Script reading [Chapter 1 Part 3 - Delicious Travelings] (Patreon)

Chapter 1: IntroductionPart 3 - A Tempting but Suspicious Mission

A Notice to Survive

Paul and Rea, exhausted after days of travel near Boischant, grimly inspect their empty purses. Without money, renting horses to go their separate ways—Paul to his knightly order, Rea to a safe haven for her people—is impossible. In a crowded tavern, a notice on the mission board catches their eye: "Urgent delivery of rare ingredients to the Ruin of Whispers, Mist Plain. Meet at 22:42 precisely. Reward: 50 Sterns." Rea frowns, her small wings twitching behind her neck: “22:42? That’s oddly specific… It could be a trap.” Paul, adjusting his faintly gleaming knight’s breastplate under the torchlight, shrugs: “Trap or not, 50 Sterns means two horses and a hot meal. We’re going.”

They retrieve a wooden box engraved with runes, emitting a pungent smell—a mix of sulfur, wild herbs, and a bittersweet note. Paul sniffs, wary: “Smells like a forbidden ritual. Or a failed alchemist’s soup.” Rea, clutching the box, whispers: “Maybe it’s for a perfume? Or… a love potion?” Paul snorts: “Perfume? This stench would repel a troll. I’d bet on poison. The kind a shady sorcerer uses to turn someone into a frog.” Rea, amused despite her unease, giggles: “You read too many fairy tales, Paul. What if it’s an eccentric noble spicing up their wine?” Their lighthearted but apprehensive banter tightens their bond in the face of the unknown.

The Mist Plain: An Imposing Encounter

In the Mist Plain, under a pale moon, the Ruin of Whispers looms, its weathered stones murmuring a forgotten past. A massive figure waits at the center, cloaked in black, holding a flickering torch. Paul, hand on his sword’s hilt, mutters: “Rea, if it’s a sorcerer, we negotiate. If they summon a demon, we run.” Rea, her wings trembling nervously, whispers: “What if they just… need spices for cooking?” A deep voice cuts through their debate: “Got the ingredients, or are you going to chatter all night?”

The hood falls, revealing *Findis*, an elf with disheveled golden hair, a scar slashing across her brow, and a bold smile. “Findis, ex-royal guard and future legend of brews!” she proclaims, brandishing a massive greatsword. Paul, impressed but skeptical, mutters: “An elf with a sword like that? I was expecting a hooded alchemist.” Rea, intimidated, bows her head: “Pleased to meet you… I think. What are these spices for, exactly?” Findis laughs heartily: “For a brew that’ll make alcohol obsolete! A mad friend’s genius idea. I’m all in!”

Findis sets up by a bubbling cauldron, pulling out a crumpled parchment—the recipe. She squints, muttering: “These runes… pure gibberish! Oh well, let’s wing it!” She tosses in twisted roots, glowing mushrooms, and crackling powder at random, ignoring the precise order. Paul, who reveres recipes like sacred texts, clenches his teeth, restraining his frustration: How can someone butcher a preparation like that? He stays silent, but his fingers tap nervously on his sword’s hilt. Rea, curious, asks: “Do you… know what you’re doing?” Findis, laughing, stirs the mix with a large stick: “Not really! But it’s gonna be epic, you’ll see!”

An Unexpected Ambush

As the cauldron bubbles, heavy footsteps echo on the nearby road. A band of bandits, armed with daggers and clubs, approaches, drawn by the brew’s strange scent. Their leader, a burly man with a vicious glare, surveys the camp: “What’s cooking in there? Give us a taste!” Findis, planting her greatsword in the ground, retorts: “No way, this is my masterpiece! Scram!” The leader sneers, his gaze sliding to Rea: “If we can’t taste your brew, maybe we’ll taste the lass instead.”

Paul, enraged, leaps forward, sword drawn in a flash. “Touch her, and you’ll have no tongue to talk with!” he spits, striking the leader’s shoulder with a precise blow, making him stagger back in pain. The fight erupts, fierce and determined:

- *Paul*, in full armor—breastplate, pauldrons, gauntlets, sweat-soaked linen shirt—parries attacks with agility, striking a bandit’s chest to disarm him. His knightly discipline shines, protecting Rea at all costs.

- *Rea*, refusing to stay passive, grabs the cauldron’s stirring stick, still sticky with residue. Wielding it two-handed, she smacks a bandit’s legs with surprising force. “Leave us alone!” she shouts, her unexpected courage making her foes hesitate.

- *Findis*, with raw power, slams her greatsword down on a bandit, pinning him to the ground. She blocks another attacker with a fierce parry, her eyes blazing with defiance: “You picked the wrong camp to mess with!”

The wounded leader orders a retreat, and the bandits flee into the mist. Paul, breathless, places a hand on Rea’s shoulder: “You’ve got guts with that stick.” Rea, blushing, murmurs: “I… couldn’t let you fight alone.” Findis, laughing, gives Paul a friendly slap: “You’re one hell of a knight, cook! And you, little one, you’ve got fire under that shyness!”

The Disastrous Brew

With calm restored, Findis resumes her cauldron, serving three mugs of a brownish, steaming mixture with a dubious smell. “To the glory of my genius!” she declares, raising her mug. Paul takes a sip and grimaces: “Tastes like a swamp gone bad.” Rea, polite, swallows a gulp and coughs: “It’s… strong.” Findis, downing her mug, belches loudly: “You’ve got no taste! This is the future of taverns!” Paul, shaking his head, pulls bread from his pack: “Rea, eat this—it’ll save your stomach.” Rea, famished after her healing spell, devours the bread with enthusiasm that makes her stomach growl. Findis chuckles: “Look at her, she’ll explode before we reach Boischant!” Rea, embarrassed, murmurs: “It’s for my spells… I need to eat a lot.” Paul smiles: “Don’t worry, I can cook for a battalion.”

Around the Fire: Bonds and Scars

Around the fire, Findis shares fiery tales of her royal guard days—duels where she shattered lances, feasts where she drained entire barrels—her energy captivating Paul and Rea. Paul, more relaxed, confesses his passion for cooking: “A well-made dish is worth more than all the brews in the world. Especially yours, Findis.” The elf roars with laughter, giving him a friendly slap: “You’re a romantic, cook! We’re gonna get along.”

Findis, rolling her shoulders with a wince, turns to Rea bluntly: “Rea, with your healing powers or whatever, can you do something for my back? It’s been killing me for weeks.” Rea, surprised, nods: “Gladly, I owe you that much.”

Findis, with a mischievous grin, starts removing her top, revealing a muscular back crisscrossed with scars, remnants of brutal battles. Her movements are slow, almost theatrical, and she throws a playful glance at Paul: “So, cook, ready for the show, or are you gonna blush like a maiden?”

*Player Choice:*

- *Option 1: Paul turns away, embarrassed.*

- *Option 2: Paul doesn’t turn away, watching the scene.*

*Option 1: Paul turns away, embarrassed.*

Paul, face flushed, turns abruptly, staring at a bush as if it held treasure. “I… uh… I’ll check the perimeter!” he stammers, striding off. Findis bursts out laughing: “Look at him, the bashful knight! Scared of a topless elf or what?” Rea, focused on her healing, places her hands on Findis’s back, a soft glow emanating from her palms. The elf’s tension eases, and she sighs: “You’re an angel, little one. These scars are my old life. Not always pretty.” Rea, moved, replies: “You protected us. To me, that’s beautiful.” Their warm exchange strengthens their bond. Paul, returning, mutters: “Everything okay?” Findis chuckles: “You missed the best part, cook!”

*Option 2: Paul doesn’t turn away, watching the scene.*

Paul, frozen, keeps his eyes on Findis, his armor suddenly too warm. Findis, noticing his stare, puffs out her chest with a wink: “So, cook, like what you see? Gotta say, I’d make a dragon jealous!” She runs a hand over her ample chest, laughing at her boldness. Rea, cheeks pink, frowns slightly, her hands hesitating on Findis’s back. Her healing glow flickers briefly, betraying a hint of jealousy. “I… I’m focusing,” she murmurs, a bit too quickly. Findis, teasing, continues: “Oh, little one, relax! There’s enough for everyone!” Rea, finishing her healing, soothes Findis’s pain and mutters: “Your scars… they tell quite a story.” Findis, more serious, nods: “Yeah, a life of blows and glory. Thanks, little one.” Paul, awkward, stammers: “Uh… nice work, Rea.” Rea shoots him a sidelong glance, half-annoyed, half-amused.

A distant howl pierces the night. Findis, dressed again, grabs her greatsword: “That’s no wolf. Your ingredients are attracting big game.” Paul, gripping his sword, exchanges a look with Rea: “Looks like we’ll be traveling together a bit longer.” Rea, clutching her stick, nods: “Together… I’m okay with that.”