:) :) Wholesome chapter.
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine's Retribution, Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (500/500)
He didn't know which would happen first: he'd would have a full-on emotional breakdown and just lay on the floor and cry, or his poor heart would simply give out for how rapidly it slammed against his sternum. He was The Guide. A famed scholar of celebrated calibre... so why was he curled up against a barricaded doorway, clutching a sword to his chest? And not even his own sword (he had no idea how to swing a blade, and understood was likely to hurt himself should he try) but the sword of the thing that just tried to kill him.
Breathe... breathe... come on man. Holy fuck.
Now, scholars didn't solve their problems with violence. This was something they prided themselves in. All the brutish 'little people' resorted to hashing out their issues with drunken brawling and punching each other's teeth out. Pathetic, really. He? No. He was refined. He settled his troubles with sly arguments and with smooth deception. With the pulling of political strings and well timed flattery. When push really came to shove, he argued his case before a court. He was a scholar. He was blessed with a sharp mind; it had never failed him before.
Until now.
Because nothing the Monster Knight did made even a lick of sense! His mind had spun itself dizzy trying to make sense of it! Who was The Knight? What was The Knight? What were its intentions? It clearly had a basic level of intelligence - since it could speak and form meaningful sentences. It likewise had capacity for emotion, but whatever it felt was not human emotion. It was not something he was able to empathize with nor predict or (heaven forbid) manipulate. Indeed, The Knight's psyche was as alien as his constitution.
Okay okay... he's gone. He went outside. I have his sword. He can't attack me anymore... phew...
...
...
He took several deep breaths before opening his eyes and observing the room he was sitting in. At first glance, it was cozy, clean and warm. A crackling fireplace adorned the left wall, caged in by a couch and two perfectly upholstered armchairs. A plush rug was spread across the hardwood floor. A sparkling gold (real gold? No - ridiculous.) hung by a chain from the ceiling. A small kitchen was attached. It hosted a dining table, a tremendous bowl piled high with apples and an ale keg.
*thmp...thmp*
But like everything in This Compound, it was the details that were concerning.
The grains in the wood were identical. There was no deviation between the panels of hardwood in the floor or the walls. The fire did not burn the logs within it, nor did it give off any fumes or smoke. Each apple in that pile was perfectly identical. The Ale Keg had it's spigot wide open and was draining into the sink - yet the amount that flowed out clearly exceeded the volume the container could hold.
*thmp...*
The Guide flared his nostrils and scrambled to his feet as he heard footsteps descending the staircase. He felt awkward holding the blade, but raised it up in trembling hands anyways. He was more than a little relieved when a frazzled pink-haired woman peeked out from beneath the banister.
"Ah, hello there ma'am..."
A brief silence. The woman narrowed her eyes; a deep frown turned the corners of her mouth. She spoke his name as if it were familiar to her.
"...Guide, why bother being polite when your pet monster is out of control?! I saw him kill The Mechanic and chase The Party Girl into the woods! And what did you mean about my brother probably being at The Resistance?! I need to go to him! Let me out of this place immediately! Call The Monster Knight and make him escort me out of this place!"
The pink hair woman stomped down the stairs and approached him until she stood only a sword's length away. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, not in the least afraid of the trembling blade pointed at her bosom. Did she think he wouldn't dare strike her? Well... she'd be right. The Guide had never struck a person in his entire life, it simply wasn't something natural to him.
What was natural to him was understanding what the fuck was happening.
And as his impressive brain analyzed the tirade that spilled from The Pink Haired woman's tongue, he became more and more aware of just how clueless he was. What kind of request was this? What were the expectations he was being held to? This pink-haired woman wasn't asking him to go fight The Monster Knight. She was asking him to command it, as if he already had the authority to.
What kind of man was... my predecessor?
The Guide sighed and shook his head. He placed the sword down with a clack on the coffee table and collapsed into an armchair with a grunt. He could feel a migraine coming on and dug the tips of his fingers into his temples in a sorry attempt to ward it off. From the corner of his eye, he could see The Pink-Haired woman take a seat across from him. Her expression was sour, but her eyes were all lit up. Was she thrilled because she had his audience? Well, The Guide was sure he'd disappoint her.
"I... certainly have some terribly large shoes to fill, don't I?"
"What?"
The Pink-Haired woman looked suspiciously at him. The Guide made his voice sincere.
"Ma'am, with all due respect, I haven't a clue who you are. I don't know who That Knight is, or much of anything about this place. Yesterday, I was teaching an Arcane history to a bunch of rascals as CAU. Today I wake up in a field of dead animals. I... I don't think I can help you very much."
"..."
The Pink-haired woman's sharp gaze softened. Not out of compassion, but out of exhaustion. She sighed. When she spoke, her voice was raspy.
"CAU? Something-Something Arcane University? That's the school for those snooty rich brats, isn't it?"
The Guide couldn't help but relieved. Finally something familiar.
"The magical rich brats. Dreadful, the lot of them. How do you know it?"
The woman chuckled. Her eyes became misty, as if reminiscing of times past.
"How?... I'm a Stylist, and I had a little shop on the corner of Fifth and Glasglow - just a few blocks from The University. Although I primarily cut women's hair, a number of those Uni brats would always come and relentlessly flirt with me while I gave them their trims. It was good money, somewhat entertaining, and they tipped like they didn't know the value of hard work. Rent is high in those parts so I appreciated it."
The smile faded slowly from her face. She blinked and looked up at him.
"You know it? I sold it to my rival, so I wonder what it looks like now. All drab and dreary I bet."
"... I've seen it in passing, yes. Across the street from the bakery?"
"The one with those lovely strawberry tarts! Yes? Gods, I'd die for one of those right now. All that's here are these godforsaken apples, rabbit stew and enough ale to drown in. It is exceedingly good ale, though. Let me pour you a glass...(etc)"
A festival!
Whirling colours, flying banners, silk and dye fluttered in the wind - hanging from maypoles at such a number, they turned the sky into a Kaleidescope. The energy here is wholly unlike anything I've experienced before. There is excitement in the air. Not the anticipation of battle, nor the grim excitement of bloodlust - but a... joy. A wholesale joy that thrums in the air and carries on the strains music. It's in the excited chatter of the colourfully dressed ladies, whose fresh floral headdresses drop roses as they spin and laugh and dance. It's in the shouts of the children as they scuttle about, chasing each other through puddles of mud and sullying their carefully pressed clothing.
It's infectious.
I'm wearing a grin. I have no real reason to be happy, but I can't help myself. The action, the movement, the sights, the scents. I smell... I'm not sure exactly what it is. Cakes? Pastries? Candies? The Resistance kitchens never made such things, but I've read of such delicacies in my books. After a long day of tunneling through a mountain (frankly, a terribly dull experience), I'm more than eager to spend some time enjoying myself.
(a vagrant?... ugh... beggars walking so confidently into our festival, truly terrible... somebody call the sheriff...)
I'm given a wide berth as I trot into the mountainside town. Some of the party-goers give me odd looks. Most are too what up in the festivities to pay me a second glance. That's fine. I'm not here for attention - especially not while The King's promise rings in my ears. But this place has long helped me forget my woes. It really is a quaint little village, all windmills and wide-open sky and fields of golden grain. The buildings are awash in lye and the scent of beer is thick in the air. All along the main road are stalls selling trinkets of all types. Colourful glass twisted in the shape of pumpkins and gourds, woven mats and small wooden carvings. I wander in for a closer look but am promptly shooed away by most of the shopkeepers. I'm not offended. My attention is already drawn elsewhere.
*sniff*
That heavenly smell... I can almost taste it out of the air. I trot along the cobblestone paths, paying no heed to the men and women I shove past (and stain with dirt) as I make my way towards the fudge shop - childishly eager to fill my pockets with sweets.
He stuck out like a sore thumb.
Not just because he has half a head taller than everyone else, or that he was dressed in the miserable set of rags The Tavernkeep ever seen, but he was also caked head to toe in mud.
Now, The Tavernkeep was a charitable man. He was fortunate in his circumstances. People came from far and wide to taste his chocolate, but he too had crawled up from nothing. He understood the struggles of the poor; he too had once wandered the fields, sleeping in hovels and scrounging through trash. When he first saw the tall... dirt man skip through the crowd with a grin pasted sloppily over his face and his eyes shining like he had never seen a party before, The Tavernkeep was filled with compassion for him.
The poor boy is likely touched in the head...
For as the man slid into the long line leading up to his shop window, his fellow shoppers glared at him and turned their faces away. Some even left the line and walked to his competitor's stall. Now that wouldn't do.
"You there! Hey!"
The tall man perked up and turned towards him. His eyes were shadowed, but there it looked like there was the glint of recognition there. The Tavernkeep dismissed it. The poor boy probably thought he was being kicked out of line. He raised his voice again and beckoned the man forward.
"Yes you, come up here, kiddo! Don't worry now, make way for him please!"
The crowd parted and The Tall Man approached. His demeanor was suspicious, but he was clearly being drawn in by the promise of chocolates. He kept glancing up at The Tavernkeep as if he'd suddenly decide to attack him or something worse. What a hard life this poor man must have led. The Tavernkeep stroked his moustache and shook his head sadly. He turned his back and picked up an entire half slab of his finest dark chocolate and wrapped it in parchment paper. He also snatched a bucket of water and a bar of soup from under the counter.
"Alright young man, wash your hands. You're filthy, and I won't have you mixing chocolate with mud, yes?"
The man blinked at him. He looked surprised and moved awkwardly to take the bucket from him. He quickly scrubbed down - easily following any directions The Tavernkeep gave him, all the while glancing hungrily at the chocolate heaped up in stacks. All in all, The Tavernkeep found it all very wholesome. He grinned down at the tall man, and only then realized his eyes were slitted and burned like coals.
Ah... how odd. That must be why he's been cast out. Poor child.
With a heave, The Tavernkeep lifted the three pound package of chocolate and passed it to The Tall Man's waiting hands. The look of pure giddiness on his face was simply priceless. The Tall Man grinned up at him and spoke aloud, his speech far, far more articulate than The Tavernkeep anticipated it'd be.
"Thank you. I don't have money, but I understand in ancient times - coins were made of ores. I hope this is enough. Goodbye!"
The Tall man reached up and - seemingly from beneath his sleeves, a handful of pure gold nuggets rolled out of his palm and onto the counter. They clattered and glinted amongst each other as they settled to a rest against the cash register, and his cashier looked at them with wide eyes. She picked one up and leaned over to whisper in his ear whilst he waved farewell to the muddy man.
"Sir, these are real."
"What's that?"
"Sir, these gold nuggets - it's real gold. There's no way that man has this much gold if he'd walking around looking like that. We need to call the sheriff."
"...ah."
Meanwhile Bitch is in the woods crying and kicking trees lmao.
Faze gets arrested for looking like a homeless man smh.
Comedy chapter? lmao