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…

Welcome back to Cambion Quest!

You are Zith-Zi, goblin bandit-turned-adventuress, transformed by magic into a pretty, pink-skinned, fairy-flavoured ‘nilbog’ for the sake of health, wealth, and the love of a man named Jimmy…

…and you are also Carazzi Yosef (as you have taken to calling yourself), the cambion cast-off whose Hellish essence was evacuated when Zith-Zi changed her fate, leaving you ugly, unstable, and neither wholly male nor female.

In the time since you were split in two, your two halves have been through a lot. You’ve grown closer even as you’ve grown apart: you becoming the badass Boss Bitch of the Monstrous Regiment adventuring company, and you increasingly engaging with the occult arts in an effort to reshape your deformed body and demonic soul into something worthy of love. In the process, you rediscovered Patmo-Shoka, and harnessed its secrets in pursuit of your own goals: the creation of a superpowered adventuring party such as the world has never seen, and the cultivation of a perfected, purified self.

Joined by other cambions and castoffs created by the mage who once remade you, you discovered that the secret to achieving your dreams lay in the Far East. There, you met the mysterious Ziwei Bo, an unassuming (and undead) shopkeeper of the Goldenriver race who promised you potent pills intended to unlock your potential and to cure your Infernal afflictions. In exchange for this, you promised to bring him the hundun, a mythical monster said to be able to generate any alchemically-useful animal ingredient a learned cultivator could covet.

Unfortunately, that proved to be… Complicated.

The hundun you found dwelt in the northeastern steppe, where it presided—however inauspiciously and unofficially—as the so-called ‘Naked Emperor’ of a band of gyrfalcon fairies. Though they tormented the local mortals for sport, you found yourselves sympathetic to their plight. The hundun’s fractured psyche and ever-shifting shape were not unlike your own, after all, and you too knew what it was like to live a life of loneliness in the wilds and wastes. Unable to bring yourselves to capture or kill these creatures, you instead invited them into your company—

For now! Temporarily! On a contractual basis!

—and to help you in your next mission. After all, even if you weren’t going to trade The Naked Emperor to Ziwei Bo, you still needed to get his precious pills.

…

This quest’s previous volumes, and its predecessors, can be found at https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=ReptoidQM. Nothing before Cambion Quest is required reading, but they do share a universe, a continuity, and a few characters. If you’re enjoying the quest, suptg votes are nice to see, too!
As always, I’ll be rolling the dice, and (of course) counting the votes. I reserve the right to disregard non-backlinked or otherwise dubious 1post IDs without backlinks on important decisions, especially after the first few votes of the thread.

…

You still can’t believe you agreed to this shit. You really, really can’t.

It’s been years since you last dealt with lich shit. You swore to yourself you’d avoid ever doing so again, if at all possible. Every goblin boy and goblin girl—and really, anyone of any race with half a brain—knows they’re bad news, possibly even the WORST news. Khoblis in general are sketchy, being spell-slinging sons-of-bitches who use the arcane arts to muck about with the way things work, but you’ve come around to some of them. Tips (and by association, his doppelganger Veigar) are a-okay in your books, of course. If you’re not the biggest fan of Henzlers, Veigar’s cambion GF Ayla has done a lot of good for you, your archer ay Yeb-Uit, and of course for your sister. Shit, ever since you got nilbogegd, you YOURSELF are sort of a spellcaster, albeit not a very skillful one.

But liches? FUCK liches. Rotting carcasses who think they know better than The Lord of Ending when they ought to die! Bony bastards who blight the world by their very presence! And FUCK if their protective enchantments aren’t a pain in your pink posterior. No. No thank you!

But it’s for your soul-sister. Your shadow. Your other half. The closest person to you in the whole damn world.

So you said yes. You agreed to rob a lich.

“Well, like, do we even know for sure he’s a lich?” says Carazzi. “He could jus’ be, uhh… Like, a really smart, magic zombie! Or, I dunno… DO Easterlings have vampires?”

“CZ,” you say bluntly, “a lich is lich is a fuckin’ LICH.”

She doesn’t argue the point. Her memories of your time as a single, unitary
Zith-Zi might be limited and fragmentary, but neither of you has forgot THAT adventure, or ever will as long as either of you live.

“Thanks, ZZ,” she whispers instead.

“Yeah, whatever,” you huff. “Forget about it.”

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>>6272289
You, your sister, and the rest of your party—two orcs, a goblin, and a super-goblin—stands in the shadow of a bleak, blackstone mountain, overlooking the plains and valleys of the northeastern expanse. This place is home to the hundun (or Naked Emperor, or whatever-the-fuck it wants to be called) and its fairy coterie, who together have long made themselves menaces to the local mortals. Even without accounting for your new 'friends', this is a wild place, though. It's just abrely south and east of the Orcwilds and all the barbarity THAT implies, and north of Goldenriver’s prosperous city-states.

Among those rich cities is Shuǐmén, or River’s Mouth, the wealthiest of them, home to the greatest alchemists and craftsmen which the short-and-sallow humans of the Orient can bring to bear… And among them, in the very heart of that Easterling empire, lives—ha! as if a lich could really LIVE!—the lich, Ziwei Bo.

“He didn’t SEEM so scary,” CZ insists. “Like… Ayla was a l’il antsy ‘bout him, but honestly, his shop was cramped as shit, an’ I only saw a single servant, even!”

What goes unsaid in her efforts to put you at ease is that a skilfull spellcaster can hide an awful lot in plain sight. Ayla—CZ’s sorcerous sensei, your in with Ziwei Bo, and a powerful practitioner of The Dark Arts—is pretty much a homeless drifter. Ezreal Mious Van Houtzmann (or Tips to you) was able to remake the two of you and drew such heat that the gods themselves hated his guts, but apart from that is just some cute twink in a pointy hat who lives with some losers on a hill outside Hawksong.

“If we’re gonna do this,” you say, “we’re gonna need a proper plan.”

So, where will you begin?

>Return to Patmo-Shoka—you want to regroup with the rest of the Monstrous Regiment, and bring Ayla and Veigar in on this
(though that means leaving most of the hundun’s entourage behind because of the limitations of Ayla’s teleportation… And maybe worse than THAT, it means BRINGING the hundun to where you live)
>Fuck it, you’re already out East, and you have a hundun and a bunch Unseelie Fey, plus your best fighters—you’ll head south, towards Goldenriver
(though that means leaving Ayla and the others back at base out of the loop)
>Actually, there’s something else you want to do, before you leave the steppe… [What?]

A reminder from last thread: one tentative plan was to tie up the hundun, smear some wine on it, and pass it off as drunk and disabled, then to spring an ambush for Ziwei Bo. I will warn you up front, you may wish to elaborate upon that for best results. In addition, since only two anons actually voted for the pill-heist, and didn’t weigh in on the method, I thought it best to leave this open to discussion.

Do you want to stick with this general approach?
>Yes
>No, actually… [write-in an alternative]
>Yes, but… [write in other details]

>>6272293
>Return to Patmo-Shoka—you want to regroup with the rest of the Monstrous Regiment, and bring Ayla and Veigar in on this
If we're facing the alchemist, we need Ayla to be in the know.

>Yes

>>6272293
>Return to Patmo-Shoka—you want to regroup with the rest of the Monstrous Regiment, and bring Ayla and Veigar in on this
Better to keep the entourage out of this desu, they can’t replenish their numbers.

>Maybe
Let’s see what capabilities Ayla brings to the table before we commit to a plan, since she’ll possibly be our biggest powerhouse. Of course her favorite brainwashing trick won’t work on an undead lich, so maybe the hundun is our heaviest hitter.

>>6272425
+1

>>6272293
>Return to Patmo-Shoka—you want to regroup with the rest of the Monstrous Regiment, and bring Ayla and Veigar in on this.

Considering the unseelie fight, Ayla is probably stronger than 15 fey. She solo'd like 25 members of banelight's court.

>Yes

I cant think of anything better.

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>>6272339
>Speaking of, how's our Tips community going?
[To address this ask from last thread: pretty good! Old Maple Hill is a healthy and thriving, albeit still quiet small, community. Between Izirina's teleportation, Tips' Feycraft and biological magic, their powerful connections in the Tower and the Royal Family, and the boon that is their pocket dimension with its "tunnels" connecting to various places around the region, they want for very little.]

>>6272610
>>6272442
>>6272425
>>6272367
[Back to THIS quest though. Locked and writing!]

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>>6272646
“Farewell, farwell! Fare thee well, or fare thee poorly—so long as you fairy on, Fair friends!”

You watch The Naked Emperor wave one out-of-place arm to its adoring-but-anxious Unseelie courtiers. It still unsettles you to see an otherwise-humanoid limb just jutting out of the doughy mass of meat which forms the bizarre eastern beastie’s body… Though perhaps not so much as some of the OTHER things which have emerged from the big lump of lard.

“C’mon,” you command the hundun. “Get a move on!”

“It’s rather atypical to receive orders from another, let alone a tiny mortal like yourself, Miss Zith-Zi.”

“That gonna be a problem?”

“Perhaps a problem for another day,” the monster chirps cheerily, its voice echoing eerily inside your own skull for lack of a mouth to speak with. “I’m rather enjoying the change of pace, right now!”

You’re already regretting bringing the blob-monster back home to your dungeon, and you might not have done so at all if it weren’t necessary… But it is. After all, your plan hinges on the hundun, and convincing this creepy-ass corpse of a cultivator in River’s Mouth that you’re there to trade it for his eastern medicine. You can’t bring its whole crew, though—the magic scroll you brought with you is enchanted to signal Ayla to bring you back, but even a formidable mage like her can only <Dimension Door> so many of you at a time, and the Emperor’s fat ass probably counts triple towards that limit all on its own.

You extract the item in question from where you buried it safely between your boobs, smirking a little at how both Xoldur and Yeb-Uit steal a look at the show. An-Yii gives the latter a pinch and growls something that chastens the old archer.

(Yeah, that relationship ain’t long for this world… But then, few goblin ‘ships ever are. Maybe that’s part of why you’ve always preferred human guys?)

You break the seal and, almost instantly, you feel the sorcerous signal surge up and outward. All those with magically-attuned senses to see it follow the pulse westward. Not long after that, a stronger pulse pours back from that direction, and a fire-rimmed circle appears in the open air before your party. The surface ripples, distorting the sights on the other side, but even so you recognize the familiar, magitech corridors of Patmo-Shoka, where you’ve spent the last few months of your life. You breathe a sigh of relief—it isn’t exactly ‘home’, but it’s yours, and you’re surprised how much you’ve missed it.

With all that’s gone down, these few days out East have felt like MONTHS!

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>>6272693
“Aight,” you shout to your Regiment (and associates), “grab what you gotta! Go time!”

And so they do. Yeb-Uit and An-Yii go first, followed by your half-orc sword-students Xoldur and Murbal. You nod to the gyrfalcon fairies with whom you made a bargain, to reattune them to serve you and CZ in exchange for their aid against the Naked Emperor; the terms have changed but if you can only bring a few Fey through, it’s gonna be them. Your shapeshifting sister and her new hundun ‘friend’ bring up the rear, hanging back just long enough for the first few to explain the new additions. Only once they’re through do you spare the steppe sunrise a last look, and step through yourself.

…

Getting everyone situated is the first big challenge. You won’t be here long, but you’ll at least need a day or two to rest, regroup, debrief, and strategize. You are in charge of all that, of course—the thankless duties of a Boss Bitch are never-ending! The hundun is the biggest hurdle, since the dungeon’s ancient corridors were crafted for beings the size and shape of a goblin or a dwarf, not a deranged dumpling the size of a horse. With your orcs’ muscle and your excellent leadership, though, you’re eventually able to squeeze the malleable mutant into the chamber just before the forge room.

“Oh me oh my,” muses the Naked Emperor. “Whatever is this place? I sense such power…”

“Hands, feet, wings, tentacles, and whatever-the-fuck ELSE yer packin’ to yourself, and OFF of MY shit unless I say so,” you snarl, stepping between the hundun and the room containing the bio-spiritual ‘forge’. “Got it?”

“I must admit, the charm of being ‘bossed’ begins to wear thin…”

“H-hey!” Carazzi jumps in between the two of you, gently guiding you away. “Howzabout you go talk ta Ayla ‘bout our next steps, ‘n I get our guests, like… All settled in ‘n shit, huh? I’ll make sure they stay safe ‘n don’t fuck with nothin’… Gob’s honour!”

You snort at the old joke, delivered with a wink—the honour of a goblin, indeed! Coming from CZ, though, you’ll take that infamous oxymoron at face value. And she IS right: you’ve got a lot to discuss.

...

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>>6272694
You find Ayla again, waiting where you left her—where the <Dimension Door> which she summoned let you all out. Everyone else has cleared out, gone to rest in their rooms, or to chow down and tell tales of the northeast, or just to go take a piss. Not Ayla, though—she’s hardly moved, and graces you with a small smile and a glint in her eye that says she was expecting you.

“I see plans have changed,” she comments dryly.

“Yeah.” You huff, and cross your arms. “Carazzi’s practically adopted the damn thing.”

“And yet, we still require the pills.”

“Yeah,” you repeat, and then look up into her eyes. “Tell me: what all do you know ‘bout this Ziwei Bo bastard?”

In truth, it’s not much. As Ayla tells it, she and Veigar were doing their grand tour of Eastland esoteric hotspots when they heard tell of a mysterious practitioner of medicinal magic, capable of otherwise-impossible wonders of body and spirit. This had been of immediate interest to both of them—though Ayla doesn’t specify why, you know Tips well enough to not be surprised that his goblin-green clone would want to check out mystery-magic like that—and they’d gone looking for him.

“Honestly, it wasn’t hard,” Ayla admits. “I made… inquiries, and the way was revealed to me.”

You try not to scowl at the oblique allusion to her contacts, who you assume (with good reason) to be The Dark Gods or agents thereof. You’re not a Paladin-fluffing worshiper of the Gods Above, but that hardly makes you a fan of Those Below, either. Gods are gods, and as far as YOU’RE concerned, they can all get fucked… But that isn’t what’s important right now.

“The way Carazzi told it, it’s just some shitty little shop in that Goldenriver city you two visited.”

“Ziwei Bo’s storefront is… mobile.” Ayla narrows her eyes. “I believe he has found some way to situate it in multiple places at once, and to grant or block access based on who is seeking it, something akin to a <Demiplane>. But then, such advanced Conjuration has always been my greatest aptitude. Even greater than Elementalism, or Mentalism.”

“Yeah?” you say. “That mean that you can get us in?”

“He’ll be expecting us,” she says, and the boastful smirk that took shape as she listed her capabilities slips. “We won’t need to take any special measures to find him.”

“And what about to rob him? Got any special measures for THAT?”

It’s the first time you say aloud what exactly the ‘new plan’ is, instead of the original one to turn the hundun over to the lich. Ayla doesn’t seem surprised about it, nor upset. You wouldn’t say she seems PLEASED, either, though.

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>>6272697
“It should be possible,” she says. “He is unaging, undying… But that is not the same as unbeatable, or indestructible.”

“You’re couchin’ a lotta this in weasel words, Ayla.” You raise an eyebrow, less-than-happy yourself. “Is this guy really that tough? Can’t ya just… You know, reach into his brain an’ take the recipe for the pills, or make him give us what we want?”

Ayla shakes her head, and answers: “No. With my Mentalism and Carazzi’s combined, we could perhaps distract him for a time… But his mind and soul are guarded against anything deeper by a series of psychic blocks. Some of the best I’ve ever encountered. With his body no longer needing to breathe and his metabolism stalled, the pheromonal component of my powers cannot affect him, either.”

In truth, you’d expected as much. If it were THAT easy, you’re sure Ayla would have already done so, and spared the Monstrous Regiment the hassle of the hundun hunt altogether. But still…

“What about the ol’ zap-zap? A little bit’ve <Lightning Bolt> or whatever?”

“I’m… Not sure,” Ayla confesses, and cringes in genuine embarrassment. “Ziwei Bo’s level of actual combat power is unknown to me. Something about his qi renders it unreadable. I believe he may have followed some path similar to that of the Void Vessel—ask Carazzi—but taken to an extreme that is impossible for anything yet living. I’m not certain he even has a conventional SOUL anymore…”

You snort at that last bit. No soul? Well shit, Tips always said the same thing about goblins and their kin, and you’ve killed your fair share of THOSE in your day! The brief bravado doesn’t last, though—not when you see how serious Ayla’s face is.

“So what do we do?”

“Your plan isn't bad,” she says. “Lulling Ziwei Bo into a false sense of security is an excellent start. If you can keep up the ruse until he produces the pills, then steal them and escape, that might be the safest… Though you should expect reprisals if you can’t destroy him afterwards. As you can probably guess from what I’ve already told you, he is a man of considerable resources.”

“I’m pretty resourceful myself,” you retort. “Bet as an undead, he’s weak ta radiant damage, huh?”

You tap your Patmo-Shokan ‘rad-saber’, a small silver cylinder that produces a sword of pure heavenly energy. Ayla nods, affirming you have at least one advantage.

>>6272699
“He won’t be alone, though,” she says. “He has many servants—yāo shòu, èguǐ, beastmen and demons. Every item in his possession is a possible weapon or defence, which I suspect is the true source of his power: he is a powerful artificer as well as an alchemist, and capable of attuning himself instantly to almost any magical item and to drawing forth its ultimate power.”

Ayla scowls, and adds: “At least, that would explain why everything I’ve ever purchased from him seems stronger during his demonstrations than when -I- use it afterwards.”

You’re beginning to get the picture: this guy is a magically-unreadable, probably-ancient undead khoblis kingpin with a small army of magical minions, a hoard of enchanted items at his disposal, and a mind like a steel trap. No WONDER Ayla didn’t just mug him.

(Fucking liches…)

“There’s one other thing,” Ayla says, interrupting your churning thoughts.

“Huh?”

“I mentioned that Ziwei Bo is a demonologist, able to master èguǐ. But don’t forget: Carazzi, and myself, are both demons… Sort of.”

“Oh?” You blink, and feel your stomach drop. “Oh. Oh, FUCK.”

“Yes,” Ayla agrees grimly. “That’s the main reason I f-show CAUTION, when dealing with him. It’s entirely possible he can repel, bind, or even find a way to capture or control us.”

You chew your cheek, and resist the urge to scream. This son-of-a-bitch shopkeeper, this glorified zombie, can turn your heaviest hitters AGAINST you? Or at least render them useless?

(FUCKING. LICHES.)

“But there may be a way to negate this advantage.”

You look up, and see Ayla’s expression shift repeatedly, as if she isn’t sure she wants to tell you this.

“We could use the forge.”

“Use it how?” you ask.

“To transform Carazzi.”

“…But we ain’t got the pills yet,” you point out.

Ayla nods, then frowns. “That’s why I’m… Not sure. The first test, with Yeb-Uit, went well enough. But Carazzi… She already has a ‘soul’. Well, almost—technically, Infernal ectoplasm, but near enough the same thing. And her biological alchemy is more complex. Without the pill and the process, to complete her cultivation, the results could be…”

“Yeah,” you interrupt, “I get it. It’s a crapshoot, right? Maybe even a shitshow?”

Ayla doesn’t reply, which is all the answer you need. Well, that and the fact that she isn’t volunteering herself.

What will you do?

>Talk to CZ about trying out the forge
>Forget it—you aren’t risking your sister, no how, no way
>Hey, didn’t you promise Iorund Copperbelt, the dwarven Delver boss and your ‘business partner’, the next crack at the forge? You could test it out on him…
>Write-in

Please feel free to discuss other possible approaches, instead of or in addition to this, now that you have a fuller picture of what you’re up against.

>>6272700
>Forget it—you aren’t risking your sister, no how, no way

>Hey, didn’t you promise Iorund Copperbelt, the dwarven Delver boss and your ‘business partner’, the next crack at the forge? You could test it out on him…
Get a rotund dwarf heavy hitter.
Then, is Veigar demoniac? He's magic-resistant, that should count for something.
Here's my plan : go see him with our little army hidden nearby. Carazzi + Ayla mental the hell out of him while he fetches pills, meanwhile we steal everything not nailed of his hoard. We also have the Censer to protect our demons against the lich

>>6272700
>Hey, didn’t you promise Iorund Copperbelt, the dwarven Delver boss and your ‘business partner’, the next crack at the forge? You could test it out on him…
We did promise this
Test on the other prospectors too

>>6272940
>other prospectors
Didn't all the other Delvers leave, except for Martyn?

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>>6272775
>>6272884
>>6272940
[Alright, locked and writing!]

>>6273061
[Oh, and: yes, you are correct!]

>>6272884
>>6273115
>>6273117
“What about Veigar?” you ask after some thought. “He ain’t a demon… Right?”

“No, he’s not.” Ayla shakes his head sadly. “But for all his talents, magical and otherwise—”

“I bet,” you interrupt with a knowing smirk.

“—he’s not well-suited to fighting the undead. His magical specialty is Living Alchemy, and the spiritual arts… All unfortunately moot, against someone—or something—like Ziwei Bo.”

You groan, and Ayla adopts a rare expression of sympathy, however muted.

“He’s still in Hawksong, anyway,” she reminds you.

Well, there goes THAT plan. You need a way to take this undead asshole down, or at least to steal his stuff out from under him without being stopped or caught… But, just as important, it needs to be a way that WON’T endanger Carazzi. There’s no way you’re sticking your sister in some cockamamie machine without some assurance that she’s not going to pop out of it some twisted-up freakazoid like those ‘foundlings’ which the Ettercap was producing before you kicked her ass!

(…or, for that matter, like you yourself were briefly half-transformed into, before CZ saved you…)

It’s then that a memory resurfaces, as if in answer to your silent, aimless prayers:

“Copperbelt!”

Ayla raises her eyebrows, awaiting an explanation. You don’t disappoint.

“Copperbelt—where is he? He wanted ta use the forge, before I left. Well, now’s his chance, right? An’ HE’S got a proper soul, so… That’s closer to the mark, too, right?”

You’re aware that your voice has taken on a cloying quality that would normally make you cringe. It’s like you’re pleading with her, child-like, to validate your idea. It’s not very Bossy, but you can’t help it—you NEED a breakthrough, if you’re going to pull this off.

“Actually, I think that’s an excellent idea, Zith-Zi.”

“Then it’ll work?” you ask, feeling a swell of hope.

“The principles aren’t PERFECTLY transferrable… But his is the very sort of soul the forge was designed to produce. His is a body could be seen as closest to that of a goblinoid without being one… or being a ‘nilbog’, like yourself.”

“That’s… That’s great!”

Ayla nods, with the merest hint of a smile, and her golden eyes flash with subtle fire. “Why don’t you ask him?”

You hurry to speak with the dwarf. It’s a risky thing, to be an early test subject for something like this—and without the pills or process of repeated experimentation that a guy like Copperbelt might hope for—but sometimes being a Boss means you’ve got to commit to a course of action!

>>6273149
“I agree,” says Iorund Copperbelt.

“Really?”

It wasn’t hard to find the dwarf who—if he didn’t hang around the main chamber where you’ve taken to gathering for group meetings—has still obviously been waiting to speak with you. The balding, bearded, bespectacled adventurer looks more frazzled than you’re used to seeing him, as if he’s been getting poor sleep. Still, his voice is steady, and his eyes attest to his determination.

“Really,” he insists. “I’m well aware of the risks, Miss Youngtree… Or should I say ‘Zith-Zi’?”

“…Well, shit, I guess that cat’s outta the bag.”

Copperbelt gives you a sympathetic look that irks you a little, but doesn’t press the matter of your obviously-goblinoid name (and origins), instead merely nodding.

“What became of Yeb-Uit is… Odd, yes. Off-putting, even. It gave me pause, I admit it.”

“But?” you prompt.

“…But it is as you say: a leader must lead. An adventurer must adventure. A dwarf who wishes to progress and profit must undertake risk, to achieve reward. Is such not the basis for the whole of our profession?”

“An’ yer really not worried about, uhh…” You rack your brain, trying to remember exactly what you’d argued about, last time you talked. “You know, whatever it was about Yeb-Uit’s whole deal that had you all fucked up about it?”

Now it’s Copperbelt’s turn to look confused. His face screws up in concentration, and a shadow briefly passes over his eyes, and then he shakes his head.

“I’ve thought it through,” he asserts. “I was… I was being irrational before. This is what’s best, for all of us.”

You nod slowly, still a little surprised at the stodgy, serious male taking to this (honestly rather reckless) enterprise so readily. It’s almost enough to give you pause, even if it doesn’t for Copperbelt himself. It seems so unlike him!

(But, hey, that ain’t YOUR problem, right?)

…

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>>6273150
…

While ZZ is getting stuff sorted for the mission ahead, you busy yourself with entertaining the Emperor by showing it around the bits of the base which your sister has permitted, and telling it the tale of how you captured Patmo-Shoka for yourself, braving the depths to save your sister from the wicked Unseelie Queen who ruled it prior to your arrival.

You snicker a little at the way the idea sounds, in your head: YOU, a demogoblin adventurer with barely a copper coin to your own name and no pedigree to speak of, entertaining an EMPEROR. Imagine that!

(But then again, the hundun ain’t REALLY royalty… And hey, you’re a Yosef! That’s PRACTICALLY royalty, right?)

“Quite right, quite quite right! Or, well, I assume so—I do not actually know what a ‘Yosef’ even is, if I’m to be quite honest. I hope you won’t take offence? I think you’d make a fine Empress.”

“Th-thanks… Hey, waittaminute!” You give the Naked Emperor a hard look. “Be straight with me, now: can you read minds, or what the fuck is goin’ on there?”

“An excellent question! Marvellous! Insightful!” The hundun pauses, and then—sounding faintly embarrassed—answers: “I think I can?”

“…Ya don’t know?”

“Well, I can hear without ears, and speak without a mouth, and language has never been a barrier to understanding for me… Even if a great many other things have been, ho ho! I’ve been led to believe that implies some form of psychic ability, but who’s to say?”

“…But ya heard me thinkin’ shit ta myself jus’ now?”

“Did I? My my, I must have done so, no? I’ll have to take your word for it.” It pauses, and after a moment, it adds: “You think quite loudly, you know.”

You flush a little, unsure how to take that.

“But your voice is a pleasant one.”

“Thanks,” you say, less enthusiastically this time, though you’re still somehow flustered by the intimate (albeit apparently unintentional) invasion.

The two of you stroll in silence for a while after that—well, you stroll while the hundun rolls. You make an effort to quiet your thoughts, which only makes you think about stuff you don’t want to even MORESO, but out of politeness or because you’re not thinking loudly enough (???) to get its attention, The Naked Emperor makes no comment upon your mental meanderings.

Well, until you bump into Martyn.

File: martyn.png (248 KB, 503x404)

248 KB PNG

>>6273151
“Oh, Cara!” he greets you as he comes around the corner, and then pales slightly as his eyes rise to follow the curvature of your new friend. “And this must be…”

“I am nameless since time immemorial,” answers the hundun cheerfully. “Or, well, the first of my kind was? At any rate, I’ve never managed to come up with a suitable name, and I frequently forget if I AM the original. It’s all rather a bore to consider! But Miss Yosef here has called me ‘Empy’, so I suppose you may as well.”

“Heh, ya like that one?”

“I find it most amusing.” Something about the way ‘Empy’ says that gives you the warm and fuzzy feeling that it is its highest-most praise. “Most, most amusing.”

“…Well, I should probably, ah, leave the two of you to it.”

You look back to Martyn, whose anxiety is palpable. You suppose several hundred pounds of amorphous, unpredictable flesh monster talking (or mentally projecting) about ‘time immemorial’ might do that to a hobbit. Still, it’s been a minute since you saw Marty… And even before you left, things felt a little weird. First there’d been the whole, uh, THING with the shirin…

(…and the somewhat savage, semi-consensual, semi-CONSCIOUS sex which had accompanied it…)

…and THEN, he’d been all busy with his work on the forge. He’d seemingly had misgivings about what it did to Yeb-Uit, what with the subdermal horn nubbins and subtle hint of scales. Ayla’s fixed that up, you think, but he’d still seemed off, somehow. Distant.

(And out there on the steppe, beneath the Emperor’s mountain, when you’d fallen under his spell through some unintentional demon-contract whatsit, after your dance-battle… You’d maybe had a few misgivings of your own. How much of that was your succubus soul, and how much of it was real relationship angst? Is there a difference between the two, for a thing like you?)

“Oh my,” the Naked Emperor murmurs, and your cheeks heat up again—‘How much did it hear?!’
>Hurry off with the hundun
>Take a moment to talk to Martyn, in private
>You need to be a lone for a sec… Now!
>Write-in

>>6273152
>Take a moment to talk to Martyn, in private
Baby don't worry about him
Even if he can transform into a penis the size of his whole body

>>6273152
>Take a moment to talk to Martyn, in private

>Take a moment to talk to Martyn, in private

>>6273175
As we pegged gingerbread earlier, well, this should be even worst

>>6273248
[Martyn hasn't to your knowledge, at least, lol been pegged. CZ rode him into unconsciousness while they were high.]

>>6273248
>As we pegged gingerbread earlier
anon, the only thing of his our pp touched was his stomach when we were bouncing on it, iirc, and that's it.

>>6273478
Didn't read the futa rapeporn, didn't planned to; that was ad-lib

>>6273175
>>6273211
>>6273248
“Hey, uh… Like, s’cuse me a sec, Empy.”

“Absolutely,” says the hundun happily. “I’m certain I can find something to occupy my attention.”

“NO!” you cry out, then lower your voice a little and affect calm. “Jus’… Don’t roll off—or walk, or fly, or anything else!—anywhere we haven’t already been, huh?”

You don’t wait to ensure the Emperor agrees, but you’re hopeful that it will. ZZ will be LIVID if it break anything (or anyone), but you really don’t think you should put off this talk. Just to play it safe, you live Nermal in charge, while you grab Martyn by the arm and lead him off and around the corner to have a little chat.

“Cara, should you really be—”

“It’s fine, it’s fiiiiine.” You pivot to face Martyn, seizing him by both shoulders and pivoting him to face you in turn. “Like… It IS fine, ain’t it?”

Martyn is equal parts surprised and confused by the question, at first. Soon, though, he realizes you aren’t talking about your unusual guest. Your boyfriend’s expression and aura quickly settle into a simmering guilt.

“Marty… What’s wrong?” you ask. “Look, if it’s about Empy ‘n be dancin’ back at the mountain, like, I’m TOTALLY not gonna marry him. Or, uh, it. It doesn’t matter WHAT kinda shit it can shapeshift!”

“…I’m sorry, what?”

“NEVERMIND! You blurt out, then quickly press on. “If it’s not about, that. Is it about… Like, ever since the uh, shirin…”

You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his eyes.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Martyn’s emotions shifts a little, from guilt to something harder to read—something tinged with both curiosity and lingering fear.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“Uh,” you break eye contact. “I ‘member… Stuff, yeah.”

(Like the sight of Marty’s face wracked with pain and pleasure, the feeling of his dick throbbing deep in your ass… Or like your mind expanding up and out of your spice-blasted skull, or communing with the ghostly apparition of the apparently dead-and-dusted demon whose ectoplasmic leftovers first formed your succubus soul.)

“Which part do ya mean?” you ask.

Martyn frowns, opens his mouth then closes it. He deliberates so hard that you think you get a sense of what The Naked Emperor meant about ‘loud thoughts’: you can practically taste the echoes in the air of sentence unspoken, memories summoned and reassembled to form a picture of…

“You… Changed.”

A picture of you.

“Oh,” you whisper.

It’s not you as you are right now, with your elfin ears and smooth skin, all ‘Carazzi Yosef’. It’s not even ‘Cara-Zi’ as you’ve known her since as long as you’ve been an independent entity, all bulging yellow eyes and warty, scaly green skin. It’s a ‘you’ you’ve never really seen before: your rawest form, like your war-form, but even worse.

>>6273581
https://files.catbox.moe/f0iwih.rtf

>>6273485
[It's very brief, but if erotic body horror isn't your bag, you can safely skip this one and just assume some Devilman Lady, Todd McFarlane's Spawn, Slither/Hellraiser kind of shit went down.]

>>6273582
You recoil from the secondhand sight, squeezing your eyes shut and shuddering at the image of what, apparently, you had become in the midst of your trip, under the influence of Irinnile. It’s… It’s…

<WANT: 17>

“It’s awful,” you lie—to Martyn, to yourself—and more honestly, you add: “I’m sorry… I jus’… I guess I kinda’ lost it, huh?”

Martyn gives a small and silent nod, which somehow hurts worse than if he’d shouted at you. You find yourself shivering, even as between your legs the embodiment of your damnable nature twitches with a shameful excitement.

“I know you didn’t mean to… Become that. To do that.” Martyn sighs softly. “And once you’re done getting what you need to make use of the forge, I know that you plan to be rid of… All that…”

“I do!” you say, clasping his hands and clinging to him. “I do! I really, really fuckin’ do! I’m gonna!”

(You do… You will! You promise! You’ll be normal, and cute, and a girl, and NOT some fucking FREAK!)

“I just… Um…”

The halfling is trying to pull his hands back. After a few failed efforts you get the picture and release them. He rubs them gingerly, and you wince. You hadn’t realized you’d been squeezing them so hard. You wait in uncomfortable silence until Martyn gets the feeling back in his fingers, and then turns his full attention again to you.

“I’m just not sure that I can… Be with you… UNTIL then.”

You stare at him, not really registering the words or responding. In your chest, something burns, and breaks a little.

“Are ya… Are you dumpin’ me?”

Martyn emanates those conflicted emotions even more powerfully than before, and he shakes his head as if to say ‘no’… But he DOESN’T say ‘no’. Not out loud. Not exactly.

>>6273583
“I’m not saying that we can’t still make something work after… Afterwards. When you’re done. When you’re…”

(Safe? Normal? Not a monster?)

“When things are different,” he finishes. “But for now… I haven’t really known how to have this conversation, which perhaps is why I’ve been, um, working with the forge so much and… Sleeping with you.”

That startles you. To your embarrassment, you’ve been so busy with Ayla and Dura and all that fun occult potion-brewing shit—and then the trip to River’s Mouth, and to the northeast, and all THAT—that you hadn’t entirely realized that Martyn hadn’t been back to your shared bedchamber at all since the shirin situation.

“Well, without the shirin, ya know it’s.. Like, it’s okay. If ya… Wanna come back?”

You make the ‘offer’ automatically, even as you recognize its for what it is: a plea. You make it even knowing that he won’t accept. Which, of course, eh doesn’t.

“Cara, I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am. I think… There are other chambers, and it might be best just to stay there, until after you’re… After we’re done.”

You feel like you’re going to be sick. You feel like you’re going to go crazy. You feel like you’re going to cry, or maybe flay him alive, or maybe jump him and rape him and break his fragile little bitch-ass hobbit brain and pelvis and his icy, asshole heart for doing this to—

“…Cara?”

You snap out of the momentary frenzy. Your clenched teeth have started to jut forwards, to reshape into tusks and tearing fangs. Your hands, balled to fists, have started to manifest your talons. You stop the shift before it gets too far, popping your jaw back into place, and taking a deep breath.

You look up at Martyn Meadowgrass, who is looking back at you with deep concern. For you? About you?

What do you say or do?
>Write-in

>>6273584
>I understand that you're afraid, but waiting until I finally managed to get void form to continue our relationship ? I'm sorry, but I can't do this.

>>6273584
>>6273661
Backing
Fuck void form
Let’s marry the hundun after all

>>6273673
>Fuck void form
>Let’s marry the hundun after all
wut

>>6273661
+1

>>6273661
>>6273673
>>6273682
>>6273694
[I'll soon be locking for an early update today, since there won't be one this evening. Gonna give it an hour and fifteen minutes, if anyone wants to add anything to this or try to shift the vote.]

>>6273810
It takes every iota of your admittedly-limited willpower to hold yourself at bay, lest you pop you claws or shed tears. Right now, you don’t want to do either. What you want… What you <WANT> is…

…

What do you want? Is it this? Walking on eggshells? Postponing your pleasure, for what feels like forever? Doing everything you can for a guy just because he’s cute, and makes you feel like a real girl? Is that what this is—a means to validate you?

No… Now, with the way Martyn Meadowgrass is looking at you, it’s not even THAT anymore.

“Marty… Martyn, I mean…” You take a deep breath, and meet his eyes. “I get it, okay? Yer scared… Scared’ve me.”

“Only for now,” Martyn rushes to amend. “But—”

You silence him with a hand on his mouth. His eyes bug out, which is cute in a frightened rabbit way, and almost makes you reconsider. Almost.

“But? But… waiting until I get everything all normal, all perfect ‘n jus’ right, until we can even… Until you’ll even look at me that way again? Until you’ll touch me, or hold me?”

It hurts. It really does. You can count on one hand the number of people you’ve ever been this close with, in this particular way… And of them, Martyn is your first. Your very, VERY first—your ONLY—lover, the first to get this far. A part of you somehow figured that meant he was going to be with you forever.

(Heh. Maybe you really ARE the ‘little sister’, huh? The other ZIth-Zi would never be that naïve… Stupid, STUPID.)

“I can’t do this,” you finally say. “I’m sorry.”

Martyn shakes his head, and replies: “No, I’m the one who should be sorry.”

He’s right. He’s abso-fucking-lutely right. And really, YOU’RE dumping HIM!

…

(So why does it still sting?)

“I… Gotta get back ta watchin’ the hundun,” you mumble, and quick turn away, so at least Martyn won’t SEE you cry.

…

>>6273852
…

With Copperbelt so amenable to the idea, you are able to set things in motion quite quickly. That first means talking to Hol-Beorn and his blueberry brigade—that is, the bluish-green goblinoids who your party found and freed from stasis, to help liberate the dungeon and its wonders from the Ettercap. None of them are machinists or magicians (you have people for that, like Carazzi’s BF), but they read the language fluently and know the place’s history better than anyone else, and are integral to its operations.

“And it’s going to be just Iorund Copperbelt who will be remade in this way?” asks Hol-Beorn. “The energy requirements and recovery period of the forge mean that it can only perform its great work once every fortnight, but the added cost to transform additional people DURING that time is much more minor, as I understand it. You are going to face a dangerous foe, are you not? We could—”

“We are doing a… A test? Is that the word?” Your stilted modern Dwarven a contrast to the tone you take, though still far less formal than the archaic ancestral tongue of the blue ‘boglin’ before you. “Copperbelt agreed to this. I am not ready yet. Are you?”

Even without the usual profanity you’d lace into such a challenge, your accusatory finger in his chest is a clear enough challenge to get your message across. Besides the risk, Hol-Beorn already ceded authority over this place to you, and he doesn’t challenge you now. He frowns, but nods, and he and his boys go to get Meadowgrass and the others who will be needed for what’s to come.

He does raise a valid point, though, the more you think about it. You aren’t going to load everyone into the crystal capsules—or ‘gem-eggs’ as CZ dubbed the ooze-filled chambers—without knowing the full effect. Even if it works, though, a transformed Copperbelt alone isn’t going to be enough to take down this Ziwei Bo. It might be a good idea to think about who you’re going to take, and to prepare and to plan.

What will you do, while you wait for the forge to start up?
>Go find Khorine, the Feycraft-practicing faun, to make up from your last fight and make sure she’s on-side
>Check in with Yeb-Uit—since you mostly avoided combat in the northeast, you still aren’t really sure what he can do with his new bod (or his shiny new soul)
>See if Hol-Beorn can spare any boglin boys from the aforementioned blueberry brigade, to help a nilbog out
>Train some more with Murbal and Xoldur, to keep you all sharp and your swordplay on-point
>It might be worth doing some recruiting, actually… Though with funds somewhat limietd right now, you’d need to win them over by other means
>Write-in

>>6273861
>Check in with Yeb-Uit—since you mostly avoided combat in the northeast, you still aren’t really sure what he can do with his new bod (or his shiny new soul)
Can he spell cast?

>>6273861
>>Go find Khorine, the Feycraft-practicing faun, to make up from your last fight and make sure she’s on-side
>See if Hol-Beorn can spare any boglin boys from the aforementioned blueberry brigade, to help a nilbog out

>>6273861
>Go find Khorine, the Feycraft-practicing faun, to make up from your last fight and make sure she’s on-side

>>6273881
>>6273939
>>6274102
[Locked and writing!]

>>6274288
Yeb-Uit’s new body will be put through its paces soon enough (heh, An-Yii’s probably already on that), and any hypothetical spellcasting he might be capable of has got to be even less refined than your own unreliable <Prismatic Spray>. Bringing a boglin or two could be a handy thing, but it could also potentially blow your cover with the dungeon—after all, people these days aren’t exactly used to seeing fancy magitek-strapped gobbos floating around and speaking proto-Dwarf these days. There’s one thing you can’t put off any longer, though… Not if you want a magically-adept ally on this trip who can’t be bound by demonological arts.

It isn’t hard to find Khorine. Though the garden-grove around the dungeon is far from ‘natural’ in any conventional sense, but she’s taken to patrolling and policing it all the same. From the trees with meaty trunks and heart-shaped fruits to the weird needle-nosed bat-birds that suck up the fallen fruit juices and protect the place against intruders, it was all made in the Ettercap’s twisted image, but under Khorine’s auspices it’s become a lot safer—no more being bombarded by bloodsuckers for you and yours, allowing you to stroll through the weird woods until you spot the faun, sitting on a log and stroking the heads of that three-headed chimera you captured and dragged out here.

“Hey, kid.”

Khorine give a haughty huff and turns up her wet little goat nose at your approach, not bothering to turn around to face you. You roll your eyes, but restrain yourself from saying anything immediately aggressive. You’re not here to fight, after all.

“I hear ya ain’t been back to the dungeon since we left for your hunt,” you say instead.

“Dwelling in such artificial environs ill suits a Disciple of the True Fey,” claims Khorine.

“And all this gory magic shit’s better?” you say, gesturing to the fluttering forms amidst the boughs full of inverse, light-warping leaves. “Ain’t exactly pristine natural ‘environs’ out here, is it?”

“Mayhaps not, but it IS Fey in nature,” says the goat-girl. “These plants and animals may be… Warped… By that Unseelie heretic, but they are the product of Feycraft, not the Dark or Demonic. That means it falls to me to keep it safe, and to bring it into a state of harmony… And the air inside is stale, anyway.”

You’re technically Fey now, yourself, but you’re no expert on the religion of the fairy-folk and their elfin and bestial kin, not do you really care to be. As far as you’re concerned, that shit leads to people being soft and illogical… Like Khorine here who, whatever she says, is plainly still mad about you going off to hunt the hundun. The young faun doesn’t even look at you as you plop yourself down next to her on the log.

>>6274338
“For the record, the hundun? Kinda Dark. Like, the dark gods made it, or somethin'. It’s pretty much an ‘Unseelie’ heretic, too.”

“It still doesn’t make torturing a poor creature for ingredients okay.”

“Well,” you say, “good thing we didn’t do that, then.”

Khorine finally looks up at you, first with surprise, and then with skepticism. You reach out a hand to pet the three-headed ‘natural chimera’, whose closest head rises upon its curving neck and growls. You pull your hand back, and look questioningly to Khorine. In turn, the goat-girl squints at you and puffs out her cheeks. You hold her gaze and, seemingly sensing your honesty, Khorine nods. The chimera relaxes, and you begin to pet it.

crr-roak!

“Oh c’mon,” you say to Hershy, perched upon your shoulder and glowering down. “Don’t be jealous. Khorine’ll give ya scritches.”

You shrug your shoulder and with a couple flicks of his wings, your chimeric drake flits over to Khorine, who dutifully strokes the feathers of his forehead.

“You didn’t find the hundun?” she asks quietly.

“Well, we found it,” you answer. “But we didn’t capture it, and we aint’ turnin’ it over to that lich.”

“And you’re not going to try again?”

“Nah.” You nod back towards subterranean pyramid hidden deep inside the grove. “Ya can even go ask it.”

Khorine blinks, and then blurts out: “IT TALKS??”

You smirk a little, and answer: “The trick’s honestly getting the damn thing ta shut up. If yer through sulkin’, I can tell ya all what happened?”

Khorine hesitates a second, then nods. As you tell the tale, with all its twists and turns, the faun gradually seems soothed, and until her concern grows as you explain about the origins of The Naked Emperor, and your new plan to ally yourself with it.

“And you trust it?” she asks. “You brought it to… To this place?”

This time you DO roll your eyes. “First ya don’t want us to capture it, now you don’t want us to trust it. Which is it, kid?!”

“Both!” Khorine argues. “I don’t know, it just sounds… Unnatural.”

“Worse than this place?” you wave an arm at the grove again. “Honestly, it kinda fits in with the whole vibe ya got goin’ out here.”

Khorine grimaces a little, and looks down. For all her self-righteous rambling about fairy stewardship, you can’t help but notice that the log you’re sitting on is made of wood—REAL wood, from the Steelwood outside, not a lump of Ettercap-warped, bloody-sapped local stock. It’s a lot closer to what she’s used to, from the foothills of Bloodrise where you picked her up.

“Yer homesick, huh?”

File: khorine.png (628 KB, 886x503)

628 KB PNG

>>6274339
Khorine looks to you again, and again she’s startled. You move your hand from her chimera to ruffle the faun’s hair instead, to her bleating protest.

“It don’t take a mentalist to see it on yer face, kid.”

Khorine bats away your hand, and your return it to the chimera. She does likewise, with the head closest to her, leaving the middle one—and Hershy, who hops back to nestle into your neck—miffed. After a while of this, she finally speaks up.

“It’s a clone, you know.”

“Huh?” You follow her gaze down to the animal you’re petting. “Oh. But I thought this thing was s’posed to be ‘natural’?”

“The one we captured WAS,” Khorine corrects you, “but this… This was produced by that Veigar goblin… or whatever he is, with a <Clone> spell, and modified further by that Ayla woman to make it tame. The REAL chimera we found would have never let us pet it like this, even with all my experience. Like everything else here, it’s… Fake. A twisted imitation of TRUE nature.”

You manage not to laugh at the idea of ‘all Khorine’s experience’, which would amount to… What Twelve, thirteen years? She can’t be any older than that, and while you’re no expert on faun puberty, you think she might be even younger to judge by her build. Instead, picking up on the discomfort, you try to put Khorine at ease.

“Well, that ain’t so bad, is it?” you ask,a nd add: “Ya know, CZ’s a clone, too.”

“Hmph, THAT makes sense!”

“Watch it,” you growl. “That’s my sis yer talkin’ about.”

“…Sorry.”

“Anyway,” you continue, regaining your momentum, “I’m modified myself. ‘S why I’m Fey to begin with.”

“Well, I mean…”

“An’ you light Hershy, right? He’s a lab experiment, as I hear it.”

Khorine looks up at Hershy, who stops preening himself to ribbit at her, like ‘whaddaya want?’ The goat-girl giggles a little, before she catches herself, and affects her usual serious expression again.

“And Ayla and Veigar are like that, too,” she says. “And Yeb-Uit, now. And others soon, too, right? And now you’ve brought back the hundun, and Cara-Zi has that wretched... That ‘Nermal’ of hers! And now you’re going to go get these pills, and transform the whole Regiment.”

You shrug again, not sure if you want to bring up here and now that Copperbelt is being prepped for a transmogrification as you speak. “Only the ones what wanna do it.”

“Where does it end?” Khorine asks.

“Huh?”

>>6274343
“I mean,” says Khorine, meeting your eyes again, “is this the way the world is going to be? Ever since my parents—since I’ve been on my own, and ESPECIALLY since I joined this party, it seems the world’s been so full of, of…”

She flails in frustration at the fleshy tree-trunks, the spear-faced bird-bats, the chimeras—maybe even at YOU.

“My mother and father were clerics of nature,” Khorine says. “When I grow up, I’m… They wanted that for me, too. 'To protect and preserve the balance and sanctity of the natural world that the Gods Above gifted us with. To help it to grow and thrive, free of the evils of deterioration and corruption, pollution and exploitation. These are the duties of all Disciples of the True Fey.'”

The fauns peaks the words with the sort of meticulous pronunciation and rhythm of a direct quote, of a cherished memory, but a bitter sadness creeps in, and what comes next is a confession.

“I don’t think I’m doing that, here with you,” she says. “And yes, I’m… Homesick. But if I go home, where… Where goblins live in the village where my father’s people used to live, before they were killed by kobolds, and with a Dragon King living up there in the mountains and… And knowing about the forge, and what’s happening here…”

Khorine sniffles, and you realize with a start she’s crying.

“Kid?”

“I d-don’t think there is a h-home, anymore. I don’t think I c-can do wh-what Mama and Papa wanted me to d-do. I think it’s all gone wrong. I think Nature’s dying, and I… I helped kill it. Even if I go home… Is there even going to be any nature left to defend?”

(Ah fuck… You don’t have any real experience calming crying children, let alone calming down weird religious hermits having philosophical crises. You just wanted to get her help with the heist!)

What do you say or do?
>Write-in

>>6274344
>Hug
>Kid, it’s in nature’s nature (heh) to wax and wane at times- seasons change, and so does the situation on the ground. Just because you’ve experienced a hard winter only means you’ve got a beautiful spring ahead of you, kid. If there’s a lack of greenery? It’s only because you are the seed to make that forest bloom.
>And if you ever have trouble, you have us ol’ Zi’s to help ya out, ya hear?

>>6274379
>+1

>>6274344
Oh man I don't know how to handle crying kids either

Uhhh
>Suggest she prays to the Bonum Chaoticum for guidance? Or finds other True Fey to see how they're handling things.

>>6274379
Healthy dose of this, amended with :
"It's nature's nature to change. Goblin don't have a soul - is that natural to begin with?
A great power is great responsibilities. This is why I want you to be with us - you can ensure we don't go overboard and protect nature that should be protected.

Also, I really need to send you to summer camp at Tips. He'll explain things better as a Fey follower,

>>6274397
>>6274402
>>6274589
Also, I really need to send you to summer camp at Tips. He'll explain things better as a Fey follower,

Though you’re out of your element when it comes to kids, there are some things you know. One: being a Boss means taking decisive action. Two: when in doubt and up against an enemy whose weaknesses are unknown, go for a disarming strike!

“Wh-what?” Khorine’s sniffling doesn’t stop, but it takes on a new dimension of confusion. “What are you DOING?”

“Uh, huggin’ you?” You say, and pull her tighter to your body.

“WHY?”

(Why? WHY?!)

You feel a vein in your forehead twitch at the insolent brat’s dumbass question. Obviously, it’s just common sense to hug a crying child, right? Even goblins will do it, sometimes, if the kid’s young and upset enough! Then again, maybe Khorine’s not used to thinking of herself as a child anymore, and aside from ribbing her and calling her ‘kid’, you haven’t really treated her that way. The shock of your sudden ‘attack’ had its intended effect, though: the goat-girl’s defences are down. Time to press the advantage!

“Look kid,” you say, releasing her from your grip. “I ain’t no scholar of the True Fey or whatever-the-fuck, aight? Goblins don’t even have a soul—ha, tell me if THAT’S part of ‘normal nature’, amirite? You want to philosophize about the ‘nature of nature’, or what the fairy-gods want, why not ask ‘em? Or just talk to Veigar?”

“…Veigar is a Disciple of the True Fey?”

“Well, the guy he was cloned off of was, and that Disciple even did the cloning! I really oughtta’ introduce you two sometime. Tips LOVED talkin’ about all this spiritual shit…”

Khorine rubs her eyes with the back of her knuckles and gives you an incredulous look, like she doesn’t believe a follower of her gods would cast such a spell… And, in all fairness, you’re pretty sure Tips got some flak for that (among other things) from the elves of the Silver Realm and their poncy pantheon. Still, the nerd IS the biggest expert you know in the field, and bringing him up does get Khorine in the right headspace to hear you.

“There IS somethin’ I know about, though, an’ it ain’t anything you learn in a singalong in some grove, or read in a book.” You hold . “Not Life Magic, but LIFE. Shit you learn by livin’ it, a LOT of it, for a lot longer than you’ve been kickin’ around.”

Khorine gives you a small nod, signalling that she’s listening.

“Shit changes. Nothin’ stays the same. Not even ‘nature’.”

>>6274784
Khorine sniffles again, and rolls her eyes at your (quite clever, thank you very much!) line, as if she's heard it all before.

“I’m serious!” you say. “Think about it this way, aight? We met in spring, got here in autumn, now it’s winter. An’ it’s been a HARD winter—you remember when me ‘n the gobs rolled in here, shiverin’ half to death, Yeb-Uit lookin’ like he was about to keel over, right?”

Khorine frowns at the memory, but nods again.

“But spring’s gonna’ come again pretty soon, an’ all the plants that got killed off by frost or buried by snow are gonna’ start sproutin’ up all nice ‘n healthy again… Just like Yeb, right?”

“That’s different,” the faun protests. “What happened to Yeb-Uit wasn’t part of nature’s cycles. We… YOU made it happen!”

“So?” you counter. “So I did. So what? When you heal someone up, or help a plant survive the winter or grow good, is that because you’re ‘going against nature’, or are ya just helpin’ shit along? Like when ya cast spes that make seed bloom up inta a big bush in a few seconds—is THAT natural?”

Theat comparison give Khorine pause, which you exploit with another precision strike.

“Every spring’s different, kid. Situations change. Soil ‘n shit shifts. More ‘n more stuff grows, when that soil’s right, and before ya know it ya have a whole damn FOREST!”

You gesture to the Etetrcap’s garden again, but this time, you get the sense Khorine is seeing it in a new light. In a way, maybe youa re, too.

“What we have here is an opportunity to tend a garden… To plant a forest, ya get me? An’ that power comes with responsibility—just like you were sayin’!—to make sure it grows RIGHT, into somethin’ GOOD. Somethin’ you ‘n yer gods’ll be proud of.”

>>6274785
Khorine looks at you strangely… No, it’s not ‘strange’ look, it’s just strange to see this PARTICUALR look on her face. She’s looking at you with something like hope, like wonder.

“You’d r-really…” She sniffs again, and clears her throat, compsoing herself. “You would truly allow me have a say in how the forge is used? In what sorts of… Of changes are made with it?”

“Uh.”

(Fuck. IS that what you said? Is that what you’re saying? Is that’s something you’d really be willing to do—to let some little girl you found in the forest, who worships gods you don’t give a damn about, tell you how you can use YOUR dungeon’s magical artefact to run YOUR adventuring party?)

>Yes
[Khorine’s loyalty is locked in, regardless of morale, unless you break this promise]
>No
[Leadership roll to see if she stays in the Monstrous Regiment, DC 17]

Base DC 15, +1 for homesickness, +2 for going against her recommendations last time and not bringing her, +1 for the ‘unholy’ nature of a lot of what you’re doing, -1 for not hunting the hundun in the end, -1 for taking down the Ettercap, +1 for bringing Unseelie Fey into the regiment, -1 for your impassioned speech

You can do a 'yes, but...' or 'no, however...', but if there are substantial enough caveats I may treat it as a 'no' with (maybe) a modified DC.

>>6274786
>Yes, but
If someone's gonna die like, right away, and we don't have time to find her we'll have to go off established guidelines she's made in advance.

>>6274810
>+1

>>6274785
>Like when ya cast spes that make seed bloom
*Like when ya cast spells

>>6274810
this

>>6274872
>>6274850
>>6274810
“…Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I’m sayin’.”

And it genuinely is. Why not, right? It’s not like you WANT to screw up nature! And the kid’s not an idiot. Too big for her britches, a little bit of a bitch? Sure. But, hey, you were young once, and you were WAY worse.

And damnit… Khorine’s grown on you.

Call it going soft, or getting old, or whatever you want, but as much as settling down and having kids isn’t exactly in the cards for you anytime soon—maybe ever—there’s something about the little beastgirl that makes you want to wipe away her tears and restore her smile.

But even you weren’t expecting the hug.

“Woah!”

Khorine tackles you head-first, knocking the wind from you and toppling you from the log. Leave it to a goat-girl to show affection with a headbutt! Luckily, her spiraling horns curl backwards, sparing you impalement. From the force with which she buries her face into your midsection, you’d be gored to death by now if it were otherwise.

“Easy!” you snap, and shove her off of you, righting yourself and restoring your disheveled wolf-pelt to its proper configuration. “What the hell, kid?!”

The irritation abates as you see Khorine’s eyes—tearful again, but sparkling with something that makes your heart seize up a little.

“You really do care,” she says.

“Yeah, well…” You clear your throat, looking away before the faun’s sappiness becomes contagious. “There’s gonan be some exceptions, ya know? Like… Uh… Like, if someone’s dyin’, an’ the forge is the way to save ‘em, I’m goin’ over your head!... Not to say I’m gonna ignore yer advice or whatever, but, just… Bah, you know!”

Khorine sits up and nods swiftly, all business again, though she can’t quite rid herself of the girlish smile that creeps across her cleft lips.

“Well, then I think we should, um… Go over the guidelines, oughtn’t we?”

You sigh, and nod in turn, and settle in for a long lecture that lasts into the evening. You zone out only a few minutes in, but can’t quite bring yourself to leave or to shut the little tree-hugging know-it-all up.

…You’re not sure you’ve ever seen her this happy.

…

>>6275279
Night falls over the mountain valley, where the buried pyramid of Patmo-Shoka hides amongst the Steelwood’s many hills. Though winter is on its way out, spring is not yet here. It is a cold night, a dark night, the kind that drives even a Disciple of the True Fey inside. In the depths of ‘her’ dungeon, Zith-Zi shares her bed with another—a young orphan who, shyly, asked for company. Unable to refuse the earnest request, she’d allowed it ‘just this once’.

Though she is a world away from her lover, and apart from her severed shadow, the pink-skinned nilbog feels a little less alone. She cradles the child and closes her eyes, letting the coziness of the moment carry them to more innocent and pleasant dreams than either wild child has known for a long, long time.

…

In another chamber of the chthonic catacombs, Iorund Copperbelt lies awake, staring at the ceiling. His blood has been extracted, her aura analyzed. Three floors beneath him, a great machine is being calibrated for a procedure that will change his very being. His mind races with the implications, his stomach churns. This is what he asked for—what he wants—and yet it feels… Ẃ̶̩͈̝̒̏͗̓͝r̷̠̭̀o̶̹͈͙͆̉n̷̺̎̉͗̓̕g̵̙̦̥̮̈̎̓͠.̶̧̡͖̫̓̀

He scrunches his eyes half-closed and removes his glasses, rubbing his forehead at the onset of a sudden migraine. What was he just thinking about? It doesn’t matter… He ought to rest. Tomorrow is a big day, after all. The first day of the rest of his life… Whatever form of life that may be. He rolls over and goes to sleep.

…

Martyn Feurmeadhoin—Meadowgrass, to those who struggle with the tongue of the Bwbachod—lies awake, too. He feels two concurrent currents of guilt flowing through him. One is for Cara—Cara-Zi, Carazzi, whoever and whatever she might become. Though the memory of what transpired when last they lay together keeps him up at nights, so too does the thought that the work he’s doing might transform her further, for good or for ill, into something else… That he might be part of something bigger than he understands. That they all are part of a design that goes far beyond this place. He suspects the others feel it, too, but that their individual dreams and desires are carrying them all forward regardless. The arithmetic adds up, the processes and procedural elements all align, and yet he finds himself saying a prayer to whatever Gods Above will hear him—for his friend Iorund, for Cara, and finally for himself.

>>6275280
…

You can’t sleep. It’s the weirdest thing—the STUPIDEST thing—but you can’t sleep alone. It’s stupid because, now that Martyn’s mentioned it, you realize you HAVE been for a few nights now, without any issue. You SHOULD be able to. Nothing’s REALLY changed.

And yet everything has.

<WANT: 17>

You don’t WANT to sleep alone. You don’t WANT to be alone. You WANT sex, or snuggles, or SOMETHING… The comfort embrace of energies not your own, the seeping sensation of another’s aura bleeding into you, sating that ever-present, gnawing need at the core of you. Denied that desire, denied a distraction FROM that desire, you toss and turn in your empty cot until finally, you leap to your feet and stalk the halls without even really thinking about it.

Your thoughtless footfalls bring you instinctively back to Zith-Zi, first—to your other half, your origin, your first home. But when you find her there, she isn’t alone. With luminescent eyes, you see her holding Khorine close, both of their breaths rising and falling as one, curled up in a fashion that brings unbidden and half-hidden memories of your mother—Zith-Zi’s mother, Mama Zi—holding the two of you, when you were one.

You adjust their blankets fondly and then, bitterly, leave.

Next, your clicking hooves carry you to—where else?—Martyn’s bedchamber. You stand before the door, trembling with every emotion you think it’s possible to feel: fury, fear, lust, longing, sorrow, disgust. You aren’t sure if they’re directed at him, or at yourself, or at the both of you. You take a shuddering breath, let it out as a hiss of sulfur-scented steam… And leave.

You prowl Patmo-Shoka like a spectre, like a predator… Like a demon. Your body shifts, struggling to maintain congruence and consistency. One moment you are Carazzi Yosef, the slender little elfin occultist, born of a noble lineage of Hawksong; the next, you are Cara-Zi, the shed remnant of a demon-tainted demogoblin whom Hawksong’s paladins would smite on-sight.

You want… You need… You desire…

What?

Where do your twisted two-toed talons take you?
>To Dura
>To Yeb-Uit & An-Yii
>To the Naked Emperor
>To Xoldur
>to Murbal
>To the Protectors of Patmo-Shoka
[All of the above lead to sex, with all the complications that implies]

>To somewhere you can be alone
[Requires a roll to resist a frenzy, with unpredictable results]

>To Ayla
[Safest ? option without any roll…]

>>6275281
>To the Naked Emperor
Damnit Yeb and An is tempting just to see how they'd react, especially An

>>6275281
>to Murbal
Or Ayla or Dura. Don’t want to recreate Lovecraft with the Emperor atm

>>6275281
>To the Naked Emperor
if it's sex, empy is the safest overall.

>>6275358
I should probably expand on this- I don’t want our firstborn to be some Lovecraftian horror beyond mortal comprehension.

>>6275281
>>to Murbal

>>6275428
Cz cant get knocked up. even if her mutated body allowed for it her demoniac spirit would consume the lifeforce of any embryo.

>>6275472
Emperor might go preggo though.


Wait, RQM pulled us a "Ditto" monster!

>>6275483
Well a Ditto implies an exact duplicate. Who knows what a hundun plus a demogoblin would make?

>>6275483
>Emperor might go preggo though.
implying he'd remember to make a womb during seggs

File: Screenshot (6).png (260 KB, 1920x1080)

260 KB PNG

>>6275281
>To the Naked Emperor

or

>To Ayla

last time we had forcible sex we almost drained martyn into a coma. We might lose control and over-drain our comrades.

Ayla and the emperor are the only option where we don't put someone in potential danger.

>>6272610
me

File: decision 2025.png (9 KB, 624x145)

9 KB PNG

>>6275827
[Alas, anon, a backlink to another 1post ID doesn't help much. That said...]

>>6275439
>>6275393
>>6275358
>>6275330
[Everyone included at least one sex option, only a minority included options for no-sex (ie Ayla), and of the sex options, it was a tie between Murbal and The Naked Emperor without that tiebreaker, so I'm inclined to go with pic related.]

[Locked and writing!]

>>6275836
Looks like we’re going to have to kill him, then

>>6275836
If you were in a clearer headspace, you might have reflected on how oddly appropriate it is, for an ‘emperor’ with no clothes to also have no chambers to call his own. Instead, you find the oblong ovoid wobbling through the long-forgotten record-rooms of the proto-dwarven ancient race of ‘Yakh-Yubh’, the king who commissioned the Patmo-Shoka and its fateful forge. It is…

(No, right now the Emperor is ‘he’, if you’re to be a ‘she’, as you desperately need to be right now…)

He is alone, apart from the empty-headed ‘zomboglin’ servants whose undying bodies and rune-powered ruminations have maintained the machinery of this dungeon for years beyond counting. As you watch him—like a tiger from the long grass, like a winter-wolf peering through the shifting snows—the Naked Emperor seems to be occupying himself by bumping and bouncing the braindead boglins, or forming structures to stymie their preordained courses.

“Ho ho ho…” the hundun chortles to himself “Such silly little things, without a will to speak of. Is it nice, I wonder, to be so devoid of desire?”

You gnash your teeth at the question, which feels painfully personal right about now. Yes, it MUST feel nice, to have no needs, no hunger! You begin to drool as you consider how you might be rid of your own… How the Emperor might assistyou in this.

“Hey, Empy~”

“Oh, why hello there!” The Naked Emperor withdraws a out outstretched and hairy humanoid leg—produced to trip one of the zomboglins—and once more assumes its smooth and undifferentiated default form, “I didn’t see you there! It must be the lack of eyes, hoho…”

“Hehe, it’s okay,” you say, stalking forward with slow, measured steps. “I was bein’ sneaky… Jus’ watchin’ for a while.”

(Getting your appetite up, more like it!)

“I see!”

The hundun ‘speaks’ with a psychic ‘voice’ which seems to imply no guile, nor understanding of your intentions. A second later, though, it produces a bugged-out, bug-like dome of lens-like eyes, and cheerfully corrects itself:

“Well, NOW I do! HO ho ho, ha, ha… Ha?”

“‘Somethin’ wrong, big boy?”

“Wrong and right are beneath one such as me,” boasts The naked Emperor, and then it wobbles, and corrects itself: “Or possibly beyond me? I always do seem to mix those two up. But I just noticed that you look… Different.”

You flinch a little at the words, suddenly self-conscious of how you must appear. You steal a glance at once of the displays of the slumbering magical devices along the walls here, and see a dim and distorted shape reflected back from the flat, black glass: a mirror dark, a creature demonic. Your predatory grin shrinks and shrivels a little, and you recoil from what you’ve become.

“I quite enjoy it.”

File: carazzi.png (3.12 MB, 3282x3541)

3.12 MB PNG

>>6275862
Your eyes snap back to your prey—or partner?—to be. The Naked Emperor has manifested many more eyes, of myriad makes and models: a slit-pupiled eye akin to a cobra or a cat; a bleary, waxy-cuticle thing which might well suit a fish or frog; an eerily humanoid one rimmed with luscious lashes, blinking and twitching to take you in inch by inch.

“Y-ya do?”

The hundun bobs and lurches forward, then backwards, in a whole-body nod. It’s an absurd affectation, but the comedy disarms you. You find yourself sniggering at the silliness of this thing.

“It reminds me of when we danced,” says the Emperor. “That was truly something special… Something unique! Never before had I encountered someone who could dance like that… Limb by limb, across shapes and forms.”

Your giggling turns to a bashful blush, and your self-consciousness shifts shape into something else.

“It was stupendous. Spectacular! Splendid! Another thing beginning with a similar sound!”

This isn’t like Martyn, complimenting his ‘mermaid’. It cuts to the core of you—the you born of a ritual a few scant years ago, the you who owes its existence to a succubus called Irinnile and her hybrid host. You shift from foot to foot, as misgivings take shape.

“Ya can’t really, like… Mean that?”

“Of course,” huffs the hundun. “Lying would be wrong. Or right? Either way, rather outside my aptitudes. Like me, my words simply… Are. They may change, or contort, or become something else, but they are always mine, and always exactly what they are in that moment. They can be nothing else.”

The Emperor’s unexpected flattery—or, well, its/his truthfully-eccentric assessment—stuns you. You shift a little under its intense gaze, and find yourself wishing you could see yourself like that.

“Oh, is that all? That can be arranged!”

“Huh?!”

You jump as one by one, the eyeballs emerging rom the hundun’s maty mass are sucked back inside, and then pop out anew. Each is reformed into an oversized imitation of your own: reptilian of pupil with a deep black iris, rimmed by a golden-yellow sclera, and framed by a rim of rugose, green scales. Normally, the sight might instinctively repulse you, as your appearance seems to repulse all others…

But a succubus, a demon, is a reflection of others. A shadow, an echo, a negotiation with mortal perception. The Naked Emperor, though is no mortal, and it feels no revulsion or horror—only curiosity, and a sort of unearthly and detached desire which is utterly unlike the kind you inspire in others.

>>6275864
“Your thoughts are growing quite loud again, Miss Yosef” notes the primordial beast.

A long tendril of flesh emerges from the shapeless thing, to coil around your waist. It linger there, gently tugging at you, but without direction. You sense… Confusion? Uncertainty how to proceed? Where his—

(no, its, for you’ll take the hundun for what it is just as it does you)

—where its urges fail and falter, you supply your own. You run your claws along the strange pseudopod with loving caress, and step into a protoplasmic embrace of grasping hands, sucker-tipped tentacles, and more sensory apparatuses than you were aware even existed in nature—all focused on you. It’s not exactly what you envisioned when you hunted the hundun down, but as it explores you with every sense in existence and seems to find itself ever more enamored, you can hardly complain.

“Oh? And what is THIS, now?”

“Ah! Ooohh~”

You start to pull away at the initial fumbling and fondling between your legs, only to find yourself squirming for altogether different reasons as the Emperor’s ‘exploration’ reminds you all over why you came here to begin with.

“Hey,” you growl huskily, “wanna see how it works? It’ll be, heheh… NOVEL.”

“By all means,” says the hundun eagerly. “Here, I think I may have some notion… You need one of these, right? Or perhaps a few of them?”

Your eyes widen as a row of openings—all shapes, sizes, and species—form within the twisting tide of the hundun’s amorphous form.

(Oh man…)

“And maybe I can make a few of my own, like yours, and you can show me how to use those, as well?”

(Oh MAN! It’s like a… A FOREST of phalluses!)

“Y-yeah,” you say, wiping a fresh dribble of drool from your distended scraggly-fanged lower jaw. “Like, I think I can do that~”

The two of you dissolve into one another, impaling and impaled, twisting into and around one another until your bodies are all but inseparable and effectively indistinguishable. All the while, the thoughtless organic golems continue about their tasks, paying the unnatural union of two beings who should not be only passing glances before going about their business, as if it were the most normal and natural thing in the world.

<WANT: 12>

…

>>6275865
…

“Zith-Zi, it is time.”

You wake up to the sound of Ayla’s voice. Lookinga round the room, you don’t see any sign of her.

“Khoblis shit. Ugh.”

After a bit of struggling and a forehead flick to smack some sense in Khorine, extract yourself from bed. Once you’ve changed out of your night-clothes and into your armour—and adjusted you bejewelled wolf pelt back to its proper and auspicious station—you turn to your drake.

“Hershy! C’mon!”

croo-aa-ak!

You roll your eyes at the white-bearded, golden-feathered little chimera-drake, who has made a nest of your resident tree-hugger’s natty brown hair. You whistle, but both of them just groan and roll over. It must be before dawn—that would explain the beastgirl’s refusal to rouse, and your own residual grogginess. But, hey, if it’s time, it’s time, right? And in the winter, dawn comes late, and evening early—you can’t sleep the whole day away just because you’re fairy-adjacent!

(You let those two sleep in a little, though.)

…

>>6275882
…

“Carazzi, it is time.”

“H-huh?”

You are a mess: hair disheveled, horns protruding form your oversized skull at different lengths and weird angles, one arm longer and thicker than the other, still sticky with sweat—heh, and other stuff—from last night. You’re cradled in a half-melted mound of flesh, the drooping and oozing shapes of genitalia from all across the spectrum of natural and unnatural options laying about you like the upended toybox of an especially adventurous deviant.

(Which, ya know, ain’t entirely wrong~)

“Hey, Empy,” you whisper, “didja say somethin’?”

What greets you is the equivalent of psychic white noise, and the gentle rise and fall of your skin-wrapped, boneless ‘bed’ of living flesh. The hundun is, if not unconscious, as close as it can get—perhaps processing all the ‘novelty’ you both indulged in. But then who…?

Carazzi.

(Oh, shit! It’s Ayla! But… Time for what?)

“You’ll see.”

You extract yourself from the grasping hands pincers, and feelers of your carnal conquest, regarding the oozing, pooling mass of meat fondly. With the fog of fiendish lust fading, you’re not entirely sure how you feel about everything you got up to last night. Despite everything that transpired, you can’t help being a little embarrassed, even ashamed, and you quickly take shelter behind the more feminine and fey features of ‘Carazzi’ as you’ve come to know her.

Carazzi!

(Comin’!)

Satisfied with your shape, you follow the mental pull of Ayla’s summons, down into the depths of the dungeon—towards the forge.

(Why, though?)

You slow when you sense Ayla’s presence—the presence of another Infernal spark, the self-same succubus spirit that animates you, inside another. Ayla’s own golden gaze. Her eyes are more human, more ‘normal’, but no less Hellish for all that.

“So, like, what’s up?” you ask.

>>6275883
Ayla presses a finger to her lips and beckons you with the fingers of her other hand. You oblige her, drawing nearer. Your occult instructor and cambion kin reveals to you a portal—no, some sort of divination-disk, a semi-solid scrying image manifested in sparking yellow flames within a ring of devil-red. You lean forward and squint at it, and see…

“Hey, it’s ZZ!” Your smile turns to a frown. “An’ Marty… Martyn, I mean. An’… Copperpot?”

“CopperBELT,” corrects Ayla absently, without turning from the illusion—or imitation—of the three, gathered together in the privacy of the forge-room.

“What’re they doin’?”

“Iorund Copperbelt has seen fit to blackmail Zith-Zi into using OUR forge for HIS purposes. Ayla’s face as calm as ever even as her voice takes on venom such as you’ve rarely heard from her, though it calms as she continues: “But that’s fine, since it needed a test to ensure its safety for those who TRULY deserve its power.”

“…”

“…Meaning us,” Ayla clarifies with a sigh.

“O-oh! Right!”

Ayla’s subtle sneer shifts into a smirk.

“In a way it’s rather noble of him, isn’t it?” she asks. “To take such a risk, in the name of progress?”

You nod slowly, and follow her unblinking eyes back to the sight she’s summoned you to share.

…

>>6275884
…

“Alright!” you you bellow. “Meadowgrass, all the, uh… Parabolas or whatever where they oughtta be?”

Martyn Meadowgrass starts to roll his eyes and then, catching sight of the death-glare you give him, murmurs and apology, and nods.

“All parameters seem to be in line with the first usage, upon Mister Wheat.” Martyn hesitates. “We’ve loaded in all the same control runes and charges the power-battery with the same energies as before, with Miss Ayla’s assistance.”

“Good,” you say, crossing your arms, and turn to Copperbelt. “Ready?”

Iorund Copperbelt is sweatier than you’ve ever seen him—sweatier than when he was hacking through foundlings like a berserk bull-troll with that pickaxe of his. Nevertheless, he nods.

“I am ready,” he insists.

“…Right.”

At Meadowgrass’ direction, the rooftop machinery shifts and groans, moving one of the big, orange pods—like crystalline eggs—into place above the forge’s central platform. It drops down onto the raised dais at a controlled pace where, with a quiet crack and hiss, it spits in two, opening up to allow someone to step inside it.


Base chance of success on first attempt: 20%

Because you allowed Ayla and Veigar unrestricted access (+20), never pulled anyone critical off of the research team for adventures or the like (+10), kept Copperbelt and Meadowgrass around (+10), there is a 60% chance of total success (1-60), a 5% chance of partial-success (61-65), and an 5% chance (66-70) of simple failure, with an 30% chance of catastrophic failure resulting in instant death.

The pills would improve the odds quite a bit, but alas…


Last time went fine. This time should be no different… Probably.

(Right?)

Do you have anything to say to Iorund Copperbelt, before he steps into the gem-egg?
>Yes [write-in]
>No

>>6275885
>Yes [write-in]
Good luck bro

>>6275931
>+1
not as bad as I'd think without the pills

>>6275885
>>Yes: take heart maybe the forge will cure your baldness too copperbelt!

Rolled 86 (1d100)

>>6275931
>>6275962
>>6275971
“Hey, Copperbelt!”

“Hm?”

You catch the dwarf a moment before he steps inside the egg, and hold out a hand. He looks down at the appendage warily, and you snort and grab his hand yourself, giving his arm a pump.

“Good luck,” you tell him.

“Yes well… Thank you, Miss, erm, Zi. I have confidence in our companions’ skills. I’m sure I’ll be fine”

The smirk you’ve been holding back breaks free, as you say: “I meant with the hairline. Here’s hopin’ ya pop out a hunk like Yeb-Uit, huh?”

Copperbelt sputters, gracing you with a glower, but after a moment it breaks. He chuckles.

“Yes, well, he’s not MY type,” he says, and runs a hand over his head. “But I wouldn’t say no to he head of hair I had back when I was fifty.”

(FIFTY? Fuck, he’s in damn good shape for THAT age, and MUCH better off than Yeb was… But then again, dwarves age a little slower than humies and a LOT slower than gobs. It makes sense.)

As you’re processing that revelation, Iorund Copperbelt steps inside the egg. The some machinery that lowered it down now begins to channel down its orichalcum-plated plumbing the peculiar glowing goo which preserves and protects the podded subjects of the forge’s forces, and allows its powers to permeate their body and soul alike. Copperbelt holds himself steady in the centre until the rising tide swallows him up, and the luminosity renders him a faceless shade amidst its glow. Buoyed by the strange substance, he rises up to float in the midst of the mixture.

You aren’t THAT close with the guy, but he’s been a decent enough business partner, for the most part, and a damn good fighter. For a bearded mountain mole-man, Copperbelt is alright. When you wished him well, you meant it.

“Aight,” you say, serious once more. “Meadowgrass, start ‘er up!”

>>6276272
…
…

You and Ayla watch the scene by your witchy means, from your hidden vantage point far from the action. You see the Delver boss step into the machine, as the gem-egg seal shut around him. You watch him begin to levitate, lifted by the fluid that fills it, and you see—though you try not to focus on him too much—your ex-boyfriend’s skillful fingers glide across the pane of rune-marked glass that controls the arcane apparatus. Both you and Ayla stand a little straighter as the thrum of pure power from the pyramid-shape battery which feeds the machine begins to empty its energies into the egg, and the dwarf within it.

“So this is what it’s like, huh?” You lean forward, fascinated. “That’s gonna be me in a few days?”

Ayla doesn’t answer. Her eyes are fixed with ever greater focus than yours upon the illusion of the egg, its crystalline exterior reflected in her golden gaze.

86…

“Wait,” you whisper. “Somethin’s wrong!”

…

>>6276283
…

You watch with an impatient ease, forcing yourself to remain flatfooted and your muscles to stay loose. A Boss projects calm, at a time like this… And after all, Yeb-Uit came out just fine!

That all chance when Copperbelt begins to move.

“Izzat normal?”

Meadowgrass doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to. His eyes go wide and his hands fly across his enchanted black-glass panel, tapping and swiping, tracing sigils and shapes beyond your knowledge. You step over to stand by him as if your close oversight can aid, but it’s all Southron to you—you don’t understand a lick of it, and don’t even know what tell the halfling to do differently.

“Shit…”

You hiss the word and pace over to the gem egg, where Copperbelt’s initially subtle jerks and spasms have become full-body contortions—movements that shift his limbs as if he were in pitched combat with an unseen swarm. Your own hand grips the comfort of your scimitar’s hilt, as if that could do anything to help him… But just like with meadowgarss, you can’t do shit.

“Fuck!” you shout, nd spina round to meadowgrass. “Turn it off! Get him out!”

“I am!” Meadowgrass snaps back, then winces in silent apology,a nd explains: “It has to be done gradually. If we turn it off, or break it open mid-transformation…”

“Bad?”

“Very,” he replies grimly.

You both stare at the twisted shape of Copperbelt’s body, visage hidden but contorting with such violence. Illuminated by the pulsating, gradually dimming light of the abortive process powering back down. When the glow has fully died down, the still form of Iorund Copperbelt is suspended in so unnatural a pose that it reminds you of CZ, when she’s doing her whole shapeshifting thing…

(But Copperbelt ain’t a demogoblin, build to survive such shifts.)

“Go get An-Yii,” you order Meadowgrass. “Dura, too. All hands on deck. Hells, see about finding Ayla, especially.”

“But—”

“There anything more you can do, now that we’re powered down?”

“Uh—”

“THEN MOVE YER FUCKIN’ ASS, MEADOWGRASS!”

The hobbit scholar hurries off to fetch your Regiment’s support staff, while you stay put, waiting. When the egg’s shell splits again and spills, forth its effluent, Copperbelt drops like a rock. You rush forwards to salvage what you can, but slow when yu see the stomach-turning results.

…86 is a catastrophic failure

>>6276284
Iorund Copperbelt’s skin is a patchwork of textures, none of them pelasant. Parts of his skin have swollen and gone green, as if afflicted by some fungus that had been festering for years. Other areas are still the same pale, pinkish hue common to the humans and ‘demihumans’ of the Northwest, but most of those have peeled away to expose underlying tissues, as if fleeing the foreign flesh. His hair—ha—his hair has NOT grown back, but has receded furtehr to make room for huge, raised horns that seem to be splitting and splintering off form his shattered skull. And his limbs, his limbs…

“What the fuck?” you breath. “What th—URK.”

You grip your own had, and for a faint moment of irrational terror you’re afraid that YOU will grow skull-splitting horny growths. Instead, you just find yourself falling to your knees and gritting through probably the worst headache you’ve ever suffered in all your wild, often-intoxicated life.

“AAAAGH!”

When you force your eyes open, Iorund Copperbelt’s body is still there, but you can’t quite see the h̷̠̗͋͠͠o̷͙͎͋͋r̷̡͖͒n̷̗̬̈́͑s̴̙̣͕̀, or the g̶̱̼͘r̵̫̓ë̶̟́̽̚ê̶͔̬̄n̴̺̤͆̍͠ ̷̠̥͚͆s̸͙̀k̶̰̇i̸̫̳͈͊͐ñ̷̟̹̍͝, or… Or…

“What the fuck…?”

Tears take shape and further blur your distorted vision, and it goes black around the edges—which, of course it ought not to when you have DARKVISION and all, but it does. You close them again, forcing the water down your cheeks. With great effort, you climb to your feet, and lower your arms from where they gripped at your hair in agony, and make yourself look again.

“…”

Iorund Copperbelt is dead. There’s nothing else for it. The procedure failed, somehow, for s̵̗̰͚͒̆o̷̺͖̎͐́m̵̳̤͒̏ͅe̴̘̬̊ͅ reason, and in an… Unusual fashion. You can’t even say exactly why, or how, but there’s no way what came out of that egg can be saved. You turn your back, unable to bring yourself to stare at the failure—at your friend—for a moment longer.

By the time you hear the returning feet of CZ’s boyfriend and the Regiment’s medics, you’re at the door to intercept them, with a grim shake of your head.

“Ain’t no need for a doctor anymore,” you say simply. “Go back to bed.”

…

>>6276285
…

You may have a hellish heart, but you’re not heartless. Watching the horrific scene unfold makes you scream, and feel sick, and eventually—selfishly—scared.

“What h-happpened to ‘im?” you whimper. “Izzat gonna happen to ME? Holy shit. Holy SHIT! HOLY—”

“—shit,” finishes Ayla dryly. “Yes, it is rather disappointing, sin’t it.”

You look to Ayla, who has not peeled her eyes away from her illusion. Now, with a wave of her hand and mystical murmuration, she dispels most of the scene to inflate the warped and malformed shape of what USED to be a dwarf called Copperbelt. Now, with his body all twisted and mangled and his soul—oh gods above and below, what shape is his SOUL in?

“Why does he look like that?” you ask. “The horns ‘n skin… It’s like Yeb-Uit, but, like… Bad. REAL bad.”

“Well, yes,” Ayla says simply. “It is a failed experiment. These things do happen… Though, as he WAS trying to take what didn’t belong to him, you could also say he goes his due, in a way.”

Your eyes widen. What? She’s saying she’s HAPPY this happened to the poor bastard??

“Carazzi.” Ayla tuts, and frowns slightly, looking away from her scrying for a moment, and then banishing the distant reflection with a wave. “What’s wrong?”

“What’ve you been doin’?” you ask. “With the forge? With… With Yeb, ‘n with… With Copperbelt?”

Ayla sighs softly, and smiles a small, indulgent smile.

“Preparing,” she says. “I’ve been readying the forge for its true purpose. For YOU. And… For myself, and for Veigar, too.”

“So the reason everyone’s comin’ out green ‘n horny—”

“Not exactly how I’d phrase it,” Ayla interjects.

“—it’s ‘cause of you? ‘Cause yer tryin’ ta… Ta do what? I don’t get it. That—THAT thing, what Copeprbelt turned inta, that’s… That’s NOTHIN’ like what Iw anna be?”

“No,” Ayla agrees readily. “nor I. Which is why I’m doing this—why WE are doing this work that we’re doing here. Don’t you SEE?”

Ayla’s hair is raising now, the tips catching fire as the curl like snakes. Her eyes light up the whole room, not unlike the glow of an active gem-egg.

“What happened to Iorund Copperbelt was a… We COULD look at it as a tragedy, but on the other hand, we could look at it as part of process. Remember: Yeb-Uit was a success! Which just proves my theory—well, Veigar’s theory, but this hypothesis is an extrapolation beyond even his own, combining his work with Living Alchemy and soul-manipulation with my own Occultism and Eastern Esoterica.”

You stare, unsure if you’re more afraid or confused. Ayla scowls, but reins herself in, and in tone and terminology she takes a step down from her scholastic heights.

>>6276310
“Something about the magical dampening effect—ah, the ‘spell resistance’, I think adventurers and other laypersons usually call it?—of goblin-flesh helps to create a stable housing for Hellish energies—for our ‘ectoplasm’. Unfortunately, it works TOO well at times—which is why, when you and Zith-ZI were one being, you were utterly suppressed, and she was incapable of casting spells. This is unacceptable, of course, for ones like us… For our family, a family with a rich history of the arcane arts, that would be like persisting only through crippling ourselves, our children!”

“Ch-children?” you think back to the hundun, left in a heap after your raucous night. “Uh, well… I don’t think, uh… Like, there’s no way… Uh, like, -I- don’t have a womb, and…”

Ayla doesn’t seem to hear you, though, and before you can complete you stuttering, stilted thought, your sorcerous sensei presses onward with her impromptu lecture:

“Veigar’s modified soul—the soul he created for himself!—and the modified flesh he made for himself, fairy and goblin and human and MORE—it was a perfect equilibrium. HE is perfect. He can endure me.. Suffer me gladly, stay with me forever!... But only him.”

She frowns.

“No attempt to create such a body for me, or for… For anyone else… Has ever worked out. Not as we’d hoped.”

File: Spoiler Image (4.86 MB, 4263x6735)

4.86 MB PNG

>>6276311
Ayla’s smile spreads into a wide, wicked grin. It's a mad expression worthy of the Irinnile you saw, and briefly embodied. It’s not lustful in the same way, but it’s hungry for something—something more, ALWAYS more.

You recognize <WANT> when you see it.

“Until Yeb-Uit,” she says. “And very nearly, for all his flaws, with Copperbelt. He shows the limitations, the risks… But with the preparation of Easterly cultivation techniques and medicines to mitigate the risks and further refine the end results… We can create a body truly suited to this entirely new sort of soul. A new race… A MASTER race, perfect in every conceivable way!”

Ayla is breathing hard now, hair waving around her head in a fiery halo. From her own forehead, small horns have began to bloom, splitting the skin and leading to a small rivulet of blood trickling down her forehead. You watch the bead trickle down her skin until it hits her eye, and see she’s staring at you, expectant.

She’s waiting for you to reply.

What will you say?
>That sounds great—like, actually really great! Maybe you don’t want kids right NOW, but the option, for both she and you, to have superkids? That’s cool!
>You’re a little spooked. All this ‘master race’ talk, coupled with what you just watched happen to Copperbelt, and with Ayla’s obvious indifference to his torturous demise, it feels WRONG. You’re sympathetic, but there has to be another way to go about this.
>You need to tell ZZ about this… To talk to your sister about this. And you need Ayla to un-wash her brain, so you can have a proper conversation, please.
>Nah. NAH. This is fucked RIGHT up, and you want no part of it, or of her. You’re shutting this down. You’re DONE with all this forge shit, and Occultism, and Ayla!
>Write-in

>>6276312
>You’re a little spooked. All this ‘master race’ talk, coupled with what you just watched happen to Copperbelt, and with Ayla’s obvious indifference to his torturous demise, it feels WRONG. You’re sympathetic, but there has to be another way to go about this.
Kinda concerning how Yeb's transformation worked and Copperbelt's didn't. Seems like we're moving backwards rather than progressing.

>>6276312
>That sounds great—like, actually really great! Maybe you don’t want kids right NOW, but the option, for both she and you, to have superkids? That’s cool!
So long as it doesn’t kill our sister, I’m cool with it.

I think Cara would react more to the <WANT>, predictably in an Iri fashion.

bruh I was so happy with the 86 that I forgot it's an inverted roll. Rip copperbelt.
>>6276312
>You need to tell ZZ about this… To talk to your sister about this. And you need Ayla to un-wash her brain, so you can have a proper conversation, please.

>>6276312
>>That sounds great—like, actually really great! Maybe you don’t want kids right NOW, but the option, for both she and you, to have superkids? That’s cool!

>>6276388
Same rollercoster here

[Sorry anons, but I had a 12 hour workday and am wiped. I'l have to update tomorrow morning rather than tonight. I need some weed and Chinese food to unwind.]

[Actually, while I'm taking an evening off, mind if I ask your opinions Copperbelt (and his death) and the Naked Emperor (and Carazzi's dynamic with it) so far?]

>>6276859
I'm a bit frustrated at his death, but considering that Aila had him on her sights, that's bound to happen. And the emperor works really well with cazzi.

>>6276859
I'm sad about his unliving as I thought 86 was a good roll.

>>6276882
>>6276898
[Sorry, anons. I did try to head it off by reposting the rules (with updated odds and specific numbers/result reminder) from when Yeb went in there...]

>>6276346
>>6276349
>>6276388
>>6276671
[Locked and writing!]

>>6276859
>your opinions Copperbelt (and his death)
I was surprised the chances were so bad
Wasn’t Yeb the same numbers? I figured with the data from his successful transformation and all the additional time we spent grabbing the hundun the odds would have been much better.

>>6276859
>Naked Emperor (and Carazzi's dynamic with it)
I like it. Finally she has a soulmate.

>>6277019
As unsettling as what happened to the dwarf may be, you have to admit: that sounds…

“Coool… Superkids, huh? N-not that, like I’m plannin’ on HAVIN’ kids… Anytime soon, or anything, heh heh…”

Ayla’s grin grows, and she reaches out to grasp and squeeze your shoulders. Her touch is electric—literally! Your hair stands up on end!—and warm.

“I know you would see sense, Carazzi,” you Dark teacher tells you. “That’s why I called you here… And why I know you will agree that, one way or another, Copperbelt’s fate was inevitable.”

“Wait,” you say, “what?”

Ayla just smirks, and glances towards the wall—no, THROUGH the wall, at some divined vision of the tragedy in the forge-room, you realize. Then, her eyes widen slightly at some sight only she can see, at the same time you hear shouting, and the running of feet.

“Hey, Ayla, ya might wanna tuck it away,” you whisper hurriedly.

“Tuck—Oh!”

Ayla smooths out her curling coils foo burning hair, forcing the snake’s nest back into a tidy bun. Her blooming horns vanish with a pass of her hands, with the thin streak of blood from her hairline the only sign of her brief, fiendish frenzy.

“Yer good at that,” you note, impressed at how quickly your fellow cambion can revert from her (admittedly much less dramatic than your own) demonic state.

Her eyes twinkle a little.

“Practice,” Ayla says, “makes perfect.”

Together, the two of you join Dura, An-Yii, and Yeb-Uit—who you guess must have been in her room and tagged along or something, like you do with Ayla. You all rush to answer your sister’s summons—sent via Martyn, unfortunately. You and Ayla hang at the back of the gaggle, though, because you both know that there’s no point. What’s happened cannot be reverse or undone… And you get the feeling that, where Ayla is concerned, that is very much a good thing.

(A master race, huh? Like, a whole HOUSE of Carazzi Yosefs? Imagine that…)

…

>>6277059
…

You dismiss the medics and mages—even CZ showed up—but before the all leave the scene of the botched transformation, you signal Dura.

“Get the other orcs,” you order.

Murbal and Xoldur, your musclebound and grey-faced half-orc apprentices, arrive not long after. When they arrive and see what has become of Copperbelt, both the barbarians are surprisingly shaken, stopping in the doorway and staring with bulging eyes.

“Well?” You lace your hands on hips and tap your foot. “C’mon, the fuck’re you doin’? I didn’t call ya down here ta gawk! Help me move ‘im… Bury ‘im, too.”

“Zut jigi,” Murbal says, like it’s profanity, and shakes her head.

“Yeah, I know it was bad magic,” you grimace, stealing a glance unable to bring yourself to look at Cppperbelt dead-on again. “It’s over now, though.”

“Bolvag!”

“Murbal think it cursed,” Xoldur translates for his sister,. The way he refuses to move forward at first, and keeps staring at the dwarf’s remains, implies he thinks the same.

“I’m tellin’ ya, it’s safe!” you say, since even a barely-capable ‘magic-user’ like you can sense the body is inert now. “C’mon, don’t be pussies!”

Well, no self-respecting orc is going to back down once accused of feminine weakness, ESPECIALLY Murbal. They hurry in after that, and you direct the big-bodied pair to lift, and carry the corpse of your one-time business-partner up and out of the pyramid. Hol-Beorn’s bluish boglin crew see you passing, and what you’re carrying, but apart from some gasps and minced oaths, say nothing. Eventually, Brand-Hrok—their rookie, near as you can tell—brings you some kind of shiny, smooth tarp to wrap around Copperbelt’s deformed leftovers.

“Bundle him in this, and then pass your hand over this thickened seam,” he instructs in the ancient proto-Dwarven language. Well, more or less—you have to infer a few words from context.

You do so, and are surprised to see the seam in question light up with runes, and then melt and seal itself, closing the end of the exotic sack off.

>>6277060
“Should no bury body,” Xoldur still insists, once you’re outside.

“Zut jigi,” Murbal reaffirms. “Zejar.”

“Poison earth, poison water and food,” her brother adds.

You’re pretty sure that’s exactly what this weird sealed-up bag the blueberry gave you is meant to prevent, but you can’t seem to convince the siblings of this. Eventually, growing frustrated, you gesture to the Ettercap-warped patch of woodland around you and say:

“This whole place is pretty [i[zut jigi already! What’s the worst that could happen, HUH?”

The pair exchange a glance at that. It doesn’t put them at ease by any means—quite the opposite, if you had to judge—but they do start digging, with shovels from your recently restocked kit of adventuring gear. You watch them lower the body into he hole, and begin to bury it, all the while chewing your cheek. Only when the last lump of soil is atop poor Copperbelt do you look around at the woods again—the plants and animals you assured Khorine were a part of a new—but not inherently BAD—form of nature.

Now, after what just happened, you can’t help wondering about that…

…

Those who weren’t already woken up on your orders, or who didn’t pop out to see what all the fuss was about, discover the loss over breakfast. A lot of them don’t eat much, after that. You spared them the grisliest details—you prefer not to recall them yourself, you find—but it’s still a major loss to morale.

An-Yii’s Morale: High -> Medium
Yeb-Uit’s Morale: Very High -> High
Murbal’s Morale: High -> Medium
Xoldur’s Morale: Medium -> Low
Khorine’s Morale: High -> Medium (Locked Loyalty)

“This is what I was afraid of,” Khorine says, loud enough o make certain everyone else can hear. “This is why Sacred Nature is not a TOY. We should be CAREFUL moving forward.”

Your feel a twinge of irritation at the implication you were careLESS before—careless with the life of a member of the Monstrous Regiment. It can hardly make the others feel MORE confident in your leadership, which is what you need. You don’t contradict the kid right away, though, since you did promise her a measure of authority over these matters. Unlike young Khorine, YOU have the experience in thee sorts of situations to know that would undermine her immediately.

“We should NOT use it again until we’ve removed whatever taint caused this to happen from the enchantments,” Khorine goes on to say.

“If we use it at all,” An-Yii adds.

“We will,” Ayla says to An-Yii immediately, and then turns to chorine with a glower. “And we will not.”

>>6277061
Khorine flinches at the intensity of the more experienced hedge-mage’s gaze, and though she plainly wishes to object, she settles for crossing her arms and huffing, looking to you to reestablish order. Before you can, Ayla starts in on you:

“What we are doing here is complex and nearly-unprecedented, and not without risk. We all knew that, though, didn’t we? Iorund Copperbelt knew it, but Yeb-Uit pPROVED that the underlying principles ARE well-founded. It’s only a matter of… Of calibration, correcting parameters.”

All attention is on Yeb-Uit then, who looks around, shrugs uncertainly, and sips his cup of water to avoid having to speak to this.

“Zith-Zi, we need this power,” Ayla reminds you, more quietly. “To stand the best chance against Ziwei Bo, we need every advantage we can gather.”

You open your mouth to answer, but are again pre-empted by another outburst—this time, by Meadowgrass pushing back his chair and standing upright at his full three-and-three-quarters feet, custom shocks-pear at his side.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but… You’ll have to do this without me.”

Martyn Meadowgrass’ Morale: High -> Medium (shirin incident) -> Low (breakup) -> Very Low (close friend died while he was operating the machine that killed him)

“Hey now—Hey! I said ‘hey now’! Meadowgrass!”

You shout after him, but the damned hobbit ahs already turned round and started off. Is he… Carrying his pack, too, as well as his spear? Is he LEAVING? Carazzi weakly calls after him, but stops herself, looking guilty.

(Aren’t they dating? Did something happen there, too? Fuck’s sake…)

“It doesn’t matter,” Ayla is quick to say. “We don’t need Martyn Meadowgrass anymore.”

“Oh, we don’t, don’t we?” You glare. “You sure? ‘Cause as I remember it, him ‘n Copperbelt were part’ve why Yeb-Uit’s procedure went so well.”

“We have more information now,” Ayla insists. “A better understanding of the forge’s workings. I will personally oversee the next experiment—”

“I for one ain’t getting’ ‘experimented’ on, thank ya very much!” An-Yii declares, to a murmured chorus of a ambivalent agreement.

>>6277063
Being the Boss, it all falls on you to decide how to proceed. Of course. Of COURSE it fucking does. Ugh. Normally, being Boss is supposed to be FUN, ain’t it?

What will you do about Meadowgrass?
>Go talk to him
[Leadership roll, DC 17]
>Send Carazzi to go <Charm> him back
[Mentalism roll, DC 14; morality slides for CZ and ZZ]
>Let him go [Martyn Meadowgrass leaves the party]

What will you do about the forge?
>Let Ayla direct further operations to supe up your squad
[you will get to potentially upgrade multiple characters]
>Have Khorine cleanse out whatever it is in the system that fucked up Copperbelt, then use it
[you will have a lower catastrophic failure chance, but results will differ, you will only get to upgrade one character, and Ayla will be displeased]
>Wait for Veigar to come back from wherever he is, to lend his aid
[delays lich mission considerably, meaning more downtime here, more chance of Ziwei Bo catching not something being up, and more hosting the hundun and company in your home]
>Forget the forge for now—prep and leave for the mission, and you can use it when you have these pills that are supposed to be so great
[skip to mission]

Is there any other prep you want to do before confronting the lich?
>Yes [write-in]
>No

>>6277033
>I was surprised the chances were so bad
[Yeb-Uit had a 75% chance of total success (1-75), a 7% chance of partial-success (76-82), and a 7% chance (83-89) of simple failure, with an 11% chance of catastrophic failure resulting in instant death. A good chunk of this was just him being a goblinoid, since they're magic-resistant and disease-resistant and the intended race for the forge's "inputs".]

[Copperbelt still had a 60% chance of total success (1-60), a 5% chance of partial-success (61-65), and a 5% chance (66-70) of simple failure, with a 30% chance of catastrophic failure resulting in instant death. The lower success rate was largely due to not being a goblin, with narrower "partial success" and "simple failure" windows reflecting his lack of spell resistance... ie. magic-receptive tissues and a soul that is susceptible to the demonic aspects of what Ayla has done with the forge, whereas Yeb-Uit was "soulless" and just had a fresh one implanted.]

>>6277064
>>Go talk to him
>Have Khorine cleanse out whatever it is in the system that fucked up Copperbelt, then use it


>>6277066
What I don't understand is how we didn't collected valuable data from Yeb Uit turning to improve the Copperbelt attempt.

>>6277070
>What I don't understand is how we didn't collected valuable data from Yeb Uit turning to improve the Copperbelt attempt.
[One single success on a rather dissimilar test subject was simply not enough to change the odds, but now that Ayla and Martyn have observed two processes with different subjects, that may be a bit different.]

>>6277064
>Go talk to him
>Have Khorine cleanse out whatever it is in the system that fucked up Copperbelt, then use it
We did promise her

>>6277066
Didn't realize being a goblin was so beneficial to the process
Maybe we should have Ayla door us over to goblintown, show off Yeb and get a few non regiment volunteers for the process.

>>6277064
>Go talk to him

>Have Khorine cleanse out whatever it is in the system that fucked up Copperbelt, then use it

>No

>>6277070
>>6277279
>>6277293
[Given the unanimity, locked and writing!]

>>6277325
“Carazzi, go get yer guy.”

“Uh, actually, we’re not, like—"

“CZ, move it!”

“R-right! On it, ZZ!”

Once your sister is scuttling off after her ‘not, like’ boyfriend (seriously, what’d you MISS?), you turn to Ayla. You frown, considering her words and your options. She’s not wrong: you are down a man now (RIP Copperbelt), and you still have a mission ahead of you—a mission of truly paramount importance now that it’s been made resoundingly obvious why these mysterious Eastern power-pills are so important to make the process safe, stable, and effective. The irony, of course, is that you need the forge’s power to GET those pills.

“Khorine!”

The little goat-girl stands up straight and comes when you call her.

“You got any of those twig blights of yours?”

“A couple,” she says. “I’ve set them to patrolling and tending the ‘garden’ outside.”

You sigh. It’s not enough.

“We still need that forge, then,” you say. “You wanted to run the show, keep it safe an’ all-natural? Well, now’s your time to shine, kid.”

“Wh-what?”

“WHAT?”

Both Khorine and ESPECIALLY Ayla are shocked at the instructions, and Ayla’s angry eyes are immediately upon the faun like she might ignite her with a thought—which, as a powerful mage, she could.

“Zith-ZI, I really must object to… THIS.” Luckily, Ayla decides to complain, instead of immolating anyone just yet. “Khorine’s discipline is NOT in Living Alchemy, nor in Spiritual Alchemy.”

“Yeah?” you say. “I thought Feycraft was all about that shit?”

“Understanding and aiding the natural world—its plants, animals, and even fungi, and its spirits—is VERY much my ‘discipline’, thank you very much!”

“To a lesser degree than my Veigar, perhaps,” Ayla dismisses Khorine’s counterpoint, to the little beastgirl’s bleating protest. “There’s nothing more needed from that field. We need only make a few minor adjustments and—”

“What happened to Copperbelt wasn’t MINOR, Ayla,” you interrupt. “Maybe we ain’t gotta add any more fairy-dust, but how about pulling back some of the new shit we’re testing out? Make it basic? Keep it simple, get what I'm sayin'?”

Rolled 1, 4, 9, 14 = 28 (4d20)

>>6277348
Ayla’s eyes narrow. “That would be… Counterproductive, Zith-Zi.”

“But safer,” you point out. “Kid, can ya clean the forge’s spellcraft up? Keep the basic fairy stuff, take out any’ve the, uh, crystals with the, uh… I dunno, just figure it out!”

Khorine hardly even hesitates, before nodding her horned head.

“I can do it, Zith-Zi,” she promsies.

“Then chop chop. Make it so! Ayla, help her out—it’s our safest bet at getting’ the pills, ‘n then we can try makin’ proper super-adventurers again, okay?”

Ayla’s anger simmers unsubtly just below the surface, making it VERY clear that is not, in fact, ‘okay’ with her. That isn’t your problem, though, and eventually she obeys. She and Khorine depart for the forge-room, with several boglins tagging along to help with translation and operation.

Of course, better yet would be to get Meadowgrass back… And with Carazzi and him no longer an item, APPARENTLY, that’s probably a job for The Boss. You sigh, and start off in the direction he and CZ went.

...

“There’s nothing for me here anymore. Not you, not Iorund, and what study into our history I could affect is… I’ve seen enough. Done enough. I won’t be party to anymore of… Of this blasphemy!”

“It’s not… It’s not like that, and it isn’t about the GODS, o-or about you ‘n me.”

“I think it’s very much about you, Carazzi, with all due respect, and while I understand—”

“You DON’T! You… You can’t! Nobody can, except—”

You catch them just outside the dungeon, their brief spat stopping short as you saunter on out of the main entrance. Your sister and her one-time mister are standing fairly far apart, a testament to their mutual discomfort. Still, CZ slowed him down long enough for you to catch him. Seeing the expression of her face—very near tears—that’s probably all you can reasonably expect rom her.

“Carazzi, take a walk. Maybe go check in on Ayla ‘n Khorine—make sure they don’t kill each other, huh?”

“…Yeah, okay ZZ.”

Once your sister has had a few seconds to slink off, you finally address the halfling adventurer directly.

“Meadowgrass, walk with me. Let’s chat.”

Leadership check, 4d20...

>>6277349
Fuck, failed and with a nat 1 in it
He's gone, probably to sic the Delvers that left on us

>>6277349
>>6277354
“Look,” you begin, “anyone ever tell you about, like… nature’s nature See, seasons change, right, an’ sometimes you get a rough winter an’ it ain’t pretty, but then spring rolls around and, uh…"

You trail off at meadowgrass’ confused expression. What had worked earlier for Khorine won’t work for him, you realize. His understanding of the situation is different. His issues are not the same… And the biggest issue is the one you have to tackle first.

“Is this about Copperbelt?”

“Copperbelt… Iorund, yes, it’s about Iorund.” Meadowgrass scoffs bitterly. “About him, and about ALL of this! About what you’re doing, and why, and what’s to come of all of it!”

“Uh, us bein’ rich ‘n powerful?” You ask, incredulous. “Yer mad about THAT? ‘Us’ includes ‘you’, ya know?”

“I never wanted to be ‘rich and powerful’, Zena… Zith-Zi.” Martyn sighs. “I wanted to explore and to learn… About our origins, about our people.”

“And ya did that!” You throw your hands up in the air. “Now you’re just learnin’ new ways to make things better for your people!”

“Is that what you’re doing here?” Meadowgrass asks, incredulously. “Trying to make things better for other people? Or just catering to the… The fantasies of the few? Making things ‘better’ for yourself, Carazzi… That dreadful AYLA woman…”

“Hey, I don’t exactly love Ayla either, but she’s an important part a’ this team,” you say. “We can’t do this without her.”

“No,” Meadowgarss says darkly, “I suppose you couldn’t.”

You squint at him, and in a low voice ask: “And what’s THAT s’posed ta mean?”

“Do you really not understand what’s happening here?”

“Why don’t YOU stop bein’ a little b—” You stop yourself, and take a deep breath. “Just spit it out.”

“Ayla… And Carazzi, though I’m not sure she understands it… They’re not trying to make her normal, or to remove her… Her DANGERS. They’re REFINING her. Making her MORE fo everything she already is!”

You arch an eyebrow, not sure that YOU’RE following along anymore. “What’s so bad ‘bout that? Badass powers, claws on command, no more freak-outs…”

At the mention of CZ’s instability, Meadowgrass pales. You stop talking, wondering AGAIN what exactly went down between he and your soul-sister. Before you can ask, though, he asks a question of his own:

“Zith-Zi… What happened to Copperbelt?”

>>6277371
You grimace, and answer: “He died! Accidents happen, an’… It’s not great. I’m not… I’ll miss him to, but we can’t just tuck our fuckin’ tails an’ quit because he VOLUNTARILY went in there, an’ it didn’t work out. Right now, we’re workin’ to make it safer, and once we get those pills—”

“No,” Meadowgrass repeats. “I know he died… But how? What happened to him body? What EXACTLY happened?”

Almost immediately, your head starts to hurt again. Why does this stubborn, stuck-up little shithead have to make you relive THATagain?! You KNOW how Copperbelt died! You KNOW how fucked up his body was, at the end! He as all… Uh…

He was… He… His skull did a thing with… Uhh… And his kin, you think his skin…

No successes, rolled a 1. Critical failure!

“…Zith-Zi?”

“Nnngh!” You smack away Meadowgrass reaching hand, and shake off the painful haze of the painful memory. “Fuck off, hobbit!”

The halfling recoils, from your swing and from the slur. For a moment, he just stares, his expression an infuriating and confusing mix of fear and pity.

“That’s exactly what I intend to do, thank you very much,” Meadowgrass finally says, and turns to continue on his way.

Martyn Meadowgrass left the party.

Do you stop him?
>Yes [lethally]
>Yes [non-lethally, requires you to hold him captive]
>No

Once the forge is operational again, who do you intend to test it on? Choose one
>Yourself
>CZ
>Hershy
>Nermal
>Khorine
[Anyone else will require a leadership roll, but they include…]
>An-Yii
>Xoldur
>Murbal
>Dura
>The Naked Emperor
>Martyn [involuntary, requires capture]

>>6277372
>No
Went better than I thought it would desu
Just another failure to break the brainwashing
For the next test, can we do >>6277279
>Maybe we should have Ayla door us over to goblintown, show off Yeb and get a few non regiment volunteers for the process
?
If not, Dura

>>6277389
[If you want to keep the scheduled appointment with Ziwei Bo, taking time to have Khorine clean up and safety-test the machine meant only having enough time to transform one adventurer. In addition, taking the time and MP to teleport one or more people to New Goblintown and back (especially magic-resistant goblinoids) plus the time spent recruiting and vetting them would also put you past your appointment window. You could do it, but the effects would be similar to those of having chosen to wait for Veigar:
>delays lich mission considerably, meaning more downtime here, more chance of Ziwei Bo catching not something being up, and more hosting the hundun and company in your home

>>6277395
Dura it is :(

>>6277372
>Yes [non-lethally, requires you to hold him captive]
>>Martyn [involuntary, requires capture]

>>6277372
>No
shit, we never getting him again after that.

>Dura

>>6277595
>>6277591
>>6277389
You watch Martyn Meadowgrass’ departure with no small ambivalence. Is he going to tell people about what he’s seen and done here? If he does, what will that mean for all of you—for what you’re trying to do here, for the future you want for yourself and for Carazzi? It’s clear you’re not going to be getting him back after THAT debacle, though. And what else can you d—kidnap him, hold him hostage, try to force him to serve you indefinitely?

…Are you really going to back to slave-taking, after all this time? You became an adventurer to put that sordid shit behind you, right? What would Tips think? What would JIMMY think?

“Ugh… Fuck it. It’s just like Ayla said—we don’t need that little twerp anyway.”

You turn around, and go back the way you came. Once more, you descend into the dungeon, to see how that bright and shiny future is coming along.

…

“I think it’s… No, I mean I KNOW it is ready, Zith-Zi.”

It’s kind of cute seeing Khorine try so hard to impress you now, while at the same time her hoity-toity wilderness cleric routine keeps cracking. Ever since she opened up to you in the grove, she’s been letting the little girl underneath all the attitude slip through a little bit more. A less scrupulous sort of Boss might exploit that, but not you… Though you’re not above ruffling her hair (under half-hearted protest) in thanks for the work she’s done n the forge.

“Hmph… If by ‘ready’, she means to say she’s set us back WEEKS, if not MONTHS, of actual progress towards the sort of ‘super-powered adventurer’ end-result we’d been hoping for.”

Ayla is a lot less of a fan, obviously… But whatever. This bitch may be the best Henzler you’ve ever met, but a Henzler is a Henzler. The human girl Ayla was cloned off of was a ceaseless schemer, always getting herself and HER ‘Veigar’—the original-flavour Tips—in over their heads in ambitious and half-baked plans. This version has proven a better team player, sure, but it’s obvious that the demontainted apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“We’ll have all the weeks ‘n months we want to do your thing, an’ SAFELY, once we have the pills.”

This hardly seems to mollify the mage, but whatever. YOU’RE the Boss around here, not her.

Khorine’s Morale: Medium -> High (Locked Loyalty)
Ayla’s Morale: High -> Low

Rolled 3, 14, 2, 19 = 38 (4d20)

>>6277764
Of course, undoing all the shit Ayla did, and puzzling out the runic controls for the arcane apparatus without Meadowgrass’ expertise, takes quite a while. If you want to keep your appointment with Ziwei Bo, you’ll only have time to run the forge up once… And you still don’t know for sure how that’s going to go.

“It’s safe?” you ask again, not for the first time. “We’re totally, ABSO-FUCKIN’-LUTELY sure it’s safe?”

“Yes, Zith-Zi!” says Khorine, chin jutting proudly forth, head raise high, eyes clear.

“That’s a ridiculous and naïve thing to say,” Ayla says, to Khorine’s visible displeasure. “But the certainty of the MEDIOCRE results we can expect IS greater than before. Though if you’d just let me make MY changes to the runic command-crystals and the balance of qi we could have—”

You cut Ayla off with a shake of your head. You have no time to debate this endlessly. Instead, you turn to Carazzi, and to the member of the Regiemnt whom you ahd your sister fetch for you: Dura.

Dura’s Morale: Medium

While everyone else in the Regiment has been panicking over Copperbelt’s fate, you noticed that the ziran—essentially a sort of alchemist or hedge-mage, among the savage and primitive ‘Wolfpack Horde’ orcs of the Steelwood region—was steady as ever. For all that she is a bit shorter and frailer than a male of her race, or even the half-human female Murbal, she is also stalwart, seemingly unflappable as an ally. Quiet, too, which is much appreciated after all the back-sass you’ve been getting from the others lately.

“Well,” you say, “did Carazzi tell ya what we want? Do ya… Ugh, what’s the word?”

Orctongue doesn’t exactly have a word for ‘understand’, or even ‘agree’. Not exactly. When one of THEIR bosses gives the word, there’s no expectation of follow-up, of negotiation: a subordinate orc should hear and obey, or they should be ready to challenge the chieftain for leadership.

“Word is ‘Daggog alnej, dajo alnej.’ Word mean hear and follow.”

You blink in surprise at the soft-spoken orc-girl’s helpful translation. You look from her to CZ, who grins, and slaps Dura on the flank.

“We bin practicin’ her Common, between lessons with Ayla.”

“So THAT’S what’s been going on,” murmurs Ayla, with a hint of amusement. “But the orc? Really?”

Even half-hidden between her long, thick head of dark hair, Dura’s grey face flushes under all the attention.

“Well then, do ya?” You nod to the forge, where a gem egg has already been lowered, and sits cracked and open, ready to accept another offering. “Do you hear, and follow, Dura?”

Leadership roll, DC 15…

>>6277765
Phew!

>>6277765
>>6277770
Dura reaches up to pull the ribbon-decorated curtain of her hair aside, regarding the fate you’ve placed before her with both eyes, and that same calm clarity. You see it waver for a second—that unbroken composure of hers. Then, she looks to CZ. Something shifts in Dura: her spine straightens as she draws strength. She places her harder hand over your sister’s, squeezing it gently. Carazzi seems startled by something, and bites her lip, but Dura is already moving forward, with her eyes on the gem-egg.

There are no more words: she merely steps inside the crystal capsule.

Dura of Steelwood’s Leadership roll: passed!

“…Alright then.” You give CZ a look, but she's still staring after Dura; you turn you attention back to Brand-Hrok of the boglins, now your go-to forge-operator. “Start ‘er up!”

There’s something ominous you feel, saying those same words again less than a full 24 hours after the disaster of Copperbelt’s failed transformation. In truth, part of the reason you picked Dura was that even if this does go wrong, she’s a little redundant: helpful, as a backup healer always is, but she IS a backup. You have An-Yii as a primary medic, and of the orcs at your disposal, Dura is the least combat-savvy, and a middling mage as well. You have no personal attachment to her—though it seems that CZ might have a bit more of one.

But you don’t WANT her to die. You don’t want your DREAM to die.

“She’s… She’s doin’ this for ME…” You hear Carazzi mumble to herself.

Base chance of success on second attempt with an ensouled individual: 30%
Because you allowed Ayla and Veigar unrestricted access (+20), never pulled anyone critical off of the research team for adventures or the like (+10), kept Copperbelt and Meadowgrass around (+10), lost Meadowgrass assistance (-3), but allowed Khorine to clean out and recalibrate the machine (+10) there is a 77% chance of total success (1-77), a 6% chance of partial-success (78-83), and an 6% chance (84-89) of simple failure, with an 11% chance of catastrophic failure resulting in instant death.

The egg starts to enclose the orc. Do Zith-Zi or Carazzi have anything to say before the procedure begins?
>Yes [write-in]
>No

>>6277775
>less than a full 24 hours after the disaster of Copperbelt’s failed transformation.
Seriously? Ayla is bitching over less than a day of delay? Annoying woman

>Yes
Carazzi should say something
I don’t know what she should say, but something

>>6277784
>Ayla is bitching over less than a day of delay?
[A point of clarification: it took months of fiddling with the forge's energy levels, runic 'programming', and specifics of the procedure before Yeb-Uit was transformed, and Khorine essentially forcefully purged and returned to a more basic state all of that. hence Ayla's complaint about weeks/months of work. Thing of it as forcefully resetting a computer to factory defaults, or deleting all the training data for a LLM]

>>6277775
>Yes [CZ hand on glass, ‘I believe in you’, other babble] [ZZ nod of appreciation]

>>6277798
Ah
She’s still annoying but that is more understandable

No idea for a good write-in.
Dreading the roll Just had a cursed 1/1/2 on 3d20 on another platform right now

>>6277775
>Yes [We'll be waiting for ya]
>>6277798
makes sense. speaking of which, I hope zz manages to break free of the mind-washing soon.

File: evdience.png (8 KB, 544x75)

8 KB PNG

>>6277918
>>6277814
>>6277866
>>6277784


You and Carazzi share a look. You both know you ought to say SOMETHING at a time like this, but damned if either of you knows what. You barely know the orc, and CZ… Well, she’s being all weird, probably because of whatever happened with Meadowgrass. You settle for an appreciative nod, acknowledging the risk she’s taking—however mitigated it may now be.

“D-Dura! Wait!”

Dura blinks and reaches out to hold open the shell of the crystalline chamber with her bare hands.

“Hey, watch it!” you snap. “Ya want the damned thing to close on you? Khorine probably didn’t program it to grow replacement fingers!”

You glance at Khorine, who shakes her head quickly, affirming your assumption. Dura rapidly recoils, and the stony, semi-transparent barrier seals shut. Carazzi arrives an instant too late, placing her hand upon the surface instead. Dura reciprocates the gesture from the other side, placing her palm upon the surface.

“I believe in ya, Dura!” Carazzi shouts, as if volume alone might pierce the stone.

“Uh, CZ?”

“Your mentalism,” Ayla reminds her bluntly, following your same line of reasoning.

“Oh, right!” Carazzi chuckles in embarrassment, and then projects her thoughts, loud enough for all of you to hear:

I’ll… I mean, WE’LL be waiting for you!”

It’s impossible to know if Dura hears her or not, since she can’t psychically reply, but the orc-girl’s hand stays upon the surface of the glass until the rising tide of arcane fluid lifts her up and away, and the magical machine begins its great (if sometimes terrible) work…

Rolled a 4 on >>6278534, but fucked up formatting

>>6278567
You all wait with bated breath. Even Ayla fidgets anxiously, though you suspect that she might be less concerned with whether the Steelwood witch lives through the process and more about the end result failing to live up to her mysterious standards.

“She ain’t thrashing,” you note. “Brand-Hrok? We good?”

The blue-green goblinoid in the black bodysuit signals in the affirmative. All seems to be going according to plan. You allow yourself a small smile, and clap Khorine on the shoulder.

“You did good, kid,” you say.

She looks up at you, her stubborn pride the only thing standing between those wide eyes and openly thanking you for the praise. The former wins out, but it’s tough to begrudge her—you were her age, once, and you get it. Both of you turn back to the gem-egg… And to your sister.

Carazzi stays right by the capsule, peering through the casing and squinting against the blinding glow, the whole time.

…

4 is a success!

…

When at last the gem-egg’s shell cracks open and spills its thin golden yolk down into the dais’ built-in drainage, the dampened Dura who emerges is changed. You knew she would be, but what you didn’t entirely expect was HOW she’d change.

“Dura! Yer… Yer PINK!”

The ziran who emerges is not the Steelwood orc who went in. Dura was somewhat smaller and slender for a full-blooded orc, admittedly, but even so that put her at five-foot-ten and close to two hundred pounds. The orc who emerges is a little shorter, a titch slenderer, and—as you blurted out a moment ago—bright pink, like Zith-Zi! Her hair has changed from a thick and matted carpet of black to a deep auburn, to almost match her tied-off ribbons and strings. She still has small tusks, and the upturned nose common to her kin, but both have shrunk in size and receded into a flatter face, with the end result being a sort of strangely-cute porcine appearance.

“Yer like… Some kinda’ pig-orc! A… A porc!”

>>6278568
“Orcs’re already pretty piggy, a lotta the time,” ZZ comments. “The pink’s unexpected, though. Khorine?”

“Well, we had to base the new pattern—uh, template, I think the Patmo-Shokans call it—on SOMETHING we knew would work… And we were NOT going to use the Ettercap’s foundling template!”

“Huh? Why not?” Zith-Zi teases. “Not a fan of spiders, kid?”

“S-silence!” Khorine shouts, then continues. “And, well, Ayla told me that you were… That your goblin characteristics were modified in a way that’s not too different from the way in which this forge changes things, but with an emphasis on the cosmic energies of the Bonum Chaoticum—which of course I’M already very familiar with—and since our ‘templates’ was already recorded from our kidnapping…”

“…Ya based the ‘new Dura’ on me?? Fuck, I dunno’ if I should be flattered or creeped out.”

You’re still standing before this ‘new Dura’, staring up at her. Her eyes are still small, but less deeply sunken than before, and glowing with the spark of an inner glow that twinkles in that distinctly fairy fashion. Once pitch black, they now carry flecks of a golden hue in deep wells of deep, rich brown.

“…Is good?” Dura asks shyly, her voice still just as husky, and just as quiet, as ever.

>Shake your head—you preferred the old Dura, and this weirds you out
>You just nod—enough to give the girl some reassurance [platonic galpals locked]
>Reach out and give her hands a squeeze [leads Dura on, doesn’t advance relationship from your end]
>leap up and throw your arms around her in a big hug [increases relationship between CZ and Dura on both sides]
>Kiss the porc [Initiates more serious relationship]
>Write-in

>>6278569
>You just nod—enough to give the girl some reassurance [platonic galpals locked]
Can't cheat on Empy here
Yeb got a longer lifespan, what's super about new Dura?

>>6278596
>Yeb got a longer lifespan, what's super about new Dura?

Ayla claimed that orcs lacked the spiritual sophistication to understand advanced arcane principles.

Gnomes are the most magical of the small folk races. And zith-zi being theoretically a pseudo gnome (or at least gnome adjacent) was able to cast prismatic spray a fairly advanced spell inspite of not being a very scholarly individual.

Maybe we can have dura do a spellcasting roll to see if she can cast something with her soul's new energies?

This line especially makes me believe she might be able to cast something, like a proper hedge witch. >>6278569
>. Her eyes are still small, but less deeply sunken than before, and glowing with the spark of an inner glow that twinkles in that distinctly fairy fashion.

>Write-in: Go call in the Unseelie that Zith-zi brought and ask them if they can teach Dura a fey spell.

>>6278665
[A perfectly acceptable write-in! I'm going to treat this as "platonic galpals" for the purposes of the relationship vote, if you don't specify, though.]

>>6278569
>>You just nod—enough to give the girl some reassurance [platonic galpals locked]

>>6278569
>You just nod—enough to give the girl some reassurance [platonic galpals locked]

>>6278569
>Reach out and give her hands a squeeze [leads Dura on, doesn’t advance relationship from your end]

>>6278995
>>6278727
>>6278713
>>6278665
>>6278596
[Locked, and writing soon!]

>>6279051
As you look over the shiny new ‘porc’, an idea strikes you—a notion so exciting that you reach out to grab Dura by her hand. Only when you’re a hair’s breadth away do you stop yourself. At the edge of the orc’s aura, you sense the same scintillating sensation of latent desire. It’s intoxicating, and not unappealing…

(But what about Empy?)

You’re not exactly married to the monster after a single rebound fuck, but, well… You like the big lump, at elasta little. AND you like Dura. Jumping between the two wouldn’t be fair to either… And to the latter, it might proves extremely dangerous, if The Naked Emperor turns out to be the possessive type.

“Hey,” you say instead, “I got an idea! Ayla, you aid orcs were no good at magic, right?”

Ayla glances between the two of you quickly, and gives you a disapproving look. If you didn’t know better—which you don’t’ actually, but you still wouldn’t’ have expected it—Ayla is embarrassed to have her unflattering assessment called out in front of the (former?) orc in question. Dura doesn’t raise a stink, though, and Ayla simply sighs.

“I think I understand what you’re getting at, yes,” she says.

“Like, c’mon Dura!” you exclaim, and beckon her after you. “We gotta go see some gyrfairies, an’ see what you can do!”

“Hey, wait up!” Zith-Zi shouts after you. “Take Yeb, too, if yer doin’ that! Figure out what spells HE’S packin’, too!”

You’re excited to discover Dura’s full Fey potential, but you manage to slow yourself down enough for the elder archer to accompany the two of you. The hardest part is FINDING the fairies: even mortal fair folk like elves struggle to locate True Fey who don’t want to be found, without a spell to reveal them. You’d hope that you could ask their ‘boss’, but, uhh…

“What’s wrong with it?” asks Yeb-Uit, as Dura prods with his witch-staff at the still-soupy hundun sprawled across the floor of the chamber.

“Alive,” Dura confirms, and sniffs warily at the end of the stick with which she jabbed it. “No sick.”

“P-probably jus’ tired. Ya know, like… From the party? ‘N tarvelin’, an’ all that?”

“Did I travel to the Heavens, or down into the Realms of Hell? Me oh my, oh me, OH MY… Ho ho… He heee~”

You feel your face flush, and since Empy seems too scrambled to make much more sense than that just yet, you decide to leave him be. Luckily, it isn’t much later that the Fey find YOU.

>>6279080
“Nei!” they greet you, as the four feather-clad, beak-nosed, black-eyed Unseelie Fey who your sister brought back from the northeastern steppe float around you, appearing at the edge of your perception as if simply sliding out of your blindspot.

“Nei?” Dura repeats.

You shrug, unsure what it means either, even as the Unseelie in question prance about through the air, singing what you HOPE are your praises:

“Nei! Nei! Ofil'nishiss ulu toun! Zuch ofil'nishiss wun ilta alurl, wun waess cha'kohkev xor du'ased!”

“Uh, like… Okay, but we’re actually—”

“Raldar tarthe l'trisk, raldar tarthe l'waess,” they continue laughing and cavorting. “Il noamuth ulu udossta Valshar, jhal uk muth natha i'dol ulu nez!”

“Fairies are fuckin’ annoying,” Yeb-Uit grumbles, and Dura nods.

You wince, and raise your voice, projecting a bit of psychic force into the words: “HEY! KNOCK IT OFF!”

That gets the gyrfairies’ attention, it seems. After a few failed attempts to communicate in Common, you’re able to—through pantomime and psionic nudging—get them to understand more or less what you’re here for.

“So?” you ask, gesturing to Yeb-Uit and Dura. “Can ya teach ‘em a spell?”

“Ulu screa morfethen draeval,” comments one fairy, with an air of uncertainty.

“Draeval zhah'na pholor dosst suul,” adds another, and the first nods along, as if agreeing.

“Zhah ol quin draeval ulu plynn vel'bol udos zhahen gultahe, p'los udos gultah dos udossta ehmtu draeval?” demands (you think?) a third.

“Vel'klar zhah L'Tala Uss Vel'uss Letrael?” asks the fourth, looking around.

(Oh boy… You REALLY should’ve brought Ayla or Zith-Zi along. Maybe you can go get ‘em?)

As if sensing your confusion, one of the gyrfairies gives you a pitying look, and the gaggle chirp and squawk amongst themselves for a time. Finally the sympathetic Unseelie floats closer to Dura, orbiting around her and poking and prodding at her flesh—no, at her aura, with her body merely in the way! Dura flinches a little, but holds her ground, her orcish courage undiminished by her changed form.

When the fairies turn back to you, each of the four speaks in tandem. Despite the cacophony—and the fact that you don’t speak their language, like, at ALL—you can understand these arcane syllables clearly, for they carry the subtle charge of the underlying effects:

“<Fairie Nectar>,” says one.

“<Soothe>,” suggests the second.

“<Wither>,” grins the third.

“<Hex Scar>,” says the fourth quietly, regarding Dura with new respect and caution.

>>6279082
You consider these options as the fairies next approach and appraise Yeb-Uit. He takes it a lot less well, shifting uneasily and yanking his limbs back when they reach for them, with a quiet snarl. This is amusing, and thus distracting, but Dura is waiting for you expectantly. You’re not sure if she isn’t yet adept enough to intuit the subtle vibrations of mage-speech as readily as you do or if—even having been snubbed romantically—she just trusts you that much.

(C-cute…)

Eventually, the gyrfairies circle back to you, shaking their heads.

“Nindol uss zhah naut saph l'byr, ravv saph l'tala uss,” says the first.

“Nindol uss zhah naut tangis'saph dos,” adds the second.

“Nindol uss zhah b'vecko,” the third says with a shiver.

“Udos xun naut saph nindol uss,” spits the third, and the others all nod in agreeance.

You and Dura look to Yeb-Uit, as if he might explain why the fairies are shying away from him and giving him the evil eye, but he just shrugs.

“I didn’t do shit,” he says.

Whatever they’re saying, and whyever they’re saying it, it’s plain that the gyrfalcon fairies have made a choice. They have no desire, or no ability, to tutor Yeb-Uit… But they COULD teach Dura a spell. The question is: which one?

>Faerie Nectar: Can imbue mundane food and drink with an effect that allows a meal to heal 2d6 HP; this also augments her potions and poultices from 1d8+2 to 2d8+2 when cast

>Soothe: Restores 1d4 HP and 1 MP to a target, and can potentially clear mind-affecting spells or cancel out a frenzy
>Wither: A touched target takes 1d10 damage and loses 1d3 MP, though it takes a few seconds to take effect

>Hex Scar: Places a cursed mark upon a target, allowing them to be sensed, tracked, and for pain to be inflicted upon them until it is dispelled (though it must be maintained daily with a ritual, and its range is not unlimited)

>None of these [Dura may learn another spell later, instead, or manifest something at random if pressed in combat]

>>6279084
>Hex Scar: Places a cursed mark upon a target, allowing them to be sensed, tracked, and for pain to be inflicted upon them until it is dispelled (though it must be maintained daily with a ritual, and its range is not unlimited)
This one got the big look of respect, so it must be the best

>>6279084
>Soothe: Restores 1d4 HP and 1 MP to a target, and can potentially clear mind-affecting spells or cancel out a frenzy
the scar sounds badass, but this will help us better early on

>>6279080
>“Did I travel to the Heavens, or down into the Realms of Hell? Me oh my, oh me, OH MY… Ho ho… He heee~”
strange that the emperor is still spent from it

>>6279084
>Faerie Nectar: Can imbue mundane food and drink with an effect that allows a meal to heal 2d6 HP; this also augments her potions and poultices from 1d8+2 to 2d8+2 when cast

Caldron craft is dura's strongest magic specialty. And more skills a mage has in a certain school of magic the easier it is for them to use and develop more spells under that specialty.

Also If the Robbing Ziwei bo doesn't go perfectly, or we need to make modification's to the pill's, or we only mange to grab the raw ingredient's. Boosting Dura alchemy skills could compensate for that. Since Dura does comprehend some of the principle's behind cultivation. https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6215391/#p6235313

These are me>>6278665
>>6275827
>>6272610

>>6279084
>Faerie Nectar: Can imbue mundane food and drink with an effect that allows a meal to heal 2d6 HP; this also augments her potions and poultices from 1d8+2 to 2d8+2 when cast
Is the meal effect a mass heal one? Or single target?

>>6279263
[If she preps a whole meal, everyone wh eats it benefits.]

>>6279336
nice.

>>6279336
Alright lads. Let's found an hospital where she make soups for 500 persons per meal. Ez Money

>>6279345
the effects may dilute if you try to sprwad them across more than a dozen people, and the food doesn't stay indefinitely enchanted.

>>6279263
>>6279220
>>6279112
>>6279102
[Alright, locking!]

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>6279534
You and Yeb-Uit wait and watch as the falcon-fairies walk Dura through the motions of <Faerie Nectar>. It struck you as the best option because, since she’s already such a good potion-brewer, you figured it would play to her strong suits. You still hope it does, but it’s a little comical watching the frustrated Unseelie coping with the language barrier by physically manhandling her through the movements. On Dura’s end, even with her shrunken tusks and a twinkle in her eye, it’s a real struggle for the sort-of-orc to sound out the complex and magically-charged phonetics of the spell’s verbal component…

Rolling Linguistics to see how well she fares, and whether she gains a bonus rank…

>>6279536
Unfortunately, it proves a little much for her. Dura’s newly smooth and unblemished forehead nevertheless crinkles up in consternation, until eventually she emits a distinctly orcish howl of irritation that sends the gyrfairies wheeling away in their bird-guises, only to come back cackling when Dura hangs her head and sulks over the failure.

“Hey, don’t sweat it!” you tell her.

“Better than I can do,” Yeb-Uit admits with a shrug, and with a pang of [green[jealousy[/green].

Indeed, the gyrfairies make is clear that Dura CAN cast the spell, with what she’s grasped from their lesson… Just as they make clear, even without words, that they strongly doubt her aptitude for becoming any sort of Disciple like Khorine.

“That’s what ya have Ayla for, anyway,” you reassure her, and add with a grin: “An’ me?”

Dura brightens a little at that, nodding and agreeing, as succinct as ever: “You.”

Dura gains 1 MP from the transformation, the spell Faerie Nectar, and the Fey subtype!

The lengthy lesson ends just in time, for no sooner have you gotten confirmation of Dura’s ‘graduation’ from the impromptu crash course than Zith-Zi summons you al with a roared:

“CEE ZEE! TIME TA GET A MOVE ON!”

You all jump to it, though you hover back to encourage the fairies—who, by their sniggering, must understand you—to scrape the hundun up off the floor and to get Empy ready as well. You’re honestly surprised he’s (or it’s?) still so spent—you two DID go at it pretty much all night, in ways most mortal beings wouldn’t even be CAPABLE of, but hey, YOU feel fine! Better than ever, even!

(…Oh, wait, you totally succ’d Empy dry, didn’t you? If it had been Martyn or Dura, they’d probably just be dead…)

Feeling equal parts embarrassed and eager to go for another round, you manage to squeeze your boner into your Patmo-Shokan flight suit and its attendant blue-silver armour plating. Being a shapeshifter comes in handy, since it’s still not exactly made with Zith-Zi sizes titties in mind, and your slender ‘Cara’ frame fails to fill it out properly where it needs to be snug. You get dressed up in record time, even!... Though you’re still the last one there, with even The Naked Emperor pulling himself together before you arrive.

(That’s cheating, though—he doesn’t wear any clothes at all! It’s in the name!)

>>6279543
“Alright, Regiment!” Zith-Zi barks, raising her voice over the commotion of everyone else and quickly commanding their silence. “The plan’s simple, but here’s reminder in case any of ya are MORE simple: we go in with the hundun here all leashed up.”

“How exciting,” enthuses Empy. “I’ve never been a captive before! Or a spy. Or walked on a leash!”

ZZ ignores the interruption—or tries, though you can feel the pang of her annoyance, and pretty much ANYONE could see the vein standing out on her forehead—and carries on.

“Now, we AIN’T leavin’ the lump there in the lich’s clutches. That’s where it gets less simple. Walkin’ him through will get us pasta lotta defences, maybe get us nice ‘n snuggly with this rotten-ass son-of-a-bitch… But I have it on Ayla’s authority that he’s not been spendin’ his misbegotten excuse for an afterlife lazin’ around doin’ salesman shit. In ADDITION ta all that magic shit he’s got in his shop, he’s got staff—that means mooks, minions, BODIES between us an’ the exit potentially. He’s got magic ta control ‘n command demons—”

You make a choking sound before you can stop yourself, drawing all eyes to you. This includes Zith-Zi, who cringes, and nods, confirming your concerns.

“We gotta either keep up the ruse until we have the pills in hand and are OUTTA there, figure out a way to bully the bastard inta forkin’ over the ingredients and recipe… Or we gotta secure the lich himself, and drag him out. None of ‘em is an easy option.”

Zith-Zi’s pacing brings her back to where she started where she throws out her luscious, lupine cloak behind her dramatically and crosses her arms under her bust, fixing you all with her signature stare.

“So!” she says. “Now’s the time ta bring up any bright ideas! Otherwise, Ayla’s openin’ that portal, ‘n we’re off!”

Do you have any ‘bright ideas’ for a strategy or approach, beyond what you’ve already decided? All non-mutually exclusive ideas will be considered and integrated unless other anons are strongly against them.
>Yes [write-in]
>No

Who will you bring?
Note: if you bring more than 8 party members, Ayla may not be able to bring you all back without a boost to her MP, though there are likely means available…
>Zith-Zi (comes with Hershy; he doesn’t count for extra because he’s so small)
>Cara-Zi (counts double due to Spell Resistance)
>Yeb-Uit
>An-Yii (counts double due to Spell Resistance)
>Hershy
>Nermal
>Khorine
>Xoldur
>Murbal
>Dura
>Ayla
>Brand-Hrok (counts double due to Spell Resistance)
>The Naked Emperor
>Gyrfalcon Fairies (can take up to 4 of them)

>>6279544
>Yes [write-in]
Empy might be our biggest asset here, its abilities make it a top tier grappler. Make sure any bindings are loose and can be quickly shrugged off - if Ziwei Bo gets close to inspect the goods immediately grab his squishy caster ass.

>Zith-Zi (comes with Hershy; he doesn’t count for extra because he’s so small)
Leader & sister 1
>Cara-Zi (counts double due to Spell Resistance)
Combat freak and sister 2
>Dura
Healing - hopefully unneeded but things can always go wrong
>Ayla
Mage
>The Naked Emperor
Trojan Horse
>Khorine
Other mage? Eager to take down an unnatural lich? Child endangerment?
>Gyrfalcon
Air support

>>6279579
I think we should bring either Xoldur or Murbal instead of Dura or Khorine.

The lich could be partially immune to certain types of damage. The light rune sabers that Zith, Xoldur, Murbal and brand-hrok wield are the only weapons we have that are guaranteed to work him. (and guaranteed to work on controlled intangible demons if he has any.)

>>6279544
>No

>Zith-Zi (comes with Hershy; he doesn’t count for extra because he’s so small)
>Cara-Zi (counts double due to Spell Resistance)
>Xoldur
>Dura
>Ayla
>The Naked Emperor
>Gyrfalcon Fairies

File: team update.png (23 KB, 1733x225)

23 KB PNG

[Oh, and a little update on stats for the Regiment.]

>Yes
Get Dura to stock us snacks for emergency healing for the squad (Sandwich of greater healing, applejuice of healing in flasks...)

>Zith-Zi (comes with Hershy; he doesn’t count for extra because he’s so small)
>Cara-Zi (counts double due to Spell Resistance)
Don't forget her censer as i'm pretty sure it'll mess up lichchink
>Yeb-Uit
Supergoblin go
>Xoldur
>Murbal
Muscle + radsabers
>Ayla
>Naked Emperor

>>6279599
Maybe - Gyrfalcon natural weapons also tend to count as they're Fae, and nature magic usually has a spell or two for undead specifically.

I would be totally ok with just adding the orcs and going over the 8 limit though.

File: away team.png (22 KB, 623x284)

22 KB PNG

>>6279723
>>6279664
>>6279643
>>6279599 (unsure if this is a vote on its own?)
>>6279579
It looks like we're going:
>No Khorine
>No Dura
>No Yeb-Uit
>Dura can make snacks, though :)
>Empy should be ready to grapple
>CZ, make sure you bring your censer!

Meanwhile, your confirmed team is:
>Zith-Zi + Hershy
>Cara-Zi
>Xoldur
>Murbal
>Ayla
>The Naked Emperor
>At least one Gyrfalcon Fairy

[I realize I forgot to have you confirm HOW MANY Gyrfalcon Fairies you're bringing. I'm going to update anyway now, but I'll leave that ambiguous until next update and, in addition to the vote at the end of this udpate, I'm going to ask that you please vote on this matter...]

How many Gyrfairies do you bring?
>Just one, so you can reliably teleport the whole team back under Ayla's power without securing additional MP (as long as she's still able)
>All four, for maximum air support (though it means in an emergency escape, someone's getting left behind)
>Write-in

>>6279924
>Just one, so you can reliably teleport the whole team back under Ayla's power without securing additional MP (as long as she's still able)

>>6279924
“Aww, do we really gotta leave Dura behind?”

“Yes! She ain’t a combatant—no offence, Dura.”

“But we jus’ got her all trained up in, like, magic!”

“Combat magic?”

“…Well, uh…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. The answer’s still no, CZ. Yer girlfriend stays p-put!”

“Hey! She’s not… She’s not, like… Don’t s-say stuff like that in front of Empy, ZZ!”

“Huh? Why the fuck not?”

“Heheheh! Uh, nevermind! Hey, Dura, let’s go make some sandwiches ‘n tea ‘n shit fer the away team, huh?”

You stare after your fleeing clone-sister as she drags Dura along after her, to the capsule where you’ve taken to storing your perishable foodstuffs. You shake your head in befuddlement. What was all THAT about? And ‘Empy’? Well, whatever—it ain’t your problem, and getting some snacks for the road isn’t the worst idea… Though if all goes well, you won’t need to eat anything in the VERY short time you’re hoping to be away, before Ayla teleports you back.

…Ayla who, you remember with no small amount of dread, could be compromised by Ziwei Bo.

“Hey, CZ!” you shout after her. “Don’t forget that incense holder, either!”

“It’s a censer!” Carazzi pauses. “Or was it a brazier?”

“WHATEVER!”

The Brazier of Revealing Haze: a censer full of cultivated herbs which, when lit, makes it harder for demons and fairies to enter one’s mind, increases the DC of all attempts by spellcasters to use their magic, breaks invisibility, and makes shapeshifting more difficult. Must be restocked after use.

You turn your attention to ‘Empy’ next, and to the fairy holding his leash. Though the hundun’s little followers are quite overprotective of their massive ‘monarch’, you’re able to persuade them to hand the reins off to you.

“Don’t worry—ain’t like we bound yer Boss here tight, anyway. Hundun—uh, Emperor, whatever—you good? Feelin’ limber, like you could burst out ‘n grab a guy?”

“Miss Zi, it wouldn’t much matter how you bound me—no rope can hold a hundun! I’d simply shift my shape out of it.”

“Well, don’t tell Ziwei Bo that,” you say seriously. “If he asks, we… Uh… Caught ya in a ‘lattice of law’, got it?”

“Would that work?”

“Damned if I know,” you admit, since you never actually had cause to try, thanks to his fixation on your freakier half.

(Wait… CZ was being all weird, and she’s hardly even been moping about Meadowgrass. Did her and the hundun… No way. No. That’s nuts. It has to be something else!)

>>6279942
“Anyway,” you say, grimacing at the mental image you accidentally conjured. “How’re you fairies for radiant damage, anyway? You know, uh… Like this?”

You lift and flick the cylinder that forms the hilt of your luminous energy-weapon, the ‘rad-saber’. Xoldur and Murbal each have one, too, which is half the reason you brought the half-orc siblings; the other half is that, since you’ve been training them yourself, you know you can trust them in a scrap. Unfortunately, the gyrfairies give you less cause for confidence: they seem equal parts wowed by, and wary of, the radiant blade.

“Udos zhahen rusvanus dal l'zeklet'taune ssussun d'udossta beldroin,” explains one bitterly.

“Xun naut gotfrer dosst iglata, nindel dos orn morfeth udossa 'sovah!” demands the other.

You can make out just enough syllables in common with the tongue of the Sylvan Elves—which you picked up around adventurers and from your old buddy Tips—to tell that they’re saying something about being bad with heavenly energies ever since they stopped being ‘Seelie’, and that they want you to make good on your promise to transform these four—and maybe their friends back home?—in exchange for their service.

“Forge’s coolin’ off, boys. Uh, or girls, or whatever-the-fuck y’all are. But when we get back with these pills, you’ve got a spot in line.”

That seems to mollify them, but it also confirms that your air support is mostly going to be good for sneaking, illusion, and stuff like that, rather than raining holy fire down upon this lich.

(Damnit… No, no, it’s fine. You got this! You’re a strong, independent nilbog who don’t need no Fey!)

With your party picked and last minute snacks secured—and faintly ‘glowing’ when you focus your mage senses, which is weird—you turn to Ayla and nod. The Henzler hedge-witch needs no further instruction:

“<Dimension Door.>”

>>6279944
She opens a portal between Patmo-Shoka and River’s Mouth—or so you assume—where your unwitting target awaits your shocking betrayal. You turn around to look back at those you’re leaving behind, including a quite sulky-looking Khorine.

“I can help,” she insists. “What about my twig blights?”

Part of you wants to say ‘what about ‘em?’ since you’re sure the lich has much mightier minions. The kid’s grown on you like a cuter-than-average fungus, though, so instead you say:

“I know. ‘N Yeb-Uit’s a super-gob, an’ An-Yii and Dura are damn good healers, an’ the Blueberries are ancient knights or whatever. That’s why you’re the best bet to keep this place safe while we’re gone, Khorine.”

The goat-girl brightens a little at that, then hastily affects a look of grim determination.

“You can count on me to maintain the sacred balance of this place, and to protect it from corruption.”

You smirk a little. “Sure thing, kid. Don’t fuck it up, don’t stay up too late, an’ don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You nod to An-Yii and Yeb-Uit, and then look back to Khorine and add:

“Oh, and make sure these two do some goddamn work in between all the fuckin’, huh?”

You dive through the <Dimension Door> to the sound of An-Yii cussing you out in Goblang.

…

>>6279945
When you all emerge from the portal, the sudden change in smell, temperature, and time of day tells you and your team have been transported half-way across the Earth. To your surprise, though, you’re NOT in some bustling Easterling city, but rather alongside a muddy-looking river. By the way it rushes by, you assume it to be quite deep, and it’s certainly wide enough to impress, and to accommodate quite large boats, but even so…

“Is this seriously THE Goldenriver?” you ask, sneering a little. “The one these shmucks named their whole-ass civilization after? It’s kinda shit.”

“Heavily-traveled rivers with millions of people living upstream often are,” Ayla says, with her usual know-it-all air and a touch of defensiveness. “This river has more people living along its banks than even Hawksong has perhaps ever seen!”

“Uh huh,” you say, already losing interest. “But the lich is in town, so why’re we here?”

“Ooo, ooo, I know this one! It’s ‘cause the Easterlings don’t like foreigners in their cities!”

“Very good, Carazzi,” says Ayla, to your doppelganger’s delight.

“Then why not teleport us right to ‘im?” you ask. “Like, inta his shop?”

There is a brief silence, and then you sigh.

“Wards?”

“Wards,” Ayla confirms.

(Fucking khoblis-ass motherfucking LICHES.)

“Uuuugh, too much talk talk talk,” laments Murbal, kicking a nearby rock into the river. “Want fight ‘lich’!”

>>6279946
“We have two angles of approach, as I see it,” Ayla says, ignoring the she-orc’s outburst. “We can secure entry for our whole company—quite possible with my abilities or Carazzi’s—and we’ll need to disarm ourselves of any obvious weaponry, and to hide or contain the hundun…”

“I can shrink down quite small, when I wish, you know.”

“…Or we can bring only those needed for the negotiation—and who can pass for locals, or hide themselves—and convince Ziwei Bo to join us here to make the exchange, and then spring our trap.”

The latter would have some distinct advantages, which you immediately clock: he’d have to BRING the pills with him to make such an exchange, which would mean you’d know for SURE he’s got the goods which you mean to shake him down for. The downsides are painfully obvious, too, though: you’d be at reduced strength and in the belly of the beast for an extended period of time.

Or, well, the OTHERS would be. You don’t exactly look ‘local’. You’d be sending CZ, Ayla, some fairy air support hidden under invisibility or that bird-guise of theirs… Maybe a few others, if you don’t mind them attracting attention and can think of a good excuse to put off any suspicion with Ziwei Bo.

(And if you all went and confronted this lich in his enigmatic Emporium, there’d be more chance of scoring additional magic loot, which appeals to your instincts as a former gobliness AND a professional adventurer…)

>You’ll all go together, and confront Ziwei Bo in his Emporium of Wonders
>You’ll send a squad [who?] and lure Ziwei Bo here to make the exchange
>Write-in

Don't forget >>6279924 too!

>>6279947
>You’ll all go together, and confront Ziwei Bo in his Emporium of Wonders
The only ones we could send to lure him here are the ones vulnerable to being demon commanded.
Also our main weapons are the rad sabers and they're pretty discreet

>>6279947
>>You’ll all go together, and confront Ziwei Bo in his Emporium of Wonders

>Just one, so you can reliably teleport the whole team back under Ayla's power without securing additional MP (as long as she's still able)

>>6279947
>You’ll all go together, and confront Ziwei Bo in his Emporium of Wonders
>>6279924
>Just one, so you can reliably teleport the whole team back under Ayla's power without securing additional MP (as long as she's still able)

>>6280332
>>6279953
>>6280066
>>6279931
[It's a unanimous decision! Writing soon.]

>>6280362
“If you two can get us in, we’ll all go,” you decide. “The best weapons we got against this lich are the rad-sabers, anyway, ‘n they’re pretty ‘discreet’.”

(Besides, if you just send those who can best blend in or hide themselves, that also means sending those most vulnerable to the lich’s demonological manipulations, and no damn WAY are you letting any creepy corpse get his undead fingers on your sister!)

With the decision made, most of your party hunkers down to wait, anyway—much to Murbal’s continued consternation—while Ayla and Carazzi flag down a barge. Only Ayla is particular adept in the Eastern Commontongue, while CZ is there to end her psychic suggestions to the mix if needed.

“Is danger. You let enemy choose where fight.”

Xoldur comments quietly, so as not to undermine you. That’s good, and a long way from where you two started, with the young half-orc trying to boss you around by dint of his chieftain daddy, his height, and his culture’s attitude towards the fairer sex. His apprenticeship has really smartened him up!

“He don’t know we’re fightin’ yet, though, right?” you point out shrewdly, tapping your nose. “And c’mon, Xol, you oughtta know this already: whether you’re raidin’ or adventurin’, sometimes you gotta’ go where the danger lives if you wanna’ rob its house, ya’ know?”

Xoldur grunts and seemingly rescinds his counterpoint, convinced by your clever reasoning. Making the argument aloud, and seeing the younger warrior’s faith in you hold steady, does you good as well. It helps put your won nerves at ease.

“Bah!” Xoldur’s sister is less convinced, evidently. “Want fight NOW, not later.”

…

>>6280389
When CZ and Ayla return, they have secured not just a boat, but a box. The former will carry you up the river; the latter will hide the hundun in-transit.

“To be perfectly clear, though, this box can’t hold me,” The Naked Emperor reminds you. “I could easily burst out of it and kill everyone on board. Oh! OR, I could burst out of it and we could all sing, and dance, and maybe go for a swim? How about that? In fact, we could skip the box altogether and…”

You leave persuading the chatty creature to CZ, unable to stand its incessant off-topic yammering. Carazzi seems far more patient with the blob of lard, and before long , she and the orcs are working together with all their might to seal the crate around the condensed and confined hundun, until finally—with a flick of her wrist and some subtle, silent spell—Ayla latches it and seals it inside.

“Now would be a good time to change your mind about simply trading the beast to Ziwei Bo,” Ayla suggests quietly.

You look at the crate, and listen to the hundun shift and strain inside, but ultimately decide against it. CZ seems attached. Besides, even if the fat bastard IS a lunatic, it talks too much for you to think of it as anything other than a person, and you’re out of the people-trading game.

“I’m mostly outta the people-robbin’ game, too, to be clear,” you tell Ayla. “Liches don’t count.”

Ayla shrugs, feigning indifference. You recognize fear, though. This demon-witch is powerful, but even she’s worried about this guy. It’s a little ominous.

At least the boat is nice enough: a sturdy, flat-bottomed barge, broad enough to haul two dozen passengers and their cargo, but shallow-drafted enough to scrape over the trickiest sandbars this side of River’s Mouth. Its hull is lacquered in weathered jade-green and oxblood red, patched here and there with rougher, browner planks from upriver, but you’ve traveled in worse, and the barge’s crew—barefoot, sun-browned Easterlings with straw hats, loose vests, and arms thickened by a lifetime of rowing upriver—don’t spare much more than a glance at your party. To them, you’re just another bunch of weirdos heading upstream, one crate heavier and a few coins lighter.

Well, except maybe for Xoldur and Murbal. They get some looks.

“What’s their damage?” you ask, beginning to get a little annoyed on their behalf, even as Murbal makes faces and Xoldur remains stoic as a stone.

“Orc live in north and east,” Xoldur explains with a shrug. “Like when go get hundun. Men know. Men fear.”

He says the last bit with a subtle note of pride, which Murbal makes overt by lunging at a passing, sneering human with a ‘WAAGH!’ The man screams like a girl and falls over, dropping his armful of thick hemp mooring ropes he’s carrying, to Murbal’s evident amusement. You roll your eyes, and give her a warning look, but don’t bother to intervene otherwise.

>>6280390
The boat lurches into motion. You stroke Hershy’s feathers to calm the old drake down, and stay out of the way as the crew goes about their duties.

It takes approximately two hours of travel to reach Goldenriver’s richest city. Long before you arrive, you spot the telltale signs of wealth trickling downstream, just as you used to recognize when you were existing the Goblin Wastes proper, and approaching civilized society—people on the docks you pass or stop in at are better-dressed, with more cargo moving on and off of their well-tended moorings from many a vessel like your own ferry… And many more servants, be they bent-over men and women or hairy, animal-headed beastmen of various breeds.

Eventually, you come to a great gate upon the river itself: the city’s approach is marked by a sprawling barricade stretched right across the water. It’s a ramshackle construction, but formidable in its sheer scale, and effective at its purpose. The ‘gate’ is cobbled together from thick ropes, knotted driftwood spars, and the splintered ribs of old junks. It sags with the weight of its myriad materials, a floating fence that forces every vessel to pause and endure official scrutiny before passing into the teeming heart of Goldenriver’s commerce.

“Who’re they?” CZ whispers to Ayla.

“Guards,” you answer in her stead. “Duh.”

“The River-Keeper Constabulary,” Ayla further specifies.

Patrolling its length, the humans in question are impossible to miss: they stand in pairs on reed-floored skiffs, their figures swaddled in quilted jackets and lacquered lamellar vests, every one of them sporting a wide-brimmed, conical. The gate may be a patchwork, but their armour is as official-looking as any Paladin’s, albeit distinctly oriental: rather than the plate-armour favoured by the gryphon-riding champions of Hawksong, or even the mixed chest-plate, chain, and treated leather of the city guards in the northwest of the world, the locals favour scale-mail, the treated metal shining golden-bronze like rows of coins stretches across their puffed-out chests.

“Uh, okay. But, like… I meant the monkeys.”

Each of the little skiffs carries not just men, but—yes—monkeys. Or, well, orange-furred monkey-men, long of limb and melancholy of expression, gliding their narrow boats to and fro with huge, paddle-shaped hands. They move with the weary efficiency of those who’ve done this for far too long, hooting softly to one another and signaling with their fingers which way they will pass, while the Constabulary go about probing and poking at cargo as they go, and demanding papers, signet rings, or other tokens of legitimate passage.

>>6280391
Your grip tightens on your scimitar. You’ve carried this thing ten, maybe fifteen years now… Maybe longer. It’s been your closest companion besides Hershy since before you met Tips—before Hawksong, before going ‘legit’, before CZ. It may not be magical, but you’ve kept it battle-ready for half a goblin lifetime now.

You’re not alone in sentimental attachment, either: Xoldur is readily to relinquish his axe, but Murbal is clutching that shiny steel shield of hers close to her chest with wide eyes. You give her brother a look, and he answers:

“Mother’s.”

You don’t know much about the half-orc’s human parent, save that she ended up in the harem of their father, popped out two half-bloods, then kicked the proverbial bucket somewhere along the way. What you do get, though, is that Murbal’s even more attached to her shield than you are to your saber.

(And if they start snooping around TOO thoroughly, well… They might want to see what’s shuffling around in that big old box of yours.)

One of the shaggy orange beastmen is paddling his guard buddies over right now. What are you going to do about this?

>Have Ayla and CZ use up some magic to mid-trick these bureaucratic bums
[-1 MP to both, but you keep all your gear]
>You and Xoldur will try to talk to them, and persuade them that they don’t need to take ALL your stuff
[diplomacy effort, chance to keep some or all of your stuff]
>You’ll talk to Murbal, and get her to hand over your shield as you’re going to hand over your sword
[leadership roll]
>Write-in

>>6280392
>You and Xoldur will try to talk to them, and persuade them that they don’t need to take ALL your stuff
We'll give up the scimitar, but a shield isn't a weapon, surely Murbal can keep it on her.

>>6280392
>You and Xoldur will try to talk to them, and persuade them that they don’t need to take ALL your stuff

>>6280392
>You and Xoldur will try to talk to them, and persuade them that they don’t need to take ALL your stuff

Maybe toss some coin on the guardsman if he makes too much of a ruckus.

me>>>6279220

Rolled 15, 11, 17, 10 = 53 (4d20)

>>6280604
>>6280502
>>6280407
“Xoldur, c’mon.”

You think of bringing Ayla instead, since she speaks the language better and all, opt for the closest thing the Steelwood’s Wolfpack Horde seems to have to a diplomat instead. Sure, The very idea of ‘orc diplomacy’ is laughable, but so is the idea of Ayla being anything but abrasive or standoffish without using her precious reserved of magic. You may have warmed up to her a little, but a Henzler is still a Henzler, and like the human girl she was cloned from, or their antagonistic Archmage of a mother, Ayla is very much a Henzler. You and your half-orc apprentice meet the approaching boat, instead.

“Hey!” you shout in greeting, and then wince at the suspicious and uncomprehending squint of the approaching river-cnstables. “Shit, fuck. Uh…”

“Jiàn guò,” Ayla provides from behind you.

“Right, right. I knew that! ‘John Goo Oh’!”

The constabulary seem no more at ease than they were a moment ago. As their hairy servant steers them closer, they take up weapons like curved shortsword son the end of poles. You’ve seen hobgoblins wield that sort of thing before—you think they’re called pudao, but you gobs always knew them as ‘horse-choppers’, because they were ideal for reaching up to slice taller creatures and their riders.

(They’d be pretty good for stabbing and slashing up from the lower skiffs to the deck of the boat you’re traveling on, too…)

“Nǐ shì shéi! Nǐ xiǎng gàn shénme?”

Even before your middling memory of East-Common comes back to you, you’d recognize from context that these guards are hitting you with the classic ‘half, who geos there’ routine common across the whole damn world with these types.

“Wǒmen shì... uh, qīngbái de lǚxíng zhě, lái nǐmen zhè zuò... Fuck, I think it’s… wěidà de chéngshì zuò diǎn shēngyì?”

The guards’ dark eyes are blank wells of bureaucratic meddling, as you explain yourself as a humble traveler visiting their wonderful city (you think). They briefly linger and light on the larger and curvier sections of exposed pink skin, which gives you hope you can flaunt or flirt your way out of this in pinch. Their eyes finds Xoldur and Murbal, though, and they immediately grip their spears tighter and dispel you of the notion.

“…I mean,fēicháng wěidà de chéngshì?”

Rolling 4d20: Linguistics for you, with bonuses from Xoldur’s diplomacy and Ayla’s presence...

>>6280657
Your further flattery of River’s Mouth draws their attention back to you. Slowly, lowering yourself to your knees as you do so, you remove your scimitar from its scabbard. Staring at its blade for possibly the last time-who knows if you’ll be able to come retrieve it?—you lay it flat beside you. You nudge Xoldur, who is twitchy and almost looks like he’s ready to ‘WAAGH’ himself; after a moment, he mirrors your movements, laying his axe out flat.

“Wǒmen tīngcóng nín de ānpái, you say, promising compliance.

The river-guards glower, and gesture to Xoldur.

“Zhège shòurén shì shéi? they ask, demanding to know his purpose in particular (though you can’t make our exactly what it is they called him).

You explain, as best you can, that he is your guard: Zhège rén shì wǒ de hùwèi.

“Tā bù shì rén,” snaps the human, “tā shì tóu zhū! Nà nǚ de ne?

He is looking to Murbal now. A low rumble, like a lupine growl, emerges from Xoldur’s throat; you jab his side, and he silences himself. You (mostly) trust him not to flip HIS shit, but if he gets started, then Murbal—still standing, still staring, still edgy—will be harder to keep under control.

You explain that Murbal is also your guard, but the constables don’t’ calm down.

“Tā wèishéme hái méi xiàguì, one demands, eyes on her shield. “Bǎ wǔqì fàngxià?!

“What human say?” Xoldur whispers.

“He wants to know why she hasn’t handed over the shield,” you provide. “Might need to part with some gold… These fuckers look bribable enough, right?”

Xoldur shrugs. It’s as if the idea of giving money to humans, rather than taking it from them by force or intimidation, never really occurred to him. With a thoughtful expression, though, he eventually says:

“Orc say, when you one thing and then another and only one can be true, ‘ lat rraf danak ar shezag.’ ‘You hit your shield with your sword.’ Is wisdom. Truth: shield si opposite fo sword. Can’t be weapon.”

Ayla places a hand upon your shoulder, startling you and Hershy both.

“There’s actually a proverb like that, among the Goldenriver race… A merchant claimed to have the strongest spears, capable of penetrating anything, and the strongest spears which could block any thrust. Asked what would happen if both were bought by different people who battled, his contradictions were exposed.”

None of that strikes you as terrible relevant, but together—and in a language that is FAR from your most fluent—you try to explain the inherent defensive and protective nature of a shield. Murbal looks ready to prove you all wrong by bloodying the shining surface of her roundel with a series of her signature shield-bashes, but she resists the compulsion.

>>6280666
17: success!

In time, the frustrated constables to accept your argument—or to get sick of you leading them round and round through pedantic linguistic arguments and proverbs butchered by foreigners, maybe—and they eventually let the matter pass. They order their monkey-man to paddle them elsewhere, and you all breathe a sigh of relief.

…Though not without a pang of regret. The pair of puffed-up tax-colectors leave with your sword, Xoldur’s axe, and the only reason they didn’t get CZ’s spear was that she forgot it at home.

“I was in a hurry,” she says, avoiding your eyes. “An’ my arms were full’ve sandwiches.”

You roll your eyes. Well, at least she’s been learning martial arts along with magic.

You’re among the tides of vessels permitted entry when the rope-gate is lowered. Your ferrymen proceed through to the interior docks, where they moor themselves and are all-too-pleased to see you and your Monstrous Regiment disembark. You tuck the voucher-token which the constables gave you—to redeem for your scimitar, if you ever get the chance—into your coin-purse in perhaps-vain hope that you can use it.

River’s Mouth is every bit the bustling, busy port-town you’d expect, albeit even less welcoming to strange races than Hawksong was, when last you lived there. People gawk or glare at your party without a care for how they might come across to you, and some even shout abuse in the local tongue. In spite of all that bullshit, the place is a beautiful, colourful cavalcade of sloping roofs, market stalls, wondrous novelties and delicious-smelling foodstuffs from every corner and quarter.

What will you do?
>Head straight to Ziwei Bo—time to get this over and done with
>Explore a little, get some food and take I the local culture [raises morale, risk of random encounter]
>There’s something specific you want before you confront the lich, actually… [write-in]

>>6280667
>Explore a little, get some food and take I the local culture [raises morale, risk of random encounter]
We need the morale boost, now that I recall the last time it declined.

>>6280667
>Explore a little, get some food and take I the local culture [raises morale, risk of random encounter]
We're in the middle of civilization, how bad could the random encounter be?

>>6280667
>Head straight to Ziwei Bo—time to get this over and done with.

We are walking around with two demons, a dark God in a create and an unseelie fey trailing behind us.

The guards might be spirituality and mystically ignorant but that doesn't the entire population is.

If we run into a mage or worse a follower of the light gods, we may be forced to answer some uncomfortable questions or to flee.

Me>>6280604

>>6280727
>>6280730
>>6280895
Locking and writing!]

>>6281071
“Ziwei Bo’s storefront—or the entrance to it, if it is indeed a demiplane—is this way. Just follow me and—”

“Hold on, Ayla. Not so fast!”

While you aren’t sure how safe the streets of River’s Mouth might be, you know damn well how badly-hit morale ahs been by… Recent events. It’s more than that, though, at least for you. Sure, you grew up in the boonies, in the goblin ghetto of some duty trade-road town and later in the Wastes, but you know what big city living is like. You LIKE the finer things, when you can get them, and River’s Mouth is in no way short of fine things. This could be just the boost your Regiment needs!

“It’s not wise,” Ayla insists, but she ahs no conviction in her voice; you know she loves this Oriental shit, down to dressing like an Eastwoman herself even when you’re back at the dungeon.

“Carazzi,” you summon your sister to attention. “You’ve been here before. What’s worth checkin’ out?”

“Oh! Oh oh! Ya GOTTA get these sesame dumplings they got, onna’ stick! They’re fuckin’ AMAZING!”

“Well, c’mon then. Lead the way!”

…

…

River’s Mouth is much like it was last time you visited: noisy with a cacophony of foreign voices, smelly in all the best AND worst ways, and resplendent with sights you’ve never seen before. Traveling the full breath of the city this time, from river-gate to the Emporium of Wonders, you see, smell, and hear even more of it! The muffled moans of men received street-dentistry, right out in the open and before gawking crowd; the burning scent people breathing fire with petty cantrips, to be reshaped by the illusions of racoon-looking beastmen; the sight of many caged, exotic animals. Floating demon-lanterns, bound to service but not needed in broad daylight, nestle beneath the overhanging roofs like colonies of bats, and you feel a kinship to them: today, YOU’RE with a colony of your own!

Traveling with a big group is a different experience than last time. In the crowded streets, it makes things slower-going, even WITH Murbal and Xoldur flanking the big box with Empy inside. They scowl and shoulder away anyone who comes too close—usually the rag-clad poor of this place, or the beastman servants of the wealthier ones. You hope the hundun is okay in its box… It must be like torture, to be surrounded by so much ‘novelty’—which it so craves—but being trapped inside that crate.

>>6281094
When your nose, ears, and eyes finally lead you to the sizzling sound of a grill, the oily sweetness of sesame and bean-paste, and the delicious golden-brown and seed-speckled balls you’ve been hunting, you make a point to convince Ayla and ZZ to snag a couple extra.

“One fer you, an’ one fer YOU.”

You hold one aloft for a small gyrfalcon to swoop down upon. It alights there, pecking at the exterior. Its black eyes light up, and a moment later both falcon and dumpling-kebab are gone. The other, you slip in through the briefly-unlatched top of the box containing The Naked Emperor.

“…Mm. Mmm! Tasty! Marvelous! Simply—”

ZZ thumps the box with her fist, and Empy goes silent. Your other half shoots you a disapproving look, and you grimace apologetically, and indulge in your own treat. ZIth-Zi rolls her eyes and bites down on her own, gasping briefly at the heart of it, and then rolling it around thoughtfully in her mouth.

“Shit,” she says, “this IS fuckin’ great”

“RIGHT??”

Wealth: 9 -> 8 points

Murbal’s Morale: Medium -> High
Xoldur’s Morale: Low -> Medium
Ayla’s Morale: Low ->Medium
Gyrfairy Morale: Low -> Medium
The Naked Emperor’s Morale: ???

While you are all eating, you continue people-watching, observing the market and taking in the faint spiritual ‘aroma’ of others anxieties and desires. These emotions are everywhere, but they linger most powerfully and lastingly around three locations. Each one calls to you, despite the urgency of the mission at hand:

>A circle of people gathered in a circle in an alley, many jangling handfuls of round metal balls stamped with queer symbols, and seemingly cheering for some game in-progress
>A tall, thin tower with a huge bell built into he structure, half-way up, and surrounded by softly-tinkling chimes and bells of all sorts
>A small, ramshackle tent which nevertheless has quite the line-up leading inside, past a sign bearing a hand with an eye on it; people emerge from the other end looking thoughtful, excited, or shaken
>A lone man with especially squinty eyes even for this part of the world, thin scars carved into his cheeks, and a hook with which he is jostling and collecting the demon-lanterns
>None of these interest you
Don’t worry about this roll. Relax, guy! Take a rest.