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5/12/2025, 10:02:34 PM
In the end, you make several changes to your weekly routines, knowing the roads you leave behind you to be safekept by the men of Isedia and the roads in front of you endangered by the supporters of the Fortelli from Largo. It is very good, you decide, to have information about the enemy rather than marching blindly without knowledge of whether you risk meeting friend or foe.
With all matters of the week finished at last, you are able to return to your tent. Though certainly inferior to even a common peasant's lodging in a tavern or village house, its size, bright colors, and posted guards do make it very noticeable from the rest of the lot. Though, with how much likely that would be to lead any attackers on your camp to your location were you ambushed during the night, you wonder if it is a lodging you should maintain...
"Ah, greetings sir." says Joan as you walk into your tent, dutifully helping you remove your field armor. It is a lengthy and bothersome process you greatly wished was removed from your daily routine.
As you finally strip your neck coverings, however, your maid seems to stop for a moment, staring at you. She cranes her neck, long beastly eas flickering against each other, moving ever so slightly as she stares in what appears to be confusion.
"Sir...would you wish for me to prepare you the water and shaving oils?" she says, clearly looking at your growing beard. In truth, you had kept yourself well-shaven ever since you had first been graced with facial hair, as was the style in the courts of Mirevale. To be a young man such as yourself yet sporting a beard would have been seen as slovenly and improper. However, on the beginning of your campaign, you had made a 'promise' of sorts to yourself to not shave yourself until victory was achieved, like the generals of old.
If telling her this has had an effect on her, you know not. Joan, after all, has always had a face utterly unreadable did she will it to be so. You had originally thought this to be an mark of her race, but her father seemingly held no such skill himself. She stares at you for a moment, before suddenly grabbing your chin with her hand, clawed ends running at your beard in a display of intimacy that would have her whipped by other lords. You, however, can do nothing but freeze up.
"Hm...I think you look better when shaved, sir."
Without another word, she leaves you, excusing herself to the servants' tents. Not particularly sure of how to respond, you lay yourself to sleep, cheeks still burning brightly...In the next morning, Joan greets you as she always has, acting as though nothing had happened. You think of doing something, but decide it better left for when you are not on the path of war.
The week continues, and so does your march - quickly abandonings the lands surrounding Isedia, you soon cross another river, and similarly cross it without issue after your scouts find a shallow crossing, though it still takes a day to get your wagons across.
With all matters of the week finished at last, you are able to return to your tent. Though certainly inferior to even a common peasant's lodging in a tavern or village house, its size, bright colors, and posted guards do make it very noticeable from the rest of the lot. Though, with how much likely that would be to lead any attackers on your camp to your location were you ambushed during the night, you wonder if it is a lodging you should maintain...
"Ah, greetings sir." says Joan as you walk into your tent, dutifully helping you remove your field armor. It is a lengthy and bothersome process you greatly wished was removed from your daily routine.
As you finally strip your neck coverings, however, your maid seems to stop for a moment, staring at you. She cranes her neck, long beastly eas flickering against each other, moving ever so slightly as she stares in what appears to be confusion.
"Sir...would you wish for me to prepare you the water and shaving oils?" she says, clearly looking at your growing beard. In truth, you had kept yourself well-shaven ever since you had first been graced with facial hair, as was the style in the courts of Mirevale. To be a young man such as yourself yet sporting a beard would have been seen as slovenly and improper. However, on the beginning of your campaign, you had made a 'promise' of sorts to yourself to not shave yourself until victory was achieved, like the generals of old.
If telling her this has had an effect on her, you know not. Joan, after all, has always had a face utterly unreadable did she will it to be so. You had originally thought this to be an mark of her race, but her father seemingly held no such skill himself. She stares at you for a moment, before suddenly grabbing your chin with her hand, clawed ends running at your beard in a display of intimacy that would have her whipped by other lords. You, however, can do nothing but freeze up.
"Hm...I think you look better when shaved, sir."
Without another word, she leaves you, excusing herself to the servants' tents. Not particularly sure of how to respond, you lay yourself to sleep, cheeks still burning brightly...In the next morning, Joan greets you as she always has, acting as though nothing had happened. You think of doing something, but decide it better left for when you are not on the path of war.
The week continues, and so does your march - quickly abandonings the lands surrounding Isedia, you soon cross another river, and similarly cross it without issue after your scouts find a shallow crossing, though it still takes a day to get your wagons across.
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