Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (ink book reader .txt) 📕

thought for a moment and decided that it’d be easier to spend the night with the Aqueals than to get off the road and rusk running into monsters or bandits.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Stay on course. We’ll feast with the Aqueals tonight!”

“What makes you think that they’re feasting?” Alice asked, carefully weaving wildflowers into her braid.

The wizard grinned broadly and then raised his index finger in a warning gesture.

“A real showman feasts every night,” he said in a mentoring tone. “It’s because they don’t know if they’ll be able to steal enough to drink wine instead of water the next day.”

Mary choked and looked suspiciously in the direction of the wagon.

“Tul,” she said sternly, “you’ll keep an eye on our stuff.”

“What?! Why me?!” he exclaimed, outraged. He was looking forward to a good nights rest.

“Because I don’t trust these two idiots,” Mary replied and nodded toward Ash and Blackbeard who were greedily staring at the piles of food.

Tul grumbled again, more for show than because he was planning on arguing with Mary. If she said so, then it was so. After all, she knew best.

The rest of the way, Ash spent trying to cheer up his companions. However, they only waved him away, telling him that he was being annoying. Taking offense, the mage sulked like a child and only spoke to Guido because he was, as Ash claimed, the only one who understood and loved him.

This, however, didn’t stop Mary from slapping the back of his head and telling him to shut up before she shut him up. Letting out a single tear, Ash moved to the front of the group, giving the rest of them a nice view of Guido’s ass.

By dusk, they reached the camp. The Stumps oohed and aahed, eyes widening to the size of a brand-new gold coin.

There were tents of various colors and sizes wherever you looked. Some were as tall as a house, decorated with fringe, others were smaller, no bigger than a shack, decorated with colorful ribbons that danced in the wind, forming various shapes, and the smallest of them were single rooms made in the shape of mystical animals.

Running between these colorful tents, people went about their business. Their clothes were no less amazing than their homes and could compete with the outfits of the most eccentric court jesters of Bistrita.

Women adorned their slender necks with rows of beads. Dozens of bracelets glittered around their thin wrists, shimmering in the light of fires and torches that cast light on their sun-kissed skin. Their numerous skirts, held together with corsetry, rose up every now and again to reveal bare feet that had seen many miles of dusty roads.

Men wore leather trousers and bright silk shirts covered with homemade fabric vests. Daggers swung from their belts, sometimes clanking sharply against the broad belt buckles. The sound was akin to that of swords clashing, but it didn’t take away from the merry atmosphere.

The song of lutes, trumpets, and drums danced in the air, mixed with laughter, shouts, singing, and loud clapping. It all mixed into an indescribable, but alluring and addictive rhythm. One just wished to dance the night away.

Tul, still sitting in the cart, narrowed his eyes, then whistled sharply and raised his fist. The party came to a halt. Ash, having no reins, had to smack Guido on the neck so that he’d stop. The horse responded with a slightly offended snort but obeyed

Two men came out of the shadows to greet the adventurers. The pot-bellied man with a whip tucked into a wide rawhide belt attracted their attention. His red robe, with its multicolored patches, was the size of one of the bigger tents in the camp. Ash swallowed. He had a bit of a complex about his height. He was sure that once he got off his horse, he’d reach to the man’s chest. Perhaps not even that much.

The pot-bellied man, in whose stomach you could easily fit a barrel of beer, looked at the visitors with a warm smile. Despite his rugged, scarred faced and thick, black beard with a couple of grays in it, he didn’t look like a formidable opponent. More like a hospitable host he was. Ash was sure that the man that stood before them was the head of the Aquel clan himself.

The young man next to him seemed to be his son. He was also tall, but nowhere near as obese as his father. He looked like a cub that had been dragged out to his first hunt. Tall and slender, with muscular arms and a handsome face, he radiated the kind of confidence that only the highest of aristocracy possessed. All in all, he was all that the gigolos sung about in taverns were described to be.

“Greetings travelers,” the elder bowed slightly.

Mary, as befitted a respected leader, was about to return the bow when Ash jumped off his horse and flashed the two with his usual smile.

“Laughter to your house and wine for your women!” he replied, bowing.

The elder arched his left eyebrow and exchanged glances with his son, who just shrugged and waved his hand. Out of the shadows came a girl of fourteen with a braid as thick as the elder’s arm. In her hands were pitchers of water and wine.

“Wine and water for our guests,” he instructed her.

Blushing slightly, she approached the young man with azure eyes. Ash accepted both pitchers with a grateful nod. Turning around, he winked at his companions and poured wine on the ground. The water he gave to Guido who almost snatched it from his hand with a joyful whinny, eager to quench his thirst after a long day’s travel.

Mary rolled her eyes and facepalmed as she always did when Ash did something stupid. She was certain that the clan leader wouldn’t tolerate such an