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>>6297401
You are the demontained goblinoid occultist self-styled ‘Carazzi Yosef’. You made a deal with the Emporium’s master, for alchemical medicine which could help transform you into a better class of being, worthy of the noble name you’ve recently reclaimed.

And you are also her nilbog soul-sister, Zith-Zi, the sword-swinging leader of the Monstrous Regiment. Ever since your other half was removed in a ritual to purify and prettify you, you have been looking out for CZ’s best interests however you can.

Originally, the two of you had intended to capture and turn over the legendary shapeshifting hundun in exchange for the potent pills which would awaken and empower Carazzi’s potential. Fortunately or unfortunately, those plans fell through: the hundun, styling itself ‘The Naked Emperor’ of the northeastern steppe, proved strangely charismatic despite being a mentally-unstable blob capable of producing random organs and extremities…

(…or maybe BECAUSE of that, depending who you ask…)

...And thus you had decided to steal the power of Ziwei Bo instead. You pretended to proffer The Naked Emperor, only to spring an ambush that swiftly incapacitated the lich, and cowed his subordinates. In his deepest and most secret sanctum, though, a vampiric watchman and a magically-tapped doorway delayed your triumph and weakened your warriors. By the time you bypassed these threats, and Carazzi chugged the still-liquid potion in a fit of demonic hedonism, the undying alchemist had arisen anew.

You bested him… But at no small cost.

The Naked Emperor lost one of his loyal gyrfalcon fairy followers, an ageless ally of old named Nasir.

And you… You lost your apprentice. His name was Xoldur, of the Steelwood’s Wolfpack Horde. He was a young half-orc whom you had taken under your wing as a sword-student, and with whom you had begun to forge a bond of mutual respect.

Until Ziwei Bo drained the life from his body, then ripped his beating heart from his still-living chest.

…

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…

Welcome back to CAMBION QUEST, the tale of two goblinoid girls striving to stake their place in an ever-weirder world. They struggle in the shadow of greater forces and grander designs than either can conceive, yet the decisions they make promise (or threaten?) to shift the very foundations of their world.

Previous volumes are at https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=reptoidqm , as well as the earlier quests set in the same world; only CQ is really required reading, though long-time players will recognize recurring characters, areas, and motifs.

It’s been a hell of a ride, but we’re entering our final arc now. Thank you all for joining me, putting up with my typographical errors, for helping to shape these characters and their universe.

With Ziwei Bo slain—by way of Ayla communing with Death Himself as you may recall—we pick back up right where we left off: in the interior of a demiplane without a dominus.

…

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>>6297405
You are happy. You really are! For one thing, you’re alive, and for a while there that was touch-and-go. You’re sore as shit, with a glorified zombie-wizard’s gross shadow-splooge all up in your wounds? Okay, sure. But that smug fucker is dead and dusted like few beings have ever been before, dragged kicking and screaming down into Death’s Domain. You’re alive, and your sis even MORE alive, being chock full of special Oriental super-sauce or some shit. That’s a win!

But Xoldur is dead.

You stand over the pale grey body of your first-ever student. His expression ought to be at peace, at least, having died (technically) in his sleep… But it’s not. His barbarically-handsome, tusk-framed mouth is stretched in a pained grimace. His eyes are half-open, unseeing but angry, defiant to the bitter end. No peace for this young fighter, then, even as his slayer joins him in the afterlife…

But then, maybe that’s how an orc would want it. Even unconscious, he died in a state of barbarian rage.

“We have to go,” Ayla reminds you urgently.

You turn to the cambion caster—your sister’s OTHER sister, from a different and deadlier sort of dalliance than that which produced you and CZ. You feel no great love for her even now, being the doppelganger of your old friend’s manipulative bitch girlfriend and all, but she’s earned her place among the Regiment’s ranks. Plus, she knows her shit: it’s her magecraft, and that of her man Veigar, which will soon allow CZ to have the life she always wanted… And, for good measure, turn your already-monstrous regiment into a true force to be reckoned with!

(A fortune-teller recently reassured you this was so… Well, more or less.)

“Carazzi is going to metabolize the last of the magic soon, if we don’t get her back to Patmo-Shoka,” Ayla nags you. “Remember how she DRANK it? ALL of it? That is NOT the intended method of ingestion!”

You sigh, turning your weary gaze from Xoldur’s corpse, and put on the brave face expected of a goblin Boss—an archetype you’ve become well-accustomed to playing.

“Yeah yeah, I hear ya,” you say with a smirk. “Ya oughtta be thankin’ CZ, ya know that? If she hadn’t got herself all suped-the-fuck-up, we mighta died back there.”

Ayla huffs and crosses her arms. Both of you look towards the cambion in question, and Carazzi looks equal parts sheepish and proud. Eventually Ayla sighs and nods, to CZ’s visible delight.

“Nonetheless, we NEED to leave, and NOW. Otherwise, it will all be for nothing.”

Now THAT, you can’t have. Xoldur—uh, and Nasir or whatever-the-fuck that fairy was called, you guess—dying for no practical gain would be a loss you’re not sure you could stomach… And you’re already feeling pretty sickly, to be honest, between all the bloodloss, the concussion, and the dark magic.

>>6297406
“Alright, whip up a Dimension Door and let’s blow this joint,” you say.

Ayla opens her mouth, then shuts it, looking away in embarrassment.

“What?” you groan. “What the fuck is it NOW?”

“Calling upon De—upon the Lord of Endings, it wasn’t an easy thing.” Ayla’s eyes flit back to you. “I can only transport four.”

“Four?” you repeat dully.

Now, arithmetic ain’t exactly a high priority where you were born and raised, but no adventurer-for-hire gets by without some basic math. Between you, CZ, Ayla, and the hundun, you’d have four—

croak!

—or five, counting your little golden-feathered drake buddy, Hershy, but he’s so small he doesn’t really count for this teleportation shit. But then there’s the matter of the other body—still breathing—on the floor beside Xoldur:

Your other apprentice, and his sister, Murbal.

“Can’t CZ just, I dunno, give ya some extra juice?” you cajole the caster.

“Uh,” Carazzi begins, shifting from foot to foot.

“No,” Ayla says bluntly. “Use your qi sense, Zith-Zi.”

You roll your eyes, then focus them and do so. Carazzi’s ‘aura’ still seems as bloated as her body ever since she gorged herself on Ziwei Bo’s special recipe, at first. Then you squint, and really see it: the thinness and sort of… Sparkliness?... Of the engorged energy-field. It’s just like the proverbial candle that burns twice as bright: it’s burning itself too damn fast.

Ayla’s right: it’s now or never.

But can you really just leave someone behind here? Abandon Xoldur’s still-warm body in the home of his killer? And even if you did… Who would you leave with it? The badly-injured hundun who the stragglers here would chop up for parts? Unconscious and helpless Murbal?

(…Stay behind yourself, like some heroic goddamn moron?)

It can’t be CZ, obviously, nor Ayla: one is the subject of this all-important ritual; the other is maybe the only one who can see it through to fruition.

Specify at least one character to travel through the Dimension Door. It can be more than one.

>Zith-Zi
>Murbal
>The Naked Emperor
>Everybody—you’ll all stay here together until Ayla recuperates her MP, even if it cost you the cultivation magic

>6297408
>Write-in: sage goes in all fields

>>6297408
Cant Ayla go around and kill some people to restore her mp? Cara comsumed mana from one of the foundlings grabbed and killed https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6179729/#p6209638

I assumed draining mana from beings you kill was a universal ability amongst demons.

And pretty sure some Ziwei's staff is still around here somewhere.

>>6297430
[The urgency is the thing, but I would allow it. Just be aware it will be a oervnrile roll for how it goes, and losing/dying or failing to capture them befor ethey leave and running out the clock on the metabolization of the pill-potion are on the table.]

>>6297415
[Sage does nothing here, anon.]

>>6297408
>Zith-Zi
Murbal is still knocked-out, so let's take care of the big guy.

>>6297449
> be a oervnrile roll
*be a percentile roll

Write-in: Help Alya go kill some of Ziwei' stragglers to recovery her Mp.

Anyone we leave here will be in great danger.
>>6297408
But can you really just leave someone behind here? Abandon Xoldur’s still-warm body in the home of his killer? And even if you did… Who would you leave with it? The badly-injured hundun who the stragglers here would chop up for parts? Unconscious and helpless Murbal?

And splitting the party without finshing off our enemies. Was how we got ourselves Into the situation in the first place

>>6297494
>+1
Ill support this write in, I say we go for Ma Wufeng, see if Ayla can root any secrets out of her head in the process, maybe have an idea where this lich kept specific stuff that we can snag on our way out, if not possible Ill concede to just draining Wufeng, just saying magic item shop probably got a few cool magic items Ziwei didnt keep up front that the lady of the house would know about, plus I dont want that bitch coming back to get us or finding some loophole to bring Ziwei back to come and get us (pretty sure he dead dead though as he got taken by deaths avatar)

>>6297494
+1

>>6297405
>It’s been a hell of a ride, but we’re entering our final arc now.
Guess this is it, huh.

>>6297494
+1

>>6297616
[Yep, the next 1 to 3 threads are the grand finale! I'm not going to hurry it along depending on how choices go, but that should be obvious since we've been running for months longer than expected, eh? Remember when this was supposed to be a short mini-quest?]

>>6297511
>>6297494
>>6297553
[Just to be clear, and not to steer anybody, but this does run a real risk of failing the main "mission" of the last couple threads in various ways. Being in the final stretch, I also won't be pulling punches.]

>>6297408
>The Naked Emperor
CZ needs it for moral support
We can stay here with Murbs and give her brother a proper orc burial, and browbeat Ma into showing us a more mundane way out of here.

>>6297637
We already rolled 1. We're karma-safe, as we say in my language - NoNoobNoArnak which mean NoNoobNoScam

>>6297637
That scares me so im changing my vote to bring empy as hes more inclined to protect CZ if Ayla tries any underhanded shit and will want to be with his posse especially with the loss of Nasir, ZZ will stay with Murbal as leaving Xoldurs body will not go over well and the steelwood orcs still need a heir to their chief, Murbal is going to be emotional from this and will need CZ for support as shes the closest thing Xoldur and her had as family besides one another in the Monstorous Regiment
>The Naked Emperor

>>6297408
>Specify at least one character to travel through the Dimension Door. It can be more than one.
alright, I misread it at first. changing vote to:

>Murbal
>The Naked Emperor

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>>6297807
>>6297654
>>6297639
>>6297616
>>6297553
>>6297494
>the vote count nearly doubles from tail-end of Thread 7
[Hooray!]
>It's a tie
[Aww dang.]

[Alright, so here's what we're going to do...]

This being an important vote that will determine some major events for the endgame, it will stay open until tomorrow!

During that time, I want any 1post IDs to log a second comment here, and any newcomers to log a vote, and then sometime tomorrow confirm your IP. I will, per previous threads, count repeat IDs as a higher priority if the tie remains.

To make up for the lack of udpate, I'm also going to take any lore questions you might have, a general AMA/FAQ about this or otehr quests (except spoilers), AND...

You can also cast your vote for the character you most want to see art of, and I'll prioritize that for a commission!

>>6297848
Chibi version of Naked Emperor smoking would be funny

>>6297848
This is me
>>6297639
won't be getting the ID from that post back
Will try to remember to post from this one again tomorrow morning before going back to my life at the workplace

>>6297848
Emperor Art Moment

>>6297848
>>6297884
Confirming IP and requesting Ziwei Bo art

>>6297848
I’m still here, just vote rarely

Got a TL;dr on the two contentious options? I might’ve forgotten how eating people would risk failing the main ‘mission’?

For the art? Maybe Xoldur and Murbal, given recent developments.

>>6298199
>how would eating people fail the mission
[It's less eating people and more taking the time to find enough people to eat, without anyone getting injured or killed in turn, and before CZ metabolizes the contents of the cauldron. You are in a pocket dimension taking the form of an elaborate web of backrooms connected to several physicsl storefronts, trying to hunt down fleeing or hdiing people who work (and live) there all day, some of whom are beastmen capable of illusion magic and others which may be armed with magical weapons or tools. If the percentile roll comes uo poorly, you could be ambushed (several character sstill have low enough HP for that to kill them), or people might just evade you long enough that CZ will finish digesting the magic before she can meditate and undergo the forge transformation to lock it in. Max-upcasting Fear last thread used up some of the power.]

Rolled 1 (1d2)

[Since >>6298199 didn't vote and, after >>6298178 we have no more 1-post IDs, we're rolling for whether to stick it out togteher here or send Empy, CZ, and Ayla on alone while ZZ and Murbal stay here.]

>>6298043
>>6297871
>>6298178
>>6298199
[Also, The Naked Emperor will get the art this time around!]

>>6298386
[The write-in wins! Writing...]

>>6298388
“We’re not leavin’ anybody,” you decide.

“It isn’t a matter of is we want to,” Ayla tries to reason with you. “It’s a matter of—”

“—of fuckin’ PRINCIPLE,” you finish for her, raising your voice. “Ain’t no way I’m leaving anyone here ta get picked off by the lich’s goons, alright?”

(Not even yourself—you might be a responsible Boss, but you ain’t no ‘hero’.)

“Zith-Zi, be reasonable…”

Ayla wheedles as hard as she can, but you’re not listening. Your mind is made up, and no amount of khoblis cajoling can change your course.

“CZ!”

Your bark interrupts whatever-the-fuck Ayla was on about, to her visible irritation. Your other half, meanwhile, jumps at the sound, and shuffles over with a hangdog expression. She must be feeling keenly self-conscious right now, both about her appearance and her role in the argument between sister and sensei: it was her chugging of the potion which put you all in this predicament, and the effects have left her looking like some overgrown goblin-orc hybrid in a crocodile skin-suit.

“You did good back there,” you assure her, earning her surprise and a look of—admittedly quite monstrous and disfigured—gratitude. “If you hadn’t done what ya did, we might all be dead, instead’ve just… Well, ya did good, alright?”

Ayla tuts at that, too, causing your eye to twitch. You won’t have your resident super-witch fucking up your sister’s already-fragile sense of self-worth over this, though, even if Ayla IS right and it all goes to shit. This decision was yours, just like Carazzi’s decision was hers, and there’s no telling how badly things might have gone if you’d decided otherwise… And no arguing with the Boss Bitch when her foot has put down, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

>>6298404
You turn your attention then to Murbal, still unconscious, and still clutching her shining steel shield to her chest. That, too, was a decision you made: to save her mother’s heirloom. You wonder if it didn’t play a role in saving her from her brother’s unfortunate fate by protecting her abdomen and its organs against Ziwei Bo’s ultimate spell? Either way, though, you need what muscle you’ve still got.

“You still got any’ve those magic sandwiches?” you ask CZ.

“Oh! Yeah, I totally…” Carazzi stops rummaging through her pack for a moment, then looks up with faintly-iridescent eyes wide open in revelation. “Ayla! Food!”

Ayla’s annoyance grows as Carazzi holds up a sandwich, and she shakes her head as her hair frizzes up and begins to flame again. “Those silly sandwiches don’t contain NEARLY enough magic to allow us to bring anyone else. Even You can surely see that.”

Carazzi flinches at the dig, and you bristle at Ayla’s attitude. Before you can intercede, however, CZ speaks up again:

“Not the sandwiches. Uh… here, ZZ.”

You take the proffered food and unwrap the Steelwood ham sandwich—made with bread purchased by the late Iorund Copperbelt from the nearest human settlement, and pork procured by yours truly from Xoldur and Murbal’s village. The other Steelwood orc in your party—a recently ‘reforged’ hedge-witch named Dura—had enchanted it before you left. Now, you kneel beside Murbal and begin trying to force-feed the slumbering giantess to repair what damage Ziwei Bo and his minions inflicted.

Carazzi, meanwhile, grabs Ayla by her arm and pulls her along, despite her best efforts. She leads her not to some local oriental delicacy, but to… Well, okay, you guess technically the lich’s spell-choked and likewise-incapacitated head maid SORT of counts as a local oriental delicacy, actually.

…

>>6298405
…

“…I don’t understand,” Ayla eventually admits.

“Sure ya do!” you insist, and gesture again at Wa Muckbang or whatever her name actually is. “Magic’s just lifeforce, right? Qi, reflected through a prison or whatever?”

“ReFRACTed through a PRISM.” Ayla’s prim, corrective look looks as if it will be followed up by a lecture, but she stops herself as comprehension dawns. “You mean for me to… To…”

“Ta eat ‘er up!” you say.

Ayla’s face reddens a little as she stares down at the unconscious Eastwoman, and you realize she must be confused.

“Not, like… In the fun way. Or the meaty way. Just, you know…” You lower your voice. “The, like, succubus cambion kinda way?”

Ayla hears you, but she still says nothing. You begin to worry you’ve fucked up again, misunderstood something maybe. After a few second, though, she speaks.

“Veigar… He prefers that I not… I mean, I’ve never… Not since the Unseelie, anyway.”

“Empy’s buddy?” you ask, confused.

“Alas, poor Nasir, I hardly knew you,” The Naked Emperor bemoans. “Or… Hm, is a century much time, for a fairy? For a hundun? I cannot seem to recall the temporal relativity of it all. Oh well! Ashes to ashes, dust to… To… Well, something or other, I’m sure of it!”

“No, not that one, the other... Ugh, it doesn't matter!” Ayla frowns again at the pale-faced, passed-out servant-woman. “It could work… But her soul alone still won’t be enough.”

“Oh,” you say sadly, slumping in disappointment. You were really sure this would be how you redeemed yourself!

But… Wait…

“Heeeey,” you say, “there’s more’ve ‘em around, right/ The ones what ran away?”

>>6298406
Ayla turns to you, and you see—and feel—complicated emotions warring behind her eyes and rippling through her aura. There’s anger, at you and at your sister. There’s lingering trepidation, about doing what you’ve proposed… But excitement, too, like a former alcoholic being offered their first drink in years.

“We’ll have to be fast,” she decides.

“Hells yeah!” Relief washes over you. “Fast is my middle name! I mean… Shit, it might be. ‘Carazzi Fast Yosef’? Howzat sound?”

“Awful!” Zith-Zi shouts over to you, as Murbal groans and begins to rise, confusedly chewing her late lunch. “Besides, who ever heard of a goblin with a middle name? Ya already have one too many!”

“Well, I for one quite like it, Miss Yosef,” Empy chimes in. “Though I’ve never had a name, myself.”

“Aww, thanks! And sure ya do. Empy's, like, TOTALLY a—”

Ayla clears her throat.

“R-right, fast…” You thump your head. “Heh, sorry, sensei.”

Ayla sighs through her nose, but says nothing more. Instead, she kneels down over Ziwei Bo’s fallen servant, to finish what the defeated lich started.

You, meanwhile, turn to Zith-Zi and Murbal… Who has just discovered her brother’s fate.

You can taste the emotion from here, and it’s a bitter brew indeed.

…

>>6298407…

“XOLDUR!” Murbal roars again, shaking her pallid, lifeless sibling again.

You watch, unsure what to say. The she-orc shakes him so violently that his head hits the ground repeatedly; normally bad form but, well, ol’ Xol ain’t waking up either way. It’s only when she starts punching him that you finally decide to interject yourself.

“Murbal… MURBAL!”

The half-orc shield-maiden wheels on you, deep-set eyes ablaze with anger and filled with… Well, for the first time in EVER as far as you’ve known her, tears. Her carnivorous dentition is on full display, and you take a step back for a moment in fear that she’ll start punching YOU, instead. She doesn’t, though… She just deflates.

“…Murbal?”

“…najor rog alnej…”

Your Orcish isn’t the greatest, and between the mumbling and the natural slur brought on by their tusks, you don’t quite catch what she said.

“HE SAVE ME,” she bellows in your face when you press, then quiets to a miserable mother again. “Stupid human try slip past, get to zutaagon… Uh, lich. I try stop him.. Not watch back. Dog-man stab for back, Xoldur hit him. Fight started… Good fight!”

Her briefly-brightened demeanor dims.

“Distracted. Both, then. Then… Something. Fire. Zutaagon come back and… And…”

A picture of what went down begins to form in your mind, despite Murbal’s sketchy grasp of Common: she’d let herself get baited by a feint, which had provoked a sneak attack, spiraled into a brawl, and given one of Ziwei Bo’s little helpers a chance to liberate their flash-frozen master. That, in turn, had led to your half-orc apprentices’ comeuppance, and ultimately—in a way that Murbal very obviously realizes and blames herself for—to young Xoldur’s untimely demise.

You don’t have a lot of time to spare on condolences—Ayla’s tapping foot and CZ’s anxious shuffling makes that clear, though you try to ignore them. Equally, you know you need to say SOMETHING, if you’re going to get Murbal out of her own head enough to help.

What do you say?
>You’re right. It’s your fault.
>It’s not your fault, it’s THEIRS.
>It wasn’t your fault… It was mine.
>Write-in

>>6298406
>“Veigar… He prefers that I not… I mean, I’ve never… Not since the Unseelie, anyway.”
Brainwashing is ok with him though? Interesting

>It’s not your fault, it’s THEIRS.
So help us punish them for it

>>6298412
>>It’s not your fault, it’s THEIRS.

>>6298412
>It’s not your fault, it’s THEIRS.

>>6298386
Sorry, was stuck at work all day.

>>6298412
>It’s not your fault, it’s THEIRS.

>>6298412
>It’s not your fault, it’s THEIRS.
We need to get moving.

>>6297871

Rolled 11, 13, 7, 3 = 34 (4d20)

>>6298654
[No worries, I just didn't want to delay again.]
>>6298712
>>6298591
>>6298586
>>6298548
You shake your head.

“It ain’t anything you do,” you tell the shuddering young she-orc. “Ain’t anything any of us did.”

(That last part, you say for yourself.)

“But… But I…”

“It’s THEM that kill your brother.”

Murbal stops her sobbing and looks up, expression indecisive but attentive.

“Those sons’ve bitches out there…” You point down the hallway that led you here, and down which your opponents fled. “THEY killed yer brother. They killed, uh, Nasir, too. THEY did all this shit for their demented fuckin’ khoblis boss.”

She’s listening. You can see it on her face, even if her watery eyes remain inexpressive. You place a hand on her burly arm, and the muscles are tense and taut.

“Now, are you gonna let those Easterling asshole just get away with this shit?” you demand. “Or are ya gonna help me punish ‘em for it?!”

Leadership roll…

Rolled 3, 1 = 4 (2d6)

>>6298733
Murbal bares her teeth in a warlike scowl again, taking deep heaving breaths and visibly hyping herself up for action…

13 for Leadership: Failure!

…But when her eyes again alight upon fallen Xoldur, the fight goes out of your surviving sword-student. Where you expected a roaring call to ‘WAAAGH!’, as her folk like to say, she instead emits a guttural wail, and falls forward upon the floor, burying her face in her arms. She speaks to herself in her own tongue—or perhaps to her brother—and between the weeping and the muffling effects of her posture, it takes you a while to translate what she’s saying, over and over. You do, though.

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

You crouch next to her for a while, completely lost for how to comfort a crying kid like this. By comparison, your pep-talk to Khorine back at base was child’s play. You pat Murbal’s broad back awkwardly, to no obvious response, and try to think of some way to motivate her, but nothing else comes. Eventually, Ayla clears her throat; you shoot her a deadly look of reproach, but you know she’s right.

“Look, Murbz, we gota… We gotta move,” you say as you stand. “You stay here. Watch yer… Just, you know. Stay. Got it?”

The half-orc doesn’t respond, just rocking back and forth. You are, regrettably, forced to leave her behind for the moment.

“CZ,” you command, “pass me one of them sandwiches, wouldja? We’re a woman down. Gonna need my strength.”

Rolling healing…

Rolled 8, 17 = 25 (2d20)

>>6298741
Zith-Zi's HP: 9/30

Rolling Athletics as a stamina proxy, for the ongoing effects of Ziwei Bo's taint...

Rolled 86 (1d100)

>>6298746

17 for Athletics: passed!

Zith-Zi feels no serious effects of her poisoning… Yet.

Rolling percentile dice for the success of the hunt for Ziwei Bo’s minions.



Higher roll is better. Base DC: 30. Increased by +10 for Murbal’s lack of participation. On a 20 or lower, you are ambushed and attacked; nobody alive and with you has Vigilance, so they will get a surprise round. On a 1, they score on auto‐critical.

>>6298741
>>6298746
>>6298749
…

…

You can feel the grief and frustration roiling around inside your opposite number. You keep wanting to say something, but you don’t. You know Zith-Zi like you know yourself, after all. She doesn’t need comfort. She needs a win. And so, dutiful doppelganger that you are, you focus on acquiring one.

You can’t use your Mentalism anymore—not anything more than your passive empathic sense. Using ANY more magic risks you burning through the last of the pill-potion you guzzled in Ziwei Bo’s study. This slows down the process substantially, especially with Ayla, obviously, being too tapped-out to use her Divination magic either; it would defeat the whole point if she used her magic to acquire MORE magic, only to end up still having too little to transport you all back home, after all!

…And all this, in turn, means you have no time to loot the lich’s lair.

“Aww maaaan,” you whine, passing by shelves of stored items and alchemical ingredients. “Some a’ this stuff’s gotta be worth a FORTUNE!”

“Not as much as we stand to lose if we don’t return to the forge before time runs out,” Ayla reminds you brusquely.

You shut your mouth and buckle down. Focus, Carazzi!

86: success!

It’s several minutes before you ping a person, registering the faint whiff of mortal terror on the stagnant, musky air of the Emporium of Wonders. You click your tongue to get everyone’s attention without alerting your quarry, and the Regiment—such as it is, all four of you that are here, alive, and able to do battle at the moment—slow down.

“I must say,” says Empy, at his usual volume since he’s only talking telepathically anyway, “I’m not sure I like being so… Limited in energy. Without the ability to expand my consciousness or generate eyes and ears freely, I feel rather claustrophobic. I dare say, I’d give my KINGDOM for a nose!”

“What kinda nose?” you whisper, picturing a whole range of cute and comical options which the hundun might manifest.

“What fuckin’ KINGDOM?!” ZZ demands. “The empty goddamn STEPPE?”

“Well now, there’s no cause for that kind of—”

“Shaddup! CZ?”

“Right, right, sorry ZZ…”

>>6298755
You focus in again, newly rugged brow scrunching up even worse than it already was. Your aura reaches out, expanding ever-so-slightly, to feel out the contours of the hidden foes.

“They’re around the corner,” you say. “Three of ‘em. Two humies and a beastie-boy… I think it’s that raccoon-dog-thingie you were talkin’ to earlier. Remember him?”

ZZ grunts in response, noncommittal or indifferent, and place a hand upon her radiant saber—still currently collapsed and inert, energy-blade hidden in its little metallic shell of silvery-blue. She can’t activate it yet, not without creating noise. The Naked Emperor cannot manifest any limbs or organs to attack, having to rely upon his enormous size and natural strength. Ayla can’t spare any spellcraft, just as you can’t…

Which leaves you and your natural weapons as ZZ’s only immediate back-up, until Empy catches up.

What will you do?
>Stealth in ahead and take down the beastman—the most dangerous, most likely
>Charge, all together, and blitz them as best you can!
>Circle around to cut off their escape route, then give the signal
>Suggest ZZ go out alone and play diplomat, to lure them into an ambush
>Write-in

>>6298757
>Charge, all together, and blitz them as best you can!
Speed is key

>>6298757
>Charge, all together, and blitz them as best you can!

>>6298757
>Charge, all together, and blitz them as best you can!

>>6298757
>Circle around to cut off their escape route, then give the signal.

Flanking them might be beneficial.

Me>>>6297494

Rolled 100, 65 = 165 (2d100)

>>6298812
>>6298914
>>6298993
>>6299123
Speed is key. While flanking them might be to your benefit, losing them in this maze—or taking too long to catch them, for all your caution—could cost you EVERYTHING. Everything you and Ayla have been working towards hinges on getting back to Patmo-Shoka—your captured dungeon home-away-from-home—before you burn through the last of the potion. Zith-Zith comes to the same conclusion, you sense; you and she exchange a silent nod, drop down into a crouch, and count to three….

And you’re off!

You dash around the corner, side by side. Among archives and oddities, you see the lich’s servants gathered around in a circle, discussing something in mumbled East-Common. Neither of you lets loose a war cry, lest you tip them off, but neither are you trying for stealth; they hear your footfalls, and turn to face you. Their expressions, formerly a mixed bag of concern and dismay, turn to alarm; this only worsens when ZZ’s holy sword flickers to life, and they fully understand that they’re fighting for their life.

Rolling for their armament! This also serves as something of a loot roll, if you take them down.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6299301
65…

As you draw nearer, you see what Ziwei Bo’s one-time lackeys were arguing about: each of the three, human and beastman alike, are loaded up with loot. Bundles and bags of stolen booty have been taken as a self-directed severance package. There are the queer, beetle-shaped little ingots of stamped metal which serve as Goldenriver’s currency in lieu of coinage, jangling in boxes, as well as scrolls potions, silk scarves and medicine jars. You’ve hit the jackpot! At least, that’s what you’d say if the racoon-man didn’t turn on the two of you, choosing to fight, rather than flee like his fellows, and reveal probably the greatest of ALL their ill-gotten goodies.

…and 100.

In his opposable-thumbed paw, the tubby tanuki (as you’ve heard Ayla call the creature) is holding a golden object. It resembles a double-headed club with a short and lumpy handle, and cage-shaped head. He holds it out before him, pointing one of the two gem-studded heads at the two of you, and your confusion and curiosty turn to alarm.

“Oh fuck, it’s a—!”

You don’t manage to fully vocalize the thought before, with a loud crack and a blinding light, the strange artifact-the WEAPON—looses a bolt of blue-and-gold lightning, and a shelf-shaking boom.

Rolling for target...

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>6299307
Rolling his attack roll against Carazzi Yosef ...

Rolled 1, 4, 2 = 7 (3d20)

>>6299309
You drop to a headlong dive and a diagonal roll. The avoids the electrical attack and carries you into the wall, which you hit with a thump and rebound off of and into a feral semi-quadrupedal crouch, like one of those monkey-men that paddle the boats at River’s Mouth’s great river-gate. The beastman’s cute little doggy eyes go wide, and he takes a step back, trying to adjust his aim in time to save his tail.

But you didn’t come alone, and he’s left his flank open to your better—at swordsmanship, for sure—half.

Rolling Zith-Zi’s attack…

Rolled 5, 1 = 6 (2d8)

>>6299313
Zith-Zi lets loose a scream of wordless mockery, and victory, as her rad-saber rips through the lightning-split air of the hallway and splits the tanuki in two. You let out a whoop of joy as well—she got ‘im! Only a second later do you remember you were hoping to take him alive, to feed Ayla his lifeforce… But those other two, the humies, couldn’t have got far.

And it’s just as you’re about to say so that the tanuki’s two halves explode into a puff of strange smoke, revealing a leaf, and a log, rather than a bisected beastman.

Rolled a 1, and no successes: Critical failure!

Your eyes widen as you understand that ZZ’s been had by a clever illusion spell. You’re about to say so when, for a second time, you hear the crack of lightning…

Rolling damage…

Rolled 20, 18, 18, 8 = 64 (4d20)

>>6299314
Zith-Zi is thrown across the space, smashing into the wall beside you and crumpling up like a paper doll. You scream your sister’s name, seeing her laying there in her own smoking wreckage.

6 damage dealt!

Zith-Zi’s HP: 3/30

Mama Zi didn’t raise no fragile flowers, though: Zith-Zi is alive. You breathe a sigh of relief when you sense that, even if she’s still spasming, stunned by the bolt’s direct blast. You tear your eyes away from her, and focus your fury on the bastard who inflicted this injury: the true tanuki standing there and holding his strange, sorcerous sceptre.

“You hurt ZZ,” you snarl. “You shouldn’t have done that. When people hurt ZZ… I take that PERSONAL.”

Rolling CZ's attack...

File: P5_Vajra_Model.png (363 KB, 782x1223)

363 KB PNG

>>6299315
You don’t know if the beastman understood your words, spoken in the Common that men speak in the northwest of the world. You don’t know if he understood exactly WHY he was doomed, just HOW he fucked up…

Rolled a 20: Critical hit!

…But you make him understand, by ripping claw and bloodied maw, that he surely sinned in this life, to suffer as he now suffers. The screams of the beastman turn to whimpers by the time Zith-Zi has picked herself up off the floor. You feel her hand on her shoulder, and only then do you stop.

“CZ,” she says, “that’s enough. ‘Sides, he’s for Ayla, remember?”

You snarl at being denied, still hungry despite your recent, and rather succulent, Easterling meal. Nevertheless, you stand up and step back from the broken, butchered beastman beneath you. He’s still breathing, though it is a bubbly-sounded, belaboured sort of breath that he now draws… And probably not for much longer.

“Fascinating… To think that Ziwei Bo had one of these in his collection! The old fool ought to have used it against us.”

Ayla has joined you and ZZ, and is speaking of the golden sceptre. She doesn’t pick it up, but regards it where it’s fallen, and with no small awe.

“What is it?” you ask, when you’ve regained your sense of self.

“A vajra,” she answers you. “A sort of powerful wand, said to have been created in ancient times by the Gods Above—the Gods of Law. It can protect and destroy, according to legend.”

“Bet the undead asshole COULDN’T wield it, then,” ZZ reasons. “Liches hate holy shit, right?”

“Not just liches,” Ayla admits.

You focus your sorcerous senses upon the odd object, and understand then why Ziwei Bo left it alone, and why Ayla also hasn’t picked it up: it tingles with the same heavenly energies—albeit a good sight more powerful—than the Patmo-Shokan rad-sabers. A demon-spawned cambion like you or your sensei couldn’t hope to wield it, and yet…

“The raw magic alone, properly channeled, should be enough to get us home and then some,” Ayla voices your own unspoken thought.

“Oh? Is that so? Then will we not be needing these two, after all?”

You all turn to see The Naked Emperor approaching, his great girth wrapped ‘round the two unfortunate humans who foolishly chose to escape past the two of you and ran smack-dab into your monstrous mate.

“Atta boy, Empy!”

“No mere boy, I assure you! Nor a girl, come to think of it. But am I an ‘atta’? Hmmm…”

>>6299323
You giggle at his goofy ramblings, a product of his chaotic composition and origin as a semi-divine descendant of a union most unholy. You relate to his confusion, sexual and otherwise, which is probably why the two of you (ahem) get along so well.

“Puh-rease,” pleads one of the humans, in broken and accented Northwestern Common, “spale us! We all onry sel-oo-vants! You can take are we have, just puh-rease, ret us riv!”

You can't help it: you laugh even louder at their funny foreign accents. Then, you look to your sister. She’s the Boss, after all. You see her eyes narrow: these men were among those who were attacking her with their master’s magically-materialized weapons, who nearly slew her under Ziwei Bo’s orders.

Their actions, even if indirectly, contributed to Xoldur’s death.

You wonder what she will say, now that you no longer NEED to kill them, strictly speaking?

>Spare Ziwei Bo’s servants
>Take bloody revenge for Xoldur
>Press-gang them into the Regiment
>Write-in

>>6299301
>100
The "nice" to "oh no" whiplash is real

>>6299324
>Spare Ziwei Bo’s servants
TIME
If Murbal had come along we might need to kill them, but we're in a hurry here, killing or conscripting them is gonna take longer than doing nothing.

>>6299324
Would drawing out the vajra's power and converting it to raw magic for Ayla's teleportation, damage or impair the magic weapon?

Or would it work fine after givin time to recharge?

>>6299341
[The latter.]

>>6299352
>>6299324
Well if murbal is to distraught to desire revenge and their is no benefit to killing them I guess letting them scraper off is the best option.

>Spare Ziwei Bo’s servants

>>6299392
This is me.>>6299123

>Spare Ziwei Bo’s servants
Loot as much as we can, tp out, get empy to release

>>6299324
>Spare Ziwei Bo’s servants
We're a merciful nilbog.

>>6299544
>>6299501
>>6299392
>>6299338
“Leave ‘em.”

Empy drops the pair of simpering stooges, who bow and scrape before scampering off.

“That was remarkably merciful of you, Zith-Zi,” Ayla comments, though she makes no move to intercede.

“Yeah, well I’m a merciful nilbog,” ZZ says with a shrug.

“I’m not so sure I would have been, in your place,” admits your sensei.

“It’d be different if Murbz was here, ‘n she wanted revenge, but if it’s just payback for me…”

Zith-Zi trails off, but you understand. Of course you do—you two, who were once one, share a history. You don’t recall every sordid detail of life in the Goblin Wastes, but you know what it is to kill out of obligation to an overlord. It’s tough to begrudge some poor shmuck for doing their job, however dirty or bloody, when you’ve been in their shoes before.

“Grab the loot, though,” ZZ commands. “We sure as shit ain’t leavin’ empty-handed!”

(Heh… And some habits from the old days die hard.)

You gain 65 points worth of trade-goods, ingredients, and magical items!

You and The Naked Emperor take the role of muscle, instead of the dead-or-distraught Steelwood siblings. On Ayla’s instruction, you drag it back down the long hallway you came down.

“Even in the master’s absence, his realm is… Exceedingly difficult to transport beings or belongings in or out of,” Ayla explains. “We’ll need to do so from the storefront, closer to the Priem Material Plane.”

By way of payment, you leave a single <Faerie Nectar>-infused sandwich, force-fed to the fat furry you tore to ribbons mere moments ago; it’s not quite enough to rouse him, but its magics stabilize his condition. Zith-Zi takes another to eat as she goes to collect Murbal, leaving you only one more in your stores… Not that you plan to be here long enough to need it.

When your trio arrives at the entrance of the Emporium—one of many, as you understand it—there is already someone waiting there.

“Why hello there. I was wondering when the staff of this most auspicious and remarkable store might return… Oh! But you are not such a person, are you?”

(Oh shit! It’s that guy!)

>>6299600
Standing in the store, idly perusing the unattended wares, is Chang Lanseoul—the makeup-wearing prettyboy swordsman whose flower-bedazzled ass you encountered out in River’s Mouth, before arriving at the Emporium. He’d been asking suspicious questions, including to tag along, but Zith-Zi had given him the cold shoulder. Now he’s back, smiling that demure smile as she sets down a small and lightly-enchanted idol and turns to face the three of you.

With a start, you realize you’re still all monsterfied, looking more like a troll or an ogre than even your normal not-quite-goblinoid self. You yelp and duck down behind Empy… Though a moment later, you realize that hardly helps matters, as he/it is out in the open, too, and even more unusual. Chang, however, seems oddly unperturbed.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances once more, most lovely ladies,” the swordsman says with a bow.

Ayla braces herself, tensing up as if ready to fight. She hasn’t yet performed the rite to drain the vajra-wand of its holy energies and convert them to something more useful—that relic is with Zith-Zi, as she alone seemed a safe carrier. That leaves the both of you—and Empy, too—all but tapped for magic, should a fight break out.

Chang Lanseoul rights himself from his gesture of respect, and eyes you each in turn with his narrowed gaze and impassively-friendly expression.

“I see some of your party are missing,” he comments casually. “Are they, perhaps, in negotiation with the proprietor of this place?”

What do you say, or do?
>Tell the truth—Ziwei Bo is dead
>Lie—yes, they’re chatting with him in the back, and will return shortly
>Lie—you came to meet with the man who owns this store, but he never showed up
>Stonewall him—it’s none of his fucking business! Go away!
>Probe him in turn—what would he do if you said yes? Or no?
>Attack! This guy’s a high-level adventurer, he obviously followed you, and he’s a danger!
>Write-in

>>6299601
>Tell the truth—Ziwei Bo is dead
if he managed to follow us and isn't startled by cz and empy, why not ?

>>6299601
>Tell the truth—Ziwei Bo is dead
No reason to lie, Ziwei was a lich and had a literal vampire as a minion, all around bad dude, plus he called the girls beautiful despite CZ being hideous and gross, he seems chill

>>6299601
>Write-in
With Ziwei Bo dead, the new proprietor is Ma Wufeng, right? Last we checked the proprietor was napping, but if Chung here wants to come in and wait for the proprietor to wake up we're sure he's welcome to do so.

>>6299601
>>Tell the truth—Ziwei Bo is dead
We aren't even the one that killed him. Somehow death itself came knocking at the door. That was weird

>>6299601
>Tell the truth—Ziwei Bo is dead

His goons are still about the place, though.

>>6298712

>>6299873
>>6299788
>>6299727
>>6299717
>>6299673
“Uh… Ziwei Bo’s dead.”

Ayla gives you a glance as you peek out from behind the hundun, but you sheepishly shrug. What’s the harm? Chang’s going to find out one way or another, and anyway, he called you ‘lovely’!

“Ah I see.”

Chang Lanseoul’s muted response isn’t quite what you expected. Shouldn’t someone like him—who you take for some kind of knightly goodie-two-shoes—be glad to see such an undead abomination wiped from the face of the world? They’re all about that shit, ain’t they?

“Are you the ones who killed him?” Chang asks next.

You open your mouth to answer, but your teacher beats you to the punch this time.

“He was a lich, so nobody killed him at all. Death simply arrived, long overdue, and claimed what he deemed to be his.”

“Y-yeah,” you chime in. “It was, like, TOTALLY weird.”

“A great shame,” says Chang, bowing his head. “I thank you for your honesty, even if the news you convey is to my disappointment, and to my master’s detriment.”

You blink, and haul your chin up and over the hundun to regard him more closely. “Ya mean you still woulda wanted to meet the guy, even knowin’ he was an undead, like, occultist or cultivator or whatever?”

“It is not about what I desire, but what I have pledged to procure,” Chang Lanseoul says gravely. “Time is not on my side… As The Emperor of Entropy came to claim Ziwei Bo, so too shall he… Well, nevermind.”

Chang cuts himself off, but you get the gist: someone’s sick, or dying. Maybe this fancy lad’s hoity-toity noble lord or something?

“Hey, uh, I think this Wu Wufan lady—”

“Ma Wufeng,” Ayla corrects.

“—right, Ma Wufeng. I think this Ma chick is, like, the owner of this joint now, if… like, you wanted to wait ’til she wakes up? She’s… just havin’ a nap is all.”

(After all, you no longer need to kill her, so ZZ probably hasn’t.)

“What of the other attendants?” Chang Lanseoul inquires.

“They were given the day off,” Ayla again interjects. “Some may still be around, if they make their home here. Others have left. A few, I believe, have quit entirely.”

(Ha, yeah, quit this whole-ass mortal coil!)

“To abandon one’s duty is a sin most grave,” says Chang with a sigh. “A servant is bound, by oath and honour and by ties of the heart, to fulfill his duty to his master or mistress. It is the ultimate virtue.”

“As an Emperor of sorts myself, I must wholeheartedly concur! Though a little bit of rebellion can make for a fun diversion, every now and again, it can grow so wearisome…”

For the first time, Chang Lanseoul regards Empy more directly, really taking stock of him. If he’s shocked at the hundun’s psychic speech, it doesn’t show upon his delicate features. Rather, it’s he who surprises the two of you.

“You are a hùndùn, yes?”

File: Sovereign Jiang.jpg (14 KB, 274x238)

14 KB JPG

>>6299927
“Oh HO! My reputation precedes me, does it? Yes, it is I! Or so I have been told. Truthfully, I’ve never heard the word until I met these fine people, or if I had, I had long forgotten it.”

“No, not YOUR reputation. Not exactly.” Chang smiles thoughtfully. “There is a seminal text in my master’s possession which described what must be your ancestor or relative, the Sovereign Jiang… A primordial chaos spirit, of both the Celestial Court and the Sea of Darkness.”

“I am!” The Naked Emperor pauses. “Am I?”

“You are,” you whisper, since you heard the hundun’s ultimate origin straight from the mouth-analogue of the Dark Goddess who spawned the first of their kind, through the rapine and consumption of an ancient fairy-god.

“I confess that Ma Wufeng—though she is surely a most fair and lovely countenance, and wise and kind of soul—can probably not provide that which her former master could have… And which MY master requires.”

“Such a shame,” Ayla answers the strange swordsman, with a tone implying that he should probably scuttle off and leave you be.

“But it is said that the Sovereign Jiang could provide many a miracle cure, in his nigh-infinite power and wisdom…”

Your hackles—hairier than ever right about now—begin to raise. Ayla’s aura tightens around her chakras, too, the free flow aligning for arcana—ready to cast. All at once, the atmosphere has shifted and changed.

“I was tasked with securing such a miracle, from the late proprietor of this place,” Chang Lanseoul continues, as calm and collected as ever. “How fortuitous to find it here. Perhaps you even brought this hundun to trade, only to find Ziwei Bo sadly absent?”

You narrow your eyes. That’s not entirely wrong… Except, of course, for the bit where you never intended to give Empy up, and always meant to rob Bo instead. Your grip tightens on the soft and pliable surface of your strange, dumpling-shaped demigod. You see where this is going, and you don’t like it.

“Perhaps you would acquiesce to trade with this humble servant, instead?” Chang Lanseoul asks innocently. “My master is quite wealthy, and has given me considerable leeway to trade in his stead.”

“Oh my! It is rather flattering, to be so desired, ho ho…”

>>6299928
Just like your sister—where IS she, already?!—you sense that there’s more to this ‘Chang’ guy than a pretty face and some flowery perfume. He’s not decked out in magic gear or nothing, but his mind is built like a lockbox, reinforced by ritual against psychic intrusion. His aura is almost unreadable, impregnable, a wall of unmoving ice encasing a hidden heart. And his sword… He hasn’t moved to unsheathe it, but you get the intuitive feeling that you wouldn’t want him to.

All of which is to say: he’s playing nice, but you wouldn’t want him to stop, and telling him ‘no’ very well might have that effect. He may, in fact, see fit to try and take your Empy away from you.

What will you do?

>Tell him ‘no’—there’s nothing else for it.
>Lie and tell him ‘yes’, then stall while ZZ and Murbal catch up and Ayla can teleport you out
>Tell him ‘yes’… Just, you know, after you and Empy get a chance to go home and ‘freshen up’
>Attack! Strike first, strike hard, no mercy!
>Write-in

>>6299927
>a
Not "the"? There's more than one?

>>6299929
Tell him Empy isn't for sale, and we're in a hurry right now, but after we deal with our current business we MIGHT be willing to cooperate with him if the pay is good enough.

>>6299929
Alright. Telling him about our forge is definitely the wrong answer. I somehow feel like he's got a good lie detector.
>Write-in :
"We MIGHT have a solution. However we are also on a time-critical thing here and now. We could have more to offer than just the Hundun. Could you kindly give us 14 hours [end of day + forge + mana back for Ayla to TP] so that we conclude our extremely urgent business necessities then come back to you and see how we can help you?

If Chang's master is dying of illness, maybe Veigar can heal him?

And if not their are the stasis pods back in the forge that the blue goblins used to wait out centuries if not millennia.

Maybe we can put his master in suspended animation until a cure can be made.

>>6299986
yeah, I'm feeling this pod-master thing is how we are scammed of the Forge according to the "fates". Otherwise, we have options including Veigar, Hundun-partial chopping...

>>6300011
I'm not gonna lie, i assumed if the smoke soothsayer bad half of her vision comes true and we get scammed and robbed. It would be by someone local to the steelwood steel wood. Like the orc chief or an elven patrol.

The fortune teller did say that we already knew the identity of who would scam us. And we still don't know who Chang's master is.

>>6299929
>Tell him ‘yes’… Just, you know, after you and Empy get a chance to go home and ‘freshen up’

>>6300143
>>6299986
>>6299984
>>6299947
With your party injured and exhausted, there’s only one safe way out of this: you need to convince this mystery-man to willing let you all leave, without any violence. Thinking quickly, you devise just such a solution… At least, you sure hope so.

“H-ehy, uh, Chang?”

The man in question raises his thin, plucked eyebrows as you step out into full view. Sel-conscious as you are of your stretched-out and bulked-up form, he still doesn’t shrink or sneer.

“Yes, milady?”

(M-Milady? You? Imagine~)

“Y-yeah,” you say out-loud, feeling your face heat up as you squirm. “Uh, well, that’s what I’m hopin’, soon. Uh, that I’ll be back to bein’ a proper lady! Not that I’m not a chuck! But, like… You know…”

“As you appeared before, you mean?”

You hesitate, then nod.

“It’s actually kinda time-sensitive. Like, even more than whatever you got goin’ on right now, a-at least I think so. Tough to tell with you bein’ all hush-hush about it.”

“I understand,” the man says. “The sensitive nature of the particulars are sadly such that my discretion is a part of my oath, else I would share the details gladly.”

“Right, yeah, I get it! TOTALLY.” You take a breath. “But I figure, from what you DID say, I can work out that you got a sick person or somethin’ back wherever-the-f—wherever the HECK yer from. Amirite?”

“You… Are a most shrewd and insightful woman, milady.”

“Well shit,” you say, “I bet we can help with that, then!”

“Carazzi,” Ayla hisses, stepping up and sinking her fingers into your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Trust me, sensei, I got this!”

Ayla doesn’t seem convinced, but nor does she have the willingness (or means) to stop you. You gently shrug off her hand and turn again to Chang Lanseoul.

“We gotta go home ‘n sort this sh—stuff out. Should only take us about, uh…”

You hesitate, and begin to count on your fingers. Ayla (with a sigh) supplies the answer instead.

“Including time to recuperate my energies, with use of our… New find… We should be done within twelve to twenty-four hours.”

“Right!” you agree. “So then, after that, maybe we can come back? Talk business? We got all kinds a’ stuff that could help, I bet!”

(Like Veigar’s combo of Feycraft and heterodox hedge-magic, or Empy’s ability to generate and regenerate whatever ingredients this guy’s boss needs, or the forge, or…)

Chang Lanseoul bows his head. “You are most generous, Lady Carazzi. But… And I mean no offence, of course, nor would I ever impugn your most noble and purehearted character… But how can I know how to find you, or you to find my humble self?”

“Oh, uh…”

“Perhaps I should come with you?”

>>6300148
Chang stands up, still smiling that beatific and beautiful little smile of his. “I understand it is a rude thing to ask of someone I have just met but I believe fate has brought us together for a reason. If you could see it in your heart to accept, I pledge to cause for you no trouble, so long as our business remains unconcluded and I am your guest.”

“Oddly specific phrasing,” Ayla notes.

“I understand your suspicion,” Chang Lanseoul says sympathetically, “but my oath evermore is not mine to give. However, you have my word as well, that I shall recommend to my master that no harm befall you… And anyway, I have been honour-bound since my youth to never, under any circumstances, strike a woman.”

Ayla’s eyes only narrow further. You sense she wants to refuse, to annihilate this man with magic… But that interfere with your ability to geta way, and her ritual will take time. Worse, it could attract eyes from River’s Mouth proper to this edge of the demiplane, further complicating your escape.

Zith-Zi’s still not back, and as her representative, you make a judgement call. You…
>Accept
>Modify the terms [how?] and accept
>Refuse this, but offer a demonic contract—unbreakable by your nature—that you will return to this place
>Make to agree, then attack as soon as your backup arrives
>Write-in

Any attempt to stall, attack, or wheedle out of this will require a roll, and could initiate combat*

>>6300150
>Accept

All our forces (yeb, the blue goblins, the rest of the fey, Khorine) are back home.

So if we have to get rid of Chang. We are better off jumping him at the base then trying to deal with him here.

Me>>6299393
>>6299123

>>6300150
>Accept
Being a guest doesn't give him complete access. Keep him out of the forge and we're good.

>>6300150
>Accept

>>6300192
>>6300198
>>6300226
…

…

When you step out of the late Ziwei Bo’s maze of extradimensional backrooms, the first thing you see is an annoyed and exasperated Ayla. The second thing, then, is the source of that agitation: your shadow-sister, ‘Carazzi Yosef’, shaking a paw with a confused and bemused Eastman plainly unused to the custom. This would be eye-raising enough under any circumstance, given CZ’s current level of monstrosity, but the son-of-a-bitch with whom she’s clasping hands is that enigmatic asshole who was probing for info back at the River’s Mouth market.

“The fuck did I miss?!”

All eyes (and whatever the hundun has going on) turn to you. The humie—Chang Lanseoul—then has the temerity to smile and bow, and to greet you:

“Milady! You are, as before, lovely as the dawn. Not even your injury could so mar a face and soul as yours.”

“Wh—The fuck kinda compliment is that?!” You choke back your womanly outrage for a moment. “Hey, no no no, no changin’ the fuckin’ subject. What in all the layers of Hell is goin’ on here? CZ, what’d you just shake on?”

“Oh! ZZ! U-uh, well, ya se…”

“I am to be a humble and deferential guest of your home, for a short while.” Chang bows low. “I am gracious, and will make of myself a most unintrusive presence, save for when you have need of me.”

You stare at him for a moment, before looking to Carazzi. She cringes, the effect amplified by his currently-ugly mug, and pats her head as if to say ‘silly me’.

“…Is good?”

You look over your shoulder at Murbal. It had taken you a while to get her up and on her feet again, but the big gal eventually followed you out. In her arms, of course, she carries the body of her lost brother; you’d stolen some of the lich’s stockpile of silk to wrap his torso and hide his wound, which had seemed some small comfort to his sister—at least, it had coincided with the end of her waterfall of tears.

Nasir, dissolve to nothing, had needed no such labour.

“Ah, you have suffered a loss.” Chang Lanseoul’s smile has the decency to disappear when he sees Xoldur’s body. “My condolences, Milady Shòurén.”

“…name is Murbal, of Steelwood Wolves. Not ‘Shoo-Ren’. Dumb name.”

Chang bows his head deeper still in apology, saying nothing more. You cross your arms, unsure what to make of all this.

“Zith-Zi,” Ayla reminds you, “time is…”

“Yeah yeah, I know, I KNOW.” You wave her off, then sigh, and turn to CZ. “We’re gonna talk about this when we get back, ya hearin’ me?”

“I hear ya, ZZ,” CZ mumbles, cowed.

“Good. Ayla, I assume ya got room for one more.”

“If you have the vajra ready?”

>>6300271
You reach behind you, to where you stowed the sacred weapon in your belt and beneath your winter-wolf cloak. Chang’s eyes widen at the sight of the bejeweled battle-wand, but again he has the courtesy to remain silent. Following Ayla’s instructions, you place the item at the centre of a magical circle which she and CZ draw around it, with pilfered charcoal sticks from around the shop, and set with gemstones and geodes which she has you and a sluggish, slumping Murbal scrounge up.

“Hurry, hurry!”

“We’re hurryin’, alright? Fuckin’ hell…”

When your work is done, Ayla utters the usual wizardly gobbledegook, wiggles her fingers and shuffles her feet, the various shiny stones begin to glow. The energy of the vajra travels along the charcoal lines, into the epically-marked glyphs, and fills the vessels with the sort of raw magical whatsit that (apparently) a demonic sort of spellcaster can make proper use of.

“You are most talented mistresses of the arcane arts,” Chang says.

“Aww, well, uh… I’m just a student, technic’ly…” replies your sister.

You frown at the flattery, wondering what this sneaky swordsman is up to. You make a mental note to post guards on the forge until he’s gone. Just because he’s (apparently) going to be your ‘guest’ doesn’t mean you’re going to give him freedom to roam around and snoop.

Ayla gathers up the stones in her arm. Each of them she clasps to her breast, speaking a whispered word of no-doubt Dark arcana; the gems then crumble to dust, as even your largely-untrained eye picks up her increased energies with your magical sense.

“We good to go?” you ask.

“<Dimension Door>,” is her answer.

One by one, the members of your Regiment step through the portal thus produced: like a two-dimensional disc of somewhere else, in the open air and wreathed by golden-orange flame.

“Marvellous,” murmurs Chang, as he steps through.

You follow him a moment later, keeping an eye on the man and a hand on your rad-saber.

…

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>>6300272
…

Once you are done explaining the situation to Zith-Zi—and once she’s done chewing you out over the matter—you immediately hurry down through the levels of Patmo-Shoka, toward the forge.

The uncanny smoothness of the stone walls is broken up only by precisely-carved geometric patterns, and by those glyphs which are nearly invisible until activated to open doors. You pass by the boglins on your way—the dungeon’s original denizens, or at least their left behind security personnel—who offer stiff and militaristic waves unbefitting a goblinoid. You can feel their dismay and disgust at your current countenance, and the shame spurs you deeper, faster.

You’re hurrying such, and your horned head is hung so low, that you actually crash right into someone without noticing. You are both knocked onto your asses, and you are torn between the urge to apologize and a countervailing compulsion to rip into the offending obstacle both rhetorically and maybe LITERALLY.

Well, at least until you realize who it is.

“VeigaR!” you cry. “you’re back!”

The wind is knocked out of the minty-green caster-clone by your second, more deliberate impact, as you throw yourself into his midsection and all but hug the life out of him. You only stop when he starts tapping your back insistently, in his desperate need to breathe.

“It’s… Haaaa… It’s good to see you too, Carazzi.”

It’s funny to think that it was Tips—and thus Veigar, too, sorta—who originally gave you the odd-for-a-goblin name which you’ve since embraced. Just like you, Veigar is a ‘monstrous’ doppelganger of a prettier and pinker ‘real’ person, though in your opinion he’s still PLENTY pretty. Of course, he’s also Ayla’s, so you don’t say that last part out loud; you, better than most, know what a cambion’s envy and wrath can metastasize into.

“You came just in time,” you tell Veigar. “We’re about to do the, uh, you know. The whole forge thing!”

“I know,” he replies gently. “Ayla summoned me here and told me what happened. Well… More or less.”

His half-sour, half-smiling expression is that of a man (well, half-man half-elf, embodied in reworked goblin-flesh) who has married a demon, and well knows her propensity for deviousness and duplicity. So, too, is his face that of a man who loves her anyway.

(Now YOU’RE the one who’s envious…)

>>6300274
“I had enough time to gather most of the… Um, MATERIALS, which we’ll be needing.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, feigning understanding and feeling somewhat foolish.

“…The blood?”

“Oh!” You slap your forehead. “Right! So… Where is it? Ya got it in some vials somewhere, or like… Oh, is it in the forge-room?”

Veigar looks vaguely uncomfortable, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes. It’s kinda cute, which doesn’t help matters, especially with your elevated <WANT>, but with a bit of Ayla’s meditative technique, you keep yourself under control. Not much matters, besides the need to get down to the forge before you run out of pill-power—not Veigar’s methods, or his androgynous gobbo-elfy good looks, or anything else.

You drag him down to the base’s basement, where Ayla is awaiting.

“Slow down!” he half-laughs and half-gasps, huffing and puffing as you tug the bookworm along. “I have… Huff… Have to ask you what you even WANT, Carazzi!”

“Oh shit, sorry!” you say, realizing how fast you were going.

Before you’d sent Veigar on his errand, to visit Hawksong and the surrounding region and retrieve the blood necessary to reshape your more permanent, perfected form, you’d given him instructions. However, you hadn’t been sure exactly what you wanted, except to be pretty and not green… Well, and to have a vag.

You’d been leaning towards making a halfling or gnome out of yourself. Because of Martyn meadowgrass. But that… Well, that was before the two of you broke up. Before he left, presumably never to come back.

…And that was before you, um, mutually penetrated a certain hunk of hundun on the rebound.

>>6300277
With a sinking feeling, you realize that your entire conception of the form you were going to take—already undecided—has been thrown into total disarray by the departure of your former boyfriend. As for The Naked Emperor… Well, Empy pretty much proposed to you on the spot after you two got drunk and danced off back in his northeastern steppe ‘kingdom’, but even a somewhat-unstable demonspawn like YOU can tell that the demigod’s not all there upstairs—it might not even remember that, or have any idea what it means!

And even if he did… What would a hundun want? What does an ever-shifting blob of protoplasmic meat-sauce desire?

…Does it even matter?

What are your feelings about The Naked Emperor, and your relationship to it?

>You think of it as a sort of semi-sentient companion, kind of like a pet
>It’s a friend, maybe even a sex-friend, but not… Someone you could commit to
>You think you really like—maybe even love—the hundun, and are deeply invested in your relationship
>Write-in

What sort of form do you desire?
>Nothing's changed—you want to be a cute little gnomely girl!
>You kinda liked being all tall, the first time you were out East, actually…
>While your current form is a bit too warty and weird, being big and strong is sort of nice…
>With Martyn out of the picture you’re actually, like… Not so sure you want to be a ‘girl’ girl anymore…
>Write-in [strongly encouraged, instead of or in addition to the above options, if you have anything specific in mind]

>>6300279
>You think you really like—maybe even love—the hundun, and are deeply invested in your relationship
We rebound hard!

>Nothing's changed—you want to be a cute little gnomely girl!

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>>6300279
>You think you really like—maybe even love—the hundun, and are deeply invested in your relationship

I don't think we have better options. Even if we change our race, most normal people are going to be turned off by the fact that we are a soul eating demon.

>You kinda liked being all tall, the first time you were out East, actually…

>Write-in: a human sized goblinoid women with delicate elven ears and facial features. Somewhat like Veigar but taller and more elven looking.(pic. Related.)

Being a goblinoid is fine most of our allies are goblins. Our problem is our bottom almost tusk like canines, our warts and uneven skin and raggedy ears. And I guess being a midget is a detriment to, makes it difficult to command respect.

If Cara is tall and hot most of the problems of being a goblin are mute.

>>6300279
>It’s a friend, maybe even a sex-friend, but not… Someone you could commit to
empy can our friend with benefits, but not much more than that.

>You kinda liked being all tall, the first time you were out East, actually…
gnome form has too much baggage now.

>>6300150
>Modify the terms
>I pledge to cause for you no trouble, so long as our business remains unconcluded and I am your guest
>If we can't come to a fair agreement, pledge not taking by force what we couldn't give or trade.

>>6300357
[Sorry, anon, but you're an update behind, though I will keep that write-in in mind...]

>>6300279
>It’s a friend, maybe even a sex-friend, but not… Someone you could commit to
>Nothing's changed—you want to be a cute little gnomely girl!
More life "Halfin". After all, they make perfect burglars if we need to get into Theral's hoard

>>6300361
yeah, realized it. It's ok though.

>>6300362
>Theral's hoard
>hoard
>Sad Dragonborn Antipaladin noises as you pawn more of your demigodly ancestor's furniture to buy cattle to feed all the enormous apex carnivores in your extended family
>TFW you have to take out another loan from your distant cousins in Hawksong finance

>>6300365
Wait, does he have so many Skill Issues?
We never financially recovered from Big Red Mind-possession?

>>6300366
I'm shitposting a little. He just has a very small territory with very few livestock and little arable land, and a growing population of people who can only really eat meat, especially his kids and 'siblings' among the True Dragonborn who can grow to giant sizes. It's like living in the middle of the Rocky Mountains and having to feed a small population of growing tyrannosaurs. However, as mentioned last time it came up he IS approaching a point where Bloodrise can't grow if he doesn't secure food or land, and standards of living will fall if he doesn't find a solution in the next decade or so...

Which will be a probable plot point in the next quest.

>>6300279
>You think of it as a sort of semi-sentient companion, kind of like a pet

>With Martyn out of the picture you’re actually, like… Not so sure you want to be a ‘girl’ girl anymore…
The urge to turn into a Bimbo Zith-Zi for pure trolling purposes is too tempting for me to properly consider.

>>6300279

>It’s a friend, maybe even a sex-friend, but not… Someone you could commit to
Not a pet. A friend. But a husband…? I’m not so sure.

>Nothing's changed—you want to be a cute little gnomely girl!
ZithZi sized. Or something close to that.

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>>6300416
>>6300408
>>6300362
>>6300355
>>6300310
>>6300293
[Alright, locked and writing!]

>>6300810
Empy is… Well, he’s pretty special! Or, uh, it, or they, or WHATEVER. Pronouns aside, the strange entity really does ‘get’ in a way nobody else ever has. Even in your current form—literally ‘warts and all’—you know that the hundun wouldn’t shrink away from you…

But is that really all you want?

Having your back in a fight AND being down for a fuck might be firm foundations for a relationship, but you’ve come a long way since Sunset Lake, and you’re about to take one more gigantic step towards the you that you always wanted to be. Marty or no Marty, the Carazzi Yosef who beamed back at you in pride from your own mirror is still the skin you feel safest in: cute, cuddly, maybe a little gnomely, and above all NORMAL.

Is that the kind of girl who’d settle for a deranged demigod with rolling amnesia, just because he was the first ‘guy’ to propose? You honestly can’t say… Not yet, not now.

“Carazzi…?”

“I wanna be cute ‘n elfy!” you declare, stomping your foot for emphasis. “Like a gnome!”

“Uh, alright,” Veigar says uncertainly.

“Without any risk of turnin’ back inta… Inta THIS, every time I lose it, ya know?”

Your own ragged, hairy hairs droop, and Veigar places a sympathetic hand upon your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze of assurance.

“We can do that.”

You lean into his touch as the two of you continue downwards. It’s comforting, nostalgic even. Veigar is so much like the Tips who made you both, and who used to soothe you just like this. Calming down, you think back to your first visit to River’s Mouth, and make one more request:

“An’ I wanna be tall. Not, like, humie tall… But, like, this height?”

Veigar quirks an eyebrow, looking you up and down, and dryly adds: “So you mean to be the BIG sister, then.”

You titter nervously, shuffling your feet, and give Veigar a small nod.

“No tusks, though, aight?”

“No tusks,” Veigar agrees with a laugh. “And no scales. Don’t worry—getting rid of THOSE was practically the first trick I learned, and even THESE days it wasn’t hard to acquire gnome or halfling samples in Hawksong.”

>>6300842
“Things’re still dicey in the city?” you ask, seeing the darkness pass over his expression and his aura alike.

Veigar shrugs, and a moment later nods.

“On top of all the usual paranoia about shapeshifting lizardmen and demonists—which has only gotten worse—there’s been rumblings of orc activity in the northeast. More raids, pillaging whole villages and… Well, it isn’t good. And the response has been nothing if not predictable. The Queen is trying to keep the peace as best she can, but… Let’s just say it’s a good thing you didn’t ask for orc or beastman samples. They’re not easy to come by, these days.”

“Hehe, well, we coulda just asked Murbal or Khorine for THOSE,” you say, trying to lighten his mood.

“It’s probably best they steer clear of Hawksong, too.”

You gulp. That bad, huh? You guess it’s good you’re going the ‘pretty and pink’ route that ZZ and Dura did…

You both stop before the wall which separates the rest of the dungeon from Patmo-Shoka’s secret heart: once the underground garden of the Ettercap who squatted with her stolen children in this long-lost place, and now the site of your transformation to come. You clear your throat to announce yourself, but as it turns out, there’s no need.

“Enough wasting time! Come in, come in!”

The wall begins to shift and move, sigils and stripes of hidden enchantment spreading across the surface as it separates and lifts away to reveal. The dull golden-orange glow of the forge illuminates your teacher, matched by the much-brighter burning of her eyes. The intensity is such that you take a step back, bumping into Veigar.

“It’s okay,” he promises you, giving your hand another squeeze and offering a smile.

“Y-yeah, I know, it’s just…”

kroak?

You look down as a soggy lump bumps against your shins, and see your amphibious familiar, gifted to you by the Dark Gods: Nermal, the eyeless and tendril-bearded lake-drake! Did they somehow sense you needed comfort in this moment?

“Aww, thanks Nerm!”

Kroak!, the creature protests as you scoop them awkwardly up into a hug, writhing and generating surplus mucus until they squirm free.

“What did I JUST say about wasting time?” Ayla sighs.

“R-right!” you take a few quick steps forwards, towards the forge and towards your future. Only then do you stop and turn around, as a thought occurs to you.

“Ugh, what NOW?” Ayla asks, only for a quick look from Veigar to mollify her. “I mean, what’s wrong, Carazzi?”

Nothing, necessarily, but you can’t help but wonder…

“Where’s ZZ at?”

…

>>6300843
…

You look at yourself in the mirror, stripped down to your skin in the privacy of your quarters, and grimace at what you see there. Your mage-made good looks have been marred, posy-pink skin split across your brow, nose, and cheek. Another gouge has ripped across your ‘girls’, leaving nasty bruising around the severed blood vessels. You washed the blood from your redder-than-regular hair; your scalp is still tender to the touch, too, and matched by bruising all across your back from that turtle-mook’s mace. Here, there, and essentially everywhere you applied a salve pre-prepared by prudent young Dura for your return. Despite her diligence, and the magic-rich ingredients which the Ettercap’s unholy experiments provide the witchy woman, there’s only so much that can be done.

From each wound, beyond and beneath each bruise, the blackness of Ziwei Bo’s undead taint still spreads.

“Where’s a good cleric with <Remove Curse> when you need one?” you mutter to yourself.

croak!

“It’s fine,” you reassure Hershy, rubbing your thumb over his tiny, feathered head. “I’m gonna be fine…”

You sure hope so, at least. Regardless, there’s nothing you can do about it right now, and there’s many more matters more pressing to attend to. Having washed and treated your wounds, you set about bandaging them up with some gauze robbed from An-Yii’s kit. You’re no medic, not like her, but you can manage that much. You have to—you’re the Boss around here, and that comes with privileges but ALSO responsibilities… At least, if you want to stay the Boss for long. You learned THAT lesson nice and early, out in the Wastes: right after a raid is when problems show their ugly fuckin’ faces—faces to make yours look as swell as ever, rather than just all swollen.

Right now, that means…
>Dealing with this dipshit ‘Chang Lansoeul’, to lay down some ground rules and to make sure he doesn’t start anything
>Checking in on Murbal, and making sure she doesn’t do anything stupid… Or, you know, feel all alone and shit
>Prioritizing this magical poison (or whatever), which sounds like a job for Khorine and her Feycraft… Hopefully?
>Going downstairs to see your sister achieve her dream… And to make sure that Ayla doesn’t pull any khoblis crap
>Write-in

>>6300845
>Prioritizing this magical poison (or whatever), which sounds like a job for Khorine and her Feycraft… Hopefully?
Yeah this thing seems like pretty bad news
Dealing with Chang and Murbal loses in priority to saving our own life

>>6300845
>Dealing with this dipshit ‘Chang Lansoeul’, to lay down some ground rules and to make sure he doesn’t start anything
Dont touch the forge unless ayla or ZithZi authorize it.
The forge has its risks. The process may kill someone. It’s unlikely, like one-fifth chance, but it’s there.
Dont reproduce any knowledge of the forge to anyone not requiring the use of the forge.

>Prioritizing this magical poison (or whatever), which sounds like a job for Khorine and her Feycraft… Hopefully?

>>6300906
Am >>6300416

>>6300906
Ok, why even mention the forge? Just tell him stick to the guest quarters and give him an escort.

>>6300926
It’s probably coming up sooner or later.

>>6300845
>Dealing with this dipshit ‘Chang Lansoeul’, to lay down some ground rules and to make sure he doesn’t start anything

>>6300845
>>Prioritizing this magical poison (or whatever), which sounds like a job for Khorine and her Feycraft… Hopefully?

[A tie, eh? I'll check back in a bit.]

>>6300845
>Checking in on Murbal, and making sure she doesn’t do anything stupid… Or, you know, feel all alone and shit

Or

>Dealing with this dipshit ‘Chang Lansoeul’, to lay down some ground rules and to make sure he doesn’t start anything


Honestly I don't even know if Khorine can heal us. Curse breaking isn't a part of novice lvl feycraft. We need either a healing focused priest or a mage who knows the <Greater Restoration> spell.

I think Blachette a member of tips wizard gang knows how to break greater curses. Maybe we can go to hawksong and ask Pearce or Testa if they have seen him or know where he is.
Me>>6300310

>>6301277
[Thanks, anon!]

>>6300953
>>6300948
>>6300906
>>6300859
[Locked and writing!]

>>6301342
Much as you like Khorine and want to catch up with her, it’s an open question whether the kid can even heal you—it ain’t exactly beginner-level Feycraft to crack a curse. If all Khorine can do is be a bearer of that bad news, you’ll waste her time and yours just to feel WORSE.

(You wonder if Tips—or his goblin-flavoured clone—still keeps tabs on that curse-fanatic Blanchette? You and Jimmy adventured with the four-eyed dork a few times, and he was even working on a [Greater Restoration] for just this kind of occasion… But you haven’t seen him in years now, so who even knows? Maybe his penchant for collecting cursed items finally caught up with him!)

Instead of obsessing over your… Condition… you go looking for a different sort of trouble instead. Specifically, you mean to find where that dipshit Chang Lanseoul is. You don’t know exactly what his deal is, but cute twink or no, you don’t trust that humie as far as you can spit!

Your suspicions prove well-founded (as they oh so often do) when you find the Easterling snooping about several layers lower than where you left him. You aren’t an idiot, of course, and so before you went to freshen up you assigned him one of the Blueberry Brigade (as you have taken to referring to the Patmo-Shokan boglins) to keep an eye on Chang; that you find him alone all but seals his guilt.

“Hey!” you snarl as you storm up to him. “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing down here, huh?”

“Oh! Milady, my apologies.” He bows his usual obsequiously-low bow, as if that and some boygirlish good looks are going to just make you forget what you’ve caught him at.

“Answer the question,” you demand, crossing your arms.

Chang smiles that easy smile and stands up. “Of course. I apologize—I was instructed that the quarters which I might be graciously permitted to occupy for my stay were to be found below, and I fear I got… How is it that out say it in your most lovely language? ‘Turned about’?”

“It’s ‘turned around’,” you say, though upon reflection either would probably work. “And it ain’t MY language.”

“Oh? But you speak it so eloquently, milady, that I never would have so guessed!”

“I ain’t looking for a lay, Mister Chang, let alone from someone girlier than I am.”

Chang’s smile fades ever-so-slightly at the edges, and in a serious voice he assures you: “I would never so besmirch your honour, or mine, milady. My heart belongs to another.”

“Hmph. Makes two of us, then.”

>>6301350
Thinking about your time with Blanchette brought back a lot of other remembrances of your adventures and, of course, of the man you shared them with: James Efron. You shake them away—which makes your impact-addled brain ring a little, so you stop and fix your weary, blurry gaze upon Chang Lanseoul once more.

“Are you quite alright?”

“Peachy,” you snap. “I’m just here to lay down a few ground rules, for your stay.”

“Ground—? Oh! Of course, I understand completely. I lay myself at your mercy, and make of myself your most obedient servant so long as I have the pleasure of your hospitality, milady.”

“Good! Let’s start with: no sneaking around trying to find out about our shit! And don’t play dumb—I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“And yet you have the skin of youth,” he pronounces, then winces a little. “Ah, present injury aside.”

You glower, silently seething at that addendum as your lich-wounds throb and itch with irritation. Your ‘guest’ must take that silence as an expectant one, for he belatedly continues:

“I merely… grew curious. I have never before seen the like of this place, or its… Court.”

“Ain’t a court,” you sniff. “It’s an adventuring company. The Monstrous Regiment!”

“Though not so monstrous for long, yes? Or… Differently so?”

You narrow your eyes.

“I mean no offence, nor to pry!” Chang Lanseoul holds up both palms in appeasement, again giving you a glimpse of those sword-callouses that blemish the otherwise thin and delicate fingers. “Your, ah—”

“Sister.”

“Your most lovely sister, yes! She had mentioned that she had urgent business to attend to, of course… And she is touched by the èguǐ, yes?”

“Fuck if I know,” you spit back. “Speak Common. WESTERN Common.”

“Of course, forgive me. It is just that the Western term ‘demon’ carries… Connotation I did not wish to rudely impose.” Chang bows his head a moment, then fixes you again with that serious gaze. “She was very fast to say that she and your other companion, the Lady Cultivator, could assist me in remedying an ailment. I assumed that she meant to do the same to herself—to cure her condition.”

>>6301351
This time, the pregnant pause awaits YOUR response. This man—this dangerous, high-level adventurer serving an unknown master—is trying to butt into your business! On the other hand, well… He IS obviously the servant of someone properly wealthy, PROBABLY a noble or a high-priest or something. CZ said that he had permission to proffer a lot of loot for your aid.

(On the other hand… Could he be one of the people from that soothsayer’s prophecy, who might threaten your future fortunes by stealing or destroying this place? He can’t be one of the possible buyers, right? The human lady in the tent said you’d know whoever THAT was, which immediately brings a couple people to mind, and this guy and his enigmatic employer aren’t on the list.)

How will you answer?
>Tell Chang Lanseoul about the forge, and what it can do—including the risks
>Tell Chang about the benefits, and the potential, but NOT about the risks—rally sell him on it
>Tell him that CZ’s wrong—you’ve got nothing here that can help him or his boss
>Demand to meet his employer before you offer him anything
>Write-in

>>6301352
>Tell him yes, we are, but the process is a closely guarded trade secret and is probably overkill for whatever his boss has anyway. Veigar is a top tier mage and specialized in restorative magic, he'll go take a look after this is over. Unless Cheng complicates things by wandering where he shouldn't, that is.

>>6301352
>Tell Chang Lanseoul about the forge, and what it can do—including the risks
>>6301362
I like bits of this one, too.

It’s a secret. The procedure has its risks. The person may die from the process.

Before telling him explicitly what it is (a forge), ask him to swear by a non-disclosure agreement regarding the location, purpose, and capabilities of this medical procedure with the exception to the patient.

>>6301352
>Demand to meet his employer before you offer him.

This dude demanded to come here, after subtly implying that he might abduct the hundun, if he was refused. And now he is fishing around for information in spite of giving us nothing but his name, and some nebulous supposed potential payment.

If he wants about the forge he better start by telling us who he works for, what's the ailment he is trying to cure, and what excalty he is able to offer up in return.

If he is unable to provide any info then he better wait until Ayla can go open a portal that leads to his master.

Me>>6301277

>>6301352
>Demand to meet his employer before you offer him anything

I'm >>6300948

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>>6301474
>>6301403
>>6301391
>>6301362
[Oof, another tie, eh? I'll leave this for a little bit while I catch up on some other quests. Enjoy this Ziwei Bo RIP in the meantime, courtesy of our very own Jail Quest QM, Indonesian Gentleman!]

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>>6301712
[Alright, in the interest of getting out an update I'm going to lock the vote, usual my usual tie-braining method. I'll try to intention-blend a little and respect the divide, though.]

“…Yeah. You pretty much got it.”

Immediately, Chang’s smile is back, broader than ever even if still tight-lipped.

“We ain’t sharing, though,” you add, and take some small pleasure in watching the smile shrink again.

“Surely there is something I can offer to make it worth your while?” Chang offers. “My master has permitted me—”

“Yeah yeah yeah, ‘leeway’, I heard,” you interrupt. “Look, Chang, what CZ’s doing—what my sister’s doing, I mean—it’s not what your boss would want. The last guy who did it, he fuckin’ died. And not a GOOD death. I don’t know what this mystery master of yours has got, but trust me: it ain’t THAT bad.”

Even now you can’t quite f̷̤̓̀o̸͖͕̯̊c̷̜͇̹̚ǘ̵͓͉̯̘s̵̼͖̣̒̍̐̀ on what happened to Iorund Copperbelt—can’t bring yourself to fully confront it. The concussion probably isn’t helping, either… But it all goes to show how risky an enterprise the forge can be. You trust Ayla to know what she’s doing with another ‘cambion’ or whatever, but…

“Listen,” you continue to the nonplussed knight-or-whatever, “we got this guy here who can probably help you out. Top tier magic, Life Magic specialist even. Ayla’s BF. When we’re done here, maybe I can have a talk with him, get him to give your boss a look.”

Chang’s muted consternation lifts ever so slightly at the offer. It reminds you, too, that Veigar might be able to solve your own affliction. He’s essentially a doppelganger of the guy who made you a whole new body, after all! What CAN’T he do?

“It is a most generous offer,” Chang Lanseoul allows.

“It is, ain’t it?” you agree, then add a word of warning: “Provided you don’t fuck it up. The way I see it you invited your ass over by making vague threats. Now I find you sneakin’ around like some little thief. See how that might complicate matters?”

Chang, who for his oriental shortness by human standards is still over two feet taller than you, can’t hide a small smirk. You allow it, if only because he next nods his head.

“I understand. I would not wish to seem ungracious, and the consideration which you now show my humble self is most kind. I will not squander it.”

“Good, ‘cause I ain’t making any promises until I’m sure you’re gonna behave yourself.”

(Maybe not even then…)

>>6301779
“I understand,” Chang assures you.

A part of you, irate and on edge, had perhaps been spoiling for a longer argument or even for a fight. The much greater part of you, though, is weary from the war on the lich and the subsequent scramble. You’re not so sure about doing business with a guy you’ve never met through his pretty-but-deadly proxy, but that’s a decision you’re happy to kick down the road a little ways… maybe after meeting the man.

“Come on then,” you say, with a nod. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”

(Keep him out of trouble, more like… And figure out where he lost that blueberry, too, so you can reaffirm the importance of a proper goddamned guard!)

…

>>6301780
…

You approach the dais upon which the cracked-open golden stone of the forge’s ‘gem egg’ capsule waits you. You’re excited, of course, but you still do so with no small trepidation.

“So, uh, this thing’s still on safe mode, right?” You ask with a nervous giggle, trying not to think about the misshapen corpse Copperbelt had left behind, and instead upon Dura’s cute new hue and tiny little tusks.

“Yes,” Ayla laments, “sadly, the changes which Zith-Zi and that AMATEUR fairy-follower imposed upon our designs remain in place.”

(Oh!)

“But,” your sensei adds with a wickedly witchy smirk, “my direct supervision—and Veigar’s—plus the power inside you and the techniques I taught you should still suffice to achieve very NEARLY the full effect we had hoped.”

“…Oh.” You force a grin in return. “Good!”

“Don’t worry,” Veigar tells you, with that same reassuring smile Tips would wear when he told you the same sort of thing. “I’m here. You’ll be okay. I’ll make certain of it.”

Your nerves lighten a little. You don’t know Veigar as well as his original, but just like you and ZZ are two sides of the same coin, you trust Veigar and you would trust in Tips himself.

You step inside the great big egg.

“Okay,” you say, releasing a deep breath and standing tall. “I’m ready!”

Ayla and Veigar move to the black-glass panel alongside the dais, where Martyn Meadowgrass had stood sentinel over the last few transformations. Without his or his Delver boss’ technical wizardry, you were a little worried at how it might be properly manipulated. As it turns out, though, there’s no need.

“The technology here looks a lot like what the High Elves use in the facilities on Holy Luna,” Veigar notes. “And the language…”

“The root tongue and grammar resembles modern Dwarven, but the vocabulary—”

“Yes!” Veigar excitedly agrees with Ayla. “The construction of individual words, especially those related to Living Alchemy and to the so-called ‘soul’, they resemble those of Ancient Elven—of HIGh Elven, I should say!”

The two exchange a geeky little grin, gazing into each other’s eyes in mutual excitement over deciphering the mystical-linguistic puzzle. You feel at once more confident in their command of the process… And a little envious over what they have, and you yet lack.

(Maybe when you’re all fixed up—made ‘perfect’, made NORMAL—you can finally feel what that’s like, be it with Empy or someone else…)

Perfection doesn’t come, though, nor normalcy. The two of them finish their tapping, swiping, and sigil-scrawling upon the crystal panels, while Nermal sits waiting and watching… And then?

“Ready,” Veigar announces.

But Ayla’s hand hovers, and she does not respond.

>>6301781
“…Ayla?” Veigar asks, his tone both worried and wary.

Your master in the magical arts does not reply to her significant other, though, but instead sets her troublingly serpentine eyes firmly upon you.

“Carazzi,” she says, “I have a question for you. No, more like…”

“Ayla,” Veigar says warningly.

“…A proposition.”

“Ayla!” Veigar’s voice is sharper now, making you jump, though Ayla neither turns away from you nor flinches. “We talked about this. We AGREED, Ayla. Not until after.”

“H-huh?” You look between the pair from within the still-open gem-egg. “H-hey, what’s, uh… I mean, weren’t we in a hurry?”

“This can’t wait,” Ayla replies.

“And why NOT?” Veigar huffs, turning fully to face her. “Ayla, this isn’t funny.”

“it’s not a joke,” she replies.

“It’s not RIGHT.”

“That—!” Ayla’s hair begins to rise, the tips to catch ablaze again, but she simmers down and stops herself from speaking too harshly. “Veigar… She drank it all. ALL of it. And Ziwei Bo… He’s gone. This is our only chance now… Maybe ever, for all we know.”

Though she doesn’t turn to face her partner, Veigar’s chartreuse countenance falls. He opens his mouth to say something, and his eyes flit to you, and he cringes. You feel guilt for his not speaking up, and fear… But the fear isn’t for you.

“Hey, uh… What’s this all about?” you ask quietly. “Come on, yer bein’ all… Weird ‘n ergonomic ‘n shit.”

“You mean ‘enigmatic’,” Ayla quickly corrects, then clears her throat. “Carazzi, before I—we—transform you into your perfect form, as you asked and as we’ve devoted the better part of half a year and CONSIDERABLE resources to make a reality…”

Veigar sighs and pinches his forehead, but doesn’t interrupt beyond that.

“…We were wondering if you would do us a favour in turn?”

You blink a few times. You very nearly laugh, and feel the initial impulse to say ‘of course’ or something similar. After all, this is AYLA, your mentor and succubus soul-sister, and VEIGAR, who’s pretty much (albeit not QUITE) your maker, and also kind of sort of your brother, you guess, in a way?

(It all sounds pretty weird and sordid when you put it that way, but still!)

The thing that stops you, though, is that you’re still a demogoblin. No gob ever got far without a strong sense of suspicion, and no demon could fail to sense that underscoring the pair’s terror, and the current tension, is a fragile but formidable sense of hope… Of desire…

Of <WANT>.

“What is it?” you whisper, fearing the worst.

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>>6301782
“As you have no doubt put together by now—at least, I’d certainly HOPE so, as MY student—Veigar and I have had… Difficulties… In starting a family.”

You nod slowly, saying nothing. Indeed, you pieced together from Ayla’s angsty asides and the strangely specific animosity she has for the fates and the gods which guide them that she has been unable to carry a child to term. It’s part and parcel to being a soul-absorbing cambion, you gathered, and something she hopes for the forge to fix when she…

When she…

“Oh,” you say aloud. “Ooooh. Holy shit.”

“Yes,” Ayla says with a wry smile. “Or ‘unholy’. But yes.”

You drank the power pill potion. Your party—especially Ayla, technically, but on ZZ’s command and to save you all—killed the only lich khoblis motherfucker who knew the recipe. And now... Now, that possibility, of rebuilding Ayla’s body and soul in the same way they’re going to do for you, is lost to her forever. And so…

“Carazzi, in exchange for this favour—for changing your life forever, for transforming you into a PERFECT being—I ask only that you do what I no longer can.” Ayla’s gaze is fixed, intense, and burning bright. “Carry our child. Mine and Veigar’s.”

You stare, still struggling to comprehend this turn of events, and all that it implies.

“Carazzi,” Veigar says more kindly, “you don’t HAVE to do this.”

“You should,” Ayla insists. “You OUGHT to.”

Veigar grimaces at her insistence, at her tone perhaps, but when he turns back to you…

“It would mean a lot to us,” he tells you.

What will you do?
>Agree to be their surrogate
>Refuse—you’re not ready for whatever the fuck this is!
>Write-in

Thus ever the fate of the House of Irinnile-Yosef...

>>6301784
That remains one of this series best artworks

>Write-in
We'll find someone else, anyone else, but it can't be us. Tips told us no sex purely on the chance we might get pregnant or impregnate someone. A prophecy about our offspring dooming the world straight from the gods. We'll let them take blood samples to reverse engineer the formula, hit up Ma Wufeng or whoever took over his house for any notes or recipe books, help with whatever divination spells they need or even a commune with dead to talk to Ziwei Bo directly, but this is the one thing we can't do.

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>>6301802
>That remains one of this series best artworks
[It's by Mike Katar! I'm also partial to this other one... Thus ALSO ever the fate of House Irinnile-Yosef? by JimJams.]

>>6301784
>Agree to be their surrogate
It's not like we need to fuck Veigar, as that one time with Izy showed us.

>>6301784
>Agree to be their surrogate
Fulfill that prophecy in a really roundabout way.

>>6301784
>Agree to be their surrogate
Sex with the sexy Sensei? Every student’s dream desire!

(No, bad Zith-Zi, bad! Your past desire for Tips was supposed to be resolved already! Down girl!)

>>6301827
>>6301962
The duality of man.

>>6301784
>Agree to be their surrogate

It’s… fine, I guess.

How many other obligations are included in this? Do we need to raise the child? How involved will they be during the pregnancy?

>>6301802
>>6301827
>>6301857
>>6301962
>>6302202
At first, you aren’t so sure about this idea. The first thing that springs to mind is Tips—original-flavour Tips that is—and his commandment against carnal relations. But, well… That ship has sailed, hasn’t it? Between Marty and Empy, you’ve broken that edict at LEAST a couple times now, and that’s assuming mouth stuff doesn’t count. And anyway, surely they don’t mean to put a baby in you THAT way… R-right?

(Unless…)

“Of course not!” Ayla exclaims, face flushed with embarrassment and outrage.

(Aww.)

Veigar rallies gamely, though his own green hue is deepened and lightly browned by bloodflow. “It’s a… Well, not a SIMPLE thing, but well within my purview. I AM quiet an accomplished mage, you know.”

And you DO know that, because at his base, Veigar is Tips. Which is the other thing: sure, maybe TIPS was worried about your cambion contagion, but this is ALSO Tips, here and now, asking you… Kind of, sort of. So that should be fine, right?

“What’s all, like… Involved?” You ask. “Heh, I’ve never had a baby before. This is all…”

Sudden. Unexpected. Alarming. Oddly exciting.

“…New ta me,” you finish.

“The initial stage begins with this. “Veigar reaches into his pocket, and extracts a single, shining stone.

>>6302220
“A rock?” you ask.

“Look closely. Use your mage-sight.”

You do so, squinting and leaning in, and then you gasp.

“Holy shit, there’s… Like… A soul in there! A shole-ass soul!”

“Yes” Veigar says, with a sad smile. Ayla lowers her head, averting her gaze for the first time, and you see him reach out to squeeze her hand. “After we… After our recond attempt at having a child of our own, when it became apparent that we… That not all of the variables had been accounted for, and that it wouldn’t, ah, make it…”

He trails off, but you get the gist. With Veigar’s spirit-spells and Ayla’s acumen for all things elemental, they had trapped the unborn soul of their progeny-to-be in the matrix of the mineral, much as the proto-dwarven boglins of Patmo-Shoka stored so much power and information in the lattices of the gems down in this dungeon.

“Ain’t that kinda, like… Fucked up?” you ask.

Ayla glares at you, and you wish you’d bit your tongue, but Veigar answers amicably enough:

“They’re still largely unaware… Sleeping, for lack of a better analogy, waiting to be born. It’s… Well, it’s not so different from an especially long gestation.”

A pretty weird one, though! Well, not that a being like you has any room to talk—like ANY of you, all being products of the <Clone> spell and other sordid circumstances, and with you about to be reshaped by ancient arcana… And, apparently, impregnated to boot!

Veigar hands the stone to you, and you cradle it as you step back into the gem-egg. As he tells it, it’s a simple thing: they’re going to do exactly what they intended, but aside from concentrating on yourself—on your idealized form, and on a spirit divorced from your devilish appetites and urges—you will also visualize the formation of a new life within you.

“Your modified spirit is already to be templated upon Veigar’s work,” Ayala says, with spousal pride in her voice. “Just as he made his own body and soul, he’ll do the same for both of you. The forge will allow us to align your vibrations—”

“We’re gonna be vibratin’?” you ask, worriedly.

“Only energetically, on a sort of causal-spiritual level,” assures Veigar, as if THAT clears anything up.

“—allowing your both to stabilize in the same way, and to achieve compatibility,” Ayla finishes quickly, visibly miffed at the two of you talking over her.

“Riiight,” you say, pretending you get it.

“I don’t think she gets it,” Veigar murmurs.

“She understands well enough,” Ayla insists. “We can’t afford any more delays! The potion is nearly metabolized!”

“Carazzi,” Veigar asks anyway, “are you REALLY sure? TRULY?”

You take a deep breath, and nod.

“C’mon,” you say, allowing yourself a small-but-cheeky smile, “hurry up and knock me up.”

>>6302221
Ayla seethes a little, but you couldn’t resist, especially since—knowing what happened to Copperbelt—Veigar’s blushing cheeks could be the last thing you ever see.

The crystal capsule seals. You swallow, and gently place the bay-making soul-stone against your belly. From the small gap in the ceiling of your sealed egg, the yolk-like gooey fluid begins to pour down. You close your eyes and—even though you KNOW it can carry air and allow you to breathe—you can’t help taking one last gulp of the fresh, normal stuff.

Then, it begins.

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>6302223

Base chance of success on second attempt on a goblin: 55%
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 and Copperbelt’s (-6), and allowed Khorine to clean out and recalibrate the machine (-10) and drank the potion (+20), and introduced a second soul into the equation (-10) there is a 89% chance of total success (1-89), a 4% chance of partial-success (90-93), and a 4% chance (94-99) of simple failure, with an 1% chance of catastrophic failure resulting in instant death.

>>6302225
As the strange substance fills your confined space, it begins to press down around you, and finally to lift you up. It’s a little like swimming, but when you kick your legs, you find you can hardly feel them. You actually have to open an eye to make sure they’re still there; when you do, you find your vision quickly goes hazy, and then stays stuck that way. Whatever the semi-viscous meta-material is, it has some kind of… Numbing effect. Or is that the magic that’s flowing through it, ready to remake you into something new?

You wish you’d paid more attention to Ayla and Veigar’s mage-babble. You REALLY hope you aren’t stuck with one eye all bugged out or something now…

You can’t see or hear what your two fellow doppelgangers are up to out there—the capsule is a lot more opaque from the inside, with one eye sealed shut and your other eye half-spoiled by your earlier impulse. As a demogoblin, though, you can still FEEL them. Ayla is excited, her aura ablaze as it always is when she’s engaged in highmost sorcery. You admire that about her; you both share a source, and some of the same affliction, but she doesn’t allow it to hold her back. Deep in her demonic essence, you can feel only the subtlest pang of fear—of failure, of inadequacy, of herself—but she smothers it in so much self-certainty in her own superiority and in her family’s future that it drowns the doubt.

You try to take after your master, and to drown your own fear of DROWNING, as your burning lungs force your lips apart, and you inhale the first gulp of jelly.

As your mouth, nose, and throat so number and begin to operate automatically, you turn your empathic attentions to Veigar. He… Well, he’s clad in goblin-flesh, which makes his emotions fuzzy. His spirit’s weird, too—bespoke, apparently. You’re not sure what it means to make one’s own soul, but then a LOT of what these two say goes over your head. Maybe when you’re a little taller and a lot less scatterbrained from the constant battle against your own inner nature, they’ll make more sense? Regardless, you can feel HIS fear more clearly than Ayla’s either way, but also something else—hope, sure, but also that same sense of excitement that Tips always felt, when confronted with some new magical mystery. Even with your life (and his own child’s life!) on the line, he can’t help but look forward to what’s about to happen, and to what it might mean.

Some people are just born to be seekers of the esoteric, you suppose…

You try to find that excitement in yourself, as well. It isn’t hard. You have confidence in both of your attendant alchemists, and you want this—really <WANT> this, maybe more than you’ve ever wanted anything ever before! In fact, that’s the real challenge:

To make the most of this, you must tame your <WANT>.

>>6302257
Ayla showed you the way. Though you can’t move through the motions, you mentally recite the series of stances, and imagine yourself going through them step by step.

‘Mountain-horse… Bow-drawn-taut… Golden-rooster-on-one-leg… White-crane-with-spread wings… Snake-creeping-low…’

You tune out your terror, blind yourself to your uselessly reduced vision, and complete the cycle.

’Repel-the-monkey… Cloud-hands… Single-whip… Brush-knee and push step… Embrace-the-tiger…’

An image springs to mind of Irinnile. You remember your shirin trip, inside yourself and back to your past, from before your conception and deep into the depths of a place beyond Hell and deeper even than Death took Ziwei Bo. You remember what you’d told her, and what she’d told you in turn: that you were tired of being you as you currently are; that she had lamented being incapable of life and of love.

That self-loathing, that ever-incomplete feeling, is the essence of what it means to be Demon.

The realization is epiphany, arriving all at once. To be constantly tuned to the collective unconscious—the Dreamscape, the realm of consciousness—and yet never entirely in alignment with it. The emotions of others slip through your fingers like sand, like water, like the not-quite-jelly that is yolk to your egg’s gemstone shell. Life, too, only flows through you: you can never hold it, never embody it, never even be FULL of it. Experience, identity, it all evades you, no matter how much of it your kind chase and consume. You can never hold it, because something in the fundamental nature of demonkind is broken, half-formed, doomed from your very inception to an incomplete existence.

You are Èguǐ, the hungry ghost.

Well, you WERE.

Now, though, in this suspended state, isolated in this chamber and meditative of mind, you feel something else. You are NOT a demon, NOT a ghost. You have substance. You have life. You have identity: CZ, Cara-Zi, Cara, and finally Carazzi ‘Fast’ Yosef. You are the you whom YOU created, who you CHOSE to be. That hunger, that directionless desire, that desperate need to be full?

That’s not you. Not anymore.

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>>6302261
You let go of the ghost of Irinnile, and step out of the shadow of Zith-Zi, and even of Ayla. As a sense of warmth and strength flows up through your chakras, and effuses across your being, you let go even of your excitement to be changed, and your dream of becoming someone else’s dream: a pretty little mermaid wifey for Martyn Meadogarss, or a perfect warrior for your sister’s Regiment, or some kind of Naked Empress, or even a super surrogate for some Master Race munchkin.

You’ll embrace what comes. You’ll hold onto what feels right. All the rest will flow through you, and yet you will not <WANT> for more, but enjoy what you are, whatever that may be.

You empty yourself of wanton <WANT>, and instead embrace the virtue of emptiness itself. Finally, perhaps for the first time, you find peace…

Rolled a 3….

Success!

…In the Void.

‘In this world and the world to come, I alone have no name. Time forgets my wounds, just as I do. My enemy finds only the illusion of me. Of my self, there is nothing to cling to, nor do I cling fast to others.’

Suspended, within the egg, within yourself, within the cosmos, you are a single space which remains empty except for that which you accept into yourself. You hold nothing, save for that which you embrace, and only ever for only as long as you wish to embrace it. There is no more need to chase, to hold on, to cling and claw… No more need to fear.

Unlocked: Path of the Pure Self!

All physical rolls (except attacks) have their DC reduced by 5!

Shifting back to your default form no longer costs MP, and no force inside or out can force you to leave that form against your will.

You no longer suffer <WANT>, and are immune to all physical, mental and spiritual diseases, poisons, and afflictions!

Your spell resistance is doubled!

…And to that which you hold fast, which you truly desire in that instant? No force in Heaven, Hell, or upon the face of the Earth shall break the iron grip of your steady hand.

Also unlocked: Paragon Path: Void Vessel!

Anytime a magical attack is made against you and fails, you gain MP equal to its casting cost and HP equal to half its damage roll if applicable!

You gain the spell Energy Drain, allowing you to deal 1d10 HP and 1d4 MP damage, and to restore your own levels by that amount!

You are no longer vulnerable to holy weapons or powers!

You no longer ping magical senses as a demon!

>>6302263
You open your eyes again—both this time—and this time you truly see. The ooze around you does not impede you, nor does the numbness bind your body any longer. You look down at long, pale, pinkish limbs free of warty scales and untamed animal hair.

And between your legs... Nothing. No burdensome weight. No seeking serpent, venom dripping, eager to invade and to claim. Instead, a comfortable emptiness, ready to be filled—or not—at your leisure and your pleasure, on your own schedule, when and if you want to do so.

You are still holding the stone but, with only a glance, you recognize its own emptiness. You let it float away from your fingers and sink to the floor below. Within you, you feel the blossoming and blazing of a small and separate spark, burning within your own hollow centre like your own hellfire once burned. You cool it, temper it, and build around it a protective shell—the better to grow into something safe and stable, happy and whole.

You alight upon five perfectly-formed and delicate toes as the egg empties its contents into the grooves and channels below. The shell splits, and you step out, whole and new.

Carazzi Yosef, at long last, breathes her first breath.

“…And return to the mountain.”

…

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[Whew! Bit of a long one, and a big climax to CZ's personal arc. I think I'll leave off here tonight, and then write the remainder (and the vote) in the morning! For now, enjoy this Naked Emperor, and let me know what you thought of the culmination of all CZ's (and your!) hard work, eh?]

>>6302225
neat, we did it
>>6302257
>Some people are just born to be seekers of the esoteric, you suppose…
there it is.
>>6302263
>you let go even of your excitement to be changed, and your dream of becoming someone else’s dream: a pretty little mermaid wifey for Martyn Meadogarss, or a perfect warrior for your sister’s Regiment, or some kind of Naked Empress, or even a super surrogate for some Master Race munchkin.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dqTbcbbdnUc
>>6302264
>And between your legs... Nothing. No burdensome weight. No seeking serpent, venom dripping, eager to invade and to claim. Instead, a comfortable emptiness, ready to be filled—or not—at your leisure and your pleasure, on your own schedule, when and if you want to do so.
I'll miss our one-eyed monster, but a cat is miles better.
>>6302271
I'm happy we finally did it, even if people we knew were killed for it.

>>6302271
I was right in that I wasn’t going to be impressed with the Void choice, especially considering Iri’s death in CZ with this latest update.

Otherwise, I’m happy for y’all. Now, if only we can stop flip flopping on that damn prophecy…

>>6302332
Well playing around and pushing the flip-flop have been some huge amount of long term fun of mine.
I was REALLLY scared by seeing that 3 then remembered high is bad for this roll.

>>6302271
Goes hard

Also beeg

>>6302378
>>6302345
>>6302332
>>6302318
>>6302264
…

You safely stow your sneaky stowaway away, and post a thoroughly tongue-lashed Brand-Hrok—the juniormost of the blue-skinned boglins—before the door.

“And remember: if Mister Chang’s got a chamberpot, and if he thinks he’s too fuckin’ fancy to tuse it: he’s wrong.”

“Yes,” Brand-Hrok grunts.

“GOT IT?!”

“Y-yes!” he snaps a stiff salute.

You roll your eyes, but nod and offer a half-hearted salute back. Even these minor motions pain your back and shoulder-blades. Even aside from the accursed occult itching, you think you really need a proper healing if you’re going to get any sleep. Luckily, you know the best healer in the building, and exactly where he’s at.

You retrace your steps, back to where you intercepted and confronted Chang Lanseoul. The dungeon is a maze if you don’t know your way, but as is so often the case, lower brings you closer to the ‘boss chamber’—as it’s called in your line of work—and to the best loot. Patmo-Shoka holds true to the well-substantiated pattern, since the forge room (where you fought the Ettercap for dominance of this place) is indeed at the very base of the pyramid-shaped structure, with its main apparatus and console in the centre, and its mechanical underpinnings, power supply, and crystal-encoded ‘library’ of instructions taking up the space around it.

When you reach the bottom floor, you find Veigar and Ayla, just as expected. You also find CZ, which of course you ALSO expected, but this really undersells the situation.

“Oh! Hey, ZZ. We just finished.”

“I see that. So, uh… It worked, huh?”

“It did!”

CZ is… Different. Your doppelganger is always different, often in new and unusual ways, but this is a DIFFERENT kind of ‘different’. She’s honestly not very changed from how she appeared when she was seeing that hobbit, Meadowgrass, apart from being a good foot taller than you now. That makes you bristle a little, somehow, but you suppress the goblinoid urge to undercut her and to assert dominance—you’re a nilbog, now, and you’re happy for her even if it DOES mean your skittish sister gets to look down upon you now. That’s not the biggest difference, though; rather, that’s her attitude.

“You, uh, feelin’ alright?”

“Of course! Never better, actually! Like, ACTUALLY never better. It’s like I’m, I dunno… Thinking clearly, for the first time.”

“Oh, well… Good!”

You’d expected CZ to be giddier, somehow. Jumping up and down, squealing with glee, stuff like that. Instead, she seems happy, but restrainedly so. Your other half, always so twitchy and jittery, barely restraining herself from launching face-first into any and every activity, is suddenly… Placid. Peaceful.

It’s WEIRD.

>>6302553
Once Ayla and Carazzi have passed you and headed up the stairs—with Ayla, oddly, far and away the more fidgety—you immediately turn upon Veigar.

“Alright,” you growl to the minty-coloured mage, whose head is locked under your armpit in a patented Zith-Zi grapple. “What the fuck did you two DO to her?!”

“H-huh? Nothing! Well, that is to say, obviously not NOTHING but—”

You squeeze a little harder, and the nerd yelps in exaggerated pain. Heh, just like when you pulled this shtick on regular-Tips, back when you were roomies!

“I understand what you mean! I think… I think it’s just the demonic influences being purged. She’s just, um, not as easily aroused anymore.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time ya did THAT to a girl, then, huh?” you tease, feeling a little reassured but still not willing to let him go.

“Ugh. Zee, please…”

Veigar even gets all hot under the collar when the bullying squishes his face into your chest. You’d think that all his marital misadventures with two types of Henzler (and a Fanucci, if this version remembers all that) would wash away the stench of virginal Mage Tower twink, but thank all the misbegotten gods that this isn’t the case! However, the nostalgic humiliation ritual is cut short by another shock of pain which forces you to release your grip with a cry of your own.

“Zith-Zi?” Immediately, the mage is standing straight again, and at your side. “Here, uh… Let me clear you some space. You should sit down.”

“I ain’t THAT old!” you protest.

“I know. I’m older than you, remember?”

“TIPS is older than me,” you shoot back as, despite yourself, you take a seat. “YER, what… Seven?”

Veigar gives you an annoyed look, and you give him a smug smirk at your technical seniority. No matter whether you count your original body or this upgraded, refreshed form, you’re at LEAST eight years old, and with nearly three decades of experience under your belt.

“While I have over forty,” Veigar reminds you pointedly, as his fine, nimble fingers trace the blackened lines of your <Instant Weapon> wounds.

“Elf years only count fer half,” you insist. “Now what’s the prog… Prognastic… Uh… You know. How’s it lookin’, doc?”

“It’s a curse, alright.” Veigar’s voice speaks volumes, telling you without words that it’s a nasty one, too. “I think that the lich’s soul was an artificial one—like my own, I mean, MORE artificial than what the gods made—and that every spell must have been infused with this… Essence of undeath.”

“Okay…”

“It’s actually not unlike what originally happened to Izirina…”

“WHAT?” You ignore the ache that accompanies your sudden spin around to face your physician. “You mean I got ANOTHER fuckin demon livin’ in me, like with CZ?!”

“No.” Veigar frowns. “It’s, um, worse.”

>>6302554
“Anyone ever tell ya yer bedside manner sucks, Vee? Must be what livin’ in the boonies with a demon does to ya.”

“You’d know,” he shoots back.

(Well, can’t argue with that…)

“Anyway,” you abandon the banter, “what do ya mean ‘worse’?”

“I mean that, in both Izirina’s case and in yours, the demonic essences were in a sort of homeostasis with your own souls, affecting your emotions and even your bodies to an extent, but deeply enmeshed in your physical-spiritual composition and essentially dormant. They were stable. They only achieved autonomy and began to grow—to become Ayla and Carazzi—when you were split from them.”

You nod along half-understanding. “So you just gotta split this gross black shit from me again, right?”

“Zee…”

“RIGHT?” you press.

“I can’t,” Veigar says apologetically. “I can’t perform Feycraft anymore. Not since I… Since Ezreal, rather… Since the split, I have had to find other means to perform Life Alchemy and Spirit Alchemy, and they don’t allow me to purify a deeply-enmeshed spiritual affliction like this.”

“Okay, but then the forge—”

“Also can’t be used for this.”

Your eye twitches at the interruption, and at the implication. “Why the fuck NOT?”

“Unlike the ectoplasm in the other cases, THIS curse is… Metastatic.”

“Veigar, I swear to yer dumb fuckin’ moon goddess…”

“It means it’s growing, spreading, changing.” Veigar looks away. “Like a cancer. If we placed you in the forge, it could spread and infect it as well.”

You stare at him, feeling a chill settle in your chest, beneath the burning of this curse upon your breast. “You’re saying I have fuckin’ UNDEAD SOUL CANCER. Is THAT what you’re actually fuckin’ tellin’ me right now?”

“It’s not a perfect analogue, but… Yes.”

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>>6302555
You leap to your feet, grimacing at the pain but nevertheless slapping away Veigar’s attempt to reach out and help you.

“Bullshit! I wasn’t the only one who got hit with those weapons! What about the hundun, HUH?”

“The transference might not be a certainty,” Veigar allows. “Not everyone who comes in contact with a contagion catches the disease. This is… Similar. It’s worth checking the hundun, too, but if I had to guess… It’s simply more resistant to this sort of thing, being both a Dark God and a descendant of the Bonum Chaoticum. A powerful soul and a body that constantly heals and shifts… It would have an easier time fighting off any sort of infection, physical or spiritual.”

“You callin’ me weak?!”

“I’m calling you a mortal being, Zee,” Veigar says gently, and this time you allow him to place a hand upon your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

The chill in your chest settles into a single ball of ice, which falls to the pit of your stomach and sits there like a physical manifestation of the weight of this diagnosis.

What do you say, or do, next?
>Ask if you’re going to die, and how much longer you have
>Go see Khorine—maybe she can help?
>Talk to Veigar about Chang Lanseoul’s master, and his condition, instead
>Demand to try the forge anyway—you have to TRY, at least!
>Retreat to your room—you need to be alone
>Write-in

>>6302556
Is ayla around for emergency Tips-toward TP?

>>6302567
[I'm not sure what 'Tips-toward TP?' means, sorry. But Ayla is around, just not in the room. She's off taking about the transformation and surrogacy with CZ. We'll revisit them, soon.]

>>6302556
>Go see Khorine—maybe she can help?
Have Veigar come too - he can guide her with experience even if he can no longer cast himself

>>6302571
Teleport to Tips I think they meant

>>6302571
TPing toward world's greatest healer, Tips Ezreal Van Houten

>>6302599
>>6302596
>Teleport to Tips
[Oh, duh. I get it. Yes, Magus Ezreal Mious van Houtzmann is certainly an option, once Ayla has had a long rest and recovered her spell slots...]

>>6302556
>Ask if you’re going to die, and how much longer you have

>>6302556
The book returns!

>Ask if you’re going to die, and how much longer you have
>>6302599
Sure.

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>>6302812
>>6302779
>>6302599
>>6302596
red]You[/red] don’t say anything for a while. You stare down at your chest, and at the mystical rot that mars and marks your being. You feel yourself begin to tremble, but bite your cheek and swallow your fear.

“Am I gonna die?” It isn’t a whisper. You refuse to whisper, to whimper, or to whine. “I mean, yeah, obvs. Everyone dies, when they’re a ‘mortal being’…”

Veigar smiles sadly.

“…But, like… How long have I got, you figure? Worst case?”

“I don’t know,” Veigar admits. “In neither of my lives did I ever really have many dealings with necromancers. Their form of arcana is different from all the other traditions, and VERY secretive, even from the forces of Darkness.”

“But as an expert on soul shit…?”

Veigar frowns, and scrutinizes your aura more closely with his own magical senses.

“It… I’m sorry, Zith-Zi. It could be months, or years.”

“But not a lot of years, then? You ain’t talkin’ decades.”

Veigar swallows, and then nods once, quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

It’s ironic, in a way: if you were still a ‘soulless’ goblin, with magic-resistant physical form and a cambion ‘soul’, maybe this wouldn’t be happening. He doesn’t say it, and you’re no expert, but you know it’s true: spell resistance saved you more than a few times in the past, and without it, you must be more vulnerable. It would be easy to kick yourself for that, but you can’t. You won’t. You refuse to give in yet.

“Feycraft,” you say aloud. “That could save me?”

Veigar hesitates to answer, but eventually nods again.

“MAYBE,” he emphasizes. “Divine magic, of the Gods of Light, is different from the healing of the Gods of Darkness, which is itself close to the demonic method and to other arcane healing techniques. Those methods focus on repairing ‘tears’ in the body and soul, by replicating and modifying existing ‘material’. That’s the problem with trying most methods, and even the forge. But high-level Feycraft involves creating NEW, ah… Let’s call it ‘soul-stuff’ for simplicity.”

“Uh huh, real simple,” you comment with a roll of your eyes.

“Well REGARDLESS,” Veigar continues, “that—or outright breaking the curse—would be your best bet. The latter would be incredibly difficult, though, given how powerful Ziwei Bo was.”

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>>6302841
For the second time today, you think of your one-time party member Francis Blanchette, who made a hobby of collecting cursed items and trying to overpower or redirect their curses. It had meant the bespectacled humie went through glasses on a near-daily basis from the terrible luck and various debuffs, but the fact that he still lived AND succeeded in his adventures in spite of this attested to his method’s success… For a given value of ‘succeeding’.

“Blanchette?” Veigar looks wistful at the mention of Tips’ old school-chum. “I’m honestly amazed he’s still alive.”

“IF he still is,” you acknowledge. “It’s been a minute.”

“Well, if anyone could min-max his way out of dying to a curse, it’s him,” Veigar chuckles.

“Or you,” you say pointedly. “And by you, I mean—”

“I know who you mean,” Veigar snaps. “HIM. You mean Ezreal. The ‘real’ Tips, right?”

You hesitate, then shrug.

“No offence, but he’s still got Feycraft.”

“He MAY,” Veigar corrects you. “He gave up his elven blood, as -I- understand it.”

You sigh, and nod. It’s a long story, and not one to which you’re wholly privy… But as part of some tripartite pact brokered by Tips between the human-led Northwestern realms, the elven Silverwood confederation, and that lizard-lipped half-brother of yours in Bloodrise ALSO somehow involved him sacrificing the magical moon-berries that he once used to make you a fresh soul, AND Tips giving up his elven heritage to be wholly human. You don’t really know how close he is to his elf mama’s pantheon, anymore.

But well, he’s still gotta be a safer bet than pre-teen Khorine, who grew up in the shadow of a kobold raid that killed both her fairy-following parents, right? She learned the family faith all on her own, which is IMPRESSIVE, but also means she’s definitionally an inexperienced amateur.

“Or there’s Bloodrise.”

You look up at Veigar, dumfounded by what you’re hearing. “Good two-shoes Tips is tellin’ me to deal with ‘The Dragonborn Antipaladin’? SERIOUSLY?”

“You already did, once,” he points out.

That’s not wrong. You’ve only met the lizardman in question twice in your life, but the second time had been after Tip told you of your shared heritage: by means that go a long way to explaining CZ, his demon-possessed Reptilian Infiltrator mom is YOUR biological ‘dad’. Neither you nor ‘Theral, the Copper Dragon King of Bloodrise, Dark Prophet of the Coming Age, Prince of Love and Prince-Consort of Hawksong’ ever met the half-human half-lizard bitch who knocked up Mama Zi, but you’d appealed to the reptile’s inexplicable affinity for family ties to secure the rights to New Goblintown, where you and CZ had spent years resettling and guiding a community of Goblin Waste slaves.

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>>6302842

“Ain’t ever trusted that smug fuckin’ shyster, though,” you tell Veigar. “You remember how that bugfucker talks? All pronouncements and proclamations and shit, like he’s some wise old elder or somethin’? Goin’ off what y—What TIPS told me, me ‘n him are the same goddamned age!”

“Personal distaste aside, he HAS bested a necromancer before, and his ancestor’s Draconic library includes several tomes of the necromantic arts of the last Era of High Magic.”

You narrow your eyes, realizing something’s weird. “Why don’t you want me to talk to Tips?”

Veigar gawps his maw, then closes it. He fidgets a little. You reach out and flick his forehead.

“Ow! Hey!” He rubs the spot you nicked. “Okay, fine! I… I don’t trust him.”

“You… Don’t trust him.” You repeat it back, incredulous. “Veigar, HE is YOU. What the FUCK are you talkin’ about??”

“I KNOW,” he snaps back. “That’s WHY I don’t trust him. He… Even if he IS still in close contact with the Moon Goddesses of my mother’s people, or maybe ESPECIALLY if he is… He won’t understand what we’re doing here. What YOU’RE doing here. The very fact that he let them… That he AGREED to give up his elven blood, and the moonberries that Izzy and I risked our lives REPEATEDLY and even KILLED to protect—!”

You lean back a little. Veigar is vibrating with rage, teeth clenched and fists balled up. You’ve rarely seen EITHER version of him this worked up. Eventually, he cools off enough to finish his thought:

“If he learns about what Ayla and I are doing… What Carazzi is doing… What YOU’RE doing… Who’s to say he won’t keep making the same sorts of decisions? That he won’t try to force us to compromise what matters to US, for the sake of what HE thinks is best for the world?”

You snort, to his startlement.

“You want me to risk my life, AND I guess the fate of the whole fuckin’ world, for… You and Ayla’s right ta do whatever the fuck you want?”

Veigar winces, and has the good grace to look ashamed.

“I’d never ask you to risk your life for me, or anyone else, Zith-ZI. You… I’ve missed you. You were always a very dear friend.”

You never really thought about how difficult it must have been for Veigar until now, losing contact with all of Tips’ friend and family—HIS friends and family—save for Ayla. Despite being more than a little preoccupied with your curse, you can recognize that, and you don’t diminish it. It also goes a long way to explaining his reticence to deal with his other half.

“I’m gonna sleep on it,” you say, standing up abruptly.

“That’s all I can ask,” he acquiesces. “Please, just… Take your time, okay?”

“Whatever time I got left,” you quip bitterly, as you schlep back to bed to sleep off the revelation of your own fragile mortality.

…

>>6302844
…
You have never felt so great in all your life. No, that’s not quite right: you’ve felt WAY way better, but almost always followed by a dramatic crash. Every high gave way to a low, and every low begged for the next high. That was your life, ever since you were CZ: an addict since your inception, your CONception. Now…

Now you feel NORMAL, and it’s better than the very best burst of short-term euphoria.

“Carazzi! Are you listening?!”

You blink a few times, refocusing upon Ayla’s furious face. The old you might have tried to mollify her, to re-earn her approval… Or maybe you’d have basked in the anger, mirrored it back, fed on it? Both seem silly now, the actions of a demogoblin out of her scatterbrained mind.

“You were tellin’ me all about what you want me to eat, and the rate of check-ins, and likely.. Uh… Gestimacation times?”

“Gestation.”

“Right, right, yeah, like… Totally.” You nod. “Anyway, yeah, I heard it all. And I ain’t gonna forget, don’t worry. Yer baby’s safe with me!”

“Only as long as you NEED to carry it,” Ayla asserts. “We appreciate what you’re doing, but this is MINE and Veigar’s child. Do you understand?”

You shift in your seat, across the table from Ayla in the dungeon’s de facto ‘mess hall’. You are beyond reacting instinctively to others’ ephemeral emotions now, but you still feel the discomfort of Ayla’s untamed Infernal clinginess. Her territoriality and need to assert ownership and dominion is, you now see, textbook demon-brain; your sensei may dress it up in worldliness and wisdom, but she’s not so different from how you were. It’s humbling, and embarrassing, and even a little sad to see.

Unlike you, she may never evolve beyond this sorry state. No matter how brilliant her mind or great her might, your soul sister, fellow clone, and Yosef-side cousin is still just a cambion.

What will you do?
>Agree to these terms
>Refuse these terms, and insist that you share parentage
>Pretend to agree for now, and plan to subvert the agreement later
>Write-in

When you’re done dealing with Ayla, where do you plan to spend your evening? NOTE: if you do not agree or pretend to agree, you MUST choose “Arguing with Ayla”
>Arguing with Ayla
>With The Naked Emperor
>With Dura
>With An-Yii and Yeb-Uit
>Alone

>>6302847
>>Agree to these terms
>Alone

>>6302847
>Agree to these terms
I don't wanna rugpull her over a baby.

>With The Naked Emperor

>>6302847
>Agree
>With the Naked Emperor

>>6302890
>>6302939
>>6303040
[Locking and writing!]

>>6303296

“Yeah, of course,” you agree immediately.

It’s honestly a relief. You’d agreed before you’d even discussed, like, responsibilities and what was to be done with the baby. A couple hours ago you’d given next to no thought to being a parent; you certainly weren’t about to pull the rug out from Ayla to keep the kid now. You were willing to carry it to term, but after that… Well, you had no attachment, and weren’t looking to make one.

Though speaking of things you needed to give more thought to…

“Hey Ayla, can I go now?”

Ayla, who had launched into another lecture about the importance of avoiding alcohol or shirin during pregnancy—stops.

“Don’t worry, I’m listenin’ ‘n all,” you assure her. “We’ll have lotsa time ta talk about all this. But… It’s bin a long day, ya know?”

Ayla rubs her own eyes, stifling at yawn at the words,. Though grudgingly so, your sensei nods.

“You aren’t wrong,” she agrees. “I need my rest, too, after all that… But we WILL need to double-check that you’ve retained all I taught you, tomorrow.”

“Yes, sensei,” you say, supressing a sigh.

You and your fellow cambion—if indeed you could still be called a cambion—part ways thereafter. You head not towards your own quarters, though, but somewhere else.

ker-ooak!

“I know, I know,” you tell Nermal. “You go on back to your bucket. I’ll change the water tomorrow, ‘kay?”

The eyeless lake-drake’s only response is to deviate from your course. They, at least, will be spending the night in your room. Not you, though, or at least not yet. No longer driven by moment-to-moment emotion or distracted by desires beyond your own control, you nevertheless seek out last night’s lover: The Naked Emperor.

You find the hundun holding court—such as it is—with his remaining falcon-like steppe-fairies. The gyrfairies are, expectedly, weeping and wailing. In spite of their being Unseelie outcasts, and in great grief, even their cries are like beautiful dirges of despair; you actually follow the melodious chorus to find the fairies and their globular sovereign.

>>6303311
“Ah, Miss Yosef!” Empy greets you. “I thought I felt your approach! Have you come to join the festivities?”

You look around at the sobbing fairies, holding each other or floating about in forlorn aimlessness, bumping off of one another and the nearby surfaces. It is, you must say, not especially festive, even if two discarded and empty bottles attest to their having finished off the wine you’d bribed them here with.

“They’re takin’ Nasir dyin’ pretty hard, huh?”

“Who is—? Oh, yes, Nasir! I am ever so sorry. I’s embarrassing, but I’ve gotten so used to people’s names just entering my mind when they’re near that I honestly never bother to remember them myself.”

You blink, considering the implications.

“Yes, though—you are correct! This lovely soiree is being held in celebration—or was it memorium—of someone named Nasir.”

“Someone?? They, uh… Like, died savin’ yer life, Empy.”

“Did they now?” The Naked Emperor sounds genuinely surprised. “I must remember to thank them, when I next see them.”

You narrow your eyes a little. You aren’t demonic anymore, or at least not in the traditional sense, but you’re still a mentalist, and still have an empathic sense. The room is a whorl of woe… Except for Empy. The Naked Emperor’s still-weakened aura is an island of calm amidst the wreckage. There are emotions there, but detached, ephemeral—happiness to be at the centre of something unusual like the funeral of an ageless spirit-being, excitement to see you here, and even a fleeting gratitude at (apparently) having had his life saved. None of it sticks, though. Like his—its—physical form, the hundun’s mental architecture is a largely undifferentiated amalgam of unformed thoughts and feelings, only ever temporarily crystalizing into a specific arrangement.

“Have you come to join in?” Empy asks, interrupting your thoughts. “I must apologize for our libations being depleted, but I thought we might next eat. And after that, perhaps dancing!”

>You’ll stay and party with Empy and the Unseelie, sure!
>Actually, you were hoping to have a serious talk with Empy about…
>>The relationship, such as it is
>>Surrogacy and pregnancy
>>The Regiment, and Empy’s possible place in it
>>The forge, and whether Empy might ALSO wanna use it
>You’re a bit tired to party, but you wouldn’t mind doing a certain horizontal tango~
>Write-in

>>6303313
>You’ll stay and party with Empy and the Unseelie, sure!
We don't want to interrupt a funeral with our personal drama
Would like to ask if Empy wants to use the forge at some point though

>>6303313
>You’re a bit tired to party, but you wouldn’t mind doing a certain horizontal tango~

>>6303313
>>You’ll stay and party with Empy and the Unseelie, sure!

>>6303329
>>6303440
>>6303495
[Locked and writing!]

>>6303773
“…Yeah, okay, I’m down ta party!”

You hadn’t come here with funerals OR festivities on your mind, so much as for the company of The Naked Emperor… Well, and MAYBE to give your new coochie a test-run. Neither seems to be on the menu, though, and you’re no longer so desperately possessed by the urge to indulge yourself that you’d crash a funeral to get your fix.

Speaking of funerary moods, though, you’re hardly oblivious to the dour atmosphere. Empy might be having a blast, but nobody else is. As much as you enjoy the mournful music, that won’t do… But luckily, you’re reconfiguration in the forge has had the helpful side-effect of refreshing your magical reserves!

Carazzi Yosef’s MP: 3/3

You expend a little of that energy to invigorate the others, upcasting <Charm> as you step lively and speak up:

“I know none’ve ya expected nasir ta kick the bucket, bein’ an ancient immortal ‘n all,” you say sympathetically, “but take it from someone whose race dies real young: sometimes a life lived fast ‘n hard’s more fun. ‘N you guys seem like you’ve gotten up ta all KINDS a shit over the centuries, amirite?”

By spell and in spurts, you get the Unseelie crew chirping and chattering about their lost and beloved brother. Or sister? Or both? You never do clear that up, especially sic e you still have only the barest understanding of their jabbering, but it DOES turn more jubilant. As little as you understand of the words, the emotions are crystal clear, and you let them reverberate within you. You share in their sadness, and still it; you echo their laughter, and enrich it. One by one, the Unseelie sing songs of their slain companion, and misty memories flow through you; you collect the vapors of dances and festivals, ancient battles and celebratory feasts, of dancing and lovemaking and life-taking, of shared glory and shame and of a long, long life among fire-forged fairy friends.

Just as their Emperor ordained, you get them dancing, too.

By the time you’re done, your brand new dainty-and-delicate feet have been danced sore and raw. It doesn’t trouble you, of course—come morning, your qi will be back and your <Monstrous Regeneration> will kick in. You take a break, though falling backwards into a sort of sofa made of your hundun lover’s boneless body, who sees you coming and accommodates.

>>6303794
“Very good! QUITE quite good!” Empy enthuses, rumbling around you like a full-body purr of pleasure. “You really are a most excellent hostess, Miss Yosef.”

“Hehe, thanks~” You snuggle into the warm and fleshy embrace.

“Have you given any more thought to the idea of being an Empress?”

“You still ‘member that, huh?” you tease.

“Only because it’s on your mind,” Empy confesses.

“Well then, “ you say with a stretch and a yawn, “you already got yer answer, doncha?”

“Undecided,” the hundun ‘sighs’ telepathically. “You really are a hot-and-cold sort of woman, you know that.”

“Mmm, am I?” You grin mischievously even as you let your eyelids slide shut. “This is my first night as woman… I guess I’m still decidin’ what kind I wanna be.”

“You mean to sleep on it?”

“I wanna sleep on YOU,” you correct. “If yer done dancin’ for the night?”

You don’t hear Empy’s answer, but as you curl up, the hundun’s body flattens out and cradles your form. You take that for answer enough and, for the first time in maybe EVER, you sleep easy.

…

>>6303795
…

You wake up, suddenly and with a start. That’s the only indication you have that you slept—that sudden disorientation that makes you reach for your missing scimitar. You groan, reaching up to itch your face. The sting of your nails meeting your wound puts a stop to that, and reminds you anew of exactly why you slept like a sack of shit. You peer through the underground gloom, made clear but monochrome by your darkvision, and spy Hershy peering down from his perch with obvious concern.

croak?

You groan in response, hauling yourself up and out of your cot. You stumble over to the wall, slapping around and repeating the ancient boglin word for ‘light’ until you find the rune that illuminates the space. You wince at the brightness, immediately regretting it, and slap it back off again. Though luminous enough to irritate your eyes, the artificial mage-lighting is no substitute for the sunlight which your feytouched form craves. It must be dawn up top—your circadian rhythm is keyed to the cycles of sun and moon—but you wouldn’t know it down here, and you aren’t sure you’re ready to face the day just yet.

After all, each and every day is one step closer to the grave, right?

“Ugh, stop bein’ a drama queen,” you rebuke yourself. “Ain’t nothin’ new about that, bein’ an adventurer.”

croak

“Damn right!” you reply to Hershy, scooping the old boy up and smoothing out his ruffled feathers. “I ain’t dead yet. I ain’t GONNA die, either. Not anytime soon.”

You steal a glance in your mirror, at the corrupt streak of unholy ink cut across your features, reminding you of the ticking clock and the uncertain expiration-date of your khoblis curse.

“Like I’d die to fuckin’ LICH SHIT?” You snort. “No way. Couldn’t be me. Just gotta…”

>Go see Tips—Ezreal, that is. Even if Veigar thinks it’s a bad idea, you have to take that chance
>Find Blanchette—a trip to human habitation to spend your loot could double as an opportunity to collect intel
>Huddle up with Khorine and Dura—between Feycraft and orcish curse-lore, the three of you ought to be able to figure SOMETHING out!
>Chat with Chang Lanseoul—his boss is rich, right? And has been looking for cures to some mystery illness? Maybe you can trade a favour for a favour…
>Write-in

>>6303796
>Chat with Chang Lanseoul—his boss is rich, right? And has been looking for cures to some mystery illness? Maybe you can trade a favour for a favour…
Aside from that one time he attempted sneaking around he's been cool, so this can be his payment for our assistance.

>>6303796
>Find Blanchette—a trip to human habitation to spend your loot could double as an opportunity to collect intel..

Blanche seems like the best option, we can also hit up the mage town in hawksong and see if we can buy anything good there.

Me>>6303795

>>6303796
>Find Blanchette—a trip to human habitation to spend your loot could double as an opportunity to collect intel

>>6303796
>Chat with Chang Lanseoul—his boss is rich, right? And has been looking for cures to some mystery illness? Maybe you can trade a favour for a favour…

>>6302812

>>6303796
>Write in :
Chat with Chang (we have an arrangement after all) regarding his condition and such. THEN TP toward Tips, eventually with Chang if Tips is more able to help than us

File: total-recall-you-are-not-you.gif (71 KB, 640x348)

71 KB GIF

>>6303833
>Me>>6303795 (You)
mfw

>>6303807
>>6303833
>>6303866
>>6303918
>>6303919
[Chang wins it! Writing.]

>>6304198
“…Just gotta take advantage of the opportunity in front’ve me.”

You’ve been overcomplicating things in your head. Faced with a fearful future, you immediately leaned into the familiar, but it’s time to face facts. You have no fucking CLUE where Francis Balnchette is—that’s fact one. Fact two is that Veigar knows Tips about as well as anyone could, having thirty-five years of life in common with him and all; if he says that you shouldn’t go to him with this, well… That matches up pretty eerily with that human fortune-teller you talked to, AND with what you know about the guy. Tips is a sweetheart, in the best and worst ways possible, and he has a nasty habit of putting ‘higher order ethics’ or whatever-the-fuck above REAL shit, like profit.

Meanwhile, you’ve got someone who’s demonstrably capable of discretion and almost TOO eager to do business right under your nose.

“I think it’s time ta see what Mister Chang’s prepared ta pay,” you tell Hershy as you scratch him under his white-bearded chin.

Once you (and your wounds) are dressed again, and after a stop off to get some grub in the mess—some sort of gamey goat stew stirred up by Dura—you find Chang right where you left him. You’re glad for that, both because it means the human can take directions, AND because it saves you searching all over this maze of a base for him.

“I am most pleased to see you again as well, milady,” he addresses you upon your arrival. “To what do I owe the occasion? How may I serve you?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Apart from his pushiness and snooping, you don’t necessarily have a problem with this oriental femboy, but the sheer politeness is pushing it. You guess it’s courtly manners or whatever, but as a one-time goblin and a lifelong traveler of low roads, you have little time for that nonsense.

“Let’s cut straight to the point,” you say. “Your boss has been sendin’ you questin’ all over the place, yeah?”

“You are correct, milady.”

“You ever find any promising leads?”

Chang Lanseoul looks at you curiously, not answering right away, and so you clarify:

“I know you didn’t find anything for what he’s got. Obviously. You wouldn’t be here talkin’ to me if you had.” You scrutinize him closely, hesitant to tell him too much, but unable to think of how else to make this work. “You ever found a cure for… Like, spiritual illnesses?”

>>6304216
Chang’s eyes widen slightly. You see his eyes drift from your face down to your tits. Now, normally that’s far from abnormal, since you’ve got an impressive pair on you and you’re none too shy about showing them off, but you understand immediately from his sympathetic expression that his survey is far from lustful… And that he understands exactly why you’re asking.

“In my travels, I have brought many a mundane and magical curiosity to bear,” he says sadly, “but none have sufficed.”

Your heart falls a little at that, but you press on: “Not for your master… But what about for someone who’s not as bad?”

Chang gives you a look that’s almost affronted. This time, you snort and roll your eyes openly.

“Oh come on, a rich shmuck sendin’ his boy globetrotting for rare cures? You can be as cagey as you want, but I recognize ‘desperate’ when I see it. But me? I just got this shit yesterday. I’m catchin’ it early.”

“I am confident that, if you could cure my master, he would share with you all that he has to offer…”

(Yes!)

“…though I cannot promise you that it will cure your affliction, milady. It is beyond my understanding to say so, and I would not wish to get your hopes unduly.”

(Ugh. Well, that’s fair enough, you GUESS.)

“It’ll do,” you say, and hold out your hand.

Chang begins to reach out, but before he can clasp your palm, you spit in it, then hold it out again.

“Tradition,” you say with a shit-eating grin. “It’s cultural.”

(It’s not, not really, but damned if his expression isn’t a reward unto itself.)

With the deal sealed in spit, you go find Ayla and Veigar next. After all, you need a teleporter and an expert healer for the journey and the job. This, to your annoyance, proves to be the bigger hurdle.

>>6304219
“This is foolish,” Ayla tells you bluntly. “You’re risking everything by sharing the secrets of this place with people you don’t even know.”

“Ain’t yer place to say, Henzler,” you say, putting her in her place, then turn to her beau. “Veigar, you get it. Come on!”

“I do,” Veigar says, and then quickly adds for Ayla’s benefit: “I understand both perspectives, but this place IS Zith-Zi’s… Sort of, mostly…”

“Sort of? MOSTLY?!”

“…and it’s her place to decide what she does with it, and whom she deals with.”

“You’re asking for trouble,” Ayla insists. “These sorts of secrets have the potential to reshape the world, and everyone in it.”

“Duh,” you reply simply. “Which is why, hopefully, Veigar can just do his thing and fix this guy up, no forge involved.”

“And if he can’t?” Ayla retorts.

“Which, I have to admit… I probably can’t.” Veigar looks sheepish as he explains further. “If these cures work for you, but didn’t work for Mister Chang’s master, and I can’t cure YOUR condition…”

“His ain’t necromantic,” you interrupt. “I asked. It’s somethin’ else.”

“Even so,” Veigar insists.

“Well then…” You trail off, frustrated but unwilling to change course and abandon your best lead—for fortune AND for your own long, healthy future.

>You’ll bring Khorine—Veigar might not be able to PERFORM Feycraft, but he can probably INSTRUCT a fairy-follower, right?
>You’ll lead the guy along just long enough to get what you need, then get out—just like with the lich!
>You’ll offer the use of the forge—with precautions and safeguards and AFTER getting cured—if you REALLY have to
>Write-in

Are you going to bring anyone else?
>Specify who, if so

>>6304220
>You’ll bring Khorine—Veigar might not be able to PERFORM Feycraft, but he can probably INSTRUCT a fairy-follower, right?
>You’ll offer the use of the forge—with precautions and safeguards and AFTER getting cured—if you REALLY have to

What's the point of a forge if we don't use it?
Plus this guy seems loaded if he can afford Chung as a retainer, and he can't spend his money from a grave.

>>6304220
>You’ll offer the use of the forge—with precautions and safeguards and AFTER getting cured—if you REALLY have to

>>6304220
>>You’ll bring Khorine—Veigar might not be able to PERFORM Feycraft, but he can probably INSTRUCT a fairy-follower, right?

No forge for him. Can't get scammed out of it guys

>>6304296
>>6304309
>>6304343
[I am currently assuming that these votes are to bring nobody besides ZZ, Ayla, Veigar, and maybe Khorine. Is this correct?]

>>6304437
sure

>>6304220
>You’ll bring Khorine—Veigar might not be able to PERFORM Feycraft, but he can probably INSTRUCT a fairy-follower, right?


>Specify who, if so: Dura.

Only if she wants to come with.

This Me>>6301403
>>6300310

>>6304296
>>6304309
>>6304343
>>6304622
[Locked and writing! Also just a heads up: there will probably be no update tomorrow or the next day, due to other plans. Friday is a MAYBE, but we'll see.]

>>6304653
“Well then,” you repeat, “we’ll bring the kid.”

“The k—Khorine?” Veigar blinks. “No offence, Zith-Zi, but I’m not sure she’s ready for something of this magnitude.”

“Which is why she’s gonna be studying under the best Magus Proctor this side’ve Old Maple Hill ‘n Hawksong!”

Veigar meets your cheeky grin with a skeptical expression. “Zee, I’ve never taught before.”

“Bullshit!” You point at him. “You have all yer old pre-split memories, don’t ya? Well, maybe Tips never taught in the Tower, but you two nerds were always studyin’ shit together before you got <i>Cloned</i>, AND THEN ya went on to teach it to any humie with a bad case of dragonpox, the way I remember it.”

The green-skinned hedge-mage still hums and hahs over it, but to your surprise Ayla steps in on your behalf. She places a hand on his shoulder and captures his gaze.

“She’s right,” Veigar’s witchy woman tells him. “You can do this.”

Your smile tightens a little, and you give her a nod. She catches it with the corner of her eye, subtly returning it. It’s not a gesture of solidarity, but rather recognition: if Veigar and Khorine can’t get this guy fixed, and it’s your only shot at the cure, you’re GOING to consider sharing the secrets of Patmo-Shoka’s forge. If Ayla doesn’t want that—which she made damn clear she doesn’t—then even a stiff-necked hellfire Henzler is going to need to compromise.

“Fine,” he sighs. “When do we leave?”

“Yesterday,” you say, and more seriously add: “Just lemme get the goat-girl, aight?”

>>6304674
...

You find Khorine up-top, which means finally catching some sun. It’s exactly where you’d expect to find your party’s nature-worshipping faun: tending to the wicked and warped garden. When last the two of you spoke at length, it was to persuade the beast-girl that even the changed and ‘unnatural’ things which your forge is creating can be forces for big-G Good, like her gods are so fond of. It seems to have stuck, too: you find her and her newly-created ‘twig blight’ bramble-man minions pruning and guiding the trees, and she even seems to be persuading the needle-nosed bug-bat monsters the Ettercap left behind to move to new roosts, rather than fighting and killing them.

“Well, you can’t blame them for being hungry,” Khorine says defensively when you question her about it. “HUNGER is natural. THAT much is true.”

“Yeah, just a shame they drink fuckin’ BLOOD,” you mutter.

Khorine cringes and nods. “Carnivory and parasitism in all its forms is the result of Darkness tainting creation… But still, you can’t just kill every wolf. Even DEER eat meat, sometimes.”

“They do?” You startle a little. You’re no naturalist, but that’s news to you. Then again, in the Wastes, any animal will gobble up whatever (or WHOever) they can get when things are bad enough, so it tracks.

“I’ve actually been thinking about what you said before.” Khorine cradles one of the juicy, heart-shaped fruits of the uncomfortably-fleshy trees in this Unseelie garden. “No carnivore can help their nature, but what if… What if gardens like this could be used to help them? You know, to... To FEED them, so they didn’t NEED to kill other animals to survive?”

You raise an eyebrow at that. It’s tough to imagine lynxes, wolves, hyenas, and vultures gathering to eat bits of suspiciously-bloody fruit out of helpful little hands like hers. Even as you consider how to bring Khorine back to reality, though, she rips off a sinewy chunk of quasi-aorta and holds it out to Hershy, who immediately flicks out his tongue to nab it, and swallows it whole with a happy burp.

“Huh.” You blink, then shrug. “Well shit, who knows, I guess?”

Khorine’s eyes brighten at your (admittedly faint) praise, even as she bleats in overblown protest at you ruffling her hair.

“Soon I’ll be too tall for you to do that to me,” she whines.

“Only if I live long enough,” you quip.

>>6304676
Her eyes widen, and you almost immediately regret the gallows humour. Rather than walk it back, though, you use it to segue into your pitch.

“About that… What would you say to takin’ a trip with us? Even learnin’ a little Feycraft from a guy who studied on the motherfuckin’ MOON? Maybe savin’ old ZZ’s life?”

There was a time when the two of you were at odds more often than not. Not even a few days ago, Khorine was considering taking a hike and never coming back to this place, or your party. But now? After your heart-to-heart, and your admittedly heartwarming snuggle?

“Of course. I’m with you, Zith-Zi.”

(Heh. Atta girl.)

…

“You’re leaving?”

“Not for long. Just gotta get, you know… Some medical attention.”

You pretty much expected that your other half would object, or insist on tagging along when you told her. She doesn’t, though. It’s almost insulting—or unsettling—how easily CZ simply nods and accepts this.

“I get it,” she says.

“…Ya do?”

“Hey, you ‘n everyone else did so much for me, for MY ‘medical attention’…” Carazzi trails off, smiling to herself as if remembering all over again about the ‘new her’. “And anyway, I want you to live long enough to be AUNTIE Zi, ya know?”

“Ha! That’ll be the day! Hopefully not ‘til we find out if nibogs can go grey, amirite?”

You laugh out loud at the joke. Carazzi doesn’t, which gives you pause—in fact, she even looks like she’s going to say something. Which… Wait a goddamned minute…

“…You’re shitting me.”

“I didn’t say anything!” she protests.

“I KNOW,” you say bluntly. “Which MEANS somethin’. It was that motherfuckin’ fatass hundun son-of-a-bitch, wasn’t it?! Oooh, I’m gonna skin it ‘n make a big ol’ scrote-sack, I swear to—”

“ZZ! It wasn’t… It’s not like that, okay?”

You simmer silently, grinding your teeth… But you nod.

“We’re gonna talk about this and find out what it IS like when we get back, though, you hear me?”

“Yeah, ZZ,” your sister sighs. “I hear ya.”

“Well… Good.” You finish lamely, unsure what else to say and yet not ready to leave. Eventually, CZ smiles and bends down to hug you.

“I don’t think I like ya bein’ taller ‘n me,” you admit.

“Older, too, technically~”

“Don’t push it! Bein’ barely-aware demon spooge for a few extra months don’t count fer shit!”

She laughs. You laugh, too, despite your misgivings.

Do you give CZ any specific instructions in your absence?
>Have her hold tight, watch the dungeon, and don’t do anything stupid
>Send her with Murbal and Dura to repatriate Xoldur’s body to his people
>Ask her to take a trip to the nearest human habitation to check on news and stock up supplies
>Send a message to someone about the forge and it’s profitable possibilities… [who?]
>Write-in

(more update coming)

>>6304677
After passing on your instructions, you meet up with your away-party. It feels like you barely had any time to rest between excursions to the East, but hey—that’s adventuring for you, sometimes. You spent a decade-or-so as essentially a nomad before taking up your trade, so it’s nothing you’re not sued to. To their credit (or yours, as the Boss what whipped them into shape, heh) the Regiment members who you selected are already waiting with all their stuff: Ayla, Veigar, and of course Khorine.

Oh, and Change Lanseoul.

“I’m going to need to read your mind, to know where to go,” Ayla says awkwardly.

“Ah, yes. I see.”

She regards Chang in tense, irritated silence for a few seconds, and then eventually brings herself to say: “Can you drop your defences?”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Change laughs good-naturedly, covering his small mouth with his dainty hand. “I didn’t realize that my passive ability was too… Well, yes, I most certainly can. One moment, while I relax my guard.”

Khorine snorts in amusement as Ayla’s eye twitches. You smirk a little, yourself. You sympathize with your clone ‘cousin’, since you have a healthy distrust for the stranger yourself, and you HAVE warmed to Ayla a little… But seeing someone knock a Henzler off her high horse is always amusing.

Do you have anything else to do before you go?
>Yes [what?]
>No

As a side-note, for characterization and future plans…
What is the relationship between ZZ and Khorine like at this stage? How do you regard her?
>Like a daughter
>Like a little sister
>Like a minion—you’re just a good boss is all
>Like a liability to manage, albeit a cute one you want to keep
>Write-in

What do you think of her ‘fake meat’ idea?
>It’s untenable, unworkable, and overly idealistic, and a wasteful use of the forge’s power
>It’s not a bad idea, actually… maybe not your main purpose for Patmo-Shoka, but you’ll give it real thought
>Write-in

Don't forget to vote for all three votes!

>Ask her to take a trip to the nearest human habitation to check on news and stock up supplies
Gotta keep aware of local events

>No
Can't think of anything

>Not quite family but definitely more than a minion

>It’s not a bad idea, actually… maybe not your main purpose for Patmo-Shoka, but you’ll give it real thought
Wouldn't prey populations explode though if predators no longer hunt them to equilibrium? How would she handle that?

>>6304677
>Send her with Murbal and Dura to repatriate Xoldur’s body to his people

>>6304678
>Yes [Pamper Hershy]

>Like a daughter
>Like a little sister

>The Impossible Meat probably won’t catch on, and is a proper waste of resources, but fuck it, give the idea the ol’ college try