No matter how many times you read the letter, it always hits like a blow from a closed fist – your father is dead, and your sister is missing. The House of Pale now rests upon your shoulders.That's all the letter says. It's almost funny, how just a few words can bring your entire world crashing down around you. You don't even know who wrote the damn thing, although the letter is marked with the sign of the King's own office. Since the letter arrived this morning, your mind has been a blank. Now this, under the cover of darkness, a further message summoning you to one of the lecture theatres.Brushing past the cowled servant who brought the unwelcome message, you force a suitably aristocratic sneer onto your face and make your way towards the mysterious rendezvous. You don't quite know what will await you there, but you're determined to meet it with the pride that your noble House once embodied.Though you've told nobody else about the letter, the other students of Coral House sense your troubles and steer well clear of you as you advance through the darkened hallways with only the guttering flame of a single candle to light your way.The first thing you see upon arriving at the lecture theatre is the white sheet draped across the main table at the furthest end of the room, and the suggestive shape concealed beneath it. Irrational though it may be, your thoughts leap to the most unsightly of assumptions as you stare at the unblemished white linen. Setting your candle aside and letting the silver moonlight guide you instead, you march down the stairs and reach out to rip away the sheet. Just as your hand brushes against the cloth, though, you sense another presence in the room.“Young Master Pale,” the man begins, in his deep rumble of a voice.You turn, studying the tall man with a cautious curiosity. He's dressed well, impeccably in fact, but his skin is a rare sight – as dark as polished mahogany. His hair, just as dark, is tied like bundles of stubby rope, and his face is virtually expressionless. “Isambard is fine,” you reply, after you realise that you've been staring in silence.“Young Master Pale,” he repeats slowly, mournfully, “My name is Sakhalin. I have been sent to...”But he pauses here, as if he doesn't quite know why he's here – or as if he's not permitted to tell you.“Were you the one who sent me this letter?” you demand, waving the crumpled sheet of paper in front of him. He doesn't flinch at your sharp tone, his expression never even wavering.“Not I,” he answers with a slow shake of his head, “But it was sent with my knowledge. That letter is why I am here.”Having said this, Sakhalin reaches out and pulls away the sheet to reveal what it was concealing. Not the fresh cadaver of your fevered imagination, but three boxes of varying size. Nothing more.
>>6052154You hesitate, then glance aside to Sakhalin. He nods, like a collapsing mountain, and you reach out to open the first of the boxes. Even your natural restraint can't stop a soft gasp escaping your lips as you look down at the delicate silver wafers, each one carved with an intricate design. “These belonged to father,” you muse, “I remember...”But you cut yourself short here, your caution returning. Sakhalin clears his throat carefully. “Forgive me,” he ventures, “But I was under the impression that divination was considered a womanly art.”“It is,” you answer, feeling a trace of your old sneer returning at the tall man's mistake, “Father didn't use these for divination, not in any conventional sense. They were just a toy, nothing more – I remember watching him shuffle them as he thought to himself. That's all.”Sakhalin nods, filing that little bit of information away in the dark recesses of his mind. He takes a slight step backwards as you open up the next box, revealing a large amulet set with a monstrous image. “And this,” he murmurs, “You know what this means, I assume.”“The manticore is a symbol of the church,” you explain, “It was said to be a guardian to those who were pure of heart, despite an unbearably hideous face. I can't imagine why father would have a thing like this!”It doesn't escape your notice that Sakhalin seems to let out a little sigh of relief as you close the box and hide the amulet once more, moving on to the final – and largest – box. Opening it up reveals a beautifully crafted sword, the blade engraved with images of crashing waves.“I am told that it is of excellent make,” Sakhalin mentions, “Unfortunately, I am rather unfamiliar with modern swordsmanship.”“That doesn't surprise me,” you jeer, “There's a certain artistry to it, a subtlety.”“The first man I killed, I used the jawbone from an ox,” he counters, a thoughtful look passing across his features, “I was no older than you are now.”“How... fascinating,” you murmur. Just which colonial hellhole did they find this one? “Regardless, you still haven't explained why you're here,” you continue, “Just to bring me these... trinkets?”“Your father died with certain...” Sakhalin pauses, clearing his throat carefully, “Certain debts.”“Debts...” you mutter, realisation dawning on you.“The King, in his wisdom, has made an allowance,” the black man announces, untroubled by your announcement, “He will allow you one of these “trinkets” - an inheritance, of sorts.”Realising the futility of any further argument, you look back to three boxes laid out before you. A meagre inheritance indeed.>The tarot cards. A symbol of your father's restless thoughts>The amulet. A potent icon of the church's authority>The sword. A promise, or warning, of bloodshed
Tranny quest?
>>6052155>The sword. A promise, or warning, of bloodshedTo earn anything in this world, sacrifices are to be made. And sacrifice of blood fits better than anything else.
>>6052155>The tarot cards. A symbol of your father's restless thoughts
>>6052155>The tarot cards. A symbol of your father's restless thoughtsWomen aren't allowed to have anything, we're going to take divination from them.
>>6052155>The sword. A promise, or warning, of bloodshedTo know your future is to be sentenced to it.
>>6052155>The sword. A promise, or warning, of bloodshedWe're a noble cunt, might as well be a sword-noble-cunt. Let's remember to sell the protag's soul to the first pretty pagan goddess who asks.
>Okay, I'm going to close the vote here with sword as the winner. I've done some pre-writing so the next post should be up fairly quickly.>Just a quick note for anyone new to my work - I've got a pretty unreliable internet connection, so my post ID might bounce around a bit.
You cast a desolate eye across the table, bitterly considering your family's legacy. While never the largest or wealthiest family in the kingdom, it still pains you to see what you've been reduced to. Reaching out to the sword again, you delicately trace one finger down the edge of the blade until a bead of blood forms. Sakhalin moves forwards with a handkerchief, but you wave him away with a gesture.“This one,” you tell him, “I've made my choice.”Sakhalin looks at you with his mournful eyes, then nods. With the decision made, you start to put the items away one by one. As you're closing the wooden sword case, a thought strikes you. “Was there a dagger too?” you ask quietly, without looking around at your looming companion, “A dagger to go with the sword?”“I don't believe so,” Sakhalin replies after a pause, “Should there have been?”Of course, he's “rather unfamiliar” with such things. “If it was intended as a gift, a sword like this would be presented with a matching dagger. The sword is primarily used to deflect and defend, while the attacking is done with the dagger,” you explain patiently, “That is the modern style, after all.”Sakhalin considers this for a long moment. “That seems impractical,” he decides at last.“Well, it's for duelling. For showmanship,” you remark with a shrug, finally snapping the case closed, “...What now?”“King Albrecht has called for a gathering of the noble families at week's end. You will, of course, be expected to attend,” the black man says slowly, as if the very idea depresses him, “I have been asked to escort you.”A sneer starts to form on your lips. “To make sure I show up?”“Forgive me, young Master Pale,” Sakhalin murmurs, his reply wiping the sneer from your lips, “But yes.”-Like a grim black shadow, Sakhalin follows you back to your quarters. You half expect him to invite himself in, but he doesn't go quite that far. Instead, as you're just starting to open the door and retreat into safety, he carefully clears his throat. “Forgive me,” he says quietly, “But I have one last thing for you.”“Oh really?” you retort, “And will I be allowed to keep this, or will it be set against my father's debts too?”Sakhalin just sighs before reaching into his deep pockets and producing a neatly folded slip of paper. You take it numbly, noticing the sign of the king's oracle stamped on the clean white paper. You look up and meet Sakhalin's eyes, but he just shakes his head. “I have not read it,” he says, answering your unspoken question, “This is meant for your eyes alone.”[1/2]
>>6052177Oh are you THE Moloch QM I've heard so much about?>>6052155This is Pact by wildbow isn't it? I recognized it immediately from the first few paragraphs. A quest based on one of my favorite fiction pieces? Sign me the fuck up>The sword. A promise, or warning, of bloodshedBut swords don't have to be bloodshed. Is a machete not a type of sword, cutting the undergrowth to clear a path? Are scissors not twin swords stuck together to help divide things apart? Is a pen not a mighty sword itself? Come on
>>6052182Without another word, you slink into your quarters and lock the door behind you. A curse forms on your lips as you fumble in the darkness, finally flicking the heavy brass switch. Grimacing at the smell of lightning that fills your room as the voltaic lights heat up, you toss the folded sheet of paper down on your desk and collapse into the nearby chair. As much as you try to ignore it, your gaze keeps getting drawn back to the paper. Finally, you unfold it and peer down at the few words written there.“This is only the beginning.More blood will be shed.The girl walks in dark places.”You study the prophecy for a long moment, reading and rereading each word until they are carved into your mind. They are, of course, mockingly ambiguous, but it's not hard to make a few guesses. The “girl” that it mentions must surely mean Gratia, but the “dark places”...A sudden chill down your spine causes you to glance up and cast a suspicious glance around the room. For a moment, just a moment, you felt sure that you were being watched. A second later, the eerie silence is shattered by a loud knock from your door. Folding the paper and slipping it into your pocket, you reluctantly open the door to see a familiar, unwelcome face.“Hello Bard,” the tanned, irritatingly handsome young man begins, “Fancy a bit of sport?”“Daniel,” you reply slowly, “I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about.”Daniel clicks his tongue in irritation. “That's because you spend too much time hiding here with all those old books,” he explains, “My sources tell me that some of the girls from the Distaff are going to be heading down into town tonight.”“Yes, and?”“And,” he stresses, “That means the local boys will start harassing them.”“I don't see how this concerns us,” you point out, peering past Daniel to the other young man, no less familiar, lingering nervously behind him, “All three of us.”“Because if anyone is going to harass the noble ladies, it should be us!” Daniel remarks with a grin, “Oh come on Isambard, it'll do you good to get out for a little bit of proper exercise.”“Brawling in the street, you mean.”“Well, call it what you like,” he replies indifferently, “So what do you say?”You hesitate, the words of the prophecy echoing back at you – more blood will be shed. Now this...>Fine, you win. I could certainly do with a distraction>Do what you want, but leave me out of it>I don't think this is a good idea. Someone could get hurt>Other
>>6052184>Fine, you win. I could certainly do with a distractionI think this is a great idea. Someone could get hurt!
>>6052183>I feel a little embarrassed to say "THE" Moloch, but yes, I assume so.>I'm going to disappoint you though - I'm dimly aware of Pact, but I'mn not basing this quest on it. Any resemblences to persons or plots living or dead are purely coincidental and all that
>>6052184>Fine, you win. I could certainly do with a distractionConflict will teach us. Victory will strengthen us. Triumph will leave the world at palm of our hand.
>>6052187Hehehehttps://pactwebserial.wordpress.com/2013/12/17/bonds-1-1/Glad to be on board>>6052184>Fine, you win. I could certainly do with a distractionWe and the boys going to town
>>6052187And that's why I specified QM. I certainly doubt there's any real affiliation between you and the big guy , but I've heard of weirder shit
>>6052184>Do what you want, but leave me out of it
>Closing the vote here and writing. We're going for a fight!
You regard the two young men with a weary gaze. You're not sure if word of your father's death has already started to spread, and this is their way of taking your mind off it, or if this is all a tremendous coincidence. You're not sure which one would be better or worse either. The silence seems to draw out forever as you consider the proposal, Daniel's smug smile never wavering for a second while Jan, almost hiding behind him, fidgets nervously. You feel pulled in two directions, caught between the prophecy and the new sword.“Fine, you win,” you decide at last, your answer causing Daniel's grin to grow that much wider. “I could certainly do with the distraction,” you add cautiously as he slaps you on the shoulder, watching his reaction.”“Studies getting you down too, huh?” he replies casually, “Well, it's like I said. It'll do you good.”So he doesn't know. Or he's pretending not to know. More likely the former, knowing Daniel. Grabbing your new sword and buckling it to your belt, you curtly nod for him to lead the way. As he takes off, you have a moment to consider your two... associates. Daniel, of the Teilhard family, is every inch the perfect young soldier – handsome, righteous and brave. You really ought to find each other intolerable, yet he seems to have made it his mission to befriend you.Jan, of the Martense family, is another anomaly. He never seems particularly comfortable around you, or anyone else, yet he seems terribly fearful of the Solitude that his family is known for. He's inoffensive enough, you suppose, but soft. You highly doubt he'll be throwing any punches tonight.“Now, you know how this works,” Daniel asks as you're leaving Coral House, “Don't you?”“Of course I do,” you assure him, “We find the local boys, then spend a few moments on insulting each other. When that gets tiresome – which, I imagine, won't take very long at all – we have a nice civilised brawl.”“You have such a way with words,” Jan murmurs, the faint smile on his face softening the sarcasm.Pausing at the top of the hill, you look out across the town below and focus on the lights twinkling from the Distaff – the Coral House Young Ladies' College, to give it the proper name. Until that damn letter arrived, you had assumed that Gratia was safely cloistered within the school. But now...“Keep up!” Daniel chides, gesturing frantically for you to hasten your steps. Shaking off the dark thoughts, you hurry after him.-“There they are,” Daniel mutters, pointing to a handful of gaudily dressed young men lingering on the street corner, “From a merchant family, I suppose.”“New money,” Jan agrees, sadly shaking his head, “No taste at all.”[1/2]
>>6052217As Daniel swaggers down the darkened city streets, you focus on sizing up the small group of thugs. You only see two of them with weapons, one with a sword and the other with a short dagger. That last one worries you – he has a mean look in his eyes, an apparent willingness to use the weapon. They tense up as they notice you, one of them already starting to back away.“Hello gentlemen!” Daniel hollers suddenly, his booming voice causing them to flinch, “Isn't this past your bedtime?”“Aye, I'll go to bed!” the swordsman counters, “With your sister, I mean!”Raucous laughter splits the night air as you make a mental note to hurt that one, and badly. The next few moments play out exactly as you expect, with the insults flying between your two groups. Daniel is in his element here, insulting everything from their manhoods to their lineages. You tune it out after a while, like the rumble of a distant steam engine, but eventually some jibe crosses the line and sends the thugs lunging forwards.Suddenly, chaos. You spot Daniel drop the thug with the dagger in a single punch, flooring the man before he can even draw the weapon. A few of the other men fall upon the soldier with their bare fists, but you don't have the chance to help. Your gaze is fixed on the swordsman, allowing him the luxury of yanking his blade free before you plunge into the attack. He defends with some measure of skill, you'll give him that much, but that's all he can manage. With no hope of turning the tide, he edges backwards until his back is pressed against the stone wall behind him.You bring your blade down for one last time, catching his sword – cheap, commonly made – and shattering the steel. He falls with a cry, clasping his bloodied hand to his chest as you touch the point of your sword to his throat. The sight, the smell, of blood seems to awaken something in you, something ancient and terrible, and you have to keep your hand from shaking as you turn to check on your companions.Though dusty and bruised, Daniel is nevertheless victorious. The remaining thugs lie groaning at his feet, while Jan watches on in wonder. “Good work, Jan,” you sneer, “I can really see why you wanted to come along.”“Well-” he begins, only for his eyes to flash wide with fear, “Watch out!”But you're already turning, your blade leaping out like a striking serpent. A shudder runs up your arm as the blade finds flesh, the point buried deep in the man's shoulder. He groans with pain, a revolver slipping from his convulsive grip as you twist the blade.“Pulling a gun, you little bastard?” you hiss, “I ought to cut your throat...”“Hey Bard,” Daniel warns, his voice uncertain, “That's enough.”Is it though?>He drew a gun on you. You've got every right to end this man's life>You'll let him live, but not without a good scar to remind him of his errors>He's not worth dirtying your blade any further. You'll let him go>Other
>>6052218>You'll let him live, but not without a good scar to remind him of his errorsNemesis acquired
>>6052218>You'll let him live, but not without a good scar to remind him of his errorsI like how unlikeable our boy is already.
>>6052218>You'll let him live, but not without a good scar to remind him of his errorsHe comes back, our next scar will not be so surface level
You lean in, slowly pushing the tip of your blade deeper into the man's flesh as he squirms, caught like a bug on a pin. You'd have every right to end his life, right here and right now. There's a part of you, that terrible thing deep in the back of your mind, that wonders what it would be feel like. Maybe it would feel good, watching this plump, pampered maggot spill his blood out into the street. Maybe it wouldn't feel like anything at all.“Isambard...” Jan whispers, touching your arm gently. You jerk around at his touch, ripping the blade free from the thug's shoulder. He wails, only for his voice to be cut off in a startled gasp as you whip the blade back around and score a long slash across his face. The surprise can only numb the pain for so long, and soon his cries start back with renewed strength.He'll live. He wouldn't scream nearly so loud if he was dying. But he certainly won't think to make that mistake again.Wiping your sword clean on a handkerchief, you turn and stalk away from the crying man. Daniel and Jan hurry after you, the latter seeming as if he might be sick at any moment. Nobody speaks for a long time, not until the wailing has faded to a distant echo. Then, and only then, is the silence broken.“What a night!” Daniel laughs suddenly, “You've been holding out on us, Bard. I should've dragged you out long ago.”“Perhaps it's better that you didn't,” you mutter, pausing and glancing back down at the town, “Aren't you forgetting something?”Daniel thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Can't think of anything,” he admits, “Care to remind me?”“He means the girls,” Jan points out, “You were awfully keen on them before he left.”“Oh, them,” he shrugs again, “Forget it. The skirts would've heard all that noise and run a mile. No point in chasing after them now – plenty of other chances, you know?”Jan sighs in disappointment, his nausea apparently forgotten, and you lapse back into silence. A thought strikes you as you're walking back to the college – you might be leaving here soon, perhaps never to return. You're the head of the family now, even if you barely have a family to speak of. That comes with certain responsibilities. Just thinking about a return to the family estate, and all the unpleasant memories that it holds, sends a shudder through you.It might not be so bad, you think to yourself, the whole damn place might be seized to pay back the debts. You might never have to see it again. As for what comes after that...“Cheer up Bard!” Daniel remarks, interrupting your thoughts, “You're always so gloomy!”“That's because I've got good reason to be gloomy,” you counter.“Oh, you do?” he raises an eyebrow, “Why don't you tell me all about it?”“Well, you see, I'm being harassed by these two young men...” you begin, a smirk forming on your lips. [1/2]
>>6052252The old familiar sign – Coral House Young Gentlemen's College – is there to greet you as you return home, or to what was once home. A few of the other students cast suspicious glances at you as you arrive, noting the bruises and scuffs on Daniel's face with neither surprise nor concern. This is just another normal night for him, it seems.“I think I'll go to the chapel,” Jan says suddenly, nodding his head to the other end of the hall, “I like to say a few prayers before going to bed. It helps settle my thoughts.”“Funny, I always preferred going to bed before saying my prayers,” Daniel retorts, “If I'm really lucky, I sleep late enough that I don't have to bother with the latter.”“You're a heathen,” Jan sighs, polishing his glasses on a long sleeve. His eyes seem very small without the lenses, and ringed with dark shadows. If you had to guess, you'd say that his mind isn't nearly settled enough.“Well, I suppose that I'm a very hungry heathen,” the soldier says with a yawn, “I ought to get a bite to eat before I turn in. Bard, feel like a snack?”“I'll give the matter serious consideration,” you tell him, “And stop calling me Bard.”“Oh fine. Isambard, snack?”“Serious consideration,” you stress, patting the sword hanging at your hip, “I need to drop this off first, or the kitchen staff might get the wrong idea.”The two young gentlemen give you a wave, then head off down their separate paths.-A slight tut of irritation escapes you as you look down at your sleeve, and the spatter of blood drying there. Stripping off the jacket, you throw it aside and sit back down at your writing desk. A thoroughly pointless diversion, although you have to admit that it satisfied some primal urge deep within you. Was it the violence, or just spending time with the other men?Without thinking, you raise the bloodied jacket to your nose and sniff at the stain. It occurs to you, then, that the smell of blood always reminds you of Gratia.Throwing the jacket aside in disgust, you pull fresh clothes out of your drawer and quickly dress. As you do, you recall Daniel's invitation. He must really be determined, trying to drag you out twice in one night.>You'll join Daniel for that meal, and maybe see what he's up to>You should join Jan in the chapel. Your spirit could use a little work after tonight>You've had more than enough social time for one day. Better rest now and save your strength>Other
>>6052257>You've had more than enough social time for one day. Better rest now and save your strengthNot sure we'd feel up for a social meal after the day we've had
>>6052257>You should join Jan in the chapel. Your spirit could use a little work after tonightMeek are those who lack the thirst for righteousness. Perhaps we cannot be perfect, but in our atonement, much of spiritual strength can be acquired. And what Daniel has to offer to us, debauchery?
>>6052257We're a sigma male alpha loner. We only go out when it's time for violence. Otherwise we brood menacingly in our room.
>>6052261>You've had more than enough social time for one day. Better rest now and save your strength
>>6052257>You should join Jan in the chapel. Your spirit could use a little work after tonightBuilt up sentiments like these turns believers into relaying words to their gods. I think going to the chapel is worth a try first. MC isn't a mindless beast.
>>6052257>You should join Jan in the chapel. Your spirit could use a little work after tonight
Sitting back down at your desk, you slowly turn Daniel's offer over in your mind once more. Maybe you're being influenced by Jan's softness, but the thought of sitting across from the young soldier and eating a civilised meal with him turns your stomach. No matter how friendly he is, or tries to be, the distance between the two of you is just too vast. Sometimes, being with him is like trying to stare into the sun.You consider joining up with Jan instead, although the thought of seeking a bit of spiritual healing brings a sneer to your lips. The Godhead certainly doesn't seem to have much in the way of good fortune set aside for you, and you hardly think a few prayers are going to change that. You wince, then, as you realise just how much you sound like your father. You can practically hear one of his bitter rants now.That's what makes up your mind, the change of plans so sudden that it nearly leaves you light-headed. Checking the last of your clothing for any bloodstains you might have missed before, you quickly make your way towards the chapel.-It's quiet here, as you might expect from the late hour. Jan is the only one here, pacing slowly from one end of the room to another. Occasionally he stops at one of the seven statues that line the far wall, gazing up at them in silent awe. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the statue of Insight, the Emanation long associated with your family. The statue is far grander than any of the icons you had back home, the marble figure carved with meticulous care.“The artistry is good, of course, but I never quite understood the style,” you announce, your echoing voice nearly causing Jan to faint, “They just look like people. They hardly inspire awe.”“Isambard, keep your voice down!” Jan hisses, hurriedly adjusting his glasses, “They're supposed to be, um, relatable. The Emanations are-”“The Emanations are the bridge between man and the Godhead,” you finish for him, “Who is so vast and grand that man cannot HOPE to comprehend Him.”Jan frowns at you for a long moment. “Isambard,” he says slowly, “Are you mocking me?”“Of course I am,” you assure him, “But it's nothing personal. I'll mock anyone.”“Well, maybe you shouldn't,” the young man says with a pout, “Anyway, why are you here?”You don't answer that question straight away, instead moving to the central statue – the Godhead itself. Here, the attempt at being “relatable” is discarded completely. The Godhead is depicted as a great featureless monolith, impassive and imposing. A man could spend his whole life praying at an altar like this, and it wouldn't change a thing.“I thought I'd check up on you,” you tell Jan at last, “I do hope you're not too shaken up after tonight.”“...Very good,” Jan says with a shaky laugh, “You actually sounded concerned there.”“I've been practising.”[1/2]
