She was lost. After taking up the name Vivi, she wandered the country. Between political turmoil after the queen of the Irvan Kingdom took the throne, foreign threats from the Razneck Empire and the death of her family, she began to wander the country. She’s been ducking her head in and out of holes and hovels. She’s been eating whatever she can get her hands on. At best, she knew a bit about tailoring. She had gotten by with whatever lackluster skill she had with a thread and needle. Even then, she can’t forget. A monster tore through her home, making her destitute.
Recalling the last of her memories, she recalls herself collapsing by a roadside. Then a voice offered her a chance to live. She only needed to agree to a demon’s terms. What person wouldn’t grasp at the chance to stave off death’s pursuit. Sad as it is, demons make this offer to plenty of the sick and dying. The only regret is that the Pact Prime Evil’s restrictions determine that sick and dying children cannot partake in the offer of life saving demonic power unless they somehow manage to survive until adulthood. This, of course, makes the sick less inclined to pray and more interested in demonic means of simply leading a happy and healthy life. While the healing of the divine is potent, it is not all healing. The demons, on the other hand, do offer even more potent healing. They only need a price grander than whatever paltry faith the divines need. Any adult who throws their stock into demonic power can save a nation of dying children for the right price. It is with demonic power that your health is guaranteed. Even immortality is available for trade.
In either case, Vivi woke in an unfamiliar bed, albeit she was wracked with pain. It seems that someone had wiped her down with a wet towel and given her a fresh change of clothes. Her hair was blond and still dirty. Her cool blue eyes had trouble adjusting. Her skin was pale and she was dangerously thin. Her skin was pulled taut against her bones. It was all she could manage to turn her head to look at her surroundings. Vivi turned her head as it lay on a pillow. She was in some kind of room with wooden walls and ceiling. Rather, this was a room at an inn. It had a single bed for two occupants, which she was now laying in. Looking out the window, it was night. On the other side of the room was a door leading out, and a tall feminine figure in a nun habit. She appeared to be soaked in water. Wet fabrics clung onto her skin and accentuated her curves and womanly figure. The nun pulled at the cap hiding her hair. Luscious blond hair fluttered in that motion. Elf ears flicked with a pop as the cap was pulled. Droplets of water cascaded as her long hair graced the lantern light. It is in that moment that the elven beauty finds Vivi awake. Vivi locks eyes with the elf’s deep green eyes. A breathtaking sight, one way or another.
“You’re awake!” the nun says. “How are you feeling?”
Despite the confusion, Vivi begins to blush as the nun approaches her.
“An angel?” Vivi stammers. “Or… maybe a demon?”
“It’s alright. You’re safe now. My name is Mona Hazel.” the nun introduced herself. “Your face is red.”
Mona leans in and presses her forehead up against Vivi’s. Vivi starts to feel light headed and threatens to pass out all over again. Vivi can feel Mona’s breath on her cheeks, and her warmth. A deep seeded feeling rises inside Vivi, and it begins to bloom. Vivi now finds herself enduring a gay panic. Vivi sinks deeper and deeper into the rapidly growing fire in her chest. Thankfully, this fire is quickly snuffed by someone kicking open a door.
“I got food!” a girl with red hair shouts.
“Welcome back, Ren!” Mona says.
To Vivi’s relief, Mona leaves her to answer the door. Her heartbeat uncomfortably pulses throughout her body. As dangerous as that was, Vivi is at least thankful that she has a moment to settle her heart after falling for what is effectively a stranger.
The Albrinter estate had long since seen Parnidot and his entourage out of their home. Now it was time for the Albrinter siblings as a whole to have a meeting.
“How did you ever go to school with that guy?” Sardon asked.
“He was hardly in any of my classes. Just stuff he had to retake since he failed the first time.” Lutz says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sardon snapped back.
“He means that Parnidot failed a few classes.” Velaura says. “He’s a year older than Lutz, so he should have graduated the same year he did. But as I recall, he was slated to graduate the same year as him.”
“Actually, he dropped out of school when our queen… you know.” Lutz says.
“Well that explains a lot.” Gilligan says.
“And why are we here?” Velaura says.
“Simply put, if our lord father isn’t going to take care of this inquisition mess, and whatever demons are prowling these streets, it is up to us to do so.” Lutz says. “So I will speak plain. If anyone has any intention of inheriting father’s title of lord, step up and defend the town. Generations ago, our ancestor earned his title as lord by serving the king. As a reward, he received his status of nobility and was charged with the protection of this trade hub and collection of taxes to be sent to the crown’s coffers. The crown, or rather our current queen, demands that much from us at a minimum. Anyone who would call themselves a noble with the name Albrinter bears this responsibility. But our queen is not so cruel as to toss out children into the streets, noble or otherwise. If you do not stand in defense of this town, you are free to leave. You can flee to the capital. Our queen will understand, and provide asylum. I am certain of that, but I doubt you can stay in her care when you turn of age.”
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“Uh huh. And I assume you are putting yourself in charge again.” Sardon speaks like he’s enduring a boring lecture.
“Yes.” Lutz says. “When I offered you to take charge of some of the accounts and responsibilities you thoroughly declined. You instead spent all your time investing in muskets and whatever other affairs you may have.”
“So what?” Sardon says.
“I am aware you do not care for the people of this town.” Lutz says. “If you were to receive the title of lord and responsibility of caring for this town, you would surely shirk your duty.”
“Bitch! I’d make a great lord.” Sardon snapped. “And I’ll have you know I invested a lot of money into workshops around town.”
“All of which are metal work and clock work.” Gilligan chuckled. “I also know you invested in alchemy labs and workshops in the cities. Alchemy that makes black powder. Metal and clockwork workshops in town. All so you can have the latest and greatest muskets. And the next iteration they’re calling matchlocks.”
“I’ll say again. So what?” Sardon looked at his little brother annoyed.
“You’re as selfish as a demon of pride.” Gilligan scoffs. “Have you heard of the concept of the holy trinity? Tank, damage and support. A tank to manage enemy threats, attacks and otherwise serve to protect the others. Damage to cause harm to enemies or otherwise work towards objectives. Support to make sure that cover for allies in some way shape or form like hindering enemies, bolstering allies or fixing mistakes. You on the other hand are just stacking long range damage.”
“Why bother with any of that when you stand in a line and shoot with lethality.” Sardon sneers at him.
“Yes, yes. You shoot once, take forever to reload, the enemy gets too close, your formation falls apart and your troops with only days of training panic and run.” Gilligan sneers.
“Stuff it, twerp!” Sardon sounds almost unamused.
“Big surprise. Guys who have only spent an octant shooting at bottles are scared of a real fight. Especially if they don’t have roles besides shoot once and hope a 7 foot tall barbarian doesn’t fold your spine like laundry.” Gilligan says.
“And how would someone, barbarian or otherwise, find himself close enough to fold a musketeer’s spine?” Sardon spat.
“Bulletproof skin!” Gilligan chuckled. “If you paid closer attention to the meta, you would know that people in the barbarian class have developed a new skill that literally makes them immune to your whole shtick.”
“Oh I have. Tell me, what's the success rate of that skill?”
Sardon and Gilligan’s tangent is interrupted, when a gun is fired inside the meeting room. The two brothers grow silent quickly. Bodyguards and the estate security burst through the meeting doors and search for any threats. What they find is the eldest sister, Perschale holding up a smoking gun.
“What happened?” a guard demanded.
“It's nothing. I just won a shouting match with some black powder. Nothing to worry about.” Perschale set her pistol down.
“Please don't tell me you shot a hole in our ceiling.” Lutz says.
“Not to worry. I only burned the black powder. There wasn't a musket ball loaded.” Perschale shows everyone the iron ball in her hand.
“Hah! Well, at least you stopped the both of them.” Luts sighs. “Guards, we're fine. Resume your posts.”
The guards are a bit upset, but they follow their orders. When the doors to the meeting room close again, Perschale speaks again.
“My brothers and sisters. As you know, the title of lord is to be inherited by one of us. The title demands that we protect this town. It is our responsibility by blood. If you abandon it, no one will call you lesser than any other. Stand and protect it, and we will have done the minimum our queen expects from us. Now, is anyone leaving?”
There is no response.
“Will you fight for this town?”
“Yes.”
“I will.”
“Sure.”
“Of course.”
The siblings all give their own affirmation to the question.
“See! We may all have our differences, but we are united as one. Was that so hard?” Perschale chuckled.
After a bit of a gay panic, Mona had changed out of her soaked nun habit and into a simple work dress Ren had purchased. Now the habit and the dirt caked clothes they found Vivi in were placed in a basket the inn had provided. Now the three young women find themselves eating porridge. Mona had the foresight to ask Ren to get something easy to digest, in case their rescuee’s stomach could not handle solid food at this moment. With full stomachs, Ren thought to take a wet cloth to Vivi’s dirt caked hair. Unfortunately, it seems that Ren isn’t managing that well.
“Ow! Ow! Stop! Please! You’re going to tear it out!!!” Vivi begged and pleaded with the younger girl.
“Ren, stop. Just let me do that.” Mona says.
“Sorry.” Ren said, handing the rag over to Mona.
“Oh! Um- thank you.” Vivi said as she turned and began to blush.
“Anyway, I never got your name. Mine is Mona. Can I ask you for yours?” Mona says.
“I-I’m Vivi. I’m a wanderer who’s somewhat good at tailoring. I was on my way to this city hoping I could find some work. But it seems I couldn’t quite make it on foot.”
“Yeah. This town is popular for fainting by the roadside.” Ren says.
Mona pinched Ren’s cheek and pulled on it.
“That’s not something to be proud of, Ren.” Mona says.
“I’m sorry, but I’m new in town. Who might you be?” Vivi asked.
“I’m Ren. I’m an adventurer!” Ren says.
Vivi gives Ren a confused look.
“An adventurer? You mean the good for nothings who dive headlong into danger and cause trouble for everyone?” Vivi asked.
“Sort of, but imagine an adventurer who actually does pretty well for herself. It’s all out of sheer strokes of luck, but that doesn’t mean that Ren hasn’t done well and helped people.” Mona says.
“I see.” Vivi gives Ren a confused look.
“Well, I’m going back to my room. I’ll see you two tomorrow.” Ren says.
“Oh, isn’t this your room?” Vivi asked.
“Nope. Mona rented this room for the two of you.” Ren says.
“Wait, what?” Vivi goes wide eyed for a moment.
“Yep. Well, I’ll see you later.” Ren waves the two off as she leaves.
“W- wait! So, I’m going to be alone! With her?” Vivi stammers.
“I’m sorry. Right now, this was the only room available.” Mona says, as she leans down.
Long beautiful hair cascaded down Mona’s face and brushed against Vivi’s lips. Mona slowly and methodically brushed her hair back behind her elven ears. A warm and seductive breath escaped her lips. Vivi is reminded that this room only had a single bed for two. Vivi turned bright red and began to shake as a myriad of thoughts ran through her mind.
