>>4016939

>Tim: Gawk in Satisfaction at Your Novel Acquisitions

By the time you got out of the store, the rain had stopped. You took advantage of it, hurrying along home with your prizes: thick drapes that will faultlessly keep that pesky sunlight out so that Gina can come snooze on your couch, and a new runway-ready hoodie. ...Well, that might be an exaggeration. You got the drapes at a sizeable discount, because you've just that keen of a nose for bargains, and the hoodie is brandless and extremely banal. It's actually a slightly different shade of grey than the last one; let it never be said you don't change up your look once in a while.

In truth, the fact is that the only look you can reliably pull off is muted-colored hoodies and jackets, so that's what you go for when a blue moon's appearance signals that it's time to shop. Hopefully this one outlasts the spears and daggers of your possibly numerous enemies.

When you get home, you set aside the curtains and hoodie for now and climb into bed. You were up all night researching and reading, and this outing certainly marks a good point to call it a day. You set your alarm clock for an hour and a half before work, handily ignore the sunlight drifting through your curtains, and crash like a truck.

Your alarm does its duty just fine. When you wake up, there's no hint of grogginess or lethargy; you practically spring out of bed, ready to go make some money. You're a bit more on edge this time, having kind of been operating under the conception that your job would be an escape from all the oddity, but yesterday's events made you a bit wiser. The weirdness is on twenty-four-seven, and you've always gotta be watching out for someone looking to use you as a political tool. Whatever brought this fate upon you, it could not have chosen a worse chess piece. Not to mention werewolves coming to your fucking job and asking questions is the new top contender on your 'Reasons I Might Get Fired This Year' list.

>>4016948

As soon as you get to work, one of the part-timers informs you that the manager wants to see you. No big deal, right? You take a deep breath before heading to the office.

"Have a seat, Tim."

Fuck.

You do, sitting down on the chair opposite him. He's rubbing his glasses clean, then puts them back on and adjusts them before fixing his gaze on you. It's kind of funny: vampires and werewolves don't scare you, but this man's stare makes you nervous as all get-out. He waits, strategically waits until the tension reaches its breaking point, and then decides to make small talk.

"You hear about the fire at Herrick's?"

You blink. "The what?"

"You didn't hear? There was a fire at the Herrick's in Melrose. Started in a truck and spread into the supply room. Two dead and a few more injured." This news is disconcerting for two reasons: first, because people died in a fire, which is awful to hear; and second, because you were just thinking about Herrick's the other day, the reason for that being that it's tied to Pentex through a multitude of deals that make it a profitable outlet for their subsidiaries to sell through. With all the business that's been going on around you, you highly doubt that this fire was an accident. You've only heard a snippet of what happened, and it already stinks of supernatural involvement.

"Jesus, I'm sorry to hear that. Did it burn down?"

"No, they saved the building. Lost their supply truck, though. They're closed for repairs. But that's not really what I want to talk to you about."

"No?"

He sighs and steeples his fingers. "One of the part-timers was concerned about you. Said he saw you talking to a bird at the outdoor tables yesterday."

"Oh. Um..."

>"It was parroting English words back at me."
>"Nah, I was just trying to chase it away."
>"Yeah, I guess I was just having an off day."
>[Write In]

>It was parroting English words back at me.

>>4016956
>"It was parroting English words back at me."

>>4016956
>>"It was parroting English words back at me."

>>4016956
“It didn’t want to leave and I didn’t want to get pecked, sorry. What’s that got to do with Herricks?”

>>4016956
>"It was parroting English words back at me."

>>4016956
>"Nah, I was just trying to chase it away."
Didn't we already do this vote last thread?

>>4016956
>"It was parroting English words back at me."
>>4020338
It got archived with 3 votes so I think that’s why we’re doing it again

File: JamesonLaughing.jpg (26 KB, 600x352)

26 KB JPG

>>4020448
Can we go back to those three votes so my vote wins?

>>4021509
But parroting was 2 of then anon...

File: Do YoU nEeD sOmE TiMe OfF.gif (3.23 MB, 600x255)

3.23 MB GIF

>>4017042
>>4017140
>>4017207
>>4017210
>>4017803
>>4020448

>"It was parroting English words back at me. But sir, what's that got to do with Herrick's?"

He looks at you over his glasses, as if he's trying to tell if you're lying or being disrespectful. As it happens, you're not lying; the bird really did speak to you, and really did bequeath unto you a stolen book, but you don't need to talk about that last part. "Nothing," he says, apparently having decided that you weren't getting snarky. "Just making sure you were aware."

Liar.

Oh, good. Now you're wondering if your boss might be under a corporate werewolf's thumb, thanks to this head voice - which you're pretty sure isn't all that trustworthy itself, judging by the relish it takes in hurting... people?

Yeah, you affirm. People, good or bad.

"Tim?"

"Yes, sir?"

He sighs and looks down behind his steepled fingers, just like he did five years ago when you were called to his office after screwing up a customer's order. He was sympathetic then, and you really hope he'll be sympathetic now.

"Do you need some time off?"

He might as well have punched you in the gut. You vigorously shake your head in denial. "No, sir, not at all. I'm feeling just fine." You do not take time off. You cannot afford time off. It's something squarely out of your career picture. Any day of work you miss, you feel the following week. "Have I done something wrong, sir?"

"Don't worry too much about it. Just... looking through your records, you've taken maybe six days off in as many years? No holidays, either. They were all sick days. I think you might be the most dedicated employee we've had all decade."

"...Thank you, sir?" This is unusual. The general manager isn't an asshole or anything, but this care seems uncharacteristic of him. He's never asked if you - or, to your knowledge, anyone - need to take time away from work. "I try my best."

"I know. But... we can't have the shift manager talking to birds, alright? It just doesn't look very professional." He leans forward. "Tim. Take a day to relax. You've more than earned it."

This seems like a thin excuse to have you not be at work. Something very curious indeed is afoot.

>"Did someone call in about me?"
>"No disrespect, sir, but I can't afford to take time off."
>"If you really think I should, I guess I should."
>[Write In]

>>4022328
>"Did someone call in about me?"

>>4022328

Note: Hello, everyone! Glad to see people are still on board this funny thing. Sorry this post took a while to do; I was, actually, alternating between school work and laying out more groundwork for this quest, which has quickly become far more complex and expansive than I originally envisioned.

It's a good writing challenge for me, and hopefully it'll be good entertainment for all of you, but the point is this: I have to do extra work so that the plot doesn't start tripping over itself and become nonsensical. Bonus points if you've figured out what city Tim Quest takes place in.

Essentially, I'm digging through oWoD and Exalted books to make sure we don't shiv the whale (because this story's inciting event jumped the shark in terms of usual oWoD boundaries), and also doing a bit of research into the actual real-world setting to try and avoid excessive distance and location-based incongruities. This is fun, but it's also time-consuming, and I've poured enough hours and energy into this one to be quite certain that I'll stick it out to the end. With that in mind, thank you to everyone who has answered so far. Here's hoping you stick around.

>>4022360
Your doing good work op.
>>4022328
“Did someone call in about me?”

>>4022328
>Take what might be the hint and don’t push it, he’s a good man and you don’t want to end up against him or putting him in the line of Fire if he is in any way connected to this shit or it ends up coming back to find you. “You’re the boss, boss. Guess even I could use a vacation once in a while. Make sure to take care of yourself too, there have been some weirdos around recently, I guess it’s getting to me a bit.”

>>4022328
>>"Did someone call in about me?"

>>4022328
>>4022347 changing to this >>4022938

>>4022360
This level of dedication is intense. You're doing great, OP. Thank you for blessing us with this quest.
>>4022938
This. In this case, the best way to keep our job in the long term might be to take the day off.

>>4022360
And thank you for your efforts Helvegen.

>>4022360
This quest is really cool

>>4022938
This right here

>>4022328
>"If you really think I should, I guess I should."
Should I be worried about the spoopy gif?

File: Dark Soon.jpg (12 KB, 225x350)

12 KB JPG

>>4022938
>>4023044
>>4023099
>>4023792

>Take what might be the hint and don't push it.

Who burns if you stay? You? The manager? Everyone? Whatever the case, despite your instincts nagging you to push to keep your shift, better judgement prevails. "You're the boss, boss. Make sure to take care of yourself too. There have been some weirdos around lately. Might be what's getting to me."

The manager puts on a half-smile. It clearly takes some effort. "All sorts of people in this world, Tim. You can't get lost in your head every time someone gives you a funny look."

You return that half-smile. "The world takes a few bites outta you, and you start wondering how funny those looks really are. See you tomorrow, sir."

He nods, his expression slipping into neutrality. "See you, Tim."

You leave his office, grab your stuff, punch out, and step through the doorway. It's downright weird being out of work at this hour. You can't recall when the last time you saw the evening sky without a pane of glass between you and it. Darkness will soon be upon you, and there's too much going on to let the time slip away doing nothing. The trouble is that same thing, though: there's too much going on for there to be a clear next step.

You start across the incline, hands in your pockets as you try to make sense of it all. Werewolves dead by your hands in the park near your apartment. Sabbat appearing in a city they've been driven out of. Pentex employees hunting Rufus. Herrick's burning. And now, mysteriously given the evening off after you got to work. It's almost enough to make you forget that Winters is scheming something in the background, planning to unite the Camarilla and the Movement through means yet unknown. You're not even sure where you fit in, yet you're starting to think she might've been right in giving you no instruction; things seem to be playing out around you, and you can't help but be drawn towards it all.

How much does she know, anyway? Your inability to contact her is frustrating, to say the least. All you can do in that regard is wait on Gina to get her in touch with you, unless you find the nerve to go back to the City to look for her. You do know where what is presumably her office is, but being in the urban jungle of the City puts you on edge at the best of times, and the last time you ventured in there got an assassin on your tail. For whatever reason, you trust Gina to come through for you. Whether or not you trust Winters is another story.

You pause at the habitual first turn into the series of alleyways that will lead you home, staring off into the shadows. Where are you going, exactly?

>Go home and read Legend of the Silver Raven.
>Go home and do more research into Pentex.
>Go to Melrose and check out Herrick's for yourself.
>Look for Gina's resting place.
>Brave the City on your own.
>[Write In]

>>4025874
>Go home and read Legend of the Silver Raven.
Let’s finish this as fast as we can

>>4025874
>Go home and read Legend of the Silver Raven.

>>4025874
>Go home and read Legend of the Silver Raven.

>>4025874
>Go get chipotle before they close. Not being at work means not getting free burgers tonight, so might as well get something substantial on the way back since you will be up all night. Hopefully nothing will pop out of nowhere and try to kill us in the time it takes to grab a burrito.

On the odd case that we are some sort of heathen who dislikes Chipotle
>Go home and read the Legend of the silver raven. The less we get involved with this nonsense the better. Maybe if we can figure out what we are exactly, we can figure out how to go back to normal or at least how to deal with any more nasty surprises.

>>4025874
>Go home and read Legend of the Silver Raven.
>Get Chipotle
Mostly because I want to see what else is in that book. Might learn some weird shit.

>>4025874
>Go home and read Legend of the Silver Raven.

>>4025874
>Go home and read Legend of the Silver Raven.

>>4025922
>>4026095
>>4026321
>>4026384
>>4026611
>>4026656

>Go home and read Legend of the Silver Raven... after getting something to eat.

Lost in thought, you come close to forgetting that you aren't getting your habitual free meal at Mickey D's, and having come this far, you figure you could go somewhere different than usual. Just as the idea of culinary novelty goes through your head, something else goes through it- namely, "El Sonidito" by Hechizeros Band, which is a sound so distinctive and annoying that you recognize it within three notes and desire to be far away from it. However, there is a smell accompanying the sound, and it appeals to the emptiness in your stomach.

It is the scent of tacos, coming from a taco truck parked nearby. The song is coming from the phone of a guy in line, a young latino man whose smirking reaction implies untold levels of irony as he takes the call. And as if struck by divine vision, it all comes together: there's a Chipotle up in Concourse. Walking there will take you through Melrose, and on your way you'll be able to have a look at the Herrick's. Not that you yourself will be able to discern clues from looking at the building's exterior, but maybe your head voice will have something to say about it.

So off you go, striding purposefully through the dimming light, ignoring whatever ghouls you might be passing, filled with purpose. You're going to take a gander at the building, just in case, and then you're going to treat yourself to some real fuckin' comida. The first half of the way you know instinctively, your gut telling you where to turn before your eyes do. Pretty soon you've left your neighborhood behind and gone up to Melrose. It's pretty alive at this hour, people moving up and down the streets in search of what they need from the many retailers who've taken up business here.

>>4028118

This is the Hub, the beating heart of your borough. It's a place you've always lived on the edge of and traversed many times, and looking in you see an appeal to all of this that doesn't hit you in the City. It's all razor edges and real smiles and class, without the glamour that you've never had a use for. The hearty luster of it sort of fades as you keep walking, though; a subtle dullness pervades the air, becoming less subtle the closer you get to your first stop. And then you're standing in a parking lot, smile fading as you look at the closed grocery store.

The feeling is indescribable, the sort of thing you'd have glossed over completely before being Exalted. Now it hisses in the back of your mind like a nagging worry, like a mosquito's buzzing, and you want to-

Finish the job.

You startle at the visceral voice in your head. It doesn't stop there, either.

It's a cancer, only half expunged. Destroy it. Cleanse Creation of its rot.

This you're certain would be a terrible idea, given that you're actually surrounded by people in a very populous district. Not to mention the doors are boarded up, and you don't feel like getting arrested on your night off. As you cast one more lingering glance at the blocked front doors, someone behind you speaks.

"You know, they say criminals always return to the scene of their crime. It's like, psychological or something."

When you turn around, indulging the speaker with a cliche dramatic round-about, who should you be greeted by but the eyepatch-wearing goth guy from the other night, his face set in what might be the fakest friendly smile you've ever seen. It comes across as downright wolfish, the appropriateness of which isn't lost on you.

>"Admitting to something?"
>"Fuck off."
>"Only on TV."
>"You think I did this?"
>[Write In]

>>4028123
>"Only on TV. You think I did this?"

>>4028123
Suppin'>>4028234

>>4028123
>"Only on TV. You think I did this?"
This guy is one of the werewolves who came by our work, right?

>>4028123
>"Only on TV. You think I did this?"

>>4028123
>look around at the people nearby “If that’s a metric of assigning blame, then there must be a hell of a lot of arsonists in town today. Leave cliches like that to the movies man.”

>>4028392
Supporting
>>4028334
Yes

>>4028392
Supporting.

File: Promise of Carnage.jpg (77 KB, 564x846)

77 KB JPG

>>4028234
>>4028333
>>4028334
>>4028349
>>4028392
>>4028442
>>4030011

>"Leave those cliches for the movies, man. You think I did this? By your metric, we must be surrounded by arsonists."

"They're not gawking at it, smartass." He folds his arms, eyes growing murderous over his fake-as-hell smile. "I knew there was something wrong about you the second I walked in the other night."

"Not wearing enough black for you?" You don't mirror his movement, electing instead to stand still and look nonplussed. He's facing you headlong, and seems irked when you refuse to do the same.

"Are you seriously gonna talk shit about my clothes while wearing a fucking McDonald's uniform?"

"I was done trading dumb insults when I moved on from high school. Clearly only one of us graduated. Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to go." You step past him without even looking his way, only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder. You do stop, refusing to flinch when his fingers dig into your skin, but you don't yet look at him. "...What? You gonna fight me in front of all these people?"

He growls. Funny; he sounds just like that guy you killed in the park. "I don't know who you are, Burger Fool, but when I find out, you'll be sorry you ever gave me lip. You think you can fuck with us and get away with it? We're invincible. The second we figure out how you're connected to all of this, you're dead meat. Your job, your friends, your home - they'll all go up in smoke, because you thought you could mess around with Pentex business and not get burned."

You let that statement hang for a second, digest it real good, and then turn halfway to look over your shoulder at him. Your shaggy hair ends up covering one of your eyes, but the other one sends your unspoken message well enough. Your head voice even echoes it for good measure, making it clear that the big corporate picture is not what he should be concerned with.

Push me at your own risk.

For a fleeting moment, he sees the terrifying power behind your gaze, the silver that runs through your blood, the weir moonlight blazing from your soul in a promise of carnage. The breath catches in his throat, the smug snarl freezing along with his entire body. The hand on your shoulder slackens, and you take the opportunity to pull away and turn around to leave, this time fully intending not to be stopped.

"W-wait." His voice trembles at first, but quickly regains its insolence. "Your name. Tell it to me."

"Hah. You first." You take another step before he concedes.

"Black." You can sense his smirk. "Jet Black." Ladies and gentlemen, the Prince of Edge has come to claim his throne. Expectant eyes burn into your back, probably less intensely than he imagines them to. You aren't intimidated in the least. In fact, you're of a mind to give him jack shit in exchange for his silly name.

>"Bond. James Bond."
>Say nothing.
>"Tim."
>"Timothy Dane."

>>4030997
>"Bond. James Bond."

>>4030997
>"Bond. James Bond."

>>4030997
>Say nothing

>>4030997
>"Bond. James Bond."

>My friends call me Doc Holiday, but I'll be your huckleberry.

>>4030997
>>"Timothy Dane."
We do not fear them. They can easily find out who we are since they know were we work. We lose nothing from giving them our name since there's nothing to leverage from it. Lets project our strength and confidence

>>4030997
“If we are going with fake names, call me James Bond or something then. Listen buddy, I have nothing to do with you, or your company or whatever. I want to be left alone, and I want to leave you and all your friends, and your enemies for that matter, alone too. For both of our sakes please don’t force me to get involved. Now fuck off so I can go get a burrito in peace before Chipotle closes.”

>>4030997
>"Bond. James Bond."

>>4031033
>>4031176
>>4031423
>>4032247

>"Call me Bond."

You pause, just so the sheer length of your verbal middle finger can set in, before finishing your flippant answer. "James Bond."

With that, you flip up your hood and stride back into the funnel of people, becoming a drop of blood in the veins of the Hub once again. As you walk up the street, you wear a broad smirk on your face that your hood and shaggy hair combined can't hide, for not only have you trolled 'Jet Black', but you're on your way to get a god damn burrito, and if anything more kooky characters end up getting in your way you'll be certain that fate itself is contriving against you on-the-spot. Thankfully, though there are interesting-looking people out tonight, that's just a feature of living in a big city. In such troubled times, reaching Chipotle feels like an achievement.

And by whatever divinity is out there, you do reach Chipotle, and you do order a burrito, and you do receive immense satisfaction from eating it. It's been a while since you've been up in East Concourse, and it's different from your neighborhood. Kinda feels wider and more open out here, in a way you're not sure how to feel about. Winding alleys and side streets have always been more your style. The presence of the Multiplex next door makes you reflect on how long it's been since you went out to see a movie. Sitting here, eating your burrito away from home, it starts to dawn on you just how sedentary you've been. From work, to home, to work the next day - that's been your life for years now, give or take some grocery shopping.

Fuck, do you have any friends? You're friendly with people, but would you really call them friends?

Until you followed the raven into darkness, it's like you were experiencing life from behind a window pane. And now, you think you might finally be stepping out the window. In a way, your near end at wolven claws has brought you new life. Dangerous life, for certain, but... you wouldn't be out here, would you? What does holding the attention of beautiful women and brokering with ravens and fighting monsters mean to you?

You're not prey anymore.

Do you like this?

You're your own master now.

Have you longed for this?

You already know the answer.

Feeling solemn, but a little more sure of yourself, you finish your meal, smile at the workers whose pain you know all too well, and take your leave. These introspections have led you back to your original purpose for tonight. It's time to finish Legend of the Silver Raven, and in doing so learn where you fit into the puzzle tonight. You feel good on the way home, as if going out to eat was an accomplishment. Maybe it was. For now, you hope that you'll get through the night in peace, and when you reach your home, you get comfy on your couch and crack open the book.

>Shadow of Eagles: Prepare for Battle
>Dauntless Silver Raven: Prepare for Battle
>Cloaked in Deepest Blue: Prepare for Battle

>>4036073
>Dauntless Silver Raven: Prepare for Battle
Quick reminder: Dauntless was the warrior, Shadow was the leader and Blue was the sorceress

>>4036073
>Dauntless Silver Raven: Prepare for Battle
>You're your own master now.
https://youtu.be/6RlSgnpLbro

>>4036073
>Dauntless Silver Raven: Prepare for Battle

>>4036073
>Dauntless Silver Raven: Prepare for Battle

File: Silver Raven.jpg (75 KB, 564x888)

75 KB JPG

>>4036099
>>4036105
>>4036499
>>4037447

>Dauntless Silver Raven: Prepare for Battle

Now is the time for the Raven to spread his wings.

You are dressed in clothes of elegant white, garbed for battle as you have been since the day you stood up from the ashes and screamed your defiance to the heavenly dragons that sought to bring you low. You need no armor; your body is a fortress unto itself, unstoppable in offense and unimpeachable in resilience. Gazing into the mirror of your personal quarters, you lift your chin, examining your face, seeking the steely conviction in your reflection's eyes. It's not hard to find. Today is your day; the day that your vengeance unfolds. With the aid of Shadow and Blue, you have come this far, and now stand at the very peak of the kingdom in terms of power and influence.

Well, second to Shadow. But that's a small matter. You leer into the mirror, clench your fist until the tension whitens your already nearly colorless skin, and throw open the doors to your room suite, startling a pair of maids who were on their way to bring freshly laundered uniforms to your room. You aren't even aware of what expression you have on your face, but whatever it is, it sends them scurrying to do their duty.

You're a terrifying man. To stand in your presence is to allow oneself to be appraised by the greatest and most terrible hunter ever to be born, and the fear of mortals as you pass them by is nothing short of intoxicating. They were servants of the Realm once, and the urge to seek their hearts with your daiklave is strong, throbbing in the depths of your mind in the way that only furious bloodlust can. But you'll not dirty your sword with their pitiable bodies today; this blade of yours is reserved for far worthier prey.

This is a place of wondrous history, having been home to several generations of Dragon-Blooded nobles before your arrival. Their legacy remains painted on the walls in gorgeous, sweeping mosaics, unfurled in tapestries woven by hands of superhuman skill. They truly believed in their own greatness, in their divine right to rule - just like you, in that way. The key difference, of course, is that you are right. The revenge you swore is the reason your body is adorned in swirling silver, the reason you can grow wings and lay waste to armies with the flash of your sword. This oath has maintained your forward stride, to today and forever more.

If this is the beginning of the end, you'll see to it that the Realm burns beautifully.

You enter the war-room to find Shadow of Eagles leaning over the map of Great Forks, scanning its defenses. Blue isn't here, which is perhaps for the best. This matter is between the two of you; she mostly remains removed from military affairs, instead directing her focus towards the faith and spirituality of those you now govern.

>>4039783

After all, you are the three Moonchildren who overthrew the three gods of Great Forks; it took some tale-spinning to ensure that you stayed in the good graces of the people and weren't decried as Anathema.

"Raven," he greets you. "I trust your journey here went smoothly?"

"Scouts from Lookshy. They had an Immaculate Monk with them."

"I see." He needs ask no more. It's a given that if you encountered an Immaculate, and are still alive, that Immaculate is now an eyeless corpse. "Well, it's as I suspected. Their patrols must be getting bolder if they managed to intercept you."

"Then it's true." You can't help but smile. "They're really going to attack us."

"Don't look so merry, brother. Our power is vast, but imperfectly consolidated. It's possible, if the Sidereals are involved, that they could reverse our progress in the satrapies. If that happens, we'll be alone when they attack, and their armies outmatch ours in size and in discipline."

"But not in strategy," you say, drawing near to the map, your avian eyes picking out advantageous positions at various points in the city and its hilly surroundings. "They shall pay dearly in Exalted blood for every step they take."

"Perhaps negotiations can be made," says Shadow, taking a seat on his chair - a simple wooden seat of golden brown, the same colour as his plumage when he takes his hybrid shape. "If they only look at the good we've done, the justice and prosperity we've brought to the Realm-"

"When did we side with the Realm?" you interrupt, bitterness emerging in your voice sooner than you had hoped. "Brother, when we left our home, we did so to correct the wrongs done to us. Have we not become the very evil we sought to destroy?"

"I fear your yearning for destruction blinds you to the nature of our mission," Shadow warns, leaning forward in his chair, so eager to help you, to reassure you that your cause is indeed a noble one. Yet you see the rot of this land curling up his sleeve like a serpent of sinful peace. "We came this far in hopes of fixing Heaven's mistakes, not to burn all their progress to the ground."

"You are wrong, Shadow of Eagles," you say, feathers subtly sprouting beneath your white robes. "The two are one and the same. You call me blind, but I see it all too clearly; we stand now at the head of a field of rotten grain, and there is naught to do but cut it all down."

"And the satrapies we brought to our side? The people we've saved? You cannot mean this, brother." Shadow begins to rise, his eyes changing colour, his wings beginning to sprout from his back.

"Oh, kinsman..." Your hand closes around the hilt of your sword.

>"More than anything in Creation, I do."
>"Hatred clouds my judgement."
>[Write In]

>>4039786
>"If you believe your ideal is stronger than my hatred, prove it now or forever hold your tongue."

>>4039786
>Given how things were and how it’s now, I’m afraid my opinion remains unchanged”

>>4039786
>"Hatred clouds my judgement."
C-can we not fight, guys?

>>4039783
>”Perhaps hatred clouds my judgement, but does that mean it is wrong? The weight of their sin is such that I cannot yet forgive. Calm yourself, for now, I will temper my hate of them with the blood of the enemy at our gates. You would be wise to do the same with your mercy.”

>>4039786
>>4040330
Oh, i like this. I'll second

>>4039830
this

>>4039786
I'll switch from >>4039828 to >>4040330

>>4039786
>>”Perhaps hatred clouds my judgement, but does that mean it is wrong? The weight of their sin is such that I cannot yet forgive. Calm yourself, for now, I will temper my hate of them with the blood of the enemy at our gates. You would be wise to do the same with your mercy.”

>>4040330
Changing to this

>>4039945
>>4040330
>>4040976
>>4041396
>>4041566
>>4041880

>"Hatred clouds my judgement, but I mean what I say."

You remove your hand from the sword and let the tension abandon you. "I am not wrong, Shadow, and you know it well. The weight of their sin rests heavily upon my shoulders, and until I cast them into oblivion, until I avenge us, I have no heart for forgiveness."
The look of concern - so honest and fraternal, it almost moves you - on his face persists, until you concede some ground to reassure him. "But for the sake of all we have wrought, I will temper this hatred of mine with the blood of the enemy at our gates. Be discerning in your mercy, brother, for it may be our doom."

"...Without mercy, we are but the beasts they proclaim us to be," Shadow says sadly, sinking back into his chair. "And if we are to claim true victory, we must both be discerning. You, I... and Blue, of course." He's tired, but strong, and he will work forever if it means salvation for the land he loves. And he does love it, you know - for all the hate he shares with you for the Immaculate Faith, he truly loves the Realm and has fought with pen and sword to uplift it. Given a few more years, he might succeed; his is a genius nearly unmatched by any in the Silver Pact.

"Our forces," you say, carefully surveying the battlefield-to-be. "Am I to lead them in battle?"

"You'd be a fearsome sight at their head," chuckles Shadow, "but you might serve better as a secret trump card. They'll know you're near, but if they don't know where, it will make them nervous and easily unbalanced. The better if you need to strike true in the end."

>>4043235

Excellent.. You smile broadly and cross your arms. "I am to be the hammer?"

"That shall strike if the iron grows hot," he answers, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. He does that when he's thinking. "But I am confident it will not. Lookshy knows they have a chance of winning, yet the potential sacrifice of resources for them to do so would leave them devastated, and they'd only wrest Great Forks from us in a smoking ruin. With any luck, they won't know that our hold over the satrapies is imperfect, leading them to fear our potential capabilities even more."

"How do you know messengers aren't already on their way to look into that?"

"Aravel's spies are keeping close eyes on the satraps. Not that they're aware, of course."

Ah, yes, his Solar thief girl. She has proven useful indeed, managing to temporarily sabotage certain First Age weaponry and stealing pieces of others, hampering Lookshy's military power to the degree that the three of you are prepared to throw down the gauntlet with the soldiers and gods of Great Forks at your back.

"Nevertheless, Sidereals have ways of getting around even the best human sentinels." You glare at the map, reaching down to scroll out to the satrapies and the hills that divide Great Forks from Lookshy. The coming conflict will decide the fate of the Confederation of Rivers - whether the Silver Pact will finally gain the upper hand, or if Dragon-Blooded supremacy will continue unabated. "We should not wait for them to act. Let us crush their hopes of victory altogether."

"How would you propose we do that, Raven?" The tapping stops.

>"I'll go to the satrapies in person. I'll ensure their allegiance myself." (Diplomacy)
>"I'll strike at Lookshy before battle is even joined. Terror will be our ally." (Assassination)

>>4043238
>"I'll go to the satrapies in person. I'll ensure their allegiance myself." (Diplomacy)
4D chess time

>>4043238
>"I'll go to the satrapies in person. I'll ensure their allegiance myself." (Diplomacy)
"Diplomacy"

>>4043238
>"I'll go to the satrapies in person. I'll ensure their allegiance myself." (Diplomacy)
If your foundation isn't rock-solid you're only wasting time fighting your enemy.

>>4043238
“I'll strike at Lookshy before battle is even joined. Terror will be our ally." (Assassination)

>>4043238
>"I'll strike at Lookshy before battle is even joined. Terror will be our ally." (Assassination)

>>4043238
>"I'll go to the satrapies in person. I'll ensure their allegiance myself." (Diplomacy)

File: Skyward.jpg (43 KB, 564x601)

43 KB JPG

>>4043257
>>4043296
>>4043313
>>4046262

>"I'll go to the satrapies in person."

Your eyes grow cold, hard, and most importantly, inscrutable. The shift comes naturally to you, and does not faze Shadow of Eagles, who is quite accustomed to it. He knows to whom your inner frost is directed. "You?" he says, closer to thoughtfulness than incredulity.

"They know me, and fear me rightly." You grin savagely. "I'll not be turned away or brushed aside. Though your honeyed words might soften them more quickly to our cause, you've got a city to govern."

"You do have a way of... getting a point across," he concedes, and nods in assent. "Alright, Raven. Go and ensure their loyalty, but remember: be watchful for traps, and discerning in words. We don't want to create more enemies."

"Sure?"

"Raven..."

"So be it." You chuckle and turn to leave. "I'll be going at once. No use sitting around Great Forks while there's war to be made."

You hear him sigh in exasperation at your eagerness for war. "You don't want an escort? A selection of tools? A look in the armory?"

"Please, brother. We're Lunars." Even without your sword, you're a weapon of mass destruction - with it, there's not a soul in Creation you can't overcome. The day you need anything other than the strength of your hands and the rage in your heart is the day you renounce the call of Luna and dig yourself a grave.

You exit through a window, because doors take too long, and launch yourself into the air. Great white wings burst from your back, turning your leap into a soaring arc that you take into the clouds before plunging earthward, leaving behind a sonic boom to tear the overcast sky asunder and remind the people of Great Forks of the power of their guardian angel.

Like a living thunderbolt, you streak across the land, terrain blurring beneath you as you journey to the first of the satrapies. For all his overbearing worries, Shadow of Eagles was correct in saying that you'll have to be discerning. The choice of which satrapy you go to first is something you'll have to be judicious about. Each of them is quite distinct from the other, having a different stake in the matter of potential war against Lookshy and allegiance with Anathema. Certain factors will hold more weight than others in terms of decision-making for them, and one in particular wants... well, something that she's absolutely not going to get. Over your cold, dead body, she's going to get that.

But much must be risked in war. Especially for the war you have in mind. Poor Shadow of Eagles, for all his cunning, believes too much in the good of people to imagine the depth of your hate.

>North. Satrap is a craven bureaucrat. Under attack by undead hordes.
>East. Satrap is a self-made warrior. Having troubles with Fair Folk.
>South. Satrap is a haughty courtier. Speaks of prosperous unity.
>West. Satrap is a shrewd banker. Playing cards close to their chest.

>>4047858
>>East. Satrap is a self-made warrior. Having troubles with Fair Folk.
I think East, North, West, South is the best call, or swap West and South.
But having east help us with north would be the best result imo, and with the first two we could get the last two more in line.

>>4047858
>East. Satrap is a self-made warrior. Having troubles with Fair Folk.

>>4047858
>East. Satrap is a self-made warrior. Having troubles with Fair Folk.
East Satrap sounds like a guy Raven would get along with really well. With his help we can cow Northern Bureaucrat, then we can go deal with West, and once we have prosperous unity in sight we'll have an easier time bringing South into the fold.

>>4047858
East. We don’t seem to be the type to be into playing politics. Warriors like ourselves are much easier to come to an understanding with.

>>4047858
>East. Satrap is a self-made warrior. Having troubles with Fair Folk.

>>4047858
>East. Satrap is a self-made warrior. Having troubles with Fair Folk.

>>4047874
>>4047902
>>4047928
>>4048056
>>4048332
>>4052125

>Go East.

You've heard that the satrap to the East is a valiant warrior whose origins were not so dissimilar from your own, who upon awakening the Blood of the Dragon within him, elbowed aside the nobles squabbling for power and claimed the satrapy as his own. Far away as he was from the centralized power of the Realm, no Dynast rose up to challenge him, and a fortunate thing that was, for the eastern satrapy rose from being a lifeless husk to one of the primary exporters of medicine and game, as well as being a spawning ground for brilliant musical and theatrical performances. Sorcery began to flourish, encouraged by the bright young satrap.

Ironically, it is for the same reason that the Satrapy of Wild Light began to flourish that it is now imperiled.

Drawn from the Wyld by their lust for beauty and wonder, the Fair Folk came for Wild Light, slipping out of the forests and along the borders of the satrapy, where the rolling fields gave way to humble farming villages. These were the first victims: countrymen borne off into the night, spirited away and leaving eerily burgeoning fields in their wake. Where the Fae stalked, the Wyld walked in their footsteps, and left the earth overgrown and iridescent with creatures foul and fair stalking the undergrowth.

It is a time of reckoning, in which one hero of legend may not be enough to hold fast. But as of today, they no longer stand alone.

On this late summer morning, the fields are not empty. A scouting party has been caught by a party of fae warriors, and the single Exalt among them is the only reason they have yet to be wiped out. The Terrestrial performs wonders on horseback, standing up to clash with a laughing cataphract, sheathing his sword and firing his bow in a single breath. His arrow takes a raksha through the eye, saving the life of one of his scouts, but it is still not enough; another is pulled from her horse and torn apart by dogs with branches growing from their shoulders. Even should the Dragon-Blood survive, his companions will be slain before he can fend off the enemy.

You burst from the clouds with a joyous battle-cry, keeping your sword sheathed for the selfish goal of bloodying your hands. The fae have a moment to look up at this new source of entertainment, but only a moment. Then you are upon them, and their wonder becomes terror as you rip through them like a beast of nightmare. The razor talons of your feet lash out to open stomachs and break skulls. They bleed strangely - in place of blood, one's hideous stomach wound begins to sing a sad tune - but they bleed all the same. In seconds, it's over, the green fields made multicolored by the insides of the Fair Folk.

Dusting off your hands, you look upon the surviving scouts, who instinctively recoil from your gaze. Who could blame them? With wings on your back and talons on your feet, you look like you could be one of the fair folk yourself.

>[Write In]

>>4054186
>”Your fear is understandable, but unnecessary. I’ve come to make an agreement, that we may help one another.”

>>4054186
Supporting >>4054244