Posts from Ad aspera

Permanent effect -- misfortune

-- Ugh! They're picking on him, sitting in the hallway. See those fine fellows? One of the "fine fellows" is now kicking the other one into the wall and applying makeup to his face with his fists. -- They'll teach him a lesson, I bet...
He paused, took a sip of beer, and then continued, quieter.
-- I see you're not poor... Did you hear about the new decree? Now we can all walk around with daggers or swords. But those who needed to, already did, and those who didn't, won't be able to handle it anyway, and they'll be beaten to death even with a stone. The King, you know... really likes to indulge our kind with freedoms, so it's easier for him to reach into our pockets. And what am I getting at? I can point you to people who can teach you a thing or two about using sharp objects. But information is also a currency.

— I’ll do it, — the previously ignored woman sharply replied to the elder’s earlier question, and then turned to the man, — I hope, sir knight, you won’t refuse to help.

Unus looked the woman up and down, as if she were his own daughter, who had dressed in some incomprehensible way and looked inappropriate.

- Woman. I see you are from distant lands, with a different culture and customs. You don't look like a prostitute, nor a housewife, - the paladin examined the stranger's weapons. - Apparently, you are a female warrior. I've read about it. Usually, such women appear when a man has no son, but really wants one. You can count on my help. But first, tell me about yourself. Going into battle with a little-known person is dangerous.

— I am Kotori from the Shinomiya clan, from the western islands... — The archer politely bowed, not paying much attention to the strange comments of the unfamiliar knight. — I came to Tirren in search of my husband, who left our homeland, but, as you can see, I don't have unlimited funds, so I have to find ways for a woman like me to earn a living. Eliminating monsters is both a good deed and a way to help myself.

The Stronghold is what Tirren once started with. Long ago, the lord of these lands erected a donjon and a wall around it; the settlement grew, and it was surrounded by a new wall, and then again, until finally, the city, where merchants, workers, and all those who profit from them began to flock, began to expand faster than one could even lay a foundation. The wall surrounding the city was built for the last time, and Tirren took on the form in which it appeared before Ruven. Now, the Stronghold is the very concentric circle of stone walls that gave rise to the city – the abode of all Tirrenian knights. The wealthiest and most noble may have residences in the appropriate quarter, but it is here that most of them spend most of their time – training, feasting, praying, and, if necessary, receiving the latest news and orders.
The guards let Ruven through without unnecessary questions. A page, a boy of about thirteen, leads him to the commandant, asking for his first and last name and giving a brief instruction:
“The commandant of the Stronghold, Count Rudolf du Sartori, ordered that people like you be presented to him in person. I believe that the nobility of your family is significantly less, so don't forget to bow.”
The contempt in the young man's last words is purely formal. He probably dislikes either his job or Ruven himself, or rather, both.
The aforementioned count is in the middle inner courtyard, where a training ground for foot combat has been set up, and Ruven notices that the knights have already begun their duels.
“Count du Sartori,” the page bows to his lord, rather crookedly – either he is hindered by some illness, clumsiness, or simply carelessness. “Ruven Aiketir, a Fendrin warrior, has arrived.”
“Good. Return to your duties,” the count says slowly and quietly – there is no need for this given his status. “Well, Ruven, you have introduced yourself – now let's see what kind of person you are. How do you rate yourself as a warrior? Are you ready to fight?”

Fragment, you don't visit often, and the battles, especially with strong builds, are long. Write a rough plan – when to auto-attack, and when to retreat with a provocative free attack.

Permanent effect – bad luck

Forever?

- Let's go. There won't be a better opportunity. At least you'll get out of your hovel and take a walk.

We arrive half a day later and find only the corpses of the archer and paladin, embracing each other.

-- Huh? No, I... I was just... -- the elf feigned indecision. However, this indecision turned into drunken interest. -- How much does it cost? Well, the formation? (buys)

Will I have time to return to the city before the start of the working day if we go to the village now?

I guess it means that we could have received some kind of permanent effect, but we didn't get it. Well, I hope so, it's better to clarify just in case.

-- Just a measly fifteen silver coins... Listen – the man’s name is Gaspar, he lives nearby – cross the street, then turn left, then after one turn, turn right, to the end of the street, turn right at the fork, and it’s the third house. He won’t just talk to a stranger – tell him you’re from me. And don’t bother him at night or in the evening, come after dawn.

-- Oh, thank you...
The elf thought to himself that after today's expenses, he might not have enough money left for "advanced training," but he could consider it an investment in the near future.
-- Because life has become quite scary. Either the Ardorians are about to attack, or it's just local bandits... You know, they harass even honest people. And they say that elves... have started kidnapping people. And goats. In my village, you know, I had a whole herd, and I even sold meat in *names a town near his village, probably a Fendarian one*, and cheese... And then, one night, poof, a goat is gone. And the next night, another little goat is missing. Elves!

Krait, shrugging and raising his eyebrows, watches the scene:
- Well, he's right. If you came to my place, they would have smashed your skull with a cobblestone long ago. What do you need me to do?

-- Elves? Ehh... They're, like, extinct, -- the stout man furrows his brow thoughtfully, then bursts out laughing. -- Ah-ha-ha, I get it! You mean those "elves." You could work as a jester in the town square, that's a great joke. The cattle are stolen – the elves are to blame. The price of bread goes up – again, the elves. Taxes are rising, and they're banning fishing and hunting – and those elusive elves are to blame! Want another one?
Considering the weakness of Dunkaniel's new body, this is probably not a good idea.

-- Damn it, if I ever decide to steal from someone, I'll say it was the Elves. Oh, you're done already? Awesome, right? Between the first and second...
Mordaстый resolutely pours another drink, ignoring any possible objections...