>>34998231
Twitter (for runtimes, not my political opinions): https://twitter.com/HaikuDeluge

Archive (for reading when you feel blue): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Rock+Quest

STATS:

ROCK OFFS WON/CHALLENGED: 0/1
DEMON SCHLONGS SEEN: 1/???
ALIGNMENT: TRUE ROCK - "Rock is worth doing."

>>34998231
>[] Try to light him up with a lightning bolt - maybe he'll explode like the stage monitor did
ROCK ON!

>>34998231
>[] Try to light him up with a lightning bolt - maybe he'll explode like the stage monitor did
He seems to want to fuck over our show. Let's end him.

>>34998311
>>34998321
>not rolling the dice

Can I get some 1d100 rolls, please?

Rolled 58 (1d100)

>>34998334

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>34998334
>>34998321
Sorry running on no sleep here

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>34998231
>>[x] Try to light him up with a lightning bolt - maybe he'll explode like the stage monitor did

Ha ha time to rock!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kE__YoKNnho

Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>34998231
Fuck Yeah, Rock Quest!

>[] Try to light him up with a lightning bolt - maybe he'll explode like the stage monitor did

LET THERE BE ROCK!

>>34998231
Does the withered old man in the hokey Wild West getup really think he can make you stop by waving those six-shooters around?

He's got another think coming.

As you turn around to face him, still strumming the guitar, you hear a theater teacher from long ago saying "don't turn your back on the audience! How many times do I have to tell you -" but Mrs. Finchley never fought an assassin onstage at a rock concert - she doesn't know what she's talking about. Once the old man is dead in your sights, you pull the trigger on the solo, thrusting your pelvis into your guitar in time with your pounding rhythm. Your fingers race across the frets. The guitar screams under your hands as you bring it to a fever pitch of ecstasy.

Suddenly, the world goes white, then black, and the only thing you can feel is the strong scent of ozone.

You blink furiously, trying to clear your eyes. The world swims into focus. You see the old man sprawling on the stage, fingers of his right arm writhing like mad as the rest of his body twitches. There are electric burns on the drumset, and the priest is singed, but you can tell from his smirk that he's fine. Luckily, you missed the DJ's equipment. Her helmet stares at you with its wide, fake eyes as the old man groans.

Your paranoia, now fully awake, tells you that there's probably more than one assassin. If it's a sniper, doing the rest of the show is very risky.

>[] On with the show - leave the old man on the floor and keep going
>[] Secure the old guy
>[] GTFO
>[]Write-in

Rolled 94 (1d100)

>>34998737
>[] On with the show - leave the old man on the floor and keep going

ROCK STOPS FOR NO ONE!

>>34998737
>[] On with the show - leave the old man on the floor and keep going
Hopefully security will carry him off the stage

>>34998737
>>[x] On with the show - leave the old man on the floor and keep going
But we should drag him offstage between songs. Also, walk and run around to make yourself a harder target. Hitting pyrotechnics might distract a sniper too.

>>34998737
There's no country for old men, and there's no time for them either - not when rock awaits. You leave the personnel consultant face-down on the stage, right hand still imitating an angry spider, and turn back to the audience, striking a chord and a pose. There's a sudden gust of breeze that blows your hair out just so.

The crowd loves it.

Now that you've got your backup section back up and running, it's time to rock again. You launch into another song, big, meaty chords setting the rhythm of a titanic theatrical piece. The drums kick in after a couple of measures, and the DJ follows them in on the keyboard, riding the wave of sound like a California beach bunny. Surf's up.

It's not what the crowd came here for, but they're getting into it. You're pulling them in, with the hard sound and your increasingly frenetic stage antics. By the third time you hit the chorus, the crowd's yelling it at you.

Of course, this frees you up to do even crazier things during the next chorus. You'd jumped across the stage from platform to platform while wearing the Angus mask, but now you're going to try a front flip in the middle of the jump, while the crowd carries the chorus for you.

While you're in midair, rolling forward in a tight bundle, strumming the guitar as the crowd screams the chorus, you feel a sudden impact which sends you spinning sideways.

From the crowd's perspective, you've done something completely impossible.

And totally awesome.

You manage to land on your feet more by luck than anything else, and look down at your guitar. There's a deformed bullet stuck in its body. This song's over, the DJ and the priest cooling it down as the crowd cheers your jump.

>[] GTFO
>[] Call out the sniper
>[] Keep playing like nothing's happened
>[] Write-in

>>34999249
I kinda want to
>[] Call out the sniper
But I also want to just
>[] Keep playing like nothing's happened

>>34999249
>>[x] Call out the sniper
IS THAT YOUR BEST SHOT!?

>>34999249
>write in Teach the crowd you're a god damned legend and keep shredding like it's your business, and business is good.

>>34999249
>[] Write-in
Strum out a song about a man and his band chased by gunmen and killers sent by THE MAN who wants to keep them down, then call out the sniper with the lyrics.

>>34999249
Supporting >>34999425

>>34999425
This if remotely possible.

I'm hearing that you want to call out the sniper with a song.

If that's correct, please reply with a 1d100 roll.

>>34999249
This.
>>34999425
So much this.

Rolled 36 (1d100)

>>34999496
The show must go on!

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>34999496
ROCK OUT!

Rolled 7 (1d100)

>>34999496
Let's do it

Rolled 33 (1d100)

>>34999496
I believe!

Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>34999496
So I hear you plebs need to be shown how to rock with the dice.

>>34999528
>>34999542
>>34999562
>>34999573
Oh...

File: 1408755380663.jpg (282 KB, 1024x768)

282 KB JPG

Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>34999496

>>34999528
>>34999542
>>34999573
>>34999562
Congratulations, time to cover Bon Jovi's Shot Through The Heart.

>>34999562
Damn I suck with dice.

>>34999598
Shouldn't that be their You Give Love a Bad Name? (That's the song with "shot through the heart" in the chorus.)

Anyway, put the dice down guys & gals. Time to start writing this thing.

>>34999598
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZrsAWGZTW8

>>34999573
FROM THE DARKNESS, I QALK INTO THE LIGHT!
FROM THE DAY, I WALK INTO THE NIGHT!
FROM HE SHADOWS, I WILL APPEAR!
WITH A MESSAGE FOR ALL WHO WILL HEAR!

>>34999249
(1/2)

That's it. You're done with this farce.

You've got the audience, so you start off with call and response, right on the edge of the stage. Do they remember the band, the one that fought demons on the road? They do. Do they remember the mission to rock the world? Yes, of course.

You call "give me something good!" to the priest and the DJ over your shoulder. The priest hangs back, letting the DJ take the first stab. The clear tones of single notes on a keyboard ring out through the concert like the icepick of the gods. It's a strange feeling, waiting on somebody else's intro to start the song, but the priest soon joins, picking up the beat as the DJ transitions to chords, and it's finally time for the electric guitar to take its rightful place as king of the instruments.

It's time to lay it down. You tell them of a band set up for failure by the Man, pursued and hunted by everything from murderous Mercedes to old men in older west costumes, at which point you pick the old man up by his coat and shake him at the crowd.

In a gesture of phallic bravado, you twirl his pistols in the air and shove them down the front of your suit pants. "It doesn't feel much different," you confide to the crowd.

>>35000164
(2/2)

Then you hit the chorus, the self-contained tale of a cowardly catspaw crawling in the dark, looking for the right shot to take, baffled by all their misses. Another verse, about demonic puppeteers, pulling even the Man's strings, and you ask the crowd another question:

Do they know who's going to stop you? No, you tell them, they don't know - because nobody's going to stop you! Especially not the sniper who put the round in your guitar. You show it off proudly to the crowd, holding it so you're sure the camerasget get a good angle.

They love it. They love you. You're the vicarious embodiment of the badass they could never be. You're the ubermensch, you're the ideal.

You nod to the band, and go to hit the chorus for the second time, when something punches you in the chest. And again.

You look down, and see blood running from a couple of small holes in your naked chest. The drums get fainter, and the keyboard stops entirely.

It's like hearing the world through cotton wool.

>[] Attempt to keep playing
>[] GTFO
>[] Write-in

Rolled 74 (1d100)

>>35000185
>[] Attempt to keep playing
Let us test the healing powers of ROCK

>>35000185
>>[x] Attempt to keep playing
Ow, that must smart. yet these hands of mine, they must ever keep playing.
(and GTFOing would be too late, the hits seem lethal)

>>35000185
>[] Attempt to keep playing
Do a guitar rendition of the funeral march.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyFyAqLtHq8

>>35000185
See if we can use the power of rock to crowdsurf our way outta here.

>>35000185
> [] write in
Smile at the sniper and shoot hit me with your best shot, rocking as hard as we can

>>35000185
>>[] Attempt to keep playing
Don't you know? Music heals, and the show must go on.

Rolled 69 (1d100)

>>35000185
heal ourself with rock

Rolled 37 (1d100)

>>35000185
>Use the Force, Man of Rock. The Force of a thousand Riffs, the strenght of a million Chords! Strum that Guitar, turn the Amps up to TWELVE! Use the power of ROCK to heal your wounds and show that fucker he can't stop Rock 'n Roll!

>>35000346
>>35000185
seduce the sniper with our 69 crit

>>35000185
The crowd is silent. At least, you can't hear them. Maybe they're screaming.

The music is draining out of the world, the drumbeats the last echo of sound you can faintly hear.

Your fingers grip and strum your guitar ever more desperately, frenetically, but you can't hear a note. Something is making the strings slippery, and makes your fingers slide as you try to turn your volume dial up higher. It's probably your blood, but you don't care, you're staring into the distance, trying to get a glimpse of whoever shot you. There's a rigid rictus of a smile on your face, doing more to show you teeth than to show any enjoyment.

It's hard to see through the fog. You can't see the crowd - you're playing for a deaf, one-man audience shrouded in darkness. You barely feel your knees hit the stage. Even the strings are slipping away from you.

Everything is slipping away from you.

>[] You are a DJ
>[] You are a priest
>[] You are a sniper
>[] You are a tour manager
>[] You are an accountant

File: You goin down.jpg (165 KB, 600x567)

165 KB JPG

>>35000574
>[] You are an accountant

>>35000574
>>[] You are a priest
Go fucking save the dumbass.

File: 1410298976665.gif (1.71 MB, 606x423)

1.71 MB GIF

>>35000574
>[] You are a tour manager

>offered GTFO as an option every choice this thread
>keeps playing, calls out the sniper
>this is the future we chose

>>35000574
>>[] You are an accountant

>>35000666
>GTFO just didn't seem in-character

>You are 44

>>35000574
>>[x] You are a priest
Well shit this is the second time we need to operate on that dumbass.

>>35000574
>[] You are a tour manager

Time to find out about the man!

>>35000666
The choice to GTFO was very much not in character. Our accountant has demonstrated time and again that he won't back down from anything.

>>35000849
> Our accountant has demonstrated time and again that he won't back down from anything.
At least not since the start of this quest.

>[] You are an accountant

>>35000706
>>35000849
True.

I'm pretty sure the joke here is that before we met him, he would have GTFO'd, but he's trying to act out his conception of "what would a rock god do".

This is a close vote, with
>[] You are an accountant
winning by one vote over Priest and Tour Manager.

I'm going to give it another five minutes.

>>35000574
>[] You are an accountant

>>35000900
>>[] You are an accountant

>>35000574
>[x] You are a sniper.
They will call today The Day The Music Died Because We Killed It.
That's the closest you can get to fame, as an assassin.

>>35000574
You are an accountant, and you are done with your midlife crisis.

You are sitting in a decently comfortable chair in an office. A fisherman's net is hanging on the wall to your left like a piece of modern art. The right wall is a single pane of glass, through which you can see an elegant rock garden. In front of you, across a plain but serviceable desk, sits an oldish, thickset man with a look about his face that says "I've ripped men's ears off before, fucking try it". It's not that he's scowling or anything, in fact he has a rather pleasant expression right now, but the basic frame of his face speaks of violence.

Oddly enough, he's wearing a white suit, the shirt left open at the collar. It's nice material, and obviously tailored to fit splendidly.

There's a big book on the table, and he seems to be looking through it.

>[] About those quarterly reports...
>[] Where am I?
>[] Write-in

>>35001182
>>[] Where am I?

>>35001182
"Where's the exit? I've got a concert to finish."

>>35001182
>>[] Where am I?

Rolled 47 (1d100)

>>35001182
> Where am I?

>>35001182
>net
>rocks
>ripped a man's ear off

Damn it, Deluge.

>>35001182
>>[] About those quarterly reports...

>>35001182
"Excuse me," you say, hesitant to interrupt him while he's looking through the big book.

He looks up when he hears you talking. "Oh," he says, with a heavy accent you can't quite place, "you're finally awake. I'm just looking to make sure your name's in the book."

You hear a clinking noise from under the desk as he shifts slightly in his seat, flipping another page.

You don't have time for this. "Where am I?" you ask, "I have a concert to finish in Albuquerque."

He gives you a curious look over his thick beard. "I'm sorry to tell you this," he says, flipping another page, "but you'll never finish that concert. You're about as far from Albuquerque as you can get."

Your hearing's good again, and you swear you can hear a bitching riff somewhere in the distance, but you were the only one playing at the concert. Is your subconscious playing tricks on you? You look around and notice that the room doesn't appear to have a door. Yeah, your subconscious is fucking with you.

>[] I can still hear the concert - try to wake up
>[] Who are you?
>[] Wait, I know who you are. You're (Write-in)
>[] Write-in

>>35001606
>[] I can still hear the concert - try to wake up
"It was nice seeing you, but this is not the day I die."

>>35001671
>>[] I can still hear the concert - try to wake up
This. Time to finish!

>>35001606
>>[] I can still hear the concert - try to wake up

>>35001606
I can feel the rock nice try satan

>>35001606
>>[] I can still hear the concert - try to wake up

>>35001606
>>35001831
I don't think that's Satan, bro.
That book is probably the Book of the Dead and the guy in front of us must be the Angel of Death.

Too bad for him, we can still hear the Rock. We are gonna rise up and claw our way back to life like a six-armed god of destruction, and probably get a Power-up as well.

>>35001606
This has got to be a dream. You're the Chosen One, you're a Motherfucking Legend, you're the one who was supposed to bring rock and roll back. There's no way you could die in the middle of your first big concert, after proclaiming your distain for your would-be killer.

You close your eyes and reject the sensation of the chair pressing against you, you reject the texure of its cloth covering, you reject the slight draft of cool air blowing on you. You've had a little bit of practice forcibly waking up from dreams, you know how to do this. You focus on the faint sound of the electric guitar. Guitars. Playing a riff in harmony. A riff you've never heard before.

But it's not letting go. You can't think yourself free like you usually do. Are you still holding onto something? Is there something still here your mind is still clinging to?

You wonder if the strange guitar choir is from the concert (where nobody else was playing the guitar) or part of this strange dream.

You reject it, and you've cut yourself free. Everything starts fading.

You hear the man yelling "stop it! Don't damn yourself! I'm pretty sure you're in the book!" There are some confused noises that might be him getting up from behind the desk very quickly.

>[] Open your eyes
>[] Keep them shut and reject his voice - you're leaving

>>35002010
>[] Open your eyes
>Write in
"Can you start explaining this shit at all, instead of being a cryptic asshole which baits me into trying to do things which seem to be "damning"?"

>>35001979
>angel of death

Try Saint Peter, keeper of the keys (the clinking sound when he moved), originally a fisherman (the net), the "rock on which I will build my church" (the rock garden), who cut off a man's ear when the Romans came to arrest Jesus.

We might be fucking ourselves if we try to leave.

>>35002010
>>[] Keep them shut and reject his voice - you're leaving

>>35002010
>>[] Keep them shut and reject his voice - you're leaving
Time to go home, we have a gig to finish.

>>35002010
>Keep them shut and reject his voice - you're leaving
>I will damn myself to save the world

>>35002010
>[] Keep them shut and reject his voice - you're leaving
If this damns us to hell we'll just have to claw our way out of there as well.

Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>35001606
>>35001831
I don't think that's Satan, bro.
That book is probably the Book of the Dead and the guy in front of us must be the Angel of Death.

Too bad for him, we can still hear the Rock. We are gonna rise up and claw our way back to life like a six-armed god of destruction, and probably get a Power-up as well.

>>35002054
We are, we're literally descending into hell.

>>35002054
Isn't Peter the one who always gets angry?

>>35002108
>>35001979

Goddammit internet.
Why you so shit?

>>35002010
>>35002040
This.
No need to damn our soul right now

>>35002139
Your point is moot

>>35002125
Oh fuck.
>>35002077
>>35002092
>>35002095

Guys, thats a bad idea.

>>35002010
>>[] Open your eyes

>>35002092
I change my vote to open eyes then

>>35002253
Better vote again and link to Haiku's post, then.

>>35002092
cancel this vote
>>35002010
>Open your eyes

Drat, shoulda guessed that being genre-savvy would be handy in the quest.

I'm seeing

>>35002040
>>35002158
>>35002245

for opening eyes

>>35002077
>>35002088
>>35002095

for closing them.

For the record, had you not decided to get baptized by the priest, you would have gone straight to hell, no questions asked, if you died. You don't absolutely screw yourself by picking that option.

>>35002378

Just saw

>>35002341

which brings you to 4 for opening, 3 for keeping them shut.

Are we done voting?

>>35002359
> Implying being Genre Savvy can /not/ be useful in all quests or situations.

>>35002408
sure

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>35002408
Aready voted for opening the eyes.

Let's do this.

>>35002010
You are an accountant, and you are having a nightmare while unconscious after being shot. At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

You're just going to wake up and everything will be fine. Ignore the sensations, ignore the man yelling at you about damnation, ignore the office, ignore the guitars. Ignore the ropes.

Wait, ropes?

You could reject them too, and give him the slip forever. But you decide to open your eyes instead, and all the sensations come rushing back at you.

"You fucking slippery fish," the man's yelling at you, as he hauls you in with the net, "you don't get a third fucking choice. You're dead. You're not fucking invincible. If you reject Heaven, you go to Hell, you don't come back the fuck to life."

"Who the fuck are you," you yell back, "you cryptic asshole? Why the fuck didn't you tell me this in the first place?"

"Because I thought you'd have enough fucking patience to fucking sit still for five fucking minutes while I looked in the fucking book," he says, letting the net slack, "I'm Peter, the keeper of the keys, you asshat. We don't tell people 'you might get into Heaven' for fear of getting their fucking hopes up and disappointing the fuck out of them."

It sounds like whoever taught the old Jewish fisherman English made sure to tell him the most important word to use when you need to make sure you get your point across, you reflect as you untangle yourself from the net.

"Most people don't know how to reject the whole fucking thing," he says, hanging the net back up on the wall, "not many practiced lucid dreamers out there."

He's gone back to flipping through the book again, faster this time. You think you can hear faint guitars again.

>[] Why do I hear guitars? I thought I could still hear my concert earlier
>[] Why is someone with an attitude like yours the gatekeeper?
>[] What's it like, being the gatekeeper for Heaven?
>[] Write in

>>35002652
>>[x] Why do I hear guitars? I thought I could still hear my concert earlier
He sure swears like a fucking, uhh.... sailor.

>>35002652
>[] Why do I hear guitars? I thought I could still hear my concert earlier
"I'm not done yet, I've still got work to do."

>>35002652
>>[] Why do I hear guitars? I thought I could still hear my concert earlier

>>35002652
>Sorry, man, but I still have a job to do.
I can't leave my band hanging.
>Any way for me to get back to Earth?

>>35002652

"Why do I hear guitars?" you ask, "I thought they were my concert, and that's why I tried to leave."

Peter looks at you and smiles. "It's the choir of angels and saints who praise God eternally. It's quiet here because we're outside the walls, and, just between you and me, we try not to frighten off the more conservative brethren before they actually enter the Pearly Gates."

Wait, what? All those Hallmark cards and Italian painters were wrong?

"I thought angels played little harps and sang choral works," you say, bemused.

"And you probably thought they looked like fat little Italian babies too," Peter says, "No, it's been this way since the beginning! Jesus told me he would build His Church on my ROCK! That 'flaming sword' the angel at the gates of paradise carried was the world's first seven-necked guitar! And it was on fire! The original pitch for 'let us create a universe' was a five-year-long power ballad performed by the Trinity themselves! That word, 'selah', that keeps cropping up in the psalms and baffling linguists is Hebrew for 'bitching solo'!"

You're not sure how it happened, but he's standing with one foot on the desk now, and there's a guitar in his hand shaped like an inverted cross.

"We built this religion," he says to you, and waits the beat "we built this religion on rock and roll."

This is Heaven, and you're going to like it here.

>[] You are a tour manager
>[] You are a DJ
>[] You are a priest
>[] You are a sniper

>>35003147
>Write in
"I am going to like it here."
"But I'm not going to like it here, yet."

>>35003147
>[] You are a sniper
He killed us, now he shall become us

>>35002652
>[] Why do I hear guitars? I thought I could still hear my concert earlier

We're can't die here! Legends never die!

>>35003147
>>[] You are a priest
"Welp, we had a good run."

>>35003147
>selah

Haiku confirmed for preacher's kid.

>[] You are a tour manager

Time to limp around and gum up the Man's plans.

>>35003190
Isn't there a reason the term "living legend" exists?

Legends are usually about the dead.

>>35003147
>Priest

>>35003147
>>[] You are a priest

Time to shape the world with God's melody

>>35003147
You are a priest, and you are having a midlife crisis. Well, if you assume you'll only live to see sixty, this is the time to have your midlife crisis.

You watch as your band's lead guitarist falls to the stage, clawing out the last notes of a killer riff as he collapses. He's been shot by a high-powered rifle, you think as your hands continue to play a complicated rhythm on your drums, following his lead. The exit wounds look terrible, and you wonder how the entry wounds look to the audience.

You notice a few of them already beginning to panic, but most are spellbound by the accountant's dying song. You notice that you two are the only ones still playing, and your eyes flit over to the DJ.

She's shocked, hiding behind the keyboard and her sound equipment, her slight frame still and quiet as a mouse.

>[] Continue playing the drums - it is your destiny, it is what your heart calls for
>[] Run to your lead guitarist and help him
>[] Run and comfort the DJ

>>35003604
>>[] Continue playing the drums - it is your destiny, it is what your heart calls for
One last song, to say goodbye.

>>35003604
>>[x] Run to your lead guitarist and help him

>>35003604
>[] Run to your lead guitarist and help him

>>35003604

[] Run to your lead guitarist and help him

Maybe we will get some divine intervention for the MC.

>>35003604
You tear yourself away from the drums with an effort. Your heart wants to keep playing, but you master it and run to the accountant. He's collapsed, kneeling, on the stage, bleeding copiously from his back. The guitar has fallen from his hands, and its weight on the shoulder strap is pulling him down.

You're sure a venue like this has a first aid kit somewhere, you think as you lay the accountant down. At least he wasn't wearing anything that could get caught in the wound. You've got to get those holes in his chest sealed, or his lungs will collapse. A first aid kit should have chest dressings in it.

The DJ is still cowering behind the sound equipment - not a bad place for her to be since the sniper's probably still around.

>[] Go find a first aid kit
>[] Yell at the DJ to find a first aid kit
>[] Yell for somebody, anybody to find a first aid kit
>[] Fuck it, he's dead, surely there's something better to do

It's been a good run but I'm out, cowards let our accountant die when the questmaster was giving us a clear way back to glory.

>>35004453
>implying near-death experiences aren't a thing

>>35004439
>>[x] Yell at the DJ to find a first aid kit

>>35004439
>[] Yell for somebody, anybody to find a first aid kit

>>35004453
>It's been a good run but I'm out, cowards let our accountant die when the questmaster was giving us a clear way back to glory.
You mean clear way down to hell, or a clear way not to rock the fuck out?
I didn't change my vote for forcing your way out like the rest of the pussies

Rolled 12 (1d100)

>>35004439
>[] Yell at the DJ to find a first aid kit

We need to help our friend, DJ, get your ass out of there!
You need to stop cowering like a mouse and show the courage of a Lion!

>>35004521
Well if we fail to save him I say we let the quest die with dignity.

>>35004439
>[] Yell for somebody, anybody to find a first aid kit

>>35004439
You yell at the DJ. How many times does that make it? For someone with such small lungs, she's been able to match you fairly well in high-volume verbal encounters.

This time, though, it's not on your own account. You're yelling at her to find a first aid kit, for the accountant. This seems to jolt her back to reality, and she gets up and walks backstage.

Well, now you just have to wait. You examine the accountant quickly and carefully. His heart is racing but only beating weakly. Two entry wounds on the front of his chest, two larger exit wounds on the back. There isn't much hope, but maybe if you can get him to a hospital in time you can do something.

Then something pokes at you unconsciously. You look out over the panicked crowd and wonder why they're all still here. Shouldn't they have run away already after a shooting like this? That's what always happened when your targets went down.

Your eyes dart to the exits, and you see the crowd pressing thickly around them. They're sealed.

This is far too much like ten years ago, and you didn't get a warning this time.

>[] Investigate. Leave the accountant, with a note to the DJ describing the proper things to do for him.
>[] Drag the accountant somewhere off the stage and sheltered
>[] Stay here, onstage with the accountant - you can't move him right now.
>[] Write-in

>>35004839
[] Stay here, onstage with the accountant - you can't move him right now.
Fuck, we in the eclipse now?

>>35004839
>>[x] Stay here, onstage with the accountant - you can't move him right now.
Too dangerous to move him.

>>35004839
>Channel righteousness and heal him

>>35004839
If possible,
>Make a makeshift barricade to protect you and the accountant
Pray to God and all the saints to keep him alive and ask for a miracle.

>>35004839
Your instincts are screaming at you that you're exposed, but it's too dangerous to move the accountant and you have an excellent view of the venue.

There's nothing happening you want to see, though.

You understand now why the performance couldn't be called off, why they accepted a no-name outfit from nowhere and kept ACDC on the billing. They had a reason to gather all these people here. A reason that had nothing to do with music.

If this was a mission, you would have been briefed, and you would have more than just a knife. If this was a mission, you would be leaving your teammate lying on the ground with his chest wounds sucking, and pursue whoever put this together. If this was a mission, you wouldn't have had to send a cute chick off into the dark reaches of the backstage to get a first-aid kit.

This isn't a mission - you put that behind you ten years ago, in Sweden.

You could call what contacts you have left and make it someone else's mission, but it might be too late for that.

Speaking of late, what's taking the DJ so long, anyway? You're doing all you can for the accountant, but you need those dressings.

>[] Find DJ
>[] Leave accountant and investigate
>[] Stay here - this is a good spot, and she'll come back soon
>[]Write-in

YOU MAY ALSO
>[] Contact contacts
>[] Don't contact contacts

>>35005295
>[] Find DJ
>[] Leave accountant
>[] Contact contacts

>>35005295
>[] Contact contacts

If we can't save him, then we are going to avenge him.

>>35005295
>>[x] Stay here - this is a good spot, and she'll come back soon
>>[x] Contact contacts

>>35005295
You're having a bad time trying to decide whether to stay or go. Inertia keeps you by the accountant's side.You pull out your phone, thumb through your address book, and call a certain number. You punch in a complicated extension, and are rewarded by a ring.

And another.

And finally, he picks up. "Good morning," the cardinal says, his standard greeting no matter how late at night someone calls, "I haven't heard from you in a while."

"And there's a good chance you'll never hear from me again," you say, describing your location and the situation, "I'm pretty sure someone's preparing to sacrifice the audience."

"My, my," the cardinal says, and you can almost see him stroking his beard, "you seem to have run into all sorts of trouble, little priest. Perhaps you should have stayed in Houston, or, better yet, come back to us."

You wait for the next part of the statement, the part where he tells you what units are nearby, when they'll arrive, or that he'll send any at all.

It never comes. You even bargain your future services, but the cardinal isn't going to help. He's just going to sit there and wait while this happens.

Well, you never liked him, but you didn't think he was quite that bad. You smile. If you keep thinking the best of people, there are always such delicious surprises waiting for you.

You hear footsteps behind you, and turn around to see the DJ running toward you, clutching a first aid kit. She's lost her helmet, and some of her hair is stuck across her forehead by sweat.

Two guards are chasing her. They don't look like anyone you would have hired for event security. Event insecurity, maybe. But they're wearing the badges.

>[] Take them on with your knife
>[] Get the DJ to throw you the medkit - there's sure to be something helpful in there
>[] Club them down with the accountant's guitar

Roll 1d100 with your vote.

>>35005295
>Contact contacts

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>35005877
>[] Club them down with the accountant's guitar

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>35005877
>Take them on with your knife

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>35005877
>>[x] Club them down with the accountant's guitar

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>35005877
>[x] Club them down with the accountant's guitar

Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>35005877
>[] Club them down with the accountant's guitar

>>35005877
You pick up the guitar and rise to your feet. Something in the instrument, reinforced by metal and demonbone, calls out to your heart. It's not your instrument. You don't play the guitar.

It's just a club.

And tonight, you go clubbing. You twitch your head to the side at the DJ. She gets the hint and dodges as you jump past. You yell "sucking chest wound!" and hope the first aid kit has an instruction manual.

You swing the guitar in a wide arc, horizontal to the ground, your speed urging it forward. The thug you're aiming at ducks down, readying himself to attack while you're off balance.

The problem with that plan is that you don't go off balance. Using the guitar's momentum to balance yourself, you arc your foot up at his lowered head. His jaw cracks wonderfully, and your grin widens. Did you manage to split it up the middle, breaking apart the point where the bones fuse as the embryo grows? You've never done that before, and you're always wanted to rip the two halves of someone's jaw out of their face.

There's no time to check now, as the other guard charges you from the side. The guitar's body is behind you, but you don't have enough time to swing it. Instead, you shove it out like a spear, the metal head pointing at the thug's gut.

He impales himself on it.

His knees buckle, an expression of surprise on his face. Surprise only? No pain?

You're slightly disappointed, but you'll soon change that.

>[] Check on the DJ and the accountant - these guys are too injured to come after you
>[] Finish these guys off - it won't take long, and it'll be fun
>[] Go investigate

YOU MAY ALSO

>[] Call tour manager
>[] Don't call tour manager - seriously, fuck that guy

>>35006315
>>[] Check on the DJ and the accountant - these guys are too injured to come after you
>>[x] Call tour manager
"Things are going south here, we need an extraction now! And someone who can treat gunshot wounds."

>>35006315
>[x] Check on the DJ and the accountant - these guys are too injured to come after you

>>[x] Call tour manager

We gotta not be a dick though

>>35006315
>[] Check on the DJ and the accountant - these guys are too injured to come after you

>[x] Check on the DJ and the accountant - these guys are too injured to come after you

>[x] Call tour manager

>>35006375
>>35006398
>>35006399
>>35006423
>not wanting to get our rocks off ripping these goons apart

It's like you aren't even sadists.

>>35006315
>FINISH THEM

>[]Call tour manager

>>35006457
Because we put friends well-being before our own enjoyment.

>>35006315
You twist the guitar and pull it out of the wound in the thug's gut. That gets a nice look of pain and hatred as you turn away.

It looks like the DJ can read instructions, and she's getting the sealed part of the dressing ready, but one look at her hands and her posture tells you that she's squeamish about the blood. Doesn't want to touch it, and doesn't want to deal with the stark reality of what the two of you have dragged her into.

You glance around as you walk toward the DJ - it looks like the guards are clubbing people off of the fences and doing a thourough job of defending the gates. Nobody appears to be looking at the stage. You hear gunfire in the distance, and wonder if it could be local law enforcement.

>[] Apply the dressing yourself, then make the call
>[] Help the DJ apply the dressing, hand over hand - it's a good life skill to learn. Make the call afterward
>[] Let the DJ apply the dressing by herself while you make the call.

>>35006315
if we do things right is there a chance to continue being the accountant?

>>35006715
>[] Help the DJ apply the dressing, hand over hand - it's a good life skill to learn. Make the call afterward

>>35006715
>[] Help the DJ apply the dressing, hand over hand - it's a good life skill to learn. Make the call afterward

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>>35006718

>>35006843
Yes, YES! YEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!

>>35006843
Then we have our mission.

>>35006843
Aww, Mom, not meatloaf /again/.

>>35006923
It will be Virtuous

>>35006715
"Have you ever done this before?" you ask, as you kneel down beside her.

"No," she says in a small voice, "but I've read the instructions."

"There's no substitute for the real thing," you say, examining the wounds, "wait until he breathes out to stick it on."

"At least he's still breathing," she says, poising her shaking hands over the accountant's chest.

"Here," you say, putting your hands over hers, "you've got to be firm about it, confident."

Your touch seems to calm her a little bit, luckily. You wait for the accountant's chest to fall, and then press her hands toward the wound. You can feel her warmth against you. She's still nervous and tight, but you guide her gently, and finally the two of you secure the first adhesive dressing.

Only three more to go.

The second time is easier, with less hesitation on her part. By the third time, she's anticipating your movements a bit, but on the fourth, you're moving easily together, and when you finish she relaxes, leaning against you.

"Can you put the bandages on yourself?" you ask, stretching. Your back is a bit stiff.

"Of course," she says, cheeks slightly flushed in the cold night wind of the desert. She's actually not bad looking without the helmet on, in a small, mousy way. "Thanks for helping."

"No," you say, getting up, "thank you." You move a couple of the larger monitors in front of the girl and the accountant, to shield them from view.

Then it's time to make that call on the accountant's phone. This isn't something you want to do, but strange circumstances make strange bedfellows, as you've learned.

You dial the tour manager, wondering what to say.

>[] Joke
>[] Apologize
>[] All Business
>[] Write-in

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>>35006998
I like this mission better, though.

>>35007251
>All Business

>>35007251
All business

>>35007251
>All Business.
>Make sure not to rise to any baits he makes. All. Business.

Because I don't trust that guy.

>>35007251
> [] Apologize

He blames us for killing his wife, IIRC.

>>35007251
>[] All Business
I've got a bad feel about this Scoob

>>35007251

>[] Apologize

Then

>[] All Business

Better hope he is willing to keep his act together/alive for another set.

>>35007251
>[x] Apologize
We go in making demands and he'll just shut us down

>>35007360
sounds reasonable

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>>35007251
>that bandaging scene

>>35007251

This:
>>35007360

Businessmen:

>>35007285
>>35007308
>>35007321
>>35007351

Apologists:

>>35007331
>>35007360
>>35007378
>>35007389
>>35007457

Are these the votes?

This is kind of important, so I wan to be sure.

>>35007566
both

>>35007566
Saying a small heart felt apology.
And business to make sure he doesn't lose his potentially best money making banding of his life time.

>>35007251
(1/2)

You hold the phone to your ear with your left hand and pick up the guitar with your right. The isn't going to be a pleasant call, so why not have some fun while it's ringing?

You stroll over to the two groaning thugs, a smile on your face.

Finally he picks up. His breathing is heavy, and he's wheezing a bit, but it's definitely the manager's voice. "This had better be important," he says, "I'm in the middle of something." You hear what might be a feminine moan from the other end of the line.

You raise the guitar and club the jaw off of the goon clutching his stomach. He lets out a wordless, gurgling cry, and you feel a little bit less like the universe is playing a cruel joke on you.

"I'm," you say, hesitating slightly - you're not used to apologizing, "I'm sorry about your wife."

>>35008287
(2/2)

You hear a sharp intake on breath from the other man. "You," he spits out, and you hear a scream from the woman, you hear pleading for him to stop, you hear sounds that put a smile on your face.

"I was a real bastard to you all back in Sweden," you say, taking aim at a kneecap as if it was a cheap golfball, "and I'm not asking you to forgive me. I just need help." You hit a hole in one, exposing the naked bone to the cold night air, and you're rewarded with a scream from the man groveling in front of you.

"If you want me to stop," he says, "just tell me who sent you. No?" more screaming. "That's the sniper," he tells you, "I'm up on her nest. Lucky she had to take a spot so far away from the stage - our guitarist almost gave her a backstage pass. She would have killed him during the first song from the perches that would have gotten her into." He sounds almost cheerful, like a prophet who's had his direst predictions fulfilled in front of his eyes.

Disgusting, you think, aiming the guitar at the goon's other kneecap. The things some people find pleasure in.

"I've put in all the calls I can," he says, "zombie."

>[] Trying to stop history from repeating?
>[] You know the venue, what's the fastest way out?
>[] Since we're stuck here, want to know why I'm still alive?
>[] Write in

>>35008323
Last line should read:

"I've put in all the calls I can," the man on the phone says, "zombie."

>>35008323

>[] Write in

"As much as I am enjoying our chat, there is another issue.The audience is still here, and not fleeing for their lives. I am sure you grasp the significance. Any thoughts?"

We are going to have a bad day if they are able to set off whatever they were planning. We have our guitarist stable(?) for now and unless we have an exit route, we are not in a good position to move him.

8 votes to 1 vote in one update. This is a new level of quest killing.

>>35008875
man im doing a bunch of shit in 15 minutes i'll have time to catch up and read. lol

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>>35008875
Well, we suddenly went from rockbattling demons and crazy awesome stuff to shadowrunning and now torture.

Haiku did a good job of quest sudoku. Did he forget to take his meds today or something?

>>35008323
Trying to stop history from repeating?

>>35008875

Everyone fall asleep?


The one vote was my suggestion and I don't even think it is that good. I was hoping there would be some sort of discussion. We clearly need medical attention, but no clue how we are going to get it.

Also, manager is best manager. Nobody fucks with his bread and butter.

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>>35008989

To be fair, he did warn us. Repeatedly. We had the option to GTFO even after the stray round hit the guitar.

That said, I was also under the assumption that ROCK was the answer to everything. If that failed, we would just need to ROCK HARDER. Now we know.

I am legitimately curious as to what would have happened if we had kept playing after the sniper hit our man. I am pretty sure he would be dead, but it seems like we could have done some power of music bullshit or something. Or TPK.

>>35008323
>[] Trying to stop history from repeating?
>[] You know the venue, what's the fastest way out?

Either of these

>>35008323
"The audience is trapped," you say, "any thoughts?"

"There are too many guards on the outside," he says, "it's cruder, but it's got the same stink as Sweden. Try to get out through the backstage - there should be a car there."

"Trying to stop history from repeating?" you ask. You probably shouldn't have said it, since you're such a big part of that history, but it's out now. Maybe he won't take it the right way.

"This time," his voice is ice, tinged dark with blood frozen inside it, "I've got a good rifle and a decent perch. No desperate one-on-one struggle tonight." He hangs up on you, doubtless to get back to taking his frustrations out on his captive.

You hope she doesn't reveal her secrets too quickly. Everyone deserves some sunshine in their life, even old enemies.

You turn back to the DJ, who's finished bandaging the accountant. "We're getting out through the backstage," you say.

You hope the two broken toys collapsed on the stage were the only backstage guards.

>[] Grab the accountant with the DJ, and take him out the back
>[] Scout the route first
>[] Leave them, go deal with the guards blocking one of the gates
>[]Write-in

>>35009473
>grab dj and accountant

>>35009473
>[] Grab the accountant with the DJ, and take him out the back
though I'd rather scout a bit before moving him, place him in a secure place then scout around again and so forth untill we reach the car.

>>35009473
Grab the accountant and DJ. Fuck this place.

>>35009473
>[] Grab the accountant with the DJ, and take him out the back
> check the guards for any weapons or anything useful.
> Proceed carefully, with the DJ carrying the Accountant and you scouting ahead, holding his guitar.

>framing seseop

I think Captcha is saying we should frame this dude for the whole setup.

>>35009473
>[] Grab the accountant with the DJ, and take him out the back

>>35009473
"Can you help me with him?" you ask the DJ, as you walk toward her, gesturing at the accountant. She's packing up the first aid kit. Very tidy, isn't she?

"Sure," she says, meeting your eyes. That's impressive, considering that she just saw you break two men as stress relief during a phone call. You each get under an arm, and lift.

It's easier than you'd hoped. The DJ is taking more of the weight the you'd thought she could, and she's still got the first aid kit. Hopefully you won't need it again, but it's nice to have.

The two of you trudge down the backstage stairs, and you check the bandages. They're well-wrapped, and still white. Well, it's good that they're still holding. You walk heavily past dressing rooms and green rooms, until you find the door to the loading dock.

It's locked.

Fuck that. You get out from under the accountant's arm, leaving the DJ to prop him up against the wall, and wrap both your hands around the neck of his guitar. You slam it into the door against and again, then kick twice, next to the knob.

The door splinters, and most of it swings away from the portion with the knob, which is still supported by the deadbolt. You yank it away from the wall, and toss it aside.

There's a big hunk of Detroit heavy metal parked near the door. You and the DJ manhandle the accountant into the backseat of the car. She decides to ride back there, in case there's an issue. The keys are on the driver's seat. The car roars to life, and you swing out of the drive.

By the time any of the guards notice, you're already well underway, and few things can stop a car this big and heavy once it gets going.

As you turn down the drive out, you see guards standing along the outside of one of the venue's chain link fences, knocking climbers off of the inside by shoving truncheons through the holes.

>[] Drive for the city
>[] Drive along the fence to clear the guards off of it
>[] Write-in

>>35010081
>[] Drive along the fence to clear the guards off of it

We need to get a last Fuck You after this diasater.

>>35010081
>>[] Drive along the fence to clear the guards off of it
This is an appropriate asshole thing

>>35010081
>Drive along the fence

>>35010081
Drive along the fence

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>>35010081
Well, there's one thing you can do before you get out of here. You swing the car around, aiming parallel to the fence, and gun the engine. The car shoots off the pavement, onto the uneven dusty ground, crushing tumbleweeds beneath its wheels.

The guards are too busy with their work to notice you until you're upon them. Your raised middle finger is the last thing some of them see, as the car cannons into them. It's like bowling, except actually fun.

The guards farther along the fence turn and try to run, but you've got up a head of steam and ride them down mercilessly. Blood splatters across the windshield, and you grin.

One of them keeps a clearer head than the rest. He turns, sees you coming, and jumps over your car's hood, smashing through your windshield into the passenger seat.

>[] Gut him like a pig
>[] Break his jaw
>[] Kick him with your other leg
>[] Defend yourself, but focus on driving
>[] Write-in

>>35010496
>[x] Kick him with your other leg

>>35010496
>Gut him like a pig

>>35010496
>Focus on driving defend yourself
>Get him DJ!

>>35010496
He's a little bit disoriented, and landing on the guitar leaning in the passenger seat must have been painful. You switch feet, setting your left foot on the gas pedal, and deliver a sharp kick with with your right.

And then another, and another, and you're just trampling him horizontally as you pull out your knife. When he finally grabs your leg, you're ready. You lean over, thrusting the knife under his arms into his belly. He screams as it rips into his flesh, his grip slackens, and you bring the blade back across his throat, and you're done with him.

You've driven the length of that wall, scattering and killing guards. You can see a few climbers make it over in your rearview mirror. Hopefully they'll form a beachead, and the rest can get out.

You've got a big grin on your face as you turn onto the road leading away from the venue, and floor it toward the city. You've never run over that many people at once before, and, while it lacks the personal element you relish, there's just something in the triumph of metal over man you can't help but love.

You glimpse a tall man with some sort of instrument on his back trudging toward the venue. As you flash by him, you only notice that the instrument on his back is much too large to be a guitar, or even a bass.

You glance back to check out, you mean check on, the DJ and the accountant. She's securing his bandages again. A few of them are stained red - it looks like driving at high speed over rough ground and goons did a number on them.

It just means you'll have to get to the hospital faster.

Alright, I think that's a good place to end it. I'm done for tonight.

Thread tomorrow, probably.

Twitter (for runtime announcements): https://twitter.com/HaikuDeluge

Archive (for reading when you feel nostalgic for the good old days before the accountant died): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Rock+Quest
I'll be on and ready to answer questions, receive comments, etc. for a while.

>>35010921
>You glimpse a tall man with some sort of instrument on his back trudging toward the venue. As you flash by him, you only notice that the instrument on his back is much too large to be a guitar, or even a bass.
After that Godo insert why do I get the feeling that we've saw Guts whit....a cello of all things

>>35011026
Cello Guts.
We need to make a Special Cello Metal show. Right the Fuck Now.

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>>35011026
He was found by a wandering orchestra.

When he was a baby, they made him play the violin. When he was a boy, they made him play the Cello. When he was a young man, they made him play the double bass.

Now he roams the world, betrayed by his bandmates, the Black Bassist, hunted by demons, with an octobasse on his back.

I swear, when I run a serious quest I'll break my bad habit of ripping off characters from good works.

But this isn't a serious quest, so stuff like >>35011135 is too good to pass up.

>>35011135
I almost creamed my pants at that.
>>35011165
And there goes my jizz