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You are the third-born of the DI OMBRA FAMILY. You were born a bastard waif, a back-alley secret between a worm-ridden whore and some drunken noble. You grew up just one of many strays wise to hunger and death. You, however, would not pick pockets nor turn tricks: by the grace of your natural prowess for magic, you saw opportunity in service to the church as a sorceress to aid in their crusade against the monstrous.

You lent your stave to their inquisitions for a long and grisly decade–at least until you found love, whereupon you lay down your staff to retire to the countryside. You had a husband in tow and a child to come. You knew comfort and warmth in your cottage by the sea. Your days smelt of hearths, of flowers, of rain.. but that’s all gone now. You are a widow now, alone, a sorceress in service to herself.

You, however, are not without hope–the village by your cot, once a quaint hamlet, is now the fortress-like city-state of a powerful new CULT, its walls host to a parasitic cadre of zealots, monsters, and devils. You see opportunity here, just as you did the church–a chance to usurp this cult’s head and live a comfortable life as a goddess with a harem of hot monsters at your beck-and-call.

>What is your name?

>>5568209
Billiam

>>5568209
>marie
THE HAREMVANIA IS REALLLL

>>5568209
Diana

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>new haremvania quest
Oh fu-
>Protagonist is a woman
Is this gonna be every quest now

That was one of the worst bait I’ve ever seen today

Will we get some hot werewolf knot?

>>5568229
>If you don't like to see le gay furry harem you are baiting
And yes, this includes monster boys.

>>5568231
See the shit I'm talking about

>>5568234
Look, if you dont want a fe mc x male monsters that is understandable

But why the fuck aren’t you leaving? If you say the quest has nothing you like then why stay or even comment at all?

>>5568209
>Agnessa

>>5568243
Because i saw haremvania, though it was gonna be another good quest like yhe second, but then it turned out to be gay shit for women

>>5568209
Circe

>>5568226
Cry more

>>5568249
I'm not the one who likes reading gay bestiality, buddy. Monster on female is giga-gay.

>>5568209
>Marie
>1599
Okay so this takes place between 1 and 2

>>5568255
If you're still here your gay

>>5568209
>Scarlet

>>5568209
Maria

>>5568209
Agnessa Marie Di Ombra's the name, and fucking monsters is the game. And Aggie-Marie plays to WIN!

>>5568214
Support, Billiam sounds like a sexy name

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>>5568304
>>5568214
I feel you.

>>5568329
Yeah that's all I can think of

>>5568209
Marie

>>5568209
>Marie
Is the Di Ombra family an offshoot of the Arsene family? Marie's got a similar forehead issue as Ava...

>>5568209
>Marie
must avoid billiam

>>5568209
Marie, also hello again OP.

Oh hey, I recognize that art style. I also recognize that mole. Reminds me of a certain pretend samurai.

>Agnessa Marie Scarlet Pascale Thérèse De Santo Domingo De Los Diabetico Chloé Morel La Fromboise Di Ombra

Clearly, only this name is fitting enough of nobility.

Also, who said the Harem needed to only be monster boys?

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>>5568214
>>5568215
>>5568223
>>5568246
>>5568249
>>5568257
>>5568267
>>5568273
>>5568303
>>5568304
>>5568329
>>5568336
>>5568384
>>5568389
>>5568406
>>5568451

Your name is MARIE DI OMBRA, a 35 year old monster hunter, spell caster, and erstwhile mother, now a soon-to-be cult leader.

You were once an able sorceress, a nun in the church’s capitol convent, an adherent to a life of monastic study and monster slaughter. You are now the weird old cat-lady that lives at the outskirts of the village and gets rocks thrown at her window by the local kids.

You are not one to accept a life of dirt and mediocrity–not in the past on the capitol’s streets, and not in the present in this empty home. You are ready to set upon the ridiculous religious order that’s taken hold of the village and to take hold of it for yourself.

You’ve crafted a new bone staff for dark magic, swathed yourself in apropos funerary wear, and inked a dark inscription onto your body–a BLOOD MAGIC rune on your womb, your secret weapon should the might of the cult prove too great to face alone. You embody a dark witch in every respect.

And you are not a crazy cat lady. 4 cats is a very normal amount of cats for one person to own. No, a crazy cat lady would have 7 or 8 cats.

>Ruminate on villagerly-goings.
>Ruminate on local cult.
>Ruminate on your recent-er past. [YOU DO NOT WANT TO DO THIS.]
>Proceed from your cot to the outskirts of the village.
>Write-In.

>>5568684
>>Ruminate on local cult.
who are we going to deal with?

>>5568684
>Ruminate on local cult.
Show us the husbands, we have need of them

>>5568684
>womb tattoo
uohhhhh very based qm

>ruminate on local cult

>>5568684
>>Ruminate on your recent-er past. [YOU DO NOT WANT TO DO THIS.]

>>5568684
>Ruminate on local cult.

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>>5568694
>>5568702
>>5568711
>>5568715
>>5568719

>Ruminate on local cult.

The great peals of the church bell’s tolls ring throughout the village before you– black palisades, wrought iron structs, grotesques atop spires.. all the grim handiwork of the OCCULTIC ORDER. The sect claims servitude to some great ancient evil from a hundred years past, some terrible plan to revive a dead monster queen, eternal grudges and curses, yadda yadda yadda..

You aren’t all that familiar with all the details of their dogma. You know they employ the service of both humans and monsters. You know they indulge in violence and pleasure alike. You know that their strength has grown such that they have made even the CORPUS CHURCH uneasy–and that is no small feat. You fall short of more intimate knowledge beyond that.

But that’s irrelevant. You are not naive enough to fall for the mental games nor are you mad enough to actually believe in claims of divine revelation. You never did believe any of that cult nonsense. You do, however, believe in good food, drink, and pleasure, all indulgences to be had in spades as a cult’s head.

>Ruminate on villagerly-goings.
>Fantasize about monsters.
>Ruminate on your recent-er past. [YOU DO NOT WANT TO DO THIS.]
>Proceed from your cot to the outskirts of the village.
>Write-In.

>>5568743
>Ruminate on villagerly-goings.

>>5568743
>Ruminate on villagerly-goings.
>Fantasize about monsters.
More husbands...

>>5568743
>Fantasize about monsters.

>>5568766
+1

>>5568743
>Ruminate on villagerly-goings.
>Fantasize about monsters.
let's see what kind of taste we're working with here

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>>5568750
>>5568753
>>5568766
>>5568793
>>5568854

>Ruminate on villagerly-goings.
>Fantasize about monsters.

The village by your home has gone by many names–once upon a time, it was CORPSRICK, then MERCY PARISH, and then LLYWELLEN–.. but today, it is SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE, the city-state of a fanatical new religious order. The “village”--if you could still call it that–is immense, its zealots proselytizing by measure of nail and hammer: constructing new walls, new homes, new churches each and every day. The cot you live in, once a good hour’s trip out from the village, now lies within reach of its walls.

The village’s breadth necessitates vicious guardianship, and it’s not uncommon for you to hear the distant howls of beasts and screams of cultists. The monsters that prowl these walls.. you can only imagine. The lot of monsters nowadays are female, be it the grace of an ancient blood curse, but male monsters aren’t unheard of. You can see it in your mind’s eye–great, monstrous beasts on chains, devils from another plane, reject homunculi from the church’s basements.. yes, a veritable banquet of dangerous servants for you.

You remain adrift in such fancy and fantasy as your walk from your cot brings you to the village outskirts. The land of penitents, where reject cultists teem about the walls and wail for their failure. The lot of them look dangerous, cold, and mad, but a few seem weak enough for you to handle. You can see one weak, bandaged man on a crutch and a weathered old hag in a hood.

>Speak to the doddering crone.
>Speak to the wobbling invalid.
>Proceed past them.
>Write-In.

>>5568911
>>Speak to the doddering crone.
>Ponder about your favorite cat.

>>5568911
>Speak to the doddering crone.

>>5568911

>Speak to the wobbling invalid.

>>5568911
>Speak to the doddering crone.
>Ponder about your favorite cat.
i must know about the cats

>>5568911
>Speak to the doddering crone.
Our favourite vampire?
>Ponder about your favorite cat.

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>>5568917
>>5568921
>>5568925
>>5568942
>>5569103

>Ponder about your favorite cat.
>Speak to the doddering crone.

Your favorite cat is TOIL (of the kitten quartet DOUBLE, DOUBLE, TOIL and TROUBLE). Your cats sharing names is just as annoying as it sounds, but it’s very funny, so you manage.

You decide to first try your luck with the crone. The hag and invalid seem outcasts among outcasts–distant from the rest of the refugees, they are sat beside a feeble fire with only one another for company. The thin trail of white smoke from their flame seems to dance about the both of them. The hag leans on some kind of lantern staff, a white owl atop it.

“You there.” Your heels clack against the stone footpath, your voice cold and clear as the sea. “My name is MARIA DI OMBRA. I have a few questions.”

“Ahh.. hello, dearie!” The hag’s worn voice manages what sweetness it can muster. “Hmm.. I don’t believe I’ve seen you around, have I..? No, you must be new–I would certainly remember an itinerant so beautiful. You look just as I did when I was a young woman.”

“Hmmm.” You observe. “Don’t say that again.”

>Does she have a name? Occupation? Skills?
>How would she like to join a cult? A very good one?
>What can she tell you about the village?
>Speak instead to the invalid.
>Write-In?

>>5568911
>Speak to the doddering crone.
>Ponder about your favorite cat.
>Consider getting a fifth one if this cult idea pays off, perhaps a Norwegian Forest Cat?

>>5569150
>What can she tell you about the village?
And about the evil that is resident within the village.

>>5569150
>How would she like to join a cult? A very good one?
>What can she tell you about the village?
If she has know how, she'd make a good first member

>>5569150
>>Does she have a name? Is she also skilled in the arts?
>What can she tell you about the village?
>And about the evil that is resident within the village.

>>5569150
>What can she tell you about the village?

>>5569150
>Does she have a name? Is she also skilled in the arts?
>What can she tell you about the village?
>And about the evil that is resident within the village.

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>>5569160
>>5569164
>>5569173
>>5569221
>>5569222

>What can she tell you about the village?
>And about the evil that is resident within the village.
>Does she have a name? Is she also skilled in the arts?

“What can you tell me about this village?” You look to the great wall of cobble and wrought iron before you–behind it, the village seems to devour the sky. “And the evil resident within it.”

“Ah.. so, you’ve an interest in SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE and the OCCULTIC ORDER, do you, dearie?” The hag leans in. “Well, divorce whatever aspirations you have for it in your mind. Feh–not but a bunch of fools, denying me from their order and kicking me out to sleep with the cripples! They’ve no idea of the complexities of tarot! They only bring on these ridiculous bimbos that..”
“The village. Details.” You snap your fingers in front of her face.

“Ah! Sorry, I’m sorry, excuse me.” The old woman clears her throat. “SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE is split into three major blocks–QUARTIER DE PUNITION, QUARTIER DE INVOCATION, and QUARTIER DE DÉVOTION, each made up of innumerable streets and buildings with their own purposes for the cult. There isn’t enough time in the day to list all of them, but for example, the orgies on RUE DE JOIE are to die fo–”
“I’ve got it.” You shudder. “And the cult inside? Are you familiar with their plans?”

“I’m afraid I know a little less about that, dearie. If you’re to learn more, I believe that rotten old invalid was once with them.” She waves her staff toward the bandaged man, his leg propped up against a pitchfork. “But I wouldn’t waste time with him if I were you–he’s but a miserable sack of flesh that won’t even let me try out his crutch.”
“Hmmm..” Your eyes fall to her lantern staff and its luminescence. “Do you have a name, then? And are you familiar with the arts as well?”

“My name, dear, is SYBIL VIEUX. And I’ve no particular familiarity with the dark arts as you might, but I am quite the oracle–a tarot master.” Sybil waggles her eyebrows. “I could even read your future if you please.”

>How would she like to join a cult? A very good one?
>Have her read your future. You don’t believe in that supranatural junk, but it’s fun.
>Speak instead to the invalid.
>Write-In.

>>5569248
>Have her read your future. You don’t believe in that supranatural junk, but it’s fun.

>>5569248
>Have her read your future. You don’t believe in that supranatural junk, but it’s fun.
>Speak instead to the invalid.

I think we might be more able to get the man to talk, we probably catch peoples attention better than an old woman.

>>5569248
>Speak instead to the invalid.
later HAG

>>5569248
>>Have her read your future. You don’t believe in that supranatural junk, but it’s fun.

>>5569248
>Speak instead to the invalid.

>>5569248
>Have her read your future.

>>5569248
>Have her read your future. You don’t believe in that supranatural junk, but it’s fun.
Mirai! Saiko!

>>5569248
>Have her read your future. You don’t believe in that supranatural junk, but it’s fun.

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>>5569261
>>5569262
>>5569267
>>5569283
>>5569319
>>5569343
>>5569418
>>5569425

>Have her read your future. You don’t believe in that supranatural junk, but it’s fun.

“So be it. Go ahead.” You guise your giddiness to know your future with cool aplomb. “I trust you won’t waste my time with nonsense.”
“Oh, dear, tarot is far from nonsense–it may not be quite as straightforward as the bosh other oracles preach, but it is guaranteed ACCURATE.” SYBIL removes an oily leather card sleeve from her black robe and slips a handful of moth eaten cardstock into her palm. “The fates speak in riddles, not scriptures. Now.. watch.”

The hag shuffles the deck with all the cool legerdemain one might expect from an old woman–fumbling through the deck with fat fingers, near dropping some cards into the fire, and making a show of her “card skills” for an agonizing four minutes. The oracle finally eases off the poor cards and raises the utterly butchered deck to her perched owl, who snips at one with his beak.
SYBIL takes the card and observes it. “Hmmm.. yes. I see, I see.. the FATES have spoken through the tarot! Your future is as such!” She shows you the card and begins to speak:

TWO, THE HIGH PRIESTESS, CRESCENT MOON AT HER FEET.
SAT COMFORTABLE AND PROUD IN THE CATBIRD SEAT,
SAT, BUT STUCK, CAUGHT BETWEEN NOW AND THEN,
YOU CAN NEITHER MOVE FORWARD NOR BACK WHEN.

“What?” You frown as the old lady finishes her babble. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Like I said, the fates speak in riddles! I can’t just tell you the winning lottery numbers or your forthcoming lover or any of the nonsense all the young people want.” SYBIL tucks the deck back into her pocket. “But what the fates say is always true. It’s up to you to divinate its meaning. And, they may yet reveal even more as time passes..”

Why is it always weird riddles with old people?

>How would she like to join a cult? A very good one that would put her powers to use?
>Turn your attention to more invalid-y matters.
>Proceed past the invalid and toward the village proper.
>Write-In.

>>5569491
>Turn your attention to more invalid-y matters.

So, we can neither move on from or escape the past nor return to it. How curios. Given how remembering the past was a risky option, I feel that she's not merely full of it. If only we went for the risky option earlier on... Still, this woman could be useful, I feel.

>How would she like to join a cult? A very good one that would put her powers to use?

>>5569491
>Turn your attention to more invalid-y matters.

>>5569491
>Turn your attention to more invalid-y matters.

>The High Priestess possesses intuition, mystery and sensuality combined with common sense. When the High Priestess appears in a tarot reading she indicates that now is the time to trust your instincts and go with your gut feeling. Pay attention to your dreams and the signs and symbols the universe is sending you when this Major Arcana trump card appears in your tarot reading.

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>>5569498
>>5569502
>>5569521
>>5569523

>Turn your attention to more invalid-y matters.

“Fine. Then, excuse me for a moment.” You momentarily rid yourself of the crazy old hag and turn your attention to invalid, who’s sat opposite the fire the whole time with ample view of the circus. “You. Invalid. I’ve questions for you as well.”
“Hrmph. What do I know?” The invalid mutters beneath his breath, his eyes distant and tired. “What a joke. Leave me alone.”

“I’m not asking. I’m ordering.” Your voice is firm, but the broken man simply shrugs his shoulders.
“And of what use are your orders for a lame man with nothing to lose? The curse will spare me from whatever punishment you have in mind.” The cultist sulks. “Feh. I’ve no word to spare you or any other outsider. Now leave me be and get back to the hag, jezebel.”

The word curse prickles your ears like a needle–a curse? The village has a curse, or..? You would ask for more, but you get the feeling he’ll stonewall any more lines of questioning you have for him. You may have to go about this more laterally.

>How would he like to join a cult? A very good one that would put his big pitchfork to use?
>Attempt to cheer him up somehow, or at least get into his good graces.
>Use your secret weapon–the rune inscribed on your skin.
>Get back to the hag.
>Write-In.

>>5569573
>Attempt to cheer him up somehow, or at least get into his good graces.

>>5569573
>Attempt to cheer him up somehow, or at least get into his good graces.
Feel like a nice looking woman trying to cheer him will be more effective than we realize. Especially since the only other woman we know that interacts with him is a hag.

>>5569573
>>Attempt to cheer him up somehow, or at least get into his good graces.
gonna trust the tarot and go with what our gut tells us

>>5569573
>Attempt to cheer him up somehow, or at least get into his good graces.

>>5569573
>whack him with your staff

>>5569573
>>Use your secret weapon–the rune inscribed on your skin.

>>5569573
>Attempt to cheer him up somehow, or at least get into his good graces.
Why is he all bandaged? And why have they cast him out? If these things are related... Well, maybe we can do something to help. We ARE magic.

>>5569573
A curse eh? Perhaps an opportunity to get a cult member. If it can be cured/purified/removed/whateveryouwanttocallit.

>Attempt to cheer him up somehow, or at least get into his good graces.

>>5569573
>>Use your secret weapon–the rune inscribed on your skin.

>>5569573
>Use your secret weapon–the rune inscribed on your skin.

>>5569573
>>Attempt to cheer him up somehow, or at least get into his good graces.

>>5569573
>>Use your secret weapon–the rune inscribed on your skin.

>>5569576
>>5569580
>>5569583
>>5569656
>>5569661
>>5569664
>>5569681
>>5569720
>>5569742
>>5569920
>>5569924
>>5570112

>Attempt to cheer him up somehow, or at least get into his good graces.

You decide to try to assuage his concerns with some rhetoric–after all, what better work for a cult mother than to ease her flock?

>Roll a 1d20, Bo3.

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>5570219
lets go

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>5570219
rollan

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>5570219

>>5570252
damn what a clutch

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>>5570252

>Rolled 15 (1d20)

“I don’t presume you’re stuck out in this bitter cold of your own volition?” You kneel before the invalid, now eye-level with him. You cast a glance to the litter that litters the base of the walls. “Those cultists have thrown you out the same as they do their bent nails. What loyalty do you owe them now? No, if anything, you must resent them. Place your faith in me and I’ll make them know this cold just as you do.”
“..Hrmph.” The crestfallen invalid glares at you. “So you plan to wage some kind of holy war? Bah!--don’t presume yourself unique. You’re just one of countless parasites that teem in that village. But if you’re mad enough to try to usurp the OCCULTIC ORDER alone–.. then I suppose it matters little what I mutter to some hysterical lunatic.”
You feel as if he’s a little more open to questions, even if not quite in the way you had sought for.

>What does he know about the cult? What they plan to do?
>The curse he mentioned–was it on him, or the village as a whole? What’s going on?
>He mentioned other “parasites” in the village?
>How would he like to join a cult? A very good one that would put his big pitchfork to use?
>Write-In.

>>5570264
>What does he know about the cult? What they plan to do?

>>5570264
>>The curse he mentioned–was it on him, or the village as a whole? What’s going on?

>>5570264
>>The curse he mentioned–was it on him, or the village as a whole? What’s going on?

>>5570264
>The curse he mentioned–was it on him, or the village as a whole? What’s going on?

>>5570264
>The curse he mentioned–was it on him, or the village as a whole? What’s going on?
and if there's time
>What does he know about the cult? What they plan to do?

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>>5570266
>>5570278
>>5570301
>>5570305
>>5570367

>The curse he mentioned–was it on him, or the village as a whole? What’s going on?
>and if there's time
>What does he know about the cult? What they plan to do?

“The curse you brought up–do you mean one on yourself? The cause of that crutch, those bandages?” You look the lame man once over. You sense no particular ebbs and flows of dark magic about his face nor his leg, so.. maybe he’s just ugly?

“No. The cause of that would be me falling 30 meters from a half-made rafter and landing on my face.” The man looks at you with a look of grim curiosity. “But don’t tell me you aren’t actually familiar with the SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE curse? The reason so many rival cults have taken to their worthless little crusades through the village to take it for their own?”
You remain silent. The invalid rolls his eyes.

“Well, call it what you will: CHRONOSTASIS, REQUIEM, MOURNING SICKNESS, WITCHING HOUR.. it doesn’t matter. The father of our little order cast a curse on the village to assure his eternal dominance: a spell that winds back the clock each and every hour so that as the church bell tolls, the dead come back to life. You’ll find that none can die here–at least not in the physical sense.”
“What? A resurrection spell..?” Your breath catches in your throat. “That–.. That’s rather significant–”

“Ah, ah, ah–not a resurrection spell. A great deal worse than that–a time spell.” The invalid corrects you. “A good and proper resurrection spell would bring me back to life right, without this damnable leg and broken face. But because I broke my body outside the village, I get to reawaken every hour here with fresh pain. I’ll never heal until I leave this village, but then.. I could die.”
“That’s still quite the curse.” You remark–the church has put hundreds of years into work for less. “The cult’s leader must be a very capable sorcerer, then..?”

“You would be right. HIS HOLINESS, or as the commoners like to call him, ELI DE VILLIERS. The leader of the OCCULTIC ORDER. A bastard.” He grimaces.

>What does he know about the cult?
>Does ELI DE VILLIERS have a girlfriend?
>He mentioned other cults going on crusades in the village? Does he know any groups?
>How would he like to join a cult? A very good one that would put his big pitchfork to use?
>Write-In.

>>5570411
>He mentioned other cults going on crusades in the village? Does he know any groups?
>How would he like to join a cult? A very good one that would put his big pitchfork to use?
I think we could do with bolstering numbers, and someone that knows the ins and out of the village is a good person to have

>>5570411
>How would he like to join a cult? A very good one that would put his big pitchfork to use?
Someone with knowledge of what’s going on is always nice to have around

>>5570411
>Does ELI DE VILLIERS have a girlfriend?
This is literally Haremvania quest.

>>5570411
>He mentioned other cults going on crusades in the village? Does he know any groups?

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>>5570423
>>5570621
>>5570632
>>5570755

>He mentioned other cults going on crusades in the village? Does he know any groups?
>How would he like to join a cult? A very good one that would put his big pitchfork to use?

“You mention other cults on crusades through the village?” You raise a brow. “Then the village truly is in the throes of some holy war?”
“I would call it a holy slaughter. The OCCULTIC ORDER is too grand for a handful of zealots with half-cocked pistols and dulled swords to conquer—and that includes the big whore in black stood here before me.” His eyes are narrow. “The BLOODLINE ADHERENT, the RESURRECTIONISTS, the FOURTH PLAGUE WARD all run like blood in the streets.. and I hear rumors that even CORPUS CHURCH have sent an inquisition to investigate. We live in foul times, and it will only grow more foul yet.”

“That’s quite the repertoire of depravity.” You recognize a handful from your time in the church—and the church itself will pose a formidable contest should it come to that. “The lot of them in one state like this.. it must be terribly dangerous for one as meager as yourself? Perhaps you ought to ally yourself with a group to ensure your safety. Now.. I plan to get my own cult off the ground, and where better to begin than a broken man with half a body to spare for a cause that measures more than himself?”
“Oh? You plan to throw your lot into the bloodbath as well?” The broken man raises a brow. You see the hag from across the fire lean in, eager to listen.

“Then what, exactly, is your grand doctrine? Your divine revelation? Your holy scripture? For god’s sake, do you even have a name?” He leans in on his pitchfork. “Or is this just the pipe dream con-job of some miserable, lonely witch?”

That catches you off guard. You had thought to begin a cult in service to yourself and live the rest of your days easy, but you had grown so in concupiscent with delusions of grandeur that you’d made the teeny tiny oopsie-daisy of neglecting the details–like, for example, a central dogma. You freeze, your mouth half-open in a mumbling kind of muttering sound.

>What’s your cult even about, genius?

>>5570981
>>What’s your cult even about, genius?
Wisdom

The central principle of the cult is the collection of knowledge

No cost too high if wisdom is gained in the process (and thats why we need to 'study' all those monsterguys)

>>5570981
>What’s your cult even about, genius?
Sex, sex and so much depraved sex

>>5570992
+1

>>5570981
>to bring people together not through fear, but love

>lots and lots of love

>>5570981
backing >>5570992
monster orgies
let's be honest

>>5571014
>>5571028
Mix of those two. It's a cult of love... love for monsters boys/girls. We found our fetish after we became a widow.

>>5570981
>What’s your cult even about, genius?
about reckless self-indulgence as a coping mechanism

>>5570981
>Wisdom
a la >>5570988, it can be wisdom in the mystical sense, the scholastic sense, the worldly sense, or the CARNAL sense... But wisdom all the same. All things should be known, and (f this curse is all its cracked up to be) preserved and shared forevermore!

>>5570988
Changing to this. Like after seeing >>5571063 a broad concept sounds more interesting and we always stretch it to whatever we like.

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>>5571069
thanks anon very based

>>5571063
>>5571014
y'know, lemme switch to this, too

>>5571063
+1

>>5570992
>>5571014

Supporting

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>>5570988
>>5571063
>>5571069
>>5571080
>>5571334
>>5571386
>>5570992
>>5571013
>>5571014
>>5571028
>>5571039

>Wisdom
>It can be wisdom in the mystical sense, the scholastic sense, the worldly sense, or the CARNAL sense... But wisdom all the same. All things should be known, and (f this curse is all its cracked up to be) preserved and shared forevermore!

“We deify wisdom–in the mystical sense, in the scholastic sense, in the worldly sense, or.. you know, the CARNAL SENSE–it’s wisdom all the same.” Your mind races to produce some vague, abstruse tripe, drawn in part from your past experience as both a beggar and a sister. “We preach that all should be learned, preserved, and shared forevermore, to one day make the UNFATHOMABLE fathomable.”

The oracle seems thoroughly taken in by your spiel–she murmurs a few “oohs” and “aahs” from her perch–but you’ll need more to sell the invalid on your divine revelation.

“That’s quite the mouthful to call yourself stupid. It sounds to me like you ought to just start a library.” The invalid tosses the firewood with his fork and flakes of white-hot cinder flit into the night. “I may throw my lot in with you–if not for a bit of entertainment to liven up my day–but do you even have a banner to fly by? Or are we just some wanton throng of degenerates?”

>And what is the name of your glorious new cult, “Her Holiness?”

>>5571443
>The Sacrament of Sin
If we take this cripple and old hag I bet we can dark magic them into proper harem material. Sort of a fixer-upper type harem

>>5571443
>And what is the name of your glorious new cult, “Her Holiness?”
>Heart Eyes

>>5571443
>(The Cult of) Heart Eyes

>>5571496
+1

>>5571443
>The Order of Oculus Sapientiae.

Alternatively it could be The Order of Oculi Libidinis if you want to do something similar to the heart eyes thing while also sounding far more smart and totally not at all like a pretentious know it all.

>>5571455
I do like this idea simply because it's funny.

>>5571443
>>5571541
these are good

>>5571541
backing

>>5571443
>The Order of Oculi Libidinis

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>>5571455
>>5571457
>>5571496
>>5571501
>>5571501
>>5571541
>>5571610
>>5571705
>>5571707

>The Order of Oculi Libidinis

“But of course. The ORDER OF OCULI LIBIDINIS.” You settle on a name–long and of the old-tongue, it exudes the vacuous spiritual ostentation that lay people tend to flock to. “The order that dares to look past the veil–through the dark, dead, and unfathomable–to move forward. Will you join?”
“Oh, of course, dearie–!” The hag butts her fat head into the conversation and near knocks the invalid into the dirt. “I’m all for that spiritual wisdom–tarot reading and tea telling, you know–and I’d just love to show those rotten idiots in the OCCULTIC ORDER the real power of TAROT. You have my cards at your disposal!”

“..Right.” You decide it best to ignore that outburst. “And you?”

“..Fine. I’ll follow you around.” The invalid releases a long, world-worn sigh as he plugs his crutch into the dirt. “But don’t expect me to pray to you for grace or throw rose petals at your feet. I’ve all the time in the world to waste in this village, so I might as well find some amusement in it. If it all goes rotten–as it certainly will–you’re on your own.”
The INVALID and FORTUNE TELLER at your side, you’ve made good headway into cultic affairs..!–even if your only followers are but a miserable cripple and a mad hag. The ORDER OF OCULI LIBIDINIS is set to begin their crusade into the VILLAGE, your PROMISED LAND of MILK and HONEY. You just need to set a course of direction for your pilgrimage.

>Enter the village through the gate–immense and wide-open, it seems to be inviting itinerants like you into its maw.
>Look for a more discrete method of entrance.
>Write-In.

>>5571748
>Look for a more discrete method of entrance.
> see if you can keep an ear out for any interesting chats or odd sounds just beyond the walls

>>5571748
>Look for a more discrete method of entrance.

>>5571748
This>>5571760

>>5571748
>Enter the village through the gate–immense and wide-open, it seems to be inviting itinerants like you into its maw.
zero patience

>>5571748
>>Look for a more discrete method of entrance.
>> see if you can keep an ear out for any interesting chats or odd sounds just beyond the walls

>>5571748
>Look for a more discrete method of entrance.
> see if you can keep an ear out for any interesting chats or odd sounds just beyond the walls

>>5571932
+1

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>>5571760
>>5571807
>>5571851
>>5571860
>>5571932
>>5572046
>>5572047

>Look for a more discrete method of entrance.
>See if you can keep an ear out for any interesting chats or odd sounds just beyond the walls.

You decide a more discrete method of entry more apropos for a cult–after all, you’d rather your head not end up the crown of some mad cultists’ pitchfork. You walk the length of the village wall’s perimeter, a patchwork of wood plank structs, black iron grates, and natural outcrops of tree and stone that join to form a formidable bulwark. Your flock remains close behind (at a very, very slow pace).
“Bah! This snow is killing my ankles..!” The hag bemoans the light, sugar-like snow that dusts the hard earth beneath you–there was light snowfall last night born of a very cold harvest season.

“HEED MY WORDS, CHILDREN–..” A strange whisper of a voice seeps from the walls and cuts through the hag’s complaints–somehow very distant yet close and quiet yet strong and dark, all at once. “FINAL JUDGEMENT–.. ‘PON US. OUR LADY OF MERCY WILL RISE AGAIN, GIVEN NEW LIFE AFTER THAT VILE DEVIL SLEW–.. THREE DAYS MO–..”
“What is that?” Your brow furrows. “Someone preaching? Sounds like a broken record skipping..”

“That would be the divine sermon of our holy father–or, if you’re sound of mind, a psychopath’s mad ramblings.” The disillusioned invalid mutters. “The man has set up a ram’s horn trumpet and pipe system to broadcast his sermons to the whole of the village from his chapel on top. We get to hear him all hours of every day. It's nonsense, all of it.”
“That’s one thing I can agree with you on, cripple–such stupidity! He announces each and every little thing.” The oracle sighs. “Just yesterday, he got on to complain that he had a craving for duck..”

Your journey about the perimeter of the wall (at least, what was within your physical capacity to observe) bears fruit. You find two possible alternative routes through to the heart of the village–a low slope of the wall that affords you footing onto a building roof and a gash in a shallow segment of the wall that opens to a quiet churchyard.

>Pass through the gash to the quiet churchyard.
>Try to clamber onto a roof.
>Go through the main entrance after all.
>Write-In.

>>5572088
>Pass through the gash to the quiet churchyard.
We've got an invalid and a hag with weak ankles. No climbing.

>>5572088
>Pass through the gash to the quiet churchyard.

>>5572088
>Pass through the gash to the quiet churchyard.
We don't look very athletic ourselves. More of a CON build, if you get me. Hope we can fit through the gap...

>>5572088
>>Pass through the gash to the quiet churchyard.

our followers probably cant climb

>>5572088
>Pass through the gash to the quiet churchyard.

>>5572088
>Pass through the gash to the quiet churchyard.

>>5572088
>>Pass through the gash to the quiet churchyard.

>>5572088
>Pass through the gash to the quiet churchyard.

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>>5572139
>>5572144
>>5572148
>>5572195
>>5572202
>>5572203
>>5572621
>>5572629

>Pass through the gash to the quiet churchyard.

You remain thoughtful of your disciples’ physical limitations (as well as your own constitutional constraints) and stick to the ground. You first manage the invalid with little difficulty (so thin his chest measures near the breadth of his crutch), then shove in the hag with lots of fits and moans and owl pecks, and finally yourself, a long, embarrassing show of squeezing your gut and holding your breath.
The church yard is a small, dim hillock lined with crosses and crowned with a church, the patches of grass and snow beneath you hard and cold. The wrought iron fence around the diameter of the yard scrapes the night sky. The vast, gothic-peasant architecture of the village stretches out into the night behind those bars, lit only by the pale glow of the moon.

SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE is almost dream-like. The eclectic mix of pig iron and rotten wood built into grand cathedrals and spires like a poor man’s take on the capitol, the lanterns and wires that run electric through the sky like spider’s webs, the bullhorns on window fixtures that echo dogmatic propaganda. The village is built uphill northward and seems to climb like a wave, a sea of buildings to crash on top of you..
You’re rent from the wondrous sight of the village with a sudden grunt. You cast your gaze downward to see a small, hunch-backed man, stooped low by the weight of a broad shovel. A gravedigger for the church, his hands are dirtied and nose scrunched.

“You lot! What are you doing here?” He barks, his mouth running short of a few teeth. “The invalid and the fool oracle.. you weren’t accepted by HIS HOLINESS. Get back outside, now.”

>Pretend you belong. It’s worked for you your entire life.
>Invalid, run him through with your pitchfork.
>Have the hag do haggy things to him.
>Flee! You won’t deal with this now.
>Introduce yourself as the ORDER OF OCULI LIBIDINIS. This village will be yours.
>Write-In.

>>5572638
>Pretend you belong. It’s worked for you your entire life.

>>5572638
>Pretend you belong. It’s worked for you your entire life.

>>5572638
>Have the hag do haggy things to him.
We can always use the pitchfork ourselves as backup. We were a monster hunter, before.

>>5572638
>Have the hag do haggy things to him.

>>5572638
>Pretend you belong. It’s worked for you your entire life.

Maybe flash some cleavage

>>5572961
How much more can one flash?

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>>5572642
>>5572727
>>5572787
>>5572873
>>5572961

>Pretend you belong. It’s worked for you your entire life.

“That won’t be necessary.” You place a hand on your chest as you step forward, ever wont to draw attention to yourself. “I rank among the upper echelons of the OCCULTIC ORDER. I have come here on ELI DE VILLIERS’ decree, so that I might fetch these poor dregs and offer them salvation–”
“You–.. you took HIS HOLINESS’ name in vain..! You–.. wait.. who are you?” The sexton’s jaw tightens and eyes narrow. He takes a few steps back. “I don’t recall you you, no–.. no. I can see it in your eyes. You’re not of the faith. You’re an OUTSIDER. You’re here to sow seeds of apostasy, just like all the rest of your lot.”
The man takes another step back, then two, and then swings on his boots as he kicks his heels into the ground, breaking out into a sprint down the churchyard while screaming for all the world to hear, “OUTSIDERS! OUTSIDERS..! Release the BEAST, now!”

“Ack. Shit. The beast.. that’s bad news. ” The invalid curses beneath his breath. “We need to shut that gravedigger up right now.”

>Chase after the man! You might be able to put your blood magic inscription to use.
>Attempt to flee from the yard.
>Order the invalid after him and to run him through with his pitchfork.
>Order the hag to throw her tarot at him.
>Write-In.

>>5573024
>Wait
the BEAST sounds like a chump, we can take it

>>5573024
>Chase after the man! You might be able to put your blood magic inscription to use.

>>5573024
>Chase after the man! You might be able to put your blood magic inscription to use.

>>5573024
>Attempt to flee from the yard.

>>5573108
+1

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>>5573083
>>5573108
>>5573150
>>5573155
>>5573184

>Chase after the man! You might be able to put your blood magic inscription to use.

You break into a sprint (jog) after the man, disciples in tow: your heels may sell the tall and imposing look, but they wreak havoc on your ankles while running. “The beast? What did he mean, the beast?” You ask the invalid breathlessly. “What kind of beast.?!”

“THE BEAST OF SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE. It was the talk of the town just a week or so ago..” The invalid grunts as he hefts his crutch and pitchfork up. “It was said a terrible, monstrous beast was loose in the village, setting upon cultists in the middle of the night and tearing them in twain in the streets. I thought it a fairy tale, the byproduct of hysterical cultists in fits of frenzy and paranoia–but then they caught it.”
“Oh, yes, yes! I remember this..!” The old lady adds over her owl’s caws. “I hear it took fifty men with silver bullets and blades to put the monster down, but that was only after a hundred more had lost their lives to wear away at its strength. The beast was attacking in isolation, setting up traps, remaining in shadows.. the intellect of a man with the might of a monster. What a fright.”

“It was a beast all the same, hag. They dragged it outside–clapped it in irons, starved it for days, carved out its eyes–then dragged it back in. They use it as some kind of mad guard dog, renewed by the curse at the start of every hour freshly starved and battered.” The invalid has begun to fall far, far behind, his voice faint. “That’s what they want to sic on us–on YOU.”
You come to the summit of the churchyard soon enough, the hill’s peak crowned by a decrepit church and studded with derelict cenotaphs. The rings of steel against steel echo out over the flowers and snow that dot the yard’s knoll like the tolls of a bell. The cultist has begun to hammer at chains that line the church’s door with his shovel, his swings frantic as he glances back over his shoulder at you.

“You cannot escape, outsiders! You are but fodder for the new age, you and all the others! You will only find mercy as stains on our lady’s teeth! The AGE OF MONSTERS is not over!” The man shouts–and with a great swing, the last chain of the church door breaks against his shovel’s beak. He takes a few steps back, his gaze now only on the dark. “Now, behold! The might of monsters! MORNE, the CHURCH GRIM..!”
The carved door creaks open, long and slow, to pitch-black chapel. You hear the church screech with the sound of chains against rotten wood. You can see faint puffs of warm breath against the night’s cold air. The scars that glare out from the darkness do not yet see you.

>Grab the gravedigger cultist. You can enact the power of your blood scrypt here.
>Flee, and don’t you dare look back.
>Have the invalid–wait, shit. The invalid’s hiding behind a grave.
>Have the hag use her tarot on the beast.
>Write-In.

>>5573257
>Take the man hostage

>>5573257
>>Grab the gravedigger cultist. You can enact the power of your blood scrypt here.

>>5573257
>Grab the gravedigger cultist. You can enact the power of your blood scrypt here.
wow, Morne again and so early
I guess we found husbando #1

>>5573257
>Grab the gravedigger cultist. You can enact the power of your blood scrypt here.

>>5573257
>>Have the hag use her tarot on the beast.

>>5573257
>Grab the gravedigger cultist. You can enact the power of your blood scrypt here.
So that’s how he lost his eyes. Brutal

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>>5573282
>>5573309
>>5573316
>>5573325
>>5573885
>>5573927

>Grab the gravedigger cultist. You can enact the power of your blood scrypt here.

You decide to enact the power of your rune, a tattoo hewn with blood and magic on your womb. You take a few slow, quiet steps toward the cultist, his gaze drawn now only to the beast in the church–you take a deep breath, stomach warm and tingly, heart hot with trepidation–and ease your head in behind him, eyes shut.. whereupon you peck him with a light kiss on the cheek.
“Bah!--What’re you..?!” The cultist winces.

You take a few steps away as the man gasps in shock, stumbling backward, shovel dragging, and eyes gently glazing over with a far-away look. The cultist’s thrashes ease and movements slow in but a few moments. His arms are hanging limp, his body gently rocking from side to side.
You begin to walk around the sexton. His breathing slow and eyes gently drifting, he regards you with a kind of dog-like stare.

You have put to use the power of your MAGIC RUNE, a deep and dark blood magic that draws from the mechanics of VAMPIRIC HYPNOSIS. The man is now your malleable thrall so long as you hope to keep him. You cannot hope to defeat the cult alone–so why not take some of its might for your own? It’s tenuously ethical, but whatever.
“Knew you were a prostitute..” You hear the invalid mutter from behind the cenotaph.

The beast, meanwhile, draws a bit of its head out from the church’s darkness–it's an immense mass of fur and steel, but the monster remains too taciturn for you to make out its full breadth. The hound’s snout takes a few quiet, tentative whiffs at the air, as if to size up the scene before it.

>Order the grave digger to attack the monster with his shovel.
>Demand the grave digger make as much noise as possible to distract the beast while you beat a hasty escape.
>Tell the grave digger to call the beast off.
>Ask for the grave digger’s keys.
>Write-In.

>>5574076
>Tell the grave digger to call the beast off.
>Stand behind the grave digger so he acts as a meat shield

>>5574081
+1

>>5574081
Support.

>>5574081
support, but yoink his keys beforehand, don't wanna have a situation where the beast eats them.

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Also, portrait of a naggy shrew.

>>5574076
>>5574081
Get the keys!
>Ask for the grave digger’s keys.

>>5574312
oh my

>>5574076
>>5574081

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>>5574081
>>5574090
>>5574132
>>5574233
>>5574333
>>5574369

>Ask for the grave digger’s keys.
>Tell the grave digger to call the beast off.
>Stand behind the grave digger so he acts as a meat shield

“Your keys–hand them over.” Your voice is a low hiss in the night. You keep the groundskeeper between yourself and the beast, but you can’t imagine a hobbled, bent-back undertaker much an obstacle. “And call off the beast, right now..!”
“Right away, my lady.” The cultist’s voice is drowsy, tongue slurry as he hands you the keys. The keyfob is quite the collection: could prove useful if you make it out alive. The cultist swings around, shovel in hand as he trudges back to the church door and shouts. “BEAST! Away, away! We’ve no need of–”

A thunderous flash of steel explodes out from the church like a bullet, a deafening snap of metal against flesh cracking from the dark. A length of chain splits the air in half–catching the sexton by the head, iron links coiling about him like a snake. A shriek as he is ript into a church. Then slow, heavy steps.
The darkness of the church door breaks before the beast, a mountain of black fur and steel manacles. The chains about his ankles, wrists, and neck trace serpentine patterns in the snow. The fresh blood that drips from his claws patters the ground. The criss-cross scars look through you into the dark.

You remain silent. The beast does not seem to see you yet, its nose twitching and ears curling back as it sniffs at the air.

>Beat a very, very quiet retreat.
>Order the invalid to attack him.
>Attempt reasoning(?).
>Try to use your runic magic to control it.
>Write-In.

>>5574394
>Try to use your runic magic to control it.
play dead and magic when it gets close?

>>5574394
>>Attempt reasoning(?).
Let's catch our starter monster.

>>5574394
>Try to use your runic magic to control it.
Hasn't failed us yet.

>>5574394
>Attempt reasoning(?).

>>5574394
>Attempt reasoning(?).
He will welcome us as a liberator!
>Also, flirt
A SEXY liberator!

>>5574394
>Attempt reasoning(?).

>>5574394
>Attempt reasoning(?).

this is why we're here, after all.

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>>5574396
>>5574407
>>5574408
>>5574423
>>5574454
>>5574462
>>5574466

>Attempt reasoning(?).

You take a deep breath and drive your heel into the ground.

“Uh–wait! Wait.” You shout, your hand held up (a hand he will not see). You shrink as his head snaps toward you. “You–.. you are a beast of reason, no? We are not with the cult. We came here from outside. We freed you from that church. You ought to thank us as your liberators..! Your– your sexy liberators..?”
“What are you doing, missy..?!” The oracle hisses as she knocks at your backside with her lantern. “Sexy?!”

The wolf tilts his head, chains clattering against chains, slowly stepping toward you–each footstep slow and deliberate, each breath white in the wintry air. The wolf consumes your vision, iron mask over his maw and manacles over his claws. You blanche, breath held, eyes shut, his maw right before yours.. and then you feel him pull back.
“My name is Morne.” The wolf’s intonation hints at more sophistication that his beastly look belies. “And I have no quarrel with you.. my ‘sexy liberators.’”

You release a sigh of relief as the wolf pulls back, hands on his chains. “It’s a relief to know this village isn’t all just lunatic zealotry.” MORNE’s voice is a quiet snarl. “You ought to get out of here if you don’t want to end up at the end of a knife, though–these “men” are beasts, one and all.”

>Introduce yourself properly.
>Ask him to join your cult (if you want to look needy and desperate).
>Question him. Is the legend of the BEAST of SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE all true?
>Write-In.

>>5574560
>Introduce yourself properly.
Introductions before the selling guys.

>>5574560
>Introduce yourself properly.
>Question him. Is the legend of the BEAST of SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE all true?

>>5574560
>Introduce yourself properly.
>Question him. Is the legend of the BEAST of SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE all true?

He's an intelligent sort, I'm sure he'll realize joining our ranks will be the smart decision.

>>5574560
>Introduce yourself properly.

>Question him. Is the legend of the BEAST of SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE all true?

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>>5574565
>>5574567
>>5574574
>>5574589

>Introduce yourself properly.
>Question him. Is the legend of the BEAST of SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE all true?

“Well.. my name is MARIE DI OMBRA, and these are my compatriots-.. the INVALID and HAG.” You gesture to your loyal disciples only to realize you neither know the cripple’s name nor do you recall the hag’s. “It’s good to meet one of sound mind here–perhaps less so body.”
“I am fine, believe me. The nuisances those impotent fools call “torture” was laughable–tickling me with blunt knives, depriving me of their foul fare..” The wolf scoffs, arms folded across his chest. “The bastards thought to drive me mad as a rabid dog. I am a chess grandmaster and polyglot. I have put more thought into breakfast than these madmen have put into their entire lives.”

“I don’t care if you’re polygamist or not, you mutt! You’re still the BEAST OF SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE!” The oracle peers out from behind you as if you were some kind of big, goth wall. “You butchered countless men and women, one and all–hacked them in half, skewered them on spears!”
“Oh, believe me, those lunatics did not deserve the grace of quick death I gave them. I kill out of necessity–they kill for pleasure. If you want beasts, just look to the streets.” MORNE’S maw pulls back into a grin. “It matters little anyways. They come back to life at the turn of every hour, just a little more sore in the gut.”

“I don’t presume you’re a local.” You look the church grim up and down, back bent, ribs visible through his fur. He seems far more hurt than he lets on. “Why did you come here in the first place? What’s here for you?”
“I have urgent affairs to attend to in QUARTIER DE DEVOTION. The details are of no import to you.” He grimaces. “Now, my “sexy liberators”--it’s been great, but I need to go. I’ve lost too much time already.”

>Wait. Morne owes you a debt. He could at least help you if your journeys’ destinations align, no?
>Try to use your GOTHIC WILES on him.
>Convince him of the greatness of the cult you just founded fifteen minutes ago.
>Fine! Go be a blind dog somewhere else.
>[Dice Roll] Attempt to convince him to tell you about his goals here.
>[Write-In.]

>>5574758
>Wait. Morne owes you a debt. He could at least help you if your journeys’ destinations align, no?
>Try to use your GOTHIC WILES on him.

We can try and get his recruitment more naturally if we walk and talk. But first things first...

>>5574758
>[Dice Roll] Attempt to convince him to tell you about his goals here.
The fastest way to get him to stick around is to help him with whatever he's after. If our goals align, there's no reason not to help him-- and we can maybe seduce him afterward, if he's into it.

>>5574758
>[Dice Roll] Attempt to convince him to tell you about his goals here.
>Try to use your GOTHIC WILES on him.
Oops I dropped my spooky mystic talisman! (bends over to pick it up)

>>5574758
>Fine! Go be a blind dog somewhere else.
tell him to come back if he eats enough to be hot again

>>5574847
+1

>>5574767
>>5574846
>>5574847
>>5574856
>>5574924

>Try to use your GOTHIC WILES on him.
>[Dice Roll] Attempt to convince him to tell you about his goals here.

You see in him too valuable and great an ally to let go like this, so you decide it best to keep him talking while you're walking--and, you can't quite except your curiosity for his "urgent affairs" here.

>Roll a 1d20, Bo3.

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>5574940

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>5574940
>>5574944
huh. Well. Do we still have to roll?

I'll roll, just in case.

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>5574940
I mean, even if I roll a 1, that’ll just cancel out the 20 for the 17.

>>5574944
HAHAHA, yesss.

I doubt we're the right age to be the mom of his canon future kid, so I guess he isn't part of our Arsene-style man-posse, though.

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>>5574944

>Rolled 20 (1d20)

You gently unclasp your silver talisman from your neck, whereupon it slips into a bank of snow and flowers.
“Oh, dear! How clumsy of me..!” You make a show of (very, very slowly) bending down to pick it up, flaunting your GOTHIC WILES for all the world as you do. You may be a little long in the tooth, but you’ve still your natural buxom about you–you’re sure you can appeal to his more bestial side with a display as wanton as this.
You end up rubbing your hands around in the dirt for an embarrassing thirty seconds, to the point your fingers grow numb and your backside aches. You glance over your shoulder to see the wolf continue his prowl away from your party and down the churchyard. That’s right. He’s blind.

“Oh, how clumsy you are, dearie.” The hag leans down and places the talisman in your hands. She lowers her voice. “And.. is your backside quite alright? Do you have a wedgie, or..?”
You ignore the old lady as you continue along after the lycan, just barely managing to keep in pace while your disciples go skulking behind you. “So-..!” You exclaim with a pant as you drag yourself up to him. “You said you had urgent affairs in the QUARTIER DE DEVOTION, did you not? I plan to meet with the cult’s holy father there. Why not join forces–help each other out?”
“You think we could help each other out? You and your crippled peasant and hunchbacked crone?“ MORNE’S lips curl with amusement. “It will take three times the time that I don’t have to get there at this pace. I will be fine without you.”

You glance back to your disciples. The hag waves.
“They are.. loyal, at least. And.. I have a menticide BLOOD RUNE. You got a taste of that in the church, a powerful magical force to have on your side.” You add on. “You, meanwhile, are wounded, starved, and clapped in irons. They caught you once at your best, so what’s to say about your worst? I can help you, MORNE–so what, exactly, is it you need help with..?”
The wolf’s mouth moves for rebuttal, but he stops, his lips curling back beneath the steel muzzle. The chains on his wrists clatter against the ground as he continues his amble, but he’s beginning to slow. “A blood rune. Hmm.” He speaks slowly as he massages his snout. “..Fine. Maybe you’ll prove useful.”

The wolf pauses as he casts his gaze at the village, which stretches high into the sea of stars above. “The reason I’m here is for my half-sister–.. no, my big sister. She went missing about two years ago. I presumed the worst, but I’ve found proof that she’s been seen imprisoned by the cult here, somewhere in the QUARTIER DE DEVOTION. I’m here to save her.”

>Offer to join forces to help one another out.
>Induct him into your cult as repayment for his debt.
>Any more details of his sister? Maybe, as your cult grows, you can help him look for her.
>Try out your GOTHIC WILES again.
>[Write-In.]

>>5575046
>>Any more details of his sister? Maybe, as your cult grows, you can help him look for her.
>Offer to join forces to help one another out.

>>5575046
>Offer to join forces to help one another out.
>Any more details of his sister? Maybe, as your cult grows, you can help him look for her.
It's just too much for us if we decided to induct him out here in the open, with the hag and the invalid watching us! We may be a prospective Cult Leader, but we still have some lines we won't cross!

>>5575046
>Offer to join forces to help one another out.
>Any more details of his sister? Maybe, as your cult grows, you can help him look for her.
>Try out your GOTHIC WILES again.
I just wanna see how she plans to try and woo him, again.

>>5575046
>Offer to join forces to help one another out.
one brief sister rescue and you join our cult for life? sound good?

>>5575046
>Offer to join forces to help one another out.
Look, he wants to save his sister and, presumably, avenge his loss and maiming. We want to topple the cult and put our own, much less violent, cult in its place. We have no need of his sister! As such, we're perfect allies!

>Try out your GOTHIC WILES again
Snuggle up, and complain that we're cold, too. Not everyone has such soft, luscious fur... Tee~hee,

>>5575075
Throwing in
>Try out your GOTHIC WILES again.

>>5575046
>Offer to join forces to help one another out.
>pat his head

>>5575167
I'm beginning to suspect Morne is already married and has a kid or something, but it's still outrageous for him to no-sell our sex appeal. We are NOT over-the-hill, damnit!

>>5575185
Headpats may be a good back-up, though. Maybe what we need isn't sexuality, but domination on a far DEEPER, more PRIMAL level: assurances that he is a good boi.

>>5575046
Changing my vote from GOTHIC WILES in the tradition sense to pats and scritches. If we can't win him over like a man, we'll win him over like a wolf!

>>5575046
>Try out your GOTHIC WILES again.

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>>5575069
>>5575075
>>5575093
>>5575112
>>5575134
>>5575167
>>5575185
>>5575189
>>5575224

>Offer to join forces to help one another out.
>Any more details of his sister? Maybe, as your cult grows, you can help him look for her.
>Try out your GOTHIC WILES again

“Your sister, hm..?” You remark–a goal more noble than yours, one you can yet appeal to. “Do you have any more details on her appearance, her manner? I can keep an eye out for her as we progress north.”
“Hmm..” The wolf looks deep in consideration, his head low. “She is a half-vampire: pale hair, willowy build. She wields two swords–one scarlet and one ebony–BLUT and BLITZ. She is–.. she was in a bad way, by-and-large cold and miserable to all who spoke to her. If she’s not drowning in foul wine, she’s indulging in undead whores. You will know her by the smell.”
“This is quite a lot of trouble to go through for someone who’s “cold and miserable.’” Your hand creeps up onto his back–a pat of reassurance, another, more subtle attempt at your gothic wiles.

“She’s my sister.” The lycan does not seem to notice your touch, and if he does, he does not object to it. “It’s my duty to protect her.”
“So.. our goals are in alignment, then. We both want to get to QUARTIER DE DEVOTION.” You leap on the chance. “You want to save your big sister, and–presumably–avenge your loss. I want to topple this mad cult and institute my own–a much less violent, more peaceful one. We can help one another out, so–.. we ought to ally, no..?“
The wolf’s scars sharpen as he pulls away from you. “I know what you’re doing, witch.” His voice is a low snarl. “But if you would lend your aid, fine. You can follow me. Do not break my trust.”

Your hand falls. Your tone there seems to have upset him.
Your party continues along in silence until you come to the end of the churchyard, from where the frozen grass gives way to stone brick pavement. The street ahead forks along a row of buildings–down one avenue is the RUE DE GUILLOTINE and the RUE DE GIBBET.
“It’s frightening street names everywhere in QUARTIER DE PUNITION.” The invalid grumbles beneath his breath.

>Travel the RUE DE GUILLOTINE.
>Travel the RUE DE GIBBET.
>Ask the oracle to first divinate the paths.
>Write-In.

>>5575487
>Travel the RUE DE GIBBET.

>>5575487
>Travel the RUE DE GUILLOTINE.

>>5575487
>Travel the RUE DE GUILLOTINE.
The dog cannot resist the white woman forever, such is the nature of the beast

>>5575487
>Travel the RUE DE GUILLOTINE.

>>5575487
>Ask the oracle to first divinate the paths.
Not like we have anything else to go on.

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>>5575495
>>5575499
>>5575520
>>5575606
>>5575617

>Travel the RUE DE GUILLOTINE.

You nudge the wolf for advice, but he shakes his head. “I have no intimate knowledge of the city’s streets.” He grimaces. “I would prefer we go by roof, but I somehow doubt the cripple and hag will fare well that way.”

“The RUE DE GUILLOTINE, then–I’m more partial to beheadings than hangings, all told.” You decide as you begin your charge down the cobble street. “They’re more difficult to mess up.”
Your travail carries you north, the route lit only by the spasmodic light of lanterns that hang from the wires overhead. You can’t help but feel relief for the streets’ quiet–your party is a loud, jangling mess of chains and bungling crutches and whining hags. You’d be cut into cubes and thrown to the hounds were it not the lateness of night.

“Wait.” The wolf calls you to a halt, his chains rattling as he comes ambling to a halt. “You hear that..?”
You pause and listen–besides the wolf’s breathing and the wind whistling, you can hear somewhere in the distance.. excited talking down the road, shadows moving before lantern light. The street seems a bit more lively down this way. You raise a foot from the ground–.. it runs with a deep, dark black liquid that wets your heels.

“Feh. People. Looks like the road’s in the midst of an execution..” The invalid creaks his neck. “Bad news. The hag and I should be able to get by fine, but–.. the big broad in black and the BEAST OF SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE aren’t likely to slip by undetected here. You’ll need to find another way.”

>Disguises! You’ll just disguise yourself as local yokels and slip right by.
>Travail through the houses that line the streets. You can stealth by and steal some food and supplies for your burgeoning cult.
>Pass along over the roofs. The hag and invalid may not have the agility to keep up with MORNE, but you’re still.. kind of nimble.
>No need. The wolf can take on all those cultists alone, right?
>Write-In.

>>5575857
>>Travail through the houses that line the streets. You can stealth by and steal some food and supplies for your burgeoning cult.
>Write-In
Use our rune to take control of a feeble minded cultist and make him make a huge scandal like try to botch the execution meanwhile we sneak around.

>>5575921
Support.

>>5575857

>>5575857
>Disguises! You’ll just disguise yourself as local yokels and slip right by.
disguises have good reusability, right?

>>5575921
+1

>>5575857
>>5575921
Maybe the keys we've got from the gravekeeper will find some use

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>>5575921
>>5575926
>>5576029
>>5576033
>>5576071

>Travail through the houses that line the streets. You can stealth by and steal some food and supplies for your burgeoning cult.

“We’ll take our chances through the houses, then.” You observe the row of multi-story terrace brick homes–steeply pitched roofs, ornately carved gables, grotesques hunched overhead. The houses are built so tall and tight they feel more a wall than a neighborhood. “We’ll meet you past the execution grounds. Remember not to die. You belong to me now.”
“Right. Well, if you don’t show your fat behind by the turn of the hour, I’ll find entertainment elsewhere.” The invalid shoots back.

[...]

You manage your way into a house at the row’s end, and after about ten keys along the sexton’s ring–valuable after all–you and the wolf find yourself stood in a parlor.
The floorboards gently creak beneath your weight, the parlor walled high with bookshelves and crowned by a grim fireplace. The drapes along the window are heavy and velvet, the red glow of fire from the executions outside your only light. The lustrous dark gloss of the coffee table, the wall panels, the velvet chaise, gleam pale in the dim. The house–all of it, from the furniture to the air–hangs still.

“Nice place.” The wolf’s voice murmurs as he ambles forward–while his size and chains makes quiet traverse impossible, he moves with impressive quiet for a peltry mountain. “I’m going to look for a weapon.”

>Stick with Morne to look through the parlor. Strike up conversation. SEXY conversation.
>Pass upstairs to a bedroom. Look for a soon-to-be thrall to upset the execution outside.
>Go through the parlor to the kitchen. Look for supplies there.
>A useless house! Get to the next one through the parlor’s door.
>Write-In.

>>5576150
>Go through the parlor to the kitchen. Look for supplies there.

>>5576150
>Stick with Morne to look through the parlor. Strike up conversation. SEXY conversation
I'd take the kitchen one but this sounds hilarious.

>>5576150
>Stick with Morne to look through the parlor. Strike up conversation. SEXY conversation

To funny not to try.

>>5576150
>Pass upstairs to a bedroom. Look for a soon-to-be thrall to upset the execution outside.
And on the way, keep an eye out for...
>Go through the parlor to the kitchen. Look for supplies there.

>>5576150
>Stick with Morne to look through the parlor. Strike up conversation. SEXY conversation.

>>5576271
>+1
Chill with the Horny for Morney. Invalids buckled knees are superior

>>5576271
Support.

>>5576388
Agreed. I voted for seduction twice already, but at a certain point you gotta' let go or look desperate. There will be more monster-boys and/or monster-girls.

>>5576150
>Stick with Morne to look through the parlor. Strike up conversation. SEXY conversation.

>>5576150

>Pass upstairs to a bedroom. Look for a soon-to-be thrall to upset the execution outside.

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>>5576187
>>5576215
>>5576247
>>5576271
>>5576359
>>5576388
>>5576455
>>5576487
>>5576577
>>5576951

>Pass upstairs to a bedroom. Look for a soon-to-be thrall to upset the execution outside.

“I’ll pass upstairs, then–see if I can’t find a useful slave up there.” You stow away any indecorous thoughts toward the wolf as you ease your heel up onto the staircase. You take one step, then another, then another–the staircase winds in onto itself in a gentle clockwise corkscrew to the second floor.
You find yourself stood in a small hall. The warm sheen of torchlight from the streets below glints off the window that coronets the hall’s end. The foyer is studded by three vast oak doors in the walls–two to the left, one to the right–twice your breadth and thrice your height. The doors, each, carven with intricate features of worship, all opportunities for new, loyal thralls.

You were once quite the huntress for the church, potent magic and a good eye for the crossbow, but years of disuse have not proven kind toward your ability. You do, however, yet have some recourse against the creatures of the night–that being your amazing talent for using people, your blood magic rune bending minds to your will and your casts amplifying their strength and health. You need only find a soldier to use..
“Hello..?” A voice echoes from whence you came down the hall, past the stairs. You swing around just in time to catch sight of a small figure crest over the stairway banister–a small, slight young girl in sleepwear, she raises the wick of her brass candlestick to you. The light catches you and her face pales. “Who–.. who are you?”

>Bluff the situation.
>Reason with her. Children are famously reasonable.
>Play dead. (?!?!?!)
>Call for Morne.
>Thrall her. You’d rather not, but you can’t risk her screaming for her parents.
>Write-In.

>>5577029
>>Reason with her. Children are famously reasonable
We can't thrall a kid, we're a mother ourselves, let's see if we can end this peacefully.

>>5577029
>Play dead. (?!?!?!)
It's a plan so crazy, that it might just work.

>>5577029
>Reason with her. Children are famously reasonable.

probably better to reason with her. wouldn't do well to force her under our influence if we're riding on "We're better than the other cult"

>>5577029
>Advertise your cult
children are also famously impressionable, right?

>>5577029
> Write in

"I'm your fairy godmother deary, but I can only do my thing if you aren't looking."

>>5577029
>Reason with her. Children are famously reasonable.

>>5577029
>Reason with her. Children are famously reasonable.

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>>5577053
>>5577057
>>5577062
>>5577079
>>5577176
>>5577563
>>5577569

>Reason with her. Children are famously reasonable.

“O-oh, uh–.. honey.” You lower your staff and bend your knee, voice quiet and sweet. “I’m sorry if I frightened you–it’s just that the street is so clogged I can’t get home, so I thought I would try through a neighbor’s. I’ll be right out of your hair in a jiff, alright..?”
“Then–.. then why are you on the second floor?” Your spiel doesn’t quite seem to convince the little girl, who takes a step back at your approach. The girl’s voice trembles along with her candlestick. “I’ve never seen you around before. What are you doing here?”

A sudden quake jilts her words–then another, and another–a rhythmic step that stirs the house, tilts portraits and drags furniture. A bell tolls with each beat. A massive shape engulfs you in the dark as it blots out the window with its body. You manage to steady yourself with your staff as the shadow passes over the hallway.
“What was-..?” You glance over your shoulder to the window–now empty–and then back to the girl. The child’s eyes, however, seem to flit between you and one of the hallway doors. You get a curious, cloying feeling in your gut that if she makes a scene, it’s going to spell serious trouble for yourself and whatever just went by.

>You should be honest with her–you’re a strange itinerant hag peddling a cult and invading her house.
>Try to convince her otherwise. [Roll].
>Just flee. You don’t see a reasonable explication out of this and you might as well get a head start on her.
>Call for Morne. The giant, scary wolfman seems a bit more of a people person than you.
>Thrall her. A last resort.
>Write-In.

>>5577604
>There’s a wolf downstairs. That’s why I’m on the second floor.

btw I assume the [roll] is 1d20?

>>5577604
>You should be honest with her–you’re a strange itinerant hag peddling a cult and invading her house.
>But sex cults aren't for anyone under the age of eighteen, so we're not going to make her a thrall, and her parents should focus more on raising her and her siblings.

>>5577604
>You should be honest with her–you’re a strange itinerant hag peddling a cult and invading her house.
>But sex cults aren't for anyone under the age of eighteen, so we're not going to make her a thrall, and her parents should focus more on raising her and her siblings.
>Also, there’s a wolf downstairs. That’s why I’m on the second floor.

>>5577604
>Try to convince her otherwise. [Roll].
>There’s a wolf downstairs. That’s why I’m on the second floor.
She'll definitely will make a scene if we tell hrr we're home invaders

>>5577604
>>5577710
>Tell her we are going to try to lure it outside. Ask if she knows how to get out of the house quicker and tell her to hide and stay quiet.

>>5577604
>Call for Morne. The giant, scary wolfman seems a bit more of a people person than you.

>>5577634
>>5577638
>>5577702
>>5577710
>>5577713
>>5577832

>There’s a wolf downstairs. That’s why I’m on the second floor.

"Uh--see, well--.." You pause. "To tell the truth, there's a wolf downstairs. That's why I'm on the second floor."
The girl's look of suspicion and fear turns to befuddlement. "What..?"

>Roll a 1d20, Bo3.

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>5578063

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>5578063
the clutch

Rolled 5 (1d20)

>>5578063

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>5578063

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>>5578081

>Rolled 13 (1d20)

“There’s a wolf in your parlor.” You stumble for the right words. “It’s.. very vicious, and kind of hot, so I had to pass upstairs to get by it, see-.. and–.. it’s the BEAST OF SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE, so it’s for the best you just get to your room and get to bed right away, alright honey?”
The girl’s eyes dart between you, then the door, and then to you, and then the door.

You watch her flit right past you, past your blouse, under an end table, and into the sole door to your right. You try to follow (to convince her of the trustworthiness of the big scary femcel witch in her house) but she slams the door shut right in your face. You take a few steps back, hands tight on your staff.
“Breaking wheel! Breaking wheel..!” The girl’s voice is muffled from behind the door, but her shouts yet carry weight–it sounds like she’s turned to a window. “Someone–please! There’s a stranger in my house..!”

You freeze. The rhythmic beats of quakes begin again–distant now, but louder and louder, more and more clamorous with each step. The ground beneath you seems to tilt.
And then, all at once, a cacophony of ringing bells and shattering glass and splintering wood as a MASSIVE HAND bursts through the hallway’s end. You catch a brief glimpse of flesh, of wood, of cloth through the hole–but drawing your attention now is the palm the size of a bed, corpulent fingers wriggling like worms, feeling about the length of the hall, so big it doesn’t fit in the quest’s frame.

“HEY. WHAT GOING ON IN HERE?” A low, booming voice echoes through the house–so deep and sonorous you struggle to hear much else.

>Flee! Get back downstairs to Morne, he’ll know what to do.
>Attempt to engage in combat. Maybe you can use this giant as your thrall?
>Do your best impression of a little girl and tell this giant you made a mistake.
>Write-In.

>>5578165
>>Flee! Get back downstairs to Morne, he’ll know what to do.

>>5578165
>Flee! Get back downstairs to Morne, he’ll know what to do.

>>5578165
>Flee! Get back downstairs to Morne, he’ll know what to do.

>>5578165
>Flee! Get back downstairs to Morne, he’ll know what to do.

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>>5578169
>>5578181
>>5578322
>>5578341

>Flee! Get back downstairs to Morne, he’ll know what to do.


You turn on your heels and begin to knock down the hall, the ground about you churning like a boat as the hand clumsily thumbs toward you. You cannot deal with this right now. You begin your descent down the stairs, eager to make good from this mess–but the hound reaches you first. You feel a blur of fur blow past you, a paw on your neck that hauls you by the scruff of your dress with it.
“Wrong way.” He snarls. ”Looks like we’re going by roof after all.”

[...]

You stand on the roof of the house with the wolf, edifice still tenuously upright as a giant runs its arm along the inside like it were a dollhouse. The air hangs heavy with plumes of smoke and the chimes of the monster’s bell. The shouts of villagers, the moans of the colossus, the rumbles of the house–.. they sing like a carole down the RUE DE GUILLOTINE.
“What the hell is that thing..?” You curse as you peer over the roof’s edge at the giant below.
You can’t even get a proper glimpse of the monster while above it–a writhing mass of muscle and twisting fat finagling around beneath you. You can just barely make out a squashed, bulbous head, a massive wooden water wheel roped about its back like a cross.. you tuck your head back over the roof as a villager casts their gaze up.

“That would be the GIANT OF QUARTIER DE PUNITION. They call him BREAKING WHEEL.” The hound runs his new spear along the ground. “They call him the sentinel of the region–crushes any outsiders that dare to intrude upon the cult into a paste and licks at what’s left. He serves the bishop of the quarter, the IRON MAIDEN. I’ve outrun him a few times before–real persistent, but slow.”
“And you thought it not fit to tell me about him.. why?” You stare daggers at the hound.
“You have my sincerest apologies. I thought the massive, loud, slow, lumbering brute wandering the streets and crushing people was common knowledge.” The wolf licks his chops as he sniffs at the air over the roof. “We need to leave now. Help me cross these roofs. Can’t make out a thing.”

>Maybe Morne could stand to fight it with your help.
>Suggest he help you get the giant under the control of your rune. It works on the weak-minded, and he seems right weak-minded.
>Help him flee over the roofs. You shouldn’t risk anything mad.
>Write-In.