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Angelcynn: The Myrcian Conflict - Act 3 (Owen's Party)


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The following morning

Despite the unease the group collectively experienced, nobody seemed to question Malaphar's plans. As morning rose, the groups all head off in their various directions, deep into the lands of the barren Magonsaete. Heading west towards a camp, holding control of the area, as well as Malaphar's sought after prize, Owen and his companions continued their journey. The soil was dry and hard, each step was like that against gravel or stone. None of the plant life seemed particularly lively. Most were hardy shrubs, browned and dried from the barren conditions. The few trees they did see were dry and brittle, perhaps even climbing them would cause them to fall. The heat wasn't even that oppressive, although there was a dryness to the air unlike Wyke.

Malaphar had said little for the first hour of their journey, leading the party left and right as he navigated what appeared to be a single bare plain. The wizard had glanced up at the sun a few times, only to adjust his path slightly as he returned his attention to their path.

"The lands of Magonsaete are unforgiving, only the strongest may survive." Malaphar lectured, walking at the front of their group. "Territory control is vital for these savages, resources are spread far and thin... if a tribe is unable to maintain its grasp upon enough land, it will be only a matter of weeks before it perishes. Sooner considering their barbaric desire to eliminate one another. If they had not ventured beyond their borders, perhaps they would be extinct entirely."

Malaphar let out an unsettling chuckle, most likely amused by the prospect of the idea. Sebastian shot a concerned look at Adele, he knew something wasn't right with this wizard, and was certain his lady felt the same way. Malaphar turned back to face Owen, his face still smug, but also rather curious. "Tell me, Prince Owen. How does your father fare nowadays?" he asked. "He must have passed sixty years by now, I can't imagine he is as... spry as he used to be."

Owen, Adele, Scuttle and Emmet are free to post!

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[spoiler= One Night in Magonsaete Part 1]

Night came abruptly in Magonsaete. There was no dusk, no transforming twilight nor a gradient of steadily creeping darkness. One moment the Sun straddled the spine of mountains in the horizon. The next it had set, and disappeared.

From a hammock strung taut between two ruined pillars, a pair of glinting eyes stared up to the star-sprinkled heavens. The world above was of a deep, ancient blue, seemingly as endless and profound as the lake rolling underneath. And there were stars, a million little pinpricks of light twinkling brightly upon the elegant swoops and curves of the skies. Their gleams formed the cosmic blueprints of a far grander design, a tapestry of uncontainable and inconceivable beauty, like the celestial city always ever out of reach, inspiring beauty and meaning onto the lives of the sleep watchers below. Making them question, wonder and dream for something greater than themselves.

Scuttle knew every constellation by heart, and yet she noticed a faint red star flaring at the corner of her vision. That one was new.

“Always watching over me, aren’t you, Javier?” Scuttle said to the skies, “What do you think? Not bad for my first adventure, eh?”

Sleep will not visit her tonight. How could it? So much to tell. To the world. To Javier. To herself.

Scuttle reached into her backpack, retrieved her quilt pen and parchment, and in the ruddy glow of her lantern-light, she did what she had done since she was old enough to pencil-grip:

She wrote:


Thirty, forty, maybe sixty years from now, chroniclers of a different age would turn back the pages to look back at this moment, one so meticulously penned by a bard yours truly, and orate these words to all four corners of the globe: ‘This is how legends are made. For I paid witness to it all.’

The dime-a-dozen tavern minstrels might spin you tall tales of the great Baron of Bears, and how he leapt into a hell-lit storm of ballista fire only to emerge unscathed. Or the cunning Prince Owen who summoned dragonfire from the cracks of the earth. Or the Princess of Wyke who, on the brink of death, killed her opponent in one blow of unbridled energy. Or perhaps a timely wizard who turned the tide of the losing battle with but a snap of his fingers, and stole from a thief.

Would you rather hear such amateurish piffle, or the word of one who saw it all?

There are some laws in life too sacred for poetic licentia, of this we in our line of profession all hold to be true. In my travels with the heroes of Wyke, they have opened my eyes to the real magic of their legends. I saw their powers for what they were: cheap tricks and tall tales. The Baron of Bears had no ursine army. Lady Adele’s axe couldn’t split lightning. But past the surface they had within them something far greater.

With these eyes I saw a man extend a hand of kindness to a worthy foe. I saw a woman stave off sword-steel with naught but the armour of love. I saw her lover use her body as a shield.

With these ears I heard words that would rouse nations to war. The inspiring speech of a champion to meet death, and the promise of a man to fulfil a dying request. I heard things raw and passion, of forbidden love, and of unwavering loyalty to a mere mercenary leader.

These were the legends worth re-telling. These were what made them heroes. As I flipped back to read the Siege at Dettard Castle once more, I understood much better now why their stories touched the plebeians such as I so. The sword must follow the pure of heart. I had thought I knew everything about Prince Owen and his entourage, but it seemed clearly that I still had much to learn.

Remember, for no matter the century, this lesson will be timeless: this is how legends are made. For I paid witness to it all.


yours truly


The Scuttle of two days ago was dodging rotten fruit projectiles on stage of the Dank Codger, being paid a grand total of three pennies to sing a dirty limerick about Queen Eowa's unmentionables.

The Scuttle of now was traversing the arid frontiers of Magonsaete with a gattling bow strapped to her back, following an ancient wizard and the Prince of Wyke to retrieve a mysterious artifact from war-faring barbarians.

The journey across the sea had only just been two to three hundred nautical miles, but it felt like she had crossed worlds to get where she was now.

This was the life she had dreamed of since Javier told her the Tale of the Girl on Fire. To fight the forces of evil, travel to exotic places, meet new people. Now here she was, quite literally following in her footsteps.

Scuttle trailed the group with a skip of her steps, whistling an old Hull working tune as she went. A little heat and long-distance trek was not going to dampen her spirits today.

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[spoiler=Please can I play with the mage]

Emmet approached Serge. "I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn there Sergeant" he said. "I meant what I said however. I want to assist Malaphar and Lady Adele but I will go where you need me to be. You are my commander."

Serge scratched his head for a moment before answering. He sighed. "Fine. If only to help my conscience about leaving Adele alone." He turned to the rest of his mercenaries. "If no one else has any preference about what group you're traveling with, let's get ready to move out."

"I don't think anybody else leaving until the morning" Emmet pointed out. "I suggest we spent some time relaxing before going into the fray again. We fought a hard battle today. You did well today Serge. Few commanders would be able to face such numbers with an entirely new team and come out with no casualties. Let alone someone as young as yourself. I even heard you killed one of the enemy leaders. You should celebrate. We could have just this one night to rest. Some of us might not even be alive when we next return. Let's get a chance to know each other. Friends fight better than comrades they say. I'm sure these brigands must have some alcohol stashed away somewhere."

"I ain't got time to drink, Emmet. I gotta get ready myself. And I don't wanna be drunk when a battle is gonna happen, especially if we're going up mountains." He turned back to Emmet. "And I suggest you familiarize yourself with the people you're gonna be traveling with before me, right now. We'll have time to mingle later, when we make it back." If we make it back, he thought to himself.

"Suit yourself" Emmet muttered as Serge left. "Just be aware that stress can kill as surely as a sword." Emmet looked over at prince Owen. While the two of them weren't friends he believed he had a somewhat accurate measure of the princess. Likewise he had spoken to Adele on multiple occasions. Her butler he hadn't spoken to much be he seemed very...buterlerish. Almost to the point of stereotype. That only left the odd girl with the bow and...Malaphar. As curious as he was about the magician he didn't feel like getting to know the man on an intimate social level. He decided to meet to talk to the girl on the road tomorrow. For now he wanted to formally introduce himself to the rest of the reliants now that he finally had them all gathered together and knew who exactly was part of the group.

Emmet has finally learned the names of his comrades in arms.

"I don't believe we've been introduced" Emmet said to the bard. Her name had been mentioned last night at the but he couldn't quite recall it. Sukul or something to that effect. "Are you in the employ of prince Owen?"

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Scuttle stretched her arms to rest behind her head, greeting the man with a warm smile. "Scuttle Thames's the name. Finding out others' is my game. That's true, we haven't formally met, but I've seen you in battle. Those arrows of light! Like you were shooting sun rays. I'm sure I wasn't the only one with my jaw hitting the ground when that happened. Your target's did too, but that was because it was dislodged from his face when he got hit." She shrugged her shoulders to excuse her vividly eidetic memory.

"No, I'm not in any formal relation to the Prince. I had tried getting myself employed into the Reliants but a certain b-ad mannered person!-h decided it too lofty for someone of my station." That warm smile of hers had evolved through grit teeth into a snarl. "Oh, you know mages, amirite?"

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The arid, hard land beneath their feet in tandem with the sun was not a challenge that Owen took well, wiping some sweat from his brows. Goodness, I hope this walk won't leave burns. The thought pitched his memory back to his last trip to the Herman's lake manor, the prince was quick to shudder. He was red as a shrimp for weeks after deciding a long swim on a sunny day was a good idea.

The unpleasant thoughts were disturbed by Malaphar prompting a question about his father, which Owen was pretty certain was a less pleasant topic, especially with Malaphar involved. "He's... doing fine, certainly not as spry as he used to be, but still fine." Owen winced, an image of his bedridden father burning on his mind. What an unfortunate turn of events. "Age catches up to people slowly but certainly, doesn't it?"

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An ill mannered mage? Emmet's thoughts immediately went to Claire but he quickly realised if it was the reliants then she was probably talking about Morgana. "Yes, quite" he muttered wondering if she should tell the girl that he still considered himself a mage to some extent. "So if you're not in the employ of Owen or Serge, then...how exactly are you feeding yourself on this voyage?"

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[spoiler=One Night in Magonsaete Part 2]Clouds moved indistinctly above Scuttle, her only semblance of time passing as she laboured her quill in swift but measured motions. Nothing would have disrupted her focus. An hour passed, maybe two. Maybe four. It was all but a moment.

The final page, she turned over, and her faculties returned to the realm of the provincial.

Dawn had begun to crack.

Scuttle sat by to stoke the fireplace and tend to the kettle, the stark chill of the night making tangible her breaths. The icy mists of air meant to warm her hand burst through her calloused hands before disappearing.

No matter the time, Wyke was always hustle and bustle. At sundown her sisters ruled and the red light shone. Scuttle never slept so much as dreamed of waking; nights were always too full of noise. Out here in bandit country, things slowed. It was just her, and the soft rustle of sleeping leaves and the wail of the wind to break the deep hush.

That, and the series of crashes and curses coming from Morgana’s tent. She emerged from the tent flap, her hair still a jangled victim of nightly tossing and turning.

Scuttle shuffled her feet closer together and locked her arms.

Morgana. What a bad-mannered person. The woman already seemed a distant person, but it felt she had reserved a mile or two more for Scuttle personally. When they first met, she had made her views on Scuttle’s profession very clear to her. There was only so many ways she could interpret being a uneducated children’s entertainer as a compliment.

She stiffened up as she approached. Morgana’s still adjusting night vision didn’t tell her of Scuttle’s presence until she sat down on the log next to her, grumbling under her breath.

“Trouble sleeping?” Scuttle piped up.

Morgana jumped, but quickly recovered back into her aloof shell upon recognising her voice. “None of your business, bard.”

“‘She snapped back, waspishly, determined to make sure no one who would ever hear her story would find any reason to like her,” Scuttle narrated, “I record everything, Morgana. It’s what bards do.”

Even in the lack of light, Morgana glowered visibly, and Scuttle could feel an odd sense of satisfaction from it. Morgana eyed her, “Perhaps upon our next travail into town we could purchase a pair of muzzles. One for each beast in our crew, yes?”

“I don’t know. Muzzles don’t stop the barking.”

Morgana sighed in resignation. “Bards.”

“Why do you say that word like it’s laced with venom?”

For what felt like an eternity, the two of them seethed in a terse silence. Until a seed of mischief planted itself in Scuttle’s head.

Wasn’t it Sid who had been trying to brew the tea last night?

Sid. The woman who couldn’t boil water without a manual.

“Engels, fine. A peace offering.” Scuttle lifted the kettle from the campfire and poured some into her teacup, trying her best to maintain a neutral countenance. “You know when we first met, I assumed you liked your tea fiery, bitter and dark, like your soul. Now I know you like it lukewarm, semi-tart and resembling grey sludge. Like your soul.” That earned a scowl from her. “Here.”

Morgana could only glance suspiciously at Scuttle for several seconds, alarms probably blaring in her head. “Very well. I accept your peace offering. I will not discourage this habit of you giving the respect your superiors rightfully deserve.”


Morgana took the cup.

Scuttle shifted a little closer to her on the log, her grin practically cheek-to-cheek now.

Morgana took a sip — and tensed, eyes bulging.

Scuttle knew comedy. She wanted to innocently prod, “Nice brew, huh?” or at least burst into a fit of giggles, but she knew that everything had to do with timing. She would wait a couple of beats before quipping a punchline, where she predicted Morgana would turn her into a newt in revenge. Well, she figured the memory of the elegant and stoic know-it-all sputtering on her drink would keep her happy for the rest of her amphibian life.

So she waited. Watched Morgana’s face intently for any reaction.

Morgana paused for a moment, locked eyes with Scuttle.

And continued to drink loudly.

Um . . .

The urge to snicker dulled somewhat.

Glug. Glug.

Each gulp sounded louder than the last. It pounded in Scuttle’s ears. “Wow. Okay. You’ve made your point.”

Morgana didn’t seem to blink. Instead she narrowed her eyes into angry slits, took one last gulp and triumphantly slammed the now-empty teacup onto the ground.

“Either you don’t have taste buds, or you don’t anymore.”

“I win.” Morgana declared.

“Congratulations, you just drank a whole cup of Sid’s salted tea! And here’s your prize: it’s absolutely nothing!”

“Don’t be a sore loser, bard.”

“See, not everything’s a competition. That’s why nobody talks to you, you know?” she jabbed.

Morganna poured the rest of the kettle’s contents onto the ground, and watched the very leaves shrivel. Her half-smile was sinister, ill-concealed mischief. “You do realise that this means war? I will retaliate in full force.”

“I grew up with an orphanage litter of boys who would nail my braids to the bedpost each morning. You think I’m scared?”

“Oh you will be,” were the mage’s cryptically-laced words before theatrically donning her cowl. Two bloodshot irises stared back, framed with a crescent of rapier teeth. Somewhere in the distance, thunder crackled. “You will be.”

“Morgana,” Scuttle said in an exasperated sigh, placing a hand on her shoulder, “This is why nobody talks to you.”

Scuttle looked ahead, suddenly finding the shrubbery around their paths very interesting. She could tell the man probably wasn't going to like her answer. Paying for food? What a droll concept.

"Oh you know, spend enough hungry nights in the streets of Wyke and you'd be surprised what you'd be willing to eat," she deflected. Not entirely true, but not a lie either.

She wasn't going to be the one telling him why the ship's carrot rations always disappeared over the night.

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"I know the feeling" Emmet said, more to himself than her. It was such an obvious lie he wasn't even sure why she bothered telling it. Best not to pry however. It didn't concern him much. Though he made a mental note to regularly check his purse while in her presence. "Why exactly are you here voluntarily then? This is far from the safest place in the world."

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Drowning in time

[spoiler=Do the Scuttle Bug]

The boat journey had been rather pleasant for the most part, almost the entire crew, as well as Serge's new men had assumed that Scuttle had been hired along with them for the journey. It was a gentle afternoon beneath the deck, the only sounds were those of the sea, gently splashing against the side of the ship.

The new Reliants had gathered in a room together, possibly their temporary base of operations. None of them seem terribly comfortable around so many nobles, so banding together made sense for several reasons. The young storyteller could hear talking from inside their room.

"Ain't gonna lie, don't really think people like can be fitting in with so many fancy people." Lars lamented, leaning against the wall alongside his brother. "Much simpler when we were just cuttin' down trees, don't got no royal plants in the forests."


Scuttle's favorite business were the ones that weren't hers. That came handily with her second favorite business, which was eavesdropping.

She had her ear pressed to the wall using a cup, frozen in rapt attention of mumblings that could be faintly heard on the other side of the room. Sheafs of parchment lay neatly piled next to her, weighed down by a half-full inkwell. On the top laid a recruitment poster featuring a portrait of the Reliant's leader, Serge, in solemn near-Atlantean focus.

The only thing standing between Scuttle and the motley crew of the Reliants was two feet of wood.

So enraptured she was by the conversation that she didn't realize that the piece of wall she was leaning on was in fact the door, and as she pressed herself ever closer to pick out the words (much simpler when we were just cuttin' down heads, like those royals in our coffers now), there came the audible click of a door handle.

Scuttle toppled through in an explosion of streaking ink and fluttering paper. With the reflexes she had honed from jumping off rooftops, she shifted her falling momentum into a tumble roll, ending to face the new room's occupants with a performer's smile, ink-smudged hair, a feather-pen that had always seemingly been in her hand, and what was probably the last clean parchment left in her other.

"Dramatic entrance, ho! I did the same trick when one of Earl Valter's daughter was sick. Cheered her right back up! Now . . ." She sat back down, unblinking eyes fixed on them. "Just keep talking like I wasn't here."


The Reliants watched as Scuttle tumbled in, remaining silent during her spectacular entrance. Their eyes darted between each other, cautious to who this strange newcomer was. She certainly wasn't one of their own, yet she didn't seem to be one of the nobles either. None of them said a word, as if they were waiting for one of the others to speak. At last Hans... or possibly Lars raised his hand, letting out a chuckle.

"She ain't one of the nobles, don't gotta worry, people." he announced, patting his brother's shoulder. "Hans, she ain't no trouble, she's a regular person just like us. No fancy clothes or nothing, not gonna look down on us." Hans didn't seem so sure, but he appeared to be at least taking his brother's words on board.

Emily didn't seem convinced though, she rose to her feet and circled Scuttle with hawkish eyes. "Who is she then? She's no noble, but the boss never said anything about her... maybe she's one of the servants?"

Larissa was sat in the corner, looking at Scuttle. "If she's anything like that Sebastian, we should be careful, I don't even know half the things that man is hiding. Who are you, girl?"


“Who am I?” Scuttle gasped with mock affront, “Who am I?! I’ve been paraded down the length of Hull back-to-back. Half of Wyke cheers my name! Why, *I* am none other than the illustrious, magnificent Scuttle Thames! And I have nothing to hide and everything to share!”

She presented the poster of Serge to them, which had been miraculously spared from the shower of ink. “You can’t keep him from me forever, you know! Sooner or later, the truth will come out! Serge the leader of leaders. Oh the stories I’ve heard about him. Raised by wolves, pack leader by nine, Legion Commander by fifteen.” She sighed wistfully, clutching the poster close to her. Her fickle whimsies demanded a man of quality, even if she had to imagine one herself.

“So who are the elite men and women worthy to be taken under the wing of the Spectre? The flesh, bones and heart of the Spirit? Has he baptised you clean of weakness, turned you warriors of the Reliants?”

She took a good look at them. Of course, like the sick to the doctor. Misfitted, dysfunctional, hopeless, they came to him. It was his challenge, his duty.


Most of the Reliants were fairly blank when it came to Scuttle's introduction. Their guest was rather eccentric, that at the very least. It took a few moments, but Larissa had begun to chuckle, slowly evolving into a full blown fit of laughter. The others were somewhat perplexed by their dancer's response.

Wiping a strand of black hair from in front of her face, Larissa quickly calmed down. "That sounds like Mister Serge to me! I think I've heard some of those stories before! Was he the one who also tried to take on two bears who had entered a bar?" she asked, feeling far more at ease with Scuttle present. She shot Scuttle a quick wink, almost confirming her approval of the bard's tales.

The axe brothers seemed to be contemplating their own opinions, whispering into each others ear. "Well, now that you think about it... he wouldn't have his own mercenary company if he were some chump." Lars affirmed."I've heard of the Reliants before, they were pretty big. Musta just be a little low on numbers, the frumpy girl with the pegasus got made a noble... don't see that much nowadays."

Emily however had been completely sold on Scuttle's introduction, having moved right in front of her and taking the bard's hands into her own. She looked at Scuttle with starry eyes, completely in awe of the tales of Serge."Tell me more, how did he get the wolves to accept him as one of their own?" she begged quickly, nearly crushing Scuttle's hands. "I didn't realise we'd hit the jackpot working for this guy. To think he's done so much at his age... I feel like I've wasted my life in comparison!"


Scuttle wore a grin that even devils would have envied. She had them eating out of the palm of her hand! An audience who appreciated her? Finally, some respect! She could really like the Reliants! Except Emily of course-- the less competition, the better.

She clicked her tongue in remonstration. "I am shocked. Shocked. Appalled that you knew nothing of him! Beyond words! There was a time you couldn't walk into a bar without falling into a conversation about who would follow Serge into a deeper part of hell! Imagine that, the most grizzled war veterans going at it worse than a sewing circle!"

And when the rumour mills grind, Scuttle would always be there to reap.

"And you have yet to know the half of it! Niko, the previous leader, fought alongside the Girl on Fire, and held his own. What shoes to fill! All else shied away from such a daunting task. But what does Serge do when he replaces him? First day in and already he saves the Princess from the clutches of conniving thuggish kidnappers!"


Emily squeezed Scuttle's hands tighter, desperate for more information. "How did I not know about this man!" she cried, practically shaking Scuttle. "What rock have I been under! Tell me more! Where has he been? Where's he from!"
Hans and Lars nodded their heads as Scuttle mentioned Serge's rescue of Cass. "Yeah, I'd heard something about a noble gettin' kidnapped, didn't know it was the Princess though." Hans pondered, wondering how much Serge had actually achieved. The stories of heroes were often exaggerated, but there was definitely elements of truth to her stories. "What happened to this Niko guy? Doesn't sound very heroic if he just did a runner, if the boss can save the Princess on his first day, I'd much prefer him in charge."
Even Morganna had started listening to Scuttle's tale, her own curiosity too great to control. "Of course, I knew he would be amazing. I wouldn't work for just anyone, only the finest of commanders could utilise my talents."
Scuttle squeezed back, encouraging Emily to hop up and down in unison with her, elated with their luck that ~they were working for Serge, they were working for Serge~

"Ah, does every hero not start from humble beginnings? Before the throne, was there not the manger? From the unassuming provincial towns in Myrcia, our future hero arose, wanting nothing out of life but a good mead and a girl to bring home for his parents. But oh, in that fateful day in the Lucky Goose, life bestowed upon him greatness. Whereupon fate visited him in the form of the Baron of Bears, who strutted in with a pair of bear cubs, one under each armpit:

'With which end would you hold a bear? TRICK QUESTION!' Angus barked, and spat at every opportunity in between each word. "Banjoes! Yee-haw!'

'I am Serge and I shall rise to your challenge! Unleash the bears!'

'Very well! '

What transpired next, well, one can say many patrons were forcibly defenestrated, and the Dank Codger bar has a special drink named after him now," Scuttle teased.

She grinned ecstatically, pleased with herself that she had managed to entertain such a tough crowd with nothing but hearsay from drunken ramblers. "And that is the tale of the Spectre from Myrcia."

"Time can be cruel... unfortunately, it's a force you cannot undo, only bend to your own will." Malaphar replied, looking back at Scuttle and Sebastian. There was a hint of confusion in his gaze, his eyes swapping between the two subtly. "My magic gives me some chance against its power, but there is only a limit to what a mortal man can achieve. That is not the Herman's original butler, am I correct? I must have been mistaken, he seemed so similar from a distance."

Sebastian was watching the wizard carefully, fully aware he was speaking of him. Malaphar didn't pay much attention, choosing to focus on the nobles themselves. "I've seen both his Majesty and Duke Herman in combat, their technique and prowess were truly magnificent. That shimmering sword blade, a sight I still remember to this day."

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Adeltrudis remained pretty much silent as they trekked along towards the destination set by Malaphar, mostly listening to the conversation between Owen and the wizard as she walked steadily behind the pair. It must have been difficult for Owen to talk about his father, considering his health, though what Malaphar mentioned next caught her off guard.

"You've witnessed my father in combat, Malaphar?"

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"Huh?" Owen looked back as Malaphar did, fixing his eyes on Sebastian. "Oh, you must be talking about Jeeves." He snapped back, "...He's passed away recently, actually." Owen's gaze turned to the dry land under their feet, he'd reminded himself of the battle with Dettard and all it entailed. Many of the sour moments were still fresh in his memory. The prince didn't want to comment on it past that, especially with Adele joining the conversation.

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Malaphar looked over at Adele, finally gaining the young noble's attention. "Yes, I saw your father as a young man, he couldn't have been much older than you are now, Lady Herman." he replied, pausing for a moment. "There are much more to your fathers than you might think, but perhaps that will be a story they will share with you another time, no? We're approaching our destination."


As the group crossed the next ridge, a small settlement came into view. They weren't anything like the barbarians though, most appeared to be cloaked individuals, all a deep red. Malaphar gritted his teeth, showing some form of frustration. "Those cultists, they never learn. I should have vanquished them when I had the chance... no matter, they won't plague this world for much longer." he growled, pulling his tome from his robes.

There appeared to be a gathering in the centre, with one of the cultists dressed far more ornately than the others - mostly likely their leader. They were directing the others to various parts of the camp, pointing frantically in various directions. The distance between him and Owen's group was fairly large, easily enough to muffle anything they'd said.

"We've lost sight of Apellon and Arteria, they were a waste of the water!" he howled. "We need more time, if Malaphar comes back too soon he'll eradicate us all."

Chapter 6A - The Lesser of Evils

Objective - Eliminate Traliard


Deploy in the blue zone!


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At some convenient prior point Emmet stored his Salve in the convoy and helped himself to the Crossbow.

"Are conversation will have to continue later miss Thames" Emmet said interrupting her before she could speak. "It seems something is happening ahead." He raced up to front of the group and looked at the forces in front of him. "Friends of yours?" he asked Malaphar,

Emmet to (17,13)

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Much more to my father than I might think... The whole situation loomed over Owen's head like an ominous shadow. He braced himself to not wince as his idle mind dared to guess what the truth behind his father and Malaphar was. At this point, Owen would have to roll with it.

And pray to Engel he hadn't made the wrong choice.


"Cultists?" Owen looked at Malaphar with a certain sense of fascination --this had been the first time he was not overtly confident and smug about something. So this man had enemies too.

"Very well, we'll fight them with you." The prince unsheated his sword, taking a step forward. He had a feeling it'd do good to keep good terms with this sorcerer. "Before we raise our sword and find our flesh cursed to rot, is there anything else we should know about these cultists?" It was worth asking.

Take out killing edge from the convoy.

Owen to (16,14).

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That is not the Herman's original butler, am I correct? I must have been mistaken, he seemed so similar from a distance."

Scuttle snapped a glare at Sebastian's direction. Her eyes warned him.

Not. A word.


Scuttle pulled the string of her Gattling Bow taut.

"Hang on a second," she motioned, "You need our help with this or you would have done this on your own already. What aren't you telling us about these cultists?"

She had seen what the wizard could do. He needed them for something, and not just as an audience for regaling tales about the buried past. What kind of problem could not be solved by giant pyres of flesh-searing flame that *they* could try a hand at?

Scuttle to 15,17

Edited by Frostivus
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"Well, I guess it'll be a story for a later time." Adeltrudis replied, as their target came into view. Giving a quiet sigh and hefting her axe over her shoulder, the young noblewoman readied herself for combat.

Adele deploys to 16,13 carrying Nacht(20/40), Iron Axe(30/45), Hand Axe(20/20) and Round Shield

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"Let's move." Owen started, his mind still half-drifting over the thoughts of his father's relation with Malaphar. If that man knew so much, would he agree to follow Owen's orders during battle, or would he try to take command? "I think we should split, if only for the start. There are two ways up this hill, we might end up taking the long way around." With his short analysis done, Owen nodded towards Adele. "We're sorely outnumbered, so miscommunication could be our end. I'll leave this side to you, Sebastian, and Miss Thames. Malaphar... I'd appreciate your help unless things look dire otherwise."

Owen to (14,12), stab myrm #1 with his Epee.

(*cancel this move if Emmet misses)

Edited by Xinnidy
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Emmet moves to 15,12!

Emmet attacks Myrm #1 with his Iron Bow!
12 Atk, 84% Hit, 4% Crit
(13 87)
Emmet deals 12 damage! (13/25 HP remaining)

Emmet gains 10 XP!
Emmet gains 1 Bow WEXP!

Owen moves to 14,12!

Owen attacks Myrm #1 with Epee!
(4 74)

Owen gains 40 XP!
Owen gains 2 Sword WEXP!

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"You can count on us, your Majesty!"

Deep inside though, Scuttle huffed. Working alongside the butler Sebastian wasn't the same.

She pulled her bow taut, breath held, and aimed.

She had enough target practice with the previous bandits. This should be child's play.

Scuttle to (12,15), attack Myrm #2 with signal bow

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Scuttle moves to 12,15!

Scuttle attacks Myrm #2 with her Signal Bow!
10 Atk, 100% Hit, 9% Crit, 13% Adept
(96 26)
Scuttle hits for 10 damage! (15/25 HP remaining)
Myrm #2 is signalled!
Myrm #2 counters with his Thorned Edge!
15 Atk, 64% Hit, 1% Crit
(7 97)
Scuttle takes 15 damage! (17/32 HP remaining)

Scuttle gains 11 XP!
Scuttle gains 1 Bow WEXP!

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Adele moves to 13,14!

Adele equips the Round Shield!

Adele attacks Myrm #2 with her Hand Axe!
19 Atk, 81% Hit, 24% Crit
(91 5)
Adele misses!
Myrm #2 counters!
12 Atk, 76% Hit, 6% Crit
(35 18)
Adele takes 12 damage! (21/33 HP remaining)

Adele gains 5 XP!
Adele gains 1 Axe WEXP!
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