Tressa's log

03/02/1619

We've left Flamegrace. I had no idea people were so crazy about religion. I bet there's some money to be made there, but I can't focus on any ideas. Now that we're walking by the forest, we keep getting into battles with monsters, completely at random. It's really getting annoying.

As we've gotten closer to Stillsnow, Primrose has gotten as quiet and as good at fighting as Olberic. She still hasn't told us what we're going to do, but I can tell by how gruesome her kills have been that she's anxious to do it. Ophilia isn't talking much either. She seemed more chatty when we met her but I have a feeling she doesn't like being around Primrose too much. It's too bad. I was looking forward to some girl talk, mostly so I could learn what girl talk is.

Note to self, buy sandstone to erase things that don't sound adventurous

Cyrus just had a fun idea. I'll report back with the results.

Over the past few hours, the snow had dissipated from under the travellers' feet as they ventured further into the forest. Primrose was hoping that perhaps Stillsnow was just a name as she was already agitated enough without adding going in the wrong direction to the mix. Not only were they approaching her first real shot at revenge, but she was as close to her home of Noblecourt as she had been since she left as a young girl. The thoughts of both were doing her grace no favours.

Being covered in monster blood wasn't doing much for her disposition either.

Her nerves were clear to the rest of her party, which was the only silver lining. Ophilia had stopped almost talking to her. The nerveless cleric's sighs wouldn't have bothered the dancer, but almost talking eventually leads to talking if given enough time. She had gotten past her dislike for Ophilia but the list of possible conversation topics were only preaching, prying or some ham fisted attempt at flirting and Primrose had no interest in any of those.

Olberic was starting to be a cause for concern though. Primrose had noticed him almost almost talking to her which was as chatty as she'd ever seen him. Revealing the broad strokes of her past had changed the dynamic between the dancer and her friend. They had once been equals – brooders with dark but ambiguous pasts that were hellbent on looking forward. Now the fog around her backstory had been lifted and by a word as daunting as slavery.

Slavery and all the connotations that went with it. Tressa, Ophilia and even Cyrus were the right kinds of stupid to miss the subtext, but Olberic was worldly enough to know the uglier details of what it meant to be a young woman robbed of freedom.

It was almost a shame that Helgenish was dead. Olberic taking that blade of his to her former boss' fat, disgusting heart probably would have given him more satisfaction than Primrose had gotten from slicing his neck open.

With that option being pecked at by vultures, there was only one thing left that would soothe her friend. Primrose went over the idea over and over because it seemed like such an impossible notion. Eventually, she had to concede that the only way to help Olberic was with to talk to him.

The two of them had been taking up the rear as most of the monsters had tried to strike from behind, so no one else noticed when Primrose stuck out her arm to stop Olberic. She wasn't entirely successful, her shoulder was almost dislocated by the force of nature, but the dancer was just strong enough that her friend realized she wasn't a twig in his way.

Primrose called out to the rest of the group, "I've got to clean some of the blood of this dress. I'll catch up."

She looked up to Olberic whose eyes kept darting around. He must have been wondering if Primrose was going to propose ditching the rest of the group. She knew he would never do it, but the fact that the thought crossed his mind meant she had been rubbing off on him.

"We should sit."

"Hmm."

The only way Olberic would have agreed was if it were an order and they found themselves parked on a log.

"I owe you an explanation."

"You owe no one anything."

"I can't believe I'm saying it, but I think I do." This was the first time she had even considered telling someone of the details of her scheme. "What would you do if the one that held me in captivity were here?"

"I would see justice served."

Kill enough people and you have to come up with new, cleaver ways of saying murder. "I'm sure you've already figured out I handled that on my own, but the fact that you're the kind of friend that would do that for me means you deserve the truth."

"My past is more complicated than a normal slave's tail. I went into it voluntarily." If Primrose had said this to anyone else, they would have gasped in shock at such an absurd concept, but Olberic must have had already determined that Primrose must have acted with some sense of logic. Another listener also would have asked, 'why would you do such a thing,' but Olberic obviously knew an explanation was coming and wanted to keep this encounter to as few words as possible.

This summed Olberic up – faithful and focused. Primrose was sure this combination was a defining aspect of her friend's past. "My father was murdered when I was still very young. Murdered by three assassins." Olberic tsked at the idea of three ganging up against one. "I swore revenge, but they hid their tracks well. Eventually I discovered that I could find evidence in Sunshade, so I went undercover. I endured only by choice. I could have killed my owner whenever I wished."

"This is why Ophilia's comment bothered you so."

"I could have saved so many women."

"But the greater good lay ahead." Primrose knew Olberic would at least understand. Greater Good would have been a good name for his sword.

"So I tell myself. It doesn't matter either way. What's done is done. I just need you to know there is no need to pity me. Pity the other women, pity the world we live in, but not me."

The warrior shook his head. "I do not. Pity is for the pitiful and you are strong. I am merely focused. You're my comrade in arms; your fights are mine and like any battle, I strive for victory and that is all that's changed."

Primrose lay her head on Olberic's shoulder. She didn't expect him put his arm around her, or do anything comforting and she was glad he didn't. Simply sitting there, silently absorbing her weight and giving her the option to rest was the most sincere gesture Olberic could give.

Nothing of the sort for the wicked though. Up ahead they heard Tressa yell out, "okay we are definitely lost!"

Oh dear, oh dear, Ophilia cried to herself as she saw Primrose stampeding towards them. It might have just been an illusion of her monstrous stride, but it looked like she had more blood on her than before. As dire as things looked, Ophilia was a little excited. Part of her job was counselling people through rough patches and this looked like the perfect chance to spread the good will of the Sacred Flame. I'll have to be subt- The cleric was nearly knocked over by Primrose's slight frame as it stomped past her.

"How are we lost!?" Primrose was firmly in Cyrus' personal bubble, ignoring the obvious explanation next to her. "I gave you my map because I assumed you knew how to read it, because I assumed you know how to read everything."

"Read? Certainly. Though I can't say I truly understand all of it. Haikus for instance. Why limit yourself?"

"Cyrus!"

"Of course, the map." Cyrus gestured toward Tressa who had made no effort to hide that she was holding said map. "With our young friend here trying to get her feet wet as an explorer, I figured allowing her to lead the way for a bit would be a good learning exercise."

Primrose continued to address Cyrus, as she glared at Tressa, "you gave my map away for some schoolgirl lesson?"

Book of Sealticge 10:12 – The greatest of our flock shall absorb all lashes of whip and of tongue against our meekest. "Primrose," Ophilia said shakily. "I believe Cyrus' plan was noble at the very least. If you wish to blame anyone, blame me for supporting it." Ophilia's plan worked. Primrose slowly turned to her, looking even more ferocious. She already despises me, so what difference does it make?

Ophilia was expected the dancer to double down and really lay in to her and judging from the way Primrose's body was tensing and contorting, it looked like she was ready to do it, but no screaming came. The angry young woman glared deep into Ophilia's soul, silently opening her mouth a few times, almost almost saying something nasty but she was completely silent until her body drooped into relaxation. She asked the group, "what now? Do we turn around?"

"I'd say not," Cyrus answered as he gently tugged the map away from Tressa. "There were too many forks. I'm not even sure how we could retrace our steps. We haven't passed a single town since Flamesgrace, so if we keep on this path, we'll come across one eventually and I can collect our bearings from there."

Professor Albright had been correct. It hadn't taken them long to find dwellings, but the village was such a small one that Ophilia was worried it wouldn't even be on Primrose's map and that one more setback might be enough to cause the dancer to fly off the handle. It was a miracle she hadn't already.

Give her some kind words. She could use some compassion. "Primrose..." Perhaps I should have figured out what those words would be first. Nice dre – no I gave it to her. The dancer was staring at Ophilia impatiently. "Necklace!...I saw your necklace in Flamesgrace. It's quite exquisite."

Primrose faked a smile and pulled out the extravagant collaboration of gold, opals and diamonds from under her dress. "You're kind to notice. It is a shame it clashes so poorly with plain white – even with the bloodstains."

"How did you come across such a thing?" No no "Not to say that slaves can't – I mean not that you can't have fancy jewellery." Primrose stared back blankly, face twitching which Ophilia mistook for withheld rage. If only she had known it was just the blood soaked dancer trying not to laugh.

"It was a gift, from my boss. He wanted me to stand out."

That was too intriguing and unusual to leave well enough alone. "Forgive me if I'm being too forward, but if that's where it came from, why would you still want to wear it?"

"Helgenish took so much from me when he was alive. I won't let his rotting soul take away something this beautiful."

Such a lovely sentiment gave Ophilia nearly enough confidence to speak her mind. "Primrose, I have to ask. Do you hate me-" No, not now "meals! Do you hate meals, or rather, late meals. Too close to bedtime?" The dancer stared back at her like she had just said something incredibly strange, which, to be fair.

Thankfully, they weren't able to dwell on it as they were interrupted by a messenger that would normally be nondescript, but he stood out as a city boy in a small village. He spoke right at Primrose. "'Scuse me, miss, but you don't happen ta be the hunter by the name of H'annit by any chance?"

With a sigh of relief from Ophilia, Primrose redirected all her attention to the young herald. "Do I look like a hunter?"

"Well, miss, your dress is covered in blood. Ya got some on your face too, little bit in your hair and I can see the outline of the dagger on your hip." The boy backed away slightly. "If I'm being perfectly honest, if you aren't a hunter, I'm a little concerned."

"Then please be concerned somewhere else." As the boy's slinking turned to a brisk pace, Primrose turned to Ophilia. "I should probably wash this. The last thing I want is for it to invite any more attention."

"Perhaps. Red is a lovely colour on you though."

The dancer paused. "Right..." There's that look again. "Why don't you go catch up to everyone else at the tavern. I'll be there soon."

I suppose that's for the best.

Primrose stumbled upon the towns inn. It was the first building she had come across that wasn't someone's home and she doubted anyone would let her in looking like she did.

"Yea, we offer laundry, but only for guests." The innkeeper was a short, tired looking old man that didn't belong in the hospitality industry. "Only one room here and it's already full."

"How much is it for a night? I'll pay you that much just to wash my clothes."

"We're already full."

Primrose pinched her nose, scratching off some dried blood in the process. "Very well. Do you have a closet I can change in? I'll pay you for five minutes of privacy."

"Guests only."

"Okay, but-

"We're already full."

She had never used dark magic on someone whose brain was too feeble to put two thoughts together. She wondered what would happen but the dancer decided to leave and find a robust bush to swap clothes in. She was out of the cold and her performance dress would suffice until they got back to the snow.

No more than a few steps out the door, Primrose once again attracted attention, but this time, no sneer or witty response would get her out of it. She jumped in shock, banging against the inn exterior, at a white leopard that was standing beneath her. Back to the wall, she slowly reached for her dagger, but before she could draw it, the frightened dancer noticed the animal was simply sniffing at her dress.

"Gods, do I smell good," she calmly asked the cat. "I really do need to wash this." When the leopard started to lick at the tainted fabric, Primrose rolled her eyes at the dangerous, darling creature. "Not what I meant, cutie."

Distracted, Primrose hadn't even noticed the presence that had just approached her. "Excuseth me." A deep, feminine voice caused her another to jump again. "Thou art soaked in blood. Have you cometh from the woods?"

I really, really need to get this wa- Primrose looked up, ready to dismiss yet another stranger, but everything froze when she saw a woman. A powerful woman with wild, braided hair. Her dark green eyes were apathetic, devoid of any kind of fear or self doubt and the furs and skins she was covered in were arranged meticulously and practically, honouring the creatures they came from like they were saints protecting her.

The only blemish Primrose could find were the scars along her arms, most likely caused by the string of the bone-crafted bow at her side. The marks only made the woman even more impressive. The dancer was as captivated as she was vexed and she could only form one coherent thought.

Is this what I do to people?