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You stretch gingerly in the early morning, utilizing your subterfuge to not wake the sleeping girlfriend and risk her wrath. You step lightly to the central table in your shared room and begin praying to the God who may very well hate you. You find a few spare minutes to study your spellbook. By the time you're fresh and ready for action Rowe opens her eyes and stretches herself, uttering a lazy sound of contentment as her body vibrates with a large yawn.

(Mornin' birthday boy) she greets you sensually. Her face scrunches a bit. (Is not sleeping weird for you?)

“Eh, I still mentally drift off and time seems to pass faster. Although I do miss dreaming some. Can't complain too much though. I live and sleep next to one.” You give her your most dashing smile and she laughs, before throwing a pillow in your face.

(Real smooth.) she thinks as you approach.

. . .

Right as you finish your morning 'exercise routine' you hear a knocking on the door. Rowe slips out of bed and puts on a robe. The bath kind not the 'look at me I'm a wizard' kind. She gingerly opens the door and peeks her head out.

“HAPPY –” the sound of three voices cut out as they realize Rowe is at the door and not you.

“I told you they would be fucking,” Eve comments, voice muffled by the door.

Rowe looks back to you and you roll your eyes before quickly throwing on a silk robe of your own. You sidle up behind Rowe, looking at your visitors over her head.

You see Ed and Quissonce and you know Eve must be there too, hearing her high-pitched voice previously.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” they repeat, Ed lifting up into your line of sight a cake unfit to be eaten in lieu of a proper breakfast. It is filled with candles.

“None of us actually know how old you are,” Quissonce mentions slightly embarrassed. Of what component of this interaction you can't quite determine. “So we just stuck all the ones we had in the cake.”

“HOW OLD ARE YOU?!” Eve shouts at the top of her lungs, more a demand then a question.

>I'm [Choose a number between 18 and 26]
>I'll never tell

>>327186
"I'll never tell you, sucker! You'll have to beat it out of me!"

whisper to Rowe "I'm 19."

too young?

>>327186
22. Long enough to be a vet in a war.

>>327186
24. We have some experience backing us up.

Also, Trick is it really your birthday?

>>327348
Its my birthday tomorrow and then Sunday I'm doing some sort of family + friends IRL thing.

Which is why today is my 'dedicated run day' which probably doesn't look it because I've gotten used to being slow and this probably isn't the best day for most of my players.

>>327376
ok, if we guess your age, do we get a prize?

>>327391
Sure, if you can guess my age Wrenloft Gabby and Rowe threesome next post. Go for it.

>>327397
25

>>327404
Oooooooh.

Alright, if you can guess it right on your next guess Rowe is a confirmed bisexual and has a thing for tall blondes.

>>327411
21

You're enjoying my failure, aren't you?

>>327411
>>327419
actually, I'm changing that to 24

>>327422
>>327422

I'll be nice and tell you neither of those are my real age while only considering it one vote.

If you guess my age on your next guess, you get to drop 1 free 100 whenever you want.

>>327435
23

>>327446
Ooooh, Wrenloft.

I'm trying to help you here buddy.

Alright, you guess my age right on this next one and Rowe will not have been culturally raised with monogamous values.

>>327461
Stop torturing the man!

>>327461
24

>>327461
18
>>327462
apparently, I'm secretly a masochist

>>327462
I mean assuming a man only lives 100 years, he' essentially rolling a d100 every time and honestly he can assume i'm probably not older than 40.

This is as random a generator as any.

>>327467
You get it right THIS TIME and I'll say gabby and Rowe made out one time previously while drunk.

>>327479
22

Rolled 4 (1d4)

>>327482

And he scores!

Congratulations. Now you know how old I am.

You win your prize.

Now I have to figure out exactly when and how this happened.

There's still a vote going on by the way everybody, currently a tie.

I'll do a re-vote.

>19
>22 (QM's age)
>24

>>327510
how about we all compromise around 23. Sounds like a reasonable age, yes?

>>327522
Works

Alright, writing!

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“I'm twenty three today,” you answer.

Quissonce sighs and hands a few loose gold coins over to Eve who cackles gleefully.

You give her a look and she shrugs. “She was closer in her estimate. Now let's all move to Eve's room to eat cake.”

“Since it doesn't smell like sex,” Eve adds as a tag line to endorse the idea.

Quissonce gives Eve a quick smack on the back of the head. “We'll give you a few minutes to get dressed," she offers in apology.

You look to Rowe who nods. (We have time.) You close the door and after a quick wash you suit up, putting on your arms and armor.

(Y'know, I'm only 20.) Rowe thinks to you as she adjusts her leathers

“When's your birthday?”

(Ohhhhh, in about four months.)

You attend your friend's little morning celebration ready to fight a battle. Considering your luck sometimes, there's a chance one may just spring up so there's no harm in being careful.

The cake sits proudly on the central table, Eve lighting the candles with a small bit of flame extending from her index finger. Ed and Quissonce flank the cake and gesture their hands to it, presenting it like some masterpiece they've constructed. You must admit, the craftsmanship that went into making this cake was pretty good. One of your friends is good at baking, that's for sure.

Eve steps back once there are only twenty three lit candles and you approach. You bend at the waist and prepare to do the honors of blowing out the candles.

“Remember to make a wish!” Eve shouts right before you snuff out the flames.

>What's your wish? (write-in)
>Do you say it out loud (Y/N)

>>327705
>I wish that Rowe, Gabby, and I can make a relationship work
>don't say it out loud
I grew up being told it won't come true if you say it.

>>327705
>>What's your wish? (write-in)
Be together with Rowe and Gabby, growing old or being immortal together.
>>Do you say it out loud (N)

>>327705
>What's your wish? (write-in)
That everyone on the team stays safe.
>N

Writing!

Do we propose to Rowe on her birthday?
If we also make the wedding on the same day next year, it'll make it easier to not forget any of the important dates.

>>327768
how long have we been dating?

>>327781
7 months if you choose to propose on her birthday.

I feel bad for Gabby. She doesn't get time with Alan at all.
Maybe she will at least be able to wish him a happy birthday without it becoming awkward or it hurting her.

>>327844
hopefully, we'll have other activities in the future with her

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You close your eyes and make absolutely certain that ring is tight on your fingers. Don't want Rowe to hear this just yet anyway.

You wish with all your heart that you could make a relationship with Rowe and Gabby work. You blow out the candles and open your eyes back up.

Eve takes a gasp of breath. “So what did you –”

“If he tells you it won't come true,” Ed interjects.

Quissonce frowns and looks to Ed. “You can't possibly believe in baseless superstition now that we know how actual magic works.”

Ed shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe The Great Will or someone else out there will hear him. We don't know everything about this place.”

For some reason you don't think The Great Will is the one who would try to make your wish come true, but if some other deity hears you and makes what you want a reality you won't complain.

You decide to humor your friends and the pains they went to celebrate your birthday by making your breakfast consist entirely of cake, no matter how much you know you will regret that decision later down the road.

Near the end of your little get-together Eve, Quissonce and Ed go to Eve's bed and pull something wrapped out from underneath it. Ed brings over a square box that jumbles around and looks a bit heavy.

“We all chipped in to get you something nice, Alan.” Quissonce informs you as Ed shoves it into your hands.

“Thanks guys,” you tell them earnestly, touched at the thoughtfulness of it all. You open the box and find a set of horseshoes inside. You inspect them critically. The look like regular horseshoes, but . . .

“They'll increase Tornado's speed,” Quissonce gives you the explanation you were waiting with bated breath for. “It won't hurt him or put require any greater taxation of effort on his part. We made sure of it. In fact if you wish to travel at his usual pace you may find he'll be much more relaxed and unburdened.”

(Guess I should grab my gift too.) Rowe stands up and exits the room.

“Where'd she go?” Eve asks.

“Getting my present. Sorry, telepathy,” you apologize.

A few moments later Rowe returns holding something behind her back. She rapidly pulls a flash of grey out from behind her and places it on your head. It feels soft, probably made out of cloth.

You pick it off of your head and stare at it. Its sort of dumpy-looking.

“Is it magic?” you ask.

(Yes. You did ask for amazing. Except . . . it's more of a present for me, really.)

“What's it do?” you look into her eyes.

(I wanted to know if there was some sort of spell that could stop or at least hinder a killing blow. A very kind item crafter informed me that cap was just what I was looking for. Won't stop you from getting hit, but it should save your life.)

Rowe smiles.

“Thank you.”

“Not in my room!” Eve warns.

>Alright, it's time for us to leave
>Wait, before we go, we should go see (Gabby/Dolah/Gale/Etriarch)

>>327882
>Wait, before we go, we should go see (Gabby/Dolah)

>>327903
you mean to see how they're doing after the other night?

>>327914
Just to hit them up before Rowe and Alan go off on their week long date.

Writing!

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You hug your friends goodbye for the next week or so and take your leave of the Circle. You tell Rowe that there are a few more people you'd like to say goodbye to before you both head out and she offers to deal with getting the horses ready and put on Tornado's new shoes.

You split up and swing by the chapel. You find Dolah standing at the back rather quickly. She comes forward and grabs your arm.

“Happy birthday, Alan. Here for your presents?”

“Ooh, multiple?” you ask, chuckling. Seems Rowe told everyone. “I was just came to say goodbye for now.”

“Hopefully not for too long. Desden and I think we've discovered some information that may be useful to you. Nothing pressing, so don't let it worry you or ruin your trip.”

Dolah trods into her personal room and emerges a second later holding a longsword and a dagger.

She gestures with the dagger. “Silver.” She gestures with the longsword. “Cold iron.” She hands the two of them to you. “So you'll always have options.

You nod your head in thanks and take your leave.

. . .

You find Gabby sitting at the group table in the Sword and Shield Tavern. Alone. She's surrounded by empty tankards.

You can't help but feel a pang of sadness. She looks lonely.

You stride over and she smiles up at you, raising the glass she's currently holding up to you.

“Hey there, Al. Heard it was your birthday.”

“Sure is. Rowe and I are about to leave.”

“Oh. Going somewhere?”

“Hunting trip.”

“Yeah, unfortunately I didn't have time to get you a present.”

You frown. “I assume Rowe told you.”

Gabby drums her fingers on the table. You can't help but notice they land with enough force to dig out little gashes in the wood. “No. Heard it from Bartom this morning. Did Rowe tell other people your birthday was coming up? In advance?”

That is a question loaded with barely contained loathing. You decide not to answer. Gabby picks up what the answer would be if you felt like speaking however and raises a finger for you to stay right where you are.

She gets out of the booth and angrily storms to the counter.

She reaches behind it and comes back with a piece of parchment and a quill.

“What are you writing?” you ask.

“Oh, nothin' much Al. Just a little IOU.” She eventually finishes her scrawl and pushes it towards you. You read it.

It's written in big scrawled, slightly skewed and sloppy letters. “ONE FREE MASSAGE. REDEEMABLE ANYTIME. WITH OR WITHOUT HAPPY ENDING.”

“Happy birthday, buddy.” She raises her glass once more and leans back in the booth, smug grin plastered on her face.

>Just leave
>Something else? (write-in)

Took way too long. Sorry about that. End of dedicated run. About to be 22!

>>328119
>>Something else? (write-in)
chuckle a bit. "I'll keep that in mind."
"See you in a week."

Happy birthday, mate.

Also... will we be hearing about Rowe and Gabby's drunken make out soon?

Not only did I take too long but that update was shit and was written like shit. So I'm redoing it.

>>328133
I'll be writing something up soon.

You hug your friends goodbye for the next week or so and take your leave of the Circle. You tell Rowe that there are a few more people you'd like to say goodbye to before you both head out and she offers to deal with getting the horses ready and put on Tornado's new shoes.

You split up and swing by the chapel. You spot Dolah standing in the back. She comes forward and grabs your arm.

“Happy birthday, Alan. Here for your presents?”

“Ooh, multiple?” you ask, chuckling. Seems Rowe told everyone. “I just came by to say goodbye for now.”

“Hopefully not for too long. Desden and I think we've discovered some information that may be useful to you. Nothing pressing, so don't let it worry you or ruin your trip.”

Dolah treads into her personal room and emerges a second later holding a longsword and a dagger.

She gestures with the dagger. “Silver.” She gestures with the longsword. “Cold iron.” She hands the two of them to you. “Both are known to have special properties and could prove your only available form of successfully fighting something demonic or unholy off. Take these so you'll always have options.

You replace your dagger and slip the longsword into your quiver, taking out one of your bows t store here in town. You nod your head in thanks for the gifts and take your leave.

. . .

You find Gabby sitting at your group's table in the Sword and Shield Tavern., alone. She's surrounded by empty tankards. You can't help but feel a pang of sadness. She looks lonely at the moment.

However as you stride over she smiles up at you, raising her current glass with an amicable nod.

“Hey there, Al. Heard it was your birthday.”

“Sure is. Rowe and I are about to leave.”

“Oh. Going somewhere?”

“Hunting trip.”

“Yeah, unfortunately I didn't have time to get you a present.” She scratches her arm, looking down at the table, slightly embarassed.

You frown. “I assume Rowe told you.” Gabby's head suddenly snaps up to look at you, confusion on her face for a moment. It is replaced by a scowl after she comprehends exactly what you've just said and what it implies.

She begins to drums her fingers on the table. You can't help but notice they land with enough force to dig out little gashes in the wood. “No, actually. I heard it from Bartom this morning. Did Rowe tell other people your birthday was coming up? In advance?”

That is a question loaded with barely contained loathing. You decide not to answer for everyone's sake and just smile half-heartedly. Gabby interprets your nonverbal answer successfully and raises a finger.

“Stay right fuckin' there!”

She gets out of the booth and angrily storms to the counter. She reaches behind it to pull out a piece of parchment and a quill. She begins scribbling very rapidly on it as she makes her way back to her seat across from you.

“What are you writing?” you ask as she spews incoherent angry mutters to accompany her furious writing.

“Oh, nothin' much Al,” she eventually spits. “Just a little IOU.” She finishes her scrawl and pushes it towards you. You flip it around and read it.

It's written in big scrawled, slightly skewed and sloppy letters. “ONE FREE MASSAGE. REDEEMABLE ANYTIME. WITH OR WITHOUT HAPPY ENDING.”

“Happy birthday, buddy.” She raises her glass once more and leans back in the booth, smug grin plastered on her face.

>Just leave
>Something else? (write-in)

>>328200
>your only available form

the only viable way

>>328202
>something else
Give her a hug.
"Thanks Gabby. let's hang out when I get back."

Hey I wrote this on my birthday so it was important/good hopefully.

http://pastebin.com/FS1s95Uu

For you Wrenloft.

>>328202

Still using this:
>>328133

>>328578
Bless you, Trick. May the Gods forever smile upon you. is this canon?

>>328578
Funny story, although I don't like smut stories with characters I like.

Happy birthday, Trick!

>>328605
I hope not, but I think it is

>>328605
>>328860

Yeah it's canon.


>>328860
Does graphic make out description count as smut?

>>329336
I was under the assumption that smut dealt with things that got sexual. As in, graphically detailed.

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You fold the piece of parchment in half and slip it into the pocket of your pants, chuckling at Gabby's passive aggressive antics.

“I'll keep it in mind,” you respond mirthfully as you get up from the table. You stand there for a moment before gesturing with a wave of both of your hands for Gabby to get up as well. She rolls her eyes and stands.

You wrap your arms around her and feel her body tense for a moment, before she realizes what's going on. Gradually, her own arms come up around your back and squeeze you gently. You feel her warmth and her snugness. The hug feels . . . unique. Genuine, intimate, tender, . . . quite chaste, honestly.

“Thanks Gabby,” you quietly tell her. “Let's hang out when I get back.”

“Yeah. Of course.” The two of you pull apart. She looks into your eyes, a much more modest smile gracing her face. “See ya soon, Al. Bag me a trophy, alright?”

“Alright. I promise.” You walk backwards to the exit and give a wide wave goodbye to the monk. She waves back before returning to her seat.

You meet Rowe by the southwestern gate and mount your black beast of a steed. The gate opens and the two of your ride. You feel Tornado's sense of ease at the usually brisk and exhausting pace as you keep up with Rowe's magically unenhanced horse.

Soon, once you make it some distance from the city you slow your pace and begin the trek towards the hills. It will be four days of travel through the plains before you will come to the cave-dotted landscape of the hilly area of the Island.

In the mean time, you . . .

>Assimilate something (what?)
>Learn how to fight with a glaive
>Talk with Rowe about . . . (what?)
>Something else? (write-in)

>>332426
>Learn how to fight with a glaive

>>332426
>>Learn how to fight with a glaive
>Something else? (write-in)
arrow shooting contest.

>>332463
Should we intentionally flub our last shot?

Whatever happens, I think Alan would want to stay friends with Gabby.
The Touch just gave powers to Eve and Rowe, but it fundamentally changed Gabby's personality, and I think Alan would feel he owes her the company and companionship she actually desires and needs now.

>>332464
I don't think we'll need to flub our last shot. She's probably better at this than we are anyways.

>>332426
There isn't much to Assimilate. Possibly canine senses like enhanced hearing and smell.

So let's learn how to use a glaive.

>>332470
>>332426
...could we attempt to assimilate photosynthesis from plants?

I'm not actually suggesting we do so now, I just wonder if it's possible.

>>332472
Would that turn is green though?

>>332487
I'm not sure. Possibly?

>>332472
We could maybe get it from the island orcs who are part plant, but I don't want to have our skin turn green.

>>332489
It would turn us green or purple, as green is the light not absorbed by photosynthesis.

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Your traveling schedule is rather strict. Ride Tornado. Set up camp. Eat dinner while relaxing together. Ride Rowe. Meditate for four hours by her side. Pray. Read your spellbook.

And then you have about two hours free while waiting for Rowe to wake up and help you pack up camp. You decide to spend these free hours in the early morning dawn practicing how to properly fight with the weapon you stole from that Bearded Devil.

You slip the hell glaive out of your quiver and assume a pole fighter's stance similar to what you've seen down at the Fighter's guild mixed with your best memories of the bearded devil's own attack style.

You practice on a nearby shrub, working on quickly and skillfully shifting your grip up and down the shaft of the weapon. You try overhead swings and underhand thrusts. You see how quickly you can make a strike and shift the glaive into a defensive position to block a potential counter attack.

Over the four nights of travel through the plains you rapidly master the glaive and how to use it as a combatant. Despite being trained in lance on horseback, you've never put much effort into practice using a polearm on foot. Utilizing the reach afforded by the heft of the weapon requires a forceful use of strength and a bit of ingenuity but thankfully the few glimpses of swings you've witnessed, usually on the receiving end of such a weapon, smooths your transition into a skilled glaive wielder. If you ever lose your buckler and are forced into melee you think it would be best to switch to the glaive. It can help against cavalry when you're on foot, against someone with less reach than you. It is a good, all-around offensive weapon.

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

You finally make it to the hills, noticing the many caves dotting the landscape and causing you to be much more wary of your surroundings. Not only could there be something particularly quiet around the next bend or behind the next hill, but at any point something may crawl its way out from underground to “greet” you.

You'll need to be on your toes from here on out. You aren't sure if all those hobgoblins were killed in entirety, despite hearing their army was broken. And there still may be a few orc tribes if they didn't all get themselves killed in their raid of Seaside. You believe some managed to retreat, so you'll have to be careful.

But you are in the proper area.

Rowe turns to you still on her horse and gestures to your environment. “Well, we're here. I think it's time to start the hunt. So what should we track, Alan? Lions or boars? Or something else entirely, if you think there's a chance we may find it.”

>Lions
>Boars
>Some other animal (what, within reason)
>Something else? (write-in)

And roll 3d100, best of 3.

Rolled 89, 54, 48 = 191 (3d100)

>>334763
>Lions

Rolled 6, 20, 83 = 109 (3d100)

>>334763
>>Some other animal (what, within reason)
Are there any fleshrakers/raptors?

Rolled 24, 96, 76 = 196 (3d100)

>Lionesses.
Lions are pushovers.

Rolled 95, 18, 44 = 157 (3d100)

>>334763
>Some other animal
Displacer Beast.

>>335159
what's that?

>>335163
http://forgottenrealms.wikia.com/wiki/Displacer_beast

I know it's a D&D monster and not a Pathfinder one, but I thought it might be something challenging to hunt.

In short, it's a magical panther with two tentacles that it can use to attack. It's big advantage is that it has an innate ability called Displacement; it can bend light so that it appears that it's a few feet away from where it actually is.

http://www.dandwiki.com/wiki/Displacer_Beast_Solo_(4e_Creature)

>>335172
Don't worry, displacer beasts, beholders and all the dnd monsters pathfinder couldn't get the rights to theoretically exist in this multiverse

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“Let's go for lions,” you suggest.

Rowe nods. “Alright, but the plains may have been a slightly better choice for that. There's a very good chance it could take us days to properly begin tracking a lion, let alone hunting it down.)

“We can live off the land,” you offer.

“I know. I just want you to know what you're getting into. We're hunting an apex predator and an elusive one at that. It will take all of our own cunning, effort and patience to find such a beast. And endurance will be the key factor in earning our success.”

You nod your head and steel yourself for the lengthy and demanding challenge. You spur Tornado on and follow Rowe, determined.

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

(Sif has picked up the scent. Lion was around this area maybe an hour or two ago.)

“Rowe . . . it's been forty minutes.”

( . . . Yeah. I might be way better at this than I thought. I knew I was good I just didn't realize it would be child's play.)

Talk about your instant gratification. Well, finding it is just the first challenge. You still have to hunt it down and kill it.

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

An hour later and Sif and Pascala both stride up to a patch of blood.

Rowe dismounts her horse and approaches the bloody grass. She wipes her fingers through it and brings it to her nose before sniffing.

(Goat's blood. Our quarry has recently killed. Good, will make tracking him easier.) She nods to Sif who bounds forward once again. (We're nearing our prey so it would be best to keep it quiet. Ring off, mental communication from here on out.)

You oblige your hunting partner and slip your ring into your pocket. You stalk your prey, weaving between the hills, looking out for caves or potential interruptions. Every once in a while you spot a bloody bone or half-eaten organ as you trail behind the lion, getting closer and closer with every step.

Eventually, Sif and Pascala bound back to Rowe after having previously maintained a very forward scouting position. Sif and Rowe bark and growl at each other for a few moments before Rowe looks back to you.

(Alright. Around this next hill. I'm taking the right side. You take the left. Be quiet. Be careful.)

Rowe snaps her fingers and Sif follows as her horse trots at Rowe's tugging of the reins. You comply and go left, making sure to keep yourself as still as possible. The only noise being the soft clop of Tornado's hooves hitting the dirt and his snorting.

As you round the hill steathily and quietly you spot the lion gnawing on the carcass of its own prey in a small valley between the two hills.

How would you like to handle this?

>Shoot it from afar
>Chase it down with Tornado
>Sneak up on it on foot, to attack in melee
>Something else? (write-in)

>>336713
The picture's that small because, uhhhh, you're really far away from the lion. Yeah, that's it.

>>336713
>>Shoot it from afar
got to practice our marksmanship.

>>336713
>Shoot it from afar
Wait for Rowe to get into position.

I'm just going to get to dice rolling.

Roll me 1d100 + 62, best of 3

Rolled 17 + 62 (1d100 + 62)

>>336747

Rolled 99 + 62 (1d100 + 62)

>>336747

Rolled 75 (1d100)

Literally equally likely you get 100 or 1 so I'm just going to roll to make sure we're going with the 99.

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You wait for a few moments to ensure Rowe has enough time to get into position. You grab four arrows from your quiver and then draw your magically enhanced longbow back, adjusting your aim for wind resistance and distance.

Poor bastard never had a chance. All four arrows are high in the sky as you gracefully move the bow with each follow up shot to make sure they spread out and hit the lion in different parts of its body.

You doubt it heard until the very last second when it draws its head up, still chowing down on goat,ears pricked for the whistling of something. The first arrow pierces its neck, the second hits it right in the back, the jolting of the previous wound causing it to just narrowly miss severing the spine. Third arrow gets it in the stomach, a deep wound that has punctured some important internal organ. The fourth hits it in the haunches, at the connecting joint between the legs, crippling it for the rest of its short life.

The lion collapses right there from the force and shock of it all. You kick Tornado into action and ride into the valley towards your prize.

You spot Rowe coming from the other side, making out her giddy behavior even from this distance.

(Amazing shots Alan. Thought we were going to have to chase it down!) She draws her bow as she makes it to the lion's dying form. It breathes heavily, in raspy and grasping for life that is slowly draining from it, its blood mixing with that of its own kill.

The both of you reach the target of your hunt and you spur Tornado into trotting around the lion lying in the grass. It weakly raises its head to look up at you, before it shits to stare at Rowe, hearing her pull back the bowstring.

Its eyes are full of sadness. You think it understands the end is near. Rowe sighs before growling something to it. It closes its eyes, embracing the peace that accompanies the acceptance of death. Rowe unleashes the killing blow and the arrow pierces the lion's skull right in the middle of its forehead.

(Alright, now comes the real work. We're not wasting a single part of . . .)

Rowe stops in the middle of her thought as both your sets of eyes are drawn to the lion's corpse. It begins to shift and transform, the sound of sickly snaps like bones breaking and shifting as it elongates. Fur recedes into the animals as the entire structure of it alters.

You and Rowe both watch it change in horrified awe until the lion corpse is no longer what lies before you in the blood-soaked grass. Instead there lies a dead orc, wearing naught but a loin cloth and bracers. A spear rolls from out of one of his hands across the grass before stopping before Rowe's horse's hooves.

She leans over her mount to stare at the weapon, absolute confusion and disgust on her face.

(W-w-what . . . the fuck?!)

>Uhhhhhh
>Ummmmm
>Whuhhhhhhhhh?
>Something else? (write-in)

>>336940
>>Something else? (write-in)
Ok, so, I think the Imperials have been polymorphing scouts to spy on us and track movements.

>>336940
>Something else?
Detect Magic!
>Aw fuck, don't tell me it's some weird-ass cursed spear that transforms you into an animal until you're killed by some big-game hunter. It'd just be like this island to have something weird hidden to mess with us.

>>336940
Ok, stay vigilant. Once we're done investigating, (if we decide to keep investigating) fall back to Seaside. This is probably some serious shit.

>>336940
>>Uhhhhhh
>>Ummmmm
>>Whuhhhhhhhhh?
I'm okay with either of these options. Can we combine them? Because that's how I feel right now.

>>336964
>>336970
Seconding these after the first utteraces of confusion.
Investigating is now the prime task. It might not be possible to answer all our questions though:
Where does the orc come from (island orc vs Empire orc)? Was it a voluntary or curse-caused transformation? And many more questions. I've had better birthday presents

>>337057
>fall back to Seaside
We may want to find the hill orc tribes instead.
They are potentially closer.

File: Caves in a hillside.jpg (392 KB, 1600x1200)

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“Uhhhhhh, ummmmmmmm whuhhhhh?” you manage to produce as sounds in lieu of actual words to encapsulate the roller coaster of thoughts and emotions you are currently experiencing.

“You think this guy is Imperial or an Island orc?” you eventually manage to speak as a coherent sentence and thought.

Rowe dismounts her horse and squats down next to the body, feathered still by arrows in places corresponding to where you punctured the lion. Rowe critically studies the corpse, looking up and down.

(He's big. Like an Island orc. Dressed like one too.)

“Do you think he was tracking us?”

Rowe chuckles darkly. (If he was tracking us I don't think he'd let us shoot him to death.)

“Hmmm, maybe he was under the effects of some sort of curse.” You cast a quick Detect Magic. Spear is mundane but the bracers have an aura to them.

(So you think it's the bracers?) Oh right. Ring's off, Rowe can hear your thoughts. (Yes I can.)

She grabs a nearby stick and wedges it between the bracers and the orc's wrists. She pops each one off then drops them into the Devil's Crux for safekeeping.

(We'll get Quissonce to investigate them. You . . . think it might have been a voluntary transformation. Like a power of some sort?)

(It's possible.) you think as you cock your head and nod at the plausibility of the idea. (Eve can assume the form of a dragon. Maybe this orc had a spell to turn into a lion.)

Rowe brings her hand up to her mouth and massages her cheeks as you see a nervous jitter enter her knocking knees.

(You alright?) you ask, concerned.

(I mean . . . he wasn't doing anything. Just being a lion and eating goats.)

>We need answers. Let's retreat to . . . (Forest Hunter Tribe / Seaside / Firegem Village)
>Bury the orc
>Investigate further (how?)
>Something else? (write-in)

>>337759
>Investigate further
Check for tribal tattoos and anything that could identify him, on both the body and the spear.
>We need answers. Let's retreat to Forest Hunter Tribe

>>337838
and then bury him.

>>337838
Wait, instead of the Forest Hunter tribe, shouldn't we go to Mountain Riders clan, since we have a contact there in the form of Zar'kov?

>>338514
Sorry I meant Mountain Riders. Forest Hunters were the tribe you wiped out. My bad.

>>339206
Anyone changin their vote?
I'm >>337838
and on my phone right now. I'm still voting to retreat to the Mountain Rider orcs, after searching the body.

Do we remember anything from the funerary rites of the orcs? Are we supposed to bury him or cremate him?

>>339206
yeah, ok, to the mountain riders.

File: Tribal Tattoo.jpg (15 KB, 225x520)

15 KB JPG

(Check him for tattoos. Maybe he has some sort of tribal identifier on his body or his spear.) you suggest.

Rowe deals with the body while you pick up and examine the spear. You look at the head. Just a sharpened stone and a shaft of hard oaken wood. It is a crude, yet simple design without many embellishments or gaudy additions. Effective and nondescript, save for the tassels of bird feathers that trails off near the head of the weapon, partly aiding in keeping the weapon tied together. It seems a bit garishly colored, considering the yellows, blues and reds so you make sure to memorize the pattern and the shade just in case it turns out to be important later down the line.

(Hey Alan. Look at this.) You turn your head to see that Rowe has lifted the orc's body up giving you a view of his back. Smack dab in the center seems to be a design of some sort etched black into the green skin.

(You ever see something like that before?)

Rowe shakes her head. (Nah. Forest Hunter tribe used war paint. Mountain Rider's don't seem to have tattoos at all. Only two tribes I've had any contact with.) Rowe lets go of the body and it slumps onto its back. She grimaces at the sight and sound of not being able to afford the heavy body much dignity in her cursory examination.

(You know anything about funerary rites for orcs?)

(They bury their dead. Chant about returning to the earth that birthed them.)

(Alright . . . you got a shovel?)

( . . . yeah.) She sighs and goes to her horse. She picks up the Devil's Crux and enters the combination to open it, before drawing out a shovel much too long to naturally fit inside the small dodecahedron.

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

The two of you take turns, shoveling out dirt at a fast pace before handing the tool over to th other, taking a short break to recuperate. You'd say with a two man team digging graves is easy.

But it isn't. It goes by faster. But it isn't easier.

You lift the corpse into the small grave you've dug as gracefully as the two of you can manage. Rowe fills it in with the loose dirt you've already extracted from the ground and as the sun begins to dip low in the sky you have yourself a proper mound of dirt. As much a luxury as you can afford to give this stranger.

Rowe jams the spear into the ground, sticking out of the obvious earthen upset as an impromptu grave marker.

“From the Earth you came,” Rowe speaks simply, but loudly. In Orcish. “And to the Earth you return.”

You stand together in silence for a few minutes before finally getting back up on your horses and riding away.

File: Mountain Rider Tribe.gif (23 KB, 252x180)

23 KB GIF

You cough as you think of your next course of action. (Zar'kov's tribe is probably much closer than Seaside and they may be able to illuminate something about what we just encountered. Although, they've most likely retreated back into the mountains and I don't know where. You think you can –)

(A whole tribe moving slowed down by animals, elderly and children? Yeah, I'll find them.)

You ride far from the sight of your ambush before making camp for the night. The next day you head back in the direction you remember Zar'kov guiding you when you first met his tribe. From there Rowe plans to pick up the trail to locate where they have migrated to.

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

The hours of the early morning pass you by as you ride at a relatively moderate pace for Rowe's steed. The two of you have been quite silent since the incident. You've since slipped your ring back onto your finger. You find yourself studying it's intricacies with careful consideration when you start to hear the sound of rumbling

Rowe looks back at you, and the two of you lock eyes as you listen together.

“That an earthquake?” you ask.

(Sounds like a stampede.) It takes you a second to hear the incoherent yelling of Orcish voices. At that sound, Rowe whips the reins on her horse and sends it into a gallop as she rides up to the crest of the nearest, largest hill for a vantage point.

You follow right on her heels and reach the top mere moments after she does.

(Woah.) is the sole thought you catch before being preoccupied with your own visuals.

File: Hill Giant.jpg (17 KB, 236x285)

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You've reached the end of the section of the Island covered in rolling hills. Before you, less than a hundred feet from you a midst the grassy plains that make up most of the center of the Island there seems to be a skirmish occurring.

You spot green figures on horseback – maybe two dozen in all – riding hard and fast perpendicular to your location as they are chased by three brutish-looking giant humanoids. With every heavy footfall you can feel the ground shake.

(Those must be the Hill Giants Zar'kov spoke about.) Rowe thinks quickly as her eyes scan the situation before her in an attempt to take in all the details as fast as possible to make the right call.

The Hill Giants are peppered with retreating return fire from the orcs they are barreling after. Most of the cavalry seem to be loosing arrows. But from the muzzle flashes you can tell a few of the orcs are firing rifles. The Giants seem to merely be angered and annoyed by the puny attacks from the smaller creatures.

One giant stops in his tracks angrily and uproots a rather large rock before chucking it with enough force to send it skipping across the plains at the riders.

The riders seem disciplined and organized as they all divert from the trajectory of the rock in formation. Unfortunately one orc was not fast enough and you watch as the sheer force of the rock slams into his horse, killing the steed on impact and sending the rider scattering and rolling through the dirt.

“Oh shit!” Rowe vocalizes.

>Watch from afar
>Step in and help (how?)
>Assist the Hill Giants, surely they are your true allies
>Something else? (write-in)

>>339864
what were zharkov's impression of the hill giants?

>>339864
because, if zharkov think the giants are good, we should help them. perhaps invisibly so as to prevent our enemies from knowing about us.

If we're fighting orks, we should fire a few shots, switch positions, and fire more shots. Preferably aiming for commanders. take out some of the riflemen, so that hopefully, we can scavange their weapons. Are rifles usually found among the Empire? See if we can find any distinguishing marks to see who they are loyal to.

If we're taking down giants, start aiming for their eyes. If we can, also aim for where the femoral artery would be on their thighs.

If we know nothing about either, just let it play out.

Archive diving right now to look up the Hill Giants.
Didn't find anything when we first talked to him at the Firegem Nation, or when we went to his village.

>>339976
"The Mountain Riders tribe seems to be having territorial disputes with some creatures called Hill Giants. Apparently they look much like us just, well, giant. They sound quite dangerous. I understand you may not be able to capture one for Gilda to study.”

-Blackburn

>>339984
what can we tell about the orcs?

>>339992
Hide armor it seems. Mish mosh of rifles and bows. The horses look lean and scrawny.

Y'know what, give me a perception check.

1d100 + 35, best of 3

Those bonuses sure do stack man

>>339984
Thanks. I was still only at the party's return from the Firegem Nation negotiations, and hadn't gotten to Blackburn being able to talk with one of their negotiators.

Since Alan was in the Mountain Rider village once, can he confirm that these are Mountain Riders? I saw that the Mountain Riders worship Gaea's Warden as opposed to The Relentless Surge, and the other orcs disrespect them for not being aggressive hyper-rapists.

If these AREN'T Mountain Riders, but just regular island orcs, I'd like to see them get pasted by the Hill Giants.

Rolled 38 + 35 (1d100 + 35)

>>340020

Rolled 52 + 35 (1d100 + 35)

>>340020
I wonder if we can get goggles that can increase our perception.

Oh, are these repeating rifles?
Like, they have actual bullets and an internal magazine, and are re-cocked using a lever?

Rolled 6 + 35 (1d100 + 35)

>>340020

>>340032
Welp. I hope an 87 is enough for what we're trying to discern.

>>340040
>>340032
>>340026

Alright, you look among the riders to see if you can spot anything familiar. You immediately can tell they are not Imperial with how they're dressed. But the guns definitely are. Rifles, single shot before reloading.

You don't spot anything that would specifically inform you that these are members of the Mountain Rider tribe, but suddenly you feel Tornado . . . stirring.

He is certain that beautiful mare from before is among the horses down there. Meaning either these people stole Zar'kov's horse or these are the Mountain Rider Tribesmen.

>>340072
Go and assist the Orcs. Grease the spot in front of the Giants maybe?

>>340072
Wait. Can we get Muffin's eyes on this as well, and take a look at the mare that Tornado is talking about?
Because if it's not Zar'kov on that mare, then we know that this isn't the Mountain Riders.

>>340095
Muffin wasn't able to get eyes. That was included in the roll.

>>340103
get invisible. get closer. get more details.

>>340108
You can't invisible Tornado.

>>340112
Let's dismount, go invisible, and get closer.
We are a better runner, and could use Expeditious Retreat if we need to be even faster.
We can use it to get closer and get better confirmation on the orcs.

Getting closer will help us in assisting either side anyway.

>>340108
>>340095
Can we just go kill some Hill Giants and save Zhar'kov?

>>340120
we don't know if it is zharkov. We need to make sure before we do anything about that.

>>340117
sure.

>>340131
>Implying Zhar'kov's horse would follow anyone but him
>Implying that if there were more than one Nomad/Steppe Orc tribe Zhar'kov would have mentioned it.
>Implying they didn't steal the rifles or were given the for good favor.

>>340137
admittedly, I don't recall all that much about zharkov or his horse.

but the imperial rifles cast some doubt on their allegiance.

>>340117
how about we go invisible first, scout out. When we've finally ascertained who's who, telepath Rowe to bring around our horses and we can help out.

Roll me 1d100 + 55, best of 3.

With expeditious retreat you move as fast as Tornado with his magic shoes on.

Rolled 52 + 55 (1d100 + 55)

>>340177

Rolled 87 + 55 (1d100 + 55)

>>340177

Rolled 26 + 55 (1d100 + 55)

>>340177

also, if we do fight the orcs, let's take one of the rifles as a trophy.
If we're fighting the giants, uh, not sure what they got on them we can take as a trophy.

File: Zar'kov.jpg (11 KB, 200x200)

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You dismount Tornado.

(What are you doing?) Rowe thinks incredulously as you disappear from sight.

“Need to make sure these are Mountain Riders. Those guns are Imperial. I'm wary.” You feel the blood in your legs vibrate from the excess energy brought about by Expeditious Retreat. You slip your ring off.

(I'll tell you when I'm positive it's them.)

(Alright. We'll reposition to flank.)

You dash down the hill and begin sprinting into the plains. You'll have to move quick to keep up with the moving fight.

The orc that was thrown from his horse stumbles up to his arms and knees and crawls through the grass, hands searching for something. You watch him grab a hold of his rifle and bring it to bear with him as he goes to kneeling on one knee.

He pulls the trigger, aiming at the oncoming giants. CLICK. He looks at the gun confused, pulling the trigger a few more times in desperation. Something internal must have broke. He throws it to the ground and utters a grunt of anger before getting on his feet, turning on his heels and running as fast as he can from the giants.

Their eyes go right to the vulnerable orc, easily outrun now that his mount has been taken care of, its dead body having finished rolling forward with its momentum, bloody guts spilling from the horse's stomach.

As the Hill Giants gain ground on the running orc you suddenly hear a sharp whistle pierce the battlefield. The orcish cavalrymen swing wide in two separate groups and begin charging back towards the giants.

At the head of one of the two groups you spot Zar'kov, who manages to fire two arrows into the bicep of one of the hulking things. It bellows and switches focus to him and his group. The second group of orcish cavalrymen manage to distract another of the giants.

You swivel your head and search for Rowe quickly spotting her new position. (It's Zar'kov and The Mountain Riders. Hit the giants.)

(Got it.) she replies and manages to kick both Tornado and her own horse into action.

You look back and see that there is still one giant chasing the sole Mountain Rider tribesman on foot. It has split from its allies and is running completely opposite of them. You see it drool and slaver, a hungry glint in it eyes.

>Distract the third giant
>Help focus on the other two
>Something else? (write-in)

>>340350
>>Distract the third giant

>>340350
>Distract the third giant
Perhaps a Daze spell followed up by Grease.

I was checking our character sheet, and our Con and Int are actually pretty low.
Most of our melee fighting is from Ninja, Rogue, or Monk.
Our Cavalier and Fighter levels are the lowest.

Maybe we should work on Con and Int, with some more Cavalier levels next.

>>340375
Hm... would make sense, being the Red Rider and all. We should probably train up on that and ninja stuff later.

by the way, Trick, how tall is Alan? I don't think I see his height stat.

>>340382
He is about 6ft tall, but just a hair short of being 6ft.

So he's practically eye level with Gabby.

I once fucked up and said that Ed was seven inches taller than Alan, but he's actually only 5 inches taller.

Again, tiny little mistakes.

>>340382
If you had chosen magic potential Alan would have been 5 ft 8 in.

If you had chosen martial potential Alan would have been 6ft 4 in.

>>340399
>>340394

Huh. nice to know.

Alright, roll me 2d100.

1st has a bonus of 5.

Second has a bonus of 27.

Rolled 40, 48 = 88 (2d100)

>>340551

Rolled 52, 22 = 74 (2d100)

>>340551

Rolled 40, 16 = 56 (2d100)

>>340551
sneak attack the hill giant

Rolled 88, 29 = 117 (2d100)

>>340551

Rolled 55, 44 = 99 (2d100)

>>340551

File: Hill Giant kick.jpg (35 KB, 620x418)

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You can't let this guy die. Especially not if that giant decides to partially eat him when it catches him. Which judging by the speed it is moving at compared to the tribesman is going to happen very soon.

Unseen by anyone so far you sprint to catch up with the hungry Hill Giant. Its loud bounding steps set your teeth to chattering. The Mountain Rider trips. Of course. You need to distract this thing now.

You point your fingers up at the large skull of the monster and utter the chant for the Daze spell. You watch as your fingers glow with a pale pink light and the Hill Giant stops in its tracks, a scowl on its face. Seems whatever is going on in its head it doesn't like. You lower your hands as your invisibility wears off.

The giant chews a phantom taste in its mouth as it looks around. It either utters mad gibberish or words of a language you can't understand as it spots you.

Another burst of loud, baritone noise emits from its mouth, the bass nature of the sound shaking your spine.

It moves much faster than you were thinking something that large would be able to kick. The large tree trunk of a leg rises up at you and you barely get your buckler into position as it crashes into you.

CRACK

You hear your arm crumple more than feel it as panic and adrenaline set in before the pain can. The force of the blow continues into your chest, cracking three or four ribs before your own feet finally leave the ground.

Soaring through the air you have a brief moment to watch the bright, sunny, cloudless sky before you hit the dirt with a resounding CRASH some twenty feet from where you started. Your body continues to roll across the ground as your momentum carries you end over end. By the time you finally stop by using your one good arm to get your bearings your head has taken multiple hits from the ground and your face is all cut up. Multiple lacerations as blood pours out of your face and into the dirt. A cloud of dust has been kicked up by the force and rapidity of your journey. Your shoulders hurt. Your back hurts. Your legs hurt. Your lungs breathe in as much air as they can, just lucky to still be working and alive.

Giant's distracted though. Congratulations! He's approaching you now, club slung casually over his shoulder.

You think you want to get up. But lying down sounds a lot less painful to your body, even though your brain recognizes getting eaten or crushed would not be very good.

>Heal yourself and run
>Call Rowe for help
>Stand and Assimilate
>Something else? (write-in)

>>340696

>Heal yourself and run
>Call Rowe for help

>>340696
>Heal yourself and run

>>340696
>>Heal yourself and run

>>340696
>>Heal yourself and run

>>340696
>Stand and Assimilate
What could we assimilate, anyway?
We don't want the size, because that would make our lives more difficult.
Maybe giant strength without the size?

>>340696
>Heal yourself and run

No one else wants the benefits of a Belt of Giant's Strength without taking up a belt slot?

File: Tornado.jpg (7 KB, 284x177)

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You groan in pain. You reach over with your right arm and grab the mangled mess that is your left arm. You pull.

CRACK

You grit your teeth as you examine it after that grisly act. Yeah, looks like you bent it roughly back into shape. As you roll over and get to your knees you slip out your marble and practically shove it into your arm. You channel your energies and feel the bones in your broken limb regrow and re knit themselves together. In seconds as you bound away at super speed from the encroaching giant your clench your left fist and confirm your arm feels as good as new.

The monster utters a roar of anger at you being too fast for it to catch. You spot Tornado, galloping towards you. A beacon of hope that you'll survive this. A black knight coming to save you. All you have to do is make it to your horse.

You hear the sound of the giant uprooting something from the ground and the follow up exhalation of a creature expending a substantial amount of effort. You look behind you and for a split second manage to see the rock in motion as it is hurled in your direction.

Roll me 1d100 +27 , best of 3

Rolled 75 + 27 (1d100 + 27)

>>342054

Rolled 84 + 27 (1d100 + 27)

>>342054

Rolled 47 + 27 (1d100 + 27)

>>342054
I'll roll for third just to move things along

>>342942
Nope

Rolled 48 + 27 (1d100 + 27)

>>342054

Dice+1d100+27

File: A bigger rock.jpg (8 KB, 260x194)

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The boulder sails towards you, too fast for you to get out of the way in time by natural means. Right as it is about to collide with your tender flesh, you look up and teleport yourself roughly ten feet upwards into the air. You watch the rock sail right underneath you and break into a multitude of pieces as it crashes into the dirt.

Air whips at your hair as you land back on the ground, knees bending and buckling; the recent pain and bruising causes you to wince. You stumble forwards as Tornado finally makes it to your side. You lean against him for a precious moment while you gather your second wind. The feel of his fur coat beneath your fingertips is soft and warm. Home base. You're in your element. Safe.

You pat him on the side twice before sighing out and swinging your legs over him. You scan the battlefield. Rowe and Zar'kov's crew have managed to fell one of the giants, it's body laid out across the plains skewered by a multitue of arrows. They ride together towards the second giant still being pelted by bullets and arrows of Zar'kov's other group of riders. On it's own against that many attackers the monster will be felled quickly enough.

You look forward at the last of the Hill Giants still focused on you. It smiles and laughs giddily as it breaks into a sprint, great club at the ready to swing.

One on One.

>Counter charge
>Shoot it in a vital location
>Continue fleeing on horseback
>Assimilate!
>Demand it's surrender! It's outnumbered and outgunned.
>Something else? (write-in)

>>343230
>>Demand it's surrender! It's outnumbered and outgunned.
if refused,
>Shoot it in a vital location

>>343230
>Assimilate!
Get that Giant's Strength!

>>343230
>Assimilate!
We're going to scare the shit out of it.

>>343230
Trick, you're not going to fuck us over by making Alan assimilate giant size, or getting giant strength but with no way to control all that strength, are you?

>>343324
Anon, you're not going to roll a 1 are you?

File: Roll of Thrones.png (353 KB, 640x640)

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>>343330
>not going to roll a 1
Never tempt the Dice Gods!

Roll me 1d100 +40, best of 3.

Rolled 11 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>343774

Rolled 20 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>343774

Rolled 63 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>343774

>>343983
I hope that's enough.
If we do get enough strength to arm wrestle hill giants, I wonder if we'll become bulked up as well.

File: Muffin.jpg (75 KB, 600x423)

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You stare it down until you decide to let your eyes roam its form looking for . . . something. Anything you think you might be able to use.

You hear Muffin pop off the top to his container and scurry out of it and onto Tornado.

“Alan, it's coming at us,” he chitters.

“I know,” you respond. Those muscles bulging in the arms. The power tensed behind all that flesh. That prepared swing, all his strength funneled and coiled ready to bash your brains in.

“ALAN!” Muffin squeaks, the footsteps close enough now to set his whole body to shaking. “Do something.”

You huff. “I am.” Giant's not even looking. He's not even going to aim. Just let loose and let sheer strength cause the carnage he requires.

You think . . . you think you understand. The sore muscles in your own arms begin to wriggle and undulate, with enough visibility for Muffin to notice your writhing skin with the most concerned stare you think a squirrel is capable.

“Alright, got it!” you whisper as you unhook your lance from its holster. Couched lance? Against that big of a target? Perfect for this type of maneuver. No way you can miss. You smirk a bit as the giant closes the distance in bounding leaps. Been a while since you've done a proper cavalry charge. “Hop off Muffin.”

He obliges your request. You kick Tornado into a full sprint. “Heeyah!” you shout as he takes the order and begins to bound forwards, the coiled and imprecise strength of a giant raging new and fresh in your right arm.

The clopping of hooves in grass and dirt is an all too familiar sound. Even with the added harmony of a raging monster's hoots of joy that it's prey approaches willingly and that very same monster's earth-shaking stomps – this is a song and dance you have done a thousand times before.

You look the Hill Giant right in its dull, hungry eyes as the two of you close the distance. He won't stop barreling towards you. What an idiot. You'll let him win the game of chicken. His prize?

At the last possible second, you jerk Tornado to the left to avoid getting your mount crushed by the giant's feet. You guide your lance forward, pushing it in with all your summoned might. It strikes true, lancing him through his chest and piercing his massive heart.

Simultaneously you watch as he swings his club around from his right side. You feel the cap on your head vibrate and shift to your right. Shit. Even as you watch his eyes bulge from the fatal blow his swing continues around and

SLAM!

You feel your head reverberate painfully as the cap on your head wiggles and absorbs most of the blow. The force of the attack rips you from your saddle and your hand from the grip of your lance. The world seems to spin as you practically cartwheel through the air, flipping end over end as you sail through the air like a vigorously spun top.

File: Spoiler Image (42 KB, 436x576)

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You finally collapse on the ground a second or two later, managing to land on your side with no bearings at all and feeling like you're going to vomit. Your neck is stiff and sore and you feel your hat fall off, watching it sit in front of your bleary eyes as you roll onto your stomach, gritting your teeth at the pain of your entire body that accompanies the small bit of movement. There seem to be three vague, hazy copies of your hat in front of your face while the entirety of the plains shake and dance in your vision.

You decide closing your eyes would be best for the moment. Much less painful on your recently shaken brain. Y'know what else might be really nice right now?

(SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!)

No. It's alright Rowe, you lazily think as your consciousness begins to fade. Think you'll take a quick nap. Just for a moment. You pass out or die. Not sure which as it all goes to black.

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

Beautiful humming. A feminine vibrating voice. Musicality and tenderness. Warmth, softness and compassion wrapped up in a ephemeral package. Perhaps the most gorgeous sound you've ever heard as your eyes flutter open. You immediately squint to reduce the pain of bright light emanating from the nearby candle, right next to your head.

As your vision begins to drift into focus and your mind begins the slow process of figuring out who you are and what has happened, you notice standing above you a brown, slim figure. The source of the music that woke you.

Still halfway between sleep and consciousness you can't make out the exact details of her face. Only that she continues to sing sweetly, creating profound art before you. And she seems to be holding some sort of long walking stick as well.

Suddenly she stops and dread seeps into you that she may never vocalize sounds so soothing ever again. “Ah,” you hear her speak, a poor substitute for the purity of what came before, untainted by the practical purposes that accompany communication. “You're awake.” A simple declaration.

WHAM!

The butt of the stick slams into the side of your face. The lasting, stinging pain instantly sobers you up and brings you back into the world of the living, acutely aware and on edge.

You're in some spacious cloth tent on a bedroll, naked under the covers. The Singing Female stands before you, holding the quarterstaff she just smacked you one with. A mock look of sympathy adorns her face as she twirls it.

“I'm sorry, was that uncalled for? Does it suck to wake up, naked in your bed and get hit in the face with a fucking stick?!”

She shakes the weapon at you, stalking around you as you struggle to think of what is happening right now.

“This is your quarterstaff, by the way. I fixed it just so I could enjoy the irony of beating you with it.”

She swings it into you again, this time into the side of your rib cage. THWACK. Fuck, that hurts!

>Grab her leg and trip her
>Take the quarterstaff from her and hit her with it
>Tackle
>Something else? (write-in)

>>346646
>>Something else? (write-in)
"Hey, you were an unknown factor in a retrieval mission. We didn't have time for niceties or formalities."

>Take the quarterstaff from her

>>346650
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm sorry I punched you."

>>346650
>Take the quarterstaff from her and hit her with it
>Something Else
"Hey, you were an unknown factor in a very dangerous retrieval mission, and knowing this island, if our roles had been reversed, you'd have used some kind of mind-control magic instead of a stick to keep me quiet."
Shit, if she's here, could the ninja be far behind?
Have the Mountain Riders allied with the Empire, if she's here?

>>346929
also ask where rowe is.

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>>346646
>>346650
So, did we keep the enhanced strength?
When Rowe sees Alan, will it go something like this?

>>346964
Yeah, you did. You picked up power attack and with it came a boost of strength. In weird /fit/ terms you've finally exited otter mode into yeah, something sorta like the Captain America physique.

Somehow, despite Rowe's protests against some of your weirder changes. Increased muscle mass and charisma have yet to bother her.

>>346990
>Increased muscle mass and charisma have yet to bother her.
I guess because increased muscle mass isn't so strange since Alan just needs to work out to get it naturally?

She did have a point that assimilating a sccubus' life-draining kiss was really upsetting, because it IS like kissing the barrel of a gun every time she kisses Alan.

>>346940
No, don't ask that. Perhaps the elf doesn't know about Rowe, no need to inform her that we have an ally nearby.
inb4 exchange of captives

“OW!” you shout, more offended than particularly pained. You sit up, leaning on your forearms “You were an unknown factor in a very dangerous, very time sensitive retrieval mission.”

“Oh?” she asks. “Is that what you call kidnapping?”

You roll your eyes. “Please. If the roles had been reversed you would have used some sort of mind control magic on me.”

She sticks the quarterstaff into the ground and leans against it, smiling at you. “Exactly. Now tell me, which you would prefer. The smooth, attractive sound of my dulcet tones,” She gestures with a hand to her chest, drawing your eyes to the expensive-looking but revealing dress she wears. “Or this.”

She flicks the quarterstaff up to smack you under the jaw. Sneaky bitch, but your reflexes are too good to be distracted like that. You lean back, grab it with both of your hands and rip it from her grasp, knocking her off balance and sending her stumbling forwards.

Before something silly might happen like her falling into your lap while you're still rocking some morning wood under this woolen, threadbare blanket, you push the quarterstaff into her forehead with a quick jab that helps her fight gravity to stay on her feet.

“Ow!” she shouts, more offended than particularly pained, hand putting pressure on her forehead to dull the minor injury as she stumbles back a few paces, quite ungracefully.

“Well, I can't sing like you!” you respond from your now semi-seated position in the bedroll. Yet. The insidious thought is almost alien, lurking in the back of your mind. “So I had to make do with this stick.” You gesture with it. “Which I'm keeping by the way. Since it's mine.”

Arka drops her hands and shakes them. “Hmm!” she utters disdainfully, sticking her nose up at you.


>Where's Rowe?
>Where's the ninja?
>Where are we?
>What happened?
>Am I your captive?
>Have the Mountain Riders allied with the Empire?
>Ask something else? (what?)
>She admitted she can mind control you. Subdue her.
>Flee!
>Assimilate
>Something else? (write-in)

>>347489
>Where's the ninja?
>Something else:
"So, how much is the Empire paying you? Or are you working for Killmen directly?"
Anything else provides her with information that can be used against us.

>>347489
>>Where's the ninja?
>Assimilate

>>347507
this
and
>Have the Mountain Riders allied with the Empire?
>Am I your captive?

No assimilation this time.

>>348043
I don't know about those two other questions.
>Have the Mountain Raiders allied with the Empire?
Shows that we don't have current intel on the Mountain Riders, and she can manipulate what information we do get.

>Am I your captive?
A better question is "Where are my pants?"

>>348129
perhaps I could rephrase it as
"So, where are the Mountain Riders? Did they take out the giants?"

Yeah, ask about the pants, too.

"My pants, my shirt, my hat; where are they?"

We need to thank Rowe for that hat.

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“Where's the sneaky fellow?” you ask, still holding onto your quarterstaff, drumming your fingers on the wood anxiously. Arka cocks an eyebrow.

“Allant?” You nod your head. She shrugs. “He's around. Somewhere. Always is.”

“And where are my pants?”

Her accompanying laugh is musical and lilting. Even her mirth has a singsong quality to it. “If I had a copper piece . . .” she shakes her head and follows up with one more amused laugh. “I think they're over there.” She points behind you.

You take a quick cautionary second to check and see that most of your equipment is neatly arranged behind your pillow next to the wall of the tent. Among your armor, weapons and effects you spot your pants.

You look back to Arka, arms now folded casually across her chest.

A moment of silence passes as you stare at her. “What?” she snaps, annoyed.

“Can I get a little privacy?” you demand more than ask.

The jungle elf scoffs. “Oh yes. Don't want to besmirch your dignity.” she turns on her heels to exit your tent.

“Wait!” you call out, stopping her. She looks back at you, puzzled.

You take a moment to think of how you want to phrase this. “How much is the Empire paying you?”

She gives you a look. “Really?”

You squint your eyes. “You work for Killmen directly?”

She shakes her head, sighing. “No. He pays me. A thousand platinum a month for about a year now. So . . . what, that's about 130,000 gold by now? I've also been granted whatever accouterments, food, or lodgings I desire for the length of my contract here. Pretty swanky.” She stretches languidly, cheeky satisfied smile on her face.

You grimace. That's a lot of money for one mercenary's monthly contract. You aren't confident Ceril could offer her a better deal.

“Doesn't really matter though how much he pays me,” she tacks on the end there. “All the money in the world wouldn't convince me to join the losing side. Goodbye . . .” She trails off, apparently unaware of your name, eyeing you and lingering just a moment for a response.

>Alan
>Goodbye
>Something else? (write-in)

Check out the new logo! Courtesy of Moofin.

>>349231
>>Goodbye
then dress and try to sense if the ninja is around

After cooling my head for a bit, I am questioning whether being spiteful is useful to us, in our ultimate goal of defeating the Empire and winning this war.

I mean, technically Alan is a cleric of the Great Will, so he shouldn't be spiteful about this, even if some of the players prefer to indulge in spite and hate.

Is there a real reason to withhold our name aside from spite?

>>349231
>Alan
I mean, I still want to destroy the Empire and utterly crush it in an undeniable victory for the Republic, and to be smug in Arka's face and tell her it's too bad she backed the losing side, but Alan has been re-examining the spite and hate us players put in him, so maybe we should step back a little.

We can rub it in her face once the Emperor is acting as our footstool.

>>349454
I'd like to withhold the name because a) it could be that she thinks were just some soldier but that she know's the Empire's prime enemy is called Alan and she might suddenly decide to keep us a prisoner when she learns were a special target, b) we're not here to make friends, c) we're not giving the enemy any information that isn't necessary to get more information ourself.

Some other questions:
Who told us her name is Arka? IIRC we only know her as the Singing Female, did Trick blab?
Where does the Empire keep all the money to pay her (and the others)?

>>349579
oh my, that apostrophe is really off target, by 7 words...

>>349579
Pretty sure Etriarch name dropped Arka already.

>>349625
yeah, you're correct, I found the post where Etriarch told the name

>>349231

>Alan

>>349231
>Alan
Like anons have been saying, there's no need to be spiteful.

>>350995
>there's no need to be spiteful.
Not exactly.
It's not that there's no need to be spiteful, because there's a host of reasons to be hateful and to take enjoyment when Arka is lying facedown in the mud, and we have our boot on her neck.
It's that Alan, as a representative of the Great Will, and a benefactor of Its Divine Powers, is supposed to be above that sort of thing, and he recognizes that he should at least act that way, even if he doesn't feel that way.

“Alan,” you inform her.

“Arka,” Arka responds in turn, unaware you already know her name. And then she strides pridefully from your tent.

You put the quarterstaff down and make sure you're actually alone now. Once you feel you have privacy you get up and throw off your blanket. You begin to put on your clothes, starting with your shirt.

Just as you begin to pull it over your head, you hear the sound of footsteps running towards your tent. Shit, not enough time.

You toss the garment aside and grab your quarterstaff, ready for whoever wants to fight a spatially disoriented naked man. Rowe bursts through the tent flap in a hurry, carrying a tray with food and a bowl of water on top of it. She stops, frozen in shock as she sees you ready for combat.

You lower your weapon and relax at the sight of her, relieved at that one conundrum solved rather quickly.

(Alan . . . are you alright?)

(Yeah. Thank The Great Will you're here.)

Rowe walks over and places the tray on a makeshift table inside your tent. She carefully walks over to you: still tense, alert and on edge.

(I just saw Arka walk out of your tent.)

(Yeah. She –)

SMACK

Rowe slaps you across the face. You grab your cheek. “OW!” you shout, equal parts pained and offended. You look back to Rowe, then down at your nudity. You look at your girlfriend like she's acting like a lunatic because she is.

(You can't possibly think I was cheating on you! Last I was conscious I was fully clothed so somebody else stripped me down. I don't even know her.)

“What?” Rowe utters that out loud, surprised. (I thought she might have cast some mind control spell on you and was preemptively slapping you out of it.)

(. . . Oh. Alright then.)

SMACK

Another slap across the face. “OOOOOWWWW!”

(Let me guess. That one was for almost getting myself killed.)

(Actually, still just wary of mind control. Being extra cautious.)

(Does slapping someone even work to free them from a mind control spell?)

Rowe shrugs. (Dunno. Worth two attempts. Maybe even three.)

You give her a death glare. She laughs. (Alright. Alright. Let me apologize.)

She slips her arms around you and you kiss. Deeply. Her hands roam the newly formed muscles etched into your back, delighted sounds of discovery escaping her lips and you feel the overwhelming urge to dip your own digits you have wrapped round her waist a tad south. You realize you should probably stop now before you end up getting too involved in the moment.

And you also want to distract yourself slightly from the . . . illuminating(?) fact that those slaps didn't really do much to combat your own personal pitched tent.

You end the kiss and pull away from your lover.

(Alright. What happened after I was pulverized by that Hill Giant?)

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Rowe sighs. (I healed you as best I could, but you were pretty beat up. I'm not the most proficient magical healer and no one in Zar'kov's tribe is much better. So I put your unconscious body on Tornado and we rushed here into the mountains where the Mountain Rider Tribe is currently camped.)

(You've been recuperating here while I've been applying my best efforts at accelerating your recovery for the past two days. Jungle elf and The Stealthy One have been here for a while before us. Apparently Kardas has gifted the Mountain Riders a lot of guns as a sample of what a potential alliance betwixt the two might bring the natives.)

(The two Imperial agents are here as diplomats or something while they negotiate. There were . . . heated tensions when we all first arrived.) Rowe admits, her cheeks flushing rosy.

(But Zar'kov quickly brought order to the situation. We're on neutral ground for the time being. So no turning Arka into a pincushion and no assassination attempts from the ghost. And . . . that's about it.)

>Alright Alan, what first? (write-in)

start a fresh thread ffs

>>352487
Can we take anything from the hill giant as a commemorative trophy?

Also, may want to tell Zharkov about the incident in the forest and ask what the hell is going on.

Afterwards, ask if we can have one or two of the rifles as a subject of study.

>>352488
aight sure, fuck it.

>>352491