Posts from Reimian Empire Auto-translated

That's why I decided to create this character...

Actually, no. I had a similar character concept before, but now I finally had the opportunity to implement it. The fact that the Ink Mage is my second main in Dungeon Fighter Online just happened to coincide.

Jerome

Thirteen years ago, hardly anyone could have guessed what fate awaited Jerome. Were all the events of his life a result of his upbringing? His place of birth? Blind chance and an unfortunate coincidence of circumstances? Was he born corrupted? Or did he choose his own path? Each of these questions can be answered with both "yes" and "no". As in much of this world, there is no absolute truth. One can only trace all the twists of fate for this man and determine the answers for oneself.

Jerome was born into a quite ordinary family. A house and a small plot of land; his father worked part-time as a carpenter. Jerome was the eldest child in the family, with a brother six years younger than him. Jerome was no different from other twelve-year-old Areid boys: he helped the elders with work, loved fishing, and got into fights and trouble.
Famine in Areid is a frequent occurrence. For farmers, it is doubly terrible, and far from all survive more than one failed season. And famine is triply terrible for children, especially when facing it for the first time. So it was for Jerome. But neither the gnawing in his belly nor the eternal weakness infuriated him as much as his younger brother. Jerome worked almost on par with his father and ate the same meager ration as his parents, while the little brat did nothing and ate enough for two. The injustice drove him mad no less than the hunger. This could not end just like that.
Famine had been raging for nearly a year on that ill-fated day when Jerome and his brother went to a high ravine near the village. Berries could sometimes be found in the ravine, so during the famine, trips there became almost an obligation for the children.
The plan had been ripening in Jerome's head for more than a week. Within it struggled the fear of punishment, hatred for the parasite, and the desire to survive. On that day, hatred finally won. His brother approached the edge of the ravine.
"Finally!!!" — hatred seemed to scream in Jerome's brain.
"Kill or all will starve" — said the survival instinct.
"You'll be punished!" — the voice of fear almost drowned out the hatred.
"He is your brother!" — sounded almost as a whisper.
And he decided. With a powerful kick that seemed to contain all these contradictory feelings, Jerome pushed his brother into the ravine. He hit a rock and blood flowed.
Jerome trembled. All his resolve vanished and he quickly left the place, not noticing a gray-haired figure in the distance. He reached home, told his parents with a trembling voice that his brother had fallen into the ravine, lay down in bed, and immediately fell asleep.

The death of Jerome's brother surprised no one — people had grown callous seeing many deaths from hunger. There was no funeral; the father simply buried the son's body in a wasteland. And at night, an unknown old man came to Jerome's house and spoke about something with his father.

The awakening was not pleasant for Jerome. Just as he opened his eyes, he saw his father's terrifying face before him and realized — he knows. With a powerful jerk, the father threw his son against the wall. The mother wailed in the corner.
— Get out! — he screamed. — Or I will kill you, I swear!
— Come to your senses, Jean! Shall we be left entirely without sons? — the mother lamented.
— Shut up, woman! This is no longer my son! I am not the father of a fratricide! — Jean almost swung a knife at Jerome, but the boy had already vanished without a trace.

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Surprisingly, by now Jerome was almost no longer worried. Pulling himself together, he headed to the nearest city, where he often visited with his father. Jerome was already thirteen; since Areidians are introduced to labor early, he could already work, but in this city, even in better times, there was no need for young laborers from the village. Desperate to find work, Jerome was forced to humble his pride and beg for alms. Generosity had never been a national trait of the Areidians, but once every two or three days he scraped together enough for bread, and not all the rats in the city had been eaten. He didn't have much room to be picky.
One day, a wandering warrior from an unknown land arrived in the city. Having never heard stories about knights as a child, Jerome was not impressed by the shining armor, but he was very impressed by the bulging purse. He had never known how to steal, but in this case, there was no choice: either he obtained money right now, or he would die in a couple of days; people had stopped giving to beggars two days ago. Seizing the moment, Jerome cut the purse, but he could not leave unnoticed: the city's paupers, indignant not so much by the theft as by the fact that a teenager suddenly acquired such wealth, raised an alarm. Fast legs saved Jerome; climbing onto the roof of one of the houses, he leaped across the rooftop and was gone.
______________________________________________________________
He moved to another city. The money lasted him three months: by this time, famine had ceased to plague Areid. Jerome still hadn't found a normal job and had to return to begging. The new city was different: huge, rich (by Areidian standards), and crowded. Jerome felt uncomfortable in it, but what did it matter if they gave much more here? And if they didn't give... well, the locals watched their purses worse.
— Give for God's sake to a poor cripple, I humbly ask, as much as you can, — Jerome mumbled, glancing at passersby with one eye. A plump gentleman of about fifty in rich clothing caught his eye, with a golden symbol of the Enclessian faith hanging proudly on his chest. He walked, no, not walked — he strutted down the street in the company of a woman around forty and a girl who looked slightly younger than Jerome.
— Noble sir, show mercy to an unfortunate soul, — he addressed the rich man with the most miserable expression on his face, but the latter only kicked him and continued his procession.
— Why, sir, do you not help those in need, as the faith teaches? — Jerome muttered after him, while thinking to himself
"**ing Proasteian **sos, you greedy pig, this isn't the first time I've seen you, and it doesn't look like you've ever worked anywhere, may the rats eat you, fat **ard..." — his reflections were interrupted by the clink of coins falling into his outstretched hand. It was that same girl who had been walking with the rich man.
"Cute" — Jerome noted to himself, thanking her and smiling awkwardly.
— Hey, Bella, what the hell? Don't even think about talking to this filthy bum, — the fat man gave his daughter a slap on the back of the head.
Over many months of living as a beggar, Jerome's craving for trouble and conflict had diminished, but now it was truly time to put the fat freak in his place. Grabbing a stone, the teenager sent it straight into the rich man's face. He hit well; with such a shiner under his eye, the fat man would be comfortable walking at night. Under the threats of the rich man, Jerome hurried to retreat.
______________________________________________________________
Jerome spent about a year and a half begging and cutting purses. He often saw Bella. This girl remained a mystery to him: they had almost nothing in common, but she continued to come. Was it a desire to escape from her father—a domestic tyrant, a manifestation of mercy, a craving for "street romance" which Jerome heard the rich sometimes experience, or something else? He could only guess.
Often Jerome was beaten by fellow sufferers who received less money than he did. Although Jerome himself was no fool in a fight, against a group of dissatisfied bums of five to ten people, he inevitably passed. This time he was beaten especially brutally. He lay in the mud under the rain at the threshold of an eating house; almost everything hurt, his eye was swollen shut, and blood flowed from his nose. He lacked the strength even to stand, although it wouldn't have been worth doing anyway — the beatings would have continued. So he lay there, inhaling the aroma of earth mixed with blood through his nose.
— Now then, — a voice sounded. — And how long are we going to lie here?
Jerome remained silent.
— You took quite a beating this time, eh? But it's better to get up, otherwise you'll catch a cold, — someone lightly poked him in the side with the toe of a boot.
Jerome remained silent and continued to lie there. "What does he want? He should go his own way."
— Alright, let's end the performance, — the stranger kicked him, shook him by the shoulders, and offered a hand.
"Alright, it seems they won't beat me anymore, really no point in lying around" — Jerome reasoned and stood up.
— What a sight, — the stranger grumbled, took a tub that was standing by the tavern, and tipped it over Jerome, washing away the mud and blood. — Better already.
— Who are you? — the stunned youth didn't even think to thank the stranger, who turned out to be a neatly but cheaply dressed mustachioed man of about thirty.
— You can call me Mark, if you're interested in my name. And if the question isn't about that... Then you could say that I am almost the most important person in this city.
Jerome found nothing to answer.
— Maybe we should go inside? — the man calling himself Mark pointed to the tavern door. — It's damp here, and it's more pleasant to talk with food and drink.
— I don't have any more money... — Jerome began, but Mark interrupted him
— Don't worry about that, let's go.
Having ordered food and a large bottle of moonshine, Mark and Jerome sat at a table.
— Thanks, by the way, — Jerome finally remembered politeness. — Why are you helping me at all?
— Tell me, do you like being a pauper? Playing poor, living in shit, fearing retribution for stolen purses, feeling inferior before that girl?
— How do you... — Jerome wanted to ask, as he already disliked the excessive knowledge of his interlocutor, but Mark interrupted him with a gesture.
— I know many things, — he smiled cunningly. — Oh, here comes the food!
They were brought food, drink, and two glasses. Generously splashing murky liquid into both, Mark pompously raised his glass.
— Well, to our acquaintance! What was your name again?
— Jerome.
— Pleased to meet you, Jerome! — the glasses clinked. Jerome had never drunk alcohol before — he had no money. The stinking brew burned his throat, after which it seemed to spread through his body with a pleasant warmth.
— So, returning to the topic: does this life suit you?
— What, are there those who find it suitable? — Jerome smiled bitterly. — What is all this conversation about anyway, Mark?
— Let's put it this way, I'm offering you a job. It seems you'd be quite fit for it.
— And what kind of job? Do you think I know how to do anything special?
— I'm sure you'll suit our work, — Mark poured moonshine into the glasses again, — Shall we drink?
— Let's drink, — Jerome sighed. He didn't like this overly friendly and knowledgeable type, but it would be a sin to miss the opportunity to eat and drink like a human being.
— Ah, that goes down well! The work isn't entirely official, but it's good! As I know, you're no fool when it comes to stealing, and you seem to know how to fight, and our work is related.
— Why would you offer me to join your gang? — Jerome lowered his voice.
— Because you truly have a talent. And please, don't call it a gang; we are a serious organization. We could really use skilled people right now, — the moonshine filled the glasses once more. — And for you, this is a very serious benefit, think about it.
— Yes? And what benefit?
— Well, for example, you'll never be beaten in the street again. You'll have a place where you can hide from the weather. Even though you'll give us money, you'll always have enough of your own. You can buy something for your rich girl, then she'll definitely give...
Had Jerome been sober, he might have put Mark in his place, but now he only snorted obscenely.
— Looks like I don't even have a choice. Deal.
— Deal, — Mark smirked. — Let's go, I'll introduce you to the team.
______________________________________________________________
Mark did not lie — being a bandit was indeed much more pleasant and profitable than being a pickpocket and beggar. Murders, racketeering, robberies — all this returned Jerome's youthful excitement and love for life. He was in his seventeenth year of life; he walked through the evening city, enjoying the fresh air.
— Jerome? — a pleasant female voice called out to him.
— Ah, Bella, hi. How are things?
— Normal, — Bella sighed. — You disappeared so suddenly, without even saying anything... I thought something had happened to you. What's going on in general?
— Well, I found a job, — Jerome said, with pleasure noting his acquaintance's concern.
— And what kind of job?
— That's not important. You tell me about yourself; what's happening in your life?
— The same as a year ago. Father has completely started to lose his mind. And he wants to marry me off.
— Not happy about it?
— Not happy. To have my father marry me off to some rich old geezer?
They walked through the city for a long time; evening had managed to turn into night.
— You know what, Bella? A little more time, and I'll save up enough so that we can escape from here together. No more paupers, crazy relatives, just us and a new life.
— Do you even believe your own words? You can't run from fate.
— You think our fate is to rot here? To hell with such a fate.
______________________________________________________________
A month passed. Jerome understood perfectly that one cannot simply quit his "job," and therefore waited for the moment when he could take the maximum and escape forever. Meanwhile, he knocked on the door of Bella's house.
— Have you completely lost your mind?
— Don't be afraid, I know the old folks have gone. Look, I brought you a gift, — with these words, Jerome handed Bella a package from a jewelry workshop.
— This is pure silver, — Bella said with a sigh of surprise, examining the jewelry, — Where did you get the money, Jerome? Did you kill or rob someone?
— Even if so, what difference does it make? — seeing the fear on Bella's face, Jerome remembered that he was talking to a believer and corrected himself, — Calm down, I didn't rob anyone. It's just that I'm really well paid.
Jerome entered the house, sat on the sofa like he owned the place, and pulled a bottle of wine from his bosom.
— Maybe we should drink?
— Is this some kind of seduction?
— Ah yes, you believers aren't allowed until marriage, — Jerome sneered.
— Well, you understand yourself.
— What difference does it make, I'm telling you that when we...
— Yes, yes, when we leave and all that, — Bella still filled the glass with wine; a strange determination was read in her eyes.
"Oh, these believers, even for such simple things some kind of persuasion is needed. What's the problem anyway?"
— You know what? To hell with it all, — in one gulp Bella drained the glass and began to take off her clothes.

Jerome returned to the bandits' lair in high spirits. But he would hardly have been able to sleep peacefully if he had known what awaited him three days later
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— Now then, — Mark looked around at the assembled bandits. — I think we've all longed for some serious business. I found a place where we can make a good haul. Jack, Jerome, One-Eye, and I will go. We gather at night, as usual. You're free.
The day dragged on especially long. In anticipation of the "serious business," Jerome wandered through the city until dark, unable to find peace. He arrived at the meeting place first. He had a crossbow and an axe — any job could turn into a bloody affair.
When everyone gathered, Mark led them through the dark city toward the goal. Wandering through alleys, the cloaked men entered a rich quarter and stopped at one of the houses. Jerome flinched but pulled himself together. The place was well known to him.
— Well, we've arrived, — in the night darkness it was impossible to distinguish the leader's face, but it seemed to Jerome that it was distorted by an incomprehensible smile. — Jack, One-Eye, you go through the first floor. Jerome — through the second.
— And you?
— And I'll wait here. Come on, go.
Climbing onto the roof, Jerome entered the house through an attic window. Searching the cabinets, Jerome almost prayed that the owners of the house wouldn't be there. Alas, all his hopes collapsed when a piercing scream rang out from the first floor.
— Jerome, get your ass over here, — One-Eye's rough voice called him. Barely calming his same trembling, Jerome descended.
On the floor lay the fat man well known to him. He had no clothes on; his belly was ripped open and its contents hung unesthetically outward. His wife lay nearby with a pierced head. It smelled of shit, but the smell of fear was much stronger.
Accustomed to such sights, Jerome wasn't too bothered by the corpses. His attention was fixed on the girl who was trying to break free from One-Eye's iron grip.
— Look at this frisky little bitch, — he roared with laughter. — Jerome, finish her off.
Jerome stood motionless; only his hands trembled. The mask and hood hid his face, but even they could not hide the panic and fear emanating from him.
— Jerome, are you deaf? Kill her now, I said.
— One-Eye, wait, — Jack, who had been silent until then, said in a mocking tone. — It seems our friend is nervous. Let's help him, shall we?
Jack approached Jerome and placed a loaded crossbow into his trembling hands.
— Kill, — he uttered, now without a trace of mockery.
"I won't" — he thought weakly, but did not release the crossbow.
— Kill!
"No" — Jerome suddenly realized that there were now five of them in the room. Mark was standing in the corner. His face was not visible, but Jerome knew that he was currently smiling from ear to ear.
— Do we have a problem? Kill her, Jerome. Or have you forgotten how to shoot?
Jerome remained silent and looked at Bella. In her eyes were read fear, plea, and... hope?
— Jerome, I order you, damn it! You are obliged to obey me!
"No..." — flashed very weakly in his head. Jack grabbed Jerome by the shoulders, pinned him against the wall, and began to hit him in the face.
— Come on, are you a man or what? It's time to decide if you're with us or not.
The words wounded no less than the fists. Jerome stood before Bella again with the crossbow.
— Kill!!!
Jerome closed his eyes and fired. The bolt pierced the skull through and pinned the head to the wall. Jerome fell to his knees, clutching the crossbow in a death grip. He wanted to howl, cry, and die. He couldn't howl because they might hear him; he couldn't cry because he was a man; and no one would let him die.
So he sat there, staring with his eyes at the floor.
— Alright, no need to fall apart. You managed it after all. Let's go.
Jerome remained sitting. Jack and One-Eye lifted him by the shoulders, hit him a few times for prevention, and led him to the exit.
______________________________________________________________
He didn't remember how they reached the den. Now Jerome sat at the table opposite Mark with a blank stare and still wanted to die.
Mark pulled a bottle of moonshine and two glasses from under the table. He poured a little into his own and handed a full one to Jerome.
— Drink. It'll help.
Jerome found no strength to resist and began to drink.
— Listen, I understand you think this is cruel. But it's necessary, do you understand? In this life, you always have to choose; you must be ready to sacrifice one for another.
Seeing that his words were not producing much effect, Mark changed his line.
— Actually, you didn't even have a choice. If you hadn't killed her, we would have killed both of you. You could even say you saved her from One-Eye's tortures. Did it all quickly and without suffering.
— Bullshit, — Jerome finally gathered his thoughts, — We didn't go to that house for money, did we?
— Well... yes. If it makes you feel better, almost all of us have gone through something similar. For our work, this is like an exam, understand? And you passed it!
Jerome answered nothing and only continued to gulp the moonshine.
— It's sickening to look at you. Alright, know my kindness. Here, take this, — Mark handed Jerome a heavy purse, — Now you'll finish drinking, get up, go to Madame Belange, spend this night well, and tomorrow you'll be as good as new.

Madame Belange was the owner of a brothel. More accurately, the real owner of the brothel was Mark, and the madame was only the manager. Jerome often visited this establishment: Mark's acquaintances were served for half price.
Although the shanty was located in the basement of a house in the poor quarter, the establishment was quite clean and decent, and the workers were very much so.
— Hey, Madame, — Jerome shouted as soon as he crossed the threshold, — Three best girls and drinks to my room.
Belange first looked distrustfully at the usually calm and more moderate Jerome but, seeing the contents of the purse, decided to remain silent.
— Three at once or one by one?
— One by one, — Jerome grumbled and went to wait.
______________________________________________________________
Upon waking up, Jerome felt very strange. The fact that he had no clothes on was perhaps normal given where he was. The fact that his head ached and he was terribly thirsty probably also. A puddle of vomit nearby didn't quite fit into the concept of normality, nor did three bottles — one started, one empty, and one broken. And completely abnormal was the wreckage in the room: traces of knife strikes were visible everywhere; the knife itself lay next to Jerome. Fortunately, no bloodstains were visible.
— F*ck... — Jerome struggled to get up, overcoming a gag reflex he reached for the bottle and emptied it in one go. — What happened yesterday?
Having dressed somehow, he headed for the exit. In the doorway, he was met by an angry madame.
— Well look at that, he's recovered. You would have been better off dead, honestly! What the hell did you do here yesterday?
— I don't know. I don't remember.
— Oh, you don't remember? Well, let me tell you. With the first one everything seemed normal. With the second one too. But after the third, you chased her with a knife and defiled the whole room. And you vomited, you pig. The girl only has two exits, do you understand or not? How is she supposed to work now?
Listening to the madame's angry tirades even while sober was an unpleasant activity, and in Jerome's state — all the more so. Ignoring the questions, he silently bypassed the madame and headed for the exit.
— Go on, get out. Be thankful I didn't throw you into the street in your birthday suit! And don't let me see your feet here again!

Stepping outside, Jerome with pleasure inhaled the fresh air through his nose. Memories of yesterday returned, but they no longer seemed like something truly significant, as if everything had happened a long time ago and to a completely different person.
______________________________________________________________
The next few years passed quickly and unnoticed. Although Jerome pretended that he wasn't bothered by the events of the past and tried hard to convince himself of this, still something seemed to break in him on that fateful night. However, he still had an interesting and relatively wealthy life and loyal friends... and when that seemed like weak consolation, alcohol brought oblivion. So Jerome lived, trying to forget the past and not think about the future.
But nothing lasts forever. True, Jerome will see no peace until the end of his life.
This day began with Mark telling him that today they would rob the governor himself. This time they went on the job as a pair. As Mark said, more people wouldn't be necessary.
Everything was supposed to go perfectly. Having easily dealt with a couple of sleepy guards, the bandits broke the door and burst into the estate. As Mark had planned, the owner of the house was not there. They wandered for a long time through empty offices and halls until they reached what they were looking for — a small iron casket hidden in a secret niche. The governor's butler, who happened to be an old acquaintance of Mark's, had told them about it.
— Open it, — Mark ordered. Jerome was the best lockpicker in the gang, which is why Mark took him along.
— Ha, — Jerome exclaimed when the lock finally gave way. The casket was filled with gold almost to the top, — We're rich, Mark, truly rich!
— Yeah... I am rich.
The crossbow string snapped and pain pierced Jerome's right lung. With mute surprise and reproach he watched as Mark carefully picked up the casket and hid it in his bosom.
— Sorry, — Mark said, leaving. — As I said, in life you always have to choose. And I've been sick of this kind of life for a long time.
Mark was no longer seen in this city. He moved to Eren and settled there very well.
And Jerome... Jerome just lay on the floor of the governor's office. The wound was not fatal, but he made no attempt to stand. He had nowhere else to go. It is unknown how long he would have continued to lie there, bleeding out, if he hadn't heard the heavy steps of guards. Obvious danger spurred an unconscious desire to survive: overcoming the pain, Jerome stood up, opened the window and literally fell out of it. The guards must have heard; he had to run. He knew what to do.
Wandering through alleys, Jerome reached the city stables. Having shot a lone guard, Jerome burst into the stable, holding his wound with one hand and pointing the crossbow at the old groom with the other.
— Saddle the horse!
— Mercy!
— Saddle it right now or I'll shoot you, I have nothing to lose!!!
— Now, now, just don't kill me! — the old man feverishly began to equip the horse. Sensing something wrong, the horses became restless; loud neighing echoed through the stable.
— Now step aside, — barely holding the crossbow with one hand, Jerome ownly climbed into the saddle. He hadn't ridden since he was a boy. Jerome poked the steed in the flanks with his heels and it, sensing freedom and the rider's inexperience, raced through the city streets on a route known only to itself, trampling random passersby. Barely maintaining balance, Jerome let go of the reins and clung to the saddle.
The horse stopped only when they had ridden a kilometer away from the city. It was deep night; a bright crescent moon climbed to the top of the sky, illuminating the high spires of the houses in the rich quarter. With an incomprehensible feeling of freedom Jerome looked at the city where he had spent ten years of his life. Here he found both love and friendship. Here too he lost both. Now, having been freed from the city, he seemed to be freed from his past as well. It was still a part of him, but it no longer held its oppressive power over him. He is still young and can continue to move forward... if he survives.
Having treated the wound somehow, Jerome turned the horse and continued his journey into nowhere.
______________________________________________________________
Jerome's adventures did not end just like that. On the second day of the journey, the horse stumbled, twisting its leg. Not knowing the way, without a steed and with an already festering wound, the exhausted Jerome sat, leaning against a rock by the side of the road, preparing to die.
— Hey, Frank, look! Seems someone died!
Hearing voices, Jerome tried to stand up and say that he was alive, but he only managed to emit a loud wheeze.
— Died? — Jerome heard the soft sound of boots hitting the ground. — No, seems alive. Come on, help me!
Frank and his companion lifted Jerome and threw him onto a wagon, pouring a glass of water over him.
— Can you speak?
— I think so, — Jerome opened his eyes. — Who are you?
— Now that's truly an important question! Alright, better just stay silent. Don't waste your strength; the doctor will be here soon.
The doctor turned out to be a girl of about twenty. Seeing the deep festering wound, she almost screamed:
— My God! Were you shot?
— No, I cut myself! — Jerome clumsily tried to joke. — Better tell me, beauty, what are my chances?
— If you've lived until this moment, then you have nothing much left to fear. But it won't heal soon. You need rest.

Treated, Jerome lay on the wagon, resting.
— And still, who are you?
— Caravaneers, — Frank answered. — We're going to Calvad.
— Calvad... Where is that?
— In the Empire.
— Will you take me with you?
— Well, we can't just leave you on the road in such a state. But you still haven't told us about yourself. How did you even manage to end up alone in such a state by the road?
— Too much would have to be explained. Let it remain unknown to you.
— Really? — Frank snorted distrustfully. — Well alright, your right.
______________________________________________________________
Characteristics:
Strength- 17
Intelligence - 7
Will - 17
Dexterity - 39 (+8)
Perception - 34 (+8)
Wisdom - 5
Charisma - 11

Skills:
Crossbow Shooting
+30% armor penetration
Firing range: 7
Eagle Eye
Firing range +7
Swindler
+8 to dexterity, +8 to perception. +1 to stealth for each unit of dexterity.
Assassin
Stealthy melee attacks deal 5 times more damage, ranged — three times.
Lockpicker
Character can pick locks.
Pickpocket
+30 to dexterity when attempting to steal from other characters.

Inventory:
Axe
No money for a sword, and it's convenient for chopping wood. And if you hit the crown of the head, the result will be pleasing.
Tattered cloak with mask and hood
The hood and mask hide the wearer's identity while performing dark deeds. But is there much sense in this if you are almost the only one in the whole city wearing such rags?
A few hand-rolled cigarettes
Another bad habit
Small knife
Sharp enough to cut a purse.
Lockpicks
Crossbow and bolts
Nothing remarkable

-- Get out! -- he shouted. -- Or I'll kill you, I swear!
-- Come to your senses, Jean! Are we going to be left without any sons at all? -- his mother stammered.
-- Shut up, old woman! He is no longer my son! I am not the father of a fratricide! -- Jean raised his knife at Jerome, but he was already gone.

Let's organize a club for Encleseans who have been rejected by their parents.

I was just waiting for the dog to appear. Alex, in my humble opinion, there isn't enough pain and suffering in your airid's life. I hope you will compensate for this significant shortcoming with the events of the expedition.

"Oh, these believers, even for such simple things, they need some persuasion. What's the problem anyway?"
-- You know what? Forget it, -- Bella drained her glass in one gulp and started taking off her clothes.

Oh, these believers.

I was just waiting for the dog to appear.

What dog?

Alex, in my humble opinion, there isn't enough pain and suffering in your hero's life. I hope you will compensate for this significant deficiency with the events of the expedition.

Well, he's only 25. He still has time to suffer a lot.

Judging by the latest reports, the Enclavian faith is not strong enough.

What dog?

A subtle reference for those in the know! Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog) - Jerome Jerome

Faith is strong, but the Araidian mindset is stronger.

Faith is strong, but love is stronger.

Amen.

Generally speaking, besides Ment, who else from those who haven't submitted yet will do so?

Jerome

Is the name a reference?

As for me, my liver was out of order. I knew it was my liver because I had been reading a patent medicine advertisement that listed all the symptoms of liver disease, and I had them all. It was a strange thing, but as soon as I read the advertisement, I felt a sudden urge to take the medicine. I went to the drugstore and bought a bottle, and I started taking it right away. At first, I didn't notice any difference. But after a few days, I started to feel better. My liver felt stronger, and I had more energy. I was so grateful for the medicine that I decided to write a letter to the company that made it. I told them how much it had helped me, and I thanked them for making such a wonderful product. The company wrote back and thanked me for my letter. They said that they were glad to hear that the medicine had helped me, and they offered to send me a free bottle. I was so happy to receive the free bottle of medicine. I knew that it would help me to stay healthy, and I was grateful to the company for their generosity. One day, I was walking through the British Museum, and I saw a display of patent medicines. I stopped to look at the display, and I noticed that there were a lot of medicines that claimed to cure liver disease. I was curious about these medicines, so I decided to read about them. I learned that many of them were made with ingredients that were actually harmful to the liver. I was shocked to learn that these medicines were being sold to people who were trying to cure their liver disease. I realized that the companies that made these medicines were not really trying to help people. They were just trying to make money. I decided to write a letter to the British Museum, and I told them about the patent medicines that were being sold in their museum. I asked them to remove the display of these medicines, and I explained why I thought it was important to do so. The British Museum agreed to remove the display of patent medicines. I was very happy that they had listened to me, and I was glad that I had been able to help protect people from these harmful medicines. I continued to take the patent medicine that had helped me to cure my liver disease. I knew that it was a good medicine, and I was grateful to the company that made it. I also continued to be careful about the medicines that I took. I always read the labels carefully, and I made sure that I was taking the right medicine for my condition. I learned a valuable lesson from my experience with patent medicines. I learned that it is important to be careful about the medicines that you take, and to make sure that you are taking the right medicine for your condition. I also learned that it is important to be skeptical of claims that are made about medicines. If a medicine sounds too good to be true, it probably is. I am grateful for the experience that I had with patent medicines. It helped me to become a more informed consumer, and it helped me to protect myself from harmful medicines.

Is the name a reference?

AlexeagleWhat dog?

A subtle reference for those in the know! Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog) - Jerome JeromeObviously, no.

Still, it’s a good name for an Arcomage. I guessed it.

It's still a good name for an Araid.

Only "Vanya" would be better.