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7/17/2025, 5:56:04 PM
>>6275646
So here you are in the middle of an almost forgotten road. You say it’s almost forgotten because, in truth, the only people who ever use such a pathway are those who wish to travel without even the possibility of fanfare, such as, say, the Royal Family when conducting business with a vassal. Naturally, these are the kinds of things you remember even after years, while others would forget. That is because you are better than other people—Tis’ only science.
A few paces ahead of you, in the direction of the manor, is a felled tree that you had the adventurers cut down. Perhaps if the Bloodgraves were to travel on individual horses, they’d be able to leap over it, but you know they won’t. Why deal with the pains of riding a horse when you can sit in a lovely carriage with plush seats when another drives the horses? That is not rhetorical, you quite literally have no idea why one would choose the former.
Your walkie-talkie blasts to life at your side, almost startling you, “Bloodgraves en route,” comes the crisp voice of the iron-ranked adventurer you had hidden further down the path as a scout. You only have a pair of the things, so you can’t expect reinforcements from the other groups unless you send a magical flare into the air. You don’t do that yet, would only give away your position.
“Ready yourselves!” You shout to your cohort, “Expect our guests within minutes!”
You don’t turn around to see the reactions of your friends and the adventurers, but you are pleased to hear the sounds of weapons unsheathing and to feel the presence of readied magic fill the air. The next moments are familiar, the anxiety before battle. No matter how grave the situation, the flutter in your head and weight in your chest is the same. You feel like a little girl waiting for her first bout with your weapon master at the tender age of six after a year of practicing your fundamentals. You lost handily, but you remember a smile never leaving your face for the rest of that day. You’re not smiling now.
The fallen tree is at a bend so that neither the carriage driver nor the horses will have sufficient time to react to its presence if they’re racing at the speeds you’re expecting them to. And of course, you’re proven correct. As two silver horses round the corner, only to rear with panicked neighs as the driver tries not to topple over. Perfect, everything is going exactly as planned. You allow yourself a moment of reprieve as a breeze blows through your hair and you step up the fallen tree. You’re certain that in the moonlight, you cut an intimidating figure.
“Cease-!” You begin to exclaim before the hairs on your body rise all at once, and your trained reflexes demand you drop to the ground at once. You do so, and the man behind you, a catfolk with ginger hair and a cute face, explodes. The cause of death being from the burst of three rounds that tore through both the carriage and his body in an upward line before the rounds themselves detonated.
So here you are in the middle of an almost forgotten road. You say it’s almost forgotten because, in truth, the only people who ever use such a pathway are those who wish to travel without even the possibility of fanfare, such as, say, the Royal Family when conducting business with a vassal. Naturally, these are the kinds of things you remember even after years, while others would forget. That is because you are better than other people—Tis’ only science.
A few paces ahead of you, in the direction of the manor, is a felled tree that you had the adventurers cut down. Perhaps if the Bloodgraves were to travel on individual horses, they’d be able to leap over it, but you know they won’t. Why deal with the pains of riding a horse when you can sit in a lovely carriage with plush seats when another drives the horses? That is not rhetorical, you quite literally have no idea why one would choose the former.
Your walkie-talkie blasts to life at your side, almost startling you, “Bloodgraves en route,” comes the crisp voice of the iron-ranked adventurer you had hidden further down the path as a scout. You only have a pair of the things, so you can’t expect reinforcements from the other groups unless you send a magical flare into the air. You don’t do that yet, would only give away your position.
“Ready yourselves!” You shout to your cohort, “Expect our guests within minutes!”
You don’t turn around to see the reactions of your friends and the adventurers, but you are pleased to hear the sounds of weapons unsheathing and to feel the presence of readied magic fill the air. The next moments are familiar, the anxiety before battle. No matter how grave the situation, the flutter in your head and weight in your chest is the same. You feel like a little girl waiting for her first bout with your weapon master at the tender age of six after a year of practicing your fundamentals. You lost handily, but you remember a smile never leaving your face for the rest of that day. You’re not smiling now.
The fallen tree is at a bend so that neither the carriage driver nor the horses will have sufficient time to react to its presence if they’re racing at the speeds you’re expecting them to. And of course, you’re proven correct. As two silver horses round the corner, only to rear with panicked neighs as the driver tries not to topple over. Perfect, everything is going exactly as planned. You allow yourself a moment of reprieve as a breeze blows through your hair and you step up the fallen tree. You’re certain that in the moonlight, you cut an intimidating figure.
“Cease-!” You begin to exclaim before the hairs on your body rise all at once, and your trained reflexes demand you drop to the ground at once. You do so, and the man behind you, a catfolk with ginger hair and a cute face, explodes. The cause of death being from the burst of three rounds that tore through both the carriage and his body in an upward line before the rounds themselves detonated.
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