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ID: Nvh1BTbG/qst/6261156#6272187
7/9/2025, 3:14:13 AM
>>6272184
>“Huh, well Uriyan is strong enough I suppose.” You say, sparing a glance towards a large mansion that currently sports the Almyran flag over its facade. There were several Almyrans on the lawn, in various drunken states, some passed out face first in the grass. “Geeze, those guys are rowdy. Anyway, who’s the Sreng champion? Did you find out anything about him?”
“It’s a woman, actually.” Chelsey says with some surprise. “Her name is Saoirse. She’s the First Sword of Sreng, whatever that means. Not much is known about her, given how far away the country is. But apparently she came here with a slew of tough berserkers. Some of the hardest men you could find. And yet, they treat her with much respect and reverence. Look, that’s them.” She points to a mansion that sports a red and black vulture on its facade, the symbol of the nation of Sreng. There, you find several large, hulking men, each of whom is clad in battle-scarred iron and fur. They stand in a circle around one of their own, who was currently holding himself up by his hands atop a large keg, drinking from the tap.
>“What the hell?” You mutter in amazement. Far be it from you to tell anyone how to behave, but between Almyra and Sreng, the superiority complex these Morfisians had was only sure to grow.
You both finally make it to the front of the Fodlan Embassy. There on the sprawling lawn, you find your companions, simply standing around in a circle.
>“What are you all doing?” You ask an angrier than usual Cuthbert. Adeline and Cassius were busy roasting some meat over the fire for that night’s meal, while May was lying on the grass, sharpening one of her daggers. Nadia meanwhile, was conspicuously absent.
“They won’t let us inside.” Cuthbert growls, clearly annoyed. “Said we can’t go in without the supervision of a declared champion. So we’ve been stuck out here waiting for you to get back.”
“Nadia was here with us, till some dorks from the Royal College came looking for her.” May informs you. “She said she’d be back later, then left with Alvin. How was your reunion with Bronte?”
>“Very touching and moving.” You say glibly. “Get that meat off the fire and let’s go inside.”
“Hey! A new face!” Someone calls out from behind you. You turn to find a strange looking man. He had long, greasy black hair, and a rather sharp pointed nose, yet there was no mistaking he was of Fodlan stock. His armor and cloak were of rather high quality, likely made for a noble, and there was a rather ornate sword scabbard at his side. You had no doubt about it, this was a fellow contender.
>“And you are?”
“Thomas vi Muller.” The man says proudly. “I’m the fourth son of House Muller, on the border of Bergliez and Gloucester. You’re Tristain d’Rusalka, aren’t you? A pleasure to meet you!” He offers a handshake.
>A): Accept the man’s handshake
>B): Turn him away
>C): Ask how he knows you
>D): Write-in
>“Huh, well Uriyan is strong enough I suppose.” You say, sparing a glance towards a large mansion that currently sports the Almyran flag over its facade. There were several Almyrans on the lawn, in various drunken states, some passed out face first in the grass. “Geeze, those guys are rowdy. Anyway, who’s the Sreng champion? Did you find out anything about him?”
“It’s a woman, actually.” Chelsey says with some surprise. “Her name is Saoirse. She’s the First Sword of Sreng, whatever that means. Not much is known about her, given how far away the country is. But apparently she came here with a slew of tough berserkers. Some of the hardest men you could find. And yet, they treat her with much respect and reverence. Look, that’s them.” She points to a mansion that sports a red and black vulture on its facade, the symbol of the nation of Sreng. There, you find several large, hulking men, each of whom is clad in battle-scarred iron and fur. They stand in a circle around one of their own, who was currently holding himself up by his hands atop a large keg, drinking from the tap.
>“What the hell?” You mutter in amazement. Far be it from you to tell anyone how to behave, but between Almyra and Sreng, the superiority complex these Morfisians had was only sure to grow.
You both finally make it to the front of the Fodlan Embassy. There on the sprawling lawn, you find your companions, simply standing around in a circle.
>“What are you all doing?” You ask an angrier than usual Cuthbert. Adeline and Cassius were busy roasting some meat over the fire for that night’s meal, while May was lying on the grass, sharpening one of her daggers. Nadia meanwhile, was conspicuously absent.
“They won’t let us inside.” Cuthbert growls, clearly annoyed. “Said we can’t go in without the supervision of a declared champion. So we’ve been stuck out here waiting for you to get back.”
“Nadia was here with us, till some dorks from the Royal College came looking for her.” May informs you. “She said she’d be back later, then left with Alvin. How was your reunion with Bronte?”
>“Very touching and moving.” You say glibly. “Get that meat off the fire and let’s go inside.”
“Hey! A new face!” Someone calls out from behind you. You turn to find a strange looking man. He had long, greasy black hair, and a rather sharp pointed nose, yet there was no mistaking he was of Fodlan stock. His armor and cloak were of rather high quality, likely made for a noble, and there was a rather ornate sword scabbard at his side. You had no doubt about it, this was a fellow contender.
>“And you are?”
“Thomas vi Muller.” The man says proudly. “I’m the fourth son of House Muller, on the border of Bergliez and Gloucester. You’re Tristain d’Rusalka, aren’t you? A pleasure to meet you!” He offers a handshake.
>A): Accept the man’s handshake
>B): Turn him away
>C): Ask how he knows you
>D): Write-in
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