Posts from 🎀 Wisteria 🎀 Auto-translated

There were times when you could even kill off players in the epilogue...

Rish - continues to serve Raphael. Kaya - continues to serve Raphael. Alm - fate unknown. Eim - serves Chrysanthea el Fermate; presumably deceived the slave mark with his knowledge of black magic. Harmid - died of joy a few days after Valdemar's return. Louise - continues to serve Valdemar. Lian Fai - helps Rogdan to the best of her dwindling abilities. Sylphida - tried to teach Ilensio life wisdom and some of her talents; disappeared after a tour of the Azure Alley. Meido - is wanted.

There were times when you could even kill players in the epilogue...

I think that if Mirastir dies, they would erect a huge, shining statue of him right in the middle of Clematis, where he would be flexing.

>In the middle of Clematis
>Statue of a bodybuilder
Yeah, of course...

I think if Mirastir died, they would erect a huge, shining statue right in the middle of Clematis, where he would be flexing.

I think if Mirastir died, they would erect a huge, shining statue right in the middle of Evklazia, where he proudly carries Chrysanthia on his back. However, I wouldn't be surprised if a similar statue was erected there anyway...

Eim serves Chrysanthia, elf of Fermata; presumably tricked the slave mark using his knowledge of black magic.

There should be a thumbs-up emoji here, but it's not displaying.

Yes, you can determine the final fate of your characters if you wish, with the caveat that it should not contradict the realities of the world. For example, Mirastir can also serve a rebel.

When I think about what a continuation of the setting might look like, I realize that I have a clear association with the title "Heroes of Technology and Magic."

villains, technology, and magic

Techno-heroes of techno-swords and techno-magic.

Techno-three: techno-blade of techno-Armageddon.

Arcanum: of Anime and Femdom Obscura (Revan Edition)

Imagine: priestesses of Artheria with their bellies slit open. Or a team of mercenaries, damn it, perished in a catastrophe. Picture a festering abscess in the body of a hippopotamus. And I'll calmly finish my fragrant coffee. Soon I'll meet Inar, precisely at four in the park. It's terrifying, you wouldn't have encountered such fear in school. I need caffeine, hope, a saber, a musket, and faith. That bastard Inar will try to kill me – that's what my friends told me. Since childhood, Inar has left a trail of blood, like a jackal. The first was a pediatrician, strangled with a stethoscope, Inar was six. Then everything continued in the same vein, that bastard Inar escalated things. He killed his own and others, subtracted and divided, you couldn't keep up with him. Now he needs me, no details, Inar has a contract on me. When you trade in people, a lot of shit can happen to you. When you trade near the king, that bastard Inar will come after you. Finish my coffee, go to the park, mess up Inar, and leave. That's the plan, trading in people teaches you hope and clarity. Systematic thinking, a will with a notary, fragrant coffee. Family abroad, money stashed away, there's only me and trouble. Only me and trouble, what else can you do? Business isn't fluffy. I don't have a specific plan "B," and I don't need one. Plan "B" is universal – adrenaline, fucking improvisation, and weapons. I don't have a specific plan "B," and I don't need one. Plan "B" is universal – adrenaline, fucking improvisation, and weapons. In about twenty minutes, I'll be by the tree, alive, damn it, but wounded. Inar is crawling towards the children's swings, behind him – guts, I aim at Inar. A shot to the body, the park is filled with bright greenery, I'm weak and exhausted. I'm swaying terribly, there's a sandbox ahead. Hello, my last colic. Imagine: manatees splashing together in the sunset. Or an old, blind Shen-kae beautifully performing his wushu. Picture Pion in a flawless concert. And I'll calmly give my soul to the Goddess in the sandbox. I feel sorry for the kid, but I'm not sad at all

Epilogue

Because I can



Like a bird of prey, exhausted by its long captivity, Professor Rogdan Kraftmeyer burst out of the stuffy confines of the capital's academy cage with a spring gust, slamming the front door loudly behind him, and raced toward Clematis Square. In one hand, he habitually gripped his modest work briefcase, swinging it wildly about as he ran, undoubtedly causing some damage to the collections of great heroes of Vistoria carefully stored within, which had recently grown significantly not only in volume of information but also in accuracy of content. No man-avalanches or friendly duelists, only precise, practice-tested data. Only such information did the imperial government find satisfactory.
Throughout his life, Rogdan had never lost his characteristic simple optimism, and it could be said with reasonable certainty that life itself returned the sentiment in its own peculiar way. Perhaps he had failed to help and support his comrades—indeed, by his own reckless actions he had brought them much harm and suffering—but fate seemed to smile on him. He had come to love his new way of life, and had also come to love the work that had become the new meaning and sole purpose of his entire current existence. Of course, the affairs of the mercenary organization he had once founded raised doubts, and the newly-minted professor himself could no longer actively participate in its future, but perhaps that was for the best? One way or another, like the Golden Griffin, he had managed to spread his wings and was now swiftly flying along the tidy avenue toward the city square.
Somewhere behind him, Lian Fei undoubtedly followed. Even if he wanted to, Rogdan couldn't spot her with his gaze, but over the past months and years he had somehow grown accustomed to the constant presence of the Shengkai heroine nearby. During this time, a certain spiritual bond had formed between them, one that transcended simple earthly feelings, to which neither of them, by nature and life philosophy, was particularly attached. He certainly couldn't help but notice that her strength seemed ready to wane at any moment, and he sadly awaited that time. Nevertheless, the former aristocrat was sincerely grateful to the heroine for her invaluable help and support, without which he would surely not have survived the hardships of recent years, and he had no doubt that after the contract ended, her soul would find the rest and peace it deserved.

Zerek finished off another portion of hot drink, loudly clinked the bottom of his mug against the surface of the oak table, rose from the bench, and stretched dreamily. At first glance, little had changed about him, except that his old travel jacket had acquired new holes, and his weathered, parched face had gained new scars. In his eyes, however, the spark of adventurism had been extinguished forever, leaving only the dead desert of cold, gray sand.
The former bandit tried not to think about the military operation in Euclasia and shared no stories about it. He also had no interest whatsoever in the exploits of his heroic companion. His own fate, like that of most of his comrades in that ill-fated squad, stirred no response in his soul. Only his three bosom friends and drink could, at least for a while, distract him from the grim reality, but unfortunately they rarely managed to spare any time for shared leisure, so only the latter remained.
Leaving a rundown drinking establishment in a poor quarter, Zerek stumbled his way toward the central square. For some reason, he recalled the time of their first arrival in Clematis, when each of them was still filled with confidence in a bright future. Nevertheless, he didn't think to complain about his fate. Baron Rogdan had helped him break out of the cursed circle of crime and hopelessness, given him hope and faith in his own strength—faith that he was not born a villainous brute, and that everyone could shape their own future, pushing forward despite all obstacles. Everything that followed was merely the result of his own weakness and naivety. And for that, Zerek had no one to blame but himself.

Having warmly bid farewell to her friends, Ilensia hurried to the meeting place. Rushing past a mirror hanging in the hallway, she turned toward it for a moment and involuntarily smiled at her own reflection: her new hairstyle perfectly matched the outfit and earrings she had bought the day before in the Azure Quarter. It was strange to think what indifferent or even unpleasant associations her appearance had once evoked in her.
For many positive changes in her life, she had to thank Baron Rogdan Kraftmeyer and, of course, the Sylphid summoned through his teachings. And although at first their differing life philosophies didn't bring her very close to the latter, the horrors experienced during the war in Sselaya had finally allowed her to realize the full stupidity and inadequacy of her own life choices. Upon returning home, she put an end to useless heroics aimed at satisfying the ambitions of tyrant rulers, and did everything possible to learn peacemaking knowledge and life philosophy from the Cryptid, one not tied to causing pain and suffering to others.
She had always considered herself incapable of such sciences and had tried to make her own life as simple as possible, but as it later turned out, all of that was nothing more than foolishness, probably imposed by the social environment in which she had been unlucky enough to be born and raised. And so now, not only her knowledge of alchemy, herbalism, and medicine, but also her open, albeit slightly assertive, nature had allowed her to gain many acquaintances, friends, and comrades among the most diverse strata of the empire's population.
Once outside, Ilensia breathed in the gentle notes of the evening breeze with relief: a beautiful, quiet night and a cloudless sunny day were promised for tomorrow.

The sun had almost completely disappeared behind the roofs of residential buildings overcome by night's drowsiness when, from different sides of the city square, already familiar figures appeared almost simultaneously.
"Friends!"—Baron Kraftmeyer's delight knew no bounds. "Forgive the late hour for our meeting; I simply couldn't get permission for even such a short visit." He sighed somewhat sadly.
"Don't sweat it, Rogdy!" Zerek gave his former commander an approving pat on the shoulder. "We all understand here, right?"
"Of course," Ilensia nodded. "I honestly didn't expect to see your professorial majesty at all."
"Oh, come on," the former baron waved his hand. It was noticeable how pleasantly cheered he was by the support of his former comrades. "You wouldn't believe how much work there is. Just listen, I'm analyzing the myth of..."
The following time passed with Rogdan's lively stories. His companions, as always, did not interrupt the flow of their former leader's thoughts. It was pleasant to once again, as in the old days, immerse themselves in this wonderful atmosphere of tales and exploits, as if in the heat of youth, when everything seems possible and one's own destiny seems more open and promising than ever.
"Well, that's about it, basically," the professor sighed. "And how are your affairs?"
"Getting by," Zerek grunted briefly.
"I dare to remind you, you should quit drinking alcohol," Rogdan noted. "As I've read, it's never led any hero to anything good."
"Yeah, I know, I know. Starting next week, for sure."
"You said the same thing a month ago," Ilensia smirked.
"And how are things with the 'Griffins'?" the baron continued asking with interest.
"Same as always, the old way..." the former bandit shrugged. "Not much work for now, though they're sending me to the border next week, but we'll see how it goes. I'm definitely not planning on leaving. But, honestly, without you guys, it's just not the same," he added unexpectedly after a short pause. "And without a lot of our guys, well... It's like everything's foreign. It's just not the same, and that's that."
"Well, that's true," Ilensia nodded in agreement. "You're definitely not thinking of leaving? I didn't believe it myself before, but we really do have our whole lives ahead of us."
"Nah, everything's fine," Zerek waved it off. "Don't worry about me. You'd better tell us yourself, when are you moving?"
"Me? Well, we were planning to this weekend with Onelm..." the former Knight replied with a hint of sadness.
"Whoa, well then, happiness to the newlyweds, as they say! Just don't strangle the guy in bed, he's a pretty frail kid," the adventurer chuckled.
"Oh, get lost!" Ilensia punched Zerek hard on the shoulder, nearly knocking him to the ground.
"What wonderful news! I wish you happiness and many years of a strong union from the bottom of my heart! But what does this mean... is this our last meeting before parting?" Rogdan finished with unexpected sadness.
"Oh, come on, with luck, we'll see each other again," Zerek encouraged him.
"And more than once!" added Ilensia.
"Do you really think so?" a note of slight hope sounded in the professor's voice. "Then I will eagerly await that wonderful moment!"
"We all will."
"Even old Darbon?"
"... even Darbon."
An oppressive silence fell over the square. Gusts of wind picked up a torn copy of the news gazette and rustled it lightly along the path around those gathered.
"We're joking, just joking! Darbon, old friend, did you really think we'd forgotten about you? What would we do without our favorite 'Griffin'!" With a laugh, Zerek gestured toward a barely noticeable shadow lurking by the stone wall.
Shuffling his feet uncertainly, an old sorcerer stepped out to meet the group, his gray beard now nearly touching the toes of his worn-out shoes.

Different or the same, together or apart, fate once brought the four of them together. Life would tear them apart, then bind them together again, but one thing had remained absolutely unchanged over these years: their friendship had only grown stronger, and now, perhaps, even death itself could not destroy the unbreakable bond that had forever linked their souls and hearts as one.
And even if absolute darkness enveloped this world, boiling with its mundane cares, this bond would still survive in the memory of those who, from a summit beyond the boundaries of mortal reality, continued to watch and participate in this story. A story that for some was merely a random string of letters and words, yet still managed to become firmly imprinted in the mind. And if so, can it truly be considered merely a fictional tale?
As the heroes of Vistoria show, sometimes even a legend can become reality...

Are you hinting at your roles like that?