>>4451952
>> Capture it and bring it back to the gun store owner

>>4452376

+1

>>4452376
>>4452461
Writing...

>>4452908
You grab the darn thing and secure your tail along its entire body. There we go. A picture won't be enough. You drag it across town. It shakes and woofs like crazy but you squeeze its throat tight so it doesn't make any noise. You can feel its lungs and heart, so you know how to let in just enough air to keep it alive.

"Hello!" you chirp.

The neckless gunstore owner is bewildered. He leans closer and stares at it. "Are you... are you... That's been extinct for centuries! This is something science can't explain!"

He upholds his end of the deal and gives you the rifle he promised after taking a few photos of it.

> Give the wolf to the gunstore owner and be done with it
> Keep it as a pet
> Ask what "extinct" means
> Write In

>>4452920
> Give the wolf to the gunstore owner and Ask what "extinct" means

>>4452948
+1

>>4452948
>>4453009
Writing...

>>4453018
(My apologies, some keys on my computer simply do not work, including the question mark}

"What does extinct mean" you ask.

He gives you an odd look. Has he seen your tail yet. No, your tail is still perfectly hidden. "There's no more of its kind around."

"No more...!"

"Yeah. What i'm about to tell you is gonna make you think i'm crazy. That wolf travelled through time."

Your head spins. But then you draw a parallel. It travelled through time without need of walking or a boat, like you did, too. This means that you're either in a different time or a different place, you don't know, really

> Reveal your tail and explain your situation
> Ask if he knows about time travel
> Search for any reliable authorities
> Write In

>>4453019
>Ask if he knows about time travel

>>4453019
>> Ask if he knows about time travel

>>4453019
>> Reveal your tail and explain your situation

>>4453019
> Ask if he knows about time travel

>>4451952
Your alive!

>>4453035
>>4453130
>>4453912
Writing...

>>4454130
Indeed, I am

>>4454214
"Do you... do you know about how people travel through time"

He looks at you. From his expression you can tell he's judging your sincerity. You're not much of a judge of character, but you can tell he's been getting a lot of mockery from this. In your eyes he can see no ridicule. He switches the sign on the door to "CLOSED" and beckons you into his office.

He pulls open an office door. "What i'm about to tell you is going to change how you view the world."

He pulls over a thing which Oliver called an "Ipad". You are still a bit startled when he turns it on. That makes him raise an eyebrow in suspicion. You keep your body low and your tail wound in places where he wouldn't see it. He goes to a website called "TimeAnomalies.Org"

For the next few hours you're shown picture after picture of different places in the world. You're taken aback by the marvellous wonders he so casually displays, and the immense variety of the world shown before you. But despite how amazing it all seems, the real focus, he tells you, are what's in the red circles on every picture.

He tells you what a "Samurai" and a "Landschnekt" is, appearing in their homelands yet so far displaced in time, in modern Japan and Germany. He shows you a dodo and a moa, respectively animals from islands much like the Falklands. Now they're extinct, just like the Falklands Wolf in your coils. You gently stroke its head in an attempt to calm it.

"Can't you... can't you get your priests to tell you what's going on"

"Priests" he snickers. "What're you on about; We believe in science. And it can't explain why all this is going on."

"Then you should offer your sacrifices to a god that knows more than science." you bluntly advise.

"He! He! He! Oh, I wish. Our 'priests' aren't very tolerant of this kind of knowledge. Say, girl. Where are you from"

> Tell the truth
> "I'm from the Falklands, where else"
> Say you've got schizophrenia
> Write In

>>4454237
>Tell the truth

>>4454237
> Say you've got schizophrenia
"I have severe schizophrenia, I believe I'm a snake person."
-And-
> Tell the truth
"See, I believe I have a snake tail right here."

Maybe he has a sense of humor? Honestly amazing he has not noticed the snake tail yet. Definitely something to tease him about.

>>4454239
>>4454279
(Hilarious)
Writing...

>>4454368
"You won't believe me, sir." You say.

"At this point I'll believe anything. Come on. Spill the beans." He says.

"I'm from-" you hiss for a few seconds. "That's how it's said in my language." Speaking of which, it has just occurred to you that you have been speaking in an alien tongue all this time. But his openness and knowledge is so refreshing you don't seem to be taken aback by this. "I lived in a cage on the outskirts of a jungle. I know I may not dress the part, but if you don't believe me, I'm sure it's my schizophrenia talking."

"Takes one to know one." He says.

"Indeed. I have extreme schizophrenia, I believe I am a snake person."

"Really?"

"See, I believe I have a snake tail right here."

(Cont. In next post)

>>4454378
His eyes widen. His jaw hits the floor. "By Saint Patrick!" He shouts. You've truly underestimated your sneaking skills. You had believed he'd only pretended not to notice it. "You're... You're..."

"A Lamia. Are there no jungles nearby?"

He holds his paunchy stomach and takes a couple of deep breaths facing away from you. Then he returns to his jovial manner. He's handling this in a remarkably open-minded way. "Well, there is Argentina." Then a lightbulb appears over his head. "Hey. What does the world you came from look like? You know about the surrounding geography, can you describe it to me?"

As he flips open his history book, you describe the nearby hills and mountains as comprehensively as possible. He's baffled. When you start describing plants, he can find no parallels whatsoever. "Well! You know anything about the Hyperboreans, Atlanteans, Lemurians, anybody? Maybe even the reptilians?

> "Yes, those violet-eyed giants beyond the north wind are a sight to behold." (Hyperboreans)
> "The lizardmen are distant kin to my people. Perhaps they even made us." (Primeval pre-humans)
> "I met an Atlantean explorer once."
> "I've met men who claimed to come from a Red Planet." (Mars)
> "Where I'm from the yellow and orange clouds are so thick it storms every day." (Venus)
> "The ball in this world's sky is very small indeed." (Jovian moon)
> "I know nothing of such things." (Another dimension)

>>4454386
>> "The lizardmen are distant kin to my people. Perhaps they even made us." (Primeval pre-humans)

Rolled 6 (1d7)

>>4454386

>>4454386

Rolled 5 (1d7)

>>4454485

>>4454386
> "The lizardmen are distant kin to my people. Perhaps they even made us." (Primeval pre-humans)

So it's kinda choosing a background?

>>4454433
+1

>>4454386
>"I met an Atlantean explorer once."

>>4454386
>"I met an Atlantean explorer once."

>>4454386
> "I met an Atlantean explorer once."

Rolled 1 (1d2)

1 will get
>>4454433
>>4454738
>>4454812
2 will get
>>4454833
>>4455210
>>4455416

File: anothershoah.png (16 KB, 206x245)

16 KB PNG

>>4455473
Uh oh.

Well, what's the worst that could happen?

>>4455473
Writing...

>>4455486
>>4455473
"The lizardmen are distant kin to my people."

He's enthralled now. Every single theory about reptilians that he's heard in his life now flashes before him. He presents to you a timeline that he tells you stretches far back before this culture's recorded history. Before this civilization came the Atlanteans, and before that came the Reptilians, who parleyed with Martians. You ask where this "Mars" is. There is, coincidentally, a little stick with that name on it on the desk. You point at it.

"It's on another planet."

"What's a planet?"

He flips to a diagram of the solar systems and of the civilizations which exist on them, from Pluto, also known as Yuggoth, to Mercury, where civilization teems across a tidal belt.

"You look so much like a modern human. You're living proof the New World Order is lying to us. Modern man, in its purest state, existed for millions of years! My theories are true! Take that, ThothAmon667!"

He explains to you the theory of evolution, which he holds in great, great derision. Then he says "It's true. The reptilians designed us as we are now. Considering the liberties they took with nature, they too made demihumans to serve them alongside our ancestors. The Voormis, the Apemen, and, and, you: the Lamias."

You ask him one more time. "The bomb craters... Do you know what's happening?"

"Yes. Indeed I do." he says. "The Atlanteans tried to travel into the future to escape the fall of their civilization. Now what they've done is fold time up. And unless we do something, this timeline is doomed. The reptilian conspiracy, of course, is conspiring in their base in the center of the earth after conquering the Aghartans, where they will be immune to the effects of the Time Storms."

Oh, sweet exposition! He goes on: "Well, i'd never thought i'd see this day. So, friend. Are you ready for one grand adventure?"

You nod. He seems to be the greatest authority on this subject. But there's one last thing.

> Bring up the Ghost Ship
> Ask for his opinion on the authorities
> Ask about the reptilians and their influence
> Ask him if he knows any magic
> Write In

>>4455487
> Ask about the reptilians and their influence
They must be great guys if they made us.

> Ask him if he knows any magic
Do we know any magic?

(OOC, were not a MGE lamia right?)

>>4455498
+1

>>4455498
(If we were, this would imply that MGE takes place in Earth's distant past. This would have some disturbing implications which I won't delve into. We don't know magic, and we're not an MGE lamia.}

>>4455487
>> Bring up the Ghost Ship

>>4455487
>Bring up the Ghost Ship

>>4455544
Oh thank god.

>>4455506

+1

>>4456238
>>4455506
>>4455498
> Ask about the reptilians and their influence
> Ask him if he knows any magic
Writing...

File: oldfriend.jpg (25 KB, 220x317)

25 KB JPG

>>4456425
"These reptilians... I have heard little of them. But I know for sure that they were terrible indeed, I do hope none still persist today."

He looks at you morosely. "You'd be wrong. Today, the reptilians run every facet of society. The government & its politicians. The media. The church The institutions. No constituent of society is free from their horrible agenda, whether they are aware of it or not. And it's because of them that people like you, and everything beyond their accepted paradigm of science is dismissed as conspiratorial nonsense designed to spread chaos."

"That sounds terrible. Surely there must be an insurgency somewhere." you say.

"You've got one right here." he points at himself. "And that's why I chose this line of work. When they come to sacrifice our children, it's people like me all over the world who will come and protect"

"I do hope you are prepared." you give him an anxious look.

"And it's not just bullets I have in my arsenal." He focusses very hard. His weird headneck wrinkles tense up and relax. He starts to groan as the air begins to ripple and eddy around him. "I'm what... i'm what they call a supernormal. There was this boy named John. Odd John, he was called. He started this island settlement full of people with powers like me. Didn't go too well. Blew the place up. I escaped, and here I am."

"I never knew you were a wizard."

"Figured you would say that. There's no magic involved. I'm psychic. My brains do the work. So!"

> What's your name?

(If you really don't want to come up with a name then i'll do it. Anyone in favour}

>>4456594
I thought of Aimal, but it seemed to stupid to post.

>>4456599
(Hey, i'll go with that, or maybe a variation, what do you think}

>>4456448
Lisa the Lamia

>>4456599
>>4456607
(Fuck! Now you've given me an idea!)
Writing...

>>4456734
"My name is Aimal."

"And mine's Gregory. Gregory Barnes."

"I notice that mine's not so conspicuous." Your eyes dart to a strip of paper on the corkboard listing many names accompanied by their own number. One of them catches your eyes. "Lisa." You assure. "You may call me Lisa."

"Something else isn't so conspicuous, either." Gregory says. He brings you over to a carpet, where he writes a few things on your tail. He stands there kneading his forehead for thirty seconds, concentrating immensely and voila, a pair of long legs stand in their place. But you can still feel your tail. You slither a bit and the legs start to move. It's so awkward looking, and the contrast between what you see and what you feel is staggering.

"That's an illusion." Gregory says. "You and everybody else will be seeing legs so long as you're awake. Just be careful not to trip people up, Lisa."

"Gregory." You ask. He raises his eyebrows and turns to you as he fiddles with the pages of a leatherbound pocket book. "How didn't you notice my tail all this time? You seemed to be a perceptive fellow otherwise."

"I've always been taught it's rude not to look people, ladies especially, in the eye. Otherwise they'll get the wrong idea, that's how they are. Learned it the hard way when I was a wee lad." Gregory explains frankly.

Suddenly, an explosion shakes the shop. The shockwave topples over a pen holder and wobbles the ceiling lightbulb, causing the room to flicker. Gunshots accompanied by screams in another language can be heard from outside.

"I don't know where they're coming from!" Greg yells. But after he picks up his shotgun and ammunition, after handing another to you, he unrolls a carpet where there's a trapdoor underneath. You get down and there's tunnels on all sides.

> Protect Ralph & Olivia
> Barricade the Globe Inn
> Get to the Airport immediately
> Rush to the church
> Write In

>>4456748
Spit as hard as inhumanly possible.

>>4456748
>Get to the Airport immediately

> Get to the Airport immediately
It's probably those bomb craters.

>>4457692
+1

>>4457692
>>4457725
>>4458168
Writing...

File: tegaki.png (39 KB, 400x400)

39 KB PNG

>>4458318
"I know where the time shenanigans are going on. We have to go stop 'em at the source. Come on, Greg, to the bomb craters."

"I have an exit somewhere near the airport, is that correct"

"Positive."

You take off down a long tunnel, hearing your footsteps echoing behind you. Finally you arrive at a crude ramp. You slither up yet when you look below the waist you see those legs skipping along. It just looks so unnatural on you, you know. Something that dissonant shouldn't exist.

Finally you kick open the trapdoor and some dirt and gravel rains down on you. "Sorry. Haven't used this exit in ages." A baleful prescence churns your insides. Sweat beads on your forehead. Your mouth runs dry. Something terrible's afoot. You round a hill and see the bomb craters. Surrounding it is a camp of men wearing round green helmets and thick jackets.

"Argentinean soldiers! Obviously you can tell they're quite crabby from their right whooping back in '84." Greg tells you.

They've captured the Airport, and are in the process of commandeering all the planes. You can either take on their base of operations, or stop the planes from taking off before it's too late.

> Attack the camp
> Liberate the airport
> Write In

>>4458351
Can we understand the Argentinians language? On that note how are we understanding Greg's language?

>>4458387
(Aimal honestly doesn't know why, this is mere plot convenience. She can understand English, but she doesn't know Spanish.}

>>4458351
>Liberate the airport

>>4458351
> Write In
Try to sneak into the airport, try to find other who can help us, or at least call for help. On that note, ask Greg if there's anyone we can call for help?
I don't like the chances of 2 on who knows how many.

>>4460714
>>4460984
Writing...

File: 170331_-_falklands_war.jpg (766 KB, 2684x1512)

766 KB JPG

>>4461402
"Who knows how many of the soldiers are there" you say. "We need backup, and we need it now."

"There's the Falkland Islands Defense Force, Lisa." Greg says. "But I don't trust those UN shills. Besides, they're just as likely to put you on a dissection table once they're done with those ghostly Argentines."

"So it is that we are to infiltrate this airport ourselves." you say.

"Not quite. I have friends. Very clever ones indeed. Reception's not too good here. So I'll give the lads a signal." Greg tells you before raising an unusually stubby gun. Its barrel is bright red, in contrast to the dark guns that fill his store.

He holds it high and up soars a trail of red dust, before it explodes into a remarkable puff of crimson powder. What a sight! "Take my hand! Come along, now!" Greg says.

He learns quickly that you're much faster than him. He's the one you're pulling. You make it to the mound of dirt nearest to the airport, which is amuck with the soldiers. The flare's dust begins to settle. But then in the distance approaches the ship with no sails. Its hull grinds into the earth, leaving a long furrow in its wake. The Lady Elizabeth sails once more.

Skeletal men in naval regalia leap off the decks and charge the Argentineans, who appear to be surrounded with a ghostly aura. Their guns are fierce, but in most cases they pass right through and hurt the dirt more. The airport is in chaos. Gunshots sound everywhere.

With serpentine agility you wind and dash away from danger. Unfortunately being half snake does has its flaws as well as its perks, and your vision is abominable. You're a rotten shot. But look: these soldiers are naturally backing away from you. And you're a big target. Greg blasts them down one by one as the crew of the Lady Elizabeth savages them with their bayonets.

You smash 'em good with hefty swings of your tail. Port Stanley Airport isn't a very large airport, but hey, all the power to you, champ. After taking down you eighth soldier with a table, you wheedle your way into the yard. It's full of soldiers who are firing away as the crew closes in on them. There they are. Some of them are boarding their planes, you have to stop them. These planes remind you of birds, no, falling leaves from a distance. No time to contemplate: it occurs to you that the only thing that can stop a plane is a plane.

They've lost enough soldiers that there's a massive hole in their formation. The defence force is now arriving in, leaping over smashed furniture and the remains of bullet hole riddled walls. Even so, you can hear shouts about the Argentinean ghosts sending reinforcements.

You need to act now. Board a plane.

> Lockheed Hercules
> Boeing
> Fokker
> English Electric Canberra
> FMA IA 58A Pucara
> McDonnell Skyhawk
> Boeing Chinook

>>4461409
>> Lockheed Hercules

>>4461409
>Lockheed Hercules

>>4461409
>McDonnell Skyhawk

>>4461409
> English Electric Canberra
It's pretty fast, has some mean turret guns on it and we can bring along two other people to help.

Interesting for a quest to feature an almost never utilised location. Even if probably not originally planned for.

>>4464662
+1, because I don't know shit about planes, and this at least has an explanation.

>>4464662
Support

>>4464662
+1

>>4464662
>>4464683
>>4466409
>>4466460
Writing...

File: Canberra-B2-over-Blakeney(...).jpg (72 KB, 700x467)

72 KB JPG

>>4467838
You point at a long grey plane and take off towards it, smashing soldiers out of the way, sending them flying and colliding into each other. The last of the ghost crew is being bayonetted into pieces, and they explode into noxious green vapours. You wind your way through the riot, and signal for Greg to jump on your back. He wraps his meaty arms around your shoulders. If you were human, you would find yourself winded by now. But as a lamia, Greg is weightless. You've eaten things twice his weight, no, more.

You raise yourself up into the plane cockpit and stumble inside, then roll your body into the rest of the compartments. After much fumbling, you fill the gunner turret with your coils. It's so cramped in here. There's so many metal things jabbing into you it's almost unbearable, but you figure that's a good alternative to gunshot wounds. Then you look over Greg's shoulders. He's twisting around knobs and pulling levers, and a massive rumble resounds through the room. As it takes off, it lurches with such force you are overwhelmed with terror. A strange weight crushes you against the muddy floor.

With all your strength, you raise yourself towards the window and yelp as you see the airport shrinking before you. Then you feel it. Cracking and popping noises under the floor. They're shooting at us, you think. The plane lurches again, spinning round, as Greg delivers a good blasting in return. "Die, you blighters!" The soldiers drop like flies as the yard is peppered with bullet holes, their limbs spinning in midair. He turns off the turret as the bloody, worn militiamen of the Falkland Islands Defence force finishes off the last of them, singing "God Save the Queen" as they're done.

But there's still work to be done.

(Cont. in next post}

>>4467862
The camp is nigh. They start screaming and shouting and pointing as you come near them. But before you can drop a single bomb, they pull out several wagon things. "Rheinmetall Mark Twenties!" Greg shouts. "Brace yourself for turbulence! Get ready!"

You are tossed around like a ragdoll, crashing into everything you see. The bile rises up your throat as you fight to keep it down. The booming of the anti aircraft guns is unbearable, sending shockwaves through the air that make you feel like you're about to vomit. You cling tighter and everything stops shaking, but you feel closer to puking. The fierce grin of anticipation on his face takes on a feral aspect as he realizes they're in bombing distance. The soldiers immediately evacuate when they realize it. Oh no. You can predict what's going to happen.

They're going to march into Port Stanley. They'll hold the whole city hostage, but not before the streets run red with blood. These weapons, they aren't like swords or crossbows. Hundreds will die horribly in minutes, and that just isn't right. They abandon their tents like a swarm of spiders fleeing the squashed corpse of their pregnant mother. Greg drops a bomb anyways, blasting it to smithereens. Burned fabric and sticks flies everywhere, impaling soldiers in the back, and their bodies erupt into foamy masses of ectoplasm and torn membrane. It reminds you of a pimple being popped, but way more of them.

They run into the beach, dissipating into ectoplasm by the dozen. The water is thick with the pale green slime that eddies back and forth. Soon it washes back up on the beach, clogging up the sand. The Defense Force has secured the airplane. A line of ambulances have come to collect the dead and wounded. The ghostly threat has been vanquished.

You stagger out of the plane and vomit yesterday's fish and chips. It runs down the beach to join what's left of the soldiers. "Don't worry. We didn't kill anyone today. These are Temporal Phantoms, memories brought to life by the force that hangs over the craters. And memories of enemy soldiers are never pleasant."

You look at the bottom of the plane. The same stuff is trickling down a few holes there. "Temporal Phantoms despise existence on the mortal plane. All they want is to fulfil their role and leave as soon as possible. Although they're Catholics, a few of them have earned a place in Valhalla."

"So why isn't this plane killing itself"

"It's a machine. It was built for a purpose. They're the most loyal things alive, so long as they're taken care of properly. It truly loves its own role, and will go to great lengths to secure it."

The bleeding bullet wounds in the plane are gone.

> Check on Ralph and Olivia
> Leave this island
> Write In

>>4467894
>Leave this island

>>4467894
> Write In
Ask some questions.
Are we a phantom? I mean we came from the past.
Are there phantoms from the future?
Are the time storms going to get worse? You did say, "this timeline is doomed."
How do we survive and/or stop the time storms?

>>4467894
>> Leave this island
Yeet ourself out before talking.

(Alright you mugs, I will write tomorrow. My prelims are coming up so I'm not certain.}

>>4467906
>>4467963
>>4468011
Hours later, both of you agree that the Falklands are no place to stay. This place has gone south quick. You refuel the plane, stock up on provisions, and last of all you take the phonebook. You don't have time to say goodbye to Ralph and Olivia, but something deep in your soul, connected to the loom of fate, promises you that one day you will meet again. You board the plane and it takes off. In the back sits the Falklands Wolf. But you still have some questions for Greg.

"Are we a phantom? I mean we came from the past." you ask.

Greg produces a switchblade. You prick your finger on it and you're bleeding red. "I'm not. I'm still a creature of flesh and blood, with a mind. I had heard earlier they're echoes, but instead of sound they're made from thoughts."

"Are there phantoms from the future?" you ask.

Greg shrugs. He doesn't know.

"Are the time storms going to get worse? You did say, "this timeline is doomed.""

Greg says "I don't know, either. But i'm pretty sure there are. In the first days of the time storms, all I found were some extinct species of fly."

"How do we survive and/or stop the time storms?"

"They seem to be based in a city in the centre of the earth: The city of Agharta. We need to find a place where we can delve into the centre of the earth. There are two main spots: The poles have Symme's Holes. There are also many other entrances. I have friends across the world, but I only know English."

Fly to:

> United Kingdom
> New Zealand
> United States of America
> Canada
> Australia
> Singapore

>>4469466
North Korea
>New Zealand

>>4469466
>Stralia
We could walk around without an illusion and people wouldn't even blink. Hell, they might assume Aimal/Lisa is a protected species.
Source:Someone from that shitshow

>>4469535
(I happen to be from there, too. Not North Korea.}

>>4469466
>Australia

>>4469656
>>4470200
Writing...

>>4472108
> Australia
That sounds good. The name just rolls right off your forked tongue. The plane takes a beeline across the Atlantic ocean, over the cerulean blue horizon. The sun sets before you as the waves lap below you.

It's so beautiful.

(Should we end the quest here}

>>4472110
If your not enjoying it, then yeah. If you are I hope you start a new one though. I like the creative concept.

>>4472110
If this quest isn’t to your liking than end it. Perhaps introducing magical time storms and ghosts so suddenly wasn’t the brightest idea. Not that its a bad thing, still was a fun quest