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It is time for Dead Gods!

For old threads, look here! http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Dead%20Gods%20Quest

For updates, check twitter! @Someone_else___

Elsa's Character Sheet! http://pastebin.com/ezsJzAWG

Resident artist: Eversor_

If you want to talk to me about the quest, there are several IRC channels you can use on Rizon, including the /tg/ and 4chan writefag channels: #ques/tg/enerals and #writescribbles, respectively.

For the sake of clarity, here are the mechanics of the quest. All actions that necessitate a roll will be 1d100+(+-modifier). The abilities listed in the character sheet can be used however often the description states. Options followed by a >writein choice will have bonuses attached to that >writein, some of them powerful enough to lower DCs.

Corporal Dervich leans back in his bed, looking very, very old. “They got Mallerd, huh?” he mutters.

“Yeah.” You’ve sent your gear off to be repaired and cleaned, and you and your former Corporal are chatting in the depths of the early morning, as the injured are healed one at a time and freed from the infirmary.

“Hard to believe,” Dervich says. “He survives the training accident by luck, he survives the forest ambush because he wasn’t there…then he gets killed by some drunk fuck.” He squints at you under his bandages. “What the hell happened to your eyes, anyway?”

>”I lost them in the fight, had to get them replaced.”
>”Long story short, it’s none of your business.”
>let him in on the secret
So if we're gonna maintain the secret we're going to need a cover. I say we go with a discovered Gift. Other ideas?
>”I lost them in the fight, had to get them replaced.”

Maybe. We have the issue of not actually having a gift, so things would get awkward if people asked us to use it.
Maybe we could join the Circle in our civilian guise, and claim that our actual markings are just the fakes they get?
The option of saying 'I got new ones' is there because it's possible to get them through magic, it just usually takes a week or so, and you got them in five hours. Sorry for the confusion.
>awkward if people asked us to use it.
We tell them to go stand at the other end of the block and hold up a number of fingers?
I dunno if peak elf eyesight really counts as a gift. Then again I don't really know how gifts work. I think they'd be a bit more flashy.
The Gift is a power one consciously chooses to activate, not tied to a body part.

Anyone with a Gift, active or no, who approaches a mage, gives that mage an unpleasant feeling of being watched.
>>”I lost them in the fight, had to get them replaced.”
Go with this then. Shrug noncommittally if he asks how it was so fast.
And the food finishes the instant I sit back down.

I will return as soon as possible!
Letting him know Asa gave them to you is out of the question in public. You just shrug it off. “Magic. I lost my old eyes in the fight, they regrew me new ones in the wrong color. I can live with it.”

Dervich raises an eyebrow. “That was fast. What happened?”

“I got jumped by a couple drunks outside the little library in the rich district,” you explain. You don’t need to feign the shudder at the memory of the knife passing through your eyes. “One of them got my eyes before the Guard killed them.”

He winces in sympathy. “Shit. Sorry to hear that, Sergeant.”

“Thanks.” You sit down at his bedside and try to find safer ground. “How’s things outside? Anything happen while I was healing?”

Dervich thinks that over. “A few people tried to break in to the castle, you can imagine how that went.”

“Shadows had a field day?”

“They were so happy to have someone to pummel.” He crosses his arms over his chest, looking around the busy room. “That’s all I saw.”

That's it? Any details on the people who tried to break in?
Break in to the castle? “What, were they trying to steal something?” you ask.

“Nah, just drunks with knives, looking for someone to skewer,” he snorts. “Er, no offense.”

“None taken,” you say automatically. “Uh, were they both armed with two daggers, and maybe not as drunk as they seemed?”

Dervich blinks. “Uh, they were both using twin knives…dunno about the other part. Why?”

You grimace in the bright lights of the infirmary. “Because the woman who jumped me had two knives and was using a drunk as a shield,” you tell him. “Maybe they were working together.”

He leans forward. “But they were just drunk rioters. Weren’t they?”

“I hope so,” you say, though of course you know otherwise.

Leaving Dervich to rest, you make your way outside to the main corridors. A small group of Shadows jogs past, heading for the infirmary, looking rather flustered behind their crystal masks. You step aside for them, but as you do, your forehead tingles.

[Elsa, are you available?]

You wait until nobody has line of sight and tap your forehead to reply. {I am, my Lady.}

[Good. How are your eyes?]

>{Good as new, if not better.}
>{I’m not used to the new color…}
>"They're working perfectly. Thank you once again."
{Flawless. Thank you. I’m perhaps a touch concerned about how to break it to my family, but…}

[Just tell them that the healer was tired and distracted,] Asa suggests. [Speaking of. You may want to head to home before long and tell them what happened. I’m sure they’re worried sick.]

{Uh…did you not tell them that I would be late?}

[I popped in on Jerome to tell him that you were her overnight and alive, but nothing more than that. Go. I’ll handle things with Maas.]


You walk out into the grand corridor connecting the infirmary with the parade grounds, watching the chaos on the open field. Troops are marching back into the barracks in rank, clearly exhausted, while fresh soldiers emerge in their gear to head out. You snag a passing Army soldier on his way to the bunk to ask the obvious question. “Private. How are things out there?”

He shrugs. “Shitty, Sergeant. The fires are out and the riot is breaking up, but some districts got hit pretty bad. Which one do you want to know about?”

>The Noble district.
>The Merchant district.
>The Military district.
>The Labor district.
>other (be specific)
Which one is Hooks hiding out in? That one.
(He is in the Merchant district, as is your family including Darril and Laura. Your base and the castle are in the Military district, the Circle is based out of the Noble district.)
I'll agree with other anon, Merchant District.
“I have family in the Merchant district,” you say. “For a start. How far did the fires get?”

The soldier taps his hand on his chin, thinking. “Not far, there, for the most part, Sergeant, but there was a pretty big one in the grain market,” he says. He looks like a kid, damn it. You probably did too, before you actually fought someone for the first time. “The whole building got leveled.”

“Hmm. All right, thanks. Anything else I should know?” you ask.

“Not much…well, where do you live, Sergeant?” the kid asks. “If you’re in the block of houses outside the base, you may be in some trouble. The fires got pretty close to the wall in places.”

Fuck. You live there. “Uh, thanks,” you say, before snapping off a salute.

>Go home
>Go see the family (husband or parents?)
Go home. Is everything alright?
>Go see the family (husband or parents?)
Husband first
If your house burned down right after you asked the King to make you a secret tunnel, you will be BEYOND pissed off!

You charge down the street towards your home, vaulting broken glass and sputtering torches, and skid to a halt in front of your house, pouring sweat.

It’s largely intact. The front looks singed, but aside from a few smashed windows…

There’s someone inside, moving around. You can see from the front window.

>Charge in
Probably husbando.
Then flank for shot
You can’t tell who it is, and you’re not armed. Your only chance is to see what the hell is going on.

You slip towards the front door, scooping a torch up off the ground as you approach. It’s extinguished, but it’s still hot. It’ll do.

The front door isn’t ajar, but the front window is, and you creep up to it and peek in, using the mirror by the front door to get an angle on the room.

There are two people inside, both dressed like common laborers. One of them is digging through a toolbag, the other is just drinking something from a flask and looking nervous.

>Barge right in
>Sneak in the back
>Barge in
Demand their names and ask why they're in your house
>Barge right in
Kick the door in and yell, "Why dafuq u in mah house?"
“Why the hell are we even still here?” the one drinking asks. “The fucking basement is done, let’s just go. Working through a fucking riot was bad enough! I’m putting in for danger pay!”

“What do you think I’m doing?” the other one grumbles. “Far as I’m concerned, this is danger pay.”


You take one long step back from the window and vault through the open window, landing inches from the one with his hand in the toolbag. Without a second’s hesitation, you shoot bolt upright and glare into his eyes. “What the FUCK are you doing?” you roar.

The drinking one does a spittake and drops his flask as he scrambles backwards. The one who’s bent over digging around in the bag shrieks and scuttles backwards on all fours as you advance, as menacingly as you can contrive without weapons.

“F-fuck, who the hell are you?” the one who dropped the flask stammers. He’s a human, older, with lots of scars around his hands. The other one is an elf, light, and looks like he almost pissed himself.

“This is my house, and I’m asking the questions!” you shout. The one who dropped the flask scrambles to his feet, but you pin him to the wall with an elbow across the collarbone. “You! What danger pay?”

He flinches. “I-I didn’t take anything!”

You slam his chin with an elbow strike, knocking his head back against the wall. “Wrong answer! Get out before I feed you to a Dire Wolf!”

You toss him towards the door, snatching up his toolbag as he reaches for it. “Like hell. I’ll be giving it to the King with my report,” you snarl. “Now get gone.”

The two construction workers scramble out of the house as you paw through the bag. Sure enough…

“My grandmother’s platinum pocket watch,” you growl. “Nice to know the King has reliable labor.”

Now what?

>go report to (the king/the general/the governor/the circle/Asa)
>go check on family (which ones? Parents, husband?)
>go check on the husband
>go check on the husband dis
Enough fooling around. Time to go check on the family. First, though, a quick security measure.

You head down to the basement and peek in. The door to the tunnel is built into the far wall from the stairs, and wide open. You quickly head over and lock it shut, just in case. “Thieving pricks,” you grunt.

Upstairs, outside, and out onto the street you go. The roads are a complete mess, but navigable. The lack of armor makes it easy to jog across the streets, though the pain in your calves reminds you of your previous pledge to work out more.

The Guard concentration drops off sharply as you enter the Merchant’ District, and the damage to the roads rises sharply. A worrying thing you see is clear signs of fire – and more troubling yet, ice and lightning – on the streets. There must have been mage rioters.

You come to a halt in front of your in-laws’ place, noting with relief that the damage seems minimal. The paint isn’t even scorched.

You check your appearance in the glass of the window before unlocking the door and poking your head in. “Hello? Darril? Laura?”

“Up here!” Laura calls.

You lock the door behind you and climb the stairs, heaving for breath. It’s a hell of a run from the castle, to the military district, now here. You imagine doing it in full armor and wargear and shudder.

Laura’s bookmarking a book and setting down on her table when you walk in. “Elsa! You’ve got to stop giving us scares!” she says with motherly exasperation. “You…Elsa?”

You nod. “I have new eyes.”

“What?” She crosses the room in three strides and grips your cheeks. “What happened?”

“I got hit. I’m fine, now,” you say.

Laura breaks down crying. “Elsa, sweetheart, no!”

“I’m fine, Laura, it’s just-” you start.

Tears break free from her eyes. “No! No, it’s not fine! I can’t take these scares! Why do you do this to yourself?” she demands.

>"Someone needs to."
"It's my job."
Still the truth. She just doesn't know which.
You squeeze her hands and sit her down on the love seat by the table, trying to find an answer that doesn’t sound stupid. “Laura, listen,” you try. “I know it’s scary, but it has to be done. Cender is a big country. I have to defend it.”

“Someone else can!” she moans. “I can’t stand seeing you hurt like this! Or Jerome! He dies a little every time you come back with a fresh scar! How will he react to this?”

“I know, I know! But I have to do this! It’s my job! And even if it weren’t, would the streets be less safe if I weren’t on them?” you ask. “The riot killed people! Who am I if I can put on armor and a uniform and not protect our countrymen?”

“Someone safe,” she mutters, but she’s a mother, and she knows a losing argument when she hears one. “Does it hurt?”

“No, no, it was healed by a professional,” you tell her. “Okay? I’m fine. They’re actually better than the ones I had before.”

“If you say so,” she mutters. “You look like a light elf now.”

“I know, and it’ll take some getting used to,” you admit. “But hey. Asa has silver eyes, right? I’m in good company.”

She finally chuckles. “Yeah.”

>wait for the others to come home at night
>visit parents
>do a thing
>Ask where Jerome is.
“Speaking of, where is my loveable slab of a husband?” you ask.

“He was called in to the armory to help clear it,” Laura says, wiping a tear away. “A column collapsed. The mages can fix it, but it crushed a few carts, and they needed him to help move the wreckage.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No, it was just some idiots igniting bottles of grain alcohol and paper and throwing them around,” Laura says. “Nobody was there. Where were you last night that you got attacked?” She puts her hands up. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I was at the little library in the noble district,” you tell her. “There were some drunks with knives and I got between two of them.”

“Oh, Elsa,” she sighs. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”


She stands up and assumes the mother hen pose that emerges more or less intact from all mothers of any experience. “Do you need to head out again?”

>”Yeah.” (go where)
>”No, I’ll stay.”
>Yeah, I'd better check on my parents, and break the eye news.
Been so long since we talked to them that I actually forgot we had let them in on the secret.
>”No, I’ll stay.”
“I should go check on my parents, actually,” you say. “I’m worried. The fire near the markets was pretty close to their house.”

“All right,” Laura says. “Please bring them by for dinner so I can worry about them too.”

You snort out a laugh, but she’s got her heart in the right place. “Sure. The house is finished, though, so we’ll be moving back out tonight.”

“That’s good to hear, I’m glad it went well,” Laura says. “Did they fix the tunnel under your house?”

“Good as new,” you assure her. “So. Thanks for putting us up,” you add. “I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, we had the room,” she says wearily. “I should write the kids. I miss them when they’re out.”

“I bet.” You rise to your feet again. “All right. I need to head out. See you tonight.”

The tea shop under your parents’ flat is a mess. The windows are smashed, and the front door is ajar with someone sweeping glass up in a bin.

Your actual parents, however, are nowhere to be seen as you walk up the stairs to their apartment. “Hey, Mom, Dad, you in?” you ask as you unlock the door. “Hello?”

The apartment is empty, save for a note on the table. You pick it up and read.

-Elsa, we saw the riot heading our way and decided to get out while we could. If you’re seeing this, we headed for the Guard outpost on the boulevard south of the market.


The market? The one on fire?


You drop the note and race out the apartment, barely pausing to lock it up. You take the steps down at a rate of four at a time, nearly colliding with the guy sweeping the glass.

Asa would have told you if they died, but doesn’t mean they weren’t burned. You can barely feel the air in your lungs, you’re running so fast. More than one Guard and soldier has to duck out of your way as you rush through the streets. You thought your legs were burning before…

>Search the outpost itself first
>Go to the market and see if they’re there
>>Search the outpost itself first
>Search the outpost
The outpost. It’s farther, but that hardly matters.

You dig your heels in and haul towards the Guard post – why is it called an outpost if it’s in the middle of the city? – and make it in probably record time. The street outside is a warzone, with more than a few pieces of wood and glass on the ground, and a spot or two of blood.

You barrel into the office at full speed, panting like you’re suffering a heart attack. A Guard at the table behind the door rises to his feet as you charge in.

“Sergeant, slow down,” he starts.

“I got a note, my parents,” you manage.

The Guard’s voice changes a bit. “Oh, Sergeant Ledren?”

You look over at him, hoping that his shift means something good. “Yes?”

“Sorry. Your parents are here, they said you’d arrive, but…I also have this for you,” he says, digging out a note. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks,” you say. Then the world catches up to your brain, and vice versa, even as you reach to take it. “Wait, who knew I’d be here?”

“How should I know, Sergeant?” the Guard says with a shrug. “It’s been mad here. I just looked up and found the note.”

You grimace at the unneeded mystery, but take the little slip of paper anyway. “Thanks, Private.”

Even as you slide it into your pocket, your father appears at the back of the crowded room. He elbows his way through the packs of civilians until he’s within speaking distance. “Hey! Elsa, you’re okay!”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, reaching out for a quick hug. It would have been nicer if he found out about your eyes in private…

He doesn’t even seem to notice until you’re right on top of him. He immediately recoils, gasping loud enough to draw attention, and you put your finger to your lips. “I’ll explain. Not in public. Is Mom okay?”

Coby stares for another several seconds. “Uh…yeah, she’s…she’s fine. She’s just in the head…”

“As soon as she’s mobile, we’re leaving,” you say quietly. You raise your voice after that, to a more normal level. “Darril’s invited us for dinner while they clean up the streets, so let’s regroup there.”

“Okay…” Coby seems to lose all words for a moment. “Elsa…”

>”Not now, Dad, not in public.”

Sorry that took so long.

>”Not now, Dad, not in public.”
Check out that note asap too.
“Dad, I promise I’ll explain,” you say urgently. “I’ll be outside. Get Mom, follow me to Darril’s place. We’re going to get it all out at once. I’ve been to your flat, it’s fine, I locked it behind me. Okay?”

He finally seems to reanimate at the sound of your voice. You wonder if Asa’s powers are helping and decide you don’t care. “Yeah…all right. I…okay, okay. I can wait.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you murmur, and make for the exit.

Outside, you pull the note out and glance it over. It’s sealed with wax, undamaged. There’s nothing but a few lines of text on the front.

-Private, an Auxilia Sergeant named Elsa Ledren will stop by today. Make sure she gets this.
A friend.


You slit the wax and read the note inside.

My name is Evertt Soutri. I assume you know that name.

There’s more, but you suddenly can’t see it through a fog of rage.

>Roll 1d100+3
Rolled 20 + 3

File: 1326778831241.png (258 KB, 421x500)
258 KB
258 KB PNG
Rolled 36 + 3

ohgod better rolls
Rolled 50 + 3

Fuck, who is this guy again?
That name. That fucking name. Everett Soutri was the leader of the mercenaries that attacked the convoys in the forest. Captain-General Dietrich named him as an ex-Army officer.

He knows you. He KNOWS you. He knew where your parents would go, he knew you’d come for them, he KNEW.


You spin on your heel, shaking with anger and sudden, crippling fear. Your mother recoils at the boiling hate in your eyes, then again at the color of your eyes. “What? What happened? Elsa?”

“We have to go, Mom,” you manage to say. “Right now.”

Something in your voice – Asa’s power, your obvious fear, the tone of command – cuts through your parents’ shock. “…O-okay, where?” Belle asks.

“Darril’s place. Move. Don’t stop for anything,” you growl. You stuff the paper into your pocket to read later. “Just move.” You take off at the fastest pace your parents can keep up with, leaving them both trailing in your wake.

“Elsa, what’s happened?” your father huffs. “What’s going on?”

“Someone made me,” you say curtly. “My identity’s blown. Just follow me.”

It’s a quiet, fearful walk.


Keep it alive and I'll run for the next two days straight.


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