File: Mummy.jpg (126 KB, 400x514)

126 KB JPG

The desiccated, bandaged corpse slowly makes its way towards you. Not the shambling gait of a zombie, but a regal stride filled with ill intent. Its heavy footsteps thunk heavily on the floor despite the soft padding provided by its bandaged feet. The smell of death is absurdly lacking as earthen smells waft their way into your nostrils.

Gabby has made it up to her hands and knees to the left side of the room. She's covered in dust and bits of tomb, a stream of stone falling onto her from where the wall crumpled from her impact. Dolah, on the right side of the room, uses her lucerne hammer to help prop herself up. They're both reeling from the creature's strength, trying to regain their bearings. The rest of your allies are more than likely as stunned by the monster's gaze as you are. You can't tell however, as your senses have entered a sort of tunnel vision, with the fast approaching undead as your focus.

It towers over you by a full foot, stopping in front of you with a sickly smile plastered on its face. In spite of your trembling you cannot will your body to move. Its hands come to rest gingerly on your shoulders, a delicate touch that contrasts with the violent actions you are sure will follow. You smell the sweet, scented oils now.

It wraps its hands around your neck, about to crush your windpipe if you don't snap out of this paralyzed state of terror soon.

Who snaps you out of it?

>Rowe
>Gabby
>Dolah
>Someone else? (who)

Regardless, roll me 2d100, best of 3

>>45661564
My trip was devoured.

Rolled 47, 98 = 145 (2d100)

>>45661564
>Dolah
Paladin's gotta inspire.

Rolled 57, 19 = 76 (2d100)

>>45661564
>>Dolah

Rolled 23, 73 = 96 (2d100)

>>45661564

Writing!

“Alan! You are an agent of The Great Will. There is nothing to fear. Have faith in the Lord. Have faith in yourself.”

Faith. Yes, faith. As his hands begin to squeeze, the loss of your breath kick starts your body's functions just a bit. You shove your hand into your pocket and roll Tobias's glass marble between your fingers.

This is just another monster hiding in the dark. You squeeze your memento and radiate The Great Will's power like it's on tap tonight. The first burst causes the mummy to let go. With your breath comes the rest of your courage and strength. Another burst and the thing swats at you like you're a burning torch come too close to it's flammable regalia. You raise your arms in time to lessen the impact of the blow, but the power behind the swing still sends you skidding backwards, with only your dexterous prowess allowing you to not be bowled over. You put your hand against the back wall to steady yourself.

Your last burst for the day you're sure, but you hit the mummified bastard with it anyway. The rest of your companions are finally snapping out of their fugues. Eve, Rowe and Quissonce put the monster on full blast, the sheer torrent of lightning, water and arrows pushing it backwards. Dolah comes from behind the thing and pierces it, a bright, white light glowing from the tip of her hammer. Kyra rushes up and cuts its head off with her katana. Gabby provides the 'finisher' by kicking the decapitated, wrapped head back into its coffin.

File: Crypt.jpg (269 KB, 800x450)

269 KB JPG

“Huh. They should make a game like that,” Gabby muses as you stand there in your hard-fought victory.

Dolah comes up to you and pats you on the shoulder. You give her a thumbs up as you cough.

“Wonderful work there, Alan,” she compliments.

“No worries,” you respond, coughing a bit more. “Thanks for the pep –” you cut yourself off as you feel the tickle in the back of your throat grow much more irritable and finish your response with a few hacking coughs. Dolah looks at you puzzled.

“Are you alright, Alan?” she asks, concerned.

You try to tell her you're fine, but find another fit come upon you, robbing you of your voiced assurances. The others are starting to notice as you bend over at the waist to get this - you don't know, dust? - out of your throat. This is a musty old place, dust and irritants long dormant whipped up by the recent activity must be bothering you.

Eve offers you the decanter to drink from and you oblige her. As you pour the blessed waters down your throat, you end up having to stop every so often to cough up some of the water. It's taking some time for this to go away.

>This is not a problem
>This is definitely a problem
>Something else? (write-in)

>>45662403
>This is definitely a problem
We've seen energy touch attacks and have done them ourselves. This could be another magical thing done to us.

>>45662403
>This is definitely a problem

Writing!

“This is definitely a problem,” you tell them.

Gabby walks up and inspects you. “What's the matter?”

You cough before replying. “I think that mummy might have done something to me.” Dolah pushes Gabby out of the way and gets to looking at you. She grabs your hand and looks it over, before forcing open your eyes and staring into them. As she manhandles you in the most mechanical way possible, you spot Quissonce pacing back and forth in the center of the room, thinking .

“Ghouls can create other ghouls via their diseased claws and teeth. Maybe these mummified creatures also have a way of –”

“Except Dolah and Gabby are fine,” Rowe interrupts.

“I can't get sick.” Gabby informs your lover, who utters a quick 'what' in confusion. “I'm in complete control of my body. Disease free.”

“And my health is safeguarded by The Great Will,” Dolah contributes.

“Doesn't Alan also get the god powers? Not much safeguarding going on with him,” Eve comments.

“It's different,” Dolah dismisses as she finishs her impromptu physical exam. “I've inspected him and he is suffering some ill effects. It appears to be a disease, but I've recently discovered I can cure diseases with a laying of hands upon the afflicted. And it isn't working. Which means –”

Quissonce snaps her fingers. “It's a curse!” Everyone looks at her in a way that suggests that you are all pretty fucking sick of this shit. Curses are what old beggar women and fish wives are supposed to cast on you, making you impotent and your livestock die. They aren't supposed to be something you can just catch, like syphilis.

“Can you cure curses?” Dolah asks.

Quissonce shakes her head no. “But I'm sure someone in Seaside will be able to.”

Dolah turns back to you and looks you over. “You're in bad shape, Alan.”

>Alright, let's return to town
>Maybe I can copy one of your abilities to cure this (Gabby or Dolah)
>Something else? (write-in)

>>45663254
>Maybe I can copy one of your abilities to cure this (Gabby or Dolah)
Give it a shot. If no dice we can head back.

>>45663254
>Maybe I can copy one of your abilities to cure this (Gabby)

Alright, roll me 1d100 + 31, best of 3

Rolled 88 + 31 (1d100 + 31)

>>45663420

Rolled 63 + 31 (1d100 + 31)

>>45663420

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>45663420

Rolled 64 + 31 (1d100 + 31)

>>45663420

Writing!

“Maybe I can copy one of your abilities?” you offer. Gabby and Dolah share a quizzical look.

“I . . .I'm not sure how I could demonstrate that to you,” Dolah admits. “It's more of a blessing than a skill or ability.”

“Yeah,” Gabby agrees. “I don't really know how to give you pointers on how to be intrinsically healthy, Al. Other than basic tips like drink water, eat right, mind over matter, master your body, stop being a bitch . . .” Gabby trails off before getting back on topic. “I can't teach you the intimate biological functions of my body. Well, actually, there is one –”

“Gabby!” Rowe warns.

“Kidding.” Gabby turns around and gives Rowe a shit-eating grin, chuckling.

“HAH!” Eve laughs from the step she is sitting on. Gabby turns her head to discern the meaning in Eve's vocalization and a conversation composed solely of suggestive eyebrow movements and looks begins between the two. Kyra sighs and then strides over to you.

She grabs your hand and puts it to Gabby's wrist. “Feel her pulse. Tap in. Assimilate the power you need. Then we move on.”

You and Gabby share an awkward look, like your mothers just set you up on a blind date.

Maybe an hour passes by as you two sit together, with you trying to still your mind and focus on Gabby's body to . . . power up? The others take turns killing undead and watching your backs. You realize between coughing fits that you aren't going to be able to zone out or sink into a learning fugue and you realize you haven't had a decent conversation with Gabby in some time. You don't have much better to do and it might be nice to cut through the awkward silence while you wait for something freaky to happen.

>So you and Dolah are friends now?
>How are the puppies?
>Did you get another tattoo?
>Something else? (write-in)

>>45664069
>How are the puppies?
>Did you get another tattoo?

>>45664069
>>How are the puppies?
>>Did you get another tattoo?

Writing!

File: Fox Tattoo.jpg (14 KB, 236x352)

14 KB JPG

“So, how are the puppies?” you ask in an effort to make this seem friendly and not the weird, possibly unnatural situation it is.

“They're great! Growing big and strong. Thanks, actually, for that gift. I, uh . . . I love dogs.”

“Good. Glad to hear that. I'll admit, I was a bit worried about how responsible you were going to be with them. Raising and training five dogs is a lot of work.”

Gabby laughs. “Eh, gotta do something in my spare time besides drinking.”

“Who'd you get to watch them while you were gone?” you ask.

“Gale. He's dependable and not an asshole. Rare combination.”

“Yeah, he seems like a nice guy. Taught me how to run fast.”

“Shit, I thought that was me.” Gabby does run particularly fast, but you're pretty confident Gale is the one who helped you master that with that beach run you did.

With that conversation well dried up some, you move on to something else you've noticed in your multitude of detect magics. Another aura emanating from under Gabby's clothes.

“So, did you get a new tattoo, Gabby?” you pry a teency bit. Gabby shakes her head yes before going to undo the top part of her robe. As she pulls it apart to bare her chest to you, you start in shock at the boldness of such a move. Until the visuals remind you once more that gabby binds. A tattoo of a fox sits on her chest. She points to it.

“Right here, above the tit. Makes me more perceptive and faster and shit.” She shrugs and then re-ties her robe. “So, you still feel like coughing up a lung or is Gabby the best medicine?”

You think intensely about that. You still feel like you're quite under the weather, but somewhere deep in your core you feel much healthier and stronger. It's hard to put a finger on, but nevertheless . . .

“I'm still cursed.” As if to ensure the validity of your claim, another coughing fit graces your lung in that moment. Gabby looks bummed.

>Let's head back to Seaside
>Let's press on anyway

>>45664861
>Let's head back to Seaside
We are just going to slow them down at this rate and be a liability.

>>45664861
>Let's head back to Seaside

>>45664861
>Let's head back to Seaside
Damn it I wanted to figure this place out but sudden onset Curse of the Mummy is nothing to joke at.

Writing!

File: Dreaming.jpg (210 KB, 1440x960)

210 KB JPG

“Alright, I'm just going to slow you down at this point. I think it's best we back head back to Seaside and then take another crack at this later.” You stand up and . . . woah, that's a bit new of a sensation. You wobble a bit in place.

“Al, you alright?” Gabby stands and watches you as you put your hand to your head. Ugh, it's like standing up without realizing the booze has sunk in. Except instead of tipsy you feel like you've been hollowed out or something. You end up having to lean on Gabby and she helps guide you up out of the side room and into the main hall. “I think Al's a bit more fucked up than we thought,” you hear her say.

(Alan . . .) is the last thought you hear before the overwhelming urge to pass out finally overtakes you.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You're probably not dead. You wouldn't be dreaming if you were dead. What do you dream about?

>Killing Emperor Kardas with your bare hands
>Domestic life with Rowe
>Mastering everything
>Something else? (write-in)

>>45665303
>Something else? (write-in)
The tormented landscapes of hell, with the demon that was summoned mocking our weakness and vowing to end our assimilation

>>45665303
>Mastering everything

>>45665344
Would we know what hell looks like?

>>45665359
we could imagine, it's a dream/nightmare to be fair

>>45665303
>Mastering everything
The collection of knowledge. The incredible power
The endless boredom that comes with knowing everything.

>>45665344
>>45665303
This, then spiting that demon by
>Mastering everything

>>45665303
>Something else?
Conquering the Hells, as demon and devil alike run and cower.
"We are Alan. Your magical and supernatural distinctiveness will be assimilated and made to service us. Resistance is futile."

Writing.

Imma be honest, this gonna take me some time to write remotely good.

File: Hell Dream.jpg (38 KB, 413x310)

38 KB JPG

It begins a nightmare. A horrific nightmare. As you feel your inner guts rot away as the life force is sapped from you, the unbearable pain brings to your mind visages of your death. For all your sins, all the men you've killed, for the fact that you helped summon a devil and then abandoned a man to be crushed under it's hooved feet – you know Hell is where you will be sent.

You can see it now as your vitality drips from you. You heat up and in feverish sleep see the hot, burning lands of the afterlife you have earned. Tortured among the damned, stabbed and pierced by various devils and deformed hellspawn you writhe in agony. You even spot that mocking asshole of a Barbazu, still beardless and unarmed since the last time you saw him. He laughs at how weak you are. You cower from him, afraid as he promises to make your afterlife a tortuous experience.

>Grovel for eternity
>Rise up

>>45665881
>Rise up

>>45665881
>>Rise up

Writing!

>>45665881
>Rise up

File: Bearded Devil.jpg (152 KB, 470x670)

152 KB JPG

No. What do you have to fear from this coward? You've kicked his ass twice already. If only you had a . . . of course! You feel it in your hands. The hell-forged glaive. You don't bring anything with you to the afterlife save the things that belong down here.

You turn on the mocking demon, brandishing his own blade, still in your possession after all these centuries. His eyes go wide with fear as you attack him once again. You cut and slash and stab the weakling until he is huddled in a ball among the red hot sands, shamed once more, crying crocodile tears. Beaten by the mere soul of a human. Pathetic.

His allies and brethren begin to circle you, the entertainment disturbing the droll everyday horrors of the hellscape. Barbazus, imps and other strange, formless hellspawn laugh at the comical situation and the weakness of their kin. They all eye you with interested looks, impressed by your courage. Or perhaps your cruelty.

>Cut them down where they stand
>Learn the ways of Devilish combat

>>45665881
>Rise up
Begin to assimilate.

>>45666185
>Cut them down where they stand

Writing!

File: Spoiler Image (56 KB, 480x600)

56 KB JPG

No. You won't give into them. You might become what you need of them, but you won't serve their kind. You lunge into battle and begin to cut them down, fighting the whole horde. Every wound, stab or hurt the give you heals eventually and every fight ends with you a little stronger, smarter, faster, better than the moment before.

You become immune to the fires of Hell and the poisons of their blades.

You learn to teleport and move from conflict to conflict, cutting down hellspawn as you go.

Weeks pass. Months pass. Your only distractions are the few small moments some unwitting summoner draws you back into the material world, where you perform a small task before returning to strike down more devils.

Soon you can breathe fire and bat-like leathery wings sprout from your back. You learn to see in absolute darkness and use spells of great power.

You cutt your way through the dukes, princes and finally the King of Hell himself. You take his powers for your own before sitting yourself upon a throne of bones and hellfire, attended by the amassed throngs of devils.

You have conquered and taken for yourself all the abilities and powers of this domain. You could rest. But you have so much more to claim. You look up and feel the urge to take power from HIM as well. With such immense strength you could even –

“WAKE THE FUCK UP AL!” You sit up with a start, your heart beating in your chest and throat. Your sweat-drenched body feels cold, slipping out from the light blankets. You're naked from the waist up and lying in the spare bedroom in Calloway's Chapel. Rowe is holding your hand, sitting in a chair at you bedside. You find yourself surrounded by the standing figures of Father Calloway, Dolah, Gabby and lastly, The Sculptor. Gabby looks to The Sculptor and points at you. “Told ya it would work.” The Sculptor makes a silent giggle.

>I . . uh . . . what?
>How long have I been out?
>Call The Sculptor an asshole
>Am I cured?
>Something else? (write-in)

>>45666696
>I . . uh . . . what?
>How long have I been out?

>>45666696
>>I . . uh . . . what?
>>How long have I been out?

>Call The Sculptor an asshole

Writing!

“ I . . uh . . . what?” you ask, all your jumbled questions, comments and critiques of the specifics of your situation jumbling into one barely coherent plea for an explanation.

Rowe squeezes your hand. “You're alive and that's a lot considering how you were last night. You were sweating and . . . and dissolving, practically.” Before you can make another response she wraps you in a very tight hug. One filled with need and relief. (Thought I was going to lose you.)

You return the hug while gazing up at Dolah. “How long was I out?”

“Four days, including when you were infected. The curse had almost claimed you when we discovered Ms. Helbot here could break curses,” Dolah informs you.

Helbot? Is . . . is Dolah talking about The Sculptor? You look to her and she nods her head to confirm that's her name. You were feeling a strong urge to call her an asshole, but it seems like she helped save your life. So you'll give her a pass for now.

“Status on the temple?” you ask, finally being released from Rowe's hug.

Gabby shrugs. “Probably as fucked up as we left it. Don't think they'll be able to replenish their forces quickly, 'specially since we broke most of their best shit.”

You nod your head.

>Alright, let's get back out there
>I'm going to need some time to recuperate
>I had a really weird dream
>I want to buy something while we're here (what?)
>Something else? (write-in)

>>45667242
>I'm going to need some time to recuperate
Day, maybe two. Then we'll head back.
>I had a really weird dream

>>45667242
>Alright, let's get back out there
>Anybody have any ideas for equipment that would help? Or is everyone good.

>>45667242
>>Alright, let's get back out there
>I want to buy something while we're here (what?)
Anti curse shit

Writing!

“Alright, let's get back out there.” You slide out of bed and stand up. You feel a tad weak and very hungry, but you should be right as rain soon enough.

(You sure?) Rowe thinks to you, concerned. You look yourself up and down and nod at her. Your body is close to fully functional again.

“Alright, we make our way back first thing in the morning. Eat, get a good night's rest. We'll collect some fresh horses and hopefully finish this.” Dolah's plan sounds good to you.

“Is there some sort of anti-curse or curse resistant equipment sold here in Seaside?” you ask your assembled group of . . . advisors, you guess.

“No,” Dolah answers curtly. “We looked into magic items quite frantically trying to find something to save you. Ms. Helbot was our final recourse. We could bring her along, I suppose, if she was willing.”

The Sculptor shrugs, indicating indifference.

“Or we could wait for Quissonce to figure it out, although it will probably take her some time to come up with a countermeasure.”

>Bring The Sculptor, leave tomorrow
>Give Quissonce time to find an alternative, leave later
>Don't bring The Sculptor, leave tomorrow

AND

>Relax for the day
>Learn something (what?)
>Do something else in your free day (write-in)

>>45667981
>Bring The Sculptor, leave tomorrow
>Learn something (what?)
Rogue stuff from Kyra

Alright, roll me 1d100 + 45

Rolled 79 + 45 (1d100 + 45)

>>45668190

Rolled 37 + 45 (1d100 + 45)

>>45668190

Rolled 16 + 45 (1d100 + 45)

>>45668190

Writing!

“Alright, The Sculptor can come with us tomorrow.” She nods to you. With your preparations complete, your allies give you some privacy. You and Rowe spend some time together before you gather your belongings and go your separate ways for the day.

You feel much more . . . capable today. You can't put your finger on it, but perhaps almost dying from a drawn out curse has helped invigorate you some. You can't quite shake that dream out of your head. You should be resting today, but you feel like learning something.

You find Kyra drinking at The Drunken Lion of all places. She's sitting by herself in a dark corner. You make your way through the smokey haze that permeates the atmosphere of the place and sit with her.

You don't even bother ordering anything. You wouldn't want to give money to this place.

“Looking better.” She tells you plainly.

“Feeling better, too. I'm also feeling . . . the need to be a bit more proactive.” Kyra quirk her eyebrow at you. “I want to pick up some new skills. From you. I want to embrace the subtler arts some more.”

Kyra looks into her glass before staring back at you. “Traps, stealth or killing.”

>Traps
>Stealth
>Killing

>>45668708
>Yes
Then drop the grin and say
>Stealth

>>45668708
>Stealth

Writing!

“Yes,” you answer.

“Today,” she tells you flatly.

“Stealth.” It works well with the skill set you already possess.

“Alright, keep up.” She finishes her drink, puts it back on the table and strides out of the bar.

You follow Kyra to the best of your ability and weave through the city streets of Seaside, following exactly in her footsteps. You observer her and notice that despite the incredible pace she's moving at, her movements are absolutely silent and her posture is suited to staying low and keeping her presence minimal. Kyra has mastered the art of keeping up the pace of movement while maximizing her ability to reduce her visibility to potential targets or threats. You get the hang of it in about an hour or two of practice.

When you are finally moving as fast as Kyra, she decides to give you some tips about how to conceal your scent from animals bred to track people by smell. They're quite simple and your empathic link to Pascala gives you enough context to speed your way through the basic lecture and move on to the next stealthy trick.

The last skill you are able to blow through that day is the art of remaining absolutely still. While you've been able to keep still and not move from a spot to remain hidden before, Kyra's ability to hide is masterful in how statuesque she appears. She is in perfect repose, built upon years of work at feeling comfortable while sneaking through very tense and chaotic environments. Being such a difficult feat of experience, you require four hours to mimic Kyra flawlessly.

By late afternoon you find yourself a much more sneaky person than that morning. Kyra and yourself are enjoying ice cream in a grove in the middle of Seaside.

“You're learning faster,” she comments. You nod your head in agreement as you eat. You're definitely picking things up a lot quicker. The overwhelming feeling of new information used to boggle your mind with each discovery, but today's events felt rather breezy.

“Think we could move on to traps this evening?” you ask, half-jokingly.

To your credit, she does chuckle. “Scary,” she tells you.

“Well, you still haven't told me how you manage to disappear while in plain sight, so you edge me out in the scarily stealthy department.”

She shrugs, swinging her spoon back and forth. “My specialty.”

You sit in silence for a bit before Kyra decides to lick her spoon and stick it to your nose. You give it your all to keep it balanced, but it eventually slides off, leaving a sticky trail of saliva on your face.

>Reciprocate
>Stab her nose with the ice cream
>Something else? (write-in)

>>45669713
>Reciprocate

Writing!

You lick your own spoon and stick it to her nose. She balances it, keeping her arms out to adjust as it shifts and seeks to drop to the ground.

It eventually falls prey to gravity, but you clap for her perseverance nonetheless. She stands and gives a graceful bow for her dedicated performance, causing you to laugh.

“Kyra,” you begin. “You may just be one of the –”

BONG!

You're interrupted by the sound of what is most likely a church bell. Kyra's face suddenly alights with concern and she pivots to face the direction where the sound came from.

BONG!

“Huh,” you utter. “Don't think I've heard them ring bells to tell the hour before.”

BONG!

“We don't.” Kyra states.

BONG!

It takes you a moment of watching Kyra's tense posture to realize something's wrong. Kyra's always been a bit more tuned into the city since she plays spy for Blackburn when she isn't out exploring with the rest of you. You stand up.

BONG!

“What's going on?” you ask.

BONG!

“I think . . .” she trails off. The bell sounds again.

BONG!

“I think we're under attack.”

BONG!

. . .

BONG!

. . .

BONG!

>End of Thread
I will most likely run this next time this coming Friday. https://twitter.com/TrickQM

>>45670141
Thanks for running.