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“Right, an illustrious example for any man to follow.” Arde remarked, before rising from the overstuffed leather chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I should take this opportunity to wash off the stink of gore and horse before the ceremony tonight. Ancestors guide you, old man.”

“And you as well, damned fool.” Roshan replied, before stuffing the stem of his pipe back in his mouth.

Ardeshir took a moment to gather up the mutant’s pelt, and then took his leave of the Sepahi’s office. He struck out towards the nearest staircase, descending a level and navigating towards the baths. They were arranged at the easternmost point of the complex, so that the rest of the monastery could be supplied with water before the runoff finally emptied into the baths.

Outside the kabahja he took a moment to remove his pesh-kabz and hang it up on the wall, beside perhaps a dozen other knives of various designs. It seemed that Arde was not only one who thought to bathe before the ceremony. Stepping in to the changing room he found an initiate, a young boy perhaps half Ardeshir’s age, eating an orange. He set it aside and wiped his hands off on his white robes when Ardeshir gestured him over.

Hauling the pelt off his shoulder, Arde dropped it into the boy’s arms. “Take this to the tanner in the village and ask him to preserve it. Tell him not to remove the hair. Oh, and before you do that I’ll want you to drop my clothes off in the laundry and fetch me a fresh set from my rooms. There’s a pansad in it for you now, and a second when you get back.”

Reaching into the folds of his sash Ardeshir pulled out his coin purse and retrieved a silver coin from within, stuffing it in the boy’s hand before setting about the task of stripping out of his clothes. It was a much quicker process than putting them on had been, and once naked he piled the bloodstained fabric on top of the pelt. The boy, without a word uttered, rushed out the door with his burden clutched to his chest.

(2/4)

Satisfied that his orders would be carried out to the best of the initiate’s abilities, Ardeshir stepped back into the hallway to hang his coin purse by his knife and then passed through the kabahja to the garmih, the hot room. Steam and the fragrance of incense choked the air, their origin the immense brazer in the middle of the room. The fire burning there sent grow clouds of white smoke billowing towards the high ceiling, and the narrow ventilation shafts therein. Men and women both filled the circular chamber, a rarity in the Shahryar’s domain. Communal bathing was typically frowned upon, but it had been practiced within the walls of the monasteries since the time of Sardar.

Glass lanterns ensconced on the wall cast just enough light for Ardeshir to retrieve a curved knife from a shelf against the wall. He brought it with him to the benches surrounding the central brazer, plucking up a honing steel as he sat down beside the fire. He wanted the knife sharp, so he spent a few moments working at its edge.

“I’ve heard that the foreigners got their nose bloodied at Deogarh, thousands dead or wounded, the field choked with the corpses of the slain, but comparatively few casualties suffered by the easterners.” Soroush, the rotten bastard, announced. He was lounging with his hands rested on his distended gut. “Serves the Votish right, the warmongers.”

“That’s not what I heard from the messenger yesterday.” Yasmin interjected, her fingers busy shredding cannabis flowers and adding them to the fire. She was an attractive enough woman, well endowed though she usually hid that fact. “Relatively light casualties on both sides, with the Rasulvan abandoning the field following a week of light skirmishing.”

“Another messenger arrived just today.” Shapur provided helpfully. He was a tall man, and powerfully built, but a bit dim witted in Ardeshir’s opinion. “Apparently the Votish followed the Rasulvan as they retreated into the hills. I would have thought that they’d learned from the mistakes made in their war against us, but apparently that isn’t the case. The easterners led them into a trap laid by their reinforcements, and the Votish army took heavy casualties before being forced to flee the field in disarray.”
(3/4)

Ardeshir, satisfied with the sharpness of his blade, placed it gently into the flames before retrieving a jar of scented oils where it was warming by the fire. He poured out a small measure on his fingers to test the temperature before setting about the task of lathering himself in the warmed oil. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the commander of the Votish forces was tortured to death for falling into such an obvious trap.” He supplied absentmindedly, belatedly joining the conversation.

Once properly oiled, he retrieved his knife from the fire. An exertion of his will drew the heat from the steel, the air distorting as it flowed back into the fire. Once it was cool enough to touch he began carefully shaving off the stubble that had begun to grow along his jaw. “Still, a loss like that is unlikely to deter the Votish for long. They’ll gather their strength and then press once more into the lands of the Rasulvan.”

“Something you learned from your whore mother, Ardeshir?” Soroush asked, grinning viciously. “I’m surprised you could hear all that around the cock in her mouth. Hey, maybe-”

The water splashed into his face suddenly and without warning. Whatever else he was going to say was lost to his sputtering. “Quit antagonizing your elders, Soroush.” Nazli scolded while carefully scraping oil from her small chest. She barely reached Ardeshir’s chin standing on the tips of her toes, and her features were delicate, almost boyish really. That said, she possessed a frightening degree of magical talent. “Gods know I’ve heard enough of you two bickering to last me a lifetime.”

>Better to have no father at all than be the spawn of a cuckold.
>Leave it be, no need to rehash old arguments.
>Write-in

Archives: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Nomad+Quest%2C+Nomad%2C+Quest
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>>3007152
>Leave it be, no need to rehash old arguments
"If you were intelligent, you'd know how bad of an idea it is to start a fight just before the ceremony."

>>3007152
>>Leave it be, no need to rehash old arguments.

I'm gonna run out to get lunch and coffee. Back in a bit.

>>3007152
>Better to have no father at all than be the spawn of a cuckold
Ur dads a cuck lmao

>>3007152
>Better to have no father at all than be the spawn of a cuckold.

>>3007152
>Leave it be, no need to rehash old arguments.

>>3007152
>Leave it be, no need to rehash old arguments.

>>3007152
>Better to have no father at all than be the spawn of a cuckold.

>>3007152
>Better to have no father at all than be the spawn of a cuckold.

>>3007300
>>3007315
>>3007491
>>3007494
>Act like the mature grown up you are.

>>3007345
>>3007387
>>3007522
>>3007535
>C U C K
>U C K C
>C K C U
>K C U C

I'll give it a few more minutes to break the tie.

>>3007621
just roll for it.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>3007630
Aight senpai
1 is leave it, 2 is call his dad a cuck.

Soroush seems content to let that be the end of the matter, though judging by his scowl he’s not exactly happy about it. “How like the son of a cuckold to meekly back down once challenged.” The words were out of Ardeshir’s mouth before he’d had the time to think them through.

“What did you say to me?” The fat bastard demanded, his face growing increasingly red. Everyone knew the rumors surrounding Soroush’s father, Wuzurg Avinash. They say that his eldest daughter and his third son are not in fact his own, but are instead the spawn of his wife and her peasant lover. They’ve cast aspersions on Soroush’s own ancestry.

Truthfully, Ardeshir regretted letting the man’s words get under his skin. They’ve had this argument more times than he cared to recall, and having it one more time wasn’t likely to change anything. Still, he was committed now. “You heard me. To be a bastard is a consequence of one’s birth. A cuckold chooses his fate. In my mind that’s a thousand times worse.”

Soroush rose to his feet, naked as the day he was born, and climbed out from his pool of hot water. His fist were clenched so hard his knuckles were white. “My father isn’t a cuckold, and if you speak that slander again I’ll drag you out into the yard and beat you toothless.”

Ardeshir finished shaving the stubble from his neck and flicked the oil and hair into the fire. “I’d like to see you try, oh corpulent one. You and I both know how any duel between us would end.”

“Can you two stop this stupid fucking dick measuring contest?” Yasmin snapped at the two men. “By the grace of the Gods old and new, we’ve listened to your bickering for five years! Is it too much to ask that you wash yourselves in peace, on the last day we’re forced to associate with one another?”

A moment of silence passes following her outburst, during which Ardeshir stands to scrape the oil off his torso. Eventually Soroush thinks better of continuing to pick a fight, and turns to retreat into the sarma, the cold room. “No point in the contest when the winner’s obvious.” Arde quipped as the younger man slipped through the door. Soroush either didn’t hear or didn’t deign to respond.
(1/2)

“Ass.” Nazli accused once Soroush was gone. “You always need to have the last word, don’t you?”

Ardeshir merely shrugged. “He started it, fool that he is.”

Silence reigned in the baths after that, and once he was satisfactorily depilated, Ardeshir washed himself beneath a gentle flow of warm water to remove the remaining oil. The water was pulled by gravity from a reservoir higher up the slopes of the mountain upon which the monastery was constructed. It was carried via karezan, underground channels, more than a mile before being distributed throughout the area to provide running water for showers, drinking fountains, toilets, and wash basins. The waste water was in turn collected and passed through a sand filter before ultimately being used to irrigate the fields which supply the monastery with produce.

The effort necessary to maintain this system was extensive, and often relegated to the youngest of disciples. Ardeshir could himself attest to the tedious labor involved. Of course, that didn’t stop him from enjoying its fruits. Running water was a luxury for which any price was fair in his opinion. By the time he was finished washing himself in the shower, most of his brothers and sisters had moved on to the sarma. He joined them in short order.

A shiver ran down his spine as he passed from the heat of the garmih to the relative chill of the sarma. The snow that the younger disciples brought down from the mountain’s slopes each morning had long since melted, but the water in the expansive swimming pool was certain to still be unbearably cold. Not that Ardeshir was at all deterred, he had swam laps in this pool every day for the past eight years. There is no torment on this forsaken Earth that a man cannot grow accustomed to.

Without a second thought Arde poised himself on the edge and leaped gracefully forward, slipping into the water with barely a splash. As always the first contact was a shock to the system, but through force of will alone he managed to resist the instinct to inhale the frigid water. Instead, surfacing some few yards from where he was submerged, he allowed his mind to shut itself off while his body slipped habitually into the repetitive strokes.

Some time later Arde emerged from the pool awake and very much alive. Yasmin was lounging at the edge of the pool kicking her legs in the water, her eyes staring blindly up at the intricate blue and gold patterns sprawling across the ceiling. An odd woman, if attractive. Soroush was nowhere to be seen, but Shapur was seated in the shallow end smoking a pipe. The fragrant, earthy smell of cannabis was hard to ignore.

Ardeshir ignored them all in favor of making for the warmth and comfort of the garmih. The heat washing over him as he passed through the doorway was blissful, but he could only allow himself a few minutes here lest he grow too comfortable and miss the ceremony. He sat himself at the edge of the roaring fire, content to soak in the heat and relax for a short while.

Still writing, but figured I'd post that portion.

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>>3007923
>No point in the contest when the winner’s obvious
Brootal

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>>3008067

>4 hour session and all we do is call some brainless twat a cuck and skinny dip in kike water

kino questing

Also thirty years of fighting mutants, really? Sucks to be that guy, phenomenal magic power and he's only ever been a glorified garbage man. What a shite deal.

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>>3008093
The entire quest except for the flashback has taken place in a single day thus far.

I hope you like ice cuz this shit is glacial.

>>3008114
I can't wait for hour 4 of this day next week where you spend 6 hours expanding on the lore why the local stone carvers prefer to work local stone over imported.

>>3008114
I just want to apply autism to a magic system throughout an unspecific and weird journey, I can wait. Nobody else is doin this shit or willing to put even basic work or sense into their garbage so I'm stuck with you.

>>3008132
Anon pls I can only get so erect.

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Once the chill had fled his limbs he rose to his feet and made his way out into the kabahja, were he found the boy from earlier waiting with a change of clothes for him bundled in his arms. “Do I owe you anything for the tanner?”

He shook his head vigorously, opened his mouth to speak, and then apparently thought better of it. “Spit it out, boy. I’m sure the greedy son of a bitch gave you some directions to pass along to me.”

“It’ll be two hezar for the finished pelt, once you come to pick it up.” He finally said, his voice warbling seemingly at random between high pitched and low. “He said the increased price was due to the unusual nature of the pelt.”

Arde was certain that price could be negotiated down to something more reasonable, so he determined not to make an issue of it. “Very well, and I trust you had no difficulty finding me rooms?”

“No si-” Again his voice cracked, the boy’s cheeks coloring in embarrassment. When he spoke again, it was with a clearly affected baritone. “No sir, I had one of the brothers show me the way.”

Taking the bundle of black fabric off the top of the pile, Ardeshir set about the somewhat arduous process of wrapping his chadra. Once his lower body was clothed he pulled on his robes, a white set with golden embroidery, and tied them about his waist with a black sash, then spent a short while fiddling with the pleats of his loincloth until he decided he was presentable.

The boy was still there, waiting for his payment, so Ardeshir made his way out into the hallway and retrieved his coin purse from where it hung by his knife. Drawing out a single silver pansad he pressed the coin into the initiate’s open palm. “There, don’t spend it all at once.”

The boy rushed off, clutching his prize, and Ardeshir retrieved his knife off the wall. It and his coin purse found their way into the folds of his sash, and with no small amount of trepidation Ardeshir began to make his way towards the ritual chamber where the rite of ordination would take place. He traveled deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine temple complex, past long abandoned storehouses and forgotten shrines, until he arrived at a grand set of double doors. The golden facade glittered in the firelight conjured by Ardeshir and his peers, all waiting for those doors to open and their lives to truly begin.
(1/3)

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As one of the last to arrive, Arde didn’t have to wait long. A cacophonous boom echoed through the hallway, and the doors began to slowly grind open on their ancient hinges. The Dastur and his senior herbadan were waiting on the other side of the doors, backlit by the glow of the smelter. Several Yazd surrounded the ancient stone construction, lightning pouring from their hands into the coals within, stoking the flames higher and higher.

“It is by my will that we undergo this rite.” The assembled students begin as one. This was a moment every initiate practiced for a thousand times. “I speak the truth, may Xodan protect me, as he has protected my teacher. May Pyl grant me a measure of her luck. May Shogal spare me his wrath. May Palang grant me her patience. May Goraz grant me his strength. Should I pass into the next life, I will do so happily, for I will be welcomed by my ancestors.”

The Dastur held his hands out to welcome the assembly, smiling benevolently. “Having taught you the mysteries of this life, I thus leave you with my final instructions. Speak the truth. Practice righteousness. Contribute to the collective knowledge of all mankind. Having brought to me the gift I desired, enter the world and see that the good works of our order are not forgotten. That they do not disappear beneath the tide of history. Do not turn away from the truth. Do not turn away from righteousness. Do not neglect yourselves. Do not neglect prosperity.”

“Do not neglect your duties to the gods, old and new. Do not neglect your duties to the ancestors. Treat your mother as a god. Treat your father as a god. Treat your teacher as a god. Treat your guest as a god. Whatever deeds are faultless, these you should strive to see done. Whatever good works we have performed, you should surpass them. These things I demand of you as your teacher. These things I ask of you as a peer.”

The lights in the chamber flare to life, burning with an unnatural intensity before settling into a dim glow. “Now, come. Be marked with gold, so that all shall know your splendor.”

Stepping into the ritual chamber, the assembled students line up against the right wall. The Dastur walked along the wall, passing over each and every one of Ardeshir’s peers before finally stopping in front of him. The Dastur was an old man, his beard and hair long since turned white, but he was not frail. He stood straight and tall, even as he neared a century of life. Reaching forward he grasped Ardeshir’s shoulder firmly, smiling mirthlessly. “You have waited long enough, and grown into a fine Yazd despite your low birth. Step forward, and be ordained as a disciple of Ashvin.”
(2/3)

It was only tradition for the most senior disciple to be the first ordained, but Ardeshir swelled with pride nonetheless. He allowed the Dastur to lead him forward, into the arms of Yazd Shadi. She was a matronly women, but deceptively strong, and she seized Ardeshir by the arm. “Have you decided upon what sort of design you want the markings in?” She asked grimly.

>You’ve decided upon a design that’s more modern in appearance, which will streamline the exertion of your will. (Channeling Capacity: Very Large (+15); Fast Advancement)
>You’ve decided upon a more traditional design, that follows the essence channels already carved through your body. (Channeling Capacity: Huge (+20); Slow Advancement)

>>3008417
>You’ve decided upon a design that’s more modern in appearance, which will streamline the exertion of your will. (Channeling Capacity: Very Large (+15); Fast Advancement)

>>3008417
>a +5 difference between fast or slow advancement
That's not even an argument.

>You’ve decided upon a design that’s more modern in appearance, which will streamline the exertion of your will. (Channeling Capacity: Very Large (+15); Fast Advancement)

>>3008417
>You’ve decided upon a more traditional design, that follows the essence channels already carved through your body. (Channeling Capacity: Huge (+20); Slow Advancement)

What's the difference between fast and slow advancement? a 10% less feats required for fast or something?

>>3008417
>You’ve decided upon a design that’s more modern in appearance, which will streamline the exertion of your will. (Channeling Capacity: Very Large (+15); Fast Advancement)

>>3008492
With slow advancement to advance from Very Large to Huge you would have to completely exhaust yourself sixteen times. However, with efficiently laid out markings that's reduced to 10. To advance from Huge to Enormous would require completely exhausting yourself 32 times with slow advancement, but only 20 times with fast advancement.

Basically instead of the feats required being multiplied each level, I just add 10 each level.

>>3008551
in that case changing votes to modern.

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>>3008431
>>3008443
>>3008548
>>3008567
>Modern

Modern it is. I'll write up that post for next session, which will probably be... I dunno when, hopefully before next weekend but watch my twitter for the announcement.

We've almost wrapped up the monastery arc. Magical FEMA soon, fellow Stalkers.

>>3008620
The only question I have left from Banished Quest is was the head priestess going to be waifu materiel.

>>3011368
>Surya worshipper
Of course not. Everyone who worships Surya is either dangerously ignorant or a cuckold. Good waifus are neither.

>kept Soma's twitter open in a tab for years because didn't want to create an account just to follow QMs
>checked it at least once every few months because he promised to eventually write the ending of BQ
>notice he's back and posting threads
>feels good, waiting for him to finish BQ wasn't a waste of time
>open thread
>it's not the fucking BQ
Remember kids, pedophiles should never be trusted - not even when they're half-potato-half-Somalian pedos

>>3012229
You can always have BQ in your heart anon.

“I have.” He replied, conjuring a vaguely masculine silhouette from flame. “The largest vein of essence in my body is intertwined with my spinal column, but of course I’ve no desire to be paralyzed. Therefore, I want a series of lacquer plates embedded between my shoulder blades, and smaller outcroppings of gold in my lower back.” Smoldering embers of flame appeared illustratively within the silhouette, sketching out in midair the design he had in mind. “From the two topmost plates I want thick lacquer wires running up along my neck, and across my shoulder blades to a second set of plates over my heart. The third plate will have similar wires, but they will be left unconnected to facilitate my ease of movement. The fourth, smallest plate will be left without any wiring.”

“I want similar threads extending from the gold protrusions further down my spine, but these I want to connect to plates placed over my ribs.” He paused, focusing to manifest a second burning silhouette next to the first so that he might sketch out the design from a second angle. “Along my arms and legs, I want plates similar to the ones in my embedded in the sides of my biceps and forearms. Three in each, with smaller threads of gold wrapping around each. Also, from the plate nearest my hand I want gold threads extending down to my wrist and across the back of my hand, ending over my knuckles.”

Ardeshir allowed himself a moment’s thought, running through a mental checklist to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything. “Oh, and I want a circlet embedded along the back of my head from one temple to the other. One moment,” he snapped his fingers and his hair caught fire, the rank stench quickly filling the chamber. It required a significant degree of focus and control to preserve his flesh from the heat, but when his will snuffed out the flames his scalp remained unburnt. All that was left of his once shoulder-length hair was a short brown mop crowning his skull. “Just place it at the base of my hairline, where it is now. I’ll want it mostly covered once everything grows back.”

“So a modern design, reinforced along the limbs, the ribs, the spine, and the sternum?” Yazd Shadi asked, one of her manicured eyebrows arched questioningly. “Send me to the House of Lies, boy. You could have just said that. I didn’t need the technical specifications of every incision.”

She grabbed Ardeshir by the arm, dragging him towards the bubbling cauldron of golden lacquer while muttering under her breath about the arrogance of youth. “Lay down on the slab, and don’t squirm while I cut the design. Yazd Sudhir is able to channel the forces of nature with more precision than anyone I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, and his endurance is legendary, but he is still a mortal man. If you force him to waste his energy healing an avoidable wound I’ll blame you for any deaths we suffer this evening due to our healer’s exhaustion.”

(1/4)

“I’ll do my best to keep from twitching while you carve me up alive.” Arde grumbled under his breath as he stripped off his loincloth, climbing atop the stone altar once he was fully nude. The grooves carved across its surface dug uncomfortably into his skin, and the idea that soon his lifeblood would flow through those channels into the pool beneath the altar unsettled him deeply. He tried his best not to reveal that fact as he shifted into as comfortable a position as he could manage while laying on his stomach. “I’m ready.”

The knife dug into the flesh of his back, at the base of his neck between his shoulder blades. It required all of Arde’s significant willpower to avoid crying out in pain as she slowly flayed the skin from its underlying muscle, revealing the thick, glowing veins which coiled around his vertebrae. To Shadi’s credit, she expertly avoided bone, connective tissue, veins, and arteries as she worked her knife, carving out room for the plates of golden lacquer which would soon be embedded in his flesh.

Bleeding was kept to a minimum by Ardeshir’s will alone, the glow of the exposed veins growing more intense as he channeled the winds of magic through his mortal frame. Once the Yazd finished cutting space for the large plates, each of which would be anchored to bone, she moved on to the smaller collection of golden pins which would protrude from lower back. These she finished swiftly, deftly carving out the necessary holes and connecting all three of them with narrow channels. She carved additional holes into both of Ardeshir’s shoulder blades, to serve as anchors later on.

To finish her work, Yazd Shadi set her knife against the back of Ardeshir’s head and began to carve out the circlet that would bind to his skull. He felt the blade scrape against bone for the first time, a jarring sound which sent a shiver of discomfort down his mutilated back. Thankfully she finished her work

“This next part will be painful.” The Yazd cautioned, as if the entire process thus far had been in any way pleasant. “You’ll need to insulate yourself from the lacquer while still allowing it to seep into the wounds and cauterize the flesh, lest the lacquer is weakly anchored. The last thing either of us want is for one of these plates to fall out and leave your spine exposed for all the world to see.”

Arde swallowed nervously, struggling to speak through the haze of pain. “Of course, my ancestors-” A deafening screech sounded through the hall as Yazd Sudhir started to apply lacquer to one of the other graduates. “-would be ashamed.” Arde finished, once the man ran out of air in his lungs.

(2/3 or 4)

It was all he could do to grip the edges of the stone slab as Shadi coaxed the molten lacquer its stone cauldron. He feared if he let go he’d fling himself off the altar and flee from the ritual chamber, throwing away all that he’d worked for over the past eight years. Still, his heart was pounding on his throat and every muscle in his body screamed for him to run. He felt the heat of the molten, resinous compound, his skin burned from its proximity alone. He screamed as the Yazd began to pour the mixture into his wounds, he screamed until his throat was raw and his lungs ached. He pounded his head into the stone he laid on, his eyes screwed shut and teeth clenched. He did anything he could to maintain his focus while the Yazd worked, for the consequences of allowing his willpower to lapse were dire.

When the Yazd finished pouring she laid one withered hand upon Ardeshir’s back and carefully manipulated the soft, metallic compound, shaping it in accordance with her whim and cooling it once she finished. It allowed Arde a moment’s respite from the blinding pain, a chance to breathe before she once again picked up the knife and began cutting into his flesh once more. His head was throbbing, his mouth tasted of iron, and his lifeblood spilled across the altar from the fresh gashes carved by his former mentor. These things seemed like mere annoyances in the wake of the torture he had just experienced. He was simply glad that Yazd Shadi had avoided severing his jugular while cutting into his neck.

Yazd Shadi had to help Arde roll onto his back, his strength had long since failed him. She continued to carve into his chest, starting at his sternum. There she carefully cut out chunks of flesh to make room for two more metallic plates, before tracing her knife up to connect with the wounds already cut into his shoulders. With the framework for the wiring in place, she set to work on his biceps and forearms. It was as she began cutting into his ribs that Ardeshir began to lose his grip on consciousness. Whether it was from bloodless or shock, he felt a strange detachment from his own body; a sense that he was merely watching a stranger tortured rather than being subjected to it himself.

(3/4)

That changed when the boiling resin once again bit into his tissue. The pain dragged him kicking and screaming back into his abused frame, destroying the strange sense of calm he’d attained. Ardeshir would have begged to lose consciousness if he had the presence of mind to do anything other than sob incoherently. The strain of maintaining a degree of insulation between his vulnerable flesh and the hot resin caused the blood vessels in Ardeshir’s eyes to burst, staining his sclera a brilliant red. Thankfully Shadi worked quickly, forcing the lacquer into the furrows carved across his frame and ensuring that it rooted itself firmly to bone.

Arde didn’t even realize that it was over until he felt himself being lifted off the bloody altar and carried off to a series of ancient sarcophagi. He was placed inside of one, and the grinding of stone against stone gave him only a moment’s warning before he was sealed inside the black chamber. He lay there, writhing and moaning in agony, for what felt like hours. He could still hear the screams from the other side of the sarcophagus lid, still smell the blood in the air, and his entire body felt like it was on fire. A gasp tore from his ragged throat as a wave of cool water washed over his broken form, his pain subsiding to a dull ache which he found comforting, and strangely pleasant.

A bolt of lightning shot through the dark, and instinct alone prompted Ardeshir to focus. Time slowed, and the world exploded into color. Blues in a thousand shades filled his vision, a mesmerizing patchwork the likes of which he had never seen before. From the swirl of colors, fingers reached down to caress his bloodstained cheeks. They worked their way beneath his skin, splintering into a thousand thousand tendrils of light and working their way gently along the bones of his jaw. He watched them, his perspective shifting unnaturally until he saw from high above the blinding lines of white which sketched out his modified frame, the veins of blue which once snaked through his body rendered dull and lifeless in comparison. Already his body worked to integrate the implanted metal and resin.

The tendrils of light twined together seemingly at random, adhering briefly to one invisible injury or another until finally encountering a wound worthy of their full attention. A ring of light appeared around his head as they worked to incorporate the circlet more fully into his flesh, and when they moved on to the wiring on his neck they revealed a more even concentration of magical power. Where before the modifications to Ardeshir’s body had glowed a blinding white, when the tendrils finished with them they faded to a brilliant, electric blue.

(4/5)

Arde had little idea how long he laid in that tomb, his broken body slowly mended by the careful ministrations of uncountable cilia. At some point they faded away, as did the swirling blue vortex. Only darkness remained in their wake, and liberated from the pain which had so wracked his body Ardeshir finally allowed his grip upon consciousness to fade, slipping into a deep and dreamless sleep.

And that'll be the end of the first little arc. Votes and the like will be in the next post, whenever that is.

christ

>>3020424
why

>>3020424
why are you like this?

>>3020424
>Whenever that is
DED

What kind of quest do you guys think Soma will start 2 or 3 years in the future when he finally comes back from this break? I'm betting on "You wake up in loli kidnapper sim"-quest. Or whatever that loli raping sim's official name is

>>3021555
Whatever it is he should probably drop all the "adventure" pretense and just write food porn from a chef's perspective who moonlights as a deranged serial killer for all that accessory torture/gore porn.

>>3021994
A chef making food from humans for himself and his friends

>>3021555
BQ2

>>3022019
perfection

>>3021994
Hannibal quest when?

Is this quest inspired by Earthsea? Because I can see some similarities in how laid back it can be.

>>3028264
Soma steals from every piece of fiction under the sky.