A horse with no name

You take Drima’s insight as being both sincere and valid as you depart her tavern, no drinks consumed. It doesn’t give you a cardinal direction to be searching in, but it does help narrow down some possibilities. That Trevolia would lean towards the familiar in her moment of emotional need makes sense. Neither you nor her have been around Faquorian long enough to know where the wealth in the city has pooled itself. If they’re like any other society you’ve heard of, you reckon, their wealth will be on full display when you find it.

Hiking up a long, sloping hill, you start to have signs of what you’re looking for. The architecture, with it’s large decorative arches and imported stone artwork is a major economic flex, and hints at very old money. This city isn’t the capital of Yokono, the latest kingdom you’ve found yourself in, but you feel reasonably sure that there will still be nobles here; ones who aren’t immediately vying for power in the capital city of Lien. Or at the very least, some folks extraordinarily wealthy enough that they could pass for noble by the unfamiliar. Trevolia would be one of those to be familiar, but in her state, she might not be in the mood to care. She was willing to become familiar with you after all, and you’re far from normal.

Your thoughts dwell on this as you wander through the posh streets; lanterns starting to be lit as the sun begins its early descent in this hilly terrain. Drima said to think back to how and when she fell in love with you, and as you think, you realize that’s actually hard for you to pin down. As childhood friends in noble circles, you were infatuated with her as far back as you can remember. If true love at first sight exists, that must have been what it looked like. Too bad it wasn’t reciprocated at first. Being the only orcs among the nobles, and with you and your father being the first of your kind she ever saw, there was a timidity that came about. Time worked it’s magic, and you two became good friends. Exactly where the platonic friendship turned is hard to pin down. What does come up though is a clear memory, and the spot where any latent thoughts turned to action to the first time. You and Trevolia had snuck away from the ballroom of some boring feast. Sneaking your flute with you, which you had just begun to discover your passion and talent for, you played the first song you could play by memory for her. You remember being so nervous and anxious for her approval that even in the autumn chill of the evening you had begun to sweat, only to have her kiss you for the first time.

Things moved in a clear direction from there, though very slowly. The King and Queen didn’t want their daughter being left alone with any young lad, least of all an orc; even a noble one. The consummation of your relationship didn’t occur until years later into adulthood. That night was one for the ages, you tell yourself. Stopping under one of the lanterns, you try to clear your head. You had gone down a stroll through memory lane so well that you had stopped paying attention to the actual street. Finding yourself at a roundabout for carriages and horses, you stop on the periphery, and pause here for a moment to collect your thoughts. You’re a damned fool, you tell yourself. You were the luckiest earth in all of T’sara to find a woman who loved you simply for you being you, and you let the pleasures of the flesh fuck that up. You promise yourself, for real this time, that if she ever forgives you for this, the sex with Joan and Clodagh will stop.

You take your flute in your hand, and begin to ponder whether it would be worth continuing to search for her at this point, or if heading back to the Good Knight’s Rest is the better call. Before you can make that decision, you hear the hurried gallup of hooves on paved road. Finding the source, you see a grandiose carriage of blackened wood, pulled by four equally ebony horses with not a spot of color on them. Through the window into the carriage, you see the unmistakable face of your true love, Trevolia. She did not see you, seemingly in conversation with some other passenger. Perhaps it’s just your protective nature, but the hurry of that carriage gives you a bad feeling. Flute in hand, you use it to cast some occult magic that you picked up on while she was studying to become a Wizard. Shimmering purple light emanated through your flute as you played, coalescing in front of you until it took the shape of a horse. Despite being able to see through it, it is solid to your touch and allows you to hoist yourself up.

Charging forward, you’re able to reconnect visually with the carriage, which enters the property of a lavish mansion estate, similar to your childhood home. There’s at least a dozen other carriages by your rough counting, which is cut short by armored gate guards impeding your advance. Heavy lances at the ready, they could pierce straight through your phantom and hurt you badly.

“Evening gentlemen” You start quickly, hoping you can appeal to their better nature “I need to speak with one of the lovely ladies inside.”

“Shove off Orc.” This clearly wasn’t going to go your way “This isn’t some whorehouse you can lose your money in or a village you can raid for what you like. These types are too good for you. Nobles, and they don’t like having their nights ruined by miscreant riff raff like yourself.”

“I don’t mean to insult you or the work you two are doing, but I actually am a noble” As you dismount from the ghost horse, it quickly dissipates into nothing “Sir Silve Berr, from Asa. I’m here with the princess Trevolia, who is in that last carriage. We got separated”

The two guards laughed openly at your explanation “Do you think we’re fucking stupid? Whoever heard of an Orcish noble? Even the nobles form Stoneheart have the sense to never leave their kingdom.”

“It’s the truth, please guys, let me in, I need to talk to her.”

“I don’t really care. You could be the Intransican Emperor himself. This is by invitation only, and you clearly don’t have one. Now get lost, final warning.”

You raise your hands in surrender as you start walking backwards, making yourself appear to be no threat. Not completely deterred, you walk the periphery of the gated estate, looking for some way in, or a hint of what was going on. You were so focused on trying to see through the distant windows that the presence of a person nearly made you jump. A tiefling woman, around your age, blending in well to the environment in her dark brown robes.

“I would suggest you pray” her voice was low, seemingly remorseful.

“I’m sorry?” You ask in clear confusion.

“So am I. I overheard your conversation. Your friend is in there?”

“Yes. Look, I just need to talk to her. Please, is there anything you can do to help?”

She shakes her head slowly “The lord of the house doesn’t like me talking to outsiders. I shouldn’t even be out here. Her fate is up to the gods now.”

“What does that mean? Is she in danger?”

There’s silence as the tiefling turns away and starts walking inside.

“My true love is in there!” you shout out “If something bad’s about to happen, it’s all my fault, and I can’t bear the thought of her getting hurt because of my stupid ass mistakes.”

The tiefling turns back, lowers her hood, and approaches the bars. She’s quiet, pensive, but you can see a flood of emotions running through her eyes, as she tries to study you through yours. You see a litany of scars and bruises along her body, beginning below the collarbone.

“I envy this woman, and I believe you. Heed this warning, Orc. if you come in here, there’s a good chance you won’t come out.”

“I’ve gotten out of worse jams. I have friends who are experts at this sort of thing. Do whatever you can to delay things, I’ll come right back here.”

“I can’t guarantee anything of that sort. Your best chance is you come in right now…”