Chapter Seven: Sword and Shield

Previously: My Ladies

 

"My lady, you have a guest."

 

Mireille du Maurier was sitting at her vanity, playing with her jewels. It was a new hobby she'd developed over the past couple of days. In the early hours, before the sun was fully awake, she liked to sit at her vanity by the window. In the mirror, she watched her jewels glitter in the pale morning light.

 

Each one had a story. The amethyst necklace was a gift from her mother for her sixteenth birthday. The pearls were passed down from her ancestresses; according to legend they first belonged to one Comtesse du Laurenne. There wasn't much canon lore about her, except that she lived during the Golden Age of Everen, the continent where The Barony of Westervale was set.

 

They never set these games during the golden ages, Mireille snorted. Imagine the parties.

Chapter Six: My Ladies

Previously: The Thornmeres

 

In between sessions, the gamer continued to study The Barony of Westervale. She even patched her comms to the simulation chamber computer, allowing her to continue their conversations.

 

There wasn't much canon information on Matilda Foxmere, Alys Hawkridge, or Adela Stoneleigh. Gamers didn't interact with them much, unless they were playing as Sir Adrian and courting Adela. The ladies' fates were largely randomized. If Westervale's fortunes were restored, then they often got married off outside the barony and were never seen again.

 

Besides that, the information about them was basic. All three were born and raised in Ravensbridge. Matilda's mother was a second or third cousin of the Baron's. Her favorite meat was wild boar, her favorite color was light blue, and her favorite activity was baking. She yearned to marry a lord.

 

Alys lived up to her surname by being an expert at hawking. Her favorite meat was rabbit, and she favored lavender, both the color and the flower. She didn't care if her future husband was noble; her own father was a commoner and once commanded great wealth.

 

Adela was the daintiest of the three. She favored herbs and vegetables over meat. She enjoyed eating custard and her main talent was embroidery. It seemed her father had been filling her head with tales of her royal ancestors, for she longed to marry a royal.

 

The gamer raised an eyebrow. That might not be such a bad idea. As long as she's around, she's a distraction for Adrian.

Chapter Five: The Thornmeres

Previously: The Morning After

 

"Sir Adrian Thornmere, Madam Leonora de Valcera Thornmere, and Miss Rowena Thornmere."

 

Mireille du Maurier had to remind herself not to bow to those of lower rank. Despite their status, the Thornmeres were a majestic family, draped in shades of blue. Adrian and his mother walked with their backs straight and chins up, but Rowena appeared less confident than her elders. Her dark eyes darted uncertainly about her, and as her brother and mother strode into the Viscountess's sitting room, her footsteps were more hesitant.

 

It was Leonora who spoke first. "Viscontessa," she greeted neutrally, in a thick, rolling accent. Her whole family bowed on cue.

 

Edith stood near Mireille, who was seated. The red-haired maid stared in breathless awe, while Mireille sat mute, her heart pounding in her chest. When Godwin raised an eyebrow, she finally found her voice.

Chapter Four: The Morning After

Previously: Family

 

Matilda Foxmere. Alys Hawkridge. Adela Stoneleigh.

 

Mireille du Maurier gleefully examined her new soon-to-be friends. Matilda was the oldest. She was on the plump side, with wavy blond hair and gray eyes. Alys Hawkridge had light brown skin, hazel eyes, and honey-colored curls. But Adela... Adela was a reflection of Mireille herself, with even darker skin, dark eyes, and long braids tinged with burgundy.

 

They dressed in the Avenish fashion, of course, and their families weren't as rich as she. As such, their clothes were of a lesser quality, but Mireille didn't mind. Along with Rowena Thornmere, she would mold them into whatever she wanted.

Chapter Three: Family

Previously: Lady of Roses

 

Mireille felt a sudden pain in her chest. "Computer... you're driving up my blood pressure, which is exactly what I didn't want."

 

The computer remained unyielding. "This game is designed to last a player decades. As such, there are multiple programmed conflicts over land and title. For players not focused on romance and relaxation, successfully navigating those conflicts is the goal."

 

Mireille blinked. She was fairly certain she'd just been insulted, but decided to let it slide.

 

"I am the wealthiest woman in Westervale. I am probably the wealthiest woman in this world."

 

"Correct."

 

"And yet I cannot simply cross this room right now to speak to a guest of my own choosing—at least, not without consequences."

 

"Correct."

 

"That is fucked, computer."

Chapter Two: Lady of Roses

Previously: Roseward Manor

 

The rose silk felt cool upon her skin. She decided she preferred to wear lighter colors moving forward. After all, as Edith said, it was about to be summer soon.

 

It was evening now; the servants had lit candles and fireplaces throughout the manor. Mireille was excited, then suddenly nervous. As she wandered through her home she asked herself if it was wise to skip ahead. She had never met her guests. She had no idea what to expect.

 

In previous games, she hadn't gotten to host a party, not like this. Medieval RPGs typically centered on adventure. Before now, Mireille usually found herself covered in mud and carrying a crossbow on some repetitive quest in the wilds. Until now, programmers insisted on forcing players to earn their way to the cities, and then still live poorly once they got there. Plenty of gamers complained about this trope, and now it seemed that with Westervale, someone had finally listened.

Chapter One: Roseward Manor

Previously: Mireille

 

"Mireille du Maurier" turned around, taking in her new surroundings. This wasn't medieval England, of course; it was idealized, sanitized even. The rusticity was present, but everything was a little too clean. There were no foul smells, and everything was either perfectly washed, polished, or brand new.

 

Not that Mireille was complaining.

 

"My lady," a newcomer greeted, her accent delightfully archaic, yet somehow still posh. She was red-haired and freckled. She wore a pink dress embroidered with roses. "Godwin wants to see you before you break your fast."

 

Edith, Mireille quickly remembered. "Oh?" she asked. The computer had failed to mention a Godwin.

 

Luckily, Edith was programmed to be a guide. "Your seneschal has some concerns about that party you wanted to host?"

 

Mireille perked up immediately. "Yes? What about my party?"

Prologue: Mireille

Previously: La Vicomtesse

 

"The Barony of Westervale: Explore a richly imagined medieval kingdom. Forge alliances. Build your legacy. Find adventure—or romance."

 

"Hell no."

 

Almost a thousand years after the first computer role-playing game launched, people were still fascinated with medieval Europe, which she never understood. It was even less tempting with these next-gen simulation chambers. The programmers always took things too far. The roads would be too muddy, the air always too cold. And the smell... for some reason, gamers obsessively insisted that the programmers replicate actual smells, like horse manure or unwashed bodies.

 

Absolutely no medieval slop, she told herself, scrolling through the touchpad next to the door.

La Vicomtesse

La Vicomtesse is original fiction. A bored gamer enters a simulation chamber were she takes on the role of a viscountess in a generic medieval role-playing game. Armed with cheat codes, she has no intention of undertaking any quests or doing anything that isn't fun and frivolous.

 

But while the codes work perfectly as intended, the gamer begins to wonder if they're actually making things worse.

 

Next: Mireille

Chapter Nineteen: Eyes and Heirs

Previously: So Do Those Who Owe Them a Debt

 

"So they were just talking?"

 

Leliana nodded. "Anora and the Rivaini Ambassador chatted for some time. The Ambassador did most of the talking. She mentioned her home, and the Rivaini Queen, and the like."

 

Elissa Cousland mulled it over. "Anora's made a friend?"

 

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem, my lady?"

 

Elissa shook her head. "We have to make concessions somewhere. If we completely isolate her, she'll likely go crazy and do something stupid."

 

The Arlessa looked about herself. The statues were polished, the pews were dusted, and the floors were scrubbed to the point of gleaming. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, and she noted that not a single pane was smudged.

 

"This has to be the cleanest Chantry I've ever visited," she mumbled. "No rubble, no broken bookshelves..."

 

Leliana chuckled softly. "I'd have to concur. Though I must say, what it boasts in perfection, it lacks in character."

Chapter Eighteen: So Do Those Who Owe Them a Debt

Previously: As the Crow Flies

 

The key was to use a very sharp dagger, preferably laced with a paralytic.

 

Bann Ceorlic coughed and gargled. If he was trying to speak, there was no point, as Zevran covered the nobleman's mouth with his free hand.

 

The shock of being stabbed, coupled with the poison, kept the old man from wriggling too much.

 

Contrary to the bard's songs, death was not immediate. But Zevran had time; it was a few hours until morning. The alley behind the brothel was empty, and it was a moonless night.

 

"Do not fear, signore," Zevran mused in his deep voice, his accent thick and rolling. "We have the place all to ourselves."