Q&A — Part Three (Patreon)

• Does Ysabella have a favorite breed or coloring for horses?

The most common horse breed Ysabella knows and is accustomed to is the Andalusian horse which, as the name suggests, is native to the south of the Iberian Peninsula.

They're beautiful and elegant, with long, wavy manes and shiny coats of hair, and Ysabella adores the way their long lashes frame the intelligence gleaming in their eyes.

However, the one horse she absolutely fell in love with was not Andalusian but came as a present to her uncle from the North — that cold island where it always seems to be raining, and the sun hides behind grey clouds. Once, a noble came to Tarragona holding the reins of a black and white Shire Horse — the gentle giants with furry hooves and docile eyes and a belly so big, Ysabella could lie on top with ease.

Her uncle gave her to his son, but Ysabella is the one who spends the most time with her. She named her Lily in secret. Her cousin doesn't care for Lily — she isn't fit for combat — so Ysabella, although she knows she shouldn't, sees herself as Lily's true master. And if she ever has to leave... Ysabella has whispered in Lily's ear that she shall never leave her behind.

As for color, Bella isn't picky. She likes them brown, the color of her hair and eyes, or black and white or grey and almost gold. Ysabella appreciates each animal for what they are, but once, she saw a spotted grey horse that struck her dumbfounded. The horse's coat gradually transformed from one color to the other, the black like ink swooping into his limbs. Ysabella has never seen a horse so beautiful, and she supposes that, if she had to pick, that would be the coat she likes the most.

Just out of curiosity:

Kroner is a pure Andalusian while Billy is a half-blood between Andalusian and a smaller breed, the Arabian horse. Elly, however, is a gentle cob — one of the most popular breeds in England.

• What parts of being a Templar does Hadrian miss, and which is he glad to be free of?

What Hadrian misses most about being a Templar is simple: companionship. The sense of family. He truly thought of the others as brothers, not in blood, but no less close. Closer, even, since Hadrian barely remembers his biological family in the first place.

He misses the people he grew up with immensely. So much so that their memory is like physical stabs in his chest, and Hadrian finds himself doubting — for a moment, for just a second — his decision to desert. He worries about them and wonders how they fare. He wonders, too, if they ever think of him. If they could ever forgive him... if they swore to see him brought to justice.

He's with the Company, and while he's made some companions, it's just not the same. None of the mercenaries are really his friends. To be honest, it's only now, with you and Alessa, that Hadrian is starting to feel like he belongs. I think that's what he misses the most, after all: to belong. To know exactly where he's supposed to be. Hadrian has been adrift for far too long.

He also misses the structure the Templars supplied him. Freedom, he has found, is weighty. Before, his days were accounted for — he got up at dawn, trained, prayed, and went on assignments. He had a structure, as rigid as it was, and while Hadrian sometimes grew tired of it, now that it's gone... he misses it. Going through life without thinking can be peaceful. It made his spirit weak, but Hadrian won't lie and say it wasn't easier. It was easier. And he doesn't like to admit it, but sometimes, yes. He does miss it. The peace of mind it provided.

As for what he's glad to be rid of, well, it's exactly that: going through life without thinking. Being told not to question and just do. Just listen. Just accept. It is all for the best, it is all in God's name. All the violence, all the spilled blood, all the tears... all for the Lord's sake.

It came a day when he just couldn't believe it any longer.

As you can see, Hadrian's feelings about the Templars are still very muddy. He loved his time there almost as much as he came to hate it. He misses it as much as he's glad to be free of it. Freedom tastes like heaven in the morning, and yet, it can be so, so chilling in the dead of night.

• Were the twins planning on trying to meet Romanus again after they offered Romanus a drink in the tavern? Or did they believe it to be a one-time encounter?

Alain spreads his hands wide. "Plan it? Why, I can barely plan what to dress in the morning, do you believe I'm capable of plotting when and where I meet someone?"

Ysabella gives a crystalline laugh. "Are you trying to make us believe you don't care about your appearance, brother?" she says, her eyes twinkling as she turns to whisper to you. "If only you could see his closet, it's bigger than mine."

"Oh, I care about it well enough. I just don't need to plan it," Alain says with a lazy grin. He inclines on the sofa with a glass of wine in hand. "I'm just naturally good-looking. It's both a curse and a blessing, but all clothes fit as if they've been tailored for me specifically."

Ysabella laughs again. "They were tailored for you."

Alain waves his hand dismissively. "Stop boring us with insignificant details, Bella."

Amongst all the chatter and banter, you're well aware they haven't really answered your question. Ysabella steals a glance at you, and while her eyes still twinkle, you can't call the light cheerful any longer. And Alain's grin isn't quite so sluggish when he turns to study you.

"For what it's worth, dear, I wanted to meet you again." Ysabella breaks the silence, moving to sit beside her brother. She extends her long skirt, gloved hands smoothing the frills of her dress. "But so much of life is left to fate. I've long learned not to have any expectations."

"To no expectations," Alain says, raising his glass high.

"No expectations," Ysabella echoes, smiling a sad smile.

They look at you expectantly, and you have no glass to toast, but you nod all the same. "No expectations," you give in and realize then, that the subject has been put to rest.

Whether you believe them or not, is another matter entirely.

• Is Romanus a big family?

It is not.

• How old was Romanus when they joined the White Company?

They are canonically older than 23 — this will actually be answered in the upcoming demo 😋 — but their exact age will never be set. Just like all the other characters, I won't specify how old they are. Personally, I imagine Romanus as older than 25 and younger than 29.

In the flashback when Neia is looking for you, you haven't joined the White Company yet, and wouldn't for about five to six months.

That specific event was actually what prompted Romanus to become desperate enough to seek to enroll in a mercenary company — one with a land of its own and as far away from Church jurisdiction as anything can ever be.

• Are there any other living members of the Romanus family, or is it just our Romanus?

I can say that our Romanus believes they are the last one alive.

• Neia, if you had to take a vacation, where would you go, and what would you like to do?

Neia seems caught by surprise. It's very subtle, but her otherwise stone-like expression seems to lose a bit of its edge. She stares blankly until, finally, the ex-Inquisitor cracks her mouth open.

"Vacation?" she rasps.

You nod.

Neia's lips thin. You've come to learn it means she's thinking. You wait, but she looks down, brows knitting together, mouth firmly closed.

You wait a bit more.

Neia stays quiet.

And you can wait no longer. "What do you like to do?" you prompt.

"Fight." The word comes without hesitation.

"Oh." You clear your throat. "Well, maybe that's your vacation, then? You can, uh. You can fight people."

"That's not a vacation," Neia says. "It's not a fucking place either."

"Well, then, I don't know. Forget it."

"No," Neia growls. She rolls her shoulder, popping the socket, and then cranes her neck from side to side as if she's readying herself for battle. "Don't 'forget it' as if I'm an idiot. I can answer a question."

Why is everything so hard with her? "I—"

"I like snow."

You close your mouth.

"I wouldn't mind spending some time in the snow. I don't know what I'd do, though. Probably just walk around."

You smile at the way she avoids your eyes. "Snow, uh."

Neia shrugs. Her hair looks as white as snow as she stands underneath the midday sun. "Yes. Not a lot of it around here."

• For the romance characters, what is your favorite place in the world?

Hadrian's favorite place is probably the chapel of the monastery he grew up in. He'd take refuge there as a young boy and then later as a young man. A quiet, peaceful place where he could put his thoughts in order and connect with God at his own pace. The gentle fizzle of burning candles, the incense in the air, and sunlight traveling through stained glass all gave an atmosphere that to Hadrian seemed as close to heaven as earth could ever reach.

He misses that chapel terribly.

Alessa would be any place close to the sea. A deserted cliff somewhere, with the waves crashing down below and the ocean's bellow roaring in her ears. Wind on her hair, sun on her cheeks, and the taste of salt on the tip of her tongue. Alessa could spend hours lost in the scenery.

Alain's favorite place is the little desk beside his bed, where he keeps his abandoned scrolls and half-written journals. It has a window right in front where a big cherry tree that turns pink in the spring rules the view. He likes to sit there alone, in silence, and twirl his quill between his fingers.

Ysabella would tell you her favorite place is a ball. Any kind, anywhere, as long as it's glamorous and radiant and tapestries hang from white-colored walls. Chandeliers made of crystal, tables lined with mouth-watering food, and, most importantly, a big dancing floor where she can toss her head back and laugh with delight to a ceiling so high, no sound reaches its peak.

And she does love them. But, in reality, her favorite place is the far stall on the Theer's stables, where a horse named Lily sleeps soundly each and every night.

The Pirate's favorite place in the entire world is his ship. The whole of it.

For Neia, it's the road. It doesn't matter what kind — muddy, green, paved, or dusty. Wide, narrow, long, or short. Winding between hills or cutting through mountains, deep and slanted or shallow and easy. She likes the road as a whole, the road that never quite ends.

Lance's favorite place is the little room he has for himself, where Chouriça sleeps underneath the blankets of his bed and his meager belongings line neatly on the scarce shelves on the wall.

Rafael's favorite place is his childhood home.

• "Here, Lance," *passes him a blank paper and a pen* "show us baby Chouriça"

Lace looks at the paper dubiously. "Ah, but you see, my talent lies in words and song. I'm afraid I'm nothing to write home about when it comes to drawing."

"That's alright," you say, waving the piece of chalk underneath his nose. His grey eyes cross following it, and you laugh at the image. "I don't expect much."

"Ah, now that's a spear to my ego," Lance says, but he smiles as he takes the chalk from you. The bard twirls it around as he stares at the paper, tongue pressing to the side of his cheek. "But your low expectations do alleviate some pressure. Besides, I'm always happy to talk about Chouriça."

"I've noticed," you say, settling back in your seat. Lance stares at the paper for a moment longer before he finally sets to motion. He hides it from view with his forearm, flashing you an easy smile, but once he starts to draw, his face closes in concentration.

Neither you nor the bard says a word as he scribbles left and right, strokes careful and deliberate. "Alas," Lance says, at last, lifting the paper near his face. "Such is the best I can do. I'm afraid I didn't do Chouriça justice — she was an exceptionally charming pup."

"Let me see," you ask, waggling your fingers at him.

Lance hesitates before he gives in. He hands you the paper, gold tooth glistening, but you swear you can see the lightest shade of red on the top of his cheeks. "Remember you never expected much."

As you look down, you're honestly surprised. The drawing isn't bad at all. It's definitely a dog, and she is definitely young, and the little hearts drawn in her eyes make you smile. "Lance, this is... this is good."

"Ah, you do not have to spare me so."

"I mean it.”

Lance laughs. "Well, then, you may keep it."

You contemplate the little drawing. You can see the care he has for Chouriça in the lines. This isn't for you. "No, this belongs to you," you say, giving it back. "Maybe next time you can draw me? I'd like to keep that."

Lance laughs again, but now the sound is half-chocked. He clears his throat then and his restless hands tap against his pants as if they seek a cord to play. "I... I could try it. It will be much harder, but as long as you keep your expectations low…"

"I wouldn't dream otherwise."

"Then I shall try it," Lance promises. You smile.

(It's so funny you asked this question because I always pictured Lance to be a natural at drawing. If only he practiced, I think he could be really good.)

• For the twins: "Tell us the most embarrassing story you can think of from your      sibling."

"Oh, no," Ysabella says at once.

"I know just the one!" Alain exclaims, jumping from his seat to fly across the room toward you. He smiles wide and eager, and never before have you seen him looking so... young. "This one is a classic. One for the ages."

Ysabella hides her face behind her hand. "Alain..."

"Do you know the tale of a prince cursed to be a frog?" Alain asks you. "I'm sure you've heard some version of it. It’s a very dull, very straightforward story."

You already like where this is going. "I have," you say, glancing at Ysabella. She's still hiding.

"Good, so you and my dear sister have something in common. She, too, heard that tale."

"When I was a silly little girl!" Ysabella interjects.

"But unlike most of us," Alain continues as if she hasn't spoken. "My lovely sister took it literally. She'd lie awake at night, thinking a prince or a princess was stuck in a frog's body, waiting for their true love's kiss to set them free. She'd cry, you see. I'd wake with her crying tears of crystalline sorrow."

"That's a lie. I never cried."

"She cried so much that she woke the whole castle once."

"Will you just get on with it?" Ysabella crosses her arms, scowling at Alain. "If you must tell this, then do it quickly."

Alain grins wide. "Very well," he says, mockingly bowing at her. "Eventually, Bella found a frog, you see. It was hard to catch, but I helped because, of course, I did."

You chuckle. "Of course."

"And this noble child, dressed in fine silks and with a ribbon on her hair. This little girl bent down and—"

"I kissed its back," Ysabella cuts in, lifting her head high. "I couldn't get to its lips, so I kissed its back."

"And she cried again when it simply leaped from her hands!" Alain throws his head back and laughs. You join him, and, after a moment, Ysabella joins you too. Alain has tears at the corner of his eyes when finally, you all start to wind down. "I'll cherish that moment for the rest of my life."

"What about him?" you ask Ysabella, pointing at Alain. "What's his most embarrassing story?"

"Yes, Bella,” Alain says, lips tearing in a grin. “What’s mine?”

But, to your disappointment, Ysabella only shakes her head. "That's the problem with Alain," she says with a small sigh. "He has no shame. There's nothing I can tell you that he wouldn't share himself. It's quite so boring."

"I'm far from boring," Alain says, sounding offended. "What of the time I fell right in front of the royal court?"

"And you bragged about it for weeks afterward."

"What of the time I had to run naked from Lady's Catherine bedchamber?"

"I believe you sent that tale over pigeons to half the country."

"And when I—"

The two kept going, Alain's stories getting increasingly more outrageous to the point you're sure they're both making them up. Whether Alain really did something that could cause him shame, you think Ysabella doesn't want to share. Perhaps it's too personal, or it involves matters the nobles can't be open about.

Affairs concerning their family.

Or, perhaps, Alain is truly shameless. You suppose you'll have to find out yourself.

• How would the ROs react If they knew they were having children with Romanus?

I think each of their reaction would, of course, depend on the person, but also the circumstance. It's very hard for me to write a scenario of that realization without first imagining the circumstances around the announcement.

I remember I wrote a small snippet on Tumblr of what would be Hadrian's reaction to finding he was going to be a father, and it sparked a bunch of angry messages in my inbox 😄. Because I wrote how he would react if it happened now, where we are in-game, and Hadrian isn't near ready to think about children.

None of the ROs are. They're at a place in their life where everything is uncertain and dubious and, honestly, downright dangerous. Hadrian and Alessa are mercenaries. Alain and Ysabella are full of ambitions — plus, a child out of wedlock? They would never want to put a soul through the pain of being born a bastard. Nobility isn't kind to bastards, it isn't kind at all.

The Pirate thinks of little else but what he wants to achieve, and Neia... lord, Neia has never even considered the possibility of a stable relationship, much less of children. Lance is adrift, and Rafael has sunk to the bottom.

None of them can afford a child right now. They would all be shocked, they would all dread the news. For themselves, but mostly, for the poor child coming into a world they feel is not ready for them.

• What would Hadrian or Alessa say if, after MC's and their first time with MC, MC said they loved them?

You know, I'd much rather you find out in-game 😋. I don't have the intimate scenes completely planned out, but I am going to include some post-act conversation, of course, and you'll be able to say a lot of things. Some of the ROs might even confess before you, who knows? It may be blurred out before you even have the chance to part your lips.

But, just as a tease, I think Hadrian wouldn't hesitate to say it back. And Alessa... Alessa would have all the words of the alphabet stolen from her. She would not be able to speak, but her eyes would not look away from yours, and the gentleness in her cold fingers as she cups your cheek tells you all you need.

• How was the path to becoming "The King of Outlaws"?

The Pirate smiles an absent smile. "Not as bloody as one might think," he says, fingers absent too as they brush the hilts of his sheathed axes. "Of course, there was some blood involved. A couple of missing teeth and throwings out of boards."

He looks at you, then. "Few missing fingers too."

His right-hand curls on the axe, and you see the stump of his thumb. The Pirate looks out over the sea again. "But not as much as you think. Truth is, even us lowlives have two ears and a brain." He pauses. "Some of us do, at least. We also have eyes, and we've all seen enough."

The Pirate inhales and then shakes his head. When he looks back at you, his smile has morphed into a cocksure smirk. "I'm also a great talker. Can you believe I persuaded them to my side? With words, mostly."

You smile back. "I can."

"You can? Now that’s surprising. Should I take it as praise?”

“Don’t you always?” you say.

But he doesn't react to your jab. "I'd rather you think of me as a fearsome warrior and little else. You know what? Forget everything I said before, I conquered all the other captains through violence and brutality, and my ruling is one made of iron chains."

You laugh now, and the Pirate's eyes crinkle at the corners. Silence falls for a moment before you speak again. "How is it?" you ask slowly, eyeing the dozens of ships spread on the horizon before you. So many. "Now that you've conquered it?"

The Pirate follows your sight. "It is... as it should be," he says. You glance up as he comes to grab the railing beside you and see his face has hardened. There's pride in its lines, however. Loud, deep, pride.

You wait for a moment longer, but he doesn't say more. "And..." You hesitate. "Aren't you paranoid that someone will backstab you? Or that they unite against you and everything you have will—"

"Oi, there!" The King of Outlaws laughs, throwing his palms in the air. "Calm those whirlwinds of yours. Are you trying to ruin me?"

"What? No," you say, frowning at him.

"Do you know us sea folk are very superstitious? If you ever see a black seagull, for the love of your God, don't point it out. I'd have half my sailors hiding in the damn hull."

"A seagull?" you deadpan.

He sighs. "Or a blood moon. Or a rock shaped like a trident. Honestly, if you see anything remarkable, keep it to yourself."

You lean your hip on the balustrade. "And what does any of that have to do with my question?" you ask dryly.

"Speaking of bad things will bring them to you," the Pirate says. "It's like bait, you see. You say it, and providence listens, and then you have to face the very thing you dreaded."

You study his face. He looks anything but concerned. "And you're superstitious, are you?"

"Me? Spirits, no."

"Then why—"

"Because I like that little crinkle that appears between your brows when you frown," the Pirate says, pressing a finger to your forehead.

You snap your head back. "The way I see it, you're just avoiding the question," you shoot back.

"I'm really not," the Pirate admits, and you'll be damned, but he sounds sincere. His tone is light and as free as the breeze that sways his long, dark hair. "Truth is, I'm not worried about mutinies or backstabbing’s at all."

You believe him, but you can't understand. "But why? Wouldn't it be natural to?"

"Natural? What kind of good leader has time to be peeking over their shoulder every few seconds?"

You open your mouth but think better. The Pirate leans his elbows on the balustrade and peeks out over the waves. "We all have a goal, these lawbreakers and I," he says then, his voice low and rumbling. He's not whispering, but he has definitely lowered the volume. It seems whatever he's saying, he means only for you to hear. "Until that's done, I don't need to worry about uprisings. Maybe after, I can afford to be paranoid, but until then..."

The Pirate smiles. "I sleep soundly in my chambers."

• For the Ro's and Beka: if they had to switch lives with one another, whose life would they choose? Would any of them regret their choice?

Hadrian: Wouldn't switch his life for any of the other ROs. If you'd ask me if he would trade his life with a simple, peasant man who was never brought into the Church and lives an honest life? His answer might be different.

Alessa: No one. She carved her own life, and she'll see it to the bitter end.

Alain: Lance.

Ysabella: Alessa.

The Pirate King would rather die than give up everything he's built.

Neia: She'll live as she is — with her virtues and her sins. She wouldn't trade her place for any other soul.

Lance: Alain or Ysabella.

Rafael: The Pirate King.

Beka: All of them.

I think, apart from Beka, they would all eventually come to regret their choice. Truth is, all their lives have trials and shadows of their own, and what one thinks is easy and free can turn out to be the opposite. Lance, for example, sees Ysabella and Alain as free — truly free, in every sense of the word — yet he couldn't be more wrong.

Ysabella thinks the same of Alessa — there's a woman who can say and do as she desires — and yet... and yet.

So yes. I think only Beka would be happy with any other existence but her own.

- - -

And that's the end of the Q&A! Thank you, again, to everyone who took part! This was so much fun! ♡♡♡

You can read the other parts here: Part 1 | Part 2