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6/25/2025, 4:24:52 AM
>>6264871
The pale horse gives an unearthly shriek as it pulls back onto its hind legs and kicks the air with fury and grace. A demonic sound, a sound that births fear in the hearts of those who oppose the Empire, like the mighty shriek of ten thousand skeletons. You raise the Blade of the Defiler to the sky in perfect timing with your steed's roar, allowing its shadow to cast a darkness on the camp below. Your voice carries far upon the wind as you call out to its occupants, "You whom have trespassed against the Empire! Know that you have signed the warrant for your death the moment you took up arms against its loyal soldiers. There will be no quarter for you this day, but it is not too late to accept the hand of mercy. Lay down your arms, and I swear to the Autocrat and the Ravager that your deaths shall be quick and painless."
The occupants of the camp look up at you from their campfire, where sausages are currently cooking.
Three are men, two are women. The men are all rather nondescript and ordinary folk, the sort of fellows that the nobles of this world could pick off the street of any village, shove into a set of piecemeal armor, and call them levies when the time for war came. One of the women is dressed in the modest uniform of the Brides of Luminare, an order of priestesses with vows of chastity that you think you will enjoy breaking for her once all of this fighting is done. Though she may have already broken it, considering how clingy she's getting with the other woman. That one has a rich tan and a mop of messy red hair. Her dress leaves you a bit wary, as you can smell the enchantments upon her armor. While it might look like flashy and revealing swimwear, it's an anchor for a constant Mage Armor effect that convinces you that she's a spellsword of some sort.
The three men exchange glances with one another, before they all turn as one to the tanned woman like good minions looking to their superior for orders.
"Well, Big Sis, we gonna listen to this gal?" one of the men asks. He's the burly one, with a morningstar accompanying his piecemeal armor.
"We'll follow your lead, captain," the second man says. He's wiry but strongly built, with a thin sword in his hands.
"She's just one Dreadknight, I bet we can take her!" the youngest of the men says, stars in his eyes and an expression of admiration on his face.
That earns him a glare from the priestess, who rather possessively throws herself onto the shoulder of the spellsword and says, "Big Sis knows that, you idiot! There's no one in the world who can defeat Big Sis, especially when I'm healing her. Now go be useful and shoot your bow at the interloper. Maybe take a blow for Big Sis so that she can get the killing blow and you can die tragically."
The red-haired woman pats the nun on the shoulder. "Now, now, there's no need for that, Stella. We're an adventuring party, we need to get along, not bicker with one another."
The pale horse gives an unearthly shriek as it pulls back onto its hind legs and kicks the air with fury and grace. A demonic sound, a sound that births fear in the hearts of those who oppose the Empire, like the mighty shriek of ten thousand skeletons. You raise the Blade of the Defiler to the sky in perfect timing with your steed's roar, allowing its shadow to cast a darkness on the camp below. Your voice carries far upon the wind as you call out to its occupants, "You whom have trespassed against the Empire! Know that you have signed the warrant for your death the moment you took up arms against its loyal soldiers. There will be no quarter for you this day, but it is not too late to accept the hand of mercy. Lay down your arms, and I swear to the Autocrat and the Ravager that your deaths shall be quick and painless."
The occupants of the camp look up at you from their campfire, where sausages are currently cooking.
Three are men, two are women. The men are all rather nondescript and ordinary folk, the sort of fellows that the nobles of this world could pick off the street of any village, shove into a set of piecemeal armor, and call them levies when the time for war came. One of the women is dressed in the modest uniform of the Brides of Luminare, an order of priestesses with vows of chastity that you think you will enjoy breaking for her once all of this fighting is done. Though she may have already broken it, considering how clingy she's getting with the other woman. That one has a rich tan and a mop of messy red hair. Her dress leaves you a bit wary, as you can smell the enchantments upon her armor. While it might look like flashy and revealing swimwear, it's an anchor for a constant Mage Armor effect that convinces you that she's a spellsword of some sort.
The three men exchange glances with one another, before they all turn as one to the tanned woman like good minions looking to their superior for orders.
"Well, Big Sis, we gonna listen to this gal?" one of the men asks. He's the burly one, with a morningstar accompanying his piecemeal armor.
"We'll follow your lead, captain," the second man says. He's wiry but strongly built, with a thin sword in his hands.
"She's just one Dreadknight, I bet we can take her!" the youngest of the men says, stars in his eyes and an expression of admiration on his face.
That earns him a glare from the priestess, who rather possessively throws herself onto the shoulder of the spellsword and says, "Big Sis knows that, you idiot! There's no one in the world who can defeat Big Sis, especially when I'm healing her. Now go be useful and shoot your bow at the interloper. Maybe take a blow for Big Sis so that she can get the killing blow and you can die tragically."
The red-haired woman pats the nun on the shoulder. "Now, now, there's no need for that, Stella. We're an adventuring party, we need to get along, not bicker with one another."
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