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To her credit, as well as your surprise, Jeanne does not flinch back or lose her composure at the sight of the incoming attack. Instead, she throws herself own, out of range of the attacks, and her hand goes for the weapon hanging onto her back. The blades of the assassins strike air at first, then against her burden as she brings it about to bear. They crash together, and the discordant noise of steel grinding against steel grates on your ears and sets your teeth on edge.

With little more than a grunt of exertion, she batters their weapons aside with a single swing. As they pull back, staggering from the force of her push, one of her hands reaches to the hilt of the sword. She fumbles against the black string tied around the grip before pulling it away, and the tattered remains of the sack fall to the ground. Even the dim light in the alleyway behind Guild Hall, the length of the blade still shines with the radiance of Koyash. A very familiar blade.

Antoine was always proud of his sword, and constantly willing to regale the story of its origins to wide-eyed novices and bawdy tavern girls. It changed with each recounting, becoming wilder and more outlandish with every tankard imbibed. But what he lacked in modesty and restraint, the former shepherd from Calais certainly made up for it with the skills of a fantastic storyteller.

In truth, the actual story had little to nothing to do with dragon’s hordes, sorceresses harems, and an intoxicated donkey. A stormy night of tending his flock had been when and where the call to adventure came to him. The meteor fell from the sky, tearing a hot trail through the howling rain and the squall of a summer storm. It would have spelled the end for Antoine if it wasn’t for the lightning bolt, blasting the rock out of its intended path towards the shepherd. And though it had killed the prized ram of the herd, leaving nothing but a wet splotch on the plains, but that was a minor detail left out of a proper recounting.

It was a sign from the gods. From his meager life’s savings, he purchased a rudimentary suit of armor and passage to Eteria upon the decks of an Imperial merchant. And from the lump of skyiron, charged with the power of the storm, he undertook a Sabath upon the Fleurantine Peaks. There, a hermetical blacksmith forged a blade worthy of the man the gods had seen fit to spare, to accompany and protect him on the adventures he would undertake.

(cont.)

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Electricity coruscates along the pale length of Stormguard as Jeanne holds her brother’s sword. Her eyes are hard and determined as she pushes off from a guarded stance, sweeping away a wild slash and countering with a fluid riposte. For a moment, you could’ve sworn that you saw your friend – blonde hair, firm smile and all – in the flawless execution of the technique. But just as quickly as it comes, the vision fades away, yielding to the sight of the girl in his place drawing first blood.

There is a torrent of gore as Stormguard explodes out of the back of an assassin, lifting him a good foot off the ground with the power of the attack. Blood pours down the bottom of the porcelain mask as the man chokes on his own fluids, shudders uselessly in a futile attempt to escape, and pitifully expires upon blade. His corpse only has a moment to twitch and convulse along the crackling weapon before Jeanne kicks it off without as much as a break in her fluid movement.

“Run!” She hisses, parrying another attack. The assassin steps back quickly, learning from the mistake of his fallen companion, but not quick enough to avoid a scratch along the length of his arm. “There’s a City Watch, right? Get out of here and go find them. I’ll buy some time for your escape-"

Her order is cut short by a curse, and a yelp, as the leader of the group raises his staff and casts a spell at you. It is a familiar spell, one you used to cast yourself before you lost it all. A rudimentary one, even, the basic Chaos Orb of compressed energy. But this one is different. Instead of the tell-tale aura of blue that signifies refined Aether, the spell that files towards you is wreathed in a red, malevolent aura.

It crackles as it races towards you, only to expire in a puff and crackle of spent energy as Stormguard cleaves it down the middle. It harmlessly dissipates into the air with little more than the stench of ozone and sulfur. Your eyes narrow. That is not a quality of the blade that you can recall, even among Antoine's meager notes of its capabilities. Either it had received further enchantments, or the hermit further imbued the weapon with enchantments unknown even to your late friend. It seems that the latter is the more likely-

"I said run!" She shouts, this time pushing for the offense as her words jolt you out of your thoughts. But as she races towards the sorcerer, his minions pull together in a defensive wall, like a red-silver curtain of steel. "There isn't enough time!"

>Draw your sword cane. Crippled and bereft of magic though you are, there’s no way you’ll leave Antoine’s sister to fend for herself. Old habits die hard, and these guys aren’t going down easy.
>Flee to find the City Watch. Jeanne seems to have more than a modicum of her brother’s talent to match the assailants. But you’re still outnumbered, and you need to even the odds in your favor.
>Custom option.

It's good to have you back Kaz, hope you had a nice trip.

>>491057
>>Draw your sword cane. Crippled and bereft of magic though you are, there’s no way you’ll leave Antoine’s sister to fend for herself. Old habits die hard, and these guys aren’t going down easy.

>>491057
>>Draw your sword cane. Crippled and bereft of magic though you are, there’s no way you’ll leave Antoine’s sister to fend for herself. Old habits die hard, and these guys aren’t going down easy.

>Draw your sword cane. Crippled and bereft of magic though you are, there’s no way you’ll leave Antoine’s sister to fend for herself. Old habits die hard, and these guys aren’t going down easy

Can we start screaming for help?

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>>491070
>>491078
>>491095
Logic dictates that you, an invalid cripple, should flee the scene and find help. Or to start shouting your head off for the aid of the city guard, perhaps a passing adventurer maybe. And considering her surprising talent with the blade, the assassins would be hard pressed to chase after you. In the tight confines, they could only efficiently attack in pairs, and their swords were nowhere near as long as Stormguard. With enough booze, you’d be able to rationalize leaving Jeanne behind.

But no. That is not what you choose to do.

You may have just about every good reason not to fight, but there’s no way in hell that you’d leave Antoine’s sister all by herself. Not when she’s one of the last remnants of your old friend.

You stamp down on the thin protrusion at the bottom of your cane, hard enough to pin the wood in place as you grip the handle and twist. The sound of the wooden hilt clicking away from the sheath is the only sound that precedes the sound of steel whistling through the air. A gift from Loran when you’d gotten the guild job, the cane sword was a last resort only to be used in the direst of situations. More often than not, it found its uses in nudging large animals from the evening garbage, or to dissuade back-alley crooks on evening strolls with Erika.

This will be the first time you’ve used it in an actual tussle outside of half-hearted practice. And while the blades of the assassins look wickedly sharp, you have the advantage of a Chevel weapon. Your blade is forged from the strongest kind of steel short of magical enchantment. Durable, lightweight and hiding all sorts of surprises.

Definitely your kind of weapon, especially in your diminished state.

“That isn’t going to happen,” You mutter, wincing as you start to build up into a run. The mechanism keeping your left thigh clamped into the prosthetic creaks and presses against the stump. But the adrenaline coursing through your body does too good of a job of blotting out your pain and lingering remnants of fear as you charge the assassins. “Antoine would haunt my ass if I left you here. And these guys are after me as well. Dunno who they are, but they picked with the wrong cripple. Alright, you masked bastards! Let’s see where your courage to attack a cripple and a lone girl gets you!”

>Choose one:
>Go for the mooks.
>Go for the sorcerer.

I may duck in-and-out of a stupor as jetlag continues to wreak havoc on me.

>>491102
>Go for the sorcerer.
We won't have the stamina or mobility to deal with the mooks and we should know most of the spells he could use.

>>491102
>>Go for the sorcerer.

>>491102
>Go for the sorcerer

>>491102
>Go for the sorcerer

>>491050
Dude, that's a pretty epic story already. How the hell did he make it GRANDER?

>>491102
>Go for the sorcerer.


>>491104
good points

>>491102
>Go for the sorcerer.

How much of our magic do we still have? I know it's piss little given we burned ourselves out, but Kaz did say mages could retain some power. All we need a simple light spell flashing him in the face to throw off his aim before we skewer him.

>>491167
It doesn't sound like MC spent very much effort working on what little power he retained.

>>491170
Yeah I know. Which is why I was asking if even a simple light spell, which most mages cast with ease, was even possible.

Is Kaz kill?

>>491234
look to the twitter, and be enlightened

>>491234
He just woke up

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>>491104
>>491118
>>491126
>>491134
>>491138
>>491167

>Go for the sorcerer

Even before the Thousand Screams, you were never the halest of individuals when it came to physical confrontations. For the most part, you remained in the back of the formation, serving a support role and ranged attacker. Your elements, enchantments and debilitations all had to be cast without as much as the barest of interruptions. And while you were once able to cast spells in the thick of a melee, those opportunities were few and far between.

It’s only basic magic theory, but you still know it after all these wistful, inert years of being unable to cast a spell. Still, there's so many things that can go wrong when performing. Your concentration snaps, and the spell fizzles out, spirals out of control. The somatic movement of the hand signs the incorrect gesture, and the tongue stumbles over a syllable of the magic tongue. So many things that can go wrong, so many things you can exploit to your advantage.

That is what you are counting on as you rush the sorcerer. Just as you were once vulnerable to physical conflict, so too must he be as well. Assuming that’s a ‘he’ under the robes, given the willowy build. But you digress. The leader of these attackers is still a bastard at the end of the day.

For a moment, Jeanne looks indignant, about to say something in rebuttal before cutting herself off. Her eyes flash in understanding at your intended target. Nodding to you, she shouts, bringing Stormguard into an aggressive charge against the three melee combatants. Wide, controlled swings to give the illusion of sloppiness to lure them in, only parrying by the edge of the blade to make them cocky, arrogant and press the advantage against the biggest perceived threat.

By the time they realize the ruse, however, it is too late.

The sorcerer shouts a muffled profanity as you stumble along towards him. His concentration broken, the second series of Chaos Orbs fizzles out of existence as hands reflexively move to block the blade. You pivot on your good leg, gritting your teeth as you spin to the sorcerer’s side. Chevel steel catches the light as it comes about to bear upon the assailant…

>Choose one:
>Lethal. Better to be safe than sorry, especially in this kind of situation.
>Non-lethal. You need answers, and they might have something to share.
>Custom.

>>491268
>Lethal. Better to be safe than sorry, especially in this kind of situation.
Jeanne can worry about non-lethal, we're in no condition for takedowns.

>>491268
>Non-lethal. You need answers, and they might have something to share.

>>491268
>Non-lethal
Maim his hands? Presumably
>The somatic movement of the hand signs the incorrect gesture
doesn't work if you don't have hands.

>>491268
Lethal

>>491268
>Non-lethal. You need answers, and they might have something to share.
Poke him enough to stop him.

>>491268
>Lethal. Better to be safe than sorry, especially in this kind of situation.

>>491268
>>Non-lethal. You need answers, and they might have something to share.

>>491268
>>Non-lethal. You need answers, and they might have something to share
Disarm. Literally.

>>491368
Well that sounds relatively lethal without immediate medical attention, and we're using a cane sword.

Not exactly the arm lopping off weapon.

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>>491276
>>491277
>>491286
>>491309
>>491368
>Nonlethal
There are so many things that you want to know. Why know, after thirteen years of living a slow and mundane life? Who are they, and what’s their connection to Jeanne? And that’s not even counting the questions that you want to ask her when everything’s all done.

It’s admittedly a calculated risk, especially since you’re wide open to an attack from the others if things go up the creek. And, sometimes, knowing the truth isn’t a pleasant feeling. Still, you need to know. That’s just who you are, underneath all the self-loathing and suicidal thoughts. And while dead men, women and monsters can definitely tell their own tales, you’ve always found that the live ones give better answers. Most of the time.

You’re not a fencer, and while you’re ambidextrous, you aren’t strong enough to sever through the arm entirely. Still, you manage to land a solid hit on an exposed wrist as you get yourself into a flanking position. The blade makes a wet noise as it cuts through the tendon, before meeting resistance as it snicks against bone. Blood flies everywhere, on the stone roads and on your uniform, as the sorcerer howls in pain.

He drops the staff, cradling his ruined wrist with the other hand as he backs away from you. You raise the prosthetic foot and bring it down upon the catalyst, relishing the satisfying crack as the wood breaks into two solid pieces. You don’t even give him the opportunity to cry out in anger as you bring the “pommel” of your weapon into the side of his head. Porcelain flies as the sorcerer falls to the ground like a rag doll with its strings cut.

The mooks break away from Jeanne, leaping towards you with surprising speed. She manages to clip one on the leg, causing it to stumble and crash into the ground. But its fellows continue to move on, quickly enough to escape the long reach of Stormguard. Jeanne shouts a warning, desperately trying to sprint and catch up to your attackers as their blades lash out towards you.

By some miracle, the strike meant to put a hole through your throat misses, only grazing your cheek slightly. Relief immediately gives way to searing agony as the flesh on your face begins to melt and bubble. Poisoned blades, coated with acid, you realize, even as they come again for another attack…

>Roll 1d100 Combat
>Best of three

Rolled 8 (1d100)

>>491392
ah well, we're already crippled and maimed. what's another horrifying scar?

Rolled 55 (1d100)

>>491392

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>491392

Rolled 12 (1d100)

>>491392

>>491407
sad when this is the best roll.

>>491410
Better than single digit, I guess.

Hey Kaz if we perform some sort Phoenix ritual would our spark come back? have it rise from the ashes so to speak?

>>491543
...you're close. Very, very close...

Writing...

>>491564
Phoenix feather/troll blood/Dragon heart elixir?

For Renewal, regeneration, and power respectively?

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>>491403
>>491407
>>491408
The assassins cut at you like a cluster of wasps, stinging over and over again with their pointed blades. It’s all you can do to fend them off, parrying blows that would’ve cut deep into internal organs, screaming past the pain as acid begins to eat away at your flesh. Jeanne manages to reach the group, only to be tripped by the killer she herself fell. Stormguard clatters to the side, forgotten and out of reach as the girl tries to grapple out of the hold.

Your streak of good fortune eventually runs out, and reality asserts itself once more. Loran’s blade snaps under the repeated assault, an acrid scent emanating from the bubbling pieces of steel. Whatever coats their blades is strong enough to eat through metal just as it is through flesh. And with barely even a foot of length, it’s only a matter of time before the assassins quit playing with you and finish you off.

Still, there’s…there’s something…not necessarily right, but calming. This is hardly the first time that you’ve stared death in the face. No, it isn’t. But it is the first time you’ve felt this ever since you lost your magic. You don’t miss it, exactly, but…you welcome it back as the blades race towards your body.

It’s a damn shame, though. Dinner with Erika…sorry, but you're gonna have to take a rain check-

“Heads up!”

TWANG! TWANG!

A pair of crossbow bolts whistle down the alleyway, shrieking right past your ears, to embed themselves into the chests of the assassins. They punch through the armor, piercing through flesh and bone with a meaty sound. The impact stops them dead in their attacks, and they stagger back from the sheer force of the impact. Then their forms ripple, and explode as the projectiles detonate within their bodies.

Everything hurts, and your ears are ringing something awful. By the time you manage to blink past the blood in your eyes and scratch at the injuries caused by bone shrapnel, there isn’t much left. There are the bodies, two of them, but save for everything under the solar plexus, a few arms and bloodied, decapitated heads...their entire torsos didn’t much explode as much as liquefied from the blast.

No, actually, they hadn’t completely. Because what feels like a hose sliding down into your shirt definitely has the resemblance to an intestine.

“I swear, every fuckin’ time!” a familiar voice says. You can feel the bones in your neck crack as you violently turn towards the source of the noise. Sauntering in a gait you definitely know that she practices, Kira Viloht tosses you an irreverent salute. “I’m always savin’ your ass with an explosion or two. But this better not become a habit, boss. Those bolts aren’t cheap you know.”

(cont.)

You try to say something, anything really. But all that you manage to do is gape, mouth struggling to form words like a fish out of water. Because out of all the surviving members of Guild Amaranthine, Kira is the last person you’d expect to see. Because of the disappearing act she pulled after the incident.

Thirteen years…she was nineteen when she joined Amaranthine. For thirty two, she didn’t look she changed at all. The same lopsided grin she calls a smile is still plastered onto her face, albeit accompanied by a few scars along her cheek and forehead. And aside from a little more of a prominent jaw and lips, she looks almost the same as she did in the beginning of it all. Like nothing ever changed.

Hell, she even called you by your old nickname. Carlyle was leader. She called him “Cap’n” on account of his arrival into Eteria on a hijacked pirate ship. Ieyador, Amaranthine’s lieutenant. “Teach”, for his endless and instructive nature. For you, third-in-command and leader of Squad Three: “Boss”. Due to your penchant to be snippy whenever it came to hard labor.

Kira frowns. “You look too good. Oh, wait, the acid…shit, I’ve got a neutralizer somewhere here-”

“Miss Kira!” With a resounding CRACK, Jeanne snaps the neck of the last assassin before scrambling to her feet. “Thank you for the rescue. I can’t say-”

“Kid…what did I tell you about going outside without me?”

For the first time since you saw her, Jeanne seems to shrink in onto herself. “…to not to.”

“There we go. But, uh…” She made a show of digging into her ear for imaginary blockage. “You’re out here. With the boss instead of hiding out in the safehouse. Like I told you to. Three hours ago.”

“Miss Kira, I-”

“Disobeyed a direct order. Well, I can’t really scold you since gods knows how often I’ve done that, but still-”

As she continues to scold Jeanne, you take a moment to trail over Kira’s equipment. The crossbow’s the same…no, it isn’t. Magical runes run along the length of the wood, carved into the grain and flashing with arcane power. Her leathers are even darker than her old attire, and she’s sporting more compartments for daggers, lockpicks and throwing knives.

But the sound of voices and footsteps cuts off your train of thought. If your struggle with the assassins caused one hell of a noise, then the explosions probably set the whole city abuzz.

>Hightail it out of the alleyway.
>Stay and wait for the City Watch.

>>491738
>>Hightail it out of the alleyway.

>>491738
>>Stay and wait for the City Watch.
>us being able to run
HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Funny.

where's everyone at?

>>491738
>Hightail it out of the alleyway.


>>491898
If you mean players, Kaz has been taking forever to post. So.. people aren't sticking around. I'm dropping in for a look occasionally.

>>491738
>>Stay and wait for the City Watch.
We ain't goin' anywhere in our present condition

Sorry for the delays, guys. My jetlag's actually worse than I thought. Twelve hour difference and everything.

Gonna take a break to get my head screwed on right. Will resume later.

>>491738
>Stay and wait for the City Watch

>>491738
>Stay and wait for the City Watch.
Gotta file for the proper "Cripple was heroically saved after drunkenly wandering into an alley and picked a fight with some thugs"

While still letting anyone who isn't already in it get a lead.

>>491738
>Stay and wait for the City Watch.

Kaz is dead.

>>491642
>>Stay and wait for the City Watch.

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>Stay and wait for the City Watch

“Oh, hell,” Kira mutters, breaking out of her little talk with Jeanne, scowling at the other end of the alleyway. “The Watch is coming, huh? Then that’s my cue to get out of here.”

You blink. “Wait, you’re leaving? Just…like that?”

She looks at you as if you just asked a particularly stupid question. “Of course. I ain’t staying around just to answer a few questions. ‘sides, I’ve got business to take care of on the other end of town. The urgent kind, life-or-death. Think you can put that impeccable charm of yours to smoothing things over with the law?”

“What are you,” You begin, before cutting yourself off. “Kira, I…”

She smiles. It isn’t one of her crooked ones, but a genuine one of camaraderie. “You haven’t changed a bit, boss. Well, barring the smell of alcohol and blood, but that isn’t anything we can fix. Jeanne,” She directs towards the blonde girl. “Keep him safe. And remember the story we got going for us? Just fall back onto that if they prod around.”

Jeanne nods, albeit uncertainly. “Yes, Miss Kira. But I would think that you need to stay here as well-”

“Keep him safe!” Kira shouts, even as she scampers up the walls and onto one of the rooftops. “Meet us at the safehouse once all your crap is off the table. Got it?”

Without bothering to check for an answer, she disappears as she vaults over the rooftop, vanishing into the light of the afternoon sun. But the two of you aren’t left alone long. Men and women in the uniforms of the Eterian City Watch rush into the alleyway, weapons drawn and at the ready. Even with their helms, you can see that a few of them go green at the gills at the sight of the mutilated bodies.

Their leader directs a glare at you, as if you’re the one to blame. Oh, great. Even without the full helm covering his face, you can tell that Sergeant Bolivar is having one of his moods. You raise your hands in recalcitrance, not even bothering to drop your ruined sword cane as you nudge a decapitated head with the front of your boot.

“They started it.”

>Later

“Mister Varian,” Leroy hesitantly approaches, “Can I get you anything? Water, perhaps?”

You sigh, even as you recline against the chair of the clinic. “That would be nice. But you know what would be better? Booze. Hooch. Don’t give me that look, I know where the Guild keeps their wine. 567 was a good year. Bring the bottle, don’t bother with the glass.”

“That’s not happening,” Bolivar snaps from the seat opposite of you. “Ignore that.”

“Why?” You raise an eyebrow. “I’m done talking with all of you. I gave my damn account of what happened to three separate people, and the girl can provide you with more answers than I can. As far as things are concerned, I’m just an innocent bystander.”

(cont.)

He coughs even as he finishes scratching something onto a clipboard. “No, you aren’t. But the Watch has some lingering…concerns regarding this attack.”

The upholstery of the chair shifts as you lean forward with an inquisitive face. “What kind of concerns, Bolivar?”

“That’s ‘Sergeant’ to you, Engel.”

“Don’t I have a right to know why they attacked me? I even went to the goddamn trouble of making sure one of them was still alive for questioning. You should be singing my praises that I showed restraint instead of spilling blood onto the streets of our immaculate city.”

The sarcasm seems to fly over his head. Pity. “And for that, we are immensely grateful. But their leader is still unconscious. You really gave him a good whack on the head with that cane of yours. Are you sure you’re still an invalid?”

Your hackles rise at the insult, but he holds up a hand. “Peace, Engel. I didn’t mean to offer offense. On the contrary, I offer my highest praises. You charged into the fight even though you had every reason in the book not to go in swinging.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” You snap. “Whenever that bastard wakes up, I want you to let me know. I plan to be there when you question him. This just as much Guild business as it is the City’s. Don’t lock me out of this.”

Bolivar frowns as he sets his clipboard down. “I’ll put in a request, but I can’t make any promises.”

You flash him a self-deprecating grin. “All I need from your end. Honestly, all I need to convince the higher-ups at the Guild is to play the cripple card. Those bastards are still guilty thirteen years after the fact. Shame it doesn’t work well for pay raises or wine.”

“Then we’re done here.” He stands up, metal armor clanking as he stretches. He snaps his fingers, and Leroy stands to attention. “You can let the Guild know that Mister Engel is alright. His acerbic tongue is hale and whole once more.”

Your assistant nods, and scampers out of the clinic after bowing to you politely. Once he disappears, Bolivar motions for you to come closer.

“Between you and me,” He says in a quiet sotto, “I don’t like this. It’s one thing for rivaling guilds to get into the odd scrape in the back alleys. I’m used to that, we all are. But masked men attacking a Guild officer…I smell trouble.”

“Nah, that’s just my cologne.”

Bolivar snorts. “Get out, Engel. Your girlfriend’s been all sorts of worried while we’ve kept you cooped up in here.”

Erika. She’d been distraught at the sight she found you in, splattered from head to toe in blood and no small amount of wounded. And you didn’t have the chance to assure her before the Watch strong-armed you and Jeanne to the barracks for questioning.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” You grunt, rising from the chair. Your tone isn’t quite bitter, but it isn’t neutral either.

(cont.)

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“So you’ve been saying for the last eight years,” He says, before his mirth fades away to a quiet neutral. “But in all seriousness, go get some rest. I’ll try to get you in for the interrogation, but leave the rest of it to us.”

“Thanks. Guess I’ll be seeing you, hopefully soon. You know, it’s quite odd to wish for the swift recovery of a man who tried to blast a hole into you.”

“You’re a saint is what you are, Engel. And if you need an escort-”

“I’ll be fine. Besides, I already know that you’ve doubled the patrol.”

>Outside the Barracks
>7:48 PM

Koyash has already set behind the statue of the Adventurer when you walk out of the clinic, casting a humanoid shadow along the Southern ward of Eteria. Lamplighters begin to make their rounds, moving from post to post in a race against the coming twilight. The day’s merchants have gone to ground, making way for those who make their business in the night.

All-day peddlers of potions, tonics and ointments, making brisk coin for Guilds who explore in the night. Lingering adventurers who stand by the questboards, mucking around for work to be available. Ladies of the night, who hang out of windows and alleyways, calling to passing men and women dressed in clothes that accentuated more than concealed.
Eteria. The city that never sleeps.

“Varian!” Erkia breaks out of her pacing, sprinting up towards you. Before you can even blink, she flings her arms round you in a tight embrace. “Thank the gods you’re alright. I was so worried when they took you away…your cheek!”

In spite of yourself, you smile, raising your hand to scratch against the faded wound as she steps away. “It’s nothing that a good balm wouldn’t be able to fix. ‘sides, I think this was a positive net gain after all. Got myself a nice, manly scar and Loran’s going to flip his lid. First time I’ve ever broken one of his weapons. With legitimate excuse.”

“I don’t understand the animosity between you two.” Her tone is lightly scolding, but her face still has her smile to it. “Why can’t you two get along like most people?”

“Because we aren’t like most people,” You counter, waving your only arm in the direction of the surrounding area. “I’m an alcoholic ex-adventurer missing a few limbs. He’s a no-nonsense blacksmith who can’t cook for shit. It’s only inevitable that we exchange biting words.”

“Yet for all your insults, you still maintain a healthy relationship.”

“Because it’s the only way we can communicate. It’s our understanding of each other better than any other person.”

“Well, that’s good.” She smiles. “Because I invited him and Angelica to dinner tonight. To celebrate your safety”

“R-really?” You say, straining to match her smile. Oh gods dammit. With his eyes on all your actions, it’d be impossible to sneak a drink. “That’s great. I haven’t seen them in the longest time-”

“Mister Varian!”

(cont.)

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Jeanne Montfort comes sprinting from the interior of the clinic, relief palpable on her face as she approaches you. You notice that Stormguard is strapped to her back once more, this time without the burlap concealing Antonie’s iconic blade. “Oh, good,” She breathes, “You’re still here. LIsten, Kira said that we need to head off to meet her once we’re done. We need to go now-”

“Excuse me? I don’t believe that we’ve been introduced.”

The thing that Erika shares with Angelica is her ability to smile even though her words are far from pleasant. Maybe it’s a woman thing only. No amount of years studying in the Tower of Sorcery in Solast or the Grand Library of Eteria could prove such a correlation.

“Mister Varian?” Jeanne looks at you with a look of barely-concealed scruitiny. “Who is woman? An associate of yours?”

“Don’t call me mister,” You snap. “Makes me feel older than I am. But…that’s right, you haven’t been introduced. Um…this is Erika Stroud, my good friend and coworker at the Explorer’s Guild. Erika, this is Jeanne Montfort.” You pause to wave a hand in the direction of the girl. “She’s the sister of one of my…guildmates. A late one.”

Erika’s look shifts from annoyance to sympathy. “Oh, Varian, I’m so sorry…”

You wave off her concern. “It’s…fine. Really. Antoine wouldn’t want me moping around in the wake of his death. If anything, it’s his country’s tradition to celebrate the lives of their dearly departed instead of moping around. So, I’m going to need some good wine tonight, and I don’t give a fuck what Loran says.”

Her smile is wan, but comforting. “I’m sure I can find something-”

“Mister Varian,” Jeanne cuts in, “We need to go. They’re going to be waiting...”

“I’m sorry…Jeanne? Is that the right way to pronounce it?” Erika offers a tight smile towards the girl. “I’m afraid that Varian has a prior engagement. Isn’t that right?”

“Uh…yeah,” You scratch the back of your head. “Dinner plans. Really good dinner, mind you. But…”

“Just call me Jeanne.” She says, leaping at your hesitancy. “It’s fine. I’m not really one for any sort of preamble. But, we really need to go-”

“I’m sure that it can wait in the morning,” Your friend cuts in. “Doubtless, it’s important, but Varian’s only just gotten healed. He needs rest and decompression, not any more stress after today’s events.”

"I respectfully disagree..."

The two women lock gazes, Jeanne’s gold staring up into Erika’s blue from an almost entire head of height difference. There’s no way to measure it, but you can feel the air where their glares are meeting becoming charged with a restrained hostility.

Somewhere, somehow, you get the feeling that someone's laughing at you.

>Go with Erika.
>Go with Jeanne.

Oh yeah. Forgot to mention: This quest also takes cues from "Catherine."

>>494186
well goddamnit, what a fine time to mention it.

>>494185
>>Go with Erika.
yes, the eldritch horrors are serious business. Yes, that Kira is in on it means that we should totally be all over things.

But we're short a weapon and we're also the only Guild contact they have, and we can't shrug that off. The less noise we stir when we inevitably quit, the safer it'll be for what Engel's friends and the easier it'll be to tap them for help discreetly.

>>494185
>Go with Erika.

>>494185
>>Go with Erika.

>>494185
>>Go with Erika.
>I'm tired, I'm hurt, I have literally no weapon. Whatever is going on, I am going to be useless tonight anyways.

File: Erika Exhasperated.jpg (241 KB, 620x886)

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“Look, kid.” Jeanne bristles at the name, but you continue before she can get up into a huff. “I’m sure that whatever Kira wants to tell me is important. But right now, I’ve had enough of today. I’m tired, hurt, bereft of a proper weapon, and really, really hungry. I already had a bad morning, downright terrible afternoon, and I just want it to end on a positive note. Whatever she wants to tell me can wait in the morning when I’m all nice, rested and ready to deal with more crap.”

>Erika approves.
>Jeanne disapproves.

She hesitates, about to say something before backing down. “This is…not ideal, but…I will let Miss Kira know about your…delay.”

At her displeased expression, you sigh. “The Guild gave me the day off tomorrow. And knowing Kira, she’s already found out where I live. I’ll have all the time in the world for you then. Because as far as things go, I’m a little more useless than usual. Alright?”

“Very well. Then…good night, I guess.”

Jeanne politely bows towards you, hesitating only for a moment before she gives Erika a curt nod. Then, she walks off, only looking back once at the two of you before disappearing into the crowded streets. You track the hilt of Stormguard as it bobs up and down with every step she takes just before it vanishes along with its inheritor.

“Ow…” Erika’s elbow retracts itself from your ribs as you give her a pointed look. “The hell was that for?”

She exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose in consternation. “Stop it. You’re not useless.”

Your laughter is a harsh bark. “Tell that to Guild Angelus. They seem quite eager to say otherwise.”

A low growl exits from the bottom of Erika’s throat. “Are they harassing you again?”

“Nah. They’re still resentful that I didn’t become their advisor. A fact that Janat uses to return often just to berate me. Not that she hasn’t done so in the last couple of days. Almost miss the heated exchange of words. At least I don’t feel bad calling them names as I do with Loran.”

“We can put sanctions on them,” she points out, brows creased in a frown. “Harassment and disorderly conduct with Officers of the Guild.”

“But that’d just give them the satisfaction. And the illusion that they’re getting to me. Which they aren’t,” You assure her as the two of you begin walking. Bereft of the whole length of the blade, the balance of your cane is off. You stumble, only for Erika to catch you at the last second. “Thanks.”

But she doesn’t let go of your arm, even as you try to pull it away. “You can’t walk properly without the cane. Our apartments aren’t far away. I don't mind supporting you until then.”

You give her a look. “Not far away. Our apartments are in the central ward, Erika. That’s at least a good dozen blocks. Seriously, I’m fine. Just an unlucky stumble is all-”

(cont.)

File: Loran Chevell.jpg (37 KB, 396x426)

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She shakes her head, pulling you in closer as you continue walking. It’s no brisk pace, but with her support, you’d definitely make the trip quicker than you would without her aid. “Varian…you really need to learn that it’s alright to lean on other people if you need to.”

You hold your silence as the two of you head down the streets. Koyash has completely set, and the only traces of the sun are watercolor splotches of gold across the twilight sky. In the dim lighting of the Western Ward, the two of you could easily be mistaken for a couple. “…even if I literally have to?”

Erika smiles. “Especially if you literally have to.”

>Erika’s Appartment, Eterian Central Ward
>8:43 PM

“What the hell have you done to my gift?!” Loran shouts as he holds the ruined metal in his hands. The blacksmith forgoes his usual tirade of insults and wordplay as stares at the break where the acid ate through the metal. “This wasn’t meant to be taken into the Dungeon, Engel!”

“And I didn’t go in,” You snap, wincing as you press a salve to your face. “Blame those bastards that tried to stick me in the alleyway. Their weapons had acid on them.”

He curses. “Acid. Of course. Then how the hell did it eat through your sword but not through their own?”

“Do I look like a chemist to you, Chevel? I don’t know. Their blades looked like ordinary steel. Damn things were serrated though. Like an oversized kitchen knife.”

Loran muses upon this information. “Think you can let me examine one of their weapons? Acid-resistant steel…”

You shake your head. “I’ll try, but that won’t be likely. Besides, I’m currently off-duty on hazard time. Can’t get into the compound while I ‘recover’ from my ordel.”

“Well that’s a damn shame…” He mutters, giving the ruined cane an inquisitive gesture. With a grunt, he puts it back onto the table and wipes his hands on his tunic. “The blade’s completely ruined. Only good for melting down at this point. Handle and locking mechanism seem to be fine.”

“What’re you trying to tell me?”

“I’ll fix it for you. Free of charge since you had good reason for it to be broken. Angelica’s gotten a little stronger with her magic since I made the damn thing for you way back when. Might even be able to smack a few enchantments onto the blade.”

You blink. “The last time I saw her trying to cast a spell, the Chaos Orb blew up in her face.”

“Well,” Loran sighs, “She’s better at enchantin’ than anything else. And I’m quite thankful, because the last thing my darling wife needs is the ability to blast me with magic.” He scowls at the whipping gesture that you make. “Watch it, Engel. So barring the obvious strengthening magic, what else do you want on it?”

>Choose one:
>Guarding, the better to protect you.
>Jamming, to disrupt magical spells.
>Seeking, the better to strike at the enemy.
>Returning, to come back to your side.

>friends killed and in mortal danger, need my help for some reason
>fuck that its dinner with the waifu

>>494300
>Jamming, to disrupt magical spells.

If I can't magic neither can you.

>>494300
>Jamming, to disrupt magical spells.

>>494300
>>Jamming, to disrupt magical spells.


>>494302
If they wanted to tell us they would have said so, or stuck around. Besides the fuck are we going to do? Break our other leg at them?

>>494289
>>Jamming, to disrupt magical spells.

>>494310
They weren't sticking around because Kira isn't on good terms with the law.

The kid is probably not the best one to start explaining intricate plots.

Further they're not idiots. They didn't approach us for our martial skill.

>>494345
Then they ought to realize we're half dead, feeling like shit and keeping our Guild contacts cultivated. Either they want us for our brain, which is NO shape for this right now, to train them up a new mage, which is going to be a kick in the nuts we're not ready for, or for our Guild contacts, which means we need to attend this dinner. This is more important for the long term. Besides if Kira wanted too she could have found us as soon as we got away from the watch.

>>494346
I'm hoping your right with the, "Clear your plate," statement she gave us.

My fear is that we're going to get jumped while at dinner and or someone is stalking us and going to put everyone we meet there on a list.

>>494348
If that was the case everyone was at risk anyways. Unless they were total morons they've been shadowing us for weeks before they tried to take us out. By virtue of being Antoine's and Kira's old guild mate and thus ally and threat to them if naught else.

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“Jamming,” You immediately say. “If she’s powerful enough to create a permanent strengthening enchantment, then she should be able to put down a strong enough abjuration charm as well.”

Loran raises an eyebrow. “Jamming. What the hell do you need jamming for? If I were you, I’d be going for a more defensive-oriented magic given your current…disposition.”

You scowl. “I’m not made of glass. Tripping around the issue only pisses me off more than anything.”

“Then I’ll give it to you straight: you’re at a severe disadvantage with your bum leg and missing arm. And as far as I know, you haven’t gone down to the Dungeon for thirteen years. Where I’d expect someone to be going with a Jamming weapon given the monsters that’re down there. You work behind a desk, for gods’ sakes.”

“And your point?” You return.

“The odds of you getting into a tussle with a spell-slinger are rare enough here. Barring this afternoon, of course,” He quickly adds at your glowering look. “You’re more likely to get attacked by some thug out for your coinpurse or an irate adventurer in the Explorer’s Guild. Look, I’m just not seeing the logic.”

You cast a look towards the stump of your right arm. “If I can’t do magic, then neither can they. It’s honestly as simple as that.”

There’s a pregnant moment of silence as your words reverberate around Erika’s sitting room. Loran eventually breaks it, after a cough to clear both his throat and the awkward air around you. “…fair enough. Leave the cane with me. We’ll have it ready for you in two days.”

In spite of yourself, you give him a smile and extend your left hand. “Thanks, Loran.”

He scoffs as he crushes your hand in a firm grip. “Don’t be getting all mushy on me, Varian. It isn’t manly at all.”

“So is being a hen-pecked husband.”

“Stuff it.”

>Later

Dinner is a lively affair, and Loran doesn’t even give you as much as the stink eye when Erika brings out the wine. Good for him, because you’d fight with word and hand to get a little buzzed after today’s events. And Angelica is as lively as ever, even with their first child on the way. Politely abstaining from the alcohol, she still provides a welcome contrast to her husband’s dour attitude.

Erika and Angelica had gone all out in the kitchen. Seared tuna from the docks, seasoned with herbs and spices from the countryside. Stroud Stew, a family recipe of chicken stock, vegetables, and twenty herbs and spices. And hot cherry pie to top it all off, with preservatives straight from the countryside of Eteria.It’s all enough to bring a tear to a man’s eye. One that falls down Loran’s face the instant the first bite of desert touches his tongue.

“Vesmana is moving,” Angelica says, comfortably nestling into a couch and her husband’s side. “Word from my friends says that the Empire is up to something.”

(cont.)

File: Heraldry of the Vesmana Empire.jpg (39 KB, 570x487)

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You exhale as you mull over the wine. Calais wine, a little weaker than the Eterian Red you’re used to drinking, but the sweetness offers a nice counterbalance. You offer a toast to Antoine before downing the drink in a single gulp. “Aren’t they always? Twitchy bastards, the lot of them. It’s only been a couple of years since the last war with the hordes of the Inalchi, but they’re still geared for war.”

“Who can blame them?” Erika shrugs as she sits beside you. “Eteria even contributed to the war effort with the surrounding kingdoms when things got bad enough. For all their savagery and absence of intellect, the brutes came perilously close to sacking the Imperial capital.”

Loran grunts. “They’re all rattled. That Imperial merchant that I trade with, you know the one? Told me himself that the People’s Senate is in closed session nowadays. And Emperor Tiberius Arlmane is in talks with the principalities. Fortifications are being repaired, weapons churning out of Imperial factories. Something’s definitely going on.”

“Maybe they’re finally going to make a counter-attack,” You suggest. “Take the fight to the Inalchi. Assuming they can cross the Khanic mountains, that is.”

“They would have to either drill a hole through the bedrock or blow it up completely,” Angelica muses. “I can’t imagine the logistical nightmare of taking almost three hundred thousand men across impossible terrain.”

“The Inalchi made it work for them. Don’t see why the Empire can’t.”
Loran takes a small sip of the wine. “That would imply that the Empire would traverse the extensive network of caves underneath the mountain. Those tunnels go on for miles and miles, and that’s not even mentioning the monsters that dwell under there.”

“They aren’t dungeon-spawned, are they?” Erika asks, casting a worried look towards the blacksmith.

You shake your head. “No, they aren’t. They’re Descendants. Shouldn’t be too hard to clean up for good as long as they’ve got the funds and manpower. Even put a request for the adventurers.”

“Imperial Pride dictates that they would rather have the Senators walk in the streets in their smallclothes and ask Eteria for help.” Angelica shifts in her seat. “There’s still lingering resentment over the Founding War.”

“That was five hundred years ago.”

“And no one holds grudges better than a Vesmanin.” Erika recalls an old aphorism.

The Vesmana Empire, superpower of the continent and master of almost a dozen conquered lands. They had been the one to suffer the most when the monsters first attacked, loosing almost half of their territory in the years to come. Even with four hundred years of recovery after the Great War, they never reclaimed their prior prestige or power.

(cont.)

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They had seethed over the establishment of Eteria, to the point where they led a force to conquer the city-state and claim the Dungeon and all its resources for themselves. That had turned out disastrous, with the surrounding seats of power repelling the Empire in Eteria’s defense. Since then, they remained on neutral, if not pleasant, terms with the city-state and its adventurers.

If anything, business with them is brisk and profitable, as they paid through the nose to acquire resources and monster parts than any other country. A lingering tenant of the Treaty of Recour.

“Then they better learn to swallow their pride,” Loran grunts, standing up to help Angelica onto her feet. “Or learn to bury the hatchet. Mark my words. If they keep this up, the Empire will soon be on its dying legs.”

Angelica bows politely to Erika. “Thank you very much for the meal. We need to do this more often.”

“As do I.” You smile as you follow them to the door. “Let’s just hope that my involvement doesn’t put my life in danger. Again.”

Once the Chevells depart, the sole occupants in the apartment are you and Erika. In comfortable silence, the two of you begin to clean up, washing dishes and putting away tablecloths to be cleaned. Amid the clacking of wooden plates and the sound of running water, you find yourself at peace in the monotony of the task.

You finish with little ceremony, drying your hands on a nearby towel before Erika approaches you. “You’re not planning on going back to your apartment, are you?”

“…yes, I am,” You slowly intone. “Why the question?”

“It isn’t safe for you to be alone tonight,” She explains. “Varian, someone just tried to kill you.”

You snort. “Yeah, and Bolivar’s increased the patrols around Central Ward. And knowing him, he’s put a few guards around our block without telling me. We should be fine.”

She purses her lips. “Maybe…but I’m not convinced.”

You squint at her. “And what would it take to convince you of my safety?”

Erika hesitates only for a moment, before steeling herself and answering: “To spend the night with me.”

If you had any liquids in your mouth, you’d spit them out to comical effect. As it is, you stumble on one of the steps, gaping at your friend with a dumfounded expression.

She smiles, gently poking your head with the top of her finger. “Not like that. Two people are easier to protect in one place than in two. I’ve got the guest room set up and ready. No windows, and the doors are bolted shut.”

It takes a few moments for you to blink before finding the words to respond. “…thanks, but…I’m fine. Really.”

“Varian…” She gives you the look. This time, unaccompanied by a smile. She’s quite serious about this, just as much as she would be for Guild work. “I…I’m afraid I have to insist.”

>Stay the night with Erika. It’s for safety purposes only.
>Go back to your apartment. She’s being paranoid.

>>494405
>>Go back to your apartment. She’s being paranoid.

>>494405
>Go back to your apartment. She’s being paranoid.
I got a bad feel about this scoob

>inb4 Erika is an enemy.

>>494405
>Go back to your apartment. She’s being paranoid.

>>494408
Reah, me too.

Geez, why are you guys so suspicious. It's nothing more than a platonic offer of safety and security.

Writing...

>>494475
You brought in Catherine, Darkest Dungeon and Call of Cthulhu as influences for this quest. You saying we should NOT be paranoid?

>>494475
I was fine with Erika before you said Catherine, now I'm paranoid.

File: Erika Concerned.jpg (129 KB, 480x480)

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You smile ruefully and return her poke with one of your own. “And I’m afraid that you’re being paranoid. If someone’s going to attack me, then I’ll make sure to make enough noise for you to hear it. The walls are thin enough for that, aren’t they? And our bedrooms are right next to each other. I’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t even crack a smile at your joke. “Varian…if this has anything to do with your bad mood earlier today…”

Exhaling, you place a comforting hand…well, your only hand, onto her shoulder. “That isn’t it. Just one of my usual melancholic airs. I’m no more suicidal than I am every day of my life. Which isn’t saying much, true, but I’m not about to give up the ghost just yet.”

Erika remains unconvinced, but she eventually relents. “…my offer still stands,” She says, gesturing with her head towards the back of her apartment. “If you ever need to spend the night, don’t be afraid to ask.”

That could be taken in so many different ways, most of them inappropriate. But you decide to go with the platonic option. “Thanks. Much appreciated. Good night, Erika.”

“Good night, Varian.”

With that, you exit from her apartment, shutting the door gently as you begin the walk towards your share of the building. It’s only a ten second pace towards the front of your door, and you try not to pay too much attention to the guards standing still at both ends of the street. Shaking your head at the paranoia of your friends, you pull out the key to your door and head into your apartment.

It’s nothing much, a modest flat with a kitchen, living room, and two beds. The only sort of decorations that hang from the walls are those of random assorted objects. Paintings looted from the Sunken City, strange rocks taken from the Crystal Forests. And on the mantle, a commissioned painting of all the members of Guild Amarnathine.

You start as you realize that you’re not the only one in the building. Kira admires the painting of your guildmates with a critical eye and a wistful air about her. Noticing you, she turns around, shooting you a cheerful wave as she plops down onto a sofa. Her crossbow lies on the table, rattling slightly as she kicks her feet up onto the lacquered wood.

“Boss, I can’t believe it,” Kira grins from where she’s sitting. “That poor girl next door? She really, really, really wants to fuck you, and you turned her down. For shame.”

There’s almost a thousand questions that are running through your head, but they all yield the right of way to a more pressing issue. You shoot her the dirtiest look you can muster. “Don’t be crass,” You snap. “She would never have any sort of unbecoming desires towards me.”

She stares at you with that incredulous look again before shrugging. “Whatever puts you to bed, boss. Whatever puts you at peace...”

(cont.)

>>494512
Hi Kira, Stop being a bitch.

>>494545
I don't think she's a bitch, I think she's just blunt.

>>494569
You say that like there's a significant difference

>>494512
“Speaking of going to bed, I was just about to do that when I found you in my living room. How the hell did you get into my house?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets, and a cunning rogue never reveals her tricks. And if we’re being technical, this is an apartment. Not a full house proper.”

For a moment, you want to correct her, and slip back into the pleasant reverie of the wordplay you once shared. But you can’t. There’s a reason why you never expected to see her again.

“I don’t believe this,” You whisper. “I don’t fucking believe this…”

Kira tilts her head. “Believe what, boss?”

“Don’t call me that,” You snarl. “Just…stop it. Stop talking. Right now.”

Genuine recalcitrance appears on her face. “Oh, look, I was just…just japing with you. I didn’t mean to offend-”

And like that, your temper that’s remained unflappable for the last couple of years…just shatters.

“Where the hell have you been?” You demand, the words flowing out of you like water through a broken dam. “Thirteen years, you just…vanished! At least Ieyador and Antoine had the decency to make sure I was alright before they went back to their families. No, not if I was alright. Just to make sure I didn’t try to kill myself in the two months. You can’t just expect me to welcome you with open arms after you just…left me to stew and wallow in my own self-pity without as much as a goodbye!”

Understanding dawns in her eyes, with no small amount of remorse. “Boss, I-”

“I told you not to call me that!” You roar. “Guild Amaranthine is dead, it’s members either in unmarked graves, or scattered to the winds. I’m no longer your boss, haven’t been in command of anything ever since I lost my magic and became a gods-damned cripple!”

“Varian, I’m-”

“Get out of my house.” You growl, slowly advancing towards her. “Get out before I do something that I may or may not regret in the morning.”

Kira’s eyes harden. “Really? What are you going to do? Beat me over the head with your prosthetic leg? Your cane is broken, you don’t have any magic, and I really don’t see any other options that you’ve got.”

That does it. You hiss venomously. “I don’t regret saving Ieyador or Antoine. Hell, even the Guild reps and the civilians. No, I only regret saving you, you heartless, capricious bitch.”

She recoils as if you had just slapped her. No, the way she blanches is even more violent than if you had actually hit her. Kira’s mouth moves as if to say something, but nothing comes out save for incoherent words. The breath that comes out of her throat is ragged, uneven. And to your surprise, not that you’re showing it past the fury that’s on you like a halo, you can see tears welling up in the corner of her eyes.

>Apologize to her.
>Berate her some more.

>>494637
>Apologize to her.

The wizard you used to poke with a stick is now a depressed cripple with serious issues.

>>494637
>Just go, leave a broken man to himself. It's one of the many tricks you're good at.

>>494637
>Apologize to her.
Haha, time for booze

For the record Kaz this is some good shit. I actually enjoy this more than Task force and Blade bound.

>>494662
I wonder if an apology will work though. I mean he clearly needed to vent/ has a lot of issues with her taking off.

But from the way she's reacting it seems like she was ignoring the cripple in the room and just wanted to pretend it was all fine.

>>494637
>>Apologize to her.

>>494650
>That response
Jesus Christ, that's pretty cold. Even for me. Good job.

>>494668
Thanks. And to a certain extent, I am having a little more fun with this than with my others since it's a nice break from the usual stuff we do. But the big one for me is the change in writing style and descriptive prose. It's fun to write from Varian's perspective, although being him is suffering.

Writing...

>>494781
>Good job.
thank ya

>>494650
Jesus. Anon are you trying to cause a suicide?

>>494887
She survived the screamer, if she's strong enough for that, she can take a dose of brutal honesty and rejection, rather than dragging a broken and mostly useless cripple into a plot that has already gotten Antoine killed.

In an instant, the full weight of what you’ve said to her hits you like a punch to the gut. “Oh gods…Kira, I…I didn’t…” You fumble around for an apology to match the gravity of the words. Nothing comes to mind. “I’m…I’m sorry…” Is all you can muster, and even that comes off as a paltry attempt to make amends.

>Kira approves

Kira stands there, taking a moment to run her sleeve along the corner of her eyes before responding. “No…no, it’s…that’s fine. I get, Varian. You’re angry…and…fuck,” She sighs, putting her face into her hands with a tired sigh. “I guess I was being a shit on my end, too. Was just so…relieved to see you again that I thought nothing had changed. I’m an idiot.

“And besides,” She adds, sitting back up. “It’s not the first time I’ve been called hurtful names by people really close to me. But it gets easier over the years, you know…like practicing a musical instrument, learning to ride a horse…”

She shakes her head. “And, bo...no, Varian,” She corrects herself. “Varian, I’m really sorry about what I said. About your friend next door.”

The laughter to come out of your throat is mirthless and devoid of any amusement. “It’s not it’s anything that I wish for on lonely nights without any booze to keep me company. But…yeah, thanks. I appreciate it.”

The smile on her face is wan, hesitant and uncertain. “Maybe I shouldn’t be here. Emotions are running high, we’re both kind of a mess right now…I mean…gods, what the fuck is wrong with us?”

“We survived an eldritch abomination that killed the majority of our friend,” you note dryly as you take a seat opposite of her. “It’s only natural that we’d be all torn up. Wanting to forget about everything that’s happened…just waiting to explode…well, I do feel a little better after my…ah…tirade. Really needed to get that off my chest.”

“Yeah…you more than me. You’ve always kept your emotions bottled up, Varian. It’s not healthy for you.”

“Probably,” You admit, “But it’s just the way I am. Wouldn’t be Varian Engel without it.” You pause, considering the hidden stash of Eterian Red you’ve got behind a painting of the Dungeon. “Do you want some wine? I remember that you had a preference for beer, but the stuff I drink can knock a lesser man flat.”

Kira’s smile becomes less hesitant. “You know, I think I’d like that. I haven’t had a Eridian Red for the longest time…but first, if you want me to stay, then you should take your chances to ask some questions. You know I get really incoherent when I’m sloshed. Just two, though. Because I really, really need a stiff drink.”

You nod. “Fair enough.”

“Then ask away.”

>Choose two:
>“Where have you been for the last thirteen years?”
>“What’s your connection with Jeanne?”
>“Who are those people that attacked us?”
>[Custom question].

>>494966
>>“Where have you been for the last thirteen years?”
>“Who are those people that attacked us?”

>>494966
>“Where have you been for the last thirteen years?”
>“Who are those people that attacked us?”

>>494966
>>“Where have you been for the last thirteen years?”
>“Who are those people that attacked us?”

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First thing’s first. As much as the question of what she’s been up to burns a hole into your pocket, you still have enough of a level head to focus on the more important question. “Who are those people? The ones that ambushed me and Jeanne in the alleyway?”

Kira grimaces. “Individually. I got no idea who they are. But I can tell you what they are, or rather, the cause that they rally behind.”

She pauses, shuddering as she draws a deep breath of air. “They call themselves the Cultists of the Shattered Sun. And the objects of their worship…well, if what I read in that book was correct, the gods of their faith are removed from space and time. They’re not of our world, don’t adhere to the laws of reality. And they have a nasty penchant for distorting the minds of those who come too close to them.”

A chill goes down your spine as the face of the Thousand Screams rears up in the back of your mind. Judging from the unnerved look on Kira’s face, it looks like the two of you reached the same thought.

“Wait,” You say, cutting her off before she can continue. “You said…’gods’...implying that there’s more than one of them.”

“That’s right. That thing you buried with almost ten tons of rock? Apparently, it’s one among dozens of creatures. Still, you managed to kill it. At great cost, but you killed it nonetheless. And I don’t know how news of your feat got out from the gag order, but they must’ve found out. Needless to say, they were probably after revenge for slaying one of their god.”

“Gods…huh?” You can’t help but laugh. “So that makes me a godslayer, then?”

“Don’t go advertising it.” She counters. “Because once they find out their initial force failed, it’s only a matter of time before they send some more. That much, I can guarantee you. And I only know that from taking the knife to one of them that I kept alive in my travels. Yeah, they came for me also. And not necessarily a high-ranking one. Their leader committed suicide before I could get him.”

The sorcerer. “The City watch is holding one of their leaders…”

Her eyes brighten. “Maybe we’ll get some answers, then. Providing you give me access to him…” Her hand strays towards the wicked knife sheathed in her boot. “I’ll make him squeal like a Vesmana choir boy.”

And you have little doubt that she wouldn’t live up to that promise. “Shattered Sun…” You muse. “It definitely has to be related to the Dungeon. Remember the history? The Eclipse was the herald of its arrival. And the only time one of those abominations came out was when the Guild penetrated too deeply into the earth. They come from the darkest depths of the dungeon…”

“But the cult is based on the surface,” Kira mutters. “Or at least, it has followers here. Eteria is a holy land for them, but they don’t dare make ‘pilgrimage’ if they can’t help it. Obviously, you were the change for the norm.”

(cont.)

>>495169
Wow we killed an estimated elder God. Now give us back or Magic Kaz, we have GOO s to hunt.

Kaz dead?

>>495587
Kaz appears kill.

>>495611
Samarecarm

>>495630
wrong quest =/

>>495946
Megidoladyne

>>495969
Lucifer, Stop shitposting on 4chan about your love for Adrian's dick. Go be useful and find Kaz.

Jetlag again. Sorry folks.

Writing...

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Your intuition, even without use for almost the better half of six years, churns to life once more as it begins to process the information you’ve just received. Shattered Sun. Gods. Eclipse. Dungeon. Holy Land. A whirlwind of possibilities and permutations appears in your mind. Theories and hypothesis come to life, evaluated, and discarded even in the brief silence that you and Kira experience

But you thrust those aside, putting them to the back of your mind as you ask your second question. “We can talk more about them in detail. I just wanted the basics for our assailants. But I’d like to pose the next inquiry.”

She nods. “Go ahead.”

“Where have you been for the last thirteen years?”

At that, she pauses, grimacing momentarily before interlocking her fingers together in a pensive stance. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

She glances at the cabinet of wine glasses. “…I’ll give you a condensed version. So…where do I begin? The day after we got out of the tunnel. I couldn’t bear to face you, so…I just ran. Withdrew my share of coin from the bank and hightailed it out of Eteria. Looking back on it only makes me feel like an idiot. But that’s all I could honestly do. I felt so…guilty at the fact that you sacrificed your magic to save our lives.”

You shrug. “Antoine and Ieyador felt the same way. Matter of fact, I think Ieyador had it worse than you did. Never would stop apologizing, fretting over me, generally hovering by my bedside like I was made of porcelain. With good reason, considering he’s the one who stopped me from killing myself the first time.”

She frowns. “I get that you were suicidal, and I think you still might be, but…other adventurers seem to be able to retire…peacefully. Why haven’t you been able to do that?”

A question you haven’t been asked in the longest time. You shift in your seat, pinching the bridge of your nose as you sigh. “I mean no offense, but you experience things…differently if you have the Spark. Mages are different from regular humans in how we experience the world. We are more sensitive, our mundane senses and everyday experiences enhanced with our connection to the energies of magic. Even untrained novices and acolytes can feel the energy of the Aether, surrounding them and suffusing them with power and life. It becomes even more profound when you master magic. At the peak of my power, I was able to detect magic without as much as needing the most basic of detection spells, and all of my senses were elevated beyond that of a normal human’s.

“Which is why when I woke up…I panicked. Gods, you should’ve seen it. Despair for all the ages, to rival the greatest of tragedies. You don’t know what it’s like, to desperately reach for the sensory experiences you once had, only for it to slip out of your grasp, unable to feel the energies of magic coursing through you. My amputations run deeper than lost limbs.”

(cont.)

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Kira takes a moment to ingest your little tirade. “So it isn’t only a thing in your mind, or solely the loss of your ability to cast spells. You’re living life as if a muffler’s been wrapped around you.”

“A crude metaphor, but an apt one nonetheless,” You grunt. “My food doesn’t taste as good as it used to, and the gentlest of ballads sound as if I listen while submerged in water. I feel no pleasure when Erika cuts my hair, or offers a comforting hand on the worst of days. And my sense of smell is almost gone, only reacting to the strongest of odors. It’s why I drink, honestly. The alcohol does a fantastic job of temporarily restoring the sensory experiences I once had.”

Her eyes narrow. “I’m calling bullshit. You drink just because you’re all depressed.”

You shrug. “Well, there is that too. But we’re not focusing on me at the moment. You’re still supposed to give me a brief account of your time while away. You were at the guilt before we veered off into my third amputation.”

She winces at that. “Right. Well…I hightailed it out of Eteria, I didn’t really know where to go. Just…spent a year wandering around. Calais, Esparza, even the distant lands beyond the Continent. Traveled the world on my coin, trying to find ways to spend my share of the gold. I couldn’t though. Even paying for a single night at a roadside inn made me feel like shit. I spent a good deal of it with my nose in a bottle as well, but it didn’t diminish my industry. My underworld contacts still supplied me with jobs from time to time.

“And then it hit me, one spring morning.” She pauses, looking at you with an unreadable expression. “My course suddenly became clear. I pushed the three tavern wenches out of my bed without as much as a word and made up my mind. I bought passage back to the Continent…promise me you won’t laugh.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’ll try.”

Kira smiles uncertainly. “I…traveled to all the Towers of Sorcery. Offered my services to the Journeymen and Masters as whatever they wanted. Bodyguard, enforcer, even had a brief stint as a test subject for magical enhancements. And I did serve as the occasional bed warmer for no small amount of sorceresses. You know how the Captain said I was good at picking locks, you know, magic fingers and all that?” She pauses, waggling her fingers in an inappropriate gesture. “Let’s just say that the locks I picked in my time with the mages weren’t just ones made of metal.”

You snort, trying to hide your amusement by burying your face into the crook of your elbow. That fails to spectacular effect, and a howl of unrestrained laughter erupts from your throat. Even in the dim lighting, you can see a light tinge of red dust Kira’s cheeks. “Oh my gods…” You say, wiping tears from the corner of your eyes. “That is so unbelievably lewd, inappropriate, and completely you. Thanks, Kira. I really needed that laugh...”

(cont.)

>>496384
But if she's gay she can't be my waifu!

Is she bi?

Still waiting for other shoe to drop in her story.

>>496439
She was obviously looking for a way to get our magic back for us, and failed utterly.

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>>496384
In spite of her mortification, she sports a triumphant look on her face. “Laughter suits you better than just moping around. Well worth the embarrassment.”
You smile at her. “Yes, yes it does. But I have to ask: why did you go to the Towers? I would’ve known if you had the potential to cast magic, which you don’t have. And I’m sure that while sorcerer’s pay well enough, the risk is quite high to work under their employ. Wizard intrigue is just as deadly of a game as local street gang wars.”

Kira shifts in her seat, reaching for the pack at the foot of the couch. “This is where I didn’t want you to laugh…Varian…I was trying to find a way give you your magic back.”

And that’s all it takes for your breath to grind to a complete halt.

“They said it was impossible,” She goes on, fumbling at the strings that hold her bag shut. “And that once you’d burnt through your Spark, it was all over for you. Of course, I didn’t specify that you were the subject of my inquiries. I kept things anonymous, posed them as theoretical questions and mind exercises. Most of them bushed me off, saying that I was better suited to posing more challenging questions. They’re the ones that helped me build these…”

Once she pulls her satchel open, she puts her entire arm into the bag, far exceeding the depths that its dimensions restrict. A bottomless bag, a bag of holding, you realize, marveling at the object. You haven’t seen one in the longest time. Even for Adventurer’s they’re quite expensive.

She pulls out two items from the bag, setting them onto the lacquered table where her crossbow lies adjacent. They clank and make as much noise as a regular suit of armor, but their combined weights are heavier than a standard vest of chainmail or plate. They are not uniform, bearing the marks and personal embellishments of a dozen different craftsmen. Gears, gyros and pistons decorate the objects, just enough to balance practicality as well as a certain aesthetic. Technology at least thirty years from the future.

But even in the dim lighting, there’s no mistaking what they are.

The prosthetic limbs lie inert and inactive, lying there innocuously in sharp contrast to the emotional hurricane that your mind is currently. A right arm and a left leg to match the ones that the Thousand Screams took from you.

“They’re what I was able to get from the rational sorcerers,” Kira whispers, pushing them towards you. “In exchange for services rendered. Dozens of nationalities went into these things: Calais, Esparza, even the Tower in Vesmana chipped in with the pressure gauges and the outer chassis for the leg. I was working off of measurements that Ieyador gave me when we got you that new set of clothes for your twenty-first. So hopefully…you haven’t grown too much.”

>“I could kiss you if you weren’t into girls.”
>“I…I don’t know what to say…”
>Custom option.

>>496523
>“I could kiss you if you weren’t into girls.”

>>496523
>>“I could kiss you if you weren’t into girls.”
She's a bro. Proven in the last thread and proven once again.

>>496523
>>“I could kiss you if you weren’t into girls.”

Try a one armed hug? Try not to cry?

>>496523
>“I could kiss you if you weren’t into girls.”

>>496523
>>“I could kiss you if you weren’t into girls.”

>>496523
>to say

Thank her you jackass.

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You look to her for permission as your left hand clenches, and a pang of phantom pain shoots up your right arm. The ghost of the hand that was consumed in the blast twitches as you raise your stump to compare it to the arm. “May I?”

She nods, and it is with a trembling hand that you reach out to touch the prosthetics. They are cold to the touch, even the finely-tooled leather that covers the inner chassis of the limbs. Your fingers trace over the runes engraved onto the metal bolts and platings, and the names and effects of them float through your mind like a half-remembered dream. Enchantments to strengthen the leather, to protect the pressure gauges and sensitive dials with a faint, but powerful shield of abjuration.

You take hold of the hand, lifting it up to glean a closer look. Fibrous wires protrude from the end where it attaches into your stump. Artificial nerve endings, you theorize, to attach into your own. Doubtless the leg has the same to allow for an easy docking. A detachable elbow joint swivels as you rotate it in place, and the wrist demonstrates just as much flexibility as a well-oiled machine.

“I could kiss you,” You whisper, your voice tight as you clutch the arm close to your chest. “If you weren’t into girls.”

She laughs at that. “And I wouldn’t shy away too much. Thing is, I’ll tumble with guys just as much as girls on any given day. Girls make me finish harder, but you guys’ve got the tools to reach and scratch that inner itch. Then again, it’d be weird coming from you, Varian. Like getting frisky with my boss…”

“Shut up and stand up,” You say, cutting her off as you set it down onto the couch. “So I can give you my best hug before I lose all of my composure.”

Kira starts at your words before smiling softly. Standing up, she pads over to you and holds out her arms in a welcoming gesture. “C’mere, you.”

You don’t cry as she pulls you in. The only extent of your fractured composure is the uncontrollable tremors that run up and down your body. Your left hand pulls her in close, as tight as you can given your disability. The scent of her armor overwhelms your senses, the leather freshly cleaned and tooled, with the faintest smell of lilacs.

“Thank you,” Your voice hitches before it quells into an unstable neutral. “Thank you so much…”

She pats your shoulder. “You’re welcome, Varian. And…this is long overdue for me. It’s my way of making up for taking off and leaving you by yourself. The product of thirteen years of going from Tower to Tower, lugging these things before they were finished. You’ll have to be asleep or dosed when we fit them onto you. The docking attachment in the bag is gonna need to be grafted onto your limbs.

“But…” Here, she hesitates. “I told you that these were from the rational sorcerers, right? What I got from the crazy ones…well, I think it’s better if I show you.”

(cont.)

>>496655
Kira is a wonderful human being.

>>496675
And she's open to guys!

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>>496655
Kira releases you to reach for her bag, and you sit down, still stunned as you reach a comforting hand to the prosthetic limb. The sound of glass tinkling within the container echoes from within before she pulls out something with an incredibly careful grip.

The instant it comes out of the bag, you already know what it is. Even with your Ashen Spark, the liquid that gently pulsates within the bottle is enough to set your teeth on edge. And with that intensity, there’s little wonder why she’s so uncertain about it. “Where on earth…” You whisper, eyes wide as you stare at the decanter. “And how…”

She grimaces. “Like I said earlier. The guys that told me about this…they’re not playing with all the cards in their decks. Even the more level ones…they said that this would work only as a last resort. It’s been theorized, but never performed before.”

You look her in the eyes, whitewashed blue meeting her concerned brown. “Kira…please tell me why you have half a dozen bottles of Liquid Chaos in your bag.”

Of the magical catalysts and commodities that a sorcerer could ever use, Liquid Chaos is the most valuable and volatile that one could possibly handle. It is the Aether in its purest form aside from a crystalline structure, carefully harvested and distilled over the course of decades. With it, it provides a significant boost in power to amplify the casting abilities of the one who held it, and that wasn’t including the alchemical purposes it played for high-level potions. They’re all easily worth a small baron’s ransom, and Kira has five of them out on the table.

“Shock therapy,” She explains, fishing out the last bottle from her bag. “The Spark is only the conduit that takes in the Aether, right? Mages have those…circuits that run through their soul. Magical blood vessels to carry the stuff throughout your body. Mages who’ve burnt through their Spark…I’ve seen diagrams of them in the Towers. All broken and twisted out of shape from the force of the blast. Yours are probably worse since you’d had a little more to blow through because of your status as an Origin.

“But…” She hesitates again. “I’ve had more than one tell me that if you were to reintroduce the stuff directly into your circuits…it just might be able to repair the damaged pathways. Either drinking it or injecting all of into your body.”

You start, staring at her with a look of horror and incredulity. “Liquid Chaos is volatile enough as it is without coming into contact with human flesh. Kira, have you heard the stories? Flesh sloughing off of bones like runny butter, eyes exploding from an Aether overload.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Then it’s a good thing that you’re an Origin. Because you’ve easily got four times the capacity as much as a regular Journeyman. Even a master, last time you bragged about it.”

(cont.)

>>496737
>Raw Chaos
Dear god I hope we don't create a lesser sea of Amorphia

>>496737
Fast approaching best girl there Kira.

>>496737
“That is true enough,” You eventually say, still casting an uncertain eye towards the bottles arranged before you. “But they’ve doubtless deteriorated with inactivity and lack of proper use. Just like a musician who does not practice his instrument.”

“Maybe…but the ability to play music is not intrinsically tied to the soul, no matter what the bards say. Varian…I wasn’t there with you for the last thirteen years…but even without your prior knowledge of your third “amputation”, I can see how much your inability to cast magic has torn you up. With this, you can get it all back. And with the arm and leg, you’d be whole once more, if not better, stronger, faster.”

You stare at the bottles. Considering. “And the side-effects? What are my odds for survival?”

Kira grimaces. “Drinking at least one is gonna shave a couple of years off your life. Drinking all of them? The sorcerers would be surprised if you made it to your forty-fifth birthday. But you’d be back to full power, albeit with your lifespan cut almost in half.”

Blanching, you gently take one of the bottles, tilting it to watch the liquid swirl in the container. “You didn’t mention my odds.”

“…fifteen percent,” She eventually mutters. “And that’s just with only one bottle to put you back at an apprentice’s level. You have to understand that this is all theory. This has never been done before, and those that have suggested it have become either pariahs in their circles or outright banished. Varian, the choice is yours. If you don’t want to drink it, then I understand. Hell, I wouldn’t if I was in your position. But…”

As she trails off, you set the bottle down and affix her with a direct look. “But what?”

“…the Cultists of the Shattered Sun. They’ll doubtless come after you for killing one of their gods. And anyone else affiliated with you. They already killed Antoine, came damn near close to killing you and Jeanne.”

A cold pit forms in the bottom of your stomach as the faces of your friends flash in your mind. Erika, Loran, Angelica, even Bolivar and Leroy. “What about Ieyador? Is he alright? What about his family?”

“The situation…is complicated,” She eventually says. “But they’re safe enough. And you’ve got me with you now. We can take care of the bastards without your magic. I’ve picked up more than customized bolts in my absence.”

“Just answer me one question. Will we have to return to the Dungeon in order to see this through?”

Kira looks at you with an unyielding gaze, eyes scrutinizing you carefully before delivering a solemn and final: “Yes. We might have to. Because I’ve heard hearsay and rumor that something isn’t right in the caves…nothing unusual, but nothing’s ever normal in that place. But I’m not choosing for you. Like I said, Varian…it’s your choice.”

(cont.)

>>496826
It’s your choice.

Just as you made the decision to change your life forever by sacrificing your magic, you stand once more at the crossroads of destiny. Your past, which you’ve tried so hard to bury through alcohol and repression, is coming back once more to haunt you. Now, you are offered the choice to change the path of your fate.
What will you do?

Will you drink it all, throwing away your remaining life to put the demons of your past to rest and return to the height of your power? Almost ten years to dispense with your own business, with the aid of the prosthetic limbs Kira gave to you. It is more than enough time to take care of the cult, remake your legend and reclaim the life you once lead.

Or will you drink only one, starting from the bottom of the tier in order to leave a future for yourself? It will be a hard and arduous journey to remaster the spells you have not been able to cast for over a decade. But you will still have a future ahead of you once you finally bury the Cult and the abominations that they worship.

Yet, you can refuse to drink any of the tinctures. You have survived thirteen years without magic, survived the sensory deprivation that came with the complete and utter immolation of your spark. And with Kira’s gifts, you still can lead a life bereft of magic, just as easily accomplishing great deeds without the aid of spell or stave.

Your eyes flicker to Kira, who returns your gaze with an unreadable expression. Then towards the six bottles before you, the light playing off your hand to give the semblance of Chaos once again coursing through your body.

And you continue to stare.

Considering.

>Drink all of it.
>Drink only one.
>Don’t drink any of it.

>>496841
>Drink only one.
We still need to come back and grow old with Erika after all this

>>496841
If we drink all of it a life with Erika is out of the question.

It's totally unexplored so we've got no real idea of how the rest of it will shape up either..

Could we drink more later? Or is this a one time set up?

>>496848
So?

>>496841
>>Drink only one.
>Start small, once my magic gets re-tempered I will decide if I need to drink the rest.

>>496841
Right I suppose I'll back>>496856

Assuming we can take more later if needed/plot demands etc.

>>496848
Erika is a maybe, Kira is pretty great at the moment.

>>496849
It's an all-or-nothing deal. One or six is the choices for magic since the potency would be lost if you didn't take enough in one go. If you wanted to cut your lifespan short and quickly rise back up to your former levels, Kira would have to steal another bottle of Liquid Chaos to supplement the five on her person.

So yes, you could drink more later if the situation arises. Just be sure to keep the bottles absolutely safeguarded in the most secure place you can think of. Many would kill to get their hands on such a valuable material.

Just keep in mind that you won't be casting anything more powerful than basic level spells for a very long time.

>>496841
>Drink only one.

>>496861
Kira definitely strikes me as just a friend but whatever floats your boat man

>>496841
>>Drink all of it.
Losing our magic destroyed us. This is the chance to regain our glory.

>>496865
Oh wait so the potential is restored if we drink one? We can actually raise back to former levels?

I thought it was one gives you the power of an apprentices period.

>>496880
>Or will you drink only one, starting from the bottom of the tier in order to leave a future for yourself? It will be a hard and arduous journey to remaster the spells you have not been able to cast for over a decade.

>>496880
It would take time. Like I said: starting from the bottom to build yourself back up. A harder road than the easy way, but definitely one that's got a better yield.

>>496886


>>496884
Sorry I should probably be in bed, didn't realize I was missing details.

>>496886
>better yield.
more power, or longer life?

>>496890
Longer life.

>>496890
I'd guess if we can return to our previous level it's an eventually the same power, with a longer life.

>>496865
>Drink one.

Magic and glory can be regained.

But our life span isn't so cheap.

Then we're all settled on drinking one bottle. Got it.

Writing...

Keep in mind that there's more romance options than you think. I have to make it up to Varian somehow.

>>496931
I follow. I just like Kira because she comes off blunt/forward but turns bashful.

I like her overall attitude.

Not sure she's the best for Varian yet, but she literally just spent the last 13 years of her life for him. While a good bit of that was diddling women, it's certainly an act of love.

It could be entirely platonic, but damn if she didn't go out and do her damnedest for him.

>>496931
>spoiler
Including the obvious best choice no one?

>>496940
I'm not inclined to get into romance options, but Erika has been here, with us, for the same time frame, taking care of us. Kira ran off and was likely motivated by guilt more than anything.

>>496957
Erika a best. And we can get all the waifu nonsense out of the way quickly if we choose her.

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You make your choice.

“One bottle for now,” You tell Kira, grabbing one of the six in the palm of your left hand. It’s warm to the touch, pulsating every few seconds as you unstopper the lid with a satisfying POP. “I’m not so brash to throw away the rest of my life for an easier way to get my magic back.”

Kira smiles, before frowning. “Oh, and just keep in mind that the person I got the bottles from? She said that you need to find something to bite down on. Because even with your better odds of surviving this, it’s gonna hurt. A lot.”

“How much?”

Her hands come up in an uncertain shrug. “Honestly, I got no idea. This is just as much new ground for me as it is for you and the theory of magic. But the sorceress said that it might hurt just as bad as, if not worse, than igniting your Spark to cast the Forbidden Sun. With your circuits out of use for thirteen years…”

She trails off, making a gesture of solidarity. You nod, walking to the kitchen for a linen towel. Rolling it up in your hands, you leave it at the ready as you hold the bottle to your lips. With the cap off, you can feel the full effect of its power. The liquid is odorless, but it’s thick and heavy, cloying your senses with the raw power of magic.

It tickles the back of your throat as the familiar sensation washes over your body. You pause, just before you bring the container to your lips. “Before I drink this…I have two things I want to say.”

She tilts her head in an unspoken inquiry, and you continue. “My neighbor is paranoid that I might be attacked tonight. And considering that this is might hurt a whole lot, I may scream. She might summon the city watch in a panic, and that might be detrimental to what we’re currently doing.”

“Okay,” She nods. “I can easily keep you safe.”

“And the second…” You look into her eyes as you gesture towards everything. The prosthetic limbs, the bottles of liquid chaos. Hell, even the smile on your face is finally something that you can call genuine. “Thank you. Again.”

She snorts. “Don’t get mushy on me now. Save your breath for when the pain hits.”

Rolling your eyes, you raise the bottle and tip it to her in a mock salute. “To our good health,” You say, before tossing back the mixture in a single swing.

In hindsight, that was an incredibly stupid thing to do.

The instant it hits the bottom of your stomach, an indescribable amount of pain sears through your body. Every inch of your skin is on fire, and you can feel every single drop of the fluid as it penetrates into your soul, forces its way into your broken circuits. The agony knocks you off your feet, and you collapse limply to the floor like a deboned fish. Panicking, your hand flops around for the impromptu gag, finally grabbing it and biting down before you unleash a howl of agony.

...yep, that's definitely going to set Erika into a panic.

(cont.)

>The instant it hits the bottom of your stomach, an indescribable amount of pain sears through your body. Every inch of your skin is on fire, and you can feel every single drop of the fluid as it penetrates into your soul.

This sounds delicious.

Anyone think of putting some alcohol with this?

Bet it'd make a killing.

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>>496974
Kira’s shouts eventually fade away, the struggle to stay conscious too great for you to overcome. Surrendering yourself to the pain, you fall back into the enveloping incoherence of screaming as the magic forces its way into your soul. Your fist clenches repeatedly, and you’re almost certain that you drew blood when you bit down on your lip.

Still…there is nothing gained without sacrifice. An equivalent exchange. But in spite of yourself, you feel a certain amount of satisfaction. One evening of indescribable agony in order to Kindle your Spark once more?

You definitely got the better end of the bargain.

>Every sorcerer is keyed to an element at birth.
>This affinity unfortunately does depower some spells in opposition to the keyed Element.
>But it augments the power of certain spells depending on their effect.

>As an Origin, you do not suffer from the penalty.
>You also gain access to the element of ‘Quintessence’ as a sub-element.
>Quintessence provides miscellaneous bonuses to your casting abilities.

>This is your rebirth as a sorcerer.
>Previously, you were keyed in as an “Air” sorcerer.
>Choose an element affinity.

>Air, to better study the world around you. [Utilitarian]
>Fire, to better destroy the enemies before you. [Offense]
>Earth, to better shield yourself from harm. [Defense]
>Water, to better augment your natural abilities. [Support]

>>497001
>Water

>>497001
>>Air, to better study the world around you. [Utilitarian]
reclaim what was lost

>>497001
>Air, to better study the world around you. [Utilitarian]

>>497001
>Water, to better augment your natural abilities. [Support]

>>497001
>>Air, to better study the world around you. [Utilitarian]

Rolled 23 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>497001
>>Air, to better study the world around you. [Utilitarian]

>>497001
>>Air, to better study the world around you. [Utilitarian]

>Air

>Choose one:
>The Bulwark
>The Inheritor
>The Nieghbor

Last one before I hit the sack, will type, post then resume after I sleep.

>>497101
>The Nieghbor

>>497101
>The Nieghbor

>>497101
What do these mean?

>>497101
>>The Inheritor

>>497123
Brief P.O.V. shift. I write from another character's point of view. Provides insight and another view of things from a different character.

>>497101

>>The Bulwark

>>497128
Ah thanks.
>The Bulwark

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Rolling tiebreaker...

1. The Bulwark
2. The Neighbor

Writing...

Looks like its too late for me to vote.

Inheritor is Jeanne and Neighbor is Erika. But who would the Bulwark be? Maybe the other guy? Ieyador. I doubt it'd be Erika.

>>497216
Ieyador's son.

Writing...

File: Blushing Erika.jpg (96 KB, 500x580)

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Your name is Erika Stroud, and right now, you’re incredibly frustrated. And you’re not even sure if the double-entendre applies in the current moment.

Today was supposed to be the day. Eight years of a comfortable friendship, almost about to become nine in a few months. And in spite of Varian’s dour mood this morning, he had been, for the most part, as upbeat as he could be. With dinner plans, and even a hidden bottle of Eterian Red, year 548, that was almost sure to be the perfect setup to finally confess your feelings.

And then the attack in the alleyway shot your plans to hell.

It almost goes without saying that you’re relieved that he’s unharmed. The healers said that the scratches were not fatal, and would only leave unobtrusive scars behind. Unlike the other ladies of the Explorer’s Guild, you’ve never been attracted to scars, never had a particular care about them. Too many adventurers came in with them, wearing their carelessness in battle as badges of honor and pride.

But if it’s on Varian…then perhaps you won’t mind at all. It’s small enough to almost be unnoticeable in the right lighting, and would definitely disappear in the absolute night…
You shake your head as you spit out the lather, a mixture of sea shells and soda ash. With one final inspection in the mirror, you set the toothbrush down, rinsing out your mouth with a cup of fresh water. In the end, it might have been better to invite the Chevells. The last thing Varian needed in the wake of his attack and the revelation of a deceased comrade was an advance on your part. And for all his moodiness, the company of friends was not something even he could shrug off so casually.

You pull at the band holding your hair back in place, shaking your head to let the strands come down in a loose cascade of brown. The woman that stands in front of the mirror is calm, reserved and incredibly tired. Having just readied herself for bed, the only thing she has left to do is actually fall asleep.

“Varian…”

Your eyes are closed as you lower yourself against the bed. How many nights, how many long and restless evenings of this everyday routine? Wake up, eat breakfast, work with Varian, eat lunch, close up your stations, return home. And sleep…the only thing that separates your rooms from each other is the wall, not even half a foot of wood and plaster. On bad nights, when he thinks no one is listening, you can hear him curse his fate, hear the sound of the wine bottle as its contents pour into a favored tankard.

And it is those nights that you wish to go to him, to take your father’s spear and destroy the final wall that divides you from the man that you love. But you cannot. The day is only yours to comfort Varian, and any other time would be improper without good reason or invitation. In the night, when all must return to sleep and respect the boundaries of their houses, he remains awake, left alone to the darkness and his own demons.

(cont.)

Huh, just as I pressed refresh.

File: Flushed Erika.jpg (67 KB, 685x444)

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>>497284
But you must wait. Varian claims that he is not a fragile man, but even you know that his words are little more than lies, false assurances of security. He hates the pitying looks, the sympathy that strangers throw at him, whether they are passersby on the streets, or adventurers come into the Guild Hall. No, you do not pity him. You admire him, the drive he has to live in spite of the suicidal jokes and the black humor. You fell in love with his blunt demeanor to call things as they are, his inability to lie or hold a falsehood, his honesty with the world...

And the fact that he is attractive in his own way helps with your appraisal. You do not see a cripple. No. Where others see a man beyond salvation, you see Varian Engel.

Your heart flutters, the warmth of adrenaline spreading throughout your body, as your hand gently touches the skin he had touched when he assured you of his safety...

An instant later, the fabric covering your breasts pushed open, buttons yielding to desperate fingers in favor of direct contact. You mewl as your right hand gropes your own breast, gasping out in surprise and arousal as the touch sends an electrifying jolt throughout your body. As you relax your hand, your body slumps back, supported by the wooden headrest.

However, your left hand is slowly inching down towards the hem of your nightgown. As your right hand squeezes once more, the left instantly shoots down, as if done with the intent of going before higher thinking could stop you. The sodden cloth slides away with moist sound as it glides against your skin, exposing a wet, pink nub glistening with arousal. There, your fingers circle, darting towards the entrance with a light, tingling caress, before slinking away.

Your breath catches, chest heaving and face completely flush. If you give in, how are you better than your coworkers, who swoon over the nearest adventures in sight? What would they think about you, lusting after a foul-mouthed and crippled ex-adventurer? What would you think about yourself, to stoop to this tawdry act of self-indulgence?

But what would Varian think about you?

What would he do if he happened to be here?

...and what do you want him to do if he happened to be here?

Your face reddens, and your thighs rub together as the hand on your breast instinctively squeezes in response to the thoughts in your head. Another gasp escapes from your mouth, this one barely stifled. You shake your head, desperately trying to purge those irreverent thoughts from your mind.

But you can’t. Even if it’s all happening in your mind’s eye.

Your body needs him.

You, Erika Stroud, desperately need Varian Engel.

A soft, satisfied sigh emanates from your mouth as one finger slides into her hot, wet center. It is quickly followed by a second, and with her eyes scrunch closed, you can almost imagine Varian’s embrace surrounding you, his scent overwhelming and dizzying your senses. And instead of two fingers, so incredibly inadequate…

(cont.)

File: Aroused Erika.png (114 KB, 312x268)

114 KB PNG

>>497292
You grit your teeth, and a third finger finds its way inside of you. Your face flushes, and the hand around your breast grips hard enough to nearly bruise. The fingers inside of your depths being to pump, slowly at first, before gradually picking up and increasing their speed.

You imagine Varian surrounding you, embracing you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he thrusts deep within you. Your fingers push, push until they can’t go any further, knuckles glistening in the candlelight with her own wetness. Then they pull out, only momentarily feeling the lingering draft before thrusting in as deep as they can go.

Panting, you desperately try to draw breath as your fingers begin to feel the convulsions inside of you. They push and recede, yielding and resisting, until your hand pistons inside of you like a mechanical marvel. Your voice hitches, and you groan as you feel that sensation rising within you – that apprehensive, burning ecstasy.

You hear Varian whisper your name, saying that he’s ready as well. And for the briefest of moments, you can almost feel another body clutching your own tightly. And suddenly, the feeling disappears, and it’s your fingers that are filling you, twitching uncontrollably within your sex as your pleasure reaches a peak. A drawn-out, heady moan escapes from your lips as the rest of your body twitches violently as you reach your release. The force of it sends stars into your eyes, bursting and blinding your vision with an explosion of multi-colored light.

You collapse backwards, the moment over and spent. Your eyelids flutter, almost expecting to see Varian next to you, or on top of you. But all they can see is a mirror on the far wall. On it, a woman lies panting on a bed, accompanied by a conspicuous wet spot between her legs. Her clothes are pushed to the side, her eyes are glazed over, and it is with glistening fingers that run along the sweaty mess of her body.

An exhausted sigh escapes from your lips as your head falls back, hitting the pillow with a muffled thump. You aren’t exactly what you expected. Satisfaction? Pleasure? Fulfillment? Closure?
Instead, all you feel is…longing.

But that is quickly overridden as a horrific scream pierces through the haze of post-release. It cuts through the endorphins and pleasant hormones that buzz pleasantly in your head, stilling the tremors as the last waves of your release lap along your body. Even though it is a noise you’ve never heard before, the voice that makes it is unlistenable, one you could easily pick up in a crowd.

Varian.

And he’s in great pain.

In your panicked haste to rush out the door, you don’t bother changing into fresh clothes. A fact that you don’t necessarily regret in your concern for your friend, but one that still mortifies you in the days to come.

Nap time, then we resume.

>>497295
Kaz. Kaz. I didn't come here for softcore porn. I mean sure I don't mind, but give some warning will ya.

>>497295
Best girl confirmed. She's got it bad...

>>497295
>saying that he's ready as well
is this the moment Varian said he was ready to take a drink of chaos?

Is there going to be a cultist chick who gets off on the fact that we killed a god? Or Maybe worships him, because to kill a god must mean you are one?

>>497302
Same here. I was sitting in a waiting room and got halfway through the scene before I realized where it was going.

File: The Space Between the Stars.jpg (53 KB, 1920x1200)

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>>???
>>Varian
After what feels like an eternity, the pain begins to recede. While it’s enough to let you think coherently, by no means is it tolerable in the slightest. Even the smallest of movements sends the slightest of pains trembling down your body. Groaning, your eyelids flutter, desperately trying to find a source of light in the impenetrable darkness. You can find none, barely able to see within a foot ahead of you.

Blinking past the tears and rheum running along your eyes, you tentatively reach for the magic as you once did so many years ago. For a brief moment, nothing happens, and despairs unlike anything you’ve ever felt fills the entirety of your being. But before you can surrender yourself into the soul-crushing despair of your hope taken away, something deep within you…stirs.

And then the magic hits you, flooding into your body like water through a broken dam. The circuits of your soul flare to life, manifesting on your skin as fiery veins of a radiant blue. It becomes impossible to choke back the bastard whelp of a sob and a cheer as a Chaos Orb slowly comes to life in the palm of your left hand.

Other apprentice-level spells float back to your mind, and the eagerness to cast all of them nearly overrides your senses. Nearly does, as you manage to rein yourself back in before you lose yourself in reckless euphoria. You cough, taking a moment to compose yourself before you take a stock of your surroundings.

The very ground you lie on is devoid of any sort of definition, even as you cast your light. With uncertain legs, you manage to push yourself up onto both of your legs. And the bottomless view at the bottom of your feet almost overwhelms you with nausea and vertigo. The floor is solid enough, but underneath your boots…nothing at all.

Suddenly, there is a flash of light, a blinding, searing radiance that stabs at your eyes. You turn away, burying your face into the crook of your elbow. But even then, it is not enough to completely protect you from the flashes of multi-colored light, like a mad explosion of too many colors.

And even before it stops, you can feel a terrific presence before you. It’s power…unimaginable. Your Origin is but a drop in the ocean before this…this being. You are almost afraid to open your eyes and gaze upon the creature, but something compels you. Is it your desire to seek the truth, knowledge of the world? Or simple madness, consuming and scrambling at your mind?

Whatever this abomination is, it is far from anything you have ever studied in the libraries or fought in the Dungeon. It is a swirling mass, a conglomerate of great globes of light that dance around a pith that throbs not unlike a heart. Protoplasmic flesh congeals and writhes as this eldritch being…you can’t explain it, but you know for a fact that whatever organs serve as its eyes are now focused onto you, luminescent orbs flashing, pulsating with every passing moment.

(cont.)

File: Colors out of Darkness.jpg (338 KB, 1131x707)

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“ANAN. TI-ERUN GHERAK VISHUL MA’THAR, KATHGRIORG. NAHZGIR URZ’THUM IZ NTHKA?” The creature does not say the words as it lacks a proper mouth and lips to form them. No, the being trembles, its formless body writhing with every syllable, flashing in colors beyond the spectrum of what mortal eyes can comprehend. The sounds of its words are a discordant melody of a guttural intonation and the rumbling of a mountain. “ITHGIR UNT ARZGON, KATHGRIORG.”

The words have no meaning. It vocabulary, idiom and pronunciation completely strange and alien. This is not a language that a human mouth cannot enunciate without great difficulty. Yet in spite of that, you can feel your mouth moving, lips and tongue involuntarily struggling to shape the syllables and words of the abomination’s language.

You do not know what you are saying, as if a stranger speaks and puppets you like a ventriloquist with a puppet. But you have control over what you say, even you do not know the meaning of the words themselves. There is no denying the tone of your voice, even as you speak in the presence of a god.

>“Gathar untir! Nigurth antu? Vash’naal xithur, Kathgriorg!” [Defy]
>“Vaas nahz’gri, ki’ir ungath. Ifurg na’al, zurga ma’thar Kathgriorg! [Kowtow]
> “…ith aal cziram? Ur anan, Varian Engel, zirun-ath yisir ang Kathgriorg.” [Promise]

>>498880
>“Vaas nahz’gri, ki’ir ungath. Ifurg na’al, zurga ma’thar Kathgriorg! [Kowtow]

>>498880
[Question}

>>498880
>>“Vaas nahz’gri, ki’ir ungath. Ifurg na’al, zurga ma’thar Kathgriorg! [Kowtow]

>>498882
>>498891
Kowtow means bootlicking you realize yeah?

>>498880
>“Gathar untir! Nigurth antu? Vash’naal xithur, Kathgriorg!” [Defy]
One more god rejected.

>>498898
Nope, changing my vote to defy.

>>498880
>“Gathar untir! Nigurth antu? Vash’naal xithur, Kathgriorg!” [Defy]

>>498880
>“Gathar untir! Nigurth antu? Vash’naal xithur, Kathgriorg!” [Defy]

>>498880
>“Vaas nahz’gri, ki’ir ungath. Ifurg na’al, zurga ma’thar Kathgriorg! [Kowtow]

>>498880
>>“Gathar untir! Nigurth antu? Vash’naal xithur, Kathgriorg!” [Defy]

Getting a bit of the vapors at the moment. Need to get my eyes off the computer for a bit, take a nap. Fucking jetlag. Sigh, I'll pick up in a few hours, but I've already got a working draft for the "Deny" option, so it shouldn't take too long.

Until then...

http://www.strawpoll.me/11057018

>>499039
>No best girl "Bachelor"

>>499039
Someone voted for Jeanne?

>>499096
Hell yeah I did you baka

Rolled 1 (1d3)

>>498880
chaos choice? All the better to roll.

>>499113
Do you mind if I ask why?

>>499039
You forgot option 4, Thousand Screams

Varian is a lucky man, two girls with years and years of dedication to helping him cope with his disabilities and demons.

>>491564
...It's a Spark. We only have ashes left.
We have to kindle the flame left in the ashes until it reignites, don't we?

>>499117
Kaz mentioned a slight french accent, and my dick grew three sizes that moment

>>499233
Clearly at least one of them is a cthonic puppet trying to "raise" him into a replacement Elder One.

>>500185
I really hope that's not true.

Kaz is kill

kaz ded

>>501233
>>502224
Fortunately, not yet.

Writing...

>>502249
Necromancy!

>>502249
neat

File: Feelers.jpg (24 KB, 740x220)

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“Gathar untir!” The words are strange, alien and incredibly hard to pronounce. Your lips peel back, the fragile skin of your mouth splitting in places to properly rasp the words. “Nigurth antu? Vash’naal xithur, Kathgriorg!”

You do know what you said, but the meaning is not lost on both you and the spheroid. The tone you adopt is defiant, angry, and dripping with thirteen years’ worth of venomous hatred. And while the monster may not be able to pick up on the less-than-subtle nuances of your tonality, you have little doubt that your words are lost upon it.

The spheres, previously content to idly spin and rotate upon an irregular axis, stir into activity. That which you perceive as sensory organs vibrate in place, bioluminescent light blurring into a mess of colors. The core shifts, the hue of some vital organ changing from a pale, sickly yellow into a series of flashing lights.

It is laughing. You do not know what strange intuition leads you to this conclusion. But the feeling is so strong that you would bet your last remaining arm on it. The creature finds some sort of…amusement in your words.

And as one, the collection of protoplasmic orbs trembles. Tendrils of gelatin-like flesh congeal as they reach out towards you, reaching close – almost perilously close – but come short of touching you by mere centimeters. The collective fear of humanity’s existence wells up within you, and the urge to flee, to curl into an infantile position, fills your heart.

Yet you do not. Some force keeps you in place, holds your eyes wide open as the thing descends from a starless sky. Only now do you realize the scale of it all. The Thousand Screams had been at least the size of a Deep Wyvern, almost large enough to fill a significant quarter of the city, maybe even a whole ward. No, the collection of spheres easily dwarfs that, the entirety of its being the size and scope of the entire city of Eteria.

The concept of gravity suddenly ceases to exist, a fact you only realize when your body is already a whole foot off of the hard surface of the bottomless ground. Panicking, you flail about, desperately trying to right yourself as your body levitates higher, higher, too high. Even without proper definition to the area surrounding you, nausea wells up within your gut as your stomach acids churn.

You do not know whether or not it is the core that moves toward you, or if some compulsion pushes you toward it. Both are terrifying possibilities. The abomination rumbles, quivering as the words scrape along the inside of your psyche. “ANAN, GHUR IZTH AHK’TN. IFURG AAL ROKT SHUB. VARAIN ENGEL.”

There is a sinuous noise, like molasses off of flesh, as two protoplasmic tendrils reach out towards you from either ends of your body. The tips peels back, revealing a slew of writhing, fibrous tentacles. They squirm, somehow screeching and chittering as they flail about, slapping, grabbing at nothing as they approach the sides of your head.

(cont.)

>>502464
rip

File: no tears only dreams.png (515 KB, 500x547)

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>>502464

File: All of Eternity.gif (989 KB, 500x150)

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What little bravado left in your body fades away, ceding to flat-out panic as the protrusions inch closer and closer towards you. Your movements are comical, not strange or out of place of a traveling circus. Limbs jerk, arms wheel and grasp for something, anything, at nothing in a futile attempt to escape.

The first tentacle reaches the left side of your body, chittering and slavering as a foul breath raises gooseflesh along your ear. Fear lends strength to your magic, and a sphere of Chaos churns to life in your hand. Gripping it as a drowning man would a plank, you thrust it towards the offending limb. Hope blossoms in your heart as feelers scream and shrivel under the raw power of magic.

But then it is dashed away. The core rumbles, and a dozen iridescent globes spin feverishly, achieving critical speed before they race out towards you. Their touch is viscous, dripping with a thick slime that holds your limbs tight in place. Your mouth opens, and you’re not sure whether or not to scream a spell or enchantment before something thick and fibrous fills your mouth, cutting you off completely.

You can barely breathe, and the reflex to vomit scrabbles at your body as you struggle against your bonds. There is no escape, and the touch is inevitable. Tears of pain, tears of dread well up in the corners of your eyes as that which you sought to repel finally reaches. They press against your temples, cold and utterly alien, bone-like hooks digging into your skin, penetrating through bone and gently probing your brain , your line of your sanity as a mother would an infant child.

“VARIAN ENGEL, ANAN, IFURG AHK’TN.”

And you scream as the abomination pours itself into your mind.

>You have learned the Nglash word for “Denizen”.
>You have learned the Nglash word for “Gift”.
>You have learned the Nglash word for “Human”.
>You have learned the Nglash word for “Messenger”.
>You have learned the Nglash word for “Return”.

The darkness reels, and the stars whirl by as a series of visions flood your mind. Seconds become immeasurable, and the eons shrink down into fleeting moments that pass just as quickly as specks of eternity.

You see the primeval earth, little more than a vortex of cosmic dust and ice as it rotates a dwarven Koyash. The first men, rising from the primordial stew of life, coming together to form the first civilizations, creating the first arts, performing the first atrocities, slaughtering each other over insignificant squabbles.

Time passes, civilization marches on. New ways of killing have been invented. Clubs yield to swords, slings cede to crossbows. The soil of the earth is watered with the blood of its inhabitants.

(cont.)

>>502510
lewd
My IP changes frequently, don't mind the constant new IDs

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In a cavern deep within the earth, miles beneath the bedrock and soil, a pool of darkness lies within a blasted crater. Water drips from the overhead rocks, falling into the pool with not even as much as a ripple. Then, the shadows lengthen, as a robed figure kowtows, eldritch runes scratched within every available space. Gouged into the earthen walls, flayed from the flesh of its limbs, the figure raises his hands in unabridged ecstasy as tendrils of darkness lash out towards him.

>You have gained 10 Insight.
>Insight is the crystallization of eldritch knowledge.
>A valuable commodity, there are those that will deal and trade in it.
>Insight can also be used in certain locations within the Dungeon.

Suddenly, they shift, this time focusing towards you. Even as the probes are gentle, the agony of dragging memories to the forefront of your mind is excruciating. All of your life is laid before the monster, from what you can never forget to the most inane of instances.

The pride of youth. They shun you because of your talent, whisper behind your back. The bold ones, elder apprentices, corner you one day as you study your runes. An explosion, a cacophony of screams. They are confined to the infirmary, with extra punishments. You are lightly let off, the pride of the Tower. The masters will not see the fruit of their labors spoiled.

The mistrials of adolescence. The first embrace of adulthood, the girl in the tower shedding her uniform as you approach her bedchambers. Lovers though you may have been, but it never could have been said that Varian Engel or Sansal Tilki held anymore than lust in their hearts. A mutually beneficent deal, perhaps a fond memory of days spent like a bird in a gilded cage. She chose the Empire, you chose Eteria.

The futility of adulthood. A broken man, bitterly sobbing into a glass as comforting hands desperately try to set him at ease. There is no respite to be found, even after rows upon rows of bottles dominate the table. The limb is gone, but the phantom pain remains, the sensation of your leg ground to dust under the force of a stalactite. The agony of magic overloading your arm, to explode along with the Forbidden Sun.

You experience a paradox: an eternity, a second, forever, an instant, through the agony of an eldritch abomination digging through your mind. If this is the first of many steps towards death, you wish it to be done with, and quickly. By no means are you the nicest of people, but this is a treatment you would not wish upon your worst enemy.

Then, it is over. The tendrils withdraw themselves from your skull, gently taking care to cause you no more pain, exiting with a wet noise as they retract out from your cranium. You gag violently as the obstruction in your mouth fades away to nothing, dry-heaving as the aftertaste scours the back of your throat.

And as you surrender yourself to the fatigue and exhaustion, too tired to care save for rest, the abomination regards you one last time.

(cont.)

“VARIAN ENGEL, [HUMAN], IFURG [GIFT]. CZIRAM [MESSENGER] AAL [DENIZEN], YISIR ANG KATHGRIORG. [RETURN] UEIR AAL NG’RAAT.”


============

Gonna archive it in a few minutes.

Follow me on Twitter for session times and some of my other quests: https://twitter.com/TaskForceKaz

If you like what I had to write, consider looking at Bladebound Retainer Quest: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Bladebound%20Retainer%20Quest

Hope y'all have a good night/morning/day/afternoon wherever you based anons are. And again, sorry for the delays and thank you for your patience. I'm still trying to get over my jetlag.

Q&A if anyone wants one.

>>502538
So how fucked are we?

>>502538
So who's watching is get mindrapeD by an elder God?

>>502538
Well, that was... something. Wonder how long it'll have been when we wake up?

>>502538
Also how would we build up our magic? Would we see the girls in a new light? In light of our new magi tech arm and leg can we get a wand jolted and wand for our cane too?

>>502543

Not terribly. Varian is already a broken man. There's very little that can push him down further at this point.

>>502554
Only a few days. In the meantime, Kira will have the magitech limbs grafted to your body so we can get geared up for action next thread.

>>502556
Just practice casting magic. Like hopping on a bike. If you want to talk to the girls, that's your own prerogative. And you already have an anti-magic cane. Hit the breaks a little bit, will ya?

>>502538
Thanks for running, by the way.

Bit of a weird request: When offering romance options, make sure you remember who needs romance?, the obvious best choice.

>>502570
>not being in a relationship with Mrs. Jack Daniel's
Come on.

>>502538
So Kaz, is the ancient old ones language suppose to be pronounced "English?"

>>502618
It's pronounced "NIG-LASH"

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>>502626
>"NIG-LASH"

>>502538
ifurg- receive
cziram- become
aal-for
Something like that?

>>502905
Bretty gud, actually. Nailed 3/3 words. I'll add those to Varian's Nglash vocabulary free of charge.

>>503031
Neat

>>503031
Varian Engel, Human, receive gift. Become messenger for denizen, vessel? of? power/Kathgriorg?. Return here? for more?

>>503788
Could also mean returning to his world, or returning to his body

>>503805
>>503788
Since we already know what the word for 'for' is

>>503806
that's why I'm skeptical about >>503805

the for doesn't fit for many sentence structures. That said, Ng'raat sounds like maybe it's more important than simply "more". Could be the second in a series of powers or keys, with Kathgriorg being the first.

>>503820
Ng'raat might refer to race or world.
Basing this off the fact that Nglash seems to refer to them.

>>503832
[for] [race/world]?

what would that mean? releasing or freeing that race or world?

>>503788
Return there/back/here for rest/work/now/anythingelse
Maybe?

>>503844
It was just a hunch, I'll be honest, I did not notice aal there. It does not make much sense now. Though you could return back to fetch something, which may be a whole race, but I don't feel that it is correct here.

>>503870
true, it could mean that we have to find Ng'raat in the normal world before we can meet mister AAAAAAAH again.

File: Vesmana Caravel.jpg (155 KB, 1095x730)

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>4: 39 PM, Spring 62, Year 591
>The Shimmering Sea, 10 miles from the City of Eteria

“Hoy…so was getting attacked by pirates a part of the plan?”

“Of course. How else do you think we negotiated for our passage? I took nothing with me on my journey save for my swords, armor and few days of provisions. It would be both logical and prudent to save our money for when we reach the city. We were just as much passengers as much as an armed escort.”

“I thought the merchant took pity on us. You could’ve told me, said something at least as a warning. That way I wouldn’t have felt so guilty about dipping into the acquisitions funds back in port.”

“And ruined the surprise? You were complaining about a severe lack of inactivity before we cast off. And as for spending your Church’s money, do not feel regret. It was for a worthy cause. If anything, they are to fault for sending you out with little more than a dearth of equipment. Furthermore, your new weapon has proven itself to be superior to your previous one.”

“True, I suppose it is. And speaking of swords…hoy, if we pulled it out, would he die?”

“…it would be extremely painful.”

“You failed to answer the question.”

“It is a cursed sword. It will bring its enemies to within an inch of their lives, but it will not kill them. He remains alive so as long as the blade stays within his stomach.”

“Huh. Even without the curse, broken bones, loss of blood and shattered spines are just as lethal as sword strokes. I’ve seen strongmen cause less damage than you, and you’re a very big guy.”

“…for you, I am indeed. You are very small, even for a woman from Vesmana.”

“Says the man from a continent whose men folk barely surpass the upper end of five-and-a-half feet. You’re just freakishly tall! And surprisingly talkative all things considered. I see that you've woken up on the right side of the hammock.”

“I am simply in the mood for a conversation. It would bode ill on my part to keep you any more out of the arrangement I made with the captain. Rest assured that I have nothing else to conceal from you.”

“…thanks, I suppose. And kudos to you as well. Your plan succeed without any further complications. We slew all the pirates, literally pinned it all out on the traitorous first mate, and made a lucrative profit off of the fellows' cargo. So what is exactly is the next step of your master plan?”

“Finishing the voyage…with all hands on board.”

“…I’ll be satisfied with that so as long as the next meal is more than dried fish. I can’t stand the stuff. Those eyes...but, I digress. Do you think any of the dastards will find survivors in the wreckage?”

“The captain is hoping that the one corpse the men strung up from the pirate’s mizzenmast would serve as sufficient warning to any other scum in the surrounding waters. They will soon know that the waters around Eteria will no longer suffer them.”

(cont.)

“I think that the barrels of pitch are a slight bit excessive, though. It is already taking on water without the aid of explosives. There won't be much of a wreckage left by the time any other pirates get here.”

“One sword displayed keeps another in its sheathe.”

“That isn’t as much of a sword as much as it is a collective powder keg just waiting to go off…and it just did. Ah, it’s quite bright, even from a distance. How much powder went off?”

“A significant amount, given how I can feel the heat even from this distance.”

“Oh, yes, definitely…but I would like to go back to your quote. One of your swrods is rusting inside of the first mate. Intestines are not the best reciprocals for five feet of steel.”

“It is not meant to be taken literally…it is just something she would say.”

“Your sister, am I right?”

“…yes. Neesan was…fond of her aphorisms. She would find every opportunity to attach them where she could, whether it was cooking or even at the opposite end of the sparring field. The masters of our order were…pleased to see I inherited her habit.”

“Yeah…I knew someone like that too. He loved his holy book just as much as he did me. But in a platonic sense, nothing romantic. Oaths of…no, celibacy is too strong of a word. Abstinence, is more suited to the order we fought for. Andi was always popular with the Sisters. Of course, he was too busy, too deep in his books to notice their advances."

“Forgive me if I am mistaken, but you sound…resentful.”

“Nah, just wistful. He was my best friend. No one else ever got that close to me, even after all these years. Always knew myself even better than I did, and…hoy, would you look at that! From the surface of the water, the fire rises.”

=========
Stinger done

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>>506729
Mercy please

>>506729
So guessing they are related to our former party's members?

>>506681
>Hoy
>more hoys
>memes
you just never quit do you?