>>302052
>"Who are you? Where do you come from?"

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You force yourself to think about what you know of the Fey. They are users of Glamour and have unspoken and unbreakable rules, but other than that and their names you are at a loss. You step back a little to reacess your situation. You are wearing nothing but a shirt, holding your Black Glass dagger and almost out of breath [3/11]. You don't have your focus, having been caught unguarded. On the floor the priest Jarred's dead body has fallen on top of an acolyte, pinning her to the floor. His head is nowhere to be seen. You recognize the acolyte as the girl that was aiding the physician earlier that day. She seems completely paralyzed with fear.

Inside your pockets- you left your pockets upstairs. With your boots, breeches, tabard and even the rest of your underwear! You are lucky this shirt goes to your thighs or you would be flashing the Vanir your privates right about now.

Up above, outside, a blue and strange moon cast a radiant light on the quickly freezing stone floor of the hall of gods. It seems to be smirking at your predicament.

Impatient, the Vanir bellows at you again. "Surrender or prepare yourself, you filthy Kith."

Well. What will you do?

>Fight it with magic. Try to muster your hexery, hurl manafire at it, try to make it bleed so you can use your black magic.
>Fight it with atitude and harsh words. Flash the fey your underparts and give it the finger.
>Fight it with cowardice. Run upstairs and grab your stuff. You are not going to die semi-naked.
>Fight it with faith. The gods might not see you, but they see their altars and halls and they will be might pissed at some wild feyling imposing on their domain.
>Flee. Leave everything behind and bolt out of the backdoor.
>Surrender. You can't fight a fully armed soldier, much less one versed in ethereal arts.
>Write in.

>>302102
Will take that too.

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>302117
Faith
what dice are we using? d20?

>>302138
Yes. There is always something that escapes our attention, isn't there? Swore I mentioned that.

>>302117
>Fight it with faith. The gods might not see you, but they see their altars and halls and they will be might pissed at some wild feyling imposing on their domain.

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>302117
>Fight it with faith. The gods might not see you, but they see their altars and halls and they will be might pissed at some wild feyling imposing on their domain.

You decide that inside their hall you will do as the god's desire. You will need time, however. You go for misdirection first, then. "Who are you?" you say back in your best neutral voice. "At least tell me why you want my head so much." Not that your own people needed any good excuses in the past.

You see the Vanir deflate a little, the offensive stance lowering just so slightly. "Will you surrender?" It tries to sound confident and forceful, but comes out more desperate than you noticed at first. Is that relief you hear?

"I want to know who am I talking to first." You pry further. If she starts a monologue you might have time to finish praying in silence. It seems to be working.

"By my right as warrior you will not have my name until you defeat me in single combat, you warlock. But you will know who I am. As the last skarl of my house, guardian of the eastern ridge-" and then you tune out. Whatever the Vanir has to say you are not really paying attention anymore. You begin to implore the gods of civilization to gather with all haste their attention and fight off the alien invasion of their rightful domain. As the Vanir skarl nears the end of her discourse you begin to fret. The gods, as usual, seem to be ignoring you.

"Now fight, Kith. I will have your help even if I have to put you underground first, you filth." You caught none of that.

There is a pained scream of indignation from your back. As you turn, terrified, you notice the altar itself is smoking. On top of it lays the bloodied head of priest Jarred, eyes rolled back and bleeding profusely. "YOU DARE DESECRATE MY HOUSE? MY! HOUSE!?" It is the pained voice of Lord Illfather, god of Martyrs and Sacrifices. His retribution is legendary.

(1/2)

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>>302275
For all the cold the Vanir conjured you are ten times more chilled by the presence of the vengeful god. You have very few recollections of your sins and Lord Illfather is not the type to pull in his punches in his form of retribution. You curse under your breath. Why couldn't it be a more peaceful deity, like Ursula, goddess of love and war?

"I SHALL EAT YOUR LIVER, HEATHEN FEY." It seems particularly vengeful today, too.

The Vanir seems at a loss at what to do. Its mirrored clones have disappeared one by one in the presence of the bloodied god, the sword now resting at the stone floor. It stutters but no meaningful phrase comes out. "YOU UNGRATEFUL DAUGHTER. YOU THINK I DON'T SEE YOUR SINS, TOO? REPENT IN BLOOD, SERPENT!" You have little idea of what Lord Illfather is speaking, you are just glad it isn't directed at you. It seems murderous in intent and the Vanir can feel it too.

At that moment another entity is made manifest. A shadow that covers the Vanir protectively. A raven-face god, with two twin blue moons for eyes. "Lord of Ills, this is a business outside thy purview." It says in a melodious voice.

"WILD GOD. THIS DESECRATION IS A DECLARATION OF WAR." Illfather screams with the bloodied throat of Priest Jarred.

"Perhaps. If it is blood thy desire, let thy champion fight it out, as is custom." Comes the reply. Now you notice the poor girl acolyte has stood up. Her robes, normally white and red, are now damp and a deep crimson. She clutches a figurine of the Martyred God by her bosom and glares dagger at the Vanir. Ah. That explains a lot.

>Intervene, no god will dictate your actions.
>Let them decide what to do with this. You are way out of your league in their squabble.
>Flee back upstairs while they are distracted. You have few allies here.
>Use this moment to strike at the Vanir (with what?)
>Write in.

>>302325
>Let them decide what to do with this. You are way out of your league in their squabble.

>>302325
>Let them decide what to do with this. You are way out of your league in their squabble.

You pull back and decide for discretion this time. No need to push your weight when everything in the room is heavier than you are.

For a while it seems the gods are speaking in circles. Lord Illfather threatens, screams and spit boiling blood. The foreign moon god deflects, evades and try to appease Illfather in all manners of indirect discourse. It is all a bore, really, until the moon god mentions you. The martyred god seems... displeased.

"AN EXARCH IN MY HALLS?!" The blood-eyed beheaded face of Priest Jarred looks at your position. It is as if the sun itself shone a lone spotlight on you. You sweat profusely. Semi naked, in a priest's hall, holding a warlockry tool. More important people have been smitten for much less. You think yourself done for, but when Illfather speaks again through his avatar of flesh it is with a merciful tone.

"The boy will choose. Inside my halls he has my protection, no matter the wants and travails of the wild people." It then glares back at the moon god who answers musically. "So sayeth the wise, so thy will be done." There is a huge burst of light and wind, smoke of censers dropped fill the room. When all is over the Hall is empty but for you, the acolyte and the Vanir. The dead body of priest Jarred is gone, so is the blue and weird moon. Well, leave it to the capricious gods to make a circus of a situation and make nothing the better for it. You really don't much faith, all things considered.

(1/2)

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>>302434

The first to break the silence is the Vanir. "I apologize for the death of the old man." it says to you. The glamour that enshrouded her drops. What you see is ridiculous. She still wields that unbalanced blade, but nowhere in her form there is a single piece of armor. She becomes a head smaller than the armored form, too. You are probably taller and older than her. "He protested when I barged in, the girl used a spell. I panicked and attacked, but he shielded her with his body. It was a mistake." She seems earnest in her apology.

The girl seems full of bile, glaring daggers at the Vanir. "Murderer!" She spits on her feet. The fey doesn't act. They both look at you.

"Kill her!" The acolyte screams at you. The Vanir, in turn, implores. "Just hear me out. Please."

Illfather said it was your choice. Choose.

>Side with the fey, listen to what she has to say (For real this time).
>Side with the acolyte. The vanir did kill Jarred Ramn and is a murderer.
>Side with no one, go back to your quarters and put on some goddamn clothes.
>Other?

>>302495
>tell them to wait a second
>get clothes
>hear them out

>>302495
>tell them to wait a second
>get clothes
>hear them out

>>302495
>hear them out; we don't need any clothes to do that

Grabbing a bite, back in 10. It is really bad luck to run a fledgling quest alongside Hellborn.

Writing for diplomacy.

>>302536
>>302565
Are you guys in cahoots?

>>302495
>make sympathetic noises and pretend to listen to them while you take the rest of your clothing off, if they ask what you're doing just evade the issue.

>>302582
Actually make my vote:
>hear them out; we don't need any clothes to do that

>>302631
I don't know what your other vote was, friend.

Anyway, writing.

>>302631
>>302644
Looks like the nature of my internet changes my ID as well.
I'm: >>302536
Promise not to samefag

You lift a hand to placate them both and point to your inappropriate clothing. They seem to notice your state of disarray for the first time and quickly blush, turning to the side. "Now, we can do this while I wear nothing but an undershirt-" "NO!" they interrupt you in an undertone. They look at each other, confused for a while, before turning their eyes again. The acolyte is the one that finally speaks. "You can go dress yourself, sir." You nod, now out of patience, and go quickly grab your breeches and shorts.

When you come back they are seated opposites to each other. The acolyte is still glaring daggers at the Vanir who seems to be getting bothered by the girl silent aggression.

"Ok." You break the silence. "Talk. You first." You point to the Vanir since you have a pretty good idea of what the acolyte what to say. You are way too used to the grief that lost ones cause.

The Vanir seems to take this opportunity to properly sit down and clear her throat before beginning. "My house have been overtaken by Draug, the restless dead of my family. They drink, gamble, fight and die, just to rise up again the next morning. A Vanir can never raise arms against their own, not even after death, so I am forced to feed them, cloth them and care for their mad merrymaking. During these situations it is custom to search the help of outsiders to put the Draug to rest." She then opens her amber eyes. You never noticed how her face looks tired, flanked by dirty and disheveled raven black hair.

"I saw your magics yesterday, against the troll and after too." She is referring to the blackhole spell. "I know you can defeat my father and his undead hosts."

She bows deeply, her face brow touching the floorboards. "Exarch, please, help my house."

You look at the acolyte once the Vanir girl finishes her plead. Her eyes are still burrowed and angry, but there is a light of doubt in there. She slowly shakes her head. Well, her opinion on the matter is very clear.

What will you do?

>Help the Vanir. There might be all sorts of magics and treasures up there in Vanardrot.
>Decline. Tell her to run back to her misbegotten land.
>"You have killed the priest. I liked the priest." Attack!
>Tell her you will think about it (postpone, you lazy git).
>Other.

>>302708
>Help the Vanir. There might be all sorts of magics and treasures up there in Vanardrot.
On the condition that you will pay for killing the priest.

>>302708
So she just decapitated a dude because she looked for someone to settle her dispute at home.
>>302786
Seconded

>>302790
Welcome to the affairs of Fey.

>>302708
>"You have killed the priest. I liked the priest."

Don't attack her, though.

You give it a lot of thought before finally breaking the overbearing silence. "I will help you" you say, but you cut the acolyte's indignant protests before they begin. "But! You will pay for the murder of the old priest. I like the priest and I will see you answer for it under Kith law." The Vanir swallows dry, probably her pride there, and nod. She must be truly desperate. "And you will tell me your name first, too."

She stands up in a huff, so angry her ears and face turn a shade of red. She begins spouting all sorts of words you don't really understand. Cusses, you presume. So asking her name draws more protest from her than being judged for murder! Fey are a puzzling people. After a small tantrum she stomps with her feet and turn to face you. She says one word, singsonged like a melody, between clenched teeth. "Nadja."

You and the acolyte are left confused for a while before you extend your hand. "Maellan." you say. "Maellan Kane." She swats your hand to the side and storms off outside before resuming her grumbling.

What a strange one.

The acolyte looks at you with hurt in her eyes. "He took you in when the villagers wanted you gone, Exarch. Now the priest is dead." Before you can say anything to defend yourself she says again. "You will take your stuff and leave. I will instruct the man at the caravansary to make a room for you in the name of master Ramn."

>"Now wait a minute! I am hardly to blame for the madness of the Vanir!"
>"The old priest gave me a roof for a day and I will take it, like it or not girl."
>"What is your name?"
>"Who is the head here now that Jarred Ramn is dead?"
>Nod in silence. Gather your stuff and leave.

>>302895
>"What is your name?"
>"Who is the head here now that Jarred Ramn is dead?"

>>302895
>Nod in silence. Gather your stuff and leave.

>>302895
>"What is your name?"
Well she's foolish in grief, if not for our mediation she'd be dead as well, not to mention it is her fault for exacerbating the situation.

Writtan

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"What is your name?" Your question comes out much harsher than you intended it to and seeing the anger in her eyes you raise a hand to signal you apologize for your bluntness. She sighs.

"I am called Ophelia." That is a remarkably Anurian name for a girl that looks so Ulmaran. She must see the doubt in your expression. "I am Anurian. Mother was Ulmaran." There is a finality to her tone much like the one you find on everyone who speaks of the time before the Great Exodus, you included. You nod to thank her.

"I will get out of the temple now. I don't want the Fey to stay around here because of me." She looks somewhat taken back.

"You are taking this surprisingly well?" her tone is uncertain. Maybe she expected you to react badly, probably was fishing for a confrontation with that ultimatum of hers.

"You helped save old Jonny, I owe you at least a bit of peace of mind." You say without much preamble and leave for the quarters where you find everything where you left it. It takes you less than a minute to gather everything and one more to get properly dressed. The blue is still kept out of sight, you note.
_

Outside you still see the Vanir girl, Nadja she called herself, prancing about. There is a small number of people around the houses. They must have come out to investigate the disappearance of the blackhole spell and the reason for the premature night. They do not look like a happy bunch.

>Grab Nadja and get away, and fast.
>Leave Nadja to deal with the people and get out in the silent of night.
>Talk to Nadja, ignore the villagers. They know not to approach you too liberally.
>Ignore Nadja, talk to the villagers. Reassure them everything is alright now.
>Cover for the Vanir girl, attract the attention to yourself while she makes a retreat.
>Other.

Sorry for the wait, had to save the baby from herself.

>>303130
>Cover for the Vanir girl, attract the attention to yourself while she makes a retreat.

>>303139
>>303130
pics of baby
>Grab Nadja and get away, and fast.

>>303130
>Make the situation clear to the villagers

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Will wait 10 more minutes.

>>303165
She is like a ticking timebomb of calamities.

>>303150
>>303165
>>303198
Do you guys want to take a tiebreaker roll between these three or want me to try and mix it up?

>>303270
I want you to wash your floor. Floors aren't meant to be brown.
Also mix it up

>>303270
Mix

Mixing it is. Writing.

>>303274
That is not the brown of a dirty floor, although the floor is dirty. I think that is rust from the old counter. It was replaced for a wood one.

>>303317
I see!

What number thread is this by the way? How many fallquests have come before?

>>303357
2
unless you count days, then maybe 4-5?

You walk past Nadja as if she isn't there. When she begins to protest you give her an evil meaningful look. Finally taking stock of her situation she takes a step back and nods, slowly making her way back away from the town. When the villagers begin to follow you stand in their way. They are not happy to see you. Some are angry, others are confused, most are just prejudiced clean and simple.

"There was a confrontation inside the town's hall, the priest died." Your matter-of-fact tone stuns them for a brief moment, enough to capture their undivided attention. "Ophelia is taking care of tidying the temple and I will bring the murderer to answer against their crime, by our laws and customs." The mention of the acolyte puts many of them at rest, but the most noisy troublemakers discredit you as an Exarch and a Telkine on top of it. You curse. You forgot to hide your toothy mouth and your bleached white hair in your hurry to get to Nadja. As the argument grows more heated you inform them you are going away and this makes most sigh with relief.

This is more than enough of a break for you to dismiss them and get away towards where the Vanir went. They try to grab you and follow with more complaints, but between your evil eyes and the assurance you are leaving they give up on that course of action.

(1/2)

>>303357
Officially, this is the second one. The other one is called The Vagrant and is still on the board last I saw it. I will remember to number them next time.
Unofficially I had ran a prototype of this quest with some friends, but nothing came of it.

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>>303392
You walk until you leave the huts and hovels of the town behind, still a bit unsatisfied that you didn't manage to rest properly since the fight with Troll. You spend about a minute looking for Nadja before you sight a young girl with raven hair swinging her feet up and down. She is way younger than the Vanir was and you see no oversized sword anywhere, but you remember that simple fact about Fey; their glamour.

She waves to you as you approach. You are both way in the outskirts now. She is the first to speak. "Thank you." She says. "I was careless again and let them see me." You wave her off.

"When do you need me to go back to Vanardrot with you?" You ask, partially because you are tired, partially because you still want that Trollsblood Amulet.

"It is very dangerous to travel under the moonlight, doubly so without Sojanus." As you look puzzled, she answers by pointing towards the starry sky. "Our moon. You met him on the halls."

Huh.

>"I didn't know you Fey had gods. I thought you were atheists."
>"What is Sojanus like?"
>"Why is it dangerous? Isn't Vanardrot your home?"
>"What where you thinking, attacking kith inside their holy halls with enough force to decapitate a man?!"
>You have no words for the fey. Leave (to the Caravansary, to the firestoker's Barrows or to Old Jon's Cabin).
>Other.

>>303480
>"I didn't know you Fey had gods. I thought you were atheists."
>"What where you thinking, attacking kith inside their holy halls with enough force to decapitate a man?!"

Taking a 30 minute break to do homely stuff.

>>303480
>"Why is it dangerous? Isn't Vanardrot your home?"

Back, writing.

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"Your moon god? Aren't fey Atheists?" You ask, more to no one in particular.

"We don't enslave and shackle our gods to statues and altars. The free gods choose who they protect and bless. The atheists are the springborn to the west, they consider themselves gods." She says that last part with a smirk and a scoff that betrays feelings of disgust. You are really not interested in dealing with fey politics right now.

"Why is it dangerous to go to Vanardrot now? Isn't it your home? If you have goods don't they protect their subjects?" She rolls her eyes as if you were a petulant child asking stupid questions.

"You kith are so self-centered! The gods have more to do than to protect stupid children. There are hundreds of different kin living in Vanardrot, we aren't weak and pampered mewlings that know nothing."

That is the last raindrop that flooded your jar. "Who are you to lecture me? You just waltzed into a land that is not yours, invaded our holy halls and murdered a holy man in cold blood. It was an accident? Who in their right mind swings a sword with such strength and intent that it 'accidentally' decapitates a man?" You are now blasting her with the full might of your vile yellow sight. She recoils slightly and her icy blue eyes shine uncomfortably under your scrutiny. She mumbles something under her breath that you don't catch.

"I am done with irrational people for the night." You start to leave, simply giving her your back and marching back the way you came. You continue before she can protest. "I will come get you at this same spot come sunrise. Be here or I will hunt you down like a mad dog. I am not letting you go without paying for what you done." You them storm off without another word or even a glance back.

>Go to the caravansary, there room there and market.
>Go to the firestoker's barrows, see the truefire forges and ember merchants.
>Pay a late-night visit to Jonny Robert in his cabin all the way out into the woods.
>Stay on an abandoned shack like you did last night.
>Other.

>>303747
Who is Jonny Robert? And while we're at it, what is the Trollblood Amulet?

>>303820
Last quest you helped an old hunter fell a troll. His name was Jonny Robert and he promised to teach you how to make a Trollsblood Amulet in exchange for fresh troll blood, which you have on you.
The amulet allows you to tap into the absurd regenerative capabilities of Trolls and heal rapidly. Last time you saw Jonny he had many broken ribs just pop back into place.

>>303747
>>Pay a late-night visit to Jonny Robert in his cabin all the way out into the woods.

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Running side by side with Soma and Languid will break my legs. I will let them exhaust their public while I catch a smoke (kids, man, weekends are worse than workdays).
Keep prompts and questions rolling if you want, I will get it back in exactly one hour.

Back
writing for visiting

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You take a twisted road through winding paths. Thanks to your evil yellow eyes you can easily see as if it was a full moon outside, strong and clear shadows dancing under rocks and bushes. Takes you the best part of an hour until you start seeing the woods, but once inside it is pretty straightforward until you make out the window's lights against background of fireflies and other shinning bugs.

As you get closer you hear a scream. Not of pain, fear or surprise that you have been growing accustomed to hearing these last two days, but of exasperation. Seems old man Jonny has company. You also note how, a hundred paces down, there is another cabin nearby. Lights are also lit, but you hear no sound from there nor see any smoke from its chimney. Weird.

Perhaps you should go back, but then Jonny does owe you his life and you were pretty invested into patching the man up after his close encounter with the troll. To top it he seems to not be in a good mood about having this discussion, whatever it is.

>Listen in. Maybe its important?
>Knock on the door, you are kinda tired and don't want to put up with more arguing tonight.
>Just enter unannounced.
>Go check the other cabin.
>Other.

>>304170
>Knock on the door, you are kinda tired and don't want to put up with more arguing tonight.

>>304196
10 minutes, gonna go with this if there isn't any more votes.

You step up having made up your mind to announce your arrival. It's cold, it's dark and you aren't feeling like waiting outside for whatever is going in there. Two knocks over and before you hit the door a third time your hand falls through open space.

Holding the door open is this Ulmaran looking girl with red cheeks and light eyes. Her brow is furrowed and she is panting. She must be the one screaming with Jonny.

"What do you want?" She wails at you before you can answer. From inside you hear Jonny screaming for her to say who's at the door. She is about to scream back when she catches sight of the molten light inside your eyes and her expression turns to surprise, than fear, than anger again. "You!" She pokes at you with a finger.

Woah. This girl is like an angry badger. Just slightly taller too.

>"Woman, take your hands off me."
>"Tell old Jon I have his blood."
>Introduce yourself.
>Slap her hand away and muscle through her.
>Leave. You aren't in the mood to be abused.

>>304285
>Introduce yourself.
>"Tell old Jon I have his blood."

>>304290
Got terrifyingly quiet here. Do you think I should postpone the rest for tomorrow?

>>304346
If you wish.

Yeah.
Let me have at it again by tomorrow. Didn't have a peaceful time today, anyway. Harder to write.
Will pick it up where I left today, so will be doing introductions.

Thanks everyone that took the time to read and play, specially with other amazing quests running in tandem.

>>304390
Thanks for running.

>>304390
Hey OP, just wanted to say that although I missed being able to join in when this was active I think it's very interesting and I would hate to see this sputter out like so many other quests in this ghetto of a board, I hope you decide to keep going because this is worth reading.

Writing
Let's the time warp again

>>305664
Thank you, anon. It really means a lot to me.
I don't intend to stop in the foreseeable future, but I am still struggling with my writing and the mechanics behind the game.
Trying to find a nice comfortable balance.

>>306829
lets see what sort of mischief the Exarch can find for himself.

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Although this situation grates on your nerves you try your best to keep calm. "Nice to meet you too. Name is Maellan." You then look past her to where you spy the firepit. It is burning contendly with a heavy iron pot over it sustained by a hooked chain. The girl is puffing and huffing in front of you, but you pay her little mind. "Tell Jonny I have his blood."

You are caught between the words and their meaning and curse loudly at yourself. "Damn. Troll blood, I meant... not... not HIS blood. HIS TROLLBLOOD. The blood from the troll that he told me to collect." By now your cheeks have gotten a crimson hue so deep they threaten to overpower your paleness. The girl's expression is locked between being angry and amused. "Can I come in? It's cold outside." You say finally, face hidden under your hands and cowl.

Not two seconds later the old hunter comes limping with a cane in hand. "By the gods, woman, let the poor boy in already!" He pushes her to the side, to which she protests loudly, and grab you by the arm. You have little choice but to be dragged into the floor as he slams the door shut behind him. "Make yourself comfortable by the fire, boy!"

Old Jonny then turns to the girl who seems at the verge of exploding. "Now, don't be rude to visits. I didn't take ya hunting. I am sorry I got hurt, but I am only alive because of this man and I will not have my niece disrespect him inside my own house." His voice took on a very somber and serious tune by the end there. "Are we understood, Emma?"

"But uncle-"

"Are we understood!" He is practically headbutting the smaller girl now.

She stomps, grabs a shall by a coat hanger and opens the door only turning to scream a YES SIR back at his face and slamming it as hard as she can.

"Well." he says turning over to where you watched all that transpire. "That went amazing." His mischievous grin betrays nothing of what just transpired.

(1/2)

>>306972
The old hunter just limps back to the firepit and begin stirring the coals with the butt of his cane. A long and awkward silence hangs over you two before he breaks it with that raucous voice. "So. Where is the goods, ma boy?" His grin splits his face in two.

Without much ado you pull the ink jarret from your bag and open the lid. The small recipient is bursting to the brim with viscous red liquid. Huh. "Weird. I could swear it wasn't nearly this much." You verbalize your doubts.

Old Jon laughs and pats your back, dexterously snatching the jar from your hands as he joyously hops towards a workbench on the other side of the house. He just plops the pot down and begins working on a small bowl of herbs with a grinder. "Trolls regrow lost limbs, ma boy, ya can imagine their blood has some powerful dynamic properties to them." Catching up to him you look curiously over his shoulder. He catches your attention with a sly smile. What you see is not nearly as magical as you thought it would be, just an old man making the herbs for his pipe.

"Do you smoke, boy?" He asks, somewhat serious.

>"Yes."
>"No."
>"Are you selling me drugs, old man?"
>"Just teach me about the goddamn amulet already!"
>Ignore his question.
>"So. Your niece, huh?"
>"What was that girl's problem?"
>"What are you cooking in the pot?"
>Other

>>307058
>"Yes."
Once we've played the good guest and accepted whats offered we can talk buisness

Ten minutes, writing for narcotics usage

"Yeah, sure." But before you can take the pipe from the old man's hand he pulls the pipe away.

"Well, too bad! You're too young to smoke." He then puts the pipe on your hand and turn around already tinkering with something else. "Now go light it for me, ey? And don't use any of that sorcery, now, it makes the herbs taste horrific. Use a cinder from the firepit." He points to the firepit without turning to look at it.

You take a deep breath and crouch in front of the pot. Something is boiling inside and it smells of fresh vegetables and meat. Only now you notice how hungry you are, you had nothing to eat for an entire day. Still, you do your chore and light the pipe without much trouble by shaving a some sparks inside. Still, your stomach grumbles pretty loudly.

"As soon as I finish assembling this one we can talk during dinner. Hee hee hee" Seems he noticed.

You bring back the smoking pipe and hand it to Jonny as he puts together a small glass vial full of blood.

>"Is that the amulet?"
>"What is in the pipe, anyways?"
>"What is in the pot?"
>"So. Your niece, huh?"
>"What was that girl's problem?"
>Other

>>307219
>"Is that the amulet?"
>"What is in the pipe, anyways?"

>>307219
>"I would have thought a hunter as old as yourself would have learned that appearances are not everything. No matter, is that the Amulet?"

How old are we? I thought our affliction made us look much younger than we really are.

>>307356
I'd second this.

>>307356
The other way around. We are about 18, but the years are weird. You could be 24 for all you know, and you feel and look like it.

"You shouldn't judge based on appearances, old man. You know better than anyone else that time is not really a constant around these parts." As you say it he stops what he is working on to size you up and down. He smirks and gets back to building his trinket. You resign yourself to changing the subject. "Is that the amulet you are working there."

He answers without peering off of his work. "Yes, that it is. The vial holds the blood while the charms around it siphon the dynamic energies to the wearer. Quite simple design, very hard to execute." He seems to burst with pride at that statement. "Stole the secret from a witch from the lands of Rus, far beyond Vanardrot and Jotunrealm." He puts it down, seemingly done with his handiwork.

"You speak of age, boy, but I had walked far and wide way before you were born. Life has a way to imprint you with its many travails and don't take me wrong, ya look ya took yer share of beatings, but ain't no challenge to see you will have many more winters ahead of ye than I do."

You look to the old man as if for the first time. Rus is half way across the known lands, way beyond the protection of the civilized gods. You decide not to pry too much, you are still a guest. "What is in the pipe anyway?" You ask, honestly curious.

(1/2)

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>>307441
(oops forgot pic)

He answers with a laugh first than turns to face you. "Blackroot, lemongrass and good old tabaco leaves. Nice when you have a headache." He winks.

Slapping his hands together he turns to the pot. "Well, let's eat shall we? Try on the amulet if you wish, it is on the table. I will teach you the enchantments if you wish." He is seated down in front of the pot already spooning some of the broth out with a bowl. It looks delicious.

>Sit and eat by the fire. It is cold and you are hungry.
>Grab the amulet and leave. You've got what you came here for. (Your stomach will complain)
>Pester the old man about the enchantments.
>Ask him anything, make small talk_ write it in
>Other

>>307479
>Sit and eat by the fire. It is cold and you are hungry.
>Ask him anything, make small talk_ write it in
Ask what he knows about the fey, and specifically mention Nadja.

>>307488
this, but don't mention her name, we don't know what kind of power it could have over her and I doubt she would be happy with us freely giving it to strangers.

Got an emergency, won't take long, will be writin this as I get back.

>>307479
>Sit and eat by the fire. It is cold and you are hungry.
>Ask him anything, make small talk_ write it in
Ask what he knows about the fey, and specifically mention Nadja.

File: homecooked food.jpg (2.24 MB, 3264x2448)

2.24 MB JPG

You calmly sit down across Jonny and take a bowl for yourself. As you scoop out the broth you notice many different ingredients, some of which you are not familiar. You try the soup and it tastes twice as good as it smells, and it smells delicious. You can barely contain yourself from drinking it all up, scalding your tongue and throat in the process. Jonny Robert is laughing like it is the funniest thing in the world as you cough and clear your throat. It is not only hot, but also incredibly spicy, a characteristic of Qartian culinary you didn't expect to find this way up north.

"Go easy on the food, boy, it is not going to run away. Haa haa haa"

After cleaning your first bowl you go fishing for more. Jonny seems delighted. You decide to strike a small conversation. "You traveled the Feylands for a long time?" You ask as if trying the waters. The old hunter perks up from his pipe only to give you a long and slow nod. "Can you tell me anything about the Fey?"

"What you want to know, boy?" He asks bemusedly through a puff of dark and citrus-tasting smoke.

>Tell him about what happened in the town hall.
>Ask him about the Vanir.
>Ask him about the history of the Fey.
>Ask about their gods.
>Other_ write in.

>>307658
>Tell him about what happened in the town hall.
>Ask him about the Vanir.

>>307658
>Ask him about the Vanir.
>Tell him about what happened in the town hall.

specifically mention the two gods but don't tell him Nadja's name

>>307658
>>Ask him about the Vanir.
>>Ask him about the history of the Fey.

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You assume the news about the priest's death still didn't make it this far into no one's land. You go through the laborious process of telling Jonny all that transpired, leaving out some small details like your dreams from last night. Once you finish you tell him what the Vanir girl asked of you. He is truly absorbed into his own thoughts and has that predatory look of a wild warrior to him you saw when he was shooting the troll. "So I wanted to ask. What do you know of the people of Vanardrot?"

He inhales a great deal of pipe smoke and holds it for a long time. "That is a real mess you put yourself through, ma boy. First you should know that I am not happy with helping you throw yourself at danger like this, but you can't bail out now, not with the gods witnessing what transpired." He gives another long puff of the pipe.

"Well, the Vanir of Vanardrot are lords of ice and snow. They have powerful glamours and it is very hard to hit them while they keep it up, but once you get through their glamour it is just a matter of skill against skill. Were they Sidhe I'd say the fight would get better, but not with the Vanir. They are a proud warrior people and wield incredibly enchanted blades, older than they are. My best advice is to keep your distance and give them ground. It will inflame their confidence and make them careless." He scratches his hair and makes an expression of pain before sighing.

"Since Vanir answer to wild gods each individual will be different than the other, to a point. They all still follow the autumn court's rules, meaning they will never refuse food or drink and can't deny it either. You can use that to stall. If you ever draw Vanir blood they will try to bargain the end of a fight and if you win anyways they have to serve you for a year and a day."

"Aside from all that, there is not much to say about them. If you want to know more about each caste I know of some of them, mostly Skarl, Harl, Herse and some Bog and Zmey too."

You remember the girl told you about herself, that she was last Skarl of her house and you verbalize that.

(1/2)

Anyone got a link to the first thread?

>>307851
"Ah, Skarl are the servant caste. They compose most of a house's host. Cleaning, cooking and all other footpad work falls to them. Then you have the Harls and Herses, venerable warriors. They are over a hundred years old, or older, and carry weapons and armor so heavily enchanted that it is hard to know what they are capable of. The Vanir Bog are completely out of mortal league. They can be as old as a thousand years old and will often be found leading very ancient and respectable houses." He stops to puff his pipe again.

"And then you have the Zmey. They are like walking gods of the Vanir and much like gods they can assume different forms." He empties the now burned out pipe into the pirepit and a cloud of black and scented smoke rises. "Never met one, never want to."

He first fills the pipe again before continuing.

"She mentioned, the Vanir you met, the Draug have taken her house. That is a convenient lie. Draug are Vanir dead that, instead of resting, rise again to do as they did in life. She didn't lose her house, it is always been the Draug's house. My best guest is that the house Jarl, probably a Vanir Harl or a Vanir Herse, has unfinished business in this land and will refuse to depart until it is done."

Now his pipe is already lit again and he turns to face you, seriousness on his joyful eyes. "Are you truly considering marching all the way to Vanardrot to help this girl? Why?"

>"Because of all the magic, artefacts and riches I can get." (Avarice)
>"Because I can." (Wrath)
>"Because it is the right thing to do." (Pride)
>Other reason _ Write in
>"I don't know."
>"I don't. I will trick her and arrest her tomorrow."
>Other

>>307891
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/279687/

>>307915
>Other
Because I've already given my word to do so, and because she must answer for murder afterwords. (Justice)

>>307937
Thanks OP, link these in the opening post if you will next time for new readers.

>>307915
>"I know little of the Vanir, and less of Vanadrot.

I mean to correct this, and if I can come away with some artifacts of power and knowledge of their runes and hexes, then it will be well worth the risk. (avarice/thirst for knowledge)

Writing

>>307952
Yeah, when the thread started yesterday the old one was still on the board.

You answer without thinking. "Why do Exarch do anything? For my thirst for power, for my hunger for knowledge. They have magics and artefacts we can't dream of replicating, I want them. If I could I would steal their glamours too." Your wicked smile dies a bit, as if you caught yourself doing something you shouldn't. "There is another reason too. I gave her my word, for ill and good, that I would help out and then bring her back to face Kith justice for killing the old priest."

Jonny seems satisfied. He gives a nice shrug and stands up, still wobbly and limping, his broken leg still not fully healed. "Well, you seem to know what yer up to. Not like I could stop ya if I wanted, I saw what ya did back there on Kirkihill. Hee hee hee. Still, stay the night. Let me at least offer you this much help."

His smile is infectious and it drives the vileness of your soulless void away from your thoughts.

>Stay, there is more you wanted to talk about.
>Leave. Take the amulet, you can stay in the Caravansary or the Barrows, no need to impose any more.
>Ask about the other house you saw.
>Other.

>>308100
>Stay, there is more you wanted to talk about.
not like we have anywhere better to be until we need to meet Nadja

>>308100
>Stay, there is more you wanted to talk about.
>Ask about the other house you saw.

You graciously accept his invite. Which is to say, you take another bowl of broth and gorge yourself. Jonny laughs it off.

Throughout the night you two talk about many small subjects. He tells you about enchantment, runecasting and firestoking, about the rifle and how he stole it from that witch in Rus. "And by the way," he iterates. "Never steal from a gun witch, boy. Unless you want to sleep under a rock for the next year. Hee hee hee"

"Why under a rock?" This really got your curiosity.

"Oh, gun witches can use magic to shoot at anything, no matter the distance." You call him on his lies. He laughs and points toward the western wall. Now that you are paying attention you can make out dozens of small holes on the wood, all filled back up with clay and glue. They remind you of the holes that Jonny's rifle made on the Troll. As you duck instinctively he laughs himself near to death before explaining she tired of trying to head-shot him over a decade ago. Still, you insist on sleeping to the eastern wall. This draws more laughs out of him, but he consents easily.

"By the way, Jon, what is that other cabin?" He beams.

"Oh, that's Emma's hut. It is improper for a girl her age to live with an old man like myself, so I built her another house. It is much better than this old thing, fully enchanted. That girl has a gift for enchantment, I tell you."
_

Doesn't take long before you are both on your own rooms, curtains of cotton giving you enough privacy. How do you want to spend the rest of the night before you sleep?

>Read the truenamer's catalogue.
>Try that Abjuration ritual, see what spirits you can contact.
>Practice your Memorancy. Remember more about the past.
>Train your Dark Magic. Try to haunt the blood from the dead troll.
>Train Hexery. Focus yourself and center the connections you have to your emotions.
>Train Sorcery. Manipulate mana, try giving it elemental qualities.
>Check your new trollsblood trinket.

(Choose two)

>>308229
>Try that Abjuration ritual, see what spirits you can contact.
>Train your Dark Magic. Try to haunt the blood from the dead troll.

I don't see how this could possibly go wrong, but I really want to find out.

>>308229
>Train your Dark Magic. Try to haunt the blood from the dead troll.
>Practice your Memorancy. Remember more about the past.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Dark Magic seems to be a given.

>>308263
>>308300
If no one else votes in the next 10 minutes let's roll a tiebreaker between Abjuration and Memorancy.

You decide you have to practice more your dark magic before venturing into foreign land. Better be sharp and ready.

Taking out your amulet you focus on the blood inside. It is troll, weird, alien, but there is enough of a connection that you can access it given time.

With your black glass blade in hand you pinprick your finger, letting the smallest drop fall before it knits closed again thanks to the amulet. You focus on the similarities and walk the same pathways you used the first two times you used sympathy on it. It is like molding clay, pliable, eager to take form. Once you have stabilized a link between your blood and the dead troll's you can do all sorts of hauntings. You could find the blood (quite pointless since the troll is dead), you could scan your surroundings for more of this blood (perhaps useful if there was a troll nearby) or you could pull from it. Dig inside, find memories, experiences and all sorts of knowledge. You can easily pull them out with a single thought. But there are rules, you can only haunt a soul once. Then you'd need better rituals, for that which is harmed grows stronger.

What do you want to do?

>Try scanning the area for Trolls. (Up to a mile, maximum)
>Rob it of its experiences. See how it is to be troll. See if you learn anything from it.
>Try to connect to its dead soul. You can ask it questions, talk to it, even try to learn something from the underworld.

>>308422
>Try to connect to its dead soul. You can ask it questions, talk to it, even try to learn something from the underworld.
I don't know if we'd gain much from memories of being a giant hulking beast.

>>308422
>Rob it of its experiences. See how it is to be troll. See if you learn anything from it.

>>308422
>Try to connect to its dead soul. You can ask it questions, talk to it, even try to learn something from the underworld.

>>308422
>Rob it of its experiences. See how it is to be troll. See if you learn anything from it.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

2 for 2
The dice gods shall decide then.

1 it is learn to troll
2 it is consort with the dead

>>308433
By the same reckoning, what would the dumb brute be able to tell us?

I think its experience in fighting with regenerative powers would be more valuable.

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There is something to be said about plundering the realms of the greedy Plouton. You pull on the strings of sympathetic connection between the living blood and its passed soul. Through it you plunge into its deathly home, in the Underwordly domain.

As you open your eyes you see yourself in a very similar mockery to your room in old Jonny's cabin, except the walls are peeling off like dead skin and the skies are alight with an ungodly burning. Around you there is no forests, but a terrible and vast landscape. Brimstone fills the air and you can smell ashes of things dead way before your forefathers were born. Across the infinite chasms of Gehena (you somehow knew before asking) you see a small campfire where three trolls are seated. They share a meal together. You know them to be a family. Odd, you didn't know trolls to have families, but you guess that is just expected.

As you approach, your warlockry binds your path to the smallest troll. He looks at you, eyes dumb but understanding, and you know you can ask it one question and one question only. There is much you could learn about the hells of Gehena or the trolls, or even death itself! Just got to ask the right question.

But what, tho?

>Ask a question.

(Let's try an open prompt type thing. If you guys want, just ask me for suggestions and I will be glad to assist)

>>308574
I have nothing to ask it. The Anons who voted for this can field their questions.

>>308574
>>308595
Agreed.

Unless it's privy to some way of seeing through fey glamour, or has knowledge of some weapon or armor that will level the playing field for us.

But that doesn't seem likely.

>>308574
What power do I hold over a Fey whose name I know

>>308574
alternatively, what are the odds we could bargain with it for its true name or equivalent to be able to summon it at a later time to preform some task for us? Even if we could only summon it for a short time a troll would be very helpful in fighting the Vanir.

>>308614
Sadly this guy here isn't a Mountain King, just a simple wild bouldertroll, named after the fact they look like stones.

>>308625
If no one objects I will go with this in 10 minutes.

>>308643
You can't bargain much because you don't have anything a dead troll would want. If you were a necromancer, tho.
You could ask it for any and all other true names it knew in life. This isn't a "no asking for more wishes" kind of thing.

>>308645
go for it, I've got nothing better.

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You think hard for a good time. There is no time limit for planar magics, so you sit calmly on a smoldering rock as you stare down the dumb brute. It seems busy picking small lodestone pebbles from a bag and eating them, unconcerned with your presence. This is a true challenge. You have to ask it a question its small brain can understand and also one good enough because you only have one. Not to mention if it doesn't know what you are asking it will simply shrug and waste your spell away. After much thought you finally decide to end the ritual.

"How" you begin cautiously "do the trollkin use a Fey's, a Vanir's, true name in the smartest way possible?" The words have no sound, for you are not truly here, but they carry power and the troll is compelled to answer.

The trolls mulls it over while biting another lodestone. It thinks hard and long before answering. His voice is a booming and low growl. "Wes troll not like 'em Van. Wes smash 'em ta bits, cut 'em ta pieces. When wes gets one a 'em we torture 'em 'n wes takes 'em names 'n draws 'em on a biiiig stone. If theys pretty-like, all charm, wes steal 'em fates 'n make 'em clean 'n work 'n cook for us. If theys is strong wes cook 'em icy hearts 'n wes eats em so wes gains their powers."

After he finishes you are left in a black nothingness before your mind peels back into your conscious body. The smell of brimstone still clings to your nostrils, but it will pass soon. The droplet of blood you used as catalyst has boiled and burned the tiniest of holes on the floorboards. You feel weaker, but you should recover; there is always a price to pay to use the dark sciences and you will do well to remember it.

[You learned how to bind a Vanir to a place using a stone and their name. You also know that by cooking a Vanir's heart you can eat some his powers. You also created the weakest connection to the Underworlds.]

All is left now is for you to meditate on your memories and reassert them, reorganize them. Perhaps feed some of them to the ever-hungry void inside you.
_

(And I will take a break for the night, everyone. Pretty late here. See you all tomorrow, same bat channel, same bat time, with the continuation of this post. And most important of all, thank you so much for playing, for reading and for being excellent.)

>>308794
Thanks OP, see you next time.

>>308794
good stuff op see you tomorrow

(Back. Let's see if we can finish it today)

>>308794
You sit with legs crossed and your back against the eastern wall. You face the cotton curtains that separate you from the larger room. Slowly, methodically, you close your eyes and breath in.
_

Once more you sit upon your throne of Ego, crowned and dressed as a king of yourself. Across your mirrored palace you can visualize your own face a reflected back a thousand fold. Your white hair, your vile yellow eyes, your bleached skin and your shark toothed grin. As you stand up you notice the void behind your throne, a star-shaped emptiness that threatens to devour the worlds. You pay it no mind. On your hands you have all the recent memories you made today. If you chuck them inside the emptiness they will be gone as sure as the sun rises.

Across from your halls there are three doors that lead nowhere. You recognize the first to the left as a door of seawood like the one your family had, it even has the small on the side to measure your growth and that of your siblings. You don't really remember them.

The second door is of a dark wood you are not familiar with, having only seen it once. It leads to the inside of a place you wouldn't really enjoy remembering, but that helped shape you as the man you are.

The third door is painted white but stained in red blood, having stopped the fall of a dead body you can't make out from this side. You could open it and look at the dead man or you could leave it locked inside.

Aside from them you only see one other difference upon your mindscape. There is a pedestal, no higher than your chest, to a side, away from the doors. Atop it lies a green vial full of something churning and vile. You are sure, somehow, that it is a gift. You are not sure from whom.

>Open the seawood door.
>Open the dark wood door.
>Open the blood-stained white door.
>Check the vial on the pedestal.
>Toss a memory inside your star-shaped void.

>>310774
>Check the vial on the pedestal.

>>310809
ten minutes, writing this

The strange fixture of a pedestal in your own memories is a puzzling intrusion that you intend to remedy. Walking towards it you can make out the vial itself, rooted pretty deeply into a root structure that you are none the wiser about. Inside the glass there is a liquid that sizzles, boils and churns, but is otherwise uncharacteristic at best. On the pedestal itself there is a plaque that reads Drink me. Well, if that ain't double suspicious and then some more!

You never heard or seen of any such thing before. Perhaps you should trust it? This smells fishy, like the mad incantations of spirits or the temptations of demons. It could also be a gift from the gods, but which one is a better question.

>Drink the vial.
>Leave it be and turn back to the doors.
>Cast the vial inside your inner void.

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>>310869
I was sure I put the pic in there...
Must be going mad.

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>>310869
I'm honestly torn. For now, let's...
>Leave it be
>Open the dark wood door.

You decide to abandon the thing for a while as you turn around and face the doors of your memories once more. You step to the middle one, the dark wooden door. Trying not to think too much about it else you be gripped by the fear of what lies inside, you push it open with a thug. Your hands hurt, your feet are cramped but still can sustain your weight for long enough. You remember the cell.

You are looking outside the small window to the bright sky. You enjoy these small moments where the sun shines against the shoreline and touches your skin, giving you the only sliver of warmth you can from inside inside your claustrophobic cell. Minutes pass and the sun is gone, rising above the portcullis and out of sight. The sea still bashes against the stone outside. You slump back into your crammed position, knees to your chin and hands around your naked frame. Now it will be many hours before they take you out again and drain from you the vile starlight that makes you Exarch.

A loud crack, a sudden darkness and you suddenly feel yourself being dragged again through the smooth wooden floors.

As you lay, stiff like a board, on top of the altar, you can't see anything thanks to the dark sack cloth around your head. Still you know the place is filled with your fellow tribesmen, fellow Telkine, as they begin the ritual. You remember pain, you remember unending agony and then you remember the dark cold of the cell again. This lasted weeks, maybe months, you are fuzzy on time, but one day they threw you out as if you were a spent commodity.

That same day you assaulted and stole the clothes of a passerby, a Qartian merchant hailing from Qart Hadar. You took the road and walked south until you couldn't anymore. Ever since you never came back to the northern peninsula where the Telkine clans make their home. You don't even remember where it was, surely you must have purged that memory long ago.
_

Outside you grip at yourself. There is no pain here, no more slivers of sunlight. You are free and you intend to continue like so.

As you look around only the blood-stained door remains, the seawood door of your family has disappeared to somewhere deep inside yourself. The pedestal, too, still remains, stubbornly taunting you to drink the vial with that stupid Drink Me message.

>Open the blood-stained white door. See who is the dead corpse.
>Throw this memory of your people torturing you into your abyss. You don't know why you ever didn't.
>Drink that vial. It is inside of your head, anyways.
>Take the vial from the pedestal but don't drink it. Take it with you.
>Throw the cheeky vial, pedestal and all, inside the void. Your patience is thinned.

>>310998
>Take the vial from the pedestal but don't drink it. Take it with you.
Then, if we have time.
>Open the blood-stained white door. See who is the dead corpse.

>>310998
>drink the vial

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>>311103
(Kinda late, but I will try to accommodate)

You give a half turn and walk back to the pedestal, pocketing the vial without much respect for whatever designs it was intended for. In your pockets it vibrates like a bowl full of boiling water, but it is nowhere as hot. In fact it is quite cool.

Without other recourse you pull the white door open and the cadaver falls on your feet with a wet splattering noise. Its face is maimed beyond recognition, but he is a Telkine for sure. White hair, pale skin. You can't remember his face but that is your father. As you look back up again you see a man that inspired fear on your heart for years yet to come. His eyes are a burning red, but so much like yours. Their vile light hungers with the need to consume the worlds, the hunger of the Conquering King. Exarch. The assailant and murderer of your father.

Your eyes burn with unbreakable wrath, the same ire you feel inside your heart. Without thought or reason reach down under your robes and clutch the vial that was given you by a power unknown. Whatever it is, whatever it will do, it burns and sizzles and you feel like it would quench your thirst for vengeance like oil quenches fire. But as you reach it to your lips you feel the terrifying man step through time and reality and grab a hold of your hand, breaking your arm with the slightest of flicks of his thumb. He grabs the vial from you and smirks. "What is this, brat? Some sort of spellwork?"

You are dumbfounded, stunned. He moves inside your mind, inside your memories. You have summoned the abomination into your unconscious head! You need to go, shut him off, but all of your will does nothing to command the mindscape around you. You are a kid again, looking once more to the dead body of the man you respected. Towering over you the Red Eyed Exarch is looking rather amused.

(1/2)

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>>311181
You are thrown back fifteen paces as he slaps you out of his way. Such tremendous force from such a trivial twist of his wrist. "You are too weak to pose a threat to me." He says in a voice not too different from yours. "Look as I devour your powers same as I shall devour all creation, you pathetic dream haunter!"

And in one fell swoop he chugs the entire potion. What follows next leaves you half-perturbed and half-elated. First, the Red Eyes' permanent smirk quickly disappears and he throws the potion away at a wall nearby. It shatters into a thousand shards with the sound of breaking glass and a maniac laughter. Then the Red Eyed Exarch clutches his mouth shut, eyes wide with anger and fear. He looks at you accusingly and try to voice a curse but from his mouth only a dark-red and oily substance spills forth and now that it begins it doesn't seem to stop. He retches and vomits a lot of it, so much so that you can't see your father's body anymore. In the purple oily sea that is left behind you see three different lights.

One you recognize as a white silver light that is watching out for you. The second is a red a terrible light, probably something from the Red Eyes himself. The third is a greenish tint and it echos with a mad laughter that has no respect for anything in this world. You feel like you could reach out and catch one of those lights before the wine-colored deluge spills you back into your head. Alternatively you could just swim away and close the white door behind you.

>Catch the white light.
>Steal the red light from the Red Eyed King.
>Touch the green light and bring it back with you.
>Swim away and close the door.

>>311249
>Catch the white light.
Go for the safe bet.

>>311249
>grab the silver light

I am pretty damn tempted to grab the green one for shits and giggles but we need a guardian angel

>>311265
err white light, not silver

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You extend both arms, but one recoils in pain. Your right arm is truly and well broken. But your left hand manages to grab the white and silvery light that was floating. It is a protective and warm sensation like that of a heavy blanket on a cold night. Soon after you clutch it closer to you the deluge of oily wine spills you out of the white door which in turns closes and breaks, leaving only you and that alien pedestal on the mirrored halls of your mind. Except the pedestal is now a masked entity.

It stands tall and proud, his suave laughter echoing inside the halls. It's the Trickster God, Masked Sade. He wears rogal clothing better suited to a king, but speaks like a court fool. "Commendations on partying your play, yellow star, our juvenile getback at red light is done now. Is a shameful blame that you brought back that what-is-it instead of the me piecemeal that was a vile vial." The jester-like god bow to you and step back into himself. "We are not even here" it says finally before disappearing.

This is the second night that you dream with gods meddling after they had forsaken you for 5 long and dark years. You are starting to miss their silence.

You look down to the white light against your chest and feel its will. It is a living spell, a soul shard given purpose. It was your father's before his death and now it is yours, you sequestered it from the past by the meddling of bothersome gods. You are not sure what it does, but it wants to protects you from harm. As you are left there puzzling a very hard shake wakes you up.
_

On the floor on top of you you see Jonny looking back at your face with concerned eyes. You feel your clothes are damp with sweat and your arm is actually broken, snapped where the Red Eyed King snapped it in your dream. You clutch in pain. Behind old Jonny you see Emma, his niece, looking rather horrified and disgusted at you.

"Ya ok there boy? Yer possessed thrashings last night saw you flying through the room. Got me quite worried."

>Tell him you are fine and get back up.
>Tell Emma "What are you looking at?"
>Say nothing. Just crawl out from under him and take deep breaths.
>Tell them everything. The dream, the Red Eyed King, the Masked Sade, everything.
>Curse against Masked Sade, that damned trickster!
>Curse against the Red Eyed King, wherever he is! The murderer!
>Other

>>311378

>Tell him you are fine and get back up. Just a meddlesome god and some old ghosts.
>Tell Emma "What are you looking at?"

no need to involve them in our personal affairs

>>311378
>Tell him you are fine and get back up. Just a meddlesome god and some old ghosts.
Just this. No need to be rude.

You are fine. A bit shaken by the experience but you came out stronger for it. You can feel the spell inside your pocket. You better find a good recipient for it later.

"I am fine. Somewhat unused to being exploited by Gods and haunted by ghosts." You grumble in a bad mood. Old Jonny laughs at you, seeming much relieved that you are cracking jokes. Even through his infectious laughter you are somewhat sour and his loudmouth of a niece staring at you is making things worse. Your retort comes in the form of a glare from your evil eyes.

She scoffs at you. "No wonder people want you away as soon as possible. You are a walking breathing disaster waiting to happen." She only shuts up at that point because her uncle gave her a look that left very little doubt that this discussion was over.

He grabs you by your good arm and lifts you up. It is a weird sensation but you can already feel your bones knitting together again. That amulet doesn't pull any punches.
_

After breakfast you are almost 100%. Jonny is looking rather amused at how curious you became with the healing process. "Well, ma boy, it was a pleasure hosting ya. I know ya got yer business to care for so I will leave to it, but ya should still visit that old harpy, doc Nakesh, in the Caravansary. It can heal all sorts of wrong, and it is better to set it once instead of twice."

After that Old Jonny gets back inside to light his herb pipe and waves you a warm farewell. Emma just stomps past you walking with more determination than you can muster against her. What even is her problem?

Well. New day, new ways to surprise yourself with how much you can live through. Where to now?

>Go to the Caravansary, visit the Doc's office there. Safety first!
>Go to the Caravansary but buy provisions first. Your arm isn't even- ouch- hurting anymore.
>Go to the Barrows to visit the firestoker's guild.
>It is sunrise, you should meet Nadja least she gets cold feet. Heh. Puns.
>Go have a word with Emma at her cabin.
>Go somewhere else?

>>311526
>It is sunrise, you should meet Nadja least she gets cold feet. Heh. Puns.

then

>Go to the Caravansary, visit the Doc's office there. Safety first!

>>311526
>It is sunrise, you should meet Nadja least she gets cold feet. Heh. Puns.

>>311526
>Go to the Caravansary, visit the Doc's office there. Safety first!
then
>It is sunrise, you should meet Nadja least she gets cold feet. Heh. Puns.

>>311556
>>311558
>>311559
How did you guys coordinate this?

Anyways, writing for puns.

Idea for punishment for Nadja: use her name on a stone to bind her to service in the temple for 15 or 20 years.
Killing her won't undo the damage her killing of the priest caused, but forcing her to pay back the years of service she took will, at least partially.

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You did promise the Vanir you'd see her there come sunrise and sunrise is here. You turn around and leaves Jonny's cabins behind and start marching back to the outskirts where you last saw Nadja. Your arm is hurting fiercely, but nothing you hadn't endured before, so you just hold it close as you walk over the underbrush.

You immediately recognize the telltale misty-like appearance of her glamour as soon as you arrive and soon after you catch her waving to you. Her face contorts into a mask of surprise when you are close enough for her to see your arm is swollen and broken. "You are hurt!" Her voice is a soup of concern, fear and disbelief. "What did you do?"

"It will heal soon." You say dismissively. "Do we have to go now or can I buy some provisions first? I also need to go see the physician in the caravansary."

"Sure. If you want I can tag along, no one will know." As she says it her shape changes, diminishes, and where once was a young peasant child now is a white fox.

Should you take her? You know for sure some people can tell a glamour when they see one, but having her around could be useful, even for another pair of arms if nothing else.

>Take Nadja. You don't really trust her out of your sight.
>"No, you better stay. Go... eat a rabbit or something."

And where will you go?

>The doctor. Jonny told you to.
>The Market. A lot of stuff there to peruse.
>The Barrows. Buy some magic, cinders or some forged weapons.
>To Vanardrot, its just beyond the mountainous walls. You don't need provisions to go such a short way.
>Other.

>>311615
That is certainly within your capabilities.

>>311672
>"No, you better stay. Go... eat a rabbit or something."

>The doctor. Jonny told you to.

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You raise your hand. "No. Stay. If I can tell you are using glamours others might as well. Just... go hunt a rabbit or something that foxes do." It makes a high pitched noise that you think is a giggle before it jumps out of your sight. Cheeky little thing.
_

The caravansary is a huge manystored building, about eight meters tall? Or something like that. It is surrounded by smaller buildings that you assume are to lodge horses, cowhorns and emus. Right under its shadow there is a huge commercial sprawl that extends around the area blotting over the roads that connect the Copperway to the northern road. There are dozens upon dozens of people around buying and selling all sorts of merchandise, from rugs, to spices, to exotic foods and pottery. There is even a hut manned by a Vanir, you think, a blue skinned fey wearing heavy clothes, but he seems to be all sold out. There is not a single product in display.

The doctor's office is probably inside the building.

>Go inside. Find Nakesh.
>Do some shopping first, perhaps?

(weapons, provisions, armor, trinkets, tools [You have 12 Anurian Shields and 1 Anurian Moon, so a total of 37 coppers]. Or you could sell something of yours too. Sheet updated. http://pastebin.com/yfmLxnyr)

>>311803
>Go inside. Find Nakesh.

>>311803
>Go inside. Find Nakesh.

Some trouble sneaked up on me. Will be back in thirty minutes, if not less.
Seat tight people, the update is on the way.

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(I have come to realize we love our kids because of stockholm syndrome)

You have very little in the sense of monetary value, so you ignore the market fare and enter the building in search for Nakesh's officer. The interior is filled with paper pushers, lead signers and all sorts of bureaucratic services from the cities of Anun Loqemar and Qart Hadar. After you spend some time trying to get across an Anurian loaner that, no, you can't afford a loan, no, you don't live here, and then finally ask him where Nakesh is he finally points you to a door on a the second store labelled Physician Nakesh. Huh.

You knock once and then again. After no one answer the second time you just let yourself in. Nakesh is seated across a desk from you. In front of here is a very uncomfortable-looking chair. She is without her shawl and you can see her horns and freakish ears, which is against Qartian customs. In their society showing one's horns is like being topless or worse among certain circles. These old customs have been shaken by the exile, it seems.

"Madam Nakesh?" You knock on the door again.

"Yes, yes, I heard you the first two times. Have a seat, will you?" She doesn't even look up from what she is reading before you are right across from her table. "Oh! It is you. What can I do for you, Exarch?"

Well, there goes that attitude again. "Broken my arm. It is healing fast, but I wanted it appraised in case something is wrong."

She is slow to stand up and go to your side where she efficiently take up your forearm and begin examining it with all the professionalism of a physician. "It seems to be almost entirely healed. Those trollblood trinkets will run me out of a business. Humph. How did you break it?"

>Tell her how it happened.
>Tell her you fell.
>Make something up entirely.
>Tell her nothing, just pay for the examination and get out.
>Other.

>>312133
>Tell her how it happened.
Might as well tell someone.

"Well" you begin uncertainly. "This might be hard to believe."

"Try me." Her expression is unreadable as ever. So you do. You begin telling her of your practice in Memorancy. Then you tell of your attempt and how a memory broke your arm and launched you half-way through a room, how you stole something from the memory and you have it in your pockets right now, here, look.

She has gone from slightly disinterested to confused and stopped at a dumbfounded expression. After minutes of an awkward silence she breaks it with a "You have a very interesting life, Exarch."

"Is that your medical opinion, Physician?" She doesn't look amused.

"For the matters of your original ailment there is no simple solution. Still, you seem like a good sort as far as evil abominations go. Here, take this red poppy oil for the road. If you ever have trouble sleeping just take a sip and it will knock you on your back in seconds." The glass flask she hands you is stout and stubby, but heavy. It smells of wild strawberries. That was kinda nice of her.

Before you leave you put your hands in your pocket. "How much do I owe you doctor." She ignores you and push you out the door with a hurry.

"Don't worry about the bill, Exarch. You can't afford me anyway." And then she closes the door leaving you to your designs. The arm doesn't even hurt anymore and you can move it freely now. All is left is a question of what to do with the rest of this eve.
_

(Seems like a good point to stop as any. See you guys tomorrow morning with the continuation of this post for the last part of this chapter. Will probably run around 1800 gmt, was pretty miffed I didn't start earlier today. Once again, thank you so much for playing, for reading and for being excellent. You guys are a-awesome.)

>>312265
>red poppy oil
Win. It's probably worth more than everything else we own. We should save it for when we need to drug someone, though.

Thanks QM, your stuff is fun.

>>312265
damn missed the run tonight, see you next time op.

Back
Checking to see if the thread is autosaging, if not I will be writing.
In case of auto-sage I will take some time to make a new one.

Since OP forgot, new thread is up here
>>313844