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/qst/ - Quests

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"Thou shalt handst over the Pipe for shall deliver it to the Crimson Harvst!" This horned, flying banana seems trustworthy! But would would the Not-not thing had a hand in this? After carefully measuring the risks, you...

>hand him over the Pat-pat Pipe.
>obliterate the banana.
>wake up.
What a terrible nightmare. I wish I could eat some delicious squids instead. Actually, I am feeling hungry.

[x] wake up
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You feel a sharp pain in your left hand.
What is happening?!
Leedah! LEEDAH
[x]Look at left hand
Remove hand
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What is this?

This might be the only quest worth playing right now.
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You try not to think about it, and after some time it gets easy to bear. It takes some strength to lift your head because of those big horns of yours; after all they never stopped growing; and it has been some time. Without lifting your head yet you glance from the corner of your eye at the nearby black curtain you have for a door, engraved with white symbols of your herd and just enjoy the sounds of tiny screams and voices that come trough. They gives you that tiny spec of will power you lacked to finally rise your head, but you forget the hindsight to lower your head a bit and your neck is painfully knocked back when your horns get stuck above the door. Again.
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After catching your breath you look at your left hand and the odd contraption surrounding your hand behind your fingers; it's bleeding a little, but that happens sometimes. You are used to it.

And this is not a good time to suffer either! You look outside, your eyes taking their time to take on all the light.
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It seems just another happy day in the herd.

>Wander around the fields and hum. This is almost all it takes for a happy day, along with your “tiny duty”.
>Check the main hall. You don’t smoke or drink anymore, but just hearing them complain is amusing enough.
>Go near the cave entrance. You like to stare at the drawings on that gargantuan door, it’s like you find something new in it every day.
It's time for a happy egg! The best way to start the day.

[x]Wander around the fields and hum. This is almost all it takes for a happy day, along with your “tiny duty”.

[x]Go near the cave entrance.
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You feel the grass under your feet and take another step; then another. You watch the haremhorns working as you walk by.

As you stare at them you notice two black eyes looking at you from under two white and short horns without sharp tips, and a faint smile under them until the haremhorn nods and keeps on working.

You know it took her some strength; after all haremhorns love hugging, cuddling and caressing hornmothers, and even trough at this point almost all of them know you don’t enjoy it as much anymore the young ones still ambush you to hug you and slowly comb your hair even if you don’t need it, and even when another just did the same they pretend not to notice and keep up; just because they want to make you feel nice.
Haremhorns are the caretakers of the herd.

They spend their days making everything look prettier, cooking, pampering the hornmothers, overseeing the musclehorns, making toys for the smallhorns, clothes, and feeding everyone else in the herd.

They have an internal pecking order; the low-ranked deal with the basics of the herd, while the high-ranked, the haremhorn teachers, devote themselves to look after the smallhorns and raise them in the nursery.

They are always naked, their white bodies soft as eggs, and their horns are short and not very hard.

And they love love adorning the hornmothers, giving them hair combs and massages and following their every command almost instantly.

Finally, they rarely ever talk, and when they do so is in short whispers; that’s reserved to hornmothers. They don't live long, as most as half as a hornmother; you've seen haremhorns come and go for a long, very long time now, it makes you a bit dizzy to think about it.

From the corner of your black eye you notice a haremhorn smile unphased as she holds a smallhorn near her face, as this one touches her lips with her very tiny hands, grabs her eyebrows, pokes one of her eyes and almost clings on her hair.

The haremhorn flinches to teach him that it hurts, but only barely, and the smallhorn stops and instead bites her nose.

And even from this distance you can notice her giggling.
Haremhorns playing with smallhorns is a sight that no hornmother could ever get tired of. It was good to be alive this long. Let's lay that egg and make even more smallhorns.
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Without noticing you are already in front of the thick, gargantuan door that limits the cave; except for the few secret maze-tunnels for emergency evacuation (and hornmother secret food stashing, of wish you are not innocent) it’s the only way in, and while it takes a lot of musclehorns to move they take it as a warm up for their hunting trips. It was built in a time of struggle with another herd, to prevent nightly ambushes over near resources; it gave your herd the upper hand in the battle. Eventually they moved out, and your haremhorns painted it day and night to make the majestic musclehorns in the piece of wood you are standing in front of.

You close your eyes and let your mind wander; your trance is quickly interrupted by a powerful roar behind you. This is going to be fun, you think to yourself as you slowly walk to a group of musclehorns, two of which are wrestling wildly.

When one finally hits the floor (after flying for a few seconds) the rest roar joyfully satisfied, even the one who just got smashed howls gladly (if you can call it that). Then one stomps; then another one stomps; then squids start flying out of nowhere, with musclehorns mercilessly stomping on a puddle of mud. They stop upon noticing a squid-headed haremhorn with her arms crossed, the squid slowly revealing her frowning eyes and neutral, bored lips.

It isn’t long before the musclehorns are crouching in a corner facing the wall.
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Musclehorns are the workhorses, hunters, and protectors of the herd.

They usually reach an eight of six and a half feet and can crush even rocks (the hard kind) if enraged enough. They are the most passive and obedient of the castes of the herd. They work under the direction of the haremhorns, lack autonomy and rather be in large groups. Big, dangerous, powerful and actually very smart, the become shy and eager to please in the presence of a haremhorn. Sometimes they go into a blood frenzy and become wild living wrecking balls, but their behavior is mostly silent and reserved. They live as much as haremhorns do.

A musclehorn stares at you and you can feel him shrivel, but you try to smile at him to make it easier; it doesn’t work.

You’ve been told this not too many times, but enough to believe that you actually look quite intimidating. You get easily tired lately, but you are still as strong as a haremhorn when you want to.

The sound of a brush going back and forth brings back your senses and you stare at the musclehorn kneeling, her face twitching as the frowning haremhorn washes his back without saving on strength; and you can tell the musclehorn enjoys every passing second.

And then even more. <3
Go rub the abs of one of the musclehorns
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You are now standing near the entrance of the main hall of the cave and even from here you can hear the angry retorts. Your big horns lean out from behind the big door, and when your eyes do so you can’t help but grin at the hornmother dancing over the table at another hornmother that’s almost screaming at her; you wonder if they hear each other. The other hornmothers are either quietly eating, playing cards among themselves or arguing as usual until the dancing hornmother kicks one of the cards; it slowly flies around the hall with everyone’s eye stuck at it, and when it hits the floor and the hornmothers slowly look at each there’s no more quiet eating or playing. Except for that quiet hornmother on the corner munching on a carrot.

You sit in front of her, not minding the pandemonium; you don’t feel hungry now, lately you don’t feel very hungry at all, but just watching her eat makes you feel you are witnessing a beautiful flower slowly growing. It’s a bit hard since you have to kneel your head a little and your neck tenses; after all you are as tall as a musclehorn, and that’s almost twice as tall as the average hornmother.

The quiet hornmother finally notices you; and then notices the chunk of carrot slowly falling from the corner of her mouth, only too late as it bounces from her hand into anywhere else. She then smiles at you. “Old Leader!”. You retort with a smile of your own; she quickly fumbles trough her clothes, and puts some cards on the table. “Old Leader, wanna play?” she asks in the middle of splitting the cards, and this kind of attitude make you look down to hide that smile from side to side that’s hurting the corners of your mouth.
[x] Pat her head
[x] Play some cards

The apostle used to come and play cards like this. It would be nice if we lived long enough to see her visit again some day...
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Hornmothers are the egg-laying caste of the herd. They produce no milk and develop no breasts, and their black, majestic horns never stop growing as your old neck likes to remind you. You are of them.

They always wear warm, thick, dark robes created by the lower-ranked haremhorns. They love laying happy eggs, eating, smoking, napping and being groomed by the haremhorns. Most of them are childish, quick to complain and like to lie; and giving the haremhorns a hard time is almost their main entertainment, as they tend to hide extra food on secret stashes to eat whenever they feel like it and most of the times too much of it. Even trough they have the longest lifespan in the herd you have already seen buried most of your fellow smallhorns. It makes you feel a bit sad.

You quickly notice you are losing at the game the cakeist taught the hornmothers, before he was ripped apart and eaten by a haremhorn who caught him hiding smallhorns in a bag to start his own farm. No, not a musclehorn. A haremhorn.

The power of love can be a gruesome thing, and you wonder what would you do if a situation as such arised as the quiet hornmother seals the game and you are reminded of the harsh fact that you may be growing a bit duller by each passing morning.

It doesn’t scare you much; ending your days like this seems very far from a tragic fate. You will return to the earth; and from there you will still be a part of the herd, helping with carrots and medical herbs.

Noticing the scorning look from the hornmother in front of you bring you back to this nice, wet realm. “Old Leader, it’s not fun if you don’t play too!”. “Alright”, you retort, with your deep, powerful voice. She blinks, and a few moments after she handed your cards you completely mop the floor with her. You notice her open mouth turn briefly into a smile, and she’s still pouting for a rematch as you leave.

You wonder what kind of face would a musclehorn put if you rubbed her tummy, and make a mental note to try it out the next time you stumple upon one.
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Choices coming soon! Im aware, don't you worry. =w=

You himehorns. All of you; one of many herds of himehorns, a species of omnivorous, bipedal, parthenogenetic, egg-laying, breast-feeding horned mammals smelling faintly of wet earth and dried leaves and sharing the same hair style, with three biological castes; the last of the lost races of the North, himehorns survived both the coming of the Vampire and the Templar extermination campaigns.

You have ruled the surface a long, long time ago, but have been pushed underground in order to survive, and today your whole race clings to a meager existence under the protection of the Southern Witch-Apostle and the Pact between Himehorns and Templars because of the existence of Vampires; should the Vampire succeed the Pact will be broken, the Apostle will depart and the domain will resume it’s collapse with nothing to save you from the Vampires… but should the Templars succeed their extermination campaigns will resume, for it seems their Witch has commanded them, long ago, to clean their Garden; and since that seems to be your world you’d rather have it a little dirty.

You wonder about something a smallhorn pointed out while in one of the exaggerated stories you love to make up for them; if the battle on the surface ended, and the Templars won, or if the Vampires won… Each himehorn herd is like a separate world, hardly ever communicating with each other for reasons other than pacts or wars; more herds, less resources.

If the war ended today, if the outside world was ravaged, when would we notice?
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Suddenly you realize you might be late for your “tiny duty” as you like to call it, and without further thought you head for the Leader’s den, where the herd records are kept. Upon lifting on the curtain something like fifteen or so tiny head turn in unison at you and follow you with black tiny eyes; you walk past the Leader, who’s quietly reading the herd records while sipping on something. You draw a book from the wall and sit on the floor in front of the smallhorns, and catch a glimpse from the Leader before she hastily turns back to her records again. She looks like every other hornmother except for a tiny scar in her left cheeck and her overall serious demeanor, a rare trait among them.

You open the book; it’s pages are all white. It doesn’t matter. You clear your throat and say deep and a bit loudly to the smallhorns “So! Where were we?”. They start shouting in unison, always trying to change the story to their own convenience and then arguing among themselves, when the sound gets too strong you clear your throat again and pretend to check on the book until you let a firm, fast “hmm!”. Then the smallhorns close in.

>We left Leaderhorn in the entrance of the Big Bad Goldenhair! With her big wings and strong claws!
>Leaderhorn was about to encounter the Bully Leadernohorn! With all of her strange magical devices!
>The Southern Witch Apostle has summoned Leaderhorn again! What could it be?

>We left Leaderhorn in the entrance of the Big Bad Goldhair! With her big wings and strong claws!
Oh, a typo.
[x] We left Leaderhorn in the entrance of the Big Bad Goldenhair! With her big wings and strong claws!

A goldenhair is no match for a leader! P-probably! But be careful, leedah...
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“It’s raining.” “Whats rain?” asks one of the smallhorns. “It’s like you are showering all the time.” you reply, pointing at the roof, their eyes follow but quickly go back to you. “It’s cold and foggy.” “Whats foggy?” “It’s like when a hornmother smokes, or when a haremhorn drops hot water on a musclehorns back. It’s hard to see!” the smallhorns nod; some pretend to understand and you know it. “The Big Bad Goldenhair is hard to see, but she’s coming! Then she’s easy to see! She’s right in front of you! She's big, and her wings are TOO big!” You spread your arms. “What’s it doing? asks a smallhorn. “Just looking at Leaderhorn.” “We shud figh den!” The smallhorns start talking all at the same time, until the pressure of the situation sets in and they take turns to talk, each giving their opinion, being interrumpted, criticized and called stupid without further reasoning. One of them starts jumping and shouting until the attention turns to him. “We hav the baahk soord! Fwhom the twhemplar!” “But the Big Bwad Gwoldenir is big, and bad!” Silence sets in, and the smallhorns that were standing sit down too. “We whait.” Everyone nods. Well, most of them.

This is why you tell them stories, after all. Reason is the tool you never waste time on sharpening.

>The Big Bad Goldenhair has a proposition for Leaderhorn.
>The Big Bad Goldenhair attacks! Leaderhorn blocks with her sword, but barely!
>More wings! More big, and more bad! Leaderhorn is surrounded! What is going on?!
>More wings! More big, and more bad! Leaderhorn is surrounded! What is going on?!
[x]More wings! More big, and more bad! Leaderhorn is surrounded! What is going on?!

Let's try scaring them a little. Just to test them. Maybe there's a future leader amongst them.
"What do we do now?!" the smallhorns panic as you giggle, since just standing in front of a goldenhair is not usually the smartest choice that can be made.

Silence sets in, again, and before you notice they are sitting in a circle, leaving you out of it; from the corner of your eye you notice Leader staring at them, at you, and then smirking; you shrug.

Whispers and maybe some whisper shouting come from the circle until finally, one of the smallhorns turns at you; "We hit em with our soord." They are small, after all; soon they will learn most things can be dealt with without slicing anybody open in the way. As for right now, Leaderhorn defeats the goldenhairs in an epic battle leaving the Big Bad Goldenhair to escape, wounded, swearing revenge, as the smallhorns cheer.
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"Smallhorn” is a generic term for himehorn younglings, wheter they are haremhorns or musclehorns can’t be know until they grow a little, since hornmothers take more time to hatch.

They are very small, not very very small but very indeed, and haremhorns have a sixth sense when it comes to not stepping on them, whereas hornmothers are usually very careful and musclehorns are usually not allowed near them. They learn and grow very fast.

Smallhorns are carefully evaluated by the haremhorns in order to look after the genetics of the herd, and those deem as defectives are either culled or traded with foreigners for cake.

Defective smallhorns are highly unpredictable, and can be of almost any way you could imagine; very long feet, horn coming out of forehead, permanent blood-rage in the case of musclehorns, no bones in one arm, be too tall, have more than two eyes in the head…
Suddenly, gravity vanishes. Leader is oblivious and keeps on reading the records as the smallhorns slowly bounce from the walls and the roof, still cheering. You sigh and draw your left hand into your robe as a passing smallhorn bites your ear and clings to it, then you press the central wire of the off device in your left hand; it instantly sends a bolt of pain trough your arm.

The smallhorns are now sitting in front of you, staring intently. “Is Odd Leedah back?” You look at her and smile. “I think so!”. You trace your trail of thought back to the story, and after some silent muttering and nodding you close the book.

The disappointed glare of the smallhorns take little time to notice the haremhorn behind them, and before you notice you are left alone with the Leader; she then turns to you. “You did know Im writing everything in, right?” she states. She’s wears a serious demeanor most of the time, but this time you enjoy her faint smile as silence sets back in and you are flooded with thoughts. But you are interrupted again. “Is it getting worst?”

You ponder upon it with your mouth open for a short while. “I don't think so,Leader! How long was I gone?” “Not much. Don’t worry.” You sigh slowly, feeling a little defeated.

You are the only Leader to ever abdicate at least in this herd, at least in every heard you ever herd of. Leaders are Leaders until they die or, as it turns out, until their imagination starts to get the best of them and drifts them away from reality on a whim without further warning. You are used to it now and even came up with a counter measure; your faithful, practical self stabbing device that you made yourself (with the help of seven haremhorns, a musclehorn, and your ex-cakeist). It’s a strange looking contraption embedded to the palm of your left hand, triggered by pushing a small wire in the center. It hurts a lot.
(You can use the >Pathfinder at any time. Time still flows on as you sleep and you can’t move even if you do on so while dreaming. It becomes less effective with each consecutive use, since your hand goes numb.)
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You notice a firm warm in your hand as you are about to stand; Leader isn’t looking at you.

The two of you stay like that in silence for a while. No words, no awkwardness, no further reason or explanation; the herd manages to be happy without worrying about little details and what ifs, and that is one of many reasons you are so deeply in love with it.

Suddenly a smallhorn goes through the curtain.

“Leedah! Cam quick! A haremhorn looks concerned at the Leader from the door who regains her serious demeanor as she rises. You stand too, and you both go. And outside the den, you witness a powerful light going behind the front door.
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The loud bangs and clashing sounds quickly gathered most of the herd. With a quick clance you notice the musclehorns already going in front of everyone. “When would I notice?”, you wonder, and go deaf as the pretty musclehorns in the big door you requested so long ago are blown to pieces by a dense, gray fog filled with shadows.

And then you notice them. White hair and sturdy black armor, some donning white cloaks, black weapons and white weapons. It seems the smallhorns won't have to worry about the Big Bad Goldenhair anymore.

The Vampires are no more.

You hear a calm, sheating sound and turn your gaze to Leader, who seems unaware of the black metal sticking from her chest to the floor, or of the hooded figures behind her. Panic and screams ensue. She then looks at you, a sad glimmer on her face while left and right musclehorns jump howling from seemingly anywhere straight to the door. It becomes hard to understand what’s going on.

>”Take the smallhorns and RUN!”
>"FIGHT! Use the fog!"
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[x]”Take the smallhorns and RUN!”

It's our only hope.
[x]”Take the smallhorns and RUN!”

Musclehorns stay behind while hornmothers and haremhorns grab as many smallhorns as they can and make for the nearest cave; after all, they are made to stand and deliver. You take a final glance at Leader who's still awake and sad and make a desperate run while a musclehorn right behind you is split in half; time almost freezes and you glance trough him at the Templar... her eyes are red and half her face is missing as blood drips from her face. She hasn't noticed the hornmother shaking on the floor next to her. All around you, chaos.

>Grab her and make a run for it.
>Leave her; it's too risky.
[ x ]Grab her and make a run for it.
Nobody gets left behind.
Grab her,
The herd will need hornmothers most of all if it survives this.
>[X] "Leader...?"
Shit, I missed the last OP post. Changing vote to:

>Grab her and make a run for it.
[x] grab her and run

We'll remember your smell, nohorn!! You better watch your eggs!!
You quickly lung at her feeling your old bones hurt and once next to her scream for her to rise; the hornmother keeps on shaking, her hands tightly covering her head. You try to lift her up, you do have haremhorn's strenght after all; you also are pretty old, but that doesn't stop you. And with the hornmother in your arms and screams all around, you turn for a second just to see the black blade just above your forehead as you feel a powerful bite in your left arm.

You breath hard and fast; in front of you the floor quickly dissapear before your eyes as a musclehorn carries you trough the tunnels. From the corner of your eye you notice Leader and some hornmothers and haremhorns carrying smallhorns in their arms as fast as they can. "LET ME DOWN!, LET ME DOWN!" you howl, and the musclehorn quickly obeys; you are now running along Leader, turning on a dark corner. Before you even ask she's already talking to you as she quickly catches up her breath: "The Templars! They made it trough! The nursery... the nursery!" You recall Leader being stabbed in the back. And briefly clench your left hand as you run.
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Ha! I knew anonhorn would forget the pathfinder!

>Without noticing you are already in front of the thick, gargantuan door that limits the cave; except for the few secret maze-tunnels for emergency evacuation.

There was no way the Templars could ambush the Leader; we always expect such things, and make preparations accordingly just for the peace of mind.

Quest is over for the day! I have herdwork to tackle on and smallhorns to pat and bully tenderly. As for anonhorn, I'l let you name the quest!

>The Leaderhorn Quest
>The Broken Pact Quest
>The Old Leader Quest
>Write in! I'd like to see what you come up with!
Darn it, I knew I should have done that earlier.

>The Old Leader Quest
Wait, is it too late to use the pathfinder now?
>The Old Leader Quest

Herdquests are so comfy.
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That was too intense!
Thanks for running, haremhorn!
There is a reason why there's no point for it now. You'l figure it out!

Thank you! I learned from the greatest cakewitch! She can make me laugh and shiver a lot.


So be it! From now on, Im running the Old Leader's Quest.

I hope anonhorns had fun! I did. =w=
>A Himehorn-Enclave is getting bullied my Templars

Is this thread being archived?
No. That only happens when it hits the autosage limit.
I meant on sup/tg/
Haven't seen it.
Greatest Cakewitch took care of it.

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