>>979396
>Interrogate her softly
But press hard if she's being difficult for no reason.

>>979403
Agreed. We go rough then she'll probably just clammed shut

>>979403
Agreed then make her our compainion

Writing. While I am there's a pastebin doc for this quest that explains a bit about the magic system. IF you want to try and keep the surprise of it in tact I suggest you don't read it.

I'll try to weave it in the story naturally, but I figured a cheat sheet might help a bit. If there's any confusion feel free to ask.

http://pastebin.com/gja6K6xy

>>979396

Interrogate her softly

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You figure that antagonizing the kid won’t do you any good, so you’re going to try something new and be nice. You take off your hat and place it on the trunk behind you as you consider how to start a conversation. A few stupid ideas cross your mind, including trying to butter her up by telling her your parents are dead too, but you have an inkling it wouldn’t be appreciated right now. After a minute you give up and just open your mouth.

“What’s your name, kid?” That wasn’t too bad an opener, but all it gets you is the same stare as before.

Clearing your throat you try again. “You got a name? Something your par-” Fucked up already. Ah, well. “Your parent’s called you?”

She just sways with the train’s rocking, eye’s locked on yours. It occurs to you she may actually be dumb. She didn’t scream when you first found her, despite the struggling, and even if she’s a passable writer you doubt she could make anything legible on the train. You grimace, but figure you’ve already opened the can of dead parents. You might as well air your thoughts about the crime scene. Might help you think.

“So, I figure there were at least six men that came to the farm. I found two of them dead next to a farmer I assume was your father, since you got that tan skin of a mutt. Found a few vials of pewter in one of the drawers too, so I figure it’s safe to assume he was the Thug of the family.” You pick up your flask and take a swig, feeling warm water slide down your throat despite the ice clinking against the metal.

“He didn’t do too badly, I suppose, if he wasn’t a fighter.” Her eyes narrow and you grin a bit. Least you know she understands you. “Now your mother was definitely a Steelrunner. The prints she left on the way to your cabin and the indents on her arms prove it. That said, I figure it went like this. Feel free to chime in whenever. The Sevens’ came up the road and your parents went to meet them. They, being idiots, tried to outmuscle an Allomancer and got their necks broken for the trouble. The rest of the men lit your dad up and your mother ran and grabbed you to hide. Then she got the piece of shit family rifle and, I admit, I don’t get this part. She shoots holes all over the house until it's empty. I found bullets in the every wall of that dump, and one in the ceiling. Not one hit a man, and I haven’t met a Rough's woman yet who would fire ten times and not get a drop of blood out of a man. Any theories?”

She looks livid now, grinding her little teeth, but still quiet as a mouse. You take another swig of water and continue.

“Now after that, I figure they do what all gangs do when they find a woman alone in the wilderness. But your mom, surprisingly, looked fine. Dead, but no more than a split lip and a-”

“Shut up.” A quiet voice says. You can’t hide your grin now. Who knew being nice was so effective. You should try it more often.

“You got anything usef-”

“Sh-Shut up you, you jerk!” You see tears are in her eyes and wonder how you missed that with all the staring. She cries as softly as you would expect, even if her insults were far below normal Rough standards. You slide your flask over to her, as gloating over a victory doesn’t become you.

“Drink it.” You say. She glares again, but she hadn’t drunk anything since she passed out, so thirst wins her over pretty quickly. She picks it up and downs it as fast as possible, before coughing.

“…Daddy’s dead too?” She asks, almost too soft to hear as she settles after the small fit. You suppose that maybe she held on to a stupid hope she wasn’t a complete orphan yet, and you just blew it for her.

“Blonde hair, brown eyes, too many muscles?” She nods slowly. “He’s dead, kid. He took a couple of men with him at least. Better than most.”

She’s still, finally taking her eyes off of you and staring at the flask. You suppose now that she’s finally talking a bit you should press her on some specifics.

> Did any of the gang mention an Urvan, or a Lee.
> Did anything weird happen. Some of the gang may have had Allomantic or Feruchemical powers, and it’d be nice to know them before hand.
> Write-in.

>>979496
>Don't worry I won't just abandon you and if you chose to tag along there just might be revenge in there for you.
>proceed to ask both questions

>>979496

Did any of the gang mention an Urvan, or a Lee

Dry up tears will get you killed. Wana get gud to kill them?

>>979496
>Don't worry I won't just abandon you and if you chose to tag along there just might be revenge in there for you.
>proceed to ask both questions

>>979549
Y u copy paste me

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“Did hear any of them mention a Lee or an Urvan?” You press your fingernails into your palm as you say the name, but keep your slight smile.

“I didn’t hear any names. They… they came after my mommy after she hid me. I don’t remember what they said, but my mommy, she started screaming after that. Before they came in the house. She…” Sniffles are starting up and big globs of tears are rolling down her cheeks. At least she’s embarrassed enough to try and hide them behind the flask as she curls up into herself.

For a split-second, you feel pity for the kid. Then comes the disgust. “Stop crying kid. It won’t fix a damn thing.”

“B-But…”

“No.” You stand up as you feel the train start to slow, grabbing your hat and putting it back on your head. “You have a choice right now. You can feel sorry for yourself, or you tell me something useful so I can find the bastards and kill them. Did anything strange happen, or did the men say anything about where they were going?”

Shit, did you imply that you would specifically look for men that did this? Well, she isn’t in any condition to tell the difference between a lie and the truth.

The tears are still running down her face but the sniffles stop. After a second a choked voice speaks up.

“They weren’t all men. There was a woman at the end. Who k-killed my mom. She made the others leave. I think she scared them. And, and the man they were following in the beginning, I think they called him Five. And her Seven. I… I think he’s the one who made my mom scream. She sounded so scared…”

“Hmm…” You roll that around in your brain. You had heard that the Sevens were led by seven leaders, each with a number, all exceptionally dangerous. At least there was some confirmation that you didn’t pay for shit info. The woman was probably a Metalborn, with something good as power. Women didn’t get authority in a gang without some kind of edge. The man Five sounded like he had some kind of emotional power, if he made a Rough’s woman blubber like a child. Maybe a Soother, probably a Rioter.

“That all you got?” She nods her head, the tears having stopped while she talked. “Alright then, I’ll drop you by the…” It hits you all of a sudden. The kid was the child of two Metalborn herself. Not always, but power is always passed by bloodlines. It wasn’t a sure thing, and her parents may not have tested her yet, but there was a possibility…

You can feel a wolf-like smile on your face. “Hey kid, you want to get revenge yourself?”

Her eyes peek over her hands and she meets your eyes again, hers red and puffy. “What? I don’t, I can’t…”

You feel the train rolling to a stop and the Conductors pulling the whistle for all he’s worth. You ignore her stammering and pick your trunk, heavy as Elendel noble, and get ready to disembark. Now is as good a time as any to decide what to do with the kid you guess.

>Take her with you on your hunt for Urvan
>Leave her with the town’s sheriff
>Ask her what she wants to do

>>979682
>Leave her with the town’s sheriff

>>979682
>>Leave her with the town’s sheriff

>>979682

>Take her with you on your hunt for Urvan

>>979682
> take her with you
If we get short on cash we can sell her.

A voice in your head tells you that exploiting a newly made orphan for possible Metalborn potential and throwing her, unprepared, into a gang fight isn’t the thing a good man would do. Thankfully you’re not a good man, so that doesn’t really bother you. The whispers that it sounds like something your father would do wipes the smile right off your face, though.

“Rusts. Nevermind, forget it. I’m taking you to the Sheriff. Come on.”

“Sheriff? Where are we?” She looks around, just noticing that the train has come to a complete stop and the wailing of the whistle has stopped.

“Crowther.”

“I know this place. My… parents have brought me here a few time.”

“Well, that’s great because you’ll probably be living here for the rest of your life. Now get up.”

You don’t bother to see if she follows as you walk to the door. You put the fear of the Survivor in the bastards running the train to let you out as soon as they stop, so you don’t have to wait long for the wall to start shaking and sliding back, revealing the terrified face of whichever fool they pawned the job onto.

You drop your trunk to the ground and hop out of the car. The boy they got is sweating and his uniform, clean and pressed, is starting to get a little damp. You suppose you may have gone a little too far in bullying your way to a cheap car ride, but you find it hard to care. Reaching into your pocket you grab a few coins you’re pretty sure aren’t worthless in this part of the Roughs and hold out your hand. He looks at you like an idiot for a second before understanding that you are trying to offer him a tip. He holds out his hand and you drop the coins he should have realized were pretty fucking cold into it. He drops them instantly, and you have a good chuckle.

“Take the trunk to whatever hole they call an inn here.” You say, and observe the crowd starting to form as the train empties out. You hope that the flash of gold you see in it doesn’t mean what you think it does.

“But, I have to empty out the car for the other passengers and-” Your hand on his shoulder cuts him off, and he begins cringing away from your touch as the icy touch begins to leech into him. Your grip keeps his right where he is.

“When I get to the inn, my trunk is going to be there. Got it?” He nods his head and you let go, letting his scramble away.

The kid is still trying to get herself out of the car and is carefully trying to lower herself out of it. Considering her height, a short drop to you is a small cliff to her, and she slips off of it and lands on her butt. She’s still clutching your flask and doesn’t start crying so at least she’s not forgetful.

She picks herself up and looks at you like she expects something.

“What?” You ask.

“I have to hold someone’s hand in town so I don’t get lost.” She offers her hand and a wave of disgust rolls through you.

>No
>Hell no
>…Fine

>>980394
> No
There is no-one to hold your hand anymore more. Also, frosty.

>>980394
>…Fine

>>980394
>>No
Just stick close if she has to.

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>>980394
>No

"First lesson kid - the only person you can rely on in the Roughs is yourself."

But if she must, she can hold on to the edges of our poncho that we are totally wearing like pic related.

Going to assume we're Metlaborn too. Here's hoping we're a Coinshot!

>>980394
>…Fine

I'm cold though

>>980394
>...Fine

“You get lost, you get lost. Grow up. No one gives a shit about you in the Roughs, so you have to take care of yourself. Now follow.” You start walking away before she can try and pout her way into a new father or whatever the fuck she wants. You take half strides so she can keep up.

You set off and think about what you have to do before once the kid is dumped. Usually, you put off meeting any so-called Rough authorities. You’ve never been to Crowther before, but every Rough’s town that isn’t literally infested with criminals has a sheriff’s office somewhere in the middle of it. Never met one that didn’t have a stick up their ass, was insane, or both. A good hunt means getting in and out with the bounties head and never meeting another soul, in your opinion. Not that you’ve ever had a good hunt. That said, you need the lay of the land, get at least passingly familiar with the alleys and type of people in town if you’re going to do any real investigating.

Your current problem is that you have no clue where Lee Urvan is, what he looks like, or if he’s Metalborn. Not that there’s much of a chance he isn’t. You haven’t heard of any scum that calls itself an Urvan that wasn’t at least an Archivist, and if he’s involved in a Roughs gang he’s probably a Coinshot or a Thug. With no solid leads on the man himself, that means that your best bet is to try and work your way through the Sevens until someone coughs up a location. But, you haven’t met a gang yet that was okay with a bounty hunter attacking its members and getting away with it. Maybe you could think of some tricky way to draw him out, but you have no clue what to bait him with. Taking on a gang you don’t want to isn’t a good option, but it’s an option at least, and as long as you can get to Urvan you don’t much care about what happens after…

“Frost, buddy! I can’t believe I missed you in Weathering. Must have gotten our schedules mixed up, huh?” A thin and pale man, covered in a loud gold vest and holding a cane in his hand, is blocking your way, holding his arms open like he expects a hug. Lost in thought you didn’t notice him until it was too late. You feel the kid bump into you from behind.

“Harmony’s lost balls,” You curse. It’s fucking Kiev, the most annoying bastard you have ever met. He’s standing there covered head to toe in glossy golden clothes, sewn tight enough you can see the lumps on his arms where his gold metal-minds are. You don’t remember it glittering last time you saw him.

Your first instinct is to punch him in the face, but as a Bloodmaker, or gold Feruchemist, he would just heal and be as chipper and happy as before. The bastard’s been following you since you first came to the Roughs years ago, a University student who wanted to see the wild unknown up close. He picked you as one of the ‘Heroes of the Roughs’ he idolized. You think he started styling himself as a Gentleman Adventurer last you saw him. You spit at the thought of that, and his feet rather nimbly dodge it.

Thinking about it, he does solve one problem you have at least. He’s a perfect meat shield if you go up against the Sevens directly, which you don’t doubt is why he’s showing up here. But Harmony, you hate his fucking guts.

>Ignore him.
>Run the other way. He’s slow and you can carry the kid under your arm.
>Keep walking. You have no doubt he’ll follow and start blabbing.

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>>981202
Sorry, I had already written the update.

Also I forgot the picture again.

>>981224

>Keep walking

Kiev may be annoying, but having a meatshield around is always handy.

>>981224
>>Keep walking. You have no doubt he’ll follow and start blabbing.

>>981224
>Keep walking. You have no doubt he’ll follow and start blabbing.

>>981224
>Keep walking. You have no doubt he’ll follow and start blabbing.

It's a rule that a hero of the Roughs has to have a Bloodmaker sidekick!

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You sigh and walk past him. He pivots smoothly and starts walking with you, already onto the next stupid thing his brain latched onto. Leaning in almost conspiratorially he begins whispering loud enough for anyone to hear.

“No need to tell me why you’re here. These Sevens ragamuffins have been making just a bit too much noise, haven’t they Frost. I heard a few of them got bounties up in Coriander City after they robbed the Tallow family. Left the poor lads dead in their beds I hear.” His face falls and he swipes his shiny bowler hat off his head, revealing a small bald spot starting on the top of his head, to hold to his heart for a second. Then he smiles anew. “Still, now that they’ve got a price on their heads a few good men and women might finally come and finish off the criminals. I hear Thousand Rounds or Denny Scarless might be heading over here soon to deal with them. Maybe even the Zookeepers would come, I haven’t met them yet. Almost makes me wish you weren’t already here. Never known you to be slow in cleaning up scofflaws. There won’t be any left for the others, ha ha!” He elbows you in the side and you don’t shoot him in the face.

Kiev leans back and notices the kid walking quietly behind us. “And who’s this little ray of sunshine? What’s your name dearie?” You know he has a wide open smile beaming at her without even looking.

“I’m-”

“She’s the kid I’m dumping at the Sheriff’s,” I answer.

“Never know you to be the brotherly type. What brings you to Crowther with our frozen friend here?”

“Her parents got killed by the Sevens.” You state.

“Oh… oh. I’m so sorry dear.” That finally shuts him up and smile threatens to tug at your lip. You kill it, though. You would never smile in front of Kiev. It might encourage him.

After a few minutes of blessed silence, he opens his mouth again. “We’re going to the Sheriff’s office, right Frost? I only ask because we’ve passed the saloon twice already.”

You squint at three story building in front of you and suppose it’s possible you’ve seen it before. The town isn’t built like most Rough’s towns, straight lines crossing each other. Every road curves and you have to choose a direction to turn ever hundred yards or so. You can’t tell where the Main Street is, and without that, you have no clue where the Sheriff’s office would be. You hate to do it but you might need to ask one of the pedestrians nearby for directions.

As you look at the people walking around you and giving a wide berth to the gussied up idiot, Kiev pulls out a folded paper from under his vest. “Only, I bought a map from a helpful fellow at the train depot. Even gave me a discount. I might be able to get us there lickety split.”

You glare at him but soon the three of you are standing outside a long two story building with Sheriff written on the sign out front. You can hear some bustle inside, and it seems surprisingly active for a Sheriff’s office, even for a town as big as Crowther, which you admit is a city by Rough’s standards. A teenager with a rifle slung across his back and a deputy star is leaning against the building, but he seems to be ignoring you.

>Leave the kid outside
>Leave the kid with the deputy
>Look for the Sheriff and leave the kid with him.

>Say something to the kid before you go (Write-in)
>Leave without a word

I'm going to sleep now. Be back tomorrow to continue. Any questions or comments are welcome.

>>981933
>>Leave the kid with the deputy

>>981933
>Look for the Sheriff and leave the kid with him.

>>981933
>>Look for the Sheriff and leave the kid with him.

>>981933
>Look for the Sheriff and leave the kid with him.

Might as well check out what's going on inside to boot.

>>981933
>Find the Sheriff and leave the kid with him

If you're gonna do a job, do it properly!

>Say something to the kid

"Alright kid, this is where we part ways. Can't have you hanging around while I'm hunting the folks that did in your parents. I'm sure the sheriff'll take care of you, specially if your an Allomancer or Feruchemist. Always work for a Metalborn in the Roughs."

>>981933
>Look for the Sheriff and leave the kid with him.

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The faster you get this errand over with the faster you can start working on something that actually matters. Ignoring the deputy, you enter the building and see the bustle you heard from outside. Men and a woman or two are walking throughout the hall, weaving through the scattered desks. You see a few men in cuffs in the corner and even more behind bars in the jailed off corner of the room. Drunk tank, you’d guess.

One of the deputies gives you a side-eye and when you ask to see the Sheriff he nods his head towards the stairs in the back of the room. The second floor is different from the first, a hallway with filled with closed doors. At the far end of the hall is a door that has a plaque naming it Sheriff Dwayne Breech’s office. You don’t bother knocking before opening the door and surprising the old man at the desk.

At least twice your age and with a drooping gray mustache streaked with black, the gaunt face of the Sheriff doesn’t fill you with any confidence in the town’s law enforcement. At least until he stands up and you see that his entire body has the same emancipated look as his face. You turn your back to him and throw a thumb over your shoulder to usher the kid inside and slam the door in Kiev’s face as he tries to follow.

“I’ll wait out here then,” You hear his weedy voice say through the door as you turn towards Sheriff Breech.

His height jumps out at you first, being one of the few people you’ve met in your life that can look you in the eye. His dark brown skin and tall, thin body mark him as Terris as you are, and the pewter metalminds on his arms just confirm it. If you thought you’d make it to fifty, you might say you were looking at a future version of yourself. He’s alert and his body language only has a bit of tension in it. One hand is resting on his desk but the other is behind it, and you’d bet your life gripping a gun. His eyes flicker between the kid and you as he starts speaking.

“I know I say my door is always open, but it’s still polite to knock first. Are you going to introduce yourself Mr…?”

“Frost. I found this kid on a farm a few days out of town. Parents were killed by the Sevens.”

His face grows dark. “The only farming couple with a little girl around here is the Branson’s. What happened?”

“Like I said, Sevens killed the parents, I found the kid. She’s your problem now.” You turn to leave but a voice pipes up next to you.

“You’re really leaving me?” The kid’s staring at you again, but her eyes are as big as saucers now. Your hand is on the doorknob, but something stops you from turning it.

“Yeah I’m leaving you. I’m going to be hunting down the Sevens, and you’d get in the way.”

“But you said I could help catch them.”

“Yeah, well, I lied.”

You leave and wait in the hallway, leaning against the wall. Kiev reads the mood for once and stays quiet while the kid and the Sheriff talk inside. After ten minutes of waiting, the Sheriff leaves his office and closes the door behind him. Wearing an open vest and nothing underneath you can see his almost sickly body underneath, but he’s strapped on two pistols. Brutes tended to wear loose clothing, but he wears the least you’ve ever seen. He gives Kiev half a glance before focusing on you.

“I’ll have a deputy look after her, and send I’ll go check on her parent’s bodies as soon as my work here is done.” He considers you a moment, looking you up and down. “I’ve heard of a bounty hunter named Frost. I suppose considering your whole,” He gestures at your whole body. “…thing I would be an idiot to ask if it’s you. We need to talk. I’d like you to follow me to the saloon so I can ask some questions about what you saw on that farm.”

>Accept offer to go to Saloon with Sheriff
>Refuse and go investigating immediately
If Refuse
>Go to saloon
>Look around town
>Talk to bystanders to gather information on the state of the town.

>>983872
>>Accept offer to go to Saloon with Sheriff

>>983872
> refuse
What is he, deaf? We already fucking told him.
> Go to the saloon, I guess

So we store heat? Can we do fireball?

>>983872
>Accept offer to go to Saloon with Sheriff

>>983872
>Accept offer to go to Saloon with Sheriff
>>983905
he wants more details, we gave a brief version

also
>refuse to go to saloon with sheriff
>go to the salon alone

We can't do fireball, unless we have a ball of oil and tar or something similar to throw.

>>983872
>Accept offer

>>984093
>>refuse to go to saloon with sheriff
>>go to the salon alone
Yeah... those are totally different things.

You don’t tell him yes, but you do follow Breech as he leaves. He walks the twisty streets like it's second nature, waving at near everyone who passes by.

“Dwayne the Stone!” Kiev exclaims suddenly. He was doing his impression of thinking deeply and you suppose he finally arrived at his answer.

The Sheriff grunts. “I hear they call me that out of town. I’m just Sherriff Dwayne here, though.”

Kiev starts doffing his hat excitedly now. “I read all about your exploits in the Elendel Records! You single-handedly destroyed the Rough Riders 20 years ago and took down Ray the Tiger just a few years back. Is it true you were born out here? I can’t imagine what the Roughs were like 55 years ago, Dwayne.”

You see tension spring up in the Sheriffs' shoulders and for a second his back isn’t weedy. But the moment passes, and he answers back through gritted teeth. “You a city-boy then, goldy? One of them, adventuring types?”

Puffing himself up Kiev rattles on, oblivious. “I wouldn’t call myself an Adventurer, per se. More, a civic-minded citizen, who wants to help the combat the downtrodden masses the vagabonds out here prey on. Why I would love to hear some of your stories of heroism. You fought with Dawnshot and Deathless Miles once, didn’t you, Dwayne?”

“Sheriff Breech.”

“Of course, of course, you have a respected position in the constabulary of this fine town, and I shouldn’t slight you. My apologies. Now I heard you met Ms. Maybelline Myers once, firebrand that she was. Did she really have that beauty mark she had in the portraits? Only I once saw an evanotype of her and-”

“How about we enjoy the scenery, boy.”

“Oh! Well yes, this is quite a unique town. I’ve never seen architecture quite like this in the Roughs, though Weathering was close…”

Dumbass keeps talking even as the Sheriff ignores him. Once you get to the saloon he asks Kiev to go to some house to tell them that an orphan kid was at the station, and after some direction you expect were purposefully vague the chipper idiot is out of both of your miseries.

The bar’s pretty lively. A man plays piano in the corner, rattling off an upbeat ditty, and just about everyone raises their glass to the Sheriff as he walks in. Men play cards on a few free tables and a darts tournament is starting to get rowdy on the far side. You get a few stares, but your company is enough to make them ignore you. Walking to the bar the Sheriff orders some beer you’ve never heard of, probably local piss. You glare when the bartender asks you what you want and he leaves you alone.

The Sheriff waits for his beer and takes a deep swig before speaking.

“How in the hell are you not dead? I’ve known a Firesoul or two in my time, and none of them ever got as cold as you. Said they felt as cold as I would at that temperature when they stored, and you’ve been like ice since we were at my office. If I tried to store so much strength at a time with my pewter I’d break my damn legs trying to walk.”

“I suppose every Firesoul you know is a coward.” You say as you reach inside your thick coat for your flask. Then you remember the damn kid still has it. Doesn’t matter, you’ve been meaning to buy a new brass one anyway. Just gives you an excuse. Unfortunately, you’ve long stopped trusting any liquid you didn’t boil first from Rough bars, and you can’t boil anything they give you in the cheap glass they’re using, so you have nothing to drink while you sit awkwardly at the bar.

“You do seem like a hard bastard. The Branson’s farm. What makes you think the Sevens did it?”

“I was following a tip from an informant of mine, said they were taking the road to Crowther. Figured I could catch up them myself, but by the time I reached the farm they were still at least day ahead of me. I figured a kid couldn’t ride as hard as I could. Decided to let them get where they were going and take a train here instead, so I could get some sleep. Suppose it could have been a random attack, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“I would. We got ourselves a clean town here, everyone knows everyone else. If a gang was trying to spread out they wouldn’t come to Crowther. Maybe one of the towns near us like Lleywn or Dredge, but not here.”

From what your informant said the Sevens had been on the down-low for years in Crowther. He was about as trustworthy as any informant, but you doubt he was lying to you. Either way, you have questions to ask the Sheriff.

>Ask about Urvan
>Ask about the Sevens without mentioning Urvan
>Ask about the town
>Ask about the number of deputies
>Write-in?

Also, roll a 1D100. Lowest of first three taken.

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>985726
>>Ask about the Sevens without mentioning Urvan

Rolled 73 (1d100)

>>985726
>Ask about the Sevens, mention Urvan

Also how are we not dead OP?

>>985742
I was trying to imply it, but you are a Brass Ferring. You can store your body heat into make yourself cooler and tap a brass metalmind to heat yourself back up.

>>985742
>>985770
Actually I realize this might not be the answer to the question you were asking.

Suffice to say most Brass Ferrings wouldn't be able to store as much heat as you are. You however, can. It's part of the reason you're called Frost now.

>>985770
Yeah but, aren't we storing way too much? If our body temperature is low enough that icy water feels warm, that's not sustainable, but we're sustaining it.

>>985780
Ok.

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>Ask about the Sevens without mentioning Urvan

Only mention Urvan once you see how he responds.

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>985726
>Ask about the Sevens without mentioning Urvan

“You’ve heard of the Sevens before?”

“Gossip and second-hand stories. A bunch of dumb kids trying to take shit they ain’t earned. Same story as the rest of them. Never been in my neck of the woods, far as I’ve heard.”

If he’s lying you can’t tell, and he keeps sipping his beer coolly. Without another source of information you can’t decide if the man’s oblivious or lying, but you doubt that six gang members would up and relocate to the biggest Rough’s town in 50 miles for no reason. The Sevens weren’t big, but they weren’t small either, and Crowther was the place most of the paths led. Urvan’s name is on the tip of your tongue, but you doubt a man born in the Roughs like the Sheriff would even recognize it. And even if he did, you don’t know if the man would tell you the truth, or send out his deputies to investigate and tell everyone in town who you were looking for. Lee Urvan could be a runner for all you knew, and the chance of losing him if he found out a hunter was after him specifically? Not one you want to take.

“The Branson’s were good people,” He continues. “Bill was city folk, but he became a good Rough’s man. Never feared a day of work and made a good life out here with Bethshen. Whoever did this, gang or not, well they’re not going to escape justice long. Least I can do for that little girl.” He pronounces the woman’s Terris name correctly to your surprise, breathy and stressed in the middle.

You hear a bang behind you before a woman starts cursing. A glance reveals one of the idiots playing darts tripped and banged their shin. A deputy you didn’t notice in the corner near the doorway hollers at them to stop complaining.

“Did they leave anything behind? A gang sign or a clue? How many men are we looking for? Bill was an Allomancer, I think. Did they sneak up on him or was it a fight?”

You sigh as you rattle off answers to his questions as tersely as you can. You have doubts this man knows anything you actually want to hear, and it’s looking more and more likely you’ll have to find a Sevens member yourself to get anywhere in your hunt.

>Stay and ask more questions (Specify)
>Leave to explore the town on your own

>>987558
>Leave to explore the town on your own

Looks like they're laying low

>>987558
>Leave to explore the town on your own

Thanks for the talk Sheriff, best of luck

>>987558

>Leave to explore the town on your own

File: Chromium Feruchemy.png (12 KB, 343x500)

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You stand up to leave the bar but a hand pins your arm to the table quick as a cobra. The reedy man next to you is gone and replaced with as big a Brute as you’ve ever seen. Bulging muscles lock you in place as the Saloon quiets, barring one idiot arguing with the deputy, and the Sheriff sips his beer as you focus on his face. He’s filled out everywhere, and the vest that was once too big was now too small to hold his hulking form. You can almost hear the groan his stool was giving under him.

“Where are you going, youngin’? We weren’t done talking.”

You briefly wonder if you could get away, but his grip tightens around you. He doesn’t much seem to care that he’s gripping a man colder than ice, and a man doesn’t become a veteran in the Roughs if a third-degree burn on his palm would stop him. You could kill him, but you’d definitely lose the arm and being in a town where you shot the Sheriff would probably ruin your hunt. Besides your coat’s still new and unpatched, and you would hate to have to buy another one. You answer through gritted teeth.

“I’m going to go do my job. You have a problem with that?” Bastard takes his sweet time nursing his mug before replying.

“I reckon I don’t, as far as it goes. But let me give you a warning. I’ve met Jack Frost before, and he was a hard man, but trustworthy. Always did the right thing in the end. The reputation you’ve been building is different, and I don’t know if I much like that fellow running around my town. So you keep to yourself, you hear. If I hear a man living here gets so much as frostbite on his little toe, don’t expect to leave in one piece.”

He lets your arm go as he deflates like a stabbed wineskin, and you snatch it away too quickly. Makes it look like you’re scared of him. You don’t bother to answer and stalk out the saloon as they toss the drunk dart player out behind you. You have a feeling that once you warm up you’ll start feeling the bruise that’s definitely forming on your arm, but a nice side-effect of staying so cold was the numbness.

Kiev’s still gone, but the bastard always finds you anyway so waiting would be a waste of time. As the drunk mutters on the steps of the saloon you consider where to go.

>Check out the alleys and the slums every town this big has
>Talk to some of the citizens, see if they’ve heard of any Sevens in town
>Go to the main road into town. Maybe you can find a description of the killers from the guards there

>>988011
> question the guards
How do we apply out heat control in combat? I can't imagine it being particularly useful yet we seem intent in storing as much as we can.

>>988011
>Check out the alleys and the slums every town this big has

>>988033
Simply put, imagine if you could touch someone and give them 3rd degree burns, or boil a lake in a few seconds. Melt metal or survive in a Blizzard naked. It doesn't have a lot of long range potential without tools like an anon suggested earlier, but the first thing a Ferring tends to learn is that the more stored power you have, the better.

>>988011
>Check out the alleys and the slums every town this big has

>>988102
I get the surviving in a blizzard naked, but wouldn't heating ourselves to the point that we burn others or melt metal, also burn our own body?

Also yes oil/tar balls. Good that war crimes aren't a thing yet.

>>988813
It's maaaaaaaaaaagic. Read the books, this is well within the realm of possibility in the Mistborn/Alloy of Law universe.

>>988901
It's been a while since I read the books, couldn't remember if Feruchemy guarded against heat overcharges. I don't think it was ever brought up so I just assumed it didn't.

>>989058
You know what they say about assuming

Even if you don’t know where exactly you are going, slums are easy to find wherever you are. You start walking and pay attention to the buildings surrounding you as you move. Every time you see a deputy taking rounds you turn around and every time you see refuse on a street or an abandoned store you follow them like a path. You take out a derringer and hold it hidden in your hand. A dull throb starts in your lower arm as you stop storing body heat in your metal minds, and your clothes bite against your skin. You let them melt in the evening sun, soaking your clothes and leaving wet footprints in the dirt behind you. Once your damp you start tapping one of your around 20 metalminds, a small brass ring on your pinky. You double your body heat, radiating like an oven to dry yourself off. When you first started to really explore your abilities as a Firesoul keeping up this temperature for ten minutes would have left you dryer than a desert, but after so many years of practice it doesn’t even cause a tickle in your throat.

Once you stop dripping you unhook your gun belt and pistol and leave the small derringer hidden in the small of your back, gunpowder still useable. Keeping an eye on the emptying streets around you, you swing your gun belt and gun under the open wood foundation of a store advertising its ‘Dairy Delicacies’ and keep walking, not breaking stride. You’ll come back for it later, but even if someone does steal it you have extra guns and ammo in your trunk. You consider your black ankle duster coat and your simple buttoned shirt and pants. Not ideal, but you suppose you look rich enough to rob, especially if you seem unarmed.

Looking at the sun from beneath the brim of your hat you figure you have a couple of hours of daylight left to get started on an investigation and find the inn where the train boy dropped your luggage. Crowther was bigger than you anticipated and you might be unlucky enough it has more than one inn.

The streets get dirtier and the people look meaner as you walk, no longer Frost but just a tall young Terrisman with a bad fashion sense. Your clean face, the result of your inability to grow a beard with less than a month of work, makes you look like even less of a man. You’re not sure if you could resist mugging yourself, especially once you plaster on one of Kiev’s vacant smiles.

You stroll down streets where people mutter at you as you pass and the quality of living has dropped by a century. Homes are boarded up and in disrepair, and you only see the one group of three deputies on the street, trying to look as mean as possible. A far-cry from the rest of the cities relative infestation of them. Some of the urchin kids running by and trying to bump into you remind you more of the skaa from long ago than modern children. You bat them away quickly with one hand, the other in your pocket protecting a pocket full of loose coins. You don’t see anyone take the bait instantly, but as the sun dips over the horizon and the stars begin to pockmark the sky you hear scuffling behind you. Your smile gets teeth as you hear a muffled curse and another man berating it even louder.

>Let them try to mug you. You doubt anyone this incompetent has a gun
>Take them by surprise
Also
>Be as lethal as normal
>Be kinder than normal

>>989246
>Take them by surprise
>Be as lethal as normal

Best not to take chances.

>>989228
This assumption was based on what would happen if I or another human touched molten metal. Don't be such a ponce.

>>989246
>Take them by surprise
>Be as lethal as normal

Never make it this far in the Roughs by taking stupid chances like letting your guard down

You walk quickly around a corner and wait, back against rotting wood, spitting on your left hand a few times as a bad replacement for your flask, until you see a man peek his head out. An elbow to the face stuns him as he stumbles back and you swing around the corner to look at two other men standing surprised, knives on their belts and murder in their souls.

The one in front, tall and dirty in a patchy shirt and suspenders, has a pistol that can’t hold more than one round in his hand, pointed at the ground. You take a long stride to him and cover his mouth with your hand while you grab his gun holding wrist. As soon as you feel skin you suck all the heat from the hand on his mouth and dump a lake of it into the other one. You feel like knives of ice stab into every square inch of your left while your right feels like you’ve dipped it in molten metal again. The confusion in the mugger's eyes tells you he doesn’t feel the same thing yet. You let your entire left hand freeze up and focus on your right, pooling the heat into your middle finger and thumb. You link them together and squeeze, the horrendous stink of flesh beyond burned familiar to you.

Using your momentum you try to push the cripple into the third man behind him, a shorty with a squashed face, but he blunders out of the way into the wall next to him. You heat your cold hand up enough to detach you from his face without ripping your skin off and take a backhand swing at the man, which swishes over his head as he ducks. You drop the dead weight and turn towards the two men left standing. Broken nose has gotten his wits back and starts brandishing a filthy cleaver. You figure all the blood must be blocking out the stench as you see ugly scrunching up his face even more.

“Die, you rusting prick!” Broke nose yells as he rushes you in an overhand chop that he definitely misjudged the timing for. Instincts take over and you step inside his swing, catching his elbow on your shoulder and press your left hand against his back to keep him locked to you. Your other hand rears back and you move the heat from your fingers into your entire hand, fingertips hot enough to start steaming slightly, and plunge it into his heart like a knife.

He shudders for a moment before you toss him away from you and look at the terrified mug of the last man standing. His knees are shaking and he still hasn’t drawn the knife on his belt. You don’t bother to hurry and you stalk towards him, the man backing up until he hits the wall.

“Hey, listen, I-I can’t… you have, I mean please ma- sir, sir I!”

You slam a hand in the wood above his head and look down as he cranes his head up to see your face. You aren’t smiling anymore, and your expression is deader than his buddy’s.

“Alright, you midget. I have some questions and you better hope you have answers.”

>Ask about Urvan
>Ask about the Sevens
>Ask about anything weird in town
>Ask about the Sheriff and his deputies
>Ask general questions about the criminals in the city and location of any informants
>Write-in question

>>989862
>Ask about the Sevens

Start here, we should probably kill him too if we ask about Urvan

>>989862
>Ask about the Sevens

>>989862
>Ask about anything weird in town
>Ask about the Sevens

Wiping the ashes on your right hand off on his shirt, him whimpering from the leftover heat radiating from it, you check the cripple. You thought you heard him moaning for a second but his gentle breathing probably means he passed out once he looked at what used to be his hand. You slowly slip the knife out of the sheath on his belt and toss it out of the mouth of the alleyway. You kind of wish you had grabbed the gun in case the cripple wakes up and tries to get revenge, but it would definitely mess up the menacing thing you have going on and the little bastard might run or call for help while your back was turned.

“You hear about the Sevens?” You casually ask. “I have some business with them and they were too rude to give me directions.”

His eyes flicker down the alleyway, wondering if he can get away. Stubby stammers every sentence out of his mouth like

“What, I don’t- I mean who are you?”

“I’m a man looking to buy some wares, and that’s all you are going to know.” You lie. When he squeals better he thinks you’re another outlaw than a bounty hunter. Of course using your Feruchemy in the fight will make it obvious to anyone who decides to make even the most minimal effort to investigate you, but you’ve found criminals have looser tongues with people they think are as dirty as them.

“I don’t, we’re not allowed… come on, man. I’m sorry we came after you, we’re rusting idiots, just…” A finger running down his cheek stops him. You don’t heat it up much, just enough that he feels it. His imagination does the rest. It dawns on you that you have caressed more men’s faces on starlit nights than women’s and a stab of melancholy goes through you.

“Listen, I’m on a bit of a timetable here. How about you tell me about the strangest thing you’ve seen in town, and if I like what I find there I won’t come find you tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

“I-I…” He swallows hard and you can see thoughts racing in his head. “Th-there’s a man in the Sheriff’s office who comes down to the slums alone, sometimes. I don’t know where he goes but everyone knows not to touch him. But he, uh, he knows the people you know, I heard. It’s a rumor, though, please don’t tell him I told you!”

“And what does our friend look like?”

“I-I don’t know, like a conner! I don’t- He doesn’t have one of his front teeth! I saw that once.”

>Let him go
>Ask more questions
>Other
If let him go
>Go where (Includes previous locations mentioned) (Write-in)

Also I fucked up a while back and called Miles Deathless Miles instead of Miles Hundredlives. My mistake and sorry if it confused anyone.

I should probably glue myself to the coppermind if I'm going to make references like that and not go off memory.

>>991029
>Let him go
Go talk to the guards on the main road. Ask about the Sevens and also the Sheriff's deputies.

>>991040
It's been long enough that I just thought you were right.

>>991029
>Let him go

Make our hand freezing and hold up a finger to his lips as a stay quiet gesture

>Go to the main road into town. Maybe you can find a description of the killers from the guards there

You store the heat from your finger in your brass bracelet, feeling the freezing pinpricks down to the bone, and press it to his lips. He gets the message. After he scampers away in front of you and you leave the alley with a new lead to follow in the morning.

The stars shine brightly and there is no mist in sight as you walk through town. You think you might be starting to get the hang of navigation in this stupid town and it only takes you about an hour to find the train station again. The depot is empty, though you saw a few civilians still on the street. From there you follow the track until it diverges and you find the main road into and out of town, where wagons clog it up all day. Now only a few travelers trickle in and out. Most everyone who would have left by the main road would have left in the morning.

A lone sentry leans against some kind of toll booth, smoking something indescribably foul and wearing a silvery deputy star. His ruffled appearance doesn’t quite match the other deputies you’ve seen today, all of whom were well put together, to say the least. He barely glances at anyone who passes him and doesn’t even notice you until you’re right next to him. he gives a little start he unsuccessfully tries to cover up with a cough.

“I have some questions.” You start.

“I ain’t got no answers, boy.” He replies quickly.

You grit your teeth at the stone-wall.

>Try and press the deputy (On what?)
>Investigate the road
>Go somewhere else
>Go find Inn

>>994327
>Try and press the deputy (On what?)
Ask him when the shift change is, so we can come back to a more helpful guard.

Then go into town and ask a few citizens if they've heard anything about the Sevens.

"So when does someone who does get in?”

He sighs. “If you have a problem go to the Sheriff’s office. There’s always someone in it. MY job is to watch the road at night. Not talk to yokels. Otherwise, maybe Merle in the morning will give a shit.”

He takes a deep drag on his cigarette and puffs out black smoke. “Now can you leave? I’m busy.”

Annoyed, but not very surprised, you leave and head back to town. You ask a few people about the Sevens directly but all of them claim ignorance, with one strange dirty look and silence thrown at you. Along the way you grab your gunbelt, crawling around on your belly in a way that makes you glad the streets are so empty.

The one thing you do get a straight answer to tonight is the location of the Inn in town, a 3 story heap called the ‘Star’s Whisper’. You hate storing heat after being at a normal temperature for so long, but unless you’re as Frosty as usual you might have to have a conversation with the innkeepers.

Your brassminds, the few that aren’t full at least, start gobbling up your body heat at a thought. Your skin gets clammy and begins numbing. Then you hit the floor of your ability, and almost mental jerk back as your body becomes as cold as a corpse. You do as your teacher taught you and push through it.

Your teacher always told you storing more heat than you had in your body as a mental block for most Firesouls. A bad habit gotten from imitating other physical Ferrings like Skimmers and Brutes. Described it as simple as just sliding all the way down a hill after starting. You never really understood that, or his ideas that heat even existed on the frozen mountains to the North. You always saw it as a barrier. Something keeping you from power. So you butted your head against it again and again until it broke and you froze. The last step hurts like hell, as always. Like plunging into a lake full of ice. That turns into a deep pain, not something physical but in your bones. You’ve gotten used to it.

You burst into the common room, bringing a cold gale in with you, and shove Kiev away by the face when he comes to bother you. A glance at the barmaid and she shakily points up the stairs.

“Th-third room to left, sir.” She stutters and you go up, not bothering with the admittedly appetizing smells wafting through the common room.

The room isn’t cramped, and that’s the nicest thing you’ll ever say about it. The bed is made up with wooly sheets and your trunk is in the corner. You pick the key for it out of a secret pocket in your coat and open the heavy steel trunk. Filled to the brim with full metalminds you shift them, ignoring the clinking, and pull out a pouch of road jerky nestled between your clothes and an old gun.

You take off your coat and gunbelt, but don’t bother taking off your shirt and pants. Not many leads on Urvan so far, but you’ve decided to go through the Sevens gang to find him. There’s a suspicious constabulary you’re not sure you trust, annoying hangers-on, and a little girl that you almost made a mistake with, but they’re immaterial. Obstacles to maneuver through or use. You’re gaining on the bastard and nothing could stop you now.

You flop on the bed and eat your dinner. You should be going over angles to pursue tomorrow, but as you take bites of icy jerky your thoughts circle the faceless Lee Urvan. Your bed grows hard underneath your back as your body begins to feed off the room’s heat, and your teeth grit. Part of, deep inside, tells you he had never done a damn thing to you. He could be innocent; innocent as any other gang member at least, and you didn’t travel halfway across the Roughs because the bastard had joined the Sevens. But this was your chance, maybe the only one you would ever get. The Urvans infested Rashekin, being synonymous with the city for long before you were born. They were the most powerful family in the city, and untouchable by a 15-year-old kid. Their word was law.

But in the Roughs there are no laws. As much as people like the Sherriff and lawmen like him pretended, the only thing keeping peace in the scattered towns was guns and the Metallic Arts. Once a man strong enough to topple the lawmen of a city came along the anarchy followed soon enough. The Urvan is alone here, and the only thing keeping you from him is time.

File: Atium Feruchemy.png (14 KB, 395x500)

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You don’t reminisce. You never reminisce. What happened, happened. But you do feel for a while. The anger that has been coiling up your spine, growing and gnawing at you for more than 10 years. The sick pit in your stomach, filling every day like an endless metalmind, fed by your own bad choices. The hate that permeates your entire body, seeming to radiate from you like heat from a furnace. They’re your constant, your lodestone. You lay there, starlight filtering through the small window, free to shine on a mistless night, and pretend to wonder about leaving Crowther, leaving Urvan, and going somewhere else. Finding a girl to love, making a family, and being a good old Roughs settler. You pretend like that might satisfy you, and that’s about as close to a good dream as you ever have.

Your name is Jorkwyl Tindara, you killed your family, and you came to the town of Crowther to kill a man.

You still aren’t sure who.

Choose a character

>Jorkwyl “Jack Frost” Tindara: Revenge served cold.
>Leenan “Luckshot” Urvan: Born under a Bad Star.
>Aada Branson: Almost-Dead Ringer.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/WhistlerDM

Will post when running the Second Thread.

Basic Magic Primer: http://pastebin.com/gja6K6xy

Thank you for participating everyone. If you have any questions I'll try my best to answer so long as it doesn't ruin something coming.

If you feel like providing feedback that would be greatly appreciated as well. Be as mean as you want, I don't mind.

I really hope you enjoyed this quest and will strive to satisfy you guys as readers.

>>999351

>Leenan "Luckshot" Urvan
I was torn between Jack and Lee Urvan, not gonna lie; I've enjoyed the characters that you've brought in so far, but I went with Lee since we haven't seen his side of things yet. I'm interested to see where you take this!

>>999381
I've just read the thread and liked it a lot
Is the character going to be definitive or we get asked every thread?

>>1001108
Current plan is to ask this question at the end of every thread. However if I feel there is a narrative reason to stay as a character I just won't ask. That will depend on how the story goes.

>>999351
>Leenan “Luckshot” Urvan: Born under a Bad Star.