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“...Make it a worthwhile spectacle. Don’t hesitate to request for help if you’re overwhelmed.” You agree to step aside. Clearly, the situation is under control. But the cake offered must be investigated at once, there’s something odd about it.
“Do not fret, my gorgeous madam. Our bewitching Archbishop will step up in the unlikely case this gets out of hand. But I’m putting my reputation on the line to declare that won’t be the case.” The handsome aristocrat winks. “Now grab your seat because the show is about to get wild~!” The blue-blooded knight smiles as her arms lift and turns around!
You sit next to the Priestess on — what you assume — was the whimsical prince's chair. Your two pawns stand by your right side, blending with the many of their colleagues guarding the arena. You glance over to the cak— caring woman by your side to identify.
It is as the nobleman says. She is ‘Nashira Hathor,’ the Archbishop of the Church of Beauty, one of the four Sacred Temples. The only religion that hasn’t become a cultural footnote in the country (not to say the traditions were left behind, they’re very much alive and popular.) They believe that the almighty deity that created life will return to judge the world and reenact its will into everything, only saving what he deems worthwhile: the beautiful and peaceful. The sinful will be obliterated. He’s an entity of order above all. Of appearance over substance.
“I knew you would be interested in this little piece of heaven. This is the very best one I’ve tasted during my stay so far! You have a refined eye, oh gorgeous pearl!” The Archbishop leaves the plate on her lap to button your clothes up. It’s both a power play and to display her caring demeanor. “There, perfectly pretty!”
You size up the slice of cake again, perhaps it came from that han—*ahem*— horrible baker, and his gorgeo —*AHEM* *AHEM*— grotesque assistant.
You feel a fever again. Why are you badmouthing those who brought you so much joy…?
...
...Inspect the cake and forget about it. You’re not going to let these intrusive thoughts win.
“Who did you buy this cake from, ma’am?” You politely pry.
“Lemme look it up for a moment, not many moons have passed since I arrived and I’ve been trying any little dessert this city has to offer.” The Archbishop acts too casual as she pulls out her phone to look up the information. “This one was baked by Haytham Gerges. An absolute stud of a man.”
That’s not the horrible baker or his grotesque assistant’s name. Your disappointment is heart-wrenching.
“Here, beautiful. Grab a bite.” The Archbishop offers you some.
>>What do you do?
>Reject. You need to watch the battle unfold. Don’t get distracted.
>Eat it. Feel disappointed. Explain why.
>Cockily turn her down and tell her there’s a better cake in town.
>Write In.
