Welcome one, and I welcome you all to the tale of a world called Thespia.
Here is the odyssey of one that clings to this world with no face of their own! In a place where magic is fundamental to all of creation, all who live wear their lives upon their face, where a fire might wish to be the cooking fire of an inn!
The Faceless overcame the tyrant lord of Bikel, Stephan Grant, son of Mikael Grant. Thus, while wearing the face of the vengeful spirit "The Reaper of Aurel" otherwise known as Dramir, a story in the world of Thespia comes to an end as a hero arrives to deliver the accursed Guisi from their fates of enslavement and labor.
Yet despite this success, a shadow of doubt looms upon the horizon as the Reaper claimed victory from Lord Grant whilst in his Arche's true form, a secret kept by the Guisi at all costs for fear of true persecution at the hands of other Thespians.
Yet the curtain has closed upon that story and a sibling pair grow restless as they hear the whispers of the Guisi elders and their intent to make the Reaper disappear to ensure that there are no loose ends.
"We will not see our work undone."
If you have questions...
And a log of the quest!
And The Faceless!
It's been a week since Lord Grant's death. Something moral within you declared that you should hold a proper funeral for the passing of Lord Grant. Due to his decree the Danhor each in turn swore fealty to a master that barely looked like any known Thespian.
It's been tiring maintaining your true form, as intimidating as your curved horns are, and how dark your visage, the Danhor maids still nearly faint of shock at your passing, and Unarched children stare on at your form.
The funeral went smoothly, none daring to speak out against you, however you know in your heart that they see you as a Tyrant all the same. The one that murdered their previous lord and took up his estate and mantle.
You shift uncomfortably within the audience hall upon a chair that was made for a man with a much plumper rump than your own. You find yourself sinking into the cushion and frequently getting stuck there. Bloostains linger within the wood of the floor, remembering your deed. Though it was the young Lord's own Sword that performed the deed, it was only because you released it from his grasp. Even now, that very same sword, The Red Sparrow remains quiet within her scabbard, silently sleeping until drawn to sing once more.
You have no guards, having them present fills you with guilt that puts you at odds with the fundamental nature of the face you wear. On the contrary, there is solace in the loneliness.
Sol Light filters in through stained glass windows telling you that it is evening. Around this time, Mira should be sewing in her chambers. She's been rather pleased with the death of Lord Grant despite your pleas of showing her a different answer. In truth, the girl's been changing since you told her that both of her forms are her truth. Only time will tell where she'll end up on that road.
Meanwhile, Odette should be heading out to her evening practice to fire her bow in the barracks. Her horns have been shrinking ever since she revealed her truth to you. Slowly but surely, she's ceasing to be a Guisi and returning to her state as a Makoh. You're still not sure what that means for her, but she's been keen on improving her prowess with archery since.
In the quiet of the evening, and the waning light of Sol before the coming of Luna's serenity, you rest in the uncomfortable throne, slowly drifting off to sleep until...
“You make this too easy, Reaper.” says a voice, slipping out of the shadows. You open your eyes to a Guisi with his horns exposed, holding a sickle in hand. “Sitting upon your hardly won throne in your true form, risking the exposure of us all.”
“Truly... a sight for sore eyes.” Says another voice as it presses through the lengthened shadows.
Despite your keen hearing, you didn't hear either of them enter. With a fierceness in your eyes as you realize the ensuing danger, you rise. “What do the two of you want? Brock? Barret?” You say the names of two of the Guisi elders you'd revealed your truth to.
The Guisi before you seem almost surprised, however the deadly look does not leave their eyes. “Fancy that Barret, he recognized us!” The first one reverts, showing the weathered and beaten face of Brock of Bikel, the one with a scar over his eye. He partially transforms to his regular state, his head alone looking like the Guisi you'd spoken with before.
“I'm flattered you recognized us. Perhaps you are Guisi enough after all.” Smiles the scarred man with persistent murderous intent.
“Brock, what we must do does not change.” Says the other as they reveal their own face as well, the deeply wrinkled face of the Elder, Barret of Orrowh.
“I believe you are missing one, the crescent eyes... Sam was it?” You say, flexing your fingers one by one into the grip for a sword, your transformed scythe ready to shapeshift at a moment's notice.
“Sam elected, unfortunately, not to make it as he and his Guisi of Donnor's pass care little for our affairs.”
You listen to his words and then smile as you make out the subtext, “He disagreed with the two of you.”
Brock frowns deeply, his face only a twitch from a grimace. “That... is indeed so. Nevertheless, imposter, we will end your life this very night with Luna's blessing.”
Both Guisi shift back into their shadow forms. The tension upon the air is thick between the three of you. Though you are outnumbered two to one, they await for you to make the first move. Apparently neither is in a rush to get cut down, yet both are ready to bring you down should you make the wring move...
>[Attack quickly, separate them with an air blade and strike the slower one!]
>[Let the tension build, wait for the right moment and rush them both.]
>[Conjure a storm of wind as a diversion and flee!]
>[Call for help!]
... The three of you are alone... Though it feels like there are more present.
You hear the crack of multiple tiny fingers as dramatic music plays to enhance the tension.
The staredown begins as you stand regal and tall before the other two Guisi, your scythe ready to launch into action as a sword, spear, or even a halberd at a moment's notice. There is a palpable sensation of dread looming upon the air as the two Guisi Elders regard you with as much caution as you do they.
To you, it is because they are unknowns. To them, it's because they know what you can do.
Brock bears a common farming sickle like a smaller cousin to your own scythe. You get the sensation that he must have a dual pact... Though you're not sure what his shadow is yet.
Barret holds nothing in his hands, though you do notice that he's wearing a knotted band that one might wear in the fields as they work.
The doors to outside are closed and you hear no rustle of movements from the side-gate. You're not sure whether the guards are alive or dead. Though if alive, you wouldn't say that it's unlikely for them to have let these trespassers through.
Suddenly, you feel the time is right. With a solitary step forward, you send them both on increased edge. A forboding move that plays upon the fears they have of you as a Guisi that bears the wretched title of “Reaper.”
Dramir whispers within, “Though they are right... I hate them. Let us be rid of them, imposter.”
The time they gave you to act allowed you to ensnare a great deal of the stagnant air in the room, that was their first mistake. Their second mistake, was giving you the allowance of making a first move. That one step put them on guard, however they did not react as they should have, and thus...
With a twirl, your scythe morphs into a short-staffed halberd in your hands. The brutish blade's cutting reach is enhanced by the ensnared air and with a mighty strike you send forth a windborne blade to Brock, forcing him to dodge across the room, closer to Barret.
As he moves, Barret's eyes do not leave your form and you rush forward with violent abandon as you swing to cleave through them both as you cut the horizon.
The wind rages past them with slicing fury, yet the short-stacked Barret leaps high, seeming to almost fly upon the air, not unlike yourself. Brock however, escapes low, vanishing into the ground like some sort of mole.
With the two separated in their own right, you do not have a chance to hesitate and waste this moment...
>[Perform a vertical cleave while calling out your Pact's spell, banish the above and below.]
>[Press onward and shift the halberd into a full at the last moment to let Barret fall upon it.]
>[Take this moment to fly for the exit, it's unlikely that these two are alone.]
Pressing on, you rush forward as your halberd morphs into a full spear, stabbing it forth to impale the diminutive Elder Barret. For all the force you put into the blow, the elder slams his hands together, stopping the point short of his neck.
“Cut his hands.” You say, commanding your living weapon and the spearhead bends and suddenly and whirls around, catching Barret by surprise as the blade bites deeply into his right wrist, forcing him to let go and fly back.
As your attention's divided, you feel something sharp around your shin slicing into your skin as it slides down to your foot, locking it in place with an intrepid blade. “What-” is all you manage as Brock slips out of the ground behind you and pulls you back with a practiced motion, forcing you to fall as his sickle cuts deeper into your foot at a rough angle.
You scream out in agony as the blade maims you, yet fall short on breath as the wind's knocked out of you by the fall, you clutch your scythe tightly in your hand despite being stunned as you refuse to go down with an empty hand.
Barret lands upon your stomach with a single viscous knee, causing catastrophic damage in retaliation for the damage done to his wrist. He's far stronger than he looks...
The two elders stand over you, looming with murderous solidarity.
“With this, the Reaper remains a legend.” Barret says with a somber tone.
“The story goes that you fled after becoming lord, leaving control of this Manor to us.” Brock says with affirmation.
Trembling weakly with your scythe still in your grasp, Barret kicks your hand. As you hear and feel a crunch, your weapon flies across the room. “No more time for talk. This ends now.” The diminutive fellow raises his small fist, and it's now that you see what the Danhor must've seen.
Monsters, painted black with long curvaceous horns and daggered eyes using strange and powerful abilities that turned all their effort to naught. Indeed, these two are elders of the Guisi each powerful and skilled in their own right and well deserving of the fear that they unknowingly provoke.
You see your own death flashing once again before your eyes, and-
“Fulgar: Vitus Quaer Solet” A streak of lightning blasts from out of nowhere, dancing across the flesh of the two Guisi with no crack of thunder following, “Fulgar: Vitus Dolor.” And it lingers, wracking their flesh in pain. From beyond your purview, you see a familiar presence walking forward.
With each step she takes, you hear the same thing uttered upon the channels of Fate, “Dolor. Dolor. Dolor. Dolor. Dolor.” And with each incantation's phrase the convulsions of the elders increase until their threads unravel themselves and their heart of life stops from the torment.
“Dolor. Dolor. Dolor,” The smiling beauty repeats the incantation even after their threads unravel and their bodies fall inert. Then, as it dawns to her, she turns to you with a wide grin from ear to ear, “Oh? They died.”
“Are you well?” Another voice says from behind as it steps over you. The perpetually frowning man looks down upon you with empty eyes and not a care in his voice. “We'd hoped that would play out more favorably.”
“What do you-” You begin.
“Well, you've done well thus far, however two powerful Guisi is a far cry from a petulant little lordling. I bet he's meeting his dear father in the great loom as we speak, how joyous!” The shrill cackling laugh of the woman echoes even as the world begins to fall still, the light of Luna just barely starting to peek through the stained glass.
“It is time for you to move on. For now, there is nothing more for you to gain from the Reaper.”
“You mean, Dramir.” You say with a wheeze as you rise carefully, only to wince from the sickle still in your foot.
“Do you need help with that?” Avar asks, referring to the blade stuck in the ground and through your foot.
>["No, I'll be fine." Force the blade out yourself.]
>["A little help would be appreciated."]
“Couldn't you two have shown up before the event?” You snipe at them as you reach down to grab the sickle, pulling up at the blade only to find that it's firmly lodged into the floor.
“We had to see how it played out, we will not always be here to save you.” Avar says somberly. Looking at your predicament, he turns to Rava, “Cut it off.”
“Yes Brother.” Rava draws her blade at once.
“Wait, wait!” You start to say as her steel slices right through the joint of your ankle, liberating you in a gruesome manner as you stifle a scream.
You start screaming endless curses at Avar as he, without batting an eye, kneels down to touch your severed foot. With a mystic grasp, he takes hold of the threads and converts the flesh into a bundle of threads that slips out of the blade of the sickle.
Now speechless, you watch as he links the threads to your stumped limb, “... Volen Aqueas: Wish it as healed.” He utters and the threads begin to reform back into what you recognize as your(Dramir's) foot.
“That's... a relief.” You say with an exasperated breath, as you fall back onto the floor in relief.
“Clearly.” Avar says dispassionately as always. Rava sheaths her sword. The Dramini male turns to you, “Yet we are not here merely to save you. As said, your time as Dramir must come to an end, for now. You will reunite another time.”
You rise, staring Avar in the eyes as you realize the weight of his words. It stings, it hurts, but you know that this isn't you. For as long as you've been living as him, it's strange to part ways. “You say, another time. We'll meet again?”
“Yes.” Avar affirms, “When you are ready we will gift unto you the faces we've readied for your journeys. This is only the beginning of your road to rediscovery”
Your eyes travel to the dead elders, inert upon the floor. Their faces stretched and mangled in pain, their eyes are gone, exploded from the surging pain. Avar rubs his temples, and squeezes his eyes shut, clearly disturbed by something. Rava looks to him with a soberness that is unlike her usual cheery self.
“Will it...” You start, looking back to Avar. “Will it be filled with all the pain and revenge I've seen thus far?”
“It very well may, yet it depends upon the next life you choose and the story you make. Are you ready to choose?”
>[“I have questions first.”]
"We have six in hand, including the Reaper's. However, you are not ready for two of them, therefore you're choices will be between the remaining three."
"Likely, the Guisi will choose new leaders as is their way. They are not lost sheep like the Danhor,
"You are an anomaly. In the accursed cycle that's spinning fate. All of those that have been involved here are free from what they were meant to do within this cycle. We've had to watch very closely, however with the deaths of the Elders other Guisi will surely look upon you poorly. As such, it is time to move on from The Reaper."
Avar reaches beneath his robes, pulling forth a bound satchel. Drawing back a shimmering thread, he reaches inside and concentrates deeply before drawing forth three faces...
The first, a mask with skin that shimmers with a hue of gold with short well-groomed hair and eyes that see right through your every move. “This is Acer, the King of Blades. He is known as the titled King of Blades that ruined three generations of Hylon Swordsmen. The Jack of blades you slew last week was meant to be the first breath of Hylon swordsmanship were to see since he lived.” Avar sets the mask upon the ground. “I understand it must be jarring to become a Hylon after living as one that's hated them... You would be welcomed into their courts and come to understand their politics and ploys while showing them that the greatest swordsman ever to live is still around.
Avar presents the second mask, with long flowing red hair and sin blushed dark by the kiss of Sol, she has heart-shaped pupils and absolutely exquisite features that would make any man lose himself in passing. Beyond her eyes there dances a flame that would burn forever. “This is Belinda the Eternal. A Namour dancer that's lived a long life, it is said that she's pacted with a flame that blesses her with eternal youth and beauty. As a Namour, she lived a life with a love for adventure and seeing Thespia. It could be a well change of pace for you to see all the good Thespia has to offer after this foul business.”
Setting Belinda upon the ground, he holds up the last mask. With silver hair and dark eyes twisted into madness. His teeth are daggered like Odette's, and his face is marked by silver scales that run like knives if rubbed backwards. “This is a Makoh warrior of whom even we could not learn the name of in all our time trying. The Makoh way is to devour the fates of others they find worthy to empower their own skill and mastery... This warrior devoured the fate of other Makoh, a taboo among them. The earliest we came across him in any cycle, he was stricken with blades, arrows, and spears, yet still his body did not refuse to die as his peers sought to slay him as a demon. The best they could ever manage was to bind his impaled body to Thespia and ensure he could not move.”
The final mask is laid down.
>Who shall you become?
>[The King of Blades.]
>[The Eternal Dancer.]
>[The Undying Warrior.]
I'll allow time for questions and discussion if needed.
>[The King of Blades.]
Would be kind of jarring becoming a Hylon directly after being Guisi
>[The Eternal Dancer.]
Wildcard Don't know what to expect
>[The Undying Warrior.]
Playing something close to a monster
Am I getting it right?
I think I'll go with
>[The Undying Warrior.]
If we can take Mira and Oddete
>[The Eternal Dancer.]
>[The Undying Warrior.]
In terms of strength, undying warrior sounds good, but general travel will suit those two better. Either way, I'm thinking King of Blades after this.
Just about. I'm personally thinking of each in terms of genre and theme.
King of Blades is drama centered around what accounts for "Historical fiction" as far as Thespia is concerned.
Eternal Dancer is more of a lighthearted adventure story centered around the theme of literary "Romance" where dreams come true and good things happen.
The Undying warrior is centered more around a redemption theme (possibly)
It's likely that they can come with any of the three
“This life of pain and revenge has worn on me... Supposing I am meant to learn or understand and that I've understood what was meant, I wouldn't mind living as someone that's fundamentally kind.”
“Is that so?” Avar states dryly. “So you choose the eternal dancer?”
“Yes, she sounds like a refreshing character.”
Avar looks at you. You expect him to smile, to crack a grin at your enthusiasm. Nothing. He takes the unselected faces and returns them to his satchel with a shimmering thread. “Sister, have you retrieved the Red Sparrow?”
Rava walks back into your view, carrying the blade. You hadn't even noticed that she had left. “Yes, dear brother.”
“Why are you taking Lord Grant's blade?” You ask.
“We had thought it an adequate blade for you had you chosen the King of Blades. For now, we'll hold onto it until the time comes that you will live as a Hylon. We will take our leave... But first.” Avar holds out his hand, “You must return to us Dramir.”
You frown, looking down at the face you've chosen, you close your eyes, take a deep breath and listen.
“It's been... interesting, imposter. I wish you well.”
Opening your eyes, “Will Mira and Odette be able to come with me?”
“That is their choice.”
“Can I say goodbye as the Reaper?”
Surrendered, you reach to your face, and dig your hands into where the seams for the face would appear. It's strange, that you know how to do this, and yet it comes naturally. Dramir lets go of you, and you let go of him, his threads unravel from yours and slide back into the face. It takes some time, but you finally pull the face off, weakly placing it upon Avar's hands as he callously takes it back.
As Dramir leaves your grasp, you notice a single red thread slip from your finger, still attached to the face. “What... is that?” You say, languishing in speech as you feel your mind sluggishly slipping away.
“You will find out in time, Faceless. You will find an adventurer's guild here in Bikel. I recommend travel to the twin city, Celes Prance of Twi'laqua. It's a journey long and far, yet you will find the most beautiful place in all of Thespia there.”
“Thank you...” You say, barely above a whisper. With a move of your palm, you feel yourself grasp the normally unseen threads wafting from Belinda's face. Pulling, her visage rises into your hand with minimal effort.
As you turn the face around, squinting as you look into the intricate work that is the inside of a face, you lift it up to meet yours and start the process of becoming someone new...
Her threads prance over your body like a choreographed play, and caress themselves onto your flesh with feminine suppleness. As her form spreads to your arms, you let go of the face, and flourish as though to begin a dance.
As mirth rushes over, you find a song in your heart and you swing your entire body around to the rhythm. Rapidly, the threads find themselves over your legs, down to your feet and they reform into the body of a nimble young woman as you leap into the air with the crescendo of the song, landing with an elegant spin as your feet erupt into a sudden spectacular flare. Then, rising up with a second spin, the fire crackles off of your hair.
After the sudden rush of rebirth, you find yourself blinking, just now becoming accustomed to seeing through your own eyes again. “I'm back.” You smile, looking down to your hands, your long fingernails and slight wrists with dusky skin. “I'm back!” You say again, giggling with so much cheer that you perform a cartwheel and carry into a flip that ends in a full split.
“It's so good to feel alive again.” You say as you lean back, still in that finishing pose, stretching to lengths that make others go wild with awe.
“Say, wasn't there someone else here?” You blink again, a flutter of your eyelashes as you look around with no one to be found besides a package in the audience hall. “Oh?”
You spring back up to your feet and walk over with a canter to examine the package. It's wrapped in Papyrus that you easily shred with a nail, “To Belinda” You read after already opening it.
Within are clothes fitting for a traveling dancer, a number of bracelets and bands, and silken underwear along with sensible yet exotic clothing and a cloak to hide your decency and warmth for long travel.
“Ohhh.” You smile, “How thoughtful.” You say as you regard your own poorly fitting clothes. “This is clearly more than welcome, I could almost kiss whomever left this for me.”
With little reserved for sense, you disrobe on the spot, unbuckling your trousers and sliding them off just as the door to the side-chambers opens up.
“Oh, Reaper, I've returned from practice and I thought-” A white-haired woman starts saying as she sees you brazenly changing out of your clothes.
The two of you make eye contact, and then she looks at the package, and then at the blood on the floor, and then back to you, eyes widening in fury for whatever reason. “You!” She draws a black bow and reaches for an arrow only to realize that she has none, so she instead readies her bow to strike you down.
“Hey, hey! What do you think you're using me as?” The bow complains.
“Shut up, you bastard thing! Shut up!” The white-haired woman yells, “Explain yourself, now!”
“Well, I was just changing out of these clothes...” You start.
“Those are the Reaper's clothes.” She tightens her grip on her bow, intent on striking you down. “Where is he? Did he... Did he invite a whore?” Her lip curls in disgust.
Caught in the act and already seen, you drop your pants to put your fists on your hips in outrage, “Why, I've been called a lot of things, and whore's one of them, yet I'll assure you,” You roll one of your hands along with your eyes, “I've NEVER lain with anyone that wasn't special to me.”
The white haired woman's cheeks flush red, “H-He's special to you?! T-the Reaper?!” The woman snarls, showing her daggerlike teeth, “I'll kill you!”
The woman rushes towards you, and you can't help but feel a strange twinge that she doesn't mean well. As she swings, you roll back under her blow and spring forward with a kick to knock her back. It's not even that you meant to, it just happened naturally.
“Wait... Wait... something's wrong...” You hold your head, trying to remember something, “You're... Odette, right? The Reaper... The Reaper's moved on, but I'm still... here... I just. Look different?”
Odette gets up, reeling from the handspring kick, “You... changed? How? Where did you get that face from... and I saw your eyes, you're Namour?”
“Yes...” You wince. “I'm most certainly Namour! And as for where the face is from...” You place a finger to your lip. “Why, I've always had my face!”
“No... Odette, look.” You wince again, trying to sort out control. “Don't listen to her... I'm working things out right now... Just... Can I at least put some pants on?” You hold a hand over your crotch and Odette turns away.
“Ah... Okay... I'll just pretend... that none of this happened. I'll be waiting.” Odette leaves, still blushing furiously from that predicament.
Belinda takes control again, removing her(your) hand from covering yourself, “My, aren't you bashful? I may be a virgin, but you're most certainly more embarrassed than I am.”
“I... Look. I know we've just met, but can I have a bit more liberty here?”
“Of course!” Belinda laughs out loud at your question. “Thespia changes day by day. If I'm not out exploring her endless mysteries than I can't say to be living, can I? No,I might as well be dead, or rather dormant as I'd been.”
“But, Odette, and Mira. I wanted to ask if they could come with us. Odette...”
“I think I could read the mood enough, you don't think I'm really that airheaded, do you?” Belinda giggles as she slides up her pants and starts working on undoing your lordly jerkin.
“You fancy that one, or at least she definitely fancies you.”
>[“I do rather fancy her.]
>[“That's not important, there are bigger things at work here.”]
>[“Do you really play off being stupid to get your way?”]
“I was... rather surprised she reacted that way... Time will tell if 'I' am even capable of relationships. I'm wearing you right now, right?”
“Hmm. Very true. Though I've kissed girls before, think she'd be up for that? Don't mean to be a third leg.” Belinda snickers at her own crude joke.
“I'm sorry, but do you really play off being... like that to get your way?”
“Of course!” Belinda says it as though it's a matter of fact, still fiddling with the jerkin, apparently having some difficulty getting it undone, “Having pacted with the Eternal Flame, I haven't much come close to dying of old age. If I acted like a cryptic old crown nobody would give me free room and board in exchange for a performance or two... Let alone all the men that've thought I would enhance my hospitality if they buy me a drink.” Belinda's lips curl into a smile as she gives up on the jerkin, instead shimmying her upper body, summoning fire to burn it off.
“That... was my favorite...”
“Please, it was ugly.”
You begin to assert your control, putting forth your will to direct her threads, “I need... you... to settle... down.”
Belinda's(your) hands tremble as they lock up between the two of you trying to control them, as her(your) hands shake, you bring them higher until- She places her hands firmly upon her breasts, sticking her tongue out, “Oh dear, the one that's trying to pose as me is molesting my supple young body!”
You reflexively release direct control as though you were an outsider to your own body, “You are a spiteful woman...”
Belinda cackles haughtily, “I prefer being called a tease.” As she puts on the top gifted to the two of you. “On a more serious note, imposter. There's something that I want to see, and something that I'd like to show you. And I want to be clear here... I feel your memories slipping into me.. The time you spent as the Reaper... I'm not like that. You and I, let's be partners. We'll dance through this role together, but we need to respect each other's boundaries.”
Dressed, Belinda kneels upon the floor, “My first rule, I don't kill anyone. Lives are short enough as is, why make them any shorter? My second rule, I don't steal. It's not very nice when you can earn something with a performance or a wink and a kiss. Third Rule... We'll get to that. It's not important right now. But I suppose I'll add a fourth rule. For our time together, I want to feel myself. You seem lost, and I'm always pleased with company. Act as I would and I may not feel a need to play my own part.”
Belinda offers a pinky out to the air, “How's that all sound? Good deal?”
>[Deal. At least you're not a grouch like the Reaper.]
>[No deal, I want total control.]
>[Can we fall in love with ourselves?]
>["What makes Arche Namour?"]
“It's a deal.” You answer and you flex her pinky closed.
“Lovely,” Belinda smiles, “Is there anything else you'd like to know?”
“Well, I'm like a stranger to Thespia even now, can you tell me what makes an Arche Namour?”
Belinda's eyes go wide before she turns them up and away, trying to think carefully on what to say, “I should say,” She folds her hands in her lap, “Namour are an Arche of Passion. We pursue the things we love, and our stories end with us getting them... Even if it may be after death or in a way that we were unlikely to expect. For me, it was a love for Thespia.”
You clasp your hands over your heart.
“It was seeing all the wonderful things she offered, the people, the lakes, the rivers... Trees, and beautiful beasts. And do not think me naive, I've seen the worst as well... But well... Whenever something bad happens, it's the Namour way to think of all that we love. We draw strength from our passions. They empower us to be bigger and better than we are. It's when we lose passion and hope for the future that we cease being Namour. So, that's what makes a Namour. I've lived a long time to understand the Arche in the way that I have.”
“I see...” You say in thought. That could very well be a large part of the lesson that Avar intends for you to learn from the Dancer.
You rise with a flourish, “Alright! So we need to pack food and supplies, and ask Mira of she wants to join us on the open road.” You think for a moment, “Odette too... I'm sure she'll want to come with. What is there left for her here?”
>[Leave for your chambers to start packing for the journey ahead.]
>[Visit Mira in her chambers.]
>[Rendezvous with Oddette.]
mm I don't mean to end on such an off note, but I feel myself getting all sleepy.
We'll open next time with the choice to visit mira... Whelp, that'll be interesting.
See ya'll next week! It's been a pleasure!
Dramir didn't really resist much after that first kill, though overall Belinda is more formidable to to her long-lived nature and the power of her passions.
I wouldn't worry too much as she's not out to destroy anyone, and as she said, it's frankly the opposite, she's a kind person.
Oh, and though she said that she doesn't kill, she never said that she doesn't fight. Important distinctions.
That is a good point, not necessarily.
And it also comes to mind that the Red Sparrow's effect is also a good non-lethal measure.
I feel sorry for her, I'm sure she'd appreciate Belinda.
well we all knew they were dead men. I skimmed it trying to catch up, but while it was certainly worrying, it's not something unexpected.
Such a method of killing is not really cruel as such, and the way she kept it up long after death was more unsettling in how she's less able to tell when something is dead rather than the act itself.
I'll just take it as one more piece of information for when we stand on equal footing as them.
we should, then