You play as Argia Candente, a Paladin of Ansàrra cursed with silver hair since birth, on her way to deliver correction where needed. And there’s a lot of correction needed…

# # # # # #

Welcome to the sixth thread of Argia Candente's astounding adventures, our scatterbrained, silver-haired (busty, as the players decided) Holy Knight-trainee with a penchant for daydreaming and plagued by self-doubt, on a quest to achieve her ordaining and save her family from poverty and starvation.

You faced many threats and troubles (Threads 1-4) and then you explored an abandoned Temple looking for a corrupted wizard (Thread 5) to deliver to his Throneland masters.
But then you suffered betrayal, from the person you trusted the most, the person who trusted you with her own deepest secret, disregarding your friends’ need to know.
The only person you believed could understand you betrayed you… and the worst thing is that Willow did so to save your soul.
Or so she believes.

Over the course of the latest thread you managed to rebuild together the relationship with your remaining companions — Rubida dell’Obertengo and Soralisa da Zaribari. While your Magus ally (and a friend, how much a Heathen can be called a friend) Sandora Mirari had to leave on urgent business after the recent scuffle with the Inquisitor set on your heels freed her.

And speaking of inquisition, you are currently under direct (very direct) scrutiny by Rosandra Brusera da Roccafonda, who has been sent by the highest hierarchies of the Holy Land. You knew your silver hair signified you were cursed, but you did not expect this trouble to reach you right now…
At least you managed to convince Rosandra not to smite you immediately.

What’s worse, you failed the previous mission, the one given to you by Carnaval, the Angel of Ansàrra. And your Master, Ibardo Delebasse, has been imprisoned on charges of misbehaviour. You suspect that his habit of entertaining himself with the daughters and wives of the nobility finally caught up to him, but you are certain there’s more to this.

Now you and your friends continue your quest, looking for Willow Stark, the otherworlder who betrayed you… apparently to save your soul.
There’s indeed much correction to be delivered!

[cont.]

captcha: S0X0R (we're SO back)

>>6240838 (OP)

To make the situation even more grievous, there’s one more mystery that weighs on your soul… the hallowed cameo that hangs from your neck, Master’s gift. It depicts your favourite Saint, and the one most beloved to Ansàrra: Bragia Lacresta, murdered in cold blood by the enemy of the faith: the Adversary, the collector of souls, the dispenser of lies and the patron of greed, the woman responsible for merchants buying out all your lands and casting you off as refugees: the Stilladìa.
And there is something about it that does not sit right with you.
A detail you can’t place, but that gnaws at the root of your soul…

But for now, you should focus on dispatching the Ubaiidi lizardmen who are running at you, hissing, their blades held high over their head.
Praised be Ansàrra, may She give you strength.


>ARCHIVES:

>First Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6012263/

>Second Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6049645/

>Third Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6098808/

>Fourth Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6154957/

>Fifth Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6198478/

>Voting Link (thanks everyone for voting! Let’s gild all the threads!): https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Silver%20Knight%20Quest


Please vote, we survived 4chan’s hacking last time, so I hope we can reach the next one with more gilded threads… thanks everyone. Anon do the needful.

Update schedule: usually one updateevery 24-48 hours. You can expect between two and four posts depending on narrative pace and player interaction. I will do my best to reply to questions and suggestions though.

Notice: due to workplace shenanigans, this thread is supposed to run only until the end of June. I’ll keep you updated if the situation changes, but please look forward to at least 40 days of Argia-related goodness.


As for a brief recap for new players… last time on Silver Knight Quest…

[cont.]

>>6240841

Your name is Argia Candente, and you are a young Knight (Knight-aspirant, to be fair…) at the service of the goddess Ansàrra, also known as the Sun-Birther.

You used to live with your family on the shores of the inland sea, the Mar da Candéa, as a vintner. You had a promising, peaceful life ahead of you, until merchants from one of the Powers of the world, the Dominion of Frigéia, showed up one day to purchase your lands, and in a matter of months you were turned into little more than refugees.

Leaving your ancestral home for the Landing Strip, the debased territory just outside of the Holy Land, waiting and praying to be let in, you and your family suffered hard times. One day, as one of your brothers suffered a wound during a brutal street brawl, and you threw yourself in its middle to help him, a strange old man appeared. He immediately dispatched the brutes threatening you, and proposed you a way out.

A way into the true Faith.

This man, Ibardo Delebasse, head of a powerful Order of Knights, took you as his disciple. For the past three years and a half you have wandered with him, growing strong under his tutelage, growing devout and growing hopeful.

As you train, you also learned that your silver hair, which you have been born with, is considered a sign of evil influence, and many superstitious believers would consider you an agent of the Enemy. Which is preposterous, but the only way you can change their mind is by exercising your virtue.
And thus, training and following Master, you do.

He has given you many gifts, and the most important one is your Cameo of Saint Bragia Lacresta, a young Knight just like you were, murdered by the Adversary. She used to be a simple soul, for more devout than she was strong, and you have always found support in your devotion to her, other than to the Sun-Birther.

For the past few months, though, due to your training reaching your next stage, your Master had to leave you in the company of three more Knight-aspirants, led by the high-ranking mystic Astoria di Ottava Ora.

You tried being friendly with them, but for almost the entirety of your time together they did not seem that friendly with you. Rubida dell’Obertengo initially bullied and belittled you, Soralisa da Zaribari couldn’t win over her own fears to reach out to you, and the third one, Salicera Fors, who one day you would know as Willow Stark, seemed to just study you at a distance.

Yet, ever since the beginning of this new adventure, you managed to win them over, earn their trust and respect when you saved Soralisa, helped Rubida and supported Salicera.

[cont.]

>>6240842

As your credentials grew, so did your responsibilities: after you four dispatched a terrible demon about to being reborn, you were given an important mission by Carnaval, the Angel of Ansàrra: dispatch and detain a rogue Magus, who had hidden himself like a rat inside an abandoned Temple, in the Thronelands.

Along the way, Willow revealed her secret to you (and only to you), and you met with Sandora Mirari, your guide to the Thronelands. Sandora proved herself to be a reliable ally and friend (especially when she saved your life) and you are not ashamed of calling her a friend, even if she’s a heathen.

You received so much support that you finally decided to display your silver hair, and stop covering your mane. A decision which may bring consequences sooner than you think…

Finally reaching the Temple, you had Soralisa carve a protective seal on your back which has given you a most potent boon, and you were ready to deal with this mission once and for all.

But then the unthinkable happened: Willow betrayed you and the group. She killed the wizard, swallowed the Worm, and left you in the dark, destroying your trust and your mission.

You spent some time recovering. After a while, you finally managed to gain the trust of your friends back. You had to explain them you knew about Willow’s secret identity, and that you did not want to put her before them. Many tears were shed, many hugs shared.

And just when things seemed to reach a balance, the Inquisitor appeared, a deliverer of bad news. You did not take that well…

Even less so did the group of mages sent to let the Inquisitor know how displeased they were with the way she just showed up in the Thronelands. It might have all been solved with diplomacy, but then one of the Mages attacked her, and you had to jump into the fray.
Only to discover how Rosandra survived all the centuries since the Holy Land’s Foundation Wars.

The night saw Rosandra emerge victorious and laughing, and the group of Mages quickly asking for a truce, going back one member short. Then you went back to embrace your friends.
A new day would come…

[cont.]

>>6240843


# # # # # #

Rules Recap:

We vote by majority to decide actions. In rare cases, if a tie happens I may incorporate both options if narratively possible or interesting. This does NOT happen for combat rolls.

Usually, options are highlighted in red, blue, green (with no special meaning for the colours, I just think they are neat), and there is almost always an invitation, in bold, to add suggestions and discussion. Discussions and questions are highly encouraged as they may give you numerical bonuses or allow you to skip dangerous situations!

We use Best of Six 1d100 roll against a DC, plus bonuses.

>natural 1 is a critical failure, natural 100 is a complete success.

Roll vs DC for most checks.

Combat roll is instead Bo6, comparing rolls in succession (my first roll vs your first roll, etc.) and counting successes against my rolls (usually you need to beat only 1 or 2 of my rolls)

If you or I get dubs, trips or more on the rolling post we add the following values/effects to what was just rolled and only that:

>dubs: +18
>trips: automatic critical success
>quads: permanent bonus + kiss on the cheek

Once you got quints and you gained a nice permanent bonus.
these rules apply to my rolls as well but only to the first one (as I use a single post for my rolls)

>Write-Ins:

there will be the occasional prompt for these. Interesting ideas or suggestions may be incorporated in the update even if they don’t reach a majority.Discussions and questions are highly encouraged as they may give you numerical bonuses or allow you to skip dangerous situations!

# # # # # #

Pasta?

Pasta!

>Lore and Important Characters: https://pastebin.com/By6W3xxD

(you will find yours and other character's bonuses here in this file):

>MC and stats (updated!) https://pastebin.com/CuxGS43X

# # # # # #

And now, the news…

[cont.]

>>6240845

The lizardman’s scimitar glistens under the light of Her dying sun.
This is a mistake.
First, because Her sun never truly dies.
Second, for the lizardman.
“Hnf!” You grunt, meeting his blade with yours.
He probably thinks little of your battle prowess — you are just a frail woman, instead of a large, bulky lizardman.
But you are not alone.
Ansàrra is with you, always.
The brazen weapon can do little to face your white-edged sword, cast in Maduan tetracerarmide. The craft of your armour, as well; the porcelain-like material bites into the metal with the ease of a lion crunching on hollow bones.
You shear off the top half of his blade, and then your strike eats through his scales, drawing an arc of dark red blood.
The lizardman shrieks, pulls back.
But he’s far too slow.
This doesn’t feel like a fight.
More like a slaughter.
But then again, it’s one these monsters’ fault.
Maybe after this, for the few that will remain, they will think again before kidnapping the Throneland’s village’s children.
Even if it’s just a bunch of Heathens, they don’t know any better.
Perhaps you will push a few of them out of the shade of their Emperor and into the light of Faith.
Just like you tried with Willow… your heart tightens with sorrow.
The lizardman reaches out for a throwing knife and you go back to the present moment.
You pivot on yourself, and using your momentum, cut his arm in twain. He screams, falling on his knees, looking at you with hate.
You plunge your sword between his eyes and watch the light in them go dark.
The thing falls on the stained grass, while the rest of the camp is alit in screams and flames. Rubida, just behind you, battles a couple of lizardmen as well — together, the Ubaiidi are her match in strength, but certainly not in skills. Her axes hews their shields and then their skulls. You share a nod with her as she stands over her victims.
It’s time to end this.
Besides, there is someone watching. And for once, it’s not just Ansàrra.

[cont.]

>>6240847

On the cliff that looks upon the Ubaiidi’s outpost, rests a redhead woman, dressed only in bandaged, with six more figures floating around her, connected by chains, dripping blood. Her mane of red hair seems to catch fire in the sunset. She looks at you with a gaze like nails pushing into your flesh.
Rosandra is still convinced you are an agent of the Stilladìa.
Which is ridiculous.
And an insult.
But you have to make her understand she is wrong, or you and your friends will be branded as traitors.
All the while the true betrayer is out of reach…
Another lizardman jumps at you, spear in hand. You get ready to step aside and skewer his abdomen, but something hits him in the throat before you can act: a blast of incendiary light. A flash and the Ubaiid is thrashing on the ground, screaming and burning, scales popping off due to the intense heat from the golden flames. You stand besides them, and yet they feel barely warm to you.
You turn to regard Soralisa, the scholar of your group. She holds up a hand, surrounded by a shimmering shield of honeycomb-shaped tassels. Arrows break upon it, swords bend.
Ansàrra walks with her. Your brunette friend has been burned once.
And no more.
You advance towards the main tent. If their chief is there, that’s probably where the hostages are kept.
You shake your sword to clean it off from the blood, though you doubt it can corrode tetracerarmide. Then your raise your eyes as something comes out of the tents.
This Ubaiid is taller than the others, his scales an angry red. He hold a huge spear in his right hand and a mace in his left, topped by three human skulls.
It hisses at you, and the sound passes through your flesh, making your bones shake right against your muscles.
But your heart stays firm.

[cont.]

Rolled 7, 84, 20, 70, 42, 21 + 14 = 258 (6d100 + 14)

>>6240848


You walked in the Night. And rebuked it.
Ignoring him, you toss a look at Rosandra, who is watching the whole scene. Without raising a finger, of course. She is too busy holding the wooden shaft upon which she impaled the Asterite that tried to kill her, a cycle ago.
The woman’s body is pierced through like a sausage ready for roasting, the wooden tip coming out of her mouth, but she still shakes and groans. She is still alive.
You doubt she is going to let an Asterite die, anyway; dealing with the pernicious magic detained inside their bodies sounds like a chore and Rosandra seems like the kind of woman to hate chores.
The Magus’ eyes have been sewed open, so that she can look at the light of Her sun without ever missing a moment — they have long-since been cooked, turned greasy and dull like the marbles you used to play with as a child.
Rosandra’s petitioning keeps the Magus in a state of perennial pain. She is going to rot on that wooden shaft for a long, long time.
This, you muse, this is much scarier than a bunch of lizardmen.
But the huge one is still charging at you, so you straighten up and get ready to face him.
Your hand closes around your cameo, trying to draw strength from Saint Bragia. Someone would say you were tracing her steps.
Wonder where Willow is right now…
… you would much rather be crossing swords with someone your caliber.

>combat roll: Best of 6, 1d100+23 (+12 from cameo): 1d100+35 total, beat at least two of my rolls at the top of this post. Remember you get a critical success on any natural roll of 97-100. Dubs and trips apply.

>For new players: welcome! If you have questions, feel free to write them below! I'll do my best to answer them.

Welcome, one and all! Welcome back to the adventures of our plucky Knight… now perhaps a bit less plucky than before. I hope you’ll have fun and take the right decisions. Remember it’s a dangerous world out there. I want to thank you all for your enduring support, and once more Anon’s commission. It’s now the face of the thread, how cool is that! Hope you’ll have fun. It’s great having you here once again. And thanks for playing!

Rolled 8 + 23 (1d100 + 23)

>>6240850
Back aren't we

Rolled 55 + 35 (1d100 + 35)

>>6240850

>>6240851
hopefully anon

lovely pic!

also,
>first roll of the thread is an 8

I... this will come back into play later

Rolled 17 + 35 (1d100 + 35)

>>6240850
Glad to see you back, OP

Rolled 49 + 23 (1d100 + 23)

>>6240850
Welcome back, OP!

Though...
>The Magus’ eyes have been sewed open, so that she can look at the light of Her sun without ever missing a moment
.Rosandra’s petitioning keeps the Magus in a state of perennial pain. She is going to rot on that wooden shaft for a long, long time.
Jesus Christ... I'm beginning to think we are in the evil anime church that Willow thought we were.

Rolled 17 + 35 (1d100 + 35)

>>6240850
WE ARE SO BACK, welcome back OP!
>>6240952
>Jesus Christ... I'm beginning to think we are in the evil anime church that Willow thought we were.
Eh, she was going to kill Argia and her manipolo if allowed to, fuck her, may the heathen enjoy her sun until the lesson sticks.
Still I'll admit that I expected Rosandra to punish the heathen once with some maiming and leave her be on the mansion, not to add "the impaler" to her long list of epithets.
A reminder to do our best to be friends, we did it with Sandora, we can do it with her too.

>>6240855
>I... this will come back into play later
wait, why would... oh. oh no,

Shit, I don't know how I missed those threads. I thought this was on a break or something. Time to catch up on the archived stuff when I have a bit more free time.

Cute OP pic regardless.

>>6241375
hey nice to see you again IlvQM! The quest has been on a break for a bit - this year is busier than the last one so I am pacing myself. I'll be glad to have you on board again whenever you want!

>cute OP pic

I printed it and it rests by my wall rn

>>6241387
>I printed it and it rests by my wall rn

Fucking cool. At some point I may commission something for my own thing and I would probably do the same. At least stick it in a little picture frame on my book case.

After I finish my writing, I will try and go through the threads I missed, since the summary made it sound interesting.

Happy to be back.

And I feel you on the busy comment. That and just shit happening, lol.

>>6241375
you can roll as well, anon

>>6241387
I'm glad you like it, OP.

>>6241403
It's worth it. I have a bunch of commissioned art up, and it helps inspire me during writer's block or burnout.

Rolled 58 + 35 (1d100 + 35)

>>6240850

>>6241547

Did not even register Bo6.

>>6240838 (OP)
Nice pic and welcome back sun.

>>6242119
thanks! just come back to finish update the thread

>roll results

you win more than two. is dice going to be loaded this thread as well? we'll find out soon...

writing/updating/gallivating/cavorting

>>6240850

The first strike comes from the left — you bend your body backward, avoiding it, and slicing open his arm with your weapon. The white edge fears no impact, and it bites into the scales and the flesh with as much easier as wet paper, leaving behind a trail of dark blood.
The beast hisses, then it strikes again — once, twice — in its fury it manages to land a few hits on your arm and shoulder, but your armour is the same material as your sword.
Carnaval’s gift proves much more useful in this kind of contest than with otherworldly beats, mages, or the pair of eyes that keep watching your group from above.

The lizardman goes for a thrust, trying to strike your heart.
Is this what he has learned, raiding these poor people at the edge of the world? This close to the sea it seems the authority of the Throne is faint, its arm short and weak.
Once again, it’s up to Ansàrra to uphold order.
You turn your lips into a shape of cold disdain as you turn on yourself, balancing yourself by showing off your Lynx stance, and then, as he overreaches, stumbles on the grass, you shift into the Lion, and strike right into its thigh.
It falls to the ground.
Another strike, up the side, reaching into its stomach, then a pull, twisting on your shoulders—

You step back, tracing an arc in the air with its blood. The beast hisses and pants, its limbs still shaking as it tries to pull back its sliced belly. The smell of iron and entrails hit you.
Wonder if there’s some piece of human being laying in that stomach.
A little snack.

[cont.]

>>6242165

You close your eyes, focus on Saint Bragia’s cameo, reach out to the presence of the Sun-Birther above, and snap your fingers.
Its slithering tongue catches fire. With a shriek and a gurgle, weakly holding it with its bloodied talons, the beast chokes on the taste of blood and cinder.
Then it stops moving.

The encampment is almost completely destroyed. The noises come onto you as if shielded. Rubida cleaving through another beast’s back, her axes hewing skin and flesh and bone — blood staining her beautiful form. She looks like the embodiment of vengeance as she spits and screams at the burglars of children and innocents.

Soralisa walks about, still muttering under her breath — her arms still bearing the marks of the Sanction. They probably forever will.
Wherever Soralisa walks, fire walks after her. The Ubaiidi scream their final choked breath, dying under the last rays of Her sun.

The smoke and the stench raise like the sparkles.
You step into the closest tent, following a hint. The inside is dark, warmer than you would expect. A noise and the reek of spoiled meat.
You cover your nose. A bundle of arms in the corner, behind a throne carved out of wood and scales — there’s something there.
“It’s safe now,” you say.
Pulling back the veil of a blanket, you glance upon a terrified face.
It’s a girl.
She might be two summers younger than you — but the fear in he face makes her look two dozen winters older.
You hold out your hand.
How must you look?Like a demon of vengeance, with your silver hair, your blue eyes like twin flames, your sword, Carnaval’s feather pulsating crimson on your thigh.
But you keep your hand still.And bit by bit, like a scared animal, she reaches out.
When you do not hurt her or shout, she screams and holds onto it.
Frowning, you help her out of her hiding spot.
There’s more limbs and heads where she is staying, but those look much holder, dried.
They remind you of the way your family used to purchase dried meat and let it out in the sun for hours, to get it thin and easier to store—
Your stomach churns as you help the girl outside.

[cont.]

>>6242169


Soralisa and Rubida join you.
“There is only one still alive,” Soralisa points at the survivor, stapled against a wooden beam by one of its people’s own spears. Rubida’s work.
It won’t stay alive for long, anyway.
“Leave it,” you say, then you turn around. Bit by bit, from the other tents other human beings come out, some showing signs of leashes, bites, scratches and worse— but alive. Their hands raised to the sky, praising the Throne, the Throne.
Your mouth tastes acidic— are you biting your tongue again?

You had your share of killing with Master, back during your training with him. Yet this feels different. This… kidnapping, using human beings as slaves and meat and— judging from the way the girl you pulled out of the bed hold her stomach — probably worse…
… you did not know how good you were having it, in the Holy Land.

The last few days shook you in a way you couldn’t have thought possible.

Saint Bragia’s kindness seems like a far-away memory before this, before the loss of Willow, and the hanging sword that is Rosandra.
The Holy Land has deemed you [i]an agent of the Adversary.[/i]
This is beyond insulting. This is—
A wound.
A wound that over the past few days has festered and rotted inside of you.
But you will still fight for Madua.
For your family.
For Master.
And for your friends.
Starless Night, even for that heathen Sandora and Willow!
It’s not up to you, after all.
Your grip tightens over your sword and the girl next to you lets out a strangled breath.
“[i]And by Eventide…[/i]” you mutter, watching the final rays disappearing past the horizon.
Ansàrra shall be praised, Her peace preserved.
By blood, and cerarmide.
“… we have done bright deeds.”


[red]Check for other survivors first. This is a rescue mission.[/red]

[blue]This lizardman still as energy to draw its breath. Breath which would be better used for a confession.[/blue]

[green]You put your sword in the hand of the girl you saved, and slowly lead her towards the Ubaiid, until the tip touches its chest.[/green]

[b]Add a suggestion[/b]

Well… don’t get on our goofy Knight’s bad side? Someone learns that lesson quickly, someone needs a reminder. The sun may be getting dark, anon...

>>6242174
Oof, yeah Argia is still pissed (with reason) about the accusations, probably not easy to be constantly on watch and doubted as an agent of flatness the enemy, raiding a slave camp isn't doing it wonders either.

>You put your sword in the hand of the girl you saved, and slowly lead her towards the Ubaiid, until the tip touches its chest.
What better way to bond with a survivor than by committing righteous vengeance together? Maybe a good way to convert someone away from the throne...

>>6242142
>you win more than two. is dice going to be loaded this thread as well? we'll find out soon...
Was there ever any doubt? KEK I am a little afraid of gloating too soon though..

>>6242174
>[red]Check for other survivors first. This is a rescue mission.[/red]
our girl is getting sour, with reason. damn it.

>>6242174
>Check for other survivors first. This is a rescue mission.
They may need healing. The blue option intrigues me, though, if only because I'm curious how intelligent these Ubaiidi are, and how the faith views them. are they considered people, capable of joining the light, or more like animals, or even irredeemable demons? It had never even entered my mind that the setting might have anthropomorphic animals.

>>6242174
>[red]Check for other survivors first. This is a rescue mission.[/red]

>>6242174
> [red]Check for other survivors first. This is a rescue mission.[/red]

>>6242174
>[green]You put your sword in the hand of the girl you saved, and slowly lead her towards the Ubaiid, until the tip touches its chest.[/green]

>>6242186

interesting thinking anon.

remember not to goad the dice gods for they are skittish and moody...

>>6242296
protect her smile, anon

>>6242390
>are they considered people

they surely were, once. the Kiengiri had a lot of fun creating many nasty little creatures. some of these have been exterminated over the centuries and centuries since the Epochalypse. Some have disappeared. And some have just regressed to animals.

In a way, you could say that Elves drew the shortest stick, but many others were not much luckier.

Also I had planned for them to appear in the very first update of the very first post of the Quest, but voting decided otherwise.

and now, the news...

>>6242174

“Speaking of which,” you add to your last line, turning away from the pole and the skewered lizardman, “let’s check for any more survivors. The more we can find, the more…” you step over the corpse of another Ubaiid as you check the nearby tents, the stench of their body reaching your nostrils. What a waste of flesh. Wonder where they come from. Master could probably explain, but judging from the lack of reaction Soralisa showed when she petitioned Ansàrra for enough Sanctions to burn through their scales, she must not consider them worthy of her time, nor her pity.
To think that these beings used to help Bradiamante, back in the day.
You turn over a smaller specimen, one that’s fallen over an older woman.
Her neck is broken.
You close her eyes and say a brief prayer, running your three middle fingers over her forehead, lips and heart.
The world must have grown cold since then.
Much more than usual.
In the end, you scour up a dozen of survivors: most of them are women, while there’s only one man, who looks younger and thinner, his long hair kept in a tail, some kind of pigment smeared all over his lips and cheeks.
Strange. And unnerving, in a way you can’t explain, like stepping into something you were never supposed to see — lifting over a stone to find a skittering spider.
As soon as you pull him away from his hiding place, he screams up high to the darkening sky, and kicks, with his naked feet, at the groin of he closest Ubaiid.
Again.
And again and again and again.
Soralisa frowns at the gesture, while Rubida looks pale, stricken, her mouth drawn into a line of pity. She reaches for the man’s shoulders, draping her arm around them and slowly pulling him away. She raises her axe and cleaves through the beast’s groin, leaving only a scoured mess.
You turn away, just to make sure not to watch the whole scene, and round up all the survivors.
If you miss someone, they will have to go back to the village by themselves, and there could be more Ubaiidi hidden in the woods or in the deep places of the earth.
“Sedate him,” Rubida asks Soralisa, who uses another Petition to send the man into a drunken stupor. He looks hollowed-out, but at least he doesn’t scream anymore.


[cont.]

>>6242733

Thankful for the gilded shell of your ignorance, you proceed until the end of the cliff. It’s a long fall until the bottom, and even in the dim light of the twilight you can spot hundreds of bones — animals, beasts, but also human skulls — peeking out of the lip of a cave’s entrance.
Maybe this is was just a disposal site. But the cave’s entrance looms dark.
Perhaps it’s better to go back while there’s still some light.
As you turn back, someone stands behind you— your hand raises your sword, only to find Rosandra’s fingers, as quick as thought, already setting on the blade.
“Cease,” she commands.
You lower your sword.
“You startled me, Envoy.”
“Sharpen your senses, then. The mouse doesn’t write complain letters from the belly of the serpent, Argia Candente.” She walks around her, still clad in those bandages, with the six Blessed Blind floating above, upside down, letting out faint whispers of bliss, groans of acceptance.
You envy them, in a way.
“I would have never thought you would compare yourself to a serpent.”
“Ansàrra’s domain offers many crafty beasts,” she chuckles, then tosses a look at the empty cavern. “And some have long-since abused their welcome, relics of a world before the Sun.”
Something in the way she says the last phrase makes you squirm.

The Sun is just another Star.

Madness.
“I was thinking we should go back to the village. It’s almost night, and we may be able to catch a leaving boat.”
“Worry not about the boat,” she adds with a faint smile. “The Throne will gladly part with one at any time, to make sure our journey is safe. And swift.”
“They sure do seem eager to see us leave.”
You three are still technically on a mission, even if you failed it, there is still a thin veneer of excuse.
Not so Rosandra.
She does not care, and if at all it only seems to amuse her further.
“I saw what you thought,” she says next to your ear. “The jolt of vengeance in your eye. You would have wanted to give your weapon to that girl, didn’t you? To help her plunge it in the stomach of the last surviving Ubaiid. To make her feel the joy of revenge, the delight that comes with a just punishment.”
“Shouldn’t I?” Though in the end— you decided against it.
Rosandra tilts her head. Her long fingers brush against your cameo, lifting it from your neck.
“I would have expected such reticence from a servant of the Adversary. Diplomacy, and a silver tongue. Craftiness dressed in the rags of pity.” She chortles, her wrapped chest shaking. “Nay! You almost gifted her with that blessing.” A pause, as she looks deep into your eyes. “Yet you did not.”

[cont.]

>>6242734

“Skewering a beaten enemy is not honourable.”
“Suffering a monster to live is foolish,” she replies holding up a finger.
“Is this still part of your— of what you are trying to— I’m not in league with the Adversary.”
“Mmhhh, perhaps you are not, Argia Candente,” she agrees. “But then explain why the tangled web of fate is wrapped all around you.”
“It is not up to me to explain the Will of Ansàrra.” You sneer. “Especially to someone supposedly so close to Her.”
“Ohhh—” she hisses, seemingly delighted, her finger letting go of your cameo to reach up to your chin. “I may be a serpent, but you are the one with the forked tongue.” She cackles, turning back. “Let us make haste, as you said.”
She walks away, her feet never touching the ground.
As you follow her towards the main camp, you notice how she looks at the Ubaiidi corpses with a strange expression, something that makes you think of regret and loss than disdain.
“Did you meet them before?”
“Did I. We fought many wars. Some were honourable, as you mentioned. Some were necessary. Some were— how do I put it without hurting your sensibility, Argia Candente?” She clicks her tongue. “Cleansing.”
You startle.
“I… I see.”
“Nay,” she shakes her head. “You live in a blessed age of peace, you do not. And yet, there was a time when the Ubaiidi tribes still used to be capable of thought. Given to them by their former Kiengir masters or not, it does not matter. Back then we fought warriors. Tonight you slaughtered animals.”
When you come back to the main camp, Soralisa has gathered all the survivors in one spot. Another man, an old one without hands, has joined the group.
“Now sit on the grass,” Rosandra commands. In awe, all the stricken survivors obey. She waves her hand and their wounds clean, their limbs crack back into their proper place. The survivors look at themselves, at each other, shaken — some fall to the ground and reach for her feet, to praise her, worship her.

[cont.]

>>6242736

“It is not I!” She lashes out, as sharp and quick as lightning. “I am merely a bearer of a much greater light. One you could see every day you have had eyes,” she jabs her bandaged finger at the last embers of Her sun. “Remember this, when you reach your families and friends, tonight. Speak not of the woman who healed your wounds. Speak not of the warriors who dispatched your assailants. Think naught of war and slaughter. Think of the One who carries the Sun on Her back, and every night dies for you, and every morning is victorious again.” A pause, as her disdain grows clearer in her face, her lip curling. “And perhaps, the next time you bow to the throne of a miserable man and his crooked goons, think again.”
You rub your neck.
Starless Night, she is so rough, she scares you to death, she was the bringer of bad news and is one hair’s breadth away from skewering you with her nails… but you would keep listening to her for hours, when it comes to the Faith.
As the last light turns from golden to violet to faint blue, you cast one final glance at the Ubaiid pierced by the spear, his skin stiff and cold.
“There is nothing else to do here,” you mutter, joining with Soralisa and Rubida.

As you go back to the village, you’d rather spend some time with Soralisa and Rubida.

Share a few more words with Rosandra. What are her plans now that you are about to leave the Thronelands? What awaits you once you go back?

You have tried to reach out to Willow through your inner world, like it happened with Soralisa once. Perhaps you can try again…

Add a suggestion

Thank to the anon who wondered about the Ubaiidi. I liked adding some info both before and through the update. You did not encounter such beasts or others so far because you have walked a different path. Perhaps a different set of choices would have brought you to the blasted waste of the Kìtum, the scarred crater of the Epochalypse, or to the Borderlands in the south, or to the holes where the wild things are… thanks everyone for playing!

>>6242740
>You have tried to reach out to Willow through your inner world, like it happened with Soralisa once. Perhaps you can try again…
Rosandra sounds like the type that only shares information if it amuses her and Soralisa and Rubida can live a night without her company.
If there is any chance Argia can figure out where Willow is running off too, it will us help plenty and if it doesn't at least she gets reminded that Argia still cares and will correct her ways slap her silly if she ever catches her first.

>Starless Night, she is so rough, she scares you to death, she was the bringer of bad news and is one hair’s breadth away from skewering you with her nails… but you would keep listening to her for hours, when it comes to the Faith.
Argia is half between hating her guts and begrudgingly admitting that she is spitting facts everytime kek, maybe someday they will reach a middle ground..or fight to the death, whichever strikes their mood first.

>Maybe this is was just a disposal site. But the cave’s entrance looms dark.
I have a feeling that they were feeding something there..but maybe ignorance is bliss

>>6242740
>As you go back to the village, you’d rather spend some time with Soralisa and Rubida.
We've spent plenty of time with "Salicera," to the exclusion of others, and where did it get us? We'll talk to her in person, where we can administer proper correction.

You know I have been thinking about this for a while, but maybe Rosandra wasn't actually off about Argia's being an agent of the adversary. Or rather is not in league with the Stilladia [i]yet[/i]. There are a few connections here that lend to that.
>We know that in the thread #3 alter!argia's patron is the Stilladia and their relationship was cordial, at the very least, the Stilladia likes Argia and her soul.
>At the very very start of the quest, back at #1 thread we see the Stilladia choosing a soul to relive, and she decides on argia's soul, and it [i]glistened like the purest mercury.[/i] and that's a soul she looked at it fondly
>In that same #1 thread the Stilladia literally calls Argia "the Silver Knight."
Now obviously Argia thinks that because she can request sanctions successfully, that means she can't be connected to the adversary, it is that simple in her head, but Rosandra already dismissed that simplistic mentality, by addressing the existence of the cameo of saint Bragia, that Ansàrra can and does change her mind, not that Argia thought much of it (because she is a scatterbrain, bless her soul), it's not a stretch that Argia can be an agent of the adversary while simultaneously be allowed to request for Ansàrra's blessings anyway, because in the Stilladia's own words Ansàrra's still cares for her.

What I am trying to say is that I think Ansàrra is trying to guide Argia into becoming the Stilladia's knight, and Rosandra knows that or suspects it but she is struggling to understand for what purpose (ironically, neither does the Stilladia, that's how deep the 4D chess play goes).
basically my theory is that the silver knight = knight of the Stilladia, now if that will actually happen is a different story, per qm's words we have walked a different path, but I was wondering what the anons here think?

huh, I didn't know only the qm could use italics [i] [/i], well shit everyday is a school day

>>6242794
Could be a play to get in on whatever her plan was to get to Paris, then use Argia as a bridge to tag along.

>>6242740
> Share a few more words with Rosandra. What are her plans now that you are about to leave the Thronelands? What awaits you once you go back?

>>6242728
>Also I had planned for them to appear in the very first update of the very first post of the Quest, but voting decided otherwise.
just checked and they even appear in name and all in there, damn
>>6242733
>In the end, you scour up a dozen of survivors: most of them are women, while there’s only one man, who looks younger and thinner, his long hair kept in a tail, some kind of pigment smeared all over his lips and cheeks.
we have femboys at home
>>6242740
>You have tried to reach out to Willow through your inner world, like it happened with Soralisa once. Perhaps you can try again…

>>6242740
>As you go back to the village, you’d rather spend some time with Soralisa and Rubida.

>>6242760

>if Argia can reach Willow

I wonder what will happen if this does come to pass...

>>6242794
very interesting theory anon! It's correct that the Stilladìa did have her soul at the start, but this might not be connected to the quest events. It's a good theory! It just has a fault: it does not consider Ansàrra.

Remember that the end is still and always up to the players.

>>6242819

the heist of the century!

>>6242950
>they even appear in name and all in there, damn

don't doubt my power anon...

at the moment we have a tie between options so'll wait for the break before updating. If no update in a few hours, I'll just decide which of the options to select.

>>6243938
>file
>A whole ass lore on kiengirs and their tastes on elf customization
So chances are we had a kiengir who really really liked blond hair on Argia's favorite elf puppet, a man (or woman) after my own heart.

>very interesting theory anon! It's correct that the Stilladìa did have her soul at the start, but this might not be connected to the quest events. It's a good theory! It just has a fault:

Thanks QM, and yeah I figured my theory would have a couple of discrepancies, I'm pretty sure I missed a couple more things here and there that could make or break it apart.

>>6243960
your theory was very very interesting though, and I think you will be delighted to compare it to the truth when it comes out...

>Elf customisation

indeed. Kishirra remembered her Mistress, the one who named her such. she was into blondes... taste most peculiar among Kiengiri.

>>6242794
that's nice and all, but for now you only got point from either future things or an AU scenario. unless rosandra can see the future, we need things in the present that can lead to that, hair aside.
>>6243938
>It's a good theory! It just has a fault: it does not consider Ansàrra.
without other possible evidences, I can think of either Argia sacrificing herself to save willow (going with the opening of thread 1) or it being similar to Job's situation where Ansarrà let the adversary use her in a 5D chess move.

>>6242740

She thought she would never going to miss the Sun too much, but it’s the third day — day? — since she has landed in the Night lands, and Willow is starting to regret her words.
She is starting to regret a great many things, actually.
Breathing heavily, she she leans on her walking stick, trying to follow the crowd that is crossing over the makeshift bridge from one side of the river to the next. The murky water gurgles from below, in scattered whirlpools that seem to draw her wandering eye. The sky is always blotted by the dark looming presence of planetary ring. It looms low, the silvery dust blocking most sunlight, bathing this place into an everlasting twilight where only low shrubs and lichens grow.
This place sucks.
It’s worse than she expected.
The Holy Land might have been filled with dotards and maniacs, with their eyes permanently raised to the sky and their heads in the clouds, but at least they knew how to make life pleasant.
At least Argia is safe.
This is what matters.
She repeats this line to herself until she gets numb to its truth.
Her knuckles turn white against the wood, cracking it with her enhanced Strander strength.
This is what matters.
“Hey you!” Comes a harsh voice from ahead. One of their guides, a lean man covered in rags, whose whip crackles and wheezes in the air, points his crooked finger at her. “Get back in the line! No stragglers!”

[cont.]

>>6245104

“She’s pregnant!” Shouts a woman in the crowd. “For pity’s sake, give her—”
The whip cracks and the throng shrieks, bending down to it.
Willow joins the others once again, the writhing and squirming in her stomach — in her womb — growing again to a fever pitch.
Goddammit.
Celaeno better be telling the truth about what she promised— even if she knows that these Kiengiri fuckers are just waiting to fuck her up at any moment.
But there is no other path for her.
Just like this swaying, swinging bridge.
She can probably take that guy’s whip from his hand and lash his skin until she rips it off — it’s what he would deserve.
But the last thing she needs is someone to notice her.
How ironic, considering what she tried to do all this time.
No going back. What would she even go back to?
Argia’s betrayed look? The others’ angry gazes, directed at her?
Ansàrra’s rage, turning her into a smouldering ruin?
No.
She continues… it’s all she knows.
That, and the squirming thing inside her—
Willow blinks.
Something else attracts her attention, so much that she slows down again, and someone stumbles against her from behind.
“Hey—” but she doesn’t care.
There is someone here.
She turns, catching just a hint of silver hair — her heart leaps into her throat.
“A-Argia?”
She has even made something for her.
She likes puppets, after all. She was going to give it back to her, or send it to her, or…
The moment passes.
The whip cracks, just besides her, and the thunder clap of murdered air booms against her ear.
Willow raises a hand, and quick as lightning, slaps the whip away.
She has no time for this.
“Argia?”
“Hey! What was—” the man groans. Who cares.
Is Argia here?Willow raises her voice.
“Argia!”
No reply.
From deep within her heart pours a great yell — Willow raises her head to the heavens and cries.
Once again, there is no answer.

[cont.]

>>6245104

# # # # # #

You come back to the present moment.
It was a long journey. Rubida helps propping yourself back up, while Soralisa holds your hands, having led you through the dark tunnel you walked together.
“So?” Rosandra asks, from the other side of the fire.
Where are you?
Your body feels so tired. Clammy.
It’s like you are learning how to wear it again.
“I— I journeyed far,” you say at last. Rubida handles you a waterskin and you chug, grateful. “I think I saw her. But she was blocked from sight. Like a great dark cloud surrounding her.”
“You spoke of the involvement of dark powers,” Rosandra adds. Her brown eyes seem to glow in the firelight. “So it is to be expected. But you survived the journey.”
Barely.
You feel so tired, stretched thin.
The makeshift camp holds you and the others in the centre, and you are surrounded by the survivors, the kidnapped villagers. You would reach their hometown in a few more hours, climbing down from the mountainside. Their shivering murmurs surround you.
Then perhaps you can rest.
You almost managed to reach Willow… but something did block your sight.
Something that was able to murk Ansàrra’s own searching light.
You shiver at the memory. It’s always the same signature, the Night you met in the Well, and again in the Temple.
The Night that is all around you.
And you are already so tired.

>Weariness check: roll 1d100+12, Bo6, DC 75. A failure will exhaust you.

Immediately discuss what happened with Rosandra.

You decide to let Soralisa and Rubida take care of you.

You have seen the path, so you try to reach Willow again.
Add a suggestion

thanks for playing! A notice: in the future, to avoid these waiting situations given this thread is going last less than others, I'll probably either roll or choose between tied options. Now, best of luck for your rolls. Let's check if you are still blessed...

Rolled 6 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6245107
You decide to let Soralisa and Rubida take care of you.

I don't think Rosandra will help much.

Rolled 48 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6245107
>You have seen the path, so you try to reach Willow again.
the inner world trips will continue until Argia gets to see that puppet too.

>“She’s pregnant!” Shouts a woman in the crowd. “For pity’s sake, give her—”
20 and Pregnant, willow's edition Was Willow 20 years old? I'm pretty sure I missed the age by a year or two Goddamn it I really want her Willow to show her that puppet even if it's the last thing Argia or Willow will do

Also it should have been obvious but I didn't think the manipolo + rosandra + villagers (well they are just gossiping so they are just as useless now as they were back with the lizard slave camp) would be helping out too lmao.

>>6245160
Yeah, Willow is about 20 years old now though she was reincarnated mid-teens

And yeah… I can’t wait for her to see that puppet.

Also, I’m on vacation right now, spending a couple days in Venice to celebrate the Stilladìa. May your dice rolls be good even though what I saw so far wasn’t too inspiring.

In the meantime enjoy in pic related this little piece I wrote for the quest (might not be completely canon)

Rolled 87 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6245105
>Willow joins the others once again, the writhing and squirming in her stomach — in her womb — growing again to a fever pitch.
so she's indeed gonna give birth to the worm. at first I thought it was gonna consume her or something, but damn. hope she survives the process. also, close enough, welcome back Sakura Matou
>>6245107
>Immediately discuss what happened with Rosandra.

>>6245324
interesting text, althought didn't we get a restaurant related flattilàdia episode before ?

>May your dice rolls be good even though what I saw so far wasn’t too inspiring.
I've got good news

Rolled 38 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6245107
>You decide to let Soralisa and Rubida take care of you.

Rolled 30 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6245107
>You have seen the path, so you try to reach Willow again.

Rolled 6 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6245107
>You decide to let Soralisa and Rubida take care of you.

>>6245326
our Willow is gonna be a mom. congrats

also nice roll anon.

>>6245327
>a restaurant related episode

I'll refuse to use the F-word when describing our beloved Star of Morn, even if she was indeed mogged by Argia in that department.

the restaurant snippet was set in Frigéia (so inside Ansàrra's world), while this little hand-written snippet is set in actual Venice in our world. And thus non-canon for now as they haven't found a way to breach the division between worlds for now.

>anons want a wholesome threesome

and so it shall be... writing.

>>6245755
>I'll refuse to use the F-word when describing our beloved Star of Morn, even if she was indeed mogged by Argia in that department.
at this point I wouldn't be surprised if Ansarrà has big marble knockers considering how blessed Argia and Carnival are

>the restaurant snippet was set in Frigéia (so inside Ansàrra's world), while this little hand-written snippet is set in actual Venice in our world. And thus non-canon for now as they haven't found a way to breach the division between worlds for now.
I see, so that means I have chance, right ?

>anons want a wholesome threesome
nothing like good old friendsome, although I wanted rosandra

>>6245817
>I wanted Rosandra

there's another chance anon

>I see, so that means I have chance, right ?

not with her, but she'll be glad to sell you her dakimakuras anon

>big marble knockers

that's still a mystery. Perhaps only Saint Bragia knew the answer.

# # # # # #

You have decided to stop believing in luck.
The world after all turns because Ansàrra wishes it to.
But if someone asked, you would say that you feel indeed lucky for having your friends at your side.
“Hnngh,” you groan when you miss another step, and lean against Soralisa, who still upholds your weight quite well. In fact, she doesn’t seem to mind at all, and her cheeks show a faint flush.
Maybe it’s the torchlight.
Rubida leads the way, holding up a sphere of golden brightness, which bathes your steps and of those behind you. The rest is wavering, dancing torchlight, casting the world in shades of grey and brown as you proceed downhill.
Your body is having a hard time coming back. You were already shaken by what you found at the camp and by the conversation with Rosandra; rather than the physical effort, it was how easily you lost yourself in your inner world that wore you out to this degree.
You sway and almost stumble again.
“Careful now,” Rubisa warns you, tilting her head towards Rosandra, who is at the head of the group, the six bodies floating over her, as well as the skewered Mage, who keeps moaning weak groans of pain or perhaps pity. At this point it might be clear enough she is learning a less etched into her very flesh.
“How did you find her?” Soralisa asks, helping to guide you through a difficult passage when the entire crowd has to squeeze between sharp rocks, the trail having collapsed due to recent rains.
“I know not,” you mutter, scraping your body against the rocks. Your armour protects you from the stone, and in fact it leaves deep scratches where it bites into the walls, but it still presses hard against your chest. “I was wandering, and then I felt a call. Like she expected me to be there with her. I tried to reach out, but it was even more difficult — and it was like a huge dark cloud was keeping me away, pulsating and pushing and rebuking my attempts.” You sigh. “I missed my chance. I would have wanted to tell her—”

[cont.]

>>6245840

“We know too little about the Seven,” Soralisa interrupts, “even with all I have found about the —Worm,” she concludes in a hushed whisper.
“We were not there,” you whisper in reply, your mind going back to the latest few visions you received.
Ansàrra wanted to show you those.
For what purpose?
Your hand reaches for your cameo, a gesture you have performed thousands of times.
There is a deep hunch that this might be the key to a door you can’t see yet.
“How— old do you think Rubida is?”
Your dark-haired friend whips her head towards you.
“Think?, why, by the grace of the Sun-Birther and my own personal care, I do look younger than I am but—”
“No, apologies, I meant… Rosandra. The envoy. I’m very tired. I feel like I would just about collapse without you two holding me up.”
“Sometimes holding a weight is not a burden,” Rubida says.
“E-Exactly,” Soralisa vehemently agrees, while her arm brushes against your chest.
“I’m glad,” you reply with a smile.
But the problem remains.
Who could you ask for help? Or even to test if any of your theories are true?
Curse it, you are starting to miss Sandora’s presence even more. Wonder where she is now, if she’s even still alive or she’s being fitted inside a Sarcophagus by the Throne.
“If she took part in the Foundation Wars…” Soralisa hushes beneath her breath, “then I would wager she is older than the times of Saint Kishirra. That would make her…”
“… at least twelve hundred years old,” Rubida nods. “And probably more.”
And yet—
Rosandra may certainly have life experience, but she strikes you as someone who by now bends the truth to only the things she allows herself to believe. She has cut her ears so that only certain words may pass.
Would she be helpful when it come to the Seven?
Perhaps, the only one you can ask is Ansàrra… but would you even be able to withstand a proper audience with Her?
One thing is to receive Her calling, to reach out to Her, another is to bear Her focused gaze.
You shake your head, trying to escape the cobwebs of these doubts, as bit by bit you reach the coastal village you left to go hunting Ubaiidi. And with every step, your mind clears a little, you slowly become aware of your body in a way that allows you walk completely on your own.
You share a hug with your friends as you pass under the stone arch leading into town. Their presence here has helped you so much. You are so very grateful.

[cont.]

>>6245842

As the Thronelanders rush even through the darkness of the night to find their loved ones, you spot Rosandra pull away from the throng, abscond with the six floating bodies and the Mage, as she walks away from the crowd and towards the walled palace that gazes onto the night sea.
Wonder where she is going.
Then the cries of the women and the men and the daughters and sons gathering to embrace the people you saved brings you back to the tear-eyed smiles, cheers and shouts.
The village extends until the great expanse of the Sea, which you will have to traverse again.
Something pulls you towards the dark alleys behind the harbour—
A hunch.

You follow Rosandra, alone.

You head for the alleys besides the harbour.

You decide to stay with Soralisa and Rubida for the moment, helping the survivors join the others… and answering questions for the families of those who did not.


Add a suggestion

thanks for playing. wonder where Argia will go? Maybe there's something interesting just behind the corner...

>>6245846
>You head for the alleys besides the harbour.
She is literally being beckoned to the alley, how can we say no? Go big or go home

>“Sometimes holding a weight is not a burden,” Rubida says.
>“E-Exactly,” Soralisa vehemently agrees, while her arm brushes against your chest.
I see Soralisa was really enjoying carrying Argia's "burdens", she is the one winning the most from anons' choice (first fren benefits)

I do find it interesting on Argia's thoughts about Rosandra and her own need for answers, maybe Willow and Sandora's advice "Think with your own head" worked too well.

>>6245846
>You head for the alleys besides the harbour.

>>6245846
> You head for the alleys besides the harbour.

>>6245846
>You head for the alleys besides the harbour.

>>6245846
>You follow Rosandra, alone.

>>6245846
>You head for the alleys besides the harbour.

Total harbour win. I applaud the one anon who wanted to follow Rosandra though.

updating...

>>6245854
>Argia's using her own head

perhaps Willow has unleashed something even she did not understand...

# # # # # #

You walk as if in a dream, uncertain if this will turn into a nightmare.
Soralisa and Rubida’s presence become faint as you walk through the crowd, the people parting before you — even as tired and as weakened as you are by your recent travel through the spiritual realms looking for Willow, you must be an imposing figure with your white, tasselled armour, Carnaval’s feather glowing crimson against your hip, your sword… and the weight of the cameo upon your breast.
A true shining example of the might of Ansàrra — or at least that is what you would like to say about yourself.
The recent events weigh like hooks upon your shoulders, dragging them into a hunched posture while you slip through the Thronelanders, aiming for the area behind the harbour.
It’s so different from the piers of Madua, as well as the small fisheries your remember from childhood. In your infancy, boats were always white, shiny and pretty, coasting off the murky waters of the shoreline or wafting off into the distance of the Mar da Candéa, where its waters regained some of their famed lustre, a deep blue.
Here, you walk amidst low bridges and dark narrow streets, so much at times you scrape with your shoulder against the masonry, like the one you saw at the Asterite’s mansion. The air smells like salt, like brackish water left to rot in the darkness. Even the light of the stars above seems far and forgotten from here, beneath the choking passages of the harbour barracks, where the only brightness is the orange glow off burning lamps.
And there is something else — a smell like rotten eggs, which you can’t place.
It’s akin to what Willow used to say, describing the smell from her home (you are even less sure you would ever want to visit her home world, if it reeks like this all the time), and it seems to come from the metal chimneys sticking out of the houses, casting veils of black smoke to blanket the starry night.
Your feet clang against the metal sheets of the harbour and you hesitate. You are now alone in the darkest part of the harbour, and when you turn your head there is no way to tell which of the zig-zagging streets will bring you back to your friends.

[cont.]

>>6247298


But you hold on and continue. There must be a reason why you felt this call, like there is a reason for everything else.
Even if the dilapidated pavement is getting crowded with people sleeping, or pretending to, wrapped in dirty garments as they wriggle on the floor like confounded worms. Some of them laugh, some of them cry, and they all jolt at your coming. You reach out to a lonely old man whose lower half of his face had been devoured by a nasty gangrene, the smell of his rotten flesh making you gag. But if you had the strength for a Sanction—
Only to recoil as he whips forward like a snake, trying to bite your hand.
You step away, as he struggles inside his stained clothing, trying to get to you, all the while cackling and gurgling.
Panting hard, you reach a somewhat safe corner where you can rest, your back against the wall. You have heard of the troublesome conditions of parts of the Thronelands. You even gifted half of your mantle to those two kids, before going to the Temple. Now you wonder if that gift even stayed in their hands for long; there is a misery here that is different from the one you experienced in the Landing Strip, with your family.
The desperation has layered into a black murk that sucks everyone into its rotten womb.
“Praised be the Sunbirther…” you mutter, trying to gain some strength. Saint Bragia would not have been swayed by such thoughts. You turn to the right, proceeding down the winding streets, followed by the hisses of steam, the sloshing of water, the creaking of wood and metal as the ships and boats follow the capriciousness of the waves, and the eking of the lost souls, tossing and turning in their holes between the barracks.
After a while, you blink, turning back.
Your last step felt different, like you passed through some invisible barrier. Your instincts make you take hold of your sword, even if you do not draw it yet, just resting your hand over its hilt.
The atmosphere has changed.
Following the same hunch that brought you here, you reach an alcove, filled with abandoned shipments, among which a crate of old clothes, covered in filth and scurrying rats which squeak at your approach.
You rummage through the crates until you find a long robe that’s musty and smells like damp wood but at least is not covered in blood or worse. You wrap it around yourself and especially over your head.
It’s time to cover your silver hair again — a dead giveaway, as Rosandra taught you once again recently.
You proceed until you find the entrance to a warehouse, from which come a low singing and murmuring that makes a shiver ripple down your spine.


[cont.]

>>6247299

Right behind the entrance stands a tall and burly man, his face covered in a veil, who takes a look at you, then lowers his head as if expecting a command.
What could he probably be waiting for?
Then—
Sag’ni-su. Muzuu-anam? Mu.
The same words you heard from that mask before entering the well.
What is your name?
He asks them in a sputtering voice, as if his tongue couldn’t bend properly.
You certainly are not going to tell him the truth, and in fact, you know the answer already.
“Udu ru umu dili.”
The sun is just another star, you reply, your stomach burning at the blasphemy.
Why is She allowing you to know this? To speak these words like cracking ice?
He nods, allowing you to pass. The inside of the warehouse is filled with people, all of them covered in dark robes, their hands held up, like trees shifting under the wind.
At the centre, under no light but that coming from a large broken window, casting the silvery shine of the planetary ring, there is a masked celebrant, holding a long strip of black fabric.And at his feet, naked and covered in blood, a woman who holds a small gurgling creature. It might be a child. The umbilical cord, still connecting it to her womb, certainly seems to say so. But the creature has two heads, connected at the seam, and four eyes unblinking, as it gurgles and wails towards the heavens.
The mother cries, craning her head to the roof.
Starless Night, you curse without breath.
What is this place?

You stand and wait and listen. It’s too early to act, and you are already overstepping with everything you did in the Thronelands so far.

Whatever it is going on here, it’s making your stomach churn… better leave.

This is blasphemy. These are the kind of people you helped? Perhaps Ansàrra will grant you a purging fire…

Add a suggestion

Cults and cultists? This year they are IN. Wonder what you'll choose for Argia. Thanks for playing!

>>6247300
>Whatever it is going on here, it’s making your stomach churn… better leave.

Now that we know they're here, lets gather the Goons; and roll.

If we get caught, by Rosandra we're going to get accused, and we can't have that

>>6247300
>You stand and wait and listen. It’s too early to act, and you are already overstepping with everything you did in the Thronelands so far.

>>6247300
>You stand and wait and listen. It’s too early to act, and you are already overstepping with everything you did in the Thronelands so far.
Know thy enemy, chances are we get information we wouldn't have otherwise.

Also never heard of Cryo Crypt before, those album covers are amazing

>>6247303
I'm 99% sure that if Argia comes back now Rosandra will still accuse Argia of not having the guts to strike when she had to, damned if you do, damned if you don't

>>6247300
>This is blasphemy. These are the kind of people you helped? Perhaps Ansàrra will grant you a purging fire…

>>6247300
>You stand and wait and listen. It’s too early to act, and you are already overstepping with everything you did in the Thronelands so far.
Ansàrra wouldn't have let us come here, miraculously learning the password and such, if we weren't meant to witness this.

>>6247355
>Also never heard of Cryo Crypt before, those album covers are amazing
I don't know about the music, but the art is AI-generated. it's a big controversy in the Dungeon Synth community.

>>6247300
>You stand and wait and listen. It’s too early to act, and you are already overstepping with everything you did in the Thronelands so far.
wtf is going on and it seems like demonic orgies are a thing for the sisters.

>>6247300
>You stand and wait and listen. It’s too early to act, and you are already overstepping with everything you did in the Thronelands so far.

Its getting tense.

>You stand and wait and listen. It’s too early to act, and you are already overstepping with everything you did in the Thronelands so far.

winning option.

>but the art is AI-generated. it's a big controversy in the Dungeon Synth community.

I don't want to open a discussion about this, but while I do agree the AI covers are a bit tacky at times, I liked this one (and a couple others). It's a bit of a shame because the covers for LPs and albums in the DS community are a big part of the appeal, but it's a complex matter. The music is good at least. Check out Aindulmedir and Witch Bolt anon, they make good stuff.

if you want to reply about this please spoiler it.


that said, I'll be writing.

>>6247300

You twitch as you gaze upon the scene unfolding before your eyes. You would want to flee. You would certainly be glad to pester Ansàrra for one more Sanction, one that would turn this blasphemous place into cinders.
But that same force that pulled you here amidst the others is telling you to wait and to listen, and to see… and so you do.
The masked celebrant raises the newborn to the ceiling. You shudder at the look of the poor creature. There is no great wave of evil coming from it, like you perceived in the Well with the floating head the Sister was using to incarnate.
But then— you used the ancient language of the Kiengir. How could these not be related to the influence of the Seven?
The old woman next to you provides an unexpected answer.
She slowly pulls up her sleeve, revealing a body mangled by some illness, or perhaps a malformation from birth: her arm is pale, devoured by thick stains of mottled skin, growing on her flesh like mould upon an old wall. Her hand has six fingers.
She takes in deep grating breaths, and the others pull her forward, until she sits next to the poor woman, and she’s holding her hand as she rocks back and forth, wailing more of those words that sound like cracking ice, and whose meaning you perceive by instinct.
It’s as if they were made before words, some form of language that does not need you to understand the form to know the meaning.
This is—
A celebration, but not of the Sisters.
Of the lost Kiengiri kind.

[cont.]

>>6248733

One by one, more of the onlookers display their mangled faces, holes where there should not be, or multiple rows of teeth — one whose eye is growing inside of his mouth — another with a spiral pattern on the back of her head.
Your heart picks up pace. These are all freaks of nature, freaks of accident, freaks of birth, and they are adoring the baby, even as you feel the life inside its misshapen body starting to ebb and flow, waning like the dying flame of a candle.
You frown and pull your hood a little tighter over your silver hair.
Could this had been your destiny too?
Born with six fingers or with one more eye or some other deformity — would you be there with these people as well?
The un-words turn into an hymn, and images flash before your inner eye: images of a life spent in the shadow as the malformed flotsam of humanity’s dregs. The fruits of the Will of those who came before and were now lost, the Kiengiri of old, who had played with life and reason like a child does with sandcastles.
The Elves, you remember, trying to take back the reins of your own mind, were Kiengir creations… and among the cruelest. But like Soralisa taught you, far from the only ones.
The Ubaiidi you slaughtered just hours ago were another.
Amidst these people, you realise maybe for the first time in your life the true age of your world. Others trod these paths before you, and left behind a legacy that still marks the earth and the seas and the heavens… and all the creatures that live in it.
And one by one, the hands, may they be five or six-fingered, raise to the ceiling in a garbled prayer for them to come back — that’s what the images flashing before your closed eyes say — a prayer for the age of Kiengir to come back.
You pull back and away, taking advantage of the crowd’s amazement.

[cont.]

>>6248736

More images flash again: the night sky.
The trails of the stars, the slow and quick ones…
Not just the Seven— these people venerate all Kiengiri, even if they are long dead…
The night sky turning like a lock and a key, stars falling in ordained rows, as something that has been shut…
No, not shut…
“Hnnh,” you groan. The images are a flood now.
Not shut… ground amidst their orbits for untold centuries, something that has been reduced to dust and powder, and that dust growing and blooming inside of living bodies, carrying glimpses of its immense, overwhelming power—
And the sky now turning, turning, like a key, ceasing its endless movement, its grinding, allowing what has been stuck inside that celestial gear to droop back into the world.

[cont.]

>>6248736

“Hnnhg,” you cough, walking back, until—
“Argia Candente,” hisses a voice. You don’t have to turn to realise who it is, but you still do so, overwhelmed.
Rosandra is also wearing a shawl, covering most of her body. Only her oaken eyes bore through the darkness thanks to the tiny speckles of burning gold.
“Help,” you groan. Will she skewer you like a fish for being here? Will she—
She sets her hand over your shoulder, and the touch is all you need. A serene warmth spreads through her fingers, the heat and clarity of Her sun. It feels like stepping inside a Temple of Flame and allowing your mind to wander upwards to Ansàrra.
“I…” you gasp. “Thank you.”
She gives you a long glance.
“You keep being a most amusing critter, Argia Candente,” she whispers. “I merely petitioned for the most appropriate Sanction for your plight in this moment. It is not up to me if you are feeling rejuvenated. I would have thought you a charred corpse by now, if I had followed my initial suspicions.” There is a glimpse of amusement in her eyes as she regards the throng. The celebrant holds up the form of the baby right as it stops breathing. Its final gurgle followed by a high roar of hopeful rage. The images that had perforated your mind still come, but shielded by Rosandra’s presence they feel dulled and much more bearable, even in their direness.
The hope for a triumphant return of the Masters of this abandoned world, of their forsaken creatures. No matter their cruelty and carelessness, they belonged to a Master.
They wish to belong again.
“I wonder…” you mutter, amidst the onslaught of emotions crashing inside you, “… if we shouldn’t just raze this place to the ground.”
“We?” Her chuckle climbs up on your spine like a cat’s talons. “Nevertheless, it would be the most direct course of action. But razing this down would push these unhappy souls further into the darkness, while we need them to come out, to show us where they are.” She crouches against the floor, her hand splayed, and with the tiniest of flashes, a scattered cloud of golden sparkles fly through the air, attaching themselves to the onlookers, disappearing beneath their skin without them being none the wiser. “Therefore, we will postpone the bonfire for a later night. Besides, some of them may yet repent and turn to Faith ere their hour comes.”
“Has… has it ever happened?”


[cont.]

>>6248739

“Never in all these centuries,” she replies with a hint of sorrow in her voice. “But one has to try every time like it were the first time.” She stands up again, scanning the crowd. “Let us leave. I have seen all which I needed to, about this place, and about you.”
You follow her out of the door. The guardsman is sleeping against the door, a pair of glowing knives, seemingly made out of light, piercing his eyes. As Rosandra passes by, they dissolve, and as you throw him a gaze just as the two of you are about to turn a corner, you see him blink and stand up, holding his head.
Rosandra leads you down the winding, narrow roads, until she finally pulls off her covering rags and casually throws it into a channel, revealing her slender form, as always covered in bandages.
“Now, Argia Candente. Imagine my surprise when I saw you at that gathering. What brought you there, if I may so ask?”
You gulp, still trying to gather your bearings, the fragments of visions flying before you, slowly fading.
The mysterious call that led you there had disappeared. Was it a test, was this Rosandra’s doing, somehow?
Or something else?
You are more confused than ever. You draw a breath, glance up at the open sky, and for once your gaze is not captured by the large planetary ring, but by the stars above it.
Seemingly so quiet, and yet now their sight reminds you of their orbits, endlessly grinding, grinding, grinding — that thing stuck between this invisible and ruthless mill.
The vision you received by the Kiengiri words is already waning, like a half-remembered dream. Was it really behind the stars? Or something you imagined?
Questions rake against your throat, battling to come out, amidst the answers you have to provide to Rosandra.


>a word of warning: depending on what you choose, there is a chance Rosandra may want to know something more about Salicera, about Willow.

Tell the truth from the start. You felt the call, and answered. You have received visions before. How could you know this was different?

You’ll tell the truth, but you would rather point out how Ansàrra’s touch did not, once again, burn you or damage you in any way. Any chance her suspicions are changing?

You must ask her about that… thing… behind the stars. Before you forget about it…

Add a suggestion


Think carefully about this, anon. And thanks for playing. Perhaps some questions are finally about to get an answer…

>>6248742
>You must ask her about that… thing… behind the stars. Before you forget about it…
If Argia forgets to ask now this whole trip will have been for nothing

I didn't think Rosandra was just around the corner too (in hindsight of course she was going to be), but I'm surprised she also concluded that burning the place isn't the right call.

>file
>Fr*nch Argia
alter!argia's was the kind of girl who was unfllipiant and free, but this argia..borrowing the words of our favorite cheerleader, looks like the kind of woman who can walk in the rooms of the Emperor for a cup, the kind who will bed half the wives of the Amaranthines and their daugthers because she feels like having fun!
may Ansàrra have mercy on us all should she ever be unleashed to the world.

>>6248742
>You’ll tell the truth, but you would rather point out how Ansàrra’s touch did not, once again, burn you or damage you in any way. Any chance her suspicions are changing?
It seems the most obvious and appropriate... Which means I' missing something here.

>>6248742
>You must ask her about that… thing… behind the stars. Before you forget about it…

>>6248742
>You’ll tell the truth, but you would rather point out how Ansàrra’s touch did not, once again, burn you or damage you in any way. Any chance her suspicions are changing?

>>6248760
>the kind who will bed half the wives of the Amaranthines and their daugthers because she feels like having fun!
you mean bedding the amaranthines in this case, anon.

>>6248742
>You’ll tell the truth, but you would rather point out how Ansàrra’s touch did not, once again, burn you or damage you in any way. Any chance her suspicions are changing?

>>6249055
Good pic.

interesting voting so far. I'll add 12 more hours for voting in case someone wants to add an option or rethink his, then it's writing time.

>>6248742


You run your tongue over your lips. They feel cracked, dry. Rosandra’s presence is a as always a threat and a danger, but after what you just went through, you have the strength for a proper answer, for once.
“It is not the first time I have felt a calling. Besides that to the Faith.”
She does not reply, just giving you one of those aloof looks, as if you were nothing but a mote of dust, beneath her noticing, certainly not beneath her judging.
“As you might have noticed by stalking me night and day. I have never swayed in my beliefs and my attachment to Ansàrra. Tonight I felt a calling towards this part of the town, and I would have rather not followed. Or so I believe, it all feels so confounded, so fuzzy. There was something else…” you rub your fingertips against your head, trying to recollect what you just felt and saw. Something about the night sky, but you can’t really remember properly. It all feels so mixed up, like painting tincture stirred inside of a great cauldron, the colours shifting and losing themselves in their marriage. “But I cannot recall right now. Besides the experience I just had. I had two more visions. Both involving Saint Bragia.”

At that name, Rosandra’s nostrils flare and she lets out a long sigh through her nose.
It’s a bit a strange reaction for…
No, wait. If she did live that long, then…

“Did you— you did know her!” You say, pointing your finger towards the simmering redhead. “Is that why you are so obsessed with me?”


[cont.]

>>6250086

She rolls her pretty brown eyes.

“Obsessed. Now that is a choice word, Argia Candente…” she shakes her head, then runs a hand through her locks. “Nobody who spent a day in company of Bragia can ever forget her. She was as strong as an oak, as kind as summer, and not at all wise.” She chuckles. “Her loss still plagues the Holy Land. We can raise statues and temples to her memory all we want, but the hole she left can never be filled. That is yet another reason why all this is happening, is it not? You come out as if from nowhere and seem to retrace her steps.”

“…I am well aware. It does not depend on me.”

“What ever does,” she shrugs. “For you or I. Or the cycles of the seasons, or the truth of gold. Ansàrra is the only certainty we have.”

“I agree as much,” you try, and she tilts her head to give you another of her looks.
“So, another calling. Tonight.”

“… yes. I did not think it would lead me to a basement filled with worshippers to the Sisters.”
Rosandra blinks.
“They are not.”
“… but I thought…”
“You have felt the same signature, because the Sisters are Kiengiri. Those poor souls harken their existence back to the time when they used to rule this world, back when there was yet a moon in the sky.”
Willow comes back to your mind.
She did mention something like that, instead of the silver ring that peeks out of the frame of the dark buildings.
You always thought it was somewhat tied to the Adversary, but now Rosandra’s words confound you even more. The Stilladìa was not around at the time of the Epochalypse.
And yet—
“I don’t understand.”
“That much is pacific.” She comes close and for the first time in a long long while, she sets her hand over your shoulder. You don’t even flinch and yet she smiles, a narrow, sharp smile but nonetheless— “I still find it amusing how I can’t seem to burn you with a simple touch. I have grasped the demons of this world and they have burned in the light of the Sun-Birther.” She shakes her head, circling you as her feet draw soft sounds in the night air. “Those you saw are mere worshippers of the Kiengir order. A most unfortunate occurrence, but those most nostalgic for something are oft the same ones who never knew it. They are not tied to the Sisters directly, and what bothers me the most is the misshapen birth that woman carried.”
A flash goes off in her eyes and for the first time she truly looks worried.
“Monstrous births are common occurrence when one of the Seven is about to reincarnate.”
“But we stopped that!” You protest. “In the Well! With the others, with Rubida and Soralisa and— and— Salicera.”

[cont.]

>>6250087

“You hindered them, as it may seem, but the Seven possess power beyond your imagination, Argia Candente. In their cursed veins still runs the might of their accursed race, ere it was scrubbed off the world. They always gnaw at the roots of the world, and they need only one victory to change the turning of the world.” She pauses, rubbing her bandaged hands together. Truly such a human-like gesture for a monster like her. You saw this same woman recover from a direct hit from a high-ranking Asterite and proceeding using her as a banner. “And yet here we are. This is another connection to your actions, Argia Candente. You don’t burn, and you seem to be in good faith, in every meaning of the word.”
“Then will you please let me reconnect with my Master? I need him! I need to make sure he is fine! And I need to find Salicera, make sure she is well. I can’t keep doing this if— if—”
Rosandra laughs.
“If I finally get off your back? Your wishes are the wishes of wheat, ere the sickle falls. Nay. But I will let you know that your connection with the gathering tonight does not condemn neither absolves you. In fact, it only proves that you are not an agent of the Sisters. But I knew as much.”
“How can you even say so?” You ask, now enraged. “Is there anything in your ideas, in your assumption that—”
“I bear no assumptions, Argia Candente. And you should know by now that the Seven and the Adversary do not share goals, and there is as much enmity between them as there is between us and them.”
You blink. You—
Soralisa did say something about it, but to have it said out loud like that…
“What of me, then?”
“What Ansàrra will decide. This once again shows how only She can determine your fate, Argia Candente… and perhaps even provide answers to my own question. Which reminds me of our next step in our journey.”
“We are supposed to find Salicera…”
“You are expected in Madua,” she sentences. “For the Trial of Gold.”

>Please roll a 1d100 at the start of your voting reply. No DC.

You demand to know more. How could this be?

You stand your ground. Who expects you there? Is this something that she just pulled out of tin air? You must find Salicera first!

You clench your fists, but agree. At least will they let you see Master?

Add a suggestion


uh oh. looks like someone is being summoned. Thanks for playing and remember to roll...

Rolled 97 (1d100)

>>6250089
>You demand to know more. How could this be?
I mean in reality Rosandra is going to drag Argia whatever she likes it or not, but that doesn't mean she has to be compliant about it either.

>“Obsessed. Now that is a choice word, Argia Candente…” she shakes her head, then runs a hand through her locks. “Nobody who spent a day in company of Bragia can ever forget her.
Now that bit of information is interesting, it didn't really cross my mind that this old hag would have known Bragia (her reaction at being called obsessed was great kek)

Rolled 94 (1d100)

>>6250089
>You clench your fists, but agree. At least will they let you see Master?
welp, seems like our preggers frienemy will have to wait

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>6250089
>You clench your fists, but agree. At least will they let you see Master?

Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>6250089
>Add a suggestion
Who is the trial intended for, Us or Master?
He is after all the one, known to be on trial, not us. And it's not like Rosandra hasn't threated to just smite us if she finds cause.

I have a feeling Carnival is not going to be happy, either.

This feels like the perfect set up to a bait and switch, and besides she would have lead with the recall if it were for Us, and its not like she has received a missive demanding our recall.

>>6250246
oh hey, a one.

Things really aren't going to go well are they

Rolled 35 (1d100)

>>6250089
>You clench your fists, but agree. At least will they let you see Master?

>>6250089
>You clench your fists, but agree. At least will they let you see Master?

Rolled 71 (1d100)

>>6250089
>You demand to know more. How could this be?

thanks everyone for rolling, and this includes

>>6250246

kek.

>Who is the trial intended for, Us or Master?

interesting question anon

remember though that Astoria is the one behind the trial thing, Rosandra said last thread that she doesn't really get involved in petty politics, she is not interested in Argia's role in Astoria's little sanctity grab, while she may be much more involved in the fact Argia seems to be connected to Bragia, the Stilladìa, and the Will of Ansàrra...

thanks everyone for voting and playing, writing will resume now.

>>6250089

The birds may sleep, and beasts may sleep. The ocean, too, may seem to fall into a deep slumber, when the night is at its highest, when the stars shine their brightest.
But the floating city that rules those oceans — that one never sleeps.
The thin boat slithers between the channels where waves slosh, gathering a few gazes from behind the blinders; it is one of the silent barges, moved by paddle and not by one of those iron monstrosities that Frigéian alchemists and engineers have been devising. The kind of boat for a proper meeting about private affairs.
The woman at the helm of the boat, clad in her white mask and black coat, surely hopes so. Sandora Mirari, in her long experience has learned that she does not like greedy people.
But she likes how predictable they are.
She crosses her arms, pressing her tongue against the inside of her mouth, trying to gather her bearings, if such a thing is even possible in Frigéia.
The city shifts, surrounding its central districts like a flock of stone birds, or maybe a school of fish. Both animals seem to be well-represented in these parts. She is used to the pompous representations of the Throne, though for a slave such as she is — was, will soon be again — they always felt more like mockery.
She is far less used to the decorations of the Holy Land. As a Heathen, her feet shall never touch those white shores. But she has heard enough of it to draw a comparison. The silent houses of Frigéia, afloat in the open ocean, only display the glory of its own people in their statues, balconies, and frescoes — not of any gods.
Of any gods besides themselves.
The boat slows until it stops before a set of white stairs, washed over by years of tides. The boatman cranks a lever and Sandora jolt at the noise it’s about to come, but the gangway folds itself out between the boat and the first dry step with nary a breath.
Frigéians and their craftiness.
One day, it will be their undoing.
Theirs, or the Throne’s.

[cont.]

>>6251084

“Here,” she whispers, dropping a few bills into the boatman’s hand. Twice as much as she would owe him for the trip, but silence is golden, as they say.
And around these parts, it’s silver, which is much worse.
Sandora walks towards the entrance, and another shiver runs down her back as she glances at the decoration over the entrance: the Frigéian’s lion, holding its sword upright.
She slips into the darkness, as the boat waits for her return.
A few mores steps echo in the black silence, then the noise beneath her boots changes and she stumbles as the elevator activates.
“Starless Night,” she curses, holding onto the wall, shifting with a sharp groan of metal on stone. The platform descends, past the level of water — her throat tightens at the idea of feet and feet of ocean now over her head — and at last it stops before a precious door, steel and frosted glass giving way to a soft glow.
Sandora pushes it open and steps into the office — a man who is also wearing a white mask like she is, waiting at the desk.
He nods upon noticing her.
“Welcome. May this night bring profit.” His voice sounds young. He’s not the same one she met the last time.
“May it,” she replies, closing the door behind herself.
The office is carved inside what looks like a single piece of crystal glass, the black water pressing like a shadow of cold death around it, the glow of candles lost inside its infinite darkness.
“I have come to deal with my account.”
“As it may be your wont,” the man allows, reaching for a volume amidst the many. “May I request your—”
“[i]Ten purple below orchard sinister mayhap dozen tide aloof alabaster.[/i]”
At each of her words, a tiny clock on his desk hitches a little click, until it emits a satisfied chime.
“All correct. Would you like to know your balance?” He adds, running his fingers over the files held in the tome.
Sandora had known it for a long time. It had sat there in one of Frigéia’s banks, growing fatter and heavier with each year, like an old toad too content with its own laziness to be of use.
Well, now, thanks to that fanatic Rosandra, and indirectly thanks to Argia, she had a way to put it to use.

[cont.]

>>6251085

“I am here to request a couple operations. The first.” She reaches inside her cape.
Does he hesitate just a moment, perhaps? She has committed many a crime, and even as one of the most important Asterites of the Throne, the sharp talons of the Crows had yet to grasp around her throat.
Oh, she had her share of scratches.
But this was different.
[i]Nevermind[/i], she decides. The Throne always treated its Mages like betrayals from the moment they were born.
Might as well get something out of it.
Sandora produces a bag of black velvet, as large as her head, and puts it over the desk with the utmost care. Even between the slits allowed by her mask, she notices how the teller’s own gaze widens at what she is offering.
She opens the bag to show what might look like glistening diamond dust. But diamond elicits greed and covet, while the shimmering powder makes the man at the desk shiver, his breath caught in his throat. Perhaps he’s dreaming of coming back home for the first time again. The final day he said goodbye to his grand parents. His first kiss.
With Silt, it’s different each and every time.
Sandora closes the bag and the moment passes. She pushes it towards the man, whose fingers now hesitate.
“At undermarket price.”
“That—” the man coughs, seemingly getting over his amazement. “That would mean priceless.”
“It is up to you bean counters to make sure the number matches what I am requesting. As your customer for over twelve years, I have right to this as much.”
The man hisses through his mask, but nods.
“Apologies. One is not used to moving such assets, especially those that would have the Throne declare war upon their discovery.”
Sandora chuckles.
“Oh, I am sure there is much worse passing hands as we speak. I will need these funds transferred to my account, with insurance, for their transportation to the [i]Terra di Marcìta[/i], in the Thronelands.”
“There! It would incur…”
“Your cut covers it.”
The teller clicks his tongue but once more complies, writing down a few scratchy notes on the book. Sandora inwardly smiles as she notices the lines and dots and symbols representing her net worth growing ever higher.
At this point, between all of her funds, inside the Throne and outside (the kind of wealth that would have her dragged before the Emperor in chains and fitted inside a painful Sarcophagus for the next ten thousand years), she is almost ready.
Sandora allows herself a little sigh of satisfaction.
So close.

[cont.]

>>6251086

With the temporary reprieve from her Crow, she has enough time to gather everything and to put it to proper use. She takes a slow walk around the office — her eyes stumbling upon a little thing. A silvery double-cube, shaped so that it looked like an eight-pointed star, like two entwined squares, no matter where you look.
“Is this a gift?” She asks picking it up.
“A family’s heirloom.”
Sandora grins, behind her stillborn mask, and sets it back. For all their claims not to worship gods or goddesses, the Frigéians still unwittingly adore at least one. And the Stilladìa still manages to slip some of her symbols even in these depths.
Of course, the most powerful symbol is simply the existence of this floating city, ruling the maritime routes of half the world and quickly taking over the other half.
While the Throne treats it like a nuisance and Madua sleeps in its blessed slumber, safe beneath the embrace of Ansàrra.
Wonder what Argia would think of all this.
“All accounted for,” says the man.
“Thanks. Now, for the second operation… I would like a withdrawal.”
Sandora’s green eyes, hidden in the mask’s sockets, raise past the desk, towards another statuette: the same sword-bearing lion, pushing the blade into the spires of a coiling snake, a six-headed dragon.
For all her faults, the Stilladìa had managed to smite - her - dragon.
Now it is her turn.
To use all this ill-gained wealth for something good, for once.
“A withdrawal of what amount?”
“Hm?” Sandora shrugs. “I just said a [i]withdrawal.[/i] All of it.”


[cont.]

tags seem to be stupid right now so I'll try to put italics between - -

>>6251089

# # # # # #


The grass turns from the silver hue of the night into a glowing crimson, bathed as if in the waves of a vermillion wave, as Carnaval lands before her.
The Stilladìa raises her head, her legs drawn against her lithe body, the black and glassy arm of Helias to drape her shoulders. At least he is there with her.
“Any luck?” She asks, and the stars between her black horns seem to pulsate with baseless hope.
“More still-births. The Night is growing styx.”
“I have seen as much,” she sighs, running her alabaster-pale hand against her nose. Not even the comfort of her beloved husband can seem to calm her frightful anxiety, the terror that has been clawing at her insides ever since she stepped into the Temple. “What of the girl?”
Carnaval shakes her head. Her wings tinkle.
“So, nothing.” She clenches her teeth.
“Nothing on your part, either. Have your little slaves in the Thronelands answered your plight or not? Where is Sandora Mirari?”
“Do not bother. I only own the souls of about one third of them,” she sneers, standing up and pacing back and forth on the grass. “And I certainly do not turn my customers into slaves.” A pause as she glances at Carnaval, crimson eyes against her golden gaze. “Ansàrra cannot say the same, can she?”
Carnaval clenches her fists, making the crystal feathers of her wings crinkle like moaning ice.
“Love,” comes Helias’ voice. “Please.”
The Stilladìa winces, shakes her head.
“Sorry,” even if she only means she is apologising to Helias. Emeralds will be as cheap as bottled glass, the day she - apologises - to Ansàrra’s little pet. “I have contacted all I could. None seem to know the whereabouts of our favourite Eleventh Seat.” She grits her teeth. “And with that, we can say goodbye to one of our leads. So… you couldn’t perceive the girl? This Salicera Fors? Not even the others?”
“I am trying,” Carnaval sighs. “But there is a— a barrier of some sort. It is as if I am trying to pinpoint the single sparkle in a great bonfire.”
The Stilladìa’s gaze grows more heated. Her pupils, always white, turn into pinpricks of searing brightness, casting a glow over her features, over her hair, over her twitching black nails.
“Ansàrra,” she hisses. “Even now, even knowing what is at stake, she hinders me! I expected as much, but even… you! And you just— accept it?”
Carnaval gives her a look she knows far too well.
“What is there to accept? If such is Her will.”


[cont.]

>>6251091


“Her so-called will is using you as one of her pawns,” she shouts, pointing her finger at the angel. Six hundred years of pain. Six hundred years of betrayal — ooze out of her tongue with the strength of a simmering volcano, finally about to burs, even as Carnaval only regards her with aloofness. In her golden eyes she only reads pity. “Just like with this silver-haired girl. And the other one! The Seven do not wait for Ansàrra’s plan to come to fruition. Fly up to her chamber, Carnaval. Tell her this is not the time for games.”
The angel sneers, and the Stilladìa knows that she has lost her.
“If such is your haste, Star of Morn,” she whispers, gathering her wings to herself and then giving them a mighty creaking flap, raising in the air as the grass turns from crimson to silver again, “then why don’t you go yourself!”
Carnaval shoots upwards like the crimson comet that bears her name, disappearing in the night sky amidst the river or other stars, and leaving them alone.
“A curse upon that bird brain!” She shouts, opening her arms. “A curse and a thousand more! I can’t wish for her hair to fall off because I arrived too late.” She leans into Helias’ touch as he cradles her in his arms.
“Would it truly be such a terrible thing,” he starts, and she winces at what he is about to suggest. “For you to go there yourself?”
“I would rather face the Seven—”
“I would be with you.”
And that, if she still had a heart inside her makeshift body — that would be enough to make it skip a beat.
But it’s just a moment.
“I will not climb the stairs I was so carelessly thrown down from,” she hisses. “The Holy Land is out of discussion. I will walk those threads when Ansàrra is but a name, a legend to be told in jest about our superstitious ancestors, like in Frigéia.”
“Will that time even come, Lithala?”


[cont.]

>>6251092

“It will,” she nods. She hates how cold she is being, how distant. He only wants the best for her. She does not deserve him. “This is a warning, Helias. A warning to - me - .” The Stilladìa raises her gaze to the night, as her hand slowly reaches for Helias’ hand.
And she truly does not deserve it, because there she is, ready to meet hers, alabaster skin entwining glossy darkness. “For six hundred years she has considered us little more than a wayward nuisance. And what did we do in those six centuries? Create an empire that does not need to lick her fingers. No, love, I will pull her down from her lofty throne, by the might of steel and by the force of the engines. By the craftiness of physicians. By surgeon and antiseptic, I will make a Goddess - obsolete -. And she has finally realised this. This means she is finally is afraid.” Her rage pulsates through her body in heated waves, even as Helias holds her so tenderly.
“Then,” he hushes her by setting his smooth lips against her neck. “Try not to lose yourself to fear.”
Oh, he’s just too good.
He always knows what to say, every time.
She feels herself relaxing in his embrace, her rage, which comes from the fear of having to go back to the place where she murdered Bragia Lacresta and where Ansàrra blasted her body through blindglass and miles of open air, casting her off her palace, coated in the warmth of his presence, feels a bit more bearable.
“There are older and greater things than Ansàrra, love,” he reminds her.
“I know. I just wish they would grant us more time.”

[cont.]

>>6251094

# # # # # #


You flinch at Rosandra’s quip.
The Trial of Gold.
That is—
Soralisa did speak about it, didn’t she? And now, you are being put on trial?
You and Master.
Is this about your hair, about Master’s faults, about something else…?
You clench your fists, grit your teeth, but open your mouth to agree.
“So be it. Will you at least let me see Master?”
And you are losing chances to find Willow, to stop— to stop whatever is going on…
Not good…
“Your Trial will pass in the hands of the Amaranthines.”
“Then—”
“I am here to check on different matters, Argia Candente. The arm of the Adversary has grown long. We must be ready to explore every possibility. You are a devotee of Saint Bragia, are you not? Then know that her loss greatly wounded our Faith. As skilled and powerful as she was, Asta Tempestatis couldn’t fit in her shoes, no matter what her hope and love could tell her.” She pauses, as a shadow of grief passes over her brown eyes, and you would be tempted to feel pity, if not for the callousness she handles you, once again. “We cannot allow another strike like that, in the very heart of the Holy Land. Vigilance is the price for peace. And blood is the price for joy.”
“I have had little of neither as of late.”
“Then perhaps the reward is closer than you might think, Argia Candente.”
She gives you another long look. Her eyes lock on your chest.
“Hand it over,” she commands.
“What?” Your hand instinctively closes around Master’s gift.
“That thing.” She holds out her open palm. “Your heretical cameo.”


>CRISIS!
>You have a maximum of 48 hours to suggest and vote on a course of action
>This can be anything from running away to attempts at diplomacy to complying to violence, just keep it in character
>Good luck anon…

Well, isn't that an interesting development. Hope you keep your head on your shoulders anon... and keep Argia's as well..

>>6251094
>>6251089
Hm. So Stilly has silver hair like Argia, slew a dragon/wyrm, is associated with a morningstar in heretical artworks, and "killed" Ansàrra's beloved one yet is still welcome in her presence whenever she wishes to be, and (like Bragia's lover Candeloro) is associated with marvelous inventions?

I still think she "killed" Saint Bragia like Darth Vader "killed" Anakin Skywalker, personally. She could be Uxoria, but I'm sticking to my first guess.

>>6251096
>Refuse to hand it over until after the trial of gold. If that makes you guilty enough to burn, then the cameo can be destroyed when you are dead. if you endure, then the cameo is not heresy, and you will not recant.
Have faith, Argia. Have faith in Master, in Ansàrra, and in your own heart.

>>6251096
Supporting >>6251110

So, what do we do when she tries to take it by force?

or claims Idolatry, at least we probably won't burn so Ansarra is chill with it, for now.

>>6251092
>“Would it truly be such a terrible thing,” he starts, and she winces at what he is about to suggest. “For you to go there yourself?”
she did it once, so why the cold feet ?

>“Will that time even come, Lithala?”
now we know her name, neat
>>6251094
>She feels herself relaxing in his embrace, her rage, which comes from the fear of having to go back to the place where she murdered Bragia Lacresta and where Ansàrra blasted her body through blindglass and miles of open air, casting her off her palace, coated in the warmth of his presence, feels a bit more bearable.
so she was attacked in her hit mission. how come she doesn't seem to harbor any big "scar" from it while Ansarrà got big E'd ?
>>6251096
>Refuse to hand it. Your master had this cameo for a long time before giving it to you, so he's the only person you'll hand it back short of Ansarrà herself.
>>6251110
>I still think she "killed" Saint Bragia like Darth Vader "killed" Anakin Skywalker, personally. She could be Uxoria, but I'm sticking to my first guess.
that'd be a twist, but rn it doesn't fit. we don't have a reason as to why she'd desert the sun nor why wouldn't the stories talk about a traitor if that were the case.

>>6251086
God I missed /ourheathen/, and never have the words "withdrawal all of it" sounded so cool, she even thought of Argia a little awww.
>>6251238
>now we know her name, neat
Stilladìa's name "Lithala" was already dropped in the previous thread by Helias when she came over to tell him that the worm has been resurrected actually.

>>6251238
You tighten your hand to your cameo into a death grip while asking Rosandra what her intentions are regarding the cameo? If she means to safeguard it during the trial, you are (with great reluctance) willing to surrender it. However if she means to destroy it then you would rather Rosandra didn't waste her time, she will have more luck bringing your corpse for theAmaranthines to put on trial.
Argia's only chance right now is to stand her ground and hope Rosandra simply doesn't turn that cameo into dust in front of her eyes. However I don't think there is a scenario where we keep the cameo (it is the consequence of rolling an nat1, no more being carried by bragia's +12), but since Rosandra asked Argia first and is waiting her to do it when she really doesn't have to and she could have ripped it off her hands on the spot might mean Rosandra doesn't mean to destroy it, still better to make sure, if she means to crush it then the best she can do is dig her heels in.
>>6251223
>So, what do we do when she tries to take it by force?
Well unless anons here are hoping Rosandra will roll a bunch of nat1 or argia will roll a bunch of 97-100, then combat is ill-adviced, this will be like when Argia and Master were sparring but much stacked against Argia probably.
So yeah if Rosandra simply decides to break Argia's fingers one by one and crush that cameo to dust then Argia can't do shit if Rosandra presses the issue, I'm hedging my bet that Rosandra isn't meaning to destroy the cameo (because if she we are in a bit of an unwinnable situation)

>>6251369
>Well unless anons here are hoping Rosandra will roll a bunch of nat1 or argia will roll a bunch of 97-100, then combat is ill-advised.

Well there is betting early on the results of the trial of Gold, theoretically should Rosandra actually intend to do something she shouldn't, Ansarra would not channel her end of the petitioned sanctions. Which as far as I can tell would make things much more even, and practically serve to castigate her should things fail outright in an obvious fashion. Don't forget Ansarra is watching and has a vested interest. So if the cameo is to be given up here it will be obvious.

Runes have literally been scribed into Rosandra muscles, bones (potentially even organs) sufficient to allow her to survive a removed heart so things could go very badly if their functions are suddenly halted, which would make sense as a capability since I'm sure there would be some sort of "fail-safe" for those that have undergone said procedures to avoid notice or them acting too far out of turn.

>this will be like when Argia and Master were sparring but much stacked against Argia probably.
Do we even have much evidence that she can do much without sanctions and runes?
Things would be far more likely to be in our favor as we're the one that is actually physically armed here.

>Argia can't do shit if Rosandra presses the issue
That implies that Ansarra would in fact let this fly, so it's not a bad thing should it be destroyed or confiscated as it is likely either intended or inconsequential to the intended use / role the Cameo is intend to fulfil, whatever that actually is envisioned to be.

>because if she we are in a bit of an unwinnable situation
It could potentially land her in hot water "acting outside her remit" if her actions come under review. everything has consequences, as Iconoclasm is likely very, very much frowned upon. Also there is no guarantee that the cameo is even destructible, in the first place. Jsut beceause some revisionists have yet to be punished doesn't mean that they won't get what's coming. When "The Man Comes Around"

>>6251110
>silver hair like Argia

nay, anon, the Stilladìa has white hair. maybe I should do some more character portraits/stats

>Have faith, Argia. Have faith in Master, in Ansàrra, and in your own heart.

awww anon you gonna make me blush this was so sweet to read

>>6251238
>we know her name

yeah, it was pointed out a few times before like another anon said, but that's her true name. to be used only by Helias, of course

>how come she doesn't seem to harbor any big "scar"

who knows anon, maybe miracle skin creams truly do work their magic?

>we don't have a reason as to why she'd desert the sun

this is a good point

>>6251369
>/ourheathen/

keked

interesting suggestions you got there anon.

>>6251374
>Ansàrra is the one pulling the strings

correct assumption, and important point to get. But at the same you shouldn't just believe there's not going to be any pain involved if you truly push the situation to the breaking point.

>Do we even have much evidence that she can do much without sanctions and runes?

>as Iconoclasm is likely very, very much frowned upon. Also there is no guarantee that the cameo is even destructible, in the first place.

remember that these similar cameos have been hunted down one by one and destroyed (there was a snippet at the end of Thread 2 describing this: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6049645/#p6088847), so it might not be safe to assume that this cameo will stay intact for long, nor that it is somewhat more resistant than others.

the only thing you are certain about is that it came from Master and that is very, very old, and hand-made. and some other very important detail if you remember Ansàrra's short snippet in Thread 4. which you can find here: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6154957/#p 6179435

overall, so far I like what I read. Not because it might be the right thing to do, mind you, but it is quite entertaining to read. you have roughly 28 more hours... get to it anon, CHOP CHOP

(thanks a lot for playing... making me blush... damn you anon)

>>6251418
>so it might not be safe to assume that this cameo will stay intact for long, nor that it is somewhat more resistant than others.
It's more so that it should be expected that it has some importance as it had been ordained by the efforts undertaken to place it securely in our hands (and notable effort was undertaken to destroy all existing duplicates) that should it be destroyed that it was in the right place at the rights time to achieve or nudge things towards their intended outcome, whatever that be. Are we ever going to get brought in on said plan?

It's destruction here and now serves little obvious purpose, so the refusal is a fairly reasonable imposition, at least on its face. And to some degree will inform us about how directly overt Ansarra's guidance will be relating to the efforts that she wishes to be undertaken, I can't imagine that she would remain so hands off if it was anything of consequence when the opportunity to intercede by doing nothing at all is right there. Though it is interesting that it appears that whomever told Rosandra about the cameo's is acting on incomplete info, or at least a lapsed edict. After all why would it be given to us if it was to be destroyed in the first place?

>>6251096
>Refuse to hand it. Your master had this cameo for a long time before giving it to you, so he's the only person you'll hand it back short of Ansarrà herself.

>>6251464
>

who knows, anon. perhaps you have been living it since the very first post

>After all why would it be given to us if it was to be destroyed in the first place?

perhaps it was booked on Etsy

>>6251418
>nay, anon, the Stilladìa has white hair.
Oh, huh, I always assumed it was silver because she's associated so heavily WITH silver. Well, still, the association supports my theory just as well as shared hair colour would.

>>6251369
>Stilladìa's name "Lithala" was already dropped in the previous thread by Helias when she came over to tell him that the worm has been resurrected actually.
I really didn't remember that, which seems strange

>However I don't think there is a scenario where we keep the cameo (it is the consequence of rolling an nat1, no more being carried by bragia's +12)
I don't think that's the result of the nat 1, specially since the roll didn't even have a dc
>>6251418
>nay, anon, the Stilladìa has white hair. maybe I should do some more character portraits/stats
I thought it was silver, since that's her thing.

alright, five more hours for adding insight, voting or discussing. At the moment there's a majority for simply refusing to hand it over (with a logical reason to), with other options for asking Rosandra about her intentions, and waiting until the Trial of Gold.

thanks for playing I'll see you all in a bit.

>>6251096

“No,” you reply, and gasp at your own words.
You just refused her.
You refused the same woman who pulled herself together from a pile of scattered bones and splattered organs, and paraded her would-be killer around like a macabre banner… for at least a cycle.
Rosandra’s gaze turns annoyed.
It’s clear that her store of patience, always low, is perilously running dry.
“W-Wait!” You add, trying to reason with her. Perhaps a pointless endeavour, but, you won’t just hand it over. What if she wants to take it away forever, or to destroy it? She already thinks it is heretical, but it had served you well since the very beginning.
She must understand this. “It has been given to me by the Head of the Order of Saint Kishirra. How can it be heretical?”
“The same man is currently detained, such is the will of the Amaranthines.”
“D-Do they decide when something is heretical or not?”
“We already had this conversation under Her sun, Argia Candente,” she sighs.
You did. At the mansion, when she first pointed out how Ansàrra has seemingly changed Her mind about the representations of Saint Bragia.
“I wouldn’t give it back to anyone else, but Master! It was his gift to me, you can’t just take it away out of wistfulness. At least… at least let me keep it until the Trial of Gold. After all, if I were to be judged guilty, it would follow me in the pile of cinders.”
She entwines her fingers together, taking a deep breath, like she were trying to explain things to a children. She leans closer.

[cont.]

>>6252015

“Are you in defect of logic, Argia Candente? Having that cameo on your person or not won’t make any difference during the trial. Besides, its outcome has already been decided since before you were born — such is the will of the Sun-Birther. As for that thing, I wish to examine it, to feel it upon my own hand.”
You still hesitate. She dances around all of your attempts, and your curse your inability to bend words the way Rubida does.
Why did you leave your friends? Starless Night.
“I— Just promise me you wouldn’t destroy it…”
“Destroy it!” She laughs. “Since the Sun-Birther has demanded their annihilation, all sorts of Knights have scoured the world to bring them back. The last one was found just a few cycles ago. The Knight who found it was given a seat as a Blessed Blind, would you believe it? And now I find another, given to you by Ibardo Delebasse… on your chest.” She pauses as she shakes her head. “Do you not understand that what ever this web may be, we are all so deep tangled in it? Where does it even come from? Did your Master ever tell you?”
“I— No.”
“Did you just assume he would stumble upon a pretty trinket such as this and hand it over to make you feel better?”
“N-I mean, yes! Yes, it would be what Master does. I—I don’t want to see him behind bars for some mistake I made, be it actual or made-up. Be he would have given it to me anyway.”
“Why, Argia Candente?”
“Because he cares about me!”

[cont.]


based Ibardo just doing stuff to make Argia happy

>>6252016

The faint echo of your words scatters amidst the channels and the barracks and the warehouses.
Rosandra waits for silence to come back, like the flowing tide.
“That much is obvious,” she sighs. “All sort of important and powerful people seem to, and in this you most resemble Bragia Lacresta of old. And now you have straggled a promising Sunwell Knight and the heir to one of the most important noble families in your wake. Not to mention the disappearance of Salicera Fors. You are a walking mystery. And a living nuisance.” Rosandra shakes her head, her red hair flowing, her eyes glinting. “I shall not destroy it personally. Nor shall I keep it from being destroyed, if such is Her Will. But it is not so now. For the present, everything around you conspires to keep it intact. I wouldn’t go against something so clearly stated. Now, Argia Candente: are you going to make me wait even more? Hand it over.”

Well, you tried… at least she won’t destroy it. She promised as much. You hand it over.

You don’t trust Rosandra enough. You keep the cameo.

In the end, it all comes down to a matter of trust...

>>6252018
>Well, you tried… at least she won’t destroy it. She promised as much. You hand it over.
despite everything, rosandra is no liar

>>6252018
>“Did you just assume he would stumble upon a pretty trinket such as this and hand it over to make you feel better?”
I have a feeling that yes, that's pretty much why he does what he does, master is a force of nature.
>Well, you tried… at least she won’t destroy it. She promised as much. You hand it over.
Rosandra is clearly not for or against Argia, which in a very roundabout way makes her trustworthy when she says she won't destroy it, if she wants to examine Bragia's cameo then I vote to hand it over. Still, Argia kept that cameo for the whole 6 threads so Rosandra better appreciate this show of trust.

>>6252018
>Well, you tried… at least she won’t destroy it. She promised as much. You hand it over.

>>6252049
astrid is looking fine

>>6252018
>Well, you tried… at least she won’t destroy it. She promised as much. You hand it over.
She gave her word. if she destroys it now, though, we may have to go 'fuck it, we ball" and charge her.

>>6252018
>You don’t trust Rosandra enough. You keep the cameo.
I don't trust her, she came out of nowhere, Causes us to fail missions, has no documentation and keeps implying she wants to find a reason to kill us without recourse.

>The Knight who found it was given a seat as a Blessed Blind
She does get the contradiction, here yes?
They have an accurate count of the Cameo's, why would the knight have been elevated before the job was done, if it was not complete?

>Where does it even come from? Did your Master ever tell you?”
Something to ask when we see him next.

>Spoiler
Well yes, it's not like he's "just" following orders. Right? Besides who is to say that this cameo has the same provenance as the others.


>and in this you most resemble Bragia Lacresta of old
Has she considered that there just might be a reason for that, that she hasn't been told about?

>I wouldn’t go against something so clearly stated.
Don't forget she's not here to be our friend, but to try and find a reason to kill us outright before our trial.

>Argia Candente: are you going to make me wait even more?
Hopefully, Yes.

>>6252018
>Well, you tried… at least she won’t destroy it. She promised as much. You hand it over.

>>6252018
>You don’t trust Rosandra enough. You keep the cameo.

>>6252018
>You don’t trust Rosandra enough. You keep the cameo

thanks everyone for voting.

writing now

>>6252031

>master is a force of nature

correct

>Rosandra better appreciate it

Rosandra has insofar made the lethal mistake of underestimating our beloved doofus... perhaps the hour of correction beckons

>>6252168

interesting points anon. I enjoyed how articulate was your post.

and now, the news...

# # # # # #

>>6252018

Seldom the stars shine upon the Night Land.
The planetary ring looms above, so close the mountain tips seem like they could scrape it, open more channels through the silver curtain, where the dark sky can be seen.
But tonight the night sky is clear, and see-through as glass. From above, the feverish light of the cluster of the Seven, huddled together, peeks through one of the channels.
And in the nearby village, the shadows seem to walk on two legs.
The inhabitants, still holding close the memory of that time when their horned saviour, that wingless angel that answers to the name of the Stilladìa and that perhaps once around these parts answered to the name of Lithala, have long-since began to gather in their enclosed homes, waiting for this also to pass.
The Night Lands are vast and merciless. Here the memory of the Epochalypse is still carved in the rotten land, in the gloomy sky. The opulence of Frigéia, the might of the Throne, the hope of the Holy Land — these are all far-away concept, faint ideas.
Bit by bit, the village grows silent, the voices hush, the candles dim. The washed-over remnants of mankind throw a blanket over their narrow shoulders and pray for another pale morning in a few hours, pray for the stars to look elsewhere.
And for most of them, this desire may get yet granted.
For the family of seven, whispering faint intonations under a single linen.
For the lovers entwined in their embrace, holding arm onto back onto shoulder, hiding their breaths into each other, so that the shadows may not hear them.
And for the lonely elderly woman who danced with the Stilladìa, who lies before her hearth, her wizened hands holding her final gift, the little carving she slipped into her pocket.
Not so for others.

[cont.]

>>6253431

When the wooden door scrapes against the ground, the gaunt man checks his surroundings, holding up his lantern, casting shivering shadows into the blackness of night. He shivers as well. At least they do not speak.
He curses under his breath, and skitters on the gravel, aiming for the closest pile of wood. His fireplace has died.
Looking back and forth, he touches the necklace of bones that a merchant from the north has sold him.
Made out of the bones of the Saints, he assured her.
Gifted to him personally by the very hands of Ansàrra.
And the way he described those hands, so pale and soft, the beauty of her fiver fingers wrapped around the tinkling bones when she gave it to him— he had believed those words, he had attached himself to those lies like a shell to the back of a shore cliff.
Almost there. He stretches his hand to pick up the first wooden log—
His hand creak and twists.
Like a snapping branch caught in a gale.
He can’t even scream, only gurgle, as his tongue twists as well, folding like a piece of paper, stiff like a dead fish, bloated with brackish water.
He swings his lantern, but it’s futile. His other hand lets go, and yet the lantern does not fall: it floats, and slowly tilts and tilts and tilts, turning upside down just as the man’s bones pop and his back snaps and his neck twists—
Until, with the last of the sharp echoes of his twisted body, he stands up again, on his arms this time, his legs stretched to the heavens like branches.
The lantern flashes, the golden light of wax leaving way to a bluish white, and the faint figure of a woman appears, cast by the glow like a ghostly apparition. She tilts her face to the heavens, her hair black, a curtain of ink, her narrow shoulders exposed to show her dark skin.
Taygete, then the mouth that used to belong to the man says, folding again to make words out of silence. Is what I heard true?

[cont.]

>>6253434

It is true,, replies the voice of Celaeno, the same that once echoed through the Well, the one that has been whispering in the ears of Salicera Fors for months, until it grew so loud and so strong it popped through the disguise, and from the cracks pooled, naked and malleable, Willow Stark.

Their dearest Key.

Ah, sister! Taygete sighs, her voice carrying through the darkness, sizzling with renewed hope. Is this the one? Our last cold summer?

Celaeno, in her twisted body she is wearing like a dress, balances on one of the arms and uses the other to caress through the glowing air where her sister beloved shines. All of them, yet echoes and mirrors and smoke upon water.
For the present.
This is a Key most robust, she assures her sister. The vessel that is growing it has proven useful. We make waste not.

We make waste not, Taygete eagerly agrees. We are Kiengir. But what of the others? Only five are gathered. And Merope is no more.

Merope shall be vindicated,, Celaeno seethes, her rented jaw grinding. Six centuries of humiliation and pain… six centuries of mockery, soon to end. The pretender will pay. Her horns will be used as cups, soon. We shall rip her skin off string by string and weave it into our banners. We shall fashion her pain into the prettiest shawl and dance in it before her. Her petty kingdom shall be repurposed. All shall know justice.

Should we not rouse Alcyone first? I have missed her much.

[cont.]

>>6253436

So did I, sister, Celaeno rubs her finger through the glowing cloud. Oh, how have I thirsted to see the light in our eldest’s eyes again. But she slumbers still. No matter. When the key is turned and the lock is broken, he will restore us all. To our rightful place — then we shall all bow at his feet, as it is deserved. As it is his want. As it is his delight.

Sister! Your words are like a balm. How have I yearned for his touch again! Taygete keens, wailing at the empty sky.

So empty are the nights without him. But soon it shall be like it used to be of old, sister.

A vicious grin spreads on Taygete’s features, twisting her gorgeous face into that of a vindictive justiciar. As of old! When the sun was just another star.

So it used to be. So it shall be again. The Interloper will be drawn in chains before his throne, and this time, oh, sister! This time not even his beloved heart will bleed for her.

A mistake made once already.

And never again. Be at ease, sister. Our cold summer draws to an end. We make mistakes not.

We are Kiengir.

With those words, the glowing cloud fades, leaving only a dark lantern, which falls on the gravel and crashes.
Similar fate for the man’s body.
One by one, with a humid squelch, each of the arms and each of the legs detach, scurrying away into the darkness, chasing after some dark burrow where to rest in wait for the joyous work. Then the torso, as a fifth piece.
And finally, as a sixth, for the Seven are now short a member, and they shall use all of their wisdom and all of their wit, scraping the barrel of their craftiness empty, until they have devised all sort of fitting punishments for those who took him away from them, and them away from him — as a sixth, the head skitters away as well.
Nothing gets left behind, all of it finding its joyous purpose.
For they are Kiengir.
And they make waste not.

[cont.]

>>6253437

You keep hesitating.
There is a strong part of you that still refuses.
Who even is this Rosandra?
She came out of nowhere, and all she has done so far had been hindering you!
And scaring you to death!
Even if she shares the Faith — no, actually because she shares the Faith! She should be on your side, help you find Willow so you can finally paint a red flower on her Strander butt!
And— and even with the way she seems to understand you do share a connection with Saint Bragia, why can’t she understand there seem to be a reason for that?
And now she has the gall to ask if you are going to make her wait even more?
Starless Night, this part of you hopes so!

You take a long breath.

Then again—
You have seen what she is capable of.
And for all the crazed air she carries about herself, she has yet to lie.
It is just like you thought. A matter of trust.
You trusted Master, when he held his hand out to you.
You trust Ansàrra.
You trusted Willow…

Biting your lip, you lift the necklace off your chest and hand it over to Rosandra, pleading she is telling the truth. If the Sun-Birther is listening, please, please, please let her not break Master’s gift…

You feel the light that the relic of Saint Bragia carries into you growing faint, until only its memory remains.

Then you pour it into her bandaged hand.
As soon as it touches her skin her fingers twitch, her face as well. A shadow of sorrow and longing that runs through her like a dark cloud soon chased off by summer winds.
Your heart hammers in your chest as her other hand comes to rest on its surface, tracing Bragia’s features with a softness like two feathers brushing against each other.
“I beg of you—” You start.

[cont.]

>>6253438

“Beg. Beg for what, Argia Candente?” Rosandra’s voice is made of shards. It is as if someone crashed it into a thousand pieces while you were not looking and now she is hurrying up putting it all together, in haste, making several mistakes. “Not to have it destroyed? This is— this has touched Her flesh! This has rested on Her for whoever knows how long! How can you not feel it? This— how could you have been given… how… who…” Rosandra blinks, her eyes growing misty. She sets her jaw, pushing against the wave of emotion. “This little thing of ivory. It is so close to Her heart. How could I not feel it when I first saw it? Veritably a fool! A fool…” Rosandra’s breathing thins and her hand trembles.
She draws another breath.
And another, scraping one, deep through her nose.
You know what is going on.
Perhaps it’s a chance to keep your cameo intact.
Heretic or not.
“Dry earth,” you say. “And the smell of grapes, ready for the harvest. I was a vintner ere I was a Knight.”
Rosandra does not linger on the fact you are not a Knight yet.
That Willow robbed you of that chance.
Rather, her eyes lose focus, then go back to your face — for the first time since you have known her, her gaze does not get past you, like you were a stain on glass, but stay.
They stay.
And when she opens her mouth—
“Cinder. And burning wood. After the Epochalypse, light was our currency, warmth our hope. We trudged through days dark as ink, stumbling and groping, our prayers, finally answered when She birthed us the new sun.” Rosandra gulps. “I found Her when She was still pregnant. Bowing and scraping, I threw myself at Her feet. Her hand, all six onyx fingers of it, rested upon my cheek. I have been at Her service for so long I have seen kingdoms raise and fall, and the Seven lose one member. And nothing has defiled Her.” Then her usual sternness comes back to her eyes, stiffening her lip. “Nothing until the Adversary. The Stilladìa is always close to Her thoughts. I cannot understand…”
“I would have the Adversary pierced, if I could,” you dare interrupt, “It’s thanks to her merchants that my family has been led astray. We have lost our land, our fathers’ prized grapes. I have had this hair,” you coil a silver lock around your finger, “since I was born. If the Adversary truly has marked me, she has a most strange way to display her favour.”
Rosandra does not answer. She closes her hand over your cameo, and, with utmost kindness, cradles it close to her chest.

[cont.]

>>6253439

“This is an entangled web. Perhaps I was caught as well in it, more than I dared to hope. I shall need more time.” She gives you another look. And once again, it stays. “One night, Argia Candente.”
She does not await for you to agree. True to her temperament, Rosandra turns and walks away. You follow her, throwing away the rags you covered yourself with, and you two spend no more words together.
Then at last you find the throng you left, still full of happy people.
There is still gladness in the world.
You could have forgotten about it, for a moment.
A pair of younger children throw themselves at you.
“Thank you! Thank you! Sister Rubida told all about you and what you did! And the scary lady as well.”
Rosandra walks past them, in contemplative silence, her lips as still as marble, her eyes fixated upon her.
“It was—”
What was it?
Dutiful?
A slaughter.
Heroic.
A slaughter of Kiengir puppets.
An act of mercy.
“—it was what you needed,” you decide at last, crouching before the kids and rubbing their shoulders, allowing them to dampen you armour with their tears.
Then you withdraw, dispensing a smile. You spot Rosandra standing by a lonesome pier, her figure mirrored by the ocean water, as she holds your cameo and thinks stormy thoughts, the six Blessed Blinds now roaming above her like a murder of crows.
“Where have you been?” Soralisa asks, coming to hug you. “Starless Night, you stink! What happened?”
“Many things,” you muse, allowing your oldest friend to drag you away towards the centre of the crowd, which is still sharing tears and embraces. Rubida joins in with Soralisa, and she sets her head against your shoulder.
“Oh, Candente! You had me so worried disappearing like that! What got into you?”
What got into you.

[cont.]

>>6253440

Memories of the Worm slithering inside Willow’s mouth squirm in your stomach.
You won’t be there, when she needs you. Needs you to stamp your hand’s profile on her cheek until is as stark as a mole. And then to be held in your arms until she understands the depths of her folly.
But you won’t be there.
Your heart feels like a rock, sunken in the depths of a deep dark dark dark lake.
“Wait… your cameo?”
“I have missed you two,” you sigh, holding your friends close.
Their warmth echoes the one you just lost, that is beating inside the palm of Rosandra Brusera da Roccafonda.

>You have lost your cameo! Your bonus is reduced to +1 from +12 until you get it back.


Discuss what just happened at the dark gathering. Soralisa might know a thing or two… and Rubida, who has been touched personally, perhaps even more.

At last all of this is over, so you should try to gather your bearings and leave. Every moment you waste is another moment for the Throne to gather enough bravery to strike you again.

The Trial of Gold. Discuss the change of plans first. You are going on trial… is this what awaits you after all the trust you put in the Faith?

Add a suggestion


Our Argia is having an interesting night. And perhaps Rosandra is also starting to understand the depths she carelessly threw herself into... wonder what will happen next? You have votes to cast so... CHOP CHOP. And thanks for playing (I was quite happy with this update, and I love writing evil women)

>>6253441
>Discuss what just happened at the dark gathering. Soralisa might know a thing or two… and Rubida, who has been touched personally, perhaps even more.

So the Seven Sisters, and maybe even Ansarra herself, were artificial waifus in the harem of the previous supreme god, whom Stilladia slew in some fashion, and Ansarra replaced? Huh...

>>6253441
>Discuss what just happened at the dark gathering. Soralisa might know a thing or two… and Rubida, who has been touched personally, perhaps even more.
I don't think there is anything left to discuss over the coming trial, however there is a lot to talk about the gathering Argia was part of and it's about time Argia started to include those two into the things she does while they aren't looking. Still good job on Argia stunning Rosandra for once, the woman wasn't prepared to what she was getting into.

>Rosandra gulps. “I found Her when She was still pregnant. Bowing and scraping, I threw myself at Her feet. Her hand, all six onyx fingers of it, rested upon my cheek.
..Did rosandra just casually drop that Ansàrra was pregnant when they met?
>“Nothing until the Adversary. The Stilladìa is always close to Her thoughts. I cannot understand…”
Because to me that sounds a lot like Ansàrra is the mother of the Stilladìa and that this whole fight between them is about a mother and daughter squabbling over who is right, the daughter is trying to proof she can make a kingdom that doesn't need her sun-mommy's blessings while the mom is trying to drag her daughter back into the fold (by using Argia as her proxy maybe?).

>>6253434
>Made out of the bones of the Saints, he assured her.
him, no ?

>Gifted to him personally by the very hands of Ansàrra.
Doubt it

>And the way he described those hands, so pale and soft, the beauty of her fiver fingers wrapped around the tinkling bones
lmao

>>6253436
>The pretender will pay. Her horns will be used as cups, soon.
Ansarrà has horns ? zamn, no wonder stilly is mad. She got mogged in another department.

>We shall rip her skin off string by string and weave it into our banners. We shall fashion her pain into the prettiest shawl and dance in it before her. Her petty kingdom shall be repurposed. All shall know justice.
Edgy

>>6253437
>To our rightful place — then we shall all bow at his feet, as it is deserved. As it is his want. As it is his delight.
so there's a guy as well ?

>So it used to be. So it shall be again. The Interloper will be drawn in chains before his throne, and this time, oh, sister! This time not even his beloved heart will bleed for her.
>A mistake made once already.
so however sunny made her escape from the se-six madwomen, the guy didn't intervene. maybe he was their father ?

>>6253439
>our prayers, finally answered when She birthed us the new sun.” Rosandra gulps. “I found Her when She was still pregnant. Bowing and scraping, I threw myself at Her feet. Her hand, all six onyx fingers of it, rested upon my cheek.
hmm, those stargirls really like birthing things and Ansarrà is revealed to be the author of the journals
>>6253441
>Discuss what just happened at the dark gathering. Soralisa might know a thing or two… and Rubida, who has been touched personally, perhaps even more.
let's keep them in touch. nice update OP, more monster(?) women and the plot thickens.

>>6253462
>Stilladìa slew the previous god

perhaps and perhaps not

>>6253469

>Argia stunning Rosandra

thousand-years old veteran wasn't ready for that Argia cuteness, total hag death

>Ansàrra was pregnant?

I love hiding stuff in plain view

>Ansàrra is the mother of the Stilladìa

perhaps after a fashion...

>>6253606
>doubt it

kek, beware of merchants selling you holy relics (made in Frigèia)

>Ansàrra has horns?

no, this is referred to the Stilladìa (pretender), as opposed to Ansàrra (Interloper). But yea, she keeps getting mogged... perhaps next contest will be a butt+hips one, to give her an easy win

>Ansàrra is revealed to be

next quest might even be an Amphibia crossover

>nice update

thanks!

alright, thanks for voting everyone. I'll keep this open for about 24 more hours. If someone has questions, please write them below (I might not be able to answer every which one due to plot reasons but...)

>>6253668

forgot pic

>>6253441
>The Trial of Gold. Discuss the change of plans first. You are going on trial… is this what awaits you after all the trust you put in the Faith?

>>6253441
>Discuss what just happened at the dark gathering. Soralisa might know a thing or two… and Rubida, who has been touched personally, perhaps even more.

>>6253668
>no, this is referred to the Stilladìa (pretender), as opposed to Ansàrra (Interloper).
ah. damn, I expected such a harsh treatment to happen with ansarra. why are they so angry at stilly, allying with the sun aside ?
>>6253669
who'd've thought it'd be literal ? so that also means she's capable of parthenogenesis, interesting. tfw you'll never drink ansy's milk...

>>6253853
>ah. damn, I expected such a harsh treatment to happen with ansarra. why are they so angry at stilly, allying with the sun aside ?
Merope, the youngest sister died right around when the Stilladìa became a thing (Stilly killed her and the remaining 6 sisters didn't get over it)

>>6253441
>Discuss what just happened at the dark gathering. Soralisa might know a thing or two… and Rubida, who has been touched personally, perhaps even more.

>>6253469
>..Did rosandra just casually drop that Ansàrra was pregnant when they met?
She birthed a sun, I think...

>Ansàrra is the mother of the Stilladìa
That could work, too, maybe, though possibly not a literal mother since they look nothing alike. It would fit the God/Satan parallel.

>>6253668
>perhaps next contest will be a butt+hips one, to give her an easy win
Stilly's bottom-heavy? Well, they warned me Satan would be tempting...

>>6253441
>The Trial of Gold. Discuss the change of plans first. You are going on trial… is this what awaits you after all the trust you put in the Faith?

>>6253853
>why are they so angry at Stilly

no idea. maybe she beat them at Pokémon

>

anon is into that Sunseeker grindset

>>6253913
>would be tempting

she has her ways


also, five votes against two for Discussing what happened during the gathering. writing!

>>6253441

“It’s an injustice,” Soralisa shakes her head, handing you a plate full of steaming broth and meat, “it’s unfair!”
“It is her prerogative,” Rubida reminds you three with a sigh, even as she rests her head on her fist, her blue eyes glancing at you. “And yet I think she overstepped. That was your Master’s gift, wasn’t it?”
“It still is,” you reply, thanking Soralisa with a nod. You take a spoon of the broth — it’s delicious, the pieces of meat so soft and tasty, mixed with vegetables and all sorts of spices.
Wait, weren’t spices a Frigéian import?

… you’ll eat angrily, then.

“But she has promised not to destroy it, and insofar she has proven to be trustworthy. At least in that. And there’s something else…”

“Well, I don’t like her,”Soralisa huffs. “She has brought only misfortune upon us. Will she at least be useful as she agreed to? To find—” she looks around, to check on any prying ears, but you are all alone. The Throne people finally left you alone for a few minutes, just enough to have dinner together. A very late dinner.
“I don’t like it either,” you nod, taking another sip.
An angry sip. Curse these Frigéian spices making it so delicious, and curse your hunger twice.
What else to say? You should mention the trial.
It awaits.
It awaits you.

If you fail— your family will forever wait outside of the Blessed Lands, on the Landing Strip. You would have failed your friends, besmirched them, and condemn Master as well… and Willow would be forever bereft of your help.
Not to mention everything else that is going to happen, with these monstrous births and the Cantankerous Worm.
If.
“Everything has already been taken care of,” you whisper.
“Argia…” Rubida sets her hand over your shoulder. “I commend your trust, your Faith is an inspiration, really, but shouldn’t you think twice about leaving that relic in her hands?”

[cont.]

>>6254414

“Yes!” Soralisa nods sharply, her still-sore hands gripping her plate in a vice, how much as she can. “Especially considering how ancient it was! Heretical or not, it deserves to be studied, and perhaps even cherished. After all, who knows where your Master even found it!”
“Must have pilfered it from some Anthilian noble’s bedroom,” Rubida grins, her blue eyes glinting. “Many of the great houses still possess relics like that, even if it’s against the law. And nine out of ten must be forgeries, anyway. There can only be so many ‘skulls of Saint Kishirra’ around, don’t you think?”
“She felt a connection with it as well,” you add. “She knew Saint Bragia.”
Soralisa gasps, while Rubida sets her lips in a hard line, scratching her chin.
“Then this makes even less sense.”
“How so?”
You lean back, cuddling in the middle of your two friends. You have missed this.
Oh, how you have missed this—
And to think that just a few cycles away Soralisa did not dare look you in the eye, and Rubida would tease you without mercy.
Your eyes shift towards an empty spot next to your three—
An empty spot where a girl with a long brown braid would be grinning at you, and trying to explain why in her world the roads were all grey and coarse and reeked like rotten eggs.
“How so?” You ask again, fretting to go back to the present moment.
There will come a day when you meet Willow again.
“If we assume this is a political power play on Astoria’s part,” Rubida explains, picking up a stick to draw a few lines into the sand, “then the presence of a Knight of the Gerofalco is already something highly unusual.”
“I remember how shocked you were.”
“You have yet to understand the gravity of her presence, Candente,” Rubida lowers her voice. “She is not even supposed to exist. The Foundation Wars were far less peaceful then the recounts would say.” Her breath hitches. “The Holy Land is a land of plenty now, but it wasn’t always like so.”
“T-There would be commentaries about that—” Soralisa tries to interject, only to bite her lips and look away, seemingly embarrassed.
“Truth belongs to the winners,” you muse, finishing your broth. “They would not have won if they did not deserve so. I see no fault in this.”

[cont.]

'God is always on the side of the best artillery' - Napoleon (and Argia Candente, apparently)

>>6254416

Rubida’s eyes widen, then she chuckles.
“For being a former heathen, Candente… ha! No wonder Ansàrra’s Will is all wrapped around you.”
“And I have yet to understand it,” you sigh. “What She wants from me, so that I may offer it gladly. Or at least get Rosandra to stop breathing down my back at every turn. I have yet to convince her I am the farthest thing from an agent of the Adversary.” You rub your forehead, as if it could help you reorganise your thoughts. At least your stomach has stopped hurting from hunger. “There was also something else. I left because I felt one of those— moments. When I feel a call. We discussed this, remember.”
“Like at the festival? The night with the puppet show.”
“Yes.”
“And atop the Eye of the Sun.”
“Indeed. I had expected another vision. Instead I— I got lost amidst the barracks and piers of the port. I stumbled upon some sort of gathering.”
Your tone must have warned Rubida because she winces, her hand immediately going to knead her offended arm.
“What sort of gathering?” Soralisa’s eyes pick up the movement and she sets aside her plate to knead Rubida’s shoulders, who nods, grateful.
“Not of the Seven,” you explain. Your hand goes to your chest, finding only fabric there. You have taken off your armour to eat and you find just your underwear over your chest. And the pulsating ghost of the sigil Soralisa carved on your back, the two entwined squares. “Rosandra explained it was Kiengiri worshippers. It made me think of the bodies we found in the Well, remember?”
“Those outside, with the masks… and those inside…”
“… with their heads turned into candle wicks.” You wince at the memory.
“I am still sorry I couldn’t be with you at the time.”
“You were,” you remind her with a smile. “When it mattered.”
“Oh. Right.” She blushes, red covering her cheeks and spreading to her ears. “In the end. For a bit.”
“For what mattered,” you reply giving her hands a light squeeze. Soralisa emits something very similar to a happy squeal, and Rubida allows herself a tiny smile, even if she’s still shaken.

[cont.]

>>6254417

“What happened during this gathering?” She asks, bringing back the conversation to the topic.
“Some kind of ritual, about worshipping, no celebrating? I’m not sure. The words were strange, they sounded like… it’s hard to say.”
“Garzu-i-siskur,” Soralisa mutters.
A tearful offering.
Rubida shakes, closing her eyes.
“A-Apologies!” Soralisa excuses herself. “I was merely trying—”
“Nevermind. You have passed through the fire, and Candente too. It is my turn.”
“Arazue, anumun sag’gá,” she adds.
A prayer, to the water of the seeds just planted.
It’s not exactly what you heard.
And Soralisa’s gentle, wavering voice is so different from the harsh one that spoke directly into your head. That sound like crunching ice… that firmness of purpose and intention, as if the voice speaking those words held the world in the palm of her hand.
And would start squeezing at any moment.
“It was an offering. There was this woman. Pregnant. No, wait. She had already delivered. And her baby— deformed. Two heads,” you recount, each word feeling like someone is pulling teeth off your mouth. “They were praying to their Kiengir masters.”
“Heathen nonsense,” Soralisa spits, then her dries her lips with the back of her hand. “The Kiengir are all dead, and praise be the Sun-Birther for it! Dust in the wind, shadows in the deep corners of the earth. Only the Elves recall their liking, and they are fading fast.”
“The Seven are Kiengiri,” Rubida counters, taking in a deep breath.
“And yet, Rosandra told me to let them be,” you add. “Which surprised me more than anything else. We left quickly. Ah, yes, I should have said. She followed me there and dragged me away.”
Your friends share a quick, wide-eyed look.
You know.
“Then she started accusing me of being a spy to the Adversary again. We argued.”
“You argued with a Knight of the Gerofalco.”
“She irks me,” you say stiffening your lip. “I almost ran of patience.”
“Ah, that’s a relief. Not that you did, but that you are still our lovable fool who would rush, spear in hand, to skewer a mountain, if she believed it was required of her,” Rubida chuckles. “And then she took your cameo.”
“We argued about that as well… but ultimately I let her have it. For a night! She told me she would give it back to me soon. Soon enough…”
“So you were right,” Soralisa adds, setting her knuckles against her lips as her eyes wander back and forth, like she’s reading an invisible book with every answer already written. “That cameo was an important piece. I wonder…”
“Can you still feel your connection to Saint Bragia?”

[cont.]

>>6254419

“It is still there, but it is so very faint.” You sigh. “I miss it already.”
“If you won’t let go, she won’t either,” Rubida reassures her. She looks a little less pale. “Thank you for recounting what happened. I was afraid you might have kept it a secret for my sake.”
The thought did occur to you.
“You are a Knight still.”
“Not any more than you are, Argia Candente,” she laughs. “And ere this story comes to an end, I am ready to bet you will be ten times the Knight I ever will be. So be it! To each her own part, to each her own play. We just have to play it the best way we can…” she shakes her head. “You helped me deal with some painful memories. So! Do you plan to ask her if she knows anything else about your cameo? Could it really be the key to all of this?”
You frown, trying to put the pieces together. You trace a few lazy circles on the sand with the tip of your toe, as if you could put everything together with the stroke of a pen.
If only Sandora was there. She could counsel you.
Willow would probably just tell you to go with whatever sits right in your chest.
And right now…
“One of the keys, for sure. I am still missing a few crucial details I can’t understand. If it’s heretical, how come it has survived for so long? Rosandra is convinced my cameo rested on…” you gulp. The idea is so absurd, it sits so uncomfortably large in your head that you couldn’t fit it and only now you try to painfully squeeze it with the others. “Rested on Ansàrra’s body for a while. For a long while.”
The wind carries away the broken breaths of your friends.
“That is absurd.”
“No, it… it matches what we saw at the Temple. The Temple of Saint Bragia is very ancient, remember? And it has not been touched since right after her death, so the portrayal there must have been the one most close to the truth.”
“A truth hidden in the Glass Heath,” you follow, “on the other side of the sea, in a sanctuary not even Crows dare to trod upon.”“But why?” Soralisa scratches her head, baffled. “I had yet to see a single representation of Saint Bragia with that weapon before I noticed it on your cameo. I thought it was just a mistake…”

[cont.]

>>6254421

“… she also told me all of the heretical cameos have been gathered and destroyed. As it is the wont of the Sun-Birther.” You sigh. “As I said. There is a few tassels missing yet. We are fumbling about, groping in the dark.”
“What matters is that the cameo is still intact,” Rubida tries to ground you two. “We can worry about that latter. Now we should—”
A sensation like a prickle in the back of your head pierces you. You raise your hand.
“Wait.”
And just a few moments later, you see her walking on the sand, her head still held low, as if greatly troubled. Your cameo still in her hand, the six bodies floating might higher now.
“Envoy,” you salute her.
“At ease,” she replies, tossing you a quick look, then turning to regard the horizon. “I see you have finished your luncheon. Most fortunate. Pick up your things and follow me. A vessel has been prepared.”
“A vessel for where?” Rubida dares to ask.
But you know.
And you have yet to tell them about the Trial. Your stomach twists with shame.
“Home.”

>You have TWO actions to focus on over the extension of the journey back home
>36 hours to decide and vote on
>You can choose character interaction, information gathering (if possible), or something else
>I’ll try my best to answer any questions if possible
>Rosandra has promised to give you back your cameo at the end of this night. Roughly 10 hours from now

thanks for playing! Now time to decide how to spend your time. What little of it you might have left...

>>6254423
>Bring the girls up to speed on our Trial of Gold, and seek Rubida's advice
>Take advantage of Rosandra's emotional state to get more details out of her about the secret history of the world

>>6254414
>Cantankerous Worm.
big word, but not as harsh as I though.
>>6254416
>“Truth belongs to the winners,” you muse, finishing your broth. “They would not have won if they did not deserve so. I see no fault in this.”
quid est veritas?
>>6254423
>Learn what we can about the trial and talk with soralisa about it.

>>6254423
>Allow Rosandra to have her night with your cameo, and more time to sort out her thoughts, only then you will go after her with questions, starting with Saint Bragia and your cameo.
Talking about Bragia first is a good way to break the ice right?
>>6254471
>Bring the girls up to speed on our Trial of Gold, and seek Rubida's advice
+1 Gotta make use of Rubida's talents, that's where she shines after all
>Take advantage of Rosandra's emotional state to get more details out of her about the secret history of the world
I say Argia should only talk with Rosandra after she had a few hours to sort out her thoughts as a courtesy before shelling her with questions.

>>6254416
Rubida and Soralisa are truly ride or die gals, find me another pair that will follow you to the end of the world AND a trial for heresy.
>spoilers
fr*nch Argia sounds more and more real by the minute, speaking of which, does that make Willow Joséphine?

>>6254471
>>6254472
>>6254555

interesting takes. let's see how it goes.

>quid est veritas?
in vino, anon... which might be less silly than it seems

>truly ride and die gals

I'm so proud

>does that make Willow Joséphine?

kek. I hope at least she takes a bath sometimes.

>roughly 15 hours left for voting or suggestions.

>>6254423
>>Bring the girls up to speed on our Trial of Gold, and seek Rubida's advice

Maybe

>>6254423

The weight of truth requires broader shoulders than yours.
You lean against the deck on the back of the silent ship as it leaves. None of those iron monstrosities you put your foot upon when you came here with Sandora. In fact, this is a tiny vessel of sail and wood, barely enough to fit a crew of five.
There is no crew.
Rosandra sits at the helm, right beneath the tallest sail, closes her eyes and the ship just — moves.
It does not feel like one of the Sarcophagi of the Asterites is beating in the ship’s bowel. In fact, there is a soothing quality in the air, and as you take in a breath, you smell the scent of dry earth and ripe grapes, once again.
If you close your eyes, you can almost convince yourself you are back home, drifting on the brackish water atop a tiny boat, as the lazy currents of the Mar da Candéa rock you back and forth. The crimson reeds would tickle your skin and the glistening of the tower of the Echorian in the distance…
And the voice of your father—
You open your eyes.
There is no home here.
But at least, you are leaving the Thronelands.
You raise your arm and wave at the small crowd that’s still visible on the distant pier, waving their torches in turn. They have gathered to see you depart, after Rosandra gave the Throne its Asterite… now with a hefty dose of respect for the Sun-Birther.
You are leaving the Thronelands— hopefully better than you found them.
Behind you, your friends are waiting. Soralisa has fallen asleep, beaten by the long day, and Rubida seems to be about to follow her in the dream lands. Her hand runs through your brunette’s friend locks as she slumbers, lips parted, her still-marked hands holding her notebook open on her slight chest.
Rubida captures your gaze in her blue eyes.
How azure they are—
Kiengir blue.
You used to truly believe Rubida’s boast about her ascendancy was merely an aggrandising lie, but now, with all the things you have been through, you are not as sure.
Starless Night.
May the Sun-Birther conserve you.

[cont.]

>>6255729

Lying would be easier. You could shield your friends from the consequences of knowing the truth, and this would comfort them for a time (it would comfort you as well).
What you desire, versus the people who put their trust in you.
But nay.
You are a Knight. If not in the eyes of the Amaranthines, if not in the eyes of the Blessed Blind who has followed your every step, if not in the eyes of Carnaval, at least in the eyes of your friends, of Master, of Ansàrra.
And if you go through the fire, in the eyes of your family as well.
You detach from the parapet and walk on the creaking deck, sitting next to Rubida, who gives you a pensive smile, her eyes running down Soralisa’s body.
“She did not take the news well.”
“She is in good company,” you reply with a soft chuckle, rubbing against your empty chest. “In good company indeed.”
Oh, how your stomach twists.
Like a squirming worm…
“Do you know,” you begin, “where we are actually going?”
Rubida, always one much more apt at this dance of words than you are at the dance of swords, tilts her head, letting her black locks shift.
“Is there something I should know? There is.”
“I suppose so…” you rub your hands together. Maybe this is what you used to do back when Master hadn’t gifted you the cameo? Perhaps. Hard to remember. “We are going to the Holy Land.”
“I thought you were just being dramatic when you said ‘home’! And you had convinced her to look after Wi—” she bites her tongue. At least you are not the only one who risked getting caught every other line. “After Salicera.”
“I did. But— there were some more news. Not good ones, I’m afraid. I am awaited on trial.”
Rubida’s pupils turn into pinpricks, clearly visible even under the silvery ringlight.
“You. Of all people— is this her idea?”
“Nay,” you chuckle. “I should have given more thought to that time when we met with Astoria in the Temple, remember? You were there and I ought to have listened. I trusted her, and now we all have to pay for it.”
“They can’t just—”
You just take a lock of your hair and coil it around your fingers. Rubida’s thin breath is all the confirmation you need. She has understood.
“Master always made me wear a hood during my time in the Holy Land. Never to take it off, he said. Then I did, and it was all she needed to bring me down.”

[cont.]

>>6255731

“This is just a ploy. She clearly wants to strike Ibardo Delebasse with this, perhaps even raise in the hierarchy. Remember how fidgety she was? I would bet half my family’s estate that she wants to be raised to Sunseeker.”
“What I do not understand is how pointless it is. It’s up to Ansàrra to raise someone to that lofty seat, not to anyone’s efforts.”
“Correct,” comes Rosandra’s voice.
You both whip your head in her direction, but she seems to be meditating again. Both eyes closed, her face a mask. She is still holding your cameo in her hand as the bodies float above her and the boat drifts off into the open sea.
“For one danger that raises, one seems to have lowered,” Rubida whispers, even if you both know now how she hears every word. At least she made sure to let you know she knows, which means…
Uh, it made sense just a little while ago, at least in your head.
You better focus.
“I wouldn’t be that confident,” you mutter. “And yet she hasn’t skewered any of us yet. You weren’t there— what she did to that Asterite…”“… I feel little pity in your words, Candente,” she teases.
“Pity! That heathen deserved none. Not because she attacked her, but because she dared to insult the Sun-Birther. That much is in deservance of death, but our Envoy had a much craftier mind.”“Perhaps she was inspired. So, when I held that sieve upon your head I was merely predicting the future. Ha!” She chuckles, but careful not to wake up Soralisa. “To think this would come to pass. The Trial of Gold…”
You shiver. Rubida’s description of it still runs through your veins.
Like the molten gold that would descend upon you.
“I have told you now because I want—”
She sighs and sets her fingers upon your lips, stopping you.
“I have predicted the future once. Lo! Marvel upon my skills, Argia Candente. Allow me to do it again: your next words are about how you want both of us not follow you down this ruinous path, or something similar.”
Your lips part slightly under her touch.
Rubida may truly be blessed.
“It seems our discussion in the wheat fields did not get through your thick skull, so allow me to say it once again: not I nor Soralisa are going to let go of you.” She shakes her head. “In a way, I believe not even Salicera will, but that is a thought for later. Now, is that clear?”
Your shoulders slump.

[cont.]

Rubida is so precious, dammit

>>6255732

“I— you do not deserve to be pulled into this madness together with me. I am the target, and I am the one who will bear the assault.”
“You are our Vanguard, not the entire Manipolo. You take after Saint Bragia, let me suggest you take after her in some other matter: put trust in those who love you.”
You bit your lip. They really should just leave you to your fate. And tell everyone they did not know you, that…
Rubida withdraws her fingers, allowing you to speak.
“… you could still tell everyone I forced you into this. I roped you into helping me, and following my mistakes. They would believe you.”
“It would certainly hold up in the court of the Amaranthines,” Rubida concedes. “But not under the gaze of Ansàrra. And as for the rest, perhaps it’s for the best that our Envoy is here to witness this.”
“Witness wha—” Rubida leans forward and sets a kiss upon your lips.
Oh.
It’s your second kiss.
It’s different from Willow’s.
It is more urgent, and Rubida’s lips are softer and smoother, and as you sit transfixed, she cups your cheek with her hand, and pulls away.
“Just to make sure,” she adds, then she leans forward again and kisses you once more.
Just enough to have you open your lips, a bit — just enough to shape Rubida’s lips with your own, in a chase that makes you feel ashamed and confused, the snake in your stomach coiling up to seize your throat.
This is the same girl who teased you endlessly, and now her lips chase after yours, as if in desperation, like a gull seeks refuge from a storm, and the fluttering of her lips against yours feels indeed like a fluttering of wings, each little peak and cranny of her damp skin sending sparks and shivers up into your mind — filling each other’s cracks in your breathing with soft gasps and hums.
She withdraws, sighs, part of that warm breath runs down your mouth.
“To make sure than I will not back down. Not even before the Amaranthines. I know your heart, Argia,” she says, her hand resting beneath your collarbone, where the cameo would usually rest. “And it is a good heart.” She captures your lips in one final kiss.
Lingering.
Then she pulls away, her cheeks reddened — grey in the silver light, like Willow’s — and she chuckles again.
“You must think me mad,” she mutters, running her fingers over her lips.

[cont.]

>>6255732

“A— Perhaps a bit.”
“Good. Your madness is the madness of the saints.” Rubida leans back, now going back to sifting Soralisa’s brown hair. “Don’t tell her. She still wishes she could have been your first.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.” She shakes her head. “Perhaps there is hope yet. Argia Candente hasn’t learned how to use her head.”
“I hope I am making progress…”
You share a blushing laughter with Rubida.
“I hope,” Rosandra interrupts again, a sliver of annoyance in her voice, even if her eyes are still closed, “that this still means you will not be shying away from your duty as an Anthilian, Rubida dell’Obertengo.”
Anthilian?
“I would never,” she murmurs, flipping her hair in a magniloquent gesture. “I gave my heart to Argia Candente, my womb still belongs to the Holy Land. These two hardly fall upon the same duties.”
“A satisfactory compromise,” she comments, and falls silent again.
“I hope,” you mutter against her ear as you lean your head on Rubida’s soft shoulder, “that you do not intend for me to help you fulfil all of your duties.”
“Hmm, who knows,” she answers, scratching the tip of her nose. “Kiengiri arts were quite creative—” she snickers when she looks at your face. “I jest, Candente.”
You relax, and silence stretches between you. Your heart is finally at ease, or at least a bit more at ease, as the boat leaves behind the Thronelands’ shores.
You still have your friends.
Friends, and more—
This is… too heavy a thought for the time being.
You will give time to this stone to roll downhill, see where it lands.
For now, you allow rest to gently wrap you into the soft arms of sleep.

[cont.]

>>6255734

# # # # # #

The Stilladìa sits next to her beloved, as he raises his hammer and strikes the stone, raising a burst of sparkles that shine like stars, reflected in the smooth blackness of his skin.
Again.
If such is your haste, Star of Morn,
And again.
Then then why don’t you go yourself!
She feels each strike through her body. So different from the time she used to have a skeleton. A heart.
Veins and blood.
Helias strikes once more, then stops, glancing at her, at the shadows dancing beneath the glow of her crimson eyes. Not even her pupils, bright like torches, can chase away the darkness that grows inside her.
All things considered, quite ironic.
Helias would call it a quirk of the will of the cosmos.
“I do not want to go,” she croaks, drawing her naked legs close to her chest. “It is one of the things I promised myself I would never do.”
“A promise made at another time, under different circumstances.” He sets down his hammer and with his hand still scorching-hot, cups both her cheeks, squeezing them softly, making her squeak.
A sobbing-chuckle escapes out of her pale lips.
“S-Stop it… I desire to keep some dignity in my worst moments…”
“You always keep it,” he replied, rubbing his thumb against her cheekbone in that way that always made shivers spread all the way to her stomach and coil there, make her aware of her emptiness. “You always keep it.” He leans forward, capturing her lips in firm kiss, pushing her against the stone, his other hand running through her white hair, playing with her horns — she jolts — and then lowering to knead the back of her neck. “Always, always, always.”
“He—Helias,” she replies, in plight, catching his face with her much-smaller hands, and kissing him, as if she wanted to draw breath out of his gooey, slime body. “I love you.”
“Always. Always, always…” he replies, underlining each word with another kiss.
“I— I am one of the most powerful beings in this world. A word of mine can topple kingdoms. I own almost forty thousand souls to my beck and call. Heroes. Scholars. Kings and sorcerers alike. I have grown strong.”
“Your word is law,” he agrees, then with a soft grin, he rubs against her horns again, and she squirms a breathy gasp. “Almost everywhere.”

[cont.]

>>6255736

“I do not want to give her the satisfaction. I will not grovel at her feet and lick her fingers.”
“This you would never do,” he shakes his head, dispersing such fantasies. “You are still following your own tune even if you decide to go. Like you said, Ansàrra is forcing your hand.” He pauses, then repeats it: “Ansàrra is forcing your hand. She is now in haste. She is showing weakness, like you said. This much should be proof that what you did bear some fruit.”
“I gave them physicians,” she sighs, setting her head against his neck. “I gave them banks. And engines. And Belgian patisserie, that one Strander was a gift.”
“And ships and rifles. And a reason to not fear the night.”
“To not live like brutes, but chase after virtue and sapience,” she agrees.
“And what did you get out of it? Did someone erect you a Temple? Pray in your name? Gave you flowers?”
“My name is used to scare children into leaving for bed,” she chuckles.
“Then you are not like Ansàrra,” he says, his golden eyes flaring with a certainty that goes beyond love, beyond passion, into their bond that had them pass through the fire once already, and then another time. And come out.
Not unscathed.
But come out indeed.
“Say it again.”
“You are not Ansàrra.”
“And yet I am forced into the same choices. Who do I put first? My own desires? Or those of the people who put their trust in me?”
“You know, when we do pierce the veil and visit Earth, I should have you sign up to a few debate classes… teach you not to abuse of rhetorical questions.”
“Rude!” She slaps his shoulder, then slumps against his comfortable strength. “You better come with me.”
“Of course. Who do you think is going to teach those classes?”
That draws another chuckle out of her.
Ah, she does not deserve him.
“There is yet one thing that I do not understand,” she adds. “I can go there, but even if the silver-haired girl were to be held in Madua, there is nothing keeping me from leaving the moment I know the Strander’s whereabouts.”
“A fault in Ansàrra’s plan? The gilded spider growing careless?” Helias gives her a knowing smirk.
“Just what I was thinking. There is something amiss.”
“When the time comes, you will be ready.”
She hesitates, then meets his hand and they entwine their fingers — black and smooth, pale and glistening.
“There is war at the end of this road,” he warns him. Or perhaps warns herself. “A more total war, a more radical war than we have seen since the world has seen a bright sun.”
“Then,” he counters, setting another kiss on her lips. “Let me go back to smithing.”

[cont.]

>>6255738

# # # # # #


You are roused by the changed wind.
Stirring, Rubida slumps next to you, tossing in her lips as her arms roams, finds Soralisa’s sleeping body and pulls it close.
You pass your finger on your lips.
That was—
Unexpected.
But you liked it.
It was more urgent than Willow’s, but it felt… different.
Perhaps if the Sun-Birther carry you, you would be able to compare again.
After a thorough spanking, as duty demands.
Feeling cranky, you stand up and walk to the parapet, checking on the ocean. The night has etched Her new day once again, and the boat is still sailing without wind or paddle, leaving behind a ripple through the waves. The ocean glistens pink and violet from the coming dawn, even if Her sun has yet to properly rise, but already the silver ring is tinged with a reddish hue.
A reminder, perhaps, of Ansàrra’s ultimate victory.
And the night has, indeed, passed.
Rosandra is still meditating in the same spot, her breathing regular.
She is not asleep — a hunch.
You reach her and crouch on one knee. Not to bow — you only bow to the Sun-Birther — but to be level with her eyes.
“The night has passed.”
“Has it?” She replies immediately. “The one that has settled inside me has hardly lifted. But this might not be your concern, Argia Candente. I know how much you hate me and how you would delight in my parting. It is to be expected, for such a young thing such as you. And yet so caught in a web of golden strands…” she opens her hand and her brown eyes, roaming over the surface of her cameo. Her fingers twitch and your heart jumps in your throat — she promised!
“I have but one word,” she reassures you. “I am merely troubled. Your worldly conundrum and involvement with the Amaranthines are just dust in the wind, or the glimpse of sunlight upon waters, forgotten ere it has begun. If I ultimately discover my most valuable trust and obeisance has been trifled with, Astoria di Ottava Ora will soon learn how many bones her body can be bereft of and still serve the Holy Land. I shall pick my teeth with her useless, fumbling fingers.” A hint of the same fury you felt the night she utterly shattered the Asterite travels from her lips into your stomach, searing-hot. “There is much struggle in your future, Argia Candente. I do not foretell. I merely say what my eyes see. And I also see that for how meagre your strength may be, you have found friends where you could have twisted them into servants.” She sighs, and pours your cameo into your open palm.

[cont.]

>>6255743

Its heft and warmth runs through you once again.
Ah.
Ah, Master’s gift.
It’s once again in your hands.
“This is your strength. How peculiar. It is most similar to—” Her words die as the cameo inside your hand flashes, rapidly.
You count.
Three, four flashes.
Five.
Six.
Like that time at the festival.
And on the Eye of the Sun.
The dawn parts, eaten through by a new scene, like the runny flame that bursts through dry paper.
You see black-stone pavements. Feel the wind in your hair. The sky around you, the Holy Land beneath…
This is the Palace of Ansàrra, amidst the clouds — and five figures wait before a huge door.
One of them turns towards you, glancing at empty space, but you just happen to be there — her olive eyes pierce you.
Saint Bragia.
“What is the meaning of this?” Shivers Rosandra. She can see this? She glances ahead at the same redhead woman, standing in animated conversation with one of Bragia’s companions, the tall blonde man you remember.
She turns towards you, but you have no answers.
The dream, the memory — it beckons you, without drawing you in like the other times.
It is giving you choice.
You stand on the knife’s edge.

Stand back and refuse the vision. You are not completely sure it’s the right call, with Rosandra so close.

Step forward and accept. Like other times, this is the Will of Ansàrra, and if Rosandra is there too there must be a reason.

Add a suggestion…

Well, here we are, anons. What will you do with this vision? I suppose we'll see soon, one way or another. Thanks for playing!

>>6255734
>magniloquent
New word!

>>6255736
>The Frigéian Herald.png
kek

>>6255745
>Step forward and accept. Like other times, this is the Will of Ansàrra, and if Rosandra is there too there must be a reason.
What else is a young woman of the faith to do?

>>6255745
>Stand back and refuse the vision. You are not completely sure it’s the right call, with Rosandra so close.
If it was important they can come back at a more opportune time, It's already tipping the hand to Rosandra so it's done it's job already.
It would be so much easier if they just used words to convey what they want instead of this rigmarole of a slideshow that we need to piece together, I get that it's a guiding hand to put people in the right palace at the right time but there must be easier ways to get the same outcome

In short; powerful people want us dead, who are we to deny them? Just because "their" cog now sees that there is more to things going on, and might want to check "her" sources.

The entire point here was to create doubt. We should double down and not tell her anything she doesn't need to know.

A question arises in what exactly Ansarra can do with souls, and to some degree if they could be imbued or Transferred, we know that the Seven can do some weird shit, and the Stilladia has 40,000 souls and counting to her name

>>6255745
Our cheerleader finally gets to remind everyone why she is the best, by predicting the future! (Soralisa was waiting in line to be the first for so long though, poor girl won't even be Argia's second kiss)

>“There is yet one thing that I do not understand,” she adds. “I can go there, but even if the silver-haired girl were to be held in Madua, there is nothing keeping me from leaving the moment I know the Strander’s whereabouts.”
So Stilladìa is finally gathering the courage to revisit Ansàrra? With some help from helias that is horn touching is cheating.

>I merely say what my eyes see. And I also see that for how meagre your strength may be, you have found friends where you could have twisted them into servants.”
Even rosandra praised her, peace in our time maybe?

Been a while since we had these YUGE updates qm, it's always a pleasure to get those back.

>Step forward and accept. Like other times, this is the Will of Ansàrra, and if Rosandra is there too there must be a reason.
Sorry Rosandra, but Ansàrra (and Argia) aren't done with you yet.

>>6255733
>“Witness wha—” Rubida leans forward and sets a kiss upon your lips.
>Oh.
>It’s your second kiss.
I wasn't expecting another yuri kiss without willow, but it makes sense Rubida was the one to do it, and 3 kisses at that. willowbros in shambles rn.

>>6255734
>“I hope,” Rosandra interrupts again, a sliver of annoyance in her voice, even if her eyes are still closed, “that this still means you will not be shying away from your duty as an Anthilian, Rubida dell’Obertengo.”
>Anthilian?
>“I would never,” she murmurs, flipping her hair in a magniloquent gesture. “I gave my heart to Argia Candente, my womb still belongs to the Holy Land. These two hardly fall upon the same duties.”
classic noble stuff

>“I hope,” you mutter against her ear as you lean your head on Rubida’s soft shoulder, “that you do not intend for me to help you fulfil all of your duties.”
>“Hmm, who knows,” she answers, scratching the tip of her nose. “Kiengiri arts were quite creative—” she snickers when she looks at your face. “I jest, Candente.”
Yes, just a joke... futa rubida when ?

>>6255738
>“I gave them physicians,” she sighs, setting her head against his neck. “I gave them banks. And engines. And Belgian patisserie, that one Strander was a gift.”
so there's a justice strander we have to deal with soon ? fuck

>“You know, when we do pierce the veil and visit Earth, I should have you sign up to a few debate classes… teach you not to abuse of rhetorical questions.”
of course they know about earth

>>6255743
>If I ultimately discover my most valuable trust and obeisance has been trifled with, Astoria di Ottava Ora will soon learn how many bones her body can be bereft of and still serve the Holy Land. I shall pick my teeth with her useless, fumbling fingers.
lolibaba is in trouble

>>6255745
>Step forward and accept. Like other times, this is the Will of Ansàrra, and if Rosandra is there too there must be a reason.
we can trust her

>>6255745
>Stand back and refuse the vision. You are not completely sure it’s the right call, with Rosandra so close.

>>6255745
>Step forward and accept. Like other times, this is the Will of Ansàrra, and if Rosandra is there too there must be a reason.

>>6255779
>new word!
kek, I love expanding anons' horizons. the actual new word ought to be 'deservance', which sounded too good to pass, even if it's in no dictionary

>>6255780
>spoiler

kek, anon, I do agree... curse these all-powerful god-entities for not making it easy! especially on a thick-skulled silver-haired girl...

>Just because "their" cog now sees that there is more to things going on

remember that while Rosandra is indeed a cog in the (hidden) hierarchy of the Holy Land, she does NOT answer to Asteria or the Amaranthines and probably not even Carnaval, so her reactions and goals might not be aligned with those of your former Blessed Blind lead. In fact, she just jumped at the chance to explore a possible avenue for hunting the Stilladìa ('silver-haired girl shows up? This MUST be a servant of the Adversary, let me investigate') only to find herself, just like you, wrapped into a much more complicated plot than she thought.

At this point, Astoria might be less willing to erase you off the catalogue of livings, mostly because, while definitely a fanatic, she is not a fool.

>A question arises in what exactly Ansarra can do with souls,

now wouldn't that be an interesting question/suggestion to earmark for later anon...

perhaps you should call your direct line to the local soul expert? wonder who can help!

>>6255807
>our cheerleader

Rubida sweeps

>horn touching

who knew the Adversary had such a blatant weakness... shoddy worldbuilding, I say!

>Been a while since we had these YUGE updates qm, it's always a pleasure to get those back.

thanks anon!

>>6255868

>wasn't expecting another yuri kiss

this is still a yuri quest, and sometimes I also remember this fact...

>just a joke (spoiler)

heh... though Argia would be the one with the plunging sword in this case

>lolibaba is in trouble

hmmm she might be

>>6256076
nice pic!

alright anons, thank everyone for voting.

>step forward

wins as an option. I'll start writing shortly.

>>6255745

With your heart pumping fast, throbbing inside your chest, you step inside the vision, and the boat, the ocean, your sleeping friends behind — this is for you, for you only, and maybe Rosandra.
The people inside the memory are standing right before a huge black door, standing in the middle of an empty space, no wall to surround it.
You have never been inside Ansàrra’s palace. It’s a place of sharp geometries, right lines and corners, angles that remind you of some cavern, but not one shaped by natural forces. Nature does not carve blindglass at such precise angles, creating reflections on the smooth black surfaces, six-faced columns that reach to the empty sky, as if holding up the heavens, the fast clouds that linger around their tops.
It’s astounding and yet it carries a mournful quality, like you just entered an austere tomb instead of the core of the entire Faith.
And looking down, you see the courtyards and arches, the pools and fountains — all of them in black and gold — create a perfect sphere, bearing no hole.
Her palace is still perfect.
“Is this like the visions you were telling me about, Argia Candente?” Rosandra looks about, stiff.
“Yes,” you reply. “Though this one time it waited for me to step in.”
A warning?
You admit you did hesitate for a heartbeat.
Even if she has given you back your cameo, Rosandra still feels like someone you do not want to spend with a minute more then necessary.
Comes with enjoying your head attached to your neck.
“It asked me no such thing,” she adds, and to your surprise there is little to no resentment in her voice.
If this was Astoria, she would be screaming and yelling and scraping the floor, while Rosandra seems to accept it, if cautiously. She walks closer, initially to her older self, then to Saint Bragia, tracing a circle around her, and her eyes grow dark with sorrow.
“The years are short and the days long,” she huffs, “is a saying I am fond of. But it is not always true. Some years are stretched long with regret.” Her bandaged hand raises almost to brush against Bragia’s dark locks, then withdraws. “Nay. I am the spectator.” She bows and steps away, then looks at you.
Right.
This is for you.

[cont.]

>>6256133

“Dama Uxoria has yet to show up,” Bragia laments, crossing her arms over her slight chest. She looks so — small — especially compared to you. You are a good head taller. Bragia stretches her neck as if she could peer through the black stone. “I hoped she would be here.”
“I do wonder as well,” says the Rosandra of old. Unlike her present self, she is wearing a tight bandage over her eyes, and a long robe that covers everything. Her hair, still red and still long, cover most of her back. “And my first doubts concern how proper this mission ought to be, Bragia Lacresta.” She turns to address the other man present, a burly one, his arms wrapped in chains. He only wears a brown monk tunic, and his bald head shines like the polished stones around him. “Fra’ Catena. Don’t you have anything to say about this?”
“What is there to say?” He shrugs, and the metal tinkles. “It was a decision taken before I learned how to set a foot ahead of the other. Nothing else to do now but to let it play out.”
“Hmmm,” past Rosandra crosses her arms over her chest, clearly displeased. She is showing more emotion since the last time you saw her teach Asterites a lesson. “I am aware. And yet — I do disagree. The girl is young and inexperienced.”
“She knows what she does,” the blonde man standing next to Bragia says, sliding his arm around her narrow shoulders. “And besides she is hardly alone.”
“Oh, I—” she blushes, lowering her olive eyes, right as a blush spreads over her tanned skin. How young is Bragia here?
This must be a previous scene to the one you saw displayed at the Temple: her first actual mission, when she departed with Uxoria, the then-Archiater.
“I f-feel perfectly fine, my lady,” Bragia tries, even as her face flashes red. She rubs her arms even as she shuffles her feet on the stone floor, drawing a soft sound. “I c-couldn’t be more r-ready!”
“You are an astoundingly terrible liar,” Candeloro chuckles, rubbing her shoulder again, with a soft fondness. “And never to improve. You runt.”

[cont.]

>>6256134

“It might instead be a point of strength, when it comes to the Faith,” Rosandra states, and for the first time the corner of her lip bends in an affectionate smile. “I am certain the mind of the Sun-Birther has weighed this request before putting it on your shoulders. As wide as they might be for someone who comes from the Night Lands…”
“I also think she is going to do great!” Says another female voice, coming from a girl you haven’t given much though to until now. Another redhead, who is fairly taller than Bragia, a glint in her blue eyes as she steps forward and also sets her hand over her shoulder, gripping her and shaking her slightly. “Word! If there is someone I wouldn’t always follow in battle, it would be our little Bragia! Word, word!”
“E-Esta…” Bragia winces, looking at her with a sheepish smile. “A little less strong perhaps?”
“Ah! Sorry! I didn’t mean to—” she withdraws her hand, looking mortified. “This is out first mission together, so! A-After all, it’s also my chance to prove my mettle as a Strander! I want the Holy Land to know that not all Stranders are easy prey of the Sisters! That’s my lofty goal!” She bumps against her chest and Bragia’s smile grows less sheepish, even if you notice how Candeloro quirks one of his golden eyebrows.
Perhaps he does not seem so convinced of her pure intentions, whatever they may be.
“Be it as it may,” Fra’ Catena calls their attention with his gravelly voice, “we would do better not to waste out time outside of the Sun-Birther’s door, now that everything has been decided. I am sure Uxoria is waiting for us in the courtyards below. Bragia, if we hurry, I may be able to show you the room where Saint Kishirra spent the night before her ordaining.”
Saint Bragia’s eyes go wide with admiration — just the way yours do every time her name is mentioned.
It feels strange to see someone else go through such fascination. Current-Rosandra also chuckles, not hiding her fondness at her reaction.
“I-I would love to! But… but if I could… before going, there is yet one thing…” her small tanned hand — the back of her skin shows dark burn scars, you notice — reaches for her pocket and withdraws a small bag. “It slipped my mind with everything that happened! I just need to go back in for a moment! Please?”

[cont.]

>>6256135

Fra’ Catena sighs, then waves his hand to say that he doesn’t mind.
“Just don’t take too much time. Uxoria is not as forgiving as our Knight of the Gerofalco here,” he grins at Rosandra, who grins back at him.
“I’ll be as quick as I can!” She squeezes Candeloro’s hand right before reaching for the huge black door behind them. She sets her hand against the stone.
“May I come in, Ansàrra?”
Your breath hitches at the way she addresses the Sun-Birther.
There’s a familiarity to it, an easiness… you would haven’t dreamt of in a thousand years, not if you were raised to Sunseeker today.
The stone turns liquid like slick oil, and she disappears inside. You feel yourself fall through the door as the memory drags you within, and your heart burns through your throat as you have barely enough time to cover your eyes, to shield yourself from the holden heat that is spreading through it, that’s eating through every space, filling every time.
There is… a Presence, behind the door.
And it’s like trying to swallow the sun.

>Even through memories, Ansàrra is overwhelming!
>Roll a 1d100+12 (cameo bonus is back), Best of Six
>Pray for good rolls anon…

oooooh boi here we go...

Rolled 96 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6256137
Time to meet the sun-mommy in all her glory.
Also two updates in a row like that? Unprecedented
I did not expect a kinder past-Rosandra, but it is interesting, may Argia impress current Rosandra then.

Rolled 42 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6255807
>Our cheerleader
Communal cheerleader
>>6256137

Rolled 53 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6256133
>“Is this like the visions you were telling me about, Argia Candente?” Rosandra looks about, stiff.
>“Yes,” you reply. “Though this one time it waited for me to step in.”
>A warning?
>You admit you did hesitate for a heartbeat.
>Even if she has given you back your cameo, Rosandra still feels like someone you do not want to spend with a minute more then necessary.
>Comes with enjoying your head attached to your neck.
>“It asked me no such thing,” she adds, and to your surprise there is little to no resentment in her voice.
I didn't get this line from rosandra
>>6256137
rolling
>>6256142
nice
>>6256215
>Our cheerleader
>Communal cheerleader
oy
>>6255807
>(Soralisa was waiting in line to be the first for so long though, poor girl won't even be Argia's second kiss)
and neither the 3rd nor 4th

>>6256234
>I didn't get this line from rosandra
I think Rosandra is just quipping over how Argia was allowed to decide if she wanted to step into the memory or not, but Rosandra wasn't allowed that courtesy, instead she was basically dragged along to the ride without her input.
>and neither the 3rd nor 4th
Soralisabros not like this..
>nice
been a while since I rolled that high ngl

Rolled 11 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6256137

>>6256239
>instead she was basically dragged along to the ride without her input.
Makes me think that whatever is about to occur isn't exactly a happy memory.

Rolled 45 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6256137

Rolled 100 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>6256137
Rolling...

>>6256142
Though I may not need to. Good work, anon!

>>6256296
...Oh.

>>6256296
Thanks! But you didn't have to mog my roll like that anon..

>>6256142

>kinder past-Rosandra

Bragia's death was hard on a lot of people, anon...

>>6256215
>communal cheerleader

what did he mean by that?

>>6256234
like >>6256239 anon said, here Rosandra does not receive you same level of courtesy, but you are surprised to find that she is accepting of the situation rather than resentful at your preferential treatment (like certain Blessed Blinds would be)

>>6256243
>not exactly a happy memory

wonder for whom... you'll find out soon enough anyway

>>6256296
>last roll
>on a six
>a Nat100

Ansàrra protecc

astounding work

>>6256303
kek, this meme got updated

alright, writing will commence!

>>6257209
forgot to sign the post

>>6256137

The glow spreads through you. You feel like a drop of ink, disappearing inside a bottle of clear water, stretching its tendrils about, holding onto its shade for just a moment more—
Like a book eaten by fire, the paper curling and darkening as it bursts into a wheeze of flame, leaving behind just tuft of cinder—
But you are neither ink nor paper.
You are neither.
You are Argia Candente, and you will withstand. You grit your teeth, focusing on your body. On the weight of your bones, on the heat upon your flesh — it spreads — but you are still there, beneath. If a little crispier.
The heat and light fade.
You stand, alone amidst a garden of flowers.
Have you overcome your trial? At least the one that this memory conceals?
Air smells strong — sweet, with all the perfumes — the tinge of citrus, the thick scent of flowers in bloom, and resin, coming from rows upon rows of cypresses, like the ones you saw in the Holy Land.
And, carried from away, the salty smell of the sea.
A flock of seagulls fly above you, like lost thoughts carried away by the wind, while about you bees buzz busily, hopping from flower to flower.
Bees are sacred to Ansàrra.
And—
“I am here! Back again, sorry!” Comes Bragia’s voice, from just beyond this spot of the garden. You follow it, walking past the canopy of plants. And as you peek through the last few hanging flower pots, you gasp, the immensity of the ocean opening just before you.
The sky is as blue and sharp as paint. A white sun, brighter and less yellow than the one that graces you, shines above, as well as…
Something gets stuck in your throat at the sight of a giant rock?A sphere of some sort…? — floating in the sky, its face covered in darker spots. Is that what Willow told you about?
A moon is much better.
You can still hear her voice echo in your mind.

[cont.]

>>6257279

No silver ring in the sky.
Bragia is also nowhere to be seen.
Just like Ansàrra.
Your heart picks up pace, and you stand, just a few feet away from the marble parapet leading down to the ocean. You are about to set eyes on—
On—
On the Sunbirther.
Your fingers brush against the warm marble, heated by the sun.
Is it Her sun? It feels different.
Wonder what this place even is.
It seems you are on a small island.
The gardens lead to a sharp cliff, but instead of disappearing into the ocean, you can clearly see the shadow of the island atop the waves, which just ripple endlessly beneath you.
A floating rock, covered in gardens and trees.
You detach yourself from the parapet and walk to the right, towards a low-rise white building, which might just be the place Bragia left for.
Along the way, something shines. A droplet of molten gold, floating like a bubble in a glass of water; it gently shifts to the right, and you decide to follow it, as you notice more gathering.
What even is that?
With every step, the flowers grow more beautiful, their colours more intense, until you feel like you are walking inside a painting, with their green, white, red, spread about. Your foot finds ceramic, and you walk on the smooth surface. There does not seem to be anyone here; perhaps—
No, Bragia’s voice resounds again, and the golden droplets keep floating towards a spot past the building. You do not enter the house, with its portico looming white and empty. Rather, you step past a strange contraption, looking like a brass flower that sprouts out of a disc circling upon itself. Music comes out of the flower, sounding echoing and tinny, and you do not understand the words… it sounds a bit like Maduan…


Ô soleil
Lumineux d′en haut
Par-dessus les êtres
Flamboyant et beau
Je te dirai tout de ma peine

… and yet unlike. It does not have the guttural, harsh sound of Kiengiri language.
Whatever it is, you can’t guess what it says.
You proceed, towards the echoes of Bragia’s voice, finding yourself before a most curious glass and metal structure, where the droplets have gathered in arches and flow in and out, floating in circles.

[cont.]

>>6257280

La joie et mon cœur
Tu fais tout mon bonheur

Ô soleil, ô soleil
Ô merveille, ô merveille
Ô lumière, ô lumière
Tu es pareil à ton père…

You leave the strange contraption behind.
This, at least, you know what it is: a glasshouse. But the ones you saw back in your homeland were tiny, only used to grow a few flowers, so different from this one that reaches up on high with its bell-like shape, sunlight glinting on the steel decorations. And inside…
You have returned. What has slipped your mind?
Devotion makes you kneel.
Even if you received an invitation, you can’t — and as you look at the six-fingered hand extending just beyond the entrance to brush Bragia’s shoulder, your eyes fail you.
You blink— your vision is getting spotty, like that time you challenged yourself to look at Her sun for how long you could and Master pulled you away, scolding you for your foolishness.
Now you don’t repeat the same mistake and lower your gaze even as your heart beats so fast, so thunderous in your ears.
Ansàrra.
“Just a little thing… a present,” blushes Bragia Lacresta as she opens the small pouch you saw her show to the others before. “I have been practicing my carving again.”
Ah, that is a wondrous habit, says Her voice.
It’s smooth.
And and velvety, rushing through your body like a caress.
You blink away a veil of tears — it feels like every time your mother tucked you into bed, and every time your father’s hand lingered on your hair, and every time you ran off amidst the vintner grapes, chasing after your brothers… it feels like the first time Master praised you, and like Willow’s kiss.
And yet, even through all this, Bragia’s words reach your sluggish mind, lazy and slow like the flow of molten gold as it moves in and out of the glasshouse. You squint, trying to withstand your spotty visions as Ansàrra extends one of Her hands, the slick surface of Her flesh just like black crystal, covered in bandages and bleeding molten gold like sap.

[cont.]

>>6257280

La joie et mon cœur
Tu fais tout mon bonheur

Ô soleil, ô soleil
Ô merveille, ô merveille
Ô lumière, ô lumière
Tu es pareil à ton père…

You leave the strange contraption behind.
This, at least, you know what it is: a glasshouse. But the ones you saw back in your homeland were tiny, only used to grow a few flowers, so different from this one that reaches up on high with its bell-like shape, sunlight glinting on the steel decorations. And inside…
You have returned. What has slipped your mind?
Devotion makes you kneel.
Even if you received an invitation, you can’t — and as you look at the six-fingered hand extending just beyond the entrance to brush Bragia’s shoulder, your eyes fail you.
You blink— your vision is getting spotty, like that time you challenged yourself to look at Her sun for how long you could and Master pulled you away, scolding you for your foolishness.
Now you don’t repeat the same mistake and lower your gaze even as your heart beats so fast, so thunderous in your ears.
Ansàrra.
“Just a little thing… a present,” blushes Bragia Lacresta as she opens the small pouch you saw her show to the others before. “I have been practicing my carving again.”
Ah, that is a wondrous habit, says Her voice.
It’s smooth.
And and velvety, rushing through your body like a caress.
You blink away a veil of tears — it feels like every time your mother tucked you into bed, and every time your father’s hand lingered on your hair, and every time you ran off amidst the vintner grapes, chasing after your brothers… it feels like the first time Master praised you, and like Willow’s kiss.
And yet, even through all this, Bragia’s words reach your sluggish mind, lazy and slow like the flow of molten gold as it moves in and out of the glasshouse. You squint, trying to withstand your spotty visions as Ansàrra extends one of Her hands, the slick surface of Her flesh just like black crystal, covered in bandages and bleeding molten gold like sap.

[cont.]

>>6257282

It reminds you of… of when Soralisa almost lost her hands to the Sanction, how her skin turned crystal-like, just like that of the Sun-Birther.
“It is just a first attempt! I wanted to… I tried to give you something to remember me by… I hope you like it,” Bragia mutters in the end, putting an ivory circle against Her fingers. Unable to fit her hollow palm, Ansàrra picks it with Her fingers and tilts it to the light.
An attempt made with effort is already worthwhile, She reminds Bragia.
“I— thanks…” she stumbles upon her own words, squirming like a child who brings home a beautiful flower picked up in the fields, just as a little present for her mother. “I still need to refine it! Maybe I could carve something to the left, maybe a sword of some kind.”
There is a pause as another of Ansàrra’s hands start working on a nearby flowerpot, which is full of herbs and a single gorgeous red flower. Two more hands wrap on its stem and they uproot it, then press on the earth to level it again.
“But…” Bragia’s olive eyes darken, and she protests. “That was the most beautiful thing there.”
I must think of the pot. And a flower has no right to greedily gather all the nutrients shared among other plants. To treasure one thing over others is madness, my dear. I bleed for all of you.
She withdraws both hands which disappear from your sight, the golden metal flowing in about of Her crystal flesh. You can only see three arms from your vantage point, but you would guess that there is — six — of them.
“And yet you were the one who made it grow there, right?”
It was indeed beautiful.
“I don’t understand.”

[cont.]

>>6257283

Ansàrra chuckles — and you have to kneel and pray to keep your self even inside the memory. Her laughter is full of delighted mirth, of a fondness that fills your heart to burst, and if you could share it, it would be enough to make the entirety of the Thronelands embrace in dance and joy.
Naïveté is the most precious of treasures. You can hold onto it only for as long you do not know to possess it. Cherish your treasures, dearest.
Bragia bites the inside of her mouth, uncertain, then nods.
“I will try. Ah, the others are waiting for me, I just wanted to give you that little trinket… so…” she holds one of Her hands inside her much smaller, tanned ones, and squeezes it, the molten gold roaming over her skin. “I am going to miss you.”
Never as much as I shall.
The Sun-Birther wraps all of Her six arms around her, pulling her close. Bragia closes her eyes and allows herself a smile, utterly content.
Ah, and lo! An idea.

[cont.]

>>6257284

One of Her hands touches a hanging flower-pot. A band of steel pours out of the hanging chains, given shape without forge nor fire, and it forms into a thin band She then hangs the ivory circlet from.
It is—
You grasp Master’s gift.
It is the very same band that’s encircling it.
Now it is less of a trinket and more of a cameo, less of a present and more of a gift. And something to look forward for when you come back. I do not believe you will return holding swords.
Bragia smiles, confused, and pulls back.
“I’m just happy you like it. Even if I need to work on it a little longer.”
The best work is never over. She agrees, brushing the back of Her hand against Bragia’s cheek. Perhaps you will live long enough to understand this.
Bragia turns, and looks at you, without seeing you there, looks at the way ahead as she leaves—
And then then vision wanes, fading into shades and dreams. You weakly hold up the other hand, the one that is not grasping Master’s gift — Bragia’s gift — the gift given to Ansàrra — oh Starless Night, everything is spinning…

[cont.]

>>6257285

“Argia!” Someone holds you.
You blink and you are back on the boat.
The ocean.
The sky cleaved in two by the silver ring.
No moon at all.
Rosandra sitting next to you, her brown eyes affixed to your cameo.
Bragia’s Lacresta’s own making.
Soralisa grunts as she tries pulling you up again.
“At least… you have… your gift again,” she heaves as Rubida helps her.
“A vision? We thought—”
Your mouth feels clammy.
Your tongue like a dead fish.
The feeling of the sharp edges of the metal surrounding the ivory, biting into your hand. Even the sigil Soralisa carved onto your back, those two squares entwined, seems to scream.
You would like to scream as well.
“I saw the Sun-Birther,” you choke.
Rosandra sighs through her nose, while Soralisa and Rubida share a stunned look.
“I saw Saint Bragia. And—” you take off your cameo — no, not your cameo — this thing that was given to you by Master, this thing that travelled through centuries, resting on Her bosom for hundreds of years, while She bled and wept for you all… “And I think I know where this comes from.”


>+6 to cameo bonus! Your latest vision truly made you understand where it comes from… a most precious gift, indeed.
>MC stats updated

Immediately discuss the findings with all of them. Yes, even Rosandra. But this will give you time to prepare for your Trial.

You will try and keep the truth for yourself for now. This came to you. It was given to you — and you feel like it’s less of a gift and more of a burden.

Discuss, but wait for the right time when you can share this with Soralisa and Rubida only. Rosandra was not there in your

Add a suggestion. Remember you are awaited on trial…

Probably the hardest update of the entire thread, but it is done. We finally met (well, sort-of), Ansàrra. Damn, I’d like a retirement home on a floating castle too…

>>6257286
>You will try and keep the truth for yourself for now. This came to you. It was given to you — and you feel like it’s less of a gift and more of a burden.
Questions for a later time then. At least the Provenance of the Cameo has been established.
Yet more questions for our Master.

We should try and draw the moon, we saw in the vison so we can show Willow, when she turns back up. See what she says.

>>6257290
WTF anon that was fast

>we should try and draw the moon

love that suggestion!

>>6257291
>WTF anon that was fast
I need to do something useful on days when I can't sleep

>>6257286
>You will try and keep the truth for yourself for now. This came to you. It was given to you — and you feel like it’s less of a gift and more of a burden.

>>6257282
It's her, we finally saw her.
>>6257283
and she has six arms ? neat
>>6257286
>Even the sigil Soralisa carved onto your back, those two squares entwined
now that I think about it, those squares aren't forming a star, right ? Since the symbol of the adversary is known, this must be a different shape, correct ?

>Immediately discuss the findings with all of them. Yes, even Rosandra. But this will give you time to prepare for your Trial.

>>6257286
>“And yet you were the one who made it grow there, right?”
>It was indeed beautiful.
>“I don’t understand.”
seems like Bragia didn't quite agree with the gilded spider Ansàrra's logic, though she didn't press the issue there.
>The Sun-Birther wraps all of Her six arms around her, pulling her close. Bragia closes her eyes and allows herself a smile, utterly content.
yeah I think we know who was Ansàrra's favorite child.

>Immediately discuss the findings with all of them. Yes, even Rosandra. But this will give you time to prepare for your Trial.
Yeah no, I don't trust Argia to even try in keeping this to herself, the last time she shoulder the burden of something, namely willow, she found herself unable to handle it when the truth inevitable got out, share the findings.
Great update qm!

>>6257286
>Immediately discuss the findings with all of them. Yes, even Rosandra. But this will give you time to prepare for your Trial.

>>6257286
>Immediately discuss the findings with all of them. Yes, even Rosandra. But this will give you time to prepare for your Trial.

>>6257286
>Immediately discuss the findings with all of them. Yes, even Rosandra. But this will give you time to prepare for your Trial.

Even if she only glimpsed a fraction of our vision, Rosandra ought to know from seeing that much that we are legit blessed of our goddess.

>>6257312
>those squares don't form a star, right?

who knows, anon. perhaps I described them in thread four, perhaps I did not...

>seems like Bragia didn't quite agree

she had her moments

>Ansàrra's favorite child.

proposing Ansàrra plays favoritism is heresy and blasphemy anon...

>she found herself unable to handle it

well that indeed happened


thanks everyone for the votes! they will stay open for about 15 more hours, then it's writing time...

>>6257286

The holding cell could hardly hold him. Even with the presence of the armed guards on both sides of the wall, their spears held proudly, and an absurdly-pleased Blessed Blind sitting opposite him, rubbing her bandaged hands with utter delight, Ibardo still holds his relic weapon comfortably on his lap.
He feels less comfortable inside his heart, but for reasons far different from his current plight.
No prison of matter could hold him.
But he is an old codger, growing dotard in his ancient age: he has served the will of the Sun-Birther well, if that had been his honour, and he would bow graciously to death when it came for him.
His disciple, on the other hand, is young and about to face a storm like she has never seen. Alone, she would break. Supported by Ansàrra, she might bend.
But it shall be painful, and that is the reason why his hands are joined in prayer still.
“Pleading for your release? No grovelling and crying will help, I’m afraid. That time has passed.” Teases Astoria’s voice. It has grown grating to his ears as of late.
“Release will come, either from bars or bones,” he replies in a soft voice, opening an eye only for the benefit of the other man who is now being allowed to come in. “It is not up to me. This is a lesson you and the Amaranthines would be wise to learn once and for all: the Kiengiri could not direct the path of the old sun. Much less so the new one.”
Astoria clenches her teeth, like a kid whose favourite toy has just been denied.
The man finally walks past the rows of guards. He is dressed in the simple white and golden-linen cloth that is the province of a head of family, not betraying his high rank. His hair still black even with his youth well-past him, his blue eyes hard and affixed to Ibardo.
“It is the fourth time I find you in a cell, Mastro Delebasse,” he says, bowing his head to Ibardo before he does so to Astoria, whose hands clench with barely-concealed annoyance. “None seem to hold you for long.”
“Perhaps I have just grown thinner with age,” he chuckles. “It is good to see you again, Guarnieri.”

[cont.]

>>6258233

“I would have preferred it to be under different circumstances,” he sighs, and then he sits on his knees, a posture that would be expected of a slave of the Throne than a nobleman of the Holy Land. “I seem to have heard there would be pleading today, but that comes from me,” he adds, turning towards Astoria. He takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs. “I have heard that my daughter seems to be implied in this matter, as she was also part of the Manipolo dispatched a few months ago.”
“Is that so—” Astoria chides, rubbing her bandaged finger against her chin. If she still had eyes, Ibardo would be able to notice the glint of amusement going off in them. A cat atop of a volcano, pleased it holds a mouse in its claws. “These are mournful times, Guanieri ‘Fortebraccio’ Dell’Obertengo. Much has yet to be lost under the relentless threat of the Adversary. We certainly cannot allow one of its spies to set roots here in the most holy of places. Nor spread doubt and calumny… even more so about a family whose name has already been marred.”
Guarnieri winces, remembering the fate of his brother, and Ibardo adds a silent line in his prayers for him as well, waiting for the head of the family to continue. To seal his fate, perhaps.
“I am here to represent the Da Zaribari family as well,” he adds. “Whose daughter was also seemingly involved. Young Soralisa did not wish to leave at all, and I believe she would be the most innocent victim in all of this—”
“Careful, Guarnieri,” Astoria warns him, with a smile as sharp as a sickle, “you are not at the front anymore… ‘Fortebraccio’, however earned this moniker may be, has no strength before what the Amaranthines have decided. Are you skirting with blasphemy again?”
“Nay,” he quickly adds, bowing his head. “I come before you as a worried father who wishes for nothing more than to shield his daughter. As any father worth his name would want to do. You have also been blessed with child. You would understand!” He pauses, seemingly scraping for words. “I— if it is support you desire, I can give it. Next election cycle, we—”

[cont.]

>>6258235

“Are you comparing me to a mere power-hungry climber from the Throne?” She stands, walking on her small legs towards him. He is already kneeling, and yet she seems to grow to the ceiling, looming over him. She points her bandaged finger towards him. “Do you think I am doing this for an advantage of mine? For temporal power, for satisfying any of your petty arrogance and illusions of control! Ah!” She slaps him, leaving a stark reddish line against his pale cheek.
Guarnieri blinks, but does not react past that, bearing the humiliation.
“You grow overbold, dog,” she hisses. “You and your Anthilian ilk think too highly of your ancient blood. Ah, the embers of the great fire that was Rasena! Ah, the last droplets of the old blood of the King! Ah, the stone ships, leaning on the marble shores! You have been gnawing on the same bone for all these centuries, even after it has all turned to dust and memories and now think I am doing the same!” She heaves, her breath growing laboured, then she stands upright again, turning to give him her shoulder. “And yet— I find your grovelling amusing. Humility ranks high among the virtues of a follower of Ansàrra, does it not? Then perhaps yours can make up for others, who certainly seem lacking in it,” she adds, tossing another of her blind gazes to Ibardo, who lets it flow over him and past like a mild summer wave crashing upon a rock.
“If it is begging you wish to see from me,” Guarnieri adds, pulling out the golden bands that cover his fingers and setting them before himself as he bows, touching the cold pavement with his forehead, “then I have brought scores of it.”
Astoria’s fingers twitch towards the rings, then withdraw.
“I can see that. But you are lucky I am most magnanimous, and that the Sun-Birther doe—”
“I would not put in Her mouth words shaped by a forked tongue,” interrupts Ibardo, his voice smooth as silk. It falls in the empty room like a veil of crystal snow. “It might be— overbold.”

[cont.]

>>6258236

“Pah!” She spits, shuffling her feet anxiously until she withdraws to a safe distance, or at least one she perceives as such. “Enough with the theatrics. Your daughter was already involved in a manifestation of the Seven! If she has chosen to follow that path, it was certainly not due to my continued piety. As for the other one, do not tire my ears. She was always silent and withdrawn and she can continue doing so behind a wall, for all I care.”
“Then I will make you care,” Guarnieri adds, his voice growing thin and shaky. “Even if your goals are separate from the world, you have members of your family who still live in it. Our family can offer them favours. Starless Night, Astoria!” He now shouts, his fists clenching. “You are a mother! You understand my plight. Our plight! I speak for lesser families, as it is my responsibility!”
The Blessed Blind finds a spot in a corner where she can sit, balancing one leg over the other as she makes a show of thinking about his words. Ibardo knows very well she is just enjoying the performance.
The theatrics, as she said.
“I might need a favour.”
“Alright.“You did not let me finish. A few favours.”
This time, he holds his lips.
“When the time will come, of course. I expect no further questions asked.”
Guarnieri closes his eyes and nods, his forehead hitting the stone six times.
“Very well. As far as I am concerned, your daughter or the other one are but dust in the wind. If anything, their removal from the trial might just teach Argia Candente some much-needed humility. The Sun-Birther certainly has given her teacher none for sharing.”
“I… thank you for your kindness. Your generosity is a reflection of the Sun-Birther’s own,” Guarnieri replies, standing on his right foot and then upright. He certainly has changed from his times on the frontline, Ibardo notices. He almost sounds sincere in his lie.
He shares a long look with him, grey eyes finding blue ones. Ibardo allows himself a grim smile, as Astoria goes back to rubbing her hands, satiated.
“Hold on to faith, Forte.”
“I will,” he replies, patting the dust off his knees, “but I have a daughter, Mastro Delebasse.” With that, he bows once more to Astoria, and only to her, and turns to leave.
“I know how it feels,” Ibardo replies, if only to himself, rubbing his old, rough hands.

[cont.]

>>6258237

The dawn turns into day, and as the sky grows blue, you sit in prayer at the boat’s helm, watching the ocean, holding onto the ivory. Your chapped lips murmur words of chalk, so easy to chip and to break and to shatter you don’t even recognise what you are saying.
Memories of the past few cycles shift into a recalling of the past year, and then of the past four years… from the moment Master gave you this trinket.
What you thought was just a careless trinket.
A little think he had found, a curiosity, a platitude in the shape of the Saint.
It was there with you when you first mastered the four skirmish form, even the Lion.
It was there when you held back hot tears as Master left you with the people who would become your friends.
It was there in the Well.
It was there when you woke, that terrible wound appearing in your chest.
And it was there when Willow told you her truth.
When you jumped at Soralisa to save her from the Sanction.
When you told Rubida why you don’t drink wine.
It was there during the puppet show.
During your first kiss — and the second.
When you performed your Molten Spring!
It led you back home when Soralisa interceded to Ansàrra for you.
It was there when you taught a lesson to Sandora, and started building a friendship with her.
It sustained you in the Temple.
And it was there when Willow… when Willow betrayed all of you.
It was there when you faced Rubida.
During every vision.
It was there it was there it was there—
“It was there,” you croak, finally giving those words shape. It was there, and not with you.
It was there, resting on Ansàrra’s bosom, for so many years.
No wonder this tiny ivory thing holds so much warmth, holds such a guiding light.
“Shaped by Bragia’s own fingers… carved by her hand.”
No wonder people have been saying you are tracing her steps… you hold onto the gift she gave Ansàrra, so many years ago. Just before her first mission.
You slump against the creaking wood. It smells like the sea, and it provides no answers.
Nor do your prayers.
Why has this come to you?
Why was it given by Master?And why did the Sun-Birther give it to him?
For you? You have been a failure.
You couldn’t stop Willow.
The Worm is still out there.
Whenever you thought you had gotten a hold of things, there has been a great upheaval and you have gone back to the starting point.
“Why… why… just tell me why!” You hiss.
The ocean only carries the lapping of the waves.

[cont.]

>>6258241

“A-Argia?” Comes Soralisa’s voice. You turn to find her just besides you, wringing her hands. At least now she can. “How do you feel? It’s been a while. You are getting me worried.”
You contemplate her.
The weakest of your group, by far, except when it comes to Sanctions. Soralisa has always seemed connected to the Sun-Birther, sometimes more than you.
And now—
Now she sits next to you, gently setting her hand over your shoulder.
“I… I wanted to say I am sorry. It was my fault. I didn’t give much thought to what I used to think was just a trinket. When you said there were missing pieces, you were right. As you tend to be.”
“I don’t feel like I have been right. Or done much right, as of late.”
“That much is typical,” she replies with a shrug. “Just like it’s typical for me to get way in over my head. Or Rubida to raise her voice and make a great show of out it. Look at her.”
You follow her burnt finger as she points at Rubida discussing with Rosandra. The Envoy seems even more troubled than before, when you relayed to all of them what you saw, and Rosandra nodded and confirmed everything. In fact, she listened rapt to what you told happened inside the glasshouse. She and Rubida mutter something else, and Rubida shakes her head, making her long black hair swing.
“Can I?” Soralisa asks. Without really thinking — thinking has never brought you anywhere — you set the cameo inside her palm and she looks at it, fascinated, turning it between her fingers, with the utmost care, making sure even her still-fumbling fingers can handle it.
“To think this has rested on Her neck for so many centuries. To think it came to you.”
“I did not want it,” you choke. “If I knew where it came from I would have rejected it! And I brought it into battle, I— I— I wore it while I was taking showers, Starless Night! I desecrated it! It should have never come to me.”

[cont.]

>>6258243

“And yet,” Soralisa replies putting it into your hand, “if it has come to you, it must be for a reason. It will help you. During your Trial. I am sure.”
Even just breaking news of the Trial ahead was hard on Soralisa. You accepted the idea with a strange detachment. Like it was something involved Master more than you.
Soralisa seems to disagree…
“How do you know—”
“I don’t.” She bites her lower lip, embarrassed. “I just believe. My books are full of the great deeds of the Saints. I have learned so much about Kishirra, but can’t compare to seeing the Will of Ansàrra with my own eyes… even when it burned me.”
“I still don’t know why. This is heretical. Why keep it? Why keep on to it for—”
“If you had Willow’s keepsake, even the tiniest thing,” Soralisa says, turning her face away and fidgeting weakly with her damaged fingers, “would you hold onto it?”
“I— of course.”
“You would,” she whispers, her voice growing ghostly, her smile wavering like the ocean that surrounds you. “Well, then. You see. It does make sense. It was, ah,” she winces, gulping and clearing her throat. “You would. So, it makes sense. A great deal of sense. I… at, least I did show you my notes, I—”
Something takes a hold of you. You wouldn’t be able to name it. You pull Soralisa in a hug from behind, holding her trembling form against you, the cameo still in your hand, even as her sharp breaths turn into sobs, her hands close upon yours, the weakest of talons.
You are not exactly sure why she is sobbing.
But you have now a reason to be all the stronger for it.
You hold her for each of he gulps, and you don’t react even when she calls your name.
You let the wind play with your hair, intermingle them with her brown ones. Silver and brown.
Like Willow’s eyes.

[cont.]

>>6258244

Wonder when you will be able to share a hug with her… all four of you, again.
You console Soralisa for a long time, while the boat keeps crossing the ocean, and the wind slowly falls.
It’s only after a while, when Soralisa has dried her puffy red eyes and you have shared a few more hugs, that you realise the wind was not the wind.
It was the boat rushing ahead that made you feel it.
And now that it is slowing down, you turn to face the distant shore.
The white, glistening shores… and behind them, verdant hills and tiny white buildings, like minuscule formations of rock salt, capped by blue round domes.
You recognise the roads, the trees, the fields—
Madua is waiting.
And above the plains, there it is.
Waiting, the black sphere of the palace of Ansàrra, peerless and perfect, save for that spot where it cracked.
The night when the Saint who carved this pendant met her fate.
You are about to meet your fate too.

[cont.]

>>6258248

“We are in sight of the Holy Land,” Rosandra lets you know. As always, you haven’t heard her come. She stands looking ahead, and her eyes are just as troubled as before. “This is when we shall part ways.”
The presumed relief does not come, but you also are not going to miss her.
Ironic how you are missing a heathen like Sandora.
“I had hoped for a chance, at last,” she murmurs, her hands once more running through your hair. You do not flinch, but Soralisa does. “To recompense the Adversary for all the trouble she has provided us with over the centuries. Instead, I am left with more questions. And yet—” in her brown eyes dances a flame, even just for a moment, soon sniffed out, “I have seen Bragia again, even if just in memories, and in memories not addressed to me.”
“I think they were,” you rebut. “Soralisa nor Rubida were not allowed in my past visions of Saint Bragia. If you were, there—” you stop. Just like Soralisa said: there must be a reason.
But what reason, you certainly cannot fathom.
Is there?
You can’t see it.
The Night is all around us.
And the Trial of Gold awaits.
“Perhaps,” Rosandra replies. She is looking. Looking at you, again. “Do not take this admission for a sign of friendship, Argia Candente. I will stand back and allow this Trial to take place, and will draw conclusions from its outcome. Do not expect any aid from me.”
“Would be foolish to expect any from anyone but friends,” you reply. “Or the Sun-Birther.”
“Oh, you are indeed a fool, and of the worst kind,” she replies with a dry grin, “a trustworthy fool.” Then she raises her gaze to the horizon.
“The ships,” Rubida says, covering her eyes with her hand. “How many are there? Why…”
“Twelve,” Rosandra replies right away. “Astoria di Ottava Ora has been missing you, Argia Candente.”

>Discuss how to deal with the incoming ships. How to present yourself, what to say, and what to expect.
>24 hours to decide.

>Please roll a 1d100 (no bonus) with each reply, it will help me during next update
>For these particular rolls: Nat1 and Nat100 DO NOT count as critic failure or successes
>Bonuses from dubs and trips etc STILL apply however

Thanks for playing! Now let's see how you enjoy the welcome committee...

Rolled 41 (1d100)

>>6258249

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>6258249
>“Very well. As far as I am concerned, your daughter or the other one are but dust in the wind. If anything, their removal from the trial might just teach Argia Candente some much-needed humility.
So Astoria already arranged for their removal for the trial, would those two even be allowed to defy it and join anyway? Well played there, speaking of Soralisa, oof the poor scholar has been through a lot.

Now on how she should present herself I say Soralisa's advice to keep the cameo on during the trial is correct, so Argia shouldn't hide it when the ships arrive, also no hood or anything covering her hair to keep it consistent, hiding it now would just be further ammo against Argia that she is being deceitful, she left with her hair bared to the world and she will come back doing the same thing again.

>what to say, and what to expect.
Time for Rubida to shine into the stage, request Rubida to direct Argia this time around she will be her puppet during the first impressions, she is her best bet on how to behave.

Oh right, she should be in prayer when the boats arrive now that I think about it, would be a good display of faith.

>>6258249
>>6258261

Alright, I've had time to finish reading and processing the update.

First: damn, Master did the do with the daughter of his old wartime companion? Ibardo IS a bit of a dirty dog, isn't he?

Second: poor Soralisa, totally in love with an oblivious ditz who's already given her heart to another.

>how to deal with the incoming ships. How to present yourself, what to say, and what to expect
I agree with the other anon: don't hide our hair, do wear the cameo. Don't speak of our visions except vaguely, if asked. Tell no actual overt lies, but also don't reveal what we know about Willow (or when we found out) unless asked point-blank. When questioned about our silver hair and heretical cameo (as we surely will be), tell them how Ansàrra does not favor flowers of one color or of a specific size over others, nor does she favor people with certain colors over others... And reveal that Rosandra herself, beyond reproach an a companion of Bragia, has confirmed Bargia carved this cameo with her own hands, and that Ansàrra kept it as a keepsake, and that therefore it cannot be evil.

>>6258371
+1 agreed with anon, it is an ironclad way to defend the cameo's origins and herself

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>6258233
>an absurdly-pleased Blessed Blind sitting opposite him, rubbing her bandaged hands with utter delight
happy blessed blind.png
>>6258249
now that's a tough one.
>>6258371
>First: damn, Master did the do with the daughter of his old wartime companion? Ibardo IS a bit of a dirty dog, isn't he?
didn't he just fuck the amaranthines' daughters and wives ?

>>6258249
>What to say
Make known that we wish to speak to Master directly if permitted, and that an expedient trial is probably for the best. As the less politicking they can do the less chance of Argia or anyone else noticing that we've stuck our foot in our mouth, or other intercessions.
After-all the faster we get to the pour-ly executed public "spicy" die (dye) job, and subsequent change in hair colour the better things will be. The issue is to some degree what exactly we're supposed to do next since we don't really have any leads on Willow at this point

Rosandra running a message to Master apologizing on our behalf if we cant meet in person is probably the most reliable way to actually get a "last message" to him, considering any other way will probably be screened.

Alternately using the Cameo as a inverse imprint Seal (candle wax will have to do I guess) to close off a letter that we wrote might work if a "meating" proves to be untenable.

Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>6258578
Dropped the roll

>>6258249
Don't hide hair and show cleavage

Rolled 96 (1d100)

>>6258721

>>6258722
nice roll anon, and nice pic

>>6258555
anon takes the cake with a triple 5. no Nat100? no problem. This will make a certain event more interesting.

>>6258578
>the pour-ly executed public "spicy" die (dye) job

took me a moment, but kek

> Alternately using the Cameo as a inverse imprint Seal (candle wax will have to do I guess) to close off a letter that we wrote might work

brilliant

alright, voting is over. I'll whip something together.

Also, thanks. it's not everyday a QM can flex having dedicated players.

>>6258249

You stand against the wooden bulwark of the boat. For the occasion, you have donned your armour again. If this Trial has to begin, you won’t be caught hiding in the depths of the ship like a sewer rat.
No, if they want to chain you, let them know they are chaining a Knight of Ansàrra.
In training.
You attach your sword to your hip, and secure Carnaval’s feather as well. You cover your shoulders with the half of Master’s hood. The other half is in the Thronelands… hopefully keeping the children you gave it to warm during their dark nights.
The cameo shining upon your breast, you wonder for a moment if you shouldn’t also try and bare your body as well… just to better entertain certain Maduan skinship traditions.
But it’s just one thought of many, together with a few other ideas that had flocked to your mind. Perhaps you could even make a seal of some sort, using your cameo, use it as a way to message Master… to let him know you are here.
Your hands grow sweaty under the armour, as the ships draw close, and the tallest one, a white vessel with tight sails swollen with wind, rushes towards you, its shadow covering the entirety of the deck as guards and priests and officers lean over to glance at you.
Rubida stands next to you, her jaw set.
“Like we decided, Candente. Stand proud, and show what this journey has given you. The sword of the Malostromo, Carnaval’s feather…”
“Ansàrra’s gift,” you add, your fingers touching the cameo. It seems to buzz under your touch. “And everything else…” you add, turning to regard Soralisa, who turns away blushing, and Rubida, whose smile grows wider.

[cont.]

>>6258787

Behind them, Rosandra just sits in utter silence, still caught in her thoughts. She feels like part of the background, a character you would notice in passing while looking at a painting, far from the aggressive presence she was before the vision. She looks up as the shadow of the ships falls upon her face as well.
“Aboard!” Comes a male voice from above. A tall man, his face covered in the usual linen cloth of Flame-Priests, holds up a long sleeve of reddish paper.
It must be reedpaper. Coming from your homeland, and then finding its purpose here in Madua.
“We have come to escort one Argia Candente to the blessed shores. She has been deemed an agent of the Adversary, and has to stand the Trial of Gold. So have the Amaranthines decided.” A heavy pause stretches as the other vessels approach — an even larger one, though a bit shorter, almost rams the boat, making it rock back and forth with its passing heft, and you have to bend your legs not to fall. “Will Argia Candente step forward, and face her judgment!”
You draw in a long breath. Rubida sternly nods. Soralisa reaches for your hand and you squeeze hers gently.
“There is no need to step forward. I was standing upright, ready to face the Will of Ansàrra.” you said with a nod, making sure to shake your silver hair. Let them catch what light they could. You will not hide.
But you discussed this with Rubida: you mentioned the Sun-Birther, only. You defer to Her.
The difference is clear, and you see it pass through the men and women above, turning to each other, whispering, their pale fingers pointing at your hair and at your gear.
Would a traitor and an agent of the Stilladìa allow herself to be captured and brought in?
… well… you blink. Maybe she would.

[cont.]

>>6258789

The Adversary is crafty.
But she certainly wouldn’t be carrying Carnaval’s gifts, and Ansàrra’s own cameo!
Yes.. that… that must make sense.
There is a reason for all this.
“Very well,” says the same man, puling away the rest of his papers, clearly not needing any further coercion he might have been instructed to read. “Prepare a gangway!”
The guards comply, immediately lowering it between the two vessels.
“Stay with me,” you reassure them.
You have faced worse.
Can’t remember where, but let’s just say you did.
The gangway scrapes against the deck.
You raise your foot to come aboard, but then someone else throws another gangway down.
You turn to your left, your eyes gaping. You did not expect this.
Swift, a tall man, his simple white tunic wrapped around his wide torso and strong arms, walks down it, his hands clenched. A mane of black hair sways behind his neck, and his eyes are just as blue and just as striking as—
“Father?” Croaks Rubida. “What are you—”
“You two are not involved with this,” he replies sternly, pointing his finger at Rubida and Soralisa, “get on the ship now.”
Soralisa gasps, and Rubida kneads her arm, squeezing it so tight her armour crinkles.

>uh-oh.

Point out they are your companions, you have gone through all sorts of dire events, and you have promised to face this together.

Allow them to leave. In fact, if this puts them in a safe situation, fine with you. This is your burden. They can support you from a safe distance.

Plead with this newcomer… Rubida’s father? Your cause. It might be difficult, though…

Add a suggestion.

Papa is here.

>>6258791
>Point out they are your companions, you have gone through all sorts of dire events, and you have promised to face this together.
Yeah I don't think papa here is too concerned about Argia's cause right now, and saying they can go with him would be the same as spitting on everything Rubida said early, she already made clear her wishes so now it's Argia's time to stand by them.

>Would a traitor and an agent of the Stilladìa allow herself to be captured and brought in?… well… you blink. Maybe she would.
kek, fingers crossed she doesn't incriminate herself like that during the trial.

>>6258791
>Allow them to leave. In fact, if this puts them in a safe situation, fine with you. This is your burden. They can support you from a safe distance.
Request that he at least permits them to stay appraised of the progress of the trial, they won't be as settled or may decide to do something rash to intercede in some way otherwise. Even if nothing is going to happen.


So what's going to happen to the prosecutors when this sham trial falls apart and we survive, unharmed? I don't think Father dearest is going to take this lying down.

>>6258791
>Allow them to leave. In fact, if this puts them in a safe situation, fine with you. This is your burden. They can support you from a safe distance.

>>6258767
thanks. didn't even notice the trips
>>6258791
>Point out they are your companions, you have gone through all sorts of dire events, and you have promised to face this together.

>>6258791
>Allow them to leave. In fact, if this puts them in a safe situation, fine with you. This is your burden. They can support you from a safe distance.

>>6258791
>Point out they are your companions, you have gone through all sorts of dire events, and you have promised to face this together.

Rubida will legitimately be angry with us if we try to leave them behind again.

>>6259181
>Rubida will legitimately be angry with us if we try to leave them behind again.
Literally just couch it in terms of trying not to undermine her Father's efforts, as they need to be seen to be worth something. Even if "Nothing was going to happen".

She can't forget that there are likely obvious costs attached to whatever favor that will be called in.

>>6258791
>Allow them to leave. In fact, if this puts them in a safe situation, fine with you. This is your burden. They can support you from a safe distance.

well, a win is a win. voting closed... writing.

>>6259072

gorgeous pic btw

>>6258787

Your friends turn to look at you. Surely you will raise your arm and stop this folly.
You are their leader, after all.
What can’t you do? Like in the Well.
In the Temple.
Out there, in the Thronelands.
And now that you are here, at just a few miles off the coast of the Holy Land, you instead feel so empty.
You are their leader!
You have all promised to face this together.
But what exactly do you mean by this?
What does the wind whisper in your ear, beneath your armour, against your skin?
That you are in Her land now.
That you will follow Her will.
Is putting your friends in danger like that Her will also?
You three in the same cell—
Or perhaps they will put you in separate ones.
To the mercy of the Amaranthines, of Astoria.
Does Rubida have a cameo to protect her? A sword?
Did Soralisa receive a vision of any sort?
Nay.
If they follo you down this path— they are going to get involved.
Your skin prickles. You can almost feel the heat of the gold, melting above your head, the ingot floating upwards, losing its shape, shimmering in the daylight, and then—
You can face it.
You will also spare them the Trial.
A Knight.
You are still a Knight, even if alone.
“Do,” you whisper, your throat parched. “Do as he says.”
Rubida turns towards you, and Soralisa whimpers something, her hand trembling inside yours. You withdraw it, and try to give them a smile.
Whatever is going on with your face must be the farthest thing from a smile.
But you are trying.
Trying, and praying it is enough.
That there is a light at the end of this dark path — for your family, for Master, for your friends… for Willow.
“Go.”

[cont.]

>>6259372

# # # # # #

“The Night is all around us,” mutters the old woman sitting before her sputtering fireplace, pulling the little trinket out of her pocket and rubbing her wizened fingers over it, trying to find some comfort in the memory of the white-haired woman who gifted it to her. These dark days, tracing the profile of the eight-pointed star carved upon it seems to soothe her heart. That apparition, whether she truly was some kind of Angel from the bright faiths of the North or not, had danced with them and drank with them, after protecting the village from a monster.
All in due payment, but she had done so.
Trustworthy.
Not something to scoff at, during these dark times.
She keeps rubbing and rubbing, with a bit more strength, leaning forward on her creaking chair. Their town had felt strange as of late. Like a hose that’s rotting from the inside.
But—
Her hand squeezes the wood.
The old woman balks at the sight, at the sensation of her cramped muscles frozen.
Her old heart picks up pace. She tries to let go, but her arm feels like it’s not her own anymore.
She opens her mouth to scream, and her breath gets caught in her throat. Fear claws at her stomach. Her fingers do not let go, growing pale even at the light of the fireplace. Sparkles scatter all around, like lost, drunken stars.
How endearing,, mocks a woman’s voice from behind her. To think this did work for a while.
She has never felt something so beautiful, and yet it’s the beauty of an open ravine, of a black lagoon, a beauty of corpse-light that brightens nothing.
Phantom fingers spread over the old woman’s shivering mouth, brushing against her chapped teeth.
Please, she thinks in her head.
Oh? Nobody shall come, to save your wretched race. Cattle you were, cattle you stay. The hand covers her mouth, and when it pulls back, the woman gurgles as her skin and flesh and bones get stuck to it, like melting cheese. Cattle you shall be. But let us not waste what little is there, now. The black voice purrs, even as her body unfurls, still alive, still feeling, as her bones pop and her skin pull taut, tauter, like a parasol spreading, like the wings of some inane beast, and her blood rushes through her brain and through her changing eyes.
Angel— she tries, just as sable-skinned fingers pry the Stilladìa’s gift off her hand.
No such thing as angels. We did make them not, the cruel, silky voice retorts, crushing the wood inside her hand, splinters going off with such strength they embed inside the stone, and inside what remains of her repurposing flesh, but what’s left of the woman can’t feel it anymore.
Perhaps, it’s the only kind of pity the Sisters are capable of.
The joyous work continues.

[cont.]

>>6259375

# # # # # #

“No!” Rubida shouts, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is—”
“Daughter of mine,” her father interrupts, in a thunderous voice that makes her wince, and stop. “I shall not allow you to soil your own name any further.”
“It is not soiling. And I already did—” she states, leaning against you to nuzzle her forehead against your cheek. “I have chosen to stay—”
He doesn’t allow her any further questioning. He leans forward, grabs her by the wrist and pulls her away. From you. From the boat.
From collateral damage.
“No!” She shouts, claws, but her father clearly has received further martial training than even her. Besides, the presence of the many ships around you only shows that this is going to end one way only.
“Go!” You shout, taking a step back, and letting go of Soralisa’s hand. “You were not involved in all this! Now, go!”
“How can you say that! Argia!”
The way she shrieks your name, her blue eyes growing red with emotion as she struggles against the ironclad grip of her father.
“You as well, dama Da Zaribari,” he says, tilting his head towards Soralisa. “Your family has sent me to get you also.”
“I will not allow this! I won’t!” Rubida shrieks. “I have— I can—” but for all her connection and her wile, when it comes to her father’s stern gaze, all she can do is look frantically between him and you.
There is nobody else. She searches past you for Rosandra.
Who has disappeared.
You catch the sight of the six Blessed Blinds, floating away against the wind, towards the shore, like forgotten rhymes of a lost poem.
The Envoy is nowhere to be seen.

[cont.]

>>6259377

“Are you… is this the Will of Ansàrra?” Pleads Soralisa next to you, raising her brown eyes towards yours. They shine so prettily, covered by a veil of tears.
“It is,” you reply.
You can still hear the little noises in the glasshouse.
Ansàrra’s black hands, prying off that plant.
Her Will is absolute.
You also, must think of the pot.
Soralisa shakes her still-burnt hands, she clenches them, then reaches for your head, and standing up on her little feet, she plants a kiss upon your lips.
It’s just a quick one, and yet it’s enough to raise a chorus of murmurs from the ships surrounding you.
You push her away.
“Stop, I—”
“I’m not a coward,” she grins through her gritted teeth, nodding, nodding, nodding. “You took me out of that tower of books and notes. I know why you are doing this.”
“Then stop being a foo—”
“I have learned from you!” She shouts, and she kisses you again. You try to pull back — why are your muscles feeling so weak right now? Her thin lips against yours — her shuddering breath, wishing for this to last forever, perhaps. But you don’t have forever.
You don’t have even a moment.
Soralisa stands back, then holds up her hands.
“I burned for the Sun-Birther! I gave my flesh to her! And I gave my heart to— to—” her eyes roam over your eyes, over your hair. “To Argia from the Mar da Candéa.”
Then she pulls back, standing next to Rubida.
“You took me out of my prison. I will take you out of yours.”
“Soralisa.” You can only whisper her name, shape it around the ghosts of her desperate kiss.
Rubida’s father drags his daughter towards the ship, and Rubida, biting her lips and clenching her fists, obliges, but she keeps looking at you until the end, until she disappears behind the bulwark, Soralisa in tow.
“Argia Candente,” comes the voice of the Flame-Priest who called you. “You are expected.”


[cont.]

>>6259381

“I know,” you reply with a voice like ash. You turn the other way, away from your friends, and walk on the gangway, each step feeling like you can already see the rush of gold pouring over you, the screams of your friends.
Will you disappoint Master?
“Here I am,” you whisper as you set foot on the ship. All the priests and dignitaries, all the soldiers and even the mariners draw back from you, pointing and hissing at your hair.
A few raise their hands in the usual hallowed sign, holding up the three middle fingers.
You are tempted to do the same, but keep your hands against your side.
One of the Priests holds up both hand, in prayer, and with a searing bolt of golden light, the sail of the Throneland’s boat catches fire. Soon the beams do as well. It tilts, it moans, and starts losing its battle against the waves.
Your heart cries. You had both of your first kisses with the girls there.
Your final vision.
But if this is the Will of Ansàrra, however bitter…
You will go through everything, it matters not.
All for the chance to save your friends from this. Even as the blackened wood splinters and cracks, floundering amidst the tides.
And— and save your family, still out there in the Landing Strip. The chance to bow before the Sun-Birther with your dignity intact. The hope—
“Strip,” growls the Flame-Priest.
So much for dignity.

[cont.]

>>6259382

# # # # # #


Carnaval takes flight. Her feet raise above the black stone, towards the clouds, which play around her crystal wings. She has felt…
“Oh.” She covers her golden eyes with her pale hand, glancing at the distant shore. Her gaze focuses on the white cliffs, on the glistening sand, then on the waves, their foamed crests, and the group of ships that are coming back, a vessel from the Thronelands leaving behind a strip of black smoke as it drowns, like a final curse before the might of the Holy Land.
Carnaval squints— on the vessel to the right, two young women cry, holding each other at a distance from a tall man. They look like Argia Candente’s companions, from what little she can remember.
That must mean…
On the ship to the right, surrounded by a throng, she spots a naked figure, having finished stripping off the armour the angel made sure to give her.
A figure of a young woman, with silver hair.
She sets her hand against something white on her chest.
“So that’s where you were,” Carnaval whispers, then dives off into the distance, leaving Ansàrra’s palace behind her.
Many questions to ask.
Oh, and should she inform the Star of Morn?
Nay, says her furrowed brow.

[cont.]

>>6259384

# # # # # #


The Stilladìa blinks.
Her pale arms lower.
The orrery of stars turns, of shining and drifting lights as they scour the forever dark space on the dead Haoma, its withered branches extending into the endless void around her. It turns and turns, whispering secrets, muttering of hidden truths, spread through the souls she owns.
“The silver-haired girl is in the Holy Land,” she says, allowing her arms to fall into her lap. One by one, the stars withdraw into the five-petaled flower that dances between her horns, leaving only the top of her head brightened by a faint glow. “As it was to be expected.”
“You should not go now. Rest,” Helias pleads, kneeling before her as he takes his hand in hers.
The Stilladìa grins faintly. Her movements are sluggish, her mouth feels heavy. It is almost like going back to the time she used to have a body of flesh and bone and blood—
How nostalgic.
Ansàrra is trying to strangle her with ropes made of nostalgia.
As it is her style.
She beckons him, and he embraces her. She rests her head against his chest, grasping onto his un-flesh, and he holds her there, in the darkness of their abode, like before, like forever.
“I could not perceive her,” she explains between long breaths. “I could only feel Rosandra.”
Helias jolts at the news.
“She used her presence as a shield.”
“Trying to perceive a candle behind a bonfire. Masks and mirrors and making a fool of me,” the Stilladìa chuckles darkly. “That is Ansàrra’s sport. Once again.”
“Now I understand why you would avoid resting.”
“Resting is for the dead,” she huffs. “And we tried it, anyway.” She sets a faint kiss on his chest. “I would still rather hang from my own entrails than set a foot there.”
“I will hold your hand,” he reminds her, and he kisses her fingers, one by one, each time on their black nails. “On our way in and back.”
“And back,” she repeats. “I think I know what all this means, Helias.”
“Because you found the girl?”
“Because she was hidden from me up until this point,” she adds, standing up. “I think I know the shape of the noose Ansàrra knitted around my neck.” Then she raises her arms again, and from the dark take shape ghostly figures, one by one: tall men and proud, and beautiful maidens who look aghast at their whereabouts. And sorcerers and kings and heroes.
The closes to the Stilladìa, a young woman with flowing golden hair and grey eyes, clad in a ceramic armour, blinks, holding up her hand against her eyes, as if trying to peer through a veil.
Is there light here? Asks the soul of Bradiamante di Chiaramonte da Cantàra.
“There will be,” the Stilladìa replies, her crimson eyes furrowing.

[cont.]

>>6259385

# # # # # #


They have taken your armour away.
They have taken away the sword you won.
You had to give it to a Priestess of Flame who almost bent under its weight.
And you are now only dressed in veils of seaborne wind. Your clothes, the same Sandora Mirari gifted you, are burning in a pile behind you, just like the boat that brought you here.
At least they kept Master’s cloth… the half of it.
“That thing,” the next Priest demand, holding up a hand.
“It was a gift,” you say, putting Carnaval’s feather upon her palm. “So I would like to have it back.”
She does not reply, and falls back amidst the crowd, who marvels at Carnaval’s feather scattering the light.
The next Priest in line seems to look at the only thing you still have.
The thing that was just given back to you.
“That—”
“Not this,” you reply, grasping your cameo. “This is Master’s gift. It was given to him by the Sun-Birther, and it passed on to me. I shall not part with it!”
The crowd shares uncertain looks. The Priest does not seem moved by your words, and looms forward, his fingers grasping for your neck.
“No,” says the one who read the paper, holding up his arm. “Not that.”
“It is— it seems heretical.”
“She has but one word,” he replies, in a low whisper, and the Priest finally relents.
“She has but one word…” you repeat, walking forward. The crowd parts before you, casting their prayers before your steps, their curses in your wake.
Your heart is pierced with nails.
Rubida and Soralisa.
They are safe, at least… well, Soralisa will probably get scolded…
Willow is… not safe at all.
Wonder where she is now.
Does she miss you?
And what about Sandora?
You hope she found what she was looking for.
“Master, I’m coming back,” you whisper, finding at last your place at the helm of the ship. There you listen to the wind, and you reply with words of your own, with prayers, holding onto the cameo.
Onto the truth.
You saved them. You saved them from the Trial — your decision carried weight, it was thanks to—
You gulps, biting back the scream that’s been clawing its way up your throat ever since Willow cast off her sword, in the Temple.
The scream that’s scratching for an exit.
To scream, and scream, and scream, at the heavens.

[cont.]

>>6259387

You bite it back, you push it down.
Instead, you close your eyes and open your mind, reaching out, into the soft and warm embrace of Ansàrra.
It’s not a petition. It’s not a Sanction. You just pray, holding onto Her strength.
She lulls you, as the ship is lulled by the waves back onto the shore.
She holds you, even as the vessels finally pass the rocky formations upon the shores and get in sight of the land.
She comforts you, when no one else could. That warmth… that scent of dry earth and grapes.
She is always there for you. No matter what—
If you hold onto Her, She will not let go of you.
Once again, you repeat Master’s words.
You put all your trust in Ansàrra.
And then the ship grinds against the shore.
You do not wait for the Priest to pull you away from the helm.
You stand up, and holding the cameo in your hand, you walk between the rows of stunned people, of scared faithful.
The mariners have set the gangway for you, already.
Naked feet on the wood, you walk down, step by step.
No matter what, you can’t fear the touch of gold. You have already touched molten metal unscathed. Like at the festival.
And the burning Sanction above the Temple did not even touch you.
Yes.
The image of Her hands coiling around the plant flashes against your mind again: you must think of the pot. You suffered, but it was for the better. You made the right choice, and the girls will understand… sooner or later.

[cont.]

>>6259388

So comforted, you send off your thoughts to Ansàrra again, as your foot touches the sandy shore.
And you step into utter winter.
“Ah—” you gasp, and then nothing else.
What.
What is going on…
You were amidst Her embrace just a moment ago.
You—
In a mounting panic, your stomach coiling in pierced fear, you reach out again, past your senses, past your inner world, reaching out to where you know Ansàrra is waiting for you.
Where She has always waited.
And find only empty black night.
You stumble.
Still holding onto your cameo, you fall — your arm uselessly in front of you — you hit the sparkling white sand. It is warm, warmed by Her sun, but your soul is cold, chilled, lost, amidst the empty spaces of nothingness.
You call, and nobody answers.
No.
You try again—
It’s like sending off flares in the middle of a black ocean.
Like the emptiness is sucking you dry.
No answer.
And for the first time since Master found you, you know that you are alone.
That is moment when it snaps, at last.
The caged animal inside your throat scrapes its escape.
And you scream, scream, scream, at the empty heavens.


>You have lost the ability to ask for Sanctions.


You turn back and immediately try to board the ship. Perhaps this is just… a quirk of your landing. You must make sure.

You call out to the Priests of Flame. What is going on? They must know… if you can’t anymore. There must be a reason for this. There must be.

You shout for the others, you scream, you plead. This is… this is not what you expected. You bend and crack; you just want to be held again…

Add a suggestion

One thing I have learned from working on the Quest over the past few months is to never try and set the story towards specific goals (so-called railroading), but at the same time, I did have in mind a few passages I would have liked to go through, since the very first thread. This is one of them. I also wonder if there’s a feeling for when you spent the last six thread building up a house of cards… and what comes after. Thanks for playing!

>>6259392
>Add a suggestion
Continue existential dread until we get told to do something by someone. Resolve to go help Willow, this isn't fun It's not like we have anything better to do or an obvious path to follow. And if we've got a timeline to meet we'll likely be hurried along at some point by the impatient.


>Might also be worth asserting that it is actually just us, not the others that have been impacted.


I'm much more concerned that the Sun appears to have disappeared suddenly and no-one else is freaking out about it, might hint that; larger things are afoot. At least the dirt is still warm, nothing wrong with being a worm for a while.

>>6259392
>Once you are done screaming and you get a modicum of your bearings, you will get up and start dragging your feet through the white sands while praying to Ansàrra, even if nobody is listening, even if Ansàrra herself can't hear your voice, you shall make yourself be heard across this nothingness untilyour feet bleeds and your voice becomes too hoarse to utter prayers.
Maybe she can reach the other side and maybe stumble on Ansàrra

>Oh? Nobody shall come, to save your wretched race. Cattle you were, cattle you stay.
Nice to be reminded that the trial really is just smoke and mirrors to the real threat at large, My heart goes out for the old woman though, she even kept asking for stilladia to come for the rescue

>“You took me out of my prison. I will take you out of yours.”
All those books Soralisa read amounted for something at last, she really just one-upped Rubida and had an audience while doing it, what a woman.

>Then she raises her arms again, and from the dark take shape ghostly figures, one by one: tall men and proud, and beautiful maidens who look aghast at their whereabouts. And sorcerers and kings and heroes.
Is Stilladìa gathering her own army too? This does look like a call of arms.
>spoiler
Makes me think of when you complete a puzzle, but in this case you are the one building and watching someone finish the puzzle you carefully prepared for that instead.

>>6259392
here comes Argia's dark night of the soul.
>>6259440
>+1

>>6258555
>didn't he just fuck the amaranthines' daughters and wives ?
He and Rubida's dad seem to have served on some form of front-line together, if I understood the interlude correctly.

>>6259392
>>6259440 +1

>>6259624
>He and Rubida's dad seem to have served on some form of front-line together, if I understood the interlude correctly.
I know, I just forgot that we caught him doing Rubida that one time, kek

>>6259392

>Add a suggestion: The scream tears out of you, and with it comes anger. Comes hate. If the Sun is just another star, then let you become another as well. In this dark place, bear your cameo, walk
forward. You are a beloved daughter. You are a woman adorned. Walk. Until the Sun rises again over the sand.

Ahhh so good to read this again sorry QM I didn't read this until now pls forgive me like Ansarra will forgive Argia and her 3 big reasons (cameo, left tiddy, and right tiddy)

>>6259440
+1

Well then things are definitely taking a turn here

>>6259411
>resolve to go help Willow

good suggestion anon.

>larger things are afoot.

they surely are. This metaphor I used about the house of cards finally being ready is apt. as a reminder: the sun is still there and it's still day, that was a description of how it felt when your connection to Ansàrra was severed (pls understand... retard writer). So you are still there, but unable to cast Sanctions.

Forever? Who knows.

>>6259440
>old woman

yeah, it hurt me as well. blame the Kiengir

>you are the one building and watching someone finish the puzzle you carefully prepared for that instead

in a way, yea. when the Quest is over I will likely write a few posts about this, because it changed my approach to writing and art completely

>>6259516

>Argia's dark night of the soul

didn't expect St. John of the Cross quoted in the quest but it's all the better for it

>so good to read this again
>sorry QM I didn't read this until now pls forgive me

you are forgiven son, but I expect a 500-words essay on why Argia is the cutest knight. welcome back. I'm glad you like what you read.

now... anon's suggestion took over, which frankly is a mighty interesting event (especially considering anon's suggestion was related to a different interpretation of the scene, but I'll see how I can wrangle it, dress it up all pretty to give it justice.)

thanks for playing, voting is over. I'll try to complete update in a few hours, there's dinner and friends in the middle

>>6259392

You don’t let go of your cameo, the only warm thing in this ocean of freezing despair. You feel like you are in free fall.
Why is there no—
No answer?
Please, you shout inwardly, at the heavens, but those are empty and void, inane in their peerless blue. Around you, seagulls keep crying, keep circling. The priests and mariners secure the ships and walk down, surrounding you, but it feels like they might as well be on the other side of the world for all you care.
For all the emptiness cares.
“Ansàrra,” you mumble Her hallowed name, in hope it carries you up on fading wings, towards the warmth that you know is still there—
Nothing. It is not enough to even lift your body off the sand. It scrapes against your bare skin, against your nails, coarse and uncaring.
Why doesn’t She replies to your prayers?
What did you do wrong?
Is this part of your Trial? Is this—
“Get up,” says the Priest. His voice lost to you.
Why is your cameo the only source of heat you have left? You can’t seem to reach to Her again.
The light and warmth that has been with you for the past four years, that has lifted you away from a brutal existence — it has been sniffed out.
“Get up, stranger,” he sighs, somewhere on the other side of the world.
Above, the seagulls seem to laugh at you. Or perhaps cry. You cannot say.
Rough hands pull you up, push you on the sand. You stumble, almost fall, then the same arms keep you upright, and start walking, and you have to follow them, but your naked body moves on its own, without a command, without a care—
“At Dawn we wake up with bright thoughts,” you croak, the words wrinkled around your throat after your screams.
The others look at you, with gazes between the amused and the scandalised.
Perhaps they seem to be disgusted you are trying to pray, you, who have silver hair, you have been deemed an agent of the Adversary.
You, who can’t feel Ansàrra’s anymore.

[cont.]

>>6260080

“By Midday, we have shared bright words with each other.”
“Make her stop,” groans a female Priest, waving her hand.
“Stop saying the hallowed words to the Sun-Birther?”
“She is a heathen and a spy! Make her filthy lips stand still!”
“There will be no interrupting any who want to reach out to the Everburning. That will be all I say about it,” the Priest who read your name snarls, and the other tilts her head in obeisance, if forced.
“And by eventide, we have done bright deeds,,” you complete.
But as every step follows the previous one, and the mariners keep you upright, leading you away from the shore and towards an barge anchored on the river’s shore, there is, once again, no answer.
It does not make sense.What did you do wrong?
“Please tell me. Tell me what I did wrong. Please. Please tell me please please please…” you mutter in despair, just as the mariners shove you on the barge, together with a few priests, as the crowd disperses along the shore, and curious Maduans, in their tunics and sandals, old men and women and strong youth and children peer at you from the sides, scrutinising your silver hair.
“Being born,” mutters the female Priest, and the male one slaps her ear behind the veil of fabric, which finally seems to put a stop to her words.
But not her enmity.
The mariners push the barge away and it starts moving upstream, with no sail and no Sarcophagus, merely pulled by the Will of Ansàrra, it seems.
And it flows around you, without touching, without warmth.
“At Dawn we wake up with bright thoughts—” you start over again, rocking back and forth, holding the cameo in your hands like a lifeline, though all it can do is sit there, the last mote of warmth, a silent burning ember that slowly rises into the utter darkness.
You repeat and repeat the prayer, scouring your throat, until the words stumble upon each other, until you are not even sure if you are mouthing words of shards of ice.
By the time the barge is moving between the tall cliffs surrounding the river, with their verdant trees and flowering sides, under the beauty of Maduan summer, and you are still caught in your own inner winter, you can’t even make sure you ever knew words that mattered.

[cont.]

>>6260081

# # # # # #

One by one, the crowd on the ships disperses.
Rubida’s stride stiffens as she follows her father, her hands clenched in rage. She has taught herself to control it, but the moment she saw Argia’s reaction to touching the Holy Land, she almost threw herself off the ship to reach to her faster. Only her father’s grip on her shoulder stopped her. Soralisa had leaned over the bulwark, following Argia’s plight with reddened eyes.“I don’t understand,” she has whispered.
And now, once they have descended as well, Rubida whispers to Soralisa’s ear.
“What is going on?”
“It’s like she has lost… her connection to Ansàrra. I can’t perceive it anymore.”
“How can you even say… anything like that… wait, you did had to perceive her in the Well. Right?”
Soralisa nods.
“Yes. I was guided, but I haven’t forgotten how Argia feels in the spiritual world. Right now she is— she is utterly alone.”
“We had to be there!” She barks at her father, who remains motionless. “We could have helped!”
“You could have done nothing,” he replies, stern, like always. The sadness in his gaze can’t make her forget that this— this is his fault, Starless Night! “What we see is the Will of Ansàrra.”
“I could have done something! I—”
“Rubida,,” he interrupts. “Do not give breath to heretical words. If not for your sake, for our family’s.”
This pushes her to finally stay silent, biting her lips, seething, but silent.
“I have no idea why. I can’t see a reason, no matter what I do,” says Soralisa.
And Rubida, even if she spoke, would only agree.

[cont.]

>>6260082

# # # # # #


You are only barely aware of the world rushing around you.
The smells, the occasional buzzing of bees as they pass around your ears, the chanting of the Priests, the gazes of faces — you wouldn’t be able to recognise them, they are not your friends’s or Master’s… or your family’s… — as they gape at you from the shores.
It seems the tale of the silver-haired prisoner is spreading.
People gather, people talk.
And point.
And curse.
But you could bear all that.
You wouldn’t give it much thought.
You faced the Seven, you faced the—
You—
You were with your friends…
And with Ansàrra.
Not naked like a worm on a rough barge, the shadow of cypresses rows falling upon you like bars.
And alone.
“B-By day, by dawn we… we bright… we…” the words flow by your chapped lips.
The cameo upon your hand keeps burning.

[cont.]

>>6260082

# # # # # #

Only a couple of figures linger upon the ships that escorted the mysterious silver-haired girl to the Holy Land. The Mariners, after a short prayer just in case the stranger has cursed them, are doing their best securing them to the shore, with ropes and stalks, and they would certainly be left alone to their work.
“Over there!” Shouts a tanned man, holding up his hand to his mouth. “Everyone please get down! It’s dangerous to stay on deck!”
Silence, then the smaller of the two figures turns away and leans over the bulwark, holding onto it with her hands.
“We are coming down!” She shouts. Then again, as if she were trying to repeat it to herself. “We are coming down.”
The other one, a blonde-haired man with deep black eyes, wraps his arm around her shoulders and leads her down the gangway: she is a short and slim young woman, dressed in a simple grey tunic, without even a pair of sandals. And he wears a black-lined one, and an embarrassed smile.
“Apologies. It has been a long time since my wife had seen the sea, she wanted to linger a bit.”
“Y-Yes, the sea,” she replies immediately, nodding, which makes her dark brown hair wave, even if they are cut quite short. Her green eyes dart left and right even as her face flushes red. “I— It has been a long time, and… a-anyway. We will be leaving…” she fidgets, and the mariner scratches his head at the awkward display.
Then he goes back to his work, and doesn’t even notice that the woman has left no footprints on the wet shore.
“You are a terrible liar,” Helias whispers to her ear even as he pulls her closer. “The sun and stars change, but this does not,” he adds with a chuckle.
“I feel like I’m standing right before a great abyss,” the Stilladìa replies, her voice tense beneath the glamour that shields her trues features — the alabaster skin, her long flowing white hair, her crimson eyes and the twisted horns, the stars blinking between them — that would have the trusting, peaceful Maduans they pass by scream and run and hide, praying for Ansàrra to save them. “And I am starting to fall.”
“Good,” Helias reassures her, running his fingers through her hair. “We all have to learn how to fall.”
“At this point I could write a series of tomes on that same topic,” she chides. Then her shoulders slump and she sighs, leaning into his touch. “Sorry. I’m being so disgraceful.”
“I did not fall in love with you because you are graceful,” he points out with a grin.
“Well, I did not marry you for your humour, either!” She sticks her tongue out at him.

[cont.]

>>6260084

The Stilladìa walks with him for a while, following the beach, hand in hand. Helias gives her time to get used to her presence there.
Her brown hair carried by the wind, and not floating or swinging by some invisible force.
Her pupils, black like jet, without their usual pinpoint brightness.
Her lips, reddish and not platinum.
Feeling a mysterious impulse, Helias reaches out with his hand, sets it between her slight breasts, and his wife blinks.
“What?”
He gives her a sad smile.
“I can feel your heart.”
“I can feel yours,” she replies by mirroring his gesture. “It beats much calmer than mine.” A pause. “It is but an illusion.”
“It feels very convincing.”
“All around here is,” she growls, pulling him even closer. She stands on the very tips of her toes to try and kiss him, but she can barely reach his chin even like that, so he picks her up as their lips touch.
The waves murmur among the white shore, sighing like the sighs between their lips, as they paint over the cracks in their breaths.
“But this is truth,” she states, her lips puffy.
“We shall hold onto that,” he agrees, running his finger through her hair. “I have noticed you haven’t thrown yourself at the girl with the silver hair just yet.”
“I am not going to.” The Stilladìa rubs her naked foot over the sand, tracing a line. “There is still time.”
Helias’s brows furrows and he stops to think.
“You saw them bringing her away. I suppose for some kind of judgment. But if you are not rushing there right now…” he taps his lips. “Her trial is not of gold.”
She smirks and jumps, finally managing to give him a peck on his lips.
“I did not marry you just because of your wits, either. But I greatly enjoy them.”

[cont.]

>>6260087

Carnaval! You bow your head and plead for the Angel of Ansàrra to forgive you. You have been a failure… this way perhaps she can lead you to Master.

You try to gather your thoughts. Is she here now? Why? And you failed in everything… but perhaps she can help your friends. Let her know that they were not… not involved in all this, whatever it’s happening.

Carnaval is the closest to Ansàrra, among the living. She is hardly learned in the ways of the Faith, but perhaps she can explain this… this chilly void that has ensnared your soul.

Add a suggestion

>Whatever your vote, remember to add a 1d100 roll to your vote
>DC 75
>No need to stick to Bo6 for this

# # # # # #

I wanted to remind players:

>Your daily +36 bonus and your NatCrit Sanction bonuses are still there, they have not been erased, but they would not give you any effect as of now
>Feel free to vote for wasting them, if you so wish
>Speaking of this: please remember that the direction Argia takes from now on is not set in stone. In fact, I have key points ready for the foreseeable future, so feel free to suggest or vote for any kind of action
>This means that any sort of alternative!Argia route/‘ending’ is possible

As always, thanks for playing. I’m humbled by everyone’s dedication and see you soon.

>>6260087

# # # # # #


The boat creaks and tilts a bit around the river’s bends.
The priests have fallen silent. They have shared some buttered bread and honey with you, which you have bitten down without thinking.
Your hands feel like stone, now. Like crystal, the way Soralisa’s used to be.
You have tried every word. Every prayer. You have pushed your spirit upwards, until you were certain you would be piercing the very silver ring—
To find nothing, and nothing, and nothing.
Then, right after the river’s bend, a change.
You blink weakly, pulling away from your desperate attempt. There is warmth, even if it comes from outside.
Not from where it used to come, back when you could feel Her warmth—
The priests gasp, and scatter like mice before an eagle. A crimson glitter in the air, the crinkling of glass, and a scattering of red light upon the barge’s deck.
That’s—
Carnaval stands before you, withdrawing her hands, her skin glistening, her eyes aflame.
“Argia Candente,” she whispers, crouching before you. “Oh, in the name of all that bleeds and burns. What has happened to you?”


Carnaval! You bow your head and plead for the Angel of Ansàrra to forgive you. You have been a failure… this way perhaps she can lead you to Master.

You try to gather your thoughts. Is she here now? Why? And you failed in everything… but perhaps she can help your friends. Let her know that they were not… not involved in all this, whatever it’s happening.

Carnaval is the closest to Ansàrra, among the living. She is hardly learned in the ways of the Faith, but perhaps she can explain this… this chilly void that has ensnared your soul.

Add a suggestion

>Whatever your vote, remember to add a 1d100 roll to your vote
>DC 75
>No need to stick to Bo6 for this

[cont.]

>>6260090

# # # # # #

I wanted to remind players:

>Your daily +36 bonus and your NatCrit Sanction bonuses are still there, they have not been erased, but they would not give you any effect as of now
>Feel free to vote for wasting them, if you so wish
>Speaking of this: please remember that the direction Argia takes from now on is not set in stone. In fact, I have key points ready for the foreseeable future, so feel free to suggest or vote for any kind of action
>This means that any sort of alternative!Argia route/‘ending’ is possible

As always, thanks for playing. I’m humbled by everyone’s dedication and see you soon.

I had to erase the previous post and it had rolled 8 dubs... the hand of Ansàrra plays heavy tonight...

Rolled 73 (1d100)

>>6260090
>Add a suggestion
Ask Carnaval to clarify as to which sense she means;

why we're here, now;
Which has an easy answer, We followed orders to return given by an Knight Gerofalco interrupting our prior mission, apparently to undertake the Trial of Gold as dictated by the Amaranthines, the Priests can furnish the list of charges should it be necessary.


As to why we've seemingly lost our connection to Ansàrra;
No clue it happened when we set foot on Madua, before that everything was fine.

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>6260090
>Carnaval is the closest to Ansàrra, among the living. She is hardly learned in the ways of the Faith, but perhaps she can explain this… this chilly void that has ensnared your soul.
We know rubida and soralisa are safe so no need to retread old ground, while pleading forgivness even if it could bring Argia to master faster doesn't seem right to me, (again this was not a diplomatic mission, I blame bird brain kek)
So yeah asking if she has anything to say about the current void and the sudden cut of connection could get us somewhere, maybe she got an insight on what is going on?

>“I have noticed you haven’t thrown yourself at the girl with the silver hair just yet.”
so the Stilladìa is personally around (to meet with Ansàrra I assume) and is aware of Argia but won't intervene..maybe she is interested in the trial's result too? and maybe trade some words with Argia and a contract depending on what happens?
Also Argia isn't having an easy time at all, first the cameo, now a severed connection? Life isn't holding any punches.
Stunning update as always qm

>>6260091
>Your daily +36 bonus and your NatCrit Sanction bonuses are still there, they have not been erased, but they would not give you any effect as of now.

Do we still get the Cameo bonus, though?

Rolled 8 (1d100)

>>6260087
>“You saw them bringing her away. I suppose for some kind of judgment. But if you are not rushing there right now…” he taps his lips. “Her trial is not of gold.”
Octavia isn't so blind for power then, smart girl.
>>6260090
>Carnaval! You bow your head and plead for the Angel of Ansàrra to forgive you. You have been a failure… this way perhaps she can lead you to Master.
So nice to see best waifu right now

>>6260090
>Carnaval! You bow your head and plead for the Angel of Ansàrra to forgive you. You have been a failure… this way perhaps she can lead you to Master.

>>6260204
>Octavia isn't so blind for power then, smart girl.
Something isn't lining up here;

>>6258789
>“We have come to escort one Argia Candente to the blessed shores. She has been deemed an agent of the Adversary, and has to stand the Trial of Gold. So have the Amaranthines decided.

Clearly lays out that the Trial of Gold is the proscribed measure to be taken, then again Argia probably doesn't know the proceedings but the fact that other observers have no issue means that it probably appears to be externally proceeding as they expect.

>>6260090
>Carnaval is the closest to Ansàrra, among the living. She is hardly learned in the ways of the Faith, but perhaps she can explain this… this chilly void that has ensnared your soul.
let's not collapse into guilt so quickly. Argia, you're not wicked, just confused, surely? Have faith in the young who believes in your master!

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>6260090
Oh, and a roll!

>>6260279
>the fact that other observers have no issue means that it probably appears to be externally proceeding as they expect
They believe the trial is one sort. Ansàrra is performing a trial of a very different character, I think.

Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>6259902
I'm on phone so no 500 words but

Argia is the cutest knight to grace the Holy Land because Ansàrra says so. Those who say otherwise are heretical practitioners of dark arts and Seven Sister occultists. Report these individuals to the nearest temple immediately, even if they are blood and kin ne'er harbour their misbegotten hides, lest ye incur Ansàrra's warm, beautiful, motherly yet hateful wroth.

>>6260090
Also
>Add a suggestion: If Carnaval can still look upon you, then perhaps you are not yet condemned. Look her in the eyes, proclaim your innocence. Maybe ask if she will hold your hand. If not, then you need only know she will not hate you for this trial of faith.

stay strong Argia ts is nothing do it for sunmommy you are her strongest little soldier

Rolled 74 (1d100)

>>6260270
Forget to roll

>>6260279
>“We have come to escort one Argia Candente to the blessed shores. She has been deemed an agent of the Adversary, and has to stand the Trial of Gold. So have the Amaranthines decided.
>Clearly lays out that the Trial of Gold is the proscribed measure to be taken, then again Argia probably doesn't know the proceedings but the fact that other observers have no issue means that it probably appears to be externally proceeding as they expect.
damn, so either flatilladia is capable of knowing wether Octavia is doing a switcharoo from distance or like >>6260362 said, she means the trial Ansarra is doing. Although this second option doesn't make sense 'coz the cut connection doesn't seem like something different happening.

>>6260434
Could also be the Sisters' partially fulfilling Willow's Faustian bargain to steal Argia's soul as payment for services rendered to prempt a move from Ansara on that front.

>>6260090
>Carnaval is the closest to Ansàrra, among the living. She is hardly learned in the ways of the Faith, but perhaps she can explain this… this chilly void that has ensnared your soul.

>>6260496
hello late timezone anon and thanks for voting

>>6260108
>which has an easy answer

interesting suggestion anon

>No clue

perhaps it's just a sudden allergic reaction

>this was not a diplomatic mission,

kek

>spoiler

who knows

>Stunning update as always qm

thanks anon!

>>6260183
>do we still get the Cameo bonus

you do. there is a reason why. the discerning anon
- might - be able to glimpse it, if only due to the Quest's overarching theme

>>6260204
>Octavia

they do share a similar attitude tho

>best waifu

Carnaval is cute! CUTE! even when she rips sailors apart

>>6260270
lovely pic anon. who is this character?

>>6260359
hopeful anon strikes!

>>6260362
>a trial of a very different character

anon might be onto something here

>>6260385

>Argia is the cutest knight to grace the Holy Land because Ansàrra says so. Those who say otherwise are heretical practitioners of dark arts and Seven Sister occultists. Report these individuals to the nearest temple immediately, even if they are blood and kin ne'er harbour their misbegotten hides, lest ye incur Ansàrra's warm, beautiful, motherly yet hateful wroth.

CORRETTO!

>you are her strongest little soldier

fighting Her hardest battles

>>6260437

>to prempt a move from Ansàrra on that front.

interesting idea anon. wonder what kind of leverage the Sisters even have on Ansàrra besides seething and pounding sand and malding. it's not /their/ world anymore. perhaps it's too late to guarantee a future to Kiengir children kinda deserved...

but jokes aside, intriguing intuition, especially on Willow's part.


alright, waking up to... NINE votes and this intense discussion was such a treat. thanks anon! I'll say 8 more hours for voting and thinking and praising sunbutt

>>6260505
>interesting suggestion anon
The idea was to pre-empt potential complaints that Argia was a compromised source and so only provide the basics to get her up to speed, and to prompt her to find the other members of the Manipolo to get a proper run down of events should she need it, and or intercede on our/their behalf.

>just a sudden allergic reaction

Timing is far too sus for it to be a normal bout of allergies also seems really hyper-specific, but maybe residual exposure to Silt could impact or react weirdly with whatever Ansarra has going on in Madua. Could also be a ploy to ensure that we fail the Trial.

>wonder what kind of leverage the Sisters even have on Ansàrra
I'd assume this is partially what Willow would be helping with, pending the 7th Sister's revitalization and the Faustian Bargain running its course. I don't think they would just let an asset like Willow go freely, without being warded off with a bigger stick than many would have reasonable access to.

>it's not /their/ world anymore
They're surely aware this isn't the only one up for grabs, right?

>perhaps it's too late to guarantee a future to Kiengir children
Can it really be said that the "regular" population have it that much better?

>>6260508
>The idea was[...]on our/their behalf

generally good

>Timing is far too sus for it to be a normal bout of allergies

yea we can probably rule out sand allergy

remember when I pointed out how every Sanction and Faith-related effect has to go through Ansàrra's own evaluation and decision before it gets either allowed or rejected? This has been the case since the start of the Quest and it has not changed now.

something to consider...

>I'd assume this is partially what Willow would be helping with,

perhaps

>They're surely aware this isn't the only one up for grabs, right?

smart thinking. in fact, if the Kiengiri were able to do whatever the fuck they wanted with their world (they were), and they knew there were other worlds out there (they knew), why is Earth not colonised right now? Why did Kiengiri go the way of the dodo?

Maybe someone had something to do with that...

>Can it really be said that the "regular" population have it that much better?

depends on who you ask: the ones best off are probably (rich) Frigéian citizens, the Echorists and Great Houses in Argia's homeland, and the upper classes of the Throne. The worst off are probably the scattered humans in the Night Lands right beneath the shade of the planetary ring.

The Maduans, on the other hand, have everything a human animal could ask for: long life, peace and plenty of food, a tight community. Then again, like Heraclitus (or Saint Albertus Magnus) used to say: If happiness is pleasures of the body, we would deem cattle happy when they find an abundance of chickpeas.

but this is the kind of questions that might bring anons to glimpse the truth, so good thinking.

>>6260519
>something to consider...
But that is the Thing, Argia probably isn't in the right frame of mind to consider this a test of her Or others in how they react to the situation character, at least immediately.

>why is Earth not colonised right now?
Can we be certain that it's the same "Earth", or that things are contemporaneous? After-all we can posit that it is possible (Stranders exist, Stilladia also seems to be working towards some sort of plan of return. May be why she needs so many souls. But we don't have much of a grasp as to what actually grant's Ansarra's the capacity to respond to sanctions or any of the other methods of Supranatural capabilities and effects) but it may well be difficult for any number of compounding reasons.

>Why did Kiengiri go the way of the dodo
Ansarra had something to say about them remaining in power, if not existing outright, and it's not like they went out of their way to "shit rainbows" and took others into consideration while they were ascendant at the time.


>The Maduans, on the other hand, have everything a human animal could ask for
And yet there are obvious constraints on their willingness to extend said benefits to others for no apparent reason, or as to what Ansarra actually gets out of the whole thing considering it's not like she dictates much of anything these days even though she has had ample opportunity to do so, or intercede should she want to at any point to materially improve the situation. Thus there are obvious limits to what can be expected of them without much in the way of "active" oversight.

I hardly call much of what we have seen today "Bright Deeds".

>>6260090
>Carnaval is the closest to Ansàrra, among the living. She is hardly learned in the ways of the Faith, but perhaps she can explain this… this chilly void that has ensnared your soul.

>>6260437
That's... a good one, but how would they even do that, specially since we're close to Ansàrra ?

>>6260543
I gey tge feeling Ansarra is restrained by her wounds, by some form of programming or conditioning, or both.

>>6260647

this is an interesting thought avenue. it might be completely wrong, but interesting nonetheless

writing.

thanks everyone for your votes and discussion. also, EVERYONE praise >>6260385 anon because without his roll of 87 you would have found a much-less helpful Carnaval

I suppose the dice gods keep smiling upon you...

>>6260090
>>6260090
>You try to gather your thoughts. Is she here now? Why? And you failed in everything… but perhaps she can help your friends. Let her know that they were not… not involved in all this, whatever it’s happening.

hmm

Oh seems i was to late

>>6260762
thanks for voting even if it was late, anon. these last few days the Quest is in haste...

>>6260090

[i]What has happened to you?[/i]
If only you could find an answer.
All you can hang onto is shattered memories, and the feeling that something is wrong.
That this piece of the puzzle you are still missing has cratered all the others, and the Cameo was just the vessel, and not the answer itself.
“I— we—” there are people all around you, as Carnaval reaches out to you, her fingers brushing against your cheek. You jolt.
You almost expected it would have burned you (are you damned now?), but it does not. And yet— there is nothing besides the firmness of her knuckles against your soft cheek, just skin, no warmth, no heat… you can’t feel even Carnaval’s own connection to the Sun-Birther, she who is closest to Her.
You gulp.
She asked you a question.
Shame burns in the depth of your stomach as you reply, your lips slowly remembering how to form and shape words.
“I failed.” There is no ‘we’ in that. You were the one responsible for dealing with Willow, and you were the one who turned the mission into a disaster.
The words of comfort you shared with Rubida and Soralisa back at the Asterite mansion feel like faint memories, like lines you might have read in a book, like voices you might have heard acted at a puppet play.
Why did you think you could do anything else?
“You…” Carnaval hesitates, then seems to hesitate. “Have you seen the Worm?”
You tremble against her touch.
“Y-Yes.”
“Come with me.” She scoops you up in her arms and you rest against her bosom, skin against skin — your scuffed and sweaty one against her perfect marble firmness. “Did you use the feather I gave you?”
“There was no chance. I did not want to hurt Willow.”
A glint passes through her golden eyes, like a flash of the sun between thunderous clouds.
“Where is it now?”
“They have taken it,” you explain, holding the cameo against your chest. “Do not take this too. Please. Master…” you almost plead with her to carry you to Master, to let you explain to him how sorry you are. Together you can find a solution, you can find a way out of this. By the grace of the Sun-Birther…

[cont.]