Quoted By:
[b:lit][blue]Winner:[/blue][/b:lit] Treaty Violations and Diagnosis
[b:lit][red]5+17=22 General Arcana Check[/red][/b:lit]
"Yes, well maybe you can answer my other question, Damien," you tell him. When he gestures for you to continue, you ask, "What did the Princeps mean when she spoke about treaty violations? Unlike the Roslanders, I have never made a habit of targeting the peasantry. The raids I conduct have always been [i:lit]targeted[/i:lit]. Supply lines, weapons depots..."
Damien snorts at the examples you give. He catches the withering look you toss at him and throws it behind his shoulder, saying that, "Politics of the Ivyland aside-"
"Why haven't we driven them back to Damask yet?" you ask no one in particular.
"[i:lit]Down[/i:lit], girl," Damien has the gall to reprimand you like a dog for simply asking a question that sorely needs answering. The Roslanders have occupied the eastern shores of Ivystem for far too long, that territory belongs to the Daffodil Kingdom and should be retaken, simple as. "Might I remind you that the two of us will soon be on a mission to the very heart of the Roslands? While I have no love for the Imperial Dog Soldiers or the clowns they call their intelligence apparatus, I have even less love for the thought of needing to fight our way back to the Kingdom."
"Well, it would be a bit easier if they returned my family's ancestral homelands," you do not [i:lit]pout[/i:lit]. You do, however, cross your arms beneath your bosom and give him a rather petulant look. He looks a bit chagrined, probably having not known how personal the matter was to you, so you decide to end the argument by saying that, "We're getting off topic. [i:lit]Treaty violations[/i:lit]."
"Right, treaty violations," Damien sighs to himself. Reaching into his coat, he retrieves a long pipe that has been been carved into the shape of a snakelike wyrm. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he fills it up with a dried herb and lights it with a small tongue of flame conjured by a cantrip. Taking a puff, he asks you, "How much do you know about the higher arts of khemistry?"
Despite the smoke now filling the tent, your mood perks up and your eyes brighten.
After all, khemistry was your dear René's greatest passion. Nothing interested him more. Oh, you knew a trick or two to peel his gaze away from his texts, tricks that still turn your face red just thinking about them. Even those would only hold his gaze for the moment, and then he'd be right back to his books. Some girls might have resented his drifting attentions, but that's what you loved about him. A man without passion for his trade - whatever that may be - honestly might as well be a eunuch.
