“Hey kid!” Tony shouts to you with a shit eating grin on his face. “You want your beer?”

“Uh, no thanks, I’m good.” You stutter a bit in reply.

You catch up to Nigel as he’s walking down a flight of stairs into a dark basement. It’s sparsely populated as far as you can tell. A few tables and barstools in the corner and some other old paraphernalia you would expect to find in an old bar or restaurant. “So what do you mean exactly by teaching me how to not shoot myself in the foot?” You ask as Nigel fumbles a bit for a light switch on the wall.

“It’s pretty clear to everyone involved that you just awakened yesterday night. The lightshow you put on last night was indicator enough; a walking suit of armor made entirely out of white light. Only a newly awakened or some guy who’s been in the business a long time would have the power to pull off shit like that, and the later wouldn’t be stupid enough to walk down the middle of the bloody street like that. And it was pretty apparent with your fumbling around in the warehouse that you barely understand how your power works or how to train it.

“So, in my infinite generosity, I’ve decided to take it upon myself to teach you the very basics of how to increase your control over your powers and how to not get caught by the OMC. First, you pick something specific to work on. You don’t just exercise everything when you’re at the gym. Between your little night show and your dicking around with that cop earlier, you can make armor and weapons of light. What do you wanna improve first?”

>[Weapon]
>>Definition
>>Size [LOCKED UNTIL HIGHER DEFINITION]
>>Range

>[Armor]
>>Integrity
>>Size [LOCKED UNTIL HIGHER INTEGRITY]
>>Range

>>370402
>Definition

>>370417
>Sharper knife

Roll me 3d10+4 (+2 Control stat, +2 Trainer) vs DC20 (Base 20)

A great success here will get you +2 Max Light instead of +1. Regular failure will give you a bonus for the next time you try to increase this stat, while critical failure will not.

This will be fun trying to get three rolls.

Rolled 9, 6, 4 + 4 = 23 (3d10 + 4)

>>370467
Heres a roll :^)

Rolled 10, 9, 2 + 4 = 25 (3d10 + 4)

>>370467

>>370402
>Armor integrity
Shield could be used as blunt weapon

>>370481
You're a little late fampai. Just roll pls. QM's rolling for their own dice call is so tacky.

Rolled 1, 1, 1 + 4 = 7 (3d10 + 4)

>>370467

>>370489
U WOT M8

>>370489
wew lad

>>370489
Anon. Anon please. You're killing me. Literally.

>>370472
>>370477
>>370489
Critical failure, writing for you dying.

Thread over, everybody go home. We'll pick this up again never.

You summon up a dagger of light and trip on a set of dice just laying on the floor, the dagger slams through your throat. As you pass on to the next life you hear nigel exclaim. “Are you fucking retard?”

BAD END

Fucking kek you died in thread 3, I’m totally not using this one dice roll to start this quest over so there can be some modicum of effort put into planning at any stage ever besides scrambling to throw shit together as we get to it.
>implying we’ll ever run again
>implying this wasn't an elaborate waste of all of our times
>lmao 4 followers
>lmao 2 voters

>>370542
Good quest, I r8 it a 9/11

>>370542
>New Char when?

>>370584
Right after I finish hanging myself anon, I promise.

>tfw unwilling to bow to Simone's nagging to end quest forever
This is gonna be long day. Post eventually desu.

>>370662
>not setting me free
They even rolled a nat 3

Rolled 8, 4, 1 = 13 (3d10)

>>370666
Want a nat30 too, Satan?

You’ve noticed that every time you make a knife, or anything really, the shape is rather indistinct. You’d swear they make a better bludgeoning tool than cutting. To prove this point you make a knife and run your hand over the blade of it and show Nigel. “It’d be nice to be able to cut things with this.”

He grunts in response. “Nothing is worse than a shitty knife in fight. We’ll work on that. Grab that dummy from the corner over there. Tony doesn’t care about most of this shit.” He says pointing to training dummy people would use for martial arts you hadn’t noticed. Why Tony would have that down here you have no idea.

You grab it and find it’s still filled with sand or whatever else they used to fill it. Not much of an issue compared to some of the things they expected you to move by hand down at the Dockyard, but it’s still annoying to haul. With a grunt you drop it in the middle of the room and turn to Nigel. “So what’s next?”

“Now you stab the dummy.” He looks at you as if you were the dummy. With a shrug you turn to rubber mannequin and try to stab it in the chest. As expected, it just sinks in a little and then bounces off, leaving no mark. “Well if that’s all you’re gonna give it then of course it’s not gonna do anything.” He remarks. “This time try to actually cut it.” You focus on your task more this time and really try to gut the thing, and again you make no ground.

Nigel sighs and tells you “Let the knife go and when you reform it, focus on making it sharp. Try to envision the blade of the knife actually cutting things.” You let go of the knife and close your eyes, focusing on the Light you feel inside near your stomach. This time, instead of just envisioning the knife, you try focusing harder on the tip being at a sharp angle so as it actually cut something. When you open your eyes, you find the same knife in your hands. Feeling the tip, you think you find it it feeling less like it was intentionally rounded off, though that could just be your imagination. With another grunt you try stabbing the dummy, again to no real gain.

“Again” Nigel repeats as he finds a chair to sit down in. You repeat the process, again with that same slight maybe-not-even-there increase in pointiness in the tip. “While you’re mulling that over, how about some more food for thought. If you ever happen to find yourself at a crime scene, it’s really not a bright idea to stay there and practice your illegal Mutant powers. That’s what gets you sent to camps, if you’re not just shot and killed on sight.” It would really help if he wasn’t so condescending all the time.

“It was an old scene. They had already packed up whatever evidence they were gonna take and left. How was I supposed to know some asshole cop would show up to it again?” You reply with a meatier thrust into the rubber dummy.

He raises his glass to his mouth first before answering. “First of all, it wasn’t old. That shooting went down about three days ago. You would know that if you read the paper, or just watched the news. Second, they always have people watching the scene well after it happened even if there’s no new evidence to be gathered. People love to commit felonies by breaking into old crime scenes for god knows what reason. I would have said most muties would have been smart enough to keep their head down and stay away, but I guess I was wrong, wasn’t I.” Seriously, this guy gets on your nerves, even if he is right.

“So what, do I just keep repeating this until the knife just magically gets sharper?” You say with an annoyed air.

“Yep” he responds and seems to be that.

You continue this process for what must be hours, expending more and more light. It doesn’t seem to take much to keep your knife going after it’s already been manifested, so you’ve got that much going for you at least. You alternate between trying to make a new knife sharper and making your current knife actually cut the rubber dummy. You seem to absorb light passively, so the time spent working with an already manifested knife seems to give you the time you need to not spend all of the Light you have. After maybe half an hour of some small quips from Nigel, he seems to get bored and walks back upstairs, telling you he’ll check up on you in an hour.

After your second hour, you notice you managed to break the skin of the dummy. With a new passion, you throw yourself further into your work, trying to ensure that every new knife you make is capable of replicating the small cut. You’re not sure how much time passes, but you feel great sense of accomplishment rushing through you as you score the rubber surface of the dummy again and again. You feel slightly dizzy, but pay it no mind. In your fervor you manage to cut yourself a few times along the arms, but it doesn’t phase you much. You’re accomplishing great things today, and you’re not going to let a little thing like flapping wounds phase you.

After a while longer you realize how tired you are and decide you’ve earned a break. The corners of your vision are dim, but it doesn’t matter much as you take a seat on one of the spare chairs and miss. As you do so, you dimly hear Nigel coming the down the stairs “Alright Mike, let's see how much progress you didn’t make.” He sounds a little closer next when he exclaims “Holy shit, Mike, what the hell did you do?”

“I fucking killed that thing, Nigel.” You manage weakly with what you think to be a smirk on your face as you lose consciousness.

>Congratulations! You've increased Weapon-Definition to 2 and Max Light to 11.

We would go on more, but Simmon is complaining about getting her beauty sleep and I need to go drink. We'll pick this up tomorrow. I think my schedule should be clear.

You rub your eyes and stifle a yawn as you come to from your sleep, looking down you see you didn’t put away your bible and quickly slide it into the nook on the back of the seat in front of you. Miss Sarah always gets angry with you when you fall asleep when you should be praying so you take a second to discreetly look around to see if she’s noticed your slip up. Much to your surprise she is nowhere to be seen, as a matter of fact you’re near alone save for the man wearing a black hoodie sitting to your right, which is strange for this time of day, Saint Vincent’s usually has a good number of visitors. Actually as you look around paying all the more attention this time this isn’t Saint Vincent’s at all, where the podium the father uses to preach usually sits is a statue of Mary standing before a basin of water that reflects the light of a hoard of candles that cover nearly the entire area surrounding her.

Above and behind Mary is a stained glass window depicting the Archangels warding off Satan’s minions, the Vincent’s you know only had simple clear windows. Beside the pews sits a intricately carved confessions booth with trims of gold, yet oddly there is no section for the priest, only the sinner, perhaps it hasn’t been fully assembled yet. As it slowly begins to dawn on you things aren’t quite as you first thought you turn back to the man beside you intent on finding out what he knows about all of this. Before you can so much as utter a word he stands showing off his long airy cloak in full, he places a hand on your shoulder and lightly pats your back with his fingertips that you note are oddly small, before turning and walking through the chapel doors. Looking now you see the doors are painted black and carved with macabre gothic depictions of sinners being tortured by demons in hell, an odd choice for a church. Noticing a crack in the doors left from where the stranger left you note oddly no light spills in from the outside.

>Climb the steps and look into the basin.
>Take a seat in the confessional booth.
>Light one of the candle at Mary’s feet.
>Write-In
Posting again is and always will be Ace's idea

>>373261
>>Climb the steps and look into the basin.

File: moe-not-today.jpg?quality(...).jpg (36 KB, 650x456)

36 KB JPG

>>373478
>Look into the water
thank you anon

>>373261
>>Write-In
>follow the hooded man

>>373261
>Climb the steps and look into the basin.

Of this strange church, the part that interests you most is the basin of water at the front of the room. You stand up, though it’s more of a struggle than you thought it would be. You must have been more tired than you thought. Shaking it off, you proceed down the aisle towards the pool of water sitting before the statue of Mother Mary. With the pool in front of you, you sink to your knees as if in prayer and grasp the edge of pool. Before you can look into the pool however, you eye catches on your arms. They’re covered in bloody wounds, some of them appearing to be rather deep. Blood appears to run down the length of them, but looking back you don’t see any blood on the ground. Strange how you didn’t notice such things immediately. While your arms concern you, you’re presently more interested in the basin in front of you.

Putting the subject of your arms aside, you lean over the pool and gaze into it, expecting to see yourself. Instead, however, you see another figure altogether, one which you are certain is not standing before the pool. From your teachings in the orphanage and the church, you recognize the figure as an Archangel; it wears long white robes and carries spear and shield in its hands with a short sword hanging from it’s belt. The archangel has long blonde hair and has four wings sprouting from its back. Staring at it’s face a little longer, you a spark in your memory and recall a picture of the Archangel Michael that used to hang in dormitory you stayed in. This figure’s face is almost identical to it, and it opens it’s mouth in speech: “Why have you come here, Child?”

You’re not sure how to reply to that. You aren’t even quite sure of where here is exactly. “Sir- Sir Michael. I am not sure why I have come here.”

“I think we both know that is not true, Michael. You are unhappy with the world you inhabit. That the town you call home has sunk so low has embittered you leaving the Church. Just recently, men of ill intent beat you to the point of death for committing no crime to them.” The angel replies without passion.

You begin to deny his words, but realize that you cannot do so in good conscious. He is right; you have become bitter with the world since leaving the orphanage. It pains you to admit it, but since you turned 18 and moved out to live on your own you’ve been all too observant of the crime that happens everyday. The hatred everyone you meet seems to hold for one another. The fact that you struggle day and day out to make a living and barely have enough to feed and house yourself. The fact that so many in your city do the same and cannot even have that much. With shame you reflect on how long it’s been since you visited church or observed the Sabbath at all.

“You desire the strength to change this.” The angel continues as if he could read your inner monologue. “You wish that the men who wronged you were punished appropriately, that others of their kind received similar justice. You wish that your city could be purged of the filth that pollutes it.”

It is as if he knew your thoughts exactly. You have long desired such things, and with a touch of embarrassment you had been harboring somewhere inside the hope that with your new powers you might help this cleaning take place. You swallow a bit and nod to the angel.

The archangel draws himself up a bit. “You have the power make this happen, Michael. Your new found ability is a gift, one which you must use to punish those who sinned against you. You know the location of these men, and know what sentence they deserve. Go there, Michael, and in the name of the Lord deliver divine retribution to them. Do this, and you will find within you the tools to further deliver deliver justice to this world.”

Michael reaches up to you out of the pool, as if he were not just a reflection in the water and grasps your bloody arms. As soon as he touches them they begin to burn furiously as if on fire. His head rises from the water with them and pure, intense light pours from his figure, burning into your retinas. “Go now, my child. Enact justice upon these men of ill intent”. His words ring in your ears and everything turns white.

With a start, you wake. At first you panic a bit because everything is dark, but after looking around a bit you notice light drifting down from a stairwell. You try to think desperately about where you are. The last thing you recall is being in some kind of church, where you met the Archangel Michael, but this doesn’t seem to be that church. Then it hits you: you’re still in Tony’s basement. You were training your knife shaping ability and made some degree of progress. It felt like a lot at the time but you realize it probably wasn’t that impressive in actuality. Your memories go kind of hazy near the end; you must of overexerted yourself and passed out. You recall the knife carving your arms up at some point, and at that point you raise them up to your face to look at, only to find them trapped in some sheets. Someone must have moved you to a bedroll while you were out. Throwing off the sheets you you find your arms wrapped in bandages. With a touch of nervousness, you unwrap your right arm. You find several little small wounds dot across it, along with a long one running the length of your forearm. All of these have been roughly stitched up, but you have little doubt they’ll leave scars.

You turn to your left arm to see what the damage done to it was, and find something else there entirely. Instead of stitches and pain you find white text flowing across the entire length of your arm. You would swear it was an arm sleeve of tattoos or some kind of henna, but the text is all pure white and gives off a soft glow. It looks to be reading bible verses; in particular you can make out the Parable of the Good Samaritan from the Book of Luke. Staring longer, it looks like the words are shifting subtly.

Your observations are cut off when you the sound of stone grinding on stone coming from deeper into the basement. You can vaguely make out human shapes seeming to rise up from the ground.

“Good god, I hate going through that tunnel. It’s tall enough that I don’t have to crawl but low enough to where I have to lean over. Makes carrying product a real bitch into this cellar.” You hear a man say. He sounds young, maybe a few years older than you.

“Oh, quit your bitching, you didn’t even do the brunt of the lifting. Me and Ivan did, right Ivan?” Another says.

“I don’t know about both of us, comrade.” A heavily accented voice says.

“Whatever. Just go find the light switch, would you Dylan? I can’t see shit in here. You’re supposed to be out lookout.”

The first one grumbles a bit under his breath and starts walking towards the wall that you recall has the light switch.

> Try to hide. You don’t know who these men are or what they’re here for.
> Stay calm and greet them when the light comes on. This is Tony’s bar, they probably know him.
> Write-in

Someday I'll get faster at writing.

>>373976
> Stay calm and greet them when the light comes on. This is Tony’s bar, they probably know him.

>>373976
>> Stay calm and greet them when the light comes on. This is Tony’s bar, they probably know him.

>>373976
>Stay calm and greet them when the light comes on. This is Tony’s bar, they probably know him.

>>373985
>>374026
>>374027
>Introduce yourself to the nice men.

Writing.

Simmon is asleep right now, but we don't need her to party, right?

It might have to be a shorter thread, actually. My family is wanting me to go do something with them later that they didn't tell me about earlier. We'll see how it goes.

The first man, Dylan, makes his way over to the lightswitch and flicks it on. All of a sudden everything is bright. After allowing your eyes a moment to adjust, you see you’re off to the side of the room, maybe halfway from wall to wall. You don’t see that rubber training dummy you were using yesterday anywhere, but you do see two men climbing out of a hole in the ground in the opposite corner from you. The bigger of the two, Ivan, judging by how deep the voice was, is hauling up some kind of crate from the ground while the third man looks over him. Dylan makes his way back to the hole, not noticing you.

None of them see you lying amidst the old furniture Tony keeps down here, until you begin to sit up with a slight groan. The weariness you felt in the dream doesn’t seem to be present now that you’re awake, but you do feel pretty sore. Overexerting yourself is a pretty bad idea. Something to keep in mind in the future.

“Woah, where did this guy come from?” Dylan says in surprise when he notices you.

“I don’t know, you’re the lookout. You should have been paying attention to the room. I was helping Ivan out.” The third man replies as Ivan shoves the box over the edge of the hole.

“It would appear he was sleeping here before our intrusion.” Ivan says as he pulls himself out of the hole with greater ease than you would expect from such a big man. You think it’s safe to assume he’s Russian.

You pull yourself to your feet and stretch a little before replying. “It’s fine, I woke up a little before you opened the lid on that hole. I’m Michael, who are you guys?”

“I’m Eric, that’s Dylan and the big guy is Ivan.” The third man, Eric, replies. “So, you’re staying at Tony’s, huh?

“For a while, yeah. Need a place to lay low from the OMC.” You reply.

>What are you guys doing?
>What’s with the hole?
>Nice meeting you, but I better be on my way.
>Write-in

>>374164
>>Write-in

Nice to meet you, need a hand with any of that?

>>374164
>Nice meeting you, but I'd better check upstairs, see how long I was out for

>Remember to test how well we can make knives now, when we're alone

>>374164
>Nice to meet you, any idea for how long I was out?

>>374183
>>374184
>>374195
So, we're making some more pleasantries, asking if they know the date, seeing if they need a hand, and then heading upstairs based on that answer. Writing for that, and don't you try to stop me.

>>374245

Sounds good man, go for it, we want you to


And now we wait for the reverse psychology to kick in

>>374257
Fug off anon, I'll write whatever I wanna write.

“Ouch. We know how that goes.” Eric replies.
“So. You need any help with that box? Sounded like it was heavy.” You respond. It’s only polite.

He laughs as if you were making a joke.“Haha, nah man, Ivan’s got it. He’s one of the strongest Strongmen we know. He can handle it no problem. You’d really only slow him down.”

Geez, you were only trying to be polite. “Alright, in that case, do any of you know what day it is? I’m not really sure how I’ve been asleep.”

Dylan looks amused. “It’s Friday my man. TGIF.”

Friday? Holy shit, you’ve been asleep for two days. How does a person sleep for two days straight? That training session must have taken more out of you than you thought.

“Shit, last time I checked it was Wednesday. I better go upstairs and find Tony or Nigel or somebody. I’ll see you guys around.” You reply somewhat distractedly.

“Hah, I know that feeling. Like when you get so high it’s like you just never wake up again.” Dylan says with a dazed grin on his face and a far off look in his eye.

“Alright, we’ll see you bro. We gotta get back to work down here.” Eric replies ignoring Dylan. Must be a common thing.

You head up the stairs intent on finding Nigel to explain why the hell you’ve been asleep for so long. When you get to the bar area, though, the only ones you find is Tony cleaning a glass behind the bar and the old coot sitting at table in the corner talking to someone.

Tony looks up as you come through the door. “Ah, there he is. I thought you had died or something. I was about to find Nigel and kill him for leaving some dead kid down in my basement. How long were you down there anyway? It feels like it’s been two days since that bastard dragged you into my bar.”

“It has been two days. Where is Nigel? Why the hell have I been asleep for two days?”

“How the hell should I know?” Tony shrugs, while he uses the class he was cleaning to pour a beer, which he sets in front of you. “The man comes and goes. As long as he drops some coin along the way I don’t care what he does. Speaking of coin- Hey, what the hell is up with your eyes? They did not look like that the last time I saw you. Your arm too. That’s creepy, boy. You’ll scare off all my customers.”

The coot interjects from the corner. “Ha! You ain’t got no customers, Tony!”

“Shut up you old coot.” Tony grumbles. “Anyway, as I was saying, now that you’re finally awake it’s time for you to go to work. I need you to go take this letter over to the Dairy Cream on 5th and Eastwood. You know the place, yeah? Good. Take it and give it to the man-”

What the hell is he talking about? Coin? A letter? Beer? You’re not a mailman, and you’re definitely not a beer drinker either. “Wait wait,” you interrupt. “What the hell do you mean take a letter? Why?”

“Well I can’t just let you and Nigel use my basement for free, you know. That’s premium real estate down there you know. You gotta pay me back somehow, and according to Nigel that somehow is you. He did not tell you?” Tony replies with a grin while pushing a letter in front of you.

That fucking asshole.

>End thread

I would have gone on longer, but this a pretty good place to stop. Sorry for the short thread (again). My schedule isn’t too heavy next week (I think) so we’ll try to run again soon. Maybe Tuesday. Shouldn’t be a whole week in between this time at least.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/acesimmon_qm

>>374417

Not a problem, thanks for running man

We need some sunglasses stat and I like Tony, I hate Nigel but Tony seems like a guy trying to make his way

New thread: >>388007