Posts from ☀️ Arselia and Akonia Auto-translated

beg

"Too simple, you can't suggest something like that... No, not that I'm completely against it..."

Good thing it wasn't Raptilion speaking, otherwise he would have suggested fighting in the mud.

"I'm requesting a wet t-shirt contest," thought Guion.
We could also have a vocal contest, where people submit songs. And a masquerade, where you guess the participant based on their accessories.

Yo dawg I heard you like expa and hurma so I put your hurma into your expa so you could do hurma while doing expa.

And a masquerade.

Dionysus already has one.

I suggest a wet t-shirt contest, followed by a run, and then mud fights! 🤓

-- That's how... Well, as for the remaining candidates, it seems logical to have some kind of sporting and intellectual criterion. Perhaps. Of course, there are people in the city who, if they wanted to participate, would hardly lose; against them, anyone would look like a gray mouse... But still, I find it interesting; you can sign me up, Lady Nadia.

- Excellent. - Erephir writes it down. - And may I ask you to satisfy my curiosity? I'm curious, who do you mean by these invincible residents of the city?

– Well, I certainly sparked your curiosity with that casual comment, – smiled Erefir. – You have a journalist’s knack for it. I suppose it’s hard to imagine anyone competing with the illustrious Imperial Princesses. Even without them, Alice, the designer from Rabbit Hole, who creates her own exquisite clothing, is unlikely to leave anyone indifferent. And you, Lady Nadia, have the advantage of being well-known and beloved by young and old alike; you embody a standard of beauty that the city’s residents regularly see in the editor’s column, – she paused for a moment.

– However, competing with the best of the best, even knowing you’re not worthy, is much more interesting than simply competing, so I eagerly await all candidates, both those mentioned and those not.

Alright, I'll write this down in advance, otherwise I'll put it off again. Lokken has already gotten ahead of me with the reports...

Tonight, Alaria was visited once more by something that was neither a vision of the future nor a vague memory, but perhaps simply a manifestation of her troubled imagination, inspired by recent events. It was another dream where she was a demon, but this time, the girl saw what had led her to such a life. Contrary to Eugene's words, in the dream, it was not an avaricious choice, but a process that happened on its own. A natural process, which she, even in her dreams, did not realize until the transformation was complete. Contrary to her own words, there was no insatiable greed that followed – the metamorphosis was the final stage of her re-evaluation of her own life, her own values.

In the dream, she felt pride, superiority, and pity for ordinary mortals, and the feeling of overwhelming power was truly intoxicating. Freed from the guilt and pain of loss, and perceiving the pain and suffering she caused as a mere fact, she was not the same indecisive commander she had been in Calcite. She was efficient. Terrifyingly efficient. Was this what the Patriarch saw when he looked into her soul? If so, Alaria was surprised that he didn't banish her on the spot. She herself would have done exactly that.

However, even with her new body, against which her enemies broke their swords and on which cannon fire left nothing more than a scratch, could she be called truly happy? And did these abilities seem so impressive now, after becoming familiar with the school of Baldur? Despite her willingness to leave the past behind, the demonic self of Alaria sometimes succumbed to melancholy. Due to her age, it was difficult for her to see those around her as anything other than children, which led to a feeling of loneliness. Fantasies about starting a family were nothing more than, well, fantasies – something that could not be realized. After all, her child would also live with the curse of demonic blood. What surprising mercy from someone who has more than one life on their conscience. From someone who was otherwise quite content with their existence.

Despite all her successes and talents, the path chosen by this Alaria from her dreams led her not to triumph, but to yet another defeat. As if the mysterious demiurge was punishing them for their wrong choice. She and her kindred had failed, and those who survived faced an unenviable fate – eternal slavery, from which one could only be freed in death. It was a path leading nowhere. Whether this dream was a warning from her conscience, or something that had actually happened or could have happened, the Tanarrian did not know. But it had its effect – the girl woke up in a cold sweat, thoughtfully gazing at the ceiling of her dwelling for some time.

Extending her palm in front of her, the warrior carefully examined it. Everything was normal – ordinary human skin, not marble. Feeling her forehead, she also found no horns. And yet, the dream felt so real. It was difficult not to perceive it as a warning from herself. A warning that was worth remembering well and from which important lessons should be drawn, so as not to make similar mistakes in the future. If not for the sake of some hypothetical ideals of "goodness and nobility," then at least for her own sake.

- "Ohayo," - Aiano replies, then squints suspiciously and rubs her eyes—but surprisingly, the very same person is in front of her. "Omurice... Yes, that makes sense. What a twist it would be if it turned out that Lord Ravenadge himself cooks all the dishes at XXX, huh?"
Drinking half a glass of water, she sits down at the table.
- "You know, this dish is popular with us too. It's as if all of it is pulled from some abstract space of ideas," - she says, testing its springiness with a spoon and gazing at the ketchup swirl, then offering a faint half-smile. - "It's a pity to even break into it.
Remaining in this state for about two and a half seconds, she finally exhales heavily, as if releasing the stale air from the previous evening, deflating into a balloon with slumped and hunched shoulders. Yet another one and a half seconds later, she straightens her posture, closes her eyes, and takes several meditative breaths using her preferred method—the purity of which is slightly compromised by the aroma of the breakfast before her. When she opens her eyes, she makes a gesture that, as a respectable woman of her standing, she had never planned to make in her life: she sharply slaps both palms against her cheeks to regain her senses. The gesture brings only a brief sting of pain, and since a spoon was still clutched in her hand, it accidentally adds a slap to her own ear.
- Ayatata... - that turned out to be a rather foolish gesture. "For last night... Suman. Probably just fatigue. Yesterday..." - she counts off on her fingers. "No, the day before yesterday I comforted Heidi-san about that incident by saying you didn't need a lesson in modesty, since everything's been going too smoothly for you anyway. And apparently, that was exactly the same lesson for me, haha! But who knows what he just said? He doesn't know me at all! He'll be apologizing later when he realizes he was wrong!" - she slammed her fist on the table, the clenched spoon banging loudly. "And besides... have you ever seen a miko doubt her path and her spiritual connection to the Kamisama-tachi, eh? I've never seen anything like it, have you?" - it was a rhetorical question. Aiano's voice carried an energy uncharacteristic of her, as if she had temporarily transformed into the author of her own guidebook, partly explained as a psychological defense mechanism against this mental trauma, but nevertheless, the attempt was sincere.
Scooping a generous spoonful of omurice, she puts it in her mouth, but the breakfast is still hot. Turning away and covering her mouth with her palm, she draws in air until the food cools down before continuing to chew.
- "I umhm..." - she begins to say, then catches herself. "- Phmmp...
Pausing for a few seconds and closing her eyes again, she calmly finishes chewing the portion, then brings her palms together in a customary gesture and says:
- "Itadakimasu."
Scooping another spoonful, before putting it inside, she adds:
- "I won't let such trivial matters ruin my vacation or my impression of Mitten, especially since he's not just mine. This sword will yet protect the dispossessed and slice sashimi so thinly it'll be transparent as glass!" - concluding this highly intellectual metaphor with a spoonful of breakfast, she chews while simultaneously flexing her twig-like bicep, expressing readiness for great deeds, as she had once done at the local adventurers' guild.
- "One day he will come to the threshold of my Temple and ask to enter the shinshoku. Well then, I'll grant it to him, since he didn't banish me. I always remember kindness! And until then, the main thing is not to run into someone even crazier, haha! Otherwise, one might not survive! Although maybe he was the one who scared you. Ah, yes... Thank you for those warm words, Edglord-kun. It's evident to me that they influenced him more than anything I could ever have said. They also pulled me out of the depths of the moral Abyss... Please, don't hold a grudge against him. I can understand him - he's a man loyal to his beliefs, and his soul shines like... Hmmm... a shroud that wraps the dead," - shrugging off the comparison, she takes the third spoonful.

Unlike her more introspective “older sisters,” Erefir rarely had dreams, sleeping little but deeply, in a self-absorbed, soldier’s sleep.

That night, however, there was an exception; the nosferatu seemed to dream of Kripov, who had banished Svechka, and for that, was challenged to a duel and beaten with fists. But this is not certain; the memory was vague, and besides, not particularly interesting; all sorts of nonsense can be dreamed.

Raptilion: +2 to luck, +1 to perception, +1 to beauty, +1 to intelligence, +1 to stamina.
The Clinu archive has taken note.

So, what did we waste a week on? I wanted to cook for him some more.

I understand that Reven from Heroes of Might and Magic I lost because it was the end of the week.

Beata dreamed of a wedding where Guyon finally showed up wearing a muzzle, a collar, and a rope as clothing, while Creep chased him around the Temple with a censer, trying to exorcise the sinner and lecturing him about inappropriate behavior. A certain man stood behind the altar, but upon closer inspection, she realized it was Enio, and Drako Mellis stood next to Beata in front of the altar. She tried to say that it was a mistake and that she didn't want to marry Mellis, but Enio, with a cunning smile, declared them husband and wife. Mellis hoisted her onto his shoulder and dragged her to the basement, promising to severely punish her because she had been a downright bad girl, but the punishment consisted of reciting scientific works by certain Marx, Engels, and Lenin. During the lecture, a giant Rynze appeared behind Mellis, crushing him with her heel, but just as Beata managed to sigh with relief, Rynze leaned towards her and said in a ghostly voice, "Guyon is injured."
Beata woke up abruptly. Guyon was sleeping restlessly and tossing and turning; she could hear his moans and mumbling, "No, my lady, please, don't." It was probably another memory from the time of Lower Lunaria.
"Lucky him, at least he's having a normal dream," Beata thought as she lay back down.

I understand that Revenant from Heroes I lost to you because it's the end of the week.

Yes, I took care of him, but he didn't even appreciate it...

The sky appreciates silence.