>>2053558
The store is quiet and gets quieter and darker the further you go in. A rotating display shelf for books and magazines and pamphlets lies tipped against a metal shelf, it’s contents scattered on the floor like mahjong tiles. You crouch down, trying to position yourself so the sunlight is at your front and good enough to read the titles with. Cheap paperbacks mostly, pulp fiction, trashy romances with bare chested and bare breasted folk on the front. Just tinder now and little else. You spread them around, looking for a tour guide or a map of the area. You find a leaflet containing information on nearby nature preserves and native american historical sites--it’s not much to go on but it has the highways marked and a few side roads so you pocket it.

You head toward the counter--they usually keep the batteries there--and hear something: a high-pitched chitter, like someone sped up a birdsong twenty times. Instantly your body goes rigid and your heart is racing; your eyes are scanning the darkness for them. Goblins, unlike you, can see perfectly well in the dark and like cats, their eyes sometime glow--blue instead of yellow--which can give them away. But you don’t see any blue, just black. You hear them again coming from the back three shelves down behind the broken ice machines. There’s a pack of them. They always move in packs..

You look toward the window; the fading light coming through it; the gas pumps; behind them your car and behind that the road and the tree trunks. They probably haven’t noticed you. There’s a carousel of batteries behind the counter. You can grab what you need and go, no one needs to be the wiser. You climb over the counter.

There’s a scream like someone just shoved squeeze toys into a blender and hit puree. You flip around and a goblin is standing by the books, 5 feet away, the light on his back outlining him and casting his little green body in shadow, his eyes aglow like two blue coals. In his hands is a crude spear fashioned from a kitchen knife and a broom that he now cocks back to throw.

>Blast him with your shotgun [devastating at short range, ineffective at long range. 12 damage, x2 damage at close range, can’t be used long range]
>Duck behind the counter then chop him down with your axe [A brutal weapon but requires getting up close. Melee range only. 8 damage, crit-range extended to 17-20 (instant decapitation), crit-fail range extended to 1-2]
>Shoot him right between his ugly eyes with your rifle [An efficient long range weapon. 10 damage -4 Penalty at short range, +4 at long range.]
>Pop two in his chest with your pistol [Easy to use and versatile with high rate of fire. 6 damage. Can be used effectively at all ranges, can hit multiple times per round based on number of successes in three rolls (instead of just taking the highest of three)]

>>2053562
>Blast him with your shotgun [devastating at short range, ineffective at long range. 12 damage, x2 damage at close range, can’t be used long range]

Interesting opening

>>2053562
>Pop two in his chest with your pistol [Easy to use and versatile with high rate of fire. 6 damage. Can be used effectively at all ranges, can hit multiple times per round based on number of successes in three rolls (instead of just taking the highest of three)]

>>2053562
Voting for Pistol. From that scream, we should probably be expecting more, and we'll have to shoot close and far.

>>2053562
>Pop two in his chest with your pistol [Easy to use and versatile with high rate of fire. 6 damage. Can be used effectively at all ranges, can hit multiple times per round based on number of successes in three rolls (instead of just taking the highest of three)]
Is ammo a concern if we don't choose the axe?

>>2053615
>>2053645
>>2053654

Calling the vote since I don't want to wait too long

>>2053654
Yes, ammo is a concern and relatively scarce.

Please roll a d20 (I'll be taking the first three)

>>2053654
Ammo is the reason I didn't go pistol, using multiple rounds a turn and pistol rounds are rarer and harder to make than shotgun shells.

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>2053664
Let's go

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>2053664

Rolled 5 (1d20)

>>2053664

File: Gobs.jpg (44 KB, 670x900)

44 KB JPG

>>2053673
>>2053687
>>2053764

>7,12 vs 7; 2 hits -> 12 damage
>5/7 shots and 2 clips remaining

You don’t even think. All of this has been conditioned to a reflex so that everything slows as though you are moving through water and there are two short pops, the two bullets like two beams of fire one through the left breast and the other just above the upper lip, so that this creature’s blood, red like yours, forms a dripping mustache on its face. It staggers as the air of its lungs leaves through the hole you created and the liquids of his body pour inside, stifling his breath and his cries and finally his life.

You’ve seen men die before. One time at a construction site where you worked, you saw a man get his body crushed by a falling building. It was a routine inspection. You and four others were waiting outside, joking and enjoying the sound of your own voices in the morning silence. And three men went inside the building and two of them lost the ability to walk forever and one of them had his body mangled so badly his family decided to cremate him, though they were god-fearing Christian folk. He was a fit man, able-bodied, and when they brought him out his head was opened up like a cracked egg--all yolk, red and gray and runny. You have seen this and yet as you look at the body of the goblin, the makeshift spear and his limp hand clasping it and the blood running down his mouth and chin and forming a perfectly circular halo behind his head and the sure knowledge that he would’ve killed you, that he is a monster in every cell of his body--it doesn’t seem to get easier. There is still resistance.

His friends are on you now and screeching with rage and maybe grief. And they are circling you and two of them are already near the windows and one of them running to the door to close off your escape. You turn around and two more are behind you, spears raised to throw and one has climbed onto a shelf and has a boxcutter in his left hand and you can tell by how he scowls, the earthen teeth showing between fat lips, that he wants nothing more than to leap on you and drag the metal shard across the delicate arteries of your neck and bleed you until you are a husk and a puddle of red.

But it cannot go that way. It cannot. And you cannot give him that satisfaction because your sister is alive somewhere far away. She is alive and you are not there to protect her and that is not a thing that can be in this world.

>Go for the front door and your car; get out of here
>Stand your ground, take cover behind the counter and kill anything that comes close
>Run for the back door, it’s the only place clear of goblins

>>2053804
>>Run for the back door, it’s the only place clear of goblins
Sounds like the safest option right now.

>>2053804
>Run for the back door, it’s the only place clear of goblins
If we run for it goblins are most likely faster than us and if we stand our ground we can't see. The mystery box sounds good now.

>>2053804
>Run for the back door, it’s the only place clear of goblins
The ammo thing would have been nice to know before the vote was called, but finding a backup melee weapon should hopefully not be too difficult. Easier than finding a gun, at least.

>>2053835
>>2053846
>>2053873

You bound over the counter and run for the back door, sweeping your arms across the shelves next to, throwing down bottles of shampoo and mouthwash to impede the chasing goblins. You reach the back exit, the sign above the double door long dead and black. You press on the bar and come out onto a small clearing, surrounded by trees. A park bench lies a few feet in front of you, covered in moss and vegetation and there is a garbage bin to your right, emptied long ago. A small path leads back toward the meters and the front of the store. You follow it and the goblins follow you. You may just divert them long enough to make it back to your car.

The earth shakes. The pieces of glass dance on the concrete and whatever small victory you felt had been salvaged here is thrown back into the flame. A troll is lumbering toward your pickup. 10 feet, 12 feet tall. Blue and purple skin like a week-old bruise and a small bald head, like a bulbous thumb; around his shoulders the legs of another goblin. He pats the troll’s cheeks lovingly and guides the stupid strength to mischief and calculated destruction.

>Run as hard as you can for the car, you might be able to make it
>Abandon the car and run into the woods behind you

>>2053920
>Shoot the goblin atop the troll?
>Run as hard as you can for the car, you might be able to make it
Leaving our car would mean leaving all our supplies behind, which would be suicide.

>>2053920
Shoot the goblin sitting on the troll's shoulder then run for the car.

>>2053920
>>2053935
Sure, backing

>>2053935
>>2053936
>>2053943

You lock your elbows and point your pistol at the mounted goblin, holding your breath to steady your aim. Behind you can hear the goblins spill out of the back door. You have one chance...

>Roll dem bones (3 d20s please)

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>2053949
nat 1 incoming

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>2053949

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>2053949

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>2053949

>>2053952
>>2053953
>>2053984
>>2053985

>Critical hit!

You fire at the goblin’s head, the only viable target available behind the troll’s body. The head cocks back a second, like it just sneezed and then forward, landing on the trolls scalp. You note with grim satisfaction the thin trickle of goblin red spreading across the troll's purple skin. Without the instructions of its master the troll now panics and lets out a long cow-like sound. It’s small black eyes swing around the lot, searching for the source of this disaster. It sees you. It sees the gun in your hand pointing in its direction. It's gears move in a slow but inevitable clockwork and it charges with all the force of a rhino.

And it would have worried you, except that there is a barrier between you and it--namely the gas meters and as it rips each kiosk apart gasoline splashes over its body in a thick oily film, the smell which reaches you by a slight breeze. You take aim, letting it untangle itself from the broken metal and plastic, letting it get just far enough from your car, and then you fire--not at him, but at the meter next to him.

The explosion knocks you off your feet and a shrill buzzing noise takes your ears. The troll is screaming. The flames are eating through his thick rubbery skin and melting it like candlewax. You get to your feet, behind you the goblins are on the floor, cowing and covering their heads.

>3/7 bullets and 2 clips left

>Make a run for the car and get out
>Take advantage of the goblin's disorientation and take them out

>>2054027
>>Take advantage of the goblin's disorientation and take them out

>>2054027
>Make a run for the car, and THEN take them out.
We need to conserve that ammo. Besides, a car is often a more effective weapon than a gun.

>>2054044
The path to the back is too narrow to admit the car

>>2054051
My bad, didn't realize they weren't moving from there. Take the car and get out, then, assuming we've got everything we need from here.

>>2054027

>Make a run for the car and get out

No unnecessary risks, and we have to conserve ammo.

>>2054064
>>2054097
Finally a tie-break.

You holster your gun and run for the car, skirting around the burning and still howling corpse of the troll. You were lucky. Burns are the only thing the trolls can’t regenerate. You get into your car and drive until you are well out of sight of the station. The smell of smoke and burning flesh still lingers in your nose and you roll down a window to let in some fresh air.

Your hands are shaking again. Your body is shivering. You pull over and take a few deep breaths and it takes a long time before the shaking stops and you have full control over your body. You have survived again and though your mind lingers on the what could have been, what could have gone wrong--in the end, you’re still alive. Nothing else matters.

The sky has darkened now and on each side of you is forest and to the front and back of you a slim, lonely road. You take out the pamphlet you picked up and scan it. The road you’re on connects to an interstate highway 15 miles away, that’ll get you through the state, depending on the condition of the roads--likely terrible, ridden with orcs or giant rats or giant wolves or congested by abandoned cars and wrecks.

You sigh and lean back in your seat and pull out your phone. It takes a second for it come on because you never leave it on fearing that the batteries will die out. It’s on permanent battery saver mode too, but there are no more cell towers and no more internet. The phone has only one purpose now. You press on the photo app and flick through the images of your sister, smiling, her cheek braced against yours, a birthday hat on her head you made for her when she was six and which she kept and has worn every birthday since.

Quietly, you turn the phone off and pocket it trying to swallow all doubt and despair. She is smarter than you, you tell yourself. She is resourceful. She is alive. You are trying to entrench the belief even deeper in your heart, as though by faith alone you will make some mark on probability.

Your stomach grumbles and your eyes are growing heavy.

>Sup and sleep the night
>Keep driving through the night

>>2054202
>Sup and sleep the night
As long as we can find a safe place to sleep. Take rest when you can, because you don't know when you will next be able to.

>>2054202
>>Sup and sleep the night

>>2054202
>>Sup and sleep the night
Find somewhere to hunker down. Don't want to run into anything nasty in the dark, especially if they have nightvision.

>>2054202

>Sup and sleep the night

We're at a severe disadvantage at night. Our car is loud and we have shit night vision. Better to hole up for the night than chance the road

>>2054202
>Sup and sleep the night

>>2054202
>>Sup and sleep the night

>>2054207
>>2054211
>>2054212
>>2054216

You have a mind to keep going because this is one of those nights where the nightmares will not leave you and because you never grabbed the batteries and will have to use the headlights again.

You rub your eyes and peer into the dark, pretending you can see through it and convincing yourself that you are safe. You flick on the headlights and set a timer on your watch and then reach toward the back seat and pull out a portable hotplate and a package of hotdogs and a bag of old discarded buns you found in a trash can behind a bakery two cities back and a handful of mustard packets you found in an abandoned McDonald's that was infested with giant rats--a close call for a few packets of mustard and ketchup. And with these reagents, you fashion your dinner and eat until you are just sated but not quite satisfied.

It’s impossible to eat a simple meal without feeling apprehension. One the one hand, every bite and morsel destroyed tips the balance in favor of future starvation, on the other every given meal might be your last. So there is a careful and delicate balance to be maintained between gorging with abandon and rationing with steel discipline.

You turn on the radio, running through the stations by force of habit. They contain nothing now but static but it helps you sleep and sometimes even works to chase away the bad dreams. You check your watch one last time, making sure it's set to ring at dawn and grab a blanket. The static fades into the background like ocean waves, steady and pulsing. You take out your pistol and carefully load the bullets from one clip to another and place it gently on your lap, your hand curled around it. And once all this is done and the feeling of security is as carefully wrought as it can be, you allow yourself to let go and slip into sleep.

You hear a noise, footsteps on the grass, voices. Your eyes are open and squint from the white light. It can’t be orcs--the headlights should have kept them away. The voices--whispers are faintly human. Your hand tightens on the gun. They could be Charmed, or just ordinary bandits looking for a quick grab--but trouble either way.

>Slip into the backseat and hide, wait for them and take them out
>Pedal to the metal, ride out

>>2054285
>Get in the driver's seat and honk the horn, ready to drive if they're hostile

Btw, I should mention that all votes allow write-ins. It hasn't been an issue so far, but just a heads-up.

>>2054285
>>Slip into the backseat and hide, wait for them

>>2054285
>>Slip into the backseat and hide, wait for them
Maybe don't attack just yet

>>2054374
>>Slip into the backseat and hide, wait for them

I agree, lets see what we're dealing with here

>>2054285
Btw, can we see anything in the rearview/side mirrors? Do we have anything reflective on us that we can use to covertly look at the outside?

>>2054410
It's hard to see anything through the dark but you can make out moving shapes, definitely human. Also, you can see them from the side view mirrors.

>>2054419
Do they look like they have anything in their hands? Like bats, shovels, guns?

>>2054340
>>2054374
>>2054404

If you try to run now you’ll likely get a bullet in your back tires. Instead, you quietly slip into the backseat, crouching into the foot space, waiting for the men with your gun pointed toward the windows.

You can hear them now, the footsteps coming closer and closer their voices high enough now to make out.

“Somebody’s definitely in there man.”

“Sam circle around the front.” Says another voice.

“Nah chill. Mike you go.” Says a third.

“I definitely saw somebody in there man.” Grumbles the first but now is moving closer. You can see his face on the side view mirror, first something distorted by the light and shadow, then something familiar and finally something which skips a beat in your heart. Surprise and joy rush at once.

His name is Michael Gonzales and he is wearing a black t-shirt with a large Superman “S” imprinted in its middle. He is a short man, only a few inches above 5 feet, and a young man, barely past his mid-twenties, but his body has been shaped and hardened like a tray of ice cubes. He worked with you in your old construction crew; hauled lumber, lay brick. And he was a close friend--as close as friends can really get.

You knew this man, you knew his wife, you’ve shared casseroles in his home, you are godfather to his children, you’ve seen this man weep like a wounded child at his father’s funeral and you’ve given him your shoulder when he drank too much at another friend’s wedding and told you that he loves you man, he’d give a kidney for you, and would kill anyone who insulted you, and cursed at your imaginary enemies in Spanish and then vomited all over your rented leather shoes.

This same man, Micheal Gonzales, who went by Mike to his friends and who was the butt of every insult and joke in your old crew, who took it all in stride with a cocky and stupid grin knowing within himself that it was all skin and surface, all in good humor and play, that deeply they loved him--which they did precisely because he was of this nature--who used to collect comic books and hold them with the same reverence as religious tomes, now stands before you with a shotgun and a black t-shirt with a comic book hero’s insignia and a pair of red stockings wrapped around his neck and mouth, part scarf and part cape.

If he wasn’t there in flesh you would believe you were dreaming. You even pinch yourself now to make sure. You aren't. He's really there.

>Call to him, let him know who you are
>Wait for him to get closer and see you face to face

>>2054480
>>Call to him, let him know who you are

>>2054513
Supporting

>>2054480
>Call to him, let him know who you are

Pls still be bro

>>2054513
>>2054521
>>2054522

“I’m in here.” You call out. The man freezes and his weapon, a smooth metallic shotgun is up toward the windows.

“I fucking told you man.” He says to the others.

“I’m coming out, Mike. It’s me, it’s Percy. Don’t shoot.”

“No fucking way. No fucking way man.” He giggles. “Put your weapons down guys. You too motherfucker. Put ‘em down.”

“Nah, fuck that and fuck you too Mike, who is this?”

“You know him Mike?”

“He’s good, Sam I swear. We go back. It was probably him at the station back there.”

You unlock the door and swing it open, slowly coming out letting the door cover your body in case any of them get jumpy. You keep your hands up to let them know you’re not stupid and Mike, the moment he sees you, charges you in a tight back-slapping hug, nearly lifting you off the pavement.

“What are the fucking odds man?” He says. “Lord have mercy, it’s good to see you man. It’s fucking good to see you.” He clasps you again before you can protest and you both laugh.

The others--and there are two of them, a tall gaunt young man attacking a piece of gum like his life depended on it and an older gentleman, slavic, balding, sucking on a small gold cross with a miniature Christ splayed across it; small eyes deepset like two onyx stones taking in the whole thing without humor or judgement of any kind.

He spits the cross out of his mouth. “Was that you? Back there?” You can hear his accent now, subtle but distinct. Mike releases you, keeping a friendly arm on your shoulder.

>”Aren’t you going to introduce me Mike?”
>”Yeah it was me.”

>>2054541
>”Yeah it was me.”
Then
>”Aren’t you going to introduce me Mike?”

>>2054541
>>”Yeah it was me.”
>Goblins riding a troll, so I got creative
>”Aren’t you going to introduce me Mike?”

>>2054541
>”Yeah it was me.”

>>2054549
>>2054550
>>2054555

“Yeah it was me.”

The man nods, as if he knew all along and slips the cross back in his mouth.

“Bullshit. You telling me you took down that troll? By yourself?”

“Course it was him, man. You know who this is? This motherfucker is the best three-pointer in whole fucking state man. Coulda gone pro man.” He smacks your chest and points to the old man. “This right here is Sam by the way.”

“It’s actually Illya Smyslov, but Sam will suffice.” He says, meeting your eyes briefly before looking past them to the distance.

“And this is--”

“Chan. Pleasure I’m sure. Let me just get this straight, factually speaking, you killed a troll. All by your lonesome. With that.” He points at your pistol.

“An attack of opportunity.” You say. “And I took it.”

“You mean you got lucky.” Says Chan.

>”Sure. Don't we all?”
>”Luck had nothing to do with it.”

>>2054612
Well we're all lucky not to be goblin chow right now, little extra never hurt no one.

>>2054612
>"Sure. Don't we all? If I didn't roll a natural 20 I would have been gang fukin raped"

>>2054612

It was luck that it crashed through the gas pumps. It was skill that I was able to cause that by popping the head of it's goblin rider and then setting it alight with the second shot.

>>2054615
>>2054624
>>2054626

“Sure.” You say, staring the man square in the eye until he looks away. “Don’t we all?”

“All what?”

“Get a little lucky sometimes."

Chan scoffs and works his gum harder. “You got food in there? Ammo?” He points to the back of the pickup, walking past you to check “Anything good?”

“Some beans. A couple sacks of rice, but I got sick of rice gruel so it’s just been sitting there. Flour, but haven’t done anything with that. No ammo. Just what I have on me.”

Chan mounts the back of the truck and starts rifling through the goods. “It’s a good haul Sam.” He calls out. “Saves us the trip.”

Sam bites down on his cross and spits at the earth. “Get the cart then.” He says.

>”You got anything to trade for what you’re taking? Or is this just straight highway robbery?.”
>”Mike what the fuck is going on here?”
>Point your gun at Sam. “Nobody’s taking anything.”

>>2054648
>>”You got anything to trade for what you’re taking? Or is this just straight highway robbery?.”

>>2054657
Supporting

>>2054657
>>2054680

”You got anything to trade for what you’re taking? Or is this just straight highway robbery?”

“Relax man. It’s good.” Says Mike. “We’ve got a place, about 5 miles from here. Deep--an old indian reserve if you can believe it. The guy who runs it, Mek, is some kind of a survivalist nut or something, apparently been preparing for this shit for years.” Explains Mike.

“The pickup work?” Asks Chan, walking the perimeter of the truck and kicking it’s wheels.

“Yeah. Works just fine.” You say, turning to him, watching him. Mike slaps your chest for attention.

“We’ve got a few dozen people there man. Families mostly. A nice little place. Trailers and RV’s and a few trucks.” Continues Mike. “Ah fuck man, I’m so happy to see an old face. You’re gonna love it there man, we got cooked food--Sam here is a fucking miracle worker--a working toilet, a fucking shower. When was the last time you had an actual shower man?” Even the thought of a shower, the drips of cool water running across your bare body, is enough to send pleasure down your spine. “I set that up by the way. Not bragging, but you know.” He says, flashing you his stupid grin. “But where have you been man? What’ve you been up to since the end of the world?”

“We could just drive it through. Take it around.” Chan says to Sam. Sam nods and adjusts the belt around his torso. A belt holding what appears to be sticks of dynamite. Chan jogs over to your side. “You got the keys on you Perkins?”

“It’s Percy.”

“Right.” He says, completely indifferent to the correction. He holds out his hand.

>”I’m searching for my sister Mike; heading east--which is why I can’t go with you guys.”
>”I think I’ll drive, thanks.”
>Hand him the keys.

>>2054692
>I'll drive,thanks
Rest for a day, trade some stuff, then hit the road

>>2054692
>I'll drive,thanks

>>2054695
>>2054696

He looks at you, then at his outstretched palm.

“I’ll drive, thanks.” You say, staring at him. He closes his hand into a fist and then drops it.

“Is this guy for real, Mike?” He says.

“It’s his car.” Mutters Mike, but the power differential is clear.

“Sam?” Chan looks to the clear leader.

“It’s fine. I’ll sit at the front. That good with you? Percy?”

“Fine.”

Chan goes into the woods and comes back a few minutes later with a shopping cart. It’s filled with random odds and ends, a few which you recognize from the gas station. Lighter fluid. Matches. 5 gallons of gasoline. An assortment of children’s toys, coloring books, crayons, water guns. Sam helps Chan load these things into the back of the pickup while you and Mike exchange the details of your new lives.

Mike’s whole family is dead. His two boys, Santiago and Dominic were killed on the way to school--a whole schoolbus of children slaughtered by orcs. His wife killed herself after she heard the news. Mike found her with her wrists slit open in a pool of watery blood. After that he claims he doesn’t remember much and gets nervous and shifty and doesn’t meet your eyes when he talks. At some point he met up with Chan and Sam in the city and they lead him to the safehouse in the woods.

When you tell him that you’re looking for your sister, he goes very quiet and doesn’t say anything for a long time. Eventually the goods are loaded fully into the truck and the four of you pile in, Sam taking the passenger seat beside you as he promised and the others sitting behind. Sam gives you short and direct instructions and Mike exchanges a few old time jokes and talks about the antics of old friends and coworkers, which now have a tinge of sourness to them because they are all now ghosts.

1/2

>>2054820
You make it to the reserve by dawn because the routes are circuitous and through some error of your own and the density of the darkness, you get lost a few times (which annoys Chan to no end). The camp is only a bunch of trailers and RV’s and tents arranged in a semicircle and a few portable outhouses (one of which Mike converted into his fabled shower) on the outskirts. Every few feet there are large powerful lamps all connected by wire to a loud gas-powered engine. Behind the camp you can actually see a wide river where a few people are now washing clothes, bathing and getting their supply of water for the day.

Your approach is noted by everyone and all stop their work to gaze and a few come out of their makeshift homes to watch the newcomer. You’re exhausted but also curious--there are more people here than you expected. Regular people. Mothers and fathers. Their children are now crowding around your truck and Sam who you haven’t seen smile since the moment you met him, is showing all his teeth and handing out the water pistols and the crayon boxes with the joy of an old Santa Claus.

A man wearing military fatigues comes out of a trailer in the exact center of the camp and walks over to the truck. His head is clear and reflective like polished glass and the rolls of his gut spill out of his trousers like fresh dough. Behind him, a young girl, about the same age as your sister, of similar features to the military-man so that she is likely family, follows him like a dog. She keeps her gaze at the ground and looking up only long enough to make eye contact, at which point her eyes go back to the ground. Her clothes are dirty and partly torn and she clutches a small composition notebook to her breast. Her blond hair is short and little strands of it are clumped together by sweat and dirt and strands stick out like bent wire and without this and without also the black bruises on her face and the cuts on her lip, she would be a real stunner. You look to the man now in front of you in the fatigues and feel a hatred rising.

“You’re late, Illya.” The man says, his accent even thicker than Sam’s. “You were supposed to be here 6 hours ago.”

“You heard the explosion, Mitya?” Says Sam, kneeling to receive a hug from a little boy holding a new super-soaker.

“Yes. We all heard it.” Says Mitya. “What of it? What was it? You saw it?”

“This man. Percy, his name. It was him.” He says, gesturing to you. “Killed a troll and a few goblins.” Now all activity has ceased and all eyes are on your face and body. Mitya looks you over and then smiles and offers his hand.

“Nice to meet you Percy. Can always use a good fighter around here.”

>”Nice to meet you too.” Shake his hand
>”I’m just here to rest for a day and trade a few things.”
>Don’t shake his hand. “How’d she get those injuries?” Point to the girl behind him.

>>2054825
>>”I’m just here to rest for a day and trade a few things.”
>still have family out there, you know?

Seems like all my players just quit. I'll try running again tomorrow around the same time 4:00 PM PST.

Good night for now. Stay tuned.

>>2054857

Would be nice if we could get some background on this world. What caused the sudden appearance of monsters? What happened to the military? Nukes? How long has it been? If things like orcs and goblins can be taken out by standard 9mm, how many were there to overrun the various militaries, militias, and gun owners world-wide, not to mention the US alone.

>>2054867
It'll be coming in bits and pieces through the course of the quest. I didn't want to info-dump straight off the bat.

>>2054830
Supporting

>>2055246
>>2054830
You stare at the outstretched hand and then at the fat-fleshed face and eventually the man gets the message and retracts his greeting and frowns.

“I’m just here for the day.” You tell him. “To trade a few things and maybe get some rest. I have family still out there.”

“Oh. Well. We’re happy to trade with you.” He looks to Sam for confirmation and Sam gives him a curt nod. “Good. Good. You can rest in my trailer for now.” He says. “Come with me.” The girl behind him looks at you studies your face when she thinks you don’t see her and waits until you are ahead of her to follow.

When you slip past the white trailer doors the silence breaks and you can hear life beat back into the people. “So you took down a troll by yourself? Ex-military?”

You sweep your eyes around the innards of the trailer. Clutter everywhere, boxes of books and old magazines and newspapers, stacks of manila folders with photographs and hand-drawn diagrams in them. Clothes strewn about, blankets, shoes, plastic containers with rotting food, empty cans.

On every wall are newspaper clippings, printouts of web articles in the days following the attack, pictures of screaming people running between the burning buildings, headlines in bold.

Mass Suicides in the Oval Office. Nukes Launched in China and India--Proves Ineffective Against Dragon. Lich Turns Ballistic Missiles Into Doves. Dragons Decimate West Coast--NORAD Annihilated. General Joins Lich--Charmed or Crazy? Vampirism and Lycanthropy Spreads South. Goblin Hordes Moving East. Orcs Working For Dragon? Demon Summoned with Human Sacrifice. Apocalypse Now: Where Did They Come From?

“It’s a bit messy. Forgive me for that, my daughter is not well-disciplined.” Mitya says. The words themselves make her wince--maybe from the expectation of a future punishment. “Natasha show him to your bed and let him rest. Get him whatever he needs.”

“I just need a few hours.” You say, but he’s already half-way through the door and waving down your clarifications.

“Take your time. You’re safe here. Breakfast is in a few hours but we will save yours so do not worry.” And he’s gone.

“I just need a few hours.” You tell the girl. She doesn’t say anything but only walks ahead of you and leads you into her room in the back which contains a perimeter of stacked books, a few of them open on the single bed which she scrambles to close and remove.

“The bathroom is there.” She says, pointing to a small enclosed room with a sink and toilet. “Do need anything? Another blanket? I think I have an extra one somewhere.” She turns to a small closet just outside of the room and begins rummaging through it.

>”How did you get those injuries Natasha?”
>”My sister loves books--real egghead. Where did you get all these?”
>”I don’t need anything right now, just wake me when breakfast is ready.”

>>2056762
>>”How did you get those injuries Natasha?”

>>2056762
>>”How did you get those injuries Natasha?”

>>2056762
>”My sister loves books--real egghead. Where did you get all these?”
Let's try leading in with some small talk instead of being blunt about it. Possibly ask about what she reads in her spare time, before seguing into how an average day around here is.

>>2056794
Adding this>>2056810
before we ask about her injuries

>>2056794
>>2056809
>>2056810
>>2056836

Try as you might to separate them, your sister and this girl who you have only met and whose existence should mean exactly nothing to you--you cannot do it. In the same way, do they both stand and hold their hands. They the same height and same complexion and the same age--or she is younger, maybe only 15 or 16. There the comparison should end because they don’t look anything alike--her hair is dark gold, almost brown and your sister's is black, her eyes are blue and your sister’s are brown and of course, her features have shaped themselves into an anguished form, the bruises and the little cuts which you see now spreads from the face to the bare flesh of her arms. She looks as though something steps perpetually down on her smile and her soul and for this, her head is always bowed and your heart is moved.

You grab a book from the several stacks around you, tempted to grab the black and white notebook she was clutching moments before, but ultimately resisting.

You read the spine of the book. “The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Where did you get all these?”

She steps forward, on her tiptoes like she’s trying not to wake someone. “Sam gets them for me sometimes. When he goes out.”

“You read all of these?”

She nods and steps closer. “Do you...like books?”

“No. Not particularly, but my sister does.” You say. Her thin eyebrows scrunch in thought. “She’s a real egghead.” You say and laugh--though both of you know that it is forced.

“Oh.” She says. “Is that who you’re looking for?”

“That’s right. She went to study Physics at Harvard so I’m heading to Boston to look for her.”

“How do you know that she’s...you know…”

You put the book down and clasp your hands, trying to swallow it all down. You shrug. “It’s just a feeling.”

“Oh. Well do you know what kinds of books she likes? Maybe I have one you can give her. You know--like a present when you see her again.”

You feel yourself go tender as she moves through the stacks, muttering to herself excitedly and questioning you on the specifics of your sister's literary tastes until she has narrowed it down to three books and is struggling mightily to narrow that choice still further.

“Natasha...how did you get those injuries?” You ask, softly as you can, trying not to look at her. She freezes and a stack of books comes clattering down at the sudden paralysis.

“I fell down.” She says. It is a practiced answer.

“You fell down?”

“I-I was playing with the other children and I got hurt. I fell. That’s all.” She stands up and her eyes are panicked. You've seen this before, it is exactly like a cow when it sees the slaughterhouse it is being led to. She snatches her notebook from the bed and slams it against her body.

>”Did you father do that to you?”
>”Alright. I think I’ll turn in for now. Let's talk about the present later.”

>>2056926
>>”Alright. I think I’ll turn in for now. Let's talk about the present later.”

>>2056926
>>”Did you father do that to you?”

>>2056926
>>”Alright. I think I’ll turn in for now. Let's talk about the present later.”

>>2056926
>>”Alright. I think I’ll turn in for now. Let's talk about the present later.”

>>2056943
>>2056977
>>2056980

She is fidgeting and chewing her bottom lip. Her eyes flick back and forth from your face to the floor and you have a mind to press this point and hear it from her own mouth and inside your head you’re already seeing yourself hurting her father and trying to figure out how you can protect her from him and trying to remind yourself that she isn’t your sister and has no claim over you and you, no responsibility over her. But the thoughts continue anyway; how to best bloody the man’s nose, how to take her away from this place.

You sigh. “I think I’ll turn in for now. Let’s talk about that book later OK?” You try and smile and end things on a happier note. She nods slowly and then walks away with what seems like a tremendous relief.

It feels like a long while before you fall asleep. You don’t dream anything this time and it feels like you’ve only shut your eyes before a small hand is shaking your shoulder and calling your name.

“Clara?” You mutter.

“No. It’s Natasha. Breakfast is ready--you told me to wake you when--”

“Yeah.” You groan and after a short trip to the bathroom, you head outside to join civilization. The smell of roasted flesh is in the air, barbecue grills are out and fired up with sausages and fried beans cooked on sheets of foil.

You see Mike sitting beneath a tree Sam next to him working a small grill. Chan is chatting quietly with several giggling young women, offering them gum. Mitya is sitting on a boulder near the river and gestures to Natasha, so that she runs back into the trailer with purpose.

Mike calls over to you and he hands you a plate stuffed with food--far better fare than you’ve had in many months. You eat your fill.

>”Mike, what’s the deal with Natasha? Does no one ever say anything?”
>”When do I get to see what you guys have to trade?”
>”How long have you guys been here? Haven’t you been attacked yet?”

>>2057040
>”How long have you guys been here? Haven’t you been attacked yet?”
>”When do I get to see what you guys have to trade?”
>”Mike, what’s the deal with Natasha? Does no one ever say anything?”

>>2057040
>>”How long have you guys been here? Haven’t you been attacked yet?”
>”When do I get to see what you guys have to trade?”
>You realize someone is beating on Natasha right?

>>2057040
>>”How long have you guys been here? Haven’t you been attacked yet?”

>>2057040
>”How long have you guys been here? Haven’t you been attacked yet?”
It's not our business to judge our benefactor. It's not like we can effect any kind of effective change here. The most we can really do is give him some advice on how people might think of him as a leader and a person when they see the state his daughter's in shortly before we leave.

>>2057093
Switching to this

>>2057052
>>2057067
>>2057076
>>2057093

As you eat, you question Mike on the particulars of this colony. They’ve been here nearly 4 months but Mitya and his daughter and brother (who you learn is Sam) have been here longer than that, even before the invasion. They’ve been attacked several times by orc patrols, but Mitya has a good cache of weapons and ammo (which Mike hints they’ll be willing to trade) saved up over a period of years and so they've managed. The orcs haven’t bothered them at all since the lamps were set up--only the occasional giant wolf or rat. They’re safe here, he assures you, and you can tell he’s trying to get you to stay, though it is futile.

You ask him about Natasha and his voice drops several decibels and he’s suddenly tight-lipped. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you, he tells you.

You see Natasha come out of the trailer with a tray of eggs and pastry--delicacies in these dark times and a fresh mug of coffee and she delivers these things to her father who takes the tray from her and lays it at his feet and samples everything.

He grabs her by the back of her head curling his fat fingers through hair and pulling back and exposing her neck. Everyone sees it and hears it and suddenly are they concerned with something else, their children, their knitting, their breakfast.

“You stupid bitch. I told you no more milk in the coffee.” Says Mitya, pouring the contents of his mug onto the grass. “And you put too much pepper on the eggs. I have an ulcer. Are you trying to kill me?”

>>2057121

“I-I’m sorry. It was an accident” She says, trying to pull away, clutching at her head and gasping in pain every time Mitya pulls her back in. Next to you Sam suddenly stands up and you expect him to do something but he simply turns and walks away. Mike starts flipping rapidly through his comic book, scanning the words like he’s looking for the cure for cancer. Chan is reading the nutrition facts on the back of his box of gum with a focus generally seen only in Adderall abusers.

“How many times has this happened now?” Says Mitya.

“I-I’m sorry. Please, I won’t--”

He smacks her across her cheek. “Won’t what?” Smack. “Won’t do it again?” Smack. “Won’t do it again? How many times have you done it?” Her sobs come as short wheezes, the cut on her lip has opened. “Always writing in your little notebook and reading, but you can’t even do this little thing right.” He smacks her--the hardest blow by far and by a man whose weight is so much greater than hers that she loses her balance and falls on her side bracing herself on her hands and cutting her hands on the gravel. Her notebook flops beside her.

Her father gets up from his post and saunters to her and past her and picks up the notebook and instantly she is on her feet again and reaching for it but he won’t let her have it. “No, please daddy; please don’t. Please don’t.” She whispers. She is trying to coax him like one might coax a frightened horse.

“It’s this isn’t it? This is why you’re so stupid about these things.”

“No daddy, I’ll do better I promise. I promise. Don’t, please. I’ll go and make it again right now. I’ll go right now. Please don’t. Please!” But already his mind has been made. And he is walking toward the river now and she is screaming and she is begging and she is asking for mercy and forgiveness and she is making promises she knows she cannot keep and pulling on her father’s arm but the father is marching steadily toward the river and all around you, every eye and every ear is doing its best not to see this and not to hear it because what is the suffering of one little girl to the safety of their children and to the satisfaction of their thirst and hunger? What do they owe, really, to anyone in these dark times? What does anyone? What do you?

>”Give her back the notebook. Now.”
>This is not your business, intervening now will only hurt your chances of trade later.

>>2057125
Damn. Really making us choose, huh OP?
>This is not your business, intervening now will only hurt your chances of trade later.
Hopefully we can help her in some other way

>>2057125
>"If the food isn't up to your standard today, I'll eat it, so you needn't be so upset."
There's, of course, more diplomatic options that lie between 'completely ignore' and 'full aggression'.

>>2057125
>"If the food isn't up to your standard today, I'll eat it, so you needn't be so upset."

>>2057125

>This is not the time to intervene. We trade, then we see about taking her with us, clandestinely

>>2057125
Going with this >>2057138

>"What're you willing to trade for the notebook?"
Not much else to go on.

File: Wolves.jpg (815 KB, 1202x741)

815 KB JPG

>>2057138
>>2057153
>>2057205

“If the food isn’t to your standard, I can eat it.” You say. “There’s no need to be so upset.” Mitya stops and turns around.

“This is not your business. You do not tell me how to raise my daughter.”

You raise your hands, trying with great effort to keep your palms from forming fists. “I’m not.” You say. “Look, how about I trade you for the notebook and you let her slide this time?”

He seems to consider this a moment and you can see a light glittering at the end of the tunnel, and hope in the girl’s eyes, that he will listen to reason and stop this.

He throws the book as hard as he can into the river. The girl screams as though someone had torn out her very heart and threw it. She tries to run into the waters to retrieve it before it is carried away by the current, but her father grabs her arm and drags her away, screaming and kicking. He comes to you and looks you straight in your eyes and says, “You don’t tell me how to raise my daughter. You’ll be leaving tonight, once the trade is done and you aren’t welcome here again.”

Mike grabs your shoulder before you do anything rash and tells you it's not worth it and you let this man walk away from you, unanswered. He drags his daughter into the trailer, who is now silent and who has a dead look in her eyes--like a beached fish. The doors of the white trailer close and you can hear her screams and pitiful pleas for mercy come in muffled bursts. No one moves, no one talks, only the sound of sizzling flesh and the rushing river and even the children silent.

Suddenly someone runs past you, taking off his shirt as he goes, diving into the river without any care. It’s Sam. He’s swimming as hard as he can trying to make a straight line for the notebook and in a few moments he’s a distant dot, out of sight. And in a few moments more he’s on the shore and coming back, dripping little drops and the notebook in his hands and the light shining from the little cross around his neck.

The notebook has been destroyed partly by water, but is not beyond saving and the air seems to lighten around you, lift, a collective sigh of relief--until there is a shrill, rumbling howl and a terrible scream cut short and the giant wolves descend upon you from every side.

>Run. Find some cover, put some walls between you and the wolves.
>Help the others get to safety
>Get out your pistol and shoot anything with fangs.

>>2057347
>>Get out your pistol and shoot anything with fangs.

>>2057347
>Help the others get to safety
We just can't catch a break talking to people, huh?

>>2057347

>Shoot anything with fangs

>>2057370

Because you can't read the room, so to speak. NOBODY was intervening, they were all actively trying not to notice the situation.

We shouldn't have said a damn thing, then tried to get the kid out of the situation after we traded.

>>2057368
>>2057381

Roll dem bones please. (3 d20s)

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>2057347
>>Get out your pistol and shoot anything with fangs.

>>2057408
Rollin'

Rolled 17, 1, 15 = 33 (3d20)

>>2057408

Do you mean we need to roll 3d20 each?

Or just 1d20 from 3 people?

>>2057415
>>2057421

Well.....2 nat 1's....that's not good

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>2057408
Rolling to waste ammo, then.

>>2057386
I'd hoped that if we were indirect enough, we could remind Mitya that he was just in the middle of talking to us without aggravating him, and defuse the situation that way. But given that we didn't intend to stay anyway, offending him only loses us so much.

I'd rather not take Natasha with us, if we can avoid it, because we can't really afford to feed an extra mouth on our supplies, and because a situation of physical and mental abuse might arguably not be worse than the one with us where she might quite easily die.

>>2057421
1d20 from three people.

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>2057408

>>2057415
YOU FOOL.

EVERYONE IS DEAD, YOU KILLED THEM.

>>2057437

Ah, well, does that 17 count then? Since it was the first of the 3d20 rolled.

>>2057415
>>2057434
>>2057446

>Critical Failure!

The mothers grab their children and run into their trucks and trailers and the men head behind Mitya’s trailer, where they arm themselves with automatic rifles and shotguns. You take out your pistol and aim at the nearest wolf, but cannot fire for fear of hitting someone in the crowd.

Mitya comes out and shouts orders and yells for Sam. Mike grabs your shoulder and pulls you behind a cluster of trees for cover. The wolves try to circle and cut off everyone’s escape. A pair of wolves have trapped a crying a little child and her mother. You try shooting at the wolves but your hands are shaking and you miss. You can only watch as a wolf rips the woman’s neck away from her body, as the head rolls away like a soccer ball, but the arms still clasped around her child. The little boy is crying now and pulling on his mother's blouse, unable to comprehend. The wolves move closer, circling around, face to the face with the child. A shot rings out and the wolf is blown back, brain matter all over the grass. It's Sam. He takes out the second wolf, then runs to grab the little boy and bring him to safety.

Your own gunshots have attracted the attention of two more wolves and they are now coming around your side, growling with rabid fury, each one the size of a small car.

You panic and try to shoot one in the head, but it leaps to the side and then forward and its teeth are clamped around your right hand and you can feel feel the bone give away by the force. Your whole arm would’ve been gone right there if not for Mike savagely kicking the beast in the side and then Chan, coming up behind it and executing it with a quick shotgun blast to its neck.

Your arm is gored, blood spills out from two circular holes and the pain is so terrible you can hardly breathe. Mike takes off the pair of red stockings around his neck and wraps it around your arm like a bandage. “You’re gonna be alright man. It’s all good man. You’re gonna be fine man.” He says.

You can hear automatic gunfire and the whine of the wolves growing more and more desperate and the stocking around your arm getting soaked with more and more of your blood and the world fading into distorted colors. By the last dregs of your consciousness, you hear a terrible grating tongue, alien, booming above the carnage and the final cries of the men.

“Fuck. Why is it suddenly dark? Get the lights on! Get the lights on!”

“Is it a Lich? Is it a fucking Lich?”

“Get the fucking lights on--aaaah!”

“Orcs! Fuck! The lights! Get the lights!”

“It’s a fucking Ogre!”

“Run! Run! Don’t look at his eyes! Don’t--”

“He can Charm! Fucking go, don’t look at him! Don’t look at him! Just go, don’t look back--oh god! Please no!”

You try and get up. You have to go. You have to leave this place and find your sister. You feel your body lift from the earth, you have to get to your sister...

That's all for tonight. Sorry for the slow pace of updates. We'll finish up this first thread tomorrow, same time 4 PM PST. Good night for now. Stay tuned.

>>2057647
>>2057657
Welp. One fuck up crit and our hand is practically gone and the entire encampment is slaughtered.

>>2057827
>>2057647
good, they were all unpleasant, let them fend for themselves. We grab mike, natashya, put a bullet in mityas knee and get in our truck. go our separate ways. the adrenaline from fear and our wound should see us for a few minutes if were lucky.

>>2057827
I think this attack was meant to cripple the camp even with great defending rolls, the crit just made stuff crumble faster.

You take two steps and this is too much for your body. You fall and the world goes black.

You awake to movement beneath you. You can’t feel your right arm. No pain, not anything. You panic at first, fearing the worst, but looking down you see that the arm has been bandaged--with surprising expertise. Slowly you get up. It’s night-time; you’ve been out for hours. You're moving--inside a van, on the road.

Natasha is asleep next to you, her head on your shoulder, beneath her delicate bird-like limbs is her precious notebook, wrinkled by its confrontation with the water. She blinks awake by your movement and rubs her eyes, then snaps straight and looks away, embarrassed. You can see her reflection on the glass; her eyes are red from crying. You look to the front seat, Mike is driving in silence and Sam is tinkering with a toy remote control car.

>”What happened?”
>”Where are we going?”
>”Where’s my gun?”

>>2059380
>>"Anyone else got away?"
>>”What happened?”

>>2059380
>>"Anyone else got away?"
>>”What happened?”

>>2059380
>>”What happened?”

>>2059380
>What happened?

>>2059389
>>2059409
>>2059415
>>2059441

You look out your window, you’re on an unfamiliar road leading to an unfamiliar destination. You see Mike glance at you in the rear-view mirror. “You feeling alright man?” He asks. Natasha turns to monitor your response to this question.

“I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

“Wasn’t me man. It was Natasha. Sutured you up good. Would’ve bled out if not for her.”

You look at your arm and then at Natasha and she quietly looks back toward the window and by her reflection you can see a small smile play on her lips

“Did anyone else get away?”

Mike frowns and clears his throat and looks at Sam and Sam simply continues driving his screwdriver into the body of the car, in silence.

“It was an ogre--the magic using kind.” Mike says. “Charmed about a quarter of us before we knew what was happening. Made the darkness so the orcs could come in. The camp is gone. Completely gone. I don’t remember anyone else making it out--do you Sam?”

Sam says nothing.

“Yeah. It was weird. Last thing I saw was them binding up everybody with ropes and dragging them off. I was able to get the both of us to this van and then Sam came in with Natasha and we just got the hell out of there.”

“Wait. You said they took some of them? Why?”

Now Sam speaks. “Food or sacrifice or slaves. Pick your poison. But we’re not going to give them that satisfaction.” He pats the car in his lap and flips it over, testing its wheels. “We’re getting them out.”

>”Count me out, this has nothing to do with me.”
>”How exactly do you plan on doing that?”

>>2059481
>>”How exactly do you plan on doing that?”

>>2059481

>How exactly do you plan on doing that?

>>2059481
>>"Got an idea on how to kill a Lich then?"

>>2059481
>How the hell are you gonna do that?


>>2059503
Lich?

>>2059503
>Lich
Ogre, I mean. Thought the last update previously referred to a Lich.

>>2059486
>>2059492
“How exactly do you plan on doing that? You said they had a magic user? That can Charm? If that’s true then this is suicidal. Do you even know where they are?”

“In the city.” Says Sam.

“In the city? Are you insane? The cities are crawling with orc and goblin and god knows what else--”

“They took the children.” Says Sam. “They have the children.” And there is an air of finality that suggests the debate is over.

You slink back in your seat. You don’t have much choice in the flow of matters here. You’ve lost your pick-up, your supplies and your weapon. You’re also injured. In sum, you’re currently completely at the mercy of these people and wherever they choose to go, there you must follow.

“As for the plan...and their location.” He waves a small black walkie-talkie. “They took my brother too, he was broadcasting their movements until about half-an-hour ago, at which point I assume his walkie-talkie was destroyed. We know where they’re heading. We’re going to get as close as we can with the car and then use this--” He taps the RC car. “Along with several pounds of rigged semtex as a trap and diversion.”

“OK, but how are you going to get everyone out? We only have this van.”

“We’ll get some vehicles ready once we’re there. Whatever is working.” Says Sam, but you can clearly see that this is a hole in his plan. And he knows it too.

“And then what? You can’t just go back to the campsite.”

“Then we’ll--I don’t know. We’ll find some place else.” He sighs. “I can’t just leave the children to die, not when there’s a chance to get them out.”

“We gotta do what we can Percy.” Adds Mike. “Rescue who we can.” And his voice is filled with a strange kind of giddy excitement and the dried blood on his superman shirt reflects the low overhead lights.

>Bide your time, you’ll grab a car when you get to the city and get the hell away
>”I want no part in this. Just let me out here, I’ll take my chances on the road then in some suicidal attempt at heroism.”
>The plan might work and you have little options otherwise--at the very least you owe Mike and Natasha for saving your life and afterwards, you might be able to milk some supplies out of it.

>>2059592
>>Bide your time, you’ll grab a car when you get to the city and get the hell away

>>2059592
>The plan might work and you have little options otherwise--at the very least you owe Mike and Natasha for saving your life and afterwards, you might be able to milk some supplies out of it.
If we don't help out friends in need, then we're no better than the monsters. But you're all going to talk through this plan, fully, and iron out any holes in it. And you're all going to agree on an exit strategy - and the point at which you all call things a lost cause and take it.

>>2059592
>>The plan might work and you have little options otherwise--at the very least you owe Mike and Natasha for saving your life and afterwards, you might be able to milk some supplies out of it.

>>2059592
Okay, but are they really going to drag Natasha into it?

>>2059592
>The plan might work and you have little options otherwise--at the very least you owe Mike and Natasha for saving your life and afterwards, you might be able to milk some supplies out of it.

We do need to come up with a better plan though.

Sorry to say this, but I feel like I'm coming down with something and will have to end it here. I was planning on running tomorrow but I'm not sure if I can now. If I do,
I'll post something in the morning.

>>2059851
FUG

>>2059592
Offer to look for cars while they try to save the day. And to keep natasha safe.
If they can save some people then they'll need the cars immediately. I'm also assuming we can find and hotwire cars here, but still.
And bring up how Sam's cross shined oddly. If there's monsters now, then maybe there's gods too.

Can you archive this?

So I just recovered from a bout of food poisoning (still recovering actually, but I was able to eat some solid food without spewing liquids from both holes). I'll either be running tomorrow or the day after 4 PM PST as usual. Stay tuned.

>>2061438
Archived. Session tomorrow at 4 PM.
Should I do a new thread?

>>2071476
Yeah, probably better to start with a new thread. Threads on page 7 could still be milked for its worth, but I feel like this is a good stopping point.

Glad to hear you're alright too.

Unfortunately got held up at work, and it's too late now for a full session, so I'm going try again some other day. Sorry about this.