Arthur was panicked, more panicked than he had ever been in his life. Even more than when he had to deal with his father. At least with his father he knew Mira would not have been harmed. But this was different. Blood relations would not protect her here. Just look at what had happened to him. He had been used and violated and drugged for months. The thoughts of what could possibly be happening to Mira scared him beyond anything he had ever felt.
He pushed himself faster and faster through the streets of King's Landing. Faster than he had ever gone before. His bare feet slapped against the cold cobblestones. People jumped out of his way as he barreled past. People shouted curses at him for knocking over crates. A gold cloak called for him to stop but he did not hear it. His mind was a storm of fear and fury. Mira's face flashed before him. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she clung to him in the night. What if they had done to her what they did to him? What if she was broken? Sold? The rage burned hotter. He would kill them all if they had touched her.
As he ran he mentally used the Otherworld Token he had earned before. The wheel spun in his vision. It landed on a skill.
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[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]
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Massage (0/100) (Master)
Description: The art of touch taken to perfection. You instinctively know how to soothe pain, relax muscle, and restore vitality through pressure, kneading, and manipulation of the body. Though not a combat skill, your hands carry healing beyond the norm.
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"Damn it!" he cursed. His voice echoed off the alley walls. A useless skill. What good was massage in a fight? In saving Mira? He shoved the thought aside and kept running. The Quill and Tankard loomed ahead. Its sign swung in the wind. He burst through the door. The wood slammed against the wall.
Arthur stood in the doorway of the Quill and Tankard, his chest heaving, his bloodied fists clenched, the skimpy silk vest and loincloth clinging to his sweat-slicked skin like a mockery of his former self. The common room fell silent, patrons frozen mid-sip, their tankards hovering as they stared at him. Lira dropped a tankard behind the bar, the metal clattering to the floor, ale splashing across the wood. "Arthur?" she said, her freckled face paling. "What happened to you? I thought you were in the black cells!"
Arthur's eyes burned with a murderous intensity, his gaze sweeping the room for any sign of Mira, perhaps atrace of her blue dress, her blonde curls, anything. But he saw nothing and the absence only fueled his rage, his knuckles whitening as he stepped forward. "Where is she? Where's Mira?" He said in a voice so venomous it made Lyra flinch.
Lira's father, the innkeeper, emerged from the kitchen, his red-veined nose flaring as he took in Arthur's state. His face paled, but he squared his shoulders, his greasy apron straining over his gut. "You're not welcome here, boy," he barked,. "Get back to Madame Lysa's before I call the gold cloaks to drag you off."
Lira opened her mouth to protest, her crooked teeth flashing in a frown. "Da, he—"
"Silence, girl!" the innkeeper snapped, his hand slashing through the air. "Get upstairs, now!" Lira flinched, hurt flashing across her face, but she obeyed, retreating to the foot of the stairs, though she lingered in the shadows and kept watching.
Arthur took another step, his expression a deadly calm that made the room feel colder. "Where is Mira?" he asked again.
The innkeeper's eyes darted to the side, his hand gripping the edge of the bar. "Forget her, boy. She's gone. You make trouble here, and the gold cloaks'll chain you up faster than you can blink. So get out."
Arthur's gaze didn't waver. "Where is Mira?" He stepped closer, the rage in his chest becoming a living flame.
The innkeeper's face hardened, and he pulled a bludgeon from behind the bar, the kind used to crack skulls in tavern brawls. Three patrons rose from their tables, a burly sailor with a scarred cheek, a lanky tanner with knuckles like knots, and a broad-shouldered laborer with a crooked nose all eyeing Arthur with hostility. "Last chance, boy," the innkeeper said. "Leave, or we make you."
Arthur's lips curled into a grim smile. "Fine. Have it your way." He activated Novacaine and Demon Back, the skills flooding his body with a sudden numbness and a surge of raw power, his muscles tightening and his back rippling with unnatural strength.
The sailor charged first, his fist swinging for Arthur's face. The punch landed with a meaty smack, snapping Arthur's head to the side, but the pain was drowned by Novacaine. Arthur retaliated, driving his fist into the sailor's stomach with a force that made the man double over, retching up his supper onto the floorboards. The tanner tackled him from the side, his larger frame slamming Arthur into a table, chairs toppling with a crash of splintered wood.
The tanner pinned him to the floor, slamming him down once, twice, the impacts jarring but dulled. Arthur grabbed a wooden mug from the wreckage, smashing it into the tanner's temple with a crack that sent the man groaning, his grip loosening. Arthur kicked him off, the tanner tumbling into another table, sending tankards and plates clattering across the room.
The laborer came next, his fists landing punches on Arthur's face and chest, each hit strong enough to make him stumble back against the wall. Arthur absorbed the blows, and threw a punch of his own. The laborer blocked it, countering with a kick to Arthur's leg that sent him crashing into the wall, the wood groaning under the impact. The laborer roared, charging with another punch, but Arthur caught his wrist, twisting it with Shibukawa-ryū to carry the man's momentum forward. He slammed the laborer's face into the wall, then pivoted his hips, throwing him to the floor with a heavy crash that shook the boards.
Novacaine wore off then, pain flooding back like a dam breaking; his ribs screaming, his face throbbing, blood trickling from his split lip. Arthur didn't care. He would beat these men until his last breath. The sailor and tanner staggered to their feet, their faces pale but determined, as the laborer groaned, trying to rise.
"Give up, boy," the innkeeper said, still behind the bar, his bludgeon raised but his voice a little unsure. "You can't fight four men."
Arthur spat a glob of blood onto the floor, his eyes blazing with a murderous calm. "I don't know about you, but I don't see any men in front of me..."
The sailor and tanner charged together, tackling him against the wall, their combined weight pinning him as their fists pounded his ribs and stomach. The laborer joined in, throwing punch after punch at Arthur, blood streaming from Arthur's nose as he took the blows. Arthur kicked the laborer away, the man's bulk crashing into a bench, then headbutted the tanner, the crack of their skulls ringing out as the tanner stumbled back, dazed. Arthur grabbed the sailor's shoulders, leaping onto his back and dragging him down, his fist slamming into the man's face again and again until blood sprayed, the sailor's body going limp beneath him.
The tanner grabbed Arthur from behind, yanking him off, but Arthur shoved back, throwing him into the wall with a thud. The laborer tried to punch again, his fist aimed for Arthur's jaw, but Arthur blocked it, countering with a punch powered by Demon Back, the force sending the laborer reeling, blood spurting from his mouth as he hit the floor along with several teeth.
A chair shattered across Arthur's back then, the wood splintering, the blow sending him to his knees with a grunt. The pain was bad but less than expected, the muscles in his back absorbing the worst of it. Then the tanner, recovered, tackled him against the wall, his fists and knees hammering Arthur's ribs. Arthur struggled against him for a moment before he ducked, and then lunged upward to lift the tanner off his feet and slam him to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. He spun as the laborer staggered up, grabbing a broken table leg and swinging it with a crack against the man's skull, sending him sprawling.
The sailor looked pale as he took one look at Arthur's bloodied fist and the fallen men and bolted for the door, his boots pounding as he fled into the night. Arthur turned to face the innkeeper, who stood alone now, his bludgeon trembling in his grip.
Arthur turned his gaze to the innkeeper, who stood behind the bar with the bludgeon trembling in his grip, his red-veined face slick with sweat, his eyes darting to the fallen patrons as if hoping they would rise. The room was a wreck now, tables overturned, ale pooling on the floor amid shards of broken mugs, the air thick with the copper tang of blood and the sharp stink of fear and shit. Arthur stepped forward, blood dripping from his knuckles in plops that stained the wood beneath his feet.
"You fucking cunt, you think you can come in here and threaten me! You stupid little whore I'll kill you!" The innkeeper swung the bludgeon threateningly, his arm sweeping in an arc aimed at Arthur's head. Arthur ducked under it, the wood whistling past his ear, and drove his shoulder into the man's gut, the impact forcing a wheeze from the innkeeper's lungs as he staggered back against the bar. Arthur followed with a punch to the jaw, the crack echoing through the room, but the innkeeper roared and countered with a backhand that caught Arthur across the cheek, splitting his lip anew and sending him reeling into a stool that toppled with a crash.
"You little bastard!" the innkeeper bellowed with raw fury as he lunged over the bar with his bludgeon raised high. Arthur rolled to the side, the weapon smashing into the floorboards where his head had been, splintering the wood. He came up swinging the table leg, connecting with the innkeeper's knee in a dull thud that made the man grunt and buckle, but the innkeeper grabbed Arthur's arm, yanking him close and slamming his forehead into Arthur's nose with a wet crunch. Blood sprayed, and Arthur's vision blurred, pain exploding through his face as he tasted iron on his tongue.
Arthur twisted free, his free hand clawing at the innkeeper's eyes, nails raking across the man's cheek and drawing blood in thin lines. The innkeeper howled and swung the bludgeon again, catching Arthur in the ribs with a force that drove the air from his lungs, the crack of bone audible even over his gasp. Arthur doubled over, but rage kept him moving, he tackled the innkeeper, his shoulder driving into the man's thighs, lifting him off his feet and slamming him back through the bar. The wood shattered under their weight, bottles and tankards crashing to the floor in a cascade of glass and ale, the innkeeper's body hitting the ground hard enough to shake the room.
Arthur straddled him, wrenching the bludgeon from the man's hand and bringing it down on his face, the wood connecting with a meaty smack that split the innkeeper's brow. Blood started to flow freely, but Arthur didn't stop, he raised it again, slamming it into the man's jaw, then his nose, each blow fueled by the betrayal burning in his chest. The innkeeper's arms flailed, trying to block, but Arthur battered them aside, the bludgeon cracking against bone as he shouted, "Where is she? Tell me!"
The innkeeper gurgled, blood bubbling from his mouth, his eyes swelling shut, but he was out cold, his body limp beneath the assault. Arthur roared in frustration, lifting the bludgeon high and bringing it down again and again, "Wake up! Wake up, you bastard! Tell me where she is!"
A scream pierced the haze, Lira burst from the stairs, her face pale as milk, her hands outstretched. "Stop! Please, Arthur stop!" She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging in desperately.
Arthur whirled, throwing her off with a shove that sent her sprawling to the floor, her skirt tangling around her legs as she hit the boards hard. "Don't touch me!!!" he shouted.
Lira held her hands up, tears streaming down her freckled cheeks, her body shaking as she pushed herself to her knees. "Please... please don't kill him. He's my father, my only family left. My Ma's gone, and without him... please, Arthur, I beg you. Don't do this."
Arthur's chest heaved, the rage still boiling, but her words cut through the red haze. He looked at the innkeeper, beaten bloody and broken on the floor, his face a ruin of swelling and cuts. "He knows what happened to me," Arthur growled in a venomous voice. "He was probably working with Willem."
+1 Intelligence
Lira shook her head frantically, her plait coming loose as she crawled closer. "I swear, I had no idea. Willem came, said you were in trouble, but Da... Please, Arthur he's all I have. I'll tell you everything I know, just spare him."
Arthur's arm trembled, the bludgeon feeling heavy in his grip, the temptation to end it was surging, to make the man pay for his part in the nightmare. But he needed information, Mira's trail started with what little this place could give. He dropped the bludgeon, letting it clatter to the floor. "Fine," he said. "But if you're lying, I'll come back for both of you."
Lira nodded, relief flooding her face as she scrambled to her father's side, her hands hovering over his battered form. Arthur limped to a nearby chair, collapsing into it with a groan, his body screaming from the fight, blood trickling from his nose and fresh cuts. He wiped his face with a trembling hand and fixed his gaze on Lira. "Where is Mira?"
Lira looked up, her hands still pressing a rag to her father's bleeding brow. "About two moons ago, Willem came here. He told Mira there was an accident, that you killed someone while defending him, and ended up in the black cells awaiting trial. He cried, said it was his fault, promised to care for her until he cleared your name. She waited days, hoping for news, but when none came... she left with him. I think to his manse,."
Arthur's fists clenched, the betrayal hitting fresh. "His manse... where is it?"
Lira shook her head, tears falling. "I don't know. He never said. Just that it was somewhere fancy. Please, that's all I heard."
Arthur stood, the chair scraping back, his mind racing. The escaped patron would call the gold cloaks soon, and he couldn't face them... not now, not when they might be in Lysa's or Willem's pocket. He moved behind the bar, ransacking the drawers and shelves, finding a strongbox hidden under the counter. He smashed it open with the bludgeon, coins spilling out—four silver moons glinting in the lantern light. He pocketed them all, then grabbed a set of the innkeeper's spare clothes from a hook in the back—breeches and a tunic too big for his frame, but clean and a whole lot better than his current outfit.
Lira watched in silence, her sobs quiet now, as Arthur dressed quickly over his skimpy garments and left without another word, the door slamming behind him. The night air hit him hard, but he ran, his body protesting every step, but propelled forward by the thought of Mira and the thought of revenge.
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[QUEST COMPLETED] WHERE IS MIRA?
Description:
Through blood, sweat, and rage you tore the truth from the liars' mouths. Mira was not lost to the same chains as you. Against the odds, you found her before the slavers could claim her.
Objective:
– Locate Mira's whereabouts ✅
Bonus Objectives:
– Discover Willem's current location ✅
– Eliminate Willem or Madame Lysa ❌
Rewards:
– +1 Perception
– +150 XP
Bonus Reward 1:
– Otherworld Token
Failure:
– Mira is sold into slavery.
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[NEW QUEST RECEIVED]
BLOOD DEBT
Description:
Willem betrayed you. He sold you into slavery, fed you poison, and left you broken in a brothel. Now Mira is missing, likely sold into the same nightmare. This is no longer about survival—it is about retribution. Find Mira and make Willem pay in blood.
Objectives:
– Rescue Mira
– Kill Willem
Bonus Objectives:
– Kill Madame Lysa
– Free the other captives held in the brothel
Rewards:
– +2 Strength
– +2 Perception
– 200 XP
Bonus Rewards:
– Trait: [Avenger] ("When vengeance drives you, your strikes carry greater force against those who have wronged you.")
– +1 Otherworld Token
Failure:
– Mira is lost
– Willem lives
– Permanent debuff: [Broken Will] (−25% XP gain, −10% Constitution)
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Mira sat in a high-backed chair by the window of the beautiful room, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the velvet armrest as she stared out at the gardens below. The manse was a world away from Harrowfield's wood and thatch homes; it was polished stone floors, tapestries of silk and gold depicted amazing battles, and the air carried the faint scent of jasmine from the braziers that warmed the space. Yet none of it touched her. The luxury felt like a cage, its bars invisible still pressing on her, and every day without Arthur stretched like an eternity of grey.
Her life had become a dull, aching void. Without him, colors faded, sounds muffled, and even the simplest joys turned to ash in her mouth. She ate because Willem insisted, slept because exhaustion forced her, but each breath felt like a burden. The thought of another day apart clawed at her chest, a pain so deep it made her wish for oblivion. She had even considered stepping into the street and killing someone, just to be thrown into the black cells beside Arthur, to feel his presence again, but she knew it was madness, a desperate whisper from the darkness in her mind. She pushed it away, but it lingered like a shadow over her.
Willem was the only anchor in the storm. He had been kind, providing for her every need, fine clothes to replace her only dress, meals of roasted quail and honeyed wine, even a healer to tend her when grief made her ill. Each day he visited the Red Keep, advocating for Arthur's release, updating her with whatever scraps of news he gleaned. It gave her hope, not much, but enough to cling to.
Yet she could not ignore the way he looked at her sometimes, his eyes lingering too long on her curves, the swell of her breasts or the sway of her hips. He found excuses to touch her; a hand on her shoulder for comfort, fingers brushing hers when passing a cup, his arm around her waist when guiding her through the manse's halls. It made her skin crawl, an unease that twisted in her gut, but she kept it buried. He had not tried anything overt, and she needed his help for Arthur. Without Willem, she had nothing, no coin, no influence, no way to free her brother. So she endured, smiling through the discomfort, telling herself it was a small price.
She leaned her forehead against the the window placing her elbows beneath her chin. The gardens below blurred through her tears tears. "Please come back to me soon, Arthur," she whispered.
"I can't bear this without you."
(AN: Damn so things are getting serious and Arthur is not a happy bunny, but the question is can he find Mira and what is Willem planning to do with her? Why is she not in a brothel herself? Anyway hope you enjoyed)
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