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>>46737759

Well, no one ever said that life was 100% kind or just, but as you stand here holding a thrashing gorgon’s midsection to a makeshift operating table, feeling your bones groan in protest as the crazed cleric bandages her wounds, you can at least say that Ptolomous was not wrong. Life was definitely strange, and only bound to get stranger given your new… “condition”.

You are Lee: bard, lover, fighter, and more recently numbered among the walking dead. After being forcibly torn from the glorious twilight of the afterlife, you awoke in the recesses of a dungeon with a lot on your mind and not a lot of meat on your bones (none to be precise). At least before you had a chance to sink into the distraction such a rude awakening could impose, you found yourself swept up in the heat of some fast paced action, falling in line with your skeletal brethren to fend off an invasion of some sort.

You livened their pace with a bit of rhythm, put some life into those old bones and with a little brute force, a little bit of luck, and a charming musical number then managed to turn the entire ensuing conflict on its head, saving the life of a mother gorgon and possibly three adventurers in the process. Now you are here, trying to help patch up the damages already inflicted by the time you arrived, not to mention keep the nice snake lady from biting the kindly priest’s head off. And as the frankly ludicrous amount of anesthetic she’d been given kicks in, it gets decidedly easier.

As her breathing slows, and her eyes glaze over, you can finally give your aching back a rest, snapping the vertebrae back in place with a satisfying crack. That just leaves you, a skeleton, and a man of the cloth sitting by each other with nothing but hundreds of pounds of snake and a thick silence between you.

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>>46737788

“So, Father…” you start, your attempts to clear your throat sending an awkward rattling down through your rib cage. “You seem to be somewhat well at ease for a man surrounded by skeletons. I mean, not that I mind when you keeping your head on straight means I get to keep mine, but could such a thing really be true? Did the dungeon bring me back? I’d ask my fair lady here, but…”

“Sssss…” she sighs softly, tail tip twitching in time with her breathing as she sinks onto the table.

“Well,” he says with a sigh, hands continuing to double check his stitching and snug the bandages around the unconscious gorgon. “I reckon I can’t be too sure what’s what till I’ve had a crack at one of you bone heads meself.”

“At the very least,” he says, when you raise a finger to interject. “I can say it ain’t necromancy. Bones don’t tend to get back up after a healthy dose of holy fire, you know. That, and it ain’t exactly unheard of. Every daft bastard and his father’s father’s evil uncle what built these sorts of places had a different means of arming ‘em to the teeth. Been plenty of cases of skeletons being brought back as something other than skeletons. Never heard of a talking one though.”

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>>46737823

“I assure you, I can do more than just talk. Singing, playing, composition, and a bit of dance for that theater flare. All I need to do is hunt down a few of my new clattering acquaintances who can carry a tune. Next thing you know, I’ll have a proper band back together again.

“Oh, right, my apologies for not introducing myself. The name’s Lee, formerly a traveling entertainer before my recent resurrection from an unknown stint as a cadaver.”

“Yeah, well, pleased to make yer acquaintance, I suppose,” remarks the cleric, offering a hand. “But before you go terrorizin’ the local country side as a band of travelin’, music playin’ spooks, could you hand me the holy water from the bag?” You flinch. “Ah, nay. Don’t give me that look. The Church of Orren keeps fire water in their holy water. Good for disinfecting and the like. Just need a dab here or there for the lass and she’ll be all cleaned up.”

“Ah, then of course,” you say, rattling away your concerns, and without further delay go fishing for the requested vial.

An ornate bottle quickly comes to hand, filled with a clear liquid and capped with a silv-

The sea of light is calling you, warm to the touch and wondrously vacuous. You stare into that cavalcade of white and finally let your eyes relax. You are home. You are s-

“You feelin’ alright,” asks the cleric, snatching the vial from your hand before pouring some on a rag. With a bit of passing concern, you note white smoke arising from your bones where it had just resided.

> What to do?
> [x] Tell the cleric
> [] Hide it
> [] Other

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>>46737845

“Umm” you try not to panic as you shake your now wisping digits back and forth. “My good man, it seems I might have developed an allergy of sorts.”

“What are ye talking, abou-“ His jaw clenches when he sees your offered hand. “Well, that might be troublin’. Reckon, ye can bring it closer so I can take a look.” With a little bit of a nervous shake, you proffer your limb to the good priest.

“Hmm,” he mumbles, turning the smooth white bone over in his hands. “Ain’t burning the bones themselves at least, but something ain’t playin’ nice with the divine magic. Reckon it might be… Hmm… Ah, hell, hard to say what it is without knowin’ what made ye to begin with. Offhand, reckon I’d say it looks like yer spirit wanting to get outta these bones, maybe make its way back to the other side.”

“That reminds me,” you say, the diminishing smoke you notice helping you to relax a little. “What does the Church say of the undiscovered country beyond the veil of death? As someone recently returned from a vacation there, I've been left with more than a simple passing interest.”

“Well,” he says, obviously struggling to keep things casual. “Reckon everyone’s got their spin on the damn place. Heard everything from fluffy clouds to a burnin’ hellscape filled with constant battle. Damn near the only thing they can seem to agree on is that it’s a wee bit nicer than what we have here on Earth. It’s why it’s a crime to bring back the dead. There’s no greater crime than to tear someone from their god and force ‘em back into the world of the living.”

“Now, now,” you say when you notice him passing a meaningful gaze down on the gorgon. “I’m confident that she was telling the truth. Stake my life on it, cross my heart and hope to die.”

*Rattle-Rattle*

The priest, for his part, seems to be growing a bit more anxious as though questioning his earlier decisions that lead him to this point.

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>>46737861

This could go badly very quickly. All of your bard crisis aversion senses are tingling, telling you as much. You quickly reach for something to break the tension.

“Speaking of the Church, your two companions; were they also of the faith?” you probe, hoping to change the topic.

“Nah, Ricky’s his own man, not Orren’s. Maggy’ll make a fine priestess in time, but she’s a little wet around the ears still.” His troubled tone is less than reassuring, but it’s at this point that you finally remember something somewhat important from earlier.

“Good lord!” you exclaim. “It occurs to me that we’ve not seen slither or scale of my lady’s fair daughter. We should attend to that immediately.”

“You go on,” he responds tiredly. “Now that the lass is taken care of, I’m gonna check on the other bone heads, if ye don’t mind.”

“Feel free,” you say, trying to take careful note of any murderous spring to his step before turning back to behind the den that formerly comprised the fine lady’s living room.

It isn’t much really, a toppled chair and the tattered remains of a rug, a few smashed pots, and splintered remains of what may have been a book shelf, all seemingly decrepit and worn.

“First thing on the list will have to be more furniture,” you mentally jot down as you remember the talks of reparations to be paid by the townfolk.

Surely they could spare a cushion or two, maybe a bed for your aching bones to rest on should the lady not wish to share. Of course, that raises another question, of whether or not you still needed sleep at all, or if she even owned a bed that could support her weight. You’d heard of lamia using large cushions as opposed to entrusting themselves to cradle frames, but you’d never had the pleasure in life you’re fairly certain. At any rate, as you come to a door guarded by two skeletal guards in full armor, swords crossed, you supposed that you would get your answer soon.

>>46737901

“Pardon gents,” you say with a wave to no appreciable response. “My lady would certainly like to see her young daughter now that matters have been taken care of.” Still no response comes from them.

“Now, now,” you tut, putting a finger on the back of either blade and slowly moving them apart until you can reach the door knob. “No need to be such stiffs.”

*Rattle-Rattle*

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>>46737928

Unfortunately, they don’t seem to share in your brand of humor or perhaps your peculiar intellect. Regardless, they don’t move to stop you as you slowly crack open the door, undoing a simple sliding lock that held it from the outside.

“Hello,” you being, but no sooner has the first syllable left your mouth than you feel a small form rush past you, glimmering curls bouncing and tiny feet pattering past in a blur.

“Mama!” you hear the small girl call, a painful urgency in her voice as she disappears into the other room. “Mama! Mama!”

You rush to catch up now, leaving the guards to their business as you go chasing after the fleeing form, rounding into view just in time to see her take a running leap toward her injured mother.

“Mama!” you hear her call once more, cringing as she makes her landing. “Mama, what happened? Why did you lock me in the room? Why are you hurt? Wha-?”

The clearly panicking child is cut off as her mother’s arm sweeps her into her breast.

“Shhhh,” she whispers softly, tenderness warring with the groggy pain in her voice. “Everything is fine my sweetling. Just like I promised you. No need for tears.”

“B-but, you’re hurt…” she whimpers. “Y-you’re…”

“All things heal with time, my little one,” she coos gently, hugging the small form more tightly to her chest. “We simply had a misunderstanding is all, but that’s over now. Everything will be fine.”

You can’t help but notice the father leaning against a wall some distance away, clearly not ready to approach just yet.

> What do you do?
> Speak to the father
> Speak to the mother/child
> Other

>>46737942
>Quickly speak to the mother/child to see if they're fine
>Speak to the Father

>>46737942
>> Speak to the father
>> Speak to the mother/child

>>46737942
>speak to the mother/child
Just a few words, a smile, then
>speak to the father

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>>46737942

“Do you require anything, my lady?” you whisper in the gorgon’s general direction to which she offers only the briefest shake of her head before lowering her lips to place another kiss on her child’s tensed brow. “Right then, guess I’ll have a word with the father.”

Your exit stage left, justified, you make your way to the darkened recesses near the entryway, noting for the first time how the light puts the flimsy torch light inside to shame. It’s almost painful to look at, though less worrying overall than the face of the priest which you turn to next.

“So?” you prompt. “What’s the good news?”

“Well,” he says, casually scuffing his boot against the floor of the dungeon. “Reckon it’s mostly good. A couple dabs a’ holy water didn’t do anything to the other gathered blighters, though it was a damn trouble to keep ‘em still for the procedure.”

“Maybe they’re not the touchy feely types,” you offer.

“Reckon they just aren’t the intelligent type,” he corrects, a bit of a furrow running through his brow. “Ain’t a one of ‘em looking to strike up a conversation, just scratching at the walls and pulling dirt off of it here and there.”

“Really?” you say, remembering the feeling that had coursed through you earlier during your mad charge. “Not one?”

“Not a one,” he confirms. “For better or worse, looks like yer dreams of a spook circus may have to wait. And as fer you…” He pauses briefly. “Well, ain’t no easy way to ask this, but it’s with the church’s charter, would you like my assistance getting back where you belong?”

> How do you answer?
> [] Yes
> [] No
> [] Other

>>46738466
> [X] Yes
>But, I would like to see more this world first.

>>46738466
>[] No
"I appreciate the offer, Father, I really do. It WAS a wonderful vacation, and a place that I will likely return to in good time.
"But as a wastrel and adventuring fellow who broke too many maiden's hearts in his last go around, I feel that I should stay around do some good.
"Whether that be in providing good cheer with music and wit or some other good deeds, will be something I shall take great relish in sinking my teeth into."

>>46738582
Seconding.
>I have no idea how long I've been...away, and while I do want to return to my final home, the time's not yet right. I want to see what's changed, what's stayed the same, see more the land that your God or another created. Some day though, and perhaps some day soon, I will ask you to send me home.

>>46738582
>>46738664
If you don't want to go, then don't answer "YES".
Just say "No, not yet".

>>46738800
>if you don't want to go
But we DO want do go. Just not right now. Stop telling me what do do. Nerd.

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>>46738466

“All good things in time, dear father,” you answer, honestly struggling for a moment as you remember the sea of light and that divine serenity waiting on the other side. “For now, I’ve barely set one foot out of the grave, and I feel there’s so much more to do before my time to return has come. It was a wonderful vacation, of course, and in time, I’ll likely return, but as a wastrel and adventuring fellow, not to mention a breaker of hearts in my youth, I feel there’s some good I yet owe the world to make proper amends. There’s so much to experience just in how the world has changed, the sights and sounds, the people and politics. However, if I’m ever looking for a ticket home, know that you’ll be the first man I call on.”

*Rattle-Rattle*

“Fair enough,” he says, shrugging as if to throw off the weight of that awkward question. “It ain’t my business to put ye back in the ground just yet if ye aren’t ready and ye aren’t hurting anybody by being, well… if not alive, then some shade of mobile. Just make sure not to sink yer teeth into anybody in the meantime, else I’ll have to put ye down like a rabid dog.” His even smile while saying it puts a chill up your spine. “Who knows, anyways? If yer spirits back with ye, maybe there’s something ye’ve yet to take care of. The gods work in mysterious ways, after all.

“Anyway, I gotta get back to town to make sure my three apprentices aren’t raising more problems than they’re puttin’ down. Georgy ran off when he heard the skeletons, the daft bastard. Better hope he got himself eaten by a bear afore I get a piece of his sorry arse. If ye could have a list of reparations ready to talk over by the time I get back, that’d be fine. Else, I’m not in the mood to ruin a family moment. Sorry for the trouble.”

>>46739055

Without another word, he casually strolls outside, offering a gentle wave before striking off into the daylight, leaving you, for the first time in your rather short unlife with a free moment on your hands.

> What to do
> [] Approach the mother and daughter
> [] Check on the skeletons
> [] Go back for that book
> [] Other

>>46739101
>check on the skeletons briefly
>go back for the book

>>46739166
+1

>>46739101
>[] Check on the skeletons
> [] Go back for that book

>>46739101
>>go back for the book

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>>46739055

Well, it’s never too early to meet a few new faces, you decide… err, well, skulls. Moreover, judging by the serene faces of mother and child as they cuddle together on the hard table, there will probably be better times to get acquainted. So, with a bounce in your own step, you head off, determined to see if the priest spoke true about your skeletal brothers. Down the hall, twirling javelin in hand, you try to strike up a casual whistle, something that proves a bit more difficult without lips or cheeks. As is, it’s probably a miracle of magic that you can still call to the various skeletons you pass as you make your way back from where your journey began.

Unfortunately, no one seems to return your friendly greetings, or even register them as skeletons roam by with hands full of dirt and ones in alcoves unceasingly claw away at what seem to be debris. Seems some sort of mass excavation process was in the works, one you might have been destined to join had you not been born with a bit of uncommon sense about you.

Speaking of birth, there lies the table, as sharp cornered and uncomfortable to fall off of as you remembered. And there, on some overly ornate, iron wrought rendition of a music stand lies the book you’d seen earlier, thick and trimmed in what seems to be precious metals.

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>>46739645

Interest peaked, you approach, leafing through volumes with care not to lose the page you were on while trying to make heads or tails of what ritual might have been worked to animate your form. Memories come flooding back as you pace yourself through the volume, passing through alterations of Robilar’s decoctions, the transmutations of Allanon, and Cher’lotharin’s 4th Ultimatum. It seemed so long ago you had had magic on your brain and a professor screaming in your ear, but your parents’ wealth and so many generous helpings of strong ale had seen you through. Though, come to think of it, what the devil did you specialize in?

> What was your mage specialty?
> [] Abjuration
> [] Transmutation
> [] Evocation
> [] Enchantment
> [] Illusions

>>46739668
> [x] Illusions
Let's be dancing magicians.

>>46739668
>> [x] Transmutation

>>46739668
> [x] Illusions
Party skeleton

>>46739668
>illusions

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>>46739668
>[] Illusions
Ghost Sound and bevy of other illusionary and auditory spells to do special effects as we have a rock-off against our rivals, KARATE METAL.

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>>46739668

Some mages could cast fire from their fingertips, others transform into powerful, legendary beasts, but you, you had a power to surpass them all, namely the power to sleep through class with your professors being none the wiser! The Great “Eyes are Always Open” Lee, you were called! That is, until you figured out how to make your illusion blink and yawn at appropriate times. In all seriousness, illusions had saved you more than a few times, whether it had been throwing up something else to take the arrows for you or adding a little extra “umf” to your performances. Combined with the quasi-magic of your performances, it let you take your performances to new heights.

This book, however, is not that. In fact, as you turn the pages back and forth, it’s hard to say what kind of book this is, other than it being far more complicated than a simple spell of animation. Come on, Lee, try to stop glossing through pages and read!

> Roll for comprehension
> 1d100

I will take best of first three.

Rolled 91 (1d100)

>>46739956
Spelling

Rolled 15 (1d100)

>>46739956
pls no 1

Rolled 19 (1d100)

>>46739956

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>>46739983
magical skeleton confirmed

>>46740042
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyguBEc2dw4

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>>46739956

Damn, as your brain strains to turn its rusted wheels, you can’t help but regret those near forgotten days of slacking, the all-nighters and forced cramming sessions that had somehow carried you through to your graduation. How many times had your professors told you that you were wasting your talents, that you could become an archmage if you applied yourself. Well, screw them, because it just so happens that what you lacked in work ethic, you had made up for in people skills.

And it was after one night spent with an abjurer with passingly interesting tastes you had bothered to ask her about her craft. Several hours, three bottles of wine, and a stack of hastily scrawled on notes later you had gotten the gist of it. “Anything” can be a golem, any damn thing. Human forms were simply easier because of the Transhuman Principles that governed animating magic, but the material didn’t matter. It seems this book’s fundamentals were based on that theory.

That’s not to say that you understand it completely, but you do get a start, cursing your lack of a writing implement as you try to work yourself through the pages and rune diagrams with nothing but the blank canvas of your mind to scribble on. Given time, though, you think you can crack this, maybe even improve it. You’ll just need time, and materials. Anyway, after some time has passed and your mind feels fit to burst, you decide to move on to something else.

> What to do?
> [] Continue exploring the dungeon
> [] Return to the gorgon and child
> [] Continue studying the book (1d100)
> [] Other

>>46740249
>[x] Return to the gorgon and child
This is her home.

>>46740249
>[] Return to the gorgon and child

>>46740249
> [x] Return to the gorgon and child

>>46740249
>[] Continue studying the book

>>46740249
>return to gorgon and child
>other
Ask her about the book

>>46740249
>> [x] Return to the gorgon and child

We skeleton uncle.

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>>46740249

Well, before you go poking around too much, it might be best to speak with the land lords. Figuring that is as good a reason as any, you stretch out your spine with a few pops and cracks and head back down the hall, trying not to make too much noise as you go. As you round to the entryway proper, you realize at some point they must have moved, the light outside the dungeon having grown much dimmer than you would have expected in the time you’ve been gone. Still, by the slithering wake left in the debris leading back into the rooms, you can guess where is evident.

Redoubling your efforts at stealth, you casually navigate your way inside and once more past the skeletal sentries. With the lightest knock, you test the door to see if anyone is awake, and are already prepared to leave when a voice calls softly from the other side.

“Hello… who is it?” calls a groggy voice.

“It’s me,” you answer simply, to which you get a grumbled hiss.

“Come in,” she finally answers, at which point the skeletal guards fully move out of the way to let you pass.

At long last you enter the room of the medusa, though the result is hardly awe inspiring. It’s dark, lit by a lone candle in the corner in the process of burning down, that low illumination casting a soft glow on a decrepit little book shelf with a few well-worn copies on it and a shabby looking straw mattress on which the medusa now rests, eyes glittering in the dark as she holds her gently snoring child against her stomach.

“I’m sorry to catch you past your bed time, my lady,” you apologize, trying to keep your voice to a whisper.

“No need,” she answers softly. “I realize you must have questions considering all that’s happened. I may not have all the answers, but I least owe it to you to try.”

She spares a meaningful glance at her daughter before returning her gaze to you.

> What to ask?
> [] How did I get here?
> [] What do you know about the book?
> [] Other

>>46740745
>[x] What do you know about the book?

>>46740745
> [] Other
"May I know your name, my lady? Ah, but first, I must introduce myself: I am Lee; bard, adventurer, and illusionist extraordinaire, at your service."
>[] What do you know about the book?

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>>46740745

“Well,” you say, thinking it over. “If I might be so bold, names might be a good place to start. I’ve been calling you my lady for quite some time, and while I have no objection in continuing to do so, your birth name might make things slightly easier. As for mine, my name is Lee: bard, adventurer, and illusionist extraordinaire at your service.”

“Cassandra,” she offers in return, a sleepy hiss coming shortly after. “And my little one here is Cecilia.”

“And if I may ask, what do you know about this tower, exactly? Have there been others like me coming out of the ruins?”

“Like you?” A gentle, whisping hiss of laughter escapes her mouth. “I wouldn’t say many could claim as much, but if you simply mean other skeletons, I fear you would be a first. The others simply move at the towers behest, digging, moving earth, opening chambers and patching walls. It’s been… convenient for I and my little one to say the least.”

“But you seem to have some control over them yourself,” you note. “And there is a book I found deeper in the dungeon.”

“A self-reading book,” she answer simply. “A guide and focus for the energies flowing through the tower. I found it while clearing out the tower’s previous denizens and have been working with it sense, keeping the workers in good repair, trying to figure out how to get them to do something other than digging. I’ve been… mildly successful in that regard.”

“How so?”

“There is a garden on the rooftop, now,” she says somewhat proudly. “A wonderful place for Cecilia to play when the weather is fair.”

> Other questions
> [] Former occupants?
> [] What should I do now?
> [] Other

>>46741277
>[x] Former occupants?
Might be useful.

>>46741277
>other
"Working with it? How so?"
Try to find anything that could help us understand it more. Also stroke her ego a bit, compliment her on the forethought and say it must be a lovely place in the summertime.

>>46741346
Switch>>46741361
Be suave.

>>46741277
>[] Former occupants?
"Ah yes, you mentioned them. Vampires, yes? Such an unpredictable lot. One count can be a patron of the arts, drinking only of those who offer themselves willingly in exchange for his favor and social cache. Then the next lot are a bunch of murderous thugs with no elegance, no sense for drama, and worst of all, an utter lack of fashion sense."

>>46741277
>> [] Former occupants?

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>>46741277

“Working with it? How so?” you probe.

“A book is still a book,” she answers. “Though the magic flows through it and does most of the work, it also acts as a guide on how to use that magic to one’s own ends. Whether they were the ones who penned it or not, I suspect the nosferatu wanted to use it alongside the tower’s own magic to dig down deeper, to what end, I cannot say.”

“That’s the trouble with vampires,” you say. “An unpredictable lot at best. One count can be a patron of the arts, drinking only of the finest social castes in exchange for favors, the next, a mere thug with no sense of elegance, drama, or worst of all, an utter lack of fashion sense.”

“Perhaps,” she says, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “These at least seemed organized, enough to where the local townships could do little about their feeding habits or exterminating them outright. I suspect they planned to expand their base of operations and their coven had I not attended to them. After that, roughly a year ago, I took the tower for myself, had my Cecilia and have been living here since, trading with the local lizard tribes when I am able, but otherwise subsisting on what game I can hunt nearby and offered tribute from the villagers.”

She seems tired, but may be able to answer a few more questions.

> What to ask?
> [] Ask about tribute
> [] Ask about the nearby village
> [] Be on your way. She lost a lot of blood earlier.

>>46741804
> [x] Ask about the nearby village
Then leave. She needs rest.

>>46741804
>[x] Ask about the local lizard tribes
"Sounds like the lizards are more civilized than the villagers. Will they be coming for any trade anytime soon?"

>>46741804
>> [] Ask about the nearby village
Also ponder about gorgon child rearing.

>>46741804
>> [] Ask about the nearby village

FRIENDS

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>>46741804

“These are sad times, indeed,” you sigh, “when lizard folk are more civilized than men.”

“I should have known there was a trap hidden in such kindness,” the gorgon hisses softly, almost mournfully. “It’s the way with humans in general, I fear, that there is always a cost to be paid for any exchange of services, even charity. The Aosh tribe was simply happy to see the beasts driven from their land, even before that offered me room and board and kills when they knew I was pregnant and hungry.

“Perhaps their traders will dare venture this way in the next moon, though I fear I’ve little to offer them should they come.”

“Well,” you say. “By the law of the lands, the human settlers may yet owe a tax for waging proxy war on your homestead. Best to keep in mind what you might ask should the occasion arise.”

“I just want to be left alone,” she hisses softly, “to know my child won’t be harmed by people coming in the dead of night or our home pillaged like some treasure chest. Is that so much to ask?”

“Not in a civilized world, my lady,” you assure her. “And perhaps I’ll need to have a talk of the people of the township over before all is said and done to make sure our world hasn’t completely gone to the dogs.”

“They’ll kill you,” she whispers quietly.

“My lady,” you gasp. “Why didn’t you know? I’m already dead.”

*Rattle-Rattle*

“Sleep now, though, and have pleasant dreams. We can sort things out come the morn.”

“Goodnight,” she whispers, and with a tender care you shut the door behind you.

You turn your eyes on the darkened halls now, the faint glow of runes peeking out here and there, and realize the night’s embrace has done little to dull your energy.

> What to do now?
> [] Wait for morning
> [] Explore the dungeon
> [] Explore outside
> [] Study the book (1d100)
> [] Try to cast some illusions (1d100)

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>46742371
>[] Try to cast some illusions
Let's ROCK!

Rolled 58 (1d100)

>>46742371
> [x] Study the book (1d100)

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>46742371
> [] Study the book (1d100)

>>46742371
When there's an option we have to roll for, do you want us to roll with the vote, or vote first, and then if it wins, roll?

Rolled 71 (1d100)

>>46742371
>> [] Study the book (1d100)

>>46742506

Roll with your vote, just in case. If votes are compatible and there is enough for either side, I may try to hybridize your efforts.

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>>46742371

Well, things have become quite a bit gloomier than you would like in this neck of the woods now. So once again, you reach back through the cobwebs of your mind to try to remember how to cast a basic light spell. Unfortunately, unlike earlier, a flash of inspiration isn’t inbound. You struggle at it for a while, in fact, just trying to make mana flow through a body stripped down to nothing but bones. Before, you could feel it in your pores, the raw mana like electricity coursing through your skin. Now, instead of that, it’s like you’ve been cut off from it all, left with no feeling in your extremities with which to channel your energy.

After so many failed tries just summoning the mana, in fact, you begin to panic, wondering if the ability to use magic was lost with your recent transformation. However, you’ve never been one to just quit. Instead you push, harder, harder, straining with all your might to make your will manifest. And just at the last cusp of it, when you’re prepared to finally give it up, the mana flows. Slow, like a trickle of water flooding straight from your heart, it slowly arcs to the tip of your finger and takes on the form of a flickering mote of light.

It’s a pathetic thing really, weakly straining to remain in existence as you attempt to mentally hold it in the shape of a globe.

>>46743000

Finally, out of pity, you just let it go, and start over, once more reaching for the place the magic had come last time and trying again, this time with much greater success. It feels strange as you manipulate it, so much different than what you were accustomed to in life, but after some couple hours of practice, you once more have the basic light ball pristinely hovering in the air in front of you. Now to put it to work.

Realizing dawn probably isn’t that far off, you dive back into the recesses to find the altar and its magic book, which much to your surprise seems to be already hard at work on a skeleton lying on the table. Curious as to what’s going on, you draw nearer, noting the book leafing through pages at a slow rate as magical sparks fly into the pseudo-animate matter, cracks along the various surfaces of the bones fusing shut where they touch.

Figuring that could be useful, and more importantly, that you don’t want to risk messing up the ritual already in progress, you instead follow along, trying to learn the basics of its craft.

> LEARN SPELL: MENDING

By that time, however, you can hear the birds chirping in the distance and realize the night is over. Cassandra and her daughter will probably be awake soon.

> What to do in the meantime?
> [] Wait
> [] Hunt
> [] Explore
> [] Other

>>46743026
> [x] Explore

>>46743026
>[] Explore

>>46743026
>> [] Explore

>>46743026
>[x] Explore

>>46743026
>> [] Explore
Also, check if you are suffering from the effects of sleep deprivation and try to find some coffee.

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>>46743026

Well, you could go foraging for breakfast, but with no sense of taste and only the vaguest idea of how to start a fire, that could go badly very quickly. Instead, you decide that now might be the time to take a closer look at your surroundings. So, carefully stepping away from the pedestal, you turn your eyes on the hallway leading further into the dungeon, the place where you’d seen many skeletons heading in and out of up until now.

The walls get less and less pristine as you go, brickwork twisting, split beams jutting out of clumps of mud here and there, the skeletons showing little concern for the lack of proper structural supports as they continue their excavation project. Truth be told, this place probably isn’t safe for you either, but fortune favors the bold, and so you continue your way further in, following the familiar path past disarmed traps, and broken switches.

Heh, you remember the pit trap that lead down to a mote of mutant crocodiles. Classic.

Wait. You remember this place. That’s right, it’s coming back to you clearly now: the expedition, the adventuring band you had been a part of, plunging down into the depths of an unexplored crypt and looking for… something you can’t quite remember. Things were going well, when suddenly there had been a rumbling from above. A sound like a mad god’s fury descending upon you.

>>46743457

It all became a blur after that, half familiar faces screaming wildly in the dark before disappearing amidst mounds of rubble and twisting shadows. Your feet had been pounding for what felt like hours, legs pumping furiously to swerve over obstacles. You had to get out, you couldn’t die there, but in the end, there had been no escape. Gravity sealed the passage ahead of you, a rain of stone and sand was coming in behind you. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere but a half opened sarcophagus which you had thrown yourself into before slamming the lid shut in the nick of time. Then darkness, a booming thunderous sound that would be the last thing you heard aside from your own choked voice as you gasped for one last breath of air come the end.

You hadn’t realized your feet were still moving. You only register when they stop, leaving your eyes looking down on a familiar box with a few small items tucked inside: an ornate black cane with a line of silver up the spine, a tattered hat of unknown design, and the remains of an instrument. Your instrument. Your head pounds looking at the mess that’s become of it, mangled beyond any human eye to remember, any except for yours.

> What instrument did you play in life?

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>>46743481
Play this.
I would say flute but can we blow it?If so then that instead.

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>>46743481
>Accordion

>>46743562
>>46743481
seconding accordion

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>>46743481
How about a Mandolin?

>>46743591
+1

>>46743562
>>46743581
You WANT to be the secondary part of our band?

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>>46743481
A keytar

>>46743621
reminder that you can sing while playing accordion.

>>46743651
And so can we with a mandolin or oud.

>>46743683
that wasn't my point, my point is that someone singing while playing an instrument is a rarely considered the "secondary part of a band"

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>>46743481

Always a sucker for the classics, you had gone for the mandolin, a sweet little number named Marceline. How many hours, you had whiled away on her smooth wooden frame or any of the dozens of strings you had gone through was anyone’s guess, but you remember never feeling more at ease than when you had her in your hands, plucking away a complex melody or even just simple chords. She outlasted all of your numerous flings, put up with you no matter how much of a slavering drunk you became on a given evening, and kept coins in your cup while you passed your way from tavern to tavern. A special mention goes to Bruno, the seventeen pound accordion, but you’d left him back with Fred in Mirrabar to settle a bet. Just as well, since the man could outplay you four times over.

So, here she lies, in a grave beneath the cold earth. That’s something that you’ll have to fix. For now, however, you are distracted, distracted as a frantic young girls screams pierce through the air.

“Someone help! Someone please help! Mama won’t wake up!”

Your non-existent heart skips a beat.

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>>46743804

And I think that's where we'll end it for tonight, folks. Hoping to pick up next week around the same bat time same bat channel, if there's still an interest.

>>46743804
This is what we get for being bone idle.

>>46743759
The earliest accordion is from 1822. Wouldn't bagpipes be better?

>>46743854
Thank you for running. Fun as always.

>>46743804
>>46743854
Definitely interested.

And how badly did that priest bungle bandaging Cassandra's wounds? Or is this what he intended all along?

>>46743900

It's a mystery for now. Let wild accusations fly!

>>46744019
The butler did it!

>>46744097

Nonsense, it was clearly skeleton number 5! I knew it from the second I laid eye sockets on him!