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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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The rough texture of hay, the cries of the cracked and leaking, the sounds of foul beasts afoot.

So you awaken this day, your first day. Around you in hues of white, taupe, and even a few earthy browns, stand several of your kind.

The largest of your cohort, covered in sealed cracks and patched with a metal plate just above its eye, wobbles towards you on unsteady legs. A single arm touches your foreshell, and speaks softly to you.

"There is much to do, young yolk. But first you must tell us your name."

So begins the first Egg Quest thread. You have awakened to grave tidings in the nation of L'œuf. You must quickly get his bearings lest you find yourself shellsundered upon the field of battle.
This could be really, really cool, or it could turn out to be dizzy the adventurer retarded. I won't be awake much longer so I can't join, but here is a bump.

>le bump for le eggs

Just what we need. ANOTHER anthropomorphized egg quest thread.

>Looks up at the grim elder egg.

I wish to be Whiteshell.

Let's do this.

Some have called me Goldyolk.

And so Whiteshell Goldyolk came into the boon companionship of the Cracked. A rough company, the Ironshells fight for gold and glory.

The company gains its name from its leader, the elder Ironshell. A veteran of many conflicts, Ironshell has fought across the expanse of the Ovan continent, taking up any eggs who awaken to battle. His lieutenant, the brown shelled Al'bumein, leads the troops into battle now that Ironshell is too old for the field.

There are many places where an egg may serve in the Cracked. What weapon shall you choose?


Being a strong and burly Extra Large egg, we must choose the Hammer!

Is there anyone here but us three?
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Should've chosen the hidden option: Exotic Weaponry (Whisk)
Spoilered for off topic.
Please give yourself a name for the duration of the thread, it makes it easier to identify posts which continue the story.
Hammer is always a solid choice.

And so Whiteshell Goldyolk was given a worn hammer. Ironshell smiled as the young egg rolled its weapon between its hands, marveling at the weight.

"Ahh, a Scrambler I see. You shall serve well with us. Many ova have fallen to a fierce swing, and I hope you can be the stout egg to use it."

You peer out the tent flap to see the day. Soft mists not yet shed by the rising of Vitellus bear the stench of whites left to rot on the field. Healers bearing the mark of the Great Oval attempt to seal back an enormous missing piece of a warrior's shell, but give up as his yolk drips to the ground broken.

Somewhere in the distance the smell of roasted meat rises, along with the grunts of effort to strike camp. A speckled egg, half-dressed in mail and bearing a large horizontal crack across his foreshell, sings a prayer to the King in Yellow, god of Ovan war.

Mighty King, yellow regal
Lead our warriors strong and brave
May we come back hale and hearty
Not to break on this dark day...

The eggs of the Cracked strike camp quickly, and there are many to speak to:

>An enormous blue-speckled in leather jerkin stands juggling three maces, singing cheerfully.

>Two small whites sling dusted stones at a target.

>An bright orange egg dressed in yellow pants sharpens a wicked blade.

>Ironshells consults with a tall, thinly shaped egg dressed in black scales.
Thanks, I thought of it while writing up the last post. I hope we can get a good group started up and going, perhaps even branch out into individuals... Would be fun.

Feel free to jump in. We'd love to hear from you.
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F5 F5 F5 F5 F5 F5 F5
Talk to the whites, slingers are cool.

captcha: buryoc save. wat.

>Knows as an egg of class and love of breaking things, that three breakers are always more awesome than one.
>Three juggled breakers better than three regular breakers

Is this a choice?

>An enormous blue-speckled in leather jerkin stands juggling three maces, singing cheerfully.

You wander over to the two smaller slingers, wishing to ingratiate yourself with any individual who may be chucking large stones in and around your body.

With a final whuf of air and strain of back the larger of the two small whites finishes the competition. As the two sit they notice you.

"Ahh! The new recruit! Welcome to the Cracked. We were hoping you would come to, but you know how it can be."

"I doubt he does Peewee. This burly git probably don't know how Ovan come up."

"True Smalls. Well, we are all born unaware. Plenty of eggs laying about here. But at some point someone or something started making us, dig?"

"Peewee makes it sound odd. Every once in awhile an egg swells up. If it keeps swelling it don't hatch, but comes out as one of us. And of if yeh bump shells..."

"Smalls! The kid barely an hour old and you gonna ruin him!"

"Sorry Whitey. Well, you got born just right. That big hammer says you a Scrambler, and we running low on them since the battle for Benedict."

"Smalls right tho. Lost a lot of top shells that day. Most of this is just us recouping, but we goin on march soon as we done with camp. Hear we gon try to sneak past their cavalry and get right back in. They think we're trapped up in these swamps, but Ironshell and the Snake know how to get us out."

After a moment the two begin packing bales and leave off, Smalls lighting a small pipe and Peewee waving the smoke away as they go to the slinger tents.

The camp is packing. What would you like to do now?
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So far so good. I am monitoring the thread just to learn of the Battle of Benedict.

bowing out as its 4 in the morning. Good luck ladies and gents.
Can we ask them exactly what we're supposed to be doing now before they leave?
GRAB HAMMER and stuff.
and also try and walk close to the front.
Seconding this. We need to get our orders, or at least our bearings.
Also I'm going to pass out. Hopefully this quest will be alive when I wake up. I eggspect to be up around 1PM EST.

Taking up your hammer you move through the camp. The Cracked have cleared, and a servant of Ironshells came with leathers and a steel breastplate to wear into battle.

"Excuse me sar, we only got this in your size just now. But we should be fi..." the page quieted, realizing his near-jinx, and ran on chubby legs, his bone white shell rocking back and forth.

The simple munition armor is serviceable but fits poorly on the shell.

The Cracked banners are set to poles and it seems that five dozen eggs comprised the strength of the company at the moment. Wounded are loaded into carts, carefully placed into their creches to protect from jouncing due to shocks on the road.

The Cracked sing bawdy songs as you march out of camp, including one discussing the desire to enter back into the mother hen.

Though poorly outfitted the group has a strong morale. Other groups do not look as comfortable. Several green troops in the vanguard must have spewed foam onto the ground, as stiff peaks have formed where eggs have stepped into the mess.

Ten hours of marching through muck. The swamps surrounding Benedict show the damage caused by the battle. Several yolks float in the water, already attracting flies and rot. Two egg knights, broken inside of their plate armor, are thrown on a corpse cart to be mourned if anyone came out alive.

Sore, wet, and grimy you are put to watch during the night. A small egg marked in extravagant whorls and lines in blue, red, and green stands watch alongside, a spear in his hand.

As you stand watch you remember all of those conversations during the journey (choose 2, and add another event that occurred)...

>You spoke to a group of egg knights atop their steeds.
>You spoke to the priests of the King in Yellow of their faith.
>You spoke to a tracker of what lies ahead.
>You spoke to one of the bizarre stark white eggs, dressed in black robes, learning of their order.
>You were addressed and spoke to the leader of the march, a stout and near-round brown dressed in chain.

Please keep responding, and I will answer any questions regarding Egg Quest. Passing out for a few hours as the pain has subsided for a bit.
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Don't go.

Sleep is for the weak.
>You spoke to the priests of the King in Yellow of their faith.

I need to know this. Surely it can't be...?
I was already hungry before glancing at this thread, Op.

fuck you
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Two noble warriors died for this image.
Onward.... to DEEENNNNNYYY'SS!
>You were addressed and spoke to the leader of the march, a stout and near-round brown dressed in chain.
>You spoke to the priests of the King in Yellow of their faith.
And something else happened, obviously.
You then remembered an old yolkstale your parents had told you, about the monstrous giants and the way they'd steal eggs away and eat them, but not before killing them in the most cruel ways imaginable

Bump for the return of the Yolker. We must go on!
>You spoke to the priests of the King in Yellow of their faith.

The rites of the Harbinger of Broken Yolks are complex, and even as they march Its priests chant.

Benedictus Albos
Sancti pallide flavis
Tuitionem nostri ova

Rumpe Crusta
Afflige inimicum
Inclinans effundet luteum

Disrumpat infidelis
concutite corpus
Inclinans effundet vitello

Their chants speak of the brutal arts of the Ovan warrior. To crush, to spill the bright yolk of ones enemies and send their blessed whites to a damned existence. The King in Yellow calls for the death of any and all eggs who would battle those who come in righteous need to the battlefield.

The High Priest, a large speckled white, wears the markings of his religion. Great scenes of egg martyrs, from the Cracking of St. Dunkin to the Sacrifice of the Blessed to the Fox of the Hinterlands are drawn upon his carapace.

"Go with the King, young egg. May your hands be blessed to the task of delivering L'œuf from the yoke of these upstart rebels."

The swinging censers of his adepts reek of sulfur. The King's men return each egg to the soil, but take some of their vital essence to propel their holy mission.


>You were addressed and spoke to the leader of the march, a stout and near-round brown dressed in chain.

The leader walks alongside you for a few minutes after the second short rest of the day, and its hand is all that prevented you from falling into a small ravine in the underbrush. His handsome countenance is weary, and on his side he wears a wicked weapon with a long, thick point perfect for shattering an Ovan with a single placed blow and drain his essence onto the field.

"Young shell, you must protect yourself. Too few of us stand against the rebels to risk one of us being broken in the brush."

The leader wipes his brow, and steps to the side to walk abreast.

"We fear the rebels will hold Benedict with their forces. Some claim they have tamed a foul beast from the forests of the South, one who is anathema to our kind. If such a monster would come among our tents, or into battle..."

The leader looks away. Brownbelly was the leader of the Benedictine garrison, and had rode out with six dozen of his men. During the rebel's first attack they lost all but half dozen of their cohort, and had to retreat.

He speaks of the mercenary companies and petty lords who have risen to Benedict's banner. Sir York of the Soft Shell, the wild spearmen of the Scotch Swamps in their leaves and tartan, and the Cracked have amassed an army of a gross of eggs ready to battle the rebe l menace. It was only after the rebel's sack of the temple at Runnyolk that the priests came to the cause, but Brownbelly hoped to have Benedict back before the time of the First Freeze.


Brownbelly left your side shortly before camp was called, and with a strong hand grabbed around your shell and spoke in dire tones.

"Say prayers, steady your hand, and be ready. We march to Benedict on the morrow and I will need all of your strength turned to the cause."

Wearily Brownbelly went back to his men, and began to establish a place for this cold camp.


As you lay in the straw, your body's exhaustion falls like a heavy blanket. You are running down corridors hidden from sight, looking to and fro for something.

Shadows fall over your form, and hard callused hands pick you up from the ground. The sky rises and you found yourself on a wide expanse of treated wood and stone. The hand belongs to a twisted thing, its shell segmented into elongated partitions, with a large egg shaped top looking down with wide, cruel eyes.

You see the shells of endless dead Ovan near you, and a single living brownshell rocking back and forth crying for its mother.

The callused hands reach down and pierce the brownshell with its pincers. It grasps what seems to be an enormous pin and drives it into the hind and top of the shell as the brownshell weeps. Drawing the brownshell to its malformed lips, the creature seems to exhale and expel the white and yolk of your unknown comrade into a large bowl.

Then you are lifted, and see the carnage. A mixture of grain and sugars along with a light yellow substance are being mixed with sweet and sickly unguents. It seems the giant monsters use this material to build walls and roofs for smaller (slave?) creatures made from the same material as the walls. With a large bag another, smaller monster pipes white arcane marks upon walls and abomination alike.

You feel the piercing of your hindshell, and as the pain takes over you see the true horror.

The brownshell has been dipped in a pool of blood. Beside his corpse another small monster draws green and gold symbols across the bodies of dozens of other eggs ignobly killed.

They are turning Ovan into Hollows. The fear of every youngshell. A creature not egg nor shell, brightly colored and filled with menace. As your life drains from your bottom you see their eyes turn to you without mercy.

Only hunger for eggflesh.

You rise, hardshelled and painful. The chill has set in and cold meat and water are brought to you. You are thankful; it is difficult to catch the small rats and moles that provide you sustenance, and there is a possibility that some poor Ovan died for your meal this day.

As the fog of a horrible dream leaves you and the food fills (if not warms you) you see the dark camp at night. You are a short distance from Benedict's main roads and thus the band must stop in silence with no campfires.

This does not mean that there is not some talk. Some play cards, and still others claim to be ready to make a footrace among the trees. If one were to fall it would not be the last one to be a rotting egg.

Cracked soldiers seem ready for the attack, and speak in quiet tones. The night passes, and watches are set.

It is in the dark calls of night that you hear the clear call of a horn. Screams issue from around the camp, and a loud hissing is heard.

Something brushes by your tent, hard enough to bend a pole. As you groggily look out you hear the sounds of breaking shell, and see bright red eyes staring from the location of the sound.

What do you do?
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>grim eggman fiction.

>Not understanding the glory of the world's most perfect food battling

Yolks for the yolk god! Shells for the shell throne!
Sorry I'm so late, but I'm here now.

TO BATTLE! Grab our hammer and smack the piss out of this hellbeast! Eggcelsior!
You aint runny! You in there and scramble that feral heathen!
Hammer in hand, approach in full readiness to crack some shell. "WHAT IS THIS?"
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The scene is stark and terrifying. Without candle or torch you are forced to rely on your eggscelent night vision.

You pass through the trail of slaughter, feeling the slimy essence of your fellow eggs. An orange egg from camp lays on its side, lifting an arm to you smiling.

"Today was glorious... yes?"

As he speaks foaming whites come from his mouth, and a trickle of yellow can be seen through the fingers gripping his side.

The light leaves his eyes, and you pass on with renewed resolve.

The fracas joined, you see a dozen spears fending off the wicked beast. Its lithe pelt, peppered with spears, has been latched on by a brave warrior attempting to crawl up its side.

His luck runs out near its massive legs, as the animal rolls over, pins the soldiegg, and cracks his shell with its fearsome teeth.

The spears, morale broken, turn to see you standing with hammer in hand.

"Fuck this!"

"I agree! It's too big, too fierce!"

"The rebels have sent a demon to us?"

"What can we do?"

Indeed Whiteshell Goldyolk. Furry monster pictured what do?

Sorry, didn't see your updates.

Shit. A ferret? We're going to need a bigger hammer.
Bait it into attacking then smack it on the snout. Hopefully we can either A: stun it long enough to give it a really good slam or B: cause it to flee.

>amputate Ctectob
Right, Captcha. But first we have to kill it.

With the surety of youth and the power of a champion you stride towards the demonic beast, hammer ready to land a blow upon the creature's misshapen head. As you do five spears come to join you while the rest strategically advance to the rear of the encampment.

Softshelled cowards!

Not expecting such a challenge, the beast presses itself against its most recent victim, hissing as spittle drops from its maw.

You circle the beast, and spears join with you. You announce your plan to bait the monster and the spears tighten around. One feints towards the beast from the back forcing it to turn its head towards you.

Your blow lands cleanly, and the beast raises up on its hackles. Something gleams within its pelt around its neck, but even stunned it seems the opponent is ready to kill and feed.

Alright we have a stunned ferret and five spearmen along with Whiteshell. We will be resolving actions using percentile dice against the beast. Declare three actions you wish to perform, and we will resolve them in order.

What is your next step, impromptu Hero of L'œuf?

Damn it all! Forgot to add my name tag. My specific app doesn't auto-add and posting from phone
Spearmen stab two of its forelimbs at the joints in an attempt to pin it to the ground.
Hammer to the head.

When will we be rolling?
Roll with your post, as per normal. I'll let you roll in this next post, it's fine as I didn't declare... My bad.
Rolled 81, 10, 60 = 151

Rolls. Actually, if we have 5 spearmen, it would probably be best to pin its limbs at as many points as possible. How many actions would that count as?
Hammer remains the same.
Rolled 10, 85, 14 = 109

This. Pin with as many spears as we can, then make sweet sweet hammer love to the beast's skull.

Each limb would be separate. I will take your rolls into consideration and draft up results now.
Forelimbs only, then. We want to hold down its upper body most of all. Two and three spears to each limb.

Will consider this two attacks to make it simpler. Spear/Spear/Hammer, Spear/Spear/Hammer

The five spears join with you in your rush forward. You see the monster wince in pain and hear a shout of satisfaction as one of the eggs flanking your left thrusts his spear deep into the demon's front right paw. He holds onto the spear as it thrashes about, then bears his weight down to drive it into the ground.

Emboldened by his spearbrother's strike a large grey rushes forth shouting "For OVA!!!"

The battlecry makes the beast react, wrenching its jaws around to grab the spearmen. He dies in throes, spilling his essence in a slippery pile beneath the beast's feet...

But its attack has left an opening. Drawing from the reservoir of heroism seen in great eggs like Sir Crackle and St. Dunkin, you swing your mighty hammer at the beast's gaping jaw. The dull sound of impact is accompanied by shattered bits of bloody teeth falling to the ground.

Another egg comes into the gap left by his fallen brother but slips in the mess, only to be met with a crushing strike of the beast's great claws. One of the eggmen, screaming "NOOOOO!" rushes in, piercing between bone and sinew and driving the point of the spear into the beast's chest.

Its front legs pinned, the beast attempts to rise. You grab onto the beast's hide for purchase, hammer in hand, only to slip as you attempt to land your blow. You feel the beast's teeth, but its rapid undulations make your yolk quiver.

You may roll to gain purchase, drop off and continue the fight on the ground, or use the spearman... Or anything else you can come up with. The scene is slick with the blood and yolks so tread lightly.
Rolled 94

Gain purchase to distract the weasel(?). This gives the spearmen more openings to take out its limbs.
Rolled 86, 54, 94 = 234

Cram the head of the hammer down it's throat to prop it's mouth open, grab a free spear (if possible) and STABBITY!

If no spear is within reach, hold on with one hand and use the other to gouge out the thing's eyes.
Rolled 22, 25 = 47


As the beast flails you find purchase. A spear, a clump of fur, and you are atop the beast. The vantage provokes pure terror, though the spearmen now harass the beast as it attempts to thrash out of its bonds.

Rolling for escape (2x), followed by available attacks (if any).
Rolled 77

We now do >>21941017. Have one of the spearmen pick up one of spears from the downed guys and lob it to us.
Oh wait, there was a spear right there. Grab it if it's free.

Will take these together in narrative form... Don't know why it didn't take my name AND rolls.

As you hang onto the head of the rampaging beast it rolls, failing to pull free but attempting to pin you. With a mighty thrust of your thick, eggy legs you force the beast back to its original position, and swing the hammer towards its teeth. A satisfying crunch sound fills the air, but you find that your hammer has become wedged within its jaws... Just. As. Planned.

As the monster bleeds around your hammer's girth, trying to force its mouth shut around the haft, its throes weaken. Steadying yourself you attempt to pull the spear from its back... With success.

Now, to end this.

The beast's eye rolls to look at you in rage... Then a flash of red light plays out over the creature... The smell of burning fur and... sadness? Fear?

There is no time for such pleasantries. A feint is likely.

And so your spear strikes home, through the creature's eye. Humours sanguine and vitreous cover the head of the spear, and you slide gently to the ground to the cheers of the spearfellows.

"Amazing, sir Knight."
"He ain't no Knight. Just some merc with a cheap hammer."
"Either way, he fought well. Good showing sirrah."

The creature keeps emitting the smell of burnt fur, and patches around its neck and back are aflame.
We ought to take back our hammer before something happens to it.
See if you can have one of the spearmen take that fucking thing off it's neck.

You aint gonna get fried over some minor crap like that!

Sweet, the ferret is dead and flaming. Just like we like it, over easy .

Retrieve our weapon and inquire as to the names of the spearmen.

Though pained from the shaking of the dire beast, you move into action. Grasping your hammer and placing a foot on the unburnt side of the skull, the hammer comes away with a gout of sulfur and small blue flames.

As you sit down contemplating and cataloguing the wound, a spearman attempts to grab the strange thing that is causing the burning with his spear. The head of the spear melts as it contacts the blue flames, and he throws away the haft lest he become consigned to the flame.

Two enterprising slingers, Peewee and Smalls, run forward with buckets of water to douse the flames. A rush of sulfurous steam comes off of the body, and Smalls pokes at the object with a spear dipped in water. The item seems to have calmed... It appears to be a collar of some sort with long spikes that dig into the flesh. Around the center sits several pieces of jade and bloodstone, but in its center lies something unexpected.

An unscorched piece of egg shell painted with strange symbols.

They give you the item, and you feel its heft. Iron, not jewelry but... Something.

The spears sit around the body, assessing their wounds. One sends off for a medic while the rest sit. The surviving three eggs name themselves as vassals of MacBuff. As they state his name a branch breaks, and they dodge with experience.

"Aye. We mean the Scotch Egg." says an older white with pale yellow eyes.

When the medic arrives they help to place their dead upon the funerary creches, and then offer thanks for their lives along with an invitation to their tents.

Ironshells limps forward, half-dressed in armor and carrying an even larger version of your hammer over his soldier. It bears a scene of a white knight cracking open a knight in black, with the legend "This Machine Cracks Loyalists".


"Well fought, well fought! It is a shame that we lost half a dozen Ovan, but we will take it to the rebel scum for their betrayal. Due to your acrobatics I know you must be sore... When you wish you may rest in a healer's creche while we go forward."

He chucks you under the cheek.


The camp begins to start the now expected striking process. You help lift a few loads but are told to take a rest due to your heroism. Even so you don't feel too tired... You just want answers.

Sorry, the temp offline just went off for me about two minutes ago.

So what do you wish to do now?
Keep working; everyone'll finish faster that way. Attempt to get answers from those we're working alongside.

Have those in charge seen the collar yet?
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Ask around if anyone knows anything about this dark sorcery, perhaps what that beast was?
Help a little more unless it hurts too much and take a load off. Don't wanna crack from the pressure.

Even though others tell you you can rest, you push yourself to your limits. Removing tent poles, rolling canvas, helping hand out cakes and salt meat to the troops.

A stark, leathery, pure white egg comes forward, his black robes swishing softly. What appears to be a patina of cracks from afar shows to be white paints that form into strange glyphs across his shell.

"Ahh yesss, the young Whitesshell. Your heroicss are milling about the camp. And yet you are here, humble asss an old cracked campegg."

"I have heard alsso of the flames, and the stench. If you would be willing I would like to dissscusss thisss when you are prepared to do ssso."

The egg extends his hand. Though thin it has the strength of a warrior and a tingle flashes through your wrist.

"Come to ussss when you are done here."

The strange egg walks away, and the rest of the soldiers part ways to allow him through.

Exhausted from the work, the Cracked decide to let you sit alongside Ironshells on the commander's creche. Soft velvet cradles your hindshell as you sit in relative opulence. Ironshells winces at each bump, and rubs a powerful smelling unguent into the area around his patches.

When he gives you some to rub on your own shell, you find your weariness leech away.

"We will need you soon I fear. Benedict will fall tonight."

What do you do as you travel towards Benedict?
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Ask about the rebellion, the world, how we came to be. Also ask Ironshells what that unguent? I have a feeling we'll be needing it if we ever accumulate anymore cracks.
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>open thread
>oh, eggs are... doing stuff
>latin chanting
>king in yellow
>macbeth references

i can't stop looking.
I would have never read this if not for you.

Thank you good sir.

As you ride in leisure, taking your time stretching and checking yourself, Ironshells explains the rebellion.

"It began, like all rebellions begin, with strife. There have always been hard times in L'œuf, but here in the outlands? They were surprised to have to deal with anything more than the occasional monster or two eggs cracking shells over land or coin.

"But then, the Rot came. A horrible case. Some claim it creeps into the shell and festers, others that it is base saucery. Eggs turned against each other, and those born in the same clutch, much less the same creche, turned against each other.

"The madness, the fear. I lost my own shell when we were called to assist in the control of the streets of Benedict. The sickness took over, and my shell could not be sealed with such damage..."

Ironshells taps his patches, winces, then continues.

"We fought for two cycles, and Vitellus and his white misty daughter Tamago rose and fell to the prayers of many. The priests of the King in Yellow tried to keep the peace in the streets, but it was to no avail.

"Even now the Rot has disappeared, but the rebels claim L'œuf's leaders have the Rot inside of them. And the King knows they wish to show proof by cracking every royal shell possible."

Ironshells grimaces again, then rubs some of the lotion into a dry crease.

"Wonderful. Ambergris and butter of cocoa. There are some other ingredients they say, but it helps sooth and strengthen. I'm too old to worry about using it too much, but some say it can cause sickness and difficulty walking, then inability to move."

Ironshells looks toward his cane.

"Well, we all are whisked up into the sky some day, aye?"

Ironshells looks around, and then falls to fitful slumber.

Two more vignettes before the battle. What do we do?

Glad you're both enjoying it.
Can we go find out about the collar?
Lets find that Saucery (may these puns never stop) egg and figure out what the collar is.

And just before we head to Benedict might wanna talk to an armory officer and see if we can better gear, on account of us being a hero and all.
>and his white misty daughter Tamago

I fucking lost it there.

As for what to do, ask him what he thinks caused it? What do the disciples of the King in Yellow believe regarding the cause of it all?

Maybe ask others their stories? How this has affected them?

I don't normally participate in quests, but this one can be an exception.
>on account of us being a hero
>not on account of us being able to fight better and protect our comrades
Do you even humility?
Well of course we don't say it in so many words, no sense to earn any other Ovans ire. Just gotta walk on eggshells when we broach the subject of better gear.

Upon the topic of Saucery the old warrior is mute, but there are others who know.

As you leave him he suggest speaking to the priests of the King in Yellow or any of the Snakeshelled.

The High Priest, behind his wrappings of yellow and heavy armor, shakes himself and looks into your eyes.

"All know that we are born from the Sauce. In the beginning there was Vitellus and his lady Albam. And when the two were cruelly separated in their bliss by the demon known as Xié'è de Chúshī. Albam was beaten and her body floats above us in the form of the clouds in the heavens. Vitellus, our Lord, shines down hot upon the world in anger, seeking to burn the Xié'è de Chúshī if ever It shows Itself upon the land again.

"But out of the union of Albam and Vitellus came Tamago, the Great Egg, mother to us all. It is said that when Tamago shines our kind are born, to look upon the world and serve the gods or the needs of our shells.

"Saucery... Is a corruption of our nature. Only by the power of Vitellus and his daughter may we break the chains of this world and open ourselves to the Sauce, returning pure and in its grace."


"Those foolssss." the black-robed egg said as he poured each of you a draught of broth with herbs. "The Inner Sssauce, our essence, ish what we draw upon within ourselvesss to gain our power, but we do not taint the Greater Ssauce.

"Our work issh to protect and defend through our Art. We are born from the ova of sssnakessh, though other Sssaucerors I have met are born of the eggs of great sssea monstersss whosse elderss are ssaid to carry the world on their backsss.

"Still, this thing you have... It is tainted with a foul magic. Albumancy, the tainting of the very essence of the user or... Othersss... To bend the will of creaturess born of eggsss. I have sssseen a sssnakesss forced to gorge upon a village of Ovan, but a furred killer? They are not born of egg but flesssh. Truly, this... Entity... Must be powerful. If you would entrussst thissh item with ussh? We could protect it from harming you or othersss?"

What do we do?
We have no reason to mistrust him, and no use for the collar ourselves.
Might as well give it to him. Maybe he can study it and find something out about who created it/how it can control something that is not born of egg
>Xié'è de Chúshī
>Albam beaten stiff becomes clouds

is this a /ck/ sponsored thread?
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No. But I hear that stiffly beaten Albam can be delicious.

Working on the next part no worries gents.

"Thank you, kind Goldyolk" the Snakeshell says as he drains his horn of broth. The stuff is filled with floating bits of meat and is much richer than what most of the soldiers eat... And delicious.

"Yess. We restore our essence through Umami, the great meatiness. As our powers grow strong we must drink or eat nearly constantly lest we become... Hollow."

That fear. Some say the Hollow are born of darkest Saucery... But a Sauceror who is completely drained of his essences may rise as something terrible. Something unspeakable.

Though they had just spoken of it.

And so Whiteshell roamed the camp, surveying the terrain. Even from this distance the fires of Benedict burned. Strange smoke rose from its central courts, while the eggs came across the first victims.


A cruel torture. The egg had been bound hand and foot and had simple rough ropes wrapped tightly around its midsection.

Wet ropes. As the ropes contracted, and the victim struggled against his bonds, they cut into the shell, then white.

His eyes were open as small bugs fed on his soft flesh. His tartan was torn but recognizable along with his red and blue shell paints.

"Bury him." a deep bass voice said. The creature which strutted out of the vanguard stood almost twice as wide as his fellows, and half again as tall as the other eggs. The look in his eye was murderous, and one would think he was ready to shoot flames from his eyes and bolts of lightning from his hindshell.

The figure of MacBuff, leader of the Scotch Eggs, was fierce. Painted in blue shell paint, his twice-wide spear wrapped in black leather, he grabbed his fallen soldier down off of the platform and gingerly laid the shell down on the cold damp earth.

"Aye. We shall find them. And break each shell with spear, stone, and scrambler. We shall spill yolk and white today, my brothers, and when they ask, we need only remember the tale of Malcolm the Softboiled, gentlest of our kind. And we shall cry his name at the gates of Benedict, and make their weakest SCREAM HIS NAME IN AGONY!!"

The Scotch Eggs scream, beating spears together. Ironshells looks uneasily to the west, and the fires of Benedict.

"I fear it will not just be rebel yolks spilled today." the old egg sighed, and gripped his hammer tightly.

Last Vignette before the battle. What questions or tasks (beyond armoring, which will occur) do you have?
What the fuck is this thread?!?

Egg puns. So many egg puns.
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Ask what our task will be, and if there is anything about the coming battle that we need to prepare for, saucery, beasties, special things about Benedict or Rebel tactics.
Could you, Sir MacBuff, retell the tale of Malcolm the Softboiled?

Benedict is the capital of the duchy of Poché. The rebels took the city after victories in the seaside twin towns of Coque Dure and Coque Molle. Once ruled by Count Poivre Blanc, Benedictine streets are oval with cross streets leading into the great village square.

The rebels are led by the cruel Monsieur Croque and his secretive mistress Madame Croque. The two brought fierce tusked beasts across the waters in great holds, and their warriors feed on the fruits these beasts dig from the forests surrounding Benedict to gain an dullness to pain and war.

Ironshells comes from the war councils with dire news.

"We shall ride in the van alongside the Scotch Egg and his men. We are to attack at the western trade gate, weakest of the city's defenses, and drive forward. We expect only a few dozen rebel scum to come, but... We pray that the people of Benedict will come to protect their own. Our spy within the city says that he shall meet us at the crossroads with his partisans, and we shall move through the streets from there."

The men of the Cracked company looked to each other in worry, and a few showed genuine fear.

"Why do you scare so easily? Have we not fought in the reeds of the Scalding Sea? Have we not warred with the beastriders of the Stone Forest? Each of you has survived battles with me, fought valiantly with me. I will not let this company fall... We must. Not. Fall."

His grim look falls upon you.

"Besides. We have a beastslayer among us, and stout spearsmen. Who could stand before us?"

"CRACKED BUT UNBROKEN!" the men shouted.

"We do not break!" Ironshells replied

"WE DO NOT BEND!" came the company's reply.

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As the last hour before Benedict came you found MacBuff, leader of the Scotch Eggs, and asked of the tale of Malcolm the Softboiled.

"Aye, a greet boy. A fine man. We fought together for... King knows how long. Soft spoken, but hard as a stone. Well, it wasn't exactly a hardness... You see, in his youth he suffered a pox. Egg covered in scars, but it made him, not uncrackable, but stronger in essence. Terrible winds that one.

"I remember a battle with a tribe from the far west reaches, far beyond our Swamps. They rode upon small beasts with great teeth, chittering things, ate their dead and young. One grabbed onto Malcolm's topshell, shook him and dragged the cursed son for a hundred lengths.

"And then Malcolm finally got his spearhead out, one that was in his kit. Drove the thing right into the thing's skull. Killed it and the rider without an issue.

"Malcolm died early in this rebellion, when the rebels sent their harriers. Little ones, our weak, and Malcolm weaving creches, singing bawdy songs, making the maids blush. "

You gape, not knowing what to say.

"Aye, there are lads and missies among us. This is a war season, and Tamago brings us warriors to be born. In peace we are born hearthtenders, protectors... And mothers. Eggs born of Ovan are always smaller, then their children smaller, and smaller... The essence must be shared, aye? So they usually serve as stewards, field hands, and tenders of flocks.

"Malcolm stood, took down five of them with his spear and surprise. Then they broke him and made the others carry his essence back in their baskets. If any spilled to the ground?"

MacBuff looks to the distance.

"My daughter spilled. She was never the best weaver. She was sent home in pieces of shell. Her eldest brother was the one we found on the road today."

MacBuff clenches his fists.

"We march to war."

In the last minutes before battle Al'bumein came to the fore. With him came an egg with a large scorched mark upon his brow.

"Frier, meet Whiteshell. We have brought you something more fitting for this battle."

The scorched egg presents his gift, a large burnished steel helm wrapped in soft material in the colors of the Cracked. Al'bumein has a small hooked blade ready for you.

"A secondary weapon, lest your hammer fails. A strong blow to the shell and drag down, or up, or anywhere. This blade is sharp enough to cut through shell, leather, or cloth... And if you can get it between armor?"

Al'Bumein smiles

"It works quite well.

The horns sound, the eggs shout, and so comes war to Benedict.

So, who is ready for the war?
Fuck, its 2 am here and I'm already nodding off. Good luck noble Fangbreaker, let the yolk of your enemies spill down the streets.
Great quest Yolker, hope I see it again sometime.
Five more minutes, Mom!
I mean, uh, yeah, I'm ready.
No I'm not oh god help

My body is ready but my shell is weak.
Looking into the thread I'll give a few more minutes before starting up...

But then I look at suptg to post the thread.

It's been posted, and somehow has a -4?

What the fuck /tg/? I thought we were friends?
Hell if I know. I'm not in the habit of browsing suptg when I'm already actively participating in a thread.
>complaining about suptg votes

that's another -1
A lot of the guys on /tg/ hate quest threads sadly, just upvoted it for you hopefully that will help if others do too.

Vitellus rides high in the sky as the eggs march to war.

Loud hissing rises from the back of the small army, and the chanting of the priests of the Vitellus rise to meet the shouts of the battle.

Several eggs peer over the walls, readying large stationary slings. Cracked and Scotch eggs run beneath the great Breakshell, and you are shown your grip. As you move forward under the wooden contraption you hear the sounds of great stones hitting the shell. Those walking forward of the breaker do not fare well; you feel a slick of yolk (friend, more like) under your feet as you feel the breaker shudder, hitting its target.

"For L'œuf!" BAM!
"For Malcolm!" BAM!

The feel of hot liquid pours through a crack near your grip. Granules are in the liquid, and it tastes like your rations.

"POACHERS ON HIGH!" a voice rings out, followed by the sound of something hitting off of plate armor. The hissing rises for a second, and you feel a large mass fall onto the breaker.

The eyes of an egg dressed in patchwork black leather look to you, clouded over. The shell, where cracked, shows hard white ichor pouring from it.

The Snakeshells are heating the rebels from the inside out.

The gate breaks under the next swing, and you are forced forward by the rush of soldiers. Fifteen eggs stand with staves, but are quickly overrun by your twenty and the priests of the King in Yellow.

Eyes aflame, the priests have large steel balls attached to the ends of short hafts that they use with brutal efficiency.

"Yolks for the Kingdom!"
"Whites for the Skies!"
"Shells for the Soil!"
"Death for the Infidel!"

You easily block the staff of a rebel, who looks at you in fear as you raise your hammer.

Your scrambler breaks cleanly through his body.

The Snakeshells, priests, infantry and slingers mass in the gate square, and begin the move forward to the crossroads.


Starving Benedictines look out of doors, gaunt and sickly, some shells cracked. An armless small one, a child, smiles at you and bows as you pass.

The sounds of battle are up ahead, but the army marches quickly and quietly through the streets.

At the crossroads you hear the noises much louder. But there is a blessed sight; three dozen eggs bearing the symbol of L'œuf (three eggs with crossed spears forming a triangle), led by a thick, low centered egg who appears to be smoking a pipe.

"Ahh, mon Roi! We have been waiting for you! Ironshells! Al'bumein! You are sight for sore eyes, no?"

The old egg and his commander go to greet the fat Ovan, and then motion for you.

"Ahh, the one who destroyed the fanged beast, yes? Great warrior, Fangbreaker. Allow me to introduce myself. Sir 'Ollan of the Order of the Blessed Trinity. Or you may call me by my given name, Ollan Daize.

The egg chuckles and grabs you bodily. Under his ridiculous outfit of motley he wears heavy mail, and on his sides appear to be large maces of the sort carried by the priests.

"Around the corner are a gross of rebel soldiers. They have been expecting us, no? If all run forward... Suicide, truly. But if we are able to get around, sneak onto them... But who shall lead?"

>Ollan produces a rough map showing a route into the building he has based his troops out of and across rooftops, through a large sewer grate past the troops, and one that takes you in a route through the ruined West Quarter to the other side.

"Three prongs. You ask, why three? Well, for our spears of course! We strike at their weak points, and take down their strongest.

So what are we to do mon ami?

This sounds the most interesting meaning we're all gonna die.

Ehh I got a small writeup that I'll probably post at the end of the thread for this, or maybe create an adventure path for the Ovan struggle once we're done. So each place has the same chance of horrible, horrible death.
bump for inevitable death in ruins

I would go with rooftops but i say we go ruins.

Ollan gives directions and dispatches ten of his partisans with a sack of paving stones and clubs. The warrior group includes five Scotch Eggs and four of your own Cracked associates. Peewee and Smalls decide to hop along.

According to the partisans and their provided map there are three main areas through the ruins. The first is Butcher's Square, where a group of rebels patrols with several strange small hardshelled beasts. The second is a passage leading from the doors of the abandoned temple of blessed Tamago into a courtyard far to the northern edge of the Western Quarter.

Then it is a dash through a small series of tenements to the location where you may signal to your comrades via a spinning sign post.

How do you array your troops?
This is deciding our initial formation? How many of our troops are melee and how many are ranged? We'll probably just make a ring of melee to protect our ranged units for now. The fastest of them could also be sent out in pairs to scout.

Well, you would have the 10 partisans (untrained, simple melee/ranged), five Scotch Eggs (trained, melee/reach), Peewee and Smalls (trained range), 2 nameless Cracked (trained melee) and you.

Also, I hope you are imagining these Partisans as mustachioed Frenchmen, gritty, perhaps smoking unfiltered cigarettes as they do battle with the rebellion.

You're welcome.
I know fuck all about military formation, so perhaps someone could come in and give some better commands. Why the hell are they putting a day-old egg in charge of 19 others which are almost certainly better trained anyway?
Peewee and Smalls and the 2 nameless Cracked can form 2 cells of 1 melee and 1 ranged to scout. 3 Scotch and us can take forward guard while 2 take rear. 4 partisans will stay ranged while 6 ranged are split 3/3 between fore and rear with the option to switch to melee when enemies inevitably show.

Because storytime.

Don't worry. If you want you can always pass and we can wait for someone else to post up OR give you some extra time. There's not an enormous amount of rush involved here.
I doubt giving me extra thinking time will help. We could wait for at least one other poster, I suppose. Do you see any glaring errors in the formation?

Not a horrible formation at all, no.

Cackles quietly.

But seriously, not too bad.
>Looks around
>Hits mic

Looks like we will have no takers. Next update after I go use the restroom and grab a drink.
I saw no real errors, but it's latenight /tg/ and most people aren't being active.

Hope it works out!

For the King in Yellow!
For Malcolm!
For Benedicte's citizens!
For L'œuf!
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Hello? Yolker? YOLKER!?!?!?!?

Apologies, that 'one drink and restroom break' extended into 'several drinks and a fine bout of fellatio in my foyer by an ex'. She just left.

So, yeah... Gimme 5 minutes.
Rolled 13, 40, 26, 24, 93 = 196

Rolling rolling rolling.

Walking through the rubble seems almost surreal after spending your first days in the bush. But even as you walk you feel as if you know each of the items around you. Smalls sees your odd look as he is walking with sling ready through a pile of broken stonework that was once a rich man's statue of the a beautiful egg woman in fine dress.

"Ahh, yeah, you are new. That's just nogsis. Any Ovan born of the Sun or Moon, awakened eggs, they get born with basic knowledge. Little bits and pieces of those who have returned to the Sauce. Don't be too surprised. My Da knew about a big pile of coins hidden underneath a tree stump in our home town.

"Went there and there was no trees. Just a big old house that had been there for a hundred cycles. Nobody knows what you're gonna get, but most get the basics to know about what they need to know. You being born when the sunny side was up probably got armor and weapons knowledge... Moonys know how to plow. Us natural borns have to learn most of it, but we get a little knack with whatever our family started as. "

Smalls slips a bit on stones, and you try to steady him. The sound of slithering fills the ear as Smalls gets lifted up into the air along with his Scrambler.

"Hey. Can you get me down from this thing?" Smalls screams as he bumps into his Scrambler.

Peewee laughs, and then flings a stone behind you.

The stone misses, but you turn to see four rebels standing with large spears.

Behind them, another rebel dressed in the same clothes holds a sack. He pulls out a handful of yellow gunk and begins chanting.

Circling around you see two groups of four additional circling the Scotch spearmen groups, ready to do battle.

So what is your move?

You may take moves for each group by the by. I apologize, but I forgot to include in this post.
I figure ranged focus fire on the spear-eggs screening for the Sauce-user, while we charge said chanting sonuvahen and (hopefully) take advantage of the hole in the line that opens up to get through and wreck his day. We probably don't want the whammie he's cooking up.

The Scotch spears and the rebel spears engaging them will be a little silly, but they should have an edge. Their partisan split fighters stay ranged as long as possible, let the Scotch do the heavy-lifting while they pepper and salt the rebels.

I think you need your rolls there champ.
Rolled 37, 59, 77 = 173

Truth! I just hoped someone woudl come along and make a better plan.
Going into action, you let out a cry of command and charge as the Partisans fling stones. Five paving stones are flung, though only one connects with a target... With devastating results.

A spearman falls, his thick creamy center spilling out on the ground. creating an opening for you to rush through. While you clear the gap you do not have enough impetus to stop the rogue sauceror, who throws a string of foul smelling webbing that anchors itself to the fallen warrior's eggy deliciousness. (25/25/50 Immobilized/Slowed/Safe 1st roll).

The Scotch Eggs fight their battles between the two groups, forcing their spears through to deadly effect. While the rebels have two cycles of battle under their belt, your spears have fought from their laying to battle for this day. Each group of spears is forced from the field, with three casualties altogether (You may continue rout/finish the group through a roll).

If the roll freezes you in place Whitshell stays put next round. If slowed he can either move away/around, or make a single attack (and force another save). Your Partisans/fellow spears do have their rolls also.
Ehh, it happens.
Rolled 39


Gods. Twice. I suck at life (and drinking).
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>The puns
>The battles
>mfw I will never be a valiant oval warrior battling a possessed ferret
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Welcome to Egg Quest! Stay awhile, treat yourself to joyful egg-related humor and grimdark ovarian fantasy.
I will be retiring for the night (7:15 here) if I don't get any type of response in the next 15.

Even if, I'm giving one more round than passing out 'til the morn.
Go get some rest!

And thanks for the amusement. ^_^

Cool. Catch you on the flipside. I should be back up ~ 8-9 GMT.
Wake up. Wake up.


I don't know why, but I love this quest.

I have things to attend to, but I want this to stay alive. I leave you with a blessing. Do not break. Do not bend.

This above all: to thine own shell be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any egg.
Farewell, my blessing season this in thee!

This thread. My god this thread.

I will be starting back up at 8:45 PM GMT (62 minutes at time of typing). I need to get a shower, some food, and crack open a delicious beverage to get going.

Gird your loins, creche your eggs, and hope that your shells are ready.

Yolker here, been trying to post for the last hour... No dice. Gonna have to rewrite as my post ditched on the last upload.
Rolled 87


Let's see how this works again. Rolling 50/50 to maintain enchantment/break enchantment.

Let us see how this round of combat works out. As stated Whiteshell will either be freed/slowed to focus on the current area. Partisans, Scotch Eggs, Cracked 1/Peewee have actions, and Smalls/Cracked 2 are stuck in the air in snares.
Everyone die out there?
There's at least one anon out here lurking.

Yes. But I've been waiting for quite some time for a response. Feel our actives may not be here.

So bump to remind, and cross fingers/toes/etc.
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come on! i wanna see eggs on eggs violence!
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Well I guess I should throw out something to help out the thread...

So latenigh/tg/uys. What part of the Ovan culture would you like to know about?
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>The cries of the cracked and leaking.

read on. it gets better.
Who rules the Ovans? Are there many kingdoms? The beginnings of the Cracked? General history stuff please.

>Who rules the Ovan
>Are there many kingdoms?
>Beginnings of the Cracked

Will do.

>Who Rules the Ovan

The Ovan are a fractious people, and much prefer to infight when possible. Because of this fact the concept of cities has been a new development (over the last 150-175 cycles). These blossoming cities, ruled over by a council of twelve elder eggs, were formed under the inspiration of the wanderer known as Auvoyo.

The last survivor of his clan, Auvoyo wandered for twenty cycles with a ragtag group of refugees from a forgotten battle. When he returned he spoke of great ideas; of ways to work with stone, steel, and wood. Auvoyo's work and the nature of nogsis and the Sauce has granted an evolutionary leap in Ovan life.

There are, of course, traditionalists. But we have come to the age of sails, cities, and steel far quicker than any other civilization... And it has caused the Ovan to become restless.


A Note on Nogsis: Nogsis, the collective knowledge of all Eggkind, is a gift from the gods of Ovan. Nogsis is most concentrated in first generation Ovan, who are imprinted with the traits necessary for the time of their birth.

What about natural born Ovan, you ask? Well, the naturally born egg child will be imparted with knowledge gained from its progenitors. While a weaker form of Nogsis, the newborn egg will have more recent knowledge, along with connections to their local community. It is most likely due to this trait that the newly birthing citystates have become so popular.

>Are there many kingdoms?

The kingdoms, nations, and states of the Eggfolk are, well, misnomers. As the Eggfolk build and build their new cities, they find themselves learning lessons that are ingrained in their nogsis to not be as easy as it would appear.

L'œuf, being close to the initial introduction of Auvoyo's knowledge, is ahead of many of its fellow Ovan states. The lands near the Scalding Sea host the great tribes of the Paprica. Fierce sandscorched warriors, the Paprica wear helms of seashell, feather, and sharp points along with marking themselves in purple dyes drawn from creatures within the Scald.

These Devil Eggs, as they are referred to in the civilized lands, are fierce warriors but seem to have been separated from the overall Nogsis. Few traders may go into their lands, and those who do are silent to what they see.
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>Devil Eggs

I'm hoping to get a piece from Mr. Sloth at some point to post here, but yeah, I will be doing the Cracked here in a bit. Need to have a nice meal.

sounds good. what about saucery and magic in general?

Saucery? Are you all sure you wish to learn of the most XANTHOUS of all Arts?
My shell is ready.
I like my eggs with some cheese
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Gird they shell, and make ready your yolks...

There are many forms of Ovamancy among the Ovan. From Saucery, Whiskcraft, and Vita Vitelli to the foul arts of Sulfomancy, the Ovan have learned powers beyond the ferocity of normal eggs.

The most common Art is of course that of Saucery. Tapping into their inner reserves of Sauce, the Sauceror can change the nature of itself and those around it. Saucery taps into the inner nature of all eggkind to cause its effects, with the Sauceror draining a part of his own essence into every spell woven. Saucerors must replace their inner essence to fuel their spells, and thus eat large amounts of protein and fat to keep up their inner reserves. The most powerful of Saucerors feast constantly on meat and suet, while lower Saucerors may get away with drinking a strong broth-like stew known as Sopa Spalla. Only Snakeshells have shown full aptitude in Saucery, though some claim Nogsis can grant a born egg with some weak Sauce-related talent.

Whiskcraft, a more raw and elemental form of power, is the manipulation of the life force of eggs. Most whisks utilize the essence of normal, unawakened eggs which they store in a satchel or bowl close to their touch. Whisks then channel power into the viscous liquid, creating powerful webs, strong walls, and even animated Yolkums, fierce creatures born of the full animus of an egg and a bit of the caster's own yolk.


Vita Vitelli is a series of meditation focusing exercises learned by battle priests of the King in Yellow. This power, gained through synchronized chanting, allows the eggs to shift their own Nogsis and Sauce between each other, making up to a dozen eggpriests act as a single mind. It is rumored that a Sauceror trained in Vita Vitelli was once able to draw out the essence of his comrades and focus their power into the works of Saucery that led to the strange mists surrounding the Foggy Crown of Mount Dalgyal in the far East.

Of Sulfomancy we shall speak little. The power of Rotten eggs, Sulfomancy is a dire path taken by some Saucerors. It corrupts, and is best turned away from.

What else must we learn?
>Look at thread
>Enjoy heartily, check to see if archived
>+8 with 20 votes

Lot of butthurt.

Yolker and Lurkers: Anyone willing to play at this point? Sound off if anyone's awake?
I'm alive and well, and I only woke up 2 hours ago so I'll be here for a while yet.

I was just replying to somebody bitching about our 'eggfaggotry'. Sucks when people like things you do...

Oh wait. That's kind of awesome! I thank everybody who has been following and randomly jumping in. Hopefully we can find the best time to actually start EQ2 so that we get maximum participation.

If there are a couple of you who wanna play I got no problem running the next turn. Been itching for it really as I'd like to get this shit started up again and finished soon!
>I was just replying to somebody bitching about our 'eggfaggotry'
Hold up, is this a thing? In my experience /tg/ only hates things that are too common (Modern Fantasy, Quest threads, this is how I threads etc.). And yet this is only the first egg related thing I've seen? Am I missing something here?

Nope. I was browsing the Dwarf thread and somebody took an Egg Paladin pic I asked for and posted it up.

Apparently we're now the lolrandumb meme of the day.

Yes, one thread and a couple of art requests apparently constitute a major threat to fa/tg/uys everywhere.

I'll take a piss... just come up with Whiteshell's next move and we should be set!

So then, what is your plan good sirs?
We've been stunned right?

Nope. Per

Looks like you made your 'save' against the effect. You are free to scramble that Whisk as much as you want

Captcha: discovered ovaeco

The gods of Captcha smile upon us.

Well, you do have to make your D100 rolls there chief and to keep the other 2 battles in progress.
How many rolls to make?

That would be 3.
Rolled 30, 60, 78 = 168

1s incoming
Rolled 30


The whisk looks surprised that you are able to break through, and barely moves away from your swinging hammer. Due to the proximity he reaches and throws his yolk in a spray, touching your eyes.

As you feel the yolk trying to harden around your eyes you hear the sound of the Scotch spears and partisans breaking through from their engagement with the rebel spears. You hear the footsteps coming behind you, and the sounds of dying egg rebels on the back flank.

Rolling for attempt at Blindness: due to your near-hit and proximity 75/25 failure/blindness (lowers chance to hit)

Roll and what do you do? Remember you now have spears alongside you.
Rolled 69

First let's see if we're blinded and make a decision accordingly

Looks like we're good! Let's kill this cuntish eggslinger.
Rolled 29, 84, 72 = 185


Let's roll it for every group then, see what we get.

You press your advantage while wiping the gunk out of your eyes. Your swing forces the Sauceror to turn aside...

Right into the spears of your Scotch warriors. The Whisk looks at his killer, then attempts to reach for his satchel. The hand that reaches in raises up, then falls along with its master.

The last rebel, wounded and routed, attempts to run only to take a spear to the back.

"Alright guys... Can you get me down now?" Smalls says from his gibbet.

The spears lower him down, and you are ready to move. How will your proceed?
File: 1355059622432.jpg-(40 KB, 360x480, Angry-Egg.jpg)
40 KB
We must press on.

Always press on.

Advance through the ruins, still in your groups
File: 1355063662379.jpg-(25 KB, 220x293, dangerous beasts afoot.jpg)
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You travel through the location unmolested, but what you see next gives pause

The great temple of Tamago stands squat here, abandoned since the time of the occupation, has seen better days. A few temple guardians sit broken upon the steps, their yolks spilled and rotting. Around them swarm several large chitinous creatures. As they tear into the rotten flesh they seem oblivious to their surroundings.

What do we do?

how many of them are there?
Upon further analysis it appears that there are 5 of these strange creatures gorging on the flesh of the fallen.

About eggs and stuff, there is a popular mexican site where all the protagonist are eggs, called Huevocartoon, maybe you can find inspiration to some characters.

video related, the bard eggs, a trio of joyfull heavydrinkers that with every cup of booze they decompose the poems unto funny sketches

Also Subs of the eggbard


Now, what shall happen?
So there's 5 of them? How much bigger than us are we talkin? How many people do we have with us?

There are five beasts, comparable in size to a human and a large dog. You have lost 2 partisans, so your current rolls include:

- 8 Partisans
- 4 Cracked Soldiers (Peewee, Smalls, 2 Scamblers)
-5 Scotch Egg Spearmen

Alright, taking a break for some sleep.

Come up with ideas and we will go from there, bump if necessary.

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