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Wasn’t Hrunting the name of a sword?

Despite the almost embarrassingly audacious storefront, Otis strode in without hesitation, his only expression of discomfort coming from the twitching of his nose as he was struck by a veritable tidal wave of perfume. It would take a while for him to adapt to this, no doubt, but the pieces displayed were a worthy distraction. Certainly, this was a step above his own capabilities as a tailor. The fabrics were high-quality and the stitching so seamless that he had to work to find them. It would be interesting to stress-test the products as well, though that’d be overstepping the bounds of a customer that had not yet paid. Still, the Strigidae allowed his gaze to linger for only a moment longer, before settling them upon the eclectically-dressed goblin.

“I intend on repairing a dress,” Otis replied, unfolding the scorched and punctured remnants of Chloe’s attire. “And I intend on doing so alone, while maintaining as much of the original material as possible. If you sell fabric here, direct me to the aisle and offer me your recommendations. In order to avoid future incidents, I have plans of weaving fortifying essence into the dress itself, as well as water-and-fireproofing it using various alchemical compounds. Do you deal with such reagents as well?”

There was a slight pause, as he took a step back and gestured towards his own clothing: a collection of brown and tan garments with ethnic patterns woven into it with brightly colored threads.

“I make my own clothing, and have my own tastes. This dress, however, is for a half-elf that has, if nothing else, the pretensions of nobility, so if you could point me towards resources that I could take inspiration during the redesign process, that would be appreciated as well. Also, in terms of names, I am Otis Tan Arillo. You are Hrunting?”
Ey Zeroth, mind going over what the reward is, so I can attach it as part of my post? Esfir's otherwise going to head off to the mountains to figure out the whole water situation.

Such pristine walls.

Such beautiful, untouched things.

She reached out with a hand, blue arcs crackling over her forearm.

What mark could she leave upon this?



Kreszenz Leichenberg had chosen to walk. The cost of a carriage was prohibitive if one’s starting destination was the very edges of the Forbidden Realm, and anonymity was, in theory, a better defense against bandit attacks than an armed escort. Her father had disagreed, of course, but her mother, the bluer-blooded Leichenberg, understood the desire for a child to see the world at her own leisure. She ought to experience the world before swearing the oath to protect it.

So the young daughter of a fallen House packed up her finer clothes, drew a cloak over her shoulders, plotted a course different than the one she had taken when her parents accompanied her to obtain her grimoire at the edges of the Common Realm, and allocated a month’s worth of rations to make her journey to Kikka.

In practicality, there were bandits desperate enough to attack even lone travellers. Of course, it was the season for Magic Knight prospectives to be heading towards Kikka, their pockets filled with travel funds. Perhaps those bandits had some reason after all, though Kreszenz didn’t dwell on it when she dropped a lightning bolt or three in their general direction.

That, perhaps, was the most excitement she got out of her journey. Maybe in the years to come she would look back fondly upon the days she spent crossing ravines or striding up switchbacks, the nights she spent upon crude mounts or by gurgling falls, but after having seen three villages and shared the road with a dozen other travellers before their paths diverged, Kreszenz found that they all blurred together. Just villages in desolate places, self-reliant but bland. A few held landmarks worth raising a brow over, but what of it? The Castle stood tall in the distance, a mountain all on its own. Her steps drew her ever closer to that grand fortification, where the future of the nation was decided far beyond the voices of the populace.

No wonder that in every village and town she had passed through, Kreszenz heard at least one loud-mouthed buffoon speaking ill of the Royals and the Aristocracy. Enemies within and without, yet those walls remained so pristine still, as if it hadn’t seen conflict since the inception of the Kingdom.

Kikka came to focus as she crested a hill.

At the base of the castle-town’s walls, there was someone in the drab clothes of a custodian, removing what stains others had left.

That explained it.



The crowds were almost overwhelming. A life spent in the far west and a month-long trek had meant that even at most, Kreszenz saw maybe thirty people in a place at a time. In Kikka though? There were hundreds, each of them shuffling along or picking fights or selling their wares or making friends. She could throw a rock up in the air and it’d land on two people, that was how many there were in a single street. The queues snaking up to the application tents were a hydra in reverse, dozens of lines merging into each other before they connected to only one of five tents, while the smell of cooked food, after weeks on nothing but hard bread, cheese, and river-water, was so enticing that she reckoned that she’d be able to gain an easy five pounds…if she had money to spare.

But, of course, she did not.

Her boots had worn down to the thickness of sandals. Her cloak smelled of earth and the tang of ozone. Her hair was in such need of washing that she had half the mind to save herself the trouble and cut it off. Deep in the recesses of her pack was coin and fine clothes, but those were for emergencies and the future, not to be squandered on frivolous displays of vanity. So Kreszenz kept her eyes forward, her face up, her strides long and purposeful, as she marched with the countenance of a noble even in the garbs of a vagrant, her gaze settling in with unnerving focus upon the officials in the distance, before gradually ‘resting’ in an expression of imperial disdain.

Far too much time passed before Kreszenz Leichenberg received her badge. She swore that the queue seemed to have traverse the width, rather than the length, of the line before she was at the front, but there was nothing for it now. The Exams awaited her and the chattering and cheering and brass band cacophony was making her nauseous, so she stormed for the portcullis without another word.

Or well, tried to.

Twenty paces in, and there were yet more imbecile children clogging up the streets, and Kreszenz was seriously beginning to consider taking to the rooftops instead.
Alright, child sufficiently bullied. Time to get out a post.
Imma go bully a child.
Go for this evening. No point in delaying what could be done immediately.
@ZerothYeah, I was looking at the picture and reading the wiki at the same time going ??? over the positions on the map vs the text.

Anyhow, I altered the Fear somewhat to communicate a bit more clearly the vibes I was going for. Basically still stems from the idea of not being the same person that she was when she started on her goals. Kinda like "wew, I want to be a benevolent conqueror of the continent, not just a regular ass conqueror of the continent!".

@Xaltwind Was originally going to make her super aristocratic but that was mostly a response to counteract all the peasants and criminals that were present when I first formulated the idea.

Dunno how much high-pitched ohohoho-ing she'll do, but I definitely need to get this in


//Rhinecliff Estate
@Estylwen@Click This

The Duke’s mien remained implacable at the appearance of Duchess Agustria and Viscount Skybound, but he did turn to one of the servants in attendance. A look was all that was needed for the maid to stride briskly off to retrieve another chair for the surprise guest, while Laurent himself moved to stand up to receive them.

By right, two of the three chairs were owed to the Duke and Duchess in attendance, but it was cruel to let two children stand while the adults sat and ate, especially when they both already looked like a couple of brats who accidentally broke a vase or a window. Honestly, what was dear Evelyn thinking? Laurent repressed a sigh. Then, the corner of his lips twitched into a smile as he caught Mirie’s eye.

A two-for-one show, then.

“What a devoted brother you are, Viscount Skybound,” he chuckled, leaning against the railing of the gazebo to reach up for one of the branches and pluck a ripe plum. Brushing away the dust with the sleeve of his jacket, he tossed it to the young lad. “Two days travel without the benefit of a carriage must have been exhausting, though I see that like any proper nobleman, you’ve nevertheless managed to remain presentable.”

He gave the boy a moment to try the fruit.

“Alas, if you sought your sister, I’m certain that the footman who had let you in would have informed you that she was in the guest room with me, or perhaps at the courtyard, like we are now. Which brings to mind a story I’ve heard of lately…”

Laurent lifted his head up, a jovial light glinting off the rim of his glasses, as if he was sharing trivial, comedic news. “Duchess Agustria, word is that a masterful thief has been plundering the homes of the aristocracy as of late, disdaining what measures we’ve taken to safeguard our estates. I don’t suppose any of the lords and ladies of that social gathering you’ve been at recently have spoke of such incidents?”


What did she see indeed?

It didn’t matter, not when everything ended before the apparition could even manifest. In the shadow of the colossus that dwelled within her dreams, Estelle was left with only the broken remains of Dante, a teenage girl who cried over his body, and Timekeeper.

Scratch that, Timekeeper bolted, leaving her there, alone, with this bullshit.

With all this bullshit, really.

What had the point of this mission even been? What were they even here for? Did this constitute as a success? Did Timekeeper get what he wanted? Did they just make even more enemies? Was she supposed to kill this monster-daughter now, because that was GEMINI protocol? The Knight of Tomorrow was reporting in to Dr. Moller over comms, the fires were dying out as a result of the assistance of the mage-bikers, and this whole thing was a mess from start to finish.

She never had to deal with this in the past. Never had to, back when she was just the guardian of a village, dealing with masses of malice that hardly possessed sentience. Then she had picked and chosen, realizing her limitations and maturing like an adult. Life became an endless set of trolley problems and compromises. And now, if she considered all this, considered what was bound to happen, the adult in Estelle, the Witch Hunter of GEMINI, would act immediately and cut this grieving monster down now, before sorrow turned to hatred and distilled into vengeance.

She made a thing though, of never drawing her sword.

And she was only twenty-two years old. A young adult.



Estelle knelt down beside Amanda, and gave her a consolatory hug. Allowed her to cry until there was a break in between her sobs, and then said, “Your friends are outside. They were looking for you.”

What was Dante hiding her from? The schoolgirls hadn’t seen her, so she hadn’t been sent away just because he saw Finn.

“Do you want to join them?”
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