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You shake your head. You’ve tried again and again over the past few days and it always ends the same, with you blacking out from the pain. You then spend a few hours retreading the same nightmares that plague your sleep, running in a panic through a vast forest, wolves nipping at your heels. You pass the same landmarks over and over again, running until your legs give out. You always wake to the feeling of fangs on your throat, your neck aches for most of the morning.

“Well, you probably don’t want to hear this, but you might not ever remember anything. Still, it’s an unusual way to enter town. You certainly didn’t stink of drink, which was my first guess.”

“Well, well, our little vagrant has woken up.” The shrill voice crawls up your spine, and judging by the immediate eye roll of your doctor she’s no fan of it either.

“Martha.” Your doctor’s voice is dead of emotion.

“I would appreciate my proper nomenclature dear. Lady Estarra, or Baroness Estarra please.” The woman, dressed in billowing vibrant blue dress far to large for her rail thin body holds up a gold rimmed magnifying glass and peers through it. She wrinkles her nose. “Yes. You seem well enough. When will you be repaying the town for our services?”

Repay?

“Martha. You can’t possibly be expecting-”

“Expecting!? Possibly!? My dear, you used no less than three high class healing potions on this...waif.” She sniffs at you, then takes a step back. “Those are supplied from my estate, and they certainly aren’t free to outsiders! We have a very limited stock and this expenditure has put us at a critical shortage, why, if I received a bee sting I might have to simply suffer through it!”

For a moment you think your doctor has frozen under the verbal assault, then you realize she’s shaking, one hand turning white as it twists into a fist. Of course you’ve...

> Moving in to slap the bitch yourself! (Wrath)
> Freezing up. (Sloth)
> Breaking down crying. (Despair)
> Launched into a tirade of your own. (Pride)

>>5764199
>Breaking down crying. (Despair)
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

>>5764199
> Breaking down crying. (Despair)
BAAAAAAWWWWW

>>5764199
> Breaking down crying. (Despair)

>>5764199
>Breaking down crying. (Despair)

>>5764199
> Breaking down crying. (Despair)

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>>5764199
> Breaking down crying. (Despair)

>>5764199
>Breaking down crying. (Despair)

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It's too much. Your legs hurt, you haven't eaten anything more solid than a mushy carrot in days, you're basically homeless and now someone is sizing you up for debt slavery and that look in her eyes is just like the damn wolves that won't let you get any sleep-

"Waaaaaaah!" You wail. You sob. You collapse into your doctor's arms, you don't even know her name! There are tears and snot; you're an ugly mess by the end of it. The only silver lining to the full body spasms of your sobs is that the horrid woman huffs off.

"Let's get you back. It's going to be ok." Your doctor helps you hobble back to your beds and lends you a handkerchief that you quite soil cleaning up your face.

"Is...is she right?" You ask. You need to know.

Your doctor scowls. "She's a right bitch is what she is."

"But?"

She winces. "Times are a little tight, I admit. Things have been tough since the Wound." She laughs a little at your blank stare. "You really have forgotten everything. I guess the buildings along the street blocked the view, and I always keep the window covered since it looks out at it." She walks to the window and moves aside a curtain. A prairie is revealed running off in the distance. All seems well until your eyes drift up toward the sky.

There's a crack in the world, a vicious gash of nothing, blacker than dark. A wound. The Wound. Your breath catches in your throat and you tremble looking at it.

"What is it?" Your voice comes out in a whisper.

"Dunno. Happened a couple years ago. It was always a strange area, full of spirits and strange folk, a vast ancient forest of magic. Then the Wound happened. They say it's all monsters and death now, choking fog, dead trees and wolves the size of horses."

"Wolves..." You whisper, mind jumping to your nightmares.

"Whatever it was reached out to here too. Fields have struggled, the animals are skittish all the time, monster populations are on the rise...I’ve certainly been busy. Word from travelers is that it’s the same all over, places that were once safe have either died out or twisted and corrupted.”

“Sorry for using up your potions.” You sigh. “I don’t even know your name.”

Your doctor just shrugs. “Donna, lovely. I’ll sort Martha out...somehow. She’s...technically right, the whole town would have gone under if it wasn’t for her family but gods does it gall to be under her thumb.” She sweeps the curtains shut, blocking the odd sight from view.

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The creak of a door announced a guest and both you and Donna turn toward the newcomer. An elderly man, bent by age and sporting a bushel of white hair on his lip and chin shuffles in, doffing a battered brown hat. “Doctor. Mysterious stranger.”

“Archivist Edward.” Doctor Donna replies with a smile. "I was hoping you'd drop by."

"Archivist? Oh dear, is it really the weekend already?" He pats his coat, as brown and battered as his hat, and removes a plain pair of reading glasses. "Best be ready I suppose. How can the Archivist help?"

The doctor smothers a laugh behind her hand. "Well, our mysterious stranger here, who really needs a name herself come to think of it, is in a bit of a bind."

Edwards' face darkens. "Our benefactor took offense at you saving a life, didn't she?"

"MmmHmm."

Edward holds out a hand that you shake gingerly. "Edward. Mayor, Archivist, Appraiser, Cursebreaker, and occasional grandfather. Usually in that order."

"I uh... pleased to meet you?"

Edward bobs his head and sits at the small table the doctor eats and prepares her medicines at. "Now, I think we need a name for you first. Very hard to do legal documents without a name. And how do you feel about a bit of homesteading?"

"Homesteading?"

"Oh yes. We've an abandoned plot actually, last owner died, terrible business with those pixies, never seen them so riled. No heirs, so it went to the town, be doing us a favor honestly. You'd need to make something of it of course, there are taxes to be paid at end of year but..."

Your doctor smirks. "As a member of the town our dear baroness would be obliged to make her demands via the tax code, which would give you some time to find your feet."

They both look at you expectantly.

> What could go wrong? (Fearless)
> You'll make it work. (Determined)
> Should be fun to figure out. (Curious)
> The possibilities are exciting. (Ambitious)
> Write in (Should be a positive trait)

> You'll make it work. (Determined)

>>5764632
> You'll make it work. (Determined)
Hello Sys. :D

>>5764632
> Should be fun to figure out. (Curious)

>>5764632
> You'll make it work. (Determined)

>>5764632
>The possibilities are exciting. (Ambitious)

>>5764632
>Should be fun to figure out. (Curious)

>>5764632
>What could go wrong? (Fearless)

>>5764632
> You'll make it work. (Determined)

You flinch of course. A homestead? “Like a farm? I can barely stand on my own two feet.” You stand up next to the bed on aching legs to demonstrate.

Edward the Archivist nods, his wild beard swaying. “Some farming is typically expected, yes. As I understand, there's a sizable area of forest with foraging and hunting rights as well.” He peers at his documents as the front door of the office creaks.

“Did I hear that right!?” You wince as the shrill voice of the baroness assaults your ears. “You want her to have the old Henderson plot? An outrage! It was to be my nephew’s!”

Edward bristles and stands to his full, admittedly rather short height. “Lady Martha, that land cannot be allowed to lay fallow until your brother’s newborn child grows old enough to tend it. This winter was hard enough to survive, another farm providing food is critical to the town’s survival.”

The baroness snorts and stares at you, one hand held palm up as if to weigh and measure you. “She can barely stand. How is she suppo-”

“I’ll do it.” You push down on your leg hard to keep it from trembling, standing up straighter than you had since waking up here. “I’ll make it work, no matter what.” Maybe just to spite this old bitch, but the words feel right even without the anger. They feel like you. Like you could push yourself to your limit, then keep pushing as long as you had the purpose to do so.

“Ah, see, that’s the spirit!” Edward walked over and shook your hand with a smile, discreetly turning to lend you a shoulder to lean on. “We’ll have the paperwork wrapped in a giffy, just as soon as we sort this name business.”

The baroness bristles, her face squirms, and for a delicious moment you even see a tint of angry flush spreading across her face before she spins and audible huffs away. You collapse back onto the bed with a smile while Donna and Edward howl with laughter.

“Alright ma’am, it’s no more mysterious stranger from here. We need a name.”

> Iris
> Lily
> Laura
> Hazel

>>5764861
If write-ins are allowed:
>name ourselves after whatever month this is
If not...
>Hazel

>>5764861
I'm really tempted to choose Idrid again, but I'll go with
> Lily

>>5764872
Locking on 'April', via the power of QM capriciousness.

>>5764884
The power of the cactus isn't as strong as i thought it was. :(

>>5764884
This isn't the kind of dictatorship I can get behind

>>5764861
>>5764872
Would back this anyway.

>>5764884
interesting

>>5764889
I mean, if you want to rally some votes on something else I won't mind. There's still time. I just assumed the name was largely a 'didn't care, didn't vote' sort of situation. If people care we can change it.

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“April.” You say with sudden confidence.

Donna laughs. “Not until tomorrow dear.”

You shake your head. “I think that’s my name. April.”

Edward nods. “We’ll just put you down with the surname of the town, most people do around here. One April Bythewood. Care to take a look at the place tonight?”

Donna shakes her head. “Tomorrow morning. Let her rest tonight.”

The evening passes quickly and you stomach as much food as you can handle. Despite the jitters of nervousness exhaustion still hits you hard minutes after sundown and you sleep soundly. After breakfast in the morning and a few experimental walks around the clinic Doctor Donna pronounces you well enough and Edward leads you out of town. There’s no small amount of stares as you pass by, and you find yourself touching your painfully short hair more than once.

“Bit of an unusual color you know. Almost sun yellow isn’t it?”

You shrug uncomfortably. “I guess so?”

“Ah, sorry, sorry dear. I keep forgetting you’ve forgotten it all. Could be quite normal wherever you’ve come from.”

You travel out of town, then up into forested hills. The path winds and twists for the better part of half an hour before entering a clearing.

“Well, there she is.”

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You stare.

Edward has the decency to look a bit abashed. “It’s...well it’s seen better days. It’ll keep you dry though. There’s a field out back, in fairly rough condition as well, but you could plant quite a bit there once you get it cleaned out. Stream is clean, leads to a lovely pond. I've caught more than a few fish out of it with old Henderson. Shed still has some tools in it and Mable, one of the farmer’s close to town, said she sent her boys up with some supplies for you. You’ll want to pay her a visit and thank her when you get the chance.”

You nod slowly, wincing as a piece of the roof comes loose and slides off before crashing to the ground. “Yes...I expect I should.”

Edward coughs. “There’s a small loan in the house as well, though it’s only a loan in technicality. You’re welcome to pay it of course, but I shan’t ask about it, and I suspect the paperwork may mysteriously fall into a fire shortly before I retire.” He wiggles his eyebrows with a grin. “You know where to find me.”

And then you were alone at the homestead. A crow caws. The stream burbles. You make your way inside the battered cottage, finding a thick layer of dust disturbed by a single set of footprints in and out. There’s a battered chair that creaks alarmingly at an equally rickety table where a simply pouch holds glittering silver and copper coins. You count them out absently, drinking in the situation you’ve found yourself in. Fifty silver, a hundred and fifty copper.

Your legs rested, you poke around the rest of the house. The only other room seems to be a bedroom, judging by the collapsed bed frame in the corner where a thin sheet lay over a heap of straw. Another bag waits there with smoked jerky and a loaf of bread There’s another line of disturbed dust between the bed and a back door that leads out to the supposed field.

You stare. Trees, some quite alive, others collapsed in a heap. What looked like heaps of stone brickwork. Brambles higher than your head. Weeds that reach your waste. You’ve got your work cut out for you. On the far side of the field is a shed that somehow looks even less sturdy than the house. The door sticks ferociously when you pull on it until you throw your entire weight against the problem, then the handle simply rips from the door. The door creaks open slowly as you discard the old metal. Tools line the wall, albeit old and rusted. A bag of seeds sits on the ground, although you aren’t quite sure what sort of seed they are.

Well...

> Get down to business. Start clearing out a section to plant in. The areas that are just high weeds can’t be that hard, right?
> Do a tour of the woods around your new home. Edward mentioned forage? Hunting? Best get the lay of the land
> There’s a broom in the shed. Grab it and start getting the cottage livable
> Write in

Feel free to coup the name. Or not. Just didn't want to dally on a vote that's largely unimportant.

>>5764905
It's a joke. The name's fine.

>>5764908
>> There’s a broom in the shed. Grab it and start getting the cottage livable

>>5764908
>There’s a broom in the shed. Grab it and start getting the cottage livable

>>5764908
>There’s a broom in the shed. Grab it and start getting the cottage livable

>>5764908
>There’s a broom in the shed. Grab it and start getting the cottage livable

>>5764908
>There’s a broom in the shed. Grab it and start getting the cottage livable

Seems that everyone's voting for the broom, so I will too. Hopefully there's at least 1 cactus seed in that bag.

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You grab the broom, lean on it for a moment to catch your breath, then get to work on the house itself. Great clouds of dust billow up with each strike of the broom, inevitably setting you into sneezing fits until you find and old rag to use as a dust guard. Soon enough an actual heap of fine dust collects out the front and back doors of the house and you turn your attention to the walls of the home, knocking years of filth from them as well. On the walls of the bedroom the caked on filth actually reveals a pair of portraits, apparently hand drawn.

You wipe the glass covers clean and peer at them. The first must be of Henderson and his wife. He stands tall and stern in something like a soldier’s uniform, a neatly trimmed mustache on his face. Next to him is a young woman, a paint blush decorating her cheeks. You flip the drawing over and find the simple message: ‘Wait for me’. The second portrait seems to be of Henderson when he was younger, standing next to another young man sporting a wild beard and mustache. The two stand under a massive willow tree, with a fish larger than your own body on the ground before them. You linger on it for a moment, there’s definitely something familiar to the features, before flipping it over as well. ‘Hid it here.’ is scribbled hastily on the back in a shaky script.

It? Some kind of treasure or keepsake? You carefully set the photo back on the wall for now and continue your cleaning, making a mental note to keep an eye out for a tree that matches the picture. You move on to the rest of the room, tossing out the shattered bits of the bed frame, fighting ever more dust, and gathering the sad heap of straw bundled in fabric as tightly as you could. You definitely needed some kind of improvement on the bed, but this would do for the moment.

Opposite the bed you remove a few old planks of wood and find a hearth, and even a battered and filthy pot is sitting on ancient ashes. Unfortunately a quick glance up the chimney shows the expected blockage, trying to use the fire would definitely fill the house with smoke in minutes if not moments. You get the area cleaned up regardless and make yet another mental note about the chimney. Still, looking around you can’t help but be pleased with yourself, even if the house has mostly changed from being a filthy mess to a rundown mess. You have a quick lunch from the food Mable had left you and consider what to do between now and sundown.

> Get down to business. Start clearing out a section to plant in. The areas that are just high weeds can’t be that hard, right?
> Do a tour of the woods around your new home. Edward mentioned forage? Hunting? Best get the lay of the land
> Swing into town and meet some of the townsfolk. Someone buys these things you theoretically produce, right?
> Write in

>>5765260
>Swing into town and meet some of the townsfolk. Someone buys these things you theoretically produce, right?

>>5765260
>Get down to business. Start clearing out a section to plant in. The areas that are just high weeds can’t be that hard, right?

>>5765260
>Get down to business. Start clearing out a section to plant in. The areas that are just high weeds can’t be that hard, right?

>>5765260
> Do a tour of the woods around your new home. Edward mentioned forage? Hunting? Best get the lay of the land
That massive willow tree could be in these woods.

Locking
>Get down to business. Start clearing out a section to plant in. The areas that are just high weeds can’t be that hard, right?

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Well, the fields weren’t going to plant themselves. You push yourself up and return to the shed, trading the broom for a garden hoe, then pick a corner of the field that’s merely overrun with waste high thistles and grass, as opposed to actual trees or bramble bushes. You spend an hour working yourself into a sweaty mess as you assault the weeds, steadily building a heap of plant matter. By the time the sun is low in the sky you’re trembling on your feet, but the weeds are gone and the dirt has been broken up. That feels right? You retrieve the bag of seeds and scatter them liberally over the field, then use the hoe to roll the dirt back into place. Hopefully that’s enough.

The shadows are growing long as this point, but you grit your teeth and keep pushing, trading your hoe for a watering can and making several trips back and forth between the field and the stream, adding a generous amount of water to the field. By the time you’re done there’s only the barest glimmer of daylight left and you abandon the watering can next to the field, stumble into the dark house and collapse onto the straw mattress.

You wake up to a sore back, aching muscles, and the light of dawn directly in your eyes. You groan and twist into the bed, fleeing the light, the pain, and everything else as regret piles on. What were you thinking? Whatever you were, whatever you had been before this, you certainly weren’t a farmer roughing it in the woods. You entertain abandoning the homestead and running for it, but you don’t exactly have any other options to run too. With a sigh you pull yourself out of bed and gnaw on some jerky. Starting tomorrow you’ll be out of food.

A little food helps, and you walk out the back door to check on the field, only to find your watering can has vanished. Tiny four toed footprints mark a trail from your field off into the woods. You really should have just stayed in bed, even if the straw was sticking into you all night.

> Go after the...whatever it is! That’s your watering can!
> Swing into town and see if someone can lend you a hand with...thieving varmints?
> Follow the trail, but take the time to explore the woods and forage a bit too.
> Write in

>>5766156
>Follow the trail, but take the time to explore the woods and forage a bit too.

>>5766156
>Follow the trail, but take the time to explore the woods and forage a bit too.

>>5766156
> Follow the trail, but take the time to explore the woods and forage a bit too.
We need to find that willow tree!

>>5766156
>> Swing into town and see if someone can lend you a hand with...thieving varmints?

>>5766156
>Go after the...whatever it is! That’s your watering can!

>>5766156
>> Go after the...whatever it is! That’s your watering can!

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I have fallen ill. Expected delays. Blarrrrgh.

>>5767340
Get well soon!

>>5767340
waiting warmly

>>5767340
A cactus will make you feel better ... I think.

>>5766156
>Follow the trail, but take the time to explore the woods and forage a bit too.

>>5767340
I hope you feel better fast!

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There’s a brief desire to rush after the trail, then you remember that you don’t know the woods, and that the creature might have darted off hours ago. Still, you don’t exactly have heaps of coinage to work with so you’d better track down this thief. You check the shed and find a sizable basket that might do for forage and set out for your first excursion into the woods.

The trail of your thief remains clear fortunately, owing in no small part to the groove the watering can has cut into the forest floor. You pass between a handful of ancient trees and find an old trail in the woods, still marked by a few faded white stones half buried in the dirt. It’s not long before you come to a small clearing ringed by what seems to be brambles at first, but on second glance reveals dozens and dozens of tiny budding flowers. Berry bushes, of all sorts and kinds. You hold a few of the plants carefully in your hand, identifying the current bloomers as strawberries, though you can see blackberries and blueberries as well striving to catch up.

Satisfied with your inspection of the forest glade you continue following the trail. You hear the sound of water before you see it and find a small clearing around the edge of a pond in the forest. Walking to the edge of the pond you can see the flash of scales as a lurking fish turns and vanishes into the depths. You see a dried up plant hanging over the edge of the pond and instinctively get it a gentle swat. The end of the plant breaks apart, scattering tiny seeds into the pond. Moments later the surface of the pond ripples and breaks in a dozen places as fish dart to the surface, snatch a seed, and rush away to enjoy their meal.

You spend a few minutes trying to find the source of the pond, eventually finding a thin stream that winds through thickets of trees and underbrush you don’t care to brave. That thin steam does briefly divert into another part of the glade though, where it seems to have eroded the base of an old tree, toppling it. A variety of fungi, some edible, some useful for alchemy and medicine seem to be growing on the bounty of the rotting log. You take the time to gather them up, bolstering your food supplies, and hopefully having something worth a few coins.

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From the forest pond it takes a few minutes of searching, but you eventually pick up the trail of your thief, along with more ancient road markers. The path leads off, winding under forest giants and you start spotting bits of stonework buried in the underbrush and soil, or tipped over by a persistent tree centuries ago. The trees give way to a clearing where in the center a stone arch stands in defiance of the ruin around it. There perched atop the archway is your thief, a curious red haired creature not quite a squirrel. Directly below the archway is your watering can. The squirrel-like creature gives a flick of its bushy tail then launches itself away at startling speeds.

A closer look at the stone reveals several places, five in all, where fragments of stone have fallen away. One of those fragments lay just a few feet away, at the end of a trail of flattened grass.

> Set the fragment back in its place
> Grab your watering can and get out of here
> Write in

File: Woods Map.jpg (2.26 MB, 2048x1536)

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The Woods as you know them.

>>5767740
>>5767720
>>5767645
>>5767393
Thanks ya'll. Nothing like alternating between teeth chattering and sweating, while your brain goes completely delusional, although maybe that was just falling off my meds...

>>5768859
Sounds like my last bout of Covid

>>5768854
> Set the fragment back in its place

File: Woods Map2.jpg (1.74 MB, 2046x1536)

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Slightly improved? map.

>>5768864
Definitely crossed my mind, between comprehending the vast mechanical computer underpinning the dystopian hellscape of the future...ohh those delusions were interesting.

>>5768854
>Set the fragment back in its place
>>5768859
>although maybe that was just falling off my meds...
sheesh, hope you're doing well OP

>>5768854
>Set the fragment back in its place

>>5768854
>Set the fragment back in its place

>>5768854
>Set the fragment back in its place

>>5768854
>Set the fragment back in its place

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It takes a few tries to find the correct location, and the fragment itself is quite heavy, but you manage to find the proper spot and give it a firm shove back into place. You hesitantly let go, and somehow the piece holds in place. You pause expectantly, but the serene ruins remain serene. Then a warm rain abruptly starts to fall, just a few gentle drops at first, but a glance upward reveals that no small number of rain clouds are gathering rapidly.

You snatch up your watering can in one hand and your basket in the other and start a quick return to your home. The droplets seem to harry and chase you along, increasing in intensity and volume as you go, passing back along the ruin strewn path. As you pass the pond you see the fish leaping into the air, snapping and playing in the raindrops. The trees seem to fill with birds watching you with interest, their chirping almost sounding like laughter. You hoist your tools over your head and hurry on as the rain pelts down harder. The berry glade is filled with blooms on the return trip, the little buds having bloomed furiously in your absence.

You barely manage to make it back inside the house before the rain begins in earnest, coming down at a steady rate that threatens to drench anyone who braves it. You’ve barely had a chance to dry out a bit and separate your forage into edible and alchemical piles when there’s a knock on the door.

> A wide brim covered in fishing lures, a big grin, and a pair of fishing poles are about all you can see.
> She’s bent with age, and her eyes never quite seem to focus on you, but you can smell the alchemical reagents from here.

>>5769629
>A wide brim covered in fishing lures, a big grin, and a pair of fishing poles are about all you can see.

>>5769629
> She’s bent with age, and her eyes never quite seem to focus on you, but you can smell the alchemical reagents from here

>>5769629
>A wide brim covered in fishing lures, a big grin, and a pair of fishing poles are about all you canZaid?
Everyone knows rain time is best time to fish

>>5769629
>> A wide brim covered in fishing lures, a big grin, and a pair of fishing poles are about all you can see.

>>5769629
> A wide brim covered in fishing lures, a big grin, and a pair of fishing poles are about all you can see.

>>5769629
>A wide brim covered in fishing lures, a big grin, and a pair of fishing poles are about all you can see.

>>5769629
>> A wide brim covered in fishing lures, a big grin, and a pair of fishing poles are about all you can see.

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“Howdy miss April!”

“Hello...?” You step aside and let the grinning young man into the dim light of what passes for your entryway.

“Chuck! Charles to my mom, but Chuck is good enough to me.” He holds out a hand after shuffling his fishing poles around. You shake it, feeling the roughness of hard work on his hands.

“Hi Chuck, what brings you all the way out here?”

“Well,” Chuck glances down and winces at his muddy boots on your floor, not that a little mud would do much to hurt the dim shack’s appearance. “I’d heard you were new around these parts, didn’t have much, so I figured I’d bring you a fishing pole, maybe make an afternoon of it? Not much else to do on a rainy day is what I was thinking, and I’d buy anything you caught, might even make a bit of coin on it.” His grin doesn’t falter, though you catch a bit of pleading in his voice.

You certainly could use the coin, and a bit of company wouldn’t hurt. “Sure, I’m not sure if I know how to fish though.” You fetch a cloak against the rain.

“Ah, it’s pretty simple. You’ll be a master in no time.” His grin widens even more as you take the fishing pole in hand. The two of you depart into the rain and head down toward the town through the steadily falling rain. Chuck keeps up a steady stream of small talk and gossip, about his four sisters, his friendly rivalry with Farm Mable’s eldest son, and the latest shortages, the general store in town was apparently prepared to pay handsomely to anyone who brought in a harvest of turnips. For your part you mostly nod along with the deluge of information.

Your path turns just before you would have entered the town and you’re soon following along the bank of a river. You come to a little calm spot where the river spills down from a stone wall, some ancient effort to dam and direct the water. A sizable fish leaps from the water and crashes back down with a splash, earning a whistle from Chuck. “Rain always gets them riled up like this. Pretty common fish here, but I usually come away with a decent haul. Here, let me show you how to get started.”

Fishing: When you go fishing you have a limited number of casts you can use each trip. There are usually several targets at each location, each of which has a certain target range, you want to roll a D100 within that range. Environmental conditions, bait, equipment, and your own experience can improve the fishing ranges for locations. To cast, just pick a target and roll a D100!

You blink as Chuck finishes his explanation. “That was a lot more involved than I thought.”

He shrugs and laughs. “It’s pretty simple when you start doing it. Just toss the line out there and try it out. Just don’t bother around that old stump over there.” He gives it a nod.

Casts Available: 5
Ranges improved by gentle rain and Chuck’s advice!

> Between some old tree roots: Small Fish. 15-85 range.
> The waterfall’s edge: Medium Fish. 25-65 range.
> The center of the pond: Large Fish. 85-100 range.
> By the old stump: ???? 1,100 range.

Rolled 91 (1d100)

>>5771384
> The center of the pond: Large Fish. 85-100 range.
Go big or go home!

Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>5771384
>The center of the pond: Large Fish. 85-100 range.

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>5771384
>The center of the pond: Large Fish. 85-100 range.

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>5771384
>The center of the pond: Large Fish. 85-100 range

Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>5771384
> By the old stump: ???? 1,100 range
Will we catch a Golden Lunker?

>>5772120
>hardest catch
>nat 1
Jesus.

Rolled 16 (1d100)

>>5771384
>By the old stump: ???? 1,100 range.

>>5772120
Lol

File: Le seigneur du lac.jpg (156 KB, 1200x800)

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“So...that big fish that jumped right as we got here, he’s in the center right?”

Chuck shrugs. “Bigger fish do like to lurk out there, though you’ll have a harder time convincing them to take a bite. Over by those old roots-”

You give the fishing pole a natural flick, letting the fishing line spin out into the open air. The hook and unfortunate grasshopper Chuck had provided plunk into the water. You give Chuck an apologetic grin. “I have to try.”

Chuck just watches the slowly sinking hook intently, his voice trailing to nothingness. His lips part, then. “Now.”

“Now? Whoa!” The fishing pole nearly leaps from your hands and you tighten your grip. Chuck whoops and laughs as the fish thrashes on the end of your line.

“Keep the pole low! Don’t fight him too much, he’ll wear out soon enough!”

The big fish fights you valiantly for nearly a minute, thrashing and leaping into the air, before you feel the struggle go out of the creature. You reel the line in steadily and Chuck helps you snatch the creature from the water. The fish gives one last thrash before being dropped unceremoniously into Chuck’s pack that sits half in, half out of the water. The fisherman grins. “Well, you’ve got the hang of it I think. Still, I’d stick to the roots, or the edge of the waterfall myself. That was a beauty of a fish though.”

You laugh. “I bet I can get another one.” Chuck just grins and moves out of your way. Unfortunately the fisherman’s advice proves sound, you spend the rest of the afternoon fruitlessly tossing your line into the pond’s center, while Chuck pulls a dozen small and medium sized fish from the tree roots and waterfall, adding them to his growing pack of fish. Only once, with solemn focus does Chuck send his line whizzing in next to the old stump.

“What’s the story with the stump?” You ask.

“So...oh about a hundred or so leagues to the north east there was this magic forest.”

“Was?”

Chuck sighs. “Right, you don’t remember much. About two years ago, when that thing-” He gives a nod at the Wound’s unreal presence in the sky. “happened all the magic places of the world went strange, or bad, or just...faded. Can’t say I know much about it. Magic forest off to the north east, well parts of it went bad, parts of it faded.” He pulls in a respectable fish before continuing. “Well, before all that went down it had a pond of its own, with a fish twice the size of a man, clad in scale of gold. Story goes that an egg from that fish was hatched in this very pond, that it lurks around that stump.”

“Ever saw it?”

Chuck winks. “Maybe. Could be that dad likes to tell stories. All I’ve ever gotten from that stump is snapped fishing lines though, the other fish stay clear of it.”

Well, you can’t not try now. You whip your line out toward the old stump with a grin, not expecting much.

“Playing with fire miss.”

“It can’t really that big, right?”

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There’s a sudden tug on your fishing line and you give it a quick jerk in response. The fishing pole jerks violently, slipping through your fingers, and you just barely get your other hand closed around it, struggling to keep a hold against the sudden pressure. Your boots slide against the tiny stones at the waterside until Chuck's arms wrap tight around you.

"Corpse spit ma'am! Did you have to taunt it?"

Your jaw clenches as you struggle against the weight of the creature, gaining ground slowly, then losing it slowly. The horror dawns on you that the creature is toying with you, playing you in and out like an experienced angler might with a fish.

The realization comes moments before the creature loses patience with you and exerts its irresistible force on you.

"Let it go ma'am!"

Giving up wasn't exactly your nature though. You tighten your grip, even as the fish jerks your feet off the ground and out of Chuck's arms. You hit the water, then find yourself drug deep into it, something flashing as it darts around you, around, above, below.

Within moments you are thoroughly entangled in your own fishing line, sinking into the dark of the pond. You kick frantically with your legs as your lungs burn, slowly gaining ground toward the surface. Just a little closer...

"Valor...noted."

Something hits you, hard enough to drive what little breath you have from your lungs. You gasp desperately, choking on water, then you burst into the air and crash through several tree branches before coming to a rest hanging over a tree limb like wet laundry.

You've just barely hacked the water from your lungs when Chuck approaches, roaring with laughter.

"You alright miss?"

You try to lift an arm and find it still tightly bound to your side by fishing line. "I'm a little tied up?"

Chuck wastes no time getting you cut down from the tree, or at laughing at your misadventure under the water. Still the shimmering golden scale the size of your hand that falls from your clothes makes for a beautiful prize, even if it isn't the golden fish itself.

"Did you see it?" Chuck stares at the shining scale with naked awe.

"Just a blur, it was fast. I think it said something though, about valor?"

"Hah! It talks?" Chuck whistles. "Well, we've got a story and a half for sure. Well, what did you think of your first fishing trip?"

> You're definitely getting into the routine! (+1 Attempt per Fishing Activity)
> You've picked up a few techniques! (+5 to fishing range size)

That golden scale...
> Give it to Chuck! (???)
> Sell it to Chuck! (300 silver)
> Hold onto it for now

>>5772289
> You've picked up a few techniques! (+5 to fishing range size)
> Sell it to Chuck! (300 silver)

>>5772289
>You've picked up a few techniques! (+5 to fishing range size)

>Hold onto it for now

>>5772289
> You're definitely getting into the routine! (+1 Attempt per Fishing Activity)

> Hold onto it for now

>>5772289
> You're definitely getting into the routine! (+1 Attempt per Fishing Activity)
> Give it to Chuck! (???)
It was the golden lunker! :D
Then perhaps the magic forest is Lost Garden?

>>5772289
> You've picked up a few techniques! (+5 to fishing range size)
> Sell it to Chuck! (300 silver)

>>5772289
> You're definitely getting into the routine! (+1 Attempt per Fishing Activity)
> Hold onto it for now

Rolled 2 (1d2)

1 = Technique
2 = Routine

Sorry about slow pace, energy levels have been low, responsibilities high

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“I was definitely getting into a rhythm toward the end there. Never thought I could spend all day fishing, but I can see it now.” You can now make six casts per fishing activity.

Chuck nods along with a grin as he hoists his pack up, water pouring from it. “Now for the messy bit, turning fish into filets. Lend me a hand and I’ll show you how I do it.”

The two of you head into town to a large public smokehouse. Chuck retrieves a set of well worn knives from a cabinet and walks you through the messy business of separating meat, scales, and bones from one another. By the end of it you have a workable knowledge, though Chuck’s practiced hands move at tremendous speed compared to yours. The filets are hung by hooks, then shoved with a long pole into the hot smokey depths of the building. A grimy silver coin is pressed into your hand.

“Wish I could pay you more, but that’s about as good as I can get out of them in the city.”

You accept the coin gratefully, aware of its weight. “It’s appreciated. Hopefully the Baroness isn’t too vindictive.”

Chuck grimaced. “Well, might be more than one way to skin that cat. Maybe swing into town and pay the apothecary a visit? Maybe you could supply her the materials to replace those potions outright?”

“Now that’s an idea. Thanks for the fishing trip Chuck.”

“Sure, sure. Keep the rod, alright? I’m sure there’s some good fishing up in those woods.”

The two of you part ways and you start the long walk back home. It’s gotten quite dim by the time you return, and the exhaustion of your legs makes each step more wobbly than the last. Once again you crash into the meager bed and fall deep into sleep.

You wake up to sore arms and legs the next day, but manage to shake the fatigue and get out of bed before the dawn has fled. The last fragments of bread and jerky are mixed with the edible mushrooms and reheated over a low fire that unfortunately fills the house with smoke regardless, you have to stop the cook before you choke on the fumes, leaving you with chewy mushrooms at best. That jammed chimney was a right pain.

You emerge from the house to find your little cleared patch of field filled with green shoots reaching a few inches into the air. The name Thrift Shoots jumped into your mind, a cousin of the asparagus that grew fast in the spring, and made for filling soups if you didn’t mind the bland flavor. Neither an exciting or profitable crop, but it kept the stomach full of many poor farmers. How did you know all that? You frown at the holes in your memory, almost as irritating as the weeds in your field.

How do you spend your morning?

> It’s high time you went into town and got more seeds, one patch of Thrift Shoots isn’t going to be enough. And a bit of food wouldn’t hurt either.
> Better keep pushing on getting the field cleared and ready for seed
> That chimney gets cleaned, now.
> The mushrooms are probably flourishing after that hard rain yesterday, swing out and gather them up
> There’s no denying it, you’ve got the itch to check out the fishing in the forest

>>5773256
>> That chimney gets cleaned, now.

>>5773254
>That chimney gets cleaned, now.

>>5773256
>That chimney gets cleaned, now.

>>5773256
> That chimney gets cleaned, now.

>>5773256
> The mushrooms are probably flourishing after that hard rain yesterday, swing out and gather them up

>>5773256
>That chimney gets cleaned, now.

It's the half cooked bit of mushroom, somewhere between slimy and tough, that convinces you. The chimney is getting cleaned right now. The field is...a long term prospect to be sure, and the idea of managing it while half starved is just unacceptable. You hit the shed ans rifle through rusty tools, finding a frankly weird variety of tools that might be suited for the task, including what you're pretty sure is an eight foot long pike and some kind of torture cage on a stick.

You drag it all inside and set to work, alternating between tools, more or less beating, stabbing, and rattling at the blockage above you. Soot, sticks, and a concerning number of tiny bones rain down on you, then the first of several avalanches of pebbles and some shockingly foul black water. You go from dusty to filthy in no time.

All the doors are opened and you end up sweeping the house again, then again as another filthy avalanche crashes down, though at least this one greets you with daylight proper shining through the chimney for the first time in years. There's just one last stubborn dark lump clinging to the side. You grab the pike and give it a forceful jab.

The lump develops teeth, a lot of teeth, and beady glinting eyes, then hisses at you. You hesitate, staring at the, a name swims into your mind, Brownie. A fey pest known for lurking in old places. Slippery, greasy pest, almost impossible to catch, mostly intangible like most of its fey brethren. Except the teeth.

> Light a fire under it and smoke it out!
> Just let the wretched thing be for the moment, it’s not causing any trouble.
> Swing into town, you need the services of a cursebreaker to deal with this thing.

>>5774670
> Swing into town, you need the services of a cursebreaker to deal with this thing.

>>5774670
> Just let the wretched thing be for the moment, it’s not causing any trouble.
Sometimes they're helpful, right?

>>5774670
>Swing into town, you need the services of a cursebreaker to deal with this thing.

>>5774670
If we think it's possible,
>attempt to befriend the Brownie
If not,
> Swing into town, you need the services of a cursebreaker to deal with this thing.

Having a fey as an ally might be useful later on.

>>5774773
Just like in the story of the Old man and the Thief. The brownie in the story gnaws off the hand of the thief.

>>5774670
>Light a fire under it and smoke it out!

>>5774670
>> Swing into town, you need the services of a cursebreaker to deal with this thing.

>>5774947
Then I support >>5774792
(I was previously >>5774773)

File: little town.jpg (137 KB, 736x736)

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Unbidden a memory leaps into your mind, written on a well worn book turned by your own hands.

and then the thief crept about the grumpy old man’s house for the third night, taking and taking. The thief took the old man’s bread, and the thief took the old man’s copper coins, and finally the thief crept up to the old man’s cupboard where he believed the old man’s wedding band was kept. But when he reached his hand into the cupboard a vicious brownie, drawn there by the old man’s misery was waiting. And with one snap the beastie took the thief’s hand right off!

Well, you certainly didn’t want to deal with that sort of thing. Fey were a magical problem, and magic problems called for a cursebreaker. Hadn’t Edward introduced himself as the town cursebreaker, among other things? You spare the brownie one last scowl and start the long walk to town.

The town is fairly busy in the afternoon, with a steady stream of traffic going from shop to shop. The mayor’s office is one of the few two floor buildings in the town and sits at the end of the dirt road, marked by a white painted pine tree emblem on the second floor. Still, there’s no reason you can’t handle a few other things while in town.

Pick one or more

> Head straight to Edward and get the little demon out of your house
> Actually you’ve been meaning to find a buyer for the alchemical mushrooms you gathered
> You need to find a blacksmith and see about replacing some of your old tools
> Your farm isn’t going anywhere fast without more seeds, best see about buying some
> Write in

>>5776806
> Actually you’ve been meaning to find a buyer for the alchemical mushrooms you gathered
We'd need money to buy the other stuff, anyway.

>>5776806
>> Your farm isn’t going anywhere fast without more seeds, best see about buying some

>>5776806
>Actually you’ve been meaning to find a buyer for the alchemical mushrooms you gathered
> Your farm isn’t going anywhere fast without more seeds, best see about buying some

>>5776806
>Actually you’ve been meaning to find a buyer for the alchemical mushrooms you gathered
> Your farm isn’t going anywhere fast without more seeds, best see about buying some

>>5776806
>Actually you’ve been meaning to find a buyer for the alchemical mushrooms you gathered

File: OlgaShop.jpg (146 KB, 960x960)

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You pat the satchel of alchemical mushrooms and look around the town for a likely candidate. There nestled between two buildings a wooden sign in the shape of a potion bottle sways in the breeze. You follow it between the buildings and find an otherwise unmarked door that creaks open when you give it a knock. You step through slowly, poking your head in first, only to find the sounds of arguing jumping to sudden full volume as though they were halted at the door frame.

“Madame Olga, I wouldn’t take that bucket of rust if you gave it to me, let alone spend good silver for it!” A deep voice, but low and restrained. You step into the dim interior of the shop, past rickety shelves burdened with dusty glass jars and see the speaker, a heavily built man, covered in a layer of muscle.

“Treachery is it then!? Do old oaths mean nothing anymore!?” A voice like creaking floorboards and sheet covered furniture, but with a layer of grumbling storm clouds that haven’t yet begun to pour rain. It’s accompanied by the very picture of a crone, white hair, bent back and a cane she leans heavily on when she wasn’t waving it at the man.

“Old oaths!? Ma’am, I offered to buy old scrap off of you, not swore to handle your trash!”

You step a little closer, stepping gingerly around several unidentifiable things hanging from the ceiling that might have been small animals once. A silver haired one blinks at you and unfolds a claw, giving a wave. You jump back with something between a whimper and a scream. The crone doesn’t miss a beat in her reply but the man largely ignores her to turn toward her.

“Don’t mind the possum miss...April right?”

You nod, watching the silver haired creature yawn and stretch before promptly curling back up into a shriveled tangle of claws and fur.

“Gerome, town smith. Running the old Henderson plot now right?” Gerome largely ignores the crone who is openly flailing at him with her cane, though the strikes seem largely muted against the thick leather apron he wears.

“Uh...yes.”

“Don’t let Madam Olga here scare you, she hasn’t hexed anyone in years.”

“I can make an exception you know!”

Gerome rolls his eyes and continues. “Swing by the forge sometime and we’ll talk about getting you some new tools, Henderson wasn’t exactly taking care of his toward the end.” The blacksmith spares the fuming crone a nod and walks past you and out of the shop, leaving you alone with the crone who turns her glittering eyes onto you. Her cane taps the floor impatiently.

“Well miss April Bythewood, are you here to buy my old cauldron?”

> No, I’m here to sell you some mushrooms actually
> A cauldron? What’s it good for?
> Maybe we could do a trade?
> Write in

>>5780008
>I'm here to sell you some mushrooms. What's the cauldron good for, though?

>>5780008
>I'm here to sell you some mushrooms. What's the cauldron good for, though?

>>5780008
>No, I’m here to sell you some mushrooms actually

>>5780008
>I'm here to sell you some mushrooms. What's the cauldron good for, though?

>>5780050
+1

>>5780008
>> No, I’m here to sell you some mushrooms actually

>>5780008
>>5780050 +1

>>5780008
>I'm here to sell you some mushrooms. What's the cauldron good for, though?

I am sick. Again. Apparently getting pet insurance made the curse redirect its energies onto me. Better than the kittens I suppose.

Apologies for delays.

>>5782750
hope you get well, OP. thanks for the message.

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“Umm, I’ve actually got these mushrooms...”

The crone’s eye twitches and her nose sniffs. “Rotted sinew, peppermint, river clay...” Her voice drops to a whisper, mania filling her eyes. “Deathcap...” You feel a rush of fur at your side and the satchel of mushrooms is deftly removed by possum claws and brought to the crone’s trembling hands. She dumps it out on the counter, sorting between mushrooms black, red, and yellow. “Picked these yourself did you?”

“Uh, yes.”

She wags her cane at you. “Don’t squeeze so hard next time!” She pops a definitely poisonous mushroom into her mouth and chews it slowly, eyes rolling. “Ahhh. Good visions tonight, ehehehe.” Her glare turns back to you. “Suppose you’ll want payment then. Maybe a second hand cauldron would do? Hmmm?”

“I...what’s it even good for? The smith didn’t seem to think it was even worth scrap-”

“Scrap! Scrap!?” The possum bolts away as Madam Olga throws her arms in the air and starts stomping around the room. “That metal beating child wouldn’t know a tool of the arcane from a cookpot!” The crone spins toward you, a gnarled finger pointed up and between your eyes. “I could raise an army of zombies with that cauldron! Choke this miserable little village in vines! Twist the mind of a man into a mewling simpering pup hanging on my every word! A witch’s cauldron is a gateway to command over all things!”

“Could it make high quality healing potions?”

The crone deflates considerably with half a snarl and half a sigh. “Pah, healing potions. Of course it could make a healing potion, all these simpletons ever want. Oh, Madam Olga, I have a hangover, oh, Madam Olga I have a sore throat. I once commanded kings to kneel, you know! Healing potions, plant growth elixirs, plague cures, that’s all I brew these days! Now if a young woman wanted to bind a lingering ghost to her command, that would be interesting! I bet old Henderson still lurks around you know!”

“I’ll uh...I’ll keep that in mind? Did you...want to buy those mushrooms though?”

Madam Olga glowers at you. “They used to bring me tribute and beg for mercy, you know.”

You take a deep breath and try to ignore the possum prodding at your still very short hair. You meet the crone’s gaze. “You’ve already eaten one of them.”

“You children have no respect anymore! Three slaves and a chest of gold, to start it used to be! Fine! Ten silver for the lot, or the cauldron! And don’t try that haggling nonsense with me! I’d rather walk down to the swamp for my own supplies than bandy words for coin!”

> Take the cauldron, potion making could be a useful side activity
> Take the money, you’ve got enough to do as it is


Can I go more than three days without falling ill? Let's find out!

>>5787739
> Take the cauldron, potion making could be a useful side activity
Maybe we can get someone to pay us three slaves and a chest of gold!

Covid knocked me on my ass, too

>>5787739
>Take the money, you’ve got enough to do as it is

>>5787739
>Take the money, you’ve got enough to do as it is
we can get the cauldron later and we really need some coin now.

>>5787739
> Take the cauldron, potion making could be a useful side activity

I can go for years without going ill.

>>5787739
>Take the money, you’ve got enough to do as it is

>>5787739
>> Take the money, you’ve got enough to do as it is
Getting a cauldron can come later. why does she want to get rid of it anyway?

>>5787739
>Take the money, you’ve got enough to do as it is

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“Sorry ma’am, I’m still figuring out the farming thing, I don’t really need to add...all of this on top of it. Just the silver please.” And not that you’d say it, but you have to wonder why she’s getting rid of it, the blacksmith certainly wasn’t impressed!

“Fine, fine.” Madam Olga shrugs and with a silver possum shaped blur your pouch is back at your side, heavy with silver. “It’ll be here if you change your mind. Now skedaddle! Shoo!” The crone practically chases you out of her shop with her cane and you leave Madam Olga’s dimly lit shop with a sigh of relief. You still need to see Edward of course, and get the unwanted guest out of your chimney before it tries to gnaw your fingers off. But you’re also out of seeds, and it wouldn’t hurt to find out how you were going to sell the results of your fields...assuming you had enough to both eat and make a profit, thrift shoots weren’t exactly high coin items. The general store is fortunately easy enough to find, with a fairly steady stream of people wandering in and out.

You try your best to thread through the crowd, dodging curious looks and stares until...“Miss! Miss!” A tiny hand waves from below and you look down to find a young girl’s eyes gleaming. Questions fired rapidly from her. “Did you really swim in the fountain? Was it cold? Did you actually fall from the sky? Why’s your hair so short? You’re a little pale, are you eating enough? Do you need more sun?”

“Young lady! Stop pestering miss April so much!” A mother, all bustle and rage, hurries forward and scoops up the young child, slinging it over her shoulder like a sack of grain. “I’m very sorry ma’am. You know how children are.”

You manage to get your mouth closed and nod. “It’s not a problem?”

“But mom! She’s the newest thing in town! She fell from the sky!”

“Young lady! That is enough!” The mother turns back to you. “Mable, I’ve got a farm down by the swamp with my husband. Looking for a few more seeds?”

You nod along, then memory triggers. “Ah, thank you for the seeds and food! And yes, I’m looking for a few more seeds.”

Mable adjusted her grip on her pouting child. “Thrift shoots are a good choice if you aren’t looking for much beyond a meal, a good rain or hand water is about all they need to grow. Gotten me through a few hard winters. If you’re looking to make a good profit then I’d sow a couple fields of turnips, a lot of demand for those in the coming weeks, even if you’ll need to work a little harder to grow them. Fan greens are good for filling the belly if you think you can wait for them to grow. And don’t mind a lot of salad!” Mable chuckles and sets her child down with a warning glare. “It’ll be a few weeks yet until it warms up enough to start the grains growing, I’d stick to the greens and roots for now. Potatoes are a lot of work but should turn a good profit, and be a good food stock both.”

You nod numbly along, more than a little overwhelmed by the amount of advice. “That’s...”

Mable laughs. “You get used to it. Just try a few things out, you’ll get there.”

> Get a mix of seeds, a little bit of everything
> Go for the coins, focus on Turnips and Potatoes
> Go for the food, focus on Thrift Shoots and Fan Greens
> Write in

>>5788582
>Get a mix of seeds, mostly Thrift Shoots and Fan Greens though

>>5788582
> Go for the food, focus on Thrift Shoots and Fan Greens

>>5788612
>+1

>>5788582
>Get a mix of seeds, a little bit of everything

>>5788582
> Go for the food, focus on Thrift Shoots and Fan Greens, also go for at least 1 cactus seed.

>>5788582
> Go for the coins, focus on Turnips and Potatoes.

Worst case, we eat well?

>>5788582
> Go for the coins, focus on Turnips and Potatoes

>>5788582
>> Get a mix of seeds, a little bit of everything

File: silver_spear.jpg (60 KB, 736x1780)

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It’s a bit of a blur after that, you end up spending twelve silver for twelve bags of seeds, an even mix of turnips, potatoes, thrift shoots, and fan greens. The shopkeeper, a portly man with a bellowing laugh lets you know he’ll send someone over to deliver it all, a ‘Sarah’. There was a comment of not minding the scars that you barely noticed before finding yourself out of the busy store, blinking in the sunlight. Crowds...crowds were a bit much. Apparently you weren’t fond of a lot of strangers all around you.

You make your way to city hall and step into the building to the sound of ringing bell. Edward’s bushy beard peers out from behind a stack of papers and smiles. “Miss Bythewood! A pleasure! What can I help you with?”

“I think there’s a brownie lurking in my chimney, you mentioned being a cursebreaker somewhere between archivist and mayor, right?”

Edward sighed. “Ah, that shouldn’t be surprising...” His bushy eyebrows furrow. “Henderson never was quite the same after losing his wife, I really should have...” He shakes his head. “Ah, this isn’t helping you though. I’ll fetch the gear and we’ll handle your unwanted guest.” The stack of paperwork is left in place and Edward opens a locked cabinet along the wall with a key from a ring containing over a dozen others. A short wooden spear with a black shaft and gleaming silver tip is removed, along with a pair of spectacles hanging on a short chain. “Do you remember much about cursebreaking?”

You search the dark halls of your memories for a moment and come up with very little. “Not much. They...kill magic don’t they? And fey are magic.”

Edward nods as the two of you walk out the door. “More or less. Magic is everywhere you know, in little bits. But people draw it in, especially when times are hard. Get enough in one place and you get fey. That’s when I have to get out the spear.”

You nod along as you plod back toward your home. “Didn’t seem to do much when I gave it a jab.”

Edward taps the tip of the weapon. “Silver. Properly trained curse breakers use daggers, but I inherited the job, and I certainly don’t intend to get that close to the bastards.”

“It definitely had a lot of teeth.”

Edward hums in agreement. “Brownies are easy too. The tavern picked up a swarm of Puks once.” The old man groans. “I nearly banned beer after that one.”

“Would that have helped?”

“They live off emotion. Was the first season after the Wound, everyone was on edge, the loggers were practically living out of their cups. Doc Donna was patching people up every night from the brawls. That sort of thing is a feast for Puks, and of course they just egged it on, little stinging bast - did you say it had teeth? You could see it?”

You nod. “Is that...not normal?”

File: brownie2.png (315 KB, 512x512)

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“Hmm. Most can’t without the right tools. Hmm.” The old man’s attention seems to drift off for a few minutes until you finally reach your home. The two of you gather around the chimney and Edward peers up the shaft, the spectacle perched on his nose. “Yup, I see the little monster, let’s see...” Edward shifts awkwardly into place, carefully angling the spear into the chimney stack as he twists halfway into the chimney before halting.

“Apologies Miss Bythewood.”

“Apologies?”

Edward slowly untwists. “Old back just isn’t quite what it used to be, I don’t think I can twist into your fireplace without breaking something. I hate to ask but...”

“Give it a sharp stab with the spear? Will it fight back?” You eye the spear with a little trepidation.

“A brownie? I’d think not, they’re beasts of misery and depression.” Edward grimaces. “I really do hate asking you, but if you have the sight...” He sighs. “Might be time to ask the baroness to hire a proper breaker, though I hate giving the bi-, the baroness another claw in the town.” The grimace turned to a scowl.

You pick up the silver weapon carefully and feel the weight, giving it a few experimental stabs forward. You definitely weren’t getting any sleep with that monster lurking up there. “Ok. It really won’t fall on my face?” A sudden image of the brownie clinging to your face invades your mind.

Edward chuckles. “It should just fade away into smoke. A small stone, a cyst of magic, will fall out of it, try not to let that hit you in the face.”

You nod and angle into the chimney, locking eyes with your unwanted guest. It shifts, but stays in its place and glares balefully at you, hissing softly. You shift, pointing the spear at the creature, tensing your body, taking a deep breath...then your arms snap forward. The brownie screeches angrily as the spear pierces it, its body twisting on the point for just a moment before breaking apart into inky black smoke. A clear chunk of quartz like crystal falls from above and you barely catch it as it drops at your face. A dank feeling in the air evaporates as you emerge from the chimney and the room feels undeniably brighter and lighter, despite the heap of debris you still need to clean up.

Edward struggles to a sitting position against the wall. “Ah, I felt that one. Henderson must have been feeding that thing for a few years. Did it drop a cyst?”

You show him the crystal. “This?” The cloudy stone leaves tingling traces on your fingers as they handle it.

“Condensed magic, feel free to keep it, or sell it. Olga would probably give you a handful of silvers for it, or you could keep it for your own purposes. Mable grinds them up and sprinkles them over her fields occasionally, though I think it’s nonsense, a turnip doesn’t care about magic, and don’t believe that nonsense about offering them to forest creatures either. Kids in town will tell you a hundred stories about their red squirrel.”

“Does the village get a lot of fey?”

Edward shrugs, briefly distracted looking at the old photo of Henderson and his fishing partner on the wall. “Once a week or so, as long as nothing is getting people riled. Graveyard mostly, and Spectres aren’t much trouble to put down. Getting too old for it though.” He sighs.

An idea crosses your mind, though you aren’t sure you want to commit to it.

> Offer to take on the cursebreaker job. You could use the extra money and it seems simple enough.
> No, you’ve got plenty to do already.
> Write in

>>5791305
> Offer to take on the cursebreaker job. You could use the extra money and it seems simple enough.
Who ya gonna call?

Oh hey, spend weeks sick and distracted and you're at page ten before you know it. That's the last vote of the thread. Current status below. A little disappointed in myself only making it through three days, but so it goes.

Tools: Old
Health: Healthy
Money: 51 Silver.
Food: None!
House: Shabby
Date: April 3 (Afternoon)
Name: April Bythewood

Treasures
Golden Scale: The glimmering scale of a mysterious fish
Magic Cyst: A chunk of crystallized magic
Seeds
Fan Leaves - 4
Thrift Shoots - 4
Turnips - 4
Potatoes - 4
Planted
Thrift Shoots (3 days old)

File: crappy field map.png (21 KB, 792x240)

21 KB PNG

Look! An uninteresting representation of your field!

>>5791307
>Offer to take on the cursebreaker job. You could use the extra money and it seems simple enough.

>>5791307
>Offer to take on the cursebreaker job. You could use the extra money and it seems simple enough.

>>5791307
>Offer to take on the cursebreaker job. You could use the extra money and it seems simple enough.

>>5791318
Have you archived it ?

>>5791377
Not yet, but I will.

>>5791307
> Offer to take on the cursebreaker job. You could use the extra money and it seems simple enough.

Idrid 2, electric boogaloo

>>5791307
>Offer to take on the cursebreaker job. You could use the extra money and it seems simple enough.

>>5791307
>Offer to take on the cursebreaker job. You could use the extra money and it seems simple enough.

>>5791307
> No, you’ve got plenty to do already.

Maybe we should keep a low profile for a bit.

File: definitelynotaspagusiswear.jpg (259 KB, 1000x667)

259 KB JPG

“What if I take the job?”

Edward appraises you for a moment behind his bushy white eyebrows, then a sly smile crosses his face. “That would certainly solve a few problems. Settling in for the long term then?”

You nod. “Nowhere else to go honestly, but...I like it here and I’ve got seeds to plant.”

“Glad to hear it, Miss April. Well, I’ve certainly no issue handing the spear over to you. I’ll send word when we need you to wield it. And with that I think I’ve taken enough of your time.” He stands and gives a stiff short bow before departing. Not long after you find yourself crashing into your bed, the familiar weariness of the day settling in, though not quite as much as before. Had the little monster been sapping part of your energy? Or were you just recovering a bit more from your ordeal in arriving in Bythewood? Your stomach growls at you, but you ignore it for the comfort of the straw heap instead.

The dark of sleep comes, with it dreams of wolves and eyes in the dark. You run through ancient forests and tussle with golden whales, find yourself surrounded by the gnawing teeth of and hateful eyes of the brownie, suddenly grown to a giant whose teeth close around you. You dream of the Wound, the hole in the night sky, standing before it, weeping, over and over. You wake up with tears on your face, staring up at the dark, and fall asleep to do it again.

You sleep and dream more nightmares of wolves and teeth and great voids. And so on, tossing and turning through the night, twisting between restless dreams and staring at the dark, trying to stay awake until exhaustion drags you back down. Finally the sun creeps over the horizon and you stagger to your kitchen and toss the last of your provisions into a pot, coax the fire to life, and cook your first warm meal in your new home.

A little life creeps back into you as the warm meal fills you. You finish it and make your way to the stream, cleaning the pot out, washing your tear stained face, and manage to stand up straight in the morning sun. The thrift shoots sway in the wind, ready for the harvest, and the rest of the field practically begs to be cleared and planted as well. Nightmares or no, you’re going to make this a good day.

>>5792212
is this gonna be the end of this thread ? are you gonna make a new one ?

>>5792267
Yes

New thread same as the old thread

>>5792391