>>45438272

Your throat is sore, cracked and aching, while your head spins with weakness and the effort of shouting so loud. The last of your energy, the last of the life in your failing body, was poured into those desperate shouts. Pleading, threatening and cajoling, you tried everything that you could think of – all your efforts met with little more than a leering smile from the figure looming over you.

“There there,” a terrible nightmare whisper slashes out, “Hush, little boy, hush.” Cold as the grave, a skeletal claw reaches out to caress your chin, tilting your head up until you're confronted by a face you cannot bear to see, let alone describe. “You've impressed me, little insect. Take your life and savour it – I grant you this mercy. Ah, but there's a catch...”

You wake up, thankfully, at the same point in your nightmare that you always do, just before that leering, tainted goddess can make her offer. Even today, you can't say what evil took root in her breast, but it was enough to turn a nurturing goddess into a hellish devil of starvation. It only ended when you staggered up to her shrine, desperate and half mad with grief, and demanded an end to it all. An end to the famine, or an end to your life – it hadn't mattered which. Maybe it was that hopeless determination that had swayed her, for the famine ended soon after. A number of days later, the Wanderer arrived and took you back with him to the Nameless Temple, for training.

The same temple that you're now gazing up at, half lost in memories. Home, of a sort. You should really report to the Mentor, but... you're tired, and you need a drink. Your quarters are singing a siren song. Then again, you've got an old friend at the temple who is always ready to listen...

>Make your report, by the book
>Take some personal time
>Find your old friend to talk with

>>45438278
>Make your report by the book

Thansk for running this quest again. Is this a daily quest, then?

>>45438325

>I usually run Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays but I wanted to get some momentum going since it's the beginning.

>>45438278
>Make your report, by the book
gnight, early day tomorrow

>>45438278
>>Make your report, by the book

>>45438278
>>Make your report, by the book
We're professionals after all.

Work comes first, that's how you've always lived. There's a kind of solace in that, a peace of mind that comes from throwing yourself into some task or another. Besides, you've got a reputation for being reliable, a real hard worker, and you're not about to throw that away because of a nightmare. It's not like you've never had them before, that's for sure. Guiding your horse into the stables, you dismount and hand the reins over to one of the attendants, your mind already reaching forwards to the task ahead of you.

Even with your mind elsewhere, you can't help but pause a little as you enter the Nameless Temple, as you've always done. You're a well-travelled man and you've seen a lot, but nothing quite matches up to the inside of this ancient building. Like no other building you've ever seen, the whole thing is made from a smooth, dark stone utterly free from any imperfections. Shaking off the eerie perfection of the place – a great pyramid structure, flattened at the top – you stride through towards the Mentor's quarters.

Of course, you need to wait a few moments for the old man to arrive, summoned from whatever isolated chamber he secludes himself within. As you wait, you look down at the intricate tiles covering every inch of the floor like a jigsaw puzzle. They'd teach the new apprentices patience and humility, you recall, by making them scrub this floor. They stopped a few years ago though, after one apprentice developed an unhealthy fascination with the pattern.

“Ira?” the night chamberlain, a worn out looking gentleman who's name you can never remember, says, “The Mentor has arrived. He's waiting for you inside.”

Nodding, you brush past the long, low desk and enter the Mentor's chambers, pausing only to swap your heavy boots for a pair of sandals.

[1/2]

>>45438588
>They stopped a few years ago though, after one apprentice developed an unhealthy fascination with the pattern.
gods fucking damnit Moloch, I'm trying to sleep here.

>>45438588

The Mentor, you think as you approach the shrunken elderly man, is the oldest person you've ever known. He was ancient when you were young, and it's been quite a few years since you could call yourself that. Even so, he's as vital as ever, walking to meet you with a purposeful pace. As you shake hands, he studies you for a long time, his eyes set so deep within the wrinkled mask of his face that they are visible only as glints of light. Some say that he traded his name for immortality – endless life, but not eternal youth. You can certainly see why people might think that.

“Ira, my son,” he announces as you release his hand, “You look tired, like always. You didn't take that time off I suggested, did you?”

You're happier, you explain patiently, if you're keeping busy. Sitting around and doing nothing has never been your style.

The Mentor sighs, shaking his head as if he had expected nothing less. “I've told you before – mind and body must be trained, yes, but also rested. But, if you're not going to rest, I might as well give you the training you deserve. Tell me, before we begin, what do you have to report?”

Speaking quickly, in the clipped, factual tone of a professional, you tell the Mentor exactly what happened in that tiny, anonymous village. You hesitate a little when it comes to mentioning the fate of Milo and his father, but the Mentor nods encouragingly.

“You did the right thing. We are not the judges of men, remember – we aspire to a higher purpose,” nodding to himself, the Mentor draws in a slow breath before continuing, “Very well. I have many things left to teach you – what magic would you learn?”

>Fire, the ways of aggression
>Earth, the means of defence
>Air, the flowing ways of magic itself
>Water, the tides of social action

>>45438644
>>Fire, the ways of aggression

>>45438644
>>Water, the tides of social action

>>45438644
>>Water, the tides of social action
I'll throw my vote behind water this time.

>>45438644
>Water, the tides of social action

Water, the element most commonly associated the ever-changing tides of social action and reaction, has never really been your area of expertise. If anything, you've outright neglected studying that area of your mystical training. It was never a deliberate choice, but it just... happened. Try taking an angry young boy, raging against the unfairness of the world, and teaching him the art of subtle manipulation. It was never going to happen.

Now though, you're older and wiser. Perhaps now it's about time to teach an old dog some new tricks. You'll study the ways of Water, you tell the Mentor, if he's willing to teach you.

“I'm always willing to teach,” the ancient man chuckles, “If only everyone was so eager to learn! Come with me, Ira, and we shall see if you're ready to accept this new lesson.” Turning, then, and walking from the chamber, you have to walk briskly to keep up with the spry old man. He leads you from the chamber and down an anonymous corridor, one particular twist leading you to a watery room. Surrounded by the sound of rushing water, he sits and nods for you to follow.

“Now Ira, the first impression can be the most important one of all. You've seen this before, have you not?” the Mentor asks, his voice growing distant as he addresses the air around you, rather than you directly. “Those with closed minds are not always accepting of those with power. They can be insular, suspicious and slow to trust.”

He's got that right, you think bitterly before trying to calm your mind. Picturing a sea of sullen, unwelcoming faces in your mind, you feel yourself grimace. What can be done, you murmur, against people who have already made up their minds?

[1/2]

>>45438973
Welcome to the waking world my friend!

>>45438994

“Carry yourself with dignity and humility,” the Mentor whispers, his voice seemingly merging with the rushing water, “And yet see yourself as something they need – something they cannot turn away from. Become good news, a full harvest, whatever their desires ask you to be. No man can shrug his shoulders at a blessing that willingly crosses his path.”

Frowning slightly, you picture that sea of ugly faces again, this time imagining them as sunken and hollow with hunger. Then you see yourself, the bearer of good news and bountiful harvests, lighting their eyes up with desperate relief. That would work, wouldn't it? Shameless manipulation perhaps, but if that's what the situation demands...

“Yes, Ira,” you hear cloth whisper as the Mentor nods, “You understand now, do you not?”

You understand now, you repeat, feeling the new magic engraving itself upon your heart.

>New spell card gained:
>[Water] Bountiful Harvest
>“A ripe bounty can win over the hardest heart, and bring warmth to a whole community.”
>Upon activation, a group of unwelcoming – but not overtly hostile – people will become more accepting and willing to trust. This effect wears off slowly and leaves no memory of deliberate tampering

A useful ability, you muse, for when you stumble across some of the more colourful communities. You've never had to fend off a lynching yet, but you've heard stories...

“Now,” the Mentor asks, his voice alive with conversation once more, “What are we going to do with you? Would you at least consider taking some time off, to reflect upon what you've learned? I'm sure we can live without you for a few days...”

>You'd rather keep working. Have there been any new requests?
>Perhaps you've earned some time off
>You'll decide in the morning
>Other

>>45439045
>>Perhaps you've earned some time off
Maybe we should rest, if only for a little.

>>45439045
>Perhaps you've earned some time off

>>45439045
>>Perhaps you've earned some time off
No harm in a little downtime every now and again.

>>45439045
>>You'd rather keep working. Have there been any new requests?

Perhaps he's right, perhaps you have earned some time off. To rest and recuperate if nothing else, with some time open to you in case something comes up. Truth be told, you're not exactly sure what you'd do with a few days off – you've never really had any hobbies or anything like that. Most of your life, ever since becoming a Wanderer has been spent... wandering. Riding from town to town, or between the capital city of Tenn and the Nameless Temple.

The capital city, that's a thought. It's been a while since you had any reason to visit, and the place changes so quickly that it might as well have been a completely different city each time. There's always something to see or do there, even if you just roam the streets for a few days. Or, you remember suddenly, you could take Aya up on her invitation and see what her newspaper is all about. The slip of vellum with her address on it is still snug in your pocket.

When you mention that you will be taking some time off, the Mentor's face lights up. “I'm glad,” he sighs with relief, “Your hard work is an inspiration to the apprentices, but it worries me. Working yourself to death, after all, won't bring you any real peace.”

There he goes, doing his unsettling insight act. Sure, you're not a complicated person, but it still bothers you how the Mentor has always been able to read you like an open book. Perhaps it's to be expected, since he more or less watched you grow up. It's not that you're an open book, but a book that he wrote. Whatever you decide, though, you'll do it in the morning – for now, your quarters are calling out to you.

[1/2]

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>>45439335

That night, you slept well. Perhaps it was the moment of study or meditation that you shared with the Mentor that did it, easing off the stress and strain that normally haunts you. Upon waking, you take a leisurely walk down to the dining hall, to join the rest of the Wanderers and apprentices for breakfast. It's simple fare, made from food donated by grateful farmers, but better than the kind of thing you normally eat on the trail or at filthy taverns. As you're making your way there, something catches your eye – a set of posters, sketches of young faces.

You recognise some of them, in fact. Apprentices that you've seen about the Nameless Temple, training or serving under some of the fully graduated Wanderers. Pausing to study the posters, one word is consistent throughout all of them – MISSING. All of the apprentices shown have vanished, none leaving a trail. An unsolved mystery, it seems, one that you're still thinking about as you sit down to your breakfast. You're so deep in thought that you don't hear the footsteps, one much heavier than the other, until they're right by you.

“Hello stranger,” a mellow voice greets you, the speaker sighing with relief as she sits opposite you, “You're even staying for breakfast – we are blessed.”

Howa Moraji, perhaps your oldest friend. You grew up together, and she was the one who found you, raving and half-mad, outside your village's shrine. When you were taken to the Nameless Temple, she was taken with you. She's the closest thing you have to family, now, a kind of older sister. Greeting her, you turn back to your food.

“So,” Howa continues, well used to your ways, “I hear you're finally taking some time off. Got anything nice planned?”

>I was heading to the capital, checking out a newspaper
>I was heading to the capital. I'll make it up from there
>I have no plans. Why don't we do something together?
>Other

>>45439422
>I was heading to the capital. I'll make it up from there
Haven't been there in quite awhile.

>>45439422
>>I have no plans. Why don't we do something together?

>>45439422
>I was heading to the capital, checking out a newspaper. You're welcome to come along.

>>45439422
>>I have no plans. Why don't we do something together?

You don't have any plans, you decide after a moment's thought, so why don't you both do something together? It's been a while, after all, since you spent any real time together.

“Ah!” Howa's eyes widen for a split second at your suggestion, before dropping back down into their usual cool gaze, “How very unusual, for you to make an offer like that. Perhaps you've remembered that we're all here, at long last?” You bear her playful scolding in silence, focusing more on the gritty oatmeal you're spooning into your mouth until she sighs, relenting. “Well, there are a few things I could have used some help with. It's a sorry way to spend your time off, but you know how it is – I need a little help now and then. You wouldn't mind doing a little lifting and carrying, would you?”

Just about all you're good for, you joke back. It's good to be able to joke about these things – when she first lost her leg, Howa barely spoke at all. Now, at least, she bears the old injury with good humour, even if it means she can't do much in the way of field work. Where first, you ask before taking a guess, the archives?

“Got it in one,” Howa nods, “There's a little research I've been wanting to do, something that isn't quite an incident yet, but... well, it might come to something.”

Washing down the last of your food with cold water, you stand and offer Howa your hand, helping her to her feet. She grunts a little with the effort, tapping her cane against the ground when she's ready to stand on her own. Even as you walk, you can't help but sneak a look at her false leg – oak wood, polished to a beautiful sheen like some piece of traditional furniture. Of course it was – she'd never settle for something plain.

“The archives, then!” she announces, lurching away with an uneven step.

[1/2]

>>45439729

“So,” she asks you as you walk in a short circle, examining the object from all angles, “What do you think it is?”

Simply put, it's a pot, made of simple porcelain. White glaze, delicate construction... it all suggests a precious object, worth a great many gold crowns, but it's still just a pot. Is this what she wanted you to see? Or rather, was this what she wanted you to dig out of storage and carry to a table, just so she could admire it?

“Please, as if I'd ever be so petty,” Howa sighs, “This is Asahisaki porcelain – very rare and very valuable. Produced only in a little village in the mountains. Only... it isn't produced there any more. There hasn't been a single piece produced in, oh, a month at least. Now that little town used to thrive on the profits that their artwork brought in, so why would they just stop production? It's not farming country, so they need the money to buy in food and other supplies.”

She's got a teasing tone in her voice, as if she's testing you. Taking another look at the delicate porcelain, you frown hard. It would be nice, you think to yourself, for the woman to just tell you what she wants for once rather than making you drag it out of her. Still, it's an interesting mystery she's got on her hands, and it's got your curiosity piqued. Why would a village cut off its one lifeline?

>The artist responsible must have died
>Perhaps bandits have the village cut off?
>The village might have a patron god – one that's been causing some trouble lately
>Other

>>45439845
>The artist responsible must have died
>Perhaps bandits have the village cut off?
Not EVERYTHING has to be a god's fault. Sometimes shit just happens.

>>45439845
>The artist responsible might have died
Though it's odd he wouldn't pass on his knowledge or that the village wouldn't try to replicate his work.

>Bandits?
Probably would have heard about it. People still come and go right? Only the porcelain suplly halted?

>The village might have a patron god – one that's been causing some trouble lately
Always an option

>>45439845
>Perhaps bandits have the village cut off?

>>45439845
>>45439912
I'd say go with this. Ask her questions as well.

The artist responsible might have died, you speculate, although it's odd that he wouldn't have passed on his skills to the next generation – especially since artisan pottery was that village's livelihood. That's certainly an irregularity. Bandits, on the other hand... but she hasn't mentioned anything about the village being isolated or attacked. Word gets around about something like that. People are still coming and going, you ask, and other supplies are getting through?

Leaning her chin on the cradle of her hands, Howa lets out a contented sigh. “Ah, you know how I love our little talks, Ira, our little debates. You like to cut straight to the heart of the matter, don't you? Yes, people are still coming and going – although they have remarkably little to say about recent events. Interesting, isn't it?”

Suspicious more like, you grunt, so is she going to get to the point?

“But you're assuming I have a point,” Howa's eyes glint with amusement, “Maybe I was asking you because I truly don't know – is that something you considered?”

If she doesn't know, you counter, what are the odds of you knowing? Not everything has to be the result of some god meddling in human affairs – not everything is connected with the Nameless Temple. Although, you add slowly, the fact that she knows about this...

“Ah, that's the thing, isn't it?” Howa laughs, her voice clear, “Perhaps we should consider this all an exercise in free thought, hmm, like something the Mentor might come up with. Wisdom, young apprentices, is best served by observation – that's what he says, isn't it?”

Close enough, you grumble, so this was all a waste of time?

“No, Ira, it was not,” Howa sighs, “I wanted to spend some time with you, that's all, and this provided a rather amusing excuse. Can you forgive me, enough to help with another little task?”

>As long as it isn't another waste of time
>Fine, but you owe me one
>Sorry, I've got better things to do
>Other

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>>45440215
>As long as it isn't another waste of time

>>45440215
>Fine, but you owe me one

>chose spending time with Howa
I regret everything.

>>45440215
>Fine, but you owe me one

>>45440215
>Fine, but you owe me one

>>45440215
>>Fine, but you owe me one
I dearly hope this isn't another ramen noodle incidents waiting to happen

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As long as it isn't another waste of your time, you complain.

“I told you, this wasn't a waste of time,” Howa shakes her head in weary exasperation, “Honestly, Ira, you can be so blunt at times! Ah, but I suppose I deserve it this time – and before you ask, yes, this next task is important. One of the younger apprentices needs a little extra training. I was asked to handle it, but the combat training...”

Now you see why she needed your help. Even an apprentice would be able to run rings around her, with that leg of hers. And, as much as that might be amusing right now, it wouldn't really be fair, or good training for the apprentice in question. Fine, you decide with a sigh, you'll help her. She owes you one for this, though, and you're not going to forget it.

“Fine, fine,” with her free hand, Howa waves away your comments, “Allow me my little jokes, not everyone can spend all their time having fun like you. Anyway, I think you'll like this kid – he is, as some of the other apprentices have said, a cocky shit. That's part of the reason I want you to do this, to be honest. He needs a little humility beaten into him.”

Well then, you decide, that doesn't sound so bad. It's been a while since you had a good fight – you might be a little rusty yourself. Rolling the stiffness out of your shoulders as you walk, Howa shows you to one of the training rooms. A domed chamber with a circle of sand decorating the middle, the boy is already waiting for you, swinging a wooden sword as he glances around the room. You'd guess he was about fifteen, and there is definitely an arrogant look in his eyes.

“Koa Temnos,” Howa whispers to you, “I'm not exactly sure how he came to be here, but...”

Taking a wooden sword of your own, you clear your throat loudly. The boy looks your way, laughing easily.

“This old man?” he jeers, “C'mon...”

>Go easy on him. This is just training
>Beat some sense into him
>Other

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>>45440512
>Beat some sense into him

>>45440512
>>Beat some sense into him

>>45440512
>>Beat some sense into him
The older the God and the older the wanderer, the more dangerous they are. Neither get old without no small amount of power or skill.

>>45440512
>>Beat some sense into him
Fuck his shit up.

>>45440512
>Beat some sense into him

>>45440512
>Beat some sense into him
Why is this even a question?

>>45440512
>Other
Let him take the lead but show him the folly of arrogance. Counter everything he does
Sup Moloch

I bet we won't be offered a dice roll

>>45440325
>You mean the one where we lost all our clothes in a poker match against that one goddess?

You know, the redheaded woman with the unusual accent?

>>45440663
>Why is this even a question?

>Just in case we didn't feel like beating up a kid, I suppose - even if he does deserve it!

>>45440703

>Hello!

>>45440728

>There will be dice rolling. This is sort of an intro to combat, since there wasn't any fighting in the first session.

He called you an old man. You're going to put this little asshole in the hospital.

Glancing back at Howa – she shrugs and smiles sweetly – you turn back to Koa. Nobody ever got old, you announce to him, by being weak or foolish. Power, skill, or both – that's what it takes to be an “old man” like you. The sooner he learns that, you add, the better.

“Yeah yeah,” Koa sneers, “You're gonna to talk me to sleep, is that it?”

No, you reply with a cold smile, you're going to beat some sense into him. Since, apparently, he isn't interested in learning his lessons like everyone else. Privately though, you can't help but smile a little. The cocky little shit reminds you of a younger version of yourself, full of fire and indignation. This is pretty much how you learned as well, and you've got a scar on your forehead to prove it. They might be wood, wrapped in cloth, but these training swords can certainly leave a mark.

Pointing the weapon at him, you wait for the boy to make the first move. A few countered blows should teach him not to be so foolish, and it'll let you finish this without breaking too much of a sweat. You're actually a little impressed by the fact that he doesn't attack straight away – he circles you for a moment, watching for an opening. When you feign a limp, though, he lunges.

>For combat, I'll ask for a D100, using the best of the first three. There will usually be three target numbers to beat, for a partial success, a success, and an exceptional success.
>One spell card can be used every turn, when Ira is called upon to roll. If there isn't a majority opinion on what spell to use, if any, I'll go with what the highest roll dictates. This combat system is open to change, though, depending on how it works out.

>Please roll 1D100, aiming to beat 30, 40 or 60, and I'll take the highest of the first three.

Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>45440893

Check out my Nat 100

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>45440893
rollin

>>45440910
still better luck than we get in your threads.

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>45440893

>>45440923
His threads have weird luck.

Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>45440893
>>45440910
Check out this 1!

>>45440923
>>45440933
>>45440934


...with these rolls, I'm not even gonna defend myself. Like holy shit.

I think my quest is cursed...

Rolled 23 (1d100)

>>45440893
MIA GUIDE MY DICE

Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>45440893
Can we use towards the great land to move behind him quickly and strike?

>>45440949
Cursed? Nah just odd.

Nat 1s on lovely encounter rolls.
99 on first impressions with a girl
98 on Solid Snake-ing.
And Combat rolls are pretty much on a normal curve.

>>45440949
this guys has it>>45440980

>>45440968
It's used to close distance not flash step.

>>45440968

>That's definitely a way to use that spell. It looks like >>45440923 got the result though.

>A note about the spells, actually. I gave them vague, rather than precise wordings to encourage creative use. I may change that and tighten them up a little, depending on any feedback there might be. Just something I wanted to mention.

>>45441026
No worries, we'll find creative ways to use 'Towards the Great Land' when over the course of this quest. I'll bet on that.

Crying out with the kind of hot blooded energy that only teenage boys are capable of, Koa lunges at you and lashes out with the wooden sword. Waiting until the last possible moment, you flick your own sword out and knock him away. Not just his sword, but the boy himself – knocking his slender body back and sending him into a clumsy sprawl. Fear flashes through his eyes for a moment as his guard, as any hope of mounting a defence, vanishes before him.

Moving quickly, your old bones carrying you forwards with the agility of a young man, you jab the blunt point of the sword into Koa's guts and knock the wind out of him. Before he can recover, you swipe low with your weapon and cut his legs out from under him, spilling him down to the ground in a cloud of sand. Gasping for breath, the boy is struggling to rise when you rest your sword on the back of his exposed neck. There's no need to make this last any longer – you've made your point.

“Okay... okay...” he grunts as you reach down to help him up, “That wasn't a real limp, was it?”

It was about as real, you tell him coolly, as his chances of winning.

“Ouch,” Koa mutters, rubbing his ribcage – he'll have a terrific bruise there in the morning – and drawing a tentative breath, “Alright, I've learned my lesson. Next time though...”

Next time, you ask sarcastically, he'll win?

“Next time,” Koa corrects you, “I might HIT you. Once, at least.”

He's surprisingly good humoured about all this, you've got to admit. You'd pictured him as the sulky type, the kind of person who'd brood over their failure. Maybe he's worth keeping around as an apprentice, you think to yourself.

“So,” Howa says, amused by the display, “Any advice for the young warrior?”

>Fights are to be avoided. If this was real, you'd be dead right now
>You'd do better to focus your training elsewhere
>Stick at it, kid, and you could be good at this
>Other

>>45441207
>Fights are to be avoided. If this was real, you'd be dead right now
but
>"You're not bad for a whelp, just remember not everything is as it seems at a first glance."

>>45441207
>Stick at it, kid, and you could be good at this
"But remember that combat is only one aspect of being a Wanderer. Avoiding a fight by using your head is not only an option, but usually damn preferable.

>>45441207
>Fights are to be avoided. If this was real, you'd be dead right now
Also
>Stick at it, kid, and you could be good at this

>>45441207
>>Fights are to be avoided. If this was real, you'd be dead right now

>>45441207
>>Other
It's good to be confident in your own skills, but know that there is always someone better. When you're young they're more experienced, when you're old they're more tenacious. Never stop striving to better yourself, mentally, physically, and tactically. Temper that arrogance now, here in these halls before something does so outside. Now listen to Howa and you might get another chance to spar me.

However you wanna slice it Loch

Fights, you tell him sternly, are to be avoided as best as possible. Fighting is only one part of being a Wanderer. If he uses his head, in future, he might just be able to avoid losing it. In a real fight, you add as he dusts himself off, he would have been dead. But...

“But?” Koa asks, looking around at you with a worryingly eager glance. He'd better not be getting any dangerous thoughts into that head of his – you don't need an apprentice following you around.

But, you admit, he's not bad for a kid. If he sticks with his training, and remembers that not everything is always as it seems, he might be good at fighting one day. Might, you stress in a futile attempt to dampen down his enthusiasm, might be good. Overconfidence could easily get a kid like him killed, especially if he forgets that there will always be someone better – be it mentally, physically or tactically. Remember that, you order him, and listen to his teachers. Even Howa, you add after a moment's pause, no matter how much nonsense she talks.

“Got it,” he says, nodding with a sly grin, “Heard a lot of her nonsense, have you?”

Enough of it, you confirm, to know what you're talking about. Before you can say anything more – and before Howa can make a petulant retort – another apprentice barges into the training room.

“Begging your pardon, sir, ma'am,” he pants, “Word from the Mentor – a writ has arrived, and he thought you might want to see it.”

A writ, a formal petition for aid. That can only mean one thing – there's been an incident. Howa snatches the note from the apprentice and skims it. Then, pausing, she goes back to read it one more time, a smile slowly spreading across her face as she reads.

[1/2]

>>45441473
>a smile slowly spreading across her face as she reads.
it's what we talked about earlier isn't it? She is going to be so smug.

>>45441473

What, you ask as she chuckles silently, what's so funny? Shaking her head, too busy trying to cover up her gales of mirth to give you a proper answer, Howa merely waves the writ at you. Snatching it out of her hands, you give it a read. Then, narrowing your eyes, you look up and shoot a poisonous glare her way. She knew about this, didn't she?

“No...” she says with a great effort, “Not at all, I promise! I might have, ah, suspected, but...”

In response to Koa's questioning look, you clear your throat and read out the contents of the writ aloud. There has been a disturbance, an unexplained one, at a small mountain village. They're having a terrible time of it, since their main means of earning a living has been cut off quite suddenly. And, of course, that livelihood was pottery – rare and expensive Asahisaki pottery.

“Oh come on, don't scowl at me like that!” Howa cries, wiping away a tear, “Can't you see the funny side of it?”

Well... maybe. Still, you're not really sure what to do about this. Technically, you were supposed to be having some time off. Then again, you might actually get some peace and quiet outside, and the mountain air is supposed to be very healthy...

>Accept the writ, go alone
>Accept the writ, offer Koa the chance to come along
>Let someone else deal with it
>Other

>>45441586
>Accept the writ, go alone

>>45441586
>Accept the writ, go alone
Ironic the day we decide to put our feet up for once work comes to us.

>>45441586
>Accept the writ, offer Koa the chance to come along

>>45441586
>Accept the writ, offer Koa the chance to come along

>>45441586
>>Accept the writ, offer Koa the chance to come along
he can carry the heavy shit up the mountain.

>>45441586
>Accept the writ, go alone

>>45441586
>Accept the writ, offer Koa the chance to come along
Let's give the kid a chance.

>>45441586
>Accept the writ, go alone

Well you guys are no fun. What's wrong with taking the kid?

>>45441586
>Accept the writ, go alone.

>>45441586
>>Accept the writ, go alone
>>45441775
I just see Ira as the "works alone" type. Besides he's just a kid right now and this might be dangerous work.

>>45441586
>Accept the writ, go alone
Now he'd feel like he has to prove himself to us, nope

>Looks like going alone wins it this time. Writing the next update now.

Lifting your eyes from the writ, you glare again at Howa. Just as you expected, she looks perfectly smug about this whole affair. You're tempted to take this damn writ, just to get away from the inevitable gloating she's going to bombard you with. In a way, you're almost glad – it gives you something to do, other than lounge around waiting to get back to work.

If the Nameless Temple was to ever stop existing, you think bitterly, you'd be in trouble. You'd probably end up freelance, roaming the world in the vague hope of finding trouble. Then again, trouble seems to find you often enough, so...

“The writ's yours if you want it,” Howa tells you an extravagant shrug, the gesture drawing Koa's eyes like honey draws flies, “I'm not really up for a long ride. Still, this might be a good chance for a little practical lesson, don't you think?”

You wince as she voices the suggestion. True, Wanderers are often supposed to take the apprentices into the field to gain real life experience, but you've never been tempted to drag a kid along. For one thing, it's dangerous work out there and Koa is just too fired up right now. He'd take stupid risks, you tell Howa sternly, in an attempt to prove himself. Once he's had a chance to cool off and learn a little more, you might consider it, but until then...

“Next time, then?” Koa asks eagerly, masking his bitter disappointment, “I won't be a burden, OR a danger, I promise!”

You said you'd consider it, you tell the boy, nothing is certain right now. But, if he works hard and sticks with his studies...

“Got it!” he salutes you, “I won't let you down!”

Wonderful. You've got a fan.

[1/2]

>>45442038

With Koa's eager words still haunting your thoughts – that kid is going to meet a bad end if he's not careful – you make your way back to your quarters and pack everything you might need. A fresh spool of rope, a small lantern and plenty of oil, a pouch of fat, brass cased bullets for your pistol... the usual things, really. Rations for the journey as well, mostly in the form of indescribably hard bread and salted strips of meat. Meagre offerings, but enough to keep a man alive.

Thus equipped, you find your way back to the stables and mount up your horse. It's been a fair while since you were out at the mountains, and you've almost missed them. As soon as you start hiking, you think with a bitter smile, you'll start hating them again.

Riding for half a day, it's not long before the mountains themselves enter into view, peaking above the trees that cover much of the land. These are the central mountains, of course, forming a jagged spike in the middle of Tenngaru. The only other mountain range in the land is to the south, blocking off any attempt to venture deeper into the land. All the other cardinal directions lead to water – an endless expanse of ocean, dotted with a meagre few islands. If there are other lands out there, beyond Tenngaru, nobody has ever had any indication. It's a lonely thought, and one you prefer not to dwell on.

Arriving at the light's first failings, you tie up your horse in the shabby stables and take a look at the town. Not much here, save for the large – and surprisingly ornate – manor occupying one end. The home of the famous artist himself, you presume. It's late, but they might still be taking guests. Then again, there's no way you're going up into the hills tonight. You'd be best off checking into the inn.

>Visit the manor
>Get a room at the inn
>Take a stroll around town

>>45442094
>>Visit the manor
Might as well get right into it.

>>45442094

>Take a stroll around town

We shall channel the spirit of Clint Eastwood and become this country's Man With No Name.

>>45442094
>Get a room at the inn

>>45442094
>Take a stroll around town

>>45442094
>Take a stroll around town

>>45442134
Heh, cept our name is already in the newspaper right about now.

>>45442137
Actually, changing to >stroll around the town

Sorry for any confusion caused.

>>45442094
>>Get a room at the inn

Pausing a moment, at the threshold of the stable, you take a lingering look at the town. It's... nice, you admit to yourself, it's actually a pretty nice place. True, the stables aren't much to look at, but what were you expecting? It would be good, you decide, to take a stroll around town and ease out the stiffness of your long ride. Walking has always helped you think, anyway.

The town isn't large, and you're able to make a circuit of it before darkness has descended completely. There isn't much noise out here, save for the shrieking of cicadas and other noisy insects lurking within the trees. Not much light either, with only a bare minimum escaping from various houses and locked up shops. As far as the shops go, there aren't many – a general store, the inn itself and a bathhouse, claiming to feed from “mineral rich hot springs”, whatever that means. Somewhere to wash, you assume, but what's wrong with a bucket?

One thing you are interested to see is a small wooden slate in each shop window you pass, engraved with tiny letters. “Sponsored by the Asahisaki family”, they all read. The people here, you realise with faint dismay, are little more than indentured servants, in thrall to the rich artist that rules the town. Once his money stops flowing – which, considering his fancy house, might take some time – the town might as well be dead. It'll be a mass desertion, the desperate residents scattered to the four winds. Maybe that's for the best, you think vaguely, the chance to secure their own future. Better, certainly, than some overpriced clay.

When you've finished exploring, it's too late to do anything other than book a room and sleep until morning. Sifting through the coins in your pocket, you enter the inn – and immediately see a familiar face.

[1/2]

>>45442403
Hi reporter chick

File: Aya.jpg (18 KB, 254x736)

18 KB JPG

>>45442403

Aya Hinamaru, you mutter, again. How did she get here so quickly, when the writ only arrived this morning? Something about this sets alarm bells ringing in the back of your mind, warning against some vague, half-formed threat. She hasn't noticed you yet, her attention devoted to an eager questioning of some locals. Lingering by the doorway – for a large man, you can slink into the shadows quite well – you take a moment to assess the mood of the tavern.

The people here, generally, seem friendlier than the last lot. Frightened, anxious about what the future holds, but more open and honest. They look less likely to throw a noose around your neck, at least.

Throwing one last glance at Aya – she's noticed you now, gazing your way with a wry smile – you approach the bar and order a jug of ale. As you're taking your first sip, she leans against the bar next to you.

“So,” she begins, “We meet again.”

>Want to explain how you got out here so quickly?
>Let's skip the small talk. What do you know, and what do you want from me?
>It's good to see you again, Aya
>Other

>>45442467
>It's good to see you again, Aya
*necessary smalltalk*
>Want to explain how you got out here so quickly?

>>45442467
>Other

>So what brings you here?

>>45442467
>Want to explain how you got out here so quickly?

>>45442467

>Want to explain how you got here so quickly?

Tae plz.

>>45442467
>>It's good to see you again, Aya

>Want to explain how you got out here so quickly?
I thought you were at the Capital

>Want to explain how you got out here so quickly?
I bet it's wind magic.

Aya, you reply before allowing a slight smile to tug at the corners of your mouth, it's good to see her again. It really is, you realise, and not just because she might be useful. There's something strangely reassuring about a fellow traveller, someone you can bump into on the road. That said, you're not about to ignore your prickling instincts over a pretty face – especially when she's rightfully earned your suspicions. She should be in the capital right now, you think to yourself.

So what brings her here, you ask in a carefully neutral voice before adding, so quickly?

“Quickly?” Aya raises an eyebrow, “Something I should know about, chief?”

The writ, you explain, how did she get out here so quickly to investigate it? In fact, how did she even find out about it?

“A writ? Sorry, but I think you've got your wires crossed,” she shakes her head quickly, “I'm not here about any... god stuff. That's your department, right, so that's why you're here? I'm chasing a story about profiteering, dirty dealings in the capital. I never actually made it home – got a fresh tip on the pigeon post before I could get there. Say, what do you know about the pottery they make here?”

You're getting pretty damn sick of the pottery here. It's rare, you tell her, rare and expensive – and it's not being made any more.

“That's what I hear,” Aya nods, scribbling a quick note in her pad, “And they're only getting rarer and more expensive – supply and demand, you know? I was here looking into a possible scheme – cut off the supply, someone becomes a very rich man.”

She's suggesting that this whole thing is about someone making money?

“Maybe,” she smiles coyly, “You're asking me to share confidential information. Where's MY motivation in all this?”

>I'm the one who's going to solve this. You get my story
>There's more than just profiteering going on. Trust me
>If there's money involved, it could be dangerous. I'll watch your back
>Other

>>45442747
>There's more than just profiteering going on. Trust me
>If there's money involved, it could be dangerous. I'll watch your back

>>45442747

>I'm the one who's going to solve this. You get my story
>If there's money involved, it could be dangerous. I'll watch your back

>>45442747
>If there's money involved, it could be dangerous. I'll watch your back
>Other
"Not to mention any possible God involvement."

>>45442747
>If there's money involved, it could be dangerous. I'll watch your back

>>45442747
>There's more than just profiteering going on. Trust me
>If there's money involved, it could be dangerous. I'll watch your back

There's more than just profiteering going on, you murmur to the reporter, pitching your voice low so that nobody can overhear. She can trust you on that one.

“You know, I think you might be right,” she agrees, frowning softly, “Unless they're sending out Wanderers on money business now?”

Strictly god business, you assure her, and that's why she needs your help. If there is a god involved, it could be dangerous – perhaps even more dangerous than large amounts of money. You'll watch her back, you promise, if she shares what she knows.

“Oh, you're going to watch my back, are you?” Aya raises an eyebrow, “I'll count myself lucky, then, to have you looking after me. Worried, Ira, or are you just protecting a source of information?”

Can't it be both?

“Good answer,” she breathes with a smile, “Well, I won't say I'm convinced quite yet, but...”

Fine then, you think to yourself, you'll bring out the big guns. You're going to be the one to solve this incident, you tell her boldly, and you're offering her your story – if she shares what she knows first. An exclusive, all the facts, story – she's not going to pass that up, is she?

“Now you're speaking my language,” Aya grins, her empty hand brushing against the neckline of her shirt, “C'mon chief, let's find a dark corner, that's where all the best deals are done.”

You've got to admit, you're starting to like her attitude. Taking your jug of ale, you find the darkest, most out of the way alcove you can and take a seat. When you're ready, Aya begins to flick through her notebook.

[1/2]

>>45443084

“So here's what I've got,” she begins, “The family here, the Asahisaki family, aren't looking to talk to any reporters. I tried, and they couldn't throw me out fast enough. You know what that says to me? That says “we've got something to hide” to me. Now, they've always been a secretive lot these guys, never been very open about how their art gets made. Now that's fine, trade secrets and all, but I'm starting to smell a rat here. Just what are they hiding?”

Technically, you point out, that's all just baseless speculation. You can't exactly march up to the manor house and start throwing accusations about. Not without getting chased out of town, at least.

“Alright, we'll shift to concrete facts,” Aya looks put out by that, as if baseless speculation was a hobby of hers, “Not long ago, a matter of, uh, weeks I believe, someone new came through town. He wasn't interested in talking with the Asahisaki family though – he claimed to be a pilgrim, searching for a nearby shrine. They gave him directions, and never saw him again. Spooky, huh? Like he was a ghost or something...”

Or, you suggest, a pilgrim moving through all the local shrines. If he was making a one way trip, he wouldn't need to come back here.

“Man,” Aya shrugs, “I just write what they tell me. Anyway, the way I see it is this, you might be able to talk to the folk in charge here – I reckon they're the ones that sent for you. See what their story is, right? Or you go straight to the shrine and take your chances with whatever you find there. Naturally, I'd be interested in hearing the full story, but...”

Whatever you do, you mention, it'll need to wait until morning.

“Fine, sleep on it then,” Aya shrugs again, indifferent to the wait, “These folks aren't going anywhere.”

>Decide your next move in the morning
>Visit the manor first thing
>Hike up to the shrine first thing
>Other

>>45443118

>Hike up to the shrine first thing.

We gotta scope it out first, get a general feel of what kind of god we're dealing with.

>>45443118
>Hike up to the shrine first thing

>>45443118
>Visit the manor first thing

>>45443118
>Hike up to the shrine first thing

>>45443118
>Decide your next move in the morning

>>45443118
>Hike up to the shrine first thing

You'll hike up to the shrine in the morning, you decide, as soon as the sun is up.

“Early riser, huh?” Aya says with an approving nod, “No point wasting half the day, that's what my dad always says to me. Of course, he does most of the printing, so he needs to be up even earlier than me to set things in motion, but hey, that's not what we're talking about!”

It's... definitely not. Frankly, you're not sure what to say to that.

“How about sharing a room, huh chief?” Aya suggests with a filthy wink that you merely stare at, even less sure what to say. After a moment of awkward silence, she lets out something like a forced laugh. “Hey, woah, you didn't think I was serious, did you? C'mon, the business isn't that hard up or anything, I was just making a joke.”

Maybe so, you think to yourself, but you can't help but wonder what her reaction would have been if you'd accepted the offer. You overheard, once, some apprentices talked about preferring older men, but still... Shaking off that vaguely disturbing thought, you finish your drink and head to the bar, handing over a gold crown in exchange for a room. Little more than a box with a bed in it, you learn as you arrive, but you've easily slept in worse. After a pile of rotting hay, anything seems like a luxury.

Bedding down for the night, you make sure to keep your weapons close at hand. You've always been a light sleeper in these kinds of places – back at the Nameless Temple, though, you're dead to the world – but it doesn't hurt to be careful. Being smothered to death in your sleep would be quite... inconvenient, after all.

You'll just have to see how things look, you decide with the usual pragmatism, in the morning.

[1/2]

>>45443421

When you wake – no smothering tonight, then – the sun is already peeking through the tiny window at the top of one wall. Yawning and rubbing the stubble forming across your cheeks, making a vague note to shave at some point, you kick back the rough sheets. Rising, strapping on your weapons as soon as you're up, you hurry downstairs to see who's about. Aya mentioned this mysterious stranger getting directions, so the shrine must be reasonably well known around the town. The bartender gives you rough directions and the offer of breakfast, an offer that you take him up on.

Fed and watered, you wait around the bar for a few moments longer to see if Aya is going to show up, but there is no sign of the girl. Hoping that she hasn't rushed off to do anything rash, you step out into the morning light and take a few minutes to get your bearings. You'll be marching into the sun, you figure, and up a fairly steep hill.

Lovely. You can feel your knees protesting already.

It's not as bad as it first looked, thankfully, but there is something that draws your eye. Shielded from the wind, dried into the mud, are a set of footprints. Just one pair, suggesting a lone traveller. A... man, judging by the size, and one wearing heavy boots. Following the trail – they match the directions you were given perfectly – you come out to a clearing, overlooking a steep drop. The trail leads towards the shrine, but then it doubles back – and joins up with a second pair of footsteps, approaching the drop.

Curious.

>Investigate the shrine first
>Take a look over the drop
>Return to town and check at the manor
>Other

>>45443583

Investigate the shrine first.

>>45443583
>Take a look over the drop
Just uh, make sure no one is around to push us before we do so.

Then'
>Investigate the shrine

>>45443583
>Take a look over the drop

>>45443583
>>Take a look over the drop

>>45443583
>Take a look over the drop

>>45443583
>>Take a look over the drop

So one set of footprints approaches the shrine, joins up with a second, and then leaves alone once more. Practically crawling across the soil, peering at every dip and depression as you go, you approach the drop. As you sit back, not yet looking over, you think about the footprints. Together, the two sets approach the yawning drop, and that's when things get... confusing. Signs of a struggle, that's for sure, and then only the heavy boots walk away from the drop. There's no question about it – a crime has been committed here.

Taking a deep breath, you look out over the edge, peering down into the trees below. It's hard to see exactly what's down there, with the thick trees blocking the ground from sight. Still, you're sure you can make out something...

>Please roll a 1D100 awareness check, aiming to beat 30 or 60. I'll take the highest of the first three results.

>>45443583
>Investigate the shrine first
Keep our ears open

Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>45443797

Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>45443797
REV UP THOSE 1s!

File: 1453561547013.jpg (147 KB, 499x642)

147 KB JPG

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>45443797

Rolled 8 (1d100)

>>45443797
Rolling

>>45443818
Nice.

>>45443818
Noice.

>>45443818
Noce.

As you're staring down into that green abyss, a lucky gust of wind catches the trees and stirs them up just enough to reveal what they had, until so recently, been concealing. Grimacing at the sight of it, you realise what you've got ahead of you. Down, lying crumpled on the ground below, is a broken body. Dressed, you notice, in the simple garb of a rustic priest.

You'll need to climb down, putting that spool of rope of yours to good use. As you're making the preparations, you get another look at the folded body below – and something, some flash of white, catches your eye. The dead priest has something clutched in his hand, something that he took to his grave. Now you'll definitely need to check it out. Knotting your rope around a sturdy tree, the thickest you can find, you tie the other end around your waist. Grimacing, bunch up the rope and step over the edge.

Your descent – only once you're half way down do you realise you didn't come up with a plan to climb back up – is surprisingly smooth. You only bash against the cliff a few times, and never hard enough to raise a bruise. Then, before you know it, your feet have returned to solid ground. Covering your nose against the stench of decay, you begin a rough examination of the body. His neck is broken – twisted at an unnatural angle – but that seems to be the main injury. What's more interesting is what the priest holds, scrunched up in his fist. A white handkerchief, with the name “Rokugah” sewn into one corner.

The name – if that is what it is – means nothing to you. Even so, you nod slowly and fold the handkerchief into your pocket. A clue, and no doubt about it. Now you just need to find your way back to the path, and back up to the shrine.

[1/2]

File: Doll.jpg (875 KB, 900x990)

875 KB JPG

>>45444083

Your sense of direction prevails, thankfully, and you manage to find your way back to the town without too much of a delay. From there, you can follow your footsteps back up to the shrine and return the spool of rope to your belt. Like you've always said – never go anywhere without rope.

Now, you think to yourself, if the priest was indeed murdered, that would potentially explain why the local god was angry. If, of course, the local god IS angry – you've not seen any sign of it yet, and that's something that remains unchanged as you take a few careful steps up and into the shrine itself. Nice place, you observe, well maintained. Like everything else in this toy town, in other words.

At first, you take the shrine for empty. Then you see the second body slumped in the corner. An extravagantly dressed woman, with unnaturally long limbs and a placid, grey face. Not a corpse, you realise as you kneel down to take a closer look, but a... a doll. A porcelain doll. As you stare into her still face, some faint sound dances at the edge of your hearing. Holding your breath, you hear... another soft flutter of breathing. Leaning closer to the doll, you feel a soft caress of air on your cheek.

It's breathing – it's alive.

“Stranger,” the doll breathes, “You are not... the priest I know. Where is he?”

>He's dead
>Are you the god of this shrine?
>Are you well? You seem... ill
>Other

>>45444196
>>He's dead
>Are you well? You seem... ill

>>45444196
>He's dead
Show her the handkerchief.

>Are you the god of this shrine?
>Are you well? You seem... ill

>>45444196
>Are you the god of this shrine?
>Are you well? You seem... ill

I found a body at the base of the drop, it looked like a priest. He was holding this handkerchief.

>>45444196
>He's dead

He's dead, you explain, you found his body at the base of a great drop. He was holding this, you add as you offer her the handkerchief, does she recognise it at all? Does it mean anything to her?

With jerky motions, like something stirred from a long period of inactivity, the doll lifts her hands to take the handkerchief. Rubbing it between her long fingers, she shakes her head awkwardly. Not his, you assume, or not something she recognises. Perhaps both.

Next question – is she the god of this shrine? You don't actually know anything about what was supposed to be up here. In fact, you realise, the bartender hadn't mentioned anything about the god either. He could give you directions to the shrine, true, but he hadn't said anything about the god or their sphere of influence. More and more, it seems like there's some lingering silence hanging over this town.

“The god,” the doll states, “Yes. Once.”

Once, you repeat quietly, is she... well? She doesn't look very healthy, as if she was clinging to life with the last desperate traces of her strength.

“There are so few believers,” the doll whispers, “And now there is no one to read the words, to perform the rites. I feel sleep beckoning me, sweet departure from this world. But perhaps... perhaps you can help. Good Wanderer, would you help me? Sit a while, and let me touch you, your thoughts. Your memories of this world, good Wanderer, would you share them with me?”

As she speaks, her trembling voice coloured with some intangible, unknowable accent, the doll reaches up to touch your cheek with one cold, dead hand. You almost jerk away, but then you hold firm. She's dying, you realise, perched on the verge of abandoning this world.

>Allow her to touch you, share the best memories you can
>Allow her to touch you, let your memories come naturally
>Reject her touch, leave her to her fate
>Other

>>45444448

>Allow her to touch you, share the best memories you can

I can't say no to porcelain waifu.

>>45444448
>Allow her to touch you, share the best memories you can

>>45444468
Played alot of Bloodborn?

>>45444448
>>Allow her to touch you, share the best memories you can

>>45444448
>Allow her to touch you, let your memories come naturally.

File: sample-70972a46bbc6e57207(...).jpg (149 KB, 850x1206)

149 KB JPG

>>45444491

Aye.

>>45444448
>>Allow her to touch you, share the best memories you can

“Close your eyes,” the doll whispers as you kneel by her side, letting her cool hands cradle your face, “Good Wanderer...”

As you shut your eyes, you try to focus your mind on all the good things you've seen, the pleasures you've experienced. It makes for a depressingly short list, now that you've actually tried to list them, but you do your best. The first meal you had upon arriving at the Nameless Temple, the meal that broke what seemed like an eternity of starvation and meagre living. Just the feeling of being full, of having new strength flooding into your limbs...

“Ah,” the doll whispers, “Your face... your expressions... Is the world really so sweet, that it makes you smile so?”

Were you smiling, you think absently, you hadn't noticed. Sinking deeper into your memories, you recall the triumph you felt when you defeated another apprentice, a boy who had never known the same desperation you knew. No, you correct yourself with a frown, that's not a good memory. Not something that the doll needs to see. Snapping your eyes open, you pull away from the doll. She follows your recoiling form with eyes that are filled with new energy, awake and alive. Still as pale as a corpse, there is some intangible sign of life about her face as she smiles slowly, as if testing the expression on for size.

“This world, good Wanderer,” she tells you, “Is worth living in. Ah...” pausing here, she reaches up to brush away what looks like a tear. No, not a tear – a shard of solid light, a spell card. She holds it out to you, tipping it into your hands.

>New spell card gained:
>[Doll] Skin of Porcelain
>Good Wanderer, take this gift and engrave it upon your heart. May it protect you always.
>Receive half damage from the next attack you suffer. The other half of the damage is inflicted upon the attacker.

[1/2]

>>45444832

As you're standing once more, still shaken by your journey back through what were supposed to be good memories, the doll holds out her hand to you. Taking it, feeling some small trace of your warmth passing into her, she nods gracefully.

“I was the one who shaped the clay,” she tells you in an exotic murmur, “Their muse, their artist. When my priest stopped saying the words, I could not bless them with shapes and forms. They withered, and so did I.”

Pausing, you repeat her words to yourself. There are no more pots coming out of this town, you ask, because the priest was murdered. Someone, likely someone with a profit in mind, came up here and murdered the priest. But who?

The doll might be awake once again, you think, but this matter is far from over.

>I'll end this here for tonight. Next thread tomorrow, and I'll stick around in case anyone has any questions

>>45444832
That's a nice spell.

>>45444931
That Pilgrim comes to mind.

Thanks for running Moloch.

>>45444931
Thanks for running.

Was Howa an active Wanderer too, but mostly sticks to the Temple and it's archives after she lost her leg?

Can we keep the doll waifu?

>>45445060
No anon, she's a god.

>>45444931

Fun session today, Moloch. See you next time.

>>45445076

Like that's ever stopped anyone ever.

>>45445060
She's the Good Hunter's anon

>>45445034

Howa was active once - she actually lost her leg while serving a writ - but now she rarely leave the Nameless Temple. She does research, sometimes helpful research, and generally handles the paperwork.

>>45445060
>>45445076

Gods can't roam too far from their shrines, unfortunately!

>>45445108
Trains or automobiles a thing yet?

>>45445076
How do you think demi-gods appears?

>>45445130

The train has recently been invented, although there isn't yet a service running. The current Emperor has plans to erect a railroad between the two largest cities in the country, but there is significant resistance to it.

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>>45445140
Magatama's?

>>45445108
Can she still horseback ride? Actually now that I think about it, it does seem difficult.

>>45445167
Just the standard resistance to technological advancement?

>>45445192

Howa CAN ride a horse, but it isn't easy. If she needs to travel, she takes a carriage. It's something of a luxury, since carriages are typically only for the rich, but the Temple was able to provide.

As for the resistance, the potential line would go through several areas of sacred ground. There are also some that see the train as symbolic - man choosing innovation over tradition, technology over the gods. There hasn't been any fighting yet, but the situation is a delicate one.

>>45445253
So how greatly do the gods vary in power? are their hierarchies?

>>45445329

Gods can vary quite a lot in power. The two we've seen so far have been small gods, deities that govern specific aspects of specific locations. At the opposite end of the scale, there are gods that govern universal concepts, but they rarely take overt action. Likewise, Wanderers would be hard pressed to deal with them.

There isn't any organised system of hierarchies, but the Nameless Temple is trying to create one as they catalog the various spirits encountered.

>>45445253
So Tenngaru never had any Christopher Columbus types that tried to explore the oceans past the small islands?

>>45445402

There have been some attempts, but no ship has ever returned past a certain point. It's generally seen as a hopeless pursuit, but there will always be people to try.

Most ships stick close to the shore, to serve as fishing vessels.

>>45445381
Is there a story reason as for why we are only getting gods' spellcards now? It is odd since the character has been a wanderer for a while.

>>45445487

There is a story reason, which should explain the absence of any older spell cards. I hope to introduce it over time, but I'll post the short version under spoiler tags.

Essentially, Ira and Howa were assigned to take out a particularly powerful god. They were successful, but it ripped out a chunk of Ira's power and took Howa's leg. They don't like to talk about it much these days.