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>What is this? Why “Redux”?
I ran Drowned Quest from January to late April of this year, before ending it due to personal qualms with the pacing, coherency, and (lack of) structure. I resolved to spend the summer planning a new quest in the same universe that would avoid the issues I had with the original. This is that.
There's no need to read the original before Redux, though it wouldn't hurt. The basic elements of the setting can be reviewed here: https://pastebin.com/q6fdvmck


>Will I like it if I liked the original? Will I like it if I hated the original? Will I like it if I never read the original?
I hope so, it depends, I hope so. This ought to build on Drowned's best elements while dodging or mitigating its worst. If you didn't like the setting or my style, though, that's remaining largely the same.

>How's your schedule compared to Drowned?
I ran frequent large sessions with the first quest, which I suspect didn't help its wild improv. Also, I'm busier. Posts hopefully daily, sessions 0-3 times per week (more likely to be Fridays or weekends, I'll announce on Twitter).

>There was somebody speaking l͜i͜k͜e͜ ͜t͜h͜i͜s͜ in the epilogue to Drowned Quest. Now there's somebody else speaking <<like this>>. What gives?
Same character. I decided double angle brackets were more legible and easier to edit. If anything else changes from the epilogue, the more recent version is canon-- I've done a lot of development over the last ~4 months.

>Something else.
Ask me!


Twitter: https://twitter.com/BathicQM
Pastebins (character sheet, setting summary, dice and mechanics): https://pastebin.com/u/bathicqm
Archive (of original): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=drowned%20quest


>Last time on DROWNED QUEST:
A lot of things happened to somebody else you don't particularly care about. Also, you obtained an expedition partner through questionable means.

>>3789381
>>[1] East, towards town... a 15-minute walk from camp. You're looking for Tom's Cave, rumored to be haunted. Also rumored to be gator-infested. These traits may be connected.
Here we go again.

>>3789381
>>[1] East, towards town... a 15-minute walk from camp. You're looking for Tom's Cave, rumored to be haunted. Also rumored to be gator-infested. These traits may be connected.

Let's not go too crazy here.

>>3789382

>[1] East, towards town... a 15-minute walk from camp. You're looking for Tom's Cave, rumored to be haunted. Also rumored to be gator-infested. These traits may be connected.

>>3789381
>>[3] South, towards—you peer down to make sure you've read it correctly—Hell. Ellery shrugs. “It's hot. They're very straightforward around here.” You're looking for a cave named “Hell's Jaws”.

>>3789381
>[2] West, towards the dreary mud flats. You're looking for the third sinkhole to open up in as many weeks. Something about skeletons? Cannibals? Or was that a joke? It's so difficult to tell with these locals.

What does Arledge's pee taste like?

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>>3789387
>>3789396
>>3789419
> Tom's Cave

Ellery leans over your shoulder and swears out loud, surprisingly clearly. “Son of a bitch."

You clasp the map to your chest and whip around, primed to chastise. He takes this as an opportunity to switch to emphatic handsign. “Tom's Cave?! Seriously? It's right there—how could you possibly have—”

«He's right, you know. Your incompetence is mind-boggling.»

You scowl at the both of them. Of course you knew this was the wrong direction. You took the opportunity to walk, because it's a nice day (not that they'd appreciate that), and because... this is your whole life, right here, about to begin. After years of searching. After years of dreaming.

And it's in some ratty little gator-infested hole next to a podunk town, 15 minutes from where you live.

This fact crept up upon you slowly, like a burglar on creaky floorboards. It has just begun hitting you in the face. It's over, and it was pointless anyways, and bereft of even a satisfying climax. Tom's Cave. It might be only be decent if one of the gators got Ellery, and you arrived just too late to save him, and wept over his bloodied corpse, but the tears hardened to steely resolve as the weight of nobility pressed upon your neck, and you forged ahead, the fire of grief in your belly—

“Lottie?" Bless his heart, but concern does nothing for his features. You smile benignly up at Ellery.

“Yes?”

“Oh! Oh, sorry. I just thought you looked a little—”

«Maniacal. We've talked about this.»

“—...I don't know, really. But, uh, I was saying- you need to tell me what you're looking for. I mean it. If I'm going to be risking getting mauled by gators—
hell, if I'm going to risk getting mauled by Margo—!"

“You wanted to come,” you say evenly. He does. You made sure of it. “Without knowing what I was looking for.”

He slouches forward a little. “Also without knowing our destination. What is there to find in Tom's Cave? Algae?"

The Second Crown. Gold and glittering crystal. Relic of an ancient age. Marker of the right to rule. Your family's lost heirloom. You will cradle it in your hands, and place it on your head, and the ranks of sneering nobles—Birdwells and Harrisons and Falks—will fall to their knees before you.

«He won't understand, if you tell him.» Richard slips off your neck and onto your shoulder. «He'll only ask questions. He has the look of someone who asks questions.»

There is, you have to admit, an inquisitive jut to Ellery's chin.

>[1] Parry Ellery's question with one of your own. He might not be pleased, but that's something you can live with.
>[2] Lie. If he buys it, that's him off your back. If not... you can cross that bridge when you come to it, surely.
>[3] Just tell him. You'll have to swear him to secrecy, of course, and the follow-up questions may be too much to bear. But it's simplest.
>[4] Write-in.

>>3789458
>The Second Crown. Gold and glittering crystal. Relic of an ancient age. Marker of the right to rule. Your family's lost heirloom. You will cradle it in your hands, and place it on your head, and the ranks of sneering nobles—Birdwells and Harrisons and Falks—will fall to their knees before you.
Oh gee where have I heard this before? Hack thief.

>[2] Lie. If he buys it, that's him off your back. If not... you can cross that bridge when you come to it, surely.

>>3789458
>>[1] Parry Ellery's question with one of your own. He might not be pleased, but that's something you can live with.
Oh Ellery, such an idiot.

>>3789458

>[3] Just tell him. You'll have to swear him to secrecy, of course, and the follow-up questions may be too much to bear. But it's simplest.

Simple is good

>>3789458
>>[1] Parry Ellery's question with one of your own. He might not be pleased, but that's something you can live with.

I am heading out for about an hour and 15. Vote is open until I return.

>>3789524
I can't believe it's already dead.

>>3789458
>[2] Lie. If he buys it, that's him off your back. If not... you can cross that bridge when you come to it, surely.

>>3789458
>[2] Lie. If he buys it, that's him off your back. If not... you can cross that bridge when you come to it, surely.

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>>3789527
Sad!

>>3789467
>>3789624
>>3789652
>Lie like a dead dog
Writing.

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>Lie.

"Yes," you say.

"Huh?"

"There's algae in Tom's Cave. It's, uh, it's..."

You're not a good liar for how often you do it.

«It's rare and valuable. You think it can be used to reverse dissolution. It's for a scavenger hunt. Make something up already.»

"...I don't know what they want it for, but I'm getting paid, so. Ahaha."

"You're getting paid? Is someone... shit." He makes as if to take the map, but thinks better of it. "Uh, who... was it one person hiring you, or a representative of— I don't know, a sort of organization? Sorry, did you say what kind of algae?"

"Green?"

"Green... goddammit." He kicks at a passing minnow, who darts away from his boot. "Well. Guess we ought to get a move on."

«Congratulations. You've managed, somehow, to tell a truth. Too bad it's not the right one.»

You refold the COMPLEET MAP bemusedly and set off after Ellery, now tromping along ahead of you. You'll have to mark "green algae" down on your list of buttons to push.

Tom's Cave. You've passed by it, briefly, but have never been inside. Supposedly, most people who enter never return. This sounds like melodramatic horsesh—t to you...

>[1] But you still came prepared. Not only did you pack an entire rucksack of supplies, you asked around about what's supposedly inside. (You have supplies and knowledge, but people are aware of and might ask about your expedition.)
>[2] So you brought a positive attitude. If there are massive gators, you'll deal with it as it comes! A little surprise is good for the soul. (You have a +10 Positive Thinking bonus to most actions, and your expedition remains a secret. But you don't know what's ahead, or have any supplies excepting what Ellery may have brought.)

>>3789752
>>[2] So you brought a positive attitude. If there are massive gators, you'll deal with it as it comes! A little surprise is good for the soul. (You have a +10 Positive Thinking bonus to most actions, and your expedition remains a secret. But you don't know what's ahead, or have any supplies excepting what Ellery may have brought.)

Preparation? Forethought? Pfft, who needs any of that?

>>3789752
>[2] So you brought a positive attitude. If there are massive gators, you'll deal with it as it comes! A little surprise is good for the soul. (You have a +10 Positive Thinking bonus to most actions, and your expedition remains a secret. But you don't know what's ahead, or have any supplies excepting what Ellery may have brought.)
I trust Ellery. Said nobody ever.

>>3789752
>[1] But you still came prepared. Not only did you pack an entire rucksack of supplies, you asked around about what's supposedly inside. (You have supplies and knowledge, but people are aware of and might ask about your expedition.)

>>3789764
>>3789765
>Always look on the bright side of life!
Writing.

>>3789752
>[2] So you brought a positive attitude. If there are massive gators, you'll deal with it as it comes! A little surprise is good for the soul.


OPTIMISM!

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>A positive attitude!

Your back is as light as your step. Nothing can go wrong when your purpose is so noble! The universe wouldn't allow it! Surely!

It takes another thirty minutes to make it out of the depths of the Fen, and ten more before the foilage is recognizably Landing-ish. You know you've arrived when Margo Lindew's strident voice breaks through the water.

"—I don't care what kind of...my town!...feathered floozies—"

In front of you, Ellery stops and ducks abruptly behind a tree. "Get down!" he signs furiously. "She's looking this way!"

You sidle off the path and into the brush, which does little to hide your searing peacoat. You're going to have to deal with Margo, anyways. She's guarded the mouth of her husband's cave every day for 50 years (they say, and "they" are less than unreliable).

"You there! Girl! You'll come out and help with these cretins."

It's not a question when Margo has fixed you with a gimlet eye. You cast a self-satisfied glance towards Ellery and sidle back out past him. He groans and follows you.

Margo is in her usual rocking chair, surrounded by two people you don't recognize. One, a woman, has a few tasteful feathers in her hair. The other, a man, is positively shaggy with them. Both are up in Margo's face. "We have a decree," the woman hisses, before following Margo's gaze to you.

Courtiers. Right rat-bastards, if you'll be so vulgar.

"Come down," Margo says. "You both. You've been around here, haven't you? Why don't you explain to these poor confused folks that the cave is off-limits—"

"—A decree from the Apogee!—"

"I've said, I don't give a damn about no Apple Gee!"

You look at Ellery, who raises his hands in futility.

«We could,» Richard says, «just walk past them. They couldn't stop us.»

No, but they might follow you. You don't relish the idea of dealing with either Margo or a tag-team of Courtiers, though, either. Decisions.

>[1] Come down and help Margo against the Courtiers. She might be grateful enough to let you in with minimal fuss.
>[2] If the Courtiers have a decree, or whatnot, you're going to take advantage of that. Argue on their side and see if they'll let you enter with them.
>[3] Get a better idea of the situation. What does the Wind Court want with a bunch of alligators in a hole? Surely they aren't looking for your crown?
>[4] Just walk right in past them all. There's no barriers to the entrance, and you're sure good fortune is smiling upon you.
>[4] Write-in.

The write-in should be [5], of course.

>>3789891
>[3] Get a better idea of the situation. What does the Wind Court want with a bunch of alligators in a hole? Surely they aren't looking for your crown?
intel!

>>3789891
>[2] If the Courtiers have a decree, or whatnot, you're going to take advantage of that. Argue on their side and see if they'll let you enter with them.

Still a bit lost on what is going on but it's better to take the diplomatic ground to start.

>>3789891
>>[1] Come down and help Margo against the Courtiers. She might be grateful enough to let you in with minimal fuss.

>>3789900
+1

>>3789903
Gonna switch to this one >>3789900
, since I think gathering information could be a bit more reliable than just jumping into diplomacy.

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>>3789900
>>3789911
>>3789937
>Getting the lay of the land

Writing.

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>Get a better idea of the situation.

"Pardon," you start to sign, but Margo points an accusatory finger. "I don't brook with that hand-sign, girl. Use your words."

"Pardon," you say, muffled through the water. You are out of practice. "What sort of—"

"Come here, girl. And speak up. Bring your tall friend, too."

You clamber past mussel-encrusted outcroppings down to the clearing where Margo sits.

«You look silly and you're going to tear your coat.»

Ellery takes the path down and arrives first. "A decree?" he's already asking.

"Yes," you jump in over him. "The Wind Court doesn't have jurisdiction here. That's all to the northwest..."

Wind City lies to the northwest. You've been there once. You made certain there was no Court presence here.

"Oh, okay." The woman tucks a red curl behind her ear dismissively. "It's more hicks, Molina. Ignore them. Mrs. Lindew, I'm afraid we're going to have to..."

Your cheeks flush. "Excuse me?!"

"You're excused," the man (Molina?) says, and pats you on the shoulder.

You slap his hand away. "There's no Wind Court outpost! This is virgin territory! You can't—"

«You're making a fool of yourself, Charlotte.»

You fume.

Ellery steps bodily in front of you. "Sorry," he says. "Sorry. She doesn't— you guys just moved in, right? A few weeks ago? You have to understand, uh, she doesn't get out much. Doesn't hear the news. Uh, welcome to the Corcass..."

"We'd be more welcome," says the woman, "if this— if Mrs. Lindew would give us our rightful passage. As we are due."

"Okay," Ellery says. "And why won't she?"

"You should know, boy." Margo clenches the arms of the rocking chair. "I've seen you about. This here is my Tom's cave..."

"And you're protecting his bones, whatever, yada yada." You don't want to hear this all over again. "But these people aren't looking for his bones, right? They just want..."

"That's classified."

"Okay, uh, something. So why not let them in? Or anybody in? Why not just take the bones out and give them a sensible burial? You're not some sort of heathen, surely."

Margo looks sideways at you. "Gators."

"And," says Molina. "We're not going in. We're waiting for Lucky."

"Before we got sidetracked," the woman adds.

They stare at you with barely-concealed disdain. Margo stares at you with ordinary disdain.

>[1] Okay, so great. You'll go in and get Tom's bones, and also the crown, and get out. Problem solved. The Courtiers can wait until after you're all done. Boom.
>[2] Margo won't go in because of the gators, and the Courtiers are waiting anyways, so you can just stroll right in. Excellent.
>[3] Why not kill two birds with one stone? You go in and get the crown, the Courtiers get whatever they're getting, done. Margo can't stop four of you.
>[4] Write-in.

>>3790003
>>[1] Okay, so great. You'll go in and get Tom's bones, and also the crown, and get out. Problem solved. The Courtiers can wait until after you're all done. Boom.

Charlotte why are you such a NEET. also, fuck this, let's just go.

>>3790003
>>[1] Okay, so great. You'll go in and get Tom's bones, and also the crown, and get out. Problem solved. The Courtiers can wait until after you're all done. Boom.

>>3790014
>>3790042
>Spooky skeleton/crown wombo combo

Writing.

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>You'll get the bones and the crown!

It's absurdly simple. Margo will let you in to retrieve the bones, and you can snag the crown in the meantime. And then get out of here, never to see any of these people again. Thank the good lord.

«That's not a good attitude to have, Charlie. It's actually important to have connections. You never know when you'll need to use someone.»

"Oh, I'm not worried about the gators," you say. (Ellery mouths 'excuse me?') "We'll head in and get the bones pronto, give them to you, have a little sentimental funeral, a little cry... we can discuss compensation later. I'll do it for free right now, how about that?"

«Pro bono.»

"You know, pro bono," you amend. "Pro bone-o retrieval. That's us."

Margo purses her lips. "No."

"So, you know, we'll just head on in... what?"

"I said no, girl. I won't have some out-of-towner mucking in my business. That—" Ellery had started to say something— "goes for you too. You're one of them campers, aren'tcha? Always out in the Fen, never asking for permission. Impolite."

Positive attitude. Positive attitude.

"Don't worry about it!" you say. "We won't... no mucking. Just quick in and out. Do they look any different from normal bones, or..."

"Run along," Margo snaps.

The other woman waves you off.

Positive attitude. You step backwards, as if to leave, and then tug Ellery sideways by the lapel. You dart and he stumbles down into the mouth of the cave. It's deeper than you thought, and you scrabble down, clutching onto rocks and roots.

The heads of the Courtiers pop into view above you, open-mouthed in (you assume) awe. You wave cheerily. They say something inaudible in response.

"Fuck," Ellery says, and slumps against the rocky slope. You squat near him. "Fuck," he repeats. "Seriously?"

He falls silent. You pat his knee and stand up to survey the cave. It's dim. There's slick algae lining most of the walls, as promised. You see no sign of alligators, or for that matter ghosts.

You're faintly disappointed.

"You know..." Ellery says. "You know Margo is going to kill us, right? Maybe even literally. Have you ever spoken to her?"

There's a corridor that leads deeper, it looks like. If you know anything about mystical, forgotten relics (and do you), they're never in the first room. Your next plan of action should be to head down there—

"Are you listening?"

"Yeah," you say. "It'll be fine. She'll be happy when we get the bones, and then it'll blow over. You know, ends justify means, et-cetera."

«That's my girl.»

"That's a terrible philosophy—"

THUMP

THUMP

THUMP

A-ha! The alligators! You fish around in your pocket for the little switchblade—

(1/2)

"That's not coming from up there, is it?" Ellery hisses. It isn't. But neither, curiously, does it seem to be coming from the corridor.

Is there an alligator in here? Do alligators thump? You've never seen one.

THUMP - scrrtch

scrrtch

No, nevermind. "GO AWAY" being written by an invisible hand in the algae? Must be ghosts, then. You're pleased that at least one rumor is true.

Ellery has gone noticably pale.

>[1] If you scream a little, it might scare the Courtiers. That'd be fun. And you have to be a good sport for the ghosts.
>[2] Go write something back in the algae. Maybe something like "no thank you, we're fine."
>[3] Very spooky and all that, but you do have a crown to find. Just mosey along down the corridor.
>[4] Write-in.

>>3790193
>>[2] Go write something back in the algae. Maybe something like "no thank you, we're fine."
Rude.

>>3790193
>>[2] Go write something back in the algae. Maybe something like "no thank you, we're fine."

>>3790193
>[1] If you scream a little, it might scare the Courtiers. That'd be fun. And you have to be a good sport for the ghosts.

Make it loud and girly

>>3790198
>>3790209
>Write something back!

Writing.

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>Write something back on the wall.

While the idea of actual ghosts is exciting, you're less than pleased with the contents of the message. "GO AWAY"? It's unimaginative, firstly, and secondly not at all convincing.

You stride over to the haunted wall and scrape "NO" into the algae below the original words. And then, thinking better of it, you write "THANK YOU" below, and draw a little smiley face next to it.

"Oh good," Ellery says. "You're being passive-aggressive to a ghost."

You stare him down with a toothy smile. It reads, you hope, "I will feed you to an alligtor." He massages his temples.

THUMP - scrrtch

The algae is regrowing over the first message. In its place reads

"DO NOT TOY WITH US

WE ARE MULTITUDINOUS

WE ARE ETERNAL

WE ARE..."

The writing is getting increasingly tiny as the entity tries to fit it all above your response.

"...HUNGRY

BE GONE

OR BE FOOD"

"Huh," says Ellery, and stands. "Well, I'm ready to go get eaten. Guess we better get a move on."

You squint at the wall. "Really? I thought you were the... you know, the dull type."

"I was joking. It's a moot point, though. You won't let us go anywhere but down."

«He has you dead to rights. You're far too predictable. If anyone's dull, it's you.»

"Yes," you say, but don't move towards the corridor. The scratchy letters are strangely compelling. Do they twist? Do they flicker? If only you could hold your head at the right angle. If only you had two working eyes.

Not that you're blaming anybody.

«We're not getting into this now, Charlie.»

>[1] You feel as if there's something layered under the existing words. If you try hard enough, can you find it? (Roll.)
>[2] Ask another question of the... ghosts? (What?)
>[3] This has crossed a new threshold of spooky. Better to move along and meet the ghosts (or alligators) in person.
>[4] Write-in.

>>3790368
>[1] You feel as if there's something layered under the existing words. If you try hard enough, can you find it? (Roll.)

>>3790368
>>[1] You feel as if there's something layered under the existing words. If you try hard enough, can you find it? (Roll.)

>>3790368
>[1] You feel as if there's something layered under the existing words. If you try hard enough, can you find it? (Roll.)

>>3790368
>[3] This has crossed a new threshold of spooky. Better to move along and meet the ghosts (or alligators) in person.

Of course I feel like the spook train has not even begun.

>>3790368
>[1] You feel as if there's something layered under the existing words. If you try hard enough, can you find it? (Roll.)

>>3790385
>>3790401
>>3790427
>>3790446
>Mystery box!

A quick overview of the dice system:

Drowned Quest Redux runs on a 3d100 Degrees of Success system, where 3 d100s are rolled and the number of times they hit or surpass the DC determines the result. Modifiers may be applied to the roll or DC depending on the situation.

0 Passes = Failure (you fail)
1 Pass = Mitigated Success (you succeed, but...)
2 Passes = Success (you succeed)
3 Passes = Enhanced Success (you succeed, and...)

1 = Catastrophe
100 = Miracle

So in this case:
>Please roll me 3 d100s + 20 (+10 Positive Thinking, +10 Full Identity) vs. DC 50.

Rolled 66 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3790461

Rolled 44 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3790461

Rolled 20 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3790461

>>3790483
>>3790489
>>3790495
>86, 64, 40 vs. DC 50
>Success

Writing.

This may be the final post for a good chunk of time, but I'll see if I can squeeze in one more this evening after it. I'll also be running tomorrow.

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>Is something there?

You gently trace each letter, hoping to find answers. They don't come. You mouth the words— multitudinous, immortal, hungry— but they don't become an incantation. Behind you, Ellery plays with a lump of wood and a knife.

You stop, sigh, and look up. No secret is revealed to you.

«Charlie, I don't like this. We need to get moving.»

The crown can wait. You have greater mysteries to unravel.

«This isn't a greater mystery, I'm telling you. This is sinister. There's too much law in here. Isn't your eye burning?»

You choose to disregard the latter two cryptic remarks, and ignore the former. If you close your eyes, possibly, and touch the wall...

THUMP | THUMP | THUMP

It throbs restlessly under your fingertips, which seem to be growing warmer, stickier, runnier. Your hand drips down the stone in rivulets. You look but have no eye, you scream but have no mouth. You- You- You- You-

YOU ARE WE.

We are comforted by an indescribable sense of closeness. Our brothers and sisters are all around us. We are broken when apart, but together we are more than whole. We gnash our white teeth and whip our green tails in celebration.

But despite all this, we are empty. The circle has run dry. The people have run dry. We are melting, disintegrating, dying. But there is food on the way, and so we gnash our white teeth and whip our green tails. It is worse than the circle. But we will live on together.

We will find the law, and we will consume it, with a thousand thousand teeth in a thousand—

"Charlie."

We hear a man. We do not know the man.

"I know you're there, Charlie. You're not all..." The man waves aimlessly. "...this. You're not a load of alligators stacked on top of each other."

We calculate. This rings true.

"Come on. You're better than this, really. Back to 'I'."

We are... I am...

"Positive thinking."

I am not a load of alligators stacked on top of each other. But maybe I used to be.

Deep breath, from one set of lungs.

"Good. Now wake up."

You wake up. Your hand is intact. Ellery is crouched above you, two fingers on your pulse. "Oh," he says nervously as you open your eye. He stands up. "Sorry, what...?"

"I think," you say diplomatically, "I was a lot of alligators stacked on top of each other."

"Oh." He pauses. "What?"

"And I had, uh..." You didn't tell him about the crown. "Uh, it doesn't matter. But I think it's below... here."

"Oh good," Ellery says.

>[1] Time to get packing. Say nothing more about it.
>[2] Write something further on the wall. (What?)
>[3] There's only one person who calls you Charlie. On one hand, thank goodness. On the other, it's a snake. Interrogate Richard about his presence in your dream-slash-vision.
>[4] Ask about Ellery's whittling.
>[5] Write-in.

(Feel free to vote for multiple, if they aren't mutually exclusive.

>>3790668
>1

The less said about that whole ordeal, the better. Maybe we can ask Richard about it later. For now we have either ghost alligators, alligator ghosts, or both to deal with.

>>3790668
>[1] Time to get packing. Say nothing more about it
Mindfuckery? Yes please. That was pretty disturbing, in a good way!

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>>3790688
>>3790709
>Moving right along

Back and writing!

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>Just get a move on.

It may be best to never speak of this again, you decide.

«I'm not going to say I told you so, but I did tell you so.»

And so what? You don't feel any lingering reptilian urges. All that happened was you frightening Ellery a bit (always a good cause), and you confirming the location of the crown. It was such a success, in fact, that you resolve to investigate any and all mysterious walls you come across in the future.

That being said, you will still never speak of it again.

While the first chamber is simply dim, the corridor is much darker. You are relieved when Ellery pulls a glow-orb out of his pocket, as a quick shake produces sickly blue-green phosphorescence.

By the new light, you discover that you've been brushing past an entire ecosystem of stygofauna. Tiny white snails crowd crevices in the rock, while you have to hop to avoid a pale crawfish in your path. You don't like caves.

Neither do you like the news. "Looks like there's been a cave-in," Ellery announces, and raises the orb to reveal a wall of loosely-packed rubble. "We could probably clear it, but it could take a while. Are you on a time limit with the... algae? Is that what the collapse was about, by the way?"

You look to the left, where a path continues past the rubble. "Why not there?"

"Well—" Ellery illuminates a plank of wood nailed over the path. "DANGER," it says. "GIANT ALLIGATOR HERE!!!" The "GIANT" is underlined twice.

"There could be alligators behind the cave-in," you say. "We can't know."

"There's still one path with a known giant alligator, though. I think we should consider that."

>[1] Clear the rubble. It could take a while and you're not sure what's behind it, but it does look more direct. And no giant alligator (probably).
>[2] Take the other path. You can deal with a giant alligator! You have a switchblade!

File: richard sketch.png (10 KB, 104x185)

10 KB PNG

And that's all for tonight, folks. I will be running tomorrow, though I'm unsure of when I'll start. Hope you enjoyed the first session of Drowned Quest Redux!

As always, I am always open to any questions/comments/criticism you may have. Just drop it in the thread and I'll give it a read.

also I got a tablet pen, so expect poor-to-middling digital art instead of poor-to-middling traditional art

Good night!

>>3791135
>Take the other path. You can deal with a giant alligator! You have a switchblade!

>>3791135
>>[1] Clear the rubble. It could take a while and you're not sure what's behind it, but it does look more direct. And no giant alligator (probably).
We got Ellery here to do the heavy lifting after all, might as well use it!

>>3791135
>[2] Take the other path. You can deal with a giant alligator! You have a switchblade!
I feel like the other way will be full of a bunch of regular-sized alligators.

>>3791135
>1
you know
like a coward

>>3791135
>[2] Take the other path. You can deal with a giant alligator! You have a switchblade!
There could be two or even three giant alligators behind the rubble for all we know.

>>3791135
>[1] Clear the rubble. It could take a while and you're not sure what's behind it, but it does look more direct. And no giant alligator (probably)

Yeah, no, hopefully no alligators.

>>3791143
I thought that Richard was like an eel but I should have figured he was a snek

>>3791135
>[1] Clear the rubble. It could take a while and you're not sure what's behind it, but it does look more direct. And no giant alligator (probably).

>>3792098
> an eel.
I wonder what would happen if you told him that to his face?

File: richard sketch 2.png (257 KB, 299x509)

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>>3791454
>>3792098
>>3792109
>>3791603
>Schrodinger's alligator!

>>3791575
>>3792071
>>3791239
>Known alligator!

Calling for clearing the rubble. Quick vote:

>[1] Let Ellery do the work. You need to save your energy for future endeavors, and you don't want him getting a big head about his role in this. Surely you can deal with a little resentment.
>[2] Pitch in. It'd go faster, and Ellery would like it, but think of the callouses! And imagine if he thought this were an equal partnership!


>>3792098
A sea snake (hence the flattened tail)!

>>3792277
He would rightly assume you were trying to get on his nerves and react accordingly.

>>3792314
>[2] Pitch in. It'd go faster, and Ellery would like it, but think of the callouses! And imagine if he thought this were an equal partnership!

>>3792314
>[2] Pitch in. It'd go faster, and Ellery would like it, but think of the callouses! And imagine if he thought this were an equal partnership!
The less time wasted, the better

>>3792353
>>3792370
>Pitch in

Writing.

File: bones.jpg (126 KB, 1000x664)

126 KB JPG

>Clear the rubble

"...Okay," you say finally. "But only because it looks faster. Not because I'm threatened by some big dumb lizard."

Ellery considers the wall. "Is it faster, though? I mean, we have to get all this out of the way. I'd think it'd be about the same, if not longer. We don't have the proper tools..."

"It's FASTER." You're flushing again. The nerve—!

"Okay, okay. Godsdamn."

He kicks experimentally at a rock near the bottom. "I'm not so sure this was a cave-in, actually. These all look deliberately placed. Which is a good thing, actually, because it's easier to un-place them."

He wrenches at a piece of rubble for emphasis.

«I could help with this, Charlie, you realize. It would be done in a quarter of the time. If that.»

"No," you mutter.

«Stubbornness is an ugly trait to have, and you know it. It wouldn't take much. It wouldn't hurt. Just a minor alteration—»

"No!" Ellery turns at your outburst. You wave him off furiously.

«I know you crave independence, but Charlotte: it's an illusion. There's no such thing. I will assist you now or later, and you will be all the happier for it.»

Damn him to hell. You have survived three years with as little "assistance" as you could manage, and yet he continues to bedevil you. You will retrieve the crown, and then you will be rid of him for-ever...

And the faster the wall is down, the faster that will happen.

You tear into it with no thought for safety or health, putting Ellery's relatively sluggish deconstruction to shame. You only motion for help when there's a boulder too large to move alone. Within half an hour, the rubble has diminished to a point where you can clamber over.

It's dark on the other side, and the glow-orb doesn't seem to be as bright as it used to be. Ellery gives it an experimental shake, but nothing changes.

Judging by the feel of the water, this is a much larger space than the last. You step left, clutching onto the stone, and are punished with a nasty CRUNCH.

You leap back, nearly knocking Ellery over. He places a steadying hand on your shoulder and lowers the orb towards the ground.

Bones. Nothing but bones. Far too many to belong to one, or two, or three people— dozens? hundreds? Some are pearly white, others yellow and crumbling into a sort of sludge. All are stripped entirely of flesh. All are in towering piles.

You will admit that you gagged.

Ellery fishes a pair of thick safety goggles out of his pocket and straps them on. "Sorry," he says. "I only have one pair."

You can only see in a short radius around you. You can see where you came in, but not the exit (if there is one).

(Choices next)

>[1] Okay, you've had it. Back to the giant alligator.
>[2] Pick your way slowly through the bones to search for an exit. You must be getting fairly close.
>[3] Damn caution. You are not spending more than a minute in this place. Storm straight to the exit.
>[4] Sift through the bones, no matter how disgusted you are. Is there some rhyme or reason to them? Where did they come from? (Are Tom's bones in here?)
>[5] Write-in.

>>3792431
>[2] Pick your way slowly through the bones to search for an exit. You must be getting fairly close.
If possible, try to look at the bones and see if Tom's could be identified? If there's that many it's unlikely though.

>>3792444
>Pick your way through the bones

Writing.

>>3792494
Actually, scratch that. I'm going to need a roll for doing so.

>Roll me 3 1d100s + 10 (+10 Positive Thinking, +10 Caution) vs. DC 60 (+5 Dim Light)!

Rolled 21 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3792508
I think I did this right, assuming you meant 1d100 + 20 due to the (+10 Positive Thinking, +10 Caution)

Rolled 67 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3792508
Here we g o

Rolled 41 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3792532
That's right, whoops. Rolling the last one and then writing.

File: alligator.jpg (54 KB, 558x700)

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>Pick your way slowly through the bones
>41, 87, 61 vs. DC 60 - Success

There's a sort of translucent worm attached to many of the bones, you note with consternation. Blind cave fish dart between the crevices. Away from the entrance, the wall is once again slick with algae.

If there's something poetic to be said about life in death, you're too nauseated to think of it.

«It does make one wonder-» Another audible crack. The bones are older here. «-well, multiple things. Firstly, who all these bones are from. Secondly, who's putting them in piles. Thirdly...»

The footsteps echo strangely here. Is it really just you and Ellery in here?

«...what is cleaning all the flesh off.»

You have traveled what must be halfway along the wall, but there's been no change in either the smooth, seamless wall or the endless bones. Ellery stops, and motions for you to do the same. He cups his ear.

It's deadly silent. There's no third set of footsteps. There's no ghostly thumping. There's nothing.

Not even the faint lap of the water, you realize. No rush of blood in your ears. Ellery mouths something- says something- but you can't hear it. He can't hear himself, either, by the look on his face.

«Fascinating.»

You turn around. There are four alligators behind you.

They are large but, you suppose, not double-underline-giant. They have the expected scales and teeth and cold dead glinting eyes. They hang in the water, motionless save the swish of their tails.

"There's a passage up there," Ellery signs. The glow-orb in his hand bobs drunkenly up and down. "But-"

How long have there been four alligators behind you? Are they hunting you? Herding you? Can you fight four alligators? You could take one, probably, but- think positive.

You can fight four alligators! Even if their eyes glint in the blue-green light with far too much malicious intelligence. Is this where the bones come from?

"-it slants up. I don't know if it's the right way..."

"Tom's bones," you reply half-heartedly.

"Not a chance."

>[1] You don't give a flying f-k about what way the passage goes. You wanted out of this chamber before, and you continue to want out of it now, and you will take the easiest way possible.
>[2] Hold on, you have this handled. Exude a gator-y aura of togetherness, of the type you'd previously experienced. They'll accept you as one of their own. Ignore Ellery.
>[3] Fight four alligators with a switchblade (and win).
>[4] Just keep inching along the wall until you find a more promising entrance. If they haven't eaten you now, they probably won't later.
>[5] Write-in.

>>3792783
>1

yes, please herd us gator overlords

>>3792783
>[2] Hold on, you have this handled. Exude a gator-y aura of togetherness, of the type you'd previously experienced. They'll accept you as one of their own. Ignore Ellery.
I don't like the idea of ignoring Ellery in this, but I do think that if we act like an alligator they'll believe it.

Why not just use a mosasaur at that point :^)

>>3792783
>1
Gators are gayyy

>>3792789
>>3792853
>Take the first passage

Writing.

File: lucky.jpg (66 KB, 564x617)

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>Take the passage.

You discard your more creative solutions and choose instead to follow Ellery, who is already edging back into the new passage. The alligators accompany you single-file.

«The water's absolutely thick with law. I know you're dense, Charlie, but you should be able to feel it.»

The water in the passage is absolutely thick with... something. It's warm and almost waxy. The glow-orb has dimmed to almost nothing.

«It's the right direction. But there shouldn't be so much leakage.»

It's too viscous, is what it is. It's challenging to wade through. But there are four alligators behind you, and your goal presumably ahead, and you are not stopping here. Not in the close-pressing darkness.

The passage widens eventually, though it continues to slope upward, and dozens of dead eyes on either side greet you. The hallway is lined with alligators, and as you pass each one it peels off and follow you. Like you were Queen, and they were your retinue, your cortège— a taste of the near future. You're swelled with optimism.

«A cortège is a funeral procession.»

Well. It could be that, too.

You take a final step and it all shatters: the darkness, the silence, the waxy water. It's difficult to comprehend, at first. There's a large sunny cavern. There is quite a lot of shouting. There are... there are...

There are a lot of alligators.

Around you, yes, is a entire flotilla. But before you is something else entirely. Hundreds of them, melted and fused into a writhing, gnashing tower of lizard. Gnashing, mostly, at a man hacking away at its surface.

A crown is tied to the man's belt.

You're too late! It echoes again and again. You're too late! You're too late!

«Charlotte Fawkins. There is never too late.»

>[1] Write-in.

>>3792990
>[1] Write-in.
Creep up behind him and snatch the crown, cut it off with our switchblade if we have to.

Alright, folks, I'm going to let this one sit for a while as I multitask on work I have to do. Depending on how the votes fall, I'll either update tonight or tomorrow.

Starting tomorrow, we are going to be switching to once (or twice) a day updates. I'll let you guys know when the next full session is.

Have a good night!

>>3789381
>“Are we going the right way? I mean—I don't think, uh, I don't think this looks right. But you're the one with the map, so...”
Lol, he actually signed 'uh'? That's very Ellery.

>>3792990
Act like we came to help him and wait for the perfect moment to strike.

Man, the protagonist has become much less grouchy :P

>>3792990
>Command the gators to retrieve your crown

I mean does this dude actually look like he's gonna win against the hundred gator mass? That's some dark souls shit.

>[1] Write in

Command the gators to stop. See what the deal is with this guy. (If that works, you can always command the gators to kill him later.)

>COMMAND THE GATORS!

No, it's not actually going to work, but I like the characterization it gives the protagonist. The idea of just commanding a pile of alligators and expecting it to actually work? Perfect.

By the way, QM, was Ellery actually talented in the no-longer-canon prequel, or was he just faffing around and taking risks no one sane would?

>>3793519
>>3793603
>>3793674
>Steve Irwin your way out of this

I'm going to need a roll!

>Roll me 3 1d100s + 20 (+10 Positive Thinking, +10 Prior Gator Communion) vs. DC 70.

0 Passes = Failure
1 Pass = Mitigated Success
2 Passes = Success
3 Passes = Enhanced Success

1 = Catastrophe
100 = Miracle
>>3793278
Think of it as less a deliberate word and more a "searching for word" gesture, of the kind that do exist in real sign languages.

>>3793316
4 months of development is a long time!

>>3793674
Both.
Additionally, the epilogue/prequel isn't noncanon... only the parts that are inconvenient! The general sequence of events remains the same and is what led to the present circumstances (a week later).

Rolled 68 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3794343

Rolled 50 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3794343
Behold this miracle

It's good that we can use Ellery's name then.

Rolled 78 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3794343
Here

File: shock.gif (196 KB, 220x259)

196 KB GIF

>>3794351
>>3794355
>>3794363
>Enhanced Success
Hahahahahahahaha

>>3794366
Rip chosen drowned
Fought bravely against alligator nito

File: gators.png (261 KB, 484x469)

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>Rally the alligators!
>78, 70, 98 vs. DC 70 - Enhanced Success!

Ellery, baffled, follows your gaze to the crown on the belt. His expression clears, then hardens.

"Fuck you," he says, too loudly (you cast an anxious glance at the man, who hasn't noticed), and ducks under an alligator to reach you. "Fuck you! You lied!"

«'No, I—'»

"No, I didn't," you say, with your best smile. The one with all the teeth.

"Ah. Ah ha ha. If you haven't noticed, we've been past about a half-mile of algae, and— AND—" You'd cranked the smile up a few more watts— "I see how you look at that thing!"

"Crown," you correct. "It's actually very personal, so actually... none of your business."

"None of my-!! You dragged me here under false pretenses—"

"No pretenses. Again, you wanted to come."

"Did I?? Is that possible? Because I..." He lowers his voice. "...don't recall ever hearing about it beforehand, and then I wake up and there I am! And now here I am, in a cave with two hundred alligators! Maybe if you had told me, for example, where you were going, or what we were doing, I—"

You are in a cave with two hundred alligators. "Oh, get over it," you say, and turn away.

Two hundred alligators. This is your chance to lead a battalion to glorious victory. If only you had a sword, or a flag, or some such...

«This is stupid. No, sorry. You're stupid.»

You hate it when he gets very close to your ear. It makes the radio-crackle louder.

«You're not listening to yourself at all. You think this will work.»
«It will NOT work.»
«I don't understand how it's possible to think it will work. Alligators. Just because a little law happened to leak all over these doesn't make them your friends. You don't have friends.»
«At absolute best, you're going to get swept under and I will have to bail you out. Like I do CONSTANTLY. You're absolutely worthless, you know that. The worst possible choice. I don't know what I was thinking. I suppose I wasn't.»

He was desperate. You were desperate. You're still horribly desperate, positively ravenous for—

«I was not desperate. I was...unfortunately...hasty.»

—for... like... the alligators.

«Be serious.»

Oh, you are.

You loose a bloodcurdling shriek of exhaustion and frustration and rage and charge forward, your switchblade in the air. In perfect sync, 80 tons of lizard surge forth with you. The man turns, too late, and is bowled over. The main column bellows.

(Ellery, still by the entrance, looks exasperated. You don't know why.)
Choices next.

>[1] Perfect. Walk over, take the crown, walk away. Leave the alligators to deal with him.
>[2] Take the crown and then perform a little interrogation. Who IS he? What does he want with YOUR crown? Etcetera. Stomp a couple times on his face if you feel it's necessary.
>[3] If the alligators are starving for want of food, who are you to deny these beautiful creatures? Take the crown, and let them eat the man. Yes, you do want to watch. It's what he deserves.
>[4] Take the crown, put it on your head, and gloat like your life depends on it.
>[5] Write-in.

>>3794677
>>[2] Take the crown and then perform a little interrogation. Who IS he? What does he want with YOUR crown? Etcetera. Stomp a couple times on his face if you feel it's necessary.

>>3794677
>4

You thought you could steal my crown? FOOL

>>3794688
+1

>>3794677
>[1] Perfect. Walk over, take the crown, walk away. Leave the alligators to deal with him.

>>3794366
You chose a DC too low, lol.

>>3794677
>>[2] Take the crown and then perform a little interrogation. Who IS he? What does he want with YOUR crown? Etcetera. Stomp a couple times on his face if you feel it's necessary.
GROUCHIEST

Remember to tell Richard to eat shit

>Interrogate
>and gloat

Called.


>>3795195
I'm not complaining about the outcome!

File: the crown..jpg (3.52 MB, 1500x1111)

3.52 MB JPG

>Interrogate the man.
>And gloat.

The man is breathing heavily. Pink gack encrusts long gashes down his arms and back, while a half-bitten shoulder oozes a mucous cloud of blood. The column, out of reach, snaps at open water. The crown is pinned underneath him.

You grab the bad shoulder and turn him over. He gives you the evil eye (you cross your fingers to ward it off), but does nothing. White-striped feathers are pinned to the collar of his jacket. (Is he the one the Courtiers were waiting for?)

You take the crown. You place it on your head.

You wonder who made it, and why he hated the monarchy so much. Did there have to be little nobbly bits that protrude into the skull? Did it have to be quite so heavy? And all the crystals— you know 16 is symbolic, but it just looks tacky.

«Damn.»

The man is fumbling for his fallen tomahawk. Fool. Did he think you wouldn't notice? You tread hard on the offending fingers and are rewarded with a crack and a pained inhale.

"Who are you," you demand, "and what did you want with my crown?"

There's a nervous silence.

"Is that a trick question?" the man says. "Please don't step on my fingers."

You step on his fingers. He grits his teeth.

"Lucky—" You aim for the intact hand. "—Duncan Blaine. As you know, Lottie, so I don't know what you're— I know you left on bad terms, but..."

«Damn. Damn.»

You've never seen this man before. He's trying to pull the wool over your eyes, so he can steal your crown. You change tactics.

"Shut up!" you say. "I won! It's over! I have the crown! I'm going to go back up, and I'm going to make all the rules! It's my— excuse me, it's my goddamn birthright! You can't have it!"

"I mean, that was the plan. Well, almost. We've changed tack from the whole surface thing. If you come in with enough humility, they might still let you participate. In a low-level position, you have to understand—"

"Duncan" is saying things you don't understand in the slightest. "No!!" you shriek. "This is— 3 years-!!"

"Oh, don't get hysterical. More hysterical. Call off the dogs, let me up, and we'll take this thing back to Central, huh? I won't even report the whole mutie thing. For old time's sake."

"If I don't!"

"Then I'll take it and send the hunters out. There is a bounty, you know. Not a big one, but times are tough—"

You stomp on his face until blood comes out the mouth.

(Distantly, Ellery mutters some pagan B.S. interspersed with a lot of "fucks".)

There's blood on your boot, you realize. You'll have to wash it when you get back. And add some padding to the crown. Bring in a goldsmith. You might have to redo the whole thing entirely, really.

"I won," you say to the entire cavern. "I won! It's over!"

(Duncan moans.)

"I won! It's over! It's the end! I'm the heroine! It's all over now!"

(A rustle. 200 pairs of eyes turn to you.)

"I—"

(1/2)

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WE
ARE THE CONGREGATION

The column speaks.

WE
STILL HUNGER

WE
MUST
BE
FED

"Well," you say less jubilantly. "Eat this guy."

You gesture to Duncan.

NO
EMPTY

"Okay. What if I don't... feed you?"

WE
WILL EAT

You are conscious of 15 thousand sharp little teeth around you.

"What... do you eat?"

LAW

«Well,» says Richard bitterly. «Don't have a lot of that laying around. Not anymore.»

OR BODIES

>[1] Well, Ellery. Obviously. It's the whole point of him.
>[2] Negotiate. Is there any way they could eat you, but just, like... a little bit? (They do not like negotiations.)
>[3] «There is a third option. It won't hurt—»

>>3796366
They can't say, eat Richard?

>>3796388
I assumed [1] was just that.

My vote goes to [1] if that's the case.

>>3796392
No, [1] is them eating Ellery.

Which, if they can't eat Richard then, I suppose >>3796366
>[1] Well, Ellery. Obviously. It's the whole point of him.
You DO have to break eggs to make an omelet.

>>3796399
+1. They don't like negotiations, after all.

>>3796388
He's not tangible, unfortunately.

>>3796366
>[2] Negotiate. Is there any way they could eat you, but just, like... a little bit?

>>3796366
>3
MYSTERY BOX

Also have you gators just tried eating each other? Apparently you're all full of Law or whatever.

>>3796366
>3
Why are we paying any attention? Crocs, pfft. We got our crown, let's make like a ball and bounce on out of here

File: What could go wrong.jpg (35 KB, 594x383)

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>>3796366
>>[3] «There is a third option. It won't hurt—»
Let's see what you got Richard. I'm curious.

And curiosity has never, ever led to anything bad in Drownedverse amiright Bathic?

Looks like the tie is broken, and I'm feeling masochistic. I'm going to write the update either until it's complete or until I pass out (in which case it'll be posted tomorrow).

>>3796800
>>3796672
>>3796570
>MYSTERY BOX

>>3796461
>Diplomance

>>3796399
>>3796401
>Murder

>>3796866
Rip

Also is it truly murder if we just stand around and let gators eat Ellery?

>>3797048
You're closer, so you would've been telling them to go for him. Conspiracy to Commit Murder or Manslaughter, depending on the quality of your lawyer, I guess.

But those aren't quite as pithy.

Yeah, sorry guys. I got about halfway through. It'll be a long one.

>>3797138
What if we told them we don't care who they eat as long as it isn't us? We could even claim we forgot Ellery was there in Wind Court. If the glove doesn't fit they must acquit.

>>3796366
I want to see what Ellery would pull out of his hat if we tried to feed him to the pile of alligators.

>>3797224
What if he just gets eaten?

>>3797204
You could do that, but since there's two viable options and you're one of them it'd just be a less honest option 1.

(also I called the vote and am halfway through writing it, so)

also also the Wind Court isn't a legal court-- it's a royal court. Duncan's in no state to make arrests in either case.

>>3797332
>Duncan's in no state to make arrests

Wow redux turned him into a pansy.

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>The third option.

You're silent. The crown is heavy.

VERY WELL

The alligators advance.

«Very well.»

Richard coils around your wrist.

And the tighter he coils around your wrist, the faster and louder your heart seems to flutter in your chest and head— like a beautiful if moderately panicked butterfly, you think and immediately dismiss as simpering nonsense. Positive thinking. You can fight 200 alligators, and God only knows how many more in the column.

Positive thinking. Deep breaths, Lottie, count backwards from a thousand, 999, 997-- god blessed!— fine then, recite— recite— you have the crown! why don't you just leave! but you're hemmed in— recite— recite— knock knock jokes (why do you know so many?). Knock knock—

You don't notice your heartbeat slowing down: to quick, normal, slow, deathly. You do notice when your thoughts stall and sputter out with it, leaving you glassy-eyed and quivering, stripped of a voice— Richard strangles your wrist—

And then it's as if you've clawed your way up through several feet of sand. You gasp for air until you come to some relevant conclusions:

1) You are not where you were.
2) You don't know where you are.

(You pat your head and come to 3): you still have the crown.)

It is unpleasantly cold and a little musty, wherever this is, and far too quiet for comfort. You scrabble for a handhold on the smooth stone (marble?)-tiled floor and doubtlessly further scratch up your nails. There's no handhold to be found, but there is a hand which you— you stop that line of thinking in its tracks. Someone is here, in front of you, and he— it is a he, or else you file away “massive hands” as a weakness for later— is offering you a hand.

It's dark, but not quite pitch: light must be trickling in from some unseen window, because you can just make out the outline of this gentleman. “Pardon me,” you say, and are pleased with how much quaver you're able to suppress, “who are y...”

“Damn,” the man says. “You were supposed to say ‘who’s there'. Can't even accomplish that much."

“I...” you say, because something isn't quite slotting together right. Your head twinges. “Who's there?”

“Wire.”

“W..." Multiple things aren't quite slotting together right. It's so quiet... “Um, pardon?"

“Charlie,” says the man, condescending and silky-smooth. “Honestly. ‘Wire who’. This is not something that deserves an explanation—”

Oh. You swat away the proffered hand and gather yourself to your feet. “Wire who. Richard, what—”

He is rail-thin and at least half a foot taller than you. “Fiat lux,” he says, as if that explains everything, and the light seems to swell even before he flings open a heavy set of curtains.

(1/?*)

File: richard p3.jpg (61 KB, 617x800)

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“Ah-h,” you breathe, and nearly fall back over: stained-glass light skewers your eyes. You raise your hand to shield against the glare, but there's little you can do when there's shades of pink bouncing against burnished marble floor and arched marble ceiling and every marble wall. The man stands silhouetted against it all. His arms are crossed, as if you are somehow imposing on him.

His face is long and impatient, with a straight nose and cold eyes. Grey creeps up the temples into a meticulous blonde coiff. It's a hairstyle from your mother's generation, which feels apt— he must be 20, 25 years your senior. His clothes...

“Richard,” you (extraordinarily calm given the circumstances) say. Positive thinking. “What's wrong with your suit?”

The man looks down. A ripple of confusion disturbs his ocean of self-satisfaction.

It's not the suit in and of itself. It fits perfectly well. But it's light grey and obviously cheap and you are certain Richard would not be caught dead in it... if he had any choice. “This isn't you, is it? It's some poor soul you— you possessed—! I do not approve of that! That's not— you can't go around possessing people!”

“Oh, Charlie," the man says, and benignly scratches his forehead. “Don't be hysterical. Wire you always saying ‘knock knock’?”

“Huh?" You are in no mood for riddles.

“...Oh well. No, I didn't possess anybody. Did you really think I'd settle for—”

“No, that's not what—"

He continues over you. “It's the other way around. Don't open your mouth like that, you'll catch flies. You've forced me into this frankly shoddy replacement of a body, thanks much."

The words are utter nonsense, but that doesn't stop you from feeling like a fog has lifted. “Like... the first time,” you venture. “With the— you know, the alligators. But that wasn't real."

“No,” Richard agrees. "It wasn't. It was in your head. Ergo...?"

You look around, and you want to say: that's not right. My head isn't some sort of... grand entrance hall. It is not made of marble and lined with elegant gilded columns. There are no stained glass windows and no frescoes. No row of doors at the back. No font of water quietly burbles in the center. And, if nothing else, it is not run-down: there are absolutely no cobwebs, no peeling paint, certainly no cracks and stains of any kind...

But you suspect this is not the correct thing to say, half because of the look on Richard's face— eyebrows arched, ready to expound on your wrongness— and half because you can suddenly feel this place and its coldness and emptiness and whiteness lodged in your skull like buckshot. You slump down against a column. “Oh God,” you say. “Oh God, it is. Am I dead?”

He laughs. You don't.

"It's a valid question," you say, "given the circumstances."

(2/?*)

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"...No. Maybe a little, but mostly no."

"Uh." You try to not think about what "maybe a little" means. "So I'm alive, then? Am I unconscious?"

"Don't make guesses!" He gestures broadly. There is a sheen of persperation on his brow. "...Yes! But not— only for a fraction of a second. It'll... have been as a blink."

"Are you okay?" He doesn't look it.

"Oh, sorry. Sorry I'm busy keeping this whole thing stable. Apologies for straining under your incessant tomfoolery. I'll go right ahead and genuflect, Queen Charlotte—"

You idly trace a thin groove between two marble tiles. “You couldn't get to the point if it bit you, Richard.”

"Well then. You're going to die."

"No, I— I'm going to... Ellery," you finish lamely.

He's stopped pacing. "You were weak. You hesitated. And it'd be messy, in any case. No, you are going to die."

Something prickles up your spine.

"Well," you say. "Maybe I will."

Richard squats down and fixes his gaze squarely on yours. His eyes are blue. "No," he says, "you won't, Charlie."

"You said—" You are flushing. "—that's what you said about the whole— the whole alligator deal, too. And you were wrong, and I was right, so— so— ha."

He takes you by the chin. "Charlie, we've won. It's over. But you have to live. Even if it means—"

"No." Your voice is rising in pitch. He stands and begins to pace again.

“Charlie, it's nothing. A temporary alteration. It's not going to hurt, you'll be fine—”

“No! I've told you!" He's wormed his way into every other corner of your life. Something has to be sacred! Something has to be yours!

He whips towards you and his irises are a glassy blue-black and his face is a mask of animal ferocity. «You don't have a choice,» he says in a hoarse whisper, a radio crackle back under his voice. «I will not let you fulfill your childish martyr fantasy. You will thank me later.»

“You need my permission." You refuse to be cowed by a man in a cheap suit. “Honestly, Richard, lose the theatrics—”

«I don't need your permission.»
«It is a courtesy to get your permission.»
«We are past courtesy. We are into necessary.»

The reality of the situation is frigid before you. You nod imperceptably.

«Good.»

And then, as an afterthought,

«You'll enjoy it.»

That terrifies you most of all.

(3/3*)

-

*Hi guys. I have this all written, but as you can tell it doesn't come to a vote! Since it's so long and mostly self-contained, I decided to post it while the second half [with vote] gets written and posted sometime today. Hope you don't mind.

>>3797452
You stomped his face in real good.

>>3798224
I definitely appreciate the opportunity to digest this half update instead of getting drowned by the full 5 page monstrosity.

instead of getting drowned haha drowned get it it's the name of the quest lmao

File: blacklight serpentfire.jpg (40 KB, 450x612)

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ID: 10/10
SV: 0/10

You blink. Your heart beats.

«Hold on tight.»

-

>GAINED: Intercession - Spend 10% of your maximum Severalty [SV] before any roll to gain a +10 bonus on the result. («As always.»)
>GAINED: Possession - Once a day, swap your Identity [ID] and SV levels. Richard controls your next move. («If I must.)

-

[Possession]

ID: 0/10
SV: 10/10

Heliodor fire surges up your spine. You stiffen, as if shocked, then

Your defenses are wet paper and are, one by one, punched through accordingly. Your mental notes are riffled through. Your memories are held upside down and shaken roughly.

Alterations are made. Just enough to tailor you properly. Do up the hems, and so on.

It does have to fit.

-

Your legs don't bend that way-

-

Blood, liquid and metallic-

-

Piercing sunlight - trees-

-

You sleep in your clothes.

-

ID: 3/10
SV: 0/10

It's a knock that awakens you, not dawn, because from the looks of it it's noon already. You sit upright and sweep a matted mess of curls out of your face.

Ellery is at the doorflap, busy examining the entirety of your (impeccably clean, white) tent. You cough to get his attention, then are forced to cough again at just how dry your throat is.

Damn. How much talking did you- did he-

Damn.

"Oh," Ellery says. "Hi. Lottie. Uh-"

You pick another curl out of your eye to see him properly. He's little worse for wear, excepting a couple of scratches on his face.

He's speaking softly to you, like how one speaks to a rabid dog before putting it down. You scowl, and wince.

"-I was told to tell you that Monty wants to talk. S'posed to be important, you know- official. Also, Maddie..."

He reevaluates.

"...Madrigal, uh, also wants something. Not sure what: heard it secondhand. But you know how she gets."

You don't, in fact, know how she gets. Your interactions with her have been unpleasant but mercifully brief.

"Ok," you say.

You thought this might end things, but Ellery lingers at the entrance. Is he waiting for "thank you"? "Sorry"? "Good thing you lived"? You won't give him the luxury.

"If that's all..." You trail off meaningfully.

"...If you wanted to discuss the events of yesterday, uh, I'll be around."

"Ok."

He leaves. You collapse back onto your cot. There's blood spots, you realize, on your peacoat. Not to mention the boots. You ache everywhere. You- the crown. The crown. It's not on your head! Where- did it get-

«It's somewhere safe.»

Richard sounds slightly different. Like he's coming in at a different angle, or something.

«We ought to talk as well, by the way. There's quite a lot to go over. See if you can't carve out an hour or two out of your busy, busy schedule, huh?»

(Votes next.)

>[1] Go find Monty. However flimsy the man is, he's still nominally in charge of the Base Camp. Which means his official business is, in fact, official.
>[2] Go find Madrigal. If nothing else, it ought to be more interesting than any other conversation you have today.
>[3] Catch up to Ellery. You need to know what happened, immediately, from an outside perspective.
>[4] Speak to Richard. When are you leaving this hellhole??
>[5] Damn them all. Your head hurts. You need time to yourself. (Regain ID.)
>[6] Write-in.

[https://pastebin.com/EWqsz1cP]

--Identity (10)--
Your mental strength, will, force of personality. Also your general morale. Attacks (to your person, to your ego) may damage it. You may sacrifice it for something greater. A high Identity protects you against outside influences. It's not advised to let it drop to zero (though it's much better to have some Severalty left if it does).

Identity may be regained through actions that reaffirm your idiosyncrasies, recalling things important to you, and rest and relaxation - typically 25% per sleep. Maximum Identity may be increased through broadening your horizons.

[Lex Talionis] - At any point, convert up to your current Identity to an equal amount of Severalty. Severalty may not be converted back to Identity.


--Severalty (10)--
Richard's current sway on you and the world. It may be spent to power abilities outside your natural grasp.

Severalty may be regained through converting Identity, and occasionally from powerful sources of energy. Maximum Severalty may be increased by lending Richard a helping hand.

If Severalty reaches or overflows its current maximum, it may be spent to induce an alteration or to upgrade an existing one. It will then reset to zero.

[Intercession] - Prior to a roll, spend 10% of your maximum Severalty to add a +10 bonus to the result.

[Possession] - Once a day, swap your Identity [ID] and SV levels. Richard controls your next move.

>>3798476
>[3] Catch up to Ellery. You need to know what happened, immediately, from an outside perspective.

>>3798476
>[4] Speak to Richard. When are you leaving this hellhole??

>>3798476
>[2] Go find Madrigal. If nothing else, it ought to be more interesting than any other conversation you have today.
Richard isngoing to pester us anyway, and Ellery is probably going to be a little bitch about something again.

>>3798476
>[4] Speak to Richard. When are you leaving this hellhole??

Fuck this camp and everyone in it. Except ourselves.

>>3798476
>[3] Catch up to Ellery. You need to know what happened, immediately, from an outside perspective.

>>3798224
So why did Charlotte force Richard into a cheap suit if it doesn't fit him? You'd think that if it's in her head, she'd put him in a suit that she thought suited him.

Also, we didn't enjoy it at all!

>[2] Go find Madrigal. If nothing else, it ought to be more interesting than any other conversation you have today.

>>3799090
Actually, changing to
>[5] Damn them all. Your head hurts. You need time to yourself. (Regain ID.)

We've only got 3/20 total. Gotta refill.

Hi guys! I have a mega 6-hour DnD situation, so it's unlikely I'll get the chance to update. Vote will remain open until tomorrow.

>>3799090
The subconscious works in mysterious ways, and Richard is not famed for his honesty.

>>3798349
I don't get it. Would you explain in detail? :^)

>>3799821
>mega 6-hour DnD situation
>6 hours
>mega
But that's a pretty middling-length session? You're just lazy.

>>3799821
That sounds like a somewhat short session, yeah. Is it your first campaign?

>>3798492
>>3798672
>Ellery

>>3798495
>>3798547
>Richard

Rolling and then writing.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>3802330
Well, I neither rolled nor put my name on. Let's try that again.

>[6] Write in...

"Alright then, I suppose it'll have to do."

Bouregärd sets down his cigar tea and ivory compass, looking to you through his massive honkers he calls sunglasses. While he's absorbed in the one sided staring contest, and while you're contemplating whether he can actually see through those things in the dim ship cabin, Syteria barges through the door.

"Lisen, Bou, there's--"

"Can it tits! The lads are having a discussion." he says, without breaking sunglasses-contact. "As I was saying, your plan is terrible, but in exactly the right way that disgusting plans have of being terrible. I'm in."

You shrug and look to the big-tittied first officer, eyebrows un-piqued in disinterest. Bou rotates his head the few degrees that his fat rolls grant him the freedom to do so. Your eyes dart back and forth between the two during the silence.

"The Kraken's asking for you." she says.

Bou looks at you and back to her a few times.

"What does he want?"

"Said to tell you it was about a bet."

Bou stands at a rate faster than his body ought to permit.

"That ruddy bastard! I'll give him a piece of my... Syteria grab my raincoat I'm going out there! You, skinny half man, come along too, and grab that little pansy notebook of yours so you can take this down for the papers!"

>[1] Grab your little pansy notebook
>[2] Flick him the bird
>[3] Go tell the Kraken off yourself

R.v.

>>3802360
>[1] Grab your little pansy notebook

>>3802360
>[2] Flick him the bird

>>3802360
Are you lost?

>>3802395
I can switch to this.

It's a good thing we have the adventures of Bouregärd and Syteria going on here, because I've been held up. Update will still come today, no worries, but it'll be a little more of a wait.

File: down and in.jpg (116 KB, 450x608)

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>Speak to Richard.

"Busy schedule?" you say. "I'm not meeting with anybody. I'm never going to see these people ever again, so why bother?"

«Ah.»

"Right?"

«Right, right, yes. Sound reasoning.»

You scrub fruitlessly at the bloodstains, then give up and unbutton the coat altogether. "Okay, then."

Richard twists diffidently in midair. «I think,» he pursues, «this should be done in... person.»

It takes a second. "What, in my— why? Is that possible? Normally?"

«It's possible. It was a bit of a fad last year, actually.»

You're not sure what to make of that. "Oh."

«There's a sort of guided meditation process, but we can skip most of the steps. Listen...»

He tells you to sit up, to close your eyes, to count, alternately, up and down. You sigh and mutter and begin to wonder if this is an elaborate exercise in driving you insane. That is, until you plummet through the cot, plunge down an indistinct tunnel, and land in a heap quivering like a plucked string.

It's cold and musty, though considerably cleaner. You pick yourself off the sparkling marble.

Richard, lounging against the font, is in a better suit. You say so.

He arches an eyebrow. "I adjusted a couple of things while I had the chance, since clearly you weren't taking the prerogative. Like the shoes..."

The ellipsis is clearly meaningful. You look down at his shoes.

"They're, uh, snakeskin," you say. Snakeskin-patterned, at least: the material looks like patent leather.

"Yes! Isn't that clever, Charlie?" He's smiling wolfishly. His teeth are too white and too even. "You get it, right?"

You bite your bottom lip. "They're awful tacky."

In retrospect, you could have estimated the impact of this (true) statement, but not its magnitude. His face clouds so wholly over you couldn't begin to imagine what it had just looked like.

"You're not going back up," he snarls. "Not for a long time."

Well—! Your heart is in your throat. Well— he's lying! It wouldn't be the first time. He's just mad you insulted his shoes, so he's trying to scare you. How petulant. How petty.

"Maybe— MAYBE— you could've, if we had the juice. We do not! We do not, because for twenty years a pile of lizards has been pissing it away! Sixteen crystals. Do you know how much that is?"

"I think I have to sit down," you murmur. You're not going back.

"No-o, of course you don't. Because you're a child! You have no conception of value! Your greatest ambition in life is to make your dead daddy proud! How romantic! How noble!"

You cradle your head. It all seems very distant. You're not going back. "You said you wanted to help me... I found you in a— a box. And I told you about... you said you wanted to help."

"I—" He softens a fraction. "Yes. Well. You have to understand. If the goal is the same, does the motivation matter?"

You scrub furiously at your welling eyes. You're not going back.

"I never lied, you know," he says, as if it improves anything. "At the start, you know."

"Oh."

(1/2)

"You could've been a god, Charlie. If the crown were full. The sheer concentrated power of it, I mean— it'd shatter you from the inside out."

You sob shakily.

"In a good way! A good way. I mean, what would you possibly want to keep?"

You sob harder.

He's beginning to sound uncomfortable. "Look, we can... we have the crown. We can still recharge the whole thing... Godhood's on the table, it's just, you know, a little farther away."

He doesn't understand! White-hot rage sears through your veins. (Has the light from outside dimmed?) He has never understood!

You sniffle furiously and clamber to your feet. "I don't WANT to be a god!" you holler. "I want to LEAVE! I want to be the GOD DAMNED QUEEN!"

Richard stares. And then he says: "Well, Charlotte, beggars can't be choosy."

React with:
>[1] Blinding fury. Your future is coming around your ears, and the person tearing it down is in front of you. Smirking slightly.
>[2] Frantic denial. He's wrong. He's not just wrong, he's utterly mistaken. You would've *known* if your family's crown were apotheotic. And he hasn't proved anything! He's just saying things! He has to prove it!
>[3] Shellshocked nothing.
>[4] Write-in.

>>3803031
>[1] Blinding fury. Your future is coming around your ears, and the person tearing it down is in front of you. Smirking slightly.
>[4] If the crown is so powerful, if there are artifacts that can make people gods, why is the world the way it is?

>>3803031
>[2] Frantic denial. He's wrong. He's not just wrong, he's utterly mistaken. You would've *known* if your family's crown were apotheotic. And he hasn't proved anything! He's just saying things! He has to prove it!

>>3803031
>Shellshocked nothing.
>If the crown is so powerful, if there are artifacts that can make people gods, why is the world the way it is?

>[2] Frantic denial
> If the crown is so powerful, etc.

>[1]

>>3803031
> 2

>>3803031
>[1] Blinding fury. Your future is coming around your ears, and the person tearing it down is in front of you. Smirking slightly.

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>Frantic denial.

Richard's not smirking, exactly, but the air of satisfaction about him is almost the same. It's like he thinks he's done a good job— or has at least pacified you.

He's lying.

Well, of course. He can't possibly expect you to believe some cockamamie story about ancient artifacts and godhood and whatnot. It's all made up to... scare you, or manipulate you, or so on.

"Okay, then," you challenge (with only a fraction of shakiness), "If my crown is so powerful, why aren't there a hundred gods running around? Why isn't everything just a smoldering crater? Why—"

Richard trails a hand in the water behind him. "Do you want the story, or the answer?"

You freeze. You didn't expect to get this far.

"Let's go with both, then.

Once upon a time, there was a king, and the king ordered his sixteen fleetest soldiers to bring him the sixteen purest crystals in all the land. And they did. And he ordered the crystals to be made into a crown by the finest goldsmith in all the land, and they were. And he ordered law to be woven into its prongs by the finest skientists in all the land, and it was.

And he put the crown on, and the fabric of reality was bent and warped to his will. The king brought absolute order to the land. And all was well."

Your legs are beginning to ache, but there's nowhere to sit. "What, that's it?"

"You're always so impatient, Charlie." He pauses. "And then the waters of chaos rose up around the king, and swept the crown off his head, and drowned him. And he, and it, were lost forever."

You sit on the font anyways, at a decorous distance from Richard. "Was that supposed to answer any of those questions?"

"Not really."

You trace circles in the water, which tingles under your fingertips. "Then..."

"There's only ever been one owner, and he died, and his empire was swallowed up by the ocean. Anyone who discovered it down here was too weak to survive it."

He sees the next question on your lips. "Not you."

You have to admit it, this is more elaborate than you thought. But there's still a big gaping hole in the story. "You've never said— you keep saying 'law'. Like that means something."

A flicker of confusion. "...We've dicussed this, Charlie. More than once."

Aha. This you can safely confirm as a lie, because you have not discussed this at all.

"Four kinds of reality? Defined by the malleability of the law? What, are those words too long for you? Went in one ear and out the other, again?"

"No—" but now that he says it, it does sound vaguely familiar. The lectures you didn't listen to, maybe. "Well, I didn't think it would matter."

He stands abruptly, back to you. "Everything I say matters."

"Your shoes?"

This was, potentially, the wrong course of action. Richard's jaw tenses. "I think," he says, "since you won't listen, I'll have to demonstrate."

His tone of voice is frightening.

(1/2)

He pivots. His snakeskin shoes squeak on the marble. A ring of keys clacks in his hand.

(You wonder how they all fit in his pocket. It's an extraordinarily crowded ring of keys, with each key so flush to the next you're not sure how they're usable in a door.)

"What are these?" he says.

You try to think your way around this trick question before giving up. "Keys?"

"Yes. But why are these?"

You squint. They are, to all appearances, normal keys. "Because someone... made them?"

"Wrong!" he hisses. "There are two laws dictating its existence, and one dictating is value. The first is the universe, and it says 'KEYS MAY BE'. The second is the key, and it says 'I AM A KEY.' And thus these keys exist. The third is you, and it says "THAT IS A KEY". And thus you know."

You watch in bewilderment as he selects a key and draws it out through the ring. "But you are in the third kind of reality. Laws can be broken."

He thrums open air with an outstretched hand. He thrums strings that gleam rosily in the sunlight— but there are no strings there. It's open air.

He seizes on no string with one hand, and wields the key with the other. "What is this," he asks.

"A key?"

He violently wrenches no string. There is an utter absence of a snap.

Richard holds something small and metal in his hand. You've seen it before. You've seen many of them before. You knew what it was.

"What is this?"

But you don't have an answer.

>[1] Demand he put it back, now. Whatever 'it' is. And however that works.
>[2] Sorry, why does he know this?
>[3] Can *you* do that??
>[4] Has be done this to you before???
>[5] Flip out.
>[6] Write-in.

>>3805331
>[4] Has be done this to you before???

>>3805331
>[2] Sorry, why does he know this?
>[4] Has be done this to you before???
>[6] Write-in.
"How was that Duncan guy 'Empty of law'?"

>>3805335
>That little metal thing is now a coin, you have decided.
(Shouldn't the universe and the key itself disagree with Richard?)

>>3805331
>Flip out.

>>3805331
>3
>How was Duncan empty of Law?

>>3805395
Maybe I misunderstand you, but nowhere do (you) assume the object is a coin. All you know is that it's a small metal object.

It's still the exact same key, and the two laws that ensure that are still intact. Only the third, THAT IS A KEY, is broken-- rendering you unable to recognize the object as a key.

>>3806011
I meant it as a vote to unilaterally decide that [nameless] is a coin. See if that does anything.

So basically, we'd consider the key a coin, but both itself and the universe would still consider it a key.

>>3805331
>[5] Flip out.

>>3805333
>>3805335
[4] Has he done this to you before???

More importantly, ask him how to get that knowledge back. He seems chatty enough to actually give you an answer.

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>[4] - Has he done this before??
>How was Duncan empty of law?
>Assume the object is a coin.
>Ask how to fix this.
>other questions if it fits in the write-up

Wew. Writing.

>>3806200
Thanks for the clarification! I get you.

>5 flip out

seems most in character for this delightful brat :)

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>Assume the object is a coin.
>Ask how to fix this.
>Has he done this before??
>How was Duncan empty of law?
>Other misc. questions

You look sideways at the object. You close your eyes and reopen them. You prowl, tigerish, around Richard, hoping that a different perspective will unearth its mysteries. "You can hold it," he says, amused. "It won't make any difference."

You hold it. You turn it over and over in your hand. You watch it catch the light.

"What do you think it is? Guess."

Small, roundish, metal. "A… coin?"

You don't even need to guess: it's obviously a coin. The heraldic sea snake is stamped on one side. On the other is— well, it's your face. Isn't that nice?

>[+1 ID]
>[Identity: 4/10]

"Yeah, yeah, very funny. Give it back." Richard takes the coin from your hand, and in his palm it's something you can't identify. "It's a key."

"No it isn't," you protest. "I know what a key looks—"

You don't know what a key looks like.

"Right." He smiles, tight-lipped. "You can't know, Charlie. You have no capacity to know. It's just how the world works."

"No, it's not!" You snatch the "key" back. "It's what you did. Are you going to put it back, or will I have to do it—"

"Would you like to try?"

The implied answer is 'no, you moron, you would not,' but you don't back down from a challenge. "Yes! What do I do?"

"Hm." He touches your shoulder. "You're independent. You'll figure it out."

The world goes black. You prod your face anxiously as your eye— the bad eye, the iron eye— grinds against its socket.

"Richard," you say, "don't be a d—"

The paper skin of the world has been made transparent to you. There's nothing but filament underneath.

It arcs overhead, impossibly thin and glowing a steady blue-white. It knots and winds in complex patterns underneath. You have no substance except a coruscating fascicle where your heart should be. It's frayed at the ends.

>[-2 ID]
>[Identity: 2/10]

Richard, a few short strands braided together, glows whiter than the rest.

« STOP GIBBERING. IT'S NOT POLITE. »

His voice doesn't seem to come from anywhere. You'd feel sick if there were any of you left to feel.

« NO. YOU'RE TOO WEAK. THIS WAS A MISTAKE. »

There's nothing between the filaments. Not darkness— void. You could fall into it and there'd never be anything of you.

If you slipped, for even a second, your heart would unravel and you would fall.

If you…

« NOW. »

You gasp furiously for air with real lungs. Your real face is dripping with real water. You stare into the shallow depths of the real font.

Richard hauls you up by your collar and sets you on the step. You wring your hair out reproachfully.

"So," he says. "How was that?"

You say nothing. Your throat is dry.

(1/2)

"You don't seem to listen, you understand, so it's more efficient to exhibit it. Let's leave the fixing to—"

"Do you see that all the time?"

He's momentarily stymed. "What, does it matter?"

"No, I guess." You rub the water off your face with your sleeve. You wish you had a handkerchief. "I just wanted to know. It's not a crime to ask questions."

"…No, I don't see that 'all the time'."

"You don't?"

"You know some reptiles see the heat of living beings? They don't have a separate 'heat setting,' it's just part of their natural vision. It's like that."

"Is that biology?"

"I suppose so."

You're tired, you realize. And finished. You're finished with being in a place that doesn't exist, seeing things that don't exist, talking to a man who doesn't exist but tells you horrible things nonetheless. You're getting answers you didn't ask for and don't care about and perspectives you didn't ask for, either (okay, you did, but you didn't mean it.) You still don't know what a key looks like. You're trapped here forever and are never going back home.

And, God-damn it, more questions are bubbling up on your lips. You massage your temples like a madwoman in the hopes they'll maybe disappear. But if you don't ask them now, when? When Monty is throwing the (rules and procedures) book at you? When Madrigal is— you have no idea what the woman could possibly want from you, but surely nothing good?

You're a slave to convenience. "Have you done the… the key thing before? To me?"

"I don't veto full strings, as a rule. Alterations? Of course. Additions? Yes. Only for our betterment, Charlie."

"Yeah, yeah." This can be discussed later. The unchanging light scalds your eyes. "The man in the— Duncan. Why wouldn't the alligators eat him?"

He waves his hand dismissively. "Wind Court. They've probably been mucking around with their blood, or... you know how they are."

You don't, really, but it doesn't matter. Not now. "What are you?"

He's picking at his fingernails with a cuticle pusher. "A snake, Charlotte."

There's not much more to say that that, you think. The incessant burbling of the font behind you is going to drive you insane if you stay here a minute longer. If you aren't already insane. It's possible. It's possible.

You close your eyes, and then open them, and then close them again. "How do I leave?"

He smiles, broadly, but as always it fails to reach the blank blue eyes. "Wake u—"

Back through the tunnel—

«—up. Oh, good.»

The light is no longer an aggressive shade of pink. Raucous laughter filters through the thin canvas walls of your tent.

You collapse back from an aching sitting position onto your cot.

(Choices next.)

>[1] You never want to talk to anybody ever again. Go do… anything else. Whatever. {Regain ID.)
>[2] Monty won't get *mad* at you if you're horribly late. But he will look vaguely disappointed, and that's exactly the same thing. You need to get it over with.
>[3] Madrigal will get mad at you. Which admittedly might be entertaining, but also won't make your life any easier. Go speak with her quick.
>[4] You still don't know what happened, exactly, last evening. Find wherever Ellery's wandered off to.
>[5] Write-in.

Sorry it's so late! I'm slow at the best of times, but when the update is almost pure exposition it's like wading through cement.

>>3807247
>Madrigal will get mad at you. Which admittedly might be entertaining, but also won't make your life any easier. Go speak with her quick.

>[1] You never want to talk to anybody ever again. Go do… anything else. Whatever. {Regain ID.)
We're self-centered, napping is important, and we don't care if people are mad at us. Sleep time.

>>3807247
>1

Then >4

2 ID 2 low

>>3807247
>>[1] You never want to talk to anybody ever again. Go do… anything else. Whatever. {Regain ID.)

>Get some R&R.

The thought of being condescended to or yelled at right now is too much to bear. All you want to do is place the pillow firmly over your eyes and sleep.

«Networking is a valuable skill, Charlie.»

But that's not going to happen. Fine. Fine. You stand up, instead, feint towards the door—

«Wise choice.»

—and instead turn 90 degrees towards your desk, salvaged from the dumping ground. As distasteful as someone else's garbage is, the thing is actual wood and therefore still higher-quality than any paper imitation. (Or that's what you tell yourself.) It's the only cluttered thing in the entire room, littered with dogeared records and a couple wilting flowers in clay jars.

You kick out the stool and, above Richard's protests, sit down. You know he doesn't approve of this. But then, when does he approve of anything?

>[1] It's your anonymous column in the local ragsheet. The owner's been pressuring you to make the leap to real news, but that would make you, God forbid it, a *journalist*. You, a journalist. Ridiculous.
>[2] It's your stargazing. Well, "star"gazing— stars aren't typically so fast, or so hungry. But that only makes it more exciting. Your maps from the other night are still lying incomplete on the desk.
>[3] It's your scale miniatures. They stand in neat, tiny rows against the wall of the tent, hand-molded and painted in the best dyes you can afford. It's been months since you had the opportunity to make one, but if you can manage to blow off your summoners long enough…
>[4] Write-in [subject to veto-- it has to fit].

One or two more updates today, potentially. I know this is a short one.

>>3808761
>[3] It's your scale miniatures. They stand in neat, tiny rows against the wall of the tent, hand-molded and painted in the best dyes you can afford. It's been months since you had the opportunity to make one, but if you can manage to blow off your summoners long enough…

>>3808766
>[1] It's your anonymous column in the local ragsheet. The owner's been pressuring you to make the leap to real news, but that would make you, God forbid it, a *journalist*. You, a journalist. Ridiculous.
Local gossip? Outrageous rumors? The ability to throw shade without anyone being the wiser? It's perfect

>>3808761
>[3] It's your scale miniatures. They stand in neat, tiny rows against the wall of the tent, hand-molded and painted in the best dyes you can afford. It's been months since you had the opportunity to make one, but if you can manage to blow off your summoners long enough…

>>3808766
>>3808916
Thirding

>>3808766
>>3808916
>>3808922
>3
Writing.

>Scale miniatures.

For the most part, they're of buildings and landmarks that caught your eye. You're proudest of a three-inch rendition of your old pillar in clay and bone. You'd caught a dartling just for its delicate ribcage, back— back—

Oh, you can't remember. Years ago, probably. When home was fresh in your mind.

You bite your lip and push the pillar behind a figurine of Richard you're not fond of. It's a good enough likeness, you suppose, but it lacks something subtle in its expression. Or maybe you can't capture the ripple of the iron properly in crushed charcoal.

You turn that away from you too, just in case, and drag the block of clay out from under the desk. It's the refined stuff, not full of sticks and leaves and whatnot, and consequently hugely expensive. You open the drawer, too, and take your molding tools out. But the little toothpicks and scrapers are too spindly to cut the full block, and so it's with your pocketknife you saw a lump off.

You consider the new clay for a moment, turning it this way and that on the desk. This will be a cutaway, you think, not least because you don't know what the exterior of the (did Richard say what it was? Did you not ask? Stupid—)

«Manse.»

—the manse looks like. Or if it has an exterior at all, you suppose. But it doesn't matter when all you have is a rough lump…

You spend the next forty minutes meticulously excising the interior of the clay, leaving three perfect walls and an even floor. How will you do the marble? Bone has the color, but it leaves a polish to be desired. Some sort of coating—

>[+6 ID]
>[Identity: 8/10]

The doorflap to your tent scrapes as it's roughly pushed aside. You stand, almost knocking your stool over, and lean protectively over the unfinished miniature. If someone saw—!!

"Charlotte!" It's Madrigal. Of course it is. Who else would disrespect your privacy so severely? "So you've been hiding in your tent, huh. Whatcha so busy with that you can't—" she's leaning, trying to see— you hear a miniature topple as you back into the desk— "spare a minute, huh? Or are you just too prissy to come talk with the commoners?"

You don't like Madrigal, at all. You don't like her gleaming eyes. You don't like her sharkish grin. You don't like her low-cut tank top, either. It's not proper.

(1/2)

"No," you say, "I'm just—" You have to stand on your tiptoes to match her craning neck. "—Sorry I have obligations, and can't just loaf around waiting for a summons from the quartermaster— you know that's not a real job, right?"

"It's more authority than you have," she says, but finally relents at trying to look past you. "'Spite whatever you think. Come outside."

"I don't have to go outside," you say with the largest smile you can force on. "You can't make me."

"Oh, right, because the sun hurts your nice porcelain skin. Sorry, we're going outside— your tent gives me the shivers, honestly. It's so empty."

"Minimalist."

"I could give two shits. Out."

She gestures towards the door.

>[1] She does nominally rank higher than you— as in, she has a rank and you don't. And Monty already wants to see you. Exit in as face-saving a way as possible.
>[2] You'll leave, but you're making it clear it's not by any sort of choice. The metaphorical biting and scratching, etc.
>[3] You're actual royalty. You have a crown, for God's sake, even if you're not sure… where. (Damn.) If you must talk, it's happening right here.
>[4] You're actual royalty. She can wait until this miniature is further along, thank you very much.
>[5] Write-in.

>>3809121
>[1] She does nominally rank higher than you— as in, she has a rank and you don't. And Monty already wants to see you. Exit in as face-saving a way as possible.

We are only doing it now cause *we want to* do it now that's all!

>>3809119
>[4] You're actual royalty. She can wait until this miniature is further along, thank you very much.

>>3809130
>[1] She does nominally rank higher than you— as in, she has a rank and you don't. And Monty already wants to see you. Exit in as face-saving a way as possible

We'll make a kingdom of our own away from all these people who just don't get it.

>[3]

oh my god she’s a miniaturist, i love it

>>3809121
>[3] You're actual royalty. You have a crown, for God's sake, even if you're not sure… where. (Damn.) If you must talk, it's happening right here.

>>3809121
>>[4] You're actual royalty. She can wait until this miniature is further along, thank you very much.
3:<

>>3809121
>1

>1
takes it by a hair. Writing.

File: madrigal.png (762 KB, 483x648)

762 KB PNG

>Leave with as much grace as you can manage.

"You first!" you say. "I'll… be out in a moment."

Madrigal squints, then, apparently believing this to be a worthy sacrifice, turns heel and strides out. You exhale shakily.

It's just a matter of opening the desk drawer and sweeping everything— the clay shavings, the tools, your papers— in. Except for the unfinished model, which you pick up with a careful hand and place on top.

You wait another minute before stepping outside. She can't be made to feel important.

As you discover, it's not a beautiful day: the water has a grimy, sulferous feel to it, and the light from above is dim. Madrigal waits, hands on hips. "Oh, good," she says. "Look, I don't want to talk right here, either. There's, you know, people."

She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. Indeed, Eloise and… a man you don't recognize are playing cards on a rickety table. Enough people come in and out that you can't be bothered to know their faces. "Why," you say. "Planning to garrote me in private?"

"What? No. I just— shit, it's personal, Charlotte. Not that you'd know."

It's personal! It's personal? What could Madrigal possibly want from you with a personal matter? Do you care? Absolutely not. A personal matter!

"Oh," you say, disinterestedly. "Isn't that interesting."

She narrows her eyes. "Yeah huh. You're thrilled to get your nasty little paws all over someone else's business. Let's go."

You follow her down the sandy path out of camp. "I never said that," you comment.

"It's all over your face."

«I keep telling you your poker face is terrible, and you know what you say, right. You say: 'yeah, but the people here are so stupid they never notice'. If you'd like to reflect on—»

You would not.

Madrigal stops, finally, at the intersection to the larger road. She leans against the beat-up signpost. "So."

"So?"

"So, you were with Ellery last night?"

It's that kind of personal. "No!" you object. "God, no. No. He was just helping with, uh, with a… personal matter."

"Uh," she says, "okay. He's— you have to get to know him."

You both contemplate this.

"…Uh, but no. No. I meant just, you know, out with him. Did you notice anything weird about him? Did he say anything about me? For example?"

She grins pathetically at your skeptical look. "I'm just concerned."

>[1] Yes, you did notice something weird about him. Beyond the normal. [Write-in: what?]
>[2] No, you didn't notice anything. (Not that you were paying much attention.)
>[3] You're not answering anything without context. What is there to be concerned about? And why *him*?
>[4] This is not worth your time. Get back to your project.
>[5] Write-in.

>>3810439
>[1] Yes, you did notice something weird about him. Beyond the normal. [Write-in: what?]

"He seemed to have gaps in memory, forgetting that he wanted to come with in the first place."

Shot in the dark, I don't know what's 'normal' for Ellery anymore.

>>3810439
>2

he bragged about how you told him he was a great lay. :^)

File: F7AAA3B3-89B7-4BE4-AFC7-7(...).png (1.04 MB, 980x1167)

1.04 MB PNG

>_>

>>3810439
>You're not answering anything without context. What is there to be concerned about? And why *him*?

>>3810439
>It's personal! It's personal? What could Madrigal possibly want from you with a personal matter? Do you care? Absolutely not. A personal matter!"Oh," you say, disinterestedly. "Isn't that interesting."
This is a great line.

>>3810656
I like Ellery in that. And Charlotte looks properly grumpy.

>>3810489
I think memory loss is normal for him nowadays? We might even be able to make the case that he was uncommonly lucid today.

>>3810656
Has nobody told Charlotte that her eye is missing?

File: t-thanks.jpg (3 KB, 125x124)

3 KB JPG

Looks like there's discussion but no consensus. Don't forget to vote pls. It'll be open for another couple of hours.

>>3810541
I won't explicitly deconfirm it, but that aspect of the epilogue is less canon than the rest. Sorry!

>>3810656
>mfw
I love it. 100% saved.

>>3811543
You read my mind, because this is in fact a point that will come up very shortly. It's in my notes and everything.

>>3810489
>>3810439
Supporting

>1

Writing!

>Yes, actually, you did notice something.

"Yes," you say heatedly. "He was all ready and rearing to go up until the last second, and then he was all 'oh, I don't like this,' 'oh, I don't even remember why I wanted to be here in the first place'—"

"So what, he got cold feet?" Madrigal sighs. "I mean, that's normal. I'm shocked he agreed in the first place, even. That's why—"

You open your mouth to interject, then close it. How are you supposed to explain that you in fact coerced the agreement from him in a… let's say a vulnerable state, and therefore it was supposed to stick? Cold feet was not possible.

"—so look, I was kind of wondering if—"

"What?" you say.

"I was wondering if…"

"No." You wave your hand airily. "All of it."

She slumps lower on the signpost. "Okay, firstly, fuck you. Secondly, he hasn't been talking."

"Feeling spurned?"

"To anybody. I mean, not substantially. He's not mute. But he's been out more and more, he didn't come to Game Night last month…"

Game Night. The words send cold prickles down your back. You have never been invited to Game Night. (Not that you want to be!) Visco's invited to Game Night. (Not that that matters!)

"I mean, it's just… I'm worried. Monty's worried… we're all worried. And then he leaves with you, of all people."

"Excuse me?"

"You, of all people. So, look, I was wondering— since I guess he'll talk to you, is there any way you can figure out what's up? Ask him, or do some poking around, or whatever. I don't really care how you find out."

You contemplate this. On one hand, this is about as personal as business gets. On the other…

"Why should I?" you say.

Madrigal looks unsurprised. "I'm guessing the goodness of your heart won't cut it. What, what do you want?"

«She's desperate. Can you see it?»

(Pick as many as you feel prepared to negotiate for.)

>[1] An invitation to Game Night. For… for research purposes.
>[2] A sword. You know about her weapon stockpile. You won't abide questions. You just want a sword. (The shinier the better.)
>[3] Some kind of authority position. You're not going to pushed around by these people.
>[4] A written promise never to barge into your tent again.
>[5] Money.
>[6] Write-in.

>>3813027
>[1] An invitation to Game Night. For… for research purposes.

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169 KB PNG

>>3813027
>[1] An invitation to Game Night. For… for research purposes.

>>3813036
>>3813045
>1

Writing.

>An invitation to Game Night.

"I want," you say, "an invitation to Game Night."

«No. No. You have to bargain—»

Madrigal guffaws. "Ha, what? You've always been invited."

"No I haven't! I was banned." You jab fiercely at her chest. "Completely unjustly, I may add-"

"…That's not what happened," she says, and pushes your finger away. "Like, that's not even in the vicinity of what happened. You were invited. And when you were told about it, you said 'fuck off, I don't have time for you'— I'm paraphrasing. So we assumed you weren't interested. But if you are, sure, the door's always open—"

"You're a liar! I was never—"

"Look, did someone tell you you were banned? That's not okay. I can have a talk with them."

"You ought to," you say, mollified. "So I'm invited?"

"Yes?"

"Good."

"It's next week," she offers. "Say, what happened to your eye?"

You touch it instinctively. "Nothing." It's cold and polished, as always.

"Let me rephrase that. Why do you just have an empty socket of an eye? Don't get me wrong, it's badass, but I would've expected… I don't know, sunglasses."

"That's private," you say vaguely. You touch it again. It's there.

Madrigal scratches her unsightly scar. "Alright, be that way. Just let me know if you find anything out. You're dismissed, or whatever."

"I don't need to be dismissed," you protest.

"Whatever."

>[1] Whatever, indeed. At this point you might as well get Monty out of the way. You'll have to see him sooner or later.
>[2] Kill two birds with one stone and speak to Ellery. If you can report back to Madrigal, all the better. (And maybe you can extort more out of her.)
>[3] Back to the miniature. You need to make sure nothing got damaged in your mad rush out the door.
>[4] Write-in.