Posts from Pursuit of the Sun 1.2

Giving an approving grunt, the battered berserker nods leisurely, knocking back the first stack of fuel for better speed-reading. The memory of his home nest arises again, where in another life, it seemed, an old nanny read them fairy tales of luxury about monsters dwelling in the void. This time, instead of impressionable children, the listeners were men beaten by life and each other, and he himself was certainly no sweet old storyteller woman.

Voldemar and his companions arrive at the prison, and the guards lead them to the cells on the lower level – there, in solitary confinement, in complete darkness and without any rations, are kept the most dangerous criminals. A guard with a torch opens the door, and the preachers can see a witch before them – grimacing, either from pain or dissatisfaction, she reluctantly rises from the stone floor, hiding her hands.

– You again, butcher. Do you want to take away even the last hours of peace before my death? Or have you come to execute me personally?

-- Ugh... How to put it... -- Sigheber desperately tries to make sense of the treatise, with veins bulging on his forehead. -- Nonsense.
-- Not nonsense, but a joke, -- Rainulf corrects him.
-- But every joke contains only a bit of truth...

After a few days of contemplation:
- I will, of course.

—... Somehow, reading it doesn't feel like I'm gaining any new wisdom... —the reader finally says after a long silence. —I don't think the author intended to joke or mock the arts. —He thoughtfully turns the book over and looks at the cover again, as if hoping to find a hidden meaning in it. —Maybe noble gentlemen just have a different idea of what a good stage fight looks like? Whatever conclusion one might draw... Perhaps it's true that one should always be prepared for the unexpected. Whether it's a duel, an ambush, or a book you've read; life will always try to knock you down from the roof of a mill. So it's better to be ready to defend yourself in advance, or to strike the enemy first.

-- I didn't really understand the joys of expanding one's consciousness before, but lately – why not?

Why expand your consciousness when you can expand your score?

The witch was missing her left ear – judging by the scar, it had been gone for a long time; the marks of interrogation remained on her hands, burned and with her nails torn out, but otherwise – we need to undress her first.

– Now that’s a businesslike conversation, – the witch clearly perked up. – If I want to live, I’ll suck like a catfish, I’ll scrub toilets. I know how to cast spells, brew potions – both healing and harmful, and I can steal – though I’m not particularly good at it, – she points to the place where her ear should be. – That’s more than most people can do, right? I’m twenty-seven years old, my name is Gita. I’ll definitely be useful.

The bald guy is generally a quiet type; sometimes he sits in a den, chats about life, writes something down, and sits there, lost in thought. He doesn’t drink or do drugs himself – I don’t know, maybe they don’t affect him.

but she can kill with a touch or leave someone an idiot for life – they started to respect her, of course.

Ugh, my throat is dry. Can I at least have some water? It’s a long story.

-"I don't need to be "sucked off." And nothing else "in that spirit" either. I've had my fill of one bitch... But as for the rest... We and our brothers are opening a new "holy place" here for you. Instead of yours... Only there will be preaching, not these "mind cleansing" sessions of yours. I hope there's a kitchen and a toilet, and everything else... There will be work, in short. Does that suit you?

- But how can you guarantee that all of this won't go against me?

- Stealing, you say? Did you steal your own ear too? Remember - no stealing, except on my direct orders, got it?! And if there is an order, it will only be in exceptional cases. Because stealing is evil!

- 27, you say? Is that true? - the question is addressed to Raoul?

- Gita, that's you. I'm Voldemar. But for you - Lord Voldemar. Or just "Lord." Got it?

- Well, I turned her into nothing. Not even a charred skeleton remained. So, how is it? Do you "respect" me? - Voldemar burst out laughing sarcastically.

- Give her something. - Voldemar asked the guards.

Having watched the last battles, Cassius, who had received a good beating, approached Amalia.
- The tournament is over. There are no special prizes, as it turns out. And now, to the bathhouse. Then we need to visit a couple of places.

-- Do you have toilets with kitchens in your churches?! You are truly strange.

-- Very, -- the witch answers seriously. -- Now all the slums respect you, even after the first skirmish. Listen, I'll be honest with you, let's have you answer me honestly to one question: we believe that your fire doesn't send you to the Void, but makes your soul burn somewhere underground until the end of the world. Is that so?
From what Voldemar could hear and read, the church fathers did not come to a definitive answer to this question, but almost all agree that the souls of the unrighteous are indeed absorbed by the earth -- because due to the absence of Fire, they cannot ascend.

-- It's not supposed to be, but your guys have gained some respect among us, the ordinary ones, after that night... Let me give you my personal flask, and you give me a silver coin for a new one?

– Would you like the same as yesterday, Baron? – Amalia asks, clearly hoping for a beer.

The book cover contains neither drawings nor inscriptions, and to comprehend the wisdom, one probably needs to spend time mastering the intricate techniques of Master Dolfo. With an unpredictable result, in the style of its creator.
-- If something looks like crap, sounds like crap, and in the opinion of most people is crap, then it is most likely crap, -- Rabahn imparts a piece of folk wisdom.
-- No, it's useful for general development, but I believe more in a good uppercut than in a three-fingered gesture to the throat, -- Siegeber agrees, and another mug of beer gives him an idea. -- Exactly. Now we will all work together to edit and supplement this little book -- Hargon, do you mind? We have paper. Now everyone will say something smart about the art of unarmed combat, write it down, and if someone knows how, they will draw their favorite techniques, and it will be a masterpiece. All that remains is to give it to the academics for revision.

- Well, if not... Then I don't even know where to "put" you... Any suggestions?

Regarding the question - I don't know what to say here. Let him answer what he heard or read, or something like that...

- Heard? It's not allowed. So you'll have to put up with it. If I decide that you're still useful to me, you'll get water, and maybe even some beer. So it's in your best interest to tell the story as quickly as possible...

-- If you send her to a brothel, you won't make much money off her; she's not that young anymore. And they won't let her into the bathhouse. Where are you going, Master Voldemar?

Well, as I wrote, he read contradictory things, so he might be telling the truth or honestly, but exaggerating to scare people.

- You mean the "incinerated" ones? Well... I heard that the "unbelievers" who didn't accept the Fire are supposedly swallowed by the earth. But I haven't had a chance to verify that. I could ask your axe-wielding friends how they're doing over there, if I could... - another smirk from Voldemar.

I was already thinking of leaving them, but curiosity and greed, you understand.

She's hooked on devouring, just like your addict is hooked on drugs.