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>>6114062
A dream…

You know it is a dream, even as you experience it, true to life. How could you not? It is THE dream, the one and ONLY dream, which you have ever known:

You recognize the subterranean storage-room, smelling mustily of dusty, faintly of spice, and with the wafting warmth and musk of the people who dwell in adjoining rooms. The dim light of early morning, peeking through the narrow slat of a half-buried ground-level window up above… This, too, you know.

You know INTIMATELY the slow, heaving breaths of the two half-clothed figures down below. One is hazy, her shape not quite her own, and the instrumental organ laying flacid against a naked thigh casting doubt upon ‘her’ sex… And yet you know this is a temporary condition, an artificial one. The phallus no more makes the strange woman a man than the tusks jutting from her lower jaw make her an orc, whatever she might pretend; nor was she a human, nor a snake, though she carried aspects of both. Cradled in her lap, dazed and half-asleep, a smaller and greener figure rests, her own thighs rubbing against each other and quivering in the aftershocks of recent passions.

You know this place, and these people. You’ve been here before. And yet… You don’t quite remember who you were, when you were here.

Were you the tall woman, the shapeshifter, the dutiful agent of darkness with murky origins?

Were you the goblin, the scavenger and survivor, loyal only to her heart and home?

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>>6114067
“I am…”

Your words emerge from the mouths of both the enraptured, entangled lovers below, speaking evenly and in unison. But where is YOUR voice? Do you even have a voice?
Were you the demon which enabled their intercourse, the ever-hungry burning pit within the one?

Were you the seed of life taking hold within the other, unbeknownst to the mother-to-be?
You begin to feel a panic set in, as your fragile sense of self begins to dissipate and to disperse. You are all four, you feel, and in being everyone else you are nothing, nothing but this moment—or a consequence of it, a frozen memory of an impossible union.

“I… I am… I AM!”

You will yourself to be something—someONE. You are not just a fleeting instant, a temporary emotion, an inflamed passion. You are not desire, nor disgrace, nor hunger, nor even love. You are... You ARE…

“Who, or what, are YOU supposed to be?”

The voice which you hear is not your own… Nor is it one your recognize. It is not the voice of either of the lovers, from that memory you so resemble—the instant of your origin. It is… Unplaceable. Foreign. Yet in addressing you, even in tones of incredulity, it gives you form. You—yes YOU—look up with eyes that are wholly yours, to see the shadow of another observer, like yourself.

“I…” you begin to answer, and flinch at the sound of your own voice. “I don’t know.”

“Hm?” replies the other voice, “well, that won’t do. You’d better find out, hadn’t you? Now, it’s time to wake up.”

“Huh?” you say, and then with an alarmed realization, you say: “Hey! Wait! Who ARE you?”

“What do you mean? It’s me…”

Your eyes snap open, and you meet the matching eyes of…

“…Your, ugh, ‘sis’, Zith-Zi,” the pink-skinned goblinoid woman says. “Whaddaya; mean, ‘who am I?’ Who the fuck’re YOU, huh?”

“I don’t—”

“Now leggo’!” Zith-Zi protests. “Yer hurtin’ me!”

You look down at your oversized, talon-tipped hand squeezing tight around the thin wrist of your other half—your ‘twin sister’, Zith-Zi. Mumbling a hasty apology, you release her, and she rubs the affected limb while muttering a colourful assortment of profanities in Goblintongue and the northern trade-tongue of the northwestern nations of Man, which they call Common. You gaze down at your twisted digits, and you remember… Who and what you are.

CAMBION QUEST

or

A Queste for the Selfe Amongst Demogoblins, Nilbogs, and Sundrie Other Freakes of Nature

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>>6114068
You are Carazzi—or Cara-Zi, in more conventional goblin nomenclature—and it’s not quite right to say that you are Zith-Zi’s sister, just as it is not quite right to say that Zith-Zi is a goblin. Rather, you are two halves of a misbegotten whole, the product of two distinct magical incidents: one which resulted in your accidental conception, and one which separated and transformed one conjoined being into the two of you. ‘ZZ’ kept the name, and the relationships, and all the pretty parts… And you got the rest.

The green, warty skin, more like a toad than even a goblin, where she is pink, and smooth.

The claws, long and wicked, where her fingers are fine and dexterous.

The horns and hooves—well, twisted claw-feet superficially resembling cloven hooves—which mark your demonic taint.

The… THING… Between your legs…

And the HUNGER. The gnawing, burning <WANT> which ever lingers beneath your conscious thoughts.

“Anyway, if you’re done with your wetmare or whatever,” Zith-Zi interrupts your thoughts. “It’s time ta’ eat. You ARE hungry, ain’tcha?”

“Always,” you croak, and affect a nervous laugh. “Just, uh, gimme’ a sec ta’ get changed?”

“Don’t take too long,” your other half warns you. “We got shit ta’ do today, ‘member?”

You nod, lying, for you are still too disoriented from The Dream to recall much of anything. ZZ clicks her tongue, but shrugs, and leaves you to it. You gather your bearings, slide out of bed, and with a clicking of your hideous feet you approach the floor-length mirror which is—save for your adventuring equipment—the most expensive thing you own.

You stare at yourself—at WHATEVER you are—and decide that today, you will be…

>Pretty—you’ll wear a dress, and a little bonnet to hide your horns, and be a proper lady
[+Politesse, demeanor: People-Pleasing, Femininity]

>Cool—you’ll don some combat boots and adventurer gear, and trousers, and hide your horns with a cap
[+Leadership, demeanor: Overcompensation, Masculinity]

>Edgy—you’ll let your freak flag fly, wearing a combination of masculine and feminine attire and with your horns on proud display
[+Intimidation, demeanor: Alienation, Androgyny]

>Write-in

A Quick Primer
What this quest is…
This quest is technically a sequel/spinoff of a few other quests I have run, which can be seen at https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=reptoidqm. None of them are required reading, though. If a plot-point or character is important, they will be explained and explored here, diagetically or via lore-dump if/when needed and requested.

It is a standalone adventure, likely to last 4-to-8 threads, though possibly longer depending how it’s going. It will involve some dice and stats and such, which we will explore later, but is going to be fairly ‘mechanics light’. It’s going to be primarily focused on exploration, action, and character interaction and development.

It will have violence, sexual themes, and a little bit of esoteric magic, but will mostly be pulpy good fun.

What this quest is NOT…
This isn’t a quest for kids, but by the same token it’s not a porn quest. I don’t’ shy away from mature themes or in-character intimacy, but don’t count on lengthy, lewd Pastebin scenes.

This quest also isn’t ‘political’ in any tangible sense, or meant to accurately represent or reflect any IRL groups or movements. Our humble MC is a being of fluid identity as the spawn of a demonic shapeshifter, and I’m sure elements of certain real-world interstitial identities might be alluded to or inform certain aspects of the narrative. My own biases may at times colour the narrative. However, nobody in this quest should be taken to ‘represent’, positively or negatively, actual trans or nonbinary people, who are not typically, AFAIK goblin-flesh molded by Hellish forces and Fey magic into a greenish demihuman.

The rules
As in previous quests, your viewpoint character(s) will gradually develop a stat block and acquire equipment and allies. I roll the dice around here, when I post the update. I roll 1d20 for any given task, and additional d20 for every extra rank you gain in a related skill, with a bonus die or two if you have other related skills. The usual DC is 15, which you pass if one d20 beats it, though the DC may be modified up or down based on difficulty or circumstances. If you roll even one 20, it's a crit; if you roll a 1, and no OTHER die beats the DC, it's a crit fail.

In addition, after the first few votes in a thread, I don't allow 1post IDs on contentious votes. Use a trip or backlink if you have a dynamic IP or otherwise expect it to change, and that will usually do the trick.

>>6114070
>Reclusive - we are what we are, but that doesn't mean we like it ourself, let alone that the world will. Obscure ourself, hide our horns, no-one shall see us so no-one will hate us more.
[+Concealment, demeanor: Rejection, Androgyny]

>>6114070
>Cool—you’ll don some combat boots and adventurer gear, and trousers, and hide your horns with a cap

How masculine is Carrizi's cock?

Is it hooded, reclusive, slightly curved - a shy bookworm that's surprisingly aggressive when aroused?

Is it large and hairy- a barbarous tool of war and pleasure made to deflower maidens?

Is it tiny and hairless? A cute feminine thing that sits upright on the balls and greets people with a winking hole before being promptly flipped over and hidden because there's a prettier hole behind?

>>6114070
>Pretty—you’ll wear a dress, and a little bonnet to hide your horns, and be a proper lady
I just find the idea of Carazzi in a dress cute.

Could also go for Leadership though ngl

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>>6114104
>flippant answer
[Up to you!]

>real answer
[I don't tend to describe my characters' genitals in great detail, but the direction she goes in this quest will go a long way to determining her approach to relationships and sexuality, as a facet of her broader identity and reputation.]

>>6114106
[Fair on both fronts. You'll have another main character with some potential talent for leadership, too!]

>>6114098
[I approve this write-in, btw.]

>>6114098
Support

>>6114070
>Reclusive - we are what we are, but that doesn't mean we like it ourself, let alone that the world will. Obscure ourself, hide our horns, no-one shall see us so no-one will hate us more.
[+Concealment, demeanor: Rejection, Androgyny]

>>6114070
>Pretty—you’ll wear a dress, and a little bonnet to hide your horns, and be a proper lady.

Irri used to go around eating and violating people. We don't want to go down a path like that.

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>>6114200
>>6114196
>>6114170
>>6114106
>>6114104
>>6114098
Your first instinct is to do as you have done, and wear what you have worn since that fateful day when you were born, or reborn, as you now are. As an aspect of your sister, you were female—if, arguably, the most masculine aspect of her. Certainly your creator had sweetly saw to it that you were seen as such, having his bride-to-be lend you a dress, to be shredded down to appropriate pint-sized proportions. Year later, contrasted against the truly feminine—the beautiful, the purified and perfected Zith-Zi of today—what kind of woman ARE you?

Warty. Horned. Deformed. Not even a real GOBLIN-girl, let alone the sort of girl who deserves to be seated in his lap...

You slap your cheeks a couple times and shake your head until the red-brown tresses fall loose. You regard yourself with wolf-yellow eyes and cat-lizard pupils from between the dishevelled locks. You regard your body in the mirror with growing distaste and discomfort. Your too-big chest is as grotesque a mockery of the feminine as your… As any other aspect of you is of the masculine. Your eyes sting with imminent tears as the you in the mirror bares too-big, jaggedy teeth in a mostrous grimace.

“Who, or what, are YOU supposed to be?”

“I wish I knew,” you mumble to yourself as you rummage around for something else—ANYTHING else—to wear.

Eventually, you chance upon it: a dark grey-brown cloak. It’s drab, almost monastic in its plainness, and so oversized as to hide your horns and render your body—already shrinking and withering under your own ambivalence, blissfully—to sexlessness.

“Can’t hate whatcha’ can’t see~” you muse in a brittle sing-song voice, unsure whether you are referring to the world outside, or to the one within.

(If it could be true for both, that would be ideal, by your reckoning.)

...

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>>6114210
...

You are Zith-Zi, goblin adventuress extraordi-fuckin’-aire. Or, well, you were. Now, sitting alone in the kitchen and awkwardly eating your porridge with a fork and knife like some hoity-toity humie, you can’t help my notice you’re clasping that cutlery with decidedly pinker fingers than you used to have—pink, and dainty, and delicate. Oh, nobody’s going to mistake you for a human anytime soon—not even a halfling, gnome, or dwarf—but you’re also not exactly a GOBLIN anymore are you? Not exactly Mama Zi’s bouncin’ baby girl?

Your mother never told you much about your father, growing up. There was no need: as the old saying goes, ‘a gob is a gob is a gob’. That is to say: goblins breed true. No matter who they fuck (or get fucked BY), if a goblin’s involved, it’s a goblin that pops out a few months later—pure of blood, green of skin, short on height and magical aptitude.

…And that was exactly the problem.

During your years-long career as an adventurer (well, okay, sometimes bandit, and once or twice debt-slave prostitute or reluctant trafficker), you’d come to develop a bit of an, ahem, AFFINITY for human guys; even almost boinked a half-elf one time, to your eternal inward embarrassment. Eventually, though, you got serious with one, from the big city. Problem was, he wasn’t just some sellsword—he was a NOBLE. Not, like, a BIG-DEAL noble, but ANY noble’s a bigger deal than some wasteland raider turned barely-legal merc. And so you went to your wizard friend—that half-elf you almost banged—and had him do a little magic…

And out popped your ‘sister’, who’s taking for-godsdamned-EVER upstairs. The evidence that your father was actually some kind of ambiguously-gendered occultist packing shapeshifted demon heat ‘down there’, which explained a lot in retrospect.

And out popped YOU, too. The NEW you.

You look down into you by-now empty bowl of porridge, catching your distorted reflection. You regard your features critically. You’ve been like this a few years now, but even so, some days, you barely recognize yourself. And that’s to say nothing of how other GOBS look at you! This chick you know coined the term ‘nilbog’, for what you are—like a goblin, backwards and upside down. Sometimes, that’s exactly how you feel: all turned around from what you once were.

Do you ever regret it? Even a little?

>Yes—in your heart, whatever changes you’ve made, you’re still a goblin for better and for worse
[+Monster Empathy, -Humanoid Empathy]

>No—you never really felt at home among goblinkind, and you’re happy to be rid of the stigma
[+Humanoid Empathy, -Monster Empathy]

>Write-in

>>6114210
I’ll be real with you- would’ve preferred Edgy over Recluse

>No—you never really felt at home among goblinkind, and you’re happy to be rid of the stigma
Honest thoughts- being a monster was the worst part of her life from just a glimpse of her experience. Ain’t no way she regrets leaving that life behind her in full.

But that doesn’t mean she isn’t empathetic to their plight.

>Your feelings are confused, a roiling pit you don’t want to touch. Best put it in a box and focus on something productive.
[+Empathy, -Introspection]

>>6114104
Why wouldn’t it be not uncircumcised

>>6114211
>Write-in
Getting rid of goblin aspect has its benefits. And difficulties. It is useful.

>>6114211
>Yes—in your heart, whatever changes you’ve made, you’re still a goblin for better and for worse
Just a little though

>>6114220
>Why wouldn’t it be not uncircumcised
[Well, they ARE descendants of The House of Yosef...]

>>6114211
>No—you never really felt at home among goblinkind, and you’re happy to be rid of the stigma

>>6114211
>Yes—in your heart, whatever changes you’ve made, you’re still a goblin for better and for worse

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>>6114218
>>6114229
>>6114285
>>6114351
>>6114220
[A tie on vote 2, eh? I'll spit the difference if I have to, but this vote is sort of important to the next step, so if perhaps >>6114220 wants to clarify a leaning or someone else wants to break the tie, that would be dandy.]

>>6114498
>No—you never really felt at home among goblinkind, and you’re happy to be rid of the stigma
I didnt see you posted till like an hour ago, excited for the girls quest, please excuse my 1pid for now I hope its still early enough to establish my right to vote

>>6114540
>>6114218
>>6114229
>>6114285
>>6114351
>>6114220
Bah, what do you care? The truth is you never felt much like a goblin—or never wanted to, when you did. Maybe it was whatever-the-fuck your ‘dad’ was, deep down, but you’ve always felt foreign to the folks around you, even Mom. That was why you’d set out as a young girl, out west and (ironically) into the Goblin Wastes, where your status as a monster had made you into a miserable miscreant, and had FORCED you to cohabitate with your kind. Oh, sure, you empathized with them and their plight—you wouldn’t have spent the last few years helping them get their shit sorted out here if you didn’t—but you are more than eager for the excuse to be something more, something BETTER, than ‘just another goblin bandit.’

The unconscious wiggle of your goblin-sensitive ears is unchanged from old times, at any rate. The automatic response alerts you a moment sooner than sound itself does, and pulls you out of your introspection and back to practical reality. You look up and scrunch up your nose at the sight of your sister descending the stairs, in…

“CZ, the fuck are you wearing?”

Your ‘demogoblin’ other half flinches at the altogether reasonable question ith a rather silly reply:

“Uh, a monk costume? I think?”

You sigh and shake your head. You’ve seen monks. You’ve ROBBED monks. That isn’t a monk’s tunic. Why WOULD it be? The only clothes you have here are leftovers from whoever first constructed this home, or else donations gathered and shipped here for neighbouring human settlements, and surreptitiously looted a little by you. What monastery is donating their holy garb to randos?

“Cee,” you say gently (for you), “that’s a funeral cloak. For funerals ‘n shit. Mourning. You look like you’re inna’ death cult or some shit.”

“O-oh,” Cara-Zi giggles. “Well, don’t reach to much inta’ it, okay?”

“What, like you’re some kinda’ fiend from the Hells?”

Your demontainted and distorted double giggles again, and it sounds to your sensitive ears rather strained. You wince a little, not actually having meant to offend her or anything. Maybe you went a little too far? Would that have offended YOU? Ugh, why is it so hard to relate to what is kind of, sort of, YOURSELF?

“Soup’s on,” you say to change the subject, and nod to the porridge. “You said you were hungry, so eat up, ‘n be fast. Recruiting day, right?”

>>6114557
CZ wolfs down her porridge about as fast as you did—that si to say, with commendable goblin efficiency, appropriate to people always on the move, and never with enough to be at ease.

“I still don’t totally get it,” your sister admits, as she licks the last of her breakfast from her large, knife-tipped fingers. “If we’re so short on cash, why ‘n how are we, like, hiring more gobs?”

“Well we can’t DO the job with just the two of us, can we?” you ask with slow deliberateness. “Won’t be any godsdamned money at all if we don’t have enough adventurers ta’ take the job an’ see it through. We’ll just have to split what we earn more ways… ‘N probably do another job or two after that, to cover expenses long-term.”

“Why not just join another adventuring party, then?” CZ asks. “There’s plenty of ‘em, especially these days with the Paladins being stretched thin and the orcs raiding from the north an’ spreading all the militias so thin!”

“Right,” you sigh. “An’ what humie adventuring party in this age a’ panicking and runnin’-around screamin’ about ‘monsters’ is gonna’ hire the likes of YOU?”

(Hell, of ME…)

CZ’s face falls and her head dips, hiding her ‘distinctive-even-for-a-gob’ features beneath her goofy-ass new hood. You wince again.

“Look, I’ve BEEN ‘the party goblin’ more ‘n a few times, as you know,” you remind more gently. “we were still one person for those bits. Remember? It sucks total balls, an’ NOT in a fun way.”

“Well, once or twice in a fun way,” Cara-Zi recalls on your behalf, and you have to stifle a wicked smile at the memory.

“Hey!’ CZ erupts, suddenly bright and cheery again at her brilliant revelation, “Why not jus’ go back ta’ Hawksong? Join up with Jimmy’s party?”

Your throat closes, your muscles tighten, and your right leg twitches involuntarily and hits the underside of the table.

“Uh, oops… Havin’ a rough patch, are we?” Your sort-of sister asks sheepishly.

“He’s off on that border mission, down South,” you loop her in, recalling bitterly the letter by which you’d received the news.

“Oh?”

“And he won’t be back for at least a year,” you continue.

“…Oh,” CZ winces.

“And he’s with Enid!”

“Oh,” Cara-Zi squeaks.

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>>6114560
Stupid bright-eyed, fair-skinned, tall-but-not-too-tall, tight-n’-curvy Enid in that fucking skintight ‘catsuit’ get-up with the expensive little shiny bits and bobs to draw attention HERE and THERE and who was ALWAYS hanging off of James Efron when you lot used to adventure together, on the one or two mission where it had been impractical to get by with only one rogue. The same James ‘Jimmy’ Efron who YOU changed shape and shade for, at least in PART, and who told YOU that you ought to stop adventuring and settle down like a ‘proper lady’? THAT Jimmy was off adventuring with ENID. Unreachable without weeks fo travel and searching, for OVER A YEAR.

“A-anyway,” CZ blurts out, “so, they’re busy an’ we can’t join up with them for this. And nobody else will take us. So…”

“So recruiting,” you again confirm, standing up. “An’ times a-wasting. I’m tired of living like a refugee.”

“Well, we sort of ARE ref—” CZ begins.

You rise to your feet, kicking your chair back with a clatter and squeak that rouses the familiar, feathered lump upon your window-sill. A frog-like face opens a single bulging green eye as you belt out:

“We’re gonna’ start makin’ proper coin again, and then we’ll SHOW him just how proper these ladies are!”

“Yeah… Proper ladies,” CZ mumbles. “Both of us…”

You’re not sure what to make of the comment, but in all honesty you’re hardly listening. Rather, you’re strapping on the leather pauldron which serves as perch. Once it’s affixed, you pat it twice, and whistle. The feathered drake who ahs been your constant companion, and your sole hand-me-down from Mom, spreads his wings. Smaller than a cat save for his age-paled, once-golden wings, Hershy nevertheless fluttered obediently to alight upon you, like the parrot of some landlocked pirate.

“Let’s go!"

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>>6114562
‘New Goblintown’ is a bit of a misnomer, in many ways.

You can remember, in your fragmented recollections, the home where you (or ZZ, with you laying latent within her) were born and brought up. THAT was a proper Goblintown: a semi-subterranean network of interconnected basements and communal rooms, with human-facing businesses sprouting up like mushrooms from the mycelium of the REAL goblin community: a community of mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, cousins and kin.

But this place?

Nobody knows exactly how old this settlement is. Well, maybe SOMEONE does, but they aren’t a gob. By the damage to some of the buildings—clearly intended for human habitation, by the style and size—you assume they’re dead and gone. Even the built-up walkways between balconies, and the roughshod bulwarks against invasion and assault, predate the current denizens. It wasn’t the goblins that did the destruction or the reconstruction; they were granted this place to stay long after the action was over.

With its separate dwelling-places, all above-ground with the earth too hard-packed for easy interconnection? Filled with goblins of disparate and discrete origins, without work and wary of one another? No, this is no Goblintown at all.

(But then again who are you to judge what is or is not proper goblin?)

Your pink-skinned sister marches with proud swagger, shouting out to this gob or that gob, while you turn your gaze from architecture down to Earth, observing the dirt and avoiding eyes. Your stomach and what passes for your soul both rumble in response to the iridescent yellow-green gaze of your goblinoid kin. As the spawn of a succubus, a part of your <WANTS> to be seen, to be feared and muttered-about; most of all to be desired, yes, but where desire fails, disgusted fascination might suffice to sate this need. Yet when the attention your sister summons shifts to you, you pull your hood forward and shrink inside your vestments; what you <WANT> instinctively and what you actually WANT-want, those are very different things.

(What do I want, then…?)

Your thighs squirm a little at the thought. Your succubus side very much <WANTS> to relive some of those memories from The Dream, or to make new ones… Though, of course, you cannot. It’s not ALLOWED. The hedonistic urge to be satisfied—physically, emotionally—is at the very centre of your being, though: a hollowness, a hungry void that NEEDS to be filled.

In lieu of lust, which is LOCKED, what has become the focus of your <WANT>?
>Greed—you will buy or steal something small
>Gluttony—you’re still hungry, and bland porridge is not enough
>Wrath—you’re eager for the adventure, so eager you’re spoiling for a spar
>Envy—you'd rather not be perceived, but perceiving OTHERS and their juiciest gossip? Mmm.
LOCKED—you cannot choose Pride, as it conflicts with CZ’s reclusiveness
>Write-in

>>6114540
[Welcome aboard, anon!]

>>6114569
>Envy—you'd rather not be perceived, but perceiving OTHERS and their juiciest gossip? Mmm.
some light voyeurism will suffice. btw nice seeing you back, OP. Missed this yesterday.
>>6114104
the cockoisseur has arrived it seems
>>6114240
shalom

>>6114569
>Greed—you will buy or steal something small
The most productive of the sins.

>>6114569
>Pride
Just wanted to make a statement that this would’ve been what I chosen, since it fit the ol’ Infiltrator well. Like, imagine the Pride and Prejudice memes ;_;

Back on ye ol’ infiltrator quest, wrath and ambition ruled prominently. I would like something from the ol’ infiltrator, even if it’s a bloodlust for power.

Thinking on though, Envy did feature in heavily in Cazz’s creation- Edwin, Tips, satiating her <WANTS>, all denied to an aspect of her. Even though I regret the passiveness of the sin, it would fit well with recluse.

>>6114621
[Should I interpret this as a vote for Envy, then?]

>>6114641
Sure- though I’d like to transition it later on, since I’d prefer to take on the traits of the parents than be associated with with the sadder connotations of the quest.

>>6114569
>Wrath—you’re eager for the adventure, so eager you’re spoiling for a spar

>>6114657
[Fair. These are a starting point for now, to establish a baseline.]

>>6114569
>Envy

>>6114594
>>6114604
>>6114621
>>6114658
>>6114701

Your hood pulled down low, and your steps light and soft upon the hard-packed dirt of New Goblintown, you trail behind Zith-Zi. You avoid the direct gaze of those you pass, but even so, your bat-like ears twitch with an irresistible fascination for the snippets of conversation that reach them. Your sister’s loud proclamations and bold mannerisms fade into mere background noise, while conversely the more subtle, whispered discussions around you seem magnified by your hunger:

"...’t even eat it, so why’re they hunting it?”

“Who says you can’t? Just ‘cause humies are picky fuckers…”

“Well they’re not GONNA’ though, are they? Blood Baron wants it for a trophy, and toss the rest.”

“Is what it is.”

You wonder which baron they mean? New Goblintown isn’t NEAR-near to any particular settlement, being closer to the mysterious monster-kingdom up in the mountains than anyone else. Of the four closest human-held baronies, though, your money would be on…

“Blackpine,” you murmur, perversely proud of yourself.

You’ve never BEEN to Blackline, and never met its baron, yet you know his character by reputation: a bold and bearlike man, and a lover of the princely sport of hunting. All this and more, you’ve learned without seeking or speaking—just listening. You greedily drink in these tidbits with far greater satisfaction than the nutrient-deficient porridge earlier. Eavesdropping has become something of a hobby of yours—a way to connect with the people who would otherwise scorn you. The low murmur of life around you, the intricate web of secret and scandal, becomes the sustenance you crave. You dare not allow your hunger to lead you into a confrontation, not here, not now. But <WANT> is fed in small doses through this listening-in.

"...cruiting again? Ain’t but scraps left these days…"

You turn your head towards the speaker, believing for a moment she's referring to you and your sister.

“...The last lot they took didn’t come back whole, y’hear? You sign on, you take yer chances…”

“Bet the feckin’ dwarves killed ‘em. You know they’re cheapskates, an’ they’re broke besides.”

“…any gob what takes a job with them gets what he gets…”

Oh. No you, then. THAT would be about Undershadow, the northernmost of the baronies. You’ve never really been one for mineralogy or whatever, either before or after your ‘split’ with Zith-Zi, but every gob in new Goblintown has at least HEARD about the dwarven mining company. Goblins and dwarves are ancestral enemies...

(Just as goblins and humans, or goblins and elves, or goblins and orc, or goblins and other goblins...)

Even so, the company in question has been hiring on anyone they can get, to mine or to guard the miners… Though apparently with a rather high turnover rate, by the sounds of things.

>>6114747
. With a small frown, you scan the crowd to see if anyone you know (or know OF, since you don't exactly have any friends here) has gone missing, though you quickly bow your head and make yourself small again when you accidentally meet one goblin’s eyes.

ZZ makes her way toward the midpoint of Goblintown, where a partially-collapsed fountain has been converted into a meager but communal gathering space. It bubbles with conversation and activity, like a cauldron of goblin stew. You shuffle after her, absorbing more of he ambient flow of conversation like shadow taking in the warmth without being directly lit by it:
A missing child of a well-heeled aristocratic family in the especially small and isolated barony of Redwell…

Some lake-monster rumoured to be stealing fisherman’s catches in the eponymous body of water at the heart of the bustling trade-port of Sunset Lake, down towards the lowlands…

So too do you catch flickers of more local concerns: trysts, affairs, simmering grudges and sordid dealings, and everywhere echoes of the hopeless and bitter defeat which characterizes Goblintown life.

“…no way to live, ‘farming’, hunting little squirrels and rabbits…”

“Better ‘n the Wastes, though, right?”

“The land’s for shit, though! And what do we know ‘bout farming even with GOOD land?”

“Well, just means more squirrel an’ rabbi…”

“…ought to go take some of what those humies’ve got, big fat fucks…”

You grimace, though you say nothing. The entire idea of New Goblintown was to avoid conflict with the other races. Life here has been hard, and you’d be lying if you said you enjoyed the local fare any more than these other gobs, but even so…

Before you can parse out an answer to that existential query, you realize with a start that your sister’s steps are carrying you both past all your potential recruits—right out of the little town.

“Uh, ZZ?” you speak up. “Ain’t we s’psoed ta’ be recruiting…?”

“What, HERE?” she laughs. “Gobs? “An’ not just any gobs: oldies, chicks, ex-SLAVES?”

You take in the (put politely) rather motley assortment of goblins in the centre of townIt’s true that they’re a ragged lot, their appearance signaling lives spent in squalor and struggle. They are small, even by goblin standards, with spindly limbs and hollow cheeks testifying to prolonged malnutrition. Their clothes are a patchwork of mismatched scraps and hand-me-downs, many of them barely hanging together. Yet, beyond their frail bodies and threadbare appearances, you notice something else—something that resonates deeply with the hollow <WANT> inside you.

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>>6114748
Their yellow or green eyes are bright, not with health, but with a fierce and consuming hunger. This hunger is not just for food, though that’s part of it. It’s a hunger for more—for something beyond their current existence. Their gazes flicker with ambition, a desire for something better than the so-called life they’ve been eking out in the ruins that mankind and other have left them. You see young goblins with makeshift weapons, eyes shining with dreams of glory and riches. You notice the older goblins, who have endured more years of hardship, yet still hold a spark of hope—whether it’s for themselves, their children, or simply a better tomorrow.

“Well, I mean… They’ll be cheap ta’ hire?” you hazard with a nervous laugh.

Zith-Zi squints, surveying them, and cocncludes: “yeah, an’ we’ll get what we pay for. Buncha’ compulsively-cloying pickpockets an’ backstabbers. C’mon, you remember what it’s like ta’ run with gobs…”

“R-right…” you lie.

You struggle to piece those memories together. Even as you do so, it seems to you there are snippets of good amongst the bad. Maybe your ‘amnesia’ is simply fooling you, though?

ZZ sees you struggling, and this seems to crack her hard shell. She sighs dramatically and slumps forwards a little, sending Hershy the drake tumbling down her shoulder to land on her chest. He huffs haughtily, with dragon-like pride, and hauls himself back up to his perch to preen himself.

“Fine,” she says. “You tell me: you wanna’ recruit any of these little green shits before we go?”

>>6114749
PARTY MECHANICS
You have 30 POINTS to spend on a party and equipment, serving as an abstraction of social capital and currency. Because CZ has no leadership bonus and ZZ has reduced Monster Empathy, you get no bonus to recruiting goblins and must pay ‘full price’ here. However, goblins and their (shoddy) gear are less expensive than most other races.

In addition, recruiting here DOES have a few inherent advantages:

>Goblins have magic resistance, increasing the DC of spells used against them, reducing damage taken from magic, and allowing them to use dodgy magical equipment with less risk of blowback damage.
>They are small-sized, which while it means their weapons do less damage, also means they can squeeze through small spaces and hdie/sneak more easily.
>They have true darkvision, able to see (albeit only in black-and-white) in even pitch blackness
>They are ‘soulless’ by the measure of mages, meaning gods and demons cannot easily corrupt them… Nor do they really have any interest in doing so, since they’re beneath contempt
>They have cast-iron stomachs and can subsist on less (and lower quality) food
>They have hardy immune systems and can endure the elements fairly well
>While CZ is something of a boogeyman around here, ZZ is well-respected for her role in setting up the town; at the very least, you’re both respected and feared, whereas in human habitations you’re more likely to be seen as ‘goblins’ yourselves

Besides this, any equipment you buy for CZ or ZZ here will be properly-sized. ZZ has light armour and a small scimitar already, but CZ is currently wearing only her robe and wielding only her ‘natural weapons’.

Will you recruit anyone or buy anything here?
>Yes—even if goblins can be ‘difficult’, you want to recruit some of them…
>Well, maybe not… But you’d like to buy some cheap equipment before you go…
>Maybe ZZ is right… You’ll recruit some folks later, once you’re amongst humans and their fellow-folk
>Write-in

>>6114750
>Yes—even if goblins can be ‘difficult’, you want to recruit some of them…
at least one of them might fit our criteria

>>6114750
>Yes—even if goblins can be ‘difficult’, you want to recruit some of them… and get some equipment worth a damn for CZ.

>>6114750
>Maybe ZZ is right… You’ll recruit some folks later, once you’re amongst humans and their fellow-folk

>>6114750

>Maybe ZZ is right… You’ll recruit some folks later, once you’re amongst humans and their fellow-fold
>Write-in
Armor for Carazzi. Cloth or mail. Depends on how dexterous her claws are - can she wear them or clean them without much difficulty?

Am >>6114220

>>6114750
>Write-in
>Find a dogbold
Fiercely loyal, quirky, small build, and only a little metagamey, Theral used to have one he would let one of his wives experiment on, but Id prefer we keep em terrier esque, also if you dont feel thats acceptable Ill change my answer

>>6114750
>Yes—even if goblins can be ‘difficult’, you want to recruit some of them…

>>6115010
[I'll keep the desire for a dogbold in mind, but it isn't really something Cara-Zi can just suggest out of nowhere in this context.]

>>6115017
>>6115010
>>6114998
>>6114964
>>6114787
>>6114772
You don’t know how you keep getting roped into this shit., you really don’t. Even after going out of your way to move away from your past and people, to the point of having all the ‘goblin’ magically sucked out of you, it seems like you can never fully escape your origins and history. You just want to move past all that and onto the new life you’ve been afforded!

But when your friends needed an expert on the area and (ha!) culture, who’d they turn to?

And when they freed these slaves and needed someone to help get them set up with a place to stay, who volunteered to help?

And now, with the very embodiment of that past and history giving you those big yellow kitty-cat eyes…

“Uuuugh, fiiiine,” you groan, pressing your face into you pinkish palm. “We’ll hire a gob or two.”

“And buy some armour?”

You look between your fingers at CZ, whose pleading expression remains, now tainted with the half-hidden smugness of one pushing her luck. You know the expression well: you wore it first, before your ‘little sister’ was ever a separate entity.

“Yeah yeah, whatever…”

The two of you turn around, Cara-Zi trailing you like a puppy. The goblins and goblinesses of the squalid little burg see you coming back and immediately you have their attention. You always have, for even if you and CZ aren’t fully regarded as goblins yourself, the others here still have a sort of reverence for you. With your sister, it’s pure fear: they’ve seen the brutality she can inflict on a battlefield firsthand when she helped free them, and no amount of lowering her voce and bundling up in baggy clothes is going to make them forget the sight of those claws and fangs dripping with blood. With you, it’s something else… Something you can’t quite place.

“Envy…”

“Huh?” You blink at Cara-Zi. “What’d you say?”

“H-huh?” she says, staring back in confusion. “Did I say something?”

“Nevermind,” you sigh.

Your hand gravitates to the curved blade on your hip, as an unspoken reminder to any gobs feeling ‘envious’ of what you’ve got or what you are that you’re no slouch in the bloodletting department, yourself. That’s a part of it, too, you suppose, your ‘reputation’ here. You’re the gob that got out—that made something of herself, that might help THEM make something of THEMselves.

“Listen up!” you shout. “Me an’ my sis are lookin’ ta’ go make some coin! Not with any thievin’ or raidin’, and NOT with beggin’ or scavengin’ nothing, either! We’re gonna’ earn some gold with good, honest, dangerous ADVENTURIN’.”

>>6115128
That gets a chorus of jeers, as you knew it would. Every goblin knows that ‘adventuring’ is just the humie way of prettying-up the age-old professions of grave-robbing and murder-for-hire, and any goblin who’s lived wild and free knows at least few fellows who’ve been on the sharp end of a so-called adventurer’s sword… But that ALSO means that ever goblin present ahs some of that same fear for adventurers that they have for CZ; knowing that ‘adventure’ is how you got to be who and what you are today, it also carries that same allure of escape that you do.

“Anyone who wants in on this shit, speak up now or forever hold your peace!” you continue. “And anyone who’s managed to scrounge up some arms ‘n armour—an’ don’t bullshit me, I know some of you have been holding out!—come ‘n see me an’ CZ. We’re gonna’ need ta’ get her an’ any of you we bring properly kitted out, if only so you ain’t totally useless.”

You look over at CZ, who is quietly delighted as she listens to the murmured consideration of the crowd. That brings you a bit of a smile, at least. You don’t’ pretend to fully understand her ‘condition’, but Tips—your half-elf wizard friend that ‘made’ her—said something about her feeding on emotions as much or than food. Having more people around, even goblins, must make her feel comfier somehow. Whatever your misgivings about having a weird evil clone sister, you promised Tips you’d look after her.

Not long after your big speech, you’re up to your pointy ears in potential hirelings and dubious merchandise, and much of that fond feeling is gone. You know you shouldn’t expect much better than this under the circumstances, but even so…

>>6115129
As a reminder, you have 30 points. Normally, an experienced and equipped adventurer would set you back 10 points, an inexperienced one would be 7 points, and a hireling without much combat skill or any arms or armour would be 4 points. However, these goblins have no experienced adventurers among them, and have shoddy equipment at best, and due to their desperation and poor showing cost less.

Who do you hire on?
Inexperienced, Poorly Equipped: 5 points
>Yeb-Uit, an older male goblin known to be a fairly good bow-hunter and trapper (ranks in Survival, Archery, comes with bow and arrows; no known personality flaws, but doesn’t have any ammunition for his bow)
>Zar-Lin, a scar-faced and middle-aged ex-prostitute turned bully known for her hot temper and for backing this up (ranks in Knife-Fighting, Sense Motive, Seduction, comes with knife; prone to disobedience, aggression)
>Gar-Yub, a lame-legged drunkard and layabout who nevertheless knows his way around a blade, and his herbs (ranks in Swordsmanship, Herbalism, comes with short-sword and alchemical and medical supplies; can’t move too fast, prone to addictive behaviour)
>Lok-Stok, a young goblin barely more than a boy who is exceptionally enthusiastic (ranks in Unarmed Combat, Athleticism, comes with light armour; very trainable, but impulsive)
>Write-in (create an NPC; outline them here, don’t make ‘em OP; note that goblins cannot be casters)

Hirelings, Non-Combatant: 3 points
>An-Yii, a young female goblin with limited nursing-knowledge (rank in Medicine)
>Jed-Vak, a young male goblin who has some experience keeping animals alive long enough to get eggs or milk (ran in Animal Handling)
>Yad-Vo, a quiet and sullen goblin uncharacteristically inclined to read and listen (rank in Academia)
>Tav-Rok, who is a pretty good cook and reasonably personable as goblins go (rank in Cooking)
>Ten-Ree, a seamstress and amateur tanner, who smells like that profession implies (rank in Mending; smells like piss due to profession)
>Write-in (create an NPC; outline them here)

>>6115130
What equipment do you buy? All New Goblintown equipment looks rough and shoddy, and wearing or carrying it will be reflected in how people treat you outside this place
>Small-sized sword (1d6 damage, costs 2 points)
>Small-sized dagger (1d4 damage, costs 2 points, concealable)
>Small-sized bow (ranged, 1d6 damage, costs 2 points)
>Quiver of Arrows (Ammo isn’t tracked, but you need one of these two use your bow and if it’s lost, you’re out of ammo, costs 1 point)
>Small-sized light armour (Increases difficulty of physical attack rolls against wearer by 1, costs 2 points)
>Small-sized medium armor (Increases difficulty of physical attacks against wearer by 2 and reduces damage taken by 1, costs 5 points, can’t be worn to sleep without penalties)
>Small-sized heavy armour (Increases difficulty of physical attacks against wearer by 2 and reduces damage taken by 3, costs 7 points, can’t be worn to sleep without penalties, can cause or worsen exhaustion)
>Write-in (anything else you want, subject to vote; keep in mind these people are poor)

>>6115130
>Recruit Yeb
>2 daggers
>1 sword
>1 quiver
>1 light armor & 1 medium armor

[Oh, and a quick reminder: ZZ already has:
>A small scimitar (1d8)
>Light armour (mroe stylish than goblin-made)
>A (damaged) trapfinding inplenent
>Thieves' tools
>Three throwing knives
While CZ has:
>natural weapons (1d2, cannot be unequipped)
In addition, CZ has "monkey grip" (ie. big freaky hands that can wield a medium-sized weapon), and both have some spells listed on their sheet, too, which will get elaboration as we go.]

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>>6115130
>Yeb-Uit
>An-Yii
>Quiver of Arrows (Ammo isn’t tracked, but you need one of these two use your bow and if it’s lost, you’re out of ammo, costs 1 point)
>Small-sized light armour x2
For Yeb & Carazzi
>

>Write-in
Cooking utensils & blankets

>>6115162
If the pic is representative of her claws (>>6114210), I’d really like for her to get a hooded katar or something similar soon. Not sure if the tech level of new gob town allows it, though.

https://www.mandarinmansion.com/item/vijayanagara-hooded-katar

Essentially, a punch dagger constructed out of metal. I really want the ‘hood’ so it could be used to protect her hands and act as armor

I'm >>6114772

>>6115130
>Yeb-Uit
>comes with bow and arrows [...] but doesn’t have any ammunition for his bow
I assume this means he only has the single arrow on his bow and only that
>An-Yii

>Small-sized dagger (1d4 damage, costs 2 points, concealable)
for CZ
>Quiver of Arrows

>>6115130
>Zar-Lin
Reminds me of the infiltrator, so I imagine they might subconsciously pick them. Cazz can also feed on the aggression, which will help keep her in check.
>An-Yii, a young female goblin with limited nursing-knowledge (rank in Medicine)
Medic!
>Small-sized dagger (1d4 damage, costs 2 points, concealable)
>Small-sized bow (ranged, 1d6 damage, costs 2 points)
>Quiver of Arrows (Ammo isn’t tracked, but you need one of these two use your bow and if it’s lost, you’re out of ammo, costs 1 point)
Ain’t buying shitty equipment and have good people of status look down at us because of shitty goblin armor.

>>6115182
>If the pic is representative of her claws
[As has been hinted at a little, her body shifts a little with her self-perception and the perception of others. She grows more monstrous when her <WANT> is greater or conversely when she allows herself to overindulge.]

>>6115151
>>6115222
>>6115223
[My reply may be delayed this evening. I've been invited out to dinner with my folks.]

>>6115423
>[As has been hinted at a little, her body shifts a little with her self-perception and the perception of others. She grows more monstrous when her <WANT> is greater or conversely when she allows herself to overindulge.]
makes sense, coz it puzzled me at first that her claws were only 1d2.
Enjoy the dinner.

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>>6115478
[It was pretty okay, thanks!]

>>6115182
>>6115478
>the pic
[As ever, I tend to give artists I commission a lot of leeway in presentation. I always pictured her with more of a hooked nose than a little dog snout, but so it goes!]

>punch-dagger
[Pretty tough to come by around these parts, but I'll keep it in mind for the future...]

>>6115151
>>6115182
>>6115222
>>6115223
[Locked and writing. 16 points left! I included basic amenities for 1 point by fiat, since it made sense and... Well, you'll see in a bit.]

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>>6115510
You and your ‘older sister’ Zith-Zi pore over the resumes before you, in the traditional goblin fashion… Which is to say, you let each of the greenskins in attendance step forth, puff out their chests and turn up their chins, and tell bald-faced lies about their proficiencies which you and all their rivals heckle them mercilessly for. Everyone knows a goblin can’t be trusted to tell the truth when personal benefit or reputation is on the line, but nor would any other gob—or nilbog, rod demogoblin—begrudge them. Frankly, you’d be insulted if they DIDN’T spin a yarn or two about shooting an arrow straight through a sparrow’s eye or cleaving a roving orc’s skull and helmet in twain with a sword-blow or something along hose lines.

“It’s cultural,” you’ve heard ZZ defend the practice.

‘Cultural’ it may well be, but for you, it’s simply FUN! Unable to feed your lust, and lately less able to endure the judgement of others, indulging in such a ritual of focused attention and abuse allows you to sate yet more of your <WANT>, even as it makes you paradoxically long for the respect which some of the goblins manage to accrue.

Yeb-Uit earns himself a spot when the old, gristly and grizzled male steps forward and holds aloft his arrow—his sole remaining arrow, as he says.

“The only one I’ll need,” he elaborates.

It might not be a sparrow’s eye, but when he convinces a cowering gobling to hold up a worm-eaten apple and manages to hit the arrow and NOT the child, it at least attests to SOME truth behind his manufactured ‘legend’. It’s more than any other’s manage, at least.

“Get this gob a quiver!” ZZ bellows, to a cacophony of cheers and jeers alike.

Of course, with so many braggarts about, it makes it all the more remarkable when one of the locals DOESN’T follow the ignoble tradition of your ilk. At least, it sure gets your attention when An-Yii steps out from the morass of mean little greenies and quietly clears her throat, waiting patiently until the boos and hisses accompanying her ‘boring’ performance die down.

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>>6115538
Part of Your might be, admittedly, that she’s pretty… Well, for a hungry young gobliness. Prettier than you are… pretty like a part of you wishes you could be. Her cheeks are high, her dark green hair tied tight in a knot at the back of her skull, lending her an austere and important air rare among even well-to-do goblins, let alone this community. He ragged, patched clothes are speckled and spatters with bits of blood and other fluids, but if that’s something to scorn elsewhere, it’s nothing you can judge over-harshly HERE… And soon enough, they become more like a mark of merit.

“I’ve been helping Gen-Grin to deliver the babies we’ve been having,” she says simply. “Any of you gob-girls as has had one knows I did the dirty deed.”

Her expression darkens a little, as she adds: “An’ I’ve done the dirtier one of dealin’ with those who ain’t make it, or for which you weren’t ready with food ta’ feed, wasn’t it?”

The air of levity dissipates about An-Yii like a fog, leaving only the clear, cold air of her implications. There are some subjects which even goblins—ESPECIALLY goblins—take seriously.

“Well,” she says simply, “I’m done. I’m DONE with it. Here me? I’ve done my hours, seen enough suffering for nothin’. We need proper doctorin’, an’ the money for to do it with. Ain’t that right?”

A quiet, ashamed murmur of grudging agreement rippels through the rowd.

“I’ve kept enough of you alive after that, too, or after getting’ cut or breakin’ a bone doin’ your half-assed huntin’ or tomfoolin’ about. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the goblins agree. You find yourself agreeing too, if only to go along with them and be a part of the experience.

“You’ll need me for the same reason,” An-Yii announces, to you and to your sister.

You flinch at the certainty of her assertion, and at the piercing yellow of her gaze. In truth, with your Monstrous Regeneration> (a hand-me-down spell of your ‘creator’, or perhaps an inheritance of your ‘father’) you’ve never really needed a medic…

But ZZ might.

You look suddenly to your sister with concern, as much to break the unsettling eye-contact with An-Yii as to gauge her reaction. Her eyes are narrowed, arms crossed over her chest. You can imagine—and half-remember—the unpleasant experiences running through her mind, of those times when she—you—were wounded in the Goblin Wastes, during the ‘bad old days’, and forced to walk and fight on injured limb, or to sweat out an infection. When you’d traveled with Tips, it had been different, but…

“More’n that,” An-Yii concludes, “if you two give two shits about ANY of these gobs, you’ll need me to get good, and bring that experience back. Right?”

>>6115539
“Hey,” you say, reaching out and tugging on Zith-Zi’s limb. “Hey sis, we should—”

“Right,” she agrees, brushing you off before you even finish without looking at you, but acquiescing to agree, with you and with An-Yii. “You’re hired. I respect a bitch who puts her back into it.”

For the first time, you see An-Yii crack a smile, oozing obvious relief. You smile with her, feeling some of that relief seep into you—the blessing to accompany the curse of your inherent empathic sense.

When the interview process is done, you and your sister set about spending the rest of the money you mean to spend, and calling in debts where coin can be avoided. The two of you have grown increasingly isolated from the community, but even a petty and copper-clasping greedy green-guy knows enough not to try to fuck over the hand that holds their fate. Nobody knows quite how the goblins got their sanction to settle these lands… Except that everyone knows it was Zith-Zi who did it, by braving the fabled dragon’s den up in the mountains.

Goblins are selfish, sometimes, but not STUPID. You don’t fuck with Zith-Zi, or her ‘scary sister’. It is (to your shamed chagrin) a well-known fact of life in new Goblintown.

“A fresh start,” you whisper, willing yourself to believe it. “This’ll be a fresh start. New place, new me!”

“Here,” interrupts ZZ, shoving a roughshod and poorly-treated hide cuirass into your chest and arms. “Put this on. Best fresh start’s the one where you don’t get stabbed. Believe me.”

“I remember,” you admit. “But, ya’ know, I can heal ‘n shit now, so…”

“So?” she barks. “So what? You forgettin’ that when you heal yourself up, you get HANGRY? Yeb an’ An are employees, not emergency rations, ya’ know.”

“I… I know that!” you protest meekly. “I’ve been good!”

And you have. True to your promises to your sister, and to the mage who made you what you are, you’ve carefully avoided the sorts of activities which tend to ‘stimulate’ your demonic instincts: no fighting, no flirting, and ABSOLUTELY no fucking—the last of which for the safety of yourself, others, and (as Tips had put it) ‘the spiritual well-being of the world’, whatever that means.

“Okay,” you murmur quietly. “I’ll wear the armour.”

“Fuckin’ right you will,” ZZ snorts.

Your sister turns a critical gaze down at the rusty and dull-edged dagger in her hand, and giving it a few tentative tosses up in the air. It twirls end-over-end in a predictable, rpaccied arc, and each time she catches it, before finally jabbing it handle-first at your face.

“Take this, too.”

You don’t argue the comparative utility of your claws. They’re long—longer sometimes than others—but they don’t have the reach or hardness of steel… And going hand-to-hand tends to get you a little ‘over-excited’.

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>>6115540
“Say, Sis,” you speak up after tucking the blade away amidst your spacious robes, “shouldn’t we have some food, too?”

“Food?” she scoffs. “We just ate this mornin’!”

“Yeah, but on the road…”

“We’ll hunt,” she huffs. “We brought a fuckin’ ranger, right? Or, well, some fucker with a bow. If he can hunt pheasant half as well as apples, we’ll be set.”

“Well, what about, like treats?”

ZZ stares blankly at you.

“An’… An’ some blankets? To sleep in, if it gets cold? An’ to eat on, you know… When we’re eatin’ the pheasant, an’ the treats?”

“Cara-Zi,” Zith-Zi says slowly, “are you tryin’ ta’ describe a fuckin’ PICNIC?”

You squirm a little, laughing nervously.

“W-well, it’s just, like… That’s sorta’ what we did when we went adventuring with Tips, right?”

“Well DUH, it’s TIPS. I love the guy, but his mom’s some pointy-eared salad-munching elf, an’ he grew up in some ivory-fuckin’-tower. He’s a fuckin’ FAIRY.”

You alight upon this, sensing intuitively an opportunity—a chink in your sister’s emotional armour.

“Aren’t you, too?” you ask, leaning forward hopefully. “Like, as a ‘nilbog’?”

ZZ opens her mouth a few times, unable to formulate a response, She scrunches up her face a little, and you can feel the conflicting emotions rolling around in her pretty, pink noggin. Eventually, her pride in the ‘new Zith-Zi’—a pride you envy oh so much—wins out.

But hey, you get your blankets, and your basket of goodies!


With equipment equipped, baggage bagged up, and your minions ready to march, the four of you—five, with little Hershy snoozing upon ZZ’s shoulder—set out properly.

“Where are we even going?” Yeb-Uit asks pointedly. “Missed that parta’ the briefing.”

“No you didn’t,” An-Yii points out blandly. “They ain’t said shit about that.”

“Well you joined up anyway, didn’t ya’?!” ZZ snaps, flustered.

>>6115541
“Look, I got a plan. OBVIOUSLY! I’m an experienced fuckin’ adventurer, alright? You think I’d just, what, fuckin’ make a big scene in town, spend a buncha’ coin, call in all my favours, hire on YOU fuckers, an’ just… Not have a plan?”

You look at Zith-Zi with quiet concern because, of course, that’s EXACTLY what she’s done. You don’t even need your empathic sense of sisterly spiritual attunement to know THAT. Being ZZ, you’re sure she could stumble her way to success regardless. You admire that about her, among other things—she’s everything you’re not, and wish you could be, but by definition never WILL be.

But what you are—and what your realize could actually be useful here and now—is a snoop, and a sponge for all sorts of secrets and suspicions.

“Hey… I think I might know where you were thinkin’ we should go.”

ZZ looks at you archly, wary of your words. Seeing your expression, though, she lets out a quiet sigh of relief, and nods. Taking up a confident stance to match any gob at that interview, your nilbog sister bluffs her feytouched heart out.

“Alright, I’ll humour you” she says. “Take a guess. I’ll let you know if you’re right!”

You nod, smiling, grateful to be useful—to have eyes on you not for the sake of your otherworldly weirdness, but with an attentive curiosity.

>You’re headed to Blackpine, to follow up on this trophy-beast the Baron there means to hunt
>You’re heading to Redwell, to see what all this hubbub is about missing kids
>You’re to Undershadow, to hire on with that dwarven mining corporation
>You’re going to Sunset Lake, where all the money is, and where there’s some monster eating up fish or whatever
>Write-in [subject to veto or modification]

>>6115543

>You’re headed to Blackpine, to follow up on this trophy-beast the Baron there means to hunt

>>6115539
>An’ I’ve done the dirtier one of dealin’ with those who ain’t make it, or for which you weren’t ready with food ta’ feed, wasn’t it?”
That is of note. Not that Carazzi ought to be impregnating or be impregnated.

>>6115543
>You’re headed to Blackpine, to follow up on this trophy-beast the Baron there means to hunt
We don’t have nets or anything as far as I can recall. If we are to hunt something aquatic, we need more than a bow and a cuirass.

>>6115582
>We don’t have nets or anything as far as I can recall. If we are to hunt something aquatic, we need more than a bow and a cuirass.
[If it comes down to it, you have more points to spend on arrival at wherever you go.]

>>6115585
I’d like to play to our strengths for now. Get some money as a safety first before spending again.

>>6115597
[Totally fair, just wanted to make sure you knew every option was indeed viable. No "gotchas" just yet.]

>>6115540
> a predictable, rpaccied arc
*practiced arc

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>>6115598

>>6115543
>You’re going to Sunset Lake, where all the money is, and where there’s some monster eating up fish or whatever.

Port city=better market

>>6115543
>You’re going to Sunset Lake, where all the money is, and where there’s some monster eating up fish or whatever
Which bay/lake/body of water did shogword fall into, I know I keep pushing metagamey shit but a living weapon might honestly be peak for CZ, theyre both spiritual predators and could regulate eachothers hungers is my thought process, otherwise if shogs not even there itd still be nice to play an MC without hydrophobia like Theral

>>6115543
>Sunset lake
We need money money money MONEY

>>6115641
>metagaming
[Unavoidable, and I won't penalize it or anything. Just eep in mind that actions must make sense for the characters to take.]

>the shoggoth-shard
[It was lost in the ocean, unfortunately, when the Dragonborn Antipaladin crash-landed in the bay.]

>hydrophobia
[Oddly enough, hydrophobia is the extreme fear of INGESTING water, such as people experience as a symptom of rabies. You're thinking aquaphobia.]

>>6115543
>You’re going to Sunset Lake, where all the money is, and where there’s some monster eating up fish or whatever
money

>>6115968
Thank you for the clarification RQM, my vote remains as is though Id love a non-aquaphobic adventure with therals weird sisters

>>6115543
>You’re headed to Blackpine, to follow up on this trophy-beast the Baron there means to hunt
Fun

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>>6116150
>>6115986
>>6115743
>>6115641
>>6115611
>>6115582
>>6115581
[Locked and writing!]

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>>6116174
You've been hearing a lot of juicy, drool-worthy rumours, but none so delicious and delectable as the clinking of coins (and the more literal treats they can be exchanged for).

“I heard somethin’ ‘bout a sea-monster in Sunset Lake,” you suggest.

Yeb-Uit quietly arches a bushy salt-and-pepper brow, while An-Yii just looks skeptical.

“A sea-monster?” asks the nurse.

“Lake-monster,” ZZ corrects, playing with a lock of her hair and wearing a thoughtful expression. “Shit, they’re loaded down that way. We could clean up!”

“We don’t have any nets,” An-Yii points out.

“I can shoot it from the shore,” the archer replies, notching an arrow with a grim smiel for emphasis.

“Put it away, big man,” ZZ snorts.

“We could buy a net?” you suggest innocently.

Your big sister shoots you a brief glare, and you clam up quickly. You realize belatedly that Zith-Zi probably doesn’t want the others gobs in your newly-formed party to know how much coin you do or don’t have on you—or to commit to any expenses until she’s evaluated the situation. It’s funny, really, how she’s so easily slid into the role of ‘big sister’ and leader… You’re really the same age, when you think about it.

(Hells Below, you might actually be OLDER, since you have The Dream and—to your knowledge—she doesn’t. Does remembering snippets of your own conception count towards your age?)

As much as you envy ZZ her leadership chops, you’re in no hurry to challenge her placement. All those eyes on you—scrutinizing, judging, hating, fearing… It’s an exciting idea to fantasize about, but in practice you’ve found you don’t like the sensation of disgust that so often radiates from those who properly perceive you, and with your memory so choppy…

(And The Dream so WEIRD last time…)

Well, maybe one day you can be more like your ‘big sis’.

Sunset Lake is a few days’ hike from New Goblintown, further than most of the other options. That, and the lake’s location are why it can serve so easily as a commercial hub. All the goods of the mountainous western baronies make their way there before reaching the fertile farmlands and well-established trade-roads of Hawksong—the greatest city in all the northwest, if not the world!

“Do you ever miss the big city?” you ask ZZ.

She gives you a look, all wide eyes and flared nostrils, and you remember the ‘situation’ with her boyfriend, Jimmy, and wince.

“Sorry, dumb question,” you say, even though you still find yourself wondering.

For your part, the city is a double-edged sword: there’s more people to perceive you, but also so much more to see, and hear, and do, and LEARN!

“Hawksong ain’t no place for a ‘demogoblin’,” she reminds you in a low voice of warning, after a moment. “That hellfire up in ya’ will ping a Paladin’s <Detect Evil>. Don’t forget.”

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>>6116203
“R-right, I know!” You’d actually totally forgotten about that. “Uhh… Are there Paladins in Sunset Like?”

ZZ laughs at that, and slaps you on the back.

“Lucky you, the shit going on down South means they’re too busy for some podunk-ass fishing village.”

Well, that’s good! That means you can enjoy the hike without worrying about being smacked in the face with a <Smite Evil> the instant you arrive—you can just fantasize about fish, and all the fish-stories and urban goss you’ll be marinating in!

The walk through the woods itself is routine enough, much of the local forest being the same as it is around New Goblintown: The woods are a tapestry of towering pines, their evergreen needles whispering wordless secrets to the breeze as the party makes its way downhill. The air is crisp and carries the scent of pine sap, the kind that clings to your senses as stickily as the ooze itself to your finegrs when you curiously sink claws into a flow of it. As the elevation decreases, the sharp silhouettes of the conifers gradually give way to a more varied mix of trees with broad, leafy canopies, their fallen leaves softening the natural path underfoot.

Yeb and An are both surprisingly quiet, though their silence carries a different character from one another. Yeb-Uit moves with a practiced, deliberate silence, each step careful and calculated, like someone who knows every rustle and snap might tell a story he’s chosen not to share. His quiet is a comfortable cloak, one that doesn’t demand to be filled, but rather invites you to listen to the forest. In contrast, An-Yii’s silence feels tighter, more constrained, her eyes darting to each shifting shadow as if expecting it to spring for her jugular. It’s a nervous silence, and the few times she responds to ZZ’s attempts at small-talk, her replies are terse, brief, and a little snippy.

“Well shit, I do know how ta’ pick ‘em, don’t I?” Zith-Zi grouses, apparently almost as starved for conversation as you are.

>>6116204
As goblins—or goblinoid-adjacent magical creatures—you’re all accustomed to traveling in darkness as easily as light, and hardy enough to endure the mountains’ evening cold just as the Goblin Wastes’ harsh heat. You can’t march forever, though—especially not An-Yii, who is easily the least-fit of your lot. Eventually, you four-or-five must come to a halt. Hershy flutters his wings for a few times and alights in a tree to preen himself, enjoy the view, and perhaps to barbecue a few squirrels with his breath.

“Food ain’t a bad idea,” Zith-Zi admits, watching him.

“I can catch us something,” Yeb volunteers, taking up his bow again.

“Eager ta’ impress, aintcha’?” ZZ teases.

You catch a small twitch of irritation from the older male, but he simply shrugs.

“If you’d rather I get paid for nothin’, I won’t complain,” he says, but you sense a lie.

(But why lie…?)

“I will,” An-Yii complains, before you can give it much thought, and crumples to the ground on her knees with a sigh. “My feet are killin’ me.”

Of course, you and ZZ bought and brought food, at your insistence. For the picnic! But are you two ‘picnic-level’ close with An and Yeb? And do you WANT to be? Maybe it would be better to save that for another time, or place, or group…

>Propose a picnic
>Go hunting with Yeb-Uit
>Suggest Zith-Zi and Yeb-Uit go hunting, while you talk to An-Yii
>Suggest An-Yii go hunting with Yeb-Uit, while you talk to Zith-Zi about that dream..
>Go hunting alone—you need some time apart from the others
>Write-in

>>6116205
>Go hunting with Yeb-Uit
We can't pull out the picnic on day 1 of our adventure, it's at least a day 3 kind of event

>>6116224
>+1
it'll be good to clear our mind

>>6116205
>>Go hunting with Yeb-Uit
Zithzi can stay here and keep watch of Anyi

>>6116297
am >>6115582

>>6116224
Support, but definitely picnic at some later point

>>6116224
>>6116254
>>6116297
>>6116305
“Well, I think hunting’s a great idea, Yeb!”

You feel your annoyance at your opposite turn to surprise. Cara-Zi’s been in such a reclusive, dour mood all day—for SOME fucking reason she hasn’t told you about, but whatever—that you’re a little surprised to hear her volunteer to go hunt with Yeb-Uit; so’s he, as far as you can tell, though he characteristically voices no objection. He also doesn’t voice approval. He just sort of grunts, nods, and head into the bush. Before CZ can scamper off after him, though, you grab her by the hood and wrench her back.

The demogoblin makes a choking noise and you release your grip. Her concern doesn’t seem to be for her throat, though, but for replacing the dark covering over her hair, and her horns.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” you ask, trying to sound more irate than worried. “Didn’t you want a picnic or whatever?”

Cara-Zi shakes her head slightly, and adopts a knowing smile. With a tap of her nose, she explains: “Pics are, like, a ‘day trhee’ adventuring activity, you know? It’s too early! We gotta’ get to know these two a little first.”

You aren’t sure how she came to this asinine conclusion, and you make no effort not to roll your eyes. As the picnic was her idea, though, so too shall you allow her to decide when is best to hold it… And not just because you’d feel ridiculous proposing it yourself. But, yes, also because of that.

“Why Yeb-Uit, though?”

CZ closes her mouth quickly and shifts in place a little rather than answering. You look over at the older male, now standing patiently at the edge of the path and awaiting his self-appointed helper. You scan him up and down with your eyes—the greying beard, the grizzled (good?) looks, the air of mystery.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“CZ,” you hiss, “you remember the rules, right? Tips’ rules?”

Tips—or Ezreal, more properly, but damned if you’re going to call the kid his government name when his nickname is so much funnier—is the wiz-kid who made you the nilbog you are today. He’s also the bleeding heart who saw a fading spark of demonic ectoplasm plop out of you in the process and, hearing its incoherent pleas to exist, saw fit to embody it as, well, Cara-Zi. He’s also the one who uncovered the origin of this demoniac contaminant… And who was very clear about the dangers of her falling to her fiendish nature, or of spreading the contagion of her essence to others in the same way it was spread congenitally to you, when you were conceived.

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>>6116534
“H-huh?” your sister blinks, then flushes deeper green. “Hey, no! It’s not like THAT!”

“Uh huh,” you reply, hands on hips and squinting at your ‘sister’ with scrutinizing severity. “So you ain’t gonna’ eat him?”

“Obviously!” she whines.

“OR fuck him?”

She laughs nervously, and sticks out a forked tongue, protesting: “He’s OLD, ZZ.”

“So you DON’T think he’s ruggedly charming or whatever-the-fuck?” you press. “Maybe in a RULDOLFO kinda’ way…?”

The demontainted duplicate flushes darker still at the allusion to one of her earlier indiscretions, whereby you’d narrowly avoided your old sword-tutor being sucked dry by the demogoblin in question, despite or BECAUSE of his salt-and-pepper suaveness. Still, she protests her innocent intentions and, at length, you relent.

“Don’t take too long,” you tell them both, loud enough now for Yeb-Uit to hear. “We ain’t got time to waste goin’ lookin’ for ya’! And if we DO have ta’, it’s coming out of your share’ve the loot!”

Yeb-Uit nods, once, and then turns away. Cara-Zi gievs you one last look over her shoulder, and then springs after him upon her weird little hooves, prancing away like some deformed deer.

You sigh, and settle in to rest. Not yet ready to go straight to sleep, you instead polish your weapons An-Yii seems to have a similar idea, taking out her pack and spreading out her instruments and implements, bandages and jarred poultices, and taking stock.

“You really trust that thing?” she eventually asks.

“Watch it! That ‘thing’ is…”

Your snarl dies in your throat as you hesitate to formally own her as a sister. Yet even so, she’s in many ways CLOSER than a sister.

“She’s flesh ‘n blood,” you conclude.

“That’s gotta’ be some story,” An-Yii says dryly, without any indication in voice or expression that she cares to hear it. “But do you? Trust her?”

“I already answer that,” you say, and return to your maintenance with a ferocity that communicates—clearly, for An doesn’t ask again—that you have no intention to say anything more.

But, of course, you didn’t answer. Not really. The truth of the matter is…
>You do trust Cara-Zi, implicitly
[Increases Zith-Zi’s and Cara-Zi’s sisterly bond, decreases how attentive ZZ is to CZ’s behaviours in the event they become erratic]
>You don’t know how much you trust Cara-Zi
[Sisterly bond is more strained, but ZZ’s eyes will be on CZ, and she’ll be better suited to intervene into any dangerous behaviours]

Do you have anything else you wanted to talk to An-Yii about?
>Why does she care so much about New Goblintown? Is she really planning to go back there?
>Why adventuring? There's other, safer ways to make coin, surely?
>Has she ever been to Sunset Lake before? Or on a boat, in general?
>So... She's killed babies, huh?
>Write-in
>Nah [skip to CZ and Yeb's hunt]

>>6116537
>You do trust Cara-Zi, implicitly
>Has she ever been to Sunset Lake before? Or on a boat, in general?

No shit she did kill children. She admitted as much. Not sure what’s the purpose of bring it up. I suppose we could ask her on how she aborted children and what are the necessary components, but other than that, eh.

>>6116537
>You do trust Cara-Zi, implicitly
Rudolfo situation aside, she's been trustworthy enough afawk along the previous quest
>Why does she care so much about New Goblintown? Is she really planning to go back there?
Phoneposting coz the captcha isn’t loading on pc, hope my id doesn’t change.

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>>6116562
>hope my id doesn’t change
[Seems you're good!]

>>6116580
>mfw cuteness is a skill
nice. btw what does zz's prismatic spray do ?

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>>6116592
>magic
[A fair enough question! I was planning touch upon spells when they came into play, but now's as good a time as any.

Prismastic Spray: Projects a blast of flashing colours and elemental energy that, at base, can dazzle and inflict minor injury on a target; upcasting it increases the potency of the unpredictable elemental effects

Monstrous Regeneration: Can heal wounds and even regrow limbs; in a pinch, upcasting it can warp and distort the body in useful ways

Charm: Can be used to lower psychologcial and emotional defences, to seduce or befriend; when the target snaps out of it, though, they may be displeased.

Fear: Invokes and irrational fear of the caster in the target(s), or exaggerates an existing terror.


>cuteness
[It must be. That little son-of-a-bitch has survived three quests now.]

>>6116537
>You do trust Cara-Zi, implicitly

>>6116594
>[It must be. That little son-of-a-bitch has survived three quests now.]
wait, 3 counting this one or was he not only in the antipaladin, but also the infiltrator one ? damn, we really did a nice choice rejuvenating him with tips

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>>6116602
[The first appearance of Hershy (then Hirschel, amusingly named after ZZ/CZ's human grandpa Hirschel Yosef) was indeed in Reptilian Infiltrator Quest, back in 2021 or 2022.]

>>6116595
>>6116562
>>6116548
[Looks like we have no choice but the trust a (demo)goblin! Writing.]

>>6116760
In the end, you do trust Cara-Zi, deep down. Maybe not always, or entirely, but you were born a goblin—you don’t’ trust ANYONE entirely. For all her flaws, and regardless of her origins, though, CZ shares your past, your parentage. She’s more than a sibling—she’s a part of YOU. Her flaws are simply your own, seen from the outside.

“If you can’t trust yourself, who CAN ya’ trust?” you murmur to yourself as you work.

You look up and see An-Yii looking at you with confusion, having seemingly heard (or half-heard) what you said. You clear your throat, and speak up a little louder as you ask:

“So, An, you ever been boating before?”

“…You found me in the Goblin Wastes. It’s pretty much a desert.”

You feel your eye twitch a little. You said earlier you liked her bitchiness, but this flat affect is starting to get to you a little. It verges on insubordination!... Which, admittedly, IS the natural state of goblinkind, deprived of daily beatings or the peer pressure of one’s extended family, neither of which you’re a huge fan of.

“I know,” you say with deliberate patience, “but what about before? Where are you from?”

“The Wastes,” she repeats, blandness turning to muted confusion. “Aren’t you?”

You don’t answer that, but the answer is: no. You were born in or around Hawksong, and spent most of your formative years as a gobbling towards the lands the Northmen call ‘The Far East’. You’d entered into the Goblin Wastes proper seeking… Something. Adventure, maybe. You’d found more than you’d bargained for, and in time had come to regret the decision, but the you who you are TODAY was very much a product of that choice. But how do you justify volunteering to live in such conditions without sounding like a fool?

(Maybe you were one…)

“What about Sunset Lake?” you ask. “Ever been?”

An-Yii hesitates, then gives a small nod towards her unpacked medical suppleis. “Ta’ pick up stuff.”

“How is it?” you ask, for you’ve only passed through briefly, yourself.

An-Yii’s cold exterior melts a little as she smiles at the memory, saying: “Rich. Lotsa’ food. Mostly fish, but they import stuff, to… Even now. “

“How were they about dealing with gobs?”

The smile shrinks. The frost returns. “‘Bout what you’d expect.”

(Damn.)

“‘Zat why you give so much of a shit about New Goblintown?” you ask her. “Nowhere else ta’ go?”

“We don’t all have your ‘advantages’,” An-Yii replies curtly, with the shade of a sneer. “But… No. I care about New Goblintown ‘cause I care about the gobs that live there. Don’t you?”

You rankle a little at the implicit accusation. OBVIOUSLY you do. You just don’t LIKE ‘em. There’s a difference.

>>6116787
“This money we’re gonna make… it’s gonna change things,” An-Yii says dreamily. “it has to. Gob or not, nobody should have to live like this.”

“It’s how we lived in the Wastes,” you point out.

“Shouldn’t have ta’ live like that, neither,” An-Yii affirms. “But one thing at a time.

“Right,” you agree. “One thing at a time.”

…

…

You and your older companion (employee? do these two work for ZZ, or for both of you?) travel further from the half-beaten path your party had earlier walked, and into the untouched wilderness of the northwestern woods. You’ve hunted here before, yourself, but admittedly not with any particular success—you’re not a survivalist in the way that Yeb-Uit is. When you HAVE found food, it’s usually been with the application of magic: a <Charm> spell goes a long way to bring cute little animals out of hiding, and then it’s just a little snicker-snack of your claws and, BAM, dinner’s served.

Watching Yeb work, though—methodically, with mundane means and undeniable expertise, is fascinating. The way his pulse slows with his movements is impressive, but it’s the way his MIDN settles into a particular thoughtlessness that you wish you could emulate. It’s like… Like that ‘meditation’ shit that Tips does sometimes, where he clears out all bee-like buzzing of passing fancies and emergent anxieties, and just focuses on here, and now, and the task at hand.

(It is, admittedly, kinda’ hot… But honestly, anything that reminds you of Tips makes you feel all tingly.)

You’re reasonably confident in the old male’s ability to rustle up some dinner on his own, and he hasn’t ASKED for any help. He hasn’t said a damn THING, actually, but you suppose being quiet is a good idea when trying to sneak up on woodland critters. Between that and his quiet mind, though, you have no idea what that undercurrent of hidden motivations earlier was about, and you really <WANT> to know!

What do you do?
>Use your demonic abilities to speed up this hunt
>>Use Charm
>>Use Fear
>Follow Yeb-Uit’s lead, and lend aid when ro if he needs it
>Strike up a conversation with Yeb-Uit
>>Ask about his history
>>Comment on his woodsiness
>>Try to suss out his secret motivations
>>Flirt with him a little, you know, just for funsies…
>Write-in

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>>6116602
>>6116592
>>6116580
[Also, derp, forgot Hershy's MOST IMPORTANT skill/ability]

>>6116789
>Use your demonic abilities to speed up this hunt
>Use Charm

Zith zi expects us too come back quickly.

>>6116537
>You do trust Cara-Zi, implicitly
She’s us
>Why adventuring? There's other, safer ways to make coin, surely?

Agh missed it
>>6116789
>Follow his lead and lend aid when or if he needs it

>>6116789
>Follow Yeb-Uit’s lead, and lend aid when ro if he needs it
>>6116799
of course

>>6116789
>Follow Yeb-Uit’s lead, and lend aid when ro if he needs it

And definitely don't say anything or be too loud

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Rolled 22 (1d280)

>>6116901
>>6116864
>>6116839
>>6116836

You want the hunt to go quickly, since that’s what you promised your sis. You want to learn a little more about Yeb-Uit, for totally innocent and not at all weird reasons. More than anything ELSE, though… You don’t want to fuck up. This is day one of your first real adventure—well, if you don’t count all that carnage in the Goblin Wastes a few years back. But you were, like, a sidekick or something then! Now, you think you might be the boss of this company? Or one of two bosses? An underboss? Being a Boss is a big deal in goblin culture, and the idea of making yourself—or ZZ—look bad in the eyes of your first two subordinates makes you shiver in your oversized attire.

…A shiver which Yeb-Uit seems to notice, casting you a strange glance.

“Just a chill,” you whisper apologetically. “‘S all good!”

Yeb just nods, either convinced or apathetic. Maybe both. More than anything though, the old gob seems focused—focused on the hunt, n the mission. You, in turn focus silently upon him. You watch the muscles and tendons shift under heis green skin, listen to the rustle of his ratty fabrics. You mimic the slow and smooth motions he makes, avoiding the same twigs and leaves which eh avoids. You remain at the ready, eager to offer what aid he might require, when or if he requests it!

(…Wait, who was the boss again?)

Rolling for random encounter; 1 thru 140 mean nothing unusual is encountered, anything above is a special event of some sort...

Rolled 17, 9, 5 = 31 (3d20)

>>6116931
No major encounter; rolling for Yeb's survival, to determine the hunt's success; you lend hi an extra die. His two dice must roll 15 or higher; yours, being untrained, requires an 18 to aid.

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Rolled 5, 8, 18 = 31 (3d20)

>>6116932
You soon discover that, adventure or not, a hunt without quarry is just a walk in the woods. Worse, a SILENT walk in the woods, during which you cannot even sate your curiosity or appease your <WANT> in any way…

Current <WANT>: 11
If something triggers your <WANT>, such as especially heightened emotional situation, especially something that provokes lust, wrath, or envy, CZ will need to roll Occultism. On a failure, she will go berserk with the urgent need to sate that <WANT>. You may temporarily lose control of her actions. If <WANT> ever exceeds 20, she will automatically enter the aforementioned fugue state.

…But it’s fine. It’s FINE. You’ve been in worse ways than this. You’re cool as a cucumber. Not that you’ve ever HAD a cucumber. Though a thick, green, tubular shape like that invokes a certain instinctive affinity, for some rea—

“There.”

You snap out of your daydream as Yeb-Uit speaks his first word in what feels like an hour or two. You look up excitedly, following his yellow-eyed gaze towards…

“The fuck is THAT?”

“Shh!”

You clap your hairy hands over your mouth, mumbling a muffled apology through your fingers despite yourself. Yeb-Uit just sighs and shakes his head, rather than answering aloud. Which, of course, makes sense. Whatever THAT is, you don’t want to alert it to your presence.

The ‘THAT’ in question is, at a glance, a bird. I mean, duh, it MUST be a bird, right? It has feathers, and a beak, and you think those are long wings tapered to a tailcoat like tip at the back… But then why’s there a weird cartilaginous ring around its face, at the base of the beak? And do birds usually have a single big feather sticking up all doofy-like at the base of their skulls? And—and this is the big one, the REAL weird one—you’re pretty sure birds usually only have two legs, not three… And that they’re usually not weird, gangly sticks like this one’s.

(Weeeiiird…)

If Yeb-Uit thinks it’s as odd as you do, though, he doesn’t comment on this, nor does he give any nonverbal indication. He just shifts out of sight, as you do likewise…

Rolling Mentalism + Concealment; because of how you've specced out Cara-Zi, she can avoid notice by suppressing her presence in the minds of others, subtly lowering their wariness if they haven't yet spotted her.

File: the girls, level 0,1.png (369 KB, 911x903)

369 KB PNG

>>6116941
>18
Willing the bizarre beast to take no notice of you—as you’ve been doing all day, essentially, with everyone else—you scoot as close as you dare before peeking back out at it. Feeling excitement build within you, you flex your fearsome fingers, claws extending just as your lower jaw juts out to expose for orcish underbite and tiny tusks…

Then you remember that you’re helping! Being a support! Absolutely, above-all-else, NOT fucking this up or disappointing your sis!

You loom to Yeb, and are startled to see him looking back with a mirror of your own expectant eyes.

“H-hi?” you whisper, confused.

He gestures to his bow and arrow, still not speaking but offer obvious: he’s asking if you’d like to take a shot at it! Which is, you know, FLATTERING, but…

Uhh…

You’re not an archer!

“Who, or what, are YOU supposed to be?”

The question from your dream returns again, unbidden. You scrunch up your face, and wonder if, maybe, you COULD be? Or if you could be useful in some other way? After all, Yeb-Uit IS offering, which is the signal you were waiting for!

(But what if you fuck up? Uuuggghhh…)

What do you do?
>Stay hidden, and let Yeb take the shot
[Relatively good chance of success]

>Try your luck at archery
[Lower chance of success, but CZ will gain a new skill]

>Use <Charm> to beckon the bird closer, to help Yeb
[Best chance of success; -1 MP until next rest, +1 <WANT>]

>Fuck it—go feral on this feathered freak, and take your dagger to it!
[???, potential to gain a rank in knife-fighting]

>Write-in

There's also a hidden insta-success with added benefits available, if you catch the reference being made and know what to do with it.

>>6116953
>Stay hidden, and let Yeb take the shot
The shot may not necessarily stop the bird. We can pursue it and use our claws then if that happens. For now, let him do his work.

>>6116548

>>6116953
>Stay hidden, and let Yeb take the shot
can't think of this secret answer rn. while I assume it might involve using fear, I dunno what else to along with it.

>>6116953
>Stay hidden, and let Yeb take the shot

>>6116953
>Use <Charm> to beckon the bird closer, to help Yeb

Has the best chance of getting this bird.

>>6116953
>Try your luck at archery
>Fuck it—go feral on this feathered freak, and take your dagger to it!
New skills, potential to satiate our <WANT> with a bit of bloodlust, what’s not to love?

>>6116953
>Try your luck

Rolled 6, 11 = 17 (2d20)

>>6117106
>>6117057
>>6117038
>>6117024
>>6117021
>>6116970
[Locked, and rolling for Yeb-Uit! Will write when I can. There may be some delay, as work has called me in even though I'm sick.]

>>6117216

You decide to keep hidden, placing your trust in Yeb-Uit’s seasoned skills. As he silently nocks an arrow and takes aim, you find yourself holding your breath, as if you could telepathically guide his shot home. Yeb’s focus intensifies, his expression made placid through effort. The sounds of the forest around you fade, leaving only the tension of the moment. The air is thick with anticipation as he releases the bowstring with a sharp twang.

>11

The sound gives him away, as the queer quarry reacts with surprising alacrity, leaping high and fluttering its wings to hold itself aloft. The arrow sails past the unusual avian, embedding itself harmlessly into the underbrush. The creature startles, its wide eyes blinking in asynchronous confusion as it lands, and makes to flee on those ungainly legs of its.

"Damn," Yeb-Uit growls. "Snipe's are fast. If it gets out've sight, it's over. Good eating, too..."

Your heart leaps into your throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen—Yeb-Uit seemed so cool! Still,not all is lost--not yet! Instinct kicks in, demanding you act before dinner escapes and you're forced to face the psychic assault of that most dreaded sensation: ZZ's disappointment!

<Charm> won't work well now, not with the prey so panicked. <Fear> seems a foolish approach, as well--it's terrified enough as-is.

But you've got to do something, right?

>Charge in for a tackle, wielding your natural weapons and knife
[Higher DC]

>Throw your knife before it disappears
[Lower DC, but failure to kill it in a single blow means you may lose your weapon]

>Calm yourself, and let it go--there's more quarry in the forest, and picnic food to fall back on if that fails
[Extends your time away, no guarantee of success... But more time to talk with Yeb-Uit's good, right?]

>Write-in

>>6117291
>Throw your knife before it disappears
it says we'll lose it if we don't kill it but it still will make it run slower so I'll go for it.

>>6117291
>Calm yourself and let it go

I also dropped another little clue about what it is and, therefore, what it might be and how to catch it, though the latter is trickier now that it's spooked.

>>6117399
I'm surprised such a creature can be fast with those 3 long legs. and I will try seeing what this new clue is.

>>6116941
>But then why’s there a weird cartilaginous ring around its face, at the base of the beak? And do birds usually have a single big feather sticking up all doofy-like at the base of their skulls? And—and this is the big one, the REAL weird one—you’re pretty sure birds usually only have two legs, not three… And that they’re usually not weird, gangly sticks like this one’s.
>>6117291
>The sound gives him away, as the queer quarry reacts with surprising alacrity, leaping high and fluttering its wings to hold itself aloft. [...]The creature startles, its wide eyes blinking in asynchronous confusion as it lands
I assume the hints must be here but I don't see how the (previous) insta win comes to be.

>>6117291
Shapeshift into a copy of it and entice/calm it?
Not sure if her powers are that strong too change into a bird.

>>6117291
>Charge in for a tackle, wielding your natural weapons and knife

>>6117469
>Not sure if her powers are that strong too change into a bird.
[They are not yet, though you could attempt and succeed sort of on a crit.]

>>6117450
[The hint is actually much more blatant than that.]

>>6117470
>>6117469
>>6117349
>>6117316
[We have a four-way tie, though, so I'll hold off on the update.]

>>6117478
What does mentalism do again?

File: 91Zi4vp7M3L._AC_UF894,100(...).jpg (107 KB, 777x1000)

107 KB JPG

>>6117497
[It's psionics or psychic powers, essentially. Moving things with your mind, reading minds, illusion, brainwashing. CZ's most direct appreciation of it right now are Charm and Fear.]

>>6117499
Can she create another expression of this right now? Is it possible for her to cause numbness or trip the bird in some way?

>>6117450
I think its the legs. It doesn’t seem coherent with the rest of the body.

>>6117511
[Attempting to develop a new power/spell on the fly is tricky, but doable. This is less extreme than shapeshifting in a very different body configuration, so I'd say a somewhat harder-than-average one-off mental disruption/stun, with a crit needed to figure out how to replicate the effect on command as a new at-will spell.]

>>6117291
>Throw your knife before it disappears
Send it to the legs

>>6117515
I’d rather not take the gamble right now.

>>6117291
>Throw your knife before it disappears

File: Spoiler Image (48 KB, 667x1000)

48 KB JPG

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>6117520
>>6117470
>>6117469
>>6117349
>>6117316
A half-dozen ideas jockey for primacy in your urgency-addled brain. Okay, so it’s too spooked for regular old <Charm> or <Fear> to help you here, but you’ve been suppressing your presence with some success, so maybe you could shock or confuse it? But thinking up new magicky things is HAAARD, and time’s of the essence. Tackling it and ripping it to shreds? But wouldn’t that, freak out Yeb-Uit and bring attention to what a freakshow you are?

(Oof, you just made yourself sad again…)

You almost give up then and there, trapped in a prison of decision paralysis… But as the old gobbo saying goes, ‘when in doubt, stab it out!’ And since you’re not in conventional stabbing range…

“Hiiii-yah!”

You squeeze your eyes shut and, with a (not especially fearsome) wail, you lob your brand new dagger at the departing ‘snipe’, hoping to end this hunt in a single lucky hit…

>>6117525
Missed your vote, but your outcome won!
shame about the roll

>>6117526
You don’t see what happens next, but you DO hear a peculiar sound. It didn’t sound like an impact, or a squawk, but maybe that ‘pop-TING’ you heard is just how snipes scream when they’re dying? Or maybe you punctured some unusual organ? But when you open your eyes, you don’t see a dead three-legged stilt bird with a stupid-looking face.

No, you see something even weirder.

“What what WHAAAT?”

You stare, dumfounded, at not one dead or injured snipe, nor one intact snipe and one misplaced dagger, but at THREE flickering snipes, scrambling and running about like freshly-decapitated chickens!

(…But, sadly, with their heads still attached)

You tense up, ready to leap upon one of the trio, hopeful you can capture even one of the newly-abundant entrées-in-waiting, but before you can do so they each bolt in a different direction, with speed such as those three legs seem utterly incapable of achieving… And yet, they do.

“Wait!” you wail. “Come back!”

Before you can chase after them into the woods, a firm hand on your shoulder stops you. You shiver at the unfamiliar sensation of friendly physical contact, only to feel a pang of longing and disappointment when it rapidly retreats. You look to yeb-Uit, who simply shakes his head.

“Don’t bother,” he says. “if you don’t catch ‘em on the first try, a snipe hunt pretty much never succeeds. It’s just how it is.”

“The FUCK is a snipe??”

“Magical little beastie,” he says with a shrug. “Nothing especially powerful. Just tricky. They can disappear once a day, and make all those <Mirror Image> things. Nothing else, though. They’re fast, too… Don’t think it’s because of magic, though.”

You are crestfallen. It’s a little thing—a single missed meal, a minor setback in what barely feels like a sidequest, and yet… This was your MOMENT, you know? It feels almost like an omen of the whole endeavour, and your place therein. If you can’t catch a snipe, what CAN you do? The combination of the failure and your long day weigh you down with a sudden exhaustion, psychic and physical, such that you lower yourself to the ground and lay there for a moment, keening quietly.

>>6117536
“…”

You flush suddenly, remembering that you’re aura of insignificance has abated, and Yeb-Uit is fully perceiving you at present… And staring, silently and with stonefaced judgement, at your childish sulking. You collect yourself, brushing off forest floor debris from your monk-hoodie, and augh sheepishly, with a false mirth utterly unconvincing even to you.

“Well, ya’ win some, ya’ lsoe some!”

“Mm.”

You shuffle awkwardly, and suggest…

>You should keep hunting, so you can come back with SOMETHING at least
This could worry ZZ, and the longer you stay out here, the hungrier you’ll get… Which could affect your <WANT>, but you could still score some food, and you’d get more time to talk with Yeb.
Also, you'll gain a rank in survival, bare minimum
[If you choose this, also specify if you have any questions or discussion-subejct for Yeb-Uit.]

>You should go back
You did promise to come back quickly… Though you’d hoped not to do so empty-handed. ZZ will be so disappointed! Everyone will know you’re a loser! Aaaaaaa—
[Will reunite with group, expend food, and move onto the night and next day.]

>>6117538
>You should keep hunting, so you can come back with SOMETHING at least
Ask if he has a wife or kids.

>>6117538
>You should keep hunting, so you can come back with SOMETHING at least

So uh why'd he join the adventure? Any reason aside from the possibility of making bank?

>>6117538
>You should keep hunting, so you can come back with SOMETHING at least
It’s not the end of the world.

>>6117563
>+1

>>6117538
>You should keep hunting, so you can come back with SOMETHING at least

Don't talk to him, we're hunting

Rolled 16, 15, 15 = 46 (3d20)

>>6117656
>>6117594
>>6117570
>>6117563
>>6117542
“We oughtta’ keep hunting, for at least a little bit,” you say. “it’d be a shame ta’ come back empty-handed after all this.”

Yeb-Uit simply nods, accepting your suggestion as a command. Maybe it is? Can you DO that? Like, you know you can almost kind of DO that with magic, but, like… Buy just asking? You ARE a Boss!

Luckily, since you didn’t even hit the bird, retrieving your dagger is a simple matter of scrounging around in the dirt and underbrush a little. Yeb-Uit attempts to do likewise with his arrow, but tuts softly when he finds it broken. Well, he’s got more where that came from!

As the two of you travel deeper into the woods, you watch him, continuing to appreciate his stillness of mind and purpose of body. You tuck your hands into your oversized sleeves, trotting close at his side as you ‘appreciate’.

“So,” you say with extreme and not at all suspect casualness of tone, because it is a very innocent and normal question, “is there a… Missus Uit?”

Yeb-Uit looks over at you with surprise and, you sense, mild alarm.

“I was j-just wonderin’ why you’re adventurin’ with us, ya’ know?” you hastily continue. “You know, besides makin’ bank? You feedin’ little, uh, Uitlings?”

Yeb-Uit’s posture relaxes ever so slightly, and he looks forwards once more. After a moment’s consideration—more hesitation than you’d expect for a simple question—he simply says: “What gob gets MARRIED? That’s human shit. Like last names.”

“Huh?” You always thought ‘marriage’ was a rather sweet notion, but you don’t voice that aloud. “Me ‘n my sis and our mom all have the same last name!”

“No, you have the same ending ta’ your names,” he corrects bluntly. “Goblins don’t have last names. A gob, is a gob, is a gob.”

You’ve heard the same sentiment from ZZ—probably uttered it yourself, for that matter, before or even after the split. The way Yeb-Uit says it though reminds you of… Something. Something sharp and hot, a flash of unfamiliar memory which make you stop and double over.

“Who fuckin’ cares who the father is?! Get off my back! A gob, is a gob, is a GOB, alright?! I’m HAVIN’ the baby, alright?!”

Yeb-Uit doesn’t stop, but he slows, sensing your brief pause. You quickly hurry to catch up.

File: cz lvl 0,2.png (341 KB, 1384x677)

341 KB PNG

>>6117825
“So, uh, there’s really nothin’ else ta’ the story?” you say, reverting back to your earlier subject as you clear your head.

“My family’s back in the wastes,” Yeb answers simply. “Lost ‘em long before we came here.”

“Oh!” you gasp. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean ta’ dig up any bad memories or nothin’!”

“They’re not dead.”

“…Oh.”

(Huh? What in the Hells is that supposed to mean then, ‘lost’? Are they still enslaved somewhere out there? Something else?)

Still, you sense there’s more to the story… More than you can eke out of the stoic old gob right now, maybe, but something else beyond what’s he’s saying. You can practically TASTE it.

<WANT: 12>

Yeb shushes you with a silent finger to his lips, though, and you can snoop no further into his secret history—not without interrupting the hunt. Together, you shuffle through the underbrush, and find a small family of some sort of chubby, rodent creatures—chipmunks or squirrels, maybe. The young look quite young, which causes you to hesitate…

>16, 15, 15
TWANG
TWANG, TWANG, TWANG

…But not Yeb-Uit. If your talk of lovers and offspring evoked any emotion in him at all, it wasn’t the sort that makes one hesitate to open fire on a family of animals. Maybe he’s just less sentimental than you, though something about the ragged way he breathes out when he’s done hints that there’s something more to it.

“Help me gather ‘em, and gut ‘em,” he says.

“R-right!”

(Oh… Seems like maybe you’re not the Boss, after all?)

When the kills are prepped, you have enough meat for a meat or two, and some furry pelts besides. It’s not quite as much meat as was on that ‘snipe’, and these squirrels aren’t as auspicious a trophy as the strange supernatural bird… And YOU, personally, didn’t really do much to help with them…

>Gained: 1 rank of Survival!

…But it wasn’t a TOTAL waste, tagging along. You feel like you learned something, at least! Maybe it isn’t the end of the world?

By the time you make it back to camp, you find An-Yii is already sleeping, curled up on hr side and with her packed-up belongings under her head as a makeshift, lumpy pillow. It can’t be comfortable, but she IS a goblin and a former slave, and she makes do as you all must.

“Where in the hells WERE you?!” Zith-ZI is tilla wake, though she looks as if she’d rather not be. “It’s been hours!”

“Uh, well… We got these!” you say brightly, snatching the tails of the squirrel-things from Yeb-Uit and holding them aloft.

Yeb narrows his eyes a little as (and you realize this only belatedly) you inadvertently steal his credit. He says nothing though and, feeling awkward, you hand them back with a self-conscious titter, unable to correct the record either.

File: SeasonedSquirrel.jpg (238 KB, 746x709)

238 KB JPG

>>6117833
ZZ eyes the catch, then smiles a little.

“Hey, squirrel? It’s been a bit since I had that.” ZZ looks thoughtful. “Ain’t got the shit to buttermilk fry it, but we can smoke ‘em an’ they’ll keep better, anyway. It’ll do.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, glad not to have let her down. Or, well, that ZZ doesn’t KNOW you let her down. You mouth a silent thanks/apology to Yeb-Uit, but he’s already busy helping Zith-Zi, despite the tiredness you can see in his movements, and sense in his body. Fearful of further fuck-ups, you take up a position seated on your own pack nearer to An-Yii, and keep watch as the hunetr and your sister make a fire and begin the cooking process…

…

…

Dawn comes with soft birdsong, and leaf-shattered sunlight dapping your pink skin. You ignore it at first, but the groans of the goblins forces you awake; darkness is no bother to a gob, but daylight can surely jar one awake. You rouse yourself and stretch, looking around. You presume An-Yii to have been keeping the last watch since she was the first one out, which would explain why she’s fully-packed and tapping a foot impatiently.

“Come on,” you jostle Cara-Zi, first gently and then with greater force. “Come on! Get up, ya’ lazy shit!”

“Five more minutes…”

“An’ how’m I s’posed ta’ track THAT out here?” you sigh. “Count? Jus’ get the hell up, CZ.”

With a whine that turns into an abyssal, stretched-jaw yawn with the faintest hint of infernal sulfur, she does so. You’re relied to find that Yeb-Uit, at least, doesn’t need to be supervised in this way.

“Alright!” You raise your voice in volume and assume a commanding stance, with both hands on hips. “Go time, gobs and girls! It’s another beautiful fuckin’ day under Bloodrise, an’ we got places ta’ be!”

The others nod, though CZ rubs her half-closed eyes as she does so, and Yeb-Uit looks at least as tired as you feel. At least your stomach’s full of squirrel—you’ve marched on less food and for far longer in the past, so this is no big deal.

What’s the plan?
>A straight shot to Sunset Lake
[skips the rest of the woodland journey]
>The scenic route
[explore the woodlands a little, affording more time for interaction, picnics, and encounters that could yield wealth, wounds, or both]

>>6117835
>The scenic route
Hm. I don’t know. We could get more pelts to sell it at the lake.

>>6117835
>Scenic route

>>6117835
>The scenic route

>>6117835
>A straight shot to Sunset Lake

Rolled 10 (1d140)

>>6118182
>>6118098
>>6117971
>>6117873
[Alright, we're taking the scenic route! But what scene will we see? Hmm...]

>>6118210
Just because you are shooting for Sunset lake, that doesn’t mean you need to make it a straight shot. Those squirrel pelts gave you a notion almost as delectable as the meat itself: if you can find more where that came from, or other such animals, you could trade in the furs for some quick coin upon arrival at the trade port, and afford more and better equipment for the monster hunt!

“…What?” you ask, when you see Cara-Zi’s strangely guilty expression. “What is it?”

She looks to Yeb-Uit, weirdly enough, but the old goblin’s own face gives nothing away, and your ‘twin’ insists: “Nothin’! It’s nothin’!”

“…Right.” You sigh. “Whatever. Anyway, I’ve been around these parts before. ‘Member, CZ? When we went ta’ that wedding?”

“Oh, you mean THAT place?” CZ brightens up. “Yeah, I bet there’s TONS a’ animals there!”

“Mind lettin’ the rest of us in on this?” An-Yii asks, a little irritably.

“You’ll see soon enough,” you say with a smirk. “Jus’ follow me, an’ stay quiet.”

It was a few years prior that you and Cara-Zi had taken a trip back from New Goblintown, to attend a friend’s wedding outside of Hawksong. Along the way, you had weaved your way through the woods, hunting and gathering along the way much as you are now to supplement your rations. You’d had the most luck with one particular patch of forest, a small grove that had been rich with fruits and berries, and which had subsequently attracted its share of birds and beasts. It was this place which you were aiming for again.

(Now if only it was easier to navigate in this damned overgrown wilderness!)

“You’re lost, aintcha’?” asks An-Yii.

You shush her harshly, and shoot her a deadly glare which just seems to bounce off the younger female. With a sigh, you say: “We’re huntin’ here! You know, HUNTIN’? For animals? So maybe keep it down, so you don’t alert ‘em?”

“You’re talking more than me,” An-Yii retorts.

“In RESPONSE ta’… Uuugh, Yeb, come on old an, back me up!”

The elder gob gives a half-hearted nod and grunt of acknowledgement, though his fingers still play upon his bow, and his eyes remain fixed on the forest.

You roll your eyes and continue on, when…

Rolling Survival for those in your party with the skill...

Rolled 14, 1, 10 = 25 (3d20)

>>6118225
Aaand trying again. Weird.

File: Spoiler Image (1.67 MB, 758x1000)

1.67 MB PNG

>>6118226
No successes, and a 1; CRITICAL FAILURE

…Suddenly, you find it! Pushing through a patch of dense hedges, you spy it in a beam of sunlight, as if called down from the Gods of heaven to bless this singular patch of Earth: a lush little garden, replete with fruit and flowers to attract all sorts of animals, and holding at its heart a crystal-clear pool! You grin wide, and turn to alert the others.

…

Where are the others?!

“Fuckin’ Hells,” you growl. “Don’t tell me they got lost?”

“Oh, it’s not THEM you should worry about. Focus on your OWN predicament, creature.”

A shiver crawls up your spine at the unfamiliar voice. You reach for the scimitar on your hip, but only pain and restriction: thorn-brambled branches sink into pink skin and draw beads or red blood. You try to push through—after all, you have a medic for trivial shit like scratches—but it’s no good. It’s almost as if the branches and twigs themselves are…

“Ah fuck,” you mutter. “Shoulda’ known this place was too good ta’ be natural.”

No sooner have you realized the rub than the collection of bare branches closes in around you like a cage, and lifts you off the ground. Your arms are pinned to your side and pricked by dozens, nay hundreds, of little wooden hooks. You crane your head, panic rising, but you cannot make out any face on your assailant.

Shit! ShitshitSHIIII—

“So you must be the little thief who robbed my garden all those years ago.”

The voice seems to come from somewhere other than the being of twigs and brambles now accosting you as if an animate entity. You can only assume it to be the owner, legitimate or otherwise, of this patch of paradise… A bloody khoblis, a mage of some sort!

What will you do?
>Draw your blade, though it will draw your blood also to do so
>Cry out for help as loud as you can, and hope one of the others is free enough to aid you
>Pour all your limited reserves of magic into <Prismatic Spray>, and hope the unpredictable explosion of magic sets you free
>Let yourself by transported, and try to negotiate with the voice [Plead? Bargain? Threaten? Specify, please.]
>Write-in

>>6118239
>Pour all your limited reserves of magic into <Prismatic Spray>, and hope the unpredictable explosion of magic sets you free
I was expecting Cazzy to get the failure.

>>6118254
>I was expecting Cazzy to get the failure.
[This quest is going to be a bit more 'party' focused that others, hence the two protagonists and more concrete stats for side-characters. Sometimes, you'll have a roll for guide or group of cooperating individuals, with the effects applied to the whole party.]
CZ might have failed, too; you're just not playing as her right this moment.

>>6118239
>Pour all your limited reserves of magic into <Prismatic Spray>, and hope the unpredictable explosion of magic sets you free

>>6118258
What does Prismatic spray do again?

>>6118295
[I typo'd it, but see >>6116594]

>>6118239
>Pour all your limited reserves of magic into <Prismatic Spray>, and hope the unpredictable explosion of magic sets you free

Sounds more probable than fear or charm. Send it.

>>6117873

>>6118239
>Let yourself by transported, and try to negotiate with the voice [Plead? Bargain? Threaten? Specify, please.]
Definitely pleading
Say rather than it just being you, it was more of a group that you just happened to be a part of
You weren't even the leader, you were just following orders, you didn't want to be subjected to group discipline
Plus you didn't see any signs up saying this place was theirs, it's where anyone could stumble over it and looks like a natural grove, this is pretty much entrapment
Even if it was stealing, it's been several years. Way past the statute of limitations for thievery

>>6118239
>Pour all your limited reserves of magic into <Prismatic Spray>, and hope the unpredictable explosion of magic sets you free

Rolled 5 (1d20)

>>6118298
[Plus, fear and Charm are, as indicated by the green text or seen in the character sheet at >>6116953, the province of CZ, whom you're currently not controlling.]

>>6118298
>>6118280
>>6118310
>>6118254
>>6118348
[We seem to have a clear thrust, though! Since I’m ready to write… Rolling!]

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>6118350
“Hey, HEY!” you protest. “Look, this is a misundertandin’, aight? I mean, come on, this garden a’ yours looks like a natural grove. We didn’t know anyone OWNED it. It’s pretty much entrapment!”

“A anyone can see how carefully w—I have been tending this place!” says the smug, smoothly feminine voice of this unseen enemy. “Besides, ignorance of the law is no excuse to break it.”

As the animate thicket lifts you up towards the canopy, you scramble for another approach.

“Well what about, uh, the statute of limitations?” you argue. “It’s been literal fuckin’ YEARS! You’re really gonna hold a grudge after all this time?”

“I would not have, except that you returned and trespassed all over again.”

“Well then, jus’ let us go on our way, an’ we’re back to square one, no harm an’ no foul,” you reason.

“Oh yes,” mocks the voice, “I’m sure you and your little RAIDING PARTY will just leave my paradise in peace, now that you’ve found it again. No, I don’t think so…”

This bitch isn’t listening to a word you say. Luckily, you weren’t counting on her being a reasonable sort—you’re just buying time. As she lectures you, you struggle weakly, testing your barbed and branching bonds. The response is a skin-deep sting, promising a deeper, bloodier price for the liberation of your sword-arm.

“What do you think you’re doing, little thing?” asks the unseen magician. “You’re a peculiar-looking goblin, but just like the rest of them, you ARE just a goblin. Know your place, and still yourself.”

You feel a flare of outrage. So this bidom-nyorhéng khoblis things she can push you around because she thinks you’re ‘just a goblin’? Well, the joke’s on her!

“Not only am I not just a goblin,” you retort through a grim, tight smile, as you focus your energies, like flexing an intangible msucle. “I’m a nilbog, baby.”

“A what?”

“You’ll see. But long ‘n short of it? You might be some kinda’ wood-witch…” You release the tension, allowing the arcana within to surge forth. “But I’m something of a sorceress myself! <PRISMATIC SPRAY>!”

With your limbs bound you find yourself unable to focus your fire on any one point, but that’s just as well. You can’t see who you’re shooting at, after all, and the bushes all about are your most immediate adversary. The undirected explosion of light fills the clearing, the upcast allowing you to deliver a double-dose of magical might: not just light, but elemental energy!

5: Failure.

…Specifically, a burst of electricity, like a single lightning clap. For a moment, you hope this will catch the belligerent bush ablaze, but it does not. In fact, it does little of anything, except exhaust you a little. Magic draws upon life energy after all.

Rolled 2 (1d10)

>>6118356
“…Wait, what was that?” The unseen source of the voice sounds confused, even disturbed. “Goblins can’t cast magic!”

“I told you…” you growl. “I’m NOT A GOBLIN!”

You have a little more left in you, and nothing much to lose, and so again you cry out the magic words to call upon your sole, signature spell…

8: Failure

…Only to find it fizzles out completely as the terrible thicket squeezes you in a spiny bear-hug. You grit your teeth to avoid crying out, and wondering if maybe you should have invested in heavier armour.

Rolling damage...

>>6118359
28/30 HP
0/2 MP

The damage is minimal, but the promise of further pain puts you—ugh—in your place. A part of you wants to swear up a storm at your supposed ‘wilderness guide’, Yeb-Uit, for not alerting you before you were so ignominiously captured. You can’t quite justify if to yourself, though, since this whole operation was YOUR idea.

“Are you quite done?”

You say nothing, silently seething as you are drawn up towards the canopy and into the mercies of…

…Huh. Well, that’s unexpected.

…

…

You are SO mad at yourself right now, so mad that you’re granted a temporary reprieve from utter despair. You were feeling so happy that you’d finally started to get to grips with this whole woodswoman schtick, but look where that got you! ZZ’s missing, and the three of you who remain are being pursued through the woods by creepy plant-monsters! You don’t remember THOSE being here before…

(But then, your memory is a little spotty at times. But surely you’d remember THIS?)

Harried by hostile hedges, you find yourself separated from Yeb-Uit and An-Yii as well. You manage to disappear into the foliage—the, uh, non-animated foliage—long enough for the plant patrol to shamble on by. But what are you supposed to do NOW, just curl up and cry?

(I mean, it’s what you’d LIKE to do, admittedly…)

A rattling croak, quiet but distinctive above the other forest sounds, snaps you out of your self-pity. You look up to see glorious, golden Hershy—ZZ’s pet feathered drake, an inheritance from your parents—perched above you. You blink, and he croaks again, and flaps his wings in agitation before swooping away, towards…

“That’s gotta be where Zith-Zi is!” you realize, before clapping your hands over your mouth, in case the trees have ears to match the bushes’ arms and legs.

The question is what to do about it. Hershy’s got firebreath, but not a LOT of it, being a little guy… And starting a fire in a forest is always a flaming sword of the double-edged variety. You could sneak closer with your newfound aptitude for concealment, but can you really best whoever or whatever this is alone? You’re just… Well, YOU.

>Follow Hershy…
>>In hiding, and creep as close as you can to handle this yourself
>>And direct him to let loose his fiery breath
Or…
>Find Yeb-Uit and An-Yii first, to regroup and work together to free your sister
OR…
>Some other strategy? [Write-in]

>>6118364
>28/30 HP
Holy shit we're a tank
Tips had like a tenth of that
Even if you say he was just a squishy mage, Theral only had 5

>Follow Hershy…
>>In hiding, and creep as close as you can to handle this yourself
Fire breath is the nuclear option

File: Tips & Theral.png (386 KB, 895x856)

386 KB PNG

>>6118388
>Holy shit we're a tank
[You may notice damage also increased (such as your 1d8 scimitar, the 1d10 damage you just took). I just multiplied the HP by 10 to make this one a bit more combat-crunchy, to accompany the new party mechanics. If Tips or Theral appear in this quest, they'll have 30 and 50 HP, respectively.]

>>6118364
>Find Yeb-Uit and An-Yii first, to regroup and work together to free your sister
We don’t want anymore hostages

>>6118298

>>6118364
Get Hershy to light a fire as a distraction. Then find Yeb-Uit and An-Yii, to regroup and work together to free your sister.

>>6118364
>Find Yeb-Uit and An-Yii first, to regroup and work together to free your sister
safety in numbers

>>6118364
>Follow Hershy…
>>In hiding, and creep as close as you can to handle this yourself
Engage in [Bloodlust]

File: vote count.png (4 KB, 591x63)

4 KB PNG

Rolled 10, 11, 2, 16, 16, 1 = 56 (6d20)

>>6118388
>>6118397
>>6118409
>>6118413
>>6118571

Starting a fire is the easy way out, but unlike you, most other people aren’t fireproof… Including your sisters and your new friend-ployees. Better not to risk immolating the help, right? And you could REALLY use some help before following Hershy’s flight-path, to face the foe controlling this foliage…

You shift to a quadrupedal stance with surprising ease, your hips and spine shifting ever so slightly to enable this low-slung gait. Your recently-reduced ‘assets’ don’t get in the way, either, though your monk-hoodie does now and again, snagging on twigs and branches and causing many a momentary panic as you contrive that you have been captured,, only to pull yourself free a moment later. By stops and starts, though, you crawl towards those sources of sound and psychic residue which signify your allies…

Rolling: Concealment+Survival, Natural Weapons, Allies' Rolls

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6118613
It takes you longer than you’d like, your panic interrupting your concentration. For all your not wanting to be perceived, you really, REALLY don’t like to be alone. The last time you were alone for any length of time—deprived of the mental miasma of mortal minds-it turned out… Let’s just say, BADLY.

You’re so eager, in fact, that when you finally catch a glimmer of matching panic from a familiar source, you bolt towards the owner of that emotion with reckless abandon, charging with horned head leaned forward like a bull.

“I’m comin’!” you cry. “Hold on, I’m—EEP!”

You try to skid to a halt when you explode from the underbrush and see one of these wooden whatever-they-ares looming over an injured An-Yii. She’s scratched and scraped, already-roughshod clothes torn up still worse and face and body bloodied. He assailant turns on you, and you realize you’ve built up too much speed, and a collision is inevitable. Panic turns to resolve, and you decide:

“You know what? Fuck it!”

You lean into the impact, baring your fangs as you smash your spike-topped forehead into the curious conifer-construct.

Rolling the damage you deal...

Rolled 3 (1d6)

>>6118618
You owl the bush-man over, knocking it over and aside as you rush to An-Yii. You assess her injuries, but unlike the unconscious (?) gob you crouch atop, you’re no medic. She’s even prettier in repose, and despite (or because?) of the streaks of blood across her branch-exposed body, you feel a throb of

WANT: 13

which causes you to shiver as you suppress it. Instead. You shake her a few times, urgently uttering a dozen variations of “Hey, wake the fuck up!” Your efforts are interrupted, though, by the creaking and cracking of her briefly-beaten but decidedly-not-dead attacker. You turn around, bracing for impact, only for a familiar

TWANG

To ring out as an arrow sails out from the canopy above and impacts the twig-and-berry bandit.

"Yeb-Uit!" you cry out in gratitude, though you still haven't spotted him.

Rolled 6 (1d10)

>>6118620
Rolling An-Yii's damage

>>6118618
>Rolled 1 (1d2)
kinda low dice for a charge

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>6118626
[At present, CZ's natural weapons are relatively weak.]

>>6118620
>>6118621

You’re not sure how whatever magic is moving these mulch-piles manifests, exactly. They have no obvious vital organs or points of weakness, and one more arrows sticking out of ‘em seems like it should make little to no difference. The impact, though, seems to disorient it, and you watch as the blighted bastard scrapes its pointy, brachiating ‘fingers’ over the spot where the arrow has embedded in bad of its skull as if in pain.

You rack your mind, until with a snap of your clawed fingers, you cry out:

“Metal! It’s the arrow-head that’s fuckin’ it up!”

An-Yii groans in response to your pronouncement, and those mean-bit-beautiful eyes of hers flutter open. They widen rapidly, to find you essentially straddling her, and you feel a sheepish urge to apologize for the indecent predicament. There’s no time for that, though! Instead, you draw your dagger, and whirling about you plunge it towards the midsection of the maple-wood menace. Your knife finds purchase and, if it rusty and blunted, that only seems to make it worse: the whole confounded construct collapses into so much leaf-litter and rotting wood!

Enemies in this quest have two separate health meters, of a sort: their actual hit points, and the number of individual successes they must be affected by to bring them down. For weaker enemies, you must hit at least one of these thresholds to defeat or slay them; for stronger ones, you must hit both.

With the threat of the thicket-thing no longer present. You rear up to your hind legs and push your spine back into it’s normal configuration with an audible pop. You extend you hand to An-Yii, who stares at your hairy meathooks in a way that takes you self-consciously shift a little. She takes it, though, and you help her up. Yeb-Uit lands from above with a thump of impact, somewhere just behind you, and retrieves his arrow before joining you two in discussion.

“Are you okay?” he asks An.

“Ain’t great,” she replies with a wince of pain as she places pressure on one weeping wound after another. “Mostly surface-level stuff, though… Nothing I can’t patch up.”

An-Yii: 4/10 HP

You regard her skeptically, your own bloodthirsty instinct assuring you she’s (hnnn) quite vulnerable prey. You shake off the resultant urges, and get everyone focuse don what matters most:

“ZZ’s been captured!”

To your disappointment, it seems your two hired hands are rather less concerned than you are. They exchange a look, and you can sense without psychic intrusion exactly what they’re thinking: is it worth risking life and limb against some mountain witch or magical monster, for the sake of Zith-Zi?

“Come oooonnn…” you whine.

Reposted with corrected formatting and untrained leadership roll

>>6118635
13: Failure, but not a critical one

“I ain’ fit to fight,” An-Yii says. “I’m patchin’ up this bleedin’ ‘fore it gets worse. After that… Find me when you need some mending, yourselves.”

That’s… Fair, you suppose? Apart from natural goblin scrappiness, the nursemaid doesn’t exactly have a lot going for her in a rumble, and it wasn’t what she was hired on for. You look to Yeb-Uit next with pleading, puppy-dog eyes, for he has (characteristically) not said a word. He presses his lips thin, mulling it over, but eventually he nods.

“Yesss!” you cheer, hurling yourself at him in a hug that he neither rejects nor reciprocates.

“We should think about when to cut an’ run, though,” he adds seriously, as you release him.

“Never.”

“I’m serious, Cara-Zi,” he says. “I know she’s your sister, but if Zith-Zi is—”

“I said NEVER.”

There is another exchange of glances from the hired help as your voice deepens to a distorted, snarled rumble of rage. You clear your throat daintily and mutter an apology, hastily replacing your hood, and beckon the archer to follow you to where your sister awaits salvation.

…

>>6118641
…

You aren’t sure exactly what you expected from your assailant. A human, mostly likely, since they’re what’s common around these woods… Or maybe a dwarf or an elf, or a half-pint halfling or something like that. Definitely someone fully grown.

“I got beaten by some BRAT?” you groan.

“I am NOT a ‘brat’, goblin!”

“And I’m not a goblin,” you growl back, “BRAT.”

Your captor is no human mage, but rather unexpectedly a beast-woman of some sort. Slim-figured, flat-chested, and wide-eyed, she certainly has the APPEARANCE of a child, to judge by human or even goblin standards (though not everyone can be as bountifully endowed as you). Curling, spiralling goat-like horns stick out to either side of her head in comical cone-like configurations, almost like elaborate pigtails, and her ovoid, oblong pupils make her look perpetually wall-eyes. You’re actually impressed that someone with funk goat-legs and hooves—proper hooves, not like CZ’s claws—can scale a tree at all.

“You’re one a’ those… Stayrs, right?”

“FAUN,” she spits through cleft lip, with a haughty huff.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead assessing the situation. You’re a captive of this creepy kid, and you’re all outta’ magic-juice… But your temporary exhaustion is waning, and you still have your sword. For a toll of blood, you could rip free of your restraints and have her head, you’re sure of it!

…But she DOES look like a child.

Aside form that, fi you fuck up, she might just drop you from twenty-or-thirty feet up, and if you land bad, that could HURT. And that’s ignoring any witchy bullshit she’s still packing.

Because you trust Cara-Zi, you’re sure she (and hopefully the others) are on their way to save you. You could simply stall, and await their arrival, embarrassing as it is…

What will you do?
>Strike up a conversation—who is this faun, and what exactly does she plan to do with you and your party?
>Rip your way free and start slashing—if she says she’s not a brat, she can fight and die like a grown khoblis!
>Stay mum, and scope the scene—you could spot some weaknesses, escape routes, ANYTHING!
>Write-in

>>6118642
>Strike up a conversation—who is this faun, and what exactly does she plan to do with you and your party?
goat girl has the neoteny blessing it seems, if no spell is involved

>>6118642
>Strike up conversation
Do her parents know she’s assaulting and abducting innocent woodland travelers?

>>6118642
>Stay mum, and scope the scene—you could spot some weaknesses, escape routes, ANYTHING!

>>6118642
>Strike up a conversation—who is this faun, and what exactly does she plan to do with you and your party?

Rolled 3, 2, 10, 1 = 16 (4d20)

>>6118655
>>6118732
>>6118738
>>6118771
Stalling for time is your surest bet, by your reckoning—it’s better to save your sword-arm’s strength for when you have allies at your back. And if you’re stalling anyway, well, why not learn a bit more about your captor and her capabilities?

“Well, Little Miss Faun,” you begin, leveraging your limited knowledge of elvenspeech, “do your parents know you’re assaulting and abducting innocent woodland travelers?”

A look of shock graces the faun’s youthful features, following by a deep darkness. The barbed thickets tighten around you, and you instantly regret baiting her, even if it does give you valuable insight: the parents, you gather, are out of the picture.

“Right, an ‘innocent’ goblin,” she replies bitterly. “Pull the other leg.”

“I’m not—”

“I heard you, I heard you!” the goat-girl snaps, beginning to pace upon her branch as she observes you from all angles. “But what ARE you, then? Your FRIENDS are goblins… But you cast a spell, and you’re all… Pink.”

“It’s a long story.”

The faun smiles all too sweetly, and says in sing-song voice: “You’ve got all the time in the world, not-goblin.”

“I prefer ‘nilbog’,” you grumble, and revert to common-tongue. “But fine. I’ll tell you... If you tell me what exactly you’re planning for my party.”

“Party?” your captor asks. “Like… An adventuring party?”

“Did I stutter? Yeah. EXACTLY like that. An’ it’s not my first one, either, I’ll have you know. Though I WAS a gob when I started out.”

“You used to be a goblin… But now, you’re not?”

“That’s what I said, kid.”

“Khorine,” she corrects you.

“Fine, Khorine, what-the-fuck-ever.”

The faun takes a seat upon the branch and leans forward, and you know you’ve got her.

“Alright,” you sigh. “Settle in, kiddo, an’ let me tell ya’ the story of a little goblin-girl named Zi, an’ how she went on ta’ become the choice piece you see before you…”

…

…

You and Yeb-Uit take advantage of your shared, growing skills for woodland navigation and concealment to bypass several more nettle-studded sentinels. That your skin is same sort of verdant hue as the leafy surroundings can’t hurt, you figure… Though then again, none of these magical constructs has anything like actual EYES, so who even knows?

“Look.”

>>6118782
It’s Yeb-Uit who spots the splattered blood. Seeing it yourself, your own blood runs cold. There’s not a LOT of it, and there’s no saying for sure that it’s ZZ’s, but… Well, it’s fresh, and who else would it be? Tears start to well up in your eyes a you fear for your sister’s—your other half’s—fate.

“Hey,” Yeb interrupts your angst,” focus.”

“Right,” you whisper, wiping your eyes and sniffing your snot back into your snout,

There will be time for emotions—celebratory or violent vengeful—when you’ve found Zith-Zi.

You carefully skirt the edges of a familiar grove which seems to be the hub of animated-planta activity in the area. The lush, sunlit space tingles your skin even at its outer edge in a way you know to associate with the divine magic of the Gods of Light and their created creatures… Like the ZZ herself, technically, or Tips and other elves. Thinking back, you felt something like that when you headbutted that hardwood bastard who was harassing An-Yii… You’d just assumed it to be the beginnings of a concussion. Well, apparently not!

1 for Survival + Concealment

However, you’re not the only one capable of detecting a disturbance, it seems. Three more of those prickly pricks—made of a mix of bare branches and leafy vines—suddenly shift from eerie stillness and into an even-eerier advance on your position!

“Fuck!” you cry out, not bothering to muffle your voice since you’ve been spotted anyway.

Yeb steps back, scrambling to draw and notch an arrow. You fidget in place, torn between falling back and advancing to face the bastards head-on. Indecision grips you, only to be broken by a rattling croak and a belch of smoke and flame that briefly distracts the woodland warband.

“Hershy!”

The familiar golden plumes swoop across your line-of-sight as the little chimera-drake half flies and half-glide across the grove. The bush-bastards seem even less certain than you in that instant, as if awaiting orders that never come: target the fiery little dragon-thing, or you and your fellow gob?

Because Zith-Zi is distracting Khorine, her twig blights are at a disadvantage; even with your crit-fail exposing you to them they’re unsure how to proceed.
But holy shit, what are these ROLLS?

Their chaos, you decide, is your opportunity. You…
>Fall back and disappear with Yeb-Uit, luring them into ambush one-by-one while they’re uncoordinated
>Direct Hershy to geyser fire down upon them, and the grove, to draw out their master
>Charge in and tear them apart with tooth, claw, and dagger!
>Focus on seeking out your sister, and her captor, and leave Yeb and Hershy to their own devices
>Write-in

>>6118786
>Fall back and ambush them 1 by 1
As for the rolls, I figure ZZ and Iri have already used up all their luck just surviving the first 3 quests to be here now

>>6118782
>Rolled 3, 2, 10, 1 = 16 (4d20)
fucky my stupid goblin life
>>6118786
>Fall back and disappear with Yeb-Uit, luring them into ambush one-by-one while they’re uncoordinated
considering the witch is distracted, the minions will probably follow us

>>6118786
>Direct Hershy to geyser fire down upon them, and the grove, to draw out their master
>Charge in and tear them apart with tooth, claw, and dagger!
I draw the line at being a coward with our sister’s life on the line. We may have a bit of Iri in us, but the Infiltrator never shied away from a good scrap, and we have the advantage of a slightly botched ambush.

File: gobrilla warfare.png (373 KB, 889x506)

373 KB PNG

Rolled 20, 4, 18, 8, 10, 9, 5, 3, 18 = 95 (9d20)

>>6118810
>As for the rolls, I figure ZZ and Iri have already used up all their luck just surviving the first 3 quests to be here now
[They were conceived in one, and didn't appear in the next, so they really have no excuses!]

>>6118810
>>6118832
>>6118846
Well, you weren’t just going to sit and twiddle your talons while these twiggy twits made up their evergreen minds.

“Fall back!”

Yeb-Ut lowered his bow slightly, looking confused. “I thought you said we weren’t going to run?”

“I did,” you answer with a wicked grin, flexing your fingers and willing your claws and tusks to extend outwards, growing it length and breadth. “We’re not.”

2d20 Survival + Concealment at DC 12; if this succeeds, the next roll has difficulty reduced by 5.
2d20 Natural Weapons for CZ (base DC 15).
2d20 Archery for Yeb-Uit (DC 15).
3d20 Natural Weapons + Flight for Hershy (DC 15)

Rolled 2, 2 = 4 (2d2)

>>6118887
…

….

As Khorine sits, enraptured, you tell her the quick-and-dirty (well, not so quick and you leave out the dirtiest and most embarrassing parts) story of your origins: how your mom, Yen-Zi, got impregnated by a half-orc who turned out to be a demon-packing reptilian infiltrator, how your ‘father’ (other mother?) had apparently infected someone with a lizard-skin plague, how you’d met Tips as journeyed into the wastes where you’d taken up banditry and had bribed you to follow him back to the big city by promising to rejuvenate your pet drake Hershy, and how those same principles used to heal Hershy had later been employed—among others—to make you the nilbog you are today.

“…And this drake, ‘Hershy’, he’s still healthy and well today?” asks Khorine with what seems like genuine concern.

You snort. Leave it to a kid to fixate on the cute animal, huh? Well, not like you can judge.

“I hope so, unless your bush-men—”

“Twig blights.”

“—unless WHATEVER they’re called killed him.”

You spit the accusation with intent to wound, and your own barbs inflict damage commensurate to Khorine’s own. She recoils, offended and maybe even afraid you’re right.

“I... I’m merely protecting our home from invaders! I have no intention of KILLING anyone!”

“Oh, doncha’?” you ask in bitter mockery. “That’s good. So if any of my friends die, it’s just an innocent accident, izzat it?”

“You all arrived armed with hateful shards of steel! What else was I supposed to do?”

“I dunno’, fuckin’ LISTEN for a second?” The faun clinches again at your words, and you lower your voice an octave. “How old ARE you, Khorine?”

“…I don’t see why that’s relevant.”

“Where are your folks?”

“…”

Ah. Claimed by ‘hateful steel’, then? And she’s been living alone with her crude toy soldiers ever since? It was all starting to make sense.

“Look, kid, I’m gonna say this one more time—”

Before you can say much of ANYTHING, though, you are both startled by the sound of splintering timbers. Your head whip in the same direction—an action that scrapes your throat and shoulder against the sharpness of your continued captivity and draws yet more blood and profanity from.

“What was that?” Khorine asks quietly, eyes wide.

“That,” you say with a certain smug satisfaction,” was the sharp end of my ultimatum.”

…

…

20 for Concealment

If you were hidden before, you were practically invisible now. Physically, psychically, audibly, you were as a spectre. When the branch0built bruisers stumbled into the woods like they owned the place—which they very well might, you supposed—you reminded them of the cruelest and firmest law of nature, on Earth as it is Below:

You only own that which you can keep

Rolled 4, 8, 4, 19, 10, 8 = 53 (6d20)

>>6118892

18 for Natural Weapons

An arrow from Yeb-Uit glanced off one of them, but as its head turned to face the direction rom which it had flown, you leapt bodily upon the bush-man’s back and with a primal roar ill-fitting you your size or alleged femininity, you wrenched that same head from its makeshift, roughshod shoulders.

“RAAAAAAAH!”

Your bestial bellow draws the other enemies to your location. Good. GOOD! Let them come, whispers a voice half-remembered in your mind. You’ll smash them all to itty-bitty bits, and then, TEHN, you’ll find the fleshier force behind this little eco-army and chop them down just like their tree-friends, and make yourself a bloody COFEE-TABLE!

As the hapless wooden warriors march upon you, Hershy harries them from above—airborne, unreachable, and crashing down with meteoric force. He crushes one into the ground with the surprising force of his impact setting himself ablaze to quick-immolate the central core of the thing. Damaged beyond recovery, it does not rise. When the next turns in what almost resembles alarm to face the fire, and rho-skip behind it and tap it upon the shoulder.

“Hey now, Woody~,” you coo, saliva dripping down your out-jutted jaw. “Can I have the first dance?”

A roll for the twig blight, a roll for CZ, and another roll (at disadvantage, firing into a chaotic melee) for Yeb

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>6118893

>>6118893
Damn
CZ really living up to her rep as the scary one now

>>6118893
>>6118895
>>6118896
All ground-level twig blights eliminated

…

…

You can see the fear fix itself upon the features of the faun who has held you here against your will, the smugness of home-field advantage giving way to the instinctive terror of prey-animal alone in the too-quiet woods.

“Now I ain’t no Woodland Ranger or nothin,” you say with grim cheer, “but I’m pretty sure when the birds ain’t singin’, that’s a BAD sign, innit?”

Khorine turns to you slowly, saying nothing.

“I’m sure it’s nothin’ personal against ya’,” you continue calmly. “It’s just, see, my sister an’ I? We’re close. REAL close. I left her outta’ the story, but when all that gobli-ness left me, it took some OTHER ick with it. Useful ick. SCARY useful ick. An’ that ick? I call her ‘CZ’. An' when she sees me like this... Well, SHE might take it personal, see?”

“What… What IS she?”

“Well,” you admit, “that’s currently up for debate. But she’s DEADLY when she’s angry. Or hungry. Or both.”

You pause.

“Fightin’ makes her BOTH.”

“N-no matter,” Khorine matters, tapping her hooves nervously and rocking back and forth. “I still have you. I can… I can barter for your life.”

You frown. This kid’s stubborn as a billy-goat, THAT’S for sure. Her magic’s no joke, either. You’re still in danger, and at a disadvantage…

(Though not nearly as endangered or disadvantaged as Khorine, if CZ gets her hands on her while she’s still berserk, heh…)

What will you do?
>Talk your way to freedom, on the promise of ALSO talking down CZ… Which, uh, you can PROBABLY do?
>Flex those mini-muscles and break out of this thorny bear-hug—it’s time to pull blade on this bitch!
>Take advantage of this opportunity to scan around with those ‘mage eyes’ Tips was always going on about, to find out how this pipsqueak is throwing around so much magic…
>Write-in

>>6118899
>Talk your way to freedom
If we force our way out we’ll be covered in blood which will really not help the CZ situation, and trying to mage was just embarrassing

>>6118899
>Take advantage of this opportunity to scan around with those ‘mage eyes’ Tips was always going on about, to find out how this pipsqueak is throwing around so much magic…
since she's acting like a brat, we'll find a way to correct it out of her.

>>6118893
>When the next turns in what almost resembles alarm to face the fire, and rho-skip behind it and tap it upon the shoulder.
*you hop-skip behind it

>>6118899
>Talk your way to freedom, on the promise of ALSO talking down CZ… Which, uh, you can PROBABLY do?

>>6118899
>Talk your way to freedom, on the promise of ALSO talking down CZ… Which, uh, you can PROBABLY do?

File: Captura de Tela (196).png (13 KB, 823x427)

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voters have gone insane

>>6119048
Damn the rqm writes porn guy is literally Rent free

>>6119048
>>6119053
[He (or someone like him) does this every few months. Pay him no heed.]

Finally caught back

>Write-in : Join my crew!


Also, a couple reactions if I were tagging along since the beginning :

>Make-a-goblin adventurer choice write in:
Shieldmaiden pleasant shortstack. Battle protector, good at bargaining. Default : can't keep it in her pants.

>Government name Ezreal
Made me laugh.

>>6119053
That guy can't math as proven in the /qtg

>>6119203
[Welcome aboard, anon!]
>a sweet and slutty shortstack shieldmaiden
[Are you TRYING to make CZ break her vows of chastity?!] I'll keep this write-in in mind for future reference

>>6118921
>>6118934
>>6118968
>>6118989

[Locked and writing!]

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Rolled 15, 1 = 16 (2d20)

>>6119350
“Kid… Khorine… I don’t think you’ve really though this through.”

Khorine glowers at you, but the haughty disdain is a poor mask for her worry. You see through it like sheet-glass. She doesn’t interrupt you, and so you continue:

“I’m the only one who can control CZ when she gets like this.” Not strictly-speaking true, but close enough. “If she sees you have me trapped in this splinter-ridden bondage-cage situation, well…”

You cluck you tongue and trail off suggestively, as another series of cracks and crashes attests to yet more carnage on the forest floor.

“I can handle her,” Khorine insists. “I don’t… I’m strong here! This is my place of power?”

“Oh, Attunement is it?”

That shocks the faun anew, as she boggles at you.

“How do you know about L'Hal'l ulu Seib'n wun Lisse'?!”

You roll your eyes, and reply: “Yeah, that’s a real pretty language an’ all, but we just call it <The Right of Attunement>. Feycraft, right? Fairy bullshit ta’ mix-‘n-match bits of people and places together? Lets ya’ have extra power in a place? ‘Zat how you’re controlling so many ‘twig blights’ at the same time?”

The goat-girl opens her mouth to say something but stops herself, as the sound of wanton destruction gets closer and closer. There’s something ELSE to it, you can tell… But what? Ugh, no time to trick her into spilling her guts—if Carazzi gets here, no joke, she MIGHT just do that literally!

“We can talk shop later,” you say. “Hurry up: let me out if you wanna' live!”

“You're threatening me? In my own home?!”

“I'm givin’ you an out,” you correct her tersely, “despite you bein’, let’s be real, an AWFUL fuckin’ host.”

Khorine gulps, hesitating as she reassess the danger of you and your sort-of sibling, and comes to her conclusion…

Rolling a diplomacy roll, with a bonus die for Linguistics, and at a reduced DC because ZZ’s empathy leans away from monsters and towards humans, fairies, and other ‘civilized’ and ‘good’ beings, with further advantage because of CZ's combat dominance down below
DC 11/14/17, the higher the degree of success the better the outcome

>>6119358
phew, if roll one was 5 lower we would have slaughtered a child

“O-okay! Fine! I will MAGNANIMOUSLY release you.”

What a fucking twerp. SERIOUSLY. Someone needs to correct this pipsqueak… But you suppose that’s what parents are for, when they aren’t (as you surmise Khorine’s to be) in the ground feeding a tree somewhere.

15: A second degree success

Bad attitude aside, the twig-blight which was holding you in its stabby, jabby slutches now releases its rigid grip upon your squishy bits. You can breathe properly without pricking your skin, and you set about massaging feeling back into your muscles. As you do so, you note with quiet delight that the dumb brat left you with your sword—YOU would’ve confiscated that first thing.

(Not that your’e about to correct the error, obviously.)

Before Khorine can expound further upon her boundless generosity (in other words, plead for her life with extra steps and an air of arrogance), the tree which holds you both is rocked by an impact. The force of the blow shakes the whole of the towering pine, nearly sending you both careening to the merciless earth below.

“Hey!” you shout down. “Watch it, will ya’? You’re gonna’ kill us both!”

”Ȓ̶̤̭̯̞̖͕̏ͅRAA̵̹͒͑AAȞ̷̬̾͋̔̏̈́H!!̷̱͈͎̺̬͕̏̈́” comes the reply. “HAAAAAhahahaheeee, haaaaah!”

“Oh, goodie,” you grumble to yourself. “She’s like that”

On the bright side, Hershey flutters up towards the sound of your voice, confirming he’s safe and sound. He emits a happy rattle of recognition at the sight of you, likewise largely intact, and you can’t help but smile at the old boy’s exuberance. Your oldest and dearest Companion lands upon your outstretched arm and eagerly extends his neck as you rub his cheek and chin.

Once the reunion is over, though, it’s time for the other.

“You wait up here, pipsqueak.”

“I’m taller than YOU,” huffs Khorine, though she does not move from her perch (save to tremble).

“Yeah yeah, heard that one before,” you say, as you find the first foothold and, in stops and starts, shimmy your way down the quaking conifer.

…

Rolled 10, 7 = 17 (2d20)

>>6119362
Wouldn't be the first time one of Irinnile's cambions did so in a battle-frenzy...

>>6119384
Rolling Occultism for Cara-Zi + Zith-Zi's roll
Base DC 13 due to WANT, -5 for Zith-Zi's presence and -5 for her relative safety, +2 because of her lack of Monster Empathy

>>6119387

…

You haven’t felt this way in a while. It’s the strangest thing, but whenever you’re NOT like this, you’re always trying to avoid another ‘outburst’. But why SHOULDN’T you burst out?? It feels so GOOD. It feels RIGHT! When someone’s angry, they should act! When theyr’e hungry, they should EAT! It’s just natural, isn’t it? And this son-of-a-bitch, they DESERVE it. They have something you want. No, they have YOU! The REAL you, the BEAUTIFUL you, the YOU that YOU ought to BE!!

…Okay, you don’t feel good anymore, but you DO feel even more vindicated in feeling BAD, and you know exactly how to make yourself feel better.

“Guyysss,” you wheeze through the half-mad laughter, “get over here! There’s plenty to go around!”

But Yeb-Uit and An-Yii hang back, for some incomprehensible reason. They look (and smell, and probably ~tastes~) scared. So scared Yeb-Uit has his arrow aimed almost at you, no doubt to cover you against any remaining aggression from hidden hedge-fellas. Scared of… What? Your enemy? WHY? You’re just gonna rip-and-tear-and-rape-and-eat them and smear their leftovers all over yourself! What’s to be afraid of??

Well, no matter. You’ll show them they don’t need to be afraid! Not when Z̵̧̰̎̒̀̀̀͑̃̀̊͒̈́̈́̎̓̆̇̋̐̇͂̂̕̕i̵̡͔̰̖̗͕̱͎͚̬̠̬̞̝̤̪̣̞̱͗̀̈̔̽̎̈́̈́̀̌͗̂̈̚͜͝t̴̡̯̘͕̹͕̥͓͉͍̯̤̬̥͙̬̑̉̀̓̕ḩ̴̗̳͍͖̠̪͓͈̹̬͔͕̣̳̻̪̯̠̜̗̘̻̮̯͍̻̼̻̠̺̇̒̍̏̍̒͐̆̃ͅ-̶̨̧̢̢͔̼̱̙̠̳̖̗̱̫̞̼̠̣̙̦̗̖͔̞̺̀̏̃͒͐̆͆͋̃̀͆̽̎́̓̂̉͌͊̂̃̀̓̌̚͘̕͝ͅẐ̴͔͚̙̮̖̗̜̱̃̉͒͒̍̊͆̓̋̍̏͂̔̎̑̑̕͘̚͠͝ͅi̸̧̧̛͇͕̯̱͚̰̖̗̙̮̞̰̺͉̠̒́͂̉̑͂͛̆̌̈́̈́͊̏͘̚͝͠͝ͅ is here!

“Cazzy!”

You look sharply at the sound of the voice, head turning further than in normally would to save you the effort of adjusting your body. You—the REAL you—drops down from the tree: pink, perky, pretty, PERFECT…

Except for the blood.

You gasp at the sight of it, in horror and delight, and wipe the saliva from your chin with the back foo your hairy hand.

“Who did this to m—you?” you groan, with horror and joy. “I’m gonna make ‘em paaay for that. Oh, their screams are gonna be just perffff~”

“I’m fine,” says pink-you firmly, and approaches you, hands outstretched. “Hey, hey. Easy. Clws down. And tuck that jaw in, will ya’?”

You lower your grasping hands—your claws, and shut your mouth with a click. You struggle to set your jaw back as her words clear some of the fog in your mind, but then you smell it—beyond the familiar familial blood, a distant, intoxicatingly novel fear. Not a magically-mute goblin’s fear, but something rich, delicious, ~rare~ and ~tender~… Up there!

“Hey!”

>>6119390
Before you can launch yourself again at the tree and clamber up to meet your meat, you grab your head. Wait, no, YOU don’t, Zith-Zi does! But… You’re Zith-Zi! Aren’t you Zith-ZI, shouldn’t you, weren’t you… Wasn’t that YOU?! Or are you… Were you… Didn’t you have another name?

Iri—

“It’s been a while, huh?”

The pink Zith-Zi’s voice is soft, softer than usual. Her anger and alarm has dissipated replaced with something sad… A sympathy, a painful pity.

“Yer always worse, when it’s been a while.”

10, vs DC 5

“Nnngh… No… Don’t look at me like that!” You pull your hood over your horns, scrambling to cover up every inch of exposed flesh with your oversized robe. “It burns! S-stop! No! N—”

Slowly, patiently, Zith-Zi—yes, SHE’S Zith-Zi, YOU’RE Carazzi, or Cara-Zi, or or or—pries your hands away from yourself before you can inflict any lasting harm with your increasingly-frantic failing and your too-sharp talons. Only when you’re still and quiet, apart from your laboured breathing, does she let you go and take a step back.

“You good?”

“…Y-yeah, I’m good.”

You look over at the others in your party, standing well across the clearing, and at the scattered-and-scattered splinters of the constructs you crushed into little bits. You can hardly remember doing it, and worse of all…

WANT: 13

…You’re still not satisfied. But you can’t bare to do more, to be SEEN doing more, to be JUDGED. You collapse in on yourself in your hoodie, like a black hole, HUNGRY like a hole, and will yourself to be quiet until everyone forgets what happened.

“Alright,” ZZ sighs in relief, leaning forward and taking a deep breath before bellowing up to the treetops: “Alright! Come on out! We’re good!”

…

>>6119392

…

You and your party are all in pretty good shape, all considered. CZ did WORK down here, and apart from An-Yii being all bandaged up, you’re pretty sure you’re the only one who took any damage. You cowl a little at the embarrassing recollection of your failed foray into close-quarters combat-magic. You suppose there’s a reason Pearce and other Tower Guardians back in Hawksong train for that shit—its TOUGH.

(Though shit, if TIPS can do it, how hard can it be, right? Ha!)

Once you’re done taking stock of your allies, it’s time for your enemy, if you can still call her that. Khorine is down at your level now, the tallest one in the clearing, albeit not by much. She is still trying to play her above-it-all arboreal arbiter shtick, but it’s not exactly landing. Even with whatever her secret sauce is, she clearly can’t summon any more constructs than the single remaining twig blight she’s got standing ‘menacingly’ behind her… And You have your sword, and a pet fire-breathing drake, and a CARA-ZI.

“What are we gonna do with you?” you sigh, crossing your arms and regarding her through narrowed eyes.

“I… Admit there may have been hasty conclusions drawn, given the nature of your cohort,” the faun blusters impotently in her squeaky, girlish voice. “I am happy to consider this misunderstanding sttled, and to let you go on your way, provided you skirt the boundaries of my territory.”

“Misunderstanding?!” An-Yii practically shrieks, before stopping herself from saying more.

She and Yeb-Uit, gob of few words as ever, turn expectantly to you.

(CZ is still busy trying to make herself disappear, or you suspect she would too.)

Such is the burden of being The Boss, you suppose. Well, this ain’t your first rodeo.

>You’ll take the deal, and move along—this was a waste of time, and you’ll waste no more of it
>Naw, you came here to restock supplies, and you’re gonna! Food and a place to rest, at the bare minimum
>You KNOW this little bitch has some secret source for her sorcery, and you want it! If she won’t show you, you’ll rip her little glad apart and TAKE it for your trouble, along with whatever else you can grab—this is a shake-down, now!
>Actually, you kinda’ feel for this Khorine kid… Maybe she wants to join up? Betetr than being a surly little shit out inna’ woods, innit?
>Write-in