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The date is OCTOBER 28, 1599. The squalls of unheard prayer suffuse the ever-heretical VILLAGE–the dominion of MONSTERS.
>>
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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.
>>
>>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.
>>
>>5578441
>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.
if we can't best to find out now
>>
>>5578441
>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.
Ask him if he thinks it could work. If it does? Do it.

Otherwise
>Help him flee over the roofs. You shouldn’t risk anything mad.
>>
>>5578441
>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.
>>
>>5578441
>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.
>>
>>5578441
>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.
>>
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>>5578472
>>5578538
>>5578778
>>5578793
>>5579044

>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.

A deep, wet grumble splits the air in twain as the giant rips his arm from the hallway–and most of the wall along with it.
“..WHERE YOU GO?” The colossus wipes the gunk of wood and stucco off his hand onto his leg. A troupe of fingers begin to edge up along to the roof, near slipping over your gown–fat and cumbersome, they begin running along the rooftop like a child reaching for a high shelf.

“Morne.” You take a few steps back from the wall of flesh. “You think I could get that giant under control of my rune?”
“You want to enthrall BREAKING WHEEL? His mind’s certainly the right stature for it.” The wolf snorts, ears prickling at the sound of the monster splintering wood with his fat thumbs. “I would prefer we run him through the eye with a blade, but.. if you could manage it, it would make our journey through the QUARTIER DE PUNITION a great deal easier.”

You size up the scene–a crowd of cultists wielding pitchforks and smashing down the doors into the house, a giant blindly groping the roof with his fat thumbs like a drunken aristocraft. A precarious situation to be sure. You need a good, strong display of love to enthrall him here–kissing a toe or hugging a thumb would bear no fruit, and it would also be gross.
A kiss on his cheek would be for the best, but that would necessitate you manage your way onto his shoulder..

>Call it off and flee with Morne. This is too dangerous and messy and you don’t want to get turned into paste.
>Ask Morne to distract him by running down the street. You’ll lead him away from the cultists and scale him while he’s distracted.
>Ask Morne to try to fight him. Injure him, and then you’ll manage your way on.
>Ask Morne if you could try out some of your cool SUPPORT BLACK MAGIC on him. You can slay him in tandem with the wolf.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5579449
>Ask Morne to carry us onto the giant's shoulder in his big strong wolf arms
>>
>>5579449
>>Ask Morne to distract him by running down the street. You’ll lead him away from the cultists and scale him while he’s distracted
>>
>>5579449
>Ask Morne if you could try out some of your cool SUPPORT BLACK MAGIC on him. You can slay him in tandem with the wolf.
Bonus: might imoress Morne
>>
>>5579449
>Ask Morne if you could try out some of your cool SUPPORT BLACK MAGIC on him. You can slay him in tandem with the wolf.
>>
>>5579467
+1
>>
>>5579614
+1
>>
>>5579467
Supporting
>>
>>5579614
yeyeyeye support
>>
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>>5579467
>>5579614
>>5579623
>>5579663
>>5579851
>>5579906
>>5580172
>>5580224

>Ask Morne to carry us onto the giant's shoulder in his big strong wolf arms
>Ask Morne to distract him by running down the street. You’ll lead him away from the cultists and scale him while he’s distracted

“The rune I have is a BABALON RUNE—works with displays of affection like kissing, hugging, hand holding, and o-.. other stuff.” Your face flushes. “The enthrallment is stronger with more intimate shows, and the victim has to perceive the display as love–so a kiss on the cheek ought to be enough to bend him to my will.”
“The cheek.. which one?” Your wolfish aid begins, but he seems to catch your irritation in the air and cuts himself short. “Bah, fine–..you’ll just have to clamber onto his shoulder somehow.”
“That’s the hitch.” You observe as you take another few steps back along the roof. You cast a glance down–the giant stands a little short of the height of the building, but it’s a long fall nonetheless. “You could maybe.. carry me up there? In your arms?”
“I barely trust myself to scale that lug alone right now.” The hound points at his eyes, or lack thereof. “But there’s not a chance in hell with an extra two-hundred and fifty pounds in my hands.”

Morne continues before you get the chance to protest that (VERY FALSE) estimate. “I’ll run down the street, see if I can’t draw our friend away from the mess down there. It will be good for me, too–I can’t smell a thing through this smoke.” He exasperates as he runs a hand along the edge of the roof. “You follow along after him by rooftop, and when you see a chance, jump onto his shoulder and kiss him.”
“Wha–.. jump? What are you talking about, jump?!” You begin to argue, but he waves you with a claw.
“I’m off. Don’t take too long or you’ll get run through by a cultist. Don’t trip over the roofs or you’ll turn into paste. Good luck, little poufiasse.” The hound waves you off before he rents himself from the rooftop and into the plume of smoke from below. You move to shout down after him, but he’s gone–down the road, a black blur blows by.
“AH. DOG AGAIN..” The giant grumbles from ahead of you before he begins to lumber down the street. “HERE, BOY..!”

You catch a decent glimpse of the breadth of the giant from your perch on the roof-rippling flesh, head lurching beneath a sack and noose, water wheel bouncing along his back by ropes.

>Chase after that giant by way of the roofs.
>Wait for one of the cultists to come through onto the roof–get a proper slave to serve as a human bridge.
>Shout, and draw the attention of the giant to you. Maybe you can do this another way.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5580804
>Chase after that giant by way of the roofs.
Ah shit shit shit shit SHIIIIIIT. Hope we've been doing our cardio!
>>
>>5580804
>Chase after that giant by way of the roofs.
wow 250, so harsh
what's the real number?
>>
>>5580804
>>Wait for one of the cultists to come through onto the roof–get a proper slave to serve as a human bridge.
>>
>>5580804
>Chase after that giant by way of the roofs.
>>
>>5580804
>Chase after that giant by way of the roofs.
lets hope all our past monster hunting wasn't purely stationary.

Looks like we're gonna have to JUMP...!
>>
>>5580804
>Shout, and draw the attention of the giant to you. Maybe you can do this another way.
>>
>>5580804
>Chase after that giant by way of the roofs.
Hope we don’t break our heels
>>
>>5580804
>>Chase after that giant by way of the roofs.
>>
>>5580804
>Chase after that giant by way of the roofs.
>Mutter a littany of curses to our BUXOM physique! Truly, you wish you were 10 years younger for this.
>>
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>>5580811
>>5580877
>>5580934
>>5580990
>>5581125
>>5581162
>>5581228
>>5581282
>>5581622

>what's the real number?
>Chase after that giant by way of the roofs.

Your real weight is of no concern to you nor anyone else, but you are at a duly reasonable weight for a woman of your stature and age. Your extra heaping of tochitura de pui from last night is not showing at all on you, nope.

You decide to take your chances on the rooftops–you’d get torn apart if you tried going streetwise and made into mush if you got the giant looking your way. You’ve a good route of the row from your position: the homes are built tight, near on top of one another, and about even in height all across.
You would find this trivial.. were you not on the late side of thirty-five, with a near constant crick in your back, and a bit more wide about the hips than you should be. You glance back to the door back down to the building–shouting, slamming from the other end–and turn back to the edge.

You take a deep breath, shut your eyes, and leap off onto the next.

You land foot first, then heel (which, to your shock, does not snap), and then staff–each point makes for a supportive strut from which you can steady yourself upright. You very slowly open your eyes to see you are not, in fact, in hell, but on another roof. You release a deep sigh of relief: just need to do that another twenty times.
You manage yourself into a nice rhythm about in time, eyes shut over each step over the roof for just a whistle of air in your ears and the pound of ground beneath you. The giant continues to lumber after your dog, a good landmark by which to track your progress by.. and you seem to even be somehow catching up!

Your pride in your below average athletic ability comes to a quick halt as the giant begins to laugh, a low, ugly bellow that bores through eardrums and into your head. “AHAHA..! I GOT YOU NOW, DOGGY.” The giant snorts, the boast in his voice loud and clear enough for all across the quarter to hear.
You peer over the edge of the building you’re on. MORNE has been cut short in his dash down the road as a throng of axe, scythe, and torch bearing cultists have begun marching down the promenade opposite him. The giant on one end and the horde across him, he comes to a halt and his head flicks between the two paths.

>[Dice Roll] Try to leap onto the giant from here. You don’t have a very advantageous position, but with luck, you could get onto him and get Morne out of this.
>Shout for the giant’s attention. Lead him opposite from Morne.
>Leave Morne to it and try to get a more sure position on the giant’s body.
>Try to aid him using your cool BLACK MAGIC–but you doubt you’ll be able to keep up with the giant’s pace if you do start casting.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5581630
>[Dice Roll] Try to leap onto the giant from here. You don’t have a very advantageous position, but with luck, you could get onto him and get Morne out of this.
>>
>>5581630
>[Dice Roll] Try to leap onto the giant from here. You don’t have a very advantageous position, but with luck, you could get onto him and get Morne out of this.
>>
>>5581630
>>[Dice Roll] Try to leap onto the giant from here. You don’t have a very advantageous position, but with luck, you could get onto him and get Morne out of this.
>>
>>5581630
>[Dice Roll] Try to leap onto the giant from here. You don’t have a very advantageous position, but with luck, you could get onto him and get Morne out of this.
>>
>>5581630
>[Dice Roll] Try to leap onto the giant from here. You don’t have a very advantageous position, but with luck, you could get onto him and get Morne out of this.
>>
>>5581644
>>5581690
>>5581750
>>5581760
>>5581784

>[Dice Roll] Try to leap onto the giant from here. You don’t have a very advantageous position, but with luck, you could get onto him and get Morne out of this.

You take another deep breath--the sonorous clanging of the giant's bell, the shrill screeching of steel against flesh, the mad supplicating of the lost lambs below--all fade away to the sound of your heart beat. You are NOT a thirty-five year old wannabe cult mother, but a lithe, graceful twenty-five year old huntress yet again.

>Roll a 1d20, Bo3.
>>
Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>5581808
>>
Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>5581808
>>
Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>5581808
>>
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>>5581832
>Rolled 16 (1d20)

You take a flying leap from the edge of the rooftop, the undulating wall of pale back muscle and wheel your target. The world grinds to a halt–smoke and gunpowder hanging still, the guillotines’ blades catching light mid-drop, the scene is as a dream, and you are at the heart of it.
You find yourself rent from your whimsical dream and by the cruel pull of gravity. The jump runs short of the giant’s back by just an arm’s length and the ground all at once seems a great deal more vast than it ever has before. You hurtle to the ground like a thirty five year old woman.

You lunge for one of the ropes along his back in a last attempt to prevent a bad landing (or splattering)–and you manage, tightening a hand around a length of cord and hurtling about the back of the giant. You plap against the giant’s fat back, free fall along through the air, plap against the giant’s back, free fall along through the air.. until you manage an uneasy, stumbling landing on the ground, legs intact.
You stumble forward along between the giant’s feet (not daring to look up) and end up careening into the wolf, who catches you in his arms. The wolf eases you back up as you wipe the flush mixture of embarrassment and blush from your face. You won’t be caught pink in the face–not by the brutish giant, not by the crowd of mad cultists, and not by the blind wolf, either.

“You can’t seem to keep yourself off me.” Morne remarks as he steadies you up. “Couldn’t thrall him, then..? If that’s the case, we need to leave.”

>Wait! You can still try. If he could carry you up there (you are very light) you could still thrall him.
>Call it off. You’ll escape back through the giant’s legs and down the road.
>Escape through the crowd–that’s the way forward, even if a great deal more dangerous.
>Maybe you could use your power of rhetoric to convince the giant to let you kiss him.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5581890
>>Call it off. You’ll escape back through the giant’s legs and down the road.
Let's not push our luck with the giant.
>>
>>5581890
>Maybe you could use your power of rhetoric to convince the giant to let you kiss him.
>>
>>5581890
>Maybe you could use your power of rhetoric to convince the giant to let you kiss him.
wonder if he'll lift us to his face if we tell him we want to share a secret
>>
>>5581890
>>Maybe you could use your power of rhetoric to convince the giant to let you kiss him.
>>
>>5581890
>Maybe you could use your power of rhetoric to convince the giant to let you kiss him.
We cannot fail so miserably in our first major endevaour.
>>
>>5582080
+1
>>
>>5581890
>Maybe you could use your power of rhetoric to convince the giant to let you kiss him.
>>
>>5581890
>>Maybe you could use your power of rhetoric to convince the giant to let you kiss him.
>>
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>>5581916
>>5581927
>>5581959
>>5582063
>>5582080
>>5582096
>>5582306
>>5582345

>Maybe you could use your power of rhetoric to convince the giant to let you kiss him.

You decide to push your luck with the giant–though, you get the curious feeling the giant won’t be so forgiving if you mess this up.

“You just keep the pitchforks and torches off my back.” You gently bump the wolf toward the amassment of zealots and guillotine frames ahead of you. “I’ll find a way to trick him. The giant’s too good of a thrall to let go.”
“..Fine. But I won’t stick my neck out for you if it goes belly-up.” The guard dog presses his back against yours. “We’ll meet again if you die.”

“You there! GIANT! ..OAF! NIMROD!?” You cup your hands over the mouth and shout over the din of the streets up toward the giant, but your words seem to bear no weight for the mountain. “BREAKING WHEEL!”
“OH. HM?” The voice near bursts your ears as the sack glances down toward you. The giant, still, remains too grand too fit the quest's frame. “..AH. A LITTLE BLACK BIRD..”

>Convince him this is all a great big misunderstanding.
>Ask him about himself and his job. That’s a good way to distract people.
>Tell him you have a secret you need to share.
>Try to flirt with him.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5582455
>Try to flirt with him.
Flert <3
>>
>>5582455
>>Try to flirt with him.
>>
>>5582455
>flirt
>>
>>5582455
>>Try to flirt with him.
>>
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>>5582468
>>5582514
>>5582517
>>5582524

>Try to flirt with him.

You decide to coquet with the ogre–whether they’re human or monster, all men are the same. You afford one a long gaze, a glimpse of thigh, a gentle touch, and they’ll be at your mercy–and you in particular? Your mature allure and buxom physique can fell even giants.

“U-uh–h.. hey– there. BREAKING WHEEL.” Your voice cracks and your face scrunches up like you’ve just taken a bite from a lemon. “Breaking wheel. I.-- is everything giant about you–, or.. I mean-.. Is the air thin up there? Why don’t you lie down in my bed to relax? I mean, catch your breath. Because the air is thin. Not in my bed, though.”

“WHAT? WHAT YOU TALKING ABOUT?” The giant leans down a little, more confused than angered.

>Keep going down this route, you sexy witch. This will definitely work.
>Profess your love, and that you want to know more about the real BREAKING WHEEL.
>Try to play hard-to-get. That waifish kind of shyness drives men crazy.
>Be more overt.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5582545
>Keep going down this route, you sexy witch. This will definitely work.

We are the flirt MASTER
>>
>>5582545
>Profess your love, and that you want to know more about the real BREAKING WHEEL.
>>
>>5582545
>>Profess your love, and that you want to know more about the real BREAKING WHEEL.
>>
>>5582545
>Be more overt
>>
>>5582545
>Profess your love, and that you want to know more about the real BREAKING WHEEL.
>>
>>5582545
>Profess your love, and that you want to know more about the real BREAKING WHEEL.
I doubt he's smart enough to understand a Tsundere approach.
>>
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>>5582552
>>5582557
>>5582565
>>5582702
>>5582734
>>5582779

>Profess your love, and that you want to know more about the real BREAKING WHEEL.

“What is that, witch?” The hound hisses back over his shoulder, catching wind of your courting. “Some kind of.. psychological attack?”
“I-..” You clear your throat. You may have to be more direct–a stone to the head of this goliath. “I love you, BREAKING WHEEL. I appreciate the.. mystique of the sack over your head, and the bespoke splendor of your massive wheel, and the way your fat purls over the sinew of muscle beneath. But I want to know more about you, BREAKING WHEEL–the giant beneath that burlap.”
“YOU LIKE ME? LIKE.. LIKE-LIKE ME?” The giant echoes, taking your grotesquely painstaking description of his form for the confession it was meant to be. “THAT’S VERY FLATTERING, LITTLE BLACK BIRD, BUT.. IRON MAIDEN FLEUR SAYS I OUGHT NOT TO BE TALKING TO WOMEN. SAYS I AM LACKING IN TENDERNESS OF PHYSICALITY NECESSARY TO MEET THE NEEDS OF THE GENTLER SEX...”

>Talk down his mistress the IRON MAIDEN. What does she know? He’s very rich in tenderness of physicality.
>Press him even further. Talk up his good sides in the best way you can.
>Talk about yourself. Maybe he’ll recognize how great of a fit you two are if you talk up your tastes.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5582974
>kiss his hand
>‘you seem tender enough’
>>
>>5582974
>>Talk about yourself. Maybe he’ll recognize how great of a fit you two are if you talk up your tastes.
>>
>>5582974
>Talk about yourself. Maybe he’ll recognize how great of a fit you two are if you talk up your tastes.
>>
>>5583004
Support
>>
>>5583004
Supporting
>>
>>5582974
>>Press him even further. Talk up his good sides in the best way you can.
>>
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>>5583004
>>5583161
>>5583167
>>5583201
>>5583272

>kiss his hand
>‘you seem tender enough’

You take a few steps toward the massive hand, now set so low by the ground its fingers dalliance with the street. The hands movements are slow and gentle at your approach. You ready yourself. The giant’s let his guard down enough to fall into your reach, and you need only pounce on the opportunity.
“You seem tender enough.” You reassure him as you kiss a knuckle. Your stomach drops with heat, the deep, dark viscerality of the magic ebbing from your womb, worming into your heart, and parting from your lips as you break from him. His skin was cold.

“URGH. HEAD’S.. DIZZY.” The giant mutters, pulling his hand back up, a fat pad cradling his sack. “SORRY, BIRD. HEADACHE.”

“That’s wonderful.” You take a few steps back with a HAUGHTILY EVIL SMIRK on your face. The beast is yours to puppet now. “Now, would you be so kind as to scoop me and the wolf up in your palms and carry us away from this mess? Oh, and look for a weird old hag with an owl and some miserable invalid on a crutch in the crowd–they’re with u–””
“URGH. I’M SORRY, BIRD–YOU ARE PRETTY, AND HAVE ARTFUL WAY ABOUT WORDS, BUT.. I DON’T KNOW.. IRON MAIDEN TOLD ME NOT TO HELP OUTSIDERS..” The giant mutters apologetically, hand still on his head. “AGH. WHAT YOU DO TO ME WITH THAT KISS..?”

You take another few uneasy steps back from the increasingly upset giant, cursing beneath your breath. You were able to partially enthrall him, but something went wrong in the casting.. maybe you went too fast, or maybe it’s that devotion to his mistress, or maybe his brain is just too small to manipulate with a small token of affection like a kiss. You need to act fast.

>Ask him for his hand. Just a few more kisses for good measure.
>If he’s so sure about what the IRON MAIDEN would say, why not carry you and the wolf to her? He’ll earn the affection of his mistress by showing them a valuable outsider like yourself.
>Try to lay it on extra thick and gooey so he knows that he is YOUR boyfriend and thusly, yours to order around.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5583601
>Try to lay it on extra thick and gooey so he knows that he is YOUR boyfriend and thusly, yours to order around.
>>
>>5583601
>Try to lay it on extra thick and gooey so he knows that he is YOUR boyfriend and thusly, yours to order around.
>>
>>5583601
>If he’s so sure about what the IRON MAIDEN would say, why not carry you and the wolf to her? He’ll earn the affection of his mistress by showing them a valuable outsider like yourself.
Let's go cut the head off the snake!
>>
>>5583601
>>If he’s so sure about what the IRON MAIDEN would say, why not carry you and the wolf to her? He’ll earn the affection of his mistress by showing them a valuable outsider like yourself.
At least if we are picked up we'll be closer to try again with our magic.
>>
>>5583601
>If he’s so sure about what the IRON MAIDEN would say, why not carry you and the wolf to her? He’ll earn the affection of his mistress by showing them a valuable outsider like yourself.
Into the beast's den
>>
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>>5583632
>>5583753
>>5583768
>>5583903
>>5583917

>If he’s so sure about what the IRON MAIDEN would say, why not carry you and the wolf to her? He’ll earn the affection of his mistress by showing them a valuable outsider like yourself.

“Wait. Wait.” You raise your hands to ease the giant–..you’ll have to change tact here. “You sound like you’re in a difficult situation, no? You would like to pledge your troth to me, but your mistress seems like the inexorable sort.. ah, I know. You could carry me to her so my party and I can make a plea for our love myself. It should be a short walk out to her for you, should it not?”
“HMMMM.. WELL..” Breaking Wheel scratches his head. “MY DUTY TO KILL PARIAHS WITH WHEEL, AND FOR SHE TO CUT UP WHAT LEFT, BUT.. OK. EVEN IF I DON’T SQUISH YOU HERE, SHE TURN YOU INTO CUBES. AND IF SHE SAY YES THERE, THEN WE CAN GO ON DATE..! I LIKE COLLECT SHELLS AND PAINT WITH OIL.”
“Yes. Wonderful. A date.” You release a sigh as he gently slips his fingers along through your skirt. “Awesome.”

[...]

You rest atop the giant’s left palm opposite the wolf, the hag and invalid sat his in right (found in a dim alley down the way). The giant trails betwixt roads, over small homes, and across bridges, the vast black wall that looms well above even his head the palisade to the next district–the QUARTIER DE INVOCATION.
You peer over the web of the giant’s fingers, down to the road below–each step carries you closer to whomever the behemoth answers to, the mistress that heads the QUARTIER DE PUNITION. You can’t imagine the kind of monster the maiden must be for the giant to bend the knee to her the way he does, but..
“Urgh. What shambles we made of that plan.” You glance to the hound. “At least we got a ride out of that mess, no..?”

“I don’t like this. I planned to avoid the maiden on my way up.” Morne hisses in a quiet voice from his perch. “It’s fast, sure, but we’ll need to make a break from our generous escort before he meets with her. We’ll end up carved into cubes and tossed from the village’s walls if he does.”

>Who even is the “Iron Maiden”? Everyone keeps talking her up. You’re somewhat of an iron maiden yourself, you know.
>What does he know about the districts ahead? You only got a cursory talk about them from the hag.
>Try to be honest with Morne for once. Maybe apologize for being strange. Not more weird femcel flirting.
>No, don’t choose that option above. You should try even MORE weird femcel flirting.
>Write-In.
>>
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>>5584050
>>Who even is the “Iron Maiden”? Everyone keeps talking her up. You’re somewhat of an iron maiden yourself, you know.

marie and morne:
>>
>>5584050
>Try to be honest with Morne for once. Maybe apologize for being strange. Not more weird femcel flirting.
>Who even is the “Iron Maiden”? Everyone keeps talking her up.
>>
>>5584050
>>No, don’t choose that option above. You should try even MORE weird femcel flirting.
>>
>>5584050
>No, don’t choose that option above. You should try even MORE weird femcel flirting.
>>
>>5584050
>>Who even is the “Iron Maiden”? Everyone keeps talking her up. You’re somewhat of an iron maiden yourself, you know.
>Try to be honest with Morne for once. Maybe apologize for being strange.
But don't apologize for the flirting.
>>
>>5584050
>>5584108
>>
>>5584050
>Who even is the “Iron Maiden”? Everyone keeps talking her up. You’re somewhat of an iron maiden yourself, you know.
>Try to be honest with Morne for once. Maybe apologize for being strange. Not more weird femcel flirting.
>>
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>>5584077
>>5584108
>>5584217
>>5584314
>>5584469
>>5584474
>>5584509

>Who even is the “Iron Maiden”? Everyone keeps talking her up. You’re somewhat of an iron maiden yourself, you know.
>Try to be honest with Morne for once. Maybe apologize for being strange. Not more weird femcel flirting.

“Bah–don’t tell me you’re frightened of this supposed maiden?” You snort, arms crossed. “Who even is she? She can’t be that scary.”

“His Holiness Eli de Villiers, for all his pomp and circumstance, is still human. He employs the service of “Bishops” to oversee the districts of Seins-de-Saint-Anne where he cannot–one for each district for three in toto.” Morne grimaces. “His Holiness’ Bishops are less a cadre of zealots than they are some kind of repulsive harem, though–..monster women, one and all, adherents in spirit and heart. The Iron Maiden is one of them.”
“A harem of monsters? Wow, what a.. terrible thing to aspire to.” You feign shock.
“The Iron Maiden is the monstress in charge of the Quartier de Punition–oversees the execution and torture of heretics here. And Breaking Wheel is a big, fat joke next to her.” He stomps on the chub of the palm as if to prove a point. “She’s a revenant that animates suits of armor to move and fight. And there is no greater a swordswoman in the village–maybe even the country. We cannot hope to defeat her.”

“And how can you be so sure of that?” You raise a brow.
“The Iron Maiden and I are bound by blood.” He pauses before he continues as if to size up your reaction. “We were raised together, have dueled before. Not once in the last century have I ever been able to surmount her–and that was with my eyes. We will end up gibbeted by the necks if we allow ourselves to be served to her on a silver platter like this.”
“Another sister of yours.” You raise a brow. ”You’re family, are you not? Can’t you just–”
“Fleur betrayed us–betrayed me. Pledged loyalty to the men who carved out my eyes. Worked with them to imprison our sister in this hole.” The hound’s voice slips for but a moment, and the cool of his tone turns rabid. “I’d run her through with my sword had I the eyes to see her face as I did.”

You pause. You’re not the best at reading emotions, but even you’re picking up some anger. You may have to tread light here.

>Try switching topics. There’s other bishops, no? What are they like?
>Do your best to comfort him. Whatever you can conjure up.
>Talk about yourself. You know more about him than he does about you.
>Ask the giant to switch hands over to the invalid and hag side. He’s getting frightening.
>You know who else he should run through with his sword?
>Write-In.
>>
>>5584581
>Talk about yourself. You know more about him than he does about you.
>You know who else he should run through with his sword?
>>
>>5584581
>Do your best to comfort him. Whatever you can conjure up.
>Talk about yourself. You know more about him than he does about you.
>>
>>5584581
>Do your best to comfort him. Whatever you can conjure up.
>Talk about yourself. You know more about him than he does about you.
>>
>>5584581
>Do your best to comfort him. Whatever you can conjure up.
that's rough buddy
>>
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>>5584592
>>5584605
>>5584615
>>5584703

>Do your best to comfort him. Whatever you can conjure up.
>Talk about yourself. You know more about him than he does about you.

“Yes, well–.. I know what that’s like.” You drum your fingers along the haft of your staff. Your mouth feels as if it’s about to wriggle from your face and slip away. “I had.. have a daughter. I think she would be fourteen now, but..?”
You put an immediate stop to that line of thought, warning sirens blaring in your head. Your stomach lurches, though the giant’s palm keeps still.

“I had a husband that fell ill. I swore I would stop at nothing to save him. I didn’t–and for it, I betrayed my daughter, and I will never, ever see her again.” You slip the words out quick as if not to burn your tongue on them. You're quick enough that nausea subsides. “I worked tirelessly trying to preserve my family and ended up destroying it. And now I spend my days chattering with invalids and hags and dogs..”

Morne falls silent. The wolf doesn’t try to look your way, but he stretches his jaw as he thinks on your words. “..You have my condolences. I know what it’s like trying to preserve a family. But I can’t fail. I won’t..”
“WE ALMOST AT IRON MAIDEN, LITTLE BLACK BIRD.” Breaking Wheel’s sack bends down to face you, flesh dimpling and contorting beneath it. The immense, curving wall of the QUARTIER DE DEVOTION stands before you, cutting the sky in twain. “REMEMBER TO KNEEL TO HER, OR SHE GETS REALLY MAD.”

“We need to go.” Morne urges you. “I can’t hope to put up a good fight against Fleur in this state. And you, your oracle and your cripple? You’ll be fed to the birds.”

>Heed his advice and flee the giant! If he says he can’t beat her, then he can’t.
>Urge him to face down the Iron Maiden. If not to beat her, then maybe you could earn an immensely powerful servant.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5584975
>Urge him to face down the Iron Maiden. If not to beat her, then maybe you could earn an immensely powerful servant.
We came this far, and we'll need to face her eventually.
>>
>>5584975
Can we reapply our magic on the giant with a cheek kiss or something to get the spell up to TOTAL CONTROL? If so do that and have the giant carry us away, otherwise >Heed his advice and flee the giant! If he says he can’t beat her, then he can’t.
aaaaiiiieeee we kneel iron maiden sama
>>
>>5584978
+1
>>
>>5584975
>>Urge him to face down the Iron Maiden. If not to beat her, then maybe you could earn an immensely powerful servant.
>>
>>5584978
>>5585163
>>5585191
>>5585516

>Urge him to face down the Iron Maiden. If not to beat her, then maybe you could earn an immensely powerful servant.

“Oh, come, now–you may not be able to beat her alone, but you’ve my magic to bolster your strength–and.. the hag’s murmurs and invalid’s complaints, I suppose. You may not be able to best her in a fair duel, but we need not play by her rules.” You urge the wolf with a prod. “And.. if we do beat her, we'll be one more in number, a capable warrior to ease our ascent. You realize that, do you not?”
“Hrmph. Right–.. the blood rune..” The wolf gnashes his teeth. “..Fine–but my loyalties are to my goals, not yours. If the fight goes south, I don’t intend to lay down and die. I need not outrun her–only you.”
The gate to the next district of SEINS-DE-SAINT-ANNE, the QUARTIER DE DEVOTION, lies before you–a vast black portcullis, unfathomably grand in scope and breadth to meet the compass of the wall around it. The grounds around it appear as some public garden, a vast plain of grass, flowers, and swords that lie stuck from the ground like graves in a cemetery.
“WE HERE, LITTLE BLACK BIRD. IRON MAIDEN HERE.” BREAKING WHEEL stoops down onto one knee and eases his fingers out, a ramp down for you. “REMEMBER–BOW OR DIE.”

You ease yourself off of the hand alongside the wolf, whereupon you are near instantly ambushed by the hag, just as stooped in back and sallow of skin than when you’d last seen her in the hour past. “There you are, missy–I was shouting at this big lunk to put me in his left hand with you and that beast so I wouldn’t be stuck with invalid here, but–” She begins to chatter. You drone her out like white noise.
“Di Ombra. And.. the beast. Wonderful.” The invalid eyes you both from a distance. “The “cult’s” all here, then. I’ll excuse myself so the Bishop knows I don’t associate with all this madness–..”
“I owe no fealty to any cult. And not to this witch.” Morne turns his attention back to the garden grounds about the gate. The garden is vast–easy, rolling plains, blankets of flowers, and, curiously.. swords and armor that litter the fields of white petals. “Hmph–.. smells like.. dirt, earth, steel, blood.. and the scent of rot beneath flowers. Is the Iron Maiden here? Do you see her?”
“IRON MAIDEN EVERYWHERE.” BREAKING WHEEL’s voice rumbles over the garden.
>>
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As if on cue, the blades that litter the garden rustle as if they were blades of grass–some kind of wind coursing past them, blades singing as they stroke at each other. The blades and armor that litter the ground begin twisting into the air, rising by measure of some invisible force and taking form. A helmet affixes itself to a gorget affixes itself to breastplate affixes itself to pauldrons–form taking physical, material shape.
The figure that stands in front of you is a KNIGHT–a set of haunted armor, steel animated by revenant force. TThe IRON MAIDEN. Her helmet turns to face you.
“Buckled knees. Shriveled body. Fattened legs. More flower feed. Such a bore.. Is this the best you could muster for me, Breaking Wheel?” The Iron Maiden’s voice is coldly cruel and calm, an otherworldly echo that seems to stem from each blade in the ground around you. Her voice softens as the helmet falls to the wolf. “And.. you, Morne. I warned you not to come..”

>Size up situation for Morne. Let him in on the environment and scene.
>Ask Morne for permission to work your cool blood magic.
>Attempt reason with the Iron Maiden.
>Fattened legs isn’t you, right?
>Write-In.
>>
>>5585892
>Ask Morne for permission to work your cool blood magic.
there can be no reasoning with someone who calls us fattened legs. we can only get along with people who call us a slut in french
>>
>>5585892
>Ask Morne for permission to work your cool blood magic.
What >>5585908 said.
>>
>>5585892
>Ask Morne for permission to work your cool blood magic.
>there can be no reasoning with someone who calls us fattened legs. we can only get along with people who call us a slut in french
lol
>>
>>5585892
>Fattened legs isn’t you, right?
>>
>>5585892

> Remember to bow
>>
>>5585892
>>Ask Morne for permission to work your cool blood magic.
>>
>>5585892
> Remember to bow
>Ask Morne for permission to work your cool blood magic.
>Attempt reason with the Iron Maiden.

>Fattened legs isn’t you, right?
It is, fatty fat fat cow tits
>>
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>>5585908
>>5585942
>>5586112
>>5586272
>>5586302
>>5586378
>>5586386

>Remember to bow
>Ask Morne for permission to work your cool blood magic.

“My name is Marie di Ombra, the mother superior of the Order of Oculi Libidinis. I have come to Seins-de-Saint-Anne to lay claim to this god-forsaken little village as my own.” You feign a mock curtsy, your (NOT FAT) legs on display. “I am here to pit my champion against one of your own–Morne, the Beast of Seins-de-Saint-Anne, against Fleur, the Iron Maiden of the Quartier de Punition.”
“..You can’t be serious? You’re a cult, then? What is this?” The armor’s voice drips with mordant amusement as she takes in your troupe. “Your ‘order’ is made up of a couple of apostates we flung from over our walls. Your champion is crippled, clapped in chains, eyes carved out of his head. And you have fat legs. You aren’t worth my time–maybe not even Breaking Wheel’s.”

“ACTUALLY, LITTLE BLACK BIRD SEEM DESPERATE, SO–” The giant begins, but.
“Enough.” Morne’s voice is icey. “We are going to Quartier de Devotion, Fleur.”

“I can’t let you do that. I’ve told you–time and time again–not to come, and look what it’s left you.” Fleur’s voice is cold. The armor casts a steely gaze to the rest of you with a wave of her gauntlet. “But.. since you’ve got my dear big brother with you, I’ll afford you this mercy. If you leave the village now, I shall let your egress come easy. If you choose to press past me, your swords will join the rest.”
You cast a glance down to the garden beneath you–each cracked sword, every dented helm, and all the skewered breastplates, all remnants of the champions that had once thought to challenge her. You lean up to the wolf, voice quiet. “I can improve your chances, you know–if you’d just let me work some black mag–”

“Do whatever you have to.” He snarls. “Just make me win.”

>Attempt to wring out more talk from her.
>Maybe you can bet her for something in your fight.
>Challenge her to formal combat now. Get to casting your black magic.
>Examine your legs.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5586576
>Examine your legs.
they aren't fat!
>Attempt to wring out more talk from her.
Maybe let the siblings go on. No better people to bring up sore spots than siblings
>>
>>5586576
>Examine your legs.
>>
>>5586576
>>Examine your legs.
>>
>>5586576

>Have the hag try her divination for the outcome of this duel, or to help morne.
>Challenge her to formal combat now. Get to casting your black magic.
>(Discretely) Examine your legs.
>>
>>5586576
>Challenge her to formal combat now. Get to casting your black magic.

we know these spells as well as we know our own slender legs

fleur is just jealous she has no legs
nothing but cold unfeeling metal
>>
>>5587143
+1
>>
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>>5586586
>>5586617
>>5586669
>>5586716
>>5587143

>Examine your legs.

You first look to your legs to parse out a puzzle–where does that phantasmic hodgepodge of pot lids see fat? No, your legs are toned and sculpted, of good length for your height and of apropos width for your frame. Yours are the sorts of legs most would dream to have–no excessive stretch marks nor monstrous mutilations, your legs are pale, shapely, and NOT FAT.
No–if anything, then that set of armor must not make much use of that visor of hers, or maybe blindness is a hereditary trait in that line. Yours are the legs that will walk your cult to victory, your calves and thighs the watermarks of success. You are proud to stand so tall on legs so great.

“What is she doing.” The revenant cuts into your line of thought at the minute-and-a-half mark of you silently staring at your leg.

>Challenge her to formal combat now. Get to casting your black magic.
>Have the hag try her divination for the outcome of this duel, or to help morne.
>Attempt to wring out more talk from her.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5587158
>Challenge her to formal combat now. Get to casting your black magic.
ass kicking time
kick her ass with our top tier legs
>>
>>5587158
>Challenge her to formal combat now. Get to casting your black magic.

It was a distraction the entire time
>>
>>5587158
>Bet with her for control of Breaking Wheel
>Challenge her to formal combat now. Get to casting your black magic.
>>
>>5587158
>Write-In.
>Examine legs more.
>>
>>5587158
>Have the hag try her divination for the outcome of this duel, or to help morne.
>>
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>>5587163
>>5587169
>>5587176
>>5587237
>>5587415

>Challenge her to formal combat now. Get to casting your black magic.

“That’s enough of this.” You drag your eyes from your top tier legs and slam the butt of your staff into the flowers. The field of white begins to wither about your feet. “THE ORDER OF OCULI LIBIDINIS is hereby declaring war on the OCCULTIC ORDER. We’ll begin by taking the head of their first BISHOP as our own.”
“My–such ambition.” Fleur’s armor shudders with an eerie metal creak, as so do the swords and armor all around you–like the whole of the field of steel has begun to laugh at you. The knuckles of her gauntlet click as she wraps her fingers around the hilt of a blade stuck from the garden. “But.. fine. If it would sate your curiosity. Leave us, BREAKING WHEEL. You can clean up what’s left when we’re done.”

The giant, on the cue of his mistress, stands from his stooped kneel and begins to walk back down the ruined road out–you’re left alone in the garden with the knight, the hound, and your constituents (who have put an appreciable distance between themselves and you). The air hangs still, and only the distant squalls of sea birds pepper the battlefield.
“Do what you must, witch.” Morne’s hands tighten on his stolen spear. “I don’t care what it entails.”
“Right.” You shut your eyes and focus–you can imagine a few from your repertoire that might come in handy, maybe..

>UNHOLY MATRIMONY: Cast a spell that allows you to “see” through the eyes of minion and affords you some minute control over his movements. A spell that embodies your power as a master, you might be able to grant him a grace that his blindness does not allow for. Unfortunately, you’ve the grace in combat of a pig, and he may fight worse if you become one with him.
>CALL OF THE WILD: Cast a spell that draws out the more primal, bestial aspect of his form. A spell that strengthens his might at the cost of his mind–could prove useful against her, but who knows what he could do in his berserk state, especially when you’re so close?
>DANSE MACABRE: Cast a spell that summons up to three or so skeletons from the netherrealm for you to control. A spell that affords you some (weak) minions to help your champion in the fight, you can only hope you won’t end up getting in the way.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5587744
>CALL OF THE WILD: Cast a spell that draws out the more primal, bestial aspect of his form. A spell that strengthens his might at the cost of his mind–could prove useful against her, but who knows what he could do in his berserk state, especially when you’re so close?
>>
>>5587744
>>DANSE MACABRE: Cast a spell that summons up to three or so skeletons from the netherrealm for you to control. A spell that affords you some (weak) minions to help your champion in the fight, you can only hope you won’t end up getting in the way.
>>
>>5587744
>DANSE MACABRE: Cast a spell that summons up to three or so skeletons from the netherrealm for you to control. A spell that affords you some (weak) minions to help your champion in the fight, you can only hope you won’t end up getting in the way.
Skerlertons AWAY!
>>
>>5587744
>CALL OF THE WILD
>>
>>5587744
>CALL OF THE WILD: Cast a spell that draws out the more primal, bestial aspect of his form. A spell that strengthens his might at the cost of his mind–could prove useful against her, but who knows what he could do in his berserk state, especially when you’re so close?

Rip and tear!
>>
>>5587744
>CALL OF THE WILD: Cast a spell that draws out the more primal, bestial aspect of his form. A spell that strengthens his might at the cost of his mind–could prove useful against her, but who knows what he could do in his berserk state, especially when you’re so close?

maybe get some distance while they're fighting
>>
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>>5587753
>>5587760
>>5587813
>>5587842
>>5587843
>>5587850

>CALL OF THE WILD: Cast a spell that draws out the more primal, bestial aspect of his form. A spell that strengthens his might at the cost of his mind–could prove useful against her, but who knows what he could do in his berserk state, especially when you’re so close?

“..Very well.” You take a step back from your cult’s champion. “Do try to keep your head about you.”
You murmur a small prayer toward the untoward beneath your breath–an invocation for a higher power to intervene in the lower. You feel a familiar tingling in your gut, a crawling in your heart. Your blood lurches in your veins. You gently raise your staff, the skull of a man and the skull of a beast atop it.

“CALL TO THE WILD.” You invoke BLACK MAGIC, the heretical, illegal sort of magic meant only for church use. “Reform Morne.”
The effect is instantaneous–dark and ugly. The hound’s spine arcs forward and fur bristles back. He falls to his arms and legs, chains clattering against the ground, spear slipping from his hands, sickening cracks echoing through the flowers. You take an involuntary step back as the beast begins to angle up–more and more fur, all over his body, over even his chains–flesh and bone rippling.

“Oh, my.” Fleur remarks boredly. “You’ve made him uglier..”
MORNE was big before, but the monster now stands near the size of a building, looming over you like some beast of legend. A wolf more than a man. And yet.. rather than turning to face the opposing knight, he stands facing YOU, teeth curling back as black magic goes billowing from his lips.

>Try to gently remind the beast to turn around. His opponent’s the other way.
>Flee! You won’t be snapped up by Morne, at least not in this form.
>Attempt to accost him for a ride.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5588065
>Try to gently remind the beast to turn around. His opponent’s the other way.
>kiss his nose
>>
>>5588090
This. Supporting.
You just know

>>5588065
>>
>>5588090
+1

it is our duty as a white woman.
>>
>>5588065
>>Try to gently remind the beast to turn around. His opponent’s the other way.
>>
>>5588065
>Attempt to accost him for a ride.

What could possibly go wrong?
Also our rage at being insulted will not be satisfied simply watching Fleur get beaten, we must participate directly.
>>
>>5588161
naughty knight needs correction!!!!
>>
>>5588090
Supporting, hopefully the kiss magic works
>>
>>5588090
Support
>>
>>5588065
>Try to gently remind the beast to turn around. His opponent’s the other way.
>kiss his nose
Lonely white woman, your time to shine
>>
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>>5588090
>>5588106
>>5588107
>>5588144
>>5588161
>>5588168
>>5588498
>>5588532
>>5588896

>Try to gently remind the beast to turn around. His opponent’s the other way.
>kiss his nose

“You’re looking the wrong way.” You try to gently remind the thousand-pound demonic mountain of fur and fangs. Your heart feels as still and heavy as a stone in your chest, as if one more beat would set the monster off–he looks less a wolf, more some kind of dragon. “Your opponent is standing over there..”
You lean in and peck his nose with a kiss, your rune churning along your skin as magic comes flowing from your lips.

The monster seems to take your first kiss with him in stride–not quite altogether thrilled by it, but he hasn’t ripped your torso from your hips, so it’s a win for you. The thrall hasn’t wholly bent him to your will (be the bestial wild of his mind), but it’ll at least placate his aggression for now. The wolf slowly pulls back, head low as he pads out to face the KNIGHT opposite him in the garden. He hangs still and silent.
Then, with a lurch and snap of his heels into the ground, he begins to bound down the field toward the knight, uprooting swords and kicking up helms. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“He’s no more than a rabid dog now.” Fleur stands still. “He stood a better chance on two legs.”
The knight keeps like a statue as the wolf makes a mad dash toward her–one phantasmic gauntlet very slowly slipping from her side and wrapping its iron knuckles about one of the blades in the ground. And as the wolf sets upon her, she thrusts it up and side-steps, a swift and fluid motion that all at once finds a sword stuck from the monster’s belly and her out of the way. MORNE lurches back.

“Slow. Sloppy. Stiff.” The IRON MAIDEN remarks as she rips more blades from the flowers, each one thrust into him like a pincushion–each one even and clean in his hide, the demonstration is more a show of ability than attack. “Still MORNE, I see.”

>Look for something to throw to him. A weapon, maybe.
>Consider another cast. It’ll expend energy, but it looks like he might need the help.
>Do your best cheerleader act. People love when mom-age women cheerlead for them.
>Ask the oracle to foretell the future of the fight while they’re in the midst of it.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5588911
>Consider another cast. It’ll expend energy, but it looks like he might need the help.
No point trying to divine who's going to win when we can still change the outcome.

>Do your best cheerleader act. People love when mom-age women cheerlead for them.
MILF cheerleader...
Delicious.
>>
>>5588911
>Consider another cast. It’ll expend energy, but it looks like he might need the help.
>Danse Macabre

>Do your best cheerleader act. People love when mom-age women cheerlead for them.
All that bouncin' oh boooy
>>
>>5588911
>Slow. Sloppy. Stiff.

So close yet so far away from a reference. If only that third word was another starting with an S.

>>5589026
Supporting
>>
>>5588911
>Consider another cast. It’ll expend energy, but it looks like he might need the help.
Overcharge
>>
>>5588945
+1
>>
>>5588911
>Look for something to throw to him. A weapon, maybe.
>Do your best cheerleader act. People love when mom-age women cheerlead for them.
You have my heart/now do your part/goooOOOO MORNE! <3
>>
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>>5588945
>>5589026
>>5589103
>>5589196
>>5589233
>>5589283

>Do your best cheerleader act. People love when mom-age women cheerlead for them.
>Consider another cast. It’ll expend energy, but it looks like he might need the help.

“Come now, you beast! That can’t be the best you’ve got, can it? Show this floating bucket the power of our religion!” You open your arms in a fervor-inducing call to action. You throw a few hops and waves into it–a very passionate, very bouncy performance. “Do it for your master! I’ll reward you if you succeed! You have my heart, now do your part, gooo…. MORNE!”
Your bizarre performance seems to have only distracted the beast and induced some stifled chuckles from the garden limits. Your very acolytes somehow find the image of a mother hopping up and down and waving her arms and making heart signs with her hands amusing. You might’ve taken the time to scold them were the situation not so dire for your champion.
The Iron Maiden tears a rapier from the ground and, with a few lightning-like glances and twirls, draws a decussate pattern under his pit and across his ribs. The giant wolf takes a few stumbles back, head bowed and bloodied as he pants. You may have to cast another spell here, as tiresome it might be..

“You’re both just chasing ghosts.” Fleur flings the sanguine rapier back into the grass. “I’d rather not kill my brother, even here, and I’d REALLY rather not see you cheer again. Leave.”

>UNHOLY MATRIMONY: Cast a spell that allows you to “see” through the eyes of minion and affords you some minute control over his movements. A spell that embodies your power as a master, you might be able to grant him a grace that his blindness does not allow for. Unfortunately, you’ve the grace in combat of a pig, and he may fight worse if you become one with him.
>DANSE MACABRE: Cast a spell that summons up to three or so skeletons from the netherrealm for you to control. A spell that affords you some (weak) minions to help your champion in the fight, you can only hope you won’t end up getting in the way.
>Try to distract the Iron Maiden from Morne. Get him a chance to recover by keeping her talking, or maybe by being an embarrassing mess of a woman again.
>Reverse your a priori spell and grant him humanity again. He seems to be making a mess of things in his beastly form.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5589300
>UNHOLY MATRIMONY: Cast a spell that allows you to “see” through the eyes of minion and affords you some minute control over his movements. A spell that embodies your power as a master, you might be able to grant him a grace that his blindness does not allow for. Unfortunately, you’ve the grace in combat of a pig, and he may fight worse if you become one with him.

Hard to imagine him fighting any worse than he is already desu
>>
>>5589300
>>UNHOLY MATRIMONY: Cast a spell that allows you to “see” through the eyes of minion and affords you some minute control over his movements. A spell that embodies your power as a master, you might be able to grant him a grace that his blindness does not allow for. Unfortunately, you’ve the grace in combat of a pig, and he may fight worse if you become one with him.
>>
>>5589300
>UNHOLY MATRIMONY
Well his strength is, uh, strength, and size. His weakness is mindlessness. If we can lend him even a BIT more thoughtfulness, maybe he'll Hannah Montana this shit?
>>
>>5589300
>UNHOLY MATRIMONY: Cast a spell that allows you to “see” through the eyes of minion and affords you some minute control over his movements. A spell that embodies your power as a master, you might be able to grant him a grace that his blindness does not allow for. Unfortunately, you’ve the grace in combat of a pig, and he may fight worse if you become one with him.
>>
>>5589300
>>DANSE MACABRE: Cast a spell that summons up to three or so skeletons from the netherrealm for you to control. A spell that affords you some (weak) minions to help your champion in the fight, you can only hope you won’t end up getting in the way.
>>
>>5589300
>>Try to distract the Iron Maiden from Morne.
>do the cheerleading bit again
>>
>>5589300
>UNHOLY MATRIMONY

On the iron maiden!
>>
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>>5589315
>>5589362
>>5589373
>>5589397
>>5589472
>>5589484
>>5589683

>UNHOLY MATRIMONY: Cast a spell that allows you to “see” through the eyes of minion and affords you some minute control over his movements. A spell that embodies your power as a master, you might be able to grant him a grace that his blindness does not allow for. Unfortunately, you’ve the grace in combat of a pig, and he may fight worse if you become one with him.

You decide to step into the fight yourself with a spell that thrusts your soul out to meet his. The union between your brain and his brawns might bear fruit–and you can’t imagine your champion could fare much worse than he is now. You hold your staff close to your chest and murmur another invocation toward the chthonic. “UNHOLY MATRIMONY.”
You feel your soul shunted from its broad, ungainly carapace, tossed by the winds and channeled into another’s–more great, more bristly, more powerful. You’ve never quite been able to avoid the sickliness that the spell induces, but you’ll manage. Your vision blurs, form changes shape–mind now but a small seed of grain in an immense, smoky haze.

The first thing you notice is the feeling of power. The kind of strength that runs deep, deeper than your mind, even deeper than muscles—strength beyond the earthly pale. You stand, near-gutted on all-fours, matted in bloodied fur, side racked by blades–and yet even through the pain your strength holds tenfold. You feel as if you could rend steel like butter with your teeth.
The second thing you notice is the anger. The feeling is so burning hot it feels like your brain is about to start melting from your ears, so dizzying you can’t focus on anything but it. The scent of blood intermingling with the aroma of flowers, the murmurings of the knight–all are so distant next to the burning hatred that you almost feel as if you’ve been rent somewhere far, far away.

You take a moment to remind yourself of who you are–MARIE DI OMBRA, mother superior. You don’t like to cast UNHOLY MATRIMONY on opponents–if your intentions aren’t in alignment with the thrall, you threaten to lose your sense of self to theirs. But even here, you can’t help but feel that might be a risk.

>Try to calm Morne down somehow.
>Focus. Try developing a solution, a strategy.
>Give in to anger. Rip her apart!
>Back out. This is way too stressful.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5590084
>Focus. Try developing a solution, a strategy.
Brute force didn't work last time, maybe a more intellectual touch is necessary to win this fight.
>>
>>5590084
>Try to calm Morne down somehow.
>Focus. Try developing a solution, a strategy.
>>
>>5590084
>Try to calm Morne down somehow.
>Focus. Try developing a solution, a strategy.
>>
>>5590084
>Try to calm Morne down somehow.
I trust calm Morne to devise better battle strats than we ever possibly could
>>
>>5590084
>Focus. Try developing a solution, a strategy.
>>
>>5590084
>>Try to calm Morne down somehow.
>>Focus. Try developing a solution, a strategy.
>>
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>>5590112
>>5590113
>>5590120
>>5590223
>>5590238
>>5590380

>Focus. Try developing a solution, a strategy.

You breathe in cold air with your new lungs, unable to distinguish the taste of blood from the taste of the sea. You just need to focus on your goal–you are now both yourself and the wolf and you need to decide what will win the fight for the both of you. You can’t seem to quell the anger that froths in your chest, but you can at least draw your attention to something else.
You can smell the steel of swords all about you, littering the flowers beneath your paws–some so massive they hang near the breadth of your body, some so small you could use them as toothpicks. You stand on all fours, yes, but you could rip one out from the ground in your jaws to use as a weapon. The imagery of a wolf with a sword in his mouth is very cool.
You grind dirt beneath your paws–you’re so massive you could scoop out heaps near the size of the invalid with a few claws at it. You could try to dig out the ground beneath you and maybe.. bury, or blind the knight? If the ground were more uneven and she had fewer swords to pluck from the ground, you might stand a better chance.

You realize your two ideas for strategies amount to putting a sharp object in your mouth and digging your own grave.

>Put a sharp object in your mouth.
>Dig your own grave.
>Just run at the knight. You can figure out specifics later.
>Get out of the wolf, for his sake more than yours.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5590440
>>Put a sharp object in your mouth.
We Sif now folks.
>>
>>5590440
>>Put a sharp object in your mouth.
Spin to win.
>>
>>5590440
>Dig your own grave.
we don't know what dental insurance morne has
>>
>>5590534
Valid point, but now that he's part of our cult we can offer him a dental plan.

>>5590440
>Put a sharp object in your mouth.
2kool 2notdoit
>>
>>5590440
>>Just run at the knight. You can figure out specifics later.
>>
>>5590440
>Put a sharp object in your mouth.
>>
>>5590440
>Put a sharp object in your mouth.
>>
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>>5590464
>>5590473
>>5590534
>>5590577
>>5590944
>>5590976
>>5590982

>Put a sharp object in your mouth.

You tactical genius.

Your years of service in the church–years of diligent study on just war theory, of dire battle against monsters–have brought you this. Yes, because for all across the hundreds of years of history on record in the depths of the church archives, all the great warriors and kings of yesteryear have never once thought to place a sharp object in their soft palate.
Your cutting-edge strategy is daring–so bold, in fact, it must be right. You are ready to bring your new thoughts on warfare to the table. You gently bend your snout, nose on the ground on the hunt for steel, and slot the edge of one great sword in between your fangs as you lift. It hangs unevenly from your jaws like a toothpick, and you have to bend your head to balance it out.

The imagery of a giant wolf with a sword in its mouth fighting a knight feels right for some reason.

You pad forth with new determination–the smells of orchids and iron and blood, the sound of the knight’s armor as plate rubs against itself–all form a map of the battlefield via your olfactory and auditory sense. You can’t see what you’re doing, but you can certainly feel what you’re fighting. This is how you can manage–how you can fight.
You raise your head and with a snap of your neck, bbring the sword down on the hole in the air where a smell should be. A sonorous clang of steel meets it, a glancing blow from the knight as she parries your attack. You got her to parry something! You meet it, again and again, each swing of your blade feeling right. Is this doing something? Probably! Your strategy is so brilliant it must be.

>Swing low. Go for the legs.
>Swing high. Go for the helmet.
>Spin.
>Back out of Morne. You think you’ve given him the right idea.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5591079
>Swing low
Sweet Charrioooooot~!
>>
>>5591079
>Spin.
>To.
>WIN.
>>
>>5591079
>Write-In.
>Feint a Low Swing
>Claw Attack! Go for the helmet!
Tbh I get a feeling that the 'living armor' is just a puppet that Iron Maiden is manipulating from somewhere else. If that's the case then she still has to be nearby - Breaking Wheel was supposed to bring us to her. Maybe we should back out later and take another look at our surroundings.
>>
>>5591120
Not to be meta about it, but Morne's dad had a harem that literally included a suit of haunted armour.
>>
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>>5591079
>Spin.
BEYBLADE BEYBLADE
>>
>>5591079
>>Spin
>>
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>>5591102
>>5591108
>>5591120
>>5591121
>>5591138
>>5591252

>Spin.
>To.
>WIN.

You kick your legs into the metal beneath and grind your teeth into the blade–your body and the blade now in tandem one weapon, the ligatures in your legs so tense they threaten to tear through your flesh. You concentrate your anger on one infinitesimal point on the ground and kick your legs about it.
You spin–blade and fang and claw all together, a maelstrom of sharp points and black that flings your gut against the walls of your body and turns your brain upside down. The wind whistles through the wounds in your body as you revolve–once, twice, four times, eight times–and then pull back, careful not to fall over.
You release a pant as you steady yourself. The air hangs still and silent. And then the metallic scent of blood, the sound of plates.. it all clatters down to the ground, crumpled, dented, and hacked apart. You’ve taken apart the IRON MAIDEN..?

>Hack at the armor a few times more for good measure.
>Perform a perfunctory victory howl.
>Back out of Morne. It’s time for celebratory fanfare over the corpse of his sister.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5591324
>Perform a perfunctory victory howl.
>Back out of Morne. It’s time for celebratory fanfare over the corpse of his sister.
>>
>>5591324
>>Perform a perfunctory victory howl.
>>Back out of Morne. It’s time for celebratory fanfare over the corpse of his sister.
>>
>>5591324
>Grab her helmet as a trophy
>>
>>5591324
>Hack at the armor a few times more for good measure.
>Back out of Morne.

Gotta make sure.
>>
>>5591324
>Hack at the armor a few times more for good measure.
>>
>>5591324
>>Perform a perfunctory victory howl.
>>
>>5591324
>Write-In

Assume that like all menacing bosses, the Iron Maiden has a second phase.
>>
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>>5591331
>>5591350
>>5591425
>>5591694
>>5591978
>>5592317

>Perform a perfunctory victory howl.
>Back out of Morne. It’s time for celebratory fanfare over the corpse of his sister.

You snap your head back and, with a dreadful gasp, howl toward the moon. The howl haunts the whole of the district–a black caterwaul that carries from the steeples to its roads–somewhere across the spectrum of pride and rage and bitterness. You listen to that echo bounce about your head as your conscience, now a blade of grass in a vast black wood, fades.
You uncouple yourself from the wolf, your mind again alone in a familiarly awkward, ungainly, slightly-too-top–heavy potato sack. The garden unfurls out before you as your vision returns–petal and blade, invalid and hag, knight and wolf in view. You watch the massive hound crack its spine back and again, begin to shrink.

“You finished then?” The invalid snaps out from behind a gravestone, crutch and bandages back in view–though he yet keeps a distance between himself and the beast. “Good. Now, don’t suppose you’re satisfied now that you’ve taken this district for you? Because, if it’s all the same to you, I’ve had enough entertainment for tonight..”
“No. We’re not done yet.” Morne’s voice cuts through the invalid’s words like ice as he shambles back up–steps uneven, breath ragged, blood clotted beneath matted fur, he looks half-alive. “We’re going through to the end. Fleur was just the first. I’ll take the head of every Bishop if I have to.”

Though the wolf’s chains somehow persisted through his transformation, you can’t say the same for his ragged prisoner shorts. You avert your eyes. No, wait, should you? You look back.

>Where’s your thanks for aid? You basically steered him through that encounter.
>Get hurrying now–no need for faffing about. You don’t even know if you truly beat the Iron Maiden.
>Inform him of the situation.
>Keep staring. You freak.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5592496
>Write-In.
>Faint because you are a pure maiden at heart.
>>
>>5592496
>Inform him of the situation.
by situation we mean he's pretty injured bro
maybe he should take a quick nap before tackling the rest
we probably need to recharge our mana too
>>
>>5592496
>Inform him of the situation.
>dontstaredontstaredontstareDONTSTAREDONTSTAREDONTSTARE
>>
>>5592496
>Keep staring. You freak.
>>
>>5592496
>>Inform him of the situation.
>>
>>5592546
+1
>>
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>>5592503
>>5592546
>>5592601
>>5592604
>>5592677
>>5592901

>Inform him of the situation.
>Faint because you are a pure maiden at heart.

A “pure maiden at heart?” You’re a thirty-five year old woman. You’ve given birth. You are deluded (look at what you’re wearing–what you’re revealing) but not that deluded. That’s the sort of delusion that demands a roll: a 16, or even a 17, to convince yourself you haven’t dreamt of wanton monsters on lonely nights.
You, nonetheless, stow away any improper thoughts and avert your gaze. “Your, uh–.. trousers, Morne.” You mutter, hand over your face.

“What are–you.. Gah–! You could’ve told me before I said all that..!” Morne snaps back at the realization, the chains rattling about him as he turns from you. “..I didn’t come here wearing those foul shorts.. as if I enjoy running about half-nude. The idiots here stuffed me in these when they locked me up. I was wearing a cloak, the sort of oilcloth nobles drool over–four hundred pent, from the capitol, you know..”
He sounds embarrassed. It’s almost cute.

Your show is cut short by another rustling in the grass–no, it's not the blades of grass rustling, but the blades stuck from the grass, singing as a wind goes coursing through them. The steel shimmers across the garden as you feel the air change. A small helm goes rolling across the grass beneath your feet–slipping down toward another hunk of plate farther from you.
“Don’t play stupid, Morne.” Fleur’s voice comes from everywhere. “You know you haven’t beaten me.”

You notice, for the first time, the exhaustion in your body–in your heart, in your hands, in your legs–that makes it difficult for you hold your staff. Your champion is battered, sliced-up, and naked.

>Prepare for round two.
>Flee! You’re out of here. Get out while she’s reconstituting.
>Reasoning! A cult leader is nothing if not a master of rhetoric. Maybe you talk good enough for her like you?
>Attempt casting another spell on Morne.
>Convince yourself you’re a pure maiden at heart (This won’t actually do anything).
>Write-In.
>>
>>5593003
>Reasoning! A cult leader is nothing if not a master of rhetoric. Maybe you talk good enough for her like you?
>Convince yourself you’re a pure maiden at heart
>>
>>5593003
>Prepare for round two.
>Ask the hag for divination
Any tip would help
>>
>>5593003
>Reasoning! A cult leader is nothing if not a master of rhetoric. Maybe you talk good enough for her like you?

>>5593013
Any tip, wink wonk
>>
>>5593003
>Reasoning! A cult leader is nothing if not a master of rhetoric. Maybe you talk good enough for her like you?
>Convince yourself you’re (essentially) a pure maiden at heart
Pure enough to play at "holy matron", if not necessarily a pure maiden. SPIRITUALLY pure, maybe? Pure of purpose?
>>
>>5593003
>Reasoning! A cult leader is nothing if not a master of rhetoric. Maybe you talk good enough for her like you?
>Convince yourself you’re (essentially) a pure maiden at heart
>>
Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>5593003
>Reasoning! A cult leader is nothing if not a master of rhetoric. Maybe you talk good enough for her like you?
>Convince yourself you’re (essentially) a pure maiden at heart

rolling to convince marie she is a pure seiso maiden
>>
>>5593109
its joever
>>
Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>5593003
>Reasoning! A cult leader is nothing if not a master of rhetoric. Maybe you talk good enough for her like you?

rolling to accept we're no longer pure and can never again be pure
>>
Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>5593003
Delusion is a powerful thing.

FOREVER 17
>Convince yourself you’re a pure maiden at heart (This won’t actually do anything).
>>
>>5593109
>>5593148
>>5593195
Sorry anons, I'm afraid we know ourselves too darn well.
>>
>>5593003
>Flee! You’re out of here. Get out while she’s reconstituting.

I'm not really sure how we survived the first time. Best not to push it.

Besides we need our scene where we tend to Morne's wounds.
>>
>>5593248
>how did we win.

Spinning around in a circle with a pointy object in our mouth, like all great generals.
>>
>>5593003
>>Reasoning! A cult leader is nothing if not a master of rhetoric. Maybe you talk good enough for her like you?
>>
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>>5593009
>>5593013
>>5593025
>>5593026
>>5593102
>>5593109
>>5593148
>>5593195
>>5593248
>>5593303

>Convince yourself you’re a pure maiden at heart (This won’t actually do anything).
>Reasoning! A cult leader is nothing if not a master of rhetoric. Maybe you talk good enough for her like you?

No. You can cram yourself into a tight black dress and prance around in clown makeup as much as you’d like, but you are a thirty five year old with chronic upper back pain and a star chart of stretch marks across your belly. You are going to die like this.
You quell the thoughts festering in your mind and get to turning your attention back to the matter at hand.
You’ve a short refractory period before the magic in your heart returns and you can cast again, and as much as you believe in the wolf’s strength, he’s hurt bad after that last encounter. You don’t think you can afford another fight right now. You can only hope to RHETORIC your way out of this situation. Yes, you’ve always been good at giving speeches to yourself in the mirror.

The maiden’s form takes shape again–armor rolling down along the garden, scuttling up into a tower, taking shape–but different this time. The bishop’s new body is smaller than the massive hunk of black iron she took on before–small, threaded with ropes, layers of lacquered metal. You’ve seen something like this in books before.. something from the orient?
“Again, Morne.” The IRON MAIDEN places a disembodied gauntlet on a long, sheathed blade.
“Wait–wait, wait.” You raise your hands in a signal for her to stop. “Surely, we can work something out? You two are brother and sister, after all. Let’s talk this out–negotiate. We don’t have to spill any more undue blood. Not Morne’s, and ESPECIALLY not mine.”

“You want to negotiate? Then leave.” The knight ironwalls you yet again. “This little quest you’re on, for my brother here–do you want to know how it ends? Because I don’t think you’ll like how it does. He’s said he’s here to save our sister, hasn’t he? That I’ve betrayed them, imprisoned her?”
“Yes..?” You raise a brow.
“It’s a lie–one that he believes in himself.” She draws a blade out, slowly. “AVA is not here, as I’ve told him a hundred times before. I am the chief warden of our dungeon–know well enough who’s been captured, imprisoned here–and she does not number among them. If she even is here, then she is no prisoner. But, if you ask me, after the last we saw of her.. then she’s dead, and probably by her own han–“

“Enough.” Morne rips a length of black steel from the ground, a tall and impressive sword.

>No, you need to FLEE. He is not going to defeat her like this.
>Ask her if that’s really true. Use your wiles to convince her to tell the truth.
>Let him fight.
>Prepare for round two.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5593551
>Ask her if that’s really true. Use your wiles to convince her to tell the truth.

Stall! Stall for the love of god!
>>
>>5593551
>Ask her if that’s really true. Use your wiles to convince her to tell the truth.
>"Morne, let her speak, only then decide if her or your words are truth."
>>
>>5593551
>Ask her if that’s really true. Use your wiles to convince her to tell the truth.
>"Morne, let her speak, only then decide if her or your words are truth."
Worth a go!
It's probably only half-true at worst, this being a prequel/interquel and all
>>
>>5593551
>>Ask her if that’s really true. Use your wiles to convince her to tell the truth.
>>
>>5593551
>>Ask her if that’s really true. Use your wiles to convince her to tell the truth.
>>"Morne, let her speak, only then decide if her or your words are truth."
>>
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>>5593572
>>5593578
>>5593589
>>5593730
>>5593825

>Ask her if that’s really true. Use your wiles to convince her to tell the truth.
>"Morne, let her speak, only then decide if her or your words are truth."

“What?” Your brow furrows. Your contract with the wolf hinges on you helping him find his sister in return for him helping you ascend to get at the cult’s leader. You can’t work with a corpse. “Don’t lie to me, knight. Is she here, or..?”
“I don’t know if my sister is here–and neither does he.” The knight angles her head toward the hound. “But she is no princess for you to save, much as my brother likes to play the knight. She is a toxic, manipulative, miserable person, a drink and sex addict who lets herself be defined by a fifty year old grave. And she will drag everyone who cares about her down with her–just look at my brother.“

The wolf doesn’t respond to her provocations with words–instead, he raises the greatsword and brings it down over the samurai’s head in a deft swoop. The knight glances the blow off with both katanas and steps back. The lycan’s swings–though strong–are sluggish, predictable, the flexing of his arms spilling more and more blood.
“Morne, let her talk. Decide if she’s–” You begin, but he cuts your warning short.
“You are not my master.” Morne’s voice is clear and cold.

“Our sister’s gone. But no one seems to be able to accept that.” Fleur’s words grow wistful. “It seems time has stopped for everyone but me.”

>Urge the wolf to flee. You don’t see a winning scenario in this fight.
>Let him fight. You’ll try to step in if things truly go sour.
>He can’t fight naked. Surely, he can understand that.
>Try–.. Even MORE rhetoric?!
>Write-In.
>>
>>5593928
>Go find and use rhetoric and/or wiles on Breaking Wheel
>Move on to the next bishop
If Morne is determined to fight, let him fight. He'll lose and die, or win and regroup, but he's right: we're not his boss, or his girlfriend.
>>
>>5593928
>Try–.. Even MORE rhetoric?!
>"No-ones gone unless you let them be. Some would say my best days are behind me, but i still decided to wake up and take on the challenge of this town. If i see her, i promise I'll help her. Until then, goodbye both of you.
>Go find and use rhetoric and/or wiles on Breaking Wheel
>Move on to the next bishop

Nothing we can do here i feel. They will fight, they will die, and so on. It seems only bringing back Ava Best vamp is the answer here.

Either way, we got through one district, two more wait, but which one?
>>
>>5593928
>She is a toxic, manipulative, miserable person, a drink and sex addict who lets herself be defined by a fifty year old grave.
We need her in our cult

>Write-In.
>Bonk Fleur when your staff as a distraction
>>
>>5593928
>Write-In.
>Try to breakdance to distract and catch them both off-guard.
>>
>>5593928
>Try–.. Even MORE rhetoric?!
If she's not trying to keep us from Ava, why not let us pass?
>>
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No update today--will be getting back to it tomorrow. Thanks for reading so far!
>>
>>5593928
>Go find and use rhetoric and/or wiles on Breaking Wheel
>Move on to the next bishop
>>
>>5594695
>pic
I hope they manage to patch things up someday, especially seeing how they used to get along even as young(?) adults at this stage...
>>
>>5593928
>I'll fight naked for you!
>>
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>>5593936
>>5593966
>>5594267
>>5594325
>>5594332
>>5594873
>>5595760

>I'll fight naked for you!

You will not–at least not until things get really, really dire, and only in a link to an external site.

>Try–.. Even MORE rhetoric?!
>If she's not trying to keep us from Ava, why not let us pass?
>Go find and use rhetoric and/or wiles on Breaking Wheel
>Move on to the next bishop

“If you’re not trying to keep us from your sister–then why not let us pass?” You attempt to worm your voice into the maelstrom of steel against steel. “I could maybe just–”
“You will not.” An intimation of aggression creeps into the otherwise cold voice as she parries another blow. “You are not the first cult to come here, witch–all of them spouting the same mad dogma, frothing at the mouth to take control of this village.. opportunists, greedy and insane. HIS HOLINESS is the only one fit to herald FINAL JUDGMENT. The only one who can wind back the clock.”

“I.. see.” You clasp your hands together as you take a few steps back. You need to find the giant–break through to the next district while she’s distracted. “I will leave, as you’ve instructed, and–”
“Oh, no, witch. You’ve guided my brother here on false pretense and forced him to fight for nothing. And you’ve just exhausted any mercy I would’ve spared you.” Her voice rings like a clarion call in your ears. “You and your lot will be butchered here, over and over, for every hour of every day, until the SECOND COMING. You should’ve stayed home, fat legs.”

A disembodied gauntlet from her arm, corded and lacquered, wraps its hand around one blade in the ground–and with a crack of force that near breaks the very gauntlet she uses, the sword flies toward your head like a bullet, whizzing through the air, a sliver of steel bisecting your vision and going for your head.

>[Dice Roll] Duck!
>Rhetoric the sword. Maybe you can convince it to stop! (You won’t.)
>Shriek for all the world to hear.
>Yes, this must be the dire situation the first sentence of the post mentioned. You need to remove your clothes–this will help you AERODYNAMICALLY dodge the sword.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5595909
>slap aside the sword with your staff

Our hands can move faster than our back. Probably.
>>
>>5595911
It's worth a shot. We seem underlevelled for this encounter, but maybe this is just our chance to show off our TRUE power?

>>5595909
>Deflext it with staff
>>
>>5595909
>[Dice Roll] Duck!

>guided Morne here under false pretenses and forced him to fight for nothing
forced him to fight? pretty sure we couldn't have forced him not to fight. I got the impression he had already done this fight at least a dozen times before even meeting us
>>
>>5595909
>>[Dice Roll] Duck!
>>Shriek for all the world to hear.
>>
>>5595909
>[Dice Roll] Duck!
Bitch, you call my legs fat again and I'm going to ram my staff up whatever could be considered your asshole horns first.
>>
>>5595909
>Fat legs.
Sounds like your jealous, skinny bitch.

>Write-In.
>Breakdance to confuse and distract her.
>>
>>5595911
>>5595955
>>5596049
>>5596080
>>5596486
>>5596774

You were once quite the partier--could you perhaps breakdance to confuse and distract her?

No, wait. You're getting a divine premonition about that: something about displacing your own hip and then crying on the ground about it. An ugly and embarrassing mess for everyone involved. You haven't the limber nor the disco panache to pull that off anymore.

You instead decide to duck. Yes, that makes a little more sense for someone of your current limber and utter lack of disco panache.

>Roll a 1d20, Bo3.
>>
Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>5596895
yolo
>>
Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>5596895
Booba
>>
Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>5596895
>>
It's been a good run boys
>>
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>>5596898
>Rolled 10 (1d20)

Your spine creak like the gate’s chains as you attempt to duck the bullet-like blade. It howls toward you, a pale, silver whistle as time draws to a stop–but your back, broken and bent by the weight it carries, fails you. Your whole body shudders to a halt as the sword speeds up, a trail of light that cuts your eyes in twain.

You close your eyes and prepare for the void–but it does not come. You hear a sudden ripping of steel, clattering of iron, and then low, shallow breaths. You open your eyes to a black mountain of fur–wrapped in metal chains, side skewered by sword. The blade hangs at an uneven angle through some of his side and a bit of his hand.
“Morne?” You avert your eyes, flush. He’s still nude.

“Be more careful. Stupid.” You’re unsure if the wolfman’s words are for you or himself. He struggles to get his words out, clipped and wet, short and ragged. “You were right. There’s nothing for me here. I knew that. But I'm going to die soon, so we need to go now. You have a plan?”
“Right–..right.” You take a few uneasy steps back.

The garden is circular, surrounded by low buildings–down the southern end is the route back where you came from and to the northern end lies the wall to the next district–massive, maybe fifty meters tall, footed by a twenty meter tall portcullis that’s shuttered behind the IRON MAIDEN.

>Try rushing past her. You can try to break through the shut portcullis.
>Maybe you can scale it?
>Retreat. Look for Breaking Wheel.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5596985
>Have Morne serve as a distraction while we rush past
Die, revive, and meet us up later... Hopefully, your vampire sister will be there, too! We will carry on your quest.
>>
>>5596985
>Try rushing past her. You can try to break through the shut portcullis.

Don’t pull an edgerunner on us, peekay.
>>
>>5596985
> Retreat. Look for Breaking Wheel.

Somewhere there is a dumb giant we can out-rheteoric
>>
>>5596985
>Maybe you can scale it?
>>
>>5596985
>Retreat. Look for Breaking Wheel.
>>
>>5596985
>Retreat. Look for Breaking Wheel.
>>
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>>5596988
>>5597003
>>5597406
>>5597424
>>5597552
>>5597658

>Retreat. Look for Breaking Wheel.

“Okay. Right.” You massage your temple as the wolf waits expectantly. You can put your power of incessant, nonsensical babbling and flirting to use. “We just have to fetch that giant oaf with the water wheel–I’m sure I can thrall him, or at least convince him, to help get us over the wall. We–..”
The tolls of a bell sound from somewhere nearby as if on cue. You catch sight of an immense burlap just over the crown of some roofs. The ogre places a fat hand atop one as he peers into the garden.

“ARE YOU DONE YET, LADY FLEUR..?” You feel a shadow steep over the both of you as the giant’s eye casts a long glance over your party–across the meager invalid and hag by the entrance, to you and the wolf in the
heart of the garden, then to the maiden in iron near the portcullis out. “OH. YOU STILL TALKING TO LITTLE BLACK BIRD?”
“There you are.” The Iron Maiden waves a hand absentmindedly, her voice bored. “Consider this an order. Crush all the humans here.”

“OH. SORRY, LITTLE BLACK BIRD..” The giant’s voice takes on a gloomy tone as he begins to slide through a fat alley, concrete brick scraping along his body as fat comes squeezing onto the premises.

>Rhetoric with the giant. He can’t take you on long walks on the beach if he crushes you.
>Attempt goading the giant into chasing you. Maybe you can get him to destroy the portcullis by tripping him and get through there.
>Ask Morne to scale this giant with you in tow. You can use him as a springboard over the gate.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5597706
>Ask Morne to scale this giant with you in tow. You can use him as a springboard over the gate.
He said he couldn't carry us in his arms earlier, so this time we'll hang onto his back.
>>
>>5597706
>Ask Morne to scale this giant with you in tow. You can use him as a springboard over the gate.
Go go go go!
>>
>>5597776
+1
>>
>>5597706
>Attempt goading the giant into chasing you. Maybe you can get him to destroy the portcullis by tripping him and get through there.
>>
>>5597706
>Ask Morne to scale this giant with you in tow. You can use him as a springboard over the gate.
>>
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>>5597758
>>5597776
>>5597814
>>5597817
>>5598225

>Ask Morne to scale this giant with you in tow. You can use him as a springboard over the gate.

“Do you think you could scale the giant?” You prod the wolf. “I can keep on your back. We can use him as a springboard! You think that could work..?”
“I’m blind, stuck in a handful of hundred pound weights, and have taken four swords through my external oblique and another two transverse. And you want me to scale that giant with an extra three-hundred pounds of weight on my back.” He gives an (EVEN MORE) false estimate. “If there were another option, I would say not a chance. But if that’s the only way..”
“I’m afraid it might be.” You grimace. “The area is more open than the streets, though.. maybe when he bends down to pick us up and his arm is at a slope, then..”
“That’s all well and good, but there’s one more slight matter.” Morne warns you as he begins to amble toward the giant. “I may be able to pick you up over with me–maybe even another, were they slight enough. But more than that? There’s no chance. You’ll need to leave one of your loyal little heart-eye cultist s here.”

You cast a glance back to the periphery, the INVALID lurking in a shadow cast by a building, HAG with owl and hunch in tow.

>You’ll bring the hag. You feel you haven't seen the full capacity of her fortune telling ability.
>You’ll bring the invalid. You feel his grasp on village matters may be more fortuitous.
>You shall leave them both. They can keep a watchful eye over the district and spout your gospel in your place here while you leave.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5598753
>You’ll bring the invalid. You feel his grasp on village matters may be more fortuitous.
>>
>>5598753
>You’ll bring the invalid. You feel his grasp on village matters may be more fortuitous.
>Promise the hag we'll be back for her
>>
>>5598753
>You’ll bring the hag. You feel you haven't seen the full capacity of her fortune telling ability.
The invalid just talks a lot of shit about us all the time
>>
>>5598753
>You’ll bring the hag. You feel you haven't seen the full capacity of her fortune telling ability.
>>
>>5598753
>You’ll bring the hag. You feel you haven't seen the full capacity of her fortune telling ability.
>>
>>5598753
>You’ll bring the hag. You feel you haven't seen the full capacity of her fortune telling ability.
>>
>>5598753
>You’ll bring the invalid. You feel his grasp on village matters may be more fortuitous.

Like it or not he’s with us now.
>>
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>>5598755
>>5598817
>>5598905
>>5598910
>>5598916
>>5599228

“The, uh–..” You massage your temples. It’s as if you were made to pick between two of your own children–two of your own very old, very ugly, very bitter children. “The hag, then. I think her tarot may prove more useful on the road ahead. We’ll leave this district to the invalid.”
“The old one–fine.” The wolf snatches you up by his arms with impressive strength as he sets you on his back. His arms are taut beneath the mat of fur. “Hold tight. We’ve one chance.”

The hound’s speed is such that the ground and garden and sky all about blur, one and all, into a pastel streak of black and gray all around you–you might vomit had you the chance to perceive what’s taken place. You feel the garden air and cold steel of swords brush through your gown as he zips through to the hag.
“Agck–” The hag croaks like a frog as the wolf grabs her.

And then the giant–your world goes vertical as the garden flowers beneath you turn to giant flesh. You tighten your grip on the coarse fur as Morne streaks hot blood up Breaking Wheel’s hand, along his arm, over his shoulder–and then, for the first time, you feel your breath catch up to your chest.
The air hangs still, frozen, cold. The night sky stretches infinite above you. The edge of the wall lies just ahead.

Breaking Wheel is behind you, hands out, but in his fat-fingered clumsiness falls short. The Iron Maiden is beneath, far beneath–and over her and all around you is a hail of swords, the knight uprooting her entire flowerbed of blades and slinging them at you. You feel one near graze your face.

>Spit out a cool insult at the knight. Yes–what if you make fun of HER stupid toothpick legs?
>Cast a spell--anything--to try to prevent a sword from piercing you on the way over.
>Tell the invalid you’ll be back. You’ll leave this district to him for now.
>Shut up and pray you don’t get skewered along with Morne.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5599778
>>Tell the invalid you’ll be back. You’ll leave this district to him for now.
>>
>>5599778
>Tell the invalid you’ll be back. You’ll leave this district to him for now.
>>
>>5599778
>Spit out a cool insult at the knight. Yes–what if you make fun of HER stupid toothpick legs?
NO BOOBS BITCH
>>
>>5599778
>>Spit out a cool insult at the knight. Yes–what if you make fun of HER stupid toothpick legs?
>>
>>5599778
>try to slap aside the incoming swords with your staff
>>
>>5599778
>Spit out a cool insult at the knight. Yes–what if you make fun of HER stupid toothpick legs?
nothing but COLD UNFEELING METAL
the joys of life are forever lost to her
>>
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>>5599783
>>5599791
>>5599885
>>5600071
>>5600259
>>5600522

>Spit out a cool insult at the knight. Yes–what if you make fun of HER stupid toothpick legs?

You should insult her, yes–what better way to flaunt your victory as a master strategist? You cup your hands over your mouth and shout, for all the breadth of the district to hear, from the deep-dug graves of the churchyard to the blood-red guillotines that line the streets to the high rows of steep pitch roofs:
“Chicken-legged bitch!” Your shout carries down to the knight as a blade whizzes past your head.

Your wolf’s jump finds purchase on the tip of the wall with a hard thump, just barely crossing the threshold and sending your lot tumbling out over the flat edge of the roof. The shouts behind you–low, tumultuous groans of the giant and the cold shrieks of swords in the air–fade far away as you make it to the QUARTIER DE DEVOTION.
You take a moment to pick yourself up, one hand on your head and another on your staff–all bones and limbs in check, good..

“Ah, we made it! Finally!” The hag seems right elated, a gummy grin twisting her gnarled features. “Let me tell you, sweetie–you did the right thing picking me over that right nasty INVALID. My fortune telling abilities will do you good! He can go and sit around and watch us get to the top from all the way down there.”
Her voice rings in your ears. She might be more useful, but the invalid was at least quiet.

You cast your gaze down over the roof behind you–the whole of the QUARTIER DE PUNITION, black churchyards, cold buildings lit by dim lantern-light, nooses and blades on the streetcorners–and below even that, the giant eyeing you and the knight glaring up.. Maybe you should hurry down?
“Don’t worry about them.” The wolf’s voice cuts through to you between pants. “Don’t think they’ll follow us over. I hear Bishops don’t play nice with one another..”

You look to Morne–bloody, broken, and bent in a heaped slump along the wall’s edge.

>Attend to Morne’s side.
>Ask the hag to divinate the wolf. There anything you can do?
>Look over to the QUARTIER DE DEVOTION.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5600762
>Attend to Morne’s side.
>Ask the hag to divinate the wolf. There anything you can do?
>>
>>5600762
>Attend to Morne’s side.
>Ask the hag to divinate the wolf. There anything you can do?
>>
>>5600762
>Attend to Morne’s side.
we uh
we got any bandaids?
>>
>>5600762
>>Attend to Morne’s side.
>>Ask the hag to divinate the wolf. There anything you can do?
>>
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>>5600775
>>5600778
>>5600783
>>5600887

>Attend to Morne’s side.
>Ask the hag to divinate the wolf. There anything you can do?

You are, unfortunately, without band-aids.

You nonetheless hurry to Morne to kneel by his side, the mound of fur matted thick with coagulated blood and the occasional shallow, ragged breaths. You glance back to the hag, who peers over your shoulder with weary eyes at the dog. “Hag. Put yourself to use.” You order her. “See if there’s anything to be done here, or..”
“Feh! I told you, divination doesn’t work like that..!” The hag rolls her eyes. “But I don’t think you need tarot to see he’s ready to curl up and bleed out.”

“That shrill bat is right–there’s nothing to be done.” Morne leers at the old lady. You snatch a spare bit of rag from the oracle’s headdress to lay upon the wolf as he bemoans his situation. “I knew I’d lose that duel. I just lost my head–..I won’t be so foolish again. I can’t afford to waste time on death here..”
“Well, you’re not quite dead yet.” You stare down at him. “Is there anything I can do here, or..?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be back when the bell tolls.” He eases his head out ahead, toward the next district. “You can stay with me until I’m gone, at least.”

>Shut your trap and let him die in peace. No weird femcel ramblings.
>Ask him whether what Fleur said was really true. Are you both wasting time here?
>Ask what he knows about what’s ahead.
>Ask him about himself.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5600953
>Ask what he knows about what’s ahead.
>Ask him about himself.
How can we be a femcel if we've had a husband and kids
>>
>>5600953
>Write-In.
>Graciously offer to clean his wounds with your tongue.
I had to.
>>
>>5600953
>Ask what he knows about what’s ahead.
>Ask him about himself.

>>5601083
We've been celibate since our divorce/widowing, maybe, or since we started neglecting our family in the hopes of preserving them against some unknown harm. It's presumably when we started having monster fantasies and dressing desperate in a bid to recaoture our youth.
>>
>>5601140
Support
>>
>>5600953
>Ask what he knows about what’s ahead.
>Ask him about himself.
>>
>>5601140
+1
do it for the meme
>>
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>>5601083
>>5601140
>>5601220
>>5601244
>>5601544
>>5601626

>Graciously offer to clean his wounds with your tongue.
>Ask him about himself.
>Ask what he knows about what’s ahead.

“Your wounds are pretty deep there.” You point out, ever the generous witch. “Hmm.. perhaps I could.. clean them with my tongue?”
“..What?” The hound’s maw opens and closes again as he takes in what you just said. The hag seems to be frozen in shock at your utter lack of restraint. “You catch a blade in the head? You sound more like a monster than a woman.”
“No. That was sexy.” You look down at him. How did your bold strategy not work? “But which do you prefer? For future reference.”
“What? Ugh.. Is this your idea of deathbed conversation?” The hound places a hand over his face. “If it’ll sate you.. for me, it’s humans. I can’t stand monster girls. It’s always rot, and fangs, and scales, and bones. They’re crazy and violent and unpredictable. I just can’t see the appeal. I’ve tried.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow. You stand a chance? “And humans are all that different?”
“I can let my guard around humans–for the most part.” You feel a subtle tilt in his jaw toward your direction at that mention of ‘for the most part.’ “Not so mad. Usually less rotten. Sometimes even kind. I can appreciate that sort of warmth when it comes. Might’ve been nice.”
“What would?” You feel his breath slipping from somewhere deep beneath his ribs, his whole body slowing.
“Feh. You know.” Morne curls his lips. “I slip somewhere far away with someone I love. I lay down my sword and raise a child. It’s a nice fantasy for a monster. I plan to remember it when I wind up getting shot through the head by a soldier and lie dying in a dark, dirty hole in the ground some day.”

Morne’s words slip from him with his breath, easy and light, and he dies in your lap just like that. You sit still for a long moment–maybe ten minutes, maybe fifteen, before the tolls of a church bell hundreds of miles northward begin to toll, long and low and slow. With each toll, the wounds on the wolf seem to dissipate: cuts sewing themself shut, blood seeping away as if beneath water.
The wolf rises with a sharp breath. “Ugh. Cold.” He shudders. “It’s always cold when you die. Can’t stand it.”
It’s difficult to make out much proper ground from your perch so far atop the wall. The DISTRICT DE DEVOTION looks distinct from PUNITION–much livelier, much less death and sword and smoke–but you can’t distinguish details. You’ll need to get down from the wall for a proper go-through.
“Good. More people here. More proper cultists.” Morne’s ears prickle at the sound of merriment from below. “More chances for a decent interrogation.”

>Leap from here with Morne and the hag. Get right into the fray of things.
>Look for the DULL, SAFE way down, the stairs.
>Ask the hag to divinate Morne for you.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5602197
>Ask the hag to divinate Morne for you.
>>
>>5602197
>Ask the hag to divinate Morne for you.
We brought her for a REASON, right?
>>
>>5602197
>Leap from here with Morne and the hag. Get right into the fray of things.

we brought the hag because we had a choice between neutral and annoying and she was neutral
>>
>>5602197
>Ask the hag to divinate Morne for you.
>>
>>5602197
>Ask the hag to divinate Morne for you.
>>
>>5602197
>Ask the hag to divinate Morne for you.
>>
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>>5602232
>>5602249
>>5602258
>>5602438
>>5602660
>>5602984

>Ask the hag to divinate Morne for you.

You watch the wolf dip his head over the wall’s end and sniff at the district ahead, a mound of black against the portraiture-like frame of the village. You nudge the hag with your elbow. “Oy.” You whisper, curious. “Put yourself to good use. Divinate the hound for me.”
“The beast?! Oh, dearie, you might as well have me divinate every stray dog on the street..” The hag bemoans your request, but she shuffles her tarot all the same. The cards crumple beneath her weathered knuckles as she destroys her own deck–before, again, she raises the mangled hand to the owl atop her lantern perch, who clips one with his beak.
“Hmmm.. my, my. How curious.” She flashes the card at her before she begins to speak:

SEVEN, THE CHARIOT, A WARRIOR DRAWN BY TWO SPHINX.
BETWEEN MAN AND MONSTER, A KNIGHT SITS BETWIXT.
BUT HARK! STAY YOUR REINS, AND DO NOT DRIVE THIS PATH, LEST..
YOU CONTINUE ALONG AFTER ME AND I CUT YOU DOWN LIKE THE REST.

“What? Is that a warning?” You raise your brow. “The fates want me to stay off his ass?”
“My job isn’t to interpret fortunes, sweetie, it’s to READ them. And this is his fortune, not yours.” The oracle shoves the oily deck back into her robe with little spectacle. “But the chariot represents willpower, determination, strength.. this is someone who won’t stop for anything to get what he wants.”
You cast another glance over to the dog, who hangs so far over the wall he’s near falling off. His sniffing has gone a bit more intent now, his head high in the air and far from your conversation. “Wait–.. Wait. No.. this is it.” Morne’s voice is somewhere between disbelief, giddiness, and determination. “Yes. I’m sure of it.”

“Hm?” You tilt your head.
“Her smell is in the air. My sister.” The hound lowers his ears. “She’s somewhere ahead. Don’t know where, but she’s in this district. I know it.”

>Follow a safer route down. You can choose a proper route.
>No, no more safer routes. You’ve got monsters to have fuck with. Leap from here with Morne and the hag and get right into things.
>Wait, what does dhampir smell like?
>Write-In.
>>
>>5603101
>No, no more safer routes. You’ve got monsters to fuck. Leap from here with Morne and the hag and get right into things.
>>
>>5603101
>Wait, what does dhampir smell like?
>Follow a safer route down. You can choose a proper route.
>>
>>5603101
>No, no more safer routes. You’ve got monsters to have fuck with. Leap from here with Morne and the hag and get right into things
>>
>>5603101
>No, no more safer routes. You’ve got monsters to have fuck with. Leap from here with Morne and the hag and get right into things.
>Wait, what does dhampir smell like?
I imagine she smells of burning wheat or hay.
>>
>>5603101
>>No, no more safer routes. You’ve got monsters to have fuck with. Leap from here with Morne and the hag and get right into things.
>>
>>5603101
>Follow a safer route down. You can choose a proper route.
>>
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>>5603112
>>5603135
>>5603136
>>5603302
>>5603430
>>5603504

>No, no more safer routes. You’ve got monsters to have fuck with. Leap from here with Morne and the hag and get right into things.
>Wait, what does dhampir smell like?

“Wait. What does your sister smell like? Is it that.. distinct?” Your nose crinkles.
“It’s unique to her. It falls somewhere between blood, wine, and lilies.. a bit of monster girl scent, too. It’s so pungent in the air she must be somewhere close.” The hound tries maintaining his composure, but he can’t quite contain the wagging of his tail. “I knew it.”
“Wonderful–then I can get your sister’s blessing for our little agreement!” You clap the wolf on the back. “Let’s go. How about the quick route down?”

“The quick route down?” A look of bewilderment crosses the hag’s face, but the wolf’s eyes sharpen.
“Of course. We haven’t a moment to spare.” He catches onto your meaning quick. In just a moment, his arms wrap tight about your hips and over the hag’s hunch. The color drains from her face. “You ready? There’s no going back from here.”
“Dearie, wait.” The hag cuts in. “What is–”

You, the wolf, and the hag go flying from the wall with all the grace one might expect of you and a wolf and a hag flying from a wall. You twirl in the air, a squirming bundle of fur and cloth and steel, the old lady screaming as the air whistles about you–all the way down into the QUARTIER DE DEVOTION far beneath. The blaring of trumpets and tolling of bells from below seem to herald your arrival.
You hit something and go ducking into a roll, wolf lithe and light on his foot as he can be with your cult in his arms. Your world turns over once, twice, and then three times as you enter another brief free-fall.. and finally, you stand rightside up again, makeup smudged and hair tousled as you catch your breath. It was a five second leap that felt like five long sentences.

As the hag pukes up whatever she ate, you ease yourself up against a wall and look the district over. The QUARTIER DE DEVOTION, unlike the QUARTIER DE PUNITION, looks a proper village–not a half-standing rock-carving facsimile of the capitol, but a real, proper town, white stone colonials and pastel paints, almost coastal..
Your sudden drop-in seems to have been overlooked by virtue of some kind of a.. “festival” being set up. The road ahead looks busy with stalls being done up, clotheslines overhead draped with banners, trumpets and horns from somewhere far away.

>Pass through the festive street.
>Go for a back alley look.
>Ask a zealot nearby where the party is.
>Look closer at the banner. They appear to depict someone.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5603571
>Look closer at the banner. They appear to depict someone.
>>
>>5603571
>Go for a back alley look.
>>
>>5603571
>Ask a zealot nearby where the party is.
>>
>>5603571
>>Look closer at the banner. They appear to depict someone.
>>
>>5603571
>Look closer at the banner. They appear to depict someone.
>>
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>>5603735
>>5603750
>>5603838
>>5603877
>>5604035

>Look closer at the banner. They appear to depict someone.

You look to one of the many banners that fly overhead, cloth caught in a gentle dance from strings. The ensign is done up with ornate patterns of radial lines and inverse curves, intricate circles and star maps that frame one figure in the middle.
The dark robed, deer-skulled man cuts an imposing figure at the center of the piece, antlers extended like veins and eyes aglow from behind the mask. The text above the portrait reads FINAL JUDGMENT, and below it lies the ominous portent 2 DAYS.

“Who’s the skull-fucker-guy?” You nudge the hag, whose begun to wipe the puke from the corners of her mouth.

“That–hghk–is ELI DE VILLIERS. The foul rapscallion upstart who leads this mess of a cult and drives out any girls that don’t fit his sick view of beauty.” She spits on the ground. “Feh, that foul mask of his! Don’t believe these portraits. They do him up to make him look big and scary, but he’s shorter than even me. You could step on him, dearie.”
“Hmmm..” You place a hand on your chin–maybe you will. But your glance toward the banner has drawn your attention to something else: the cultists affixing banners to walls and stalls are wearing masks. This seems like some kind of masquerade festival. You may do well to fetch something for yourself to blend in..

>Pass through the festive street. Look for a mask to purchase.
>Ask a zealot nearby where the party is.
>Go for a back alley look-see.
>Write-In.
>>
>>5604272
>Go for a back alley look-see.

Stealth is our greatest asset right now
>>
>>5604272
>Pass through the festive street. Look for a mask to purchase.
>Have Morne (who won't exactly be able to hide behind a mask) take the back alleys
>Bring the hag with you
>>
>>5604272
>Pass through the festive street. Look for a mask to purchase.
>>
>>5604272
>Pass through the festive street. Look for a mask to purchase.
>>
>>5604272
>>Go for a back alley look-see.
>>
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>>5604281
>>5604284
>>5604308
>>5604333
>>5604451

>Pass through the festive street. Look for a mask to purchase.
>Have Morne (who won't exactly be able to hide behind a mask) take the back alleys
>Bring the hag with you

“We’ll pass through the festivities. Why not? It’s not too busy yet.” You observe the street–delicious odors wafting from cooking food, the uncorking and pouring out of drink, a few vendors setting up masks and trinkets to sell. “Maybe you should take the back-alleys though, Morne. I don’t think that snout will fit a mask.”
“I don’t think that will pose a problem.” Morne waves toward the street again. “Look.”
You look down the road again, a bit more sharp in the eye. A handful of stallgoers’ flesh seem to curdle beneath their masks. A few cooks over their fires look far too thin and boney. A mound of fur down the road moves. You, in fact, seem to have fallen in with monsters.

“Quartier de Punition is for punishing the run-off and excising the fat. Almost all humans, I hear. Quartier de Devotion is the proper village, and it plays host to monster and human acolytes alike. Sex and drink and parties and feasts. We’ll fit in fine.” Morne begins to amble forward. “Just don’t stare too much. You’re drooling.”
You wipe the trail of spit from your mouth and begin to step along after the wolf. But a strange, cloying feeling in your gut draws you to a halt.
You glance back over your shoulder to nothing and nobody. You could’ve sworn you just saw something undulating in the corner of your vision–a strange, unnerving feeling of eyes on your back. You shake it off–probably just someone staring at your ass–and continue forward with renewed vigor in your step into the QUARTIER DE DEVOTION.
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Board got a lot busier and I think the thread’s about to fall off, so I’ll call it here for now. Sorry about the slow pace for the first thread–going to try to pick things up with more silly monster-sexual-congress when I post the second. Thanks for reading anyways!
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>>5605759
Thanks for running it, QM! It's been a slower boil than the other two as far as growing the harem, but it's by no means a bad quest. The harem part of Haremvania is secondary to the art and character writing, and I appreciate the narrative boldness of this interquel. Keep up the great work!
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>>5605759
Thanks for running qm



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