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>>306556

>>306556

Welcome to RE: Animated round 8. For those dropping in for the first time, welcome to the tales of Lee Townsend, a recently re-animated skeletal bard on a quest to do some good and tie up some loose ends in his inexplicably extended time on earth.

The backlog can be found here:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=re%3A+animated

And all announcements for the quest are posted to my twitter:
https://twitter.com/bananon_QM

>>306556
>> [] Look for Father Michael at the inn
>> [] Talk to your recently acquired companion, Lucy
Prep her for meeting the Father

>>306556
>[] Head straight for the courthouse

>>306556
> [] Look for Father Michael at the inn

>> [] Look for Father Michael at the inn
>> [] Talk to your recently acquired companion, Lucy

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>>306594

You are Lee: bard, lover, fighter, more recently numbered among the walking dead, and you fear that the present situation at the courthouse may be entirely you and your companions’ doing. After all, it’s not every day that an entire bandit stronghold is toppled to the ground and the majority of its members are hand-delivered to a town’s doorstep. Now it seems everyone is curious as to how exactly this will turn out.

“Well, that’s probably something that’s going to require our attention…” you confirm to your silent compatriot. “However, before any of that, I’d imagine a bit of breakfast would do you well, and my companions will be wanting to hear of my return.”

She offers a small nod in return, her eyes lingering on the courthouse in a very noticeable way until a building completely obscures her view.

“No need to worry,” you assure her, as you pull the cart in front of The Grizzled Mare, and begin offloading the oxen. “I’ve high hopes that things will turn out for the best before all is said and done.”

“With broken necks and crow-pecked eyes, most likely,” she comments, accepting your hand as you help her down from her seat. “And that’s assuming the townsfolk don’t turn it all into a circus.”

“Well, I imagine if Father Michael has anything to say about it, the proceedings will be as tame as is permissible.”

“You travel with a priest?”

“A follower of the god of light,” you confirm, “his two compatriots, a young Arachne, and- Ah, there’s Galblassa now!”

With a renewed vigor you lightly step through the entryway and toward the backmost table, where your large friend can be easily seen working away at his morning meal. There’s a pause as your friend catches sight of him, a moment of hesitance, but she’s soon following behind you and keeping pace.

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>>307274

“Good morning, Gal!” you greet warmly.

“Good to see you made it back in one piece,” Gal grumbles between bites, spearing a plump sausage before he fully turns his focus back to the two of you. “So who’s the runt?”

“I’m not-“

“An unlikely compatriot I stumbled upon at the stronghold last evening,” you say, cutting off the indignant elf. “And one willing to assist us in our travels to the baron’s estate.”

“Well, I ain’t one to judge,” Gal says with a shrug and through a mouth half full of bread. “So long as she keeps her knives pointed the right way and her mitts off what’s not hers. Michael’ll see to the rest.”

“Ah right,” you say, remembering the matter outside. “Where exactly is our traveling Father at this fine hour?”

“Over at the courthouse taking confessions,” Gal grunts, seemingly not too pleased with this whole turn of events. “He’s also a witness.”

“They didn’t need your testimonial as well?”

“Ha!” Galblassa snorts into his ale. “All I did was plug the runners with some arrows, not like I’ve got much to tell. Also, I’d prefer not to get too close to a courthouse of any kind, let alone one run by humans. It’s a pretty easy way to wind up as a belt!”

After a long chuckle, Gal then drains the rest of his tankard, licking his lips clean with relish before setting his mug down with a sigh.

“Anyway, if you’re planning on getting involved, Lee, I’d recommend you book it. They’ll be handing out sentences before too much longer.”

“Will do, so long as you don’t mind watching the cart in my stead.”

“I take it you found what you were looking for, then,” he says, standing up from his seat.

“Well, you could certainly say that…”

> What to do?
> [] Go to the courthouse
> [] Let Father Michael handle things
> [] Other

>>307284
>> [] Go to the courthouse
may as well see this through ot the conclusion

>>307284
>> [] Go to the courthouse

>>307284
>[] Go to the courthouse

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>>307284
>>307307
>>307373
>>307543

“Holy mother, of- You two weren’t kidding about what all they had in there,” Galblassa says, claws experimentally raking across a silk bundle.

“I mean we did tell you,” you point out.

“Hearing’s one thing, but seeing… What a man could do with this sort of money….” As though realizing his own growing obsession, Gal physically pulls himself away, turning his eyes back to you. “Of course, it ain’t ours to sell.”
“Whose is it then?” Lucy inquires.

“The kid’s,” he says firmly, perhaps as much for himself as for Lucy. “Every last stitch of it and probably a lot of this gold as well. Don’t think the bandits are gonna live long enough to otherwise pay this debt.”

“Well, only one way to find out,” you say, but as you reach for Lucy’s hand, you find that she’s already taken a seat in the stables.

“No offense, Lee, but I really don’t think I should be getting close to those proceedings. Present attire not withstanding-” She plucks on her black leathers. “It only takes one off accusation, and I might end up swinging with the rest of them. I’ll help lizard-boy here, guard the cart.”

“Very well then. Behave you two,” you say, wheeling about on your heels and beginning the march toward the courthouse. “If anything happens, you know where to find me.”

--

Through clear streets and well-kempt cobbles, you quickly make your way to the thick of things, the end of seemingly every alleyway and the courtyard beyond stuffed with bodies both young and old, waiting on a decision.

> How do you get through the unruly masses?

>>307573
Yell loudly that you are a witness here to speak

>>307573
"Stand aside, please!"
Magically enhance our voice to be louder, and enhance our bones to muscle our way through.
Hopefully without hurting anyone.

Sing a catchy and appropriate tune about the gallows and needing to get through, this is our shtick, and we need to stick to it

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>>307573
>>307607
>>307691

“Pardon me!” you say in a loud voice, as you begin trying to muscle your way through the throng. “Terribly sorry, but I’m a witness here to speak! Pardon! Excuse- Excuse me!”

It’s like trying to part waves of mud, people accidentally shoving one another and you, jabbing your armor and rattling your helm. You make it about half of the way to the courthouse, before you find an unoccupied pocket, at which point you’ve had well and truly enough.

“ATTENTION PEOPLE!” your supernaturally enhanced voice booms. “I AM A KEY WITNESS FOR THIS TRIAL! PLEASE CLEAR THE WAY TO THE COURTHOUSE!”

Suddenly, all eyes are on you, the crowd momentarily still. Of course, whispers soon break into murmurs, murmurs into loud discussion, but in the end, your desire is granted and the sluggish waves begin to part themselves, forming an avenue large enough for you to walk abreast to the two guards by the entryway.

“And you are?” questions one of the guards, not yet moving to disbar your way.

“Lee Townsend. My compatriots and I brought these men in yesterday.”

“In you go, then,” says the other, and with that, both pairs of glaives are removed and the doors swing open just long enough for you to zip inside.

The difference is so profound, it’s almost jarring, from the thunderous noise of the crowd outside to the almost complete silence within. Only the sound of shifting postures and rattling chains echo through the mostly empty hall, the noise of prisoners looking back at the new entrant to their trial. Many seemingly recognize you, and those are the quickest to avert their eyes in fear. Seems you may have left a lasting impression on them.

“Welcome,” says the man at the head of the court, the one who had greeted you the night you had arrived. “Now, if you would have a seat, we will continue with the proceedings.” With little else to contribute as yet, you take to a nearby pew and wait, allowing the grim-faced man to resume. “Now, then, to reiterate, the crimes that have been brought before this assembly are unarguably heinous. Theft, murder, tax evasion, and aiding and abetting known slavers in their trade. For such crimes, the kingdom’s overarching laws would have you decapitated in a public square, your bodies left to rot in the open fields for the wild beasts to scatter your remains.”

A moment of silence hangs in the air before the man continues.

“However, in cases where a local township should deem it both necessary and just, exceptions may be made. And it is in this case, as determined by this small council in its just authority, that death alone is not sufficient to pay for the gravity of your crimes.” You can practically feel the intake of breath, hear the beginnings of whimpered begging. “A moment’s pain is not enough to undo the misery you have caused your fellow man, nor to soothe the temper of the gods.”

-cont

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>>308129

“So instead, you will work,” he concludes. “All day, every day, you will atone for your sins in the fields and forests at the command of a work supervisor, one who will be designated by this council and whose commands you will obey without question lest your sentence be commuted. Should any of the gathered assembly find fault with this verdict, let them speak now or forever hold their peace….” Once again, silence reigns. “Then the motion is hereby passed. Bailiff, get them out of my sight.”

With a chorus of scuffing wood and rattling chains, the prisoners are moved to stand, a mixture of expressions, from grimly resigned to tearfully thankful playing across their features as they are lead away. Father Michael waits until they have fully passed from the area, only the faintest trace of their footsteps remaining before he takes his leave of the bench and moves to greet you.

“Well, look who finally made it back!” he says, roughly patting your shoulder. “And more or less in one piece at that!”

“Seems I was fortunate in that regard, despite some minor incidents…”

“Ah, we can talk about that later unless it’s terribly important,” Michael says. “Still gotta try the rat bastards what lead the operation, after all.”

You had noticed a distinct lack of the leadership’s faces among the assembled defendants. Guess that explains it.

“Feel free to weigh in with me and the other lads as we try to sort that out.”

“How’s the discussion gone thus far?” you queery.

“Everythin’ from havin’ ‘em eaten by fire ants to community service, granted the fire ant committee’s gaining momentum.”

> What do you suggest?
> [] Kill them
> [] Spare them (and have them do what?)
> [] Other

>>308192
>> [] Spare them (and have them do what?)
Make them work the fields and do construction or whatever simple tasks need be done around town
Then find the mother arachne and get her to make the call

>>308192
>> [] Other
Have them testify against the people they were working for (who hired Lucy to destroy the evidence), as well as work. Maybe produce gunpowder so that the town can become a place where guns can be bought, becoming a hotbed of trade and assassins from the Alchemist Guild.

>>308301
>>308210
>>308192

Give me 4d100 for your attempts to convince the council. Also, stipulate whether you want to do so in the form of a song.

Rolled 100, 87, 99, 38 = 324 (4d100)

>>308390
Of course in song

>>308192
> [] Other
Ive got a suggestion:
We let the Arachne's mother decide what the punishment will be.

Rolled 83, 28, 77, 60 = 248 (4d100)

>>308418
Uh, nd rolling I guess

Rolled 73, 39, 62, 37 = 211 (4d100)

>>308390
Do it in song. We're a bard with nothing left to lose. Why, we've even lost our silver tongue!

>>308410
>>308418
>>308424
>>308425

Fair warning, this may take a minute, especially if you want to lump convincing the bandit leadership in with it.

>>308539
We understand; asking you to come up with songs and rhyming verse on the spot is asking for a lot, and we know you need time.

>>308539
Take your time man

>>308192
>> [] Spare them (and have them do what?)
Make them dig a new set of sewers.

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>>308192
>>308425
>>308424
>>308410

Also needed dinner.

--

A few moments later, judge and jury have both been shepherded into a side room, everyone sitting around a big table as deliberations continue.

“Do we really want to risk imprisoning a mage?” a man by the name of William asks, a bald faced fellow with a huge mustache. “There are so many ways it can go wrong. So many extra precautions we have to take.”

“I’m telling you. Fire. Ants,” emphasizes a stocky woman in her mid-30s. “It’s a miserable way to die for a miserable lot, and it saves us the trouble.”

“It’s barbaric is what it is!” cries a younger member of the board. “Don’t make right anything they set wrong.”

“Honestly, I’d appeal to fresh voices on the matter,” the judge says, pointing to you. “Tell me, sir, as one of the ones who brought these men in, what do you think should be done with them?”

“Well,” you say. “It appears to me
This isn’t a question of legality
Rather, it should be plain to see
Our best appeal’s to common decency.”

“Is he-“ begins the judge.

“Ah, just let him keep goin’,” Michael says. “Helps him think.”

“An eye for an eye
Only doubles the loss
We teach this to children
Try to get it across

“That we’re all bound together
In fair and foul weather
That no man’s an island
Cut loose from the tether

“So in light of all this,
I ask who are we
To look upon suffering
And declare it must be
Only a preamble
A window to tragedy
For death is just that,
No matter whose it may be”

A man speaks up.

“Now see here! Poems are all well and good-“

“But interrupting me isn’t,
You really should-

“Just listen.

That’s it.
The only real key
For I’ve more ‘tween my ears
Than this ongoing melody.”

“The mage we have captured
Her man on the right
They’ve more left to give
Than a hangman’s last fight”

“Gunpowder for one
They were making it there
Down in the dark
Of their underground lair”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Now this is mysterious,
Are you still interrupting,
Or am I delirious!?

“But yes, flash powder,
They have the knack
They also have knowledge
Through which we can track
To every fell corner
And every dank crack
Their kindred and kind
Other rogues in the black

“That is, of course,
Only if they’re alive
Kill them now people
And that chance won’t survive.”

-Cont

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>>309038

“So, now I leave it for you to decide,” you finish, breaking off from your impromptu song. “Much like their henchmen, these people have more to offer with their heads still firmly intact than if they were instead riddled with fire ants. You can become one of only two places in the world manufacturing flash powder and a critical source of information in doing away with an underground network, or you can feed an invasive species in the public square for a few hours.”

It doesn’t take long after for people to come to their decision, even the man you had been verbally jousting with. Unanimously, they vote for a work program.

“But just because we’ve voted for it, it doesn’t mean they’ll agree,” the judge (a man by the name of Travis Mayberry) notes. “If you can secure their earnest cooperation, however. That will close matters.”

> Alright, so writing this whole thing out in verse would take way too long.
> What do you say to convince the leadership to cooperate?

>>309046
The obvious reason to agree, of course, is that they get to live.
Also, wouldn't they like some fiery justice to come down on the heads of the people that sold them out?

We know that Lucy was hired by someone to destroy all evidence linking her employer to the bandits.
But there's no way that their employer could have known that we were busting up the bandit gang, got together Lucy's group, and had them go to the hideout in the time that they had.
So they must have been planning to backstab the bandit group well before we came onto the scene.

So, live and get to see someone else pay a terrible price?
Or end up being food for fire ants in the town square.

Oh, and we should really try to get them to confess their sins and turn over a new leaf.
Take off our helmet so that they can see we're really just bones and blue fiery eyes.
"Look, I know that you've heard all the preaching of the priests, and of the good Father here, but take it from me, who actually went to the other side: start your good works now.
"I'll be the first to admit that I was an adventuring wastrel who took more joy in wooing barmaids to bed than to donating money to the poor. Even I got a nice afterlife, all silver light and feeling rested.
"You've still got some life left in you, and you'll be going beyond the Veil eventually. Don't waste this chance to get an ending better than one of the ones filled with fire."

>>309122
>>309046

Not that this is a bad idea by any means, but did anyone else want to offer input? I usually wait for a couple of responses to proceed.

>>309245
Maybe the others aren't back yet?

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>>309250
>>309245
>>309046

I'll probably just give it until tomorrow, and try to kick off around the same time. Seems to be our normal operating procedure at this point. Apologies for delays today. Just the usual hassles adding up in unfortunate ways.

>>309259
No problem, bananon.

>>309046
As far as I can see, its a choice between this, and a guaranteed death sentence. The mage at least is simply too dangerous to keep around, unless they want to go through with breaking her hands and removing her tongue so she cant cast. Conversely, shes also the one who gets off best in this case, since at least she'll be able to continue her research, probably for free,even if she wont make any money for it.
Not sure what the others would be convinced by. Maybe some research is in order.

>>309376
>>309122

I am alive and awake and working on the next post.

>>310566
Awaiting with bated breath, bananon.

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>>309046

“I’ll see what I can do on the matter,” you promise. “Now, if you could kindly point me to an interrogation room where I could isolate each person, that would be best.”

“Certainly,” Judge Travis agrees. “We simply need you to identify whomever you would first like to speak with and we’ll have them moved there immediately.”

“The mage,” you answer without delay. “I’ll have the best idea of how to persuade her of the need for cooperation. The others can wait.”

--

A few moments later, a guard arrives to walk you back through the prison block. Mostly comprised of empty cells at this point, you still manage to catch the eyes of the remaining leadership on your way through, the man simply closing his eyes as he rests his head back on his cot but the woman literally throwing herself at the bars.

“You do anything to Charlotte, and I’ll fucking kill you!” she snarls, pressing her face through the gap in her cell. “You hear me, you undead fuck!?”

“Do try to calm yourself,” you advise her. “I’m here to help the lot of you out of what otherwise might prove to be a sudden and violent end.”

She simply spits at your feet, lovely girl that she is, but otherwise can’t prevent you from proceeding through the locked door at the end of the hall. A cool, lightless cell awaits you just beyond with your prospective interviewee seemingly ill-prepared for the task at hand. With a thick rag stuffed inside her mouth and what appears to be unwieldy mittens strapped at the end of each hand, it’s unlikely you could even manage a game of charades, though her expressive eyes more than do the job of saying how happy she is to see you again.

“If you could leave us,” you say to the guard. “I’d prefer we speak in private.”

With a nod, the young lass is off on her way, leaving just you, Charlotte, and a heavy silence between you.

“So,” you say, taking a seat across from her and idly drumming one hand on the table before you begin. “You’ll have to forgive me, Charlotte, but I intend on taking some time to get my point across before I let you have your say.” The predictable, indignant grunt follows as she struggles in her seat. “Now, now, stop that. If struggling were going to get you anywhere, you’d already be well on your way by now. So let’s instead focus on the facts.

“These people plan to kill you.” Her struggling stops. “Based on the testimonial of the other assorted bandits and the crimes they’ve committed, purportedly under you and the others’ commands, and the difficulty in holding you captive for even the remotest amount of time without breaking all of your fingers and cutting out your tongue, they’d much rather kill you in some horrific way than make use of any skills or knowledge you might be able to offer.

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>>310817

“However, you and I both know just how much you have available to offer, don’t we? Specifically, in the production of flash powder-“ And in an instant she’s once more mumbling inconceivable expletives at you and rocking in place. “The apparatus and notes for which are still very much intact.”

She stops cold and stares at you curiously.

“You see, as you might suspect, I am also a practitioner of magic, perhaps not in the way of alchemy or abjuration. However, I can appreciate the finer aspects of that work when I see it, and you certainly qualify. I’ve even swayed the townsfolk to see things from my perspective. They’re willing to let you live, for a price, fingers and tongue intact. I’ve even saved all of your materials before a certain group of individuals managed to dispose of them.”

A sharp intake of breath and a hiss on her part tells you she probably already has suspects.

“It seems a rival or perhaps a former employer was waiting and ready to take you out, counting down the seconds for their chance to strike when you were vulnerable. By the time I arrived that very same night, they had a wagon full of silk, and the entire place ready to go up in smoke, your apparatus along with it.

“That’s the cut-throat nature of the world of bandits, though, isn’t it? After all, had they sent their men sooner, you wouldn’t be here. Instead, they just set you up to take the fall and prepared to dispose of the evidence, trusting you wouldn’t be alive long enough to turn the tables.”

“However, what I’m offering you now is a chance for many things: a chance to continue your work, to get your revenge, and hopefully turn over a new leaf before it’s all too late.” With a snap and a ringing of mail your undo your helm and set it on the table, earning yourself a wide eyed stare. “You see, Charlotte, death is never truly the end. What you hear in church… Well, maybe not all of it, but one thing that’s certainly true is that what you take on in this life doesn’t simply fall away on the other side. Beyond the Veil, there are consequences for every cruelty and merits for every good deed. It may not be the most glorious path, but I’ve bought you some extra time, time to make things right before you pass on beyond the Veil. Don’t waste this chance to get a better ending for yourself than one filled with flame.”

“So what do you say?” With one finger, you pull away her gag. “What will it be?”

A long moment passes as she seemingly tries to massage her aching jaw, then another as she actually chews on what you’ve just told her.

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>>310822


“I want a proper trial,” she says finally. “I want to explain exactly what I’ve done and exactly what I haven’t. These bandits… Their operations… Yes, I gave them financial advice, and yes, I failed to report them to the proper authorities. Otherwise, I’ve kept myself clean. I just needed somewhere to work in private, somewhere the Alchemist Guild wasn’t about to stick their nose. Get me a proper trial, and I’ll pay my proper debts.”

> What to do?
> [] Try to speak with the man next
> [] Try to get the girl to cooperate
> [] Other

>>310825
>[] Other
"Alright, Charlotte. I'll speak with the judge, and with Father Michael. The latter will likely need less convincing than the former. And so long as you will still provide them with the flashpowder, I think a fair trial is well within what they'll give you.
"Before I speak with the other two, can you tell me about them? The lady seems very concerned with your safety, and the man is quite taciturn. "

>>310825
>> [] Other
We can do that, but I susspect the townsfolk will be less forgiving than I am
>>310847
Also this

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>>310847
>>310891
>>310825

“An extended trial could easily turn against you,” you point out, “but if you feel it’s for the best, I can speak to the judge and Father Michael. So long as part of your agreement involves providing flashpowder, I think a fair trial is well within what they’ll give you. As for the other two, though, what can you tell me about them? The lady seems rather concerned with your safety and the man is more or less taciturn.”

“Steffon was never one to waste his energy on unnecessary gestures,” she explains. “He’s practical and precise, and out of the three of us, he’s far and away the closest to having ever been the true leader for the outfit. How long he’s been at this is something I don’t care to guess, but he’s always had a knack for strategy, for predicting other people’s movements, and he’s well-connected with other operations. What you could offer him to get him to cooperate is anyone’s guess.

“As for Bailey, she’s… Well, we’re close. I’ll leave it at that. She’s competent as a field commander, but unstable emotionally. I don’t want her hurt whatever you do. It’s just, well, if I’m being honest, sending her outside with the other inmates might cause more trouble than it’s worth. I’d give it a week before she caused an uprising and tried to break Steffon and me out.”

“Interesting,” you say. “Then what would you recommend instead?”

“She’s excellent with her hands,” Charlotte quickly replies. “Whether it was pressing shells or fixing the troop’s equipment, she had more than her combat training to offer. Her skills in the latter were far from professional, but with a bit of training… That is, she’s always been a quick learner, and as I understand it, her grandfather was a blacksmith.”

“Alright, then,” you say with a sigh, lifting your helm back onto your head. “I’ll see what I can do to get the others to agree.”

You let the guard back into the room on your way out, leaving him to switch cellmates whenever you come to a decision of who to speak to next. First, however, you need to address the small council. “Hesitant” would be a kind way to explain their attitude toward a subsequent trial or letting an enemy mage cook up explosives in their town, but with a little help from Father Michael, you eventually get them to see the merits of accommodating her and getting her more fully on their side. That just leaves the other two.

> What to do?
> [] Try to convince Steffon
> [] Try to convince Bailey
> Also
> [] Fully flesh out the scene
> [] Paraphrase to get on to other things

>>311074
>> [] Try to convince Steffon
>> [] Fully flesh out the scene

>>311074
> [] Try to convince Steffon
> Fully flesh out the scene
He isn't going to be easy to convince.

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>>311074
>Try to convince Steffon
>Fully flesh out scene
Don't be all philosophical like we were with Charlotte, be logical and precise. Lay out in no uncertain terms what's going to happen to him whether or not he cooperates. If we want to convince him, we have to speak his language.
>pic related to how I felt when we recruited Lucy. "The ride has only just begun"

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>>311074
>>311115
>>311132
>>311166

Steffon will likely be the more difficult of the remaining two to deal with, so you ask that he be lead in next. Again, a guard comes to get you in rather short order, and as you walk back to the cell where he is being held, you try to prepare yourself mentally for what’s to come. You have to just to get to the point this time, to be clear and concise. There’s no room for stall in this conversation.

“So you’re finally here to discuss the terms of my surrender,” Steffon says as the door swings open. “Cooperate or be killed horrifically or something to that effect. Have a seat then, close the door, and we’ll hash it out.”

A bit thrown off your kilter, you do as he says, but only because you wanted to.

“Now then, I think I can safely assume you found the maps of the region in my personal quarters along with several books you’ve since been trying to decipher. Say that I help you with that before that information becomes woefully outdated. What then would I get in return?”

“You’d get to keep your head firmly on your shoulders,” you say bluntly. “And keep the brain inside reasonably unmolested by ants. Now, you aren’t a fool, Steffon; you’ve made that clear enough at this point. You know that it’s either a horrific death now, or some semblance of cooperation in the near future. You also likely expect that your previous employers were rather swiftly on the scene following your incarceration.”

“I would imagine so,” Steffon agrees, his expression impenetrable. “You tend to expect such things when dealing with such dangerous merchandise as Arachne silk. It was frankly a relief when we were given the order to move her elsewhere after so long.”

“And where would that be?” you probe, but only get a laugh in return.

“Now, now,” he chides. “That information won’t come cheap.”

“What would an enterprising gentleman such as yourself be asking then?” you inquire.

“In exchange for my full cooperation? A sentence with a term limit, a furnished house on the edge of town for my own personal use, the ability to hire on and hand select no less than two personal guards, direct access to the mail couriers’ office, and the occasional allowance of company, opposite gender or otherwise.”

He leans back while you try to parse through that list, but then leans forward.

> What to do?
> [] Argue with him over his demands
> [] Accept his demands
> [] Other

>>311417
>[] Argue with him over his demands
A sentence with a term limit, we can work with.

The house, guards, access to the mail, and allowance for conjugal visits will all need to be negotiated.

Let's try to haggle down to a well-furnished cell, guards will be hired by the town or town guards, mail will go through the judge or other appointed officer.
Conjugal visits: once a month?

>>311462
I agree with this anon, but remember, we have to be firm. Steffon seems like the kind of guy where if we give an inch, he'll take a mile. In fact, I'm reasonably certain that his current demands are a test to see how badly we need him. So, be firm, but give a centimeter.

>>311649
>>311462
Oh, then maybe hash out details on the sentence with a term limit?

I'm sure that the townsfolk and judge would be fine with the term limit, given it be 200 years.

Wait, was this guy a dwarf?
Could he realistically view a 200 year sentence as a 2 week stint in the county lockup?
Yeah, we gotta define that term limit.

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>>311687
>>311462
>>311417

“You can’t honestly expect the townsfolk to agree to that,” you state flatly. “Your own house, hired guards!? My word, you’d likely have it better than many without a criminal sentence.”

“In exchange for upsetting some very dangerous, very influential people, I think that’s more than fair,” he counters. “As we speak, word is already traveling on the wind. Messages are being received and not received; contracts with clients aren’t being honored. It won’t be long before rumors turn into facts, and I become a persona non grata if not an active threat to many people’s enterprises.

“Of course, that’s before we even get to the part where I start helping a bunch of clumsy green horns try to learn how to hunt. Long and short: it won’t be pretty. Mistakes will get made, sources will be leaked, and pretty soon I’ll have a price on my head and some people with a very healthy interest in collecting on it. Trust me, after about five years of me helping to clean up the barony, these people will probably pay to be rid of me, and I want a guarantee my exit isn’t gonna be at the end of a rope.”

“I understand that, but I also understand that you’re artificially inflating your demands to have something to bargain back to. Unfortunately, I’m somewhat limited on my time. So, to cut through the bullshit, here’s what I think they will accept: a comfortable cell with a few added amenities, supervised contact with the mail carriers should your intel prove to be reliable, the ability to select your guards from among those already in the prison staff, monthly conjugal visits, and a term negotiable on exactly how much you can deliver. It’s more than they will want to give, but I can manage it. Anymore and your head can roll tomorrow, for all I care. Now do we have a deal?“

The man looks at you curiously for a second, eyes narrowing dangerously before he simply bursts out laughing.

“Well, that’s one way to negotiate,” he chuckles, “and I think it’s about the minimum I’d agree to anyway. You get ‘em to agree, make sure they uphold their end of the bargain, and I’ll come through on my end. It’s not as though you like everyone you work with, after all, and there’s more than a few of those sorry bastards who the world would be better off if they were buried in the ground.”

> What to do?
> [] Move on to the girl
> [] Move on to something else

>>311986
>> [] Move on to the girl

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>>311986
>>312049

“Well, no sense delaying,” you say to the guard as he leads Steffon away. “Go ahead and bring in Bailey, and we’ll settle up the rest of the accounts.”

With nothing better to do, you remain seated, simply waiting for the other girl to make her way to you. In the end, it’s easy to note her approach by the sound of scuffling feet and her loud complaints.

“Watch where you’re grabbing asshole!” she shouts and with that the door is rather forcefully swung open.

“She bit me!” the guard says indignantly, rubbing her shoulder.

“A regrettable turn of events,” you say. “Best to get that treated while I finish up the interrogation.”

With a grumble, the guard quite forcefully sets the woman down, snapping a few chains to hold her in place before stamping her way out of the room.

“Now, then Bailey was it?” you inquire.

“Yep!” she confirms in an oddly chipper tone. “So what’s the deal: stocks, horses, hangman? How’s it gonna go down?”

“It needn’t ‘go down’ at all,” you emphasize to a confused expression. “I’ve convinced the people here that you’re more good as functioning, breathing humans than corpses rotting in a public square.”

“Good to hear,” she laughs, a bit of genuine nervousness slipping through. “Charlotte’s too good to let hang over this fucking mess.”

“Of course,” you interject. “All of this is contingent on you offering some form of assistance to the community to atone for your crimes.”

“Like what?” she demands.

“Like helping the local blacksmith or personally making munitions, shells, things of that like,” you elaborate.

“So you actually convinced Charlotte to give up her baby to these bastards?” she questions. “God, if you only knew how long it took her, how many accidents almost blew off a hand or worse… This town ain’t got a right… But if she’s willing to play along, so will I, on a few conditions.”

“Of course,” you sigh.

“I want to share a cell with Charlotte and only Charlotte, a bed that isn’t made out of rocks that’s big enough for the two of us, and when it’s all over, I want my pappy’s scattergun back. It’s got sentimental value.”

> What to do?
> [] Accept
> [] Argue
> [] Other

>>306556
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ta8lSwPGdU

>>312197
>[] Argue
"Sharing a cell's going to have to get Charlotte's agreement, a big bed is an acceptable term, and getting your father's heirloom back might be negotiable as long as I tell the judge that it holds sentimental value and can be used to keep you here.
"Now, Charlotte did say that you'd likely do some damnfool thing like try to bust her and yourself out and try to escape. Even though staying here gets her research up and running again quickly and helps to take down the people that wanted to kill her and destroy her research.
"So I want to hear from you that you won't do something like that."
Here's where we should take our helmet off, like we did for Charlotte.
"From what she said, you're not too bad of a person. She seems to like you, so for her sake as well as yours, think about the afterlife you'll get.
"I know, I know. I was young and living once. I know how the inevitable end of all life seems so far away and abstract. But you know how quickly that can end; think of all the lives ended short by the people you lived with.
"There IS an accounting when you die, and you don't need to have been a god-botherer or even especially good to get an afterlife that isn't eternal torment."

>>312197
> [] Accept
regular visitation is doable, but given the danger the two of you present together, and the work you'll be doing, a shared cell would not only be hard to negotiate, it would be stupid to grant. It'd probably have an escape attempt from you within the week. The bed is doable. The Gun could easily be kept in trust until some sort of agreed upon sentence has run its course.

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>>312197
>>312406
>>312384

“Holding onto the scattergun will likely prove doable,” you say. “I might even be able to secure you a large bed for your cell. As for the rest, however, do you really think that would be wise?”

“How do you mean?”

“Say you had your way for even a day, Bailey, you and Charlotte laying side by side come the evening. Would you truly be content to be there with her and leave her as she was until morning, with her hands bound and her mouth gagged so she couldn’t speak no matter how uncomfortable she seemed?”

“Well, I-“

“Or would you take pity on her and attempt to break her free of her restraints at the first available opportunity? Say that you manage it somehow: now it’s just the two of you in a dark cell with no one else around. With freedom so very close for the both of you, an end to your mutual incarceration, would you really be content to stay?”

“No, I don’t think you could resist,” you conclude. “It’s hard for anyone to see those they love suffer, even for a little while and even if it’s necessary. Charlotte herself thought to mention this in our earlier discussion. She was afraid you’d raise an army to get her free if you were allowed to wander even a little too far from your cell, and I don’t think she’s necessarily wrong.

“However, what you need to consider now is how that will affect the both of you in the long run. Sooner or later you knew your misdeeds would come to light, that one or both of you would be caught and put on trial. Then again, perhaps you didn’t. Maybe you thought that day would never come. That’s how most feel in their youth, at any rate, and I was no exception.

“Alas, the truth is that all things, both good and evil have their end, and there are always consequences to be faced,” with another snap, you once more remove your helm, setting it down gently, “in this world or the next. In this case, however, the winds of fortune are decidedly blowing in your favor, though you may not see it clearly just yet.

“By that I mean, you finally have a chance to stop running, to pay your debts to society and come back into the fold with your heads held high. All you have to do is ply your respective trades and you can close this chapter of your lives together forever and begin a new, better one where you need no longer hide your faces. Obviously, I can’t pretend to know what lead you down this path to begin with, just as I can’t pretend to know the relationship you share. However, what I can say is that you’ve been afforded a very special opportunity in this, a chance to clean your records, to wipe your slates, and make something right in this world for everything you and your associates may have done wrong. Better to do it now than to wait until you get to the other side, of that you can be certain.”

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>>312601

“A-alright,” she finally says after a long pause, seeming somewhat smaller than when she came in. “I can do that. J-Just, I want to see her, to spend some time with her each day.”

“That we can arrange,” you promise. “Now, if you’ve no further questions, I’ll have the guard escort you back to your cell.”

--

With all their matters settled, you make your way back to the council chambers to discuss the dealings you’d had with the prisoners in full. Obviously, some deals are easier to strike than others. Some about turn the entire room on its head trying to bulldoze through, but you’ve nothing if not a way with words, Eventually, finally, it’s settled. Bailey will have her bed, Steffon his list, and Charlotte her trial to determine her guilt.

“Fine work!” Michael applauds, clapping you on the shoulder afterward. “Couldn’t have done it better meself. I’d even consider buying a round for ya in celebration, but something tells me ye wouldn’t have the stomach for it!”

“And don’t get me started on my liver!” you add with an elbow.

The council looks at the two of you as though you’ve both gone made as you both break out in a fit of laughter.

The real question is, what to do next:
> [] Get the details on where the Arachne girl was heading
> [] Meet up with Ricky and the gang back in the previous town
> [] Begin trying to liquidate bandit wears
> [] Other

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>>312607

Well, it's late and kinda dead. Gonna check out and boot back up tomorrow on a fresh battery. Feel free to respond in the meantime.

>>312607
>[] Get the details on where the Arachne girl was heading

>>312607
>Get the details on the Arachne girl

>>312607
>> [] Get the details on where the Arachne girl was heading
>> [] Meet up with Ricky and the gang back in the previous town

>>312607

> [] Get the details on where the Arachne girl was heading
people first, money second

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>>312607
>>313150
>>312947
>>312944
>>312696

“At any rate, rounds will have to wait,” you remind yourself as well as Father Michael before both of you are almost out the doors of the courthouse. “We need to find out where they were taking the girl and quick before the would-be recipients get away scott free.”

“Aye. That’d be for the best,” Michael agrees, taking a moment to straighten his vestments as he resumes walking toward the door. “Now, if ye’ll excuse me, I’m about to get these lazy good for nothin’s back to an honest day’s work instead of waiting for a flock of corpses. NOW, LISTEN ‘ERE YE GOOD FOR NOTHIN’ HEATHENS!”

You imagine you can leave the rest to Father Michael as the door swings closed behind him. You’ve once again got a date with the prison block. So, with another check in with the prison guard, whose name you finally bother to learn is Vanessa, you’re once more walking the much more occupied cell blocks toward the interrogation rooms. Some of the former bandits thank you. Some curse you. Others simply cower away in fear. In the end, you still find yourself face to face with the same bemused Steffon.

“Two visits a day,” the man says, stretching out his manacled arms with a groan. “Don’t I feel special. So, to what do I owe the privilege?”

“I need information,” you say firmly.

“And I need a back massage,” he complains. “However, I’ve still got nothing but your word that the court will uphold its end of the bargain. How about you at least get me a bed, and then we’ll talk?”

> Your response
> [] Agree
> [] Threaten (Roll 4d100)
> [] Other

>>314024
>[] Agree

>>314024
>> [] Agree

>>314024
>[] Other
How about a mug of ale and an actual meal from the tavern down the road instead?

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>>314024
>>314130
>>314172
>>314201

“Give me one moment,” you say, sliding out of your chair and walking toward the door.

“Excuse me, Vanessa.” You ensure you are speaking loud enough to where Steffon can clearly hear as you reach into your pocket. “If you would be so kind as to take this coin and secure a bed for Steffon, it would be much appreciated. A comfortable mattress with no metallic parts and an interlocking wooden frame with no screws would be best.”

With that settled, you shut the door and return to your seat, eyeing Steffon expectantly.

“So, you were saying?”

“Well,” Steffon chuckles, “it’ll be a week until they’ve probably got me setup on that one, but you don’t have a week to spare. You see, that pack of knuckleheads was supposed to have the girl in Burma by the end of the week. That leaves you just three days to make it there before the buyer’s delegates suspect something’s up. As for where, we were supposed to meet them at The Lonely Owl on the far side of the city with cargo in hand as well as a sealed note I gave to the leader of the outfit on his way out.”

“I think we have that,” you respond, remembering a somewhat worn envelope exhumed from the pockets of the unconscious leader.

“Good,” he congratulates, “because it’s the only copy I had of the damn thing before I gave it to Ben. It’s full of crazy markings and cypher gibberish the client sent our way before the transfer. You can think of it like a receipt you hand off in exchange for a huge sack of gold. Of course, you aren’t going to have what they’re looking for. Then again, that isn’t my problem anymore.”

With another sigh, he stretches again and yawns.

“Anyway, that’s about as much talk as I’ve got in me right now unless you’ve got something else to offer. Wouldn’t mind heading back to my cell for a nap.”

“I think we can arrange that,” you quip, once more calling Vanessa into the room.

“Good luck, kid,” he laughs as you walk away. “You’re gonna need it.”

> Anyway, what to do now?
> [] Get going as soon as possible to Burma
> [] You still need to make it back to Hastor to check on the others
> [] You have a cart full of loot that needs tending to
> [] Other

>>314265
>[] You still need to make it back to Hastor to check on the others
> [] You have a cart full of loot that needs tending to

>>314265
If we have time
> [] You still need to make it back to Hastor to check on the others
> [] You have a cart full of loot that needs tending to
But if it would take more than three days
> [] Get going as soon as possible to Burma

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>>314278
>>314270
>>314265

Well, this isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. If they expected those men to require a week’s worth of travel by laden oxcart, plus or minus a day’s delay lying low, and you stopped those men roughly two days in their travels, two days ago…

What you need is someone better at topography than yourself. Your friendly father comes to mind, and as you burst out of the courthouse, you see that his no doubt fiery words have done a good job dispersing the assembled masses. Stalls are being manned, carts are being pulled, and only a few odd stragglers cling to the hope that the hangman’s block might see some use today. You’ve no time to offer them better uses for their time as you swiftly leg it over to the inn.

Fortunately, it seems you don’t need to travel far to spy your wayward companions, Gal, Lucy, and Michael all sitting around an outside table with cards in hand as they suspiciously eye one another.

“I’m calling your bluff,” Gal grumbles, thumping one hand on the table. “I’m going all in!”

“All in on what, you overgrown iguana?” Lucy fires back. “We’re not even gambling anything!”

“Yeah, not anymore …” Gal looks to Michael bitterly.

“Gamblin’ is a mortal sin,” the Father tuts innocently. “Destroys families and moral character.”

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do that you were down a couple hands at that point,” Lucy quips.

“Of course not!” Michael insists. “Never would a man of the cloth stoop to such debauchery! Tell ‘em, Lee!”

“I’m glad to see you’re all getting along,” you say. “Unfortunately, I have more pressing matters on my mind at the moment. Tell me Father, how far is Burma from here?”

“Burma?” he questions. “Well, reckon it’s about two and a half days ride up the road from where we are, east and to the north. Why do ye ask?”

“Because, I think we have a lead on where the young Arachne was being moved-“

“We really should ask her name at some point,” he points out.

“Well, I was getting to that,” you cut back in. “You see, we have a rather large cart of valuable goods that need looking after, not to mention could stand liquidation. I was wondering if we could manage the time to stop by Hastor and still make it to Burma in time.”

“Hmm…” the father thinks while fanning his cards back and forth. “Gonna need oxen or a team of horses to drag the cart back the way we’ll be goin’. Oxen would cost us an extra half a day before we wound up runnin’ our horses half to death trying to get the rest of the way… So, aye, we could manage it, one way or the other, though drawing the cart by horse would be better. Just a question of how to pay for it.”

> Seems you have a choice
> [] Barter for horses (with what?)
> [] Use the oxen you have
> [] Other

>>314265
>tend to loot
>head to Burma
We need to liquidate some of our assets, then head to the meet up as soon as possible. We still have god-knows how many miles to travel, and that's not including the time it would take to plan to apprehend these ruffians. And by apprehend, I mean krump.

>>314427
>[] Barter for horses
Using Lee's share of the loot?
He is the one who has the least expenses, after all.

>>314427
>> [] Other
Send Gal and Arachne with the oxen and cart to go get the others at Hastor, while Lucy, the Father and Lee go to Burma

>>314462

It's worth noting, you do not presently have the Arachne with you. Ricky was escorting her back to Hastor. Presumably he, Margy, and the young girl are there waiting for your return.

>>314427
>Other
What if we have Michael, Lee, and Lucy get horses, using Lee's share of the loot, and they ride for Burma.
Gal takes the rest of the loot to Hastur.

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>>314621
>>314462
>>314456
>>314435
>>314427

“I’ll gather up some silk and head down to the stables,” you say after counting out your remaining gold, “We can pay it back afterward.”

So with a quick hand, you seize one of the bundles and begin slowly winding a length from your wrist to your elbow. It really is an amazing material, you find yourself reflecting, so strong and flexible, seemingly lighter than air and offering almost no resistance as you effortlessly spool up the pure gossamer fabric.

“You won’t need that much,” Lucy points out when you feel you’re only halfway done.

“I beg your pardon?” you question, double checking the amount. “I can’t imagine anyone letting a team of four horses going for only this.”

“Then clearly, you know nothing about the silk trade,” the elf points out. “Arachne silk is a rare find this far south. It’s stronger than chain and lighter than leather, not to mention the only real source for it is the deep woods in the North, controlled by the Forest Council.”

“The Council?” you question. “But they were always on good terms with the people of this land.”

“Yeah, up until the point some assholes went and cracked open one of their ancestral tombs. Seriously, where have you been for the last decade?”

“Ahem,” you interrupt, lifting your visor.

“Oh,” she says with a blush. “Right. Anyway, the fact is, the Arachne haven’t been so willing to conduct mass silk trade with humans since then, not at the same prices anyway. Some merchants thought they could substitute with silk worms to get around the blockade, but really only one company ever claimed to have any success with it. The rest is all rough spun hemp and itchy cotton.”

“Well, we can talk more about economics later,” you say, hefting what you have. “I’ll be back shortly.”

-cont

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>>314675

It’s still the height of the afternoon when you reach the stables, once again encountering the elderly man you had harassed the night before.

“Welcome back,” he says, nonchalantly chewing on some sort of root as he watches over his flock. “Now what can I do for ye today, son?”

“I rather urgently need a team of horses,” you admit. “If you are fine with barter, I can offer a fair sum of silk for the lot in exchange.”

“Well, durn,” he breaths, eyes widening at the sight of the gossamer threads. “Reckon that ain’t a site you see every day. Sadly, can’t quite take all of that in payment.” With a grunt, he pulls himself off the fence posts. “After all, ye’ve done us a good turn around here, gave a couple folks their livelihoods back. Least I can do is offer a bit of a discount.” After eyeing the bundle, he takes half off your hands. “Now git, before I change my mind.”

With many affirmations of your gratitude, you take the offered horses and are on your way, ensuring that you replace the silk on its bundle before tying the whole cart securely under a tarp. Not too much longer, and everyone else is good for the road.

“So, the three of us will ride for Burma, you confirm with Lucy and Father Michael. We’ll entrust the cart and its contents to you, Gal as well as the extra horses. An extra day’s travel shouldn’t wear on them too hard and with five, you should be able to make your way quickly to Hastor.”

Nods of understanding are exchanged, saddles readied, and then you are off with a thunder of hooves.

> Roll 1d10 for encounters

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>314684
I feel like we should change up our act a bit. Instead of a Spirit of Vengeance, maybe a wraith hungry for the living?

Rolled 10 (1d10)

>>314684

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>314684

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>>314684

Through narrow trails and open fields, around sharp bends, and over rickety bridges, your party makes good time on the first day, the going even easy enough to facilitate casual conversation.

“So, Lucy,” Father Michael begins during one such lull. “Not that I’m complaining about having an extra pair of helpin’ hands along the way, but what exactly motivated you to hop aboard our merry little band?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” she responds, voice already dripping with sarcasm. “I just love the smell of rank horse shit in the morning and having hard leather repeatedly smashed against my crotch and inner thighs for hours at a time. Gives me the warm fuzzies all over, almost as much as traveling halfway across the world to hunt down random criminals. How about you?”

“Well,” he says, clearly paying no attention to her tone. “Reckon it all started when I nearly murdered a mother in front of her child on some misinformation. One thing lead to another, and I wound up makin’ my way over to Baron Fatty’s manor with the bonehead here to set the record straight.”

“So you were on your way back?” she inquires.

“Nay, ain’t even gotten there yet, else ye’d probably have heard something from the capital on that account. I seem to have that way with folks.”

“What way is that?”

“Oh, ye’ll see soon enough,” he assures her. “No sense spoiling the surprise.”

With a groan of disapproval, things go back to an uncomfortable silence, one you swiftly take over with a catchy tune as you work your way on into the dusk and well into the night. Of course, there comes a time when the trails are no longer safe to travel, and it’s at that point that you break camp for the night in a reasonably cozy spot.

> Seems you have some time to yourself. What to do? (Roll 1d100)
> [] Practice magic (what kind?)
> [] Practice swordsmaship
> [] Other

>>314963
>> [] Practice swordsmaship
we seem to be rusty in this

>>314963
>> [] Practice magic (what kind?)
Illusions.

Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>315024
forgot the roll

Rolled 57 (1d100)

>>314963
>> [] Practice swordsmaship
>> [] Other
Talk to Miichael about being a champion of the war gods

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>>314963

Maybe it has something to do with your stance, you contemplate as you raise your sword. After all, there are many ways to wield a weapon, and the more you do so with yours, the less confident you are that it all seems correct. Two hands and hard, precise swings, like swinging a club and hoping to break through your opponent’s guard with raw force and momentum. No, you were never a brawler like that.

You would have fought with a light weapon and a much swifter style, you feel, much more like a dance than a series of cut and dry motions. Yet, no matter how you try to position yourself with your two-handed sword, it just doesn’t feel right. You need something thinner, lighter to practice with, you realize, and so you set your sword aside and reach for your cane instead.

Truth be told, you still aren’t certain why this would be one of the few items that survived along with you after your impromptu burial. Had you been crippled in a former life? Was it just a curiosity you kept with you for no particular reason? Like most things, you simply can’t recall, but as you settle into a rhythm, you find it easier to strike your posture, throwing the illusion of a rapier over the thin black rod as you bap at imaginary phantoms, focusing on quick, disorienting strikes to lead them astray.

One, two, three. One two, three. The night quickly becomes background noise as you repeat the form over and over again. Toward the end, you even have a flash of inspiration and swap back to the heavier sword, using your divine power to make the weight less consequential. Granted, the balance is still ridiculously off, but you manage to keep with your present rhythm all the same, though you’ll need much more practice to use it effectively in combat.

-Cont

>>315267

Well, I lost power and the next update due to some careless neighbors. Sorry folks.

>>315321
We can wait.

>>315321
Christ.
Is your neighbor a crazy redneck?

>>315390

I am presently vacationing in a less than upscale neighborhood. One of the neighbors decided they would remove a dead tree from their property without consulting an expert. This was a mistake.

>>315575

Punctuated by said dead tree toppling over after being chainsawed from its base, crushing not only their fence but downing the power lines as well.

>>315584
PHYSICS!

>>315584
Too bad the tree couldn't have fallen on them, or the power lines cooked them.

I'm all for amateurs doing small home repairs and improvements; I've done a lot of them myself. But I always make sure to consult the instructions, and look things up online and watch reputable youtube videos first.

>>315604

Physics for them and the fifty other households that no longer have power because of them.

>>315624
Look at the bright side, you now know who to ask for help if you need to remove a wasp nest.

>>315645

Based on present evidence, I think that would result in the wasp nest being knocked down in my yard and left there along with my gutters. Anyway, yep, the qm curse is strong.

>>315321

And back. Just gotta rewrite the update, and maybe I can hammer out a couple more tonight.

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>>315267

The morning comes, saddles are slung and it’s once more back on the road. Lucy being not much of a morning person, things tend to get dreadfully quiet, forcing your intervention.

“So, Father Michael,” you begin, moving back your horse to be closer to his. “I seem to recall I’ve already told you about my impromptu chat with the gods a few days ago, and was wondering if you could tell me more about this whole ‘champion of the divine’ thing I seem to have gotten roped into.”

“Wait, what?!” Lucy interrupts.

“Ah right,” Michael responds, scratching his chin in thought. “Well, ya see lad, Lothri and Gyold are more or less famous among the gods of the land for not givin’ a proper shite what their champions get up to. Good, evil, religious, or no, between the two of ‘em all they care about is battle. That’s not to say the individuals themselves don’t have personal leanings, just that fighting’s about the only damn thing they can agree on. Makes sense being gods of war and all, mind, but it also means their champions tend to have no allegiance to anyone but themselves. Basically, wouldn’t let it bother ya none.”

“I repeat: What!?” Lucy demands.

And so it comes to pass that over the next hour you have to explain to Lucy everything that’s happened in the past little while, from chasing down the slavers, to your battle with the minotaur, to the subsequent blackout in which the gods explained your new, unorthodox situation.

“What have I gotten myself into?” she groans once again, tucking her head to her horse’s mane as you continue to ride on.

“Why, I believe I already told you my dear…” you begin. “An adventu-“

Your voice is cut off as something soft, yet heavy slams into your head, another form not far behind amidst the sound of crackling branches.

“Don’t let it get away!” you hear a small voice shout from above as another weight slams against your horse’s back.

“I’m not!” shouts the second unwelcome passenger as the first continues scrabbling against your face. “I’ll have it as. Soon. As. It. Holds. Still!”

In the flurry of activity, it’s hard to think, let alone steer and keep your balance. This only becomes more troublesome as the forms scurry and shuffle, shoving you this way and that in attempt to get at one another. In the end, it simply proves too much for your amateurish riding skills, gravity reasserts itself, and you wind up tumbling out of the saddle.

“Where’d it go? Where’d it go?” you hear from atop your head as the world stops spinning.

However, all you see is the dirt your helmet is presently pressed into by a passenger now riding atop your head.

> What do you do?

>>315981
Stand up.
"I say! This is quite the rude greeting, isn't it?!"
Grab the passenger and hold it in front of us to see what it is.

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>>315981

“I say!” you exclaim, hands reaching toward the back of your head. “This is quite a rude greeting, isn’t it!?”

With a bit of swift, aimless flailing, you’re quick to seize the source of the disturbance from atop your head, one that seems none too happy to be held as you struggle to retake your feet.

“Put me down! Put me down!” you hear it demand as you try to shake the mud out of your visor. “It’s gonna get away!” A low growl goes up as it continues trying to struggle its way free, followed by a high pitched whine as it fails to gain any sort of ground. “Please!”

With a clunk, a sizeable chunk of dirt finally goes falling to the ground, freeing your eyes from their impenetrable prison. And in your hands, you can now see that you are holding a rather uncomfortably squirming… girl or is it a dog? Some split difference between the two with tail and ears drooping as it whines for release.

“Please Mr.!” she repeats. “It’s gonna get away…”

“HANDS OFF MY SISTER, YA JERK!” you hear another small voice scream from behind you, one quickly followed by a yelp of pain as Lucy clobbers a second small girl across the back of the head and hoists her by her scruff.

“Now, now, there’s no need for violence!” you chastise her. “These girls were simply-“

“There it is!” the girl in your arms shouts, tail wagging as she looks down at what you realize is a large moth crumpled where your body just landed, though last you checked moths didn’t wear clothes…

> What do you do?

>>316097
While holding the girl by one hand, crouch down and gently check the moth if they're alright.
"Hello? Are you alright?"

>>316097
Ask, to the world in general, " Just what in blazes is going on?"

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>>316097
>>316118
>>316124

“Just what in the blazes is going on here?” you ask no one in particular as you switch to grabbing the dog girl with only one hand.

You then ply the other gently prying the moth off the ground, rousing it from its lapse into unconsciousness, and helping it to its clearly still shaky feet.

“Are you alright?” you inquire, looking down at the tiny, barely foot and a half tall creature as it begins rubbing at its antennas and combing away the dirt with a pair of delicate hands.

With a start, it turns to face you then, eyes widening and what you realize are two pairs of hands nervously fidgeting across its chest.

“I’m…” what must be a she says just above a whisper. “I’m f-fine… I think I j-jus- AH!”

She lets out a pained noise as she attempts to flex her wings, shaking slightly as she forcibly folds them back down.

“I-I’ve been better…” she corrects herself weakly.

“Wait, you can talk!?” yelps the little creature still dangling in the air.

“I tried to tell you,” the moth insists quietly, “but then you started chasing me and-”

“Hey Mady, it can talk!” the little one chirps excitedly as her sister is brought closer.

“Wow, Katy!” the other throws back. “We were totally gonna eat her, too!”

You see the small moth tremble.
“But what’re we gonna eat now, if we aren’t gonna eat her?” Katy whines. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse!”

“Maybe Nora will share her bugs!” Mady suggests.

“Eww, gross!” the other complains.

“Just what in the devil-“

> What do you do?

>>316169
Dig in our pack for some rations to give to the girls; we don't need the food, after all.
"Now why don't you girls calm down while you eat something, eh? And Ms. Moth, what is your name?
"I am Lee Townsend, former traveling bard and adventurer, currently butler and part-time Spirit of Vengeance and Justice, with a side-job as the Champion of Battle. Over here is Father Michael, a priest of the Light, and over there is Lucy, asset recovery and disposal consultant."

>>316169
Share our rations since wedont eat, and the others are probably still unconsciously counting out a share for us, then see if you could fi the moth wing. Keep in mind we still have somewhere to be.

>>316233
I meant to type Fix, fix the Moth wing.

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>>316169
>>316190
>>316233

Alright. First things first. They’re hungry. That’s at least one component of this whole mess you can address immediately. So, while still holding your pint-sized assailant in mid-air, you call your horse back and begin rummaging through its satchel. A few bags of jerky, some bread, and water: you thought it might prove suspicious if you had turned the stablemen down on those accoutrements for just one horse.

Oh, and you still have that slice of pie from earlier. Considering the situation, Gal, can probably do without.

“So you said you were hungry?” you inquire of the pint-sized maiden, though long before that her tail was wagging and her nose twitching. Still an enthusiastic nod never hurts. “Then how about we sit and you calm down while you eat something, hm? You’re also welcome to join us, Ms. …?”

“Holly,” squeaks the little moth as she begins waddling after you on short legs. “And I certainly wouldn’t mind… if that’s alright.”

“The more the merrier,” you insist, and so, with that you set down to an impromptu luncheon with this strange, strange menagerie.

For their part, the two dog girls seem ravenous, tearing into the food like they haven’t eaten in days. Fruit, meat, anything and everything they can get their hands on is quickly stuffed into their mouths, sometimes overcoming their ability to swallow successfully and requiring an emergency pat or swig of water to keep them breathing. Still, their time spent eating gives you time for thinking, for organizing sentences.

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>>316287

“I suppose introductions might come first,” you say with a sigh. “I am Lee Townsend, former traveling bard and adventurer, current butler as well as part-time Spirit of Vengeance and Champion of Battle. Over her is Father Michael, a priest of Orin, God of Light, and over there is Lucy, asset recovery and disposal consultant.”

“Fanshy…” mumbles Katy through a mouthful of dried beef, “but you don’t look like a butler to me, mister.”

“Well, I’m away on the road presently,” you explain, “dealing with some business for the lady of the house. That’s pretty butler-ish, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” she grumbles, “but Papa says a real butler’s gotta wear a suit all day and keep it clean and tidy. Same for the maids.”

“Well, the suit doth maketh the man,” you idly muse, and immediately see their ears perk up.

“That’s what Papa Grummus says!” Mady says excitedly. “You must be a butler!”

The rabbit hole just keeps getting deeper. However, first:

“Are you feeling well, Holly?” you inquire, looking down at the tiny moth who’s munching on a leaf. “Is there anything we could do for your wing?”

“I’m fine…” she insists. “I just need to get home and not fly for a little while…”

> What do you say/do?

>>316290

Also, I guess it's getting kind of late, and I think most people are asleep. I'll probably leave it here and pick up tomorrow, as per the usual.

>>316290
"Well, where is home? We were on our way to Burma, and if your home is in the same direction, we could drop you off.
"And where is home for you two?"

And we should get a butler suit eventually.

>>316308
Supporting this. Butler suit should be on our list of priorities, just below getting a message to our sister.

>>316290

See if you can do any basic first-aid for her wing, then take the kids home.

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>>316290
>>316308
>>316535
>>317450

“Where is home then, Holly? We’ve a ways to go and very little time, but maybe we can see you there on our trip. The same offer applies for you two as well,” you add, turning to the two dog girls.

“We don’t have a home,” Katy growls.

“Yeah! We’re adventurers, now!” Mady agrees.

“Well, that’s-“ you begin, but stop as you hear yet another voice coming from the forest.

“Kady!? Mady!?” comes the frightened call amidst the rustling bushes, and sure enough in no time at all there’s another, even smaller dog girl bursting through the bushes, scrapes all over and a satchel slung to her side. “Oh thank the gods I found you!”

“Nora!” the others call back. “You made it!”

“You left me all alone,” the small girl whimpers tearfully. “You were there one minute and then- *hic* an’ then…”

“Aww, it’s okay Nora,” Mady assures her, grabbing the smallest girl and bringing her closer to the group. “We were just trying to get food is all.”

“And we did!” Kady points out, gesturing proudly to the impromptu feast you’ve provided.

“Papa said not to take food from strangers,” Nora points out. “P-Papa said-“

“Papa said lots of stuff!” Kady interrupts angrily. “Like that we couldn’t be adventurers and that we had to wear frilly dresses all day while doing stupid chores! We’re kobolds for crying out loud, part of a proud, warrior heritage!”

“I liked my frilly dress!” Nora objectionably whines. “An’ I liked my warm bed… an’ Thala, an P-Papa, an’ I just wanna go home!”

With that, it seems the fragile thing has finally had more than she can take, breaking down and sobbing on the spot as Mady hugs her close.

“Shhh… It’s alright, Nora,” the slightly older girl coos. “We’ll just take you home before we get back to adventuring, ‘kay?”

“We d-don’t even kn-know where home is anymore!” the tiny girl cries. “We don’t have a map…”

“Stupid birds!” you hear Kady curse.

Seems your other fellow party members are equally lost as you right now.

> So what to do?

>>317594
Ask them how long they've been traveling and where home "used to be". One of our part members might be able to guess the general area from landmarks and the like. If it's too far away, we might want to think about taking them along until we've dealt with the current crisis.

>>317594
"Right then. Mady, Kady, what's the closest town to your home? How long have you been on the road?"
Break out whatever first aid supplies we have and start cleaning Nora's scrapes.
I think it's time that we take the strict approach in this.
"This really will not do. Kady, Mady, you left Nora alone, by herself? Without telling her where you were going or for how long? You're supposed to be her elders. You're supposed to keep her from getting hurt.
"Now look at her; all covered in scrapes and cuts, and she was going hungry."

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>>317594
>>317639
>>317651

“Now, now, no need to fret,” you assure the girls, as you go searching for a first aid kit among your various supplies.

You start to worry when it seems that may have slipped through the cracks, but by the time you turn around to ask the others, Lucy is already dabbing disinfectant on Nora’s wounds.

“Do either of you know of the nearest city to where your home is or ‘used to be’. We may be able to help you get there if we know generally where it is.”

“Lanishire…” the little one mumbles tensely, flinching periodically as Lucy continues to tenderly clean her wounds. “That’s where the other girls went sometimes and they occasionally brought us back presents.”

“Please tell me there aren’t more of you wandering out there you haven’t told me about!” you demand, taking a sharp eye to the other two.

“Nope, just us,” Katy assures you.

“Good,” you sigh, letting some of the tension flow out but holding onto the rest as you take on a stricter tone, “but I’ll tell you what isn’t good: leaving your little sister alone in the woods to fend for herself! Katy, Mady, what in the world were the two of you thinking? You just left her there without telling her where you were going or for how long? You’re supposed to be her elders! You’re supposed to keep her from getting hurt! Now just look at her; all covered in scrapes and cuts, going hungry while the two of you have been stuffing your faces! Shame on the both of you!”

“S-sorry…” Mady whimpers.

“But she’s not younger!” Katy argues back. “She’s just the runt of the litter!”

“I don’t care!” you throw back. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to her in the time she was alone, how many dangerous things there are in these woodlands? She could have been mauled by a bear, been bitten by a snake, could have broken her leg or worse, and who would have helped her then?!”

“S-sorry…” Katy finally admits as your words hit home.

“Don’t be sorry,” you insist, though you take a bit of the edge off of your tone. “Be better. Be better to one another, and take care of each other. That’s what family is for.”

“Anyway,” you say, turning to Father Michael. “How far is Lanishire from our present path?”

“Well,” the Father begins, unrolling his map and pouring over it for a moment. “Reckon it ain’t the closest thing in the world to our present path. See, Lanishire is, here, in the south where we’re wantin’ to go north, an’ the road doesn’t hook back around till we’d be past the direction east we’d be lookin’ to go. In all, ye’d be lookin’ at addin’ another day for the journey.”

>>317779


“My village at least isn’t far,” Holly mentions, perhaps realizing she never had a chance to answer earlier. “I was simply out collecting supplies when I noticed these girls wandering around looking lost. Then one thing lead to another and… Well, this.”

> What to do?
> [] Take the girls with you
> [] Leave them (where?)
> [] Other

>>317787
>Other
We can drop Holly off, but we can't afford to lose a day in getting to Burma.
If Holly is any indication of average size, then leaving the girls there is just asking for trouble.

Maybe take them with us to Burma, and we can drop them off on our way back after we've taken care of the people that were going to buy the Arachne girl.

>>317787
Take Holly home but bring the others with us to see if they can crash there until we are done with Burma

>>317787
>Take Holly with us
And try to see if we can leave the kids there, or at least leaving a message for the girl's parents to tell them what's going on.

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>>317779
>>317787
>>317814
>>317962
>>317977

“Alright, Holly,” you say, picking the small girl up. “If you’ve no objections, we’ll at least take you home for now. If fortunes are kind, there will be someone in your village who can keep these girls safe until we, or someone else, can bring them home.”

“Okay,” she agrees as you set her in the saddle. “It’s just a little way up the road.”

“But I don’t wanna go home!” Katy complains, trying to resist as Lucy lifts her and Mady into the air.

“Now listen, runt!” the elf barks, setting Mady down before stomping off into the bushes.

With a lightning fast motion, you see her snap her hand down to the ground and pick up… something. Is that a viper?

“See this!?” she demands as the terrified girl screams and the snake rears its fangs. “This is what you call a southern grasslands viper! One bite from one of these with no medical treatment and you or one of your sisters could be dead within the hour! There are dozens of these nearby and worse! Now tell me, Katy do you still want to go trouncing through the bushes on an adventure!?”

“No ma’am,” she whimpers, ears flattened to her head in fear.

“What did you say?!” the elf demands.

“I said ‘No ma’am’!” sobs the girl. “I’ll be good! I promise! Just make it go away!”

“That’s more like it,” Lucy says, setting the child down on the horse before eyeing the snake. “Now as for you…” She cocks back her arm and in one violent throw, pitches the snake out of sight. “Get the fuck out of here!”

And… lovely, now you have three horrified, crying pups clinging to Lucy and Father Michael’s horse, the latter having scooped up Nora while no one was looking.

“Now, now, little ones,” Michael sighs, pulling up alongside Lucy as she mounts. “There’s no need for that. Yar safe now. Oi Lee!” He turns to you. “I reckon we could all do with some festive music about now!”

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>>318208

And so, with a cough, you launch into another one of your impromptu musical performances, a more lyricized version of The Three Little Owlbears you’d not so long ago sung to Cici. Thankfully, even in this day and age, it seems to prove a universal delight with the youths, and it isn’t long before tears give way to laughter, Nora and Holly even joining along on some of the more repetitive verses as you make your way.

Down a forest trail soon after with your winged navigator acting as your compass quickly leads you to the tell-tale humps along the tree line that mark a mothfolk settlement for what it is, sparkling eyes watching your approach with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as you approach.

“Hello,” you call out to them. “I’m simply coming by to return one of your young who suffered an incident in the forest! You need not worry. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

“Well, no need to yell about it,” comes a voice from below, and only then do you notice you’d already ridden past quite a few houses.

“Mom!” you hear Holly call, the girl almost leaping off the saddle before you can more gently lower her down. “I’m sorry I’m late, it’s just-“

“Calm…” her mom hushes. “You are safe now, and that’s all that truly matters.”

For a moment, she begins speaking in another language, squeaks and clicks being exchanged in rapid fire before Holly is sent off with a pat on the back and another hug.

“Now as for you,” she says, turning her gaze upward. “You have my sincerest thanks for assisting my daughter on her way home. If there’s anything I could do for you in return, please let me know.”

> What do you ask for?
> [] Well, if you could take care of three rambunctious puppies for me…
> [] All in a day’s work!
> [] Something else

>>318212
>[] Something else
"We wouldn't want to impose, but would you be able to take care of these three kobolds until we come back this way to take them home? They apparently live near Lanishire, but we are on a time-sensitive job to Burma and unfortunately can't take the day to detour."
I'm asking it this way because looking at the houses, they won't be able to house the kobolds, it seems, and I don't want to assume they can take care of them.

>>318212
>> [] Well, if you could take care of three rambunctious puppies for me…
If you can at least

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>>318212
>>318240
>>318297

“Well, you see, these three young kobolds are needing to get back to their home near Lanishire, but we’re finding ourselves dreadfully short on time to take them there. Would you be able to look after them for a few days’ time until we can come back this way?”

Much as you suspected, the woman stops, looks to the houses, looks back to the pups, and then to you.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” she apologizes, “but our homes would likely not prove comfortable for the little ones. Most are built up in the trees, and I fear we lack the extra silk to make them their own temporary homes on the ground for just a few days. There’s also the matter of food…”

“You needn’t bother yourself then,” you insist. “It was an idle request, nothing more. Otherwise, we were perfectly just happy to help.”

“Well, if you say so… but I’d hate to send you on your way empty handed. We’ve little in the way of coin, unfortunately, but we’ve healing powders and a bit of excess silk you might be able to sell at market. I imagine even this tiny amount will go far after the silk worm blight earlier this year.”

> What to do?
> [] Take the silk
> [] Take the powder
> [] Ask questions
> And
> [] Take the girls with you
> [] Come up with a new plan

>>318415
>> [] Take the powder
> [] Take the girls with you
Once we get to Burma we put them somewhere safe like an inn and then do our businesses and afterwards take them home

>>318415
>[] Take the powder
>[] Take the girls with you
"Oh, and their father's name is Grummus, in case he comes this way looking for them. We're going to Burma, and should have them home in a few days."

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>>318415
>>318441
>>318506

“If you have the healing supplies to spare, I suspect my companions and I may find ourselves in need of it where we’re going.”

That’s all you need to say before the woman’s off at a good clip, returning shortly with a hefty bag (for her size at least), a pinch of which she immediately begins dabbing on Nora’s scratches.

“Now take care of yourselves,” she insists, still in mid-application. Really it reminds you of how most mothers act when their child has a messy face. “And if you ever find yourselves in need of help and we’re nearby, well, you know where to find us.” With that, she hops down to ground. “Oh, and my name’s Flora by the way, Flora Ree. I probably should have started with that rather than ending with it.”

“No worries!” you say with a laugh. “Hopefully there will come a time where we can get better acquainted. For now, though, we’re off! Be sure to take of yourselves as well. Watch out for snakes and all that.”

“That’s what we use this for!” she calls as you turn to leave, and as though thinking for a moment, then tosses the bag to you. “A mild sedative can also be useful for medical treatment.”

“We’ll try to keep the need for painkillers to a minimum you assure her!”

And with that, you are once again on the road, now with Mady riding shotgun on your saddle so that it’s only one pup per horse.

“You meet some of the nicest people in the forest,” you muse to yourself.

“Oh, aye,” Michaeal agrees. “Also some of the worst. Hopefully the wee ones won’t have to worry and fendin’ off bandits anytime soon, though. Still, one thing she mentioned struck me as a bit peculiar.”

“And that was?” you prompt.

“Well, I ain’t a merchant by trade or anythin’ of the sort, but I hadn’t heard about any sort of silk shortage due to a blight. Had you, Lucy?”

“I haven’t either,” Lucy confirms, “and granted the sort of clients the bosses work with, it’s not a bad idea to keep your ear to the ground for those sorts of things. Desperate clients make for easy money.”

“Hmm, might be useful information,” you say, “or just an unchecked rumor. For now, what we need is a plan. We have a rendezvous in a little over a day now where one or more people are going to expect us to deliver a package we don’t currently possess.”

“Did you lose it?” Mady asks.

“We also need a place to stow away three miniscule kobolds,” you mutter to yourself.

> So what’s the plan?

>>318644
Take the pups to an inn or something, then do the meet up and once confirming who they are we jump them and introduce them to the good Father

>>318644
Pretty much >>318751
If the towns big enough, maybe it has a Church that we can leave the girls at.

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>>318644
>>318751
>>318817

“I guess we’ll see if we can’t find an inn or a church to drop these girls off at when we reach Burma,” you conclude after some thought. “Then we go to The Lonely Owl and wait on our contacts to arrive. Once we’re sure it’s them, we’ll get the jump on them and introduce them to Father Michael here.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Michael agrees enthusiastically.

“Except it won’t work,” Lucy interjects.

“What? Why do you say that?” you question.

“Think about it. These guys probably aren’t new to this whole business. So, if they’re expecting an ox cart carrying a prisoner, and we show up on horse with the three runts tagging along, they aren’t going to duck their heads out expecting it’s us that they’re looking for. We need a better plan, one that preferably leaves the pipsqueaks in the next town over.”

“Hey!” Katy objects, but Lucy silences her with a pinch to the ear.

“Well, now that you mention it,” Father Michael says. “I think there was a Temple to Orrin not too far from where we’re goin’.”

“And you’re just mentioning this now?”

“Not like I tend to swing in often for service,” Michael snorts. “I prefer to offer my work as tribute rather than my prayers. Anyway, if memory serves, that’s where Jo Hammond wound up, and he wouldn’t have stuck there if it weren’t a tight enough ship to sail on. Reckon the wee ones will be in good hands there while we sort this whole mess out.”

Well, that’s one thing taken care of, but you still need a plan.

> What’s the plan?
> Who’s going to end up in what positions during the tradeoff?

>>318874
Ask for advice from our companions because I am drawing a blank

>>318930
Same

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>>318874
>>318930
>>319052

And at the moment, you seem to be drawing a blank.

“Well, guess I might as well appeal to the more roguish minds for this one,” you admit with a sigh. “I never was much good at the whole game of subterfuge.”

“Uuuh, fine,” the elf huffs. “The long explanation is that a group of guys carrying this sort of cargo are going to want to be pretty cautious. Even if the meeting isn’t in the city, they’ll be watching the city gates well ahead of the appointment to note when the package arrives so they can move immediately once it’s there. And granted they were trying to move an Arachne, young or no, the box they’re expecting is probably pretty large, maybe even large enough to fit a person.”

“And what yer getting at is?” Father Michael leads.

“What I’m getting at is that they’re going to be in a hurry: to have the goods change hands, to finish the dealings, everything, enough to where they wouldn’t stop to crack open an apple crate to check what exactly is inside. I also imagine that the final drop off location for their cargo isn’t far from Burma itself. There’s a lot of hills and noble estates in those parts, plenty of room to hide things you don’t want people seeing.”

“So, my suggestion? Conduct the deal as scheduled, get the gold, then let those idiots lead us right to where their base of operations is.”

“And leave one of us trapped in a box to be discovered at any moment?” you probe.

“No,” she sighs, “and leave me in a bottomless box conveniently positioned over the axel maintenance hatch for the cart. That way I can escape if things go south.”

“Didn’t expect ye to be so eager to volunteer,” Michael chuckles.

“I kind of doubt either of you can pull off a feminine voice if they decide to check if the girl is still alive, and I’m also the one least likely to make noise when I don’t want to. All in all, it’s our best bet at pulling this thing off without suspicion, assuming either of you can sit at a table quietly and slide an envelope over to the side when the stranger comes calling.”

She notes your lost expressions and sighs once again.

“There’s a code of conduct for everything, and in the world of espionage, the safest way to transfer vital information is quietly. You slide them the receipt; they slide you the money. Everyone leaves and leaves happy.”

> What to do?
> [] Sure (just a question of who slides the envelope and who waits outside)
> [] Too risky. We can come up with something better.
> [] Other

>>319117
>> [] Sure (just a question of who slides the envelope and who waits outside)
We are the face of the group so I guess we do the hand off and Michael waits

>>319117
>[] Sure (just a question of who slides the envelope and who waits outside)
Lee does the exchange, while Father Michael looks menacing.

>>319117
>> [] Sure (just a question of who slides the envelope and who waits outside)
>>319136
Going with his suggestion.

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>>319117
>>319136
>>319295
>>319302

“Wow!” Mady says, looking back at her driver. “I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

“Aw, honey, no you don’t,” Lucy corrects, stroking her between the ears. “Trust me. You wanna grow up pretty and innocent, meet a nice guy who’ll treat you right, and then have a couple brats of yer own to make you regret when you were a kid. Cuz you remember that snake from earlier?” Mady nods sheepishly. “Well, there’s plenty of people out there that would make him look downright friendly by comparison, and in my line of work, you tend to meet a lot of them.”

“Hope that ain’t a comment on present company,” Michael jokes, receiving a rather rude gesture in response.

--

The rest of the trip proves fairly uneventful, your motley retinue passing through Moldova by the time the evening is out and coming to the ascending steps of the Chapel of Orin beyond.

“Always quite the sight,” Michael sighs appreciatively, looking up to the glowing candles of the temple before grabbing Nora’s gently snoring form and beginning his climb.

“Yep, a picture straight out of hell for my aching knees,” Lucy complains, hoisting her own kobold with a grunt.

“Ha, ye’ll live!”

--

He might have corrected himself by saying ‘barely’ from the way they both seem winded at the top of the steps. One of the perks of your particular anatomy, you suppose, that you’d be the only one still feeling right as rain after ascending what could have been no less than a thousand steps. Still, sleep is the first thing on everyone’s agenda, Michael and Lucy grabbing only a brief shower in the temple’s facilities and okaying the triplets’ short stay before they both take to bed for what little time they have.

After all, you’ll all want to be rolling through Burma by dawn, and that means leaving at least a couple of hours before then to gather the supplies from the ranch hands and be on your way. So it comes to pass, that you arrive long after the clergy has gone to bed and long before they wake, perhaps for the best, you reflect, given that an undead in the house of the Sun God might not fare well under heavy scrutiny.

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>>319429

--

In the end, everything on your list proves easy enough to find. With the kobolds safely tucked away, it’s nothing but business picking the right cart, right crate, and a couple of likely oxen for your short trip over to Burma.

Unfortunately, as you don’t want to arrive with an extra horse in tow and no explanation, Lucy ends up riding on the cart the majority of the way to the meeting and beneath a tarp for the rest of it. Predictably, her tone is well reflective of the level of irritation this is causing her with every bump, that is until you come around near the gates of the city itself. Then, it’s nothing but professional silence, enough to where the gatekeepers hardly offer a second glance before passing you through one side of the city and out the other.

That just leaves The Lonely Owl itself, a shadowy, somewhat out of the way establishment it takes you more than a small amount of time to find. In the end, however, you manage good fortune in finding yourself following a group of likely suspects who, true to story form, just happen to be heading that way. A man by the name of Sam I Am with hardly the proper number of teeth to pronounce it strikes up a conversation with you from that merry bunch, and genuinely proves a delight, a bawdy character with a certain charm in his utter lack of reservations. He offers you a drink as you both arrive at the door, but you must regrettably turn him down as you motion to Michael to keep watch over the cart and take your seat at the bar inside.

“What’ll ye be havin’,” comes the surprisingly friendly greeting from the bristly-haired barkeep right on cue, and not wanting to disappoint, you order a bitter stout which it only then occurs to you, you have no means to drink without raising a thousand suspicions.

Fortunately, before the froth on your mug has even settled, you find a gentleman on your right who seems all too eager to talk about your mutual cousin Delilah and the letter you must be here to deliver from her. You’re no fool and no slouch at playing the part. You even manage to get him laughing and nodding along as you mutually tell and fabricate the story of dear old Uncle Geoffrey and his unfortunate incident with a bucket of rancid milk. However, soon the act has run its course. You both know that, just as he knows you’ve a care package he was instructed to leave with you, an oddly heavy one in a satchel he slides next to you before going on his way.

Not wanting to insult the barkeep, you ask for a full skin of the stout to go, handing it off to Michael on the way out whose eyes are tracing something through the tree line for lack of a cart in the stables.

“Aye, they got what they came for,” he says quietly, “but with a wagon that heavy, they won’t be hard to track.”

> The chase is afoot
> Roll for Stealth! (3d100)

Rolled 74, 78, 50 = 202 (3d100)

>>319502
We hunt!

>>319540
>>319502

I take the best of three, if more people would like to roll

>>319724

Guess I'll give it till tomorrow then.

Rolled 76, 48, 97 = 221 (3d100)

>>319502

>>319502

Rolled 78, 29, 18 = 125 (3d100)

>>319502
Stealthy skeletons. Nothing spookier.

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>>319919
>>319905
>>319540
>>319502

> 78, 78, 90

With a bit of distance between you, you don’t have to wait long before heading after them, and much as Michael predicted the signs are fairly telling. Then again, perhaps that’s part of the charm of the operation. A heavy cart traveling in broad daylight over open country roads, something far too obvious to raise suspicions. Now a duo of men on horseback, one in heavy armor and the other a member of the faith, that’s a little more of an eyebrow raiser.

Still, having your opponents see and hear only that which you want them to is more or less what the art of illusion was made for. With a little concentration, heavy hoof falls easily become indistinguishable from gently rustling leaves. Shadows deepen and the sun glares with nothing more than a thought, distracting the eye when otherwise your presence would be plainly visible. With such tricks at your disposal, you can afford to travel swiftly and to cover unfortunate errors, like the times your quarry doubles or even triples back down the winding forest roads.

It ends up being a merry chase, leading well on into the evening and far back into the rolling countryside. Still, at a point, it becomes clear they are nearing an end to their road, a singular house upon a hill marking a dead end from which they’ve no choice but to turn back. However, before they even begin to slow, you see one of the men switch his position on the cart, moving back to check on the cargo with what appears to be a thin riding crop in hand. However, appearances can be misleading, and your assumption is quickly upended when he swiftly jams the end of it into the box and a wave of smoke comes rolling out.

Well, that’s certainly not ideal.

> What to do?
> [] The jig is about to be up anyway! Rush them! (4d100)
> [] Try to stealthily approach (3d100)
> [] Wait and see how it plays out
> [] Other

>>321819
>[] Wait and see how it plays out

>>321895
Seconding

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>>321819
>>321895
>>321990

You decide that it’s best to wait and see how this plays out. At the very least, it would help immensely to directly implicate the owner of the estate in this transaction. However, that’s contingent on him actually accepting the package being delivered. You explain as much to Father Michael in hushed whispers, waiting by the tree line as the men make it the rest of the way to the house and beneath its attached stable.

There, in the shadows, it’s hard to see or hear their exact exchange. However, you’d imagine any sort of alarm on their part would be clearly visible even from here. As is, nothing catches your eye, nothing seems amiss, and they emerge reasonably quickly with the crate being carried between the both of them, knocking firmly on the door before swiftly being let in.

The man in the doorway casts a thin silhouette against the background light of you assume to be his home. And even from here, you can see the marks of age in his stance. However, that’s about all you can make out before the door closes behind them and they disappear from sight.

“Now can we get movin’?” the pastor questions.

> What to do?
> [] Approach quickly
> [] Approach stealthily
> [] Search the perimeter before entering the house (for what?)
> [] Other

>>322127
>Approach stealthily

>>322127
>> [] Search the perimeter before entering the house (for what?)
Search for something glowing: a key, a coin, a pretty rock, a lost pendant...

>>322127
>> [] Approach stealthily

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>>322127
>>322174
>>322241
>>322242

“I think that would be best,” you confirm, dismounting your horse and hitching it in the nearby brush. “Hopefully, we’ve still got the element of our surprise in our favor, and there’s no telling how long that will last.”

“Well,” Father Michael grunts, hiding his own horse next to yours. “Reckon we’ve got until they catch a peak of what’s inside the box. Though come to think of it, bloody hell! How’d they even pick the lass up with a bottomless box?”

You take that as your cue to double your pace as the two of you stealthily race up the road to the house. Sure enough, as you duck underneath the stable overhang to check the cart, the elf is nowhere to be seen, and the latch for the axel hatch is still firmly secured.

“We might want to hurry,” you admit, and with that, both of you are rushing toward the door, listening for any signs of movement for only a brief second before trying to see if it’s opened.

“Locked,” you hiss, as the door holds firm, and by the solid feeling you’re getting, it may be a dead bolt.

> You need to get inside fast. How?
> [] Break down the door
> [] Other

>>322328
>> [] Other
Go through a window

>>322328
>> [] Other
Go through the chimney

>>322362
>>322328

There is a window in the front, and a casual inspection reveals it to be unlocked. However, the size is narrowly too small for either you or Father Michael to get through as you are.

>>322410

And while it appears that this home does have a chimney, it seems to be a two story house that bottlenecks in a stove pipe.

Bear in mind, none of this is to discourage either of these ideas. They are great in their own rights, but how would you get around their respective complications?

>>322455
If we can reform our body by ourselves, then go in piecemeal through the chimney. If we can't, break the door down and charge in

>>322481

So, given the choice between going through the window or the chimney in pieces, I would imagine Lee might go for the one that lacks a fire at the bottom of it, though I do find the image of Father Michael pitching Lee by pieces onto the roof extremely funny.

Anyway, writing.

>>322455
>>322455
Is there a window to the basement?

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>>322505

There is not, unfortunately.

--

>>322481
>>322362
>>322410

Next thing you know, Father Michael is up, foot cocked and ready to smash the door off the frame if need be.

“Wait!” you insist, before he can send the sound of exploding timber all through the house.

Certainly the door was locked. However, this place has windows, and if you know the sort of excesses your typical noble goes through… Yes! As you rummage your fingers around the lip of a side window, you find it easy enough to slide over almost completely, opening into the living room beyond. However, there’s no way an entire person could fit through there, unless-

With a gentle snap and a rustle of plate, you casually detach your leg from the rest of you, seating yourself on the ground before swiftly disengaging the other one. Next goes your head to the questioning look of Father Michael, followed by one of your arms.

“My good man, could you give me a hand?” you call up to your compatriot, who at that moment seems to get what you’re about.

With a bit of care, Father Michael then begins feeding the pieces of you through the window. First your legs, then your chest and arms, and finally your head, landing you in a neat pile on the floor and handing your head to your one remaining arm. From there the process is simple, well, relatively simple: arm to shoulder and leg to thigh. You have an embarrassing reversal of right to left on your first go, but manage to sort yourself out within just a minute or two, then striding across the well-appointed living room and removing the lath for the good father.

“Well, no time to waste,” you say. “You search upstairs and I’ll search down. If either of us catches sight of them, we call the other, okay?”

> It’s a large house and you have little time
> Roll 3d100 for searching

Rolled 3, 77, 34 = 114 (3d100)

>>322555

Rolled 27, 22, 86 = 135 (3d100)

>>322555

Rolled 84, 39, 2 = 125 (3d100)

>>322555
>> Roll 3d100 for searching

Rolled 82, 60, 45 = 187 (3d100)

>>322555

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>>322555
>>322594
>>322673
>>322687

> 84, 77, 86

With that settled, you both dash off as silently and swiftly as you can. From the fireplace to the darkened kitchen, down hallways and through empty rooms, you search for any signs of fresh activity or the servants who may keep the place. Yet all you seemingly turn up is dust and emptiness, what appears to have once been a massive library left now with only its shelves to tell the tale of their passing.

As auspicious a choice as any, you find yourself wandering this room thoroughly rather than just moving on, prying at shelves with your fingertips, searching for hidden switches or loose light fixtures. In the end, you find nothing but cobwebs and creaking floorboards.

Wait. Floorboards. You think to look beneath your feet, peering down through the wooding beams and into the darkness below. In all your time searching, you had yet to spy a staircase leading down, and yet here the space is clearly evident. So, now with a more careful step, you find yourself pacing, measuring the volume of each creak until you find a place that sounds different, sturdier, and sure enough, with a bit more searching you find a latch nearby.

You return to the entryway to find Father Michael already there and waste no time in escorting him to what you’ve found. A small amount of man power later and the stairs are revealed beneath the hatch, the two of you descending into what appears to be a lightly stocked cellar with a door leading further inside.

Surprisingly, this proves to be unlocked, a warm light cast on you both as you open the room to what appears to be a decently furbished study fit for a mage. Alembics and mortars, pestles and beakers, not to mention hosts of samples on shelves that have been neatly marked.

“Well, looks like things are going to be getting interestin’,” Father Michael murmurs, moving over to a desk as you find yourself drawn to a glass case beyond. “Journal reads: Property of Phineas Farbereggar, Alchemist and Transmuter. Pha! Well there goes some of the mystery, don’t it?”

>>322897

Farbereggar, your mind clings to the word as you approach the case, memory giving meaning to your strange attraction as the items behind the glass take on new significance. Brown-red robes for transmutation, a roaring lion rearing in the sunlight, the symbol for the academy for where you had both studied. Diplomas and dissertations, broken wands and crumbling textbooks: they’re all held on the shelves like prized trophies, but none moreso than a singular picture sitting in a golden frame.

Not too surprising there, bound impressions using permanent illusion magic were rare enough to where few nobles could boast a wide collection, but you know immediately that isn’t why this one remains in its seat of honor. No, you know it for the same reason you can place Phineas’ face without being told, his thin figure staring back at you, eyes taking on a painful cringe as he tries to leave his glasses in his robes for this one.

You’d told him it was a stupid idea, to just take the picture how he always looked, but he’d been absolutely adamant in his decision. Always stubborn, always strange, you hadn’t ever been able to talk him out of eating his peanut butter and sardine sandwiches at lunch either. Still, he’d been a good friend and an excellent wingman when you needed him to be. That’s why you’ve got both he and Richard in half a chokehold in the frame, a tremendous grin on your face as you finally put the stupidity of that year behind you and declare yourselves the victor.

Your face. Strange to look at it after all these years, to realize that just a moment ago, you couldn’t have reproduced it with all the time in the world and your illusion magic. Just how much had you forgotten?

“Lee!” Michael shouts for what must be the dozenth time. “Oi, Lee! Ye havin’ another stroke or somethin’? If so, could you kindly delay it until after we have the elf back in our possession?”

“R-right,” you say, shaking your head to clear the fog.

You’ve a mostly empty room before you with no doors leading out aside from the one you came in through. There appears to be a summoning circle on the floor, and a quick inspection reveals, nothing behind the shelves.

> What to do?
> [] Examine the circle (Roll 3d100)
> [] Look around the room some more. More memories!
> [] Other

Rolled 61, 24, 60 = 145 (3d100)

>>322916
>[] Examine the circle

Rolled 69, 91, 40 = 200 (3d100)

>>322916
>> [] Examine the circle (Roll 3d100)

>>322916
>> [] Look around the room some more. More memories!

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>>322916
>>322928
>>323026
>>323041

That just leaves the summoning circle as the one off piece, and though you’d honestly love to spend a little bit longer on your waltz down memory lane, Father Michael is probably right that Lucy’s in trouble right now. So, with a sigh, you begin trying to figure out exactly what this cockamamie collection of runes actually represents.

At first you imagine it might teleport you somewhere, but that sort of magic is far too expensive and unwieldy for all but the most niche specialists. It also probably wouldn’t be meant to summon an otherworldly entity as it lacks binding runes to hold them in check. That must mean it’s an overlaying of multiple circles, and with that train of thought in mind, the pieces of the puzzle become much clearer.

It seems that part of this circle is meant to summon something elemental, probably as a defense mechanism, and the other is transmutation meant to rearrange the floor beneath it. Easy enough to figure out which is the trap and which is the key from there, and as you chant a few words and infuse some mana, you hear the grinding of the stone beneath you confirm your suspicion.

Unfortunately, the gap between activation and manipulation is rather profound, and it takes you an unfavorable amount of time to pick the magical lock all the way. It’s irritating to say the least, but eventually, you wrest control of the circle and the floor begins plummeting into itself, loudly announcing the formation of a staircase further down.

“Lovely,” you say. “Into hell’s maw, then.”

> The way lies open before you
> [] Go stealthily (3d100)
> [] Charge! Full speed ahead!

Rolled 84, 53, 12 = 149 (3d100)

>>323235
>[] Go stealthily (3d100)

Rolled 1, 33, 40 = 74 (3d100)

>>323235
>> [] Go stealthily (3d100)

Rolled 61, 24, 99 = 184 (3d100)

>>323235
> [] Go stealthily (3d100)

>>323235
>Charge full speed ahead!
Element of surprise done got lost after that little stair magic

Rolled 88, 17, 70 = 175 (3d100)

>>323235
>> [] Go stealthily (3d100)

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>>323256
>>323272
>>323349
>>323235

> 1, 53, 99
With a couple more words and a flick of your wrist, you summon a globe of sound altering magic around you and your companion. After all, even if they heard you enter, they needn’t know exactly how far you’ve progressed. With that rationale in mind, you and Michael begin making your way down the darkened staircase with caution, measuring each step and keeping an eye out for hidden doors as well as an ear out for any errant sound. Unfortunately, your find tuned senses do eventually pick up the latter.

“Where is the girl?” you hear a man roar far down below, his demand punctuated with the sound of flesh contacting flesh with explosive force. “Where did your people take her?”

“Fuck you!” comes a familiar, infuriated comeback followed by a wet choke and desperate gasp for breath as another hit lands.

“Now let’s try this again,” the man says after a brief pause. “How many people did you bring with you?... Huh?! Answer me!”

Another hit, another scream. You can practically feel the ripples through your non-existent skin from where you’re standing, but you don’t have time to focus on it as the stone below you suddenly fades away and the weight of the falling preacher behind you comes smashing into your back. A trap, you realize far too late, a simple transmutation meant to turn a spiraling stairway into an impossibly smooth ramp. It’s the last cogent thought you can manage before everything becomes a dizzying tangle of mish mashed limbs and the pain of having them relentlessly beaten against hard stone on your seemingly endless flight downward.

However, eventually the hall stops turning and gravity reasserts itself. By some miracle, you’ve even managed to keep all of your limbs in their proper place despite their entanglement with Michael’s. You’ll have to chalk that up for a win. At least, you would, were there not three pairs of cold eyes now staring at you through the doorway, Phineas’ icy blues among them.

“Enough,” you hear him whisper resolutely, and in a flash his hand is moving with a strange device, first to Lucy then to Michael, both times hitting dead center with some sort of fluid filled dart. “No one was supposed to have died here, but clearly that’s no longer an option thanks to your ineptitude. Now, I’ve no more patience for these matters. Dispose of them and then get out of my sight.”

With that, Phineas turns and walks away, into another room presumably. It’s kind of hard to see from your place on the floor and past the two men now rushing at you with swords.

> Time to fight!
> [] Roll 3d100

Rolled 61, 98, 59 = 218 (3d100)

>>323632
Yell out to Phineas with his old college nickname.
"Stop! It's me, Lee! Do you still eat those peanut butter and sardine sandwiches?!"

Rolled 72, 71, 1 = 144 (3d100)

>>323632
>> [] Roll 3d100
Yell out to Phineas, sway him !

>>323708
>Rolled 72, 71, 1
Dammit, that 1 is going to fuck us over.

>>323812

Don't worry too much. Also, there is still one roll left.

Rolled 53, 3, 80 = 136 (3d100)

>>323632
Heres hoping

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>>323674
>>323708
>>323944

> 72, 98, 1

Well, you’ve certainly been in better positions before, but you’ve got no time to fret over that now. You and the father both know this and instinctually flail your entangled limbs until you find yourself pushing off your separate ways.

That leaves you about half a second to get your sword ready to meet sword, your back still pressed against the ground as you desperately try to stop the gentleman above from crushing your skull in with concurrent strikes. Fortunately, Father Michael is there to shoulder check him off of you for a moment, but not without cost as the other assailant buries a sword deep into his shoulder and a knife in the place his kidney used to be.

With a roar of fury and a nearly missed headbutt, the father stumbles back, managing to gain some distance before collapsing to his knees in a convulsing heap. Unfortunately, you’ve no time to tend to him as your own partner continues frustrating your every attempt to finish him quickly. However, with his ally closing in, desperation gives way to innovation, and you think to throw a host of illusory embers into his eyes, the distraction buying you enough time to deliver a devastating blow against his head, metal then skull giving way to blade as you hear an unsettling snap from the base of his neck.

“What the f-f-f-uck is th-this, sh-shit?” Lucy tearfully chokes in the background, the elf’s body thrashing against the chair as the poison does its work.

“Don’t know, but it’s like my insides are on fire…” Michael groans, pulling the dagger from his stomach with obvious pain as he attempts to stand.

> Before you stands a man with a mace and shield, Phineas no doubt out of ear shot. How do you proceed?
> [] Kill (4d100)
> [] Incapacitate (3d100)
> [] Intimidate (3d100)
> [] Other

Rolled 58, 45, 56 = 159 (3d100)

>>323971
> [] Incapacitate (3d100)
With Extreme prejudice. We can change the shape of our armor right? Could we grab the guy and then lock the Fingers of it, so we can beat him a in the head tilll he stop fighting?

>>323990

Generally speaking, molding the armor takes time. You might be able to introduce spikes on the fly on the tip of your gloves to lock them in, but extending plates to increase your effective grip size would take some practice. Still possible with high enough rolls though.

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>>324127
>>323971

Well, looks like everybody went to bed. Guess if this is still on the board tomorrow I'll try to run it again.

Rolled 78, 75, 90 = 243 (3d100)

>>323971
>[] Incapacitate (3d100)
Crap, what do we do about the poison?
The healing powder, even if we have it with us, might not be of much help.

Rolled 59, 7, 99 = 165 (3d100)

>>323971
>> [] Incapacitate (3d100)
Use illusions to disorient him and make him believe you are somewhere else.

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>>324763
>>324560
>>323990
>>323971

> 78, 75, 90

“I. DO NOT. HAVE. TIME FOR THIS!” you roar, dropping your sword as a distraction before ripping the mace from the other man’s hand, shattering his shield with it and then grabbing him about the head with all the strength you can muster.

Next thing you know, with a pull and a burst of effort, his body comes sailing off the ground right before his head goes slamming into the floor, promptly ending your engagement as he goes limp. However, as you look around at the mutually thrashing bodies of your allies, you can’t say you feel much accomplished in that. What you need to do is find Phineas and put an end to this.

“Aye. D-Don’t mind me,” Father Michael raggedly laughs as he watches you go. “Didn’t wanna punch meself a wizard anyway.”

Lucy can’t even speak at this point, let alone joke, her blue eyes rolled up into the back of her head as every muscle in her body seemingly tries to rip through her skin. It’s a gruesome sight, more terrifying by far than the dozens of alcoves you now realize are lining the walls, each filled with a giant spider in various states of disagreement with your intrusion into their territory. Fortunately, an invisible wall of glass is holding them back from informing you more intimately of their disdain, and hopefully that will keep them as you go and hunt down your apparently misguided friend.

Up a flight of stairs and through a rather impressive lab, you give no credence to anything else as you bolt after the fleeing mage. Granted, maybe he could have turned himself into an object or a mimic and hidden in the room, but that was never Phineas’ style. No, when the situation got too dangerous, “Fanny” always had an exit strategy and an animal form ready to book it somewhere else. So it is that as you round through the lab area, you spy the man himself at the end of a corridor, the forming spiral staircase for his escape route letting moonlight spill into the shadowy corridor.

> If you don’t do anything, he’s going to get away. What do you say/do?
> [] Yell something at him (What?)
> [] Throw something at him (What?)
> [] Other

>>324966
>Yell something
"Fanny, your peanut butter and sardine sandwiches are awful and smell weird!"

throw a rock at him

>>324966
>>324983
This

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>>324966
>>324983
>>325191

“Fanny, you peanut butter and sardine smelling arsehole!” you yell down the hall. “Where in the devil are you off to in such a damned hurry?”

“R-Richard…?” the mage calls back, squinting into the near pitch black and obviously confused. “Richard is that you?”

“Richard?” you demand. “Do I really smell that much like brimstone and batshit to you?... You know what, don’t answer that. But no, Phineas, I’d be the other one of that illustrious trio. You know, the one who occasionally dragged you out of that hermetically sealed lockbox you called a room and out into the sunshine every now and again?”

“Lee!” You see his eyes widen, his whole form trembling as he backs away. “N-No that c-can’t be true. You’ve been dead for nigh on twenty-five years now! I was there at your funeral!”

> What do you say?

>>325400
"Yeah, I was. But you took those electives on Religious Studies with me after that scandal with the zombies, you know that death isn't always permanent! And no, I don't hunger for the living, so don't worry about that.
"Look, for old time's sake, could we talk this over, and no one needs to die."

>>325613
Say that we just want the antidote, and we'll let him go?
Saving Lucy is our main concern. Father Michael may or may not survive the poison because of his troll blood.

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>>325400
>>325613
>>325632

“This is the point where I’m supposed to say ‘The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated’, isn’t it?” you laugh bitterly while reaching for your helm. “Unfortunately, Phineas, the truth isn’t quite so pleasant. You see, I was and am still not quite among the living.” You see him turn a shade paler as you reveal the skull behind your faceplate. “But, hopefully you still remember, as do I, those Religious Studies electives we had to take following that fiasco with the zombies and the scandal with the succubus.

“Case in point: death need not always be permanent, and no, before you ask, I don’t hunger for the flesh of the living or anything of the sort. I’m closer to a revenant than a shade, but look, we’ll have plenty of time to discuss this and catch up on twenty-five years of silence later. Right now, I have friends dying in your lab, in desperate need of an antidote. No one need die here today (aside from the one chap whose skull I fear I smashed in by accident). At any rate, there need not be multiple bodies.”

“It really is you, isn’t it?” the old man murmurs, still disbelieving and swaying where he stands. “You’ve really come back from the dead?”

“I’d say, it’s me in the flesh, but…” you gesture to yourself. “No such luck, I’m afraid. Now about that antidote.”

“Of- Of course,” he breathes, bunching his robes before swiftly walking toward you. “There should still be plenty of time to counteract the mutagen before it does irreparable harm. I just need to get access to my potions cabinet and a fresh syringe to administer the dosage. Let’s just hope that neither of them-”

The sound of shattering glass suddenly erupts from up ahead, shortly heralding the boom of something massive and heavy slamming against hard stone. An unearthly light, whispers in the dark, you’ve no time to put the pieces together before a hulking form comes barreling through into the hallway in a cloud of debris, something in the shape of man but not quite, wearing the father’s face for its own as it roars at you with a sound that rattles your teeth.

“…An allergic reaction…”

> Time is short. What do you do?
> [] Yell something at the doctor
> [] Fight! (4d100)
> [] Flee! [In what direction?] (4d100)

>>325773
> [] Yell something at the doctor
"Go! I'll keep him busy! He's got troll blood in him!"
Hopefully that's enough for Phineas to figure out an antidote for Michael and Lucy.

>>325791
Same

>>325791
>>325923
>>325773

Give me 4d100 as you attempt to bait the bull but not get the horns.

Rolled 42, 75, 24, 80 = 221 (4d100)

>>325982

Rolled 75, 90, 26, 15 = 206 (4d100)

>>325982

Rolled 54, 19, 5, 49 = 127 (4d100)

>>325982

Rolled 33, 61, 99, 81 = 274 (4d100)

>>325982

File: rage.jpg (147 KB, 900x608)

147 KB JPG

>>325773
>>325791
>>325991
>>326159
>>326268

> 75, 90, 24, 80

“Get that damn serum! I’ll keep him busy!” you shout, throwing an illusion over Phineas’ fleeing form as you charge head first into danger.

Now, fortunate would be an odd choice of words in this situation, but the strategy at least pays some dividends right away, the mage scraping by the walls as the muscled behemoth turns his blazing eyes fully on you and begins chanting a guttural prayer, the light shining from beneath his skin all the brighter as he rushes at you in a blur.

“Father, I do believe that’s my shtick your stealing!” you quip in mock outrage, throwing on an illusion of flames all about you as you put everything you can into your godly might and prepare for a world of pain.

And a world of pain it is. Right, left, right, left. What he lacks in talk or finesse, he makes up for in endless ferocity and rage as he leaps on you in an instant. What appear to now be clawed hands have taken the place of his usual throwing knives as he slashes in a maelstrom all around you that you can’t even begin to hope to parry in its entirety. In your defense, you manage to hold your ground for a few solid seconds against that inhuman barrage, but it simply isn’t enough and soon you’re in full retreat, or you would be if there wasn’t a wall quickly closing in right behind your back.

You were going to have to think fast here, going to have to see a pattern and manage some sort of counteroffensive before he boxed you in. However, he’s not about to give you time to think, not about to stop pushing you back, and as his missed shots begin crushing the wall behind you, you’re left with little option than to just keep it simple, releasing a flash of light before charging blade first into the Father’s exposed gut, ducking under his blows before driving the thick steel hilt deep.

Suddenly, the violent whirlwind stops. There’s nothing but silence and the sound of pattering gravel falling from above. And for a moment you begin to fear you may have done too much, that is, before the Father grabs you bodily between his hands and begins smashing you against the corridor: once, twice, rattling you to pieces before sending you flying at the pavement on the other end from the exit in pieces.

It’s okay, you can fix this:
> You can fix this right?
> [] Roll 5d100 for emergency assembly and continuing the good ol’ fight
> [] Strategy?

Rolled 35, 52, 76, 96, 99 = 358 (5d100)

>>326389
Well, he doesnt seem in his right mind. Maybe try distracting him with a detached hand or something while you put the rest of yourself together?

Rolled 85, 70, 75, 40, 66 = 336 (5d100)

>>326389

Rolled 86, 95, 13, 6, 74 = 274 (5d100)

>>326389
>> [] Roll 5d100 for emergency assembly and continuing the good ol’ fight

Rolled 98, 53, 16, 7, 15 = 189 (5d100)

>>326389
> [] Roll 5d100 for emergency assembly and continuing the good ol’ fight

File: so much rage.jpg (17 KB, 227x222)

17 KB JPG

>>326389
>>326467
>>326501
>>326549

> 98, 70, 76, 96, 99

Alright. First things first. You need a distraction.

With that, you turn inward, feeling through the severed parts of you until you come upon your severed and smashed hand. Mana reforms it and repairs it, and then it’s off to the races in a burst of speed, skittering across the floor like some sort of unnatural spider. As a matter of fact, with another wave of focus, you send an illusion on the wall: spiders, dozens of the horrid things made of sickly light racing toward the hulking brute.

And much to your relief, it seems to work, the monster slamming his fists against tile and pavement in an attempt to free himself of the unnatural invaders, egged on by the very real feeling of your detached hand crawling over his back and around his legs. That leaves him little focus for the scattered pile of bones in the corner, a fact which you use to its utmost as you begin slapping together limbs in a flurry, twisting and ratcheting bits back into one continuous hole and burning reparation magic like paper as you struggle to get back standing.

As luck would have it, you somehow manage that impossible task before Father Michael brings an end to your little game, but only just. No sooner have you cracked your skull back on straight and mended your armor most of the way than with a roar that sounds suspiciously like “Amen”, the beast lets loose a blast of light, dissolving your illusion and- Well, that’s no good. You seem to have lost control of your hand completely.

In any case, you’ll tend to that in a minute. Right now, there appears to be a hulking brute about to smash you to pieces again, and you’re not about to let all of that hard work go to waste. So as he charges, you dive, right between his legs and out the other side as he slams into the ground, snatching up your detached hand as you roll to your feet and keep running. Thankfully, as you force your mana outward and repair the physical link, the spiritual link is quick to follow. However, you don’t want to know what happens if you take that holy light full blast.

Speaking of which, the light building in his chest cavity is probably not a good thing. Nope, not a good thing at all, and so you form an illusory Lee to take your place as you retreat into the shadows. A good thing as it turns out, as the father’s chant reaches a horrifying crescendo and a blast of light comes roaring from his mouth. You can almost picture the exploding staircase behind you from the sound of its collapse, but decide to focus on more practical matters at the moment, like the daggers still on Father Michael’s belt and jamming one of them up through his jaw and the roof of his mouth.

>>326770

With your enhanced strength, it should have pierced his brain, but you’ve gotten past the point of thinking of this like a fight against a person. As is, you’re not even sure destroying his brain would stop him, but that’s neither here nor there. What you need now is distance. So, while he’s distracted pulling out what must feel like a toothpick to him, you continue running back in the direction where you hope Phineas has a cure ready and waiting.

> What you find instead is an empty, partially destroyed lab…
> [] Keep fighting! He’ll probably be back! (4d100)
> [] Run! You need to get yourself and Lucy out of here! (4d100)
> [] Other

Rolled 75, 11, 10, 56 = 152 (4d100)

>>326777
>[] Keep fighting! He’ll probably be back! (4d100)
Lucy is still aflicked by the mutagen; we need Phineas to administer the antidote.

Rolled 73, 83, 52, 88 = 296 (4d100)

>>326777
>> [] Keep fighting! He’ll probably be back! (4d100)

Rolled 90, 67, 90, 87 = 334 (4d100)

>>326777
>> [] Keep fighting! He’ll probably be back! (4d100)
Don't kill him however

Rolled 19, 68, 25, 2 = 114 (4d100)

>>326777
> [] Keep fighting! He’ll probably be back! (4d100)
It doesnt seem hard to keep him focused on them, so just focus on not getting hit.

Rolled 89, 85, 94, 26 = 294 (4d100)

>>326777
>> [] Keep fighting! He’ll probably be back! (4d100)

File: 1462350761343.png (332 KB, 500x500)

332 KB PNG

>>326777
>>326795
>>326803
>>326829

> 90, 83, 90, 88

“Phineas, I swear to god,” you mutter, readying your sword. “The next reunion around here is going to be my boot and your ass if you just ran off.”

That’s about all the time Michael gives you for cheeky one-liners before he’s tearing across the room like a storm of pure destruction. Tables and beakers fly into the air, notes scatter and spilled solutions spark with magics that were probably never meant to be mixed as the ground beneath you shakes and shudders. Unfortunately, your defense is no match for his offense, and you’re soon beating a retreat… or at least that’s what he’d like to think at first. Truth be told, it’s just another unfortunate image of you meant to distract him and lure him further out into open space as you finish surrounding Michael with a whirlwind of dancing paper.

“This. Is. For. Your. Own. Good!” below a chorus of dopplegangers in turn, your voice thrown at random between them as they swing phantasmal swords from amidst the white, blades descending and ascending from every conceivable angle to frustrate the raging giant.

Meanwhile, you’re among them, adding a very real sting whenever you dare to keep him flailing through the mist. It’s a dangerous game of cat and mouse, his massive fists alight with a fire that likely wouldn’t prove healthy for one of your particular complexion as the light within his chest continues to swell.

And for all this, for all the danger, all the magic, all the effort, you realize that you aren’t hurting him in the least. As strikes fall short against muscles seemingly corded with iron and what little damage you do just seems to be absorbed and forgotten in an instant, you have to face the fact that he isn’t tiring. He isn’t even slowing down. If anything, he only seems to be gaining more momentum as the fight continues, a point he emphasizes as he looses another blast of incandescent fury at everything that surrounds him.

Fortunately, you find yourself behind a table at that point, having carefully timed the moment to put you there when he inevitably went off. Unfortunately, that table is then sent flying at a nearby wall then smashing you between it and its bulk like a bug. Of course, something like a few cracked ribs can’t be allowed to stop you at this point. On the contrary, you feel almost re-invigorated as you once more release a blast of light and go ducking back into the fray, slashing away like a madman.

File: 1460925159853.jpg (105 KB, 1024x663)

105 KB JPG

>>327066

And this was what this fight really boiled down to, a duel between madmen pitting an unkillable hulk against an already dead, possibly insane spirit. Perhaps your mind breaks a little in that moment, as it’s want to do, but you begin to take a sort of visceral pleasure in this losing proposition even as it turns further and further against you. With each smashing bone, you swing harder, faster, take bigger risks to land bigger, yet still inconsequential hits, anything to keep the pressure on and keep him swinging.

Some still rational part of your brain would convince you this is all part of a plan, that you simply want to keep him from using that damnable blast again, but the majority of you is a void filled with naught but raving laughter. When had you started laughing anyway? When were you going to stop? You weren’t sure, but it was going to be one hell of a ride on the way there!

--

“Lee!” you hear it through the fog of war, like an echo from so very far away. “Lee! You’ve just got to hold on a little longer! I’ve injected the antidote!”

Ah, right. Michael had gotten his inoculation not too long ago, then immediately tried to round on the good doctor. And as a result, you’d managed to clock him clean upside the head with your sword. That’s how you wound up losing your left arm. Whoop, and there goes the right. You were probably also going to need a new sword after this. Yep, a shiny one plated in fancy metal. That is, if Michael isn’t about to crack your skull between his teeth like an acorn as he seems to be planning on doing. Then again, it’ll probably be a bit harder with the way his head, along with the rest of him, seems to be shrinking.

Finally, with that, sanity finally seems to be regaining its grip on you. Michael was finally tiring, finally shrinking back to normal size with a distinctive lack of internal illumination. That was good. Otherwise, you would have had to keep fighting him, and right now- Your legs collapse beneath you as the innumerable fractures running through every centimeter of your form finally seem to catch up with the laws of physics, jaw rolling off somewhere inconvenient as you take a break to just lay there in a heap.

Still, your not-mouth, mouth is probably still working if you want to yell something, at Phineas or otherwise:
> What do you say?

>>327076
>> What do you say?
Fantastic, I hope y'all are pretty good at jigsaw puzzles.