Worthy Core

It was another routine day in the region the next morning, at least as far as the dungeon was concerned. The Domain party finally made their first serious attempt at clearing Floor Seven, and got most of the way through the final chamber - without the use of any shortcuts. They were brought to a halt however by a Trush-led ambush which left their kobold Solar Arcanist, Passy, perforated with arrows. The party's healing was sufficient to both save the woman's life and prevent any permanent injuries, but they backtracked for the exit rather than push forward - they were here for the long-haul, after all, and they could always try another day.

The day was far less mundane for a number of the dungeon's visitors, first among them the trio sitting at a table in the dungeon inn. Xenia hadn't gotten around to explaining some of her odd comments before her timer ran out the night before, but after the four mortal members of the maybe-orgy woke up that morning Beatrice had loaned Tolla her enchanted helmet so that the dwarf could pass on Xenia's explanation for at least one of those comments. An explanation that left both of the men feeling rather dazed.

Nallond speaks up first. "Two dozen? And we're talking actual - actual births here? And not just, ah, potential..."

Tolla shakes her head. "The spirit wasn't entirely sure but she thinks Kahlia meant successful births, yeah. I might've lost track myself, but how many kids did you two think you had?"

Nallond answers with a sigh. "Six."

Renriel's response follows after. "Eight, with one set of twins. Did she say how they were divided between the two of us?"

"Sorry, sounds like it was just an offhand comment from the goddess. But we - you - got name-dropped by a goddess! You know what that means!?"

The Hunter waves off his partner's eagerness for the moment. "Let's, ah, focus on one thing at a time, yes? It's just...I don't understand. Yes, we move around often, but we've never had trouble receiving messages and mail through the Association. How have we not heard of ten children we've fathered? Even for us...we may not be the best father figures, I'll admit, but we've at least always been willing to provide support where needed."

The dwarf shrugs. "Practically everyone we've been banging these past few decades has been a Challenger, and you know how Challengers are. Even the women - nah, especially the women. Self-driven sorts, probably wanted to handle things on their own - or with their actual boyfriends, not like we've been sticking to singles. I mean, even half of the ones you know about haven't wanted you around, right?"

Renriel chuckles. "They usually phrase it a little more nicely than that, but more or less, yes. ...Maybe it's time we started using more precautions, though."

Tolla's outraged at that suggestion. "Now that you two have a goddess watching us? Can we please talk about that, now?"

The Mage gives a slow nod as he finally begins considering the implications. "Potentials for Paragons...not of the deity I may have been expecting, but even so. That would rather shortcut our career quite a bit, wouldn't it? We've been talking of finally pushing forward to Master-rank in the near future, but a Paragon is typically considered to be above Supreme! ...Not that Paragons of Fertility are exactly combat-oriented." As another thought occurs to him, he shakes his head. "It also sounds as if this rather leaves you out, my poor Tolla. If only you had been as risky as we had!"

The Shield Smasher waves it off. "Bah, surely she's gotta give credit for being a good wing-woman, right? I deserve at least a third of that count! And besides, we dwarves might not have it as bad as your elf lasses, but we ain't got it easy either - how much time would I have for this job if I kept getting knocked up for a year at a time? I'd be out of action for, oh, at least a good half of that! But either way, what sorta friend would I be if I saw you two on the edge of divine recognition and didn't help push you forward?"

Nallond rubs his chin. "Which involves...what exactly? How many more children? I wonder if perhaps last night could have increased that count..." Tolla has to roll her eyes at that supposition.

"One, the dungeon spirit's body faded out into so much pixie farts after an hour. Second, you elves might lose track of such things, but trust me, the foreign lass was a wee bit old for it, by human standards. Which is a good thing, given how the two of you barely gave the lady a break after her friend took her exit. That said, uh...well, the dungeon did have an offer for us."

Renriel's eyebrow rises. "Oh? If it's a request for us to stay until the next time her avatar's recharged, I'd certainly be open to it."

"Dammit, I should've brought that up! But actually, she wants us to maybe stay even longer than that. If we - and especially you two and your goddess-attracting pairs of bollocks - want to stay here and do our thing, apparently she's willin' to give us certain perks. Like, say, gettin' access to that Bunny Suite any time we have 'guests'."

The two elves share a look, and Nallond answers for them both. "Well...we do still have a lot of work to do to reclaim our lost records. And what easier way to stay on top than to be on hand?"

His partner nods in agreement. "Winter's a terrible time for traveling, anyhow. Perhaps a month or two would be worth trying out..."

Down at the Lucky Bastard, two other members of the community were having their own conversation relating to...carnal indiscretions. It was perhaps a bit public a setting for a conversation of this delicacy, but the tavern was something of a neutral ground, and the place was a little emptier now that many of the regulars had moved their base of operations up the mountain. As Raylin Perlin passes a folded piece of paper across the table, he attempts to make his pitch in the most professional tone of voice he can muster. "I've arranged my proposal in writing, but to cover the short version - "

He pauses as Gilda Highbranch takes the paper in hand and then flings it back at his chest, without so much as opening it. "Save your breath, Raylin. We have matters to discuss, yes, but there is absolutely no chance I will be accepting any such offer of marriage."

"At least allow me to state my terms!"

The half-elf woman rolls her eyes with a sigh. "Well, if you insist - perhaps this will be good for a laugh. What did you and your cousins manage to put together for today?"

Raylin attempts to recover his calm before starting over, but it's not easy for the man. "For starters, allow me to set you at ease in one regard. I will be making no claim towards inheriting any of your father's lands as part of the marriage, I am willing to renounce those claims in favor of your sister and her possible future branch of the family."

"Ha!" Gilda gives a prepared scoff, as if she was expecting exactly this. "You want credit for giving up something that could have never been yours in the first place! Even attempting to lay claim to a ducal inheritance would have gotten you laughed out of the room by any member of my family. Besides, this is a terrible offer for me personally - it means I, too, would have to surrender my claim on our parents' estates."

Raylin winces slightly, but doesn't allow her to cow him. "I have to admit to wondering, what claim do you have, exactly? Splitting a ducal estate between siblings would be very frowned upon, given that it would eliminate the house as a base of power within a few generations. Do you know for a fact that you will be your parents' heir?"

Gilda's mocking smile does fade a little at that reminder. "...When the time comes to pass, the heads of our associated families will gather to vote for which of us ought to be the heir. Silva and I have agreed not to be competitive about it, so it's a fair fifty-fifty chance. And even the 'loser' shall be more than well taken care of."

This time it's the Marksman's turn to scoff. "Fifty-fifty!? On a vote? Did your tutorage not include an accurate lesson on statistics, my lady? Your sister is quite well-liked and regarded at court, and meanwhile, how many friends do you have? Certainly, you may not have offended your cousins harshly enough to cause an open split in your house, but if forced to the choice of you or Silva? Do you really believe your odds to be better than, shall we say...one in ten?"

"As if you know anything about the politics of House Highbranch!" Her words may deny his claims, but something about the fire raging in her eyes tells Raylin he may have hit the mark. "In any case, it's a moot point. The marriage will not be happening."

Raylin's expression turns more dour at the implications of that statement. "Ah, I see. So you're saying you won't be...continuing with what's begun?"

"Hrnh. I didn't say that."

At that, the nobleman's mood quickly turns towards anger. "Wait, what? Why? Combined with your poor odds of inheritance, raising a bastard will ruin your future prospects of marriage! Even if you were to give the child up for adoption - and if you're considering it, then allow me - "

"As if I need a marriage! Future duchess or not, I have no doubts about my ability to take care of myself, Honorable Perlin. The child may have...value on their own behalf. And it need not be your concern."

"But, Lady Gilda - you don't even like me! Why would you want to raise my child? How - how can I be sure that you would raise them in a loving house, especially if this is part of some...scheme or something you've cooked up?"

As Raylin begins to show more emotion than he had thus far, Gilda takes a moment to eye him a little closer. "Why do you care? I know your reputation, Raylin, it's even worse than my own when it comes to the traffic of your bedchambers. If you wish to mark me as another notch on your bedpost, then fine, but take it and move on. Forget about the results, I ask you for nothing more."

"I - I will not abandon my child! If you do intend to carry through with this pregnancy, then I expect to play some role!"

With that said, Gilda reaches into one of her pockets and pulls out a folded piece of paper of her own, passing it across the table. "If that's how you feel, then read this - and then see if you feel the same."

Eyebrow raised, Raylin does as asked, but his expression quickly darkens as he scans through it. "Will agree to...for the sum of...to...renounce? You're willing to pay me to renounce my child? And - you had this prepared! Gilda! I will not abandon my own flesh and blood for mere coin!"

For once, the highborn woman doesn't have a quick retort. The two lock eyes for a moment, and then another, before finally she looks away. "...Perhaps I misjudged you then, Raylin. I honestly did not expect you to be so stubborn about this topic."

Sensing that his opponent might actually be giving some ground, Raylin softens his own tone. "I am...quite aware of my reputation, Gilda. Philanderer, hothead, fool - and those are just the terms I use to describe myself. But let it not be said that I do not hold fast to my family. If you wished to not carry through, that would be one thing, I would understand. But otherwise...tell me - why is the child so important to you?"

It takes several long seconds for her to answer, but eventually Gilda's gaze again meets Raylin's. "The...child would likely have a strong...spiritual claim to these lands. Particularly if presented in a particular way. More so than either of our houses has without it."

"So that's all it is then? You would use...our child as a simple political pawn?"

This time, some of Gilda's fire returns to her voice. "I am not saying I would not care for him or her! But if there's...additional benefits to be had, I would be a fool not to claim them!"

"Ha. Of course. Well, as I said, I am a fool, and I'm afraid I cannot play along with your plans so easily." Raylin stands up, tossing Gilda's proposal back onto the table as he turns to leave. "I am not offended you do not wish to marry me, Gilda - I never expected you to say yes in the first place. But on this other matter? Do not expect me to yield the field, I shall not abandon my offspring. Please offer your sister my condolences - I did regret hearing of her injury. But for now, farewell."

He makes his exit from the tavern before Gilda can think of a response, and so the woman sits there for several minutes, staring coldly at the discarded offer. Eventually though she grabs it up and stuffs it away, swearing as she moves to make her own departure. "...Gods damn it, Raylin. Why did this have to become so complicated?"