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You are Ellery Routh, more or less. You were sentenced to execution via drowning. Needless to say, it didn't take.
Right now, you are making an ill-informed decision: namely, to participate in a research experiment run by a giant crab. It's basically your usual day.

>|Blood: 3/10|
>|Mind: 6/10|

You wage an imaginary game of chicken with yourself. You lose.

"Okay," you say. "Yeah, I guess I kind of have to be."

Foursarre the crab is already pulling something out from behind the curtain. You're more concerned with the curtain. It's an ordinary shade of brown, not blue. It appears to be roughly woven. Did the crabs make it? Why? If not, where did it come from? Do materials disintegrate underwater like they probably ought to, or is there something preserving them? Or is it made of a special kind of cloth--

Hey. Look sharp.

Something you've never seen before is placed deferentially into your open hands. Two stiff leather-ish straps wrap around each other to form what could be a helmet or a very poor bucket. A thick bundle of color-coated wires trail from what must be the back, judging by the small adjustable buckle on the front.

I don't... I feel like this is a really bad idea, but that just makes me want to do it more.

Which is the root of all of your problems, you think, but you nevertheless run a thumb across one of the straps.

He sounds hurt. I never said it *wasn't*. You don't have to be smug about it, okay. I know you're being smug--


--which I don't think is warranted, like, at all-- oh, hold on. What?

You cough-in-quotation-marks again. You will never get used to that. The voice that nearly belongs to you says: "Uh, okay. I don't-- I'm not sure it'll do much good. I mean, it's not... I'm not a crab, I guess. Well, that one-- I'm not a crab, so I'm not sure it really translates... but if you say so, I mean--"

You're not sure Foursarre understood any of that. It doesn't matter. You've already slid the strap-contraption onto your head, where it neatly bifurcates your shock of hair. You make a mental note to obtain a comb at some point.

Okay, that's just mean. I like it how it is, okay? It's distinctive.

It is distinctive. You're sorry for Arledge, who's presumably listening to all of this. You're sorry for-- has Madrigal been hearing everything for the past, what-- five days? Six? Seven? Is your connection still functioning? Is there a range limit? There better be a range limit.

"Are you okay?" Arledge sounds like he's speaking through a can on a string. "I heard my name--"

"Oh, uh, yeah. I'm fine." You pluck at the buckle on the contraption. "It hasn't started. I think it's going to fairly..."


Oh, boy.

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A low hum from behind the curtain begets a heat at your temples. "WE ARE BEGINNING IN THREE. TWO. ONE. WE ARE BEGUN--"

The shock that courses through your brain sends you slumping so far forward your head presses against your knees. You don't remember how to sit up, or indeed how to move at all. You are faintly troubled by this, because you're certain you knew... but on the other hand, the idea of knowing how to move is so foreign you're faintly troubled you ever did.

What the fuck did I expect? Seriously, what the fuck did I-- this was the only possible thing that could've happened. I'm no longer standing, by the way. I am metaphysically crumpled on the metaphysical floor of my fucking head, because I don't fucking know how to metaphysically stand up. I hope you have an opinion on this.

You don't.

"AGAIN," the crab says with the maximum reassurance it can muster, "THIS IS MERELY TEMPORARY. IT WOULD BE UNWELCOME IF YOU WERE TO HARM YOURSELF. PLEASE STAND BY."

Godsdamnit! Gods...damnit! "Please stand by"? "Please STAND by"?!

Foursarre scuttles towards your prone form (you can tell by the distinct click-clack of chitin on stone), scoops your stool clean off the ground, and walks you the couple of feet to the wall. It props your limp torso against it such that you're able to watch it through slackened eyelids. You suppose this is a good thing.


It waits.


It moves once again behind the curtain. Something clicks in rapid succession, like a "click-click-click-click-click..."

Click. Something is happening. Click. You slide like rain on a corrugated roof backwards, and- and downwards, and with every click the days slide too: off you, like seaspray off a seabird. Click. You are flipping like a book back through time. Click. You-- are resorting to tortured simile; always a bad sign. You are bumping your troubled status fom "faintly" to "exceedingly".

Click. You are losing something, or possibly gaining something. It's impossible to tell the difference.

Click. O-oh. His voice is cracking. Oh, I... He sounds like he's speaking through a can on a string, and that can is falling a thousand feet into the ocean at high speeds. I...

You might say there was a sucking noise, if you were being generous.

Click. You are Ellery Routh, complete and unbroken, and you aren't entirely sure why you wouldn't be.

Click. You are Ellery D. Routh. (D?) You know intellectually what's happening, what has happened, but it doesn't gel into coherent thought. Years are sloughing off, now.

Click. You are Ellery Routh, but people you like call you Ell. (You haven't heard that for a long time.) Something else is going on, besides the-- obvious, you suppose. The tattered remains of your jacket feel loose around you. Are your bandages slipping off? You can't move your eyes...

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Click. You are Ellery. Your face feels...
happened to your beard) (are you allowed to call it a beard) (it's not like a full beard but it's more attractive to call it that) (was more attractive??)

You are potentially clean-shaven. You are deeply confused and even more deeply annoyed. You haven't been completely clean-shaven in--

The clicking pauses.


The clicking starts again, but in the opposite direction: "thock-thock-thock-thock-thock..."
You are ratcheted forwards. Thock. The book is flipped in the correct direction. Thock. The seabird is drenched by an inopportune wave. Thock. The rain slides in reverse up the corrugated roof. Thock. You are wholly Ellery Routh, and you have ten days' worth of patchy stubble and clothes that kind-of fit, and you are arrested for worship.

(You are collapsed against a cave wall with a weird helmet on your head, and it is a week-ish later. You know this. But it feels like--)

"THIS," the crab (Foursarre) announces, "IS THE OCCASION OF MOST CHANGE." The word doesn't just make you vaguely nauseated: it threatens to split your head open at the seams. You would wince. "I SHALL OBSERVE THE PROCEEDINGS. YOU ARE PERFORMING A VALUABLE SERVICE. THANK YOU."

You only half-hear him-- you are consumed with the present. A phantom spear jabs you in the small of the back. You take another begrudging step down a sodden length of driftwood.

Bastard. It's not like you can possibly make a break for it. The ocean teeters a thousand feet below you.


Why not? Why can't you make a break for it? If you fail, you're going to die either way. If you succeed-- who knows? Maybe you'll live. Or if you're stabbed to death, it's still better than the basking sharks and wave-knives and whatever the hell is down there. Maybe they'll talk about you, for once: the guy who bum-rushed a cop during his execution and escaped. Or died. That would be pretty cool either way.


[Can you change this? Should you change this? Would it... change you? Maybe that's what Foursarre wants. If only he wasn't so vague! If only you could know the consequences!])

>[1] Fall to your assured death. (As you are wonted.)
>[2] Cross your fingers and attack the cop behind you. (As you want.)
>Previously on: Drowned Quest

Arledge resolved a sticky situation through a great deal of violence and injected himself with seawater. The Courtier Dib is now badly injured at the bottom of a darkened stairwell. His present fate is unknown.

Meanwhile, you paid little attention to a presentation made by the crabs... until they sucked all the water out of the room for a Q&A session, leaving you woozy and disoriented. You weren't the only one badly affected: a woman you don't know was assaulted by strange tentacles pushing out through her eyes and mouth. She was summarily dragged away by crab security.

Arledge noticed your eyes. You returned to your room, where you--

You have been trapped in your own head for what you know to be 90 minutes but what feels like well over a day, or maybe no time at all. You are alternately bored out of your mind, scared out of your mind, or just plain out of your mind. You have been not taking to your new situation well.

You're now back in reality, kind of. Arledge tries to talk to you. You aren't ready to talk. Arledge persists. You talk, nervously, and are made to feel a little better.

Afterwards, Charlie (actually named Gideon, apparently) briefs you on what he knows of the situation. Plans are made to investigate. You switch back--

You were now fully aware that you weren't originally Ellery Routh, and you were pissed. You set this aside to deal with later, though, as right now you are being experimented on by a crab named Foursarre so Arledge can poke around inside the crabs' base.


- Voting windows are 10-20 minutes. If only one vote comes in after ~20 minutes, I'll take it. If there's a tie, I'll roll for it.
- Unless it's a choice strictly between offered options (ex: loot, chargen), write-ins are always open and acceptable. If compatible with other options and not widely disliked, they'll be included. I reserve the right to modify wording as needed, though I'll do my best to preseve the spirit of the write-in.
- Compatible votes will be combined.
- I'll always take questions, comments, critiques, requests for infodumps, etc. etc.


On most occasions, you’ll be tasked to roll 3 d100s, potentially with modifiers. The number of times the 3 rolls collectively pass the DC indicates the result, as follows:
No Passes: Critical Failure
One Pass: Failure
Two Passes: Success
Three Passes: Critical Success

>Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=drowned%20quest

>Twitter: https://twitter.com/BathicQM

>Pastebins (largely out of date): https://pastebin.com/u/bathicqm
>If only he wasn't so vague! If only you could know the consequences!

If only right?

>[1] Fall to your assured death. (As you are wonted.)

I'm probably being boring, but Ellery is Ellery imho.
>[1] Fall to your assured death. (As you are wonted.)

Let's see how much of ourselves we can bullshit together on the way down
>>Pastebins (largely out of date)

updating when?
Whenever I scrape together the time and motivation. ie: who knows.

>>[1] Fall to your assured death. (As you are wonted.)
Becauee in spite of everything, you /like/ where you are.
>Fall to your assured death.

Your mouth is dry and tastes foul. It's probably from nervousness, but who knows? They knocked you out on the way up here. You could've been fed something weird. But it doesn't matter.

You could do it. You could turn. You could charge. You could live.

(But you won't. You aren't supposed You-- didn't.)

The driftwood creaks and sags. The ocean roars. You scowl as you are jabbed again-- you think he just wants to hear you yelp, but you won't give him the satisfaction.

You make a final decision. If you go out, you are going out in style.

You do a flip.

You regret doing a flip almost immediately, as the sacks of rocks tied to your waist clang painfully against your side and your chest begins to ache out of sympathy or just sheer terror. And your back hurts, but it always hurts. You are going to die. You really are just going to die. This is it. You should've been expecting it, but you weren't expecting it, and now you're here, and the water looks a lot closer than it did a split-second ago.

It will be quick, you console yourself. (But it won't.) It will be quick, and then everything will be over. You will die. Your side hurts and your back hurts and your chest throbs in rhythm with your heartbeat.
You hit the water.
You don't die.

(Of course not. You're here. A blue glow illuminates the curtain. Foursarre taps away at something. This is what your eyes see.
But your head--)

Instead, you sink; your eyes, your nostrils, your mouth all flood and sting with saltwater. A little trickles down your throat. (You can't remember what anything except for seawater tastes like.)

Your chestache blooms. "I SEE," says a voice. "CHANGE FOISTED UPON YOU." It slides in your chest, leaving, you imagine, slick snail-trails of mucous. You are too consumed by this discomfiting feeling to notice your head--

(You notice your head. It is cracking open like an egg, and inside is...)

...I...I'm alive.

You're alive? More like you're not dead--

I'm alive. I... I'm alive. I'm here. I...I...

How? Seriously, you're not dead even though you're underwater, you've been underwater for far too long, your lungs are filling with seawater--

(Your head is filling with seawater. It soaks your thoughts exactly as it soaks your clothes, leaving them sodden, salty, crinkled at the edges. It waterstains your memories. It batters your needs and wishes and desires into rough eroded shape. It is killing you, but you can't die--)


You sink and sink and sink downwards and wonder if you'll ever stop. I... I... repeats the broken phonograph in your head. Ah-h-h-h...

You hit the seafloor in a poof of sand. The crushing depths lie above you.


(Choices next.)
>[1] Forge onwards. You have a better perspective on this, now. Maybe there are answers.
>[2] If there are answers, they aren't in this place. Skip ahead.
>[3] Ell-- represents a symptom of... of this, now. Maybe he actually knows something. Ask.
>[4] Write-in.
>[3] Ell-- represents a symptom of... of this, now. Maybe he actually knows something. Ask.
lmao fuck if I know crab dude

>lmao fuck if I know crab dude


(You let yourself run on autopilot. Panic panic panic, blah blah blah, you aren't breathing, so on. Been there, done that.)

I was-- I-I--

(He flickers in and out of your already-crowded peripheral vision. He has a pearlescent sheen, like he's been coated in a thin layer of wax. He's draped against the floor like you're draped against the wall. His head is in his hands. You can muster no scorn, for once.

Hey, you think. Hey. Calm down.)

No. I was dead.

You think better of sticking your entire arm down your throat.

I was dead. Or- or- not alive, yet, I guess, I don't-- it-- yeah. I guess. Sorry. Sorry. I'll--

You look around. Pillar. Plains. Forest. Etcetera.

(He doesn't have to apologize. You just want to know... well, if he's okay, firstly, and secondly if he might know anything. Because you don't know anything.) You're (busy) finding a bucket.

I'm going to sound crazy.

(You don't see how that's possible.) There's a trash dump here.

You won't call me crazy?

(No.) You find a knife. (You wish you remembered how to use a knife, or how to stand.)

I'm gonna... I'm gonna hold you to that. Uh, it's already... it's already kinda fading, so, uh, sorry. Sorry.
Um, I guess... Arledge can't hear me, right?


Okay. I was kind of... dissolved... I don't know. Mostly I was spackle.

You find a weird-ass doll and a blanket. (You're desperately fighting the urge to call him crazy.)

Like, there was a lot of, I don't know, chips and cracks and stuff, in your head, so I-- spackled them, so you were... back to normal. But I wasn't really conscious so I'm kind of guessing. Uh. That's not the actual... important part, though.

You're gathering food like a dumbass. (You are losing the fight.)

The important part was, uh, I was kind of... outside of that. Like, it felt like I was watching me from across the room, and I kind of was, I guess. I don't-- but the point was, I went.............. somewhere.

You're eating food like a dumbass. Is time accelerating? This seems to be happening very rapidly. (Where?)

Somewhere! How long has it been since I vanished?

You're setting up a tent. It's been an hour or two. (It's been two and a half minutes.)

...Oh. Wow.


You used to be Ellery Routh. You now lack a name even on a conceptual level. It is two and a half minutes of real time ago, or maybe two hours of mental time. You are dead.

Not, like, in a figurative way. It's not that you've been fundamentally altered to the point where the person you were is dead. It's not that you've been wholly disconnected from reality but otherwise retain your sense of self. It's frankly ludicrous that this has to be clarified.

It's none of that. Your existence has been terminated, because you are now in a time before you existed. That's all there is to it.

You are also somewhere outside of your body.


(Choices next.)
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>[1] At the camp. You might as well pay your respects to the couple of people who were nice(ish) to you down here.
>[2] At the center of the ocean. All currents flow to the center.
>[3] At a dark place. Someone wants to meet you.
>[4] Write-in.
>[LOCKED] Above the water. You can't go here.
>[1] At the camp. You might as well pay your respects to the couple of people who were nice(ish) to you down here.
>[2] At the center of the ocean. All currents flow to the center.

I prefer meeting people in bright and well lit places.
Rolling and then writing.
Rolled 2 (1d2)

Breaking for a hot sec to grab food, then continuing to write.
>Towards the center of the ocean.

You are not where you were. You have been tugged somewhere else, to some bright and distant place you've never seen before. You flit by yellow-gold sands and friendly clouds of pink blood. You flit by ivory bones gnawed by invisible teeth. You flit by pitch-dark crevasses that split the ground again and again until it's rare to see a stretch of land that hasn't been divvied up into little floating chunks, and then rare to see a stretch of land at all. It is, by and large, only blackness.

And then you reach a point where the blackness is darkest and hungriest, and here you are sucked inexorably in. As you sink deeper, the blue above dims to a similar black. You are dead. You-- you'd think if you were feeling poetic, or indeed retained a grasp on language, or indeed were capable of thought-- have been devoured. Digested.

And then you are vomited back up into blackness, but a familiar sort of blackness. You've been endowed with a shiny new model of a body (though you still can't comprehend walking, so it does you little good). You are alive, to a point. It is more than you could possibly hope for.


(It is not very long after that. You are unfortunately Ellery Routh.

You have been unable to extract any answers.)


You are jarred back into the present by the little jingle and another blast of heat to your temples. You blink and twitch a finger. You sit up.

Your chest hurts. Your side hurts. Your back hurts. Your head hurts, quite a lot.

>|Mind: 5/10|


"I don't... I don't know if that's true..." you say. "I don't know what kind of change you're looking for, really, but I don't think that's... normal."


You have no idea what this means.




>[1] Simulate it with the doohickey. You actually have an occasion of change in mind: [write-in!]
>[2] Simulate it with the doohickey. Let the crab pick. It's the expert here, you guess.
>[3] Induce it in actuality, whatever the hell that means. You don't need something else screwing up your brain. You can do that just fine on your own.
>[4] You've already had enough. Get out of here before you lose control of your muscles again.
>[5] Write-in.
>>[3] Induce it in actuality, whatever the hell that means. You don't need something else screwing up your brain. You can do that just fine on your own.
Let's take a step back and see whatever this crab wants to try

Maybe if we simulate it it won't be as bad as the real thing?

Also the time I had in mind is when we snagged that internal sun. That was sweet. Let's get it back.
>[4] You've already had enough. Get out of here before you lose control of your muscles again.
I feel like we should stop. Our Mind isn't doing well and I don't think we are getting anything out of this worthwhile. Just mindfuck

Inducing in actuality sounds like something permanent which I'm not about if we have no idea what we are getting into.
Rolled 2 (1d2)

Whoops. Ninja'd by 20 seconds.
I'll ask for a tiebreaker and see what happens.


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>Simulate change: the internal sun!

You're cold. Of course you are. But you weren't always cold.

The thought of the sun in your chest still makes you uneasy. It's less the thing itself and more its implications: the unreal encroaching upon the real. Thought transmuted into action. It's not right, and it's not natural, and it can only lead to ill.

That being said, your continued personal encroachment upon the real has given you more perspective. You're cold, mostly. You're cold and you feel kind of empty. You haven't been warm since the campfire, and that was an entirely other can of worms.

And you don't know. Maybe it'll be... useful, or whatever.

What, really? He sounds doubtful. Remember when you yelled at me about this thing? Because I remember that. It was weird.

You don't want to talk about it.

Okay, I kind of want to talk about it. But... whatever. It's fine. I'm not complaining. Uh...

"Yeah," you say, "we can do the... thing again. The simulation, whatever. But I have a--"

"IT IS DONE," the crab says.

Do you think I could do that again? Like-- like this, I guess, or like normal. I don't know. It would probably help if I had a.... chest. But I think we should look into it--

You strongly disagree. That sounds like a recipe for losing a limb or growing a third eye or some other nonsense. You're surprised he's leaping straight to cockamimie speculation right after he took a long walk off a short plank, really.

I don't remember that much. And I'm here, so.


You're gearing up for something witty and pointed when you once again relax in place. The idea of moving is as remote as the idea of catching a break, for once: you can picture both just fine, but it's never going to happen. You just don't know how.

Godsdammit. At least I have a chair this time. It's more dignified.

You're kind of expecting it this time, but the act of gliding backwards through the days is no less weird. If you really concentrate, you can see flipbook-pages of memories just behind your eyelids, hear the ghosts of dialogue: "'sorry I was a prick all night while your entire chest was ripped out--'" ""Who gives a flying fish--" "The ol' think tank. The ol' head case. The ol'--"

You ache all over. You shouldn't, because there really shouldn't be anything to ache. You ponder: what am I right now? A ghost? An idea? A reflection?

That was pretty fecking prescient of me.

You are slowly sinking. The water isn't very good: it's far too viscous. But it doesn't matter. You know this water. This is your demesne. This is your sea.

It's not that there's no rules... but you're the arbitrator. You can't be fooled, here.

The crab has made a mistake.

>[1] Carry on as planned. Know heat and light, in the future.
>[2] No! You won't kowtow to how things are supposed to be, not here. Here you can do anything. [Write-in what you're trying.]
>[3] You can break out of this entirely. Do.
>[4] Write-in.
>[1] Carry on as planned. Know heat and light, in the future.
>>[1] Carry on as planned. Know heat and light, in the future.
Right. Sorry. Session over.
I'm leaving this one open until....Monday? Probably. Happy Easter, guys.

Good night.
>[2] No! You won't kowtow to how things are supposed to be, not here. Here you can do anything. [Write-in what you're trying.]

If we can regrow our chest first so the sun is contained and we don't ejaculate heat and light all over everything that'd be pretty nifty.
Yeah not having a chest wound would be nice if we can manage it
Shame on me for not mentioning it, but you are at a (mental) time before you got your chest ripped out, so you are (mentally) fine in that regard.
I figured that. There's no way we can relate how we are in the memory, which is whole, and translate that to how we are in the present?
You can certainly try your best, but you have no way of knowing if it would work. (Also, you're skeeved out by the idea of translating mental stuff into the physical world.)
I'm voting to try. It may skeeve us out, but surely not missing a torso is worth it
On the flip side I think our torso is recovering on it's own right now? Or is it just bandaged and not healing?
Fair enough! I won't shoot it down.

You have not checked recently, but before the bandages were applied it appeared to be beginning to stitch itself together.
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Hey folks, quick PSA before tomorrow's session.
After this thread is run to its conclusion, I'll be taking the month of May off in preparation for completing this semester. And while I'd like to start back up immediately in June... I have to leave for two weeks to a place with spotty Internet. Basically, I'll be taking a hiatus for about a month and a half (starting ~May 1st, returning mid-June).

I plan to use this time to plan for the threads ahead in a more constructive manner than I've been doing thus far. While I have been taking approx. week-long breaks between threads, I find this doesn't afford me enough time to really sit down and have a think about things. I'll also, yeah, be updating the pastebins.

If anybody would like to contact me during this time, I'm very active on the /qtg/ discord under the name Katabatic. You can also try my Twitter, but I doubt I'll be checking it very often. Still worth a shot.

See you guys tomorrow! (Have a Monty for consolation.)
Thanks for the heads up. You should draw someone with a wide and short head.
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Madrigal and Arledge have kind of wide, short heads!
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And... here's a full comparison! Because why not. Tall heads, short heads.
What about a head so wide and short it's like Monty's head but rotated 90 degrees?
Thanks for the update Bathic
I believe that's called "Katamari Damancy"!

Sorry, folks: a combination of lack of sleep and far too much Easter food has left me in no condition to sit down and write. I'm gonna postpone this session to tomorrow, optimistically, and see what happens then.
Hoo boy. Hi guys.

I've been dissatisfied in a lot of ways with this quest.

Here's a little bit of backstory, for anyone who doesn't know: I never really meant for this to be a narrative quest, in conception. It was supposed to be a kind of survival/civ-quest thing: (you)'d have to survive in the ocean alone and unravel the mystery of why you're alive. You can see a little bit of this in the early parts of thread 1.

This plan was changed very close to the January 2nd deadline I set for myself to start the quest. The notes document I have for the characters at the camp dates to January 1st, because I finally decided to include other people literally the day before I was slated to start. I retained broad setting details from the "civ" planning as well as the pre-written first few posts, but next to nothing else.

And then I posted the thread on January 2nd. And then I ran. And ran. And ran. Everything except the broad strokes of the setting, the magic system, and the characters in the camp was made up either as I wrote it or in the handful of days between sessions. "Hey," I thought, "this is going pretty well."

Around thread 3 or 4, an anon posted a pretty detailed list of criticisms (if he or she is still around, thanks). This was my first inkling that something was awry. I attempted to adapt as best I could (the ""plot"" begins to ramp up after this), but I still had no plans. And I ran. And ran. And ran.

And now we're on thread 8, and I feel like I've dug a hole underneath myself that's too deep for me to climb out of. I regret a lot of really early decisions I made without thinking about their implications. I regret a... lot of decisions, period. I don't feel that what I'm producing is of the level of quality it needs to be at, and I'm not confident at my ability to reach that level at this point.

"So are you ending the quest?" Well, I don't want to. I still like major elements of it that I'd hate to throw in the garbage. And it'd be pretty garbage of me to dip out this early.

The fundamental issues I personally have stem largely from a lack of planning before the quest began. I'd like to rectify that. I'm strongly considering sitting down over the summer, giving the quest the details it deserves, and then rebooting it in the fall.

"What does that mean?" Same universe, same or similar characters. Different MC, though Ellery would still be a thing (and potential deuteragonist). Setting and details more fleshed out. Mechanics given more than 5 seconds of thought. A gameplan.

"How do we know you'll come back?" I guess you don't. But I like to think I've been reliable, and I care more about this quest than anybody. Contact me on the /qtg/ discord @ Katabatic if you want progress reports.

"I don't like this idea!" If enough people feel strongly about this, I'll do my best to patch the holes in Drowned 1.0 and carry on as planned. But I don't believe I'm capable of producing a product you guys deserve with this chassis.

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Oh, forgot. Reboot would involve a year+ timeskip or an alternate universe or both. Anyways.

I won't be running further on this thread, and I'd like to request it not to be archived: if I carry on with Drowned 1.0, I plan to reuse this OP in June. If you guys have any questions or thoughts on this, please don't hesitate to let me know. I'll be watching the thread.

Have a nice day.
So, I had a point to this originally which I managed to leave out. Good job. It was "would you read drowned quest 2.0: the drownedededing if it happened?"

Continue to have a nice day.
That's a shame. I liked Ellery, the fool that he is, so losing him and his antics as the main focal point kinda stings a bit.

At the end of the day though if you feel dissatisfied and that is severely impacting the fun you have writing this then you gotta do what you gotta do. There isn't a point to QMing if you aren't having fun doing it. It's the whole point of this hobby yeah?
And yes
I'll read either this one continued or the reboot, because your writing without planning is still some of the best on this site. If you make it a civ quest though I'm out. Those are shit.
I like Ellery a lot as a character, but for a number of reasons I don't think he makes for a very good MC. I'd be interested in writing him as potentially a secondary MC/deuteragonist in a similar manner to Arledge, though, if people would like that. POV swaps and so on.

Either way, he's not going anywhere.

Hey, I appreciate that. I wish writing quality was the only thing that mattered, but /qst/ is not a "post your novel" board.

2.0 is intended to be narrative just like this one. There's a reason I dropped the civ idea, after all, and that reason is because I would absolutely suck ass at running one.

Enjoy this rare Piss Quest Ellery, courtesy of the Hikikomori Quest QM. I'll probably be posting a lot of art I haven't posted yet in this thread. I might make an Imgur album.
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RIP in piss Piss Quest.
Looking forward to the next iteration Bathic! See you in the fall.
Pardon my dust.
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>Carry on as planned.

No. You will bow to causuality. You reach out for the heat and light you can't have.

There is the penny-sun. There it sinks and foams and sizzles in its wake. There you uncannily fold and crumple up into yourself, and any second now you'll be smoothed out like nice tissue paper:

Thereyou uncannilyfold andcrumple upinto yourself,and anysecond nowyou'll besmoothed outlike nicetissuepaper:

Thereyouuncannilyfold andcrumpleupinto yourself,andanysecond nowyou'llbesmoothed outlikenicetissuepaper:












(A regular piece of paper can only ever be folded 7 times.

A specially-designed piece of paper, whisper-thin and a mile long, can only ever be folded 13 times.

You are folded 14 times, and this may explain how it is you slip through a hairline fissure in the universe and fall a very short distance through absolute nothing.)


You are Lottie Fawkins, and the muffled "thump" from inside Ellery's tent elicits only a disapproving arch of an eyebrow. You've long grown used to his particular level of competence.

̤T̤̤h̤̤a̤̤t̤̤'̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤m̤̤e̤̤a̤̤n̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤C̤̤h̤̤a̤̤r̤̤l̤̤o̤̤t̤̤t̤̤e̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤Y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤'̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤i̤̤n̤̤k̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤'̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤s̤̤h̤̤o̤̤w̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤ ̤̤l̤̤i̤̤t̤̤t̤̤l̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤c̤̤o̤̤n̤̤c̤̤e̤̤r̤̤n̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤f̤̤t̤̤e̤̤r̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤h̤̤a̤̤t̤̤.̤̤.̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤r̤̤e̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤e̤̤a̤̤r̤̤s̤?̤

It's not mean, it's true, and besides it's not his affair. It's entirely yours, and the point was that the man's lucky you were already on your way to see him. There's no chance you'd check up on this otherwise.

You delicately push open the tent flap and take in the tableau. Ellery sprawls face-down on top of a stone tablet. He doesn't move.

You kick him in the ribs.


You're indifferent to hear a "gack" . Ellery rolls over with a great deal of effort. His eyes are that disgusting muddle of brown-green-blue, so that's the same. His stare is vacant.

"Hello," you say, in your sickly-sweetest tone.

"Mmmm." He focuses on your face, but finds no comprehension. "Who'rre... do I know you...?"

Hell's bells and buckets of blood. His mind's done a runner.


̤H̤̤ṳ̤m̤̤a̤̤n̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤r̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤s̤̤o̤̤ ̤̤i̤̤n̤̤t̤̤e̤̤r̤̤e̤̤s̤̤t̤̤i̤̤n̤̤g̤̤.̤ ̤

He always says that and you're no closer to agreeing with the sentiment. You work up a dopey 'bless your heart' smile. "Ah--"

̤Y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤a̤̤r̤̤e̤̤!̤̤ ̤̤Y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤'̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤i̤̤n̤̤k̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤a̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤e̤̤r̤̤e̤̤'̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤b̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤s̤̤o̤̤m̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤k̤̤i̤̤n̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤o̤̤f̤̤ ̤̤s̤̤a̤̤f̤̤e̤̤t̤̤y̤̤ ̤̤f̤̤e̤̤a̤̤t̤̤ṳ̤r̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤f̤̤o̤̤r̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤o̤̤n̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤i̤̤n̤̤g̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤a̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤k̤̤e̤̤e̤̤p̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤t̤̤i̤̤c̤̤k̤̤i̤̤n̤̤g̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤b̤̤ṳ̤t̤̤ ̤̤i̤̤t̤̤'̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤j̤̤ṳ̤s̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤e̤̤r̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤f̤̤o̤̤r̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤n̤̤y̤̤o̤̤n̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤o̤̤ ̤̤m̤̤e̤̤s̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤i̤̤t̤̤h̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤N̤̤o̤̤ ̤̤d̤̤o̤̤-̤̤o̤̤v̤̤e̤̤r̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤o̤̤r̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤n̤̤y̤̤t̤̤h̤̤i̤̤n̤̤g̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤Y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤'̤̤r̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤l̤̤ṳ̤c̤̤k̤̤y̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤h̤̤a̤̤v̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤m̤̤e̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤C̤̤h̤̤a̤̤r̤̤l̤̤i̤̤e̤.̤

You're no closer to agreeing with that, either. Or to liking the nickname Charlie.

"Ah--" you say again, and search for the right word for your particular relationship with him.

>[1] "I'm Charlotte. We've been... acquainted."
>[2] "There was one regrettable evening multiple years ago. There's not been a lot of interaction since."
>[3] "Yes. I'm Lottie Fawkins and you're moronic."
>[4] Write-in. I'll be picky about this, though.

The other two are mean and I think Ellery needs more niceness.
>[1] "I'm Charlotte. We've been... acquainted."
What anon said.
You are not a very nice person.
Good thing we're MALLEABLE
Hardly at all! ̤H̤̤e̤̤'̤s̤ taken steps to prevent it.

But I digress. I'll leave this vote open for a good while, given that this is our last hurrah.
>[1] "I'm Charlotte. We've been... acquainted."
Lottie, eh? What a dame.
>>[3] "Yes. I'm Lottie Fawkins and you're moronic."


Uh... full disclosure. I took a shower and cleaned my room. No writing took place.

I am now writing for real!
>"I'm Charlotte. We've been... acquainted."

You have a number of choice retorts in mind, but you're too well-bred to dispatch them upon the mental invalid in front of you. You crank the smile up to blinding and sound out your words between clenched teeth.

"Ah'm...........Char......lotte. We...ah..."

Hmm. Horsefeathers. You aim for the simplest version.

"...'re... aqu-aint-ed."

̤T̤̤h̤̤i̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤i̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤h̤̤o̤̤w̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤a̤̤s̤̤k̤̤ ̤̤f̤̤o̤̤r̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤ ̤̤p̤̤a̤̤r̤̤t̤̤n̤̤e̤̤r̤̤s̤̤h̤̤i̤̤p̤̤?̤̤ ̤̤G̤̤e̤̤e̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤m̤̤a̤̤y̤̤b̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤k̤̤n̤̤o̤̤w̤̤ ̤̤s̤̤o̤̤m̤̤e̤̤t̤̤h̤̤i̤̤n̤̤g̤̤ ̤̤I̤̤ ̤̤d̤̤o̤̤n̤̤'̤̤t̤.̤

You're not asking. You're graciously extending a hand.

̤B̤̤e̤̤c̤̤a̤̤ṳ̤s̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤'̤̤v̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤l̤̤i̤̤e̤̤n̤̤a̤̤t̤̤e̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤e̤̤v̤̤e̤̤r̤̤y̤̤o̤̤n̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤e̤̤l̤̤s̤̤e̤.̤

You have options you're choosing not to exercise. You're just exercising this one at the-- at the present, not that it's gone all too well.

Ellery is using up all his prodigous intellect on your statement, judging by how furrowed his brow is. "Oh," he says finally. "Yeah, I guess-- okay. Okay."

He rakes his fingers back through his hair, which doesn't help it any. "Yeah. Sorry, Charlie, I don't know what--"

Your smile drops like a rock. "Lottie. Or Charlotte, if you must."

This prompts another round of consideration. You click two fingernails together in the silence. "...Sorry. I don't know what-- sorry, uh, Lottie. I don't think this is my day, uh, clearly."

He rubs an eye. You self-consciously brush a lock of hair further over the eye. He stops rubbing the eye. "I just feel like I should... what color are my eyes?"

It comes out a little fast. "Sewage."


"Is that a color? Is that like a hazel, or a..."

It comes out even faster. "Sure, to be generous. But I'd call it more of a..." You twirl your index finger in fast circles. "It's like if someone took all the eye colors and whisked them together and baked them into a sort of eyeball cake. And the cake was very ugly."

"So, not hazel and not blue, I guess. Okay. Sorry. I don't know why that's interesting. I'll be fine in an hour."

You have no desire to wait an hour. And he's more pliable when woozy, anyways.

̤I̤̤ ̤̤h̤̤o̤̤p̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤r̤̤e̤̤a̤̤l̤̤i̤̤z̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤h̤̤o̤̤w̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤a̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤s̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤n̤̤d̤̤s̤.̤

You cut to the point. "Never mind that. Ellery."

"I think that's me."

"I am extending to you an offer." Your smile turns back on. "That's a rare opportunity."

"Is it?" You can't tell if he's genuinely confused or just sarcastic, but in either case it's enough to splinter your focus.

"Is it-- yes! Yes. It is. I want-- uh, I don't want, uh, I would accept it if you were-- to join me, for, uh, an expedition."

̤S̤̤m̤̤o̤̤o̤̤t̤̤h̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤I̤̤ ̤̤c̤̤a̤̤n̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤e̤̤l̤̤l̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤h̤̤y̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤t̤̤ṳ̤r̤̤n̤̤e̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤m̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤d̤̤o̤̤w̤̤n̤.̤

"Uh..." You can practically hear the gears turning. "What-- why?"

Your face is turning red. You hope he'll take it as blush.

>[1] "You're the best man for the job." Leave out the "only". [Courteous]
>[2] "Well, why not? Aren't you interested?" He has to be. [Coy]
>[3] "Just for a laugh." No need to get too invested in this. [Caustic]
>[4] "Nobody else wants us." It's the truth. [Cruel]
And I am off to bed. See you tomorrow with the hopeful completion of this epilogue. (Perhaps a better term would be "post-credits teaser".)
>>[3] "Just for a laugh." No need to get too invested in this. [Caustic]
>[2] "Well, why not? Aren't you interested?" He has to be. [Coy]
Am I somehow still banned?
>"Well, why not? Aren't you interested?"

S̤̤p̤̤e̤̤e̤̤c̤̤h̤̤l̤̤e̤̤s̤̤s̤̤.̤̤̤ F̤̤i̤̤g̤̤ṳ̤r̤̤e̤̤s̤.̤

You weren't prepared for him to question this. You're used to people just listening to you, though to be fair this has been occurring less and less.

Y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤k̤̤n̤̤o̤̤w̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤s̤̤a̤̤i̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤"̤̤I̤̤ ̤̤d̤̤o̤̤n̤̤'̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤n̤̤e̤̤e̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤!̤̤ ̤̤I̤̤ ̤̤c̤̤a̤̤n̤̤ ̤̤d̤̤o̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤i̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤m̤̤y̤̤s̤̤e̤̤l̤̤f̤̤!̤̤"̤̤ ̤̤A̤̤n̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤l̤̤o̤̤o̤̤k̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤h̤̤e̤̤r̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤r̤̤e̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤T̤̤h̤̤r̤̤e̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤e̤̤a̤̤r̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤n̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤b̤̤s̤̤o̤̤l̤̤ṳ̤t̤̤e̤̤l̤̤y̤̤ ̤̤n̤̤o̤̤t̤̤h̤̤i̤̤n̤̤g̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤o̤̤ ̤̤s̤̤h̤̤o̤̤w̤̤ ̤̤f̤̤o̤̤r̤̤ ̤̤i̤̤t̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤I̤̤ ̤̤c̤̤a̤̤n̤̤'̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤a̤̤i̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤f̤̤o̤̤r̤̤e̤̤v̤̤e̤̤r̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤C̤̤h̤̤a̤̤r̤̤l̤̤i̤̤e̤.

That's a cryin' shame, because you're not in any particular hurry-- you've got forever, you reckon, and so--


A glint of brass just above your vision. A powerful heat at the base of your spine. You wince. "Uh," Ellery questions.

̤C̤̤h̤̤a̤̤r̤̤l̤̤i̤̤e̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤I̤̤ ̤̤d̤̤e̤̤f̤̤i̤̤n̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤f̤̤o̤̤r̤̤e̤̤v̤̤e̤̤r̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤I̤̤ ̤̤c̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤l̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤i̤̤t̤̤h̤̤e̤̤r̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤l̤̤i̤̤k̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤ ̤̤f̤̤r̤̤ṳ̤i̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤o̤̤n̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤v̤̤i̤̤n̤̤e̤̤.̤ ̤

The heat slithers upwards. You swallow, hard.

I̤̤f̤̤ ̤̤I̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤a̤̤n̤̤t̤̤e̤̤d̤.̤ ̤B̤̤ṳ̤t̤̤ ̤̤I̤̤'̤̤m̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤ ̤̤n̤̤i̤̤c̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤g̤̤ṳ̤y̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤s̤̤o̤̤ ̤̤I̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤o̤̤n̤̤'̤̤t̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤J̤̤ṳ̤s̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤ ̤̤r̤̤e̤̤m̤̤i̤̤n̤̤d̤̤e̤̤r̤.̤

Cool water douses your torso. It feels like all your insides have crumbled to ash. "Uh," Ellery says, "this might be weird, but... were you talking to someone?"

You smooth down your white peacoat and don't say anything.

̤D̤̤o̤̤n̤̤'̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤b̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤e̤̤i̤̤r̤̤d̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤C̤̤h̤̤a̤̤r̤̤l̤̤i̤̤e̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤O̤̤f̤̤ ̤̤c̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤r̤̤s̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤w̤̤e̤̤r̤̤e̤̤n̤̤'̤̤t̤.̤

"No," you mutter.

"Okay, cool. I don't know why I asked that. Just had a feeling, I guess. You know, you get those feelings sometimes--"

"No." You've lost your appetite for cutting remarks.

"Maybe that's just me. Anyways, uh, why did you want--"

̤J̤̤ṳ̤s̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤l̤̤e̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤m̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤h̤̤a̤̤n̤̤d̤̤l̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤i̤̤t̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤S̤̤a̤̤y̤̤ ̤̤"̤̤w̤̤h̤̤y̤̤ ̤̤n̤̤o̤̤t̤̤"̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤I̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤m̤̤a̤̤k̤̤e̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤s̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤n̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤p̤̤l̤̤a̤̤y̤̤f̤̤ṳ̤l̤̤ ̤̤v̤̤e̤̤r̤̤s̤̤ṳ̤s̤̤ ̤̤b̤̤i̤̤t̤̤c̤̤h̤̤y̤.̤

"Why not," you repeat sullenly. "Aren't you interested?"

"Uh..." He rubs his eye again. "I can't tell. Would I be interested, like, normally? When I'm not-- yeah. You'd know, right?"

>[1] "Frankly, I have little idea. That's why I came to ask you." [Courteous]
>[2] "Why don't you ask yourself that question? I'm not the one deciding." [Coy]
>[3] "You probably would be." What else would he be doing? [Caustic]
>[4] "Of course. You've been begging to go with me, actually." He doesn't know the difference. [Cruel]
>[3] "You probably would be." What else would he be doing? [Caustic]
> Or at least, he SHOULD be. Who knows though, it's frustrating to see him forget like this.
This may be cruel but it's the nice kind of cruel
>[3] "You probably would be." What else would he be doing? [Caustic]
>[4] "Of course. You've been begging to go with me, actually." He doesn't know the difference. [Cruel]
>[2] "Why don't you ask yourself that question? I'm not the one deciding." [Coy]
its tough love
>[3] "You probably would be." What else would he be doing? [Caustic]
Rolled 2 (1d3)

>3-way tie
RNGesus take the wheel.
>"You probably would be."

You have no idea. You're guessing "no".

"Yes," you say. "I think you would be. Probably."

̤Y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤c̤̤a̤̤n̤̤'̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤e̤̤v̤̤e̤̤n̤̤ ̤̤c̤̤o̤̤m̤̤m̤̤i̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤o̤̤ ̤̤b̤̤e̤̤i̤̤n̤̤g̤̤ ̤̤ṳ̤n̤̤s̤̤c̤̤r̤̤ṳ̤p̤̤ṳ̤l̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤s.̤̤ ̤̤A̤̤l̤̤m̤̤o̤̤s̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤d̤̤m̤̤i̤̤r̤̤a̤̤b̤̤l̤̤e̤.̤

"Probably?" Ellery's pushing himself to his feet. He's almost a full head taller than you. Dangnabbit. You take a haughty step back and square your shoulders. "I mean, I believe you, but why the--"

"Like I said, I don't... know you all that well. But I always got the feeling that you were interested."

You have little idea what he actually does, except that it's obviously not done very well. He occasionally turns up blank or broken, everyone freaks out for a little bit, and then he turns up fine in a couple more days. It's thouroughly obnoxious. But you've never once seen him leave for anywhere, though this is theoretically a base camp.

"Oh," he says, and sticks his hands in his jacket pockets. He looks thoughtful. "Yeah, I... yeah. Okay, that seems right. I'm interested."

You smile, for real and everything, and offer your hand to shake. He takes it. "Tremendous!"

"Tremendous." His smile is untried and crooked.

You don't feel bad about this. You're actually doing the right thing, here, helping this sad man sieze an opportunity. Actually, this may be an opportunity you can seize yourself. If he's actually this suggestible...

>[1] No, you got what you wanted. Bid him adieu. [Courteous]
>[2] Inform him that he's an outgoing guy. Spending all his time in here is obviously not doing much good. [Coy]
>[3] Inform him that he's a neat freak. This place is a dump. [Caustic]
>[4] ̤R̤̤i̤̤c̤̤h̤̤a̤̤r̤d̤'s been awful lately, and you're sure he could use Ellery for... whatever. If you offered Ellery up, you'd probably get ̤h̤̤i̤m̤ off your back. [Cruel]
>[5] Write-in.
>>[2] Inform him that he's an outgoing guy. Spending all his time in here is obviously not doing much good. [Coy]
Oops. Went to sleep.
We'll finish out the epilogue today.

It'll be good for him in the long run.
Hmm. Ellery is weird. I kind of expected him to be a scary wizard by now. Not a clock that needs to be rewound every once in a while.

I'm still here, Bathic :) I don't really remember what I told you, though, something like needing a plot for a story?
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>Inform him he's outgoing.
>Inform him he's a neat freak.

While you're pleased he accepted, there's a reason this was your last resort. You need to mitigate the potentially catastrophic damage this partnership could do to your good name.

̤C̤̤h̤̤a̤̤r̤̤l̤̤i̤̤e̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤d̤̤a̤̤r̤̤l̤̤i̤̤n̤̤g̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤d̤̤o̤̤n̤̤'̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤h̤̤a̤̤v̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤ ̤̤g̤̤o̤̤o̤̤d̤̤ ̤̤n̤̤a̤̤m̤̤e̤.̤

You NEED to MITIGATE the potentially catastrophic damage this could do to your good name. You won't brook any complaints. To begin, imagine what people'd say if they saw you out with a *recluse*--

̤I̤̤ ̤̤d̤̤o̤̤n̤̤'̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤b̤̤e̤̤l̤̤i̤̤e̤̤v̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤h̤̤e̤̤'̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤ ̤̤r̤̤e̤̤c̤̤l̤̤ṳ̤s̤̤e̤̤-̤̤-̤̤ ̤̤o̤̤h̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤o̤̤k̤̤a̤̤y̤.̤

You're already speaking. "By the way," you say smoothly, "It's funny. I haven't seen you about lately. You're normally so sociable."

His posture loosens. "Am I?"

You nod.

"Huh. Sorry, I must've been busy with... whatever this is." He kicks at the stone tablet by his feet, and you can't help but stare at the dusty stack of several more in the corner. It's joined with further third-rate gewgaws and bibelots in varying states of dismemberment. Littered on the ground are various instruments: a loupe, a scalpel, a crowbar.

"Yes," you say, and nudge away a machete that came perilously close to your heel. You have no idea what goes on in here and you'd be shocked if he did either. How does one function in such a state?

You are overcome with inspiration. "Yes! It must've put you in quite a state. You're normally so neat and all."

He looks as if something's crawling down his back. "Oh."

Too far? Too late now. You take his limp hand, pat it, flash a final smile, and turn tail entirely. You'll deal with this in a later fashion.

̤I̤̤ ̤̤h̤̤o̤̤p̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤r̤̤e̤̤a̤̤l̤̤i̤̤z̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤h̤̤o̤̤w̤̤ ̤̤h̤̤o̤̤r̤̤r̤̤i̤̤b̤̤l̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤h̤̤a̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤a̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤o̤̤f̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤.̤ ̤

It wasn't horrible. Those were positive changes. You just improved his life--

̤T̤̤e̤̤l̤̤l̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤r̤̤s̤̤e̤̤l̤̤f̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤h̤̤a̤̤t̤̤e̤̤v̤̤e̤̤r̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤w̤̤a̤̤n̤̤t̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤C̤̤h̤̤a̤̤r̤̤l̤̤o̤̤t̤̤t̤̤e̤̤.̤̤ ̤̤B̤̤ṳ̤t̤̤ ̤̤I̤̤'̤̤m̤̤ ̤̤p̤̤r̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤d̤̤ ̤̤o̤̤f̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤.̤̤ ̤̤W̤̤e̤̤'̤̤l̤̤l̤̤ ̤̤m̤̤a̤̤k̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤ṳ̤s̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤o̤̤f̤̤ ̤̤y̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤ ̤̤y̤̤e̤̤t̤.̤

You wish he wouldn't say that.

̤N̤̤o̤̤w̤̤,̤̤ ̤̤w̤̤e̤̤ ̤̤r̤̤e̤̤a̤̤l̤̤l̤̤y̤̤ ̤̤o̤̤ṳ̤g̤̤h̤̤t̤̤ ̤̤t̤̤o̤̤ ̤̤d̤̤i̤̤s̤̤c̤̤ṳ̤s̤̤s̤̤ ̤̤a̤̤l̤̤t̤̤e̤̤r̤̤a̤̤t̤̤i̤̤o̤̤n̤̤s̤̤.̤̤.̤.̤

You purse your lips and fix your hair as a brass-and-iron snake twines soothingly around your shoulders.

The gumby voice is ominous indeed

If you're talking AU-Ellery, he's both more competent and better-adjusted than Charlotte assumes. She's not a very good judge of character.

It was that plus I was being overly vague. I definitely plan to rectify the plot issue in 2.0, but I think the vagueness may just be an artifact of my writing style and therefore not going anywhere. It's not an intentional choice being made.

Glad to see you here, hope to see you back in the fall :D
>Glad to see you here, hope to see you back in the fall :D
Make sure to tweet about it!
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We're on Page 9. This thread has been archived so any potential archive readers don't get confused: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=drowned%20quest

Please follow me on Twitter for updates! I will be tweeting my progress on 2.0 throughout the summer, and will of course be announcing it when it appears. https://twitter.com/BathicQM

And finally, I've created an ask.fm: https://ask.fm/BathicQM. If you have any lingering questions, send them to me and I'll answer!

Have a nice couple of months, guys.
Thanks and thanks for running.

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