Oh man, the world’s really gone to shit over the last couple decades. Monster attacks are on the rise practically everywhere, and our brightest minds can’t figure out why. It could be habitat destruction, atmospheric instability, or an omen of the End Times, but what matters to you is that the economy’s been in a slump for the entirety of your adult life. Nobody wants to set up shop if their employees are going to open a phishing email and fall prey to a cyber-curse, or be spirited away by kelpies on the subway. Or wake up drained of all fluids by a succubus after a one-night stand. Or, just, get fucking incinerated by a red dragon. Whatever it is, whether human lives or commercial real estate, it’s all falling apart remarkably quickly.In an attempt to curb the looming threat, which clearly has local law enforcement overwhelmed, the World Overseers brought back the bounty system from olden times. There are so many desperate people out there that more than a few have been willing to risk it all for the sake of a juicy bounty; and there are juicy bounties to spare, so long as you’re willing to square off against an ancient magic beast or blood-crazed mutant monster. It doesn’t come with insurance, but if you’re somewhat skilled at killing, bounty-hunting can be your last chance out of the cycle of poverty, shift-work, and unemployment lines.
With that in mind, and after being laid off for the fifth time in a year, you’ve decided to pack your bags and leave your hometown behind to take a chance in Crossways City, the “most exciting place on Earth.” The massive island-city was always a hub for hustlers, scammers, business wunderkinds, and runaways, but now it’s also become a hotbed for bounty hunters. The monster situation down there is so bad that a portion of the city had to be cordoned off and abandoned, and now it’s turned into a nesting ground for beasts. At least there’s no shortage of bounty work, though.Your boat arrived at the harbor this morning and you poured out into the streets along with hundreds of other hungry, desperate-looking, and sometimes armed-to-the-teeth stragglers; some human like you, others displaced therians, banished celestials, temporarily-embarrassed farians, decommissioned automata, and maybe even a surreptitious vampire or two. Poverty has a way of flattening racial tensions. It’s a muggy morning in the early summer, and the sea mist is rapidly evaporating in the face of a sweltering, equatorial sun.
As you make your way through the crowds and into the city square your country-bumpkin origins betray you: you are overwhelming by the sheer masses of people, the looming blocks of exposed concrete covered in adverts, mangled phone cables, and haphazard clotheslines, the rickshaws and sports cars competing for lanes, and the constant, endless motion all around you. With the sun boiling the sweat on your brow, it’d be enough to drive a lesser man a little insane. Now you understand why no one ever gets anything done down in the tropics.Most bounty hunters organize themselves into guilds, in order to drastically improve their chances of survival. Guilds can even offer employment benefits and life insurance for your loved ones, although you’re not sure of who you’d even jot down as a beneficiary of your grisly demise. Unfortunately, your decision to move to Crossways was a bit impulsive, and, other than a couple distant acquaintances, you don’t really know anyone here. Once you get set up with a room and register at the Bounty Office, you’ll have to polish your networking skills, for the sake of your health.
For one reason or another, you do possess certain skills and abilities, which your small-town friends found quite impressive; though you suspect that here, in the big leagues, no one will bat an eye at them. At least, they should be enough to see you through some small-time monster-hunting. As a matter of fact, you are…>1. A melee combat specialist.>2. A ranged combat specialist.>3. An elemental sorcerer.>4. A spirit summoner.
>>6120947>2. A ranged combat specialist.Soma? Really?
>>6120947>4. A spirit summoner.
>>6120947>2. A ranged combat specialist.>>6120960>Soma? Really?you know him ?
(Apparently there is an old quester named soma so I'm changing my name.Also, the first option to four votes gets picked.)
>>6120947>2. A ranged combat specialist.
>>6120947>4. A spirit summoner.Why fight when your winions can fight for you.
>>6120947>4. A spirit summoner.Late, but voting anyways.
>>6120947>4. A spirit summoner.godamn I love summoning
>>6120947>>2. A ranged combat specialist.Kel thought you were the real soma, still like the setting :)Btw does anyone know why oldfag soma flaked his las quest?
>>6120947... You are a spirit summoner. As far as you know, it's a bit of a vanishing art. Ever since necromancy got decriminalized (out of sheer necessity, you assume), most people sprang for that option, since it's more efficient and easier to learn. But you've always found it unbearably distasteful. Besides, you've always had an odd knack for communing with spirits of nature. Not that you can sense many here.Your brass staff is safely strapped to your back. Nearly as long as you are tall, it ends in a ring formation from which two dirty-golden hoops hang. Your contracted spirits reside in those. In fact, they haven't been summoned since before your trip began. You wonder if they'll experience some form of culture shock.
You’ve heard that some of the bigger guilds take in newbie bounty hunters all the time, get them to sweep floors and do food runs, maybe they get hazed a little bit… but that sounds preferable to marching to your death on day one. Eventually, if you keep your head down and do as you’re told, you may have a chance to prove yourself, and make some decent coin. You really don’t mind being a whipping-boy or a maid for some diva. It beats going hungry, in your experience.You’ve managed to elbow your way through the noon crowds and to the entrance of the Municipal Bounty Office, thanks to a map you printed off of the internet before coming. You thought of springing for one of those brick-shaped portable phones when you left home, but they were well outside your budget. Maybe later you’ll call home from a payphone and let your mother know that you’re still alive, at least. She was very unhappy with your decision, although your father agreed and understood. (As for your friends, surely they must be placing bets on the date and time of your demise.)
The inside of the Bounty Office is crammed with people and bereft of AC. A line of customers-in-waiting wraps itself around the maze of sticky, reddish pleather seats that make up the waiting room. Some are filling dozens of forms with two-inch pencils. Others are motionless, head-in-hands, or fighting for a position directly under one of the two working fans. The yellow paint is peeling off of the walls in places. Some parts have been strategically covered up with informative posters on housing assistance and fraudulent bounty-claiming, as well as ads for the larger local guilds.The only way to claim a bounty is to be a registered bounty hunter first. You hope the process won’t be too involved; your mind is swimming in unpleasant smells and sensations right now, and you don’t feel capable of filling out application forms. You had more than your fill of those while working retail. You scan the rich variety of sweaty faces around you. Most seem to be newbie bounty hunters, around your age or younger, probably in the same predicament as you. There’s a wyverian woman who’s struggling to fit into the ostensibly human-sized seat; her horns extend outward in a wide arc, and one of them is nearly poking into a rattling ceiling fan’s cage. There’s a rather aristocratic-looking celestial man with sparrow-colored wings crumpled between his sweaty back and the wall, who looks positively embarrassed to be there. You wonder just how wrong your life has to go for you to belong to one of the “regal races” and still end up in this situation. Well, maybe it was their own fault, you think, not without taking some pleasure in their suffering.
The minutes pass interminably. Every so often a ticket number is called, everyone moves one seat to the right, and the waiting resumes. The desk clerk is an elderly woman who looks like she’s seen it all and then some. You can’t imagine trying to fool her. When it’s finally your turn, she looks you up and down and in a single motion hands you a sheaf of forms, printed in cheap paper that feels like it may dissolve in the humidity if you take too long to fill them out. Thankfully the registration process is a cinch; you are somewhat surprised by how little information is requested of you, beyond some basic ID and a family contact “in case your remains need to be identified.” You congratulate yourself for having looked into some forums and websites regarding the application process before coming here. Someone who was particularly helpful in providing you with tips was…>1. A shifty guy you met playing an online game.>2. A retired bounty hunter you met on a forum.>3. A distant cousin who moved here years ago.>4. A mail-order magazine called Bounty Hunters Quarterly.
>>6121163>2. A retired bounty hunter you met on a forum.
>>6121163>2. A retired bounty hunter you met on a forum.Based boomer.
>>6121163>3. A distant cousin who moved here years ago.Family ties baby
>>6121163>3. A distant cousin who moved here years ago.
>>6121163>4. A mail-order magazine called Bounty Hunters Quarterly.
>>6121163... A retired bounty hunter you met on a forum. How could you forget Salzburg? At least, that's the name he went by online. Ostensibly he was a bounty hunter of some renown, now living quietly off of his spoils, and he whiled away the days dispensing advice on the Internet. You took a liking to him when you started reading his rambling, cynical-minded posts on Monster Report, a website for monster-spotters and government conspiracy-theorists. Salzburg believed--or rather, he claimed to know with certainty--a number of controversial things about the world. Maybe you should try contacting him? He supposedly still lives in Crossways.You wait around a few more minutes for your brand-new bounty hunter photo ID to be issued. You brought a passport-sized photo in advance, which is good, because you wouldn’t have wanted to pose for a picture right now. You strongly suspect you look like shit. You wash up in the smelly bathroom and look in the mirror, confirming your suspicions. Still, your shiny ID, now placed in your otherwise-empty wallet, has somehow managed to cheer you up a bit. You walk back out into the street, where the sun has been partially obscured by a passing cloud. A fresh breeze running down the avenue hits you with a wave of pleasure. Perhaps things can only get better from here.
>>6120939Soma? Banished Quest Soma?
>>6121594Belay my last. I saw QM say they're changing their name.
Dead?Are you going to give us choices OP? >>6121456
