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>>32288311

"Aye it would," you reply. "What's this about, mate?"

"My condolences then." He hands you the letter, a folded bitof parchment with your named scrawled on the back, sealed with wax pressed with a stylized flower. "Judge Cullahan will be reading the will of Riley Gallagher tomorrow, at the bell of noon; you're listed as one of the main beneficiaries. That there letter was left in the governer's possession by Mr. Gallagher, to be given to you upon his passing. Haven't the foggiest what it's about - but Lord Oberst was most insistent you receive it immediately."

You hold back a snort as the human gives you his condolences. Letting the door close, you contemplate the letter in your hands. The hell kind of pull did your old man have with the good Duke Oberst that the governor would keep a letter for him? And for that matter, the hell did you care what that man had to say to you anyways? An unlit candle catches your eye, as you contemplate what you'll do with this letter.

>Burn the letter. You'll have no part in your old man's troubles.
>Read the letter. Might be good for a laugh or three.
>You can't read this sober. Drop the letter on your desk and hit the pub early.
>You can't read this alone. Toss it in your bag, grab the girls, and hit the pub early for some laughs.
>[Write In]

>>32288322
>Read the letter.
Look, the Old Man had enough goddamned pull to have the Duke himself kept the letter and had one of his agents send it personally as soon as possible. Ignoring it will bring along a raft of fines and legal problems, not to mention the disapproval of the Duke.

>>32288322
>You can't read this alone. Toss it in your bag, grab the girls, and hit the pub early for some laughs.
Make a mockery of it!

>>32288322
>Read the letter. Might be good for a laugh or three.
Leave if to the old man to make trouble from beyond the grave.

>>32288322
>Read the letter. Might be good for a laugh or three.
We can always bring it to the pub if it's actually funny.

>>32288322
>pocket the unlit candle

>>32288641
>pocket the lit candle

>>32288322
Go to the pub with friends.

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You amaze yourself with your self control. No out of hand burning of your father's final message from beyond the grave. No grabbing the girls and making a spectacle of it, either; your war with your father's memory is a private affair, and you've no plans to drag anyone else into the current of your bitterness. So you won't be visiting the pub, either. A strong drink is not uncalled for, you'll damned well need it to keep from tossing it into the fire if he goes and pisses you off.

You pour a fifth of vodka. Dwarves what live with the humans love the stuff, especially down south where the winter bites hardest.

"'My dear and beloved daughter,'" you drawl, reading the first lines. "Pfft. Yeah - 'dear and beloved' my fuckin' fanny'. Ahem. 'My worthless little girl I up an abandoned for hoards of treasure. It seems that my absense has not made your life miserable enough, so I figured I'd drag you kicking and screaming into my death! I hope this letter finds you ill, preferably in a gutter with your mother's corpse wrapped around you as a blanket. I...'"

Hold on, that can't be right. You had, of course, been reading out a mockery of the insincere lies that man put to paper, your chest puffed out and voice deep and haughty as you could make it. After all, if that man had meant a gods damned word he put to paper, he would have dropped whatever had sent him running off to the east and come home. It's not like you don't love your step-father - he's a far, far better man than your real dad - but your mother was never the same once he left.

But this might be serious. Or it might be his ravings. Either way, more entertaining than anything you can make up.

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>>32289037

"'I am sorry that this letter can only come to you with my passing,'" you repeat, verbatim this time, a giggle beneath your voice. You're not entirely sure if this is more of his bullshit, or something important. "'But believe me when I say that the worst is yet to come. My death is only the beginning, the first act in a macabre play that began in the Isle of Dawn. What I saw there was beyond comprehension, and there are forces at work to keep the truth from spreading.

You are not safe. Your mother is not safe. I urge you please, leave Cébaile while you still can - take the tools that I have left you. Give my death, my life meaning.'"

You snort. A thousand and one things cross your mind as your go over that last bit - mostly, you wish his corpse were here, so you could still punch it. Why you gave the ravings of that man more than the time of day is beyond you; he clearly lost it, before the end. There's an inkling in the back of your head, though; if he belonged in the loony bin, why didn't the Governor send him there?

>You need a particularly stiff drink. Hit the pubs.
>You need your friends here and now. Grab the girls, then hit the pubs.
>Maybe... no. You won't give his ghost the satisfaction. But just incase, take a knife with you before visiting your mum and step-dad
>Show the letter to the girls. See what they make of it.
>[Write In]

>>32289059
The will's being read tomorrow.
Lets grab a knife and head out for a drink with friends. Mom doesnt need this shit right now, and we dont either.

>meetiin family
Not today, captcha.

>>32289059
>>You need your friends here and now. Grab the girls, then hit the pubs.
Bitch at them about cryptic letters from absentee fathers. How much do we wanna bet that if he'd just stayed home in the first place, no evil forces or whatever would be interested in us in the first place?

>>32289059
>>Show the letter to the girls. See what they make of it.

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>>32289059
>>Maybe... no. You won't give his ghost the satisfaction. But just incase, take a knife with you before visiting your mum and step-dad

Haha, time to Rogue!

>>32289059
>Maybe... no. You won't give his ghost the satisfaction. But just incase, take a knife with you before visiting your mum and step-dad
If the Duke felt that dad was stable enough, and dependable enough, to do this kind of favor personally, then he's probably right and the MC is wrong. I hope that the MC is violently shown just how wrong they are.

>>32289059
>You need your friends here and now. Grab the girls, then hit the pubs.
Everyone knows the pub is the safest place in the world.

>>32289059
>Show the letter to the girls. See what they make of it.
>You need your friends here and now. Grab the girls, then hit the pubs.

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"And so, me da' sends me this letter..." you slur, waving about your father's letter in the faces of Sofia and Isabella. "An' it'sall doom and gloom from the bowels of Henan, my dearest daughter you are not safe! Flee, flee to the furthest corners of the earth, where the shadow's I'm jumping at won't be able to catch you! Or else THEY'LL get you and THEY'LL kill you and blah, blah, blah. Sorry, can't do it anymore."

The two gatoran girls nod sagely as the font of truth flows forth from your mouth, the cat ears nature stapled to their heads flat from a few pints of ale. It's only Fourteen by the clock, so you probably shouldn't be drinking; but it's also Starsday. Nobody's working on Starsday, or Sunsday for that matter, so really there's no harm in in getting hammered this early in the day. Or getting hammered in another way later, if one of those fine looking bearded chaps crowding around a map in the corner has a thing for short dames.

"An'... an' I mean, I know that the guvner sent this by personal courier." You mutter into your pint, a chocolate lager brewed over on Thunderbolt Isle. "But everyone knows he's got a handful o' screws loose up in his noggin; he'd half to be, to willinly come from the mainland to Cébaile. Try to bring the Empress' law to the Emerald Isle..."

In a manner most drunkenly, you sit up from the high chair around your table, and wobble up amongst the empty cups. Perhaps you could have stopped at one, or two, or perhaps you could have downed a few more. Either way, you're feeling damned proud of your halfling heritage here and now; the finest ships in the all the Empire, the bravest privateers to ever sail the six seas, ales and lagers better even than you'd find in the heart of MacDaggon Hold.

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>>32289925
"The guvner's cracked, I say!" You're shouting now. Sofia and Isabella are still nodding along, smiling as you rant and voice reach new, melodious octaves "We wee-folk'll always slip through a yoke built fer bigger men! Yea cannae trust some wig from the heart o'Weimar ta not make daft decisions!"

A roar goes up from the patrons as you speak. On the stage, the bard - who is as drunk as the rest of you - starts stamping his feet in a slow beat, playing a low chord to egg on the crowd.

"Who was it was counted the First true Emperor amongst their number?"

"HALFLINGS!" the tavern shouts.

"Who was it what has the finest fleet in all the world?"

"HALFLINGS!"

"Whose brave men and women would slip loose from the noose, e'en as the tall folk tried to hang 'em?"

"HALFLINGS!"

"Who was it not daft enough to trust the word of a scoundrel like Riley Gallagher?"

"HALFLINGS!"

"That's right!" you shout, even as Sofia pulls you down from the table. "That's right. We halflings be the world's finest, we are. Ne'er lying, nor cheatin', nor stealin' from those what don' deserve it. And... and..."

"Calm down, Haley," Sofia laughs. "I know you are the hating of your father, but you need not shout it to the heavens."

"Yeah... well..."

>Odd, the bearded hotties aren't there anymore. You must investigate.
>Sofia's wearing a low cut dress, and her cleavage looks rather inviting. Nap time!
>Double check your knife. You wouldn't want to be swinging it right now, but better with than without.
>Obtain... eighth? Yeah, eighth round of drinks.
>[Write In]

>I'm gonna be getting dinner. I'll be back in twenty-thirty.

>>32289949
Later OP!
>Double check your knife. You wouldn't want to be swinging it right now, but better with than without.
>Obtain... eighth? Yeah, eighth round of drinks.
>Sofia's wearing a low cut dress, and her cleavage looks rather inviting. Nap time!
I'm an option-holic.

>>32289949
>Sofia's wearing a low cut dress, and her cleavage looks rather inviting. Nap time!

>>32289983
Sounds good with me.

>>32289059
>grab the girls

Ooooooooooohhhhhhh yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhhh.

>>32289983
Seconding.

>>32289949
> "This might be my lassss chance, okey? Haf ta' make it a good un!"
>Sofia's wearing a low cut dress, and her cleavage looks rather inviting. Nap time!

>>32290045
I'll back this one, on the condition that QM rewrites the sentence in proper halfling drunk-speak for this setting.

>>32290202
"Thes migh' be muh las' chunce. I gotsta haff a li'l fun, okey?"

That work for you?

>>32290260
More. More accent!

>>32290374
Ah'm givin' 'er all she's go' cap'n!

>>32290406
Fine, fine. I'll wait for OPs Genuine Article anyway. It sustains me.

>>32289949
>Double check your knife. You wouldn't want to be swinging it right now, but better with than without.
>Isabella's wearing ???, and her cleavage looks rather inviting. Nap time!
Isabella clearly superior girl, based on name alone.

Jokes aside, I really like your writing OP.

So, a bet on what kind of forces we're up against? Evil necromancer? Evil demon-king? Evil Elf racists? Evil lawyers?

>>32290932
As if there's any possibility it'd be anything BUT lawyers.

>>32290932
Evil lawyers? You mean vampires?

>>32291028
No no, EVIL lawyers, anon.

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>>32291093
Lawyers aren't evil. They provide a vital service to humanity.

>>32290932
Demonic elves practicing necromancy in a law-based society. But they're nice people.

>>32291170
Well, they're not stock-market speculators, I'll give you that. Still...

>>32291186
>Legalistic society
>Not evil

>>32291222
Maybe they're evil, but polite? Lawful evil taken to its extreme. Very apologetic while taking you for all you're worth in court.

>>32289949
Still running, OP? I was joking about the best girl stuff, I swear.

>>32289949
Isded?

>>32291494
Yeah, got back about ten minutes ago (dinner turned into groceries), working on next segment. Having some trouble giving Isabella a different voice than Sofia is all. It doesn't help that they're twins.

>>32291547
I believe in you OP. Worst case, just give her an ACCENT!

Okay, okay, maybe not. As long as you're around.

>>32291547
Fair enough. Good to know you're alive.
Word of advice, next time toss up a "writing" so we know what's going on.

>>32291608
Yeah, that also keeps people from pointlessly voting after the cutoff.

Which can be a potential problem if it leads to another option seemingly winning but you're writing the option that was ahead before.

>>32291672
Always annoying.

"Sofffffiiiiiaaaaa..." You moan. "Watch it... ya almos' made me drop me knife."

You check the knife. It's still there, tucked into the bow you tied in the wide, flat belt wrapped around your dress. You grip the pommel - polished oak that fits comfortably into your hands, the same material as the sheath. The blade itself is an alloy of steel and mithral, light for a knife of its size, and quick as the first summer's wind. It'd slip right between the ribs of any shadows more real than you figure, and knick off the fingers of anyone what gets handsy when you don't want it.

It was a gift, for your ninth birthday, from your father. Him teaching you how to use it was one of the last things he did, before he ran off like the no good son of bitch he is. For the longest time, when you practiced those tricks on a dummy, you'd imagine it was him.

"I hope you are not the planning to drraw that, Haley," Sofia purrs, patting your head like you were a small child. The desire to chastise her and yell at he about how you're not some kid on their first binge, you're a halfling grown and proud of it swells in your chest. It's a rather pleasant indignity, though, so you'll let it slide "You are the knowing that Matilda does not like the naked steel within her establishment, yes?"

"Heh," you chuckle. "Naked. Ya hear tha', Isabella? Naked. Matilda doesn' like naked steel inside 'er estap... establit... essa... pub."

"Yes, I imagine she doesn't," the other gatoran replies. "Given that bared steel is followed swiftly by violence, and through violence, property damage, it isn't all that hard to imagine."

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>>32292107

"Yeah, yeah, but not bared steel," you grin. "Naked steel. Like the way you get when you want to sh-"

"You should be the hushing now, Haley," Sofia tells you. "I am the beginning to think that you have been the having many drinks more than is the best, no?"

"Nonsense," you slur, squirming from her. You slam your hand on the table. "Erin! Another round, if you wouldn't mind. I fear that me and the ladies are still sober enough to know when to stop!"

Sofia chuckles. It does the most wonderful things to her anatomy, which draws your eyes to her bustline. You had noticed earlier that she had worn something a bit more adventurous than usual, but you hadn't really noticed it, noticed it. Now that you're a bit closer, you notice it, notice it. A wide grin splits across your face.

"Sorry Sofia," you say, not sorry at all for what you're about to do. "Bu' if today's tha las' day I'mma be walkin' this earth, wha' with the boogeyman af'fer me arse an' all, well, bes' make it enjoyable. Migh' well be me las' chance, savvy?"

With that, you lay your head to rest in her cleavage.

>Continue boozing and drinking until you can't think.
>Nap a while, and then stumble back home for the night.
>Pursue physical amusement and satidfaction while shitfaced.
>Join the bard up there and play a game of drunken musician.
>[Write In]

>>32292126
>[Write In]
Borrow random trinkets that are currently inside stranger's pockets. No, you don't need to ask permission.

>>32292126
>Join the bard up there and play a game of drunken musician.
Fuck yeah, singing!

And seems to me it's not too hard to give Isabella a different voice, given Sofia's quirky language.

>>32292162
Hmmm, should we really be thieving?

>>32292126
>Pursue physical amusement and satisfaction while shitfaced.
What's this then?

>>32292126
>Join the bard up there and play a game of drunken musician.
IT'S KARAOKE NIGHT!
>>32292165
>Sofia's quirky language
Not a fan of that, personally.
>>32292204
Boobs, anon. Boobs.

>>32292126
>Pursue physical amusement and satidfaction while shitfaced.

>>32292126
>Join the bard up there and play a game of drunken musician.
>Continue boozing and drinking until you can't think.
Tomorrow is the day for reason. Today is drinking sorrows away!

>>32292229
>Not a fan of that, personally.
Eh, it's different...not the most pleasant thing, perhaps, but I find it okay myself.

Writing. Joining the bard wins.

>>32292358
Motherfucking singing time. The twins are gonna be fucking blown away by our majestic drunken small-person singing voice.

>>32292358
Can we sing or play instruments? When sober I mean, I doubt we can right now.

>>32292358
I hope we can get a proper crowd-pleaser going.

>>32292358
Hmm, guess announcing writing DOES cut down on thread activity though. Ah well.

>>32292930
probly becuse thare is nothing to talk about once you know the outcome

>>32293005
Well, later there might be things to discuss, for now the characters and plot are both bare-bones enough not to generate much chatting though.

>>32293134
Yeah, unless you want to blindly speculate or talk about how cute halfling girls and catgirl twins are there's not much to discuss yet.

>>32293185
Well, no-one would do that, there's nothing to discuss. Everyone knows how cure they are already.

>>32293207
They're even cuter when they're together.

>>32293255
Well cute + cute = more cute. It's math. Or maths if you drink tea.

Does this setting have tea, OP?

>>32293286
that will actually cause diabetes.

>>32293435
Well, just reduce the amount of sugar you put in your tea, and it'll be fine

>>32293456
>using sugar and not honey
pleb

>>32293498
Honey still has sugar, anon...

>>32293536
Not the relevant part of the statement.

>>32293588
Well unless the sugar in honey doesn't cause dia
You know, let's abandon this silly derail.

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"Huh, wuzzat..." you murmur. Gods know how long your little nap lasted, but your mouth feels dry and your hair smells like beer.

You would get up, but your head seems to be stuck between two warm and pleasant fleshing mounds that are just a wee bit bigger than it is. It strikes you that those are most likely Sofia's breasts; it takes you a second before your mind catches up and links cause and effect. Yep, definitely Sofia's breasts. Not exactly the most compromising position the two of you have gotten into when drunk, but usually a man or four are involved. And her sister.

More to the point, something's splitting against your head, and surprisingly it isn't a hangover. It sounds like someone is attempting to play the lute, only instead of a lute it's a chalkboard. Still using their fingernails to pluck at it though - and everyone's too damned drunk to notice. Hell, you're almost too drunk to notice another beer or three in you and you wouldn't even be able to tell that the song was off key.

"Oh, you are the awakened now?" Sofia asks, gently lifting you from your resting place. "Wonderful! While you are definitely the most cute when you are getting like that, my friend, my chest, it wanted to fall asleep."

"Sorrry..." you mutter into your glass. You notice that the third seat is empty "Say, where did Isabella get herself to? She find some nice boykitty ta shag while I was conked out there, or something?"

"No, my nose, it would be telling me if she did," Sofia replies. You aren't so sure; you know gatos have damned keen sense of smell, but between the smoke, the booze, and the vomit you would think they couldn't pick up anything. "She's over there, dancing with some... dwarf. Blugh, I know not what she is seeing in them, such hairy folk without proper grooming. No shag, though, which is good. Hate it when she brings one of them home."

>>32293687
"Dwarves ain't all that bad," you reply. "Gnomes are worse - they're like dwarves pretending to be us halflings. Plain insulting that is. Nearly as bad as this music."

"But the bard, he is trying so hard..."

"And he's failing." You deadpan. "Failing miserably. Watch... watch and learn, Sofi."

You take one final swig from your cup, and shunt yourself off of your chair, sauntering over to the stage where that insult of a bard is playing his pitiful excuse for a song. You may shuffle drunkenly, or you may not, you're not exactly at the proper blood alcohol levels to care about such things. The bard isn't a gnome, at least - those types are truly the worst, shuffling about all shifty eyed from town to town, never putting down roots. Going on and on about how rich their culture is - blegh.

No, he's a dwarf. Which explains entirely as to why this music is so terrible - a dwarve's idea of music is banging two rocks together in harmony while a hammer on anvil provides the beat. Which can sound great, of course, but requires the musician to be only a little bit drunk. Not Starsday night special drunk.

"Hey, you," you point at him, an intensity in your eyes that you hadn't realized had blossomed. "You... I think you've had one two much to drink there, pal, your music's coming across like a screaching lobster."

The dwarf, stout and burlesque like all of his kind, raises himself to full height, a towering four foot nine that is head and shoulders taller than you are. He's tall, dark, and kind of cute, in the same way that a particularly ugly-but-loving dog is. Thick beard, with rings and braids showing him to be one of the mountain clans, if you're remembering your schooling right. You refuse to back down, however, and stare him straight in the eyes.

"That so missy?" he declares. The bar falls silent. "Well then, let's say you grab yourself an instrument, and we'll go a few rounds?"

On shit

Its time for dueling banjos

>>32293707
"I already have." A silver flute falls from your sleeve into your hand. It's a masterwork, that cost you damned near a weeks wages at the bakery to buy, silver keys and a golden mouthpiece, and a pair of dancing dragons etched into the side. The sleeve trick was a simple cantrip you picked up, from the same book what held the basic housekeeping spells. "Shall we begin?"

"One thing first, lass," the Dwarf says. He reaches beneath his seat, and pulls out a bottle of whiskey, and two cups. As he pours, he continues "It's traditional among my people to share a drink, before we begin a duel of honor."

"Very well," you declare. You pick up the glass, and the two of you bang them together. "Then let this musicians duel begin!"

---

You wake when the sun hits your eyes, hot, sweaty, and satisfied. You realize rather quickly that there's a naked dwarf next to you, and that this is most definitely not your bed. For a moment, your mind tries to catch up with you, to figure out how the hell you went from point A to point B without realizing it. The gears turn, and then a smile splits across your face.

"Hah!" you jump from the bed without care for modesty or decorum. "I won!"

>Do a happy jig before suddenly realizing that you, too, are naked.
>Go another round with the Dwarf... did you get his name? Uh... crap.
>Gather your belongings together, and write a note for the fellow, before heading home.
>OH SHIT THE READING OF YOUR DAD'S WILL IS TODAY FUCK FUCK FUCK!
>[WRITE IN]

>>32293730
>OH SHIT THE READING OF YOUR DAD'S WILL IS TODAY FUCK FUCK FUCK!

>Do a happy jig before suddenly realizing that you, too, are naked
>Gather your belongings together, and write a note for the fellow, before heading home.

>>32293730
>OH SHIT THE READING OF YOUR DAD'S WILL IS TODAY FUCK FUCK FUCK!

>>32293765
Do this one

>>32293730
>>OH SHIT THE READING OF YOUR DAD'S WILL IS TODAY FUCK FUCK FUCK!

>>32293730
>Railroaded into fucking someone
dropped

>>32293804
don't really think that counts as railroading

>>32293804
Yeah it kinda came out of nowhere.

>>32293874
>>32293899
>Let's get drunk and chase after personal pleasure
>There will be no consequences to this
>Drunk people never have ill-conceived sex!

Shit, it was even fade-to-black.

Writing. Panic is the victor.

>>32293921
Especially regular drunks proud of their debauchery.

>>32293921
Chasing after personal pleasure didn't win though, and anons are anal about choosing their partners.

>>32293921
>People vote to fondle the chicks
>Nah let's send her home with a dude
I don't mind being outvoted but c'mon man.

>>32293921
I personally wanted her to bed the kitty twins, not some dumb dorf.

>>32288311
>Not naming the PC Bilbette Baguette

>>32294069
Haha, you noticed too huh.

>players are trying their best to go full lez
>OP is ignoring it
best quest, best quest, best quest

>>32294223
If he was ignoring it, he'd just not offer it as premade in the first place. This is more like bait-and-switch
>here, vote for what to go after
>breasts won over bears eh, alright
>HAHA FUCK YOU HAVE A DWARF DUDE

>>32294268
Anything is better than lesbians
but then again I'm a bigot

>>32294354
That's not nice anon. Why can't it just be my tastes>your taste like everyone else?

>>32294268
We can always have lesbian sex later anon

>>32293957
There was no sign the MC was particularly lewd before that update though. Yeah she was probably not a chaste maiden, but there was nothing to indicate she was a slut before that update, and I'm assuming since finding a partner was an option we could vote for, people assumed it not winning would mean not going home with anyone. I know I did for precisely that reason, which is why I didn't vote for it.

I usualy don't go for the les option but dude.
Catgirl. Twins.
I'd be less of a man if I didn't go for it.

>>32294400
I don't actually care about the sex. I just wanted the fluffy stuff. I even voted against the physical pleasures satisfaction thing despite assuming it'd lead to lesbian stuff because I wasn't really interested in a roll in the hay.

I dunno, I have a thing about casual sex I guess, and before last update I didn't really think things were going much in that direction.

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Case in point why I don't bother with quests anymore. It's a fucking shame this one had such a good hook with a character I took a shine to in two paragraphs.

What's been happening all night? Lesbians, like all the other quests. Lame.

>>32294500
I just feel like it's not really a big deal. It was a casual fling that needs have no further impact on our character brought on by a combination of overindulgence and emotional stress. It wasn't even described. Hell, we don't even remember it.

We'll probably never see this dwarf again, and if we do we can just laugh it off.

"Hah!" You declare, slipping back into your shift. It took every bit of self control to keep yourself from bursting into a victory jig, but you managed it. "In your face mister 'I'm a big special bard who went to bard school and got a masters degree in barding.' I managed to get the crowd to cheer the loudest, I did, and that makes me the winner, dunnit?"

Somewhere off in the distance, a bell starts peeling, going through the motions it does every hour on the hour. That little jingle, one two three, to keep those folks what can't afford a pocket watch in tune with what time it is. You pay it very little mind; it's Sunsday. You've got work tomorrow, which means you actually need to get some sleep tonight, but it's not like you have anything important to do today. Though there is a little niggling in the back of your mind, as if the chiming of the bells was important or something.

"Aye, that you did lass, that you did." The dwarf, whose name you still don't know and probably never will know, says as he slips on his shirt. Honestly, you haven't the foggiest idea why Sofia can't appreciate the dwarven physique. You'd put it down to being a halfling thing - what with the old "the harrier the feet, the bigger the instrument" adage - but Isabella seems to get it. "Though I'd say you had an unfair advantage over me. Or, well, two unfair advantages, as the case may be."

"Going topless is a perfectly viable tactic when the measure of victory is based upon how much noise you can get the crowd to make." You fiddle with your belt - damned thing's the width of your head, but it's got the best support for your assets you ever felt. Pain in the ass to work with though. "A girl that doesn't make the best use of her talents doesn't deserve to win, after all."

File: Oh good heavens just look(...).jpg (44 KB, 599x734)

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>>32294810

"You got us both thrown out of the pub."

"Yeah, Matilda's a prude like that." You make an mock angry face. "'No juggling knives for you, Gallagher. I'm watching you, Gallagher. You'll stop at round twelve and be glad for it, Gallagher.' On, and on, and on. Yeesh. This is the first time she out and up told me to put the twins away, though; that usually just gets an eyeroll. Betting it's 'cause the governor sent out some bullshit inspector or something like that."

The bell starts to chime the hours. One. Then two. Then three. Then four. A sense of dread builds in your stomach as the hours are being ticked off - what the deuce are you forgetting?

When the clock strikes ten, you remember.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT!" You say, scrambling for the last of your things. "Purse, check... uh, shoes, where the hell are they - oh, there they are. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, there's bell eleven, please don't be noon. Um... hey... Dwarven bard fellow, have you seen my tanto?"

"My name's Cormack..." He grumbles.

"That's wonderful," you say with a tone that clearly indicates how little you care. "Now, seriously, have you seen my knife? Oaken handle, a little magic, great for cutting off fingers if guys get handsy..."

"For wha-" The dwarf doesn't quite seem to be following what you're trying to say. Which is odd, because you've said it quite plainly - you need help looking for your knife. Useless man. You check under the bed, on the couch, the marble bath - ooh, nice accomodations! You'll have to figure out which inn this is before you leave - pretty much everyplace your mind remembers you being...

"Oh, silly me!" You flick your wrist, a bit of magic. The blade "I stuck in with my flute. That's... actually pretty convenient. Wonder if I can safely retrieve it without handle... oh, nevermind. Places to be, things to do!"

You run off, leaving one flabbergasted, mostly nameless dwarf behind. Fortunately for you, the clock only struck eleven.

>>32294839
>Grab some breakfast from somewhere.
>Head home and grab some breakfast. And a change of clothes.
>Head straight to the judge's office, so you're sure not to be late.
>Go home and bathe. Maybe a spot of breakfast. Then be off.
>[Write In]

>Head home and grab some breakfast. And a change of clothes.
oh we are going be late for "dear dad" hell with him get something to eat and some clothes

>>32294546
I've been in a funk a few days with zero quests to my ineterest and was hoping for a new cute thread to end my night and instead I'm sitting depressed over this shitty thing into the morning and ruining my sleeping schedule because I didn't see it coming at all. If anons voted for it, at least I could have bailed out earlier before getting attached.

Sure it's sad, still true though.

>>32294861
>Go home and bathe. Maybe a spot of breakfast. Then be off.
Time for anything.

>>32294903
hey i know at least three quests i am intrested in don't know how you would feel about them but thares the Hellborn quest Ex guardsman and Sacred Jewel Quest

>>32294861
>Go home and bathe. Maybe a spot of breakfast. Then be off.
Which is worse? Being late, or showing up at a judge's court smelling of alcohol and sex, with clothes all rumpled?

>>32295025
Haha, thanks anon, too late for today though.

Going home and bathing seems to be it, then. Writing.

>>32295196
It got so quiet...

>>32296003
i am lurking

File: Judge Cullahan.jpg (263 KB, 850x1362)

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You head home. Turns out the... Smiling Flower Inn was located in the upper district of Cébaile, a few hundred feet up the mountain above the rest of the city. Plenty of hotsprings around these parts, and unfortunately no damned time to use them. Your home's a bit closer to the docks, just outside the merchant district where the privateers, "privateers", and legitimate merchants bring their wares for sale in the city. It eats about ten minutes of walking, but you get there soon enough.

You draw a bath, and wash up, getting the smells of a damned successful-if-you-say-so-yourself bar night out of you. You put on something a bit more formal, since even if you hated your old man, you won't let your hatred of him have you come into a courthouse looking like an unwashed savage. It's not exactly Madame fashionista, but nor is it the dame who takes her top off at the tavern on a regular basis. White blouse, long black skirt, a vest that's frillier than your favorite gods damned tea cozy, and one of those fancy tricorn hats that are all the rage in Lietens.

You find your seat at a long table, with fourteen other folks of various races and sizes, right as the bell strikes twelve. You may have a few crumbs on your lips from a blueberry crumpet, but no one comments on it. The bells finish tolling, and the judge sits down - a rather officious looking hafling in all black robes takes a seat.

>>32296108

"Ahem," he coughs. "The last will and testament of Reilly Gallagher..."

The testament bit, of course, is a snorefest where the judge prattels on your old man's apologia. How he honestly, truly only wanted the best for you and your mother, and how he had a damned good reason for abandoning you like trash in the scrap heap. How those reasons were so top secret, you had to be as insane as he was to even begin to comprehend them. You didn't bother hidining the fact that you dozed off a few times, even if some dame in a silky red nothing shot daggers at you for doing so.

"And of my worldly possessions, all the fortunes of gold and silver and other coin that are mine to give will go to my former wife and her new husband, that they may provide for her and her children." The judge turns to another sheet of parchment. "To my beloved daughter, Heilyn, I pass my arms, armaments, and books of spells, that they may serve her as well as they have served me, in whatever dark times shall come. In addition, should she be now a woman grown, I pass to her my home in Cébaile, that she might have a place to call her her own. Until that time, I ask that my dearest friends Markus and Gwen hold the property in trust until she comes of age..."

The list goes on for a while - you're actually a bit surprised that your old man had that many worldly possessions to give. Its takes nearly an hour to finish up the proceedings, after which the people slowly shuffle out of the courthouse.

>Vent your frustrations about your father upon his closest friends.
>Head to the Bank of Cébaile. The contents of box #3920 are yours now.
>Head to your father's old house. It's yours now, might as well check the place.
>Head home. You've got work tomorrow, and a lot to think on.
>[WRITE IN]

>>32296003
I know, where's all the shit posting and everyone screaming about everyone else being faggots?

/tg/, I am disappoint.

>>32296129
[x] box #3920

>>32296129
>Head to your father's old house. It's yours now, might as well check the place.

>>32296129
>Head to the Bank of Cébaile. The contents of box #3920 are yours now.
inb4 magical artifact of infinite potential.
Or a moldy toothpick.
Sort of a toss-up, really.

>>32296129
>Mystery box

WE'LL TAKE THE BOX

>>32296129
>Head to the Bank of Cébaile. The contents of box #3920 are yours now.

Can't pass on the mystery box!

>>32296129
As if there was any doubt what we'd choose.

Due to a relatively overwhelming favor, and how long it's taking me to write these, closin' the vote in favor of the mystery box whose contents aren't really a mystery.

>>32296353
MYSTERY BOX!
/tg/ don't care if it's a mystery or not. as long as it's a mystery box.

A HOUSE'S A HOUSE, but the mystery box could be anything. IT COULD EVEN BE A HOUSE. You know how much we wanted one of those.

>>32296353
Now how do we convince /tg/ to not spend all our inheritance on booze and whores?

>>32296569
Make it a choice for white knights? that's what I would pick. That or the most dickish choice.

>>32296569
>>32296658
Maybe our catgirl friends suddenly need some slight financial support, of the stable long-term kind. Guess we gotta stow it all in a bank!

>>32296569
I'm guessing the plot will fall on our head before then. Vague dooms tend to arrive just when things look best.

>>32296129
I've gotta sleep now, thanks for running. Please don't randomly fuck a bank teller, cop, prostitute or whatever after I leave!

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The Bank of Cébaile always intimidated you. Must be the size of the place, the way it looms over even the tallest buildings in the merchant's quarter with its dark, gothic architecture. It's almost like one of those old Gressian temples, except instead of being dedicated to Hector or Helen or any of the other gods, it's dedicated to money. Gold makes the world go round, you suppose; even the streets are busier around the bank than they are anywhere else. Half a dozen streetcarts peddle sandwiches and sweet treats outside the bank's doors. Private guards sweep away beggars and the more obvious pickpockets like they were a spill on the floor. Even the fire response squad is busier around here, rushing off to gods know where.

You head inside. It's not the most welcoming atmosphere a bank could have, but rather the sort that would scare theives straight. You head to one of the tellers, a friendly face you would have brought to the pub with you and the twins had she not been a workaholic. Seriously, who the hell works on a Starsday and Sunsday?

"Ah, Ms. Gallagher," the half elf woman drawls, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Your a few days early to be making your weekly deposit of... three hundred and twenty seven golds standard. Did your luck finally turn at the tables, or have you finally decided to give up baking for a living and get yourself a job that pays you in something besides bread?"

The smile on the woman's face is all you hear, though.

"Well that depends, Matti," you chirp, twirling the key Judge Cullahan gave you around your fingers. "Did you up and decide to take a day off for once? Find yourself a bonnie young lad to roll around in the hay with? I'd ask about a dewy eyed lass, too, if I figured that way your speed, but the way I hear it the only reason'd you'd be rollin' around in the hay is to trick some poor boy into marrying you. Drag him infront of your father, all stern eyes, and have him negotiate a dowry, yeah?"

>>32297115
Right
You guys ready to fuck the hunky looking teller?

>>32297168
Mathravaka aya Zimri-Lim smiles brightly, and raises her hand, upon which is a brightly jeweled ring of rose-red gold.

"You'll be coming to the wedding, of course," your friend says.

"I'll be coming as a bridesmaid, I'd assume," you respond.

"Maid of Honor, if you'll accept," Matti corrects you. "It was a toss up between you and Ruari, but you and I have been friends since we were what, six?"

"Five, I think," you remark offhandly. "And of course I accept."

"Wonderful! Now, since I doubt this is just a social call, business. What can I help you with, Reilyn?"

"This key," you stop spinning it, and put it down on the table. "Is for box #3920. Old man left it to me when word officially came in that he up and put the dead in deadbeat. That and a house up in clifftown, the taxes on which I won't be able to afford until I buy the bakery from Old Man Culaigne. Which if I sell my current place, might well be within reach."

"So you do have some ambition," Matti smirks, and you roll your eyes. "Alright, let's see, #3920? That's one of the new ones, a softbox meant for handling delicate things. Or volatile things."

She looks at you, worriedly.

"Your old man wasn't that much of a nut, was he?"

>Well, we'll find out!
>No, he mostly had delusions of grandeur.
>Hell if I know. Kinda didn't see him since I was ten.
>Yes. That is why it is very important we open this box in secret.
>[Write In]

>>32297191
>Yes. That is why it is very important we open this box in secret.
It is.

>>32297191
>Hell if I know. Kinda didn't see him since I was ten.

>>32297171
No, but I'll support the curvy one. Gotta keep our sex life balanced.

>>32297191
>Yes. That is why it is very important we open this box in secret.
Sent me a cryptic letter about DOOM coming when he died, so might as well be careful.

>Yes. That is why it is very important we open this box in secret.

>>32297191
>>Well, we'll find out!

>>32297191
>Hell if I know. Kinda didn't see him since I was ten.
I'm still hoping for a moldy toothpick

>>32297191
>Yes. That is why it is very important we open this box in secret.

Alright, calling it for the quick and emphasized yes. Writing.

>>32297245
Remember kids, eat your vegetables, and have a balanced sex life.

>>32297539
Reilyn certainly tries her best at that, and look how she turned out! Happy, well adjusted, and not at all going to get screwed over by forces beyond her control.

Despite the ME1 Consort Tier surprise sex - which I apologize for, that was poorly done and lazy of me - I'm actually quite glad I didn't just jump into the reading of the will in the first post. It's given time to flesh out the MC more - a cutesy party girl that knows what she wants and goes out and gets it.

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>>32293730
>god, this guy is annoying as fuck and his music is terrible
>OH EM GEE I BETTER SUCK HIS BEARDED COCK SINCE HES A DORF
Dorfwankers are awful. Christ, I just wanted to do halfling things, and halflings are traditional folk, not a buncha half-sized slutbags like dwarf women.

Yes, I know Im late to the bitching, but I just now saw this quest and now I'm disappointed as fuck.

>>32297731
Shortstacks have large appetites.

>>32297731
Well, alcohol makes people do odd things. Also, he may be a dwarf, but he's still a bard.

>>32297757
Halflings aint slutty shortstacks like dorf whores, theyre down home girls who just want to be an honest woman, making delicious homecooked meals, doting just barely too much on their children, and gossiping with the neighbors. If OP wanted us to be a traveling minislut, he shoulda chosen goblins or dwarves or gnomes.

>>32297757
All the more reason she should be able to hold her liquor.

>>32297812
And so's she, so Bard v Bard pretty much becomes competitive overlapping sex fields.

>>32297957
Which is sex.
That is the definition of sex.

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Why all the gnome hate?

HalflingQM is kill

>>32297957
God, I really hate the /tg/ meme bards. Theyre almost as bad as meme dwarves or meme kobolds. Why cant a musician just be a goddamn musician for once?

>>32298049
Well, halflings and gnomes, ya know, they kind of vie for the /ss/ spot. Makes for natural competition

>>32298056
And nothing of value was lost.

>>32298095
Too much CHA to go around?

>>32298095
It's because of D&D. Also rock stars, who are the definition of modern day bards.

>>32298118
>You MUST have sex to have charisma
Dio Brando would like a word with you

File: Guns of your Father.jpg (1.48 MB, 1800x1251)

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On the one hand, you doubt your father left you anything that would explode if it made contact with open air or was shaken too violently. On the other hand, his last letter to you cemented the idea in your head that your old man was completely off of his rocker and should have been locked in a sanitarium for the safety of others. Those poor, poor, Henan natives must have suffered long and hard under the yoke of your father's madness while he expeditioned there for buried treasure.

"Yes!" you say perhaps a bit too quickly. "Yes, my father was completely off his nut, speaking signs and portents of doom through his last letter to me, as if he lived in some storybook world where and evil wind rising would do more than smell bad. That is why it is very, very important that we open the box in secret, where no one else can get hurt by it if it winds up exploding."

You leave out the part where it also keeps anyone else from seeing what's inside, just incase the shadows your old man was jumping at were real.

"Word of exploding boxes would do some damage to the Banks reputation." Matti replies, nodding sagely. "Very well, follow me. The boxes are in the back, and I can arrange for you to have a private room, incase whatever's inside decides that it wants to explode. Minimize casualties, and whatnot."

The bank's strong box room is located two floors beneath the banks main lobby, and behind a door of Iron clockwork that only opens if turned in the most precise motions. The boxes stack fifteen high, in rows of sixty, all divided into neat little hallways that go on for hundreds, if not thousands, of feet. Box #3920 is located a short walk away from the doorway, and is larger enough that you could take a nap in there with plenty of room to roll around.

>>32298157

Matti helps you with the box, even as you stubbornly refuse to do anything less than carry it on your own. You do, however, mutter a few choice curses about deadbeat fathers and deadweights, and a silent prayer goes up to Hector that your father didn't leave you some cadaver for gods know whatever reason. You finally manage to hobble your way to the door, reminding yourself that strength is not your strong suit.

"Well, time to open you up," you murmur to the box one Matti leaves.

The key fits to a hole on the top, and the case splits open like a set of double doors. Your first reaction is thanking the gods above that there is not a corpse hidden within the box's interior. Your second reaction is that what your father left you is nothing nearly as strange as you would have imagined.

A simple set of light chain and leather armor. A wide belt and sash, and four pistols to holster on them. A rapier, the same metal as the knife he gave you when you were a child, with a hammer engraved into the flat of the blade. A folded bit of parchment with your name on it, doubtless more apologia for you to digest. Books, enough books to crush a gal, if she weren't careful, all with titles relating to practical combative magic. A set of boots is the only eccentricity - halflings don't wear boots. That's for tallfolk, and the less hearty wee-folk. Not Halflings.

>Try the armor on.
>Take a closer look at the sword.
>Inspect the flintlock pistols.
>Read over the parchment.
>[Write In]

>>32289925
>Gatoran
To think, I helped you name your catfolk and you waste them on something like this. You never even said it was for a quest.

I feel used.

>>32298157
You should totally knick the bankers pocket watch while he isn't looking.

>>32298176
>>Inspect the flintlock pistols.

>>32298176
>Read over the parchment.

>>32298176
>Read over the parchment.
Huh, so we just got some passed down armor and weapons. Nice. Feels a bit like Assassin's Creed, which I won't complain about.

>>32298144
It's more along the lines of "People like sex. Sex is fun. People with higher CHA can have more sex. Therefore most do."

I've got to hit the hay. If the thread's still here tomorrow, and I have time, I'll post some more.

>>32298189
Not that guy, actually. I just thought it was a great name for cat people, and shamelessly lifted it and that thread's OP image. Sorry if it offends.

>>32298303
Thanks for running.

>>32298303
Thanks for running! Here's hoping this turns out good!

>>32298303
Blegh, forgot: If I don't post tomorrow, next thread will be on Monday. Since the folks on /qtg/ recommended it when I asked, here's a twitter that'll post... update days, I guess? I dunno: https://twitter.com/HalflingQM

>>32298303
I was maybe gonna use it myself one day, but hey, that's the risk of sharing your ideas in a public forum. Use away.

>>32298452
Basically, once you're sure you're going to run that day, use it to give players a couple hours notice.

>>32298108
>/ss/
I didn't realize there was competition between the small races for straight shota
>>32298176
>Read over the parchment.

>>32298572
Of course there is! someone's gotta be the subject.

>>32298176
>Read over the parchment.

>>32298452
The account isn't coming up when I search it.

>>32298952
Google probably hasn't had enough time to crawl it yet. The link works.

>>32299158
Personally, I've never been able to google someone's twitter. At least not any QMs.

>>32299158
I use twitter through my phone. Searched usernames in the app, didn't come up.

>>32298572
I think he might be so new that he thinks /ss/ stands for shortstack.

well! This does look like a promising quest. I like your attention to environmental details, personguyleaderthing.

>>32298303

Thanks for running, I think it's a good thing that your MC has a fairly developed and distinct personality straight off the bat.

Will follow even if this turns into Halfling Bakery Quest

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This has got to be some sort of record for you. Not even three days gone by and you've willing read or sat through reading two messages from your nutty, deadbeat father. What's worse, you actually paid attention to them, gave them something more than the time of day despite being filled with justifications and excuses. And here you are seriously contemplating diving headfirst into a third, all to sate your curiosity about just what the old fart was raving on about in the letter he left with the governor.

The folded parchment is sealed, just like the letter, the same stylized flower pressed into blue wax. It snaps apart with only a bit of effort. There are no words on this one, though, no babbled apologies and excuses for leaving or warnings of shadows that will soon jump out at you. A map of the Isle of Dawn stares up at you from the parchment, detailing the old Henan ruins. Your father marked it very heavily, noting which buildings won't collapse if you sleep in them, and what water sources are safe for drinking. The flower shows up a few time scattered throughout, unmarked by any annotations.

But that's not the oddest thing.

No, the strange thing that crosses your mind while you read over the map is the prickling feeling you've gotten on the back of your neck. You are alone in this room, your only company is the empty chairs you aren't sitting on, the table you've laid the map out upon, and the clean, white washed walls spelled to give off a warm light to the room. But why do you feel like someone's watching you, their eyes looking over your shoulder and devouring the map?

>Search the room for signs of scrying. (Roll 3d10)
>Put everything into your purse, and head home. Something smells off here.
>Put on the belt and ready the weapons before heading home. Just in case.
>Give the armor a try on. Make a show of it - maybe that will distract whoever's watching into slipping up enough for you to notice. (Roll 3d10)
>[Write In]

Rolled 7, 4, 6 = 17

>>32304014
>>Search the room for signs of scrying. (Roll 3d10)

Leave me be, specter!

Rolled 5, 3, 9 = 17

>>32304014
>Search the room for signs of scrying. (Roll 3d10)
We gotta know!
>Put on the belt and ready the weapons before heading home. Just in case.
If we find nothing.

Good to see you back!

Rolled 8, 5, 1 = 14

>>32304014
>>Search the room for signs of scrying. (Roll 3d10)
>Put everything into your purse, and head home. Something smells off here.
Secure the loot!

17, how mediocre. We're not exceptionally talented at searching for signs by any chance?

Rolled 2, 2, 8 = 12

>>32304138
A lifetime of baking, barding, and casual sexing made us less than proficient in some areas

File: Scying Nodes; Like this, (...).jpg (7 KB, 453x345)

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(Roll: 7, 4, 6)
(Difficulty: 6[2])
(Successes: 2)

Magic might never have been your biggest talent back in the old schoolhouse, but you know what to look for. You had to - pervy boys with some pocket change could buy themselves a farsight kit at the apothecary, and did exactly what pervy boys of young ages would do. Set it up for the girl's baths and get themselves an eyefull or three. Now, it's not like you and the girls didn't do the same - your favorite passtime back then was rating the boys, after all, and you needed a full inspection to do that - but pulling pranks on the little spies was rather amusing.

This, of course, is a hair more complicated a scrying measure than anything a few horny kids could put together, though. The big tell is absent - no floating balls of light you had to hide up in the rafters or behind the net of a locker. That would have made this easier than you after twelve rounds. But, there's a trick to it still; a shimmering flaw in most spells meant to hide something behind them. You'll admit you don't have the keenest eyes, but you're wise to more than your fair share of tricks. And the caster made a rather amateur mistake - he didn't have a partner to concentrate on the illusion hiding the spell's visual effects.

You spend a few moments casually blocking the line of sight of some points to the map, doing a damned fine job of keeping it natural. Giving the watcher a cue that you're on to them before you can blind them would be a bad idea; you've no idea how they'll react. Patients pays off; its when you lean over the map, taking a "closer look" at one of your father's notes, that you catch the spy. There, right above your head, the caster lagged a few seconds as he has to switch between the spells to keep the illusion consistent with the ceiling. For a brief instant, there are two squares of the same spot sitting right next to each other.

>>32304734


And there you caught it. Just a little off - a slight discoloration and shimmer. You want to let your tanto fall into your hands from the flow of your personal flute-space, but you still don't know how the caster will react. Might just be some robber thinking your dad was on to something - or your dad was actually on to something, proving right the old adage of "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you."

Either way, stabbing the thing out of existence is too overt. Best to let them think you're just some dumb, vapid twat what works in a bakery and likes to get hammered on the weekends. Which is mostly the truth, though you like to think that you're neither dumb nor vapid. You pick up your dad's armor, and make a show about changing from your clothes into it. It's when you lift up your head to remove your blouse over it that you "notice" the illusion.

You drop everything, and point at the discolored square on the ceiling, jaw open and body shaking.

"Kyaaaaa!" you squeal at the top of your lungs, doing your best impression of a helpless damsel. "P-p-p-pervert! There's a pervert scrying on my room! Trying... trying to watch me change... kyaaaaaaa!"

Hastily, very hastily, you throw everything in your purse, thanking the gods for the miracle of extra dimensional storage. You make a show of how "violated" the scying orb made you feel, and flee from the room with your blouse disheveled and your vest in hand. Tears stream down your face even as one of the bank's private guards rushes into your room, and pulls out a dispelling rod, vanishing the scrying node. Still shaking in "fear" - you don't know if that was the only one - you give the rather burly elven woman a kiss on the cheek in thanks, before hesistantly straightening yourself out.

>>32304747

>Go inform Matti about this flagrant breach of security.
>Head home. You've got a hidey hole there, to hide things away.
>Head home. Put together a bugout bag, and follow your pa's instructions.
>Head to your new place. Your dad was paranoid, he has to have set up some protections.
>[Write In]

>>32304768
>>Head home. Put together a bugout bag, and follow your pa's instructions.
>>Head to your new place. Your dad was paranoid, he has to have set up some protections.

Getting all worked up seems like over-reacting. The spy was probably dads old friend being antsy about not getting the stuff themselves. Then again something is definetly up, even if it is unrelated and its better to err on the side of caution. I'm also curious about dads place. Maybe its time for a nostalgia trip that is if we ever lived there in our childhood?

>>32304768
>Go inform Matti about this flagrant breach of security.
>Head to your new place. Your dad was paranoid, he has to have set up some protections.

>>32304768
>>Head to your new place. Your dad was paranoid, he has to have set up some protections.

>>32305124
Writing, doing a mix of the votes because the only consensus is that you want to head to your pa's place.

>>32305143
Seems reasonable.

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Well, you found out what that fire response team was responding to earlier.

You left the Bank after telling Matti about the security breach, to go home, grab a bugout bag and vanish... after telling your mother that you needed to disappear for a while. And promising her and your little brother that you'd write when you could. There is not a chance in hell that you are becoming your father... even if you're jumping at shadows on the route back to your place. Not a snowball's chance in hell.

You keep your head down, your hat over your eyes, doing your darnedest to fade into the background. Would be easier if you lived in a city full of tall folk, wee-folk can disappear underfoot there without even trying. As it is, you've got a knack for holding yourself in a ways what are quiet and loud; medium eludes you as always. The first thing that clues you in to something being very, very wrong is the way that your neighbors have crowded onto the streets. The second thing is the smell of smoke on the air, and the flashing, dancing lights hanging in the sky bright even against the sun.

The third is the part where your house is a charred, burning husk, the flames bathing the street in heat and ash.

"Oh gods above, what happened to my place?" is what you want to say. The words refuse to come, though, as the fire responders cast their cantrips of water and steam, trying to choke out the flames before they spread to other buildings. A team of guards, calmly, quietly directs the people on the street to disperse, head back to their homes, and please inform them of the location of the house's owner. A million and one obscenities want to spring forth from your tongue, held back by a dam bricked and mortared by one simple fact.

The woman in the red nothing is standing before the blaze, near the fire response team. Frowning as she looks into the flames, before she turns, her eyes meeting yours and widening.

>>32305615
You don't care to speak with this woman. Excuses, rationalizations, reasons, all of those are but words on the wind, a web of lies woven to conceal the truth your deadbeat father tried to tell you. You don't forgive him - not immediately, and probably never fully. But if whatever he did while he up an abandoned you pissed off the type of wizards what would torch his daughter's house to clean things up, well maybe it was worth doing. Either way, there's no time for thoughts and shifts in worldview right now; you're too busy.

Running as fast as you can takes priority.

You flit between alleys and streets, tracing a serpentine path through the city that you desperately hope that red witch can't follow. Obstacles in your way are met with skips and jumps and acrobatic flairs that you haven't had cause to repeat since you learned them in gymnasium. Somewhere along the way you reach the roof; everything is too much a blur for you to know precisely when, instinct driving you and the urge to get away pounding at your skull. Honestly, if you weren't rightly terrified that the woman in red was gonna kill you and raise you as a zombie, this all might be fun.

The path you run from rooftop to rooftop takes you from the merchant district back to the hightown. You run over the inn you woke in, some part of your brain noticing that the bard is playing his lute at the fountain outside of it; better, now that he's not drunk, and you really don't need to focus on that right now. Your father's new home is a few blocks further up, near the little waterfall where the city's poor excuse for a river falls down from snowmelt atop Mount Chullain.

You're in the door in a flash, a shaky hand opening the lock. You slam it closed right behind you, feeling the warm buzz of wards an protections wash over you as you collapse against it. And then you laugh, as another realization comes to you: your place was insured.

You can finally afford to buy out the Bakery!

>>32305627

>Continue your hysterics.
>Find a deeper hiding hole, and crawl into it.
>Grab the weapons, grab the armor, throw them on, and be ready to shoot the first person coming through the door.
>The books. See if your dad had a spell or two that could help.
>[Write In]

>>32305645
>>Find a deeper hiding hole, and crawl into it.
Let's explore the house further. Maybe we can find a panic room.

Alright, things have slowed down a bit. I'm gonna call it for now; I've got places to be and things to do. Next thread will be Monday at Noon Eastern Standard Time.

Also, here's the archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Halfling%20Quest

>>32305824
Aww man, knew I shouldn't have gone out.
Ah well, see you Monday!

Rolled 1, 8, 3 = 12

>>32305627

We Bakery Quest now, going to "invent" cronuts and become filthy rich

Thanks for running

>>32308591
The only,like thing we're baking is Dwarven buns in our halfling oven

>>32312162
If she were drunk enough not to use a contraception spell (which she wasn't), they'd be gnomish, actually. Gnomes are the in setting result of Dwarves and Halflings interbreeding. I can confirm, however, that this is hardly the first drunken one night stand she's been involved in, may not be the last, and certainly didn't result in her pregnancy.