> Approach the wall and feel the stone with your hand to see if it’s safe to dig out or not.
> You would rather not have it explode next to your face. Draw nearer and strike it with your pick.
> Backtrack as well. Then, from a safe-enough-distance, swing and toss the pickaxe with both hands at the ore vein.
> [Write In]

___________________________

> UPDATES?
Once a day.
> PREVIOUS THREADS?
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Wanted%20Dead:%20A%20Western%20Quest
> OTHER QUESTS?
https://pastebin.com/raw/4sBYKVqL

>> I welcome any additional comments or thoughts along with a selected prompt if you have any.

>>5650032
> Backtrack as well. Then, from a safe-enough-distance, swing and toss the pickaxe with both hands at the ore vein.

>>5650032
> Backtrack as well. Then, from a safe-enough-distance, swing and toss the pickaxe with both hands at the ore vein.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ME7x7_blf8
God damn it, I wanted to post this song in the OP and forgot.

>>5650032
> Backtrack as well. Then, from a safe-enough-distance, swing and toss the pickaxe with both hands at the ore vein.
Surely it won't explode.

>>5650053
>>5650238
>>5650649

You followed in Landry’s footsteps, stepping on the ground well-proven safe. Landry’s left eye squinted and his other brow arched as if he was puzzled by what you were trying to do. You gripped and lifted the pick making the aquamarine mist dazzle between his body and yours. You rolled your shoulder and then held the handle with both hands. You turned around to face the shadowed facade. How skilled you were at throwing mining picks? You were about to find out.

You dragged your boot behind the other and then you swung the pick in a high arch above your head. Releasing your grip at just the right moment, the pick soared through the air like a waggon’s wheel. Then, with a loud thud, the blunt side of the eye slammed against the vein and granite, tumbled with a ricochet, and finally came crashing down on the ground, splitting and cracking the feeble floor.

Like a geyser beneath a frozen lake, a torrent of splinters and shards erupted, flying in every each way, leaving no place to escape. Another fracture started splitting the ground through the tunnel’s depths. With each blink of an eye the crack widened and grew, reaching and bursting apart another feeble stone, sending razor silvers girdling around you like a devil of dust. It all happened in a heartbeat: the crack touching the boulder-sized feeble stone. Like a stash of powder kegs inside a window glass factory, it exploded into many thousands of smithereens.

> Cover Landry with your body to protect him from the stabbing sharpstones. Fall together on the granite ground.
> Fall low on the ground and cover your head with your arms in a foetal position and hope that the shards you will get hurt by are once dealt and done pain. Wait until it settles.
> Turn your back towards the clattering explosion of thousands of scything shards and try and escape as far away from it as you can.
> [Write In]

>>5650914
>> Fall low on the ground and cover your head with your arms in a foetal position and hope that the shards you will get hurt by are once dealt and done pain. Wait until it settles.

>>5650914
> Cover Landry with your body to protect him from the stabbing sharpstones. Fall together on the granite ground.
He’s goijbg to get shredded

I'll wait to see if there are any more replies, thanks.

>>5650914
> Fall low on the ground and cover your head with your arms in a foetal position and hope that the shards you will get hurt by are once dealt and done pain. Wait until it settles.

>>5650914
> Cover Landry with your body to protect him from the stabbing sharpstones. Fall together on the granite ground.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5651009
>>5652287

>>5651195
>>5652299

>>5651009
>>5651195
>>5652287
>>5652299

Time was running short. You shot Landry a semi-apologetic look and then hunkered down on the lukewarm bedrock. Just as you covered your head with your arms and curled up tight, knees pressed against your stomach, you were deafened by a cacophony of shattering glass. Needle-like shards shrouded the cavernous chamber like gnawing grinding dust. You shut close your lids to avoid getting blind blinded—were that be possible or not—or to suffer from an everlasting stabbing pain. You were wrapped up in a blanket, the soft cotton replaced with thorny wicker bushes and the feather filling with crooked nails and barbed wire. You could feel them push against your clothes before sinking into your ghostly flesh. Though each of the shards was no bigger than half the length of your finger, each felt as long as an Indian arrow. Hundreds of them.

You cried, you reckoned, but either the pain numbed your voice or the chorus of fractures and cracks drowned it, you couldn’t hear it. It was a pain so fierce you knew that you were on the brink of dying. As if you were bleeding out, your soul seemed to evaporate through each of the tiny wounds you had, like a fleeing mist. What you had become in the Graveyard Frontier, your ghostly essence, was dissolving from your charred skeleton. Knowing you were gonna return didn’t ease your pain one bit. Yet then, as your bones neared being stripped bare, you felt your marrow reach out for nourishment. As though each and every one of your molasses bones deformed into phalanges and grasped at the fading spirit. One by one the hundred skeletal fingers clutched the edges of the phantom haze to drag it back like a smouldering dry cloth from a blazing fire.

The wait dragged on an agonising while. You began to wish you could just shed this soul and start anew; you didn’t care where or how anymore. You wallowed in this pain for seconds that felt like hours, and hours that felt like days. Yet, even though the new stabbing pain you were unlikely to ever get rid of surpassed every other lingering wound you had before it, it somehow became bearable.

You opened your eyes to peer into the swallowing darkness. Your pickaxe, the culprit of it all—were you to exclude yourself—gleamed with underworldly light; its shine was weakened by the expanded limits of the altered cavern. Uncountable granite chunks in all manner of shapes had vanished—exploded—leaving in their place holes with pointed piercing spikes, standing there like exposed pit traps. You struggled to stand up.

What you saw was an eerie honeycomb abyss, as if an enormous colony of oversized ants and bees had joined forces to form and shape it. You reckoned there wasn’t a single fragile stone left here: you’d shattered them all. A narrow granite path stretched across a deep chasm bristling in deadly spikes below it.

Landry was gone, and so was his pickaxe. Your bones remained black as coal … was there a reason to feel chipper?

You grasped your pick from the edge of the pathway. Stumbling in your efforts to pick yourself up, you lifted it upward to light the way. The ore you’d tried to free was gone—likely still there somewhere, but tossed away to where you couldn’t find it any more. Yet, replacing it several feet away stood a massive pillar growing from the barely seen depths and into the unseen cavernous roof. You shambled across the winding bridge, above the deadly spikes you risked falling on, until you reached it. Ribbed like a destroyed honeycomb, the pillar held the metallic ore alternating within the granite stone from piece to piece. The hexagonal veins sparkled under the ethereal glow. There was a heap of it. More than enough.

> How were you supposed to turn it into bullets?

> Collect enough ore to fill your pockets and load your six-shooters, but no more.
> In addition to your pockets, mine out a chunk comfortable enough to carry underneath your arm.
> Collect so many chunks you’ll need two hands to carry them. The more the better, you reckon. You deserve it.
> [Write In]

>>5653030
>> Collect so many chunks you’ll need two hands to carry them. The more the better, you reckon. You deserve it.

>>5653030
> Collect so many chunks you’ll need two hands to carry them. The more the better, you reckon. You deserve it.

>>5653030
>> In addition to your pockets, mine out a chunk comfortable enough to carry underneath your arm.

>>5653030
>>5653062
I'll change my vote to:
>> In addition to your pockets, mine out a chunk comfortable enough to carry underneath your arm.

>>5653030
>In addition to your pockets, mine out a chunk comfortable enough to carry underneath your arm.

>>5653030
> Collect so many chunks you’ll need two hands to carry them. The more the better, you reckon. You deserve it.
Certainly we can just drop it if it's too big of a burden.

There will be update tomorrow, sorry! I promise I'll return to daily updates in time.

>>5653058
>>5653062
>>5653218
>>5653249
>>5653427
>>5653752

You took a deep calming breath. Leaning against it, you began chipping at the exposed ore, striking it and one by one you collecting the feeble iron chunks of varying sizes onto your palm. Relentless stinging and throbbing consumed your nerves and veins, intensifying and then rippling across your ghostly flesh like venom. You shut your eyes and gasped for air, grasping the bulky pillar with your entwining arms to avoid collapsing into the impalement pits you’d only caught a glimpse of. Again, the aching persisted for a prolonged span of time until the ferocity of it mildly weakened. To you, it felt as if it there was a coursing layer of salt grinding against the torn skin of your back, its rough bite returning unannounced.

“God damn it”, you whispered to yourself, clutching at the granite.

You pulled yourself up and then slid your body inches away from the pillar. Returning to the task, you mined as many of the ore nuggets as you could find the ways of carrying. You gathered a solid pound’s worth of it in your palm—glistening with bleak white sheen—and paused. How were you suppose to turn it into bullets? You recalled how the Usher, be that his name, instructed the girl to do it with the nail. That was the only way you could even pretend to guess how it worked. You sealed your hand, closed your eyes shut, and imagined a round. Letting the brittle iron simmer in your grip, you unclenched your fingers. The lump of ore remained as it was. You sighed, rubbing the edge of your neck with pick’s blunt underside as a thought sprouted in your head: was it too big?

You gripped the pick beneath its chisel-shaped head and tapped it against the chunk’s grain, cracking the lump into several bits. Again, you closed your palm and imagined the contours of many bullets. You waited one-sixtieth of an hour before jointly unfurling both your eyes and palm. The rounds glistened in your eyes: lustrous, delicate, and fragile, like the cheapest of silverwares. You couldn’t help it, a relaxed yet satisfied grin corked your cheek. Finally. You leaned the pick against the stone and lifted Goldie’s revolver to load six of the cartridges into the barrel, one by one. You shook the cylinder back into frame to hear the oh-so-satisfying click of the firmly shut lock. You nestled the rusty iron behind your belt and then repeated the process with your Colt. Its loaded pearl-handled grip laid smooth and reassuring in your palm like a mother’s hand. You spun the iron to confirm the bullets held tight.

You mined for a while longer. The largest of the chunks you tucked underneath your left arm, while everything else weighted down the pockets of your clothes. “Landry!” you shouted, just in case, but the only response was an echo of your voice. He was gone, and it was partly your doing. Partly. Heavy-laden with all the iron you’d gathered, you began to trudge across the canyon until you reached the other side. The pillar’s scuffed frame, no longer reflecting the ethereal light, made it look like a leafless black locust tree, only blacker.

Holding the skull-sized piece of ore with one hand and hazily illuminating pick with the other, you reached a place where the feeble stone was no longer in view, and the mazed tunnel walls closed the way they were before the explosion. From the distant darkness you spotted an odd twinkle, which you drew nearer to investigate. On the ground lay a pocket-sized tri-colour watch.

You picked it and flipped it open. As you figured by the boy’s portrait inside, it was Goldie’s new timepiece. The hour and minute hands were pointing away from each other. The minute’s to somewhere deeper in the tunnel in front of you. The hour, the one guiding to Henry if you reckoned right, was pointing behind you.

“Brat? You there?” you said. No one answered.

> Follow the minute hand to search for Goldie, how did she manage to drop something so important to her?
> Turn around and follow the hour hand, but not to find Henry, God forbid, but to find a way out of the El Dorado Warren.
> [Write In]

> I welcome any additional comments or thoughts along with a selected prompt if you have any.

>>5654596
> Follow the minute hand to search for Goldie, how did she manage to drop something so important to her?
I do not doubt for a second that if we leave Goldie here, she’ll come back with an ace up her sleeve.

>>5654596
> Follow the minute hand to search for Goldie, how did she manage to drop something so important to her?

>>5654597
I was going for just ditching her, but this anon bring up a good point.

>>5654596
>> Follow the minute hand to search for Goldie, how did she manage to drop something so important to her?

>>5654596
>Follow the minute hand to search for Goldie, how did she manage to drop something so important to her?

>>5654596
> Follow the minute hand to search for Goldie, how did she manage to drop something so important to her?
What the others daid. Better to keeo an eye on her than to get surprised later. Ot like we can get rid of her for good even if we wanted to.

Did the "heaviness" of our black bones anchor our soul? Or is it a side-effect of the method by which we were shot and brought to the Graveyard Frontier? Hmm...

>>5654597
>>5654601
>>5654646
>>5654760
>>5654890

Your weary sigh brushed the flickering monochromatic walls and then returned to you as a hushed echo. Hesitating for a spell, you slung the opened chronometer ‘round your neck, feeling the gilded chain graze against your haired skin. You let it hang, the watch face and its hands partly hidden but enough to keep track of ‘time’. For sure, there were things in these mines that could keep Goldie either busy or trapped for eternity. There might also have been hidden trump cards down here you hadn’t yet found or made aware of, but you sure didn’t want her to hold ‘em. You reckoned it was better to keep her close: like a rare venomous rattler that had poisoned you with a bite, yet you had to carry it along to show to the doc in the hope that he’d figure out the right antivenom needed to save you.

You moved on, your new pain gnawing at you with annoying vigour and the gathered ore weighing down your steps. Careful not to lose sight of the beckoning mineshaft presenting you with a consistent path you avoided twisting your head; even as you blinked, you didn’t let your eyes stay shut for more than a cut second. The tunnel stayed straight and narrow until it didn’t, and as you rounded the bent and broke an arched road a malformed black shadow swept across the granite your pick had been illuminating. Whirling around, you heard a growl from the choking guts of the thing hiding from your sigh. You spotted a pair of sickly yellowish eyes as striking as smallpox scars on a sinner’s pallid skin. Large and contorted knife-like teeth swallowed the spectral light as it leaned.

> It stands about ten feet away from you.

> Place down the skull-sized chunk of ore on the ground and bare your iron in a warning in case it decides to attack you. Shot it if doesn’t take the hint.
> Back down against the wall and then prepare to swing your pickaxe if it decides to jump you.
> Toss the pickaxe at the hiding canine monstrosity and then unsheathe your revolver and shoot it as many times as it takes to calm it cold.
> Run away from the creature without losing either your pick or your chunk of ore.
> Throw the boulder-of-an-ore at the unseen critter. See what happens and how you can follow up.
> [Write In]

> You can do it in any other order or way but

File: Capture.png (38 KB, 1490x81)

38 KB PNG

Just noticed. Thanks a lot, guys.

>>5655473
>> Place down the skull-sized chunk of ore on the ground and bare your iron in a warning in case it decides to attack you. Shot it if doesn’t take the hint.

>>5655477
While it's a good quest, the huge surge of up and down votes owes more to some drama and trolling/countertrolling that took place in the QTG. Happened to mine, too.

>>5655473
> Toss the pickaxe at the hiding canine monstrosity and then unsheathe your revolver and shoot it as many times as it takes to calm it cold.
We ain't losing this ore after all this!

>>5655514
What a weird thing to do if that's the case.

>>5655473
> Toss the pickaxe at the hiding canine monstrosity and then unsheathe your revolver and shoot it as many times as it takes to calm it cold.
Wonder if we can apply the bullet treatment to those memory crystals we have.

>>5655513
>>5655514
>>5655969

Swinging first you hurled your pickaxe at the lurking abomination. The gleaming pick cartwheeled towards the boar-sized beast, illuminating its features with a trembling light: cracked fangs sharpened by their deformities, sickly greying-green fleshy hide, claws twisted and stretching like branches, a jaw too cramped too hold all its bulging teeth, backward-bending contorted legs, and, contrary to Landry’s assurances, a back sporadically covered with arched quills as long as your forearm. The hound dodged away before your pick could carve into its skull. It jumped left, and then right, shuffling through the shadowy gaps. You brandished your revolver, cocked the well-oiled hammer and then caressed the smooth trigger.

Pale white smoke spat from your barrel as the shot blasted the beast. There was no blood, but the hound quivered and shrieked as if a mortal wound had been dealt. Its claws shred into the granite stone with a grating chalkboard screech as it readied itself, then skittered across the floor like a belly-dragging snake. It bent its form and wove its way towards you; you fired two more shots at its back and rear. Suddenly, you heard a loud snap, followed by a long, muscular, green-tinged, kangaroo-like tail whipping through the air at your feet.

> Continue shooting, this time aiming at the beast’s head.
> Turn your aim and shoot the 4th bullet in the beast’s tail.
> Slam the piece of feeble iron ore on top of the swinging tail.
> Before it can strike your leg, stomp on the tail with your heel.
> Try and leap away from the trashing tail to make some distance.
> [Write In]

>>5656308
> Before it can strike your leg, stomp on the tail with your heel.
Then, with it pinned in place:
>boom, headshot

>>5656497
Nice thinking.

>>5656497
+1

>>5656497
+1
Let's see if this works out and if Aug is a good shot.

>>5656497
>>5656610
>>5656612
>>5657160

With all of your weight you stomped down on beast’s tail, crushing some of quills that ridged along its length beneath your rubber heel. The creature wailed and leapt, its enormous forked claws flailing within a spitting distance yet missing. You pushed the muzzle against the moulting throat and fired another shot. The creature let out a choking growl as you turned the iron sideways and hovered it above its head. The last two feeble rounds discharged with a scintillating fire as the recoil from such a close range made your hand tremble. The beast collapsed on the darkened ground with its six bullets wounds letting out a wailing hiss before its entire body turned to ashed smoke and dissipated before your very eyes. You leaned against the wall.

You suppressed a grin; if there was one thing you were good at it was shooting things. You surveyed the tunnel from which the wretched thing had emerged before taking out a handful of feeble iron and creating six more gleaming bullets. You opened the cylinder to discard the spent shots but each hole revealed to be empty of such and clean — one less hassle to worry about. You reloaded your pearl-handed peacemaker before tucking it back into its holster. Now that you had collected a deposit of the iron, you didn’t have to be conservative with your use of bullets.

You glanced to where the beast’s body laid moment before—nothing remained but the scratch marks it made in the granite—before retrieving your pickaxe. It was just a tad annoying to constantly switch between the iron and the tool. Clutch-holding the pick you ventured even further and deeper into the El Dorado Warren, guided not only by chance but also by Goldie’s watch. You walked cautiously yet without any encounters or commences for less than an hour—not that you bothered to keep exact count—before finally entering a lengthy chamber.

Green-tinted dust hung in the still air before you like an ethereal veil, sparse and barely visible were it not for your bright mining tool. The stone ground was covered by its shimmering presence, glimmering like finely crushed powder in the otherworldly glow. Above it all, on the ceiling, were patterns and silhouettes resembling petrified floral bouquets, suspended in their eternal bloom. From them, the strange mist fell. It was then you noticed Goldie’s body lying within sight, unmoving and still, with lime pollen layered over her like snow.

“What in tarnation are you doing, just laying about?!” you yelled.

> There was no answer.

> Keep shouting until you hear a response.
> Slowly approach the girl beneath the drizzling green drizzle and shake her awake.
> Shot her to wake her. Her immortal body can take it, you reckon.
> Fire a bullet near her body, it should be loud enough to shake her up.
> That’s one less problem to worry about. Turn around, blink your eyes, and manifest a different tunnel. Follow Henry’s hand.
> [Write In]

>>5657334
>> Shot her to wake her. Her immortal body can take it, you reckon.

>>5657334
>> Shot her to wake her. Her immortal body can take it, you reckon.

>>5657334
>Just pick her up and take her with you
Carry her out princess-style and stick the hunk of feeble iron in her lap so we can carry both. Drop her unceremoniously at the first sign of hostiles.

>>5657334
>Throw rocks at her
Don’t waste bullets and don’t get near that pollen

>>5657334
>>5657646
+1

I can't believe it, I just can't ...
I have been using "YourAndYourWaifu" instead of "YouAndYourWaifu" for the last two quests and I only now just noticed ...

>>5657646
Changing to this

>>5658246
I've always thought that it was intentional

>>5657336
>>5657447
>>5657522
>>5657646
>>5657693
>>5658317

Goldie stayed mum. You swapped you pick for a stone you spotted lying on the ground and, with a squinted eye and steady arm, you hurled it at her. The stone struck the girl’s unconscious body and, as it did, a cloud of sharp and venomous green bursted into pollen-like plume, floating in the still air like disturbed young fireflies. You narrowed your eyes, but saw neither a twitch nor a shift from her body. She was behaving in a way that was unnatural for the souls of the Graveyard Frontier, but then again, her body wasn’t like all the others’. Perhaps she, and she alone could get knocked out cold in this unholy place.

You pulled out your iron and fired a shot, the scintillating flower powder engulfing the heated smoke of your discharge. The shot echoed with a lonesome resonance before the bullet found its way into Goldie’s side. Another smaller cloud of powdery particles scattered around the mark you’d hit, shrouding the brat in a lemon-lime haze. You turned the cylinder a touch, just enough to ready the next round in case she lunged at you in a frenzied charge. However, once more, she laid motionless. You spat at the ground.

You lifted the watch off your neck using the polished wooden butt of your revolver. Sure enough, the minute hand was pointing at her … As the particles cleared and settled, right behind Goldie’s body, you noticed a set of granite stairs gradually ascending upwards, less grand than the ones you used to enter the El Dorado Warren, but similar. You scratched your greying beard and paused to ponder. You cast a second look at the embezzled glass, this time at hour hand. It was trembling subtly, pointing somewhere behind you. You frowned.

> The hand’s pointing at Henry, but it doesn’t mean it’ll lead you to a way out, does it? Best go up to Goldie and then climb them steps.
> Keep firing more shots at Goldie until you get a reaction—any kind of a reaction. This ain’t right, did the dust put her to sleep?
> Turn your back on the chamber and close your eyes tight. Wait for a minute or two, then open ‘em to see if another path shows itself.
> [Write In]

>>5658317
I guess it is now.

>>5658401
>> Turn your back on the chamber and close your eyes tight. Wait for a minute or two, then open ‘em to see if another path shows itself.

>>5658401
>Go up the granite stairs, leaving Goldie behind. Keep your wits about you, you have a bad feeling about this.

>>5658401
> Turn your back on the chamber and close your eyes tight. Wait for a minute or two, then open ‘em to see if another path shows itself.

>>5658401
>Go up the granite stairs, leaving Goldie behind. Keep your wits about you, you have a bad feeling about this.

No update today. Voting is open if anyone wants to be a tiebreaker.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>5658526
>>5658975

>>5658540
>>5658993

>>5658526
>>5658540
>>5658975
>>5658993

With a slow drowned out step you entered the blossom-adorned tunnel. Pollen feel, clung, and coated your shoulders and the brim of your hat, feeling light yet irritatingly viscous. You made your way across the thin, lime powdered sleet, the greenish grains floating and sticking to your cloth like crushed sagebrush. You drew nearer the girl and gazed down at her with disappointment and content. You stepped over her and reached for the exit.

You felt a soft squishy texture before your fingers encountered solid stone beneath. Your eyes widened as you took a step back—the tunnel to ascend back to the surface was nothing more than a mirage. Naturally, it wasn’t going to be that doggone simple ... You shuffled your feet back before you felt your hells press against a yielding surface. You looked down at your pollen-dusted pants and, you realised, what was suppose to be Goldie underneath you. Your boot pressed through her neck like she was nothing but a wisp of mist.

Your eyes dropped down and then turned back to the path you had come from. It was right there, wasn’t it? It was hard to tell, as there were a dozen identical passages with similar ascending sets of granite stairs, with only minute differences. You shortened your breath, your gaze darting between each one. The pollen snow continued to fall.

> Fire at them shafts with your revolver to figure out which one’s a fake and which one’s genuine.
> Look up at the ceiling and see if there’s any way you can handle with the tricks of the mirage.
> Keeping your wits about you but moving swift-like, start feeling the walls to search for a way out.
> [Write In]

>>5660337
>> Keeping your wits about you but moving swift-like, start feeling the walls to search for a way out.

>>5660337
> Look up at the ceiling and see if there’s any way you can handle with the tricks of the mirage.
A pollen Goldie?

>>5660337
> Fire at them shafts with your revolver to figure out which one’s a fake and which one’s genuine.
Might be a waste, but it might also help us out too.

>>5660337
> Look up at the ceiling and see if there’s any way you can handle with the tricks of the mirage.

>>5660782
It's like the cactus. A predatory plant hat imitates someone you know to lure you in and afflict your soul!

>>5660337
>> Look up at the ceiling and see if there’s any way you can handle with the tricks of the mirage.

>>5660578
>>5660782
>>5660816
>>5660923
>>5660944

Sorry guys it seem I didn't make it clear. That "Goldie" is just a tangible mirage like the exit you touched. The pollen is falling from the ceiling.

>>5660578
>>5660782
>>5660816
>>5660923
>>5660944

You tightened the grip of your left hand on the large chunk of ore you were holding. Raising your pick to illuminate the ceiling above, you looked up, hoping to find a way to deal with the falling pollen and the illusions it made. The overhead’s arched ridges, petal-shaped stalactites, and domed hollows formed an intricate display of petrified floral patterns, blooming like a frozen garden. From each, like dripping water, grains of lime-zest pollen trickled down one a time.

Before you could dissect it any further, a speck of pollen granules trembled from the brim of your hat and fell directly into your eyes. It settled in the hollows of your skull as if it was a ground-up cactus, obscuring the flash of your eyes like moss. Tarnation! You closed your left eye and rubbed your right one with your wrist in hope of clearing it. You managed, but only a tad, you felt as if you’d been blinded by sand. You stumbled forwards.

Cursing, you were about to bury your gaze to the ground, but a peculiar sight stopped you. Among the mineral flowers was a hollow opening, neither large nor small. Whether you had failed to notice it before, or it was new, you couldn’t tell. Yet, it lead to the outside, the sky clearly visible through it like a window without glass… but not the sky of the Graveyard Frontier. Clear heavens shimmered like morning water with a distant yet warm sun dancing at its heart. As you watched, an unknown figure, their body hidden by the shadow, peered down at you from above. The figure hoisted its hands and threw down a long rope ladder; it stopped just short of touching the ground. You moved closer.

Your feet stepped through something soft and then you plunged downward, the ground vanishing beneath you. Your pickaxe scraped against the granite as it ends embedded into the solid stone, leaving you suspended in a hole almost as if it was tailor-made for a size large than you. You gasped for breath as you felt your hold weaken. The heavy feeble iron was weighting you down, as well as your laden jacket. Beneath you couldn’t see a thing, yet a sound, a very distant sound of running water, reached your ears. Your throat, parched and yearning for another drink, shrivelled.

> Drop the chunk of ore the size of a skull and use your free hand to claw your way out of the hole.
> Release your pickaxe, take a leap, then hustle your way up from the hole using your elbow.
> There ain’t nothing more to be done in this pollen-filled cavern. Yank the pickaxe free, taking it with you as you surrender to the darkness below.
> [Write In]

> I welcome any additional comments or thoughts along with a selected prompt if you have any.

>>5662071
>> Release your pickaxe, take a leap, then hustle your way up from the hole using your elbow.

>>5662071
> Release your pickaxe, take a leap, then hustle your way up from the hole using your elbow.
It's all temptations.

>>5662071
> Release your pickaxe, take a leap, then hustle your way up from the hole using your elbow.
Don't trust this illusion of escape. Illusions are what this chamber does!

With a strained strength, you arched your left arm upwards, slamming the heavy chunk of ore onto the edge of the hole, then bracing yourself against the stone surface with your elbow. You took a steadying breath and then, releasing the pickaxe, you threw yourself on the ledge with a wavering grip. You started to hustle your way up from the chasm by your elbows. The granite cracked, your right elbow slipped, and your unbalanced body fumbled down. You gripped the jagged edges of the ore chunk with both hands, your chest scraping against the weather-beaten granite. The small pieces of ore cackled inside your pockets as they trashed against one another. You pulled yourself up to find another grip, but then the ore slipped and fell off the edge. Your fingers reached for the pickaxe but only grazed the very ends of its ethereal handle before you fell into the abyss.

The emerald light disappeared along with the pickaxe you had left behind. Darkness swallowed your fall, the descent lasting long enough for you to grasp your plight. You held to the ore with both hands as if it was a cross just before the underground waters cushioned your fall. Sulfurous water warmed your spectral flesh as you reached the rough rugged riverbed—the lightless river just deep enough to catch you. Unsure of which direction to swim in, you began to flail your arms in desperation.

Just like not needing rest and food, you knew you were in no real need of breath, yet you still gasped, almost instinctively. The unspoilt creamy freshness of the water flooded your parched throat like a soothing balm before its taste turned abruptly sour and rotten. As you tried to spit it out—a challenging task underwater— your mind was blinded by an onslaught of clouding images. You found yourself immersed in a vision where everything around you was blurry and distorted.

In your hand was a drawn revolver, smoke drawing from its muzzle. The stone beneath your feet was marred by fractures and splits. From these cracks emerged black arms, twisted and veined with fiery red, their nails coiled and long as if never clipped. Those grotesque limbs reached for you, clawing at the air. One by one those deformed black hands started to rip at your flesh and scrape your bones, pulling you closer to the scalding embers of their abode.

As soon as you were free of the nightmare and could see the glistening white water again, you dropped the cumbersome ore and then propelled yourself upward, your boots pushing off the stone. Your arms pierced the surface of the water before you lifted your head. In the darkness, a tiny shimmering line marked the boundary between the river and the rest of the cavern. Mindful to avoid swallowing even a spit more of this water, you manoeuvred through the shrouded underground with a feverish frenzy. Your gaze, now cleared of pollen, adjusted to the shadows. You swam towards what seemed to be a small islet in the middle of the river. Barely large enough to stretch a waggon’s wheel axle, the islet’s soil met your wet fingertips, revealing a cover of powdery ash. From beneath this snowy blanket, grey blades of grass protruded, their glossy and gnawed appearance resembling nails. The moment you stepped on them, they emitted an audible crunch.

In the centre of the islet, a tree with ghostly ashen bark claimed dominance. Its barren branches sprawled overhead like a damaged rooftop. Its massive trunk looked like a pile of animal skeletons and their horns were twisted like a cloth for drying. In the absence of wind, its bare limbs hung motionless and lifeless. Your boots sank into the ashen soot as you approached closer. The stark tree, in its waxen pallor, had a very fleeting resemblance to a cherry tree. Dangling from the skeletal branches, you noticed fruits akin to white crab apples. With a sense of cautious curiosity, you extended your right hand to touch one of them.

When it was in reach, your bullet wound flared with renewed pain. Your shoulder twisted as if you were wrestling a wild horse with a lasso, and your shoulder bone bowed under the strain, ready to snap. You steeled yourself from collapsing into the graven snow and coarse brittle grass, your eyes locked on the place where Goldie fired her shot. A few moments later, it calmed down, and you could move your arm again.

> With your left hand, take hold of that “apple”.
> Draw your iron and take a shot at the “apple”, see what happens.
> This ain’t usual, but you caught the drift. Rest up under this here tree before you take to findin' the exit.
> [Write In]

>>5663039
> Draw your iron and take a shot at the “apple”, see what happens.
Gun solves everything

>>5663039
>See if the apple can be grabbed indirectly
Perhaps we can cover a hand in cloth and grab it, or break it off the stem without directly touching it.
I don't think it would be a good idea to shoot the apple that causes old pains to flare.

File: a56dfd262f7e9bc014e0d4463(...).jpg (46 KB, 563x729)

46 KB JPG

No update today but the vote still open.

>>5663039
> With your left hand, take hold of that “apple”.

Rolled 3 (1d3)

>>5663241

>>5663437

>>5663838

>>5663241
>>5663437
>>5663838

You clenched your teeth and shoved your wayward right arm beneath your jacket and belt as a safeguard against any further bouts of rebellion. With some hesitancy, you lifted your arm and plucked the porcelain fruit, its skin as soft as tangerine's. Just like a tangerine, it began to unravel and split into even segments in your palm, with a single seed at its core. The seed bore the shape of a bullet, appearing as though it was intricately etched from white beeswax: a perfect fit for a revolver. Running your thumb over the seed, it felt solid.

You tossed aside the pulp and peel of the fruit at your feet and then drew your better revolver with your free hand. Slotting the bullet into its chamber, you swivelled the cylinder and then snapped the drum’s latch shut, now holding one bullet more. For one reason or another you felt a sudden surge of excitement, as if pulling the trigger and firing the round was the answer to all your troubles.

> Lift the muzzle ‘bove your ear and let her rip.
> Swing the iron around the cavern wide and squeeze off a random round.
> Aim the barrel on the fruit-laden tree and pull the firing hammer at it.

>>5664516
Can we resist firing?
If not, I choose
> Swing the iron around the cavern wide and squeeze off a random round.
We really in a cave bullet factory

>>5664516
>> Swing the iron around the cavern wide and squeeze off a random round.

>>5664516
> Aim the barrel on the fruit-laden tree and pull the firing hammer at it.

>>5664516
>> Aim the barrel on the fruit-laden tree and pull the firing hammer at it.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>5664521
>>5664860

>>5664869
>>5665081

>>5664521
>>5664860
>>5664869
>>5665081

With the tree in your sights, you cocked back the hammer with your thumb, the other finger hovering over the trigger. The tree was your mark, and you were about to bleed it of its secrets. Yet before you could fully squeeze the trigger, a sudden agony seized your groin. Your right hand clenched it with a grip meant for snapping necks or prying crates open. Of all the pains you’d braced for in the Graveyard Frontier, this was one you hadn’t expected to suffer. Sharp, intense, and excruciating, so it was. You hunched over and pressed the revolver to your chest. In the throes of enduring nausea, your left hand seized your wrist. It yanked the firearm from your loosened hold and, with all the strength you could feel coursing through it, it hurled it into the milky depths. Your heirloom splashed against the river’s surface and soon vanished beneath the faint ripples.

“What in God’s name?!” your yell cut through the pain.

You fell on your knee and grabbed your rebellious left hand with your right, glaring at it as if expecting the eyeless palm to respond. It did not. Seconds after the toss, you felt in control of your left hand again … at least it seemed that way. Pain rushing through your legs, you exhaled a weary breath and shut your eyes. Why was your arm acting this way? Was it trying to prevent you from finding something that could free you from this damned purgatory, or was there another reason?

> Bite back the pain and wade into the waters, your sight set on retrieving your lost firearm.
> As much as it stings to lose a piece of your past, there’s something else you need to retrieve: that skull-sized chunk of feeble iron.
> Either bind or dislocate your rogue right arm so it can’t interfere. Take a fruit or two from the fruit, but don’t dare to plant any of the seeds in Goldie’s revolver.
> [Write In]

>>5664521
> It was intentionally without [Write In], hmmm.

>>5665246
> Bite back the pain and wade into the waters, your sight set on retrieving your lost firearm.

Write-ins aside, would any option besides shooting ourselves have resulted in the hand flipping out?

>>5665258
>Write-ins aside, would any option besides shooting ourselves have resulted in the hand flipping out?

Yes, swinging around would also have the arm react that way, but maybe with a different result.

>>5665246
> Bite back the pain and wade into the waters, your sight set on retrieving your lost firearm.

>>5665246
>> Bite back the pain and wade into the waters, your sight set on retrieving your lost firearm.

The day was 17/05/2023. No update could be found no matter how hard I looked.

>>5666351
Alas!

>>5665258
>>5665598
>>5665840

Shaking off the thought, you stifled the aching pain in your groin by biting down your lip. A full body shudder passed through you as you steeled yourself to plunge back into the warm creamy waters. An owl’s eyes yours were not, but the darkness wasn’t absolute either. You had seen the splash marking where your six-shooter had landed. Walking along the rough seabed, you moved deeper until the water was reaching your neck, at which point you began to swim. You were self-taught, so the way you swam wasn’t ideal, yet practical enough.

Drawing in a deep breath, you plunged headfirst into the white river to descend towards its bottom. The dense opaqueness veiled your sight, forcing you to depend on you feeling the stone with your hands. Holding a breathless pause, you scoured the riverbed. As minutes faded away and the need for air grew urgent, your hands stumbled upon the revolver’s handle. With one more push off the rocky bed, you rushed to ascend to break the surface. You found a spot where your boots touched the bottom and kept your head above the billows.

You lifted the revolver to check on it; it was soaked in the ethereal chalk water. You gave it a quick shake, then reached with your right hand to assess the cylinder. Your shoulder wound flared when fingers barely grazed it. You withdrew the iron away from the offending hand, but the twinge lingered nonetheless.

You spat. “Ain’t keen on me firing you, are you?” you asked the question rhetorically.

Your gaze bore into your hand as the pain gradually receded. Sighing, you stowed away the gun in its holster, one of its chambers now hosting an otherworldly “bullet”.

You cast a fleeting glance at the water … what was that disturbing vision drinking it revealed to you only moments ago?

> Wet your whistle against so you ain’t parched no more, even if it means staring down another unsettling vision.
> Skedaddle outta the water, faster the better. High tail it back to the tree island and scout for an escape route from there.
> Stay put in this water and scout around, see if there’s a way to leave this mess, or if this is where you’ll be pushing daisies?
> [Write In]

>>5667158
> Skedaddle outta the water, faster the better. High tail it back to the tree island and scout for an escape route from there.
Pusbing daisies? We should BE so lucky.

>>5667158
>> Skedaddle outta the water, faster the better. High tail it back to the tree island and scout for an escape route from there.

>>5667158
> Skedaddle outta the water, faster the better. High tail it back to the tree island and scout for an escape route from there.
Bodies of water in the afterlife tend to have a bad habit of erasing memories.

>>5667158
>> Wet your whistle against so you ain’t parched no more, even if it means staring down another unsettling vision.
lets nope as far away as possible

>>5667456
>>5667681
>>5667765
>>5667942

You looked down at the trembling water and licked your parched lips. For now, your good sense conquered your longing to wet your whistle. With a dismissive shake of your head, you began to make your way back to the islet. When one of your boots fell through the duff of soot and hit the bone-strewn soil beneath, something rigid grazed your other sole. Rightfully paranoid, you scrambled out of the river and darted back from the islet’s edge.

There, beneath the milky hues, a subdued glitter of fish scales caught your eye, followed by a ghostly white shadow of an unseen creature. A tip of a copper tail punctured the surface, sending ripples across the water. You retreated even further from it. After several ticks of the clock, the thing pivoted and then retreated. Whatever it was, you reckoned yourself fortunate to leave the river with the haste you did.

You cast your gaze across the expansive breadth of the cavern, noting the presence of a dimly lit yet distinct ceiling. As your eyes trailed along the serpentine tail of arches you spotted a soft aquamarine spark, akin to a far-off star, suspended above the white tree. Letting out a sigh, you extended your hand to graze the tree’s lowest branch and then pushed it even further to hoist yourself up with your boots.

From the leafless branch came out a sound like snapping bones, followed by a distressed whisper reminiscent of mourning. The sounds carried on with every ivory branch you seized to hoist yourself further up the tree, as though you were intruding on a funeral, or worse, eavesdropping on your own rites from inside a casket. Them seeded fruits, dotting along the branches of the tree, seemed to recoil your right hand every time it came to hover too close to one. You weren’t good enough to scale the tree one-handed, so you had to make due and endure. In the absence of any light, save for the ghostly glow of your flesh, your ascent was a godforsaken chore.

Even with one of your hands flailing about as if possessed, you managed to climb the barren canopy. Although the branches were reaching higher, your prudence dictated the choice of the sturdier branches to settle your weight on. Lifting your gaze, you noticed a round granite hollow set into the cavern roof, tantalisingly close if you dared to make the jump. The ethereal green-blue glow shining from above grew a notch brighter, its shimmer reflecting off the cavern ceiling; was it a glow of another’s pick? The granite encasement had an unvarying width and was large enough for you to spread your arms. A still rope came into view: faded black and fraying yet still as thick as an anchor’s line. You squinted, but nothing else of note appeared.

> Haul yourself up on them sturdy rocks and start clawing your way to that green-blue beacon.
> Leap onto that rope, coil it like your pa showed you, then kick off what you reckon to be a much safer climb.
> Take a shot at that rope—no harm in being cautious. If there ain’t peep in return, grab ahold and start your uphill journey.
> [Write In]

>>5668780
> Leap onto that rope, coil it like your pa showed you, then kick off what you reckon to be a much safer climb.
Let's skidaddle.

>>5668780
>> Leap onto that rope, coil it like your pa showed you, then kick off what you reckon to be a much safer climb.

>>5668780
> Leap onto that rope, coil it like your pa showed you, then kick off what you reckon to be a much safer climb.

>>5668780
>> Leap onto that rope, coil it like your pa showed you, then kick off what you reckon to be a much safer climb.

>>5669225
>>5669312
>>5669528
>>5669592

You leapt from the branches to grasp at the tail end of the rope. With muscles strained your fingers curled around the coarse hemp, your body swaying above the jagged leafless crown. With a heavy of your arm, you widened your grip, coiling the rope around your ankles and knees to take advantage of the security it gave. You squinted up into the darkness to where the rope was hooked, too far and too hazy for you to make out the details. You hoped it was tied to something sturdy as you hauled yourself higher. While you kept to your wits, the worn-out cordage kept steadfast, proving herself not of the sort to easily snap.

Lifting your eyes once more to adjust your grip, you discerned a single thread of bleached, nearly white hemp in the twisted bundle of the rope. The solitary thread, beginning beneath your clutched fingers, traced an upward line, unravelling a sentence in intricate cursive with each letter poised above the next, as though the regular looping calligraphy wasn’t challenging to read for you already.

‘Art thou deserving of thy place?’ it queried.

> Spit out a ‘no’, this here ground ain’t yours to tread.
> Say yes, by its reckoning and rule, but your hour ain’t struck yet.
> Stay silent and keep to your climbin’.
> [Write In]

>>5669754
> Spit out a ‘no’, this here ground ain’t yours to tread.

>>5669754
>> Spit out a ‘no’, this here ground ain’t yours to tread.

>>5669789
>>5669811

“No,” you spat out, venom colouring your voice.

You traced a path over the woven words and then hoisted yourself higher. A loud snap ricocheted in your ears. In your grip, the rope twitched, its white thread quivering as it snapped, its strength waning in your palms. The weight of your black bones, accursed burden, added to the load pulling you down. Your grip tightened in response.

“Darn it to hell,” you said, your harsh growl scraping raw at your throat. You waited until the much less reliable rope settled its strained trembling.

You cast your gaze upon the rope, now a thread less. “Are you saying I got it wrong?” you asked. Of course, it didn’t reply. You climbed further until another sentence appeared.

‘Does each soul you have brought merit its presence?’

> Sure as sunrise, if you meant to be here then so do they.
> Pause for a moment to mull over the scum you’d sent here, not one a lamb in the eyes of the Lord. “No.”
> Say nothing and quicken your ascent in case it’ll snap again. You’d rather it not break on you.
> [Write In]

>>5670466
>> Pause for a moment to mull over the scum you’d sent here, not one a lamb in the eyes of the Lord. “No.”

>>5670466
> Pause for a moment to mull over the scum you’d sent here, not one a lamb in the eyes of the Lord. “No.”
Not like we knew this was how God's judgment worked around these parts.

>>5670466
>Pause for a moment to mull over the scum you’d sent here, not one a lamb in the eyes of the Lord. “No.”
Well, Aug hunted down a woman for her voice, so, yeah. I don't think keeping silent or saying lies to this rope will end well

>>5670526
>>5670568
>>5670796

You mulled over the question for a spell. Your gaze eyes lifted to track the unravelling thread slicing through the rope. You gripped the tether and bore your teeth.

Did they all belong here, it asked. For sure, you reckoned, most of them … all of them; why was it pressing you so? “No,” you said, more of a guess than a lie.

The twine embodying the question ruptured as if riddled by bullets, fraying through the tangled core like a chasm. You swore, the icy breath clinging to your throat. The fibbers broke with a sound akin to a searing skillet, turning in your grip from taunt to slack as loose rifts formed between the strands. Your phantom heart pounded. Your hands strained higher, searching for a safe rope-hold to avoid losing your grip and plummeting onto the jagged carapace below.

You braced your boots against the slippery granite walls, your heels skidding off the surface before scrambling to find a foothold. Finally, you seized the damaged tether, anchoring yourself in place. Damnations, had you erred again? Just discernible were the edges of the hole, a few grasps within reach. Poised between you and it, as if daring you to get it wrong one last time, was a white strand holding the severed ends like gnarled tendons. The pendent sentence said:

‘Be there deliverance from this everlasting damnation?’

> You reckon there’s, for you. And if there ain’t, you’re gonna carve one yourself, be square with the rope and your own self.
> Not a soul you’ve crossed paths with spoke of escape, just more misery. Maybe the third try’s the correct one? Say a ‘No’.
> To hell with this. Climb high as it’ll let ya, ignore the question, and when the rope finally gives, make for that ledge.
> [Write In]

>>5671200
>You reckon there’s, for you. And if there ain’t, you’re gonna carve one yourself, be square with the rope and your own self.
Kill your killer

>>5671200
>> You reckon there’s, for you. And if there ain’t, you’re gonna carve one yourself, be square with the rope and your own self.

>>5671200
> You reckon there’s, for you. And if there ain’t, you’re gonna carve one yourself, be square with the rope and your own self.

>>5671204
>>5671208
>>5671627

Were those questions tricks or not? You squinted at the swirled thread, “There will be,” you spoke in a tamed whisper, “and if there ain’t, I’ll find that path myself.”

Your legs braced against the walls of the hollow and your body tensed in anticipation of a snap. To your surprised relief, it held. Your gaze raked over the white thread as thought expecting it pull a fast one on you. Anchoring your boots against the sleek granite you towed yourself upward, the rope creaking under each tug. Even though the rope was slack and frayed, it held. You heaved yourself over the edge of the well onto the gritty tepid stone of yet another chamber.

You halted for a moment, your eyes fixed on the pitch black starless ceiling. Pausing, you averted your eyes from it, shifting your attention to where the mint light beckoned you to. The cavern’s eldritch nature had carved the white granite into a series of wide, squat steps around the abyss, as if it was a pyramid meant for the disposal of souls. You drew near the glow on one of such platforms to find, as you had suspected, an abandoned spectral pickaxe, the luminous shadows it cast bleaching the flat rises. You lifted it it off the ground and swayed it around to light up the path ahead and to see if you could spot its owner. A lone tunnel appeared from the gloom.

Resisting the urge to look back and let the walls morph around you, you kept your attention on the tunnel alone, using the spectral pick as a lantern.

Out of nowhere, bathed in the phantasmal light, a human silhouette took shape from the shadows, her skin a translucent, faint blue sheen atop a pearlescent skeleton.

You pulled back the hammer and leveled the rusty gun at the girl. Knees drawn up against her chest, Goldie lifted her head. She waited in quiet stillness and then lowered her gaze again.

“If you’re aiming to eat me, get on with it,” she spat.

The hell was that? “Insult me or something so I that know you’re the real one," you said.

Her eyebrows perked. She hesitated. “You look like him, you speak in Henry’s voice … but what you spew” —she rubbed her eyes and hissed— “Damn it, can’t see jack!”

“What’s wrong with you?” you said. Maintaining a safe distance, you raised the watch and clicked it open. Sure enough, the supposed hand pointed at the snake.

The way she rubbed into her eyes, were she was flesh and bones and not an immortal soul, it would’ve certainly blinded her. She wept. “I see Henry everywhere!”

Taking a single step, you lifted the pick to shed more light on her. She tossed her fists in the air and slapped her knees, glaring directly at you. You saw it then, a faint dust of viper’s green powder clinging to the hollows of her eyes, a pollen you had seen before. You chewed on the inner lining of your cheek.

> Show some mercy for the girl and offer to wash away the pollen from her eyes. A way to settle the debt for keeping the water for you?
> Without uttering a word use the pickaxe to lop off her noggin. She got herself an immortal body, it’ll just sprout back, hopefully for her with no more dust clouding her sight.
> She ain’t no threat in this condition, and that can only bode well for you. Leave her be, like this, for now if not for good.
> [Write In]

>>5671918
> Show some mercy for the girl and offer to wash away the pollen from her eyes. A way to settle the debt for keeping the water for you?
My reasoning being that she has a vested interest in us being shot by the right Henry and can help us avoid being killed by the ones gunning for us.
> You look like him, you speak in Henry’s voice … but what you spew
That's got to be disconcerting.

>>5671918
>> Show some mercy for the girl and offer to wash away the pollen from her eyes. A way to settle the debt for keeping the water for you?

>>5671918
>> Without uttering a word use the pickaxe to lop off her noggin. She got herself an immortal body, it’ll just sprout back, hopefully for her with no more dust clouding her sight.

>>5671926
>>5671970
>>5672859

Rolling your eyes, you pondered. The very word debt and how it was said twisted your stomach. Anyone asking to borrow with no intention of returning was a two-faced scoundrel, and those who did you a favour without asking for anything back were doubly so. You detested being in someone’s debt, like a slave. She held the bone-blackening water for you.

You moved towards the girl, dropping to one knee near her. Her scorching blue eyes bore into yours, the aquamarine gleam shimmering in the pollen dust.

“Am I the only ‘Henry’ in your sights?”

She scoffed, spitting to the side. “No.” Mimicking a gun with her point, she pointed at the wall. “I spot him there” —she waved it around— “and there, and there, and over yonder. He’s everywhere, damn it.” She clicked her tongue. “You’re the first one to move his yap, thought.”

You reached for her face. “Keep still, it’s likely the pollen in your peepers causing the problem.”

Her wince was slight as you touched her glassy eyelids. You swept at her eyes using your fingertips as time-worn brushes, the green grains clinging to your fingers instead. Some of it remained.

“How is it looking?” you asked.

Goldie winced in response. Fluttering her eyelashes, she snarled, “Didn’t do a lick of good, I still see you as him.”

A weary sigh left your lips. Running your thumb over your tongue like you were wetting an envelope seal, you used the same thumb to try to clear away the pollen with your spit. Goldie felt it; she shuddered with disgust, let out a shaky whimper and clutched at your jacket sleeves as though she intended to shred them off.

You grabbed her chin to steady her and then repeated the attempt. Goldie squirmed in your grip, but after a few scrubs, her eyes seemed clean. You huffed at her eyes for good measure.

“Quit it. Stop!” she shouted, kicking you with her boot.

You did, but not because she so kindly asked you to.

Canting your head to one side, you queried, “What’s the view like now?”

“I … I reckon … yeah," she said, rubbing her eyes, "I can see your ugly mug." She looked around, “And the rest are gone.” You didn’t get a thank you, but you hadn’t given one earlier either.

> Fill Goldie in on your happenings.[How much should you tell?]
> Hand back that timepiece to Goldie as a show of goodwill.
> Inquire about Goldie’s goings-on.[What particulars you should ask?]
> [Write In]

Apologies for no update yesterday.

>>5673350
>> Fill Goldie in on your happenings.[How much should you tell?]
Met a crazed miner, got some more bullets, and fought a Big Ass Kitty. then if found you.

>>5673379
+1

I should probably advertise on /qtg/ but I don't know what to summarize

>>5673582
weird west setting, In hell, child abuse, revenge?

>>5673582
"A bounty hunter trapped in a mysterious ashen underworld with his killer, a vengeful child, navigates his way back to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

>>5673350
Supporting >>5673379

>>5673582
"Aug "Only Dead," a bounty hunter known for bringing in bounties dead no matter the price has found himself on the wrong side of the barrel. Shot by a family member of one of his victims, he has been sent to the Graveyard Frontier where those slain by the bullet remain until they shoot their killers, he must now find his way out while avoiding getting done in by the numerous amount of people he has shot in his long career and dealing with the weirdness of the Frontier."

>>5673379
>>5673461
>>5673775

“You also look the same,” you said, rubbing your nose with your wrist. “Must be nice not being like everyone else in this godforsaken pit.”

She scoffed. Well ain’t you mistaken. I had my own share of troubles in spite of this body’s mending itself. Fuck you, brother killer, for roping me into this mess. I should’ve stayed topside!”

“I didn’t put a gun to your head,” you said. “And my point still rings true. I reckon it holds true, as the one fellow I ran into said that your soul sticks around in Warren, even if you ‘die’ here.”

Her brows pinched together, “Hold on, you met another living soul?” She was looking around and blinking rapidly, clearly struggling to take in the cavern’s brotherless surroundings.

You clicked your tongue. “Yeah, lost him too. Souls here are like fleas on a hound, trapped with no way out.”

“The walls move when you ain’t looking,” she said, her voice crackling with annoyance. She returned her gaze back to you and her eyes widened. “Thief! That’s my ticker!”

Holding up the spectral pick to let the ghostly glow light you both, you rolled your eyes. “And this here pick too, I reckon? You’re all over the place, losing things left and right.”

She jumped off the floor ready to pounce at you. “Hand it over!”

Bracing her shoulder with your boot, you saw her down. “You’ll just lose it again, It’s better off with me.”

“I ain’t gonna!”

“Well that’s mighty convincing,” you said. The cold, gold-plated metal of the watch trembled in your hand. “Your brother’s watch hand supposed to lead us out, ain’t it?”

She spat, though no actual spit followed. “It s’posed to, I followed it, but then I ran into a whole mess of troubles.”

“Troubles? Like the pollen dust?”

She shook her head, “Yep, those too, some before that, but after, there here apparitions looking like Henry ‘cause of the blasted dust.” She put her hand over her eyes, “They torn at me like I was their supper, gnawed at my flesh like it was beef, and then took a breather until I recovered, just to start their feast anew.” A shiver racked her frame, “The image of my own brother cannibalising on me …”

“I reckon I’ve crossed paths with that beast you’re speaking about,” you said. “I took care of—”

“It?” her eyes went wide.

A low growl grated against both your ears. Like a glint of fool’s gold, the beast’s yellow eyes flashed at you before vanishing. You clutched your pick and swung, casting an illuminating radiance where the beast had been, as if your tool was dripping with venom. Under the green-blue glow, it’s diseased hide writhed and squirmed before recoiling back into the shadows. With startling speed, the varmint darted through the untouched shadows. Its myriad of teeth were grinding and chattering from the unseen. Goldie leapt to her feet, her shoulder slamming the unyielding granite with pained cry.

“Is that what it was suppose to be?”

Your empty hand reached for a revolver … but which one?

> Try and use your pearl-handled six-shooter with that pallid slug in it. Reckon it’ll do any harm to the varmint? Will your shooting hand even let you?
> Give the time-worn iron to Goldie and have her take a shot at the beast. Use your pickaxe to hold off the critter while she takes aim.
> Keep the pick in your off hand to use if creature gets too close, and Goldie’s revolver in your gun hand to shoot for when the beast strays in your crosshairs.
> [Write In]

>>5673589
>>5673775
>>5673885

Thanks, I'll post soon.

>>5674159
>Hand Goldie the pearl-handled six-shooter. Use your pickaxe to hold off the critter while she takes aim.

>>5674159
>Hand Goldie the pearl-handled six-shooter. Use your pickaxe to hold off the critter while she takes aim.
Worth a go. Maybe her hand won't be all Evil Dead with her like ours has been since picking that fruit?

>>5674159
>Keep the pick in your off hand to use if creature gets too close, and Goldie’s revolver in your gun hand to shoot for when the beast strays in your crosshairs.

>>5674642
>>5674936
>>5675669

You unholstered your keepsake and, with a heartbeat’s hesitation, tossed it in Goldie’s unawaiting arms. She caught it.

That bullet was one of a kind, nevertheless …“Shoot at it!” you yelled.

Your eyes snapped back to the crawling beast, your left hand clutching the pickaxe by its handle like a martial tool.

Goldie fumbled with the pearl-handed iron before she steadied it with both hands. She stopped all of a sudden, her mouth quivering.

The abomination skulked across the ground and drew nearer. It leapt through the glow cast by your pick, its gleam burning its hound-like form from above. You turned and swung the pickaxe at its grotesque body, only to strike the air as it caught the shoulder of the pick with its talons and pulled at it. Its swollen jaw gnashed against its own teeth. Before you could flinch, its lengthy, verdant tail whipped around the blade and snapped at your drawing hand with its quills, them piercing through your cloth and into the flesh.

It felt no worse than a nettle’s sting. You grit your teeth, coiled the tail like it was some soggy seaweed, and, mustering your strength, tossed the tail and the rest of the beast against the wall and away from you. The hound clenched at the granite with its claws, as if attempting to soften its fall. A moment of respite.

Or a moment to realise how darn rotten it was for you. Your right hand, the one that put so many bullseye shots, bubbled and frothed like boiling oil, your thin pale flesh beginning to steam and shift.

Goldie’s eyes meet yours. “There’s something here in this iron of yours,” she stated, her voice devoid of any concern for your plight.

> Damn, was that seed the first round you loaded or not, you can’t rightly remember. It’s unique, must be something special about it. Whatever, holler at her to pull the trigger.
> Let Lady Luck decide. Tell Goldie to give the cylinder a whirl and let fly with a shot, hoping she ain’t gonna waste the ghostly seed.
> She seems able to handle it, at the very least. Instruct Goldie to pop open the cylinder, ensure the bullet-shaped-seed is in the sixth chamber, and then start blasting away. Sure as sin, you can wait.
> [Write In]

> Do you fancy chucking that pickaxe and snatching up Goldie’s old iron you got to start blasting or do you plan on sticking with the pickaxe for some up-close-and-personal combat?

> I welcome any additional comments or thoughts along with a selected prompt if you have any.

> Thanks for playing.

>>5675716
>> Damn, was that seed the first round you loaded or not, you can’t rightly remember. It’s unique, must be something special about it. Whatever, holler at her to pull the trigger.

>>5675716
> Damn, was that seed the first round you loaded or not, you can’t rightly remember. It’s unique, must be something special about it. Whatever, holler at her to pull the trigger.

>Stick with the pickaxe

Thanks for running it, QM!

Rolled 2 (1d6)

>>5675716
> Let Lady Luck decide. Tell Goldie to give the cylinder a whirl and let fly with a shot, hoping she ain’t gonna waste the ghostly seed.

No update today, apologies.

>>5675801
>>5675845
>>5675916

Goddamn, which slot had you loaded the bullet-seed into? First? Second? It didn’t matter now.

“Just shot, for heaven’s sake,” you yelled

Your eyes bounced from the still-recovering beast back to your arm. Emerging from a veil of thin mist smoke came an outline of what used to be your right hand, but was no more. From your elbow down, where the quills had torn into your arm, your formerly gleaming human hand kept its opaque shine, but was now morphed into a covering of partly stripped and soft feathers with a scaly blackened shank with curved clawed toes at the end. Your right hand was a chicken leg.

You had no time for despair, but it was crystal clear you couldn’t let the tail spines skewer you anywhere else. Goldie clutched the iron with both hands, raising it at the beast. The creature prowled around and then settled on the ground, its lantern-like eyes burning with ungodly hunger. Its claws sprung open like a bear trap, gouging into the granite as it lunged across the distance you only just made. Gripping at your pickaxe with your left hand, you readied to strike.

For some forsaken reason, Goldie wasn’t shooting yet! You didn’t turn your head, but you could hear her turning the cylinder at her own will. A metallic click tinkled as she shifted from one chamber to another, and only then let the hammer fall, touching the trigger. A loud report crashed against the silent walls, making the air tremble like the surface of a disturbed lake. The first bullet missed, slamming into and fracturing the stone mere inches from the abominations’ head. The second shot found its mark, lodging itself in the withered hide and staggering the beast’s assault. You thwarted its attempt to slink back into the shadows by following its movement with the glow of your pick.

The beast snarled at you with a strained growl. You nudged your pick at it, as if daring it to follow through. Its eyes flashed when it saw your arm, and if this hound had any reason before, now there was only raw hunger in its gaze. Another of Goldie’s shots reverberated in your ears, but it was a fraction too late, hitting at a spot where the beast had been before it launched towards your turned arm. You baited it, waiting as it snapped open its monstrous jaws, revealing rows of deformed teeth from their struggling concealment. Just as they were about to snap shut, you yanked your right hand-claw-thing away and twisted your tensed body in a quick pivot. You brought your left arm swinging downward, driving the blade of the pickaxe straight into the beast’s skull and using both your strength and the gravity’s to slam it into the ground. The beast collapsed with deafening racket and then exploded into a cloud of black smoke until not even that of it remained. You cast a glance at your pick before you fixed your glare on the brat.

“You’ve sure taken your sweet time!”

She waited. With a pout, she unlatched the cylinder.

“What are you—”

“Shut your trap,” she spat, hoisting the chamber above her head to eye the remaining bullets: one unlike the other. Her eyes widened and she bit her lip.

You harrumphed. “What is it? You know what it is, don’t you?”

“I don’t reckon if I owe you an answer,” she said. “Where did you get it?”

“Tell me what is.”

“You first.”

> You still had a chicken leg for a hand.

> Grab the ticker and threaten to bust it up unless Goldie toes the line.
> Assure Goldie that you’ll hand back her timepiece once she spills the beans about that there bullet.
> Alright, reckon you’d best be straight with her. Tell her on how you came by that seed, what was was downright strange about that chamber you fell into.
> [Write In]

>>5677087
>> Grab the ticker and threaten to bust it up unless Goldie toes the line.

>>5677087
> Grab the ticker and threaten to bust it up unless Goldie toes the line.

>>5677087
> Alright, reckon you’d best be straight with her. Tell her on how you came by that seed, what was was downright strange about that chamber you fell into.

>>5677105
>>5677119
>>5677389

You held the pocket watch inside your grasp. “Spit it out, or I’ll break it.”

Goldie’s eyes grew wide and she reached with one hand at the space between you. “You low-down… you wouldn’t!”

“I don’t suggest you bet on it, vermin. Now, and make it snappy, tell me what it is.” You knew not if you could actually break the watch, but she didn’t know that either.

She wavered, her fingers trembling and sliding across the surface of the revolver. Finally, she lifted her gaze to the watch and sighed.

“Fine,” she conceded. “Fine, you rat. You brother killer. I’ll tell you.”

She tapped the cylinder against her knee, and a bullet fell into her palm. She held it between three fingers. “It’s …”

You tilted your head, annoyed with her stalling. Out with it.

She exhaled, “It’s the lead. The Lucifer’s Lead. The very one I used to kill you.”

You reached to take it, but a searing pain in your shoulder made you flinch. It felt like it had grown deeper.

Goldie scrambled back against the wall, clutching her hand as she saw you react. “It’s ain’t gonna bring you back.”

“Naturally, that’s what you would say. Hand it over.”

She shook her head. “You best never let it loose from your piece.”

You spat, grinding the spot under your booth. “Why’s that?”

Goldie glanced at her hand. “If you are shot by it here, you’re headed further down,” she warned. “Reckon it’s hell itself down there.”

“And if I shot you?” You cocked your gun, each moment passing unclaimed.

“Wouldn’t do you a lick of good, brother killer. I’ve already struck a deal with one devil, no other can come for me. But, if you miss, or worse, shoot yourself, you’ll ruin us both.”

You scratched with the handle, eyeing her. “And how do you know all this?”

Goldie licked her chapped lips. “It whispered to me,” she said. “You held it, haven’t you? Did you not her its whispers?”

“Voices?” you echoed. You shook your heard, “No voices.”

“They are clear to me. Figures, given my position. Probably tricked a fool like you into thinking they were your own thoughts.”

“Is that right?”

She nodded. “Yes, now, best let go of my watch, you lowlife. And I swear, if there’s so much as a scratch on it … And you’ve got no right holding onto it.”

> Yank the bullet and your shooting iron from Goldie’s grasp, fighting both her and your disobedient limb for it.
> Tell Goldie to keep the pale wax seed on her, but not to go losing it. Grab your iron back from her.
> Let Goldie keep both your heirloom piece and the cursed bullet. You despise the thought, but if what she said is true and you can believe her, it’s safer in her hands.
> [Write In]

Are you surprised or you had your doubts?

>>5678270
> Tell Goldie to keep the pale wax seed on her, but not to go losing it. Grab your iron back from her.
I am surprised despite all the clues such as it being from a fruit and in the underworld. I just straight-up thought it was going to be a suicide bullet that we could trick enemies into using. It's our very one silver/devil’s bullet.

>>5678270
>> Tell Goldie to keep the pale wax seed on her, but not to go losing it. Grab your iron back from her.

>>5678270
> Tell Goldie to keep the pale wax seed on her, but not to go losing it. Grab your iron back from her.
Reckon we won't overpower our cursed hand anyway.
I didn't guess! Nice twist. No wonder it wants us to shoot ourself. Damn devils, trying to screw over us AND Goldie to get two souls for next-to-nothing.

>>5678283
>>5678342
>>5679240

“You can keep the seed-bullet,” you said, lashing your deformed hand towards her, “but I’m taking the iron.”

You snatched the revolver with the four talons—awkwardly—scraping Goldie’s hand by mistake. She yelped, grabbing her injured hand and recoiling from the sudden pain. The gun flew from your loose claw grasp, landing with embarrassing clatter on the stone floor. Your eyes flicked back and forth from your turned limb to the revolver, and back again. You clenched and unclenched your clawed hand, the black talons unfit for handling firearms. You felt Goldie’s judgemental glare on you, the blue flame flaring up inside her eyes.

Clearing your throat, you shuffled over to the fallen gun. That was your shooting hand, damn it.

“You got a chicken claw,” the girl said.

“Yep,” —with only one proper hand, you were going to struggle switching between the pickaxe and the piece— “You’ve got a keen eye.”
Goldie levered herself upright against the wall, a smirk playing on her lips. “Even if we somehow stumble upon a third one, reckon it’d be no good if it chews on you. Can’t rightly be easy shooting with a chicken claw.”

“That’s how it played out when it changed your parts?” you asked. Striving with your talons, you couldn’t quite pick it.

You watched as she snuck the waxen bullet in one of her pockets and then rested her hands on her hips. “That’s right.”

Irritated, you set the pick aside against the wall and grabbed the empty revolver with your left hand. “Anyone else but you would’ve died from that, and I heard from the miner, you get your rightful limb back when you do.” Your pitch-black bones made it harder to do that, to ‘die’.

Goldie’s glare hardened. “But if you die you’ll wind up in God-knows-what corner of this purgatory!”

You clicked your gun’s hammer, each hollow click nagging a new thought. “Not if I bite the dust in the mines, I’ll stay put right here; so, first I’d rather be begone from this here place.”

A harrumph wrapped around Goldie’s words as she vented her frustration a nearby stone. “I’ve had my fill of this place too. You’ve got -my- timepiece, so you lead the way, killer.”

“Don’t make me leave you here,” you said. “And if you try to get rid of the seed when my back is turned, I’ll smash your clockwork heart, and that ain’t no empty thread.”

She answered by sticking out her tongue, running her incisors along the surface before pulling up her bandanna to hide her chin and nose.

With tired air, you fed your gun six fresh rounds, cowboy load and safety be damned. You had a fair share of feeble iron in your pockets, but without that hefty chunk of ore you surrendered to the milky depths, it was far from unlimited. You put your revolver into its leather home.

Goldie sidled up next to you, casting a gaze towards the watch. You let her look. The hour hand meandered back and forth over the morning hours. You let go of the pocket watch drop and let it dangle freely from your neck. You set off in the direction it insisted upon, towards a dark tunnel up ahead. Goldie’s footsteps suddenly grew louder as she ran in front of you, jabbing a finger at your chest to stop you dead.

“Change of plans,” she said. “That’s how you lost me. I’ll be in the front. If you ain’t keen on giving me the gun, at least pass me the pick.”

> This pickaxe here be the only thing shining in this God-forsaken darkness. Tell Goldie straight that you’ll be keeping both, and keep your boots moving.
> Handing it over to the gal might free your hand for a quicker draw. Best let the brat take the pick.
> Get a firm grip on Goldie’s shoulder, pushing her to your back. Remind her about the treacherous walls, and to keep her eyes fixed on you.
> [Write In]

>>5679898
> Handing it over to the gal might free your hand for a quicker draw. Best let the brat take the pick.
> Get a firm grip on Goldie’s shoulder, pushing her to your back. Remind her about the treacherous walls, and to keep her eyes fixed on you.
Like two chained prisoners, we're stuck in this shit together.

>>5679898
>> Handing it over to the gal might free your hand for a quicker draw. Best let the brat take the pick.
>> Get a firm grip on Goldie’s shoulder, pushing her to your back. Remind her about the treacherous walls, and to keep her eyes fixed on you.

>>5679951
supporting

>>5679898
>> Handing it over to the gal might free your hand for a quicker draw. Best let the brat take the pick.
>> Get a firm grip on Goldie’s shoulder, pushing her to your back. Remind her about the treacherous walls, and to keep her eyes fixed on you.

>>5679951
>>5680164
>>5680380
>>5680481

You nibbled at your inner cheek, mulling it over for a moment before offering her the pick. Keeping you in her sight, she grasped the pickaxe with both hands, letting the flickering pale flames of the handle caress her hands.

“At least you got a brain,” she said.

You clamped your hand onto Goldie’s shoulder, causing her eyes to widen and her voice to tremble as you reeled and dragged her behind you. ‘Hey!’ she protested, her ghostly skin flushing with anger. She was lightweight, practically malnourished—it took you no effort to manhandle her. Before she could mount a resistance, you made a hefty shove, pushing her even further back.

“No,” you said. Shaking your head you freed your gun and levelled the barrel at her. “Those walls here are deceiving, you know? There’s a way not get tricked, and that’s to keep your peepers glued on me. As long as you can handle that, we’ll get out of this hellhole godforsaken place together.” You waved the iron. “That pick’s our only lantern, so I’d prefer you didn’t go astray. Hold it high so I can get a read on where we’re at, and don’t set your gaze nowhere else.”

She slapped away your slackening grip. “I got it,” she said, hoisting the pick overhead like some fancy umbrella, the blue-green light cascading around drizzling rain. “Start kicking the dust already.”

You rolled your shoulders and gave her a nod. Clutching your firearm close, you walked onward, your faint shadow tempting you further away.

Goldie kept her silence, as you responded in kind. In time, no more than an hour, when one nebulous granite-lined tunnel replaced the next, you came upon a sprawling chamber. Before intruding inside, you noted an array of of dice shaped cubes floating through the air like fishes. Not reflecting back the pickaxe’s luminescence unlike the stone surrounding them, they loomed in opaque, inky blackness. Amongst them, about half your height, like a tombstone amongst small wooden crosses, floated the biggest one. From the structure emanated a soft, metallic tingle. Goldie sidled up to your back, craning her neck for a better look.

“Are you going in or what?”

You paused, throwing a cursory glance at the watch. Indeed, Henry, and your way to freedom, were on the other side.

> Sheathe that shooter, wrest the pick from Goldie’s hands. Holding it far afore you, mosey on into that chamber.
> Blast them smaller cubes, and maybe toss one at the big’un that’s floating amongst ‘em like some high king. Watch for any ruckus.
> Wrench that pick from Goldie’s mitts and fling it in the belly of the room. Watch if them cubes stir any.
> Tell Goldie to head in, being as she’s undying and you suffered plenty. Tell her she’s go to if she wants to leave.
> Shut your eyes and let ‘em wander. This path’s open, but you ain’t certain of the perils. See if a different trail the maze’ll give ya might be softer.
> [Write In]

>>5680695
> Tell Goldie to head in, being as she’s undying and you suffered plenty. Tell her she’s go to if she wants to leave.

>>5680695
> Tell Goldie to head in, being as she’s undying and you suffered plenty. Tell her she’s go to if she wants to leave.

>>5680695
>> Blast them smaller cubes, and maybe toss one at the big’un that’s floating amongst ‘em like some high king. Watch for any ruckus.

>>5680808
>>5680939
>>5680956

You rested your hand on your grizzled chin, casting a gaze at Goldie.

She furrowed her brows. “What are you gawking at?”

You nudged your head towards the yawning maw of the cavern. “I reckon it’d do us good if you go first.”

“Best for who?” she said, taking a cautionary step back. “You were all up in arms about me leading a minute ago, now you ain’t?”

You sighed. “I reckon I’ll be honest then. You got the privilege of your deathless hide, so you oughta be the one to gamble. Ain’t like you can feel no long-lasting hurt, right?”

“I’ve spoken before, it doesn’t mean I like getting wounded.” She cast a glance at the floating cubes. “What got you spooked, anyhow? What do you reckon is gonna happen?”

“That’s for you to figure out.”

She threw her glare. “And if I say no? No.”

You scratched at your gristly beard with your claw. “Well then, we’ll just be planted here, twiddling our thumbs and rankling each other.”

She drew a deep insulted breath, letting it out as a weary sigh. “Fine,” she said, spitting at the hardpan floor. She pushed past you, stepping into the chamber, lifting the pickaxe to make the stone shine while the floating black dice swallowed this light and remained blackened. She scuffed her boots a few steps more and looked back.

“They aren’t blowing up,” she announced.

You gaze flitted between the upstart and the cubes, nodding in return. Suddenly, you heard a faint scraping sound. It was a sound that didn’t escape Goldie either. Her legs began to quake. The humming intensified, the sound growing louder into a high-pitched whine. Her body jerked backward, yanked by the unseen pull of the largest cube. She gasped as she tripped, falling forward onto her own feet. Her boots scuffled against the rocky surface as she rapidly lost balance. She got pulled inches, then a yard from where she were.

> Snatch that pick she’s clutching to no avail and give a tug to haul Goldie back to the chamber’s entrance.
> Don’t go grabbing Goldie in case she lugs you along. Sit tight and just watch for what comes next.
> Start firing at the biggest cube, the clear troublemaker. Maybe if you can bust it from a distance, it’ll cease drawing Goldie in like a lodestone.
> [Write In]

What do you think about the characters so far?

I was thinking about writing the current pains August has, as well as the current possessions, would you find that useful information to have?

>>5681495
> Don’t go grabbing Goldie in case she lugs you along. Sit tight and just watch for what comes next.
Not like she's in immediate mortal danger, right?

>>5681496
I think August and Goldie are both pretty interesting and well-developed characters, especially Goldie. Very believable!

>>5681495
> Don’t go grabbing Goldie in case she lugs you along. Sit tight and just watch for what comes next.
>>5681496
I definitely got more insight into Aug via being in this cave and all those hallucinations; he's an interesting mixture of just in it for the money and, at times, being selfless. Don't know why he is precisely always just for the bounty and money only. Goldie has an understandable motivation which I can sympathize with, but since she isn't the protagonist, the conflict she has with Aug is interesting to see.

I do think it would be useful to write a status and inventory of Aug.

>>5681499
>>5681822

Your hold on the revolver slackened for a fleeting moment before you clenched it again, resting the cool metal against your chest. You stepped back, maintaining a spectator’s distance as Goldie scrambled to hold herself in place, an invisible rope drawing her inch by inch towards the ominous cube. The smoothed walls echoed the sound of her desperate struggle: her boots, body, and hands scraping along the granite floor with dull resonance. The harsh grinding of the pick sounded like wolf’s teeth gnawing on a bone. She hollered and swore, but it did little to help. The nearer she was getting to the black rock, the swifter and more relentless its pull became. There was a ringing echo as she came into its reach, her body drifting but not pushing against it. She stamped her boots against the stone, struggling to regain her balance.

Goldie cast a glance your way. Her silhouette quivered like a disturbed flame. You pondered if she was she going to ask for help. The snake did not.
“Are you alright?”

Goldie gave a dismissive shake, her grip tightening around the pickaxe. “I feel like I’m being torn to pieces,” she murmured, as if she was talking to herself alone. The haunting indigo of her flesh teetered and flowered like flailing branches amid the heavy gales, unveiling the stark white bones beneath her apparitional skin. While a few tendrils of her soul stretched to the smaller dice, the largest of them took his kingly share. If you had any advice to share, she acted before that.

The girl screamed, breaking the invisible spiderweb ensnaring her. With a swift circular motion, she hurled the pickaxe and aimed its blade at the ink-black cube. Teal smoke flashed as the tool smashed into the magnetic pull, its physical form swallowed up whole by the gluttonous void, it’s green-blue luminescence extinguished. Only the brat’s untethered frenzied body was left to illuminate the chamber.

“What in tarnation, that did no good!”

In the dim light, you strained your eyes trying to see her. “Can you wrest free like you did with the cactuses?”

“You think I ain’t been trying? It’s yanking me back, and it hurts!”

Goldie swung her arm in an attempt to strike the cube. Her fist halted a hair’s breadth away, the cube nibbling at her ethereal skin.

> Tell Goldie to keep at what she was aiming to do, to push and crack the cube with her two hands. She ought to get the better of it eventually, right?
> As much of a squandering as it’ll be of a demonic bullet, counsel Goldie to snatch it from her britches and bash it against the block instead. Reckon that’ll do anything useful?
> Start firing, first at the littler cubes and then a few shots at the larger, black, meaner square. You figure it might halt a bullet or two, but how many will it not?
> [Write In]

>>5682418
> Tell Goldie to keep at what she was aiming to do, to push and crack the cube with her two hands. She ought to get the better of it eventually, right?
>Menawhike, try shooting one of the small cubes

>>5682418
>> Tell Goldie to keep at what she was aiming to do, to push and crack the cube with her two hands. She ought to get the better of it eventually, right?

>>5682418
> Tell Goldie to keep at what she was aiming to do, to push and crack the cube with her two hands. She ought to get the better of it eventually, right?

Apologies, no update today. Not 100% about tomorrow either.

Quest will be returning tomorrow with a new thread. I hope reusing the same image is not an issue.

>>5683904
Not at all, QM. See you there!

>>5682465
>>5682512
>>5682910
>>5684029

>>5684431
NEW THREAD
>>5684431
NEW THREAD
>>5684431
NEW THREAD