Pursuit of the Sun 1.2

Cassius Aurelius

The cellar of the ancient estate of the House of Aurelius stretched beneath the earth like a separate world—gloomy, saturated with dampness and the brilliant echo of long-gone days of glory. Narrow vaults of darkened stone supported a heavy ceiling upon which the reflections of dim torches danced lazily. The flames trembled from the draft, and every gust of air made the shadows on the walls come alive—bending, whispering, and threateningly extending clawed silhouettes.

Along the main passage stood rows of massive barrels bound with iron hoops. Marks of time were visible on their sides—traces of moss and dark stains of wine seeping through cracks. On the walls, between the wooden vessels, ran strips of strange symbols written in something red directly onto the stone. They seemed to pulse under the torchlight—flashing then fading, as if they were breathing. But the gaze of anyone who dared descend here was inevitably drawn to the far hall. There, in the gloom, stood torture devices—wheels, racks, iron cages, and spiked chairs. Some appeared recently used: fresh marks were visible on the armrests, and brown stains had clotted on the floor. The air was heavy with a mixture of old wine and rust, and it was hard to tell which was more prevalent—the alcohol or the pain.

In the center of the hall, in the half-light, stood a tall bed with a velvet coverlet; like a relic of old times, it recalled the former greatness of its previous owners. Above it, swaying quietly on chains from the ceiling, was a figure—a beautiful naked young girl with long dark hair, a narrow waist, and wide hips. Her arms were held by cool metal, and her eyes were hidden by a thick blindfold. She breathed barely audibly, as if the darkness itself did not wish to disturb her peace. Suddenly, a quiet splash sounded from the darkness, and a stream of ice-cold water crashed down upon her. The air filled with the sound of a sharp intake of breath—trembling, half-stifled. Her heart beat fast; fear rang in her ears. Seeing nothing, she frantically tried to catch even one sound capable of explaining where she was. Drops ran down her cheeks, cold seeped under her skin, and every breath echoed with the pain of own incomprehension. In the darkness, it seemed as if the cellar walls were breathing along with her, and somewhere amidst the echoes, footsteps were heard. Steady, confident, too calm for this place. The girl held her breath, listening intently. Each new sound brought the invisible guest closer until finally, a quiet rustle of fabric and the creak of chains were heard nearby. She shuddered when someone touched her face. Fingers—cold, confident—reached for the blindfold. For a moment everything around froze, and only drops from the ceiling counted the seconds. Then the knot loosened, and the tight fabric fell from her eyes. The torchlight slashed across the pupils of green eyes, and the world collapsed in a whirlwind of fire and shadows. Before her stood a man—tall, with dark brown shoulder-length hair, soft facial features, and the gaze of gray eyes that conveyed calmness and something unsettling, almost otherworldly. He was about thirty, but a weariness lurked in his eyes, as if he had lived an entire lifetime. In his hands, he gripped a whip with many tails.

She recognized him immediately—that look, that sad expression on his face, as if woven from deception and charm. The last thing that surfaced in her memory was the warm light of a tavern, laughter, light conversation, and a cup of wine reflecting the fireplace flame. Then—emptiness. Now, in the cellar, the echoes of that evening seemed like a distant dream. He looked at her without words, and his silence became more terrifying than any threats. Tension hung between them, thick as fog.

- Sweet. Too sweet to go unpunished, - the man said, taking the girl by the chin and peering into her beautiful face.
- AAAAAAAA! HELP ME! HELP ME!!! – the beauty's screams echoed loudly through the half-empty halls of the cellar.
- Scream. It won't help. No one will hear you here.
- NO! I BEG YOU! PLEASE DON'T! MY FATHER! HE WILL PAY! – she stammered.
- Pay? I have no need for pork fat.
- No! He is rich! I am the daughter of a duke! Not a peasant! I always lie like that so that...

The man struck her with the whip so that the blow landed on her buttocks. Her speech dissolved into darkness, and a sweet and tender moan soared into the air—a mixture of pain and pleasure. This made him smile slightly.

- There is so much pleasure in pain... - the man spoke softly.
- No... please, my father...

Another blow and another moan. The evening was only beginning.

The autumn wind rustled in the crowns of thinning trees, carrying away the last golden leaves that swirled around a lone figure on horseback. The Knight sat motionless, as if carved from stone, and his gaze was fixed on the estate burning in the distance—once the proud home of his lineage, now turned into charred ruins. The reflection of the fire danced in his eyes, and disappointment, helplessness, and a quiet madness shimmered in those reflections. Smoke stretched toward the sky like a funeral prayer, and he kept watching until he realized—in this flame, not only the past had burned, but he himself. Then the Knight exhaled heavily, looked away, lightly touched the reins, and the horse, snorting, moved away along the deserted road, leaving behind only the rustle of leaves and the dying light of the fire.

That day Cassius went too far. Usually, he never drove women to such a state. For he loved beauty unimaginably and did not want to spoil it. But something drove him into a maniacal frenzy. He killed Laura. As it turned out, she truly was the daughter of a duke. And if Cassius, the son of a bankrupt baron, was "forgiven" by the timid local folk for dishonored, whipped, and slightly cut peasant girls, or tortured-to-death vagrants from the offending rabble, no one intended to forgive the murdered daughter of a duke. The people of her father came for him, along with all those who wished to join in the punishment of the overreaching aristocrat. Fortunately for young Aurelius, a secret passage from the cellar of the burning estate led him into the forest. And the remnants of former wealth and greatness, hidden in his grandfather's crypt, would serve as starting capital for a new life. "A new pain," the Knight thought to himself, gazing at the endless horizon that promised only pain, despair, and hopelessness.

Wheel

S: +10% to damage, +1 to sanity when dealing damage
Healthy: +5 to endurance
Nimble: +5 to reflexes
Disease, ulcer: food provides no bonuses, alcohol reduces health, -1 sanity daily

Gender: male
Origin: Legran, +1 SP for combat specializations, victory in battle gives +1 to a random characteristic
Conviction: Cult of Pain, Character restores sanity when taking damage | Character's HP is doubled

Characteristics

Strength: 6 (+1 from XP)
Endurance: 13 (+1 from XP, +5 from Wheel, +2 from Knight)
Reflexes: 10 (+5 from Wheel)
Intelligence: 8 (+3 from XP)
Will: 5
SP: 3

Specializations and Skills

28 UP (+8 from intelligence)

Literate: Character can read and write x5
Knight: Character knows how to fight mounted, use a shield and heavy armor, receives +2 to endurance and +2 to etiquette
1. Character receives +5 to checks against any negative effects during combat; taking damage, including magical, does not affect sanity x3
2. Character takes 10 units less damage from any attack (calculated before armor and shield deduction) x3
3. Character receives +0.5 to accuracy and evasion per unit of strength x3
4. Accuracy and evasion parameters in one-on-one combat are increased by 1.5 times x4

Weapon Specialization:

Shield
1. Character is able to use a shield. Block chance is determined by the shield x3
2. Block chance is increased by 1.5 times x3

One-handed weapon
1. Additional attack x4

Inventory

1. Ancestor's armor, black as night
2. Helmet in the shape of a falcon's head
3. Cloak, red as blood
4. Steel medium shield with a faded family crest depicting a falcon fallen into a thorn bush
5. Cat-o'-nine-tails (the handle is shaped like a beautiful naked woman whose hair turns into the whip's tails)
6. A few health potions (if possible)
7. Dagger
8. Boot knife
9. Some gold (if possible)
10. Personal sword "Herald of Pain"



11. Small medallion with a portrait of a girl and the inscription: "Laura" on the back