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/qst/ - Quests

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You had intended to leave later. Two months from now, when you reached your seventeenth year.

Like many of your peers you fantasized about what waited past the ice and snow. You dreamed about testing your skill with the sword against all challengers, about grand battles with giant beasts.

The more you matured the more you realised you just wanted to see the world as a traveler, going wherever the road decided to take you.

You were more eager. Your fingers brush the long hilt of the first weapon at your hip.

Warriors of the nomadic tribes are one half of a whole. At the age of fourteen they traveled west, crossing the frozen land to request a blade from the folk of the Mountain. The forgekeepers put their hearts into their work and the one that answers the request becomes bonded with the warrior, often becoming as close as family or lovers.

An ideal that almost belongs in fairy tales, but one much of your story followed. You made the journey and met a tall smith only a year your elder. He was kind, gentle, and held an admirable dedication to his craft. He forged your first blade, and you could not have had happier years to your life.

You killed him not long ago.
The lighter snowfall this late morning lends to a slight change in scene, allowing scruffy patches of grass to show despite the season.

You are walking eastward into a wooden-walled settlement, backpack slung over your shoulders and blades at your waist. The road is wide enough for wagons or sleighs but is currently void of travelers, unchanged from the past few days.

Something welcomed. You don’t mind the quiet.

“Get off, old man!”

So it goes.

You are less than fifty paces from the village gate, and there you see an older man staggering back from being pushed.

Dashing away from him is a girl who you would place as a year your elder, though you can’t always tell with a demi-human person. Triangular ears poke out of her short orange-brown hair, a feline tail trails behind her as she runs, and her right hand holds a slender sword out to the side.

She looks over her shoulder to pull at an eyelid and stick out her tongue, then faces forward again to realise her path is on a collision course with you.


> Instinct

[ ] Lash out!
[ ] Leap away!
[ ] “Wait wait wait-”
>[ ] Leap away!
Weren't we escorting some people, or is that over now? It's been a while.
>[ ] Leap away!
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(I'm basically going to pretend the first thread didn't exist!

Ha ha.

But uh, for people who have no idea:
I ran this like a month or two ago, but wasn't really satisfied with it. So this is a... reboot of sorts?

If you wanna see the first thread anyway, here's an edited version as a long, optional prologue:
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“Out of the way!”

The contents of your backpack clatter together loudly when you jump to the side and land on the half-snowed earth, just in time as the cat-eared girl charges through where you stood. Your widened eyes meet for a moment with hers, then she’s gone.

A fine start to the day.

Also, ow. You landed on your scabbards.

A voice calls out while you get up and dust yourself off.

“You. Kalrun girl.”

It’s a middle-aged man, the one who was by the gate. Someone who despite not having a large build seems to exude strength, from his hard-set features and strict expression to his armoured attire and tamed beard of darker blonde hair.

A man of the Mountain. You tense up, unsure of what to expect.

“Come with me,” he states. “I have a request to make of you.”

“A request, Sir...?”

“Otto Lunding. No titles.”

You nod. “Sieglind. I apologise, I am not planning to stay in the village long.”

Lunding speaks firmly. “Neither I nor my request need long. Come with me.”

... This is a difficult conversation.

> Towns, villages, people:

[ ] You’ve been cautious, listening to rumours and looking for bounty posters.
[ ] You have avoided settlements almost entirely.
[ ] You didn’t want to consider your situation much.
>[ ] You’ve been cautious, listening to rumours and looking for bounty posters.
>[X] You didn’t want to consider your situation much.
>[X] You’ve been cautious, listening to rumours and looking for bounty posters.

Oh boy my other favorite quest is back
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At first you feared that the older man recognised you. You know very little about how the folk of the Mountain handle fugitives and criminals so you are unsure if you should be more cautious, particularly since you are no longer moving south.

Should you keep an ear for rumours, be on the lookout for bounty posters? You have not had to confront pursuers save for the first few days of your escape.

It should be strange to think of these things. You’d rather keep your mind elsewhere.

Regardless you are given little chance to speak whilst being driven through the village by the sheer force of Lunding’s stern gaze, ending up seated inside a near-empty inn with a mug of ale pushed in front of you. Your first blade leans on your shoulder and your other possessions are placed by your side on the timber floor.

Otto Lunding is across from you. He gets to the point quickly.

“The girl you saw fleeing at the gate is called Myrril. She is Kalrun like yourself, the bondmate of my late son, and refuses to relinquish his sword.”

A forgekeeper’s crafts are considered pieces of their maker, and often a smith’s masterwork is buried with them at their passing. An older tradition that you didn’t know many folk of the Mountain still adhered to.

“There is a great beast that was sighted a ways north-east of this village, and the girl has attached herself to the idea of slaying it.” His hands are on the table. “A fool’s errand. Find her, and return with the girl and the sword.”

You have a fair bit to take in.

“Might I ask a question?”

He nods in response.

“Why a fool’s errand? It sounds like it would be easier to convince her after her hunt.”

Perhaps that’s why Lunding called out to you, you think, but the stern man shakes his head.

“The beast is not a quarry for one or two, no matter how skilled. The village should be sending for mercenaries to deal with it, but the girl is too obstinate to wait.”

You aren’t sure what the man expects of you then. You have your own objectives, so maybe you could just refuse and leave.

But the story is too familiar. A warrior from the tribes, run away with a sword that's not quite theirs.


[ ] Why me?
[ ] You should go after her now.
[ ] Ask for more details on the ‘great beast’.
[ ] See if you can get any information from the villagers.
>[ ] Why me?
As we said, we won't be staying long. It's possible we won't find her or successfully return with her before we planned to leave.

We're going to do it regardless, of course, but information is information. Not to mention he hasn't yet said what we'd be getting out of the deal.
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I didn't think anyone remembered this quest or liked it much. Makes me feel a little bit guilty for stalling for so long, and glad I'm running again.)
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“One more question: why me?”

A simple answer. “Because you are Kalrun, as is she, and there are no other fighters of your tribe here. You could speak with her, and have a better chance of succeeding if it comes to blows.”

Take her back by force, if necessary. Harsh words.

“And if you do succeed,” he adds, briefly reaching to his belt and glancing down to where many somethings clink and jangle, “I have a reward of thirty gold coins to offer.”

Oh. Um.

You were paid two gold coins the last time you took up a task, which seemed generous. Enough to continue on quite a while.

On most days you don’t need the services of an inn, and you do not have high standards for meals. Travel rations often amount to just over twelve silver pieces each week. How many silver for each gold coin was it? Twenty-four?

That’s... an amount of silver.

“Myrril would be north-east of the village, towards where the beast was last seen. Are you prepared to leave?”

You blink. “Um- Yes.”

Otto Lunding stands. “Then follow me.”

Lunding accosts a local hunter into giving you a direction, and you’re shown out the north gate of the village.

The weather is fairly clear. The landscape of rolling hills under the snow has almost no obstructions. At the high points of land you can see the a thin forest starting further east, and above the odd bird of prey flies past looking for a meal that has yet to hibernate.

You walk, mulling over your approach and the situation you’ve been dragged into. Coin is a motivator, certainly, but there is something personal in wanting to see the ending to this tale.

You find her not far from the village, sitting atop a hill and looking out to the north-east. The girl similar in age with orange-brown hair, feline ears and tail, and a scabbard lying in the snow by her side.

One of those ears twitch on your approach.


[ ] You want to hear her side.
[ ] You should keep a hand on your blade. Figuratively.
[ ] (Other thoughts?)
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(I should note - I plan on updating pretty much whenever. Probably three each day. I think I'm running at odd hours anyway, so it'd let people vote.

Off for now, coming back on the 'morrow.)
I thought that you had abandoned this, and had already drafted a copy of the MC for my D&D Friday game. I liked the character and the narration, sparse as it was.
>[ ] You want to hear her side.
>[ ] You want to hear her side.
>[ ] You want to hear her side.
Good to see this is back, thought it had died.
>[ ] You want to hear her side.
>[ ] You should keep a hand on your blade. Figuratively.
>>[ ] You want to hear her side.

Why haven't you posted on twitter that it's alive again?
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(Wow. That, is really cool.
Would be neat to hear how you play her. Sieglind is so distant and melancholic a character - sounds kind of weird to work with as a PC.)


(ha ha ha aaah I did stall for ages, huh.)


(Umm... Done!)
She turns, not getting up from her spot. Her features, in an expression of mild surprise, are soft and graceful.

“Oh. It’s you again.”

You stop near the bottom of the hill, and put on a smile. “I am Sieglind. You would be Myrril?”

“Did the old man drag you into this?”

Yes. Yes he did.

Myrril wears a quiet, almost wry grin, despite the circumstance and the hand resting on the scabbard at her side.

“I’m not going back, you know. Not yet.”

You take a few steps forward. “I am not here to force you. I want to hear your side.”

“It’s not really interesting.”

“Even so.”

She almost laughs, her tail swaying while she shifts her position to face you properly. “Alright. It got a bit too quiet anyway.”

She pats the snow to gesture for you to sit. Awfully casual, you think as you join her on the small hill.

“You’ve heard some of it, right? That this sword was made by- by my bondmate. And that the old man wants it back.”
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The scabbard is of a black wood, its sides and tip plated with metal. Myrril picks it up and rests it on her lap. The shadow of a scowl lightens quickly.

“I’m not from around here. Kind of obvious, right? But I was taken in when I was really young.”

She does look the outsider. The people of this land and of the tribe in particular are often like you, lighter hair and fairer complexion, and demi-humans are rarely seen here.

“I made the journey to the Mountain late too. Thought it was kind of stupid. But then I got there, and I met...”

An almost tired sigh. “We talked a lot. We really loved some of the stories that went around- the ones that warriors always told at the mead halls, about the places they saw and the things they did.

Both of us wanted to be a part of one. We wanted to journey out and find our own sights and battles to boast about.

He was always a bit sickly. I didn’t know how he could even swing a smith’s hammer most of the time. Yet he also seemed strong, somehow. Said if he could make a sword for me, then he could be a part of my story.”

Myrril looks down, running her fingers over her scabbard.

“He forged this almost a week ago. Then he was gone, just like that.”

The girl with orange-brown hair shakes her head.

“It’s too sudden. I hadn’t even left. Hadn’t seen or done a damn thing.

So I’m going to change that before the old man buries it for some stupid tradition.”

A time passes, with nothing but the sound of blowing wind.

“And so you are here.”


You’re removed from all of this. An observer.

“I had heard your hunt was something for a larger group?”

“I can handle it.”

Myrril’s tone is hard, but she didn’t deny your words.


[ ] She should look for another chance. Something less suicide.
[ ] Lunding mentioned mercenaries being sent for.
[ ] Couldn’t she convince the villagers to help?
[ ] (Other thoughts?)
>[ ] (Other thoughts?)
>What relation has she to Lunding? By what merit does he in particular wish the sword returned?
>What exactly is the prey she seeks? Has she considered the consequence to her and her bondmate's story were it truly too great for her?

>Your job is to find her (already done), and return with her and the sword - no more, no less. Regardless of all else, how things proceed from this point will almost inevitably depend on her proficiency with her blade.
>Lunding will get the sword anyway. He'll just send others to find it.
>The choice she has is if the sword's tale will be about someone who used it foolishly and died a pointless death or if it'll be about someone who used it to the best of her abilities to honour it's maker.
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(These will play a bigger part in the update after this one.)
Lunding asked you to return with her and her sword. They are related, with Myrril being his son’s bondmate, yet their tone for each other has been harsh.

To bury the sword with its maker. The two of them were arguing by the village gate earlier and it seems neither have budged; Myrril on her dangerous task, Lunding on his rigidity.

“This can’t be wise. There has to be better options.”

“Would you run, then? Turn away and look for easier challenges?”

“That’s-” Not what you meant.

What would be the point if she failed and lost her life? What becomes of her story then?

“Hey. Let me ask you something.”

You glance up and meet her eyes.

“Can you draw that sword?”


Myrril smiles gently, almost resigned.

“Sorry. I just thought-”

Then she stops, her ears twitching. There’s a clamor of panting and growling, becoming louder and louder by the moment.

Both of you stand alert, your hand hovering by the hilt of your steel sword as large animals burst from the crest of the hill. A huge pack of arctic wolves stream from all around, sprinting past the two of you.

Something unnerves you, more than the muted drumming of the animals’ paws on the dirt and grass. Something that sets your heart beating, a strange, sinister feeling that you can’t place.

You have little time to consider it as several of the white wolves break off, snarling and surging in your direction.


[ ] Silence Of Still Waters / Wait and counter.

[ ] Flash Draw / Eliminate one.
+ [ ] Echoing Blade / Eliminate another.
or [ ] Sway With The Breeze / Keep mobile.

Sieglind is versatile and evasive.
Myrril is aggressive and overwhelming.
> [X] Silence Of Still Waters / Wait and counter.
>or [ ] Sway With The Breeze / Keep mobile.
[ ] Silence Of Still Waters / Wait and counter.
Wolves, m8. Best to take advantage of their animalistic intelligence and bait them into a trap.
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Briefly, you feel glad for the interruption.

You draw the steel sword and hold it in front of you in both hands. Your foes are quick and nimble, but they are animals. Simple, easy to predict.

You close your eyes.

All around, paws on snow.

Behind, harsh footfalls. Sharpened metal through air.

Front, right, movement against the tide. Low, throaty breaths. A change in rhythm.

A step left, turning the blade. Guided across, parting the opposing flow.

A twist and a step out of the way. Weight crashing to the earth. Three steps forward with a lowered sword, brought up in a diagonal slash.

You open your eyes.

The blurring river of white dashes past, thinning out without more separating to attack. You feel a stinging pain and wipe your sleeve against your cheek.

Blood, but not yours. The wolves you slew lie in front and behind you, and their wounds had splashed scalding blood that sizzles and steams atop the snow.

“That’s not normal,” Myrril says. The cat-eared girl is further back with sword drawn, standing by another pair of felled animals in their own pools of burning crimson.

That isn’t all to the situation. There were two other things that struck you about the wolves.

The first is the ferocity they carried. Even through your trance their violence and desperation was almost tangible, something past what you know of predators and threatened animals.

As with the blood, you have no idea what to make of that.

The second is less a mystery. The wolves were fleeing.

The ground quakes. A shadow in the near-noon sun crests the hill, and you behold the beast it follows.

What is that thing?
(I'm going to have to leave the second half of the update because sleep is apparently a thing.

If you have a thought to add for this choice >>1334181 or these votes >>1334220 >>1334474 then feel free to do so. Otherwise, see ya'll soon.)
A new challenger approaches!

G'night, QM.
So they were fleeing, I had noticed it here:
> A huge pack of arctic wolves stream from all around, sprinting past the two of you.

Lunding's son was her bondmate, so she's his daughter-in-law I guess. He wants the sword back to bury it with his dead son to honour his memory.

> help Myrril with the beast and let her do as she pleases afterwards.
If we need coin then we can take the bounty for the monster and split it. He said it himself, no one matches a Kalrun swordmaster so we should have a good chance at it together.

She's hunting the beast that we came across, we were to discourage her from trying to fight it and he was willing to pony up a small fortune to get her back safely. He must really like her, else he'd just ask for the sword.
A part of you thought you could complete Myrril’s hunt. That between the two of you, perhaps with some borrowed help from the village, you could fell her quarry. The problem would be much closer to solved if she completed her objective, after all.

Now? Now you know why it was called a fool’s errand.

The beast is huge, almost twice your height even while holding itself low and many times that as long. It is covered in thick white fur, similar to a lizard or canine in shape with four legs and snaking tail, and menaces with vicious rows of teeth and blackened claws.

You would suggest ballistae, chain hooks, and a dozen men.

But for now, the two of you need to get out of the way.

You bolt, leaping and diving off the side of the hill as the great beast thunders forward. Beneath you the earth continues to shake under its weight, and you pull yourself to your feet with steel in hand-

To realise that it has continued its charge past. Which is no relief at all, because the village lies in that direction.

Myrril is nearby, panting. She was closer to the beast but seems unharmed.

“We need to warn-” No, you can’t outrun it- “We need to help the villagers escape.”

The cat-eared girl flicks her gaze to you. “Yeah. Do that. I’m going to kill it.”

“Are you insane?”

“That’s what I was going to do from the start. Hasn’t changed.”

“You can’t beat that thing.”

“I will.”

This stubborn- “Think about this! You want to honour your bondmate, do you not? To find a better conclusion, an alternative to the tragedy! But what happens if you lose everything else to recklessness? What happens if you throw yourself headlong into a meaningless death?”

She glares at you, unyielding. You grit your teeth and shout.

“What kind of story would it make if you failed?!”

“What kind of story would it make if I didn’t try?!”

Her words freeze you.

“You’re the same, aren’t you? You ran off as well, through the stupid snow praying that it’s all a stupid nightmare you’re going to wake up from! Then, when you realise it isn’t you start praying that everything just goes to hell instead!

That’s why you- That’s why we carry a sword we can barely hold, isn’t it?!

But even so we ran for a reason! We ran because things shouldn’t be this way, because this isn’t the kind of story we wanted to tell!

There’s a choice. And maybe you haven’t decided yet, or maybe you want to just give up and walk until you can’t and the cold takes you.

But I’ve made up my mind. I’m not hesitating anymore, and I’m not letting it just end. I’m giving him the legend he deserves. Because I still can.”

She speaks with strength. Tears have filled her amber eyes but the conviction behind them shines through.

“Because I’m still alive!”

Myrril sprints past, and you stare into nothing.

Did you make a decision already?

Did you, too, die that day?


... Damn her.

Damn her!!


[ ] You have to support Myrril when she fights.
[ ] You have to help get the villagers to safety.
[ ] A legend? Fine. You’ll kill the beast.
>[ ] You have to support Myrril when she fights.
>[ ] You have to support Myrril when she fights.
>And haul her out of there if she looks like she's going to fail, no matter what she says.
>[ ] You have to help get the villagers to safety.
She's been warned that fighting that thing, with backup, was insane and now she's going to try and solo it. We should focus on saving people that don't have a death wish.
You give chase. She’s evidently quicker than you, having disappeared behind the terrain’s rolling hills; you find yourself pushing harder, almost stumbling through the thin snow after the brown-haired Kalrun girl.

What’s left of the settlement’s wooden wall and gate comes into view, broken through by the massive white monster. It’s raging roars are overwhelming, drowning out the screams that filled the air. Beyond you see a building half-smashed and barely catch the sight of villagers fleeing.

Myrril is there, dashing to place herself in front of the great beast. You see her jump and tumble forward out of the way of a huge claw that crashes down and threatens to crack the earth.


[ ] Sway With The Breeze: Distract it for Myrril with light strikes.
[ ] Flash Draw + Echoing Blade: Make your opener count.
>[ ] Flash Draw + Echoing Blade: Make your opener count.
Got to kill this thing fast.
>[ ] Sway With The Breeze: Distract it for Myrril with light strikes.
Care not to overcommit and leave ourself open either.
2nded. Learn how the beast operates first.
>[ ] Flash Draw + Echoing Blade: Make your opener count.
>[ ] Sway With The Breeze: Distract it for Myrril with light strikes.
(Update after this one will come in some hours because I need to run off.
... Well, this one took a while as well anyway.

Insert combat theme?
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You hold up the steel sword, closing the distance quickly to swing with a long overhead slash that cuts a shallow wound into the side of the monster’s stomach. Its howling grows and it twists with its long neck, turning its huge head towards you, blasting the wind with a terrible stench from its snarl.

The beast snaps forward with fangs bared. Throwing yourself low, ignoring the rough sensation of its fur flying above, you spin around and lash out below its neck, striking true and spurting vitae from the wound.

You dive away before it crushes you and regain your loose stance. The cut was again not deep, maybe not truly damaging, but you’re taking its focus. The other side of its neck was exposed in reaching for you; Myrril switches to a two-handed grip and unleashes a flurry of cuts, the monster’s cries becoming utterly deafening as the swordfighter carves through.

Step light and fleeting. Keep its attention split, look for an opening-

The great beast swings around and thrashes in a storm of motion, whipping its huge tail far enough to smash through the remaining ruins of the settlement’s wall. You draw back as best you can but the tail catches and flings you back, slamming you to the ground with the wind knocked from your chest.

Your quick reflex and light stance blunted the worst of the blow, but you’ve still certainly lost some ribs. You cough harshly, stabbing the sword down to drag yourself up, focusing through blurred vision.

The beast is wounded, crying out with its terrible snarling roar, globs of its blood sizzling where they splash on the dirt and snow. There’s a frenzy to its actions, a madness.

That is not important right now.

Myrril was far too close. She isn’t armoured, neither of you are, and a deep, horrible gash from the beast’s claws has torn through her clothes and stomach.

Yet still her weapon trails streams of crimson. The beast stomps and the girl stumbles back, landing still for a moment before summoning her strength to dart forward again.

You see her jump, catching onto the beast’s foreleg and clinging onto its thick fur. She pulls, straining painfully, stretching out with a hand.

There has got to be a limit to your stupidity- With every intention to smack sense into her you stand, but you’re almost behind the beast.

“Myrril!” You shout, knowing damn well she wouldn’t listen if she could hear. Every movement the great beast makes tosses the girl about like a doll, its fur serving poorly as purchase, but she continues on climbing with dogged determination.

Cursing with what breath you have, you rush back into the fray


[ ] Sing With The Gale, Howl With The Tempest: Force it’s attention on you!
[ ] Rising Tide, Crashing Waves: Carve through, make it still!


[ ] Steel Sword.
[ ] First Blade.
>[ ] First Blade.
[ ] Rising Tide, Crashing Waves: Carve through, make it still!
>[ ] Rising Tide, Crashing Waves: Carve through, make it still!
>[ ] Steel Sword.
>[ ] Rising Tide, Crashing Waves: Carve through, make it still!
>[ ] First Blade.
The time for holding back is over. We are both wounded; if the beast does not fall here, we very well may.
2nded. The beast is just attacking in a panicked frenzy now so we'll just have to finish it off ASAP.
with the steel sword in hand towards the beast, pushing the blade against its pillar-like leg and meeting resistance. It’s difficult to do more than draw blood, and you tumble out of the way when it kicks outwards in response.

The beast shifts and turns, towering over you. Its tiny eyes are crazed, and saliva drips from its open maw.

Your breathing is ragged, and you’re having trouble ignoring your wounds. Though you cannot see her from here you’re sure Myrril is worse off.

You have to try to still it. You have to cut through. But if it’s attention is on you you cannot afford to do anything but dodge.

You become aware of heavy footfalls. A shout from a familiar voice, that of the stern man you met earlier today.

Whether they’re from mercenaries or from other members of Lunding’s house you don’t know and don’t care: half a dozen crossbow bolts fly out, zipping through and thudding into the head and neck of the great beast.

The projectiles are small, not suited for something of this size and so thick a hide. The beast can almost shrug them off.

But it’s enough.

You drop the weapon and grip the hilt of your first blade-
-do the best I can
-n just come back and I’ll handle it
-to keep you safe. If it helps you even a bit-
I’m glad. I’m really glad we met-


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You shut it out. All of it. Your memories are painful and precious in equal measure. They do not matter here.

The distance is gone in the moment’s distraction. You run to the monster’s clawed leg, tearing from your marble-white scabbard a blade of gleaming metal that flashes swifter than lightning, biting into the flesh of the beast.

Its searing blood bursts out and boils against your skin but you pay it no heed. You place your other hand on the hilt and raise your first blade.

A swing overhead through its hardened muscle.
Two diagonal strikes that cut to the bone.
A fourth slash that slices clean through.

It roars with desperate pain. The mangled leg renders it unable to move and the beast stumbles.

Atop its head is Myrril.

One of her eyes is clenched shut. The front of her torso is dyed entirely in red. Still she holds.

With one hand she raises her sword reversed, blinding sunlight dancing across the blade. She stabs down and plunges it into the monster’s skull.

Its flailing grows intense. It struggles, thrashes, howling to split the sky-

Then it all stops, and the beast crumbles to the earth.

And falling from above, flung off from its final moments, is the broken form of a brown-haired girl.
(Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SgWy8lLeWE)
I did it. We did it.

‘Impossible’ my tail. Hahah.

I... got what I was looking for.

But maybe this isn’t the ending you wanted.

About that... I’m sorry.


I never did get to hear about you.

But it’s fine. You’ll find your way through, whatever happens.

Heh. I just know, okay?


Hey, Sieglind?

I want to ask you to do something.

Take... Take this with you.

Yeah. But even though I’m here, even though I won... I want it to keep going.

Even if I can’t carry it anymore.

...Tell the old man as well.

That I’m sorry for being so stubborn. And thanks, for chasing after me.

You as well. For being here.

Thank you.
You open your eyes to a wooden ceiling.

You’re lying on a mattress under a thick and rough woollen blanket. Your clothes and belongings were placed to the side, and your chest is wrapped up in cloth bandages.

Otto Lunding is in the small room, sitting on a small wooden chair a short distance away.

“You’ve woken,” he states.

There’s a glass window, and it seems to be coming close to evening. You sit up, a sharp pain reminding you of your injury, then slowly pull your jacket over your shoulders.

The hill. The great beast. The ruined wall. The battle.

You face the stern man. “Myrril?”

“Myrril is gone.”

You knew. You did not want to ask, but you had to.

He rises, pacing slowly to the open window. Silence.

“My son had a weaker constitution,” he starts. “He was never fit for the forge, yet I did not forbid him from it. It was what he wished and lived for, and when Myrril arrived that became doubly true.”

Two scabbards lie nearby. One ashen, one marble-white.

“I do not regret my decision even now. Even if toiling for that blade had cost him the remainder of his failing health. But when Myrril stole away with it I no longer had the same strength of will.”

Lunding sighs.

“To keep her safe but caged, or to let her go. After losing my son, I could only make the selfish choice.”

When Lunding told you of his request, you thought the tradition he spoke of was one not many folk of the Mountain followed.

Perhaps you were right.


[ ] Relay Myrril’s words.
[ ] Take her sword, to honor her request.
[ ] Take her sword. You want her story to continue.
[x] Relay Myrril’s words.
[x] Take her sword. You want her story to continue.

Interesting quest, I'll be sure to follow it.
[ ] Relay Myrril’s words.
[ ] Take her sword. You want her story to continue.
You take a long breath. “I spoke with her after the beast fell.”

Lunding doesn’t turn around.

“She told me to take her sword. Continue the story, even if she isn’t here.”

You bite your lip. Myrril may have been right. This may not be what you were looking for.


“I intend to do so.”

A quiet reply.

“I see. Was there anything else?”

There was. “She wanted to say she was sorry, for being stubborn. And thank you, for chasing after her.”

The older man pauses. A mournful smile grows as he speaks.

“If there is one person who I would forgive for troubling me so, it would be my fool of a wayward daughter.”
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It was members and people under the employ of Lunding’s house that had fired those crossbow bolts. The older man leaves with them, quitting the village before the sky grows fully dark, to take Myrril to her resting place.

The fight did break something, but it isn’t too severe. You are able to walk without significant pain after two days. Though you will have to travel slowly, and rest often.

A few more pass and you stand at the village’s east exit. The healer had many an angry word to share but you did not think you could stay long.

At your belt hangs a pair of blades, both whose stories begin with an end.

Their next chapters are in your hands. You cannot promise they will be bright.

Still, you will do all you can.
A Sword's Exile: Shooting Stars reaches its conclusion!

More music for no reason: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPRnA-3q6zo

I do want to continue this. Hopefully without a two month delay.

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>He must really like her, else he'd just ask for the sword

Also thought this was cool. I tried to make Otto seem harsh, but he does distinctly say to return with her.
Fun quest as always mitty.
Thanks for running mitts, hope to see more of this soon.

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