>>45595013

Morning finds you sitting in the drab room you rented out, carefully wording the report you'll send back to the Nameless Capital. You'll trust it to pigeon post again, for the speed if nothing else. Besides, you had a request to make in your report and sending the message on ahead of you would give Howa some time to get started. Research, put simply, into just what Nodens was – if there is an answer to be found, the archives at the Nameless Temple are the best place to start looking.

When you're coming back from the aviary you find Koa sitting in the inn with a thrown together meal. He looks well rested, a far cry from the slumped, yawning mess he'd been when you arrived at the outpost. When you tell him to finish eating and gather his things, he does so without complaint. Riding at a brisk pace, you could be back at the Nameless Temple by the afternoon.

“Riding again,” Koa mutters, his good humour souring a little as he fumbles himself into the saddle.

Riding again, you confirm, it's something he'll need to get used to if he plans on becoming a Wanderer. The name is kind of a hint.

“I know,” he sighs, and says nothing more as you both ride off down the forested path. It's good weather for riding, cool and without much of a breeze. Moving forwards, you spend the next hour or so in a companionable silence before a voice reaches you.

“Sirs!” a woman shouts, emerging from the trees and waving you over, “Oh sirs, are you from the Nameless Temple?”

“We are,” Koa announces before you can get a word in, “What's the problem?”

Wonderful, you grumble to yourself, now you're about to get dragged into-

“No problem, sirs!” the woman replies, “Our village has been blessed with child, and we need someone to say the words. Would you do it?”

An easy task, more routine than anything. Not your usual business, but it would be a good lesson for Koa.

>I'll do it
>I have business elsewhere
>Other

>>45595016
Would it be rude to "volunteer" Koa for the task?

>>45595058

>At the moment, Koa is only an apprentice. He wouldn't know what to do, unfortunately.

>>45595016
>I have business elsewhere
shadowruns, and we're carrying some very child-unfriendly goods

>>45595016
>>I'll do it
Sidequest!

>>45595016
>>I'll do it

>>45595016
>I'll do it

You'll do it, you reply after a moment's thought, it shouldn't be too much of a diversion. Besides, you think to yourself with a pang of nostalgia, it's been a while since you've done something like this. It might be nice to unwind a little.

As you're riding away after the grateful woman, your horses trotting slowly along, Koa leans over and asks the first of what might be many questions. “Sir,” he begins, “What did she mean by “someone to say the words”? What's she asking us to do?”

He really is new to this, you remind yourself. What you're about to do, you explain patiently, is the majority of a Wanderer's normal routine. Simple ceremonies to bless and celebrate events such as births, funerals or even marriages. It's not exciting stuff, but it keeps the people happy and reminds them that the Nameless Temple is looking out for them. All he needs to do is watch and learn – you'll handle this one alone.

“Oh,” Koa thinks for a moment, “So what you usually do...”

You've... come to an agreement with the Mentor, you tell him slowly, you handle the heavier business that other Wanderers might not be able to. There's a long story there, and not one you're eager to tell.

“Oh,” the apprentice repeats as he's dismounting, the tiny village unfolding before you. A few houses, a few gardens and an old – yet well-maintained – shrine. Plain and forgettable, but cosy nonetheless. As you're striding into town, a crowd begins to gather. Maybe two dozen people, gathering around the shrine and murmuring amongst themselves. Dusting off your hands, you put on a pleasant expression – as best you can, at least – and approach the shrine. Parting before you, the crowd separates to reveal a beaming couple, the woman clutching a newborn child.

[1/2]

>>45595304

Exchanging a few murmured words with the new parents – the child is a healthy boy, born not a week past – you wash your hands in the bowl of clean, pure water and begin the simple ceremony. First bowing politely to the gathered crowd, you dip a finger in the bowl of water and dab a drop of it onto the child's brow.

You bless this child, you intone, and grant it protection. You bless it with happiness, a long life and prosperity. You protect it against famine, disease and sorrow. As the child is blessed, so are the parents. As the parents are blessed, so is the community. As the community is blessed, you finish, so are you all.

“So are we all,” the crowd repeats, their heads bowed. With the words read, they break out into a flurry of restrained, yet warm applause.

You're just glad you remembered the words. It's been a while.

As you're weaving your way out of the crowd, shaking hands and accepting thanks with demure murmurs, you see Koa watching you with curious eyes. Not what he was expecting, you ask when you reach is side, was it?

“I didn't know what I was expecting,” Koa shrugs, “It's all very... plain.”

Maybe so, you reply, but faith doesn't need to be some flashy thing. The people here might not meditate for hours a day or observe strict rituals, but they praise their gods and live good lives. That's all you can really ask of them – and of yourselves.

“I can't help but think you had a reason for showing me this,” Koa remarks as he's returning to his horse, “This was a lesson, then?”

It was, you nod, teaching him...

>The world isn't always a bleak place
>The value of keeping the people quiet and happy
>Being a Wanderer isn't what he thinks it is
>Other

>>45595389
>>The world isn't always a bleak place

>>45595389
>The world isn't always a bleak place

>>45595389
>The world isn't always a bleak place
>Being a Wanderer isn't what he thinks it is

You just wanted to teach him that the world isn't always a bleak place, you say slowly, and that there is happiness to be found there. Too many Wanderers forget that, especially if they fall into the same kind of role you've fallen into. Today, you met two people that were genuinely happy to be alive, and grateful that you were able to say a few words for them. In a way, you had to remind yourself about that as well, and you're glad you did so.

As Koa falls silent, thinking over the improvised lesson, you consider your own future. Retiring to become a humble priest in a village like that – would that be such a bad fate? Living with quiet contentment rather than the live you've grown used to might not be so bad, especially since you're not getting any younger...

“Still,” Koa interrupts your thoughts as he speaks up, “It's not quite...”

Being a Wanderer isn't what he thought it was, you ask, is it?

“Well, no,” the apprentice sounds thoughtful, as if recent events have forced him to reconsider a lot of things, “It's not bad, I suppose, but it's not very... exciting.”

It's safe, you say with a shrug, and that suits some people. No matter what happens though, the Mentor will always need people – people like you – to handle the unsafe business. When he's older, once he's a Wanderer himself, Koa will need to decide what his path will be. It's not your place to decide that. Now, you tell the boy, hush up for a moment. You prefer riding in peace.

Koa actually manages to stay quiet for a whole hour before speaking up. Leaning around in his saddle, he points up to Tenngaru's central mountains. “Hey,” he says, “Is that... normal?”

Following his pointed finger, you spy dark clouds shrouding the top of the mountain. No, you tell him slowly, that's not normal at all. That looks like trouble – someone else's trouble. You've got business elsewhere.

[1/2]

>>45595600

Thoughts of that churning black storm are still dogging your thoughts when the afternoon rolls around and you ride into the Nameless Temple. You part company with Koa here as well, urging him to return to his normal lessons and to think carefully about what he's experienced recently. Nodding eagerly, the apprentice hurries off in the direction of the classrooms, quickly vanishing from your sight.

Now, you think to yourself, what's next? Howa might have some research to share with you down at the archives, a little insight into what Nodens might have been, and you'd like to confirm your report with the Mentor. He'll probably have another task for you – perhaps something to do with that ominous storm – but you might let that one go. You don't need to take care of everything around here, after all.

>Visit the archives and see what Howa has learned
>Visit the Mentor and deliver your report
>Other

>>45595662
>Visit the archives and see what Howa has learned

>>45595662
>>Visit the archives and see what Howa has learned
Knowledge comes first.

File: Howa.png (763 KB, 650x885)

763 KB PNG

The archives are your best place to start, you decide. It's not been long since you send word ahead, but Howa knows the archives better than anyone else – if there's something down there that can help, she'd be the one to know about it. Somehow, when you arrive at the archives, you get the feeling that she was waiting for you. Howa sits at the entrance, tapping her cane slowly on the ground in time with some mental rhythm. When she hears your footsteps, she looks round at you.

“Oh, Ira,” smiling, like always, “I was expecting you earlier. Delays on the road?”

Something like that, you tell her, a little extra lesson for Koa. Has she found anything about Nodens?

“Straight to business, I see,” Howa purses her lips, “Well, I found... something. You might not like it, though.”

Bad news then?

“No,” the woman shrugs, “It's just... scholarly. Lots of theory and suggestion, with remarkably little in the way of solid fact. Anyway, with that warning, I'll get right into it. What the layman calls “dead” and “alive”, when talking about the gods are actually closer to “asleep” and “awake”. Common knowledge, of course.”

Of course. Slaying a god's physical manifestation is the easiest way of putting them to sleep, although some enter a sleep of their own desires – or through a lack of worship. Where's she going with this?

“I read a theory – written, I should add, by a known madman – that suggests the existence of another world, a divine world that the gods truly reside in. When they're awake here, they're asleep there. When they sleep here, they're awake over there. Manifestations, then, are a kind of divine dream given form. Or so our lunatic friend claimed.” Howa shrugs a little at that, as if accepting how curious it all sounds.

[1/2]

>>45595961

Fine, you reply as you pinch the bridge of your nose, what does this have to do with... anything?

“He suggested that, if gods could dream they might also have nightmares,” Howa raps her cane on the stone tiles to keep your attention from wavering, “Lucid dreams, taking the form of benevolent spirits, and uncontrolled nightmares, taking the form of malevolent horrors. That, or so the theory suggests, might be what this “Nodens” creature was. The dark mirror of a sleeping god. I can't explain, though, how it was able to do... what you claimed it was able to do.”

And that's what you were hoping to find out, you sigh, damn. Keep looking, you ask her, and you'll do your best to bring her anything that might help her search. Speaking of bringing her things, you add as you delve into your pack and produce the golden gauntlets, these were linked with Nodens. It forced the thing to enter the world prematurely, in a more easily slain state.

“I see,” Howa doesn't touch the gauntlets, not with her bare hands, “I'll give them a good look. Oh, but that'll take time – and I heard the Mentor wanted to speak with you. Something about your latest report, I believe.”

>I'll go see him now
>I've got some final questions for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>45595977
>I'll go see him now

>>45595977
>>I'll go see him now

>>45595977

>>I'll go see him now

You'll go and see him now, you tell Howa, best not to keep the old man waiting too long. After giving her one last warning about the gauntlets – you're not sure exactly what they're capable of doing – you retreat from the musty archives and find clearer air in the corridors leading to the Mentor's chambers. You're waved through almost immediately, a sure sign that the old man has been waiting for your arrival.

A problem with your report, you wonder as you stride out to meet the Mentor, or just something he wanted clarification on? Such questions are not uncommon, and often used as a pretence for some other matter – a personal question, say, or a lesson in more obscure matters. Bowing before the Mentor, you wait for him to make his inquiries.

“I read your report,” he says, in no hurry to press the issue, “Good work as always, especially in defusing a difficult situation. A great many lives have been saved, thanks to you, Ira.”

Thanking him, you ask the question yourself. Was there a problem with your report?

“Not a problem,” the Mentor says quietly, “But a question. How is our prodigal child doing?”

Tawn Moriya. It's no wonder that the Mentor is curious – everyone in the Nameless Temple is a little curious about what the young man has been doing with himself. Few, you gather, know that he works directly for the Emperor. Thinking back to Dumas, you try to put your feelings towards Tawn into simple words. Pragmatic, true, but also devoted to his new master. Willing to obey orders, even when it would result in a massacre, yet also willing to work around them to prevent one. He's learned caution, you add, although that might be closer to protecting his own interests.

[1/2]

>>45596223

“I had hoped Tawn might provide...” the Mentor pauses here, his ancient eyes narrowed to dark slits, “An opening. A foothold in the Imperial court. Not to exploit, of course, but to open new avenues of cooperation. The fact that you were able to work together this time is a blessing, a good omen.” Shivering softly, as if cold, some signs of the Mentor's unknowable age slips through, “I fear there will be few chances for peace in the coming days. We may come to rely upon what has happened on Dumas in the future.”

A good thing then, you say in an attempt to lift the mood, that you made such a good impression.

“Yes, it is,” the Mentor nods, “And good work deserves a reward. Tell me, Ira, do you feel ready to deepen your knowledge of the mystical arts?”

You're ready, you assure the elderly man, you've been ready for some time now.

“Then, what would you learn?” the Mentor asks.

>Deepen your mastery of Fire (Attacking magic)
>Deepen your mastery of Water (Social magic)
>Deepen your mastery of Air (Diverse magic)
>Deepen your mastery of Earth (Defensive magic)

>>45596231
>Deepen your mastery of Air (Diverse magic)

>Deepen your mastery of Air (Diverse magic)

Nigga are we about to go full Avatar up in here?

Cue the hamfisted lesbian romance at the tail end of the show with no build up.

Oh wait, you already did that, didn't you Moloch?

>>45596231
>>Deepen your mastery of Air (Diverse magic)

File: Spoiler Image (99 KB, 723x691)

99 KB JPG

>>45596276

Never again. I promise

>>45596316
Just taking the piss. It's okay. You can go full yuri if that's what makes you happy.

>>45596322
Let's be honest, the few days that Petra and Amelia had was waaaay more build up to whatever the fuck Avatar did there. That shit was just confusing.

Air, you reply after a moment's thought, you'll deepen your mastery of Air's diverse ways and winds. Magic is a utility, a tool, and is best served as such.

“Very well,” the Mentor nods, “There was a trick I wished to show you. A simple exercise of your will, but one that could prove very useful. Close your eyes, Ira, and focus. Concentrate...” Obeying his guidance, you lower your head and allow the world to fade from around you. Although his feet make no sound as he paces around you, you still find yourself following the Mentor's movements. It's the air that gives him away, minute changes in the air that surrounds you.

“Yes, you can feel that,” the Mentor says in a whisper, “And there are other winds that you can feel, if only you open your senses to them. All magic flows upon the breath of the gods, surrounding us at all times. Feel, Ira, the ebb and flow of that current.”

Of course, you realise, it's simple. Yet, this magic feels... different. Rather than inscribing itself upon your heart and soul – a rather flowery, meaningless term that the Mentor still insists on teaching everyone to use – it feels more like an old wound tearing open within you. Even as new knowledge floods into your mind, you hear yourself gasping out in some phantom pain.

>New spell card gained:
>[Air] Measure the Breath
>“By attuning the senses, you can sense disturbances in the flow of energy.”
>By concentrating, you can determine the source of any magical effect in the area. If this is a person, you can track them easily for the next hour.

That, you grunt as your senses return, that wasn't the first time he's taught you that little trick – was it?

[1/2]

>>45596463

“Correct,” the Mentor says sadly, “What was lost has now been reclaimed. In time, Ira, all the wounds upon your heart will heal. Rediscovering your true power will not be an easy or painless process, but with time and virtuous effort... it will come.”

Your wounds. A subject that you prefer to keep unspoken. Rubbing a hand across your chest – and the twisted knot of scar you keep hidden as often as you can – you nod gravely and thank the Mentor. One day you'll feel like explaining that thorny subject, but today is not that day. So, you ask in an attempt to change the subject, is there anything the Mentor would have you do? Preferably not taking some time off, you add as a lame joke.

“I have two tasks that need taking care of, tasks that have recently come to my attention,” the Mentor tells you, scrutinising you, “An official writ, to be handled much like any other, and a more... unofficial matter. That will require delicate attention, and perhaps haste. Contradictory requests, I know. You're under no obligation to take on either of these missions, but... I would trust this unofficial matter to few others.”

Here it is, you think, the important matter you've always feared would come.

>Tell me more about this writ
>Tell me about this other matter
>I cannot take on either task at this time
>Other

>>45596537
>>Tell me about this other matter

>>45596537
>>Tell me about this other matter
Time for a secret mission.

>>45596537
>Tell me about this other matter

>>45596601
>>45596537
this

You'd like to know about this “other matter” of his, you tell the Mentor, and why he would only trust you with it.

“It is a sensitive matter, with quite a story behind it,” the Mentor leads you aside as he begins, sitting you down at a low table, “I – which is to say, the Temple itself – received a letter recently from an aviary clerk in the south. He claimed that he was given a writ that he was unable to send immediately, an issue with the birds I believe. The patron could not stay – apparently, the man was fleeing something – and left the writ at the aviary. Not long after the patron left, a man bearing the Emperor's seal arrived and confiscated the writ.”

He confiscated a writ, you repeat incredulously, that's a grave accusation to make. The Temple has always had a careful relationship with the Emperor – he stays out of your business, and you stay out of his. If this has changed...

“I agree, it's a serious matter,” the Mentor nods, “The clerk handed over the writ – what choice did he have? However, he sent word to us as soon as he was able. It's not an official writ, so we have no authority to investigate. I cannot send you to investigate this matter.”

But...

“But, I can suggest that you take some well-deserved rest,” the Mentor says, amusement in his voice, “There is a small community to the south of here, called Solitude – named after what the residents sought. It would be a lovely place, I believe, to rest. You may be interested in spending some... personal time there. I suggest asking at the closest outpost, the clerk there would be able to tell you more about the region. Of course, the final decision is yours to make.”

>Maybe you're right, I'll take a trip down south
>Tell me about that writ first
>I have a few questions (Write in)
>Other

>>45596777
>>Maybe you're right, I'll take a trip down south

>>45596777
>>Maybe you're right, I'll take a trip down south
Sounds lovely...

>>45596777
>>Maybe you're right, I'll take a trip down south

>>45596777
>>Maybe you're right, I'll take a trip down south

He's right, you decide with a firm nod, it's about time you take a trip down south. Wash that northern sea air away with a little holiday. Thanking him for the advice – although you're not quite sure why you're still keeping up with farcical pretence – you rise and bow to the Mentor. As you're leaving, he speaks up calmly.

“Ira?” he asks, “Leave the boy here, and tell this to as few people as possible. I do not wish to stir up trouble with the Emperor. Discretion, in this case, is important – and yet I must encourage haste. I believe the Emperor intends to end this matter as quickly and quietly as possible. Whatever truth can be found in Solitude, I fear it does not have long left in this world.”

Nodding soberly, you turn your back on the old man and stride from the chamber. You don't stop until you've reached the stables, taking a fresh horse for the long journey ahead of you. Only then do you take a moment to stop and consult your map. Located in the south-east, Solitude is as isolated as the name suggests, perched just on Tenngaru's southernmost border. Riding through the night if you must, you should reach the closest outpost town by tomorrow morning. From there, a shorter journey should take you to your destination.

Haste, that was what the Mentor said. You've got to agree with him – something about this whole affair has every instinct you have crying out danger. Dangerous gods, dangerous men, or dangerous things, it doesn't matter what – you just don't like it.

The sooner you've put this to rest, the better.

[1/2]

>>45597144

You ride hard, stopping only to buy a flask of some vile tasting but invigorating brew along the way. With the potion singing through your veins, you ride through the night until you arrive, with the rising sun, at the outpost town marked on your map. It's a surreal moment, arriving there – it always is, considering how identical they look – but at least you can find the aviary easily enough. You stroll in calmly, glancing around for any sign of someone that might be one of the Emperor's spies.

But then, what does a member of the secret police look like? Most people never find out, not until a nameless stranger arrests them on some exaggerated charge. Grimacing at the thought, you approach the aviary clerk – a sleepy looking young man who jerks up at your approach. Taking one look at you, his head twitches in a nervous nod.

“You're, ah, you're from the Temple?” he asks, his voice low, “You got here faster than I thought. Taking things seriously, I see. Good, good...”

He looks more paranoid than you, and that's no easy feat.

>What can you tell me about the customer, the man who brought in the writ?
>Tell me everything this customer put in his writ
>This man bearing the Emperor's seal, what can you tell me about him?
>Other

>>45597177
>>Tell me everything this customer put in his writ
>>This man bearing the Emperor's seal, what can you tell me about him?

>>45597177
>>What can you tell me about the customer, the man who brought in the writ?
>>Tell me everything this customer put in his writ
>>Other
"What do you know about Solitude?"

>>45596777
>Solitude
This place, it was made. FOR. ME.

>>45597177
>>
>What can you tell me about the customer, the man who brought in the writ?
>Tell me everything this customer put in his writ
>This man bearing the Emperor's seal, what can you tell me about him?
>Other "Anything I should know about Solitude?"

What can he tell you, you ask, about the man who brought in this writ?

“He was in a real hurry, I can say that for sure,” the clerk's head bobs in a quick nod, “He, uh, he didn't talk much. His voice was real scratchy, real rough. I think, speaking plainly, he might have had the plague. Some kind of plague at least, his face had these...” His hand flaps out around his own face, as if to indicate some kind of deformity. “These marks, you see. The beginnings of something nasty, I'd say.”

Plague. That's never a good sign. Frowning to yourself – the clerk recoils a little at your scowl – you quickly move onto the next question. What was in this writ, you ask, what can he remember?

“They said they had a new god,” the clerk says quickly, plucking the answer from his memory, “They never had one, not recently at least, but now something changed. He was being real vague about it, but I got the impression that the Emperor might not like what was going down there. Guess I was right, huh?”

Maybe so, you agree, if the Emperor sent an agent out to sweep this under the rug. Speaking of this agent, actually, what can the clerk tell you about him?

“Other than having the Emperor's seal – a real one, all pretty and golden – I can't say much,” the clerk frowns, “Real normal looking, but he had a knife. Said he'd gut me if I didn't hand the writ over – and begging your pardon sir, I know how important your work is, but it isn't worth dying over. That's all I... no, wait sir, there WAS something. He had a ring, one made out of steel. Real plain, like, but there were some letters on it. Didn't get the chance to read them though, I only saw it for a moment.”

That's fine, you assure him, anything is helpful. Privacy men wear steel rings – you fix that thought in your mind as you move on, asking your next question.

[1/2]

>>45597460

Solitude, you ask, what can the clerk tell you about it?

“I'm not a scholarly type,” the clerk warns you, “But I do have a passing interest in the history of these parts. I keep my ears open, sir, and learn what I can. I reckon there's a fair amount I can tell you about that place actually. It's old, real old, and it's not got much of a good history. Figures, with a name like that, don't you think?”

Yes, you agree with a trace of impatience, very bleak. But anyway...

“Yes yes,” the clerk sighs as he thinks, “It's a monastery of sorts, I think. Monks went there for peace and quiet, to do their meditations and the like. Only, they were usually a special kind of monk – men who'd lost things, everything even. They went there to cope, to deal with what they'd lost. It got kind of a reputation, I think, for people never leaving. It tends to draw lost souls, folks looking to disappear.”

That... does sound bleak.

“Gives me chills to think about,” the clerk agrees, “Rumours, sir, you know how they get out of control. It's just a sad place, that's all.”

Somehow, you're not reassured.

>Thanks for your help, I'm heading out. Don't mention me to anyone
>I've got a few questions for you (Write in)
>Other

>>45597561
>Thanks for your help, I'm heading out. Don't mention me to anyone

Hey Moloch, other than the Emperor's dislike of gods, there is nothing inherently bad about a new god showing up right? I mean obviously its an unknown element at first, but nothing to sweep under the rug like the secret police are doing right?

>>45597590

>It doesn't happen often so it attracts quite a lot of attention. Other than that, there's nothing inherently wrong or dangerous about a new god appearing, no.

>>45597561
>Thanks for your help, I'm heading out. Don't mention me to anyone

>>45597561
Seems pretty sloppy for "secret" police, leaving witnesses like that
Sounds like a false flag to me
>thanks for your help, I'm heading out

Thanking the clerk for his help, you decide to head out as soon as you can. As you're leaving, the clerk calls after you.

“Ah, sir!” he calls, “I forgot to mention before, there were some soldiers coming through here not so long ago. Maybe a day and a half, I think. They didn't stop, but they caused quite a racket coming through. They had a wagon with them, all covered with a sheet. That's going to be murder on the road, even horses struggle with it sometimes. You're better off walking, sir, if you want to move quietly. Won't even be much slower, with the road being what it is.”

Nodding gratefully, you give the clerk one piece of advice – he shouldn't mention you, or this meeting, to anyone. It might not be safe. With that warning as your parting words, you slip out of the aviary and into the forest, seeking out the path that will take you to Solitude. You travel on foot, following the advice to leave your horse behind, and make a quick start. As you walk, you go over what the clerk told you.

It's strange, for a member of the secret police to leave such an important witness alive. If they were trying to cover something up, they're doing an especially bad job of it. How difficult could it be, really, to fake a copy of the Emperor's seal? Or even to take one from a dead agent? That's the thing about being a member of the secret police – people tend not to recognise you, or know what to expect. With a few props, bluffing can go a long way...

Troubling. Something you'll need to keep in mind, perhaps, in the days ahead.

[1/2]

>>45597824

Slipping through the forest – the woods of the south are darker, more overgrown than you're used to – it isn't long before you hear faint voices. Crouching low and leaving the beaten path, you enter the trees and allow them to shroud you in shadows as you draw closer to the muffled voices. Leaves and undergrowth whisper beneath your slow pace, the sound easily lost beneath the ill-disciplined chatter.

A slow creeping walk eventually takes you to the source of the voices, and you have to pause a little at the sight. The road is blocked, wooden stakes driven into the ground to deter horses, and guarded by a cluster of soldiers. A few tents have been erected, suggesting they plan on lingering, and a wagon rests nearby. Just like the clerk said, it must have been murder getting it here – the thing is almost as wide as the path itself. There's something else as well, the cargo of that wagon.

It looks like a pair of bellows, almost, with a hose connecting it to a heavy barrel. A strong man could hold the pump, wearing the barrel like a backpack, but to what purpose? Then you see one of the other soldiers wrapping a rag around a long, sturdy branch. A torch, something to carry fire. That must mean...

A flamethrower. You've heard stories, but you never thought they were real. The Emperor isn't playing around here.

As you're frozen in the undergrowth, you see the officer in charge – his coloured sash marks him out as a captain – flash a brief warding gesture as he glances at the flamethrower. A religious man – strange to see, in the army.

>Sneak past the camp
>Try to talk your way through
>Other

>>45597928
>Sneak past the camp
Lets get past them and figure out whats going on before they arrive.

>>45597928
Sneak past the camp

>>45597928
>Sneak past the camp

>>45597928
>>Sneak past the camp
We were told to be discrete after all.

>Looks like we're taking the stealthy approach here. Please roll 1D100, aiming to beat 60 or 80. I'll take the highest of the first three!

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>45598211
Welp

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>45598211
Here we go

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>45598211

>>45598256
Should have brought a cardboard box for a +1 mod.

There looks to be about a dozen men here, all armed with swords and rifles, and that's before you consider the flamethrower they've got. Discretion, in this case, is definitely the better part of valour. Besides, you want to get in and out as quietly as you can – asking politely might work, or it might not, but it would certainly leave an impression.

No, far better to get in and out without anyone ever knowing you were here. Easier said than done, however.

Sticking as low as you can – your back is going to ache tomorrow – you prowl a little closer to the camp, skirting around the edge of it for as long as your cover can allow. There seems to be signs of recent deforestation, wood harvested for those crude spears, that make your route a little less direct. Still, even the clearings have a good variety of ferns and high bushes that offer you protection from a casual glance. Taking the time to plan out your route, you begin your approach.

The route you picked out is a good one, but overly cautious. Taking a wide circle around the camp, it ends up as more of a detour than you'd been expecting. Forced, largely, by a sudden argument between the captain and one of his soldiers that spilled out into the outskirts of the camp. You're not close enough to overhear, unfortunately, but it provides an ample distraction for you to slip past unnoticed.

Good enough. Even so, you stick close to the ground and cast the occasional glance over your shoulder at the camp as you're leaving. At least, until the sight of Solitude draws all your attention. A walled town, shielded behind stone defences, it would nevertheless fall quickly to an assault – mainly because it seems unguarded. The wooden gate, in fact, is ajar. With one last look over your shoulder, you let yourself in.

[1/2]

>>45598361

Opening out into a wide courtyard, there isn't really much of anything to Solitude. A gathering of houses – crafted from stone blocks, it seems – and a larger building carved into the cliff face, but that's it. The larger building is certainly impressive to look at, with countless hours once devoted to hacking away at the rock, but that's more or less the only thing here. A dry fountain in the centre of the empty space, and a disarming lack of people.

No, there is one person, slumped against that fountain. Somehow, your eye had slipped right past them without ever stopping. They look more like a pile of rags, shapeless and filthy, but the sound of your arrival stirs them into motion. Slow, tortured motion.

Limping, dragging their whole body forwards, the creature approaches you. He – you assume they're a male, at least – wears a mask of cracked, dried mud, and his eyes are terribly bloodshot.

“Stranger,” he rasps, showing rotting teeth from behind peeling lips, “Do not let my appearance... disturb you. This plague is not for you.”

That's... not very reassuring.

>Who are you?
>Did your new god do this to you?
>Start at the beginning, friend. What happened here?
>There are soldiers coming, did you know that?
>Other

>>45598441
>Who are you?
>Start at the beginning, friend. What happened here?

>>45598441
>Start at the beginning, friend. What happened here?
>Other
"What do you mean 'Not for me'? This plague selects its victims?"

>>45598441
>Start at the beginning, friend. What happened here?

>>45598441
>Other
"So it is safe for me to be talking to you?"
>>Who are you?
>>>Start at the beginning, friend. What happened here?

File: Melancholia.jpg (79 KB, 550x646)

79 KB JPG

Slow down, you begin – although the sickly figure before you is already speaking slowly – cautiously, does he have a name?

“Name?” the figure repeats, scratching at the dried clay with a palsied hand. Some crumbles and falls away, revealing the corrupted flesh beneath. “I had a name once. I think I... forgot. Monk. Just call me Monk.”

Monk. Right. Start from the beginning friend, you tell the crooked man, what happened here? And is it safe for you to talk with him?

“Safe,” Monk seems to savour the word, “We mean you no harm, and the plague... it will not spread. Not... easily.”

Vague. Just what you didn't want to hear. But, you add, that didn't answer your question – what happened here?

“You know of this place, yes? We were hopeless men, drawn by the promise of fading into oblivion, away from the world's prying eyes. Perhaps even learning something as we went, divining some arcane truth through our slow departure. But...” Monk coughs suddenly, blood frothing out from his mouth. Wiping it away as if it was nothing, he continues. “But then she came to us. The hollow queen, for this soulless court. Our god.”

The new god mentioned in the writ. You'll... get to that in a moment. First, you wanted to know about this plague. What did he mean when he said it “wasn't for you?”, does it select its victims specially?

“In a matter of speaking,” a new voice says. Looking around, your gaze falls upon the speaker. Female, as much as a walking corpse can be called “female”. Her body is wound with bandages and wrapped in a funeral shroud, while a crown of antlers tops her brow. Despite her deathly appearance, she wears an aura of power and dignity that stuns you to silence. This can only be the newly born god herself. “This disease you see is not what you think it is. It is merely the flower, created from the seed of despair that waits within all men.”

[1/2]

>>45598812

“I am Melancholia,” the goddess says after a pause, “Born from the sea of despair that... no...” A look of distress passes across her face as she lifts a rotting hand to her brow, “No, that's not it. I existed before this...”

As the god reels with confusion, you see something like a flicker, as if – just for a fraction of a second – she was a thing of flesh and blood, life and vitality, once more. Then she is back, her eyes firm and certain. “I was born from the sea of despair that these men, souls who had lost everything that made them whole, created here. In turn, I have blessed them with numbness and serenity – even their flesh grows cold and unfeeling. They will live... for a time.”

There's nothing malevolent about her, you realise with a jolt, not deliberately so at least. Either she thinks she's doing the right thing, or issues of morality simply don't apply to her. For a newly created god, still finding their place in the world, such a thing is possible. In either case, Monk looks upon her with love and reverence, gasping slightly as she touches his brow. The tender moment is interrupted by the sudden ringing of a bell, the sound coming from one of the stone houses.

“Another death,” Melancholia says, without much feeling in her voice, “Excuse me, stranger. I must attend to this. We say prayers to the dead, here, in the hope that we will join them soon.” With that cryptic remark, she leaves, practically floating along without any footsteps you can hear.

“Stranger,” Monk croaks, “Our ways must seem strange to you. Please, ask what questions you will.”

>Strange? She's killing you, all of you!
>Fine. What can you tell me about this place?
>There are soldiers coming, you've got to leave here
>Other

Let the sleeping gods lie

>>45598948
>Fine. What can you tell me about this place?

>>45598948
>Fine. What can you tell me about this place?
>There are soldiers coming, you've got to leave here

We need to figure out what god she was before and how to restore her. Maybe show her instead of invoking numbness and I suppose apathy to ones life, inspiring hope is a much better way. Or something like that, I'm spitballing.

>>45598948
>Fine. What can you tell me about this place?
I dont think the first option will do any good at this time.

>>45598948
>>Fine. What can you tell me about this place?
Can't she do her thing without giving you a plague?

>>45598948
>>Fine. What can you tell me about this place?
>>There are soldiers coming [to cure this plague by the only way they know, torching everything], you've got to leave here

>>45599052
I think its a par of what Howa was telling us. This might be this goddess's nightmare dream version of herself. She was maybe a Goddess of vitality or something before she came as this.

We'll most likely have to find a way for her to remember this is not who she is supposed to be. Which we saw she sort of recalled for a second.

Letting out a heavy sigh – something about the atmosphere here is oppressive, weighing you down with fatigue – you rub a hand down your face. Fine, you mutter, what can Monk tell you about this place? Has anything changed lately, other than... other than the obvious?

“This place is far older than any of us,” Monk tells you slowly, thinking aloud, “There was no god when we came here, it was barren, empty... perfect for our purposes. I think something about the land here draws people like us, empty men. There were still remains when we arrived. The former residents, starved and faded. Peaceful.”

Bleak, that was the word the clerk used to describe this place. He wasn't joking. Monks starving themselves to death – and why, in search of enlightenment? The thought alone is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“We live here and there, in whatever house we like. Most of us don't leave much,” Monk points a wavering finger at the largest building, the one hewn from the rock itself, “But we don't set foot inside the palace. It's sacred ground, not fit for the likes of us. Even our queen can't set foot in there – she's as empty as any of us.”

That's somewhere to start, then. You've got to ask, though – this Melancholia, does she need to inflict her diseases upon the people here to comfort them? Can't she do it without tainting their flesh?

“It's her very nature that does it, stranger,” Monk sighs, “She's our mirror, as diseased as our hearts. In time, we took after her, as ugly outside as we were inside.”

Maybe, you think to yourself, these people might not be in this mess if they weren't so damn morbid. All this talk of disease and ugliness is really getting on your nerves. Edgy bastards. Even so, they don't deserve what's coming.

[1/2]

>>45599273

There are soldiers coming soon, you warn, and they're not coming to help. If word of a plague has reached their ears, they must be coming for purge this place – no matter that the plague is a spiritual one. He needs to leave here, but... he's not going to, is he?

“I cannot,” Monk says, phlegm rising in his throat to cut off any further words. He coughs wetly, and then continues, “I would never be able to outrun them, nor slip beneath their gaze. I've accepted my fate, stranger, but I thank you for your care. If they come to destroy this place, I would rather face death head on than receive a bullet in the back.”

That's... a kind of courage. Sort of. Before you can ask anything else, a slowly unfolding spectacle takes your breath away. Lurching and slumping, almost crawling in some cases, nearly a dozen men – all shrouded in robes stiff with filth and fluids – emerge from their houses. Melancholia appears last of all, disarmingly strong arms carrying a cloaked form, and walks slowly into the centre of the clearing. As she passes, the worshippers reach out with trembling hand to touch her, letting her flapping bandages trail across their fingers like a saint's vestments. As they form around her, she passes the body to their shapeless mass, letting the faceless cult bear their dead member away.

Each step looks painful, like an ordeal, but the flock of hopeless men persist with only the slightest grumble and cough, carrying their fallen brother up to the entrance to the palace. Once there, they part and fetch various things – wood and oil, items fit for a cremation.

“Stranger,” Melancholia says as she silently approaches you, “You are a priest, are you not? Would you say a few words?”

>I... what do you want me to say?
>I can do this task
>I want no part of this
>Other

>>45599367
>>I... what do you want me to say?

>>45599367
>I can do this task
>I... what do you want me to say (if we don't remember the words)

>>45599367
>I... what do you want me to say?
Out of my element.

>>45599367
>>I... what do you want me to say?
And then if it's something we can do:
>>I can do this task

>>45599367
>I can do this task

You don't... What, exactly, does she want you to say? You can remember the traditional words for a funeral – hopefully – but is that she wants from you?

“The words themselves do not matter,” Melancholia assures you, “Merely say them, whatever you say, with feeling and compassion. The dead, priest, deserve every respect that we can give them. It is the way of the world, is it not, to honour those who enter it?”

True, you admit as you think back to the ceremony you showed Koa, you celebrate births and deaths both. Births, admittedly, are a happier affair, but the idea is the same. In that case, you decide with a burst of determination, you can do this task. You can read the words for this fallen monk. It might, as a bonus, get you a little closer to this mysterious palace – whatever answers are here will be within, you're certain of that much.

“Thank you, stranger,” Melancholia sighs, “Come.”

You follow the skeletal woman, catching a scent of both perfume and decay in her wake, as she leads you up to the palace doorway. The dead monk has been laid out upon a makeshift bonfire at the top of the stairs leading up to the doorway, his blighted features smoothed out into a mask of peace. Staring down at his corpse – no perfume here, just the rich stench of death – you flounder for a moment. There are separate words for burials and cremations, aren't there?

You entrust this body to the fire, you begin slowly, that it might find purity in death. That it might escape the weight of this world and rise into the sky. You entrust it to smoke and ash, that the soul and the body can be parted once more. Be at peace, you add after a moment's thought.

“Be at peace,” the noisome chorus repeats back to you, the closest monk touching a flaming torch to the bonfire.

[1/2]

>>45599720

As the bonfire catches light, the oil speeding the fire's advance, you are almost hypnotised. Birth and death, for a moment, blur in your mind as the two unfamiliar rituals overlap and contrast. Looking down at the bonfire once more, you almost let out a wretched cry as you see an infant resting atop the piled wood. Blinking hard, the illusion passes quickly – but the memory, you fear, will linger much longer.

It is only when the smoke is rising up, thick and dark, that the first of the robed cultists turns and begins to shuffle away. The others follow soon after, retreating with their own unhurried pace. In what seems like the blink of an eye, you are alone at the makeshift altar, watching as the nameless body is consumed by fire. Now, you suppose, would be as good a time as any to search the palace. You don't know if anyone would stop you, so much, but it might be wise to exercise discretion.

>Seek out Monk and ask him some more questions
>Seek out Melancholia
>Enter the palace
>Other

>>45599762
>Enter the palace

>>45599762
>Seek out Melancholia
>>Ask her about the palace
>>>Enter the palace

>>45599762
>Seek out Melancholia
>Enter the palace

>>45599762
>>45599807
I'll back this. I think it's risky but we need all the information we can gather before making a move.

You linger on the threshold of the palace for a moment before turning away. You want to know a little more before you make sure move, and that calls for speaking with Melancholia directly. You want to know what she has to say about the palace. Monk mentioned she wouldn't step foot in it – no, he said she couldn't – and there has to be a reason. You can recall Mandragora, and how she was barred from her own sacred grove because of a murdered body. Perhaps something similar has arisen here.

You find her in one of the smaller dwellings, sitting at the bedside of one of her followers. He sleeps fitfully, the clay mask crumbling away to reveal a furrowed brow – and cheeks eaten away by premature decay. Gagging at the reek coming off his unwashed body, you soon recoil and retreat outside. Melancholia, thankfully, follows you. Her face is serene, unconcerned by the horrors she has brought upon these people.

“You seek the palace,” she says simply, either guessing or plucking the question from your mind, “No, you seek what I know about the palace. A simple matter – I cannot bring myself to enter. I've often wondered what's inside, but none of my followers will enter. They... see my reluctance as an example to follow. I fear their minds are... clouded.”

You were going to enter it, you admit to her, does she have a problem with that?

“I encourage it,” she assures you, “Please, speak of what you find within. I feel it will enlighten us both.”

You're not above a little trespassing, but it's always nice to get permission first.

[1/2]

>>45600071

Melancholia even walks with you, up to the palace door. The closer she gets, though, the more obvious her discomfort becomes. Stopping a few paces short of the doorway, she hurriedly wishes you luck and then departs, even her gliding walk reduced to something less than graceful by her haste to retreat. Turning your back on her, you enter the gloomy palace.

It's... not much of a palace, speaking plainly. A single boxy room, accessed by a single flight of stairs leading down, decorated with nothing more than an unused throne. Everything you can find is buried under a thick layer of dust, undisturbed by any sign of life. No footprints, nothing. Frowning, you light your lantern and take a closer look – you were wrong, there IS something here. Words, scratched into the bare stone walls. You can spot countless different kinds of script, and even different languages. Starting with the oldest passage you can read, you read it aloud.

“We have come seeking Elpis,” the passage reads, “She will surely take our sins into herself and we will be absolved. In return, we offer worship and service – for the rest of our lives, if we must.”

Elpis – that must have been the god that previously ruled this region. Not now, though, something must have changed. Swallowing hard and covering your mouth – the dust seems to be creeping into your lungs, dirtying you from the inside out – you move to the opposite end of the scale, the newest message you can find. It's easy to judge age, you just need to scrape less grime away. When the newest message is revealed, you feel a cold dread creeping down your spine.

[2/3]

>>45600287
Cliffhanger!

>>45600368
Moloch: "I think it'll end it off here."
Fans: "FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-"

>>45600287

“Our god is dead,” the message opens, “And we have killed her.”

“We knew she was growing weaker, but in our arrogance we ignored the signs. We fed her on filth, misery and sin – and now she has passed, faded from this world. What will we do now,” the message concludes, “That we have nothing but solitude to sooth our wounds?”

All of a sudden, the air within this cramped box – gloomy, despite the lantern light – becomes too close, too choking to endure. It's like the sunken temple all over again, the sudden awareness of drowning rising up to seize your mind. Coughing, you rush up the stone steps and burst into the daylight, barely noticing the smoke that taints the hasty breath you take. Slowly, you recover from the palace air, and your senses return.

The god here, the original one, was a thing of hope and forgiveness, offering comfort to the broken men that came here. But generation after generation of sorrow ground her down, sending her into a bitter sleep only to awake as Melancholia, queen of the lost. At least, that's your working theory – yet to be challenged. The question is, what can you do about it?

From your current vantage point, you get a perfect glimpse of a burst of fire lighting up the forest beyond. The flamethrower, you realise, finally flaring into life. Whatever delays had been holding them back have been solved – the soldiers are coming.

>Slip out quietly. This isn't a fight you can win
>Sneak out and fight. If you can get control of that flamethrower...
>Find the captain and attempt negotiations. He might listen to reason
>Other

>>45600436
>Find the captain and attempt negotiations. He might listen to reason

>>45600436
>Find the captain and attempt negotiations. He might listen to reason
See if he can give us some more time to sort this out, like what we did with Tawn.

>>45600436
Priests do blessings, correct?

>>45600473

>Priests, Wanderers included, can do all kinds of ceremony. Blessings would be included in that, yes.

>>45600436
>Find the captain and attempt negotiations. He might listen to reason

This attack, this purge, is all based on incorrect information. If these soldiers are here to purge a disease, they've got the wrong idea – it's no physical disease, to be contained by fire and the sword, but a spiritual symptom. Despair given physical form as creeping decay – a terrible fate, true, but not contagious. Not something that needs to be exterminated.

You need to get out there and make the captain see sense. He might listen to reason – at least, enough to give you some time to sort this out properly. Tawn listened to reason, letting you take charge of the situation, this man might as well. You've just got to get out there – facing down a flamethrower in the process – and speak with him.

It'll be easy.

Monk is sitting in the courtyard when you rush down, facing the ajar gate with a serene expression peeking through the gaps in his crumbling mask. You only spare the madman a brief glance before slipping out through the gate. It's sturdy, but wooden – no protection against the coming fire, even if you closed and barred it. Letting yourself out, you make it a few meters down the winding path before you see them. Soldiers, six of them – one holding the absurd, bellows contraption and a second wavering a flaming torch by the mouth of it. Although they wear masks, rags tied around their mouths, their eyes give away the terrified hostility they feel.

Disease. It terrifies men, with even the thought of it enough to drive men to terrible deeds.

Silence descends as you stare down the yawning mouth of that awful weapon, that crude flamethrower. You've just emerged from Solitude, the same place that these men have been sent to purge.

What, exactly, are they supposed to think?

“Light him up!” one soldier cries, his voice shrill with panic.

[1/2]

>>45600763

A single gunshot pierces the air, causing everyone – including, you notice with a spasm of fear, the man holding onto the flamethrower – to flinch. At least the soldier with the torch drops it, the flame spluttering and dying as it hits the ground. He won't be lighting up any oil – you're safe, for the time being.

“You damn fools!” a voice snarls, “Does he look diseased to you? No lesions, no pus, nothing – now lower your damn weapons!”

Shoving his way through the rank of disorganised soldiers, the captain appears. He glares at you, faint relief dancing in his eyes, for a moment before tugging down his mask. As he uncovers his face, you notice, the other soldiers shuffle slightly away from him. Other than the ringing in your ears – even fired into the open air, the pistol was still deafeningly loud – there is no noise.

“Captain Musari,” the commanding officer barks, “You'd better have a damn good reason for this, old man, or I'm having you arrested – and probably shot, considering the mood I'm in.”

>Your men are out of their depth. I'm a specialist
>Your information is wrong – this is no plague
>This problem has been caused by a god, not a plague. Handle the situation as you see fit
>Other

>>45600906
>Your information is wrong – this is no plague
>Your men are out of their depth. I'm a specialist
"I'm a Wanderer that seemly keeps finding work, even on my days off. I should be able to take care of this."

Water Magic!

>>45600966
>seemly
seemingly*

>>45600966
Seconding. That water spell would help a lot too.

>>45600906
>>Your men are out of their depth. I'm a specialist
>>Your information is wrong – this is no plague
And water magic like anon said
Sup Loch

His information is wrong, you declare in a voice that is loud yet calm, this is no plague. You bolster your words with a flourish of water magic, easing the tides of the coming discussion. Either the magic or the reassuring authority in your voice seems to sooth the soldiers somewhat, leading some of them to lower their weapons and all of them to relax slightly. Sloppy, you think to yourself, these are supposed to be professionals.

“We were sent to look at a plague,” Musari argues, although one thing is obvious from the look in his eyes – he wants to believe you. “And now you're telling me that our information was wrong? Why should we trust you – and who are you, anyway?”

You're a specialist, you tell him coolly, a Wanderer who keeps finding problems to solve. Even, you add with feigned regret, on your days off. His men are out of their depth, you continue, but you should be able to handle things here.

“Boss, I think he might be right,” one of the soldiers mutters, “He came out there and he's got no disease. Maybe he knows what he's doing.”

“A Wanderer,” Musari says slowly, “On holiday. Have you any idea of how that sounds? Oh, whatever... Go on then, what's the “right” information here, if you've got all the answers?”

A god, you explain, one that spreads a kind of spiritual sickness. Those with despair in their hearts succumb to it, nobody else is vulnerable. It's the people here that did it, you add, granting their strength to this newly born god. Musari frowns hard as you explain – giving him the quickest version of events you can – and then sighs.

“Assuming I believe you,” he grunts, “What's your take on this?”

>This god needs to die
>If all the worshippers die, the god will lose her power
>Just turn back and let me handle this
>Other

>>45601045

>Hello!

>>45601242
>>Just turn back and let me handle this
I'm going to try and purify the Goddess. The one that dwelt here before was one of hope, before her followers despair forced her to sleep. I might be able to flip the switch.

>>45601242
>>45601305
This, nothing to add

>>45601242
>Just turn back and let me handle this

>>45601305
>>45601242
+1

>>45601242
>>Just turn back and let me handle this
Or at the least give us some time.

Just turn back, you tell Musari softly, and leave this to you. There are a few theories you're working on, and you just need some time to check things out. Take his men, you urge him, and go back to his camp.

“Theories,” Musari says, frowning at you. For a religious man, he seems to be quite the sceptic.

Theories, you confirm, once there was a god of hope residing here. Now, the despair of her followers has forced her into a deep sleep, to be replaced by the current goddess. You're going to try and purify her, to bring a little hope back to things. You can't guarantee success, but it's worth a try.

Musari ponders on this for a moment before turning to his slovenly troops. “You men,” he barks, “Get back to the camp and stand guard. Stop anyone from coming down this road and wait until I bring you fresh orders. Am I understood?”

“Yes sir!” the men shout back, openly relieved to be taken off this unwelcome duty. Without waiting to be properly dismissed, they turn and shamble off into the woods in loose formation. You wait a moment, but Musari shows no sign of leaving.

“I'm not letting you out of my sight for a moment longer,” he tells you with a suspicious glare, “So lead the way... Wanderer.”

At least he's not pointing a flamethrower at you.

>I'll end this here for tonight, I think. Next thread on Friday, and I'll stick around for a while in case of any questions!

>>45601525
>At least he's not pointing a flamethrower at you.
Silver linings.

Thanks for running Moloch

>>45601525
Thanks for the run!
So, are there many Wanderers out there that take the executioner approach more often than not? There's been plenty of times where we could've called it a day much faster if we just started letting heads roll.

>>45601525
Good run Loch I'm hype for the next

>>45601641

There are quite a few who prefer taking the violent approach. Some do it out of an open dislike of the gods while others do it through pure pragmatism. Like you said, it's often a lot faster.

On the other hand, the majority of Wanderers take a more balanced approach. The rewards are often better, and they get taught - even though their lessons are supposed to be neutral - the value of coexisting with the gods.

>>45601684
>>45601572

Thank you, I'm looking forwards to Friday!

>>45601725
Mentor is very pro God isn't he?

>>45601755

Personally, yes. However, he also has a very strict commitment to neutrality. That's why he leaves the method of resolving incidents up to the individual. He seeks a balance between the more pro-human forces and the traditional faithful above anything else.

>>45601824
So we've had like 5 jobs back to back essentially. Is that par for the course or is the frequency of writs concerning.

>>45601948

It's pretty uncommon! Things are certainly getting worse, from an incident perspective, and the reasons are not quite clear. The gods pushing back as mankind seeks to expand, perhaps?

I'm sure things will get better soon though!

>>45602022
I'm sure it has nothing to do with the new train

>>45602022
So are there different tiers of wanderers?

>>45602063

I suppose we'll have to wait for it to make its first voyage and see - but I don't anticipate any problems!

>>45602098

There is a general divide between Wanderers and apprentices, which is probably the biggest difference. Some Wanderers, like Howa, are teachers that remain within the Nameless Temple but they have the same "rank" as someone like Ira. The Nameless Temple doesn't have much official hierarchy, once you get down to it. There are unofficial agreements - Ira, for example, is rarely given routine ceremonial duties because he's actually pretty bad at them. Certain other Wanderers are given specific writs that call for violence. Executioners, in other words.

>>45602188
I take Ira has earned a reputation as either an executioner or a problem solver?

>>45602319

He's known as a problem solver, which surprises quite a few people. He's the sort of person who gets identified as an executioner quite often, even though he seems to be quite balanced these days.

He had a pretty rough early life though - that kind of reputation is hard to shake!

>>45602380
How many wanderers are there and how many is that relative to the size/population of the known world?

>>45602406

I couldn't really give you hard numbers on that - scale issues like that are something of a weakness of mine - but I'd put the approximate number of Wanderers at about 50, with a larger number of apprentices. The population of Tenngaru is quite large, split between a large mass in the two cities and a great many towns or villages. The population is large enough that Wanderers are often in high demand.

I'm sorry I can't give you anything more precise!

>>45602490
So why hasn't the apprentices disappearing and their mentors dying caused a stir? With a population that small it'd attract a lot of shit.

>>45602545

It's caused something of a stir, but things haven't spilled out into over panic yet. The Mentor teaches against rash action, and his word carries a lot of weight within the Nameless Temple. Word hasn't spread that far outside the temple, although it isn't being kept overtly secret. So, it's not that the disappearances haven't been causing a stir, it's that things are being quite tightly managed at the moment.

There are people investigating, at the moment, but their results have been less than impressive.

>>45602675
So how many problems and (headaches for Ira) could be avoided if the populace of village would just talk to their patron god to see what the issue is? I feel like somebody simply talking to Mandy or Doll like we did, even if you aren't a priest, would solve some issues.

>>45602767

A lot of problems. Despite efforts to modernise and educate the people, most of the townsfolk throughout the land are very superstitious. Trespassing on a god's territory is considered risky and a lot of people are just not willing to get personally involved.

It's an issue that the Mentor and the Emperor agree on, actually, though for different reasons. The Emperor sees this as a reason for men discarding the gods for good, while the Mentor sees the need for men to live in closer harmony with them. At the moment, there's just a lot of ignorance and fear - although it does keep Ira gainfully employed!

>>45602675
How much longer til Mentor sics Ira on it? Since he seems to get results even while weakened and seems to be being groomed to be Mentor's successor.


Also if god who gave us a spell dies will we still keep the spell?

>>45602891

We'll keep the spell, even if the god in question dies. The magic more draws upon the memory of the god than the actual deity.

As for putting Ira on the case, that's going to be an ongoing issue - I've got some things planned though, so watch this space!

>>45602938
Is the pic you sue for Koa, Yato from Noragami? Should we be worried?

>>45603047

I just picked it up from a character art thread, I believe, so I don't know the source. If it has sinister implications, it was purely unintentional - as with all the art I use, it was picked based on appearance only!

File: Spoiler Image (646 KB, 1170x952)

646 KB PNG

>>45602938
Oh yeah Moloch, I added hard to read quotes, only able to fit due to me stretching the picture a little making everything look worse, to that DSQ Alignment Chart.

>>45603109
Yato is the God of Ruin in his series. He's trying to do better but when he backslides, yikes.

>>45603110

Sometimes, just sometimes, I forget how ridiculous Leon could get. I had far too much fun writing some of his ranting!

And those are some pretty long quotes - I guess I rant a bit as well sometimes!

>>45603160

Well, he's nothing that bad. At worst, Koa would have ended up like more of a petulant child than he started out as. Ira has, amazingly, been a good influence on the boy.

>>45603200
>And those are some pretty long quotes - I guess I rant a bit as well sometimes!

They don't look long in 4chan. Making them fit into an MSPaint picture text box, fucking with the font size between 6 and 7, makes them look big. Well other than Nyarly's but I needed his entire thing to get the point across.

It took a bit of searching to find a good one for Joseph. Guy doesn't talk that much unless its about Gabby.

>>45603316

That sums up Joseph pretty well, now I think about it! A character I wish I'd used a little more, in retrospect. He made for a pretty good "reliable older brother" kind of figure. Not that I expected him to end up that way, of course!

>>45603386
I don't anyone knew what to expect with him, specially after we hated him and killed him. You even made him come off as kind of creepy when he took Mia back to his house to get her out of the snow.

But I guess once Amelia made him forcibly remember his actions and Mia saw that isolation he had within the group, Mia started looking out for him and in turn he became that "reliable older brother" to her.

>>45603457

Joseph's first appearance in the New Cycle was something I found very interesting to write. Mia had no particular grudge against him, but the players had a lot more knowledge going into things. It left, I believe, a degree of uncertainty as to how things would develop.

Things got better from there, though, I definitely agree. Mia talks a good game!

>>45603567
Mia's unbiased opinions about Amelia, Joseph, and a lot of others things helped a bunch. She could see things the others couldn't cause of her unique perspective and lack of preconceived notions.

Well her and Ellie but Ellie didn't care about much.

Though I kinda wish she had a tad more meta knowledge when Cass confronted her for the first time in the church stating her intentions. I would have had fun poking so many holes in her arguments. Got to do it later though.

>>45603567
When can we expect the next thread m8?

>>45603865
Tuesdays, Fridays, and Sundays.

So Friday.

>>45603753

Cassandra's arguments, I feel, were always rooted in emotion and faulty logic. I would have been pretty surprised if the majority opinion had supported them! Their main purpose was just to introduce a little doubt and conflict, to mix things up.

>>45603865

Friday, starting some time between 2 and 3PM, GMT.