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Inconveniences I

There she stands gingerly fluttering her fan and staring at the rows and rows of boards filled with cuts and nicks furnishing the frontage of the alehouse with the names of dishes and drinks in season.

“Ah. Senior.” Yhuyen takes little moment to become aware of my presence - her weary black eyes snapping onto mine as quick as a shootist points his piece to a bird in flight.

“Good day, junior. Mind if I join you for dinner? It’s on me.” What could have been a smile vanishes from her lips as she hears my voice.

“Knowing you, you probably…” She cares not to finish her words.

“Aw. Can’t a senior pay for his junior’s meal?” I laugh a little as I step forward. “But yes. I do have a matter to speak to you about. But that comes second.”

Before cocks fight their feathers are tended by hot baths. Before pigs have their necks opened and flesh pulled they are given the most hearty food. And this custom is much the same for man.

“I wonder if Waroon allows this -- or is she that sort of woman?” Her words prick me. Which is often the case.

“She usually doesn’t. Which is why I beat her until she does.”

“…”

With my try at laughtercraft causing only silence and a more intense glare from her I did not tarry long at the alehouse’s front. The house itself is halfbreed of a ‘true’ tea and alehouse; the inside is cut into many small rooms but its walls are thin and the straw mats firm. Food is cheap portioned small and quite salty. Drink is wide in breadth and large in size.

“You know, I’m supposed to be the one to do that.” A touch of annoyance colors her tone as my hand seizes the bottle of plum wine before hers could.

“You’re shit at pouring and I don’t intend to lap it off the table.” I firstly fill my cup with the liquid whose shade is only a little lighter than fish sauce. “Though I’m sure such a picture is in your mind already.” Her cup I fill a little closer to the brim.

Mayongchid plums give the wine some sweetness. Served cool it goes down the throat easy enough. Then came the food.

“I don’t remember the oysters being this big.” Yhuyen picks one up and holds it level to her eye.

“No. They’re not.” I open my palm to judge the length of the oyster. It fully fills the span of my middle finger and thumb. “Seven inches. Last year it was six.”

“Wow. You seem to know your way around seven-inches-things.” The junior chuckles as she yet again pricks me.

“You could say that. Can’t say I’m as proficient as your mother at this, though.” I swallow the comment and the oyster — it’s not that good. The cooks must have washed out any trace of the sea. I did get what I paid for.

Following the oysters were more oysters and cockles and the occasional plate of roasted mushrooms and vegetables. With the evening on its wane and us overfed Yhuyen rests a hand on the table and awaits my piece. “So. What’s your matter here, really?”

I tap the jar of rice wine on the table its two straws long enough to reach our lips from an upright posture. “We take a sip.”

Blackness immediately covers every inch of the room and its furnishings. Only the sound of our breaths are with us.

“I was wondering why you wanted to talk in a house with such thin walls.” Yhuyen goes to reach for her stout and heavy pipe. It is as black as the rest of the room. “That’s a good trick.” Nevertheless she retrieves it from her sash and spins it in her hand.

“Please don’t smoke in here.” With that trick clearly not working I wave away the blackness that once covered her pipe.

“What, your world can collapse that easily?” She scoffs.

“Not fond of the smell.”

“..”

“Thank you.”

Yhuyen is a kind soul. To stall this any further would neither good me or her.

“I ask you to not share your findings. Wheat and barley seeds mustn’t be known as means to detect pregnancy.”

“Wha— What- why? How could this not good the common folk?” Yhuyen stutters, her face growing more vexed than angry though it will not be that way for long.

It’s time.

“Our groundlaw defines abortion as the killing of a formed child within the womb. For a child to be ‘formed’ its shift must be felt - ‘quickening’. This has been the chief way of knowing pregnancy since the conception of our country.”

“If you spread this knowledge, it will be some years before tales become truth and with enough men following it truth becomes law. Our posterity will think of pregnancy far differently than us - a condition easily measured within a month or two. Their definition of a formed child too will no doubt change. ‘Restoring the menses.’ ‘Purging the female irregularities.’ - in their time they will all be ‘abortion’. It will be a sword that hangs above every man and woman tethered by only a horsehair; should a woman be with child she must birth it or suffer the pain for murder. The roadways once open for women who did not intend for pregnancy following congress will be now closed and it will push women and men toward blacker roads. The hurt will be great.”

“Oh. I see how it is. You shun this because your emmenagogues will not have a place there. A hard blow to your poke. The world, the womenfolk ought to remain unlearned because you wish it so.” She’s not grasping it.

“That’s… not really the case, junior Yhuyen. Much of my earnings come from the Green Lamps district - there, it is not the punk who decides whether her child lives or dies. That would be the domain of the brothelkeeper. Whether the world calls emmenagogues ‘abortives’ or ‘medicine’ it changes the weight of my poke little. I am chiefly worried about the commonfolk - man can be divided into four sorts; man who wishes for congress and children, man who wishes for neither, man who wishes for children but not congress and man who wishes for congress and not children. The first and other have their wishes realized. The third may adopt. The last does not easily go away when my potions are barred from them. Every now and then the broadsheets print stories of newborn corpses in unlikely places; stuffed in jars, buried beneath outhouses, floating about canals. That’s their doing.”

“I will not say man ought to shun his obligations, but these things happen. They wish to freestand so strongly they trample on lives. If you spread the word you will only bring forth more of them.”

“You seem so… confident, senior Jiragarn, to judge the world and wishing to adulterate it to your liking. ‘Our posterity will think of unborn children differently and it will be for the worst’ -- is there anything that makes such a thought earthfast? And that’s presuming it becomes widely known at all - and how many men really give a damn about what entirely ought to be a woman’s matter to begin with? How many men even knows what a hymen looks like? Or the particulars of the menses? I doubt this thing, this doing will begin the aera you so greatly dislike.” My junior takes a long sip after she gives her own piece.

I do the same.

“Men are born from the cunt. They live by it and die by it. A folk is nothing without its folkways and chief among them is the perpetuation of the folk. The forebears knew this well - why do you think the institution of marriage is present in so many races and countries? It’s to oversee the use of the cunt to prevent inconveniences to the folk as a whole. Comfort of the womb is of little mention compared to the difficulties that may plague a folk from giving women the skill to selfwield. This is why the mussulman keep their women veiled under the pain of death and why the kirishitan shun married women whose hair remain uncovered — a clear line drawn to declare the ownership so men do not sunder provinces over it like packs of stray dogs over scraps of food.” I can see her face growing more tired with each precedent I list. I ought to give my endsay soon before she closes up for good.

“Though the flesh and skin may change, the spine remains the same - this is why our monarch gives civic duty exemptions and tax reductions for households with three children or more.” With a droop of her head and a raise of her hand I cease my speaking. It’s over.

“Again and again and again with all these stories. You sound so much like Waroon now. Ugh. Have you lapped up so much water from her cunt you become her thrall now?” She seethes and looks away. To explain anymore now would be meaningless - the words go through one ear and come out the other and miss the brain entirely. Not that she has much.

So I choose to play her game for the moment. “It’s called blood.”

“…”
“…”

“I’m a little surprised she could menstruate.”

Talks of matters less grave exhaust the jar’s water level and our throats. Soon enough the intercourse returns to the matter I am here for.

“Why this thing, senior. Why. Why this of all things you pour your effort into.” Yhuyen rests her cheek on her fist as she plays with the straw. “Why not pour your effort into… say, stifling badmen from fishing through fireworks or dumping their waste onto canals. You’d good the lungs of the folk -- and their pokes -- far more.”

‘It’s not so easy.’
‘Those difficulties are far bigger.’

I resist the want to say the first two thoughts which came to me. Annoying she may be she isn’t wholly wrong; had I poured some effort into it I could have nudged it by even a little. Only after some deliberation do I respond. “Of the folk who line up at your bakery by the day’s end for your trenchers and unsold bread, how many are lame or mute or blind or limbless?”

My ask makes her fingers curl up and her lips silent. “Queer, is it not, to see so few of them in line for free supper. The picture is not better in Nearwaterway; what most often filled the hands of men there are not gatip or koshibento, rather, lottery tickets. Of the women in the district by not a small portion were cast out of their families their man having sullied their cunt with a child before marriage.”

“You have a certain way with words, senior. It will not get you many fellows.” With a light droop of her head Yhuyen lets out a sigh.

“I am aware.”

“Every year more outland writings are copied and translated and printed. It won’t be long before they furnish libraries and bookstores around the country.” After voicing such a thought she turns away for a moment. It’s a heavy thing to ponder.

“You know, senior~” The sudden reversal of tone tells me enough.

“A man doesn’t go this far without a reason. Who- no, what pushed you to such a cause?” Catlike in curiosity she pokes and prods my brain. I really don’t wish her of all folk to poke and prod my brain.

“Come on. Humor me a little.”

“That’ll have to be for another time, junior.” As I pull myself away from the still black as vanilla table she gingerly taps it.

“Aw~ that’s a shame. Well. Surely you have time for one question, no?”

“The Suwunsingh family didn’t die from the flood, did they.”

How troublesome, junior.

“Ha! Now that’s a good lie, senior, but I’ve known you for quite some time now.” She laughs as she bangs her fist into the table. “The truth, please.”

“Perhaps I haven’t given you the clearest picture.” With a little reluctance I remove the jacket and linen shirt covering my breast.

Gittipud. Yosarvarid. Vuttana.

Come forth.

The content smile of hers quickly disappears as she sees the worms twitch and move across my body and into my arm. “This is.” Softly she seizes my wrist for a closer look at the bunch of unruly veins. “The cause of her stomach pains and cramps, isn’t it. And your condition.” Her once proud voice deteriorates into little more than a mumble.

Seeing her mood depressed like this isn’t a thing I am fond of. “My form was small since my you—”

“That’s not the point, Nin. Fuck. You- you really are annoying, you know that.” The junior’s hand reaches for my face, her thumb brushing my cheek.

“I..”

She pulls away. “I can’t be part of the road you’re on anymore than a man can watch his fellow prostitute his health to opium.”

With no further words between us I lift the veil of blackness. She leaves before me though not before handing me enough grubs to pay for her own dishes.

The hurt faded away quicker than I would have liked but words did stay with me for a little longer. It was not long before Waroon felt great pain in her belly again and as often is the case she would rest her head on my lap. I would stroke her hair and make her a bland soup with far too many mushrooms and radishes in it when she regains her will.

It is often said a man and woman are the two front and back feet of an elephant that is the household; the back feet dictating the direction and the front supporting the choosing and bearing its weight. Whilst I have little regret being with her and being on this road a part of me wonders — have I kept her in check?

>I haven’t.
Though a great convenience in playing with the Art, it was indulgent to bind their souls to flatworms and retain them. As wicked as they were they should’ve passed on.

>I have.
Our present condition is as much a doing of mine as it is hers. I could have stopped her with one naysay - had I wished to. I can’t mislead myself into thinking I do not have the skill to freestand and selfwield.

[ Next update: Inconveniences II ]
[ thread 1 recap chapter ]
[ link to previous thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Devil%20and%20Instructress%20quest ]

>>6378745
>>I haven’t.

>>6378745
>I have.
This feels like it's both their choice, or at the very least that Nin would believe it is such for the sake of his pride and their relationship.

1d2 tiebreak in ~12 hours.

>>6378745
>I haven’t.

Voting locked. See you tomorrow.

>>6379117
See you then, QM!

Updating in ~5 hours.

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Inconveniences II

>I haven’t.

I do not regret doing unto them hurt. Gittipud Suwunsingh and his fellows raped that child and drowned her whilst his family looked elsewhere. The only bother I had skinning them was how much hair guests tend to have and the smell though that is to be expected from their race.

Keeping the children from their families and at my beck and call was not quite the same thing. Among the slaves, only household slaves are born into slavery and bound to it until death (with few exceptions, like the slavemaster betraying his country or allowing them to be a monk) but even they can still see their families and intimates during the beginning of each year.

Whilst that child and I have long abandoned moral law for rule of might I would like to unbind them one day.

One day, when my dream no longer needed such might.

Many years have passed since that night. I am nearing thirty years of age and Waroon nearing forty. Our fellows in Firstlight have moved away from our dream. And worms still stir inside us.

Presently we are met with a matter which chiefly concerns the youths who as of late have become our fellows.

We firstly met the youths during the summer of ‘82, the year of the swine. To ready the folk for the forthcoming fencing school the surgeon Lumduan held a gathering in which she instructed the folk about worms and ways of voiding them. Waroon and I were present and helped with painting the picture through the use of the Art. Following the end of the gathering the three youths approached us.

Unshun, a woman who had some interest in the Art and a good grasp of how our illusions worked.

Baiyok, a giant who heard of the doings of our earlier years.

Ging, a young man and like myself a practitioner of the Art of Defence invited to the fencing school.

We talked for some time about Kommgal Vunnapar, a fellow of ours and the fightmaster of the soon coming fencing school. The Child of Messengers is disliked with some intensity in this part of the country caused by him spearheading a suit against the cutlers guild for poorly made and unsafe featherswords - purging many cutlers from the business. Following our talk it would be some days before we saw those youths again.

The fencing school was large, the largest by far in the years owing to the lord of the province backing and attending it; several dozen backsword, battlesword, and halberd fencers were invited. At one point Ging challenged the fightmaster himself, winning one bout and losing thrice after. I tried my hand against Aeg, Kommgal Vunnapar’s second, and lost much like the youth. However the most vivid picture of that day was what followed the bout between Ging and Achirawit; thinking he had been insulted Achirawit struck the youth with his battlesword when his guard was down. He caught the blow though it still tore up some skin on his cheek.

There was a short quarrel between Vunnapar and Achirawit before he was turned away and brought to the jailhouse. He later told me had Achirawit ran in before he could say his piece he would have removed rows of his teeth with a punch.

In the after Vunnapar held a gathering with the youths explaining the difficulties which often follow such a quarrel and asked his fellows in the province to look after them; Id, a highcrafter, Gar, keeper of the province’s clocktower, Oubshei, a alehouse and brothelkeeper, and us.

To his dislike it was us and Oubshei the youths became closest to, the two women drinking with us after work with some regularity. As Ging was little under eighteen years of age and his working hours were unlike the two we did not see him as often.

It was the first month of this year when Baiyok came to us asking about the particulars of our emmenagogues. We soon learned of her condition and Waroon judged her to be roughly four or five months with child - conception was thought to have taken place two or three months after the fencing school yet she does not recall the father and mentioned she had not been with another giant for the past three years.

We summoned Galpet, the only Child of Messengers we know intimately and willing to do the abortion. Her body healed well but not her mind. Even with Unshun and Ging by her side her mood was depressed greatly.

Before the end of the third month a six armed woman wreathed in penis charms attacked Galpet and I in my own home. I cut three of her fingers off and Galpet struck her with lightning but could not kill the fleshcrafter before she retreated. Baiyok guessed her to be Vanida, a former intimate of hers.

Through under-the-table deals Vanida aided her in becoming a barber apprentice. Some time later when her father was sued for fraud Baiyok did not ask her father, a peace officer, for the same aid. He lost the suit and the household was bankrupt and sold his wife and daughter to slavery. Mention of Vanida was scant in broadsheets but the latest we found was printed last year, where it reported a house fire which killed her father.

From the fingers I cut off Waroon and I awakened a nail which tracked where she could be: Jinfolk Wharf, a barren place northmost of the province.

With some help from Id we have a good grasp of the area and found many things there; Vanida used her fleshcrafting skills to alter the tattoos of her cutters allowing them to assume false selves for work, Achirawit and five more men are being kept and used as material for fleshcrafting, and they intend to awaken an object. I guessed the ritual’s goal is to form something which could track or curse Baiyok or her fellows.

This was not the first time we came across a ‘tiger’ and the bandit clan it leads — aside from assuming false faces, bringing my mail and weapons, incense sticks and candles for our illusions, we had another plan in motion once we realized it was not merely Vanida behind the matter.

>We wrote to Vunnapar.
We sent him the latest whereabouts we have of Vanida and her folk, Jinfolk Wharf, and an ask for him to take over this matter if there is no letter following this one or if the nature of matter has changed heavily by the time of the next letter.

It will take some time before he could come to a southern province like Silverport as the accountant has had his hands full with taxes since the first month but when he does there is very little Vanida could do against him when it comes to might.

Galpet occasionally mocked him for having prostituted himself to the crown but there is some vantage to it; he has pulled some strings to get Achirawit alone during his time in the stocks. He could do much the same for this matter.

… but should I bring him into this matter, though?

>Galpet wrote to Neeranara.
A fellow of his. An alewife who aided him greatly following the death of his mother and was his instructress regarding midwifery.

Her skill in the Art is chiefly her control over animals and their spirits; her crows can watch over the youths all around the town and warn them before her cutters could make a play for them.

She has her own dealings with the capital's Green Lamps district - I believe she owns a house that once belonged to her father. Whilst she is partial to us she does not have the might to fight someone like Vanida or her cutters.

[ Next update: Do War I ]

>>6379580
>>6379579
Escalating to the direct intervention of a Child of Messengers seems extreme, and Gal has made something of himself. Let's not drag him down into low matters and low places once more.

I vote...
>Nara

>>6379580
>Galpet wrote to Neeranara.
Let's keep it simple

Voting’s locked.

Can I be the Monarch of Rape?

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>>6379942
Only if you believe in yourself, and have the power of friendship.

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>>6379942
You need a consort.

Finishing my update tomorrow. See you then.

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Hey. Sorry for the delay. Been a bit busy lately, no thanks to a certain visual novel.

Update should be done in 12ish hours, though.

>>6380546
Looking forward to it!

Waiting warmly

yo schiz pass the vn sauce pretty please

>>6381218
I believe it is this
https://nomnomnami.itch.io/night-with-timber

Hey. Was sick. Up now.

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Do War I

>Galpet wrote to Neeranara.

Whilst I was never close to Kommgal Vunnapar I do know his character somewhat; If I asked I am sure he would take great pains to shield those youths from the hurt Vanida and her cutters intend to do but chasing them is another matter. If he could seize them I have no doubt he would see to it their ears are clipped and their backs bloodied in pillories but if he could not he would be satisfied seeing them leave the country and no longer menacing those youths.

But that sword would still remain above their heads.

Vanida could have taken many roads to ruin Baiyok or her fellows. She chose to have a giant put a child into her cunt and attacked our house once the youth began to visit us more. It’s clear she wants to ruin Baiyok and rip away any comfort she could cling to. I wonder if she did the same cruelty to her father or her slavemaster. The broadsheets did say the former died in a house fire a year ago and the latter was not mentioned though I guess him to be out of the picture as well.

Had she truly cared for ‘justice’ she would have gone after the judge or the folk who pushed the embezzlement suit onto her father or the witnesses long before she set her sights on Baiyok. Unless she can’t. Though unasked Suwunsingh does make a good point: perhaps she is giving a blow to Baiyok because she’s the only one she could reach.

In any case having Neeranara on our side would stifle further tries at doing hurt but I much prefer to end it all here.

Returning to the southwest part of Jinfolk Wharf an hour after meeting “Garnjanar” the only giant present inside Jinfolk Wharf (at this moment) and two goblins far less lazy than him we come across a large stilt house nested deep surrounded by circles and circles of smaller ones. Judging by the breadth of its frontage and stairs this was once a common hall.

“No, that’s the third.”
“Move it OVER the fourth.”

“Don’t tie it here!”

As we approach the house from its side we right away hear the yelling of those two goblins from earlier. Southern laborers I guessed them to be given their skin being as dark as fried basil and the penis charms hanging from their hips.

With Waroon and Galpet as my lookouts I don my vizard climb the steps.

Finally standing before the hall I can see its high ceiling covered in nets of mangled holy threads and a giant fruitlessly trying to untie and tie knots the two goblins doing the same to tethered objects around the room.

A net of nine lines of holy threads all joining at the same spot of the statue. A pot for incense sticks. Footed bowls. Palm leaf books detailing the chants needed.

In my eyes it seems these folk know what the ingredients are needed and what the ritual ought to look like but little experience in setting it up.

Perfect.

Taking care to not trip on the threads or goblins I slowly land on my heel and move to the far side of the hall with the filled footed bowls. It takes only a moment before their eyes move elsewhere and I replace both the incense sticks and candles with my own.

Not halfway back do I hear a harsh crack. And more cursing.

“Do we even got any more spare candles?”
“Two. Three maybe. But not this many.”

A whole bundle of incense sticks crushed with a single unknowing step from Garnjanar. I do have two more bundles but right now I’m not in a position to place them.

“Vanida ought to have spares for this sort of thing. Let’s set up the rest first.”

“And you are chopping those corianders by the way.” Whilst Garnjanar seems to take their previous words quite well this one comment seems to provoke something from him.

“I know. I know. But don’t… don’t fucking push it.”

“Push it? PUSH IT? You fucked up and now—”

“I fucked up? I? If those fucking threads weren’t there we wouldn’t be in this position. All you had to do was get a fucking ladder and-” With the quarrel growing worse I take this chance to slip away though without addressing the heart of the matter.

Sight. Smell. Sound. Touch. Taste.

I need to subjugate at least two of their senses before I can put them to sleep. Without the smell of burning incense it’s only up to the candles to do my work and that won’t be enough. I could swap it again though with more eyes here it will be hard.

Thinking back on my first meeting with them I do recall those goblins threatening Garnjanar with the task of vegetable cutting for tardiness. Chilli I believe it was.

Chilli. Coriander. The missing Mayongchid plums around Jinfolk Wharf. They’re having a feast soon. That’s one more way we can affect them.

With some time left before sundown we went through the houses around the common hall noting which house we could safely linger at and which we could not and in our search we came across something of note.

>herbs and spices
A room with many clay pots and bowls and a few winnowing baskets. Most of the herbs are tied in large bunches and hung from the ceiling or tied to the walls; garlic and onions being the biggest of the sort. Judging by the nicks of the cutting board and the bumps and the many holes of the stone mortar this kitchen was chiefly used for vegetables and making dip.

As I guessed they do not keep or cook meat here. Vanida and the rest of the folk will likely bring those with them when they arrive.

This could work if we impart ourselves to these though the degree to which they will be affected depends on how much they eat.

“They’re southerners. I wouldn’t worry.” Galpet laughs as he unties one of the bundles.

>fireworks
The things we found in houses ran the gamut: from stacks of broadsheets rolled and tied together into a triangle shaped pillows to blowpipes carved from wood for hunting small animals.

Most noteworthy of the bunch being a box of fireworks. They are quite old and most of these balls and tubes are small enough to fit in my palm. I have seen these sort before in my youth and they make little more than a middling crack once lit. If tied together and lit however the noise could be maintained for some time - once the ritual is in motion I can appear before them light these fireworks and seize their minds giving the opening Waroon and Galpet need to obliterate their nerves and brains with their weapons.

This doing will be louder than I wanted but the effects will be immediate.

“These folk aren’t fighting men sworn to a lord. They’re laborers. If we get Vanida and a few of them we can collapse this bandit clan.” I explain.

[ Next update: Do War II ]

>>6381218
Night with Timber. It’s free. It’s about 3 hours long if you plan to 100% the game. Story’s pretty simple but concise and clear. There’s not really any NSFW pictures, though.

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>>6381510
>fireworks
Shock and awe!

>>6381510
>fireworks

>>6381510
>fireworks

Fireworks it is. Locking it in.

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See you tomorrow!

Here’s a little sneak peek at Waroon’s past.

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>>6382234
Lookong forward to it!

In the meantime, enjoy this Gal and Airin as thanks for running. They're by the artist Moonfist.

>>6382276
Cute hag.

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Do War II

>fireworks

With the sun on the wane we find a spot to rest at and unload all the things we have brought with us which are:

My battlesword. A sword for two hands with a blade of fifty inches. It lacks siderings or hooks common to most modern battleswords and much less of an inconvenience to carry. Whilst Vanida’s many charms will deflect any blow I give this weapon can bar her folks from running in and slap away their strikes.

My undulate sword. A sword of forty inches with a scallop shaped shell and a knucklebow covering the outside of the hand. It is not the fastest though it will bite into blades and wood far more strongly than most - in the bind, it is peerless.

My close hilted dagger. The outside of the hand is covered with metal. Though penis charms can stop strikes from piercing skin or breaking bones they do not make organs stronger and a blow to the head or liver will collapse a man.

My hand pistol. It’s little more than a barrel with a long trigger. The dog must be fully cocked back before the trigger could be squeezed - I will need two hands to use it. I can tie it to my left arm and hide it under a sleeve. It can’t kill Vanida but it will hurt; a shot to the throat or eye or neck can stop her from seizing me.

My wheellock lighter. A palm sized steel box with a large dog on one side and a ring on the other. Tethered to the ring is a cord which if pulled will spin the wheel and rapidly brush it against the fool’s gold held by the dog - bringing forth sparks. Sekijo often smoked and of course he made a tool for it. It took many tries perfecting the cord and latch for storing tinder.

Waroon’s are:

Her awakened pistols. Two wheellock pistols gifted to her by Sekijo for helping the shooting club. It has been nearly ten years since our present monarch destroyed the Dawnfolk colonies and these are among the last marks we have of him. As they are bound to her Waroon can use the wax shots as a means to do the Art. If Vanida is any good she will immediately cover her eyes and ears once my fireworks are lit — leaving her open for a shot or two from these.

Her steel whip. We know this one intimately. The tools and weapons we used to rape and kill folks were melted beaten into a rod and fitted to a hilt so it may be used like a singlestick. At its heart it is a doctor’s knife — it will obliterate curses or nerves. Sixty inches may be a little short for a giant’s singlesword but it needs only touch to do its work.

Her steel ribbed fan. A large fan as long as her elbow. It can give a hard blow but its chief use is to be unfolded and give cool air.

Galpet’s are:

His doctor’s knife. A [witch] doctor’s knife is often made with materials deeply tethered to spirits such as temple nails or coffin nails. Like most his has a broad blade and with a spearlike point. A deliberate blow from it will destroy curses or nerves of the flesh it hits.

His close hilted “dagger”. Unlike mine both the outside and inside of his hand is covered with metal. At fifteen inches it is more sword than dagger in his hand.

Like Kommgal Galpet is a Child of Messengers and is bestowed some of their might - he can harden some of his skin to turn away strikes. Waroon and I rely on another form of armor: a veil of spirits. Through blaring the Art around us limb severing cuts turn into bruises and deadly thrusts become shallow. It is not perfect: its might waxes and wanes based on how many senses we can subjugate hence the mail under my shirt and the scars around my head.

“You’re quite good at this.” Galpet notes how speedily I tie the fireworks together with cord and do the knots.

“I had a fine instructress. She taught me once and I…” Thinking back to our youths leaves a bittersweet taste on my tongue. “I got it right the first time.”

Elsewise she would have died from the cut on her thigh. Waroon was (in her own words) ‘not the best company at the time’ and often got into quarrels — though I wonder would my character be so gentle if at seventeen a younger sister of mine had a child out of wedlock and died shortly after leaving it chiefly in my and my mother’s hands?

In any case I vividly recall staying by her side for the whole night after stitching the wound and getting whipped by my father the following day. Drinking small beer whilst waiting for the blood on my back to dry - how I miss those days.

It was not long before the box was exhausted of its fireworks and the province was without sunlight. It is dark and only the thinnest sliver of the moon is present tonight. Crickets chirp endlessly and every now and then a few birds and dogs say their piece without asking to the folks still awake.

Finally hearing their footsteps was a nice change.

The first pack which returned were folk like Garnjanar and the two goblins; dark skinned men with thick arms and scarred backs. They brought with them large broadsheet wrapped bundles - fried fish and I guessed them to be given their smell and some oil stains on the paper. Laborers. They carry knives on their neck or under their armpits and a few penis charms linger around their hips. I believe there to be ten or so.

The other pack which returned did not do so in one large clump rather a few appeared at a time; they dress like most folk in the province — a broad brimmed hat a shirt and breeches or skirt and straw sandals. Judging by the fullness of their breeches and the metal smoking pipes around their sashes of varying breadths and lengths some I guessed them to be gamblers cutpurses or fraudmen. We saw at least five of them.

The third pack and most lethal was Vanida’s. They came into view their shoulders and sides filled with the greatest bundles and bags of folk here. Thrust through their sashes or hanging from their belts were all sorts of picks axes sickles and knives. A handful of them have in their hands blowpipes and wooden staves wrapped in brightly colored sashes. The lack of boar spears bows or arquebuses mean they’re not hunting large animals.

“Forest goods to be sold.” Waroon notes. “Fragrant wood. Herbs. Spices. I doubt they could have skinned a deer or cut a rhino’s horn.” She guesses the contents of their bags.

Whilst the blowpipes are of little mention as their length stifles their use in a fight the same cannot be said for the Players of the Art which carry those brightly colored staves. Given the chance they will put up a veil to shield themselves from my work or send apparitions to track us if we flee. Of the nine we spotted three are Players. Luckily besides Vanida herself no one looks to be fleshcrafted.

“Now that is troublesome.” After glancing at Vanida I bitterly note the new fingers on her fleshcrafted hands and the normality of her true hand. Her speed and might is fully back - unless she is pinned I doubt I can cut those off again.

As the night goes on and her folk are busy themselves with food and drink and talk Waroon and I sneak near the occupied houses to listen to what is said and some names are mentioned with more regularity than most.

Asawin is the most senior of the laborers and is an intimate of folks who overlook the laborers' fleshcrafted tattoos. His voice is that of a fleshy giant fifty or sixty years of age. One of the very few giants.

Vanida. Her pack came from the north of Jinfolk Wharf - they were foraging in the forests of the province bordering Silverport. From their words they haven’t been caught in Mournless yet. If they need to run away and lick their wounds they would start there.

And most alluring of all, Paixarn. He and his fellows took great pains to seize bits of hair and scraps of clothes from Baiyok and her family and he does not like such doings very much - fearing it may put more eyes onto their thefts and fraud without reason.

Those are all we could gather. It’s nearing the time we make our play.

When I do my work the hurt forced upon their minds will collapse them for sometime. It takes little for Galpet and Waroon to obliterate their brains for good then. If done perfectly all thirty or so men will drop. However as seen with Garnjanar (that clumsy little cunt) we need to account for… difficulties.

Whilst Waroon will without doubt shoot any man who tries to stop me from doing my work I need to think about the moment following it and who we ought to firstly cut besides Vanida.

>cut the heads
Asawin and Paixarn.

We cut these and their tethers to this province and their means of earning grubs will be greatly limited.

We don’t need to kill everyone. Limbs cannot move without blood.

>cut the giants
Asawin. His giants. Vanida’s giants.

Of the thirty or so men now here about five are giants. Cutting the folk who could seize us the easiest will make for an easier time fighting the rest as we don’t have contenders to the reach of our biggest weapons.

We’re cutting all of them.

>cut the Players
Her Players.

I doubt they can form a veil in time to shield them from my work rather my chief worry is the spirits will in their service which could molest us for long enough the Players could form a veil and do their own work.

We’re cutting everyone if we can. If not we bow out. Taking these Players out of the picture means they can’t track us so easily.

>write in

[ Next update: Do War III ]

>>6382594
>cut the heads
Cripple their operation. Even if we fail everything else, doing this will be the most punishing, its effects the most lasting. If we succeed in this much, then even a Vanida victory will be phyrric at best.

>>6382594
>cut the heads