Rolled 18, 11, 16, 13 = 58 (4d20)
>>5666137You glance at Olu the Archer—half-human himself, a Degenerate, and yet… This is something you have never shared with him, not technically. You look to the Novice, who seems rather taken aback as you continue your disclosure:
“Only the Novicce Fleshweaver—that isss, the woman you know asss Teharissssa—knowsss that thiss is not the whole truth. Other Dragonborn are not like thisss. It iss unique to me… Becaussse I am of human anccessstry. I am a hybrid, like my Archer—Oluwadamilare. My maternal grandparent wasss a Northman.”
Olu’s eyes widen a little bit, but his lips remain shut. He says nothing.
“Dragonborn!” the Novice hisses sharply. “You cannot just say these things in public! It will—”
“In ssspite of thiss,” you interrupt her, looking between these two loves of yours, “the Noviccce hass kept my ssecret. She caress for me, even if she would deny it. She hasss worked with me to overcome many… What wasss it your booksss call them, Ekaterine? Sssocial ssstigamass, yesss?”
You reach out, grabbing and taking firm but loving hold of the Novice Fleshweaver’s hand before she can stop you or escape. He whines and thrash her tail, squirming under the display of open affection.
“Ssstigamass of ssexxx, of raccce, of ssstation and blood purity, of affiliation and religiousss association,” you cotninue. “It isss she that hass connected me with sso-called Hereticsss, and outcassstss, and hass helped me to begin building the better world I told you of… Where we can all be free, free to grow and sstrive and be BETTER than we were born. Where none shall be forccced to eat feed on lossst wanderersss for lack of other meat.”
The Novice glares daggers at you, but she cannot bring herself to pull away, nor to break your eye contact. She softens somewhat, enough at least to not contradict you where you embellish somewhat.
“She doesss it out of love,” you assert.
In shock and grave offence, the Novice reverts to the True Speech, pulling away and spitting the words.
“I… I most certainly do NOT, you repugnant, sentimental oaf of a—”
“L-love?”
