Auto-translated
So, basically, with the discount card, I can buy the Alivan two-handed sword and upgrade it along with the armor. That's what I'll do.
Whatever
Heroist
Posts from Reimian Empire
Auto-translated
Heroist
kcfgogbfalgfl
Ple-Sen
Auto-translated
You can also reduce stats by half for two characters.
Небо
Auto-translated
Well, you can, but then you need to put the second character in a different group.
You can also reduce stats by half for two characters.
Give a negative experience and income modifier.
Небо – мольбы не ждёт
Небо – угроз не слышит
Небо – ведёт особый счёт
Небо – тебя найдёт
Небо – угроз не слышит
Небо – ведёт особый счёт
Небо – тебя найдёт
По вопросам модерации: [email protected]
kcfgogbfalgfl
Небо
Auto-translated
Revan, if I use a scroll that costs 2000, will I get a 500 Rummy discount because of the map? Is that correct?
Небо – мольбы не ждёт
Небо – угроз не слышит
Небо – ведёт особый счёт
Небо – тебя найдёт
Небо – угроз не слышит
Небо – ведёт особый счёт
Небо – тебя найдёт
По вопросам модерации: [email protected]
kcfgogbfalgfl
Небо
Auto-translated
Yeah...
Added 1 minute ago
By the way, I'll slightly enhance your staff, but I'll clarify right away that it won't restore mana outside of battle.
Небо – мольбы не ждёт
Небо – угроз не слышит
Небо – ведёт особый счёт
Небо – тебя найдёт
Небо – угроз не слышит
Небо – ведёт особый счёт
Небо – тебя найдёт
По вопросам модерации: [email protected]
kcfgogbfalgfl
Небо
Auto-translated
Having received the new documents, Tria immediately went to the city administration in search of a job. She arrived just in time, as they were finishing up the recruitment for the expeditions. The exploration of the Imperial Palace of Reisen Reim seemed like the most optimal option to her. Simply walk through the ruins for ten thousand? Why not. Although, it seemed like there was a catch. What happened in this palace that required armed people to ensure security and eliminate potential threats? But the other options appealed to her even less.
Her application was quickly approved, and she was given money and a discount card. There was still time before the departure, and the sorceress decided to first visit a store called "Falling Star": "How romantic it sounds," Tria thought. The assortment turned out to be extremely meager, and she didn't have much money either. The girl bought a "Lightning Strike" scroll. It was a spell that she was just about to start studying at the academy, but she didn't have time. After that, she went to buy supplies for the journey: tea, coffee, bread (4), rations (1), rice (4). Having finished her shopping, Tria returned to the administration to await departure.
Her application was quickly approved, and she was given money and a discount card. There was still time before the departure, and the sorceress decided to first visit a store called "Falling Star": "How romantic it sounds," Tria thought. The assortment turned out to be extremely meager, and she didn't have much money either. The girl bought a "Lightning Strike" scroll. It was a spell that she was just about to start studying at the academy, but she didn't have time. After that, she went to buy supplies for the journey: tea, coffee, bread (4), rations (1), rice (4). Having finished her shopping, Tria returned to the administration to await departure.
Небо – мольбы не ждёт
Небо – угроз не слышит
Небо – ведёт особый счёт
Небо – тебя найдёт
Небо – угроз не слышит
Небо – ведёт особый счёт
Небо – тебя найдёт
По вопросам модерации: [email protected]
Граф Орлов
Auto-translated
Tristan
Tristan was born in the year 737 in Areid, into the family of a wealthy merchant—insofar as the term "wealth" is even applicable to Areidians. The only son in the family, his parents' hope and support, heir to the fortune and successor to his father's business, he seemed destined for success and riches. But regardless of what one's surroundings impose, a person creates their own destiny, and this story is exactly about that.
______________________________________________________________
From the age of nine, John, Tristan's father, began preparing his son for the future. John's father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had been merchants; through hard work, an innate commercial vein, and—when necessary—cunning and malice, they increased their fortune, meaning his son would follow this path. Why? John himself did not know the answer.
Every day brought literacy lessons. Writing, reading, studying numbers—Tristan hated all of it equally. It wasn't as if he were born a fool, nor were the teachers lacking in knowledge, but his very essence resisted the process of learning. Driven to fury by his son's blatant unwillingness to study, John beat him almost every other day, first with a belt, then with a whip. Tristan would scream from the pain and beg for mercy, but as soon as he sat down to study the next day, it all repeated itself. For six months, John tried in vain to beat the stubbornness out of his son. Although the teachers managed to hammer some scraps of knowledge into Tristan's head, his same-old obstinacy was never broken. Often, the boy would run away from home for long periods into the city streets. Life boiled there; educators and parents didn't stifle him there; his peers wandered there—children from less fortunate families whom his parents forbade him to associate with. There was freedom. Sometimes he and his friends ventured beyond the city walls in search of "adventures." Such actions could be significantly dangerous; once, Tristan nearly lost his life after encountering a wild boar in the forest, but naturally, no one thought about the possible risk. At that age, they do not fear death. And although he was always mercilessly beaten upon returning home, followed by an hour-long lecture, his craving for adventure and freedom only grew.
______________________________________________________________
Tired of his son's antics and realizing the inefficiency of caning, John decided to put him to work in the shop. From morning until evening, thirteen-year-old Tristan had to stand behind the counter, gazing longingly at the world around him.
One day, Gordon, an old friend of Tristan's, passed by the shop.
-- Hey, -- the acquaintances exchanged a handshake. -- What, still standing there?
-- Uh-huh, -- Tristan muttered gloomily.
-- What, maybe you won't even go watch the tournament?
-- What tournament?
-- A real one! Did you see those types from Tanarsis in town who arrived a few months ago? Real tough guys, in armor and all that. Well, they're going to fight each other, and we can actually watch the bouts. Cool, right!
-- And we can really go? Seriously?
-- W-well. There are no free spectacles, -- Gordon slumped, but then suddenly perked up. -- But you've probably saved up some revenue! Let's go!
-- I'm dead meat at home...
-- Come on, an opportunity like this only happens once! Go on, make up your mind!
-- Eh, alright! -- Tristan waved his hand gallantly, -- Only there's a catch: that guy over there, the merchant opposite—he also works for my father and is keeping watch.
-- Don't sweat it, I'll handle it, -- Gordon headed to the merchant's counter and began talking to him about something.
Taking the money, Tristan ran away from the counter. The merchant, distracted by Gordon, only noticed this when the boys had vanished without a trace.
______________________________________________________________
And so the boys, having paid for entry and pushed through the crowd, found themselves at the edge of the lists.
-- The tournament is about to begin! -- cried the herald from the platform. -- Thirty fighters will battle one another for the right to be called the best! I present to you the participants...
The crowd roared, welcoming the fighters. One by one they entered the arena. Against the backdrop of frail Areidians in dingy, poor clothing, the tall, solidly built warriors in shining armor and bright cotte appeared to the boys as titans, demigods.
And then the fights began. It was a stunning spectacle! The Tanarsians fought with real, sharpened weapons, and they battled until one fell or surrendered. Since no one was in any hurry to surrender, it was a magnificent festival of blood and violence. The atmosphere of adrenaline and combat excitement seized the spectators as well: people made reckless bets, wagering almost their last coins on the victory of one fighter or another. Gordon and Tristan didn't place bets, but they cheered nonetheless: Gordon for a towering brute with a two-hander who had already won two fights with a single powerful blow; Tristan for a shorter but no less powerful warrior with a shield and sword who had won three bouts without letting a single strike through. And now, they were in the final fight. On the side of the fighter with the two-hander were reach and power: he swung his sword incessantly, but the blows landed either on the shield or the opponent's blade. The fighter with the shield looked absolutely calm; cold-bloodedly parrying every strike, he tried to close the distance. And then his opponent began to tire: he broke the distance more slowly, and the gaps between his attacks grew longer. At that moment, he missed a strike, then another... But he was still strong and dangerous: with powerful blows, he seemed to drive the fighter with the one-handed sword into the ground. Finally, he managed to land a hit, but it lacked the power to disable the shield-bearer, and the latter went into a clinch. Unleashing a flurry of strikes upon his opponent, the fighter with the sword and shield won.
-- And so, the winner is the fighter named William! Let us welcome the victor!
Amidst the roar of applause, William left the lists. The people were unwilling to disperse; they discussed the fights and recounted the money earned from bets. Enthusiastic spectators congratulated the winner. Tristan was among them.
-- Tell me, Sir William, -- Tristan addressed the winner, unexpectedly even to himself. -- Will I ever be able to become a warrior like you?
-- Ha-ha-ha, -- the champion laughed kindly. The Areidians also laughed, but with contempt. -- Now then, stop laughing at the lad, it's a good ambition! I'll tell you this: if you want it badly enough and put in the effort, anything is possible in this world. If you train diligently, if you cultivate the spirit of a warrior within yourself, with God's help, everything will work out. Not soon, of course, but eventually...
At that point, other Areidians pushed Tristan back, and he was unable to ask anything more. It was time to return home. Perhaps the most serious beating of his life awaited him, but he firmly decided not to utter a word during it, as befits a warrior.
______________________________________________________________
From that moment on, Tristan dedicated his life to this mad dream—to become a true warrior. The champion told him to "train"—he didn't know how to do it properly, but he tried as best he could. Tristan lifted and tossed sacks of grain, suffering joint pain and strained ligaments; he tried to bend a poker, risking a severe thrashing from his parents; he beat trees with an iron bar, scraping his palms down to the raw flesh. He even managed to learn how to read somewhat—so that he could master a fencing book he bought from a traveling merchant. At sixteen, he ran away from home and found work. And then, at nineteen, he stood before the residence of the Tanarsian knights.
-- What do you want, vagabond?
-- I want to join you! -- Tristan said resolutely. He had prepared for this day for four years.
-- You?! Don't make me laugh, Areid. If we put armor on you, you'd just fall over. Get out of here.
-- I trained! Even William said that I could become a warrior one day.
-- Who the hell is William? I'm telling you, we don't take cripples.
-- I won't leave until you tell the commander about me!
-- Some kind of lunatic. Get lost before I kill you, -- the guard pointed his sword at Tristan. There was no choice; barely suppressing a bitter resentment, Tristan retreated.
What if they were right? What if the guard was right—after all, Areidians really are weaker than Tanarsians? What if his father was right—he truly had the chance to become a successful merchant? What if Gordon was right, who called Tristan's dream childishness and nonsense when he told him about it? No, that cannot be! It's just not all at once. And this rejection is merely a test of the resilience of his spirit. Judging by this, Tristan decided to join the city guard for now, and from there—we'll see.
______________________________________________________________
In the books of the Tanarsians, Tristan read that it was not enough for a warrior to be simply strong and brave. A warrior's duty also implied a code of honor, protecting other people, and serving ideals. It wasn't as if Tristan were a saint or a paragon of virtue, but he was an honest man and tried to act according to his conscience. Perhaps that is why he was never good at trade. One would think—wouldn't service in the city guard suit him perfectly? Tristan had never been so cruelly mistaken. His comrades spent their free time lounging in brothels and drinking themselves blind. They could hit a person simply because they happened to cross their path. They were lazy and greedy. Still, Tristan tried to correct their behavior whenever possible; besides, they still provided some benefit to society. Once, Tristan managed to "bust" a bandit den. Having dealt with the lackeys without much effort, he caught the leader and dragged him to the commander of the city guard. With a clear conscience, he went to sleep, certain that tomorrow he would see the scoundrel on the gallows.
He was not on the gallows. Nor was he in the dungeon. An enraged Tristan rushed around the city guard station, trying to understand how the bandit had managed to escape.
-- Ah, we let him go, -- one of the guards finally said. -- The captain said so.
Absolutely failing to understand what was happening, Tristan burst into the commander's office.
-- Where is the leader?! You let him go?!
-- Calm down, calm down. Sit. Listen, I appreciate your diligence. But here you overdid it.
-- Overdid it?! I caught a criminal, how is that "overdoing it"?
-- Oh, everything has to be explained to you young people... In short, here, -- the captain pulled out a small pouch of coins. -- Take this and forget about that man. And furthermore, from now on, you will catch those whom I tell you to catch.
Tristan couldn't even find an answer. Spitting contemptuously on the table, he left the guard residence and never returned there again.
______________________________________________________________
Tristan became a mercenary. One might think that killing for money is not the cleanest occupation, but in reality, it was far better than serving in the city guard. And he finally fulfilled his dream. His father would sooner eat his own glasses than believe such a thing. Wandering the world, earning a living through martial skill—was this not what he strove for? Of course, back then, ten years ago, everything seemed much more idealized, but life in general is full of disappointments. One had to reconcile with reality if there was no way to change it.
This time, the path led Tristan to the Empire of Reime, to Calvad. He signed up for a mission to explore the imperial palace.
Characteristics:
Strength - 40
Intelligence - 5
Will - 17
Dexterity - 15
Perception - 40
Wisdom - 5
Charisma - 8
Skills:
One-handed weapon
+1 to accuracy for each unit of perception.
Parrying
The character can parry enemy attacks (accuracy).
Light Step
+1 to evasion for each unit of dexterity.
Movement Speed
+1 additional attack.
Shield
+10 to accuracy, +100 to health. The character can block enemy strikes with a shield.
Practice
+0.5 to accuracy when using shields.
Inventory: one-handed sword, shield, plate armor
Tristan was born in the year 737 in Areid, into the family of a wealthy merchant—insofar as the term "wealth" is even applicable to Areidians. The only son in the family, his parents' hope and support, heir to the fortune and successor to his father's business, he seemed destined for success and riches. But regardless of what one's surroundings impose, a person creates their own destiny, and this story is exactly about that.
______________________________________________________________
From the age of nine, John, Tristan's father, began preparing his son for the future. John's father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had been merchants; through hard work, an innate commercial vein, and—when necessary—cunning and malice, they increased their fortune, meaning his son would follow this path. Why? John himself did not know the answer.
Every day brought literacy lessons. Writing, reading, studying numbers—Tristan hated all of it equally. It wasn't as if he were born a fool, nor were the teachers lacking in knowledge, but his very essence resisted the process of learning. Driven to fury by his son's blatant unwillingness to study, John beat him almost every other day, first with a belt, then with a whip. Tristan would scream from the pain and beg for mercy, but as soon as he sat down to study the next day, it all repeated itself. For six months, John tried in vain to beat the stubbornness out of his son. Although the teachers managed to hammer some scraps of knowledge into Tristan's head, his same-old obstinacy was never broken. Often, the boy would run away from home for long periods into the city streets. Life boiled there; educators and parents didn't stifle him there; his peers wandered there—children from less fortunate families whom his parents forbade him to associate with. There was freedom. Sometimes he and his friends ventured beyond the city walls in search of "adventures." Such actions could be significantly dangerous; once, Tristan nearly lost his life after encountering a wild boar in the forest, but naturally, no one thought about the possible risk. At that age, they do not fear death. And although he was always mercilessly beaten upon returning home, followed by an hour-long lecture, his craving for adventure and freedom only grew.
______________________________________________________________
Tired of his son's antics and realizing the inefficiency of caning, John decided to put him to work in the shop. From morning until evening, thirteen-year-old Tristan had to stand behind the counter, gazing longingly at the world around him.
One day, Gordon, an old friend of Tristan's, passed by the shop.
-- Hey, -- the acquaintances exchanged a handshake. -- What, still standing there?
-- Uh-huh, -- Tristan muttered gloomily.
-- What, maybe you won't even go watch the tournament?
-- What tournament?
-- A real one! Did you see those types from Tanarsis in town who arrived a few months ago? Real tough guys, in armor and all that. Well, they're going to fight each other, and we can actually watch the bouts. Cool, right!
-- And we can really go? Seriously?
-- W-well. There are no free spectacles, -- Gordon slumped, but then suddenly perked up. -- But you've probably saved up some revenue! Let's go!
-- I'm dead meat at home...
-- Come on, an opportunity like this only happens once! Go on, make up your mind!
-- Eh, alright! -- Tristan waved his hand gallantly, -- Only there's a catch: that guy over there, the merchant opposite—he also works for my father and is keeping watch.
-- Don't sweat it, I'll handle it, -- Gordon headed to the merchant's counter and began talking to him about something.
Taking the money, Tristan ran away from the counter. The merchant, distracted by Gordon, only noticed this when the boys had vanished without a trace.
______________________________________________________________
And so the boys, having paid for entry and pushed through the crowd, found themselves at the edge of the lists.
-- The tournament is about to begin! -- cried the herald from the platform. -- Thirty fighters will battle one another for the right to be called the best! I present to you the participants...
The crowd roared, welcoming the fighters. One by one they entered the arena. Against the backdrop of frail Areidians in dingy, poor clothing, the tall, solidly built warriors in shining armor and bright cotte appeared to the boys as titans, demigods.
And then the fights began. It was a stunning spectacle! The Tanarsians fought with real, sharpened weapons, and they battled until one fell or surrendered. Since no one was in any hurry to surrender, it was a magnificent festival of blood and violence. The atmosphere of adrenaline and combat excitement seized the spectators as well: people made reckless bets, wagering almost their last coins on the victory of one fighter or another. Gordon and Tristan didn't place bets, but they cheered nonetheless: Gordon for a towering brute with a two-hander who had already won two fights with a single powerful blow; Tristan for a shorter but no less powerful warrior with a shield and sword who had won three bouts without letting a single strike through. And now, they were in the final fight. On the side of the fighter with the two-hander were reach and power: he swung his sword incessantly, but the blows landed either on the shield or the opponent's blade. The fighter with the shield looked absolutely calm; cold-bloodedly parrying every strike, he tried to close the distance. And then his opponent began to tire: he broke the distance more slowly, and the gaps between his attacks grew longer. At that moment, he missed a strike, then another... But he was still strong and dangerous: with powerful blows, he seemed to drive the fighter with the one-handed sword into the ground. Finally, he managed to land a hit, but it lacked the power to disable the shield-bearer, and the latter went into a clinch. Unleashing a flurry of strikes upon his opponent, the fighter with the sword and shield won.
-- And so, the winner is the fighter named William! Let us welcome the victor!
Amidst the roar of applause, William left the lists. The people were unwilling to disperse; they discussed the fights and recounted the money earned from bets. Enthusiastic spectators congratulated the winner. Tristan was among them.
-- Tell me, Sir William, -- Tristan addressed the winner, unexpectedly even to himself. -- Will I ever be able to become a warrior like you?
-- Ha-ha-ha, -- the champion laughed kindly. The Areidians also laughed, but with contempt. -- Now then, stop laughing at the lad, it's a good ambition! I'll tell you this: if you want it badly enough and put in the effort, anything is possible in this world. If you train diligently, if you cultivate the spirit of a warrior within yourself, with God's help, everything will work out. Not soon, of course, but eventually...
At that point, other Areidians pushed Tristan back, and he was unable to ask anything more. It was time to return home. Perhaps the most serious beating of his life awaited him, but he firmly decided not to utter a word during it, as befits a warrior.
______________________________________________________________
From that moment on, Tristan dedicated his life to this mad dream—to become a true warrior. The champion told him to "train"—he didn't know how to do it properly, but he tried as best he could. Tristan lifted and tossed sacks of grain, suffering joint pain and strained ligaments; he tried to bend a poker, risking a severe thrashing from his parents; he beat trees with an iron bar, scraping his palms down to the raw flesh. He even managed to learn how to read somewhat—so that he could master a fencing book he bought from a traveling merchant. At sixteen, he ran away from home and found work. And then, at nineteen, he stood before the residence of the Tanarsian knights.
-- What do you want, vagabond?
-- I want to join you! -- Tristan said resolutely. He had prepared for this day for four years.
-- You?! Don't make me laugh, Areid. If we put armor on you, you'd just fall over. Get out of here.
-- I trained! Even William said that I could become a warrior one day.
-- Who the hell is William? I'm telling you, we don't take cripples.
-- I won't leave until you tell the commander about me!
-- Some kind of lunatic. Get lost before I kill you, -- the guard pointed his sword at Tristan. There was no choice; barely suppressing a bitter resentment, Tristan retreated.
What if they were right? What if the guard was right—after all, Areidians really are weaker than Tanarsians? What if his father was right—he truly had the chance to become a successful merchant? What if Gordon was right, who called Tristan's dream childishness and nonsense when he told him about it? No, that cannot be! It's just not all at once. And this rejection is merely a test of the resilience of his spirit. Judging by this, Tristan decided to join the city guard for now, and from there—we'll see.
______________________________________________________________
In the books of the Tanarsians, Tristan read that it was not enough for a warrior to be simply strong and brave. A warrior's duty also implied a code of honor, protecting other people, and serving ideals. It wasn't as if Tristan were a saint or a paragon of virtue, but he was an honest man and tried to act according to his conscience. Perhaps that is why he was never good at trade. One would think—wouldn't service in the city guard suit him perfectly? Tristan had never been so cruelly mistaken. His comrades spent their free time lounging in brothels and drinking themselves blind. They could hit a person simply because they happened to cross their path. They were lazy and greedy. Still, Tristan tried to correct their behavior whenever possible; besides, they still provided some benefit to society. Once, Tristan managed to "bust" a bandit den. Having dealt with the lackeys without much effort, he caught the leader and dragged him to the commander of the city guard. With a clear conscience, he went to sleep, certain that tomorrow he would see the scoundrel on the gallows.
He was not on the gallows. Nor was he in the dungeon. An enraged Tristan rushed around the city guard station, trying to understand how the bandit had managed to escape.
-- Ah, we let him go, -- one of the guards finally said. -- The captain said so.
Absolutely failing to understand what was happening, Tristan burst into the commander's office.
-- Where is the leader?! You let him go?!
-- Calm down, calm down. Sit. Listen, I appreciate your diligence. But here you overdid it.
-- Overdid it?! I caught a criminal, how is that "overdoing it"?
-- Oh, everything has to be explained to you young people... In short, here, -- the captain pulled out a small pouch of coins. -- Take this and forget about that man. And furthermore, from now on, you will catch those whom I tell you to catch.
Tristan couldn't even find an answer. Spitting contemptuously on the table, he left the guard residence and never returned there again.
______________________________________________________________
Tristan became a mercenary. One might think that killing for money is not the cleanest occupation, but in reality, it was far better than serving in the city guard. And he finally fulfilled his dream. His father would sooner eat his own glasses than believe such a thing. Wandering the world, earning a living through martial skill—was this not what he strove for? Of course, back then, ten years ago, everything seemed much more idealized, but life in general is full of disappointments. One had to reconcile with reality if there was no way to change it.
This time, the path led Tristan to the Empire of Reime, to Calvad. He signed up for a mission to explore the imperial palace.
Characteristics:
Strength - 40
Intelligence - 5
Will - 17
Dexterity - 15
Perception - 40
Wisdom - 5
Charisma - 8
Skills:
One-handed weapon
+1 to accuracy for each unit of perception.
Parrying
The character can parry enemy attacks (accuracy).
Light Step
+1 to evasion for each unit of dexterity.
Movement Speed
+1 additional attack.
Shield
+10 to accuracy, +100 to health. The character can block enemy strikes with a shield.
Practice
+0.5 to accuracy when using shields.
Inventory: one-handed sword, shield, plate armor
E si sui vius, er mi grans benananza,
e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers
e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers
Нэйко
Auto-translated
I won't be able to play today,
so you can play and I'll be there with you in "stealth mode."
so you can play and I'll be there with you in "stealth mode."
kcfgogbfalgfl
Auto-translated
Following the Marquis, the second group soon found themselves at the Calvada railway station. On one of the tracks stood a private train belonging to Delirium.
- Welcome, Mr. Belring, esteemed guests. The young woman who came out to greet the arrivals bowed with elegant movements. - Rest assured, everything was prepared for your arrival. She was introduced as the Marquis's right hand and, to some people's surprise, performed the duties of secretary, maid, and bodyguard. - Please enjoy this trip.
The journey on the Marquis's luxurious train took about 8 hours, after which the group arrived in Ehren. Unfortunately, there was no time to enjoy all the opportunities that this city offered. Delirium A. Belring made it clear that he would only allow them to leave for important matters.
At the Ehren station, the group was met by a young man.
- Hello, father. The Marquis embraced his son. - I hope you had a comfortable journey.
- Of course. Belring's disappointed gaze briefly stopped on the enhancer on the young man's arm, but then returned to its usual serious expression. - Introduce yourself.
- Certainly. The Marquis's son turned to everyone present. - Fever A. Belring, nice to meet you! Allow me to show you the ci...
- We don't have time for that. The Marquis interrupted. - We are going to the port.
In the port, the mercenary group received a surprise. The ship they were supposed to begin their voyage on represented the magnificence of imperial shipbuilding and the genius of the well-established "Reima Shipyards" company, which has been around for centuries. It was aesthetically beautiful and pleasing to the eye, provided its passengers with a high level of comfort, but also boasted excellent combat characteristics.
- Isn't she beautiful? The man who descended the gangway ordered his subordinates to take the passengers aboard. A minute later, everyone was on the deck of the ship. - I am glad to welcome you aboard the "Astra".
- This ship...
- Sairos, you should introduce yourself first, and then talk about the ship. The Marquis, accompanied by Celia, walked past the man and soon disappeared into one of the interior rooms.
- Ha-ha. My name is Sairos Rind, I am the captain of this ship. I would be happy to show you your cabins and give you a small tour, but before that, I recommend that you exchange your money. People in the south love gold and silver, so paper rumii are not popular with them.
- Welcome, Mr. Belring, esteemed guests. The young woman who came out to greet the arrivals bowed with elegant movements. - Rest assured, everything was prepared for your arrival. She was introduced as the Marquis's right hand and, to some people's surprise, performed the duties of secretary, maid, and bodyguard. - Please enjoy this trip.
The journey on the Marquis's luxurious train took about 8 hours, after which the group arrived in Ehren. Unfortunately, there was no time to enjoy all the opportunities that this city offered. Delirium A. Belring made it clear that he would only allow them to leave for important matters.
At the Ehren station, the group was met by a young man.
- Hello, father. The Marquis embraced his son. - I hope you had a comfortable journey.
- Of course. Belring's disappointed gaze briefly stopped on the enhancer on the young man's arm, but then returned to its usual serious expression. - Introduce yourself.
- Certainly. The Marquis's son turned to everyone present. - Fever A. Belring, nice to meet you! Allow me to show you the ci...
- We don't have time for that. The Marquis interrupted. - We are going to the port.
In the port, the mercenary group received a surprise. The ship they were supposed to begin their voyage on represented the magnificence of imperial shipbuilding and the genius of the well-established "Reima Shipyards" company, which has been around for centuries. It was aesthetically beautiful and pleasing to the eye, provided its passengers with a high level of comfort, but also boasted excellent combat characteristics.
- Isn't she beautiful? The man who descended the gangway ordered his subordinates to take the passengers aboard. A minute later, everyone was on the deck of the ship. - I am glad to welcome you aboard the "Astra".
- This ship...
- Sairos, you should introduce yourself first, and then talk about the ship. The Marquis, accompanied by Celia, walked past the man and soon disappeared into one of the interior rooms.
- Ha-ha. My name is Sairos Rind, I am the captain of this ship. I would be happy to show you your cabins and give you a small tour, but before that, I recommend that you exchange your money. People in the south love gold and silver, so paper rumii are not popular with them.
kcfgogbfalgfl
Ple-Sen
Auto-translated
Alaria, with genuine curiosity, looked around. She had never been on ships before, only seen them from afar. And none of them were as impressive as the "Astra." Delirium clearly spared no expense for this expedition.
- Alaria Doran. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rind, - the Tanarian smiled warmly, - and thank you for the advice about the money. Could you tell me where I can do that?
- Alaria Doran. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rind, - the Tanarian smiled warmly, - and thank you for the advice about the money. Could you tell me where I can do that?