives claimed, but it cannot be happening to //you//. No. You stare at them as if they might spring up together and form a skeleton. But they do not. They taunt you and terrify you, but they remain ivory pieces sunk in mud. One way or the other, it needs to end. It isn't over until you do something. <<NextPage "magistercleanup2">>

Maybe your fall was just dumb luck, and it is about to run out. Something killed this person. Something might kill you still. There are no tracks, at least, but as you glance around, it becomes obvious that there used to be a passage forward, now entirely collapsed. A creature mighty enough could still burst through it, you think. At least the bones are not gnawed, not visibly. But something isn't right still. You need to do something. <<NextPage "magistercleanup2">>

You slowly approach them, an impressively sturdy monument to the tragedy of this place. It could have been a fall, it could have been a fight, marking this its last resting place. But from here, one can see the sky, and eventually, the moon as well. The empty eye can. The disquiet you sense lingers here, and you carefully untangle it from your own discomfort, though it is difficult. The longer you stare at the bones, the closer the answer bubbles to the surface, and you pull it with a stubborn yank. The bones could not be anyone else's but those of the voice screaming into your ear. Whichever of them it was: wild magic harvesting the dying pieces of the man, or the mage sinking his claws into the power with his last will, it has woven this repeating nightmare. And it is up to you to break them apart. You creep closer, making sticky sounds that make your stomach twist. If what binds them together are the remains, you have the work cut out for you. But it doesn't hurt to look around. So you sink your tired, dirty hands into the mud and try not to imagine what else you might stumble upon. <<NextPage "magistercleanup3">>

Spending time around Mort, you've seen that bones are sturdy enough to break through flesh and skin, yet even they crack with swelling, paralyzing pain. He could see it too, he said, as a flicker, light breaking through a fissure. It helps you to think of them as alive, you pawing for clues the same way Mort searches for the source of hurt in a person sprawled on his cot. The soil is slick. Most of the bones have sunk under it, and undisturbed, they lie almost the way they belong. The toothy shapes of the neck, the long bows leading into arms, the tipped arc of the ribs. You see with your fingers, searching for missing pieces and trying to misplace as few parts as possible. Everything is a clue, even the position, even the pieces you assume are fabric. When your hands grasp onto something distinctly cold, you do not move at first. Its edges are sharp. It doesn't fit in a human body. Mindful of the serrated outline, you wiggle the object free. Dirt drips off it slowly. You bring it against the moonlight, because you do not trust your tired hands to tell the shape. The silver of it is dull, dented on the round rim. Mud sits tightly in its center, and you brush it with your thumb. You know it, of course, for you have one like this yourself. The medallion like the one the Gray Regent gave you. No, not quite. Where in yours the gem is missing, in this one, something lines the edges of the indentation. A sliver of what once was, its color impossible to tell under the dim light. Cracked, chipped, and most of it has fallen out. It buzzes lightly in your grip, magic and grief, or so you imagine. If it is seen, it would be like screaming that the Gray Regent caused all this. It wouldn't matter which one, because the only one left alive to take the blame is $q.king $q.name. You hear a noise above and quickly hide the medallion in the folds of your clothes. Blood thumps in your veins as you wait for what is to come, as you feel the weight of the medallion. If it is a wild animal, it wouldn't risk captivity for a chance of a meal. But the fog hounds keep them hungry, you've learned. Fortunately, the head peeking in the opening above is human. "Can you move?" Darla asks once she gets over the surprise of seeing you. <<if $temp.shriek>>"We heard a scream."<</if>> Two more heads join, Gale and Arthur. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I feel strangely relieved to have been found.|magistercleanup2a][$art.rel.fake -=2; $dar.rel.fake -=2; $gale.rel.fake -=2; modAffinity("gale", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I am paralyzed. If they turn around right now and leave me here...|magistercleanup2b][modPlayer("oldnew", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I still have not figured out what to do with the medallion. What terrible timing.|magistercleanup3_2][modAffinity("y", 2)]]</li> <li>[[Elbow-deep in mud, I must be making quite a sight.|magistercleanup2d][]]</li> </ul></div>

There was no way out of the hole for you before, and now there is. It is odd how under three disturbed gazes, with a damning mark in your pockets, you can feel so at ease. "I can move," you say, weaker than you wanted. Arthur makes a round, taking in the edges of the hole from each side. They mumble something between themselves, and he disappears, Gale's head turning after him. Then a rope unfurls, right till the bottom of the pit and then some more. Before you even think to stagger to your feet, Arthur begins his descent. It isn't that high, if you think of it. He only needs four large jumps, holding onto the rope for guidance, to reach your level. But against the slippery, muddy walls, the way back up without a rope would have been impossible. <<include magistercleanup3_2>>

The three are looking at you with disturbed and unfaltering focus, and you cannot help but conjure an image of them...disappearing. Left in silence, abandoned and exhausted. How long could you last? There is no food here, barely a day's supply of water on you. No one will put together a search party for you, a runaway. A nobody. Even if Jax rushed to your aid days later, who would tell them where to look? "I don't think $p.he can," Darla's voice rings above you. Arthur retreats, Gale's head turning after him. Perhaps not all at once. They will disappear one by one, leaving you down here with the bones and your secret. You are breathing sharply. Something unfurls, a single line in your vision. Surprised, you watch as Arthur begins his descent. In four jumps, holding onto a rope, he makes it to the bottom of the pit where you are. <<include magistercleanup3_2>>

If you ever imagined someone finding you like this, your reluctant companions were quite low on the list of people you would prefer to fill this role. There must be signs of exhaustion all over you, frayed bits sticking out, eyes half-lidded. By the void, you feel it. "I can," you muster, voice weak. You have to, there is no staying in this hole. Arthur makes a round, taking in the edges of the hole from each side. They mumble something between themselves, and he disappears, Gale's head turning after him. Then a rope unfurls, right till the bottom of the pit and then some more. Before you even think to stagger to your feet, Arthur begins his descent. It isn't that high, if you think of it. He only needs four large jumps, holding onto the rope for guidance, to reach your level. But against the slippery, muddy walls, the way back up without a rope would have been impossible. <<include magistercleanup3_2>>

His face is wrapped in shadows at the bottom of the pit, but your eyes are used to it by now, making everything clear. He squints, turns his head to size up the climb, then back to you. "What is it?" he asks. You must have been staring. It still feels like you aren't entirely free, aren't entirely //back//. "I...didn't expect you to look for me, I think." He wears surprise genuinely. "Why not?" <<if $art.callbacks.heartless>><<set $art.callbacks.heartless to false>>Then he sighs as if to cover something else. "I'm not heartless either."<</if>> But then, by chance, his gaze lands on the bones. The sight of them coaxes a loud breath out of him and gives him pause; the traces of your meddling must be puzzling to behold. "Who is it?" he asks in a choked-up voice. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[He wonders if this could be his friend. I will make him wonder a little longer.|magistercleanup3a][modPlayer("vil", 2); $art.rel.fake +=3;]]</li> <li>[['"I don\'t know, but this is who influenced wild magic, as Gale sensed before."'|magistercleanup3b][modPlayer("crafty", 1); modTrust("art", 1)]]</li> <li>[["I don't know, some freak," I spit out.|magistercleanup3b][modPlayer("crafty", -2)]]</li> <li>[['"Someone who died long, long ago."'|magistercleanup3c][modPlayer("vil", -1)]]</li> <li>[['"It isn\'t him, Arthur. I don\'t know who it is exactly, but it isn\'t Merritt."'|magistercleanup3d][modFriendship("art", 2); modPlayer("crafty", 2); modPlayer("vil", -2); modTrust("art", 1); $art.rel.fake -=2;]]</li> </ul></div>

It is a kind of torture only you are in a position to inflict. You have suffered for the knowledge he has simply rappelled for, and you will get your satisfaction one way or the other. "I don't know," you say. He doesn't move, feet on the only island of firm ground in this sludge. The ripple of emotion is quiet on his face, but you know exactly what to search for. The unmoving intensity in his eyes, breaths low and obvious. "Somebody who died a while ago," you add. No more, no less. A perfect veil of innocence. You are the one in the mud, not him. "A while..." he repeats. The margrave understands decay, you see, then, as his stupor melts and he drags his gaze to you. "What happened to you?" <<include magistercleanup4>>

He visibly relaxes, though he is reluctant to step through the pool of murky soil. "What happened to you?" he asks. <<include magistercleanup4>>

The margrave understands decay, you see, then, as his stupor melts and he drags his gaze to you. "What happened to you?" <<include magistercleanup4>>

He doesn't react until the last word. Must be strange, hearing the name from you, as though his thoughts were laid out to you so plainly. An invitation to look at you instead, which he gladly makes use of. "It's not..." Arthur says weakly. "What happened to you?" <<include magistercleanup4>>

"I was brought here, there is no better way to explain it." It is difficult not to look at the bones when you are speaking about them—//him//. "This must be fixed." He carefully places one foot into the mud, his mouth pursing in disgust, and then resigns to the rest of the trip across the sludge. "How?" he asks. As if your guesses are any better than his. But in his presence, you can think clearly. \ <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ It isn't what you needed earlier, but now, wrung out of magic, you experience only the upsides of it. <<else>>\ This must be what Jayna has spoken of. His power is wide awake and keeping whatever remains of the odd meld between the voice and wild magic restrained. <</if>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[["We have to deal with the bones." I am not certain that removing the medallion will suffice.|magistercleanup4a][]]</li> <li>[["We have to deal with the bones." A pointless errand, something to distract him.|magistercleanup4b][modAffinity("y", 1); $art.rel.fake +=2;]]</li> </ul></div>

You don't know, do you? All you have is a feeling that removing the medallion will break the foul link, but doubt gnaws at you. After what you went through to get this far, there is no measure wild or drastic enough to ensure this does not repeat. <<include magistercleanup5>>

Removing the medallion will sever the foul link, you sense as much. Whatever coils around it—within it—you will deal with on your own. But if there is no step at all where Arthur is required, he will not rest easy. He will try to pick apart your every move unless he is busy doing menial tasks. This will do. <<include magistercleanup5>>

"Deal with them?" His attention is captivated by the skull, its hollow eye gazing upward. "Do you mean we need to destroy them?" For good measure. "Yes. Away from here." Arthur should sense something, too. The hunters, you know, are attuned to magic as well, in bizarre ways sometimes, and in ways and times they will never reveal. "I see. Would you be able to climb out on your own?" he asks, already sizing up the work before him. "On my own?" "I will take care of them." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"I will help you. It is too much for one person."'|magistercleanup5a][modPlayer("ruthless", -2)]]</li> <li>[['"Make sure you do not miss the tiny ones."'|magistercleanup5b][modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[['"About time you did something."'|magistercleanup5c][modFriendship("art", -1); modPlayer("ruthless", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I shouldn't leave thim alone with the bones. "I will help you."|magistercleanup5d][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

He shakes his head. "Go up, have Gale look at you." Waiting for no argument, Arthur stands up and calls out for his companions to drop down a sack. <<include magistercleanup6>>

Arthur nods absently and stands up to call out for his companions to drop down a sack. <<include magistercleanup6>>

Not a muscle on his face twitches as though he were no longer listening. He stands up and calls out for his companions to drop down a sack. <<include magistercleanup6>>

There could be more than the medallion next to the bones. More proof of the Regency's indirect involvement. If you are helping, you might get a chance to grab it first. But he shakes his head. "Go up, have Gale look at you." Waiting for no argument, Arthur stands up and calls out for his companions to drop down a sack. If you insist, you look just as suspicious. All that remains is to hope there are no more clues, or that he is not thorough enough to find them. <<include magistercleanup6>>

Your way up is a chopped-up flow of you wedging your feet in the miraculously dry sections in the wall, and Darla and Gale pulling at the rope with you hanging off it. It is the last thing you will do tonight, you swear, but as your body doubles over the edge, breathless and burning with strain, you are reminded that a long trek back awaits. This used to be a room, with walls and floors meticulously padded with stone, but the walls are jagged, ruined teeth now barely reaching your shoulders at the tallest surviving part, and the floor boasts a large hole. You've made it to the ruin—and now you need to make your way back. Darla hands you her water without a word, and most of it goes to your face. There is no surface for you to glean the state of you, but the dark wet streaks when you attempt to clean up are rather telling. "How does it feel now?" you ask Gale. He pauses to listen, still and absent as if he is trying to hear the chords of a song strung far away, and smiles. "A lot more hectic," he tells you finally. <<NextPage "huntaftermath1">>

The answer, too, disappears into the noise. It doesn't sound like your voice, never did. All you see is a blinding light, unpleasant and imposing. It bleeds into your closed eyes, burning through the ghosts, and the figures, and the plans. You are uncomfortable, you feel as much. Your mouth moves as if to mutter something, a bubble bursting with the air you cannot contain and a sound smeared across your consciousness. "I thought so." Your eyes widen despite the pain. You cannot take another voice, any more questions. The skin of your hand aches as if ruptured and chafed, and the thrumming in your head is annoyingly loud. You are on your knees, and your hands are in your lap. Below your waist, everything feels unpleasant and soggy, and looks stained. The air here is rich with moisture, and it smells of... Mud. Mud, clutches of moss, and dirty water. You stare at Arthur, who crouched in front of you. //He shouldn't be here,// but he is, hair sleek with moisture clinging to his face, and the stare underneath the furrowed brows is studious. There is a hole above you, leading all the way down here as if a giant fist has once slammed into the ground above and made this deep dent. Darla peeks against the jagged outline of the night sky, and seeing you awake, she makes an awkward, unplanned waving gesture. "You thought what?" you grunt, feverishly trying to pick yourself together. This, at least, feels real: you wouldn't dream of him, and it hurts again. Wetness seeps to your skin from some brown muck right under you. "What did I say?" He squints, balancing his weight. "Nothing. I must have misheard." Your mouth opens to argue, but a sight behind him catches your eye. It is so surreal, you turn numb. White like milk, solid and curved pieces stick from the mud. A lot of them, stretching from your left to your right. A primal part of you refuses to admit what you are seeing, but the cold, rational one wins. Bones. The skull, one empty eye peeking above the murky soil, does not leave you guessing. Human. <<set $temp.shriek to false>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I scurry away as fast as I can.|magisterexhaustion1a][]]</li> <li>[[A shriek escapes me.|magisterexhaustion1b][]]</li> <li>[[My mind goes still, making sense of the scene. What could have possibly killed them?|magisterexhaustion1c][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

<<set $ch2.a_medallion to true>>\ You reappear as something soft and pliant. The world rumbles awake around you: wetness against your skin, moisture on your breath, putrid smell around your top lip. You wince into the light that pushes your exhaustion away, peels you, and exposes you to the elements. Your vision is riddled with floating white lights, but even through them, you recognize that you are not alone. <<if $ch2.evening is "a">>"Arthur?<<else>>"You?<</if>> How?" //He shouldn't be here,// but he is, hair sleek with moisture clinging to his face, and the stare underneath the furrowed brows is studious. "With the help of a rope," he says, and you remember falling. Your head rolls, and the movement makes you unsteady; it is his hand on your shoulder that keeps you upright. "I do not recommend lying down here." You are on your knees, and your hands are in your lap. Below your waist, everything feels unpleasant and soggy, and looks stained. The air here is rich with moisture, and it smells of... Mud. Mud, clutches of moss, and dirty water. There is a hole above you, leading all the way down here as if a giant fist has once slammed into the ground above and made this deep dent. Darla peeks against the jagged outline of the night sky, and seeing you awake, she makes an awkward, unplanned waving gesture. "I fell here," you mutter, neither a question nor an explanation given with confidence. "I was lured." "By this, I presume," he says, turning to reveal something behind him. White like milk, solid and curved pieces stick from the mud. A lot of them, stretching from your left to your right. A primal part of you refuses to admit what you are seeing, but the cold, rational one wins. Bones. The skull, one empty eye peeking above the murky soil, does not leave you guessing. Human. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I scurry away as fast as I can.|magisterexhaustion1a][]]</li> <li>[[A shriek escapes me.|magisterexhaustion1b][]]</li> <li>[[My mind goes still, making sense of the scene. What could have possibly killed them?|magisterexhaustion1c][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

You slip out of Arthur's hand on your shoulder, the only steadying support you have, and scramble in the sludge. The filth around you threatens to crawl inside, the rot strives to settle between your fingers. Your eyes do not leave the hallowed remains, pale as the moonlight. This is years of decay, protected by the hounds, any soul that could ever find them chased away. "I suppose you do not know either," Arthur mutters. You stare at the bones as if they might spring up together and form a skeleton. But they do not. They taunt you and terrify you, but they remain ivory pieces sunk in mud. <<include "magisterexhaustion2">>

Your voice is shrill, fraught with fear. You are hit with nausea, unable to take your eyes off the hallowed remains. They are as pale as the moonlight, grotesque. Not gnawed, you notice, and nausea turns into an urgency. "What happened?!" you hear a distant demand. Something moves in the corner of your eye—no threat—but you stare at the hallowed remains, pale as the moonlight. "I suppose you do not know either," Arthur mutters, so easy to ignore. You stare at the bones as if they might spring up together and form a skeleton. But they do not. They taunt you and terrify you, but they remain ivory pieces sunk in mud. <<include "magisterexhaustion2">>

Something killed this person. There are no tracks, at least, but as you glance around, it becomes obvious that there used to be a passage forward, now entirely collapsed. A creature mighty enough could still burst through it, you think. At least the bones are not gnawed, not visibly. But something isn't right still. "I suppose you do not know either," Arthur mutters. <<include "magisterexhaustion2">>

It could have been a fall, it could have been a fight, marking this its last resting place. From here, one can see the sky and, eventually, the moon as well. The empty eye can. The disquiet you sense lingers here, and you carefully untangle it from your own discomfort, though it is difficult. The longer you stare at the bones, the closer the answer bubbles to the surface, and you pull it with a stubborn yank. The bones could not be anyone else's but that of the voice screaming into your ear. Whichever of them it was: wild magic harvesting the dying pieces of the man, or the mage sinking his claws into the power with his last will, it has woven this repeating nightmare. "Him..." you murmur, and Arthur reluctantly turns to them too. You creep toward the bones slowly, making sticky sounds that make your stomach twist. There is a reason why the voice was so loud here, why the hollow eye regards the opening above in eternal wait. The worst of it is around the bones, but with Arthur around, it is bearable. \ <<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ It isn't what you needed earlier, but now, wrung out of magic, you experience only the upsides of it. <<else>>\ This must be what Jayna has spoken of. His power is wide awake and keeping whatever remains of the odd meld between the voice and wild magic restrained. <</if>>\ "We must deal with this," you say. "Deal with this?" He is closer now, surprisingly quiet in the mud. "Do you mean we need to destroy them?" "Yes. Away from here." Arthur should sense something, too. The hunters, you know, are attuned to magic as well, in bizarre ways sometimes, and in ways and times they will never reveal. "I see. Would you be able to climb out on your own?" he asks, already sizing up the work before him. You feel tired just from hearing the question. "How?" "Using this." He points to a section of the muddy wall off to the side, where, you notice, a rope hangs. You follow the length of it with your eyes, into the opening where air should be fresh and, if you are lucky, a chance rain might strip you of all the dirt and save you enormous trouble. "I think so." "Then do it. I will take care of...this." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"I will help you. It is too much for one person."'|magisterexhaustion3a][modPlayer("ruthless", -2)]]</li> <li>[['"Make sure you do not miss the tiny ones."'|magisterexhaustion3b][modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[['"About time you did something."'|magisterexhaustion3c][modFriendship("art", -1); modPlayer("ruthless", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I shouldn't leave thim alone with the bones. "I will help you."|magisterexhaustion3d][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

He shakes his head. "Go up, have Gale look at you." Waiting for no argument, Arthur stands up and calls out for his companions to drop down a sack. <<include magisterexhaustion4>>

Arthur nods absently and stands up to call out for his companions to drop down a sack. <<include magisterexhaustion4>>

Not a muscle on his face twitches as though he were no longer listening. He stands up and calls out for his companions to drop down a sack. <<include magisterexhaustion4>>

With everything you heard, it is unwise to leave him sifting through the remains unattended. He shouldn't discover that this is a mage, let alone a mage that once lived in the Tower: Arthur is already stuck on the odd coincidence of you cropping up right as they were headed for Wyrm's Nest. If there is any tangible proof of the mage's allegiance, you might never placate him enough. But he shakes his head. "Go up, have Gale look at you." And then, as if you are no longer standing there, he calls out for his companions to drop down a sack. If you were entirely innocent, you would have been grateful that he took the gruesome task off your hands. You are itching to argue, but drawing attention to yourself like that might be just as detrimental. All that remains is to hope there are no more clues, or that he is not thorough enough to find them. <<include magisterexhaustion4>>

As you fiddle with the rope, he begins to drag the pieces of bone out of the mud. In your memory, you have done neither of the things: both scaling the slippery wall and trying to pluck human remains out of dark, syrupy soil look daunting in equal measure. He works slowly, and you aren't quick to begin the climb either. With your hands thoroughly cleaned against the top of your tunic and gripping the rope with all you have, you spare Arthur one more look. The soil is slick. Most of the bones have sunk under it, and undisturbed, they lie almost the way they belong. The toothy shapes of the neck, the long bows leading into arms, the tipped arc of the ribs already line the splayed sack. But your stomach twists an entirely different way when you notice what Arthur is holding between his fingers, engrossed and curious, because it doesn't happen to be a bone at all. Its edges are sharp, and the silver of it is dull. He brushes it off the dirt, revealing more of the shape: round and small enough to close one's fingers around it. You know it, of course, for you have one like this yourself. The medallion like the one the Gray Regent gave you. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I should let this go. I shouldn't be able to tell what he has from this far.|magisterexhaustion4a][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I linger. "What did you find?"|magisterexhaustion4b][modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> <li>[[I right myself before speaking. "The inn must have made quite a dent in your gold if you are robbing the dead."|magisterexhaustion4c][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

And you shouldn't stare, lest he catch you. The rope burns around your palm, and you helplessly watch as Arthur stashes the medallion in his belt pouch. The act feels strangely elegant, searing through your thoughts so that you remember every detail. As of now and for however long he chooses to not speak of it, you will be in possession of matching trinkets. //Grand.// <<include magistercleanup6>>

Arthur looks over his shoulder, and as he does, the medallion disappears into the pouch attached to his belt. If the vision of it wasn't seared into your mind, you probably wouldn't have even noticed. "Nothing but bones yet," he replies, "unless that is what you are asking." The rope burns around your palm. "I guess I am." //Liars, the two of you.// As of now and for however long he chooses to not speak of it, you will be in possession of matching trinkets. //Grand.// <<include magistercleanup6>>

Arthur looks over his shoulder, and as he does, the medallion disappears into the pouch attached to his belt. If the vision of it wasn't seared into your mind, you probably wouldn't have even noticed. "What are you saying?" he asks, voice laced with fatigue, indifference, and innocence. The rope burns around your palm. "Ah, nothing, I suppose." As of now and for however long he chooses to not speak of it, you will be in possession of matching trinkets. //Grand.// <<include magistercleanup6>>

Over the course of two full days, you bathe and you sleep, and Jayna ventures out into the forest several times before she proclaims it safe. Wyrm's Nest does not explode in celebration. News spread in unsure murmurs as if the shadow of the encroaching wild magic was still darkening the horizon. A band of children gathers to put it to the test—oh, what a feat would it be to prove a well-respected adult wrong—but they are promptly broken apart and dragged by the ear to their respective homes. This ache is like a splinter in a heel that has been wedged and hurting for so long that even after it is removed, it still hurts. Then a band of hunters, animal kind, returns from a long trip into the woods and tosses a piece of ornate clay, once a large pot, onto an inn table. Somehow, that sends everything into a frenzy. The village breezes for the first time in ages. People spill out of their huts as if the air itself is different and worth tasting. It starts in small groups, but by nightfall, everything converges on the cental square. It has been decided you will be leaving tomorrow, but for tonight, you stay. Tonight, you have a choice to wander. Gale brought his horse to the smith, and Darla proclaimed she would spend any remaining time in a seat that wasn't rocking. Somehow, none of that involved dragging you along, and your peace was extended. At the center square, there is a lot to entertain yourself with: a circle dance by the fire, the awkward performance of the innkeeper on a flute that he's had among his possessions all along, an improvised contest between two groups pulling at a rope, and a growing selection of modest yet plentiful foods appearing as if from thin air. Most of it is cheese, and the rest is smoked, pickled, or salted: apples, beetroot, trout. Ale, too, and already the smell of it permeates the air. <<if $ch2.p_medallion>>\ <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I have tossed the medallion into the heat of the blacksmith's forge, so I can stand here and exist in peace.|huntaftermath2][$ch2.p_medallion to false]]</li> <li>[[The medallion I found next to the dead mage is still among my things, haunting me.|huntaftermath2][]]</li> </ul></div> <<else>>\ <<NextPage "huntaftermath2">> <</if>>\

You didn't come here to set any of this free, but in the end, this was your doing. For better or for worse, the small village at the feet of Winter's End can continue its existence without sacrificing its young. "I didn't know if you would want the fame," Jayna says. "Arthur told me you desire to keep your presence hidden." She walks up to you, waving off an invitation for a drink from a red-cheeked man. There is an air of fatigue around her, but her hair is braided neatly, and she smiles. They have burnt the bones, and what didn't burn was crushed. To sell not only Arthur but Jayna on the necessity of such an arduous endeavor, you had to share the anguish of the mage's story and his longing to cure his daughter. Most of it, but not the parts about his allegiance or the Tower: even without them, it could be spun as an oddity of wild magic that anchored onto grief so strong, it persisted through countless moon cycles. To Jayna, it still sounded like a curse, perhaps because the moon was not a coincidence, but a chosen witness. A curse which //you// broke. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"I don\'t want any. We are departing tomorrow, so it will not matter to me."'|huntaftermath2a][modPlayer("playful", -2)]]</li> <li>[[I sigh. "It would do well to contrast all the infamy I garner."|huntaftermath2b][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I spun this story myself, but it still annoys me. "It must have delighted him to no end to deny me that."|huntaftermath2c][modFriendship("art", -1)]]</li> <li>[["Right," I grind out. I deserve to be lauded!|huntaftermath2d][modAffinity("player", 2)]]</li> <li>[['"At least they should learn that a mage saved them."'|huntaftermath2e][modPlayer("crafty", -1)]]</li> </ul></div>

"It certainly matters here," she says. "What is next for you?" <<include huntaftermath3>>

She watches you quietly, heedless of the revelry around you both. A riddle for her the entire time, you remain one even now. "Then what is next for you in your infamy?" she asks. <<include huntaftermath3>>

She laughs in surprise, a little taken aback by your words. "If it did, he didn't show it. There was simply a lot of...work these two days for delight." "I will have to take your word for it," you say flatly. Something about Arthur remembering your tale of desertion at a moment like this is unsettling. "Please, do." She smiles. "What is next for you then?" <<include huntaftermath3>>

There was so much grime, and you were so exhausted, you do not remember if you slept in a bath or rubbed off the dirt in your sleep. The least anyone could do was express their boundless gratitude. But it is shared among so many people, strangers at that, that you receive rather little. Worst of all, you wouldn't confront Arthur about it, because he was right. The tale of your desertion demands you avoid the Gray Regent's notice, and becoming a hero in a ballad is about the worst way to do that. Even helping, he is a thorn. "Then what is next for you?" Jayna asks, oblivious. <<include huntaftermath3>>

<<if $p.mind.magic < 2>>\ She casts a rushed glance at you, eyes round, and you press a finger to your lips. At once, her eyes look haunted, as if misery never truly left her and was simply looking the other way for the whole day. "There are many things they should know," she says bitterly, "that they will never find out. If they hear of a mage, they will go searching, and since Thar has forsaken this place, they will find one. So...no." Aelia isn't anywhere in sight. She must be with her animals, or setting out the cheeses for sale, since everyone is feeling festive and generous. It doesn't matter that you didn't mean her: she will be the only mage remaining here. <<else>>\ She laughs bitterly. At once, her eyes look haunted, as if misery never truly left her and was simply looking the other way for the whole day. "There are many things they should know," she says, "that they will never find out. If they hear about a mage, they will go looking. She would be the reason why Thar has forsaken this place. So...no." Aelia isn't anywhere in sight. She must be with her animals, or setting out the cheeses for sale, since everyone is feeling festive and generous. It doesn't matter that you meant her and much more, she would be the only mage remaining here. <</if>>\ "I understand," you say, though a part of you does not. Jayna hugs herself, fingers kneading stiff muscle. "Then what is next for you?" <<include huntaftermath3>>

"Traveling," you reply. It is innocent enough: the moment you set your foot outside Wyrm's Nest, this is what you expect to be doing. Telling this does not betray you, but it is better if she talks of herself. "I have a destination in mind, but the road there might prove to be windier than I imagined. What about you?" "I might stay for a little while, someone has to see that"—she looks over her shoulder, voice dropping—"//Rolant// leaves. Might wait until we have flowers back. I always wondered what grows here." "And what if he doesn't leave?" Jayna scoffs. "There are people here he intends to stop paying. He //will// leave." The High Sentinel is not in attendance, presumably occupied. The splinter has been pulled out, and now it is time to heal the pain; though if him sequestering himself in his quarters helps with that, remains to be seen. "The strangest thing is," Jayna suddenly says, with careful focus in her eyes, "I do not know anything about you. You might be of noble birth, and I have treated you as an equal this entire time." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I swallow a tightness in my throat. "There is nothing for you to worry about."|huntaftermath3a][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> <li>[[Laughable. "Do I look as full of myself as Arthur?"|huntaftermath3b][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> <li>[[I could be, but now is not the time to ponder such things. "There is nothing for you to worry about."|huntaftermath3c][modMemories("role", -1)]]</li> \<<if $ch2.remembered_lname>><li>[['"Unless you heard of a noble line under the name Vyrell, you have no reason for worry."'|huntaftermath3d][modMemories("role", 1)]]</li><</if>> </ul></div>

The words strung together are different, but the question never changes. //Who are you? What do I make of you?// And every time, the answer is the same: //whatever is in front of you. No more, no less.// You miss parts that could be yours alone. Fun histories, past mistakes, songs you learned and would hum to yourself when you are distracted. It goes well beyond your birth. \<<if $q.rel.love >=2>> \If you were, it'd elevate a certain wish of yours from a foolish dream to something enticingly possible, but only that. You haven't imagined more, didn't dare to. <</if>>\ Jayna doesn't look convinced, but she likes you enough not to press. "Then if you say so." You force yourself to look captivated by the dancing troupe, locked in a set of moves that are more about pulling at each other's waists than even trying to follow the music. <<include huntaftermath4>>

Jayna stifles her fright, letting out only a gasp. She averts her eyes. "If you speak of him like so, then the only equal you'd be is his," she says. "It isn't that," you reply, shaking your head. "I am simply not bound by this land's tradition." She looks puzzled by your admission. You've spoken the language without an inflection even as you came to, and while a clue on its own, it doesn't tell you much of your origin. "You are well-versed in it, at least," she muses. "I've met Valaini people, and you do not feel like them either." She has absolutely no idea that she is revealing so much to you: what is idle talk to her, matters greatly in the search for your past. But under attention this intense, she turns sheepish. "I will cease my guesses," she mutters. "You do not wish to be identified, and respecting that is the least I can do in return for your help." You force yourself to look captivated by the dancing troupe, locked in a set of moves that are more about pulling at each other's waists than even trying to follow the music. <<include huntaftermath4>>

It is a ridiculous question not to have an answer to, but such is your truth. A while ago, you could hardly imagine the possibility of belonging to a noble estate that is missing its heir. You could be the sole one, you could be an irrelevant sixth child, or you could be a peasant who has worked in a stable since the day they could hold a hay fork. \<<if $q.rel.love >=2>> If you were indeed nobility, it'd elevate a certain wish of yours from a foolish dream to something enticingly possible, but only that. You haven't imagined more, didn't dare to. <</if>>\ Jayna doesn't look convinced, but she likes you enough not to press. "Then it is as you say." You force yourself to look captivated by the dancing troupe, locked in a set of moves that are more about pulling at each other's waists than even trying to follow the music. <<include huntaftermath4>>

It is a little joke, a side remark that she might one day look back at and question—or she might run with it to Arthur—but you simply cannot resist prodding. She is the first stranger who isn't a mage or your pretend captor that you come across with the name hot on your mind. Despite how you crave to hear a response, you put on an act of being amused by the antics of a young man chasing a small flock of children with his hands crooked like claws. Jayna snorts. "Nobility does not venture out here, let alone reside this close to Valaine," she says. "But if they do, they are either //High Sentinel//, or they die." You ignore the prick of disappointment and watch as she scowls, consumed with bitterness. "Then hopefully this alleviates your worry." "It does, somewhat," she replies. <<include huntaftermath4>>

<div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"I will try to rest before tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening, Jayna."'|huntaftermath4a][]]</li> <li>[[I look around. "Do you know where Arthur is?"|huntaftermath4b][]]</li> <li>[[There are a few tankards of ale with my name on them out there still. "It should be a joyous evening. Shall see you around, Jayna."|huntaftermath4c][]]</li> </ul></div>

She smiles. "Thank you." Then, it comes once again with reverence: //"Thank you."// You ignore the smell of fish, alea and hot coals as you stalk toward the inn, when a movement by the inn stables catches your eye. Aelia waves at you unsurely and waits. She has the same robe tied around her waist, knees stained with fresh grass marks. <<include huntaftermathaelia>>

You have seen little of him lately. Disposing of the bones was no quick affair: it involved more people than anyone liked, and it was done in seclusion that often took him well outside the village borders. But even tonight, when everything is settled, he is nowhere to be found. Jayna slowly nods as if she needs to pick her words carefully. "There is a grave, but it is empty," she says. "After several moons, I felt like I would go mad if I had nothing to look at when I was overflowing. I thought I wouldn't feel bad about it if he turned up after all, and we'd share a laugh and add it to our repertoire of stories, but... Arthur asked if I made one for Merritt. We have been mourning the dead for so long, nobody will be there tonight." <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I will see how he is doing. "Thank you."|huntaftermatharthur1][]]</li> <li>[[I should not disturb him then. "I will try to rest before tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening, Jayna."|huntaftermath4a][$art.rel.fake -=1]]</li> <li>[[I do not share his mournful mood. "Well then, the ale is calling me. Shall see you around, Jayna."|huntaftermath4c][]]</li> </ul></div>

Jayna laughs despite herself. "Of course." Then, it comes with reverence: //"Thank you."// You have no trouble getting your hands on a drink. Although no one knows you were the party to bring down the curse, they are eager to fill a tankard for //a// party to do so. Some spills onto your hand, some onto your boot. It tastes like smoke and ripe plums, but with a hint of pickled apple that you see nearby. The warmth of the fire licks your face when you notice movement out of the corner of your eye. Clumsy dancers spin about you, so it isn't until the fifth time that you decide to pay it any attention. Your eyes meet Aelia's. She shuffles in the heavy shadow of the inn stables, waving at you. She'd be easy to overlook if you weren't such a strict focus of hers, and to shake the discomfort, you fix the tankard on the nearest surface and stroll up to her. She has the same robe tied around her waist, knees stained with fresh grass marks. <<include huntaftermathaelia>>

"I'm sorry to pull you out of it," she says, voice small. "There is something we wanted to show." "I would need to know who //we// is, Aelia." She laughs bashfully. "Only me, but many people helped—so //we//." Still cautious, you follow her as the yells and the purr of music fade like the celebration has been moved underwater. In this corner of Wyrm's Nest, the buildings boast stone and can rival the height of the wall that encircles it, with the dirt road widening on each side. Aelia keeps casting you looks she believes to be covert, but her eyes are too large and too expressive to pull such trickery. "Did anyone approach you?" you ask. Perhaps she needs a nudge to spit it out. "With questions." She glances back, kneading her palms. "No," she replies, "not even mother." "Then will you be staying?" Aelia misses a step and then hastily catches it. "I...shouldn't?" The countless thoughts that spin in a mage's mind when they wish to live among people undetected do not even occur to her. If she were lucky to come into her power out of anyone's sight, then she might spend the rest of her life in the company of sullen goats and shaggy sheep, and none would be the wiser about her Gift. "There are places you could go," you say carefully, "where you wouldn't need to hide it." She nods, a tinge of worry in the crease of her brows. But she doesn't ask about any such places. <<NextPage "huntaftermathaelia2">>

You end up in front of a barn on the edge of the village, under the light of a single lantern that sways next to the broad door. The structure has preserved surprisingly well, as though it was built upon good bones and served a long tail of generations before Aelia. But the smell is rather distinct, pungent, and heavy. It is quiet, too, as if every soul in the vicinity were paid off to leave and enjoy the festivities. You've taught yourself to only invite others into such solitary arrangements, not to be led into one. "So where—" Aelia grabs onto your forearm and drags you to the side, over the line of hardy yellowed grass and where the light of the lantern is only a gentle hint. "Here," she presses something into your hands, resting her palm atop the bundle protectively. There is a wild glimmer in her eyes, but only for a single streak. "This is a gift. For what you did." The weight is not insignificant, and the shape is immediately familiar. Coin. When she removes her hand, you notice something unexpected lying on the opening in the cloth. An umbel of once-white flowers, flattened and dried. The memory of its bitter taste invades your mind: it is both medicine and the reason why fondness for the First Lantern's //special brew// separates travelers from locals in Riante. "Oh, this shouldn't be here," Aelia says, plucking it from the bundle of coin. She quickly crushes it in her fist and rubs her hands together. "My things are a little messy sometimes." The flushed redness on her face seems genuine, but the flower was placed with an intentional hand, impossible to miss. It gnaws at you. Like a handwriting that you recognize but cannot outright attribute because the signature is missing. Jax. Perhaps even the Gray Regent. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I force myself to remain calm. "I appreciate it, Aelia."|huntaftermathaelia2a][modPlayer("crafty", 2)]]</li> <li>[['"Who gave you this?"'|huntaftermathaelia2b][modPlayer("crafty", -2)]]</li> <li>[['"Yes, I could use this... Thank you."'|huntaftermathaelia2c][modPlayer("crafty", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"A shame, I...miss that flower. Dearly."'|huntaftermathaelia2d][modFriendship("q", 2); modFriendship("jax", 1); modAffinity("y", 3)]]</li> </ul></div>

Nothing in her, neither the subtle relief of no longer having to carry coin around, nor the gentle upturn to her mouth for a job well executed, nor the shifty glance she sends to the side, betray any kind of concealed knowledge. You imagine that if the sovereign of all mages approached her in truth, she would spin with agitation. But on the other hand, she neither knows what $q.he looks like, nor would $q.he come <<print $q.him>>self instead of sending one of $q.his hands. You keep the questions to yourself, but oh, you have plenty. <<include huntaftermathaelia3>>

She staggers away from the urgency in your voice. "It—It was collected," she stammers out. "By whom?" "By... everyone. You'd need— All the roads from here are difficult. I heard you have a long way ahead, so this...should help." Your hand is getting tired of the purse, and you shove it into the folds of your clothes. It seems she knows less than you hoped, so you take a reluctant step back. "I...appreciate it, Aelia." <<include huntaftermathaelia3>>

It's not worth distracting yourself with questions of how and why, and instead, you could consider what you would //do// with this small boon. "You'd need— All the roads from here are difficult," Aelia says. "I heard you have a long way ahead, so this...should help." As disheartening as the promise of a difficult road is, you have seen the maps. You know that Rimehall lies far away from here. "It will." <<include huntaftermathaelia3>>

The flash of the flower was like seeing the tip of the Tower against the veil of gray sky, like smelling tar when you flipped the embers in the fireplace of your room, like strolling through Riante and spotting one of the Gray Regent's birds resting on a perch of a two-storey house. \<<if $q.rel.love >= 3>> Like seeing $q.king $q.name <<print $q.him>>self, your name on $q.his lips. \ \<</if>> \<<if $jax.rel.love >=3>>\ Like waiting to hear Jax praise you the way you hope is only reserved for you. \<</if>> Aelia looks around her feet helplessly. "Oh, I... I didn't think you would... I have no idea how it got there." Which is better: that she is willfully hiding things from you, or that she is telling the truth? "Don't fret, all is well. I shall see it again, Aelia, I know it," you say to calm her. "I appreciate the gift." <<include huntaftermathaelia3>>

"You should keep the money hidden, though," she says bashfully. "She...likes shiny things." With that, she leaves the shadowed grass and beckons you to step into the barn. The insides are padded with hay, from the mounds of which wooden beams climb all the way to the ceiling. Deeper into it, sheep are huddled together, white like sea foam. A goat bleats, echoed by no other. But Aelia looks content that you remain at the porch, as she works on the reins of a horse that patiently waits by the entrance. "This is Patch," Aelia introduces, and either knowingly or not, she puts her hand on the horse's croup. Next to her palm, the hide was scored and scarred, only pale skin and no hair. "As a foal, she was called Daisy. Before Lord Rolant and... Merritt arrived, the woods were even scarier, and wild animals often fled them in frenzy. One day, Daisy was attacked by a wolf, but she slipped away from him. It was very brave! They brought her to Ma, but she had her hands full. So I helped, and I've been tending to her since. I began calling her Patch because... it is her mark of honor, you see. She is one of the few riding horses we have, and...you do not have one." A twinge of pain crosses her features, as if she feels guilty for pointing out that you lack something. The horse—Patch—otherwise has a warm brown coat and isn't of a particularly large size, rather plain, if fact. She doesn't look starved or mistreated. If anything, she is amused, trying to guess what is about to happen. "She is in good health, I promise! And she is reliable. Patch once saved Milly, who was sick with grippe: she carried her and her mother to Tirrion just in time." Aelia stops, breathless, and tugs at her robe. "You shouldn't have to walk out of here remembering only bad things. And Patch is //good//." It is true that you do not have a horse, and that you need one. And perhaps Patch is the real gift from the village, the only one they will think they gave you. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"Will she be ready to ride tomorrow?"'|huntaftermathaelia3a][]]</li> <li>[["I suppose I will need a brave horse where I'm headed." I slowly reach out my hand. "Hello, Patch."|huntaftermathaelia3b][]]</li> <li>[['"Good thing she is used to her name being changed. I will be calling her...Ostara."'|huntaftermathaelia3c][$p.horse to "Ostara"]]</li> <li>[['"Good thing she is used to her name being changed. I will be calling her..."'|horse_name_custom][]]</li> </ul></div>

<fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="horsename" class="chartxt"></legend> <div class="charoptions">You will be calling your horse: <span class="block"><<textbox "$p.horse" "">> <<link "✓">><<replace "#horsename">>$p.horse<</replace>><</link>></span></div> </fieldset> <<NextPage huntaftermathaelia3c>>

$p.horse neighs and bumps her snout against Aelia's cheek. The young woman giggles while trying to nod for you at the same time. <<include huntaftermathaelia4>>

$p.horse ignores it at first, and the subtle movement of her eyes settles on the rest of you. The mare tilts her head only a nudge toward your hand, and promptly withdraws. Aelia watches the introduction with a smile. <<include huntaftermathaelia4>>

"Oh." Aelia turns to the mare as if the new name would decisively change something about her. "She is yours, I suppose. She can be that as well." You scoff. "You should hear what the other horses are named." "Finnen, Specter, and Cassandra," Aelia mumbles. Perhaps here, in the realm of hay and wool that is her home, you shouldn't be surprised that she knows. "And now, $p.horse too," you mutter. <<include huntaftermathaelia4>>

This requires settling into it, as you never had to take care of a horse on your own. Each time you came back to Riante, you handed back the reins to Brannen or one of the boys helping him, and the next time, you would be handed the reins of a different horse, rested and fed. By accepting $p.horse, you are also accepting that this journey will take //a while//. Your trio of companions. The dangers that they drag you into. And eventually, Rimehall and the Viper King. "She is in good spirits," the young woman says. "Though maybe... Do not be harsh on her in the beginning." To even consider making such promises, you would have to be in charge, but that is not the condition of your arrangement. So when you nod, it is only a formality, but it satisfies Aelia just enough. And from tomorrow onward, you will not be seeing her again. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"You did a brave and difficult thing. Not many people will know or thank you for it, but you should be proud of it."'|huntaftermathaelia4a][modPlayer("ruthless", -2)]]</li> <li>[['"Does it not bother you that you\'d never hear a word of gratitude for everything you have done?"'|huntaftermathaelia4b][]]</li> <li>[['"You should leave this place. Go to Riante if you can. There is no safer place for a mage."'|huntaftermathaelia4c][modAffinity("y", 2)]]</li> <li>[[I bid her farewell. "Take care of yourself then."|huntaftermathaelia5][]]</li> </ul></div>

Her face flushes, a dusting of mauve visible even in the dim light of the lantern. Her smile is bright, but so is her reluctance, almost as if she'd prefer it if you never burdened her with praise. $p.horse will be ready for tomorrow, she promises, and with that, you leave her, much richer than you were before stepping into Wyrm's Nest. <<NextPage "huntaftermathaelia5">>

She ponders your question, the very thing it is asking. "But I do," she says. "When Ma makes a pie... or when I see children playing with rope. Or when the Elder sings for us. They are still //here//." It is one of a few things she looks certain about. So you let it be, the story told. A lone young mage whose Gift held out long enough for help to arrive, and who was happy to cling to the simple life she led. $p.horse will be ready for tomorrow, she promises, and with that, you leave her, much richer than you were before stepping into Wyrm's Nest. <<NextPage "huntaftermathaelia5">>

Her lips move, repeating the name. It is unusual to meet someone who hears about the city and does not immediately scowl, but it could only be because she's never heard of it. Well, your task isn't to walk the land and collect mages holed up in its corners. All you can do is tease her curiosity, not more. $p.horse will be ready for tomorrow, she promises, and with that, you leave her, much richer than you were before stepping into Wyrm's Nest. <<NextPage "huntaftermathaelia5">>

You wake up early the next day, left on your own once more. The night, melancholic and jovial, has surrendered to silence and the gentle light of dawn. You are one of the few souls awake at the crack of it, exchanging scant words as you prepare for the saddle. Jayna—and the innkeeper through the window of the upper floor—is your sole farewell party. She isn't good with horses and tells you to expect rain, and that you'd best avoid a road whose name you fail to hear clearly. She has to link her hands as she watches you go, excited yet apprehensive all the same. $p.horse is obedient, you learn right away. She pads after Arthur, accepting the guidance of his horse, and allows a reassuring stroke down the side of her neck. Crossing the village gate, you feel a brush of unease down your back and look over your shoulder. <<NextPage "huntaftemathdeparture">>

She smiles. "Thank you." Then, it comes once again with reverence: //"Thank you."// Villages like these do not need more than one burial ground. You have no trouble finding someone to provide directions—everyone is eager to help a party to lifting the curse. Without the weight of it hanging over the village, it is a pleasant nightly stroll, with music rolling down the hill and wind helping your step. If you had any inclination to escape, now would have been the most opportune time, but even your companions have accepted that for one reason or the other, you will not be doing so. Here, in the low of the hill, between bones and rough, handpicked stone, not a single soul is wasting their time that could be otherwise spent filling their belly, singing, and imagining how broad and rich the unexplored section of the woods is. Not a single soul, but Arthur. You don't know how he's found the right stone, for none of them are marked except with a bed of pine needles or a doll made of straw, or a handful of berries that have shriveled and darkened. Perhaps he received better instructions than you did, or perhaps it doesn't even matter. Your steps are ear-piercingly loud against the somber silence, and since you have come this way to disturb it, you should finally speak. But nothing comes to mind. You are shrouded in tranquility, peace, and grief. Arthur is dressed down, as if someone has plucked him from around the fire, wrapped him in a cloak out of the kindness of their heart, and dropped him in front of a grave. He is dull-faced, if a little sickly. "Are we under attack?" he asks, voice dull. <<if $p.friendly >= 60>>\ "I sure hope we aren't. I only stepped away for a moment." <<else>>\ "Is that what you expect? No." <</if>>\ "Then why are you here?" <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <<if $ch2.evening is "a">><li>[['"Why are you? You know as well as I that this grave is empty."'|huntaftermatharthur1a][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li><<else>><li>[['"Why are you? This grave is empty, is it not?"'|huntaftermatharthur1a][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li><</if>> <li>[['"I did not feel like celebrating."'|huntaftermatharthur1b][modPlayer("playful", -1)]]</li> <li>[['"I thought you might want company that doesn\'t come saddled with pity."'|huntaftermatharthur1c][]]</li> <li>[['"I asked Jayna where you were."'|huntaftermatharthur1d][modPlayer("playful", 1)]]</li> </ul></div>

"Is there a different place for me to be?" he asks. "Depends on what you are doing." Arthur turns, locking eyes with yours. His expression is blank, courtly-polite. "Such an evocative adjunct, especially coming from you." You sigh. "Your memories are not tied to a grave, and they do not spring from one. If you wish to remember him, you do not have to resign yourself to solitude." "You are enjoying yours, are you not? It couldn't have been a pleasant affair, being watched all the time." He knows it wasn't, so you spare yourself the effort. Rather, you ought to turn it back on him, where the questions are simpler to navigate. "Tell me about him," you say. "That is what you are thinking, anyway." <<include huntaftermatharthur2>>

"Why not?" he asks. "The cause of today's festivities is largely your work. I'm certain you will be made a hero to a song in no time." "Not if I wish to keep out of sight and out of folk tales—which I do." "That rarely is a matter of choice. There must be a hero who broke the curse, and even if they do not know it was you, they will create a //you// that has done it. You will have a sword that is as radiant as the sun, and you will have the fog hounds scattering at the mere sight of you." <<if $p.friendly >= 60>>\ "I think I heard something of that sort by the fire. The beginnings of the lines that were strangely similar." Arthur shakes his head, impervious to your humor. "The curse was not a jest to them. But if wild magic is one... then it is upon all of us." <<else>>\ "They've struck me as rather sensible people. Such ballads, on the other hand, are strung for courts and feasts." Arthur shakes his head. "To them, it is already a curse. But if wild magic is one... then it is upon all of us." <</if>>\ "From the way you spoke about the spills, they aren't as disastrous in other places." He turns, locking eyes with yours. His expression is blank, courtly-polite. "They are not. Most of them aren't." He isn't watching you idly. You sense a hint of anticipation, however well it is concealed. "Tell me about Merritt," you say. A distraction. "That is what you are thinking, anyway." <<include huntaftermatharthur2>>

Arthur looks over his shoulder. "If you do not bear pity, then what do you bring?" "Only that." You shrug. "Company." He lets the word dissipate in the air, its effect rippling. "Is mine an easy one for you?" he asks. "That isn't the important part," you reply a little coyly, and surprise flashes in his eyes. "Tell me about him. That is what you are thinking, anyway." <<include huntaftermatharthur2>>

He flinches and turns, a bitter but amused rise to a corner of his mouth. "I'm certain you did." "It doesn't have to be anything more than that," you say, because between you two, that is how things are. You cannot settle on amiable with him, but you knew it heading into this task. So when it comes to the hunter, you are left stumbling blindly. "Tell me about him. That is what you are thinking, anyway." <<include huntaftermatharthur2>>

<div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[[I don't understand why I am here myself, but I had to say...something.|huntaftermatharthur3][]]</li> <li>[[I want to savor his misery if I can. Who knows when I get the next chance.|huntaftermatharthur3][modPlayer("vil", 2); modPlayer("ruthless", 1); $art.rel.fake +=4;]]</li> <li>[[It is a simple, human thing to do.|huntaftermatharthur3][modPlayer("ruthless", -2); $art.rel.fake -=1;]]</li> <li>[[In this vulnerability, he might reveal something about the hunters. Worth asking.|huntaftermatharthur3][modPlayer("crafty", 2); modPlayer("ruthless", 1); $art.rel.fake +=2;]]</li> <li>[[I'm trying to make him trust me, so I might as well try this, too.|huntaftermatharthur3][modPlayer("crafty", 2); modPlayer("ruthless", 1); $art.rel.fake +=3;]]</li> <li>[[The sight of him like this...bothers me. I ask without thinking much of it.|huntaftermatharthur3][$art.rel.fake -=3; modFriendship("art", 2)]]</li> </ul></div>

He stands quietly, as though he hasn't even heard your question, or, as is more his thing, decided to ignore it. After all, he has no reason to think you care, that you are asking out of kindness or even boredom. But he surprises you. "You would have found him just as pleasant to be around as you do me," Arthur says rather monotonously. "Merritt was of a noble estate in Montari, lesser nobility that was on the decline. Montari used to live off of the rare delicacy fish in the lake nearby; even its bones did not go to waste and were turned into tools and finer decorations, so there was a certain form of self-sufficiency. But they couldn't sustain the population forever, and the town became a place for the less-than-savory types to stay at on the way to Rimehall. It wasn't the center of anything, much like this village here, but it offered decent lodgings and some extent of obscurity. "Which became its undoing. Apparently, even under Gideon's rule, the mages of Third could not breach distances as large as the one between Riante and Rimehall. In his campaign for the Sunken Throne, he chose Montari as the place to amass the bulk of his forces. It became the staging grounds, fashioned and shaped with the famous heavy hand of the Gray Regent. Those who didn't like it were killed. Those who tried to send out a warning were killed just as quickly. No one knew what happened to Merritt's father, but his mother succeeded in sneaking him out. He was five." Arthur glares at you as if the age of the other hunter at the time of the event is the most appalling thing. The planning of the campaign and its execution is never widely discussed in Riante beyond stating that it was a lightning-quick victory, as was expected of the sly and methodical former Gray Regent. $q.king $q.name saw to it that nobody brought up the other one who held the title in the time between Gideon and the $q.king <<print $q.him>>self, an ineffectual fraud to stem the bleeding wound of power. Rimehall's puppet. "There was, of course, a satisfactory amount of coin in staying and serving the mages, as with every occupation. One could take it, turn a blind eye to all the new faces, and pretend they didn't understand what it was leading to. Even when the mages left, and King Karon freed his throne, the town couldn't recover: too much death, destruction, and ill fortune." <<NextPage huntaftermatharthur4>>

"We met on my first day in the keep. We were thrown together to be trained as one unit, no design to it. The only consideration was to gather people who come from different corners of the country. He told us his reason for being there right away, and it was...very different from mine. "He never once skipped an exercise, not even when the tutors stepped out, and he made it look //effortless//. But once the sun set, he became a different person. Loud, friendly. Likeable. He saved food for me when I was sick, he could start a fire out of nothing, he turned red in the face when he was asked"—he laughs quietly—"what the difference between a horse and a donkey is, even after he had heard the joke a dozen times." He abruptly falls silent. Magic has caught up with the other hunter, it seems, but with his choice of a profession, there was really no other end in store for him. Although surrendered to his thoughts, Arthur's face does not show much beyond a speck of sorrow. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"But we avenged him."'|huntaftermatharthur4a][modFriendship("art", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"We saved what he cared about the most. I think that matters a great deal."'|huntaftermatharthur4b][modFriendship("art", 2)]]</li> <li>[['"Sounds like he was a decent man."'|huntaftermatharthur4c][modPlayer("ruthless", -1); modFriendship("art", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"Such was the hand dealt to him. Death will find us all eventually."'|huntaftermatharthur4d][modPlayer("playful", -2)]]</li> <li>[['"It must be killing you to realize that if you turned up here sooner, he would have likely been alive today."'|huntaftermatharthur4e][$art.rel.love -=10; modFriendship("art", -50);]]</li> </ul></div>

He laughs bitterly. "We found a dead man, and wild magic was beaten back for what is a mere moment for it. No justice has been done." "But there was a conclusion," you argue, "and an end. It is a whole lot better than nothing." <<include huntaftermatharthur5>>

He scoffs softly. "She would have left if it ever became so dire. She would have saved herself." You remember the woman you spoke to not too long ago and shake your head. "You know she wouldn't have. This is her home and a place Merritt died for. She would have fought til the bitter end." It is perhaps even amusing. "We so easily become bogged down in symbols and grand gestures, even to our detriment." "We do," Arthur mutters, conceding so easily that it hushes the words you were about to respond with because you expected him to disagree. <<include huntaftermatharthur5>>

"Decent," he repeats emptily and lets out a weak laugh. "Decent." <<include huntaftermatharthur5>>

He shrugs as though something doesn't quite fit. "It will indeed," is all he says. <<include huntaftermatharthur5>>

In response, he is as still as a statue, so much so that you doubt he is even breathing. Something shuts off in his eyes, and the only thing he fails to control about his expression is the sheer intensity with which he looks at you. He says nothing to it, but holds a cold silence that the wind rushes to fill. It nearly untangles the cloak around his shoulders, but he doesn't seem to notice. Instead of fixing it, he looks one last time over his shoulder as if bidding a farewell to everything it is supposed to represent, and then marches past you, leaving the slightly uneven rows of marked graves behind. You were told once that the living should not smile or laugh in front of the resting dead, for they might succumb to envy and plot to drag you down to them. But looking at Arthur's retreating back, it is quite tempting. It is in bad taste, though, and you set out after him without doing so, keeping the distance from him, for you need it as much as he does. <<NextPage "huntaftermatharthur6">>

It is colder here than it needs to be, which is easy to notice when the wheels in your head are not grinding for the next thing to say. He needs this silence far more than you, final words etched into it and left unspoken. Would he have muttered them aloud if you weren't here? He finally turns, fixes the cloak around his shoulders, and walks past you. "I am returning," he announces, waiting, leaving a spot for you to fall into if you wish. Nothing holds you here, so you do. As soon as you leave the sight of grieving stones behind, it becomes easier to breathe, somber air no longer pressing down on your shoulders. Even Arthur seems to have left his sorrow there, or hidden it away so that it looks just the same. Music reaches you here: joyous tunes that ripple under unpracticed fingers. <div class="choice"><hr /><ul> <li>[['"You know, Your Grace, I never heard a word of a thank you for what I did. I thought that Daelan nobility taught their children manners."'|huntaftermatharthur5a][modPlayer("playful", 3); modFriendship("art", 1)]]</li> <li>[['"You do not have to find me the most pleasant person to be around, but a simple word of gratitude would have been nice."'|huntaftermatharthur5b][modPlayer("playful", -1);]]</li> <li>[[I let him talk long enough. We will walk back in utter silence.|huntaftermatharthur5c][modPlayer("playful", -2);]]</li> </ul></div>

You cannot help putting it like that, rubbing off whatever bitter feeling you caught from standing in a graveyard. To your attempt, Arthur smiles in annoyance and only has strength left for a half-hearted retort. "And in Riante, they teach you nothing at all. 'Your Grace' is how you address a duke, which I am not. For your particular choice of an insult, it would simply be //'my lord'//." "Oh, did I give an impression that I intended to be correct?" His eyes narrow subtly. "You should be, considering the seat of Daelan nobility is your destination. Or did you forget?" You ignore the jab. "What a long-winded way to delay your gratitude." Arthur glances at you, and it turns into an attentive look, so long that he ought to be tripping over the stones wedged into the rising hill. But something shifts in his expression, annoyance and weariness disappearing behind a careful smile. "Indeed," he says slowly, as if only now remembering your feat. "I suppose, for that, you have my gratitude." You smile, pushing back the faintly eerie feeling of it. "Just what I wanted to hear." His rightful address, you will not be using. You aren't a Daelen peasant, after all. <<NextPage huntaftermatharthur6>>

He glances at you appraisingly. "You receive a great deal more for your help than mere gratitude." "Passage to your capital, I know." You gesture broadly. "But this is different. Personal." "For you or for me?" he asks. "Both." You come upon a steep portion of the ascent, which strangles the conversation. But as soon as the ground levels somewhat, he meets your eye. "You wish to hear me thank you, and is is worth more than your declared goal?" "//Different//," you stress, "not more. You recruited my help for the hounds. But I was the one to pacify the spill, too, and made certain it would not repeat any longer. I went far and beyond." Arthur watches you for a long moment, so long that he ought to be tripping over the stones wedged into the rising hill. But something shifts in his expression, annoyance and weariness disappearing behind a careful smile. "Indeed," he says slowly, as if only now remembering your feat. "I suppose, for that, you have my gratitude." You nod, pushing back the faintly eerie feeling of it and fixate on just the words. You say nothing back: it is best to stretch out the moment, so that he remembers that of all people, he owes the resolution of this tragedy to //you//. <<NextPage huntaftermatharthur6>>

To the sound of steps that do not quite match each other, you ascend the hill, soon seeing the tongues of a large fire that warms the entire square at the heart of the village. <<NextPage huntaftermatharthur6>>

He heads for the inn, taking the longest path to avoid the revelers, but despite that, there is one person he cannot. Aelia shuffles in the heavy shadow of the inn stables. She sees you and springs on the balls of her feet, waving shyly, but stops when she notices your company. Arthur, on the other hand, effortlessly pretends like she doesn't even exist. "Do you know what this is about?" you ask him, because the undeniable fact of reality is that she does, in fact, exist. "Yes," he replies stiffly and walks past her. You approach the young mage. Aelia stands before you, frightened a little yet relieved. She has the same robe tied around her waist, knees stained with fresh grass marks. <<include huntaftermathaelia>>

The High Sentinel is a lone, distinct figure at the end of the curved street, proper like a figurine carved out of expensive wood. As if he doesn't even need his cane, he stands firm and unmoving. He isn't watching Arthur, his recalcitrant subordinate, or Gale, the one who helped himself through his books without a peep. Not even Jayna, who has resolved herself to see him leave. <div class="cliffhanger">He is watching you.</div> <<TBC>>

\<<silently>> <<set $crone to []>> <<set $crone.pairs to 11>> <<set $crone.has_crone to false>> <<set $crone.y_hand to []>> <<set $crone.p_hand to []>> <<set $crone.deck to []>> <<set $crone.y_took to -1>> <<set $crone.p_took to -1>> <<set $crone.p_won to false>> <<set $crone.p_turn to false>> /* <<script TwineScript>> */ <<for _i to 0; _i lt $crone.pairs; _i++>> /* <<print _i + 1>>. $dwarves[_i] */ <<capture _i>> <<set $crone.deck.push(_i)>> <<set $crone.deck.push(_i)>> <</capture>> <</for>> <<set $crone.deck.push(99)>> <<set $crone.deck.shuffle()>> <<for _i to 0; _i lt $crone.pairs; _i++>> /* <<print _i + 1>>. $dwarves[_i] */ <<set $crone.y_hand.push($crone.deck.pluck())>> <<set $crone.p_hand.push($crone.deck.pluck())>> <</for>> <<if random(1) == 0>> <<set $crone.y_hand.push($crone.deck.pluck())>> <<else>> <<set $crone.p_hand.push($crone.deck.pluck())>> <<set $crone.p_turn to true>> <</if>> /* <</script>> */ <</silently>>\ Y hand is <<print $crone.y_hand.join(" ")>> Player hand is <<print $crone.p_hand.join(" ")>> /* <<include crone_sort>> Y hand is <<print $crone.y_hand.join(" ")>> Player hand is <<print $crone.p_hand.join(" ")>> */

\<<set _y_hand to []>> \<<set _p_hand to []>> \<<silently>> <<for _i to 0; _i lt $crone.y_hand.length-1; _i++>> <<if !$crone.y_hand.contains($crone.y_hand[_i], _i+1)>> <<set _y_hand.push($crone.y_hand[_i])>> <</if>> <</for>> <<for _i to 0; _i lt $crone.p_hand.length-1; _i++>> <<if !$crone.p_hand.contains($crone.p_hand[_i], _i+1)>> <<set _p_hand.push($crone.p_hand[_i])>> <</if>> <</for>> <<set $crone.y_hand to _y_hand>> <<set $crone.p_hand to _p_hand>> <<if $crone.y_hand.length == 0>> <<set $crone.p_won to false>> <<elseif $crone.p_hand.length == 0>> <<set $crone.p_won to true>> <<else>> <<if $crone.p_turn>> <<include player_turn>> <<else>> <<include y_turn>> <</if>> <</if>> <</silently>>

\<<silently>> <<set $crone.p_turn to false>> <<set $crone.p_hand.push($crone.y_hand.deleteAt($crone.p_took))>> <</silently>> <<include crone_sort>> <<include y_turn>>

\<<silently>> <<set $crone.p_turn to true>> <<set $crone.y_hand.push($crone.p_hand.deleteAt($crone.y_took))>> <</silently>> <<include crone_sort>> <<NextPage "show_hand_y">>

<<for _i to 0; _i lt $crone.y_hand.length; _i++>> [[Card|player_turn][$crone.p_took to $crone.y_hand[_i]]] <</for>> -------------------------------- <<print $crone.p_hand.join(" | ")>>

\<<set $crone.y_took to random($crone.p_hand.length)>> <<for _i to 0; _i lt $crone.y_hand.length; _i++>> Card | \ <</for>> -------------------------------- <<for _i to 0; _i lt $crone.p_hand.length; _i++>> <<if _i == $crone.y_took>>\ ''<<print $crone.p_hand[_i]>>'' | \ <<else>>\ $crone.p_hand[_i] | \ <</if>>\ <</for>>

<<if $crone.p_won>> victory <<else>> Y won <</if>>

<<if def $ch2>>\ <fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="jax_stat" class="chartxt">Jax</legend> <div class="charoptions">a helping hand ...? <div class="pbar"><p class="pbar-title">Affection ($jax.rel.fr)</p><div class="right"><div id="jax_stat_bar" class="left" @style="'width:' + $jax.rel.fr + '%; background:#d49c6b;'"></div></div></div><div class="charreal"><<displaySincerityJY $jax.rel.fake>></div></div> </fieldset> <fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="y_stat" class="chartxt">$q.name le Tellier</legend> <div class="charoptions">the unreachable yet eerily close <div class="pbar"><p class="pbar-title">Affection ($q.rel.fr)</p><div class="right"><div id="y_stat_bar" class="left" @style="'width:' + $q.rel.fr + '%; background:#d49c6b;'"></div></div></div><div class="charreal"><<displaySincerityJY $q.rel.fake>></div></div> </fieldset> <fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="dar_stat" class="chartxt">Darla Belrose</legend> <div class="charoptions">one with curiosities you can entertain <div class="pbar"><p class="pbar-title">Affection ($dar.rel.fr)</p><div class="right"><div id="dar_stat_bar" class="left" @style="'width:' + $dar.rel.fr + '%; background:#d49c6b;'"></div></div></div><div class="charreal"><<displaySincerity $dar.rel.fake>></div></div> </fieldset> <fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="gale_stat" class="chartxt">Gale le Tellier</legend> <div class="charoptions">a lost lamb--or an ally <div class="pbar"><p class="pbar-title">Affection ($gale.rel.fr)</p><div class="right"><div id="gale_stat_bar" class="left" @style="'width:' + $gale.rel.fr + '%; background:#d49c6b;'"></div></div></div><div class="charreal"><<displaySincerity $gale.rel.fake>></div></div> </fieldset> <fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="art_stat" class="chartxt">Arthur van der Garde</legend> <div class="charoptions">your antithesis, and yet <div class="pbar"><p class="pbar-title">Affection ($art.rel.fr)</p><div class="right"><div id="art_stat_bar" class="left" @style="'width:' + $art.rel.fr + '%; background:#d49c6b;'"></div></div></div><div class="charreal"><<displaySincerity $art.rel.fake>></div></div> </fieldset> <<if def $met_ia>><fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="ia_stat" class="chartxt">Ianthe</legend> <div class="charoptions">the woman with a key <div class="pbar"><p class="pbar-title">Affection ($ia.rel.fr)</p><div class="right"><div id="ia_stat_bar" class="left" @style="'width:' + $ia.rel.fr + '%; background:#d49c6b;'"></div></div></div><div class="charreal"><<displaySincerity $ia.rel.fake>></div></div> </fieldset><</if>> <<else>>\ No relationships to track yet. <</if>>\ <div class="next_page"><hr>[[Return|$return]]</div>

<div style="text-align: center;">Collect <span style="font-variant: small-caps; color: #d49c6b;">secrets</span> through your actions to peer behind the curtain and to obtain information you could exploit in your future endeavors to your gain--or to your amusement.</div>

<<set $p to {}>> <<set $p.gender to "">> <<set $p.he to "she">> <<set $p.his to "her">> <<set $p.him to "her">> <<set $p.man to "woman">> <<set $p.lord to "lady">> <<set $p.name to "">> <<set $p.plural to false>> <<set $p.appearance to {}>> <<set $p.appearance.set to false>> <<set $p.appearance.hair to "">> <<set $p.appearance.eyes to "">> <<set $p.appearance.skin to "">> <<set $p.appearance.height to 0>> <<set $p.affinity to {}>> <<set $p.affinity.frieda to 0>> <<set $p.affinity.y to 0>> <<set $p.affinity.player to 0>> <<set $p.affinity.gale to 0>> <<set $p.memories to {}>> <<set $p.memories.y to 0>> <<set $p.memories.incident to 0>> <<set $p.memories.role to 0>> <<set $p.mind to {}>> <<set $p.mind.magic to 0>> <<set $p.combat to 0>> <<set $p.magic to 0>> <<set $p.playful to 50>> <<set $p.crafty to 50>> <<set $p.ruthless to 50>> <<set $p.wits to 0>> <<set $p.speech to 0>> <<set $p.vil to 60>> <<set $p.oldnew to 50>> <<set $p.touch to true>> <<set $p.spell_ctr to 0>> <<set $mort to 30>> <<set $q to {}>> <<set $q.gender to "female">> <<set $q.he to "she">> <<set $q.his to "her">> <<set $q.him to "her">> <<set $q.man to "woman">> <<set $q.king to "Queen">> <<set $q.name to "Yvette">> <<set $q.uncle to "aunt">> <<set $q.He to "She">> <<set $q.His to "Her">> <<set $q.rel to {}>> <<set $q.rel.trust to 50>> <<set $q.rel.love to 0>> <<set $q.rel.fr to 30>> <<set $q.rel.sus to 20>> <<set $gale to {}>> <<set $gale.rel to {}>> <<set $gale.rel.trust to 0>> <<set $gale.rel.love to 0>> <<set $gale.rel.fr to 0>> <<set $gale.corr to 0>> <<set $gale.fam to 50>> <<set $gale.heals to 20>> <<set $art to {}>> <<set $art.rel to {}>> <<set $art.rel.trust to 0>> <<set $art.rel.love to 0>> <<set $art.rel.fr to 0>> <<set $art.sus to 70>> <<set $art.oof_ctr to 0>> <<set $jax to {}>> <<set $jax.rel to {}>> <<set $jax.rel.trust to 30>> <<set $jax.rel.love to 0>> <<set $jax.rel.fr to 20>> <<set $jax.sus to 30>> <<set $dar to {}>> <<set $dar.rel to {}>> <<set $dar.rel.trust to 0>> <<set $dar.rel.love to 0>> <<set $dar.rel.fr to 0>> <<set $dar.sus to 50>> <<set $ia to {}>> <<set $ia.rel to {}>> <<set $ia.rel.trust to 0>> <<set $ia.rel.love to 0>> <<set $ia.rel.fr to 0>> <<set $ia.magic to 0>> <<set $mort to 0>> <<set $court to {}>> <<set $court.gen to 0>> <<set $court.libeth to 0>> <<set $court.libeth_r to 0>> <<set $court.karon to 0>> <<set $court.daveth to 0>> <<set $gregory to 0>> <<set $path to 0>>

<h3 class="chapter">About $p.name <<if def $p.lname_use and $p.lname_use != "">>$p.lname_use<<if def $ch2 and $ch2.remembered_lname and $p.lname_use !="Vyrell">> (Vyrell)<</if>><</if>></h3><hr class="chapter"> <<if $p.appearance.set>>Despite not remembering who $p.he <<if $p.plural>>are<<else>>is<</if>>, $p.name can rely on what $p.he <<if $p.plural>>see<<else>>sees<</if>> in a mirror: a $p.man \ <<if $p.appearance.height >0>>\ of \ <<if $p.appearance.height is 1>>\ short \ <<elseif $p.appearance.height is 2>>\ average \ <<elseif $p.appearance.height is 3>>\ tall \ <</if>>\ stature\ <</if>>\ with $p.appearance.skin skin and $p.appearance.hair hair, looking at the world through $p.appearance.eyes eyes. To everyone $p.he <<if $p.plural>>go<<else>>goes<</if>> by the <span class="inlinelink">[["" +$p.he+ " • "+$p.him|pronoun_change]]</span> pronouns.<</if>> <h3 class="chapter">Personality</h3><hr class="chapter"> <<nobr>> <div class="pbar"><div class="pbar-header"><p class="pbar-title-left">Sly ($p.crafty)</p><p class="pbar-title-right">(<<print (100 - $p.crafty)>>) Blunt</p><div style="clear: both;"></div></div> <div class="right" style="background: #5e6668;"> <div id="crafty" class="left" @style="'width:' + $p.crafty + '%; background:#d49c6b;'"> </div> </div></div> <div class="pbar"> <div class="pbar-header"><p class="pbar-title-left">Friendly ($p.playful)</p><p class="pbar-title-right">(<<print (100 - $p.playful)>>) Aloof</p><div style="clear: both;"></div></div> <div class="right" style="background: #5e6668;"> <div id="playful" class="left" @style="'width:' + $p.playful + '%; background:#d49c6b;'"> </div> </div> </div> <div class="pbar"> <div class="pbar-header"><p class="pbar-title-left">Ruthless ($p.ruthless)</p><p class="pbar-title-right">(<<print (100 - $p.ruthless)>>) Considerate</p><div style="clear: both;"></div></div> <div class="right" style="background: #5e6668;"> <div id="ruthless" class="left" @style="'width:' + $p.ruthless + '%; background:#d49c6b;'"> </div> </div> </div> <</nobr>> <h3 class="chapter">Mastery</h3><hr class="chapter"> <<nobr>><div class="pbar"><p class="pbar-title">Magic ($p.magic)</p> <div class="right"> <div id="magic" class="left" @style="'width:' + $p.magic + '%; background:#d49c6b;'"> </div> </div> </div> <div class="pbar"><p class="pbar-title">Weapons ($p.combat)</p> <div class="right"> <div id="combat" class="left" @style="'width:' + $p.combat + '%; background:#d49c6b;'"> </div> </div> </div><</nobr>> <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Return|$return]]</div>

[[♖Character♖|StatScreen]] [[♙Relationships♙|RelationshipsStats]] <<if def $secretsunlocked>>[[Secrets|secrets]]<</if>> [[Codex|codex]] /* [[Achievements|pia]] */ /* :: StoryCaption <div class="gameinfo">Ver. 0.1.2, <a href="https://thegrayascendancy-if.tumblr.com/">devblog</a></div> */ /* :: StoryShare */

Select the desired pronouns for your character: <div class="charoptions">[[he/him|StatScreen][$p.he to "he"; $p.him to "him"; $p.his to "his"; $p.plural to false]] [[she/her|StatScreen][$p.he to "she"; $p.him to "her"; $p.his to "her"; $p.plural to false]] [[they/them|StatScreen][$p.he to "they"; $p.him to "them"; $p.his to "their"; $p.plural to true]] [[xe/xem|StatScreen][$p.he to "xe"; $p.him to "xem"; $p.his to "xyr"; $p.plural to false]] [[ey/em|StatScreen][$p.he to "ey"; $p.him to "em"; $p.his to "eir"; $p.plural to false]] [[input your own|input_pronouns]]</div> <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Return|$return]]</div>

He/she/they: <span class="charoptions"><<textbox "$p.he" $p.he>></span> Him/her/them: <span class="charoptions"><<textbox "$p.him" $p.him>></span> His/her/their (e.g. //it was their voice coming from the next room//): <span class="charoptions"><<textbox "$p.his" $p.his>></span> <<if $p.plural>><<checkbox "$p.plural" false true checked>><<else>><<checkbox "$p.plural" false true>><</if>> This is a plural pronoun. <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Return|$return]]</div>

<<widget "NextPage">> <div class="next_page"><hr> [[Next page|$args[0]]]</div> <</widget>> <<widget "TBC">> <div class="next_page"><hr> [[To be continued...|updateend]]</div> <</widget>> <<widget "modify">> /* <<set $args[0] to Math.clamp($args[0] + $args[1], 0, 100)>> */ <<print '<<set ' + $args[0] + ' to Math.clamp(' + $args[0] + ' + ' + $args[1] + ', 0, 100)>>'>> <</widget>> <<widget "displaySincerity">> <<if $args[0] < -10>> <<print '~your relationship seems to be built on your sincerity'>> <<elseif $args[0] > 10>> <<print '~it seems like you are putting a front with this person'>> <<else>> <<if ndef $checksincerity>> <<print '~you are still figuring out how to act around this person'>> <<else>> <<print '~your relationship exists in a delicate balance of sincerity and pretense'>> <</if>> <</if>> <</widget>> <<widget "displaySincerityJY">> <<if $args[0] < -10>> <<print '~your relationship seems to be built on your sincerity'>> <<elseif $args[0] > 10>> <<print '~it seems like you are putting a front with this person'>> <<else>> <<if ndef $checksincerityJY>> <<print '~your relationship seems to be built on your sincerity'>> <<else>> <<print '~your relationship exists in a delicate balance of sincerity and pretense'>> <</if>> <</if>> <</widget>>

<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">The Gray Ascendancy</span> is a story of revenge, court intrigue, age-old ache, self-determination and agency, with the player straight at the core of it all. It thus deals with heavy subjects such as <b>violence, emotional manipulation, mentions of suicide, alcohol, drugs, kidnapping and death</b>. As it is a work in progress, the list of content warnings may expand. Please proceed only if you are set to interact with the material containing the aforementioned topics. <div class="next_page"><hr>[[I understand and wish to proceed. Take me to the character creator.|ch_creator1]]</div>

Specify some information about your character: <fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="chargender" class="chartxt">$p.gender</legend> <div class="charoptions">You are: <<link "a man">><<set $p.man to "man">><<set $p.gender to "male">><<set $p.he to "he">><<set $p.him to "him">><<set $p.his to "his">><<set $p.lord to "lord">><<replace "#chargender">>$p.gender<</replace>><</link>> <<link "a woman">><<set $p.man to "woman">><<set $p.gender to "female">><<set $p.he to "she">><<set $p.him to "her">><<set $p.his to "her">><<set $p.lord to "lady">><<replace "#chargender">>$p.gender<</replace>><</link>> <<link "non-binary">><<set $p.man to "person">><<set $p.gender to "non-binary">><<set $p.he to "they">><<set $p.him to "them">><<set $p.his to "their">><<set $p.plural to true>><<set $p.lord to "noble">><<replace "#chargender">>$p.gender<</replace>><</link>></div> </fieldset> <fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="charname" class="chartxt">$p.name</legend> <div class="charoptions">The name you have taken is: <<link "Aeden">><<set $p.name to "Aeden">><<replace "#charname">>$p.name<</replace>><</link>> <<link "Thea">><<set $p.name to "Thea">><<replace "#charname">>$p.name<</replace>><</link>> <<link "Sylas">><<set $p.name to "Sylas">><<replace "#charname">>$p.name<</replace>><</link>> <<link "Marth">><<set $p.name to "Marth">><<replace "#charname">>$p.name<</replace>><</link>> <<link "Norman">><<set $p.name to "Norman">><<replace "#charname">>$p.name<</replace>><</link>> <span class="block"><<textbox "$p.name" "">> <<link "✓">><<replace "#charname">>$p.name<</replace>><</link>></span></div> </fieldset> <fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="charhair" class="chartxt">$p.appearance.hair</legend> <div class="charoptions">Your hair is: <<link "white">><<set $p.appearance.hair to "white">><<replace "#charhair">>$p.appearance.hair<</replace>><</link>> <<link "golden">><<set $p.appearance.hair to "golden">><<replace "#charhair">>$p.appearance.hair<</replace>><</link>> <<link "copper">><<set $p.appearance.hair to "copper">><<replace "#charhair">>$p.appearance.hair<</replace>><</link>> <<link "auburn">><<set $p.appearance.hair to "auburn">><<replace "#charhair">>$p.appearance.hair<</replace>><</link>> <<link "brown">><<set $p.appearance.hair to "brown">><<replace "#charhair">>$p.appearance.hair<</replace>><</link>> <<link "dark brown">><<set $p.appearance.hair to "dark brown">><<replace "#charhair">>$p.appearance.hair<</replace>><</link>> <<link "raven black">><<set $p.appearance.hair to "raven black">><<replace "#charhair">>$p.appearance.hair<</replace>><</link>></div> </fieldset> <fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="chareyes" class="chartxt">$p.appearance.eyes</legend> <div class="charoptions">Your eyes are: <<link "hazel">><<set $p.appearance.eyes to "hazel">><<replace "#chareyes">>$p.appearance.eyes<</replace>><</link>> <<link "brown">><<set $p.appearance.eyes to "brown">><<replace "#chareyes">>$p.appearance.eyes<</replace>><</link>> <<link "ice blue">><<set $p.appearance.eyes to "ice blue">><<replace "#chareyes">>$p.appearance.eyes<</replace>><</link>> <<link "deep blue">><<set $p.appearance.eyes to "deep blue">><<replace "#chareyes">>$p.appearance.eyes<</replace>><</link>> <<link "amber">><<set $p.appearance.eyes to "amber">><<replace "#chareyes">>$p.appearance.eyes<</replace>><</link>> <<link "green">><<set $p.appearance.eyes to "green">><<replace "#chareyes">>$p.appearance.eyes<</replace>><</link>> <<link "gray">><<set $p.appearance.eyes to "gray">><<replace "#chareyes">>$p.appearance.eyes<</replace>><</link>></div> </fieldset> <fieldset class="charbox"><legend id="charskin" class="chartxt">$p.appearance.skin</legend> <div class="charoptions">Your skin is: <<link "pale ivory">><<set $p.appearance.skin to "pale ivory">><<replace "#charskin">>$p.appearance.skin<</replace>><</link>> <<link "fair">><<set $p.appearance.skin to "fair">><<replace "#charskin">>$p.appearance.skin<</replace>><</link>> <<link "tawny beige">><<set $p.appearance.skin to "tawny beige">><<replace "#charskin">>$p.appearance.skin<</replace>><</link>> <<link "olive">><<set $p.appearance.skin to "olive">><<replace "#charskin">>$p.appearance.skin<</replace>><</link>> <<link "deep bronze">><<set $p.appearance.skin to "deep bronze">><<replace "#charskin">>$p.appearance.skin<</replace>><</link>> <<link "russet brown">><<set $p.appearance.skin to "russet brown">><<replace "#charskin">>$p.appearance.skin<</replace>><</link>> <<link "rich black">><<set $p.appearance.skin to "rich black">><<replace "#charskin">>$p.appearance.skin<</replace>><</link>></div> </fieldset> <div class="next_page"><hr>[[Continue|defineY]]</div>

<<set $p.appearance.set to true>><h3 class="chapter">The First Page</h3><hr class="chapter"> ''"$p.name, will you help me kill a king?"'' It has been months, and the question still ruffles your mind. Spoken against drowsy heat under checkered sunlight streaming through stained glass, its jagged, ugly corners were smoothed with a faint, reassuring smile. You looked back at the Gray Regent whose expression was calm even in the wake of such request. The very Gray Regent--the monarch of the exiled mages--whose patronage //saved// you. <div class="choice"><hr><ul> <li>[[Lady Yvette le Tellier was patiently waiting for the answer.|defineY2][$q.gender to "female"; $q.he to "she"; $q.his to "her"; $q.him to "her"; $q.man to "woman"; $q.king to "Queen"; $q.name to "Yvette"; $q.uncle to "aunt"; $q.He to "She"; $q.His to "Her"]]</li> <li>[[Lord Yves le Tellier was patiently waiting for the answer.|defineY2][$q.gender to "male"; $q.he to "he"; $q.his to "his"; $q.him to "him"; $q.man to "man"; $q.king to "King"; $q.name to "Yves"; $q.uncle to "uncle"; $q.He to "He"; $q.His to "His"]]</li></ul></div>

''"Yes,"'' you replied, and you do not quite recall anymore exactly how $q.his expression changed, only that it did, in some imperceptible way. $q.He was relieved, perhaps. It has been months, and the memory faded somewhat. But even if you cannot explain it with anything but a loose feeling, every piece inexplicably leads back to it. Even this one, now. <div class="next_page"><hr>[[Begin|start_0_0]]</div>

<<set $p.appearance.set to true>>The infamous Gray Regent, the monarch of the exiled mages and your current master, can be either male or female. <div class="choice"><hr><ul> <li>[[The Gray Regent is Lady Yvette le Tellier.|checkScreen][$q.gender to "female"; $q.he to "she"; $q.his to "her"; $q.him to "her"; $q.man to "woman"; $q.king to "Queen"; $q.name to "Yvette"; $q.uncle to "aunt"; $q.He to "She"; $q.His to "Her"]]</li> <li>[[The Gray Regent is Lord Yves le Tellier.|checkScreen][$q.gender to "male"; $q.he to "he"; $q.his to "his"; $q.him to "him"; $q.man to "man"; $q.king to "King"; $q.name to "Yves"; $q.uncle to "uncle"; $q.He to "He"; $q.His to "His"]]</li></ul></div>

Welcome, $p.name. Let us begin. <div class="next_page"><hr>[[Begin|start_0_0]]</div>

Double-click this passage to edit it.

Font size: <<click "link_text">><<script>>fontSize(36);<</script>><</click>> Use this sample to adjust the desired text size and display qualities. <div class="next_page"><hr>[[Return|$return]]</div>

Page in development. <div class="next_page"><hr>[[Return|$return]]</div>

You have reached the end of the currently released sections of the game. If you have enjoyed it and want to get regular updates on the development, notifications about the upcoming game updates as well as extra titbits about the world, you can follow me on <a class="inlinelink" href="https://thegrayascendancy-if.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>.

<h3 class="chapter">Personal</h3><hr class="chapter">\ <ul> <li><<if (def $ch2.remembered_lname) and ($ch2.remembered_lname is true)>>You have recalled that your family name is Vyrell.<<else>>This secret hasn't been discovered yet.<</if>></li> <li><<if (def $ch2.vision_cave) and ($ch2.vision_cave is true)>>You were witness to the beginning of a tentative cooperation between...whom?<<else>>This secret hasn't been discovered yet.<</if>></li> </ul> <h3 class="chapter">Persons of interest</h3><hr class="chapter">\ <ul> <li><<if (def $ch2.heard_rumor_jy) and ($ch2.heard_rumor_jy is true)>>The Gray Regent and Jax seem to not see eye to eye on something.<<else>>This secret hasn't been discovered yet.<</if>></li> </ul> <h3 class="chapter">Magic</h3><hr class="chapter">\ <ul> <li><<if (def $ch2.sea_of_red) and ($ch2.sea_of_red is true)>>In a moment of crisis, you had a peek at the extent of power a mage of the Fourth wields.<<else>>This secret hasn't been discovered yet.<</if>></li> </ul> <h3 class="chapter">Sunken Court</h3><hr class="chapter">\ No secrets to discover about the Sunken Court yet. <div class="next_page"><hr>[[Return|$return]]</div>