"Bad lie." Ramsey thrusts her arm straight out, hand clawed, and three things happen: #301 rears up, the Crown flashes white, and the tine of the Crown vibrates and rips furiously out of your breastplate. Were it not for your unnatural reflexes, you wouldn't have caught it, and were it not for your unnatural grip, you wouldn't have held it. But you do and you do, in one hand only, and with your other hand you swing The Sword and scare off several oncoming shadow-claws. The tine of the Crown vibrates until you slam it back under the goo and it stops.

"No tricks," you say. "You said you'd face the winner of the Game in single combat. So face me!"

"Uh-huh. Winner? We're going by the rules now? Because, last I checked, the rules say there's only one left standing. How many are standing? Uh, let's see. Last I checked... seven." Ramsey has begun to circle you.

You pace in the opposite direction, so she comes no closer. "Doesn't matter. I was always going to win. You knew I was always going to win, and that's why you ran it."

"That's why? Are you saying you didn't have any fun? Can't appreciate the finer things in life? Damn shame." The mask bobbles as Ramsey shakes her head. "Tell you the truth, I thought Montgomery had a shot. Damn shame! And it wasn't even you who killed him!"

"I would never kill Monty!" you say righteously. "I'm a sworn heroine! I don't kill innocents!"

"Innocents?" Ramsey laughs hard. "Whatever gets you off!"

"He was! He was a good person! He paid his debts a million times over. And I'm— I'm a good person too. And you're a bad person! You don't care about who you hurt, and— you like hurting people, and—" This is not coming out nearly as cool as you hoped.

=So this is is the kind of drivel you put up with, Wingnut. I almost feel sorry for you.=

Richard pushes his glasses up. "You get used to—"

"SHUT UP!" Not at Richard. At #301, whose smarmy deadened voice is the most irritating thing you've ever heard. "You're a BAD PERSON too! You're a BULLY, and you STOLE my crown, and you're going to END THE WORLD, and you don't even care! You're worse than RICHARD, and that's— that's saying a lot! A whole lot! At least Richard..." You glance back at him. "At least he's trying to help me save everybody. So you shut up, and you shut up, and you shut up—" #301, Richard, Ramsey. "—and you, fight me! Unless you're a coward?"

Ramsey stops circling, rests her weight on the axe, raises a hand palm-out. "Gee, I don't know! Maybe I am! Such a bad person, and all that. Maybe you better come at me first?"

"Maybe I will!" you say.

"Great!" The black glove beckons. "Then come at me, heroine!"

>Ramsey is offering you the first move! What do you do?! (Write-in. Possible roll.)

>Hint: for a reminder of your skillset, scroll down to the perks list below.

File: charlotte & ellery - @gob(...).jpg (117 KB, 980x1167)

117 KB JPG

>Announcements
Welcome back (slightly delayed) to Drowned Quest Redux. This might be the last time I ever write that. Wow! I'll have a lot more to say at the end of the thread, so sit tight. Also, this will be a long thread. There's no way I can get through everything in a month. There is a moderate chance I will take a break in the middle, and also a moderate chance I'll have scheduling issues and be unable to update a few days a week. We're just going to go with the flow. You guys trust me by now, right?

Anyway, we're at the end of the quest. Let's get on with it!

>Schedule
One a day, occasionally more if the first one was short. There may be sporadic half-updates (no options) if I start writing too late in the evening, sorry in advance. I am in the PST timezone.

>Dice
We use a 3d100 roll over degrees of success system with crits. The base DC is 50. Modifiers may be applied to the roll or to the DC as relevant. The # of rolls that match or exceed the DC determine the result. Probabilities may be found in the Dice and Mechanics pastebin.

The degrees are:
0 Passes = Failure
1 Pass = Mitigated Success
2 Passes = Success
3 Passes = Enhanced Success
0/1/100 = Critical Success / Critical Failure / Critical Success [regardless of other rolls]

>Mechanics
The (typical) MC has a pool of 15 Identity ("ID"), which may be considered both HP and the measure of her current sense of self. It may be lost through physical, metaphysical, or emotional damage. It may be regained through write-ins, designated options, and at reasonable narrative points, including sleep. It may be spent on a flat +10 bonus to rolls, as well as on more elaborate metaphysical effects. Dropping to 0 ID is bad.

>Archive
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=drowned%20quest%20redux

>Fancy archive (PDF of 1-49)
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1oLmqHfggqd2rYQdTFPEer1GlQ9k1LhlX/view?usp=sharing

>Twitter
https://twitter.com/BathicQM

>Pastebins
https://pastebin.com/u/BathicQM

>Recaps
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1VPJwXzTpv4lO_t6R3jA32NLbKjdIZjtJlRFsWQgBMnM/edit?usp=sharing

>Ask the characters (or the QM)...?
Uhh... maybe I'll do some stuff after the quest ends. No promises. Thanks for everyone who submitted questions over the years!

>"Redux"?
This quest is a loose sequel to the original Drowned Quest, which ran for eight short threads in 2019. Reading the original may help with context in very early Redux threads, but is not required.

>I have a question/comment/concern?
Tell me!

File: the crown - @observerqm.png (2.62 MB, 1920x1080)

2.62 MB PNG

>TO-DO

- Defeat Ramsey
- Reclaim the Crown
- Kill Richard
- Become God
- Save the world
>LAST TIME ON DROWNED QUEST REDUX

You are meeting with Lucky, Monty, and Eloise on the subject of Jean Ramsey and her "Game," the murder-tournament she's been running for the last couple months. It seems that Ramsey has finally made her way back to the Corcass, and she intends to bring the Game with her.

In fact, Ramsey hasn't just made it to the Corcass: she bursts in through the door, all chummy, like she isn't a horrible mass murderer everybody hates. She shakes everybody's hand, except for yours: you take it upon yourself to assert your dominance. Unfortunately, Ramsey is unaffected by your powerful grip, and you're left to seethe as she makes her big announcement: she needs eight local "volunteers" to participate in the Game, lest she arbitrarily select them herself. Immediately, Lucky volunteers himself and seven Courtiers, but Ramsey dismisses this: she wants more variety in the contestants. In the end, she allows Lucky and three other Courtiers to volunteer, leaving four slots. You volunteer for one of those, and Monty volunteers for the other, meaning you have to recruit two more participants.

You invite Gil (obviously) and Earl-- your second pick after Fake Ellery, who *would* be usefully immortal. Unfortunately, you discover Fake Ellery in the doldrums, having met his real counterpart face-to-face while you weren't looking. Feeling bad for him, you task him with working on the Recharlottizator, then ring up Earl instead, who kills people for a living and is happy to help. This leaves you a little bit of time before the start of the Game, which you use to help Madrigal's efforts to reinforce Base Camp-- she's clearing out a big empty "arena" for people to fight in-- and to meet with Pat, who has a surprise for you. Apparently she's been cooking up a suit of armor for you! Granted, it's made of goo, but you'll take it. You thank Pat, apologize once and for all for wrecking Namway, and promise to bring Lester back from the dead once you're God.

And then the Game starts. Ramsey makes a big speech and installs all the new contestants with "tokens," gold coins with Ramsey's face onto them-- they burrow into the flesh, and apparently into your mind, so Ramsey can track your whereabouts. Wonderful. You pair off with Monty, reasoning that he has the most Game experience, and book it before the slaughter gets going.

File: eloise - @benschae_moe.png (3.55 MB, 2048x2048)

3.55 MB PNG

You wind up holing up at Monty's hideout in the Fen, where you ambush and kill two unsuspecting contestants-- with help from Lucky, who happened to head in the same direction. You plan to keep hiding out there, but Monty has other ideas: he hears an explosion and books it toward Camp. You follow, and are horrified to discover Camp nearly obliterated by a gigantic sinkhole! All the tents have fallen into it, a lot of people are injured, and a couple are dead-- including Fake Ellery. What's worse, Lindew's Landing, where the Game began, has also been seriously damaged-- notably, the general store and the Better Than Nothing have been obliterated, and so has Jacques and the general store guy. Madrigal reunites with Monty, and they start plotting evacuation logistics while you check in on a badly injured Eloise.

Eloise tries to wave off her wounds, but she can't walk, and if she's caught up in more collateral damage she could be killed. Although you lack explicit "healing powers," you have faith in your ability to help-- and indeed, after assuming the guise of the Herald, you're able to perform time fuckery to get her back on her feet. With that sorted, you help repair the arena, then venture off to check on Annie-- also seriously wounded. You send her on an expedition to investigate the spooky barrier Ramsey's thrown up around the Corcass, then settle down in Annie's tunnel to get a little sleep.

When you awaken, thirty minutes later, Gil is there. Not only is he alive and well, but he brings you a blanket, a pink walkie-talkie, and news: everybody's evacuated to various hideouts in the region. The walkie-talkie is to communicate with the evacuated groups, which have talkies of their own. (Gil built them himself based on the one he stole from Casey.) You invite him to sleep in the tunnel with you, rather than out in the open, and he does-- on the ceiling, as beetles.

When you awaken for real, you try to head off, reasoning that Gil needs to get used to being without you. He's clearly a little upset about being ditched, though, and you eventually settle on taking a handful of beetles with you for moral support. You then commune with a startled Monty remotely, convincing him to team up with you again even if it'd annoy Ramsey.

File: monty - @bean_bayou.png (518 KB, 836x1035)

518 KB PNG

After all, you need him for your big plan: heading to the arena, waving your arms, and yelling as loudly as you can to attract enemies to you. This succeeds, and you and Monty are soon cornered by nine people... including Horse Face, who's joined the Game! He's ambushed by a team of weaker opponents as you face off with one of Ramsey's inner circle and Monty takes down three more, though not before he's badly wounded. Once you've disposed of everybody in your path (with help from some giant alligators), you locate an injured, unrepentant Horse Face and forcibly commune with him. Intent on "getting through" to him, you peel away several Horse Facey layers-- and several layers of your own-- before exposing him to the mortal terror of the void. He goes catatonic. Hooray!

Back in the real world, Gil finds a mechanism to open Horse Face's AUX space, and Monty helps drag Horse Face inside-- important, because the outskirts of the Fen are now horrifically poisoned by more collateral damage. Meanwhile, you set off to rescue the other 95% of Gil, who's contacted you on his walkie-talkie. You discover the rest of Gil hiding inside a log, most of his goo body having been sliced off. You drop everything and carry him off to Pat's manse, but not before stumbling across the ruins of Branwen's farm, Branwen's dead body included.

Pat promises to fix Gil back up, and you get some sleep on her couch. The next morning, a patched-up Gil shows you his new metal skeleton, and you get a missive from Ramsey: teaming up with others is now considered "cheating." This bodes ill, because you've just had a prophetic dream about two things: A), one of Ramsey's surviving retainers sacrificing herself in some kind of Wyrm-centric ritual, and B), Monty dying in a fight against the other surviving retainer. You sprint off to save him, but are waylaid by one of the remaining contestants-- after you're done killing him, you're too late to help Monty, whose head is nearly severed from his shoulders. All of your concentrated God powers are enough to allow him to get some last words out, but he gently refuses further attempts to save him.

You bury him and kill the remaining non-allied contestants, leaving only yourself, Gil, Earl, Lucky, Horse Face, and two Courtiers alive. Ramsey, seeing this, teleports the seven of you into a tiny arena and instructs you to murder each other. If you won't, she'll use the tokens to control you until you will. Or not: you tear out your token, charge Ramsey, tear out Gil's token, instruct Earl to blood-magic transform to get his token out, and use your Herald powers to rip out Horse Face's. (Lucky and the Courtiers have it under control.) Then everybody teams up to launch you through Ramsey's cloak-- and you and her vanish!

>CURRENT PERKS (ADJUSTED FOR RAMSEY)

[The Herald's Mind VII]: You are the Herald. When you want to be.

[The Herald's Body VII]: You are the Herald. Or as close as a human can get. Also, you have a tail. (And night vision, and paralytic venom, and enhanced flexibility, and scales, and...)

[Extrareal V]: You absorb reality into yourself within a 10-foot radius. This is obvious to anybody metaphysically attuned, and the non-attuned get a very strange feeling around you.

[Positive Thinking IV]: You can maintain a state of unbreakable optimism indefinitely.

[On Fire! IV]: You can't shoot fire out of your hands. (They get too hot.) But you *can* shoot it from The Sword, and things within your Extrareal radius will actually light.

[Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting IV]: You don't have to try very hard at all to make the things you say true.

[Snaketongue III]: You can speak, read, write, and comprehend Richard's native language, even if you don't know how.

[The Sun III]: The sun in your chest is about the size of two hands making a circle. You can't do too much with it, but maybe it'll help out if you're in duress.

[Red Stuff III]: You have a decent handle on the red stuff. Enough of a handle for 12 SV? Uh...

[Good With A Sword III]: You're a little better with a sword than you used to be. On par with a professional murderess with decades of experience? Uh... you'll need to rely on other skills.

[OPEN I]: You can use [OPEN] semi-regularly, though the exact effects are still out of your control.

[LEGERDEMAIN 0]: Ramsey knows all about this already.

[FINGERWORK 0]: Ramsey knows all about this already.

[COMMUNION 0]: Ramsey knows all about this already.

[EARTHSENSE 0]: Ramsey knows all about this already.
-----------------------------
>Don't forget to scroll up and write-in! (I believe in you guys)

>>6306968
OH BOY HERE WE GO

Let’s test the waters a bit before we use our biggest cards, in case she has some counters ready. Get within 10 feet and start swinging our sword to blast her with arcs of fire. Perk wise this would be combining Extrareal, On Fire, Good with a sword, Positive Thinking, and maybe The Sun? One stack each.

Also maybe use like 3 Info too? Think we have 9 left.

Rolled 9891 (1d9999)

roll

>>6306968
>>6307014
+1

I'll support!

>>6307014
I appreciate your enthusiasm, anon, but we're actually taking a step back from last thread's mechanical framework! Future vote slates might work the perks back in, and future rolls might let you spend INFO on them, but for right now I just need a brief narrative description of what you're doing. (Which you did provide, and I'm happy to take -- this is more of a PSA for everyone else.)

>>6306967
>=Wow. What the hell is that. I'd be laughing if I wasn't in-chassis, so use your imagination. Or don't. Here: ha ha ha ha ha.=
>=This is what you have been reduced to. Human. And an inferior physical specimen at that. I don't know what I expected. Ha ha ha ha.=
>=This is how your -daughter- thinks of you. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.=

Didn't comment on this earlier but 301 is pretty hilarious. I can see why he's the popular one at the snake office.
We did see his real body when we invaded headspace, if we get a chance and are able we should shift him into that shape for the reaction.

Also what, did Richard tell everyone about his dad impersonation plan? Wow.

>>6307014
>>6307085

Waving your sword around and shooting fire is pretty trivial, particularly if you're not coming near Ramsey. I won't call for a roll, but I will probably roll for Ramsey in a few hours.

>>6307029
Excellent roll! If only we used a 3d9999 system.

>>6307253
>Also what, did Richard tell everyone about his dad impersonation plan? Wow.
It's very possible that Richard was bragging about his awesome epic super-smart plan at one point, yeah (probably not recently-- remember, he's been at it for years). It's also possible that #301 likes to dig around for gossip and/or blackmail, and that he has actual... you know... friends in other departments who can help him get it. Remember that Richard *was* in a coma for a while after he got Niceified, so there was plenty of time to look into what was going on with him.

File: fire.jpg (76 KB, 564x713)

76 KB JPG

>Fire solves ALL PROBLEMS

"Fine!" you say. "I will!"

And then you have to. It's as simple as that. You raise The Sword above your head and duck and charge, your armored boots clanking (shouldn't there be glorious music?), the flames on your blade billowing and billowing into a banner— and when you are halfway to Ramsey you skid short and send the flames whipping into the air, ripping white gashes in the dark, ripping towards Ramsey— one, two, three brilliant swings, three brilliant gouts of flame, which Ramsey casually sidesteps one, two, three times.

The flames skid off into the distance, leaving shimmery afterimages. "Damn," Ramsey says. "That's it?"

"I—" You square your shoulders. "I was testing you! That was merely a test! Witness how my valiant flames have brought, um, heroic light to your wicked darkness!"

Oddly, the darkness remains burnt away where the flames traveled. "Huh." Ramsey extends a shadow claw and pinches one of the tattered 'edges' shut. "That's cool, I guess. You weren't going to try to chop off my head?"

She was supposed to have scrambled out of the way of the flame, or at least flinched, and then you would've pounced upon her and— "I will not reveal my plans to an evil Crown-Thief!"

"Snickers said you might've. But I guess the little guy doesn't know everything, huh?" She scratches "Snickers"' chin. "Anyways. Got a shot, lost your shot. Let's try this my way. Remind me, Snicks, what's the— you know, the one with the—"

The snake raises its head.

"Oh, right. [WIND]!"

At once there's a catastrophic wind, hurricane-force, blowing against you. You are too heavy and your center of gravity is too secure to tumble, or even stumble, backwards: you remain in place, hair whipping around you. Nothing else is quite so lucky. In the distance, your long-gone embered flames billow up again, less a banner, more a wall— and are hurtling back toward you. Ramsey billows too, her cloak a perfect void around her, and catches the wind at her back. She hurtles too, the axe gleaming.

You have maybe a second before your own head is chopped off.

(Choices next.)

——————

>Welcome to the CLIMACTIC BATTLE of Drowned Quest Redux! (Um, not the Wyrm one. The other one.) This will be run relatively straightforwardly: pick an option and, most likely, roll some dice. You've done this before.
>That being said, you'll see options marked with [Perks]. The higher level the [Perk], the greater the bonus the [Perk] will provide to the roll. The [Perk] will then decrease by one level, because Ramsey will adapt her strategy to what you're doing.
>Because [Perks] provide bonuses— they don't determine the entire DC— the highest-level perk may or may not indicate the strongest option overall. Choose wisely!
>(You can spend INFO when the roll comes around.)

——————

How do you evade? (All options have a possible roll.)

>[A1] Use your superior reflexes to sidestep Ramsey's downward swing! ([The Herald's Body VII])
>[A2] Absorb the incoming flames and throw them up to distract Ramsey! ([On Fire! IV])
>[A3] Twist the wind in the opposite direction, so Ramsey is blown away from you! ([Advanced Advanced Gaslighting IV])
>[A4] Just tank the blow and focus on your next move! ([Positive Thinking IV])
>[A5] Write-in! (Indicate up to two relevant perks, if you like.)

What do you do next? (All options have a possible roll.)

>[B1] You can't easily pin down Ramsey when she blends so much into the background. And black is boring, anyways. Let there be light! ([The Sun III])
>[B2] You're in mysterious blackness after diving through Ramsey's cloak. You know what this is. This is an interim! If you want to get at Ramsey, you need to go one step deeper... ([OPEN I])
>[B3] This is a duel! Why are you even thinking about not fighting?! You have a sword! Stab Ramsey! ([Good With A Sword III])
>[B4] Write-in! (Indicate up to two relevant perks, if you like.)

>>6307412
>A2
She was nice enough to give us back our fire, let’s use it.

>B2
The perk may be all but used up, but this sounds cool and is probably the best opportunity we’ll get to fully use it up.

>>6307412
>>6307471
+1 to this...

>>6307412
>>[A2] Absorb the incoming flames and throw them up to distract Ramsey! ([On Fire! IV])
>[B2] You're in mysterious blackness after diving through Ramsey's cloak. You know what this is. This is an interim! If you want to get at Ramsey, you need to go one step deeper... ([OPEN I])

>>6307471
>>6307489
>>6307506

>[A2]
>[B2]

Sounds like a plan! Because these updates are coming out so short, I'm going to try for (but can't 100% promise) a double-update today. Like all uses of [OPEN], [B2] does not require a dice roll, but it will drop [OPEN I] to [OPEN 0]. [A2] will need a roll, though. (And don't forget to vote for spendying!)


>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 50 (+30 HERALD, +20 On Fire!) vs. DC 112 (+50 CROWN, +10 Far Away Fire, +5 Masked, -3 Shadowy) to summon the fire back toward you fast enough!

AND

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 16/16 ID.

>[A1] Y
>[A2] N

AND

Spend 3 INFO for an extra 1d100? I will roll it myself and take the highest 3 numbers. You have 9 INFO.

>[B1] Y
>[B2] N

Rolled 21 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>6307534
>ID
>[YES]
I know us too well
>INFO
>[NO]

Rolled 84 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>6307534
>A1
>B1

No need to worry too much about stocking resources— this is the finale, after all.

Rolled 33 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>6307534
>A2
>B1

Rolled 87 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>6307540
>>6307603
>>6307646
>[A1]
>[B1]
>81, 144, 93 vs. DC 112

Mitigated Success... but let's see where that INFO gets you! Rolling one more time.

>>6307656
It gets you everywhere, apparently. New rolls:

>147, 144, 93 vs. DC 112 -- Success
>Spendy x2

Writing after I do some dishes!

>FIRE SOLVES ALL PROBLEMS.
>147, 144, 93 vs. DC 112 — Success
>Spendy x2

A couple weeks ago, when Monty was alive, you asked him about his spooky arm. Not to be mean. (You knew he was sensitive.) It was just that— your thinking went— you were going to face Ramsey down in single combat, and she had spooky arms. Well, shadow claws. Same thing. And if he knew how they worked, or if they had any weaknesses—

Monty said he didn't know. That he didn't want to know. That he didn't particularly want this thing on his body, even. Sorry, Charlotte.

Okay, you said, and thought about it. But is it actual shadow? Does it dissolve in strong light?

Er, said Monty. He wasn't sure if it was shadow at all. It was solid. Er, semi-solid. Er, it was complicated. But there wasn't a lot of strong light around here, if you hadn't noticed. No sun. No flame—

>[-3 INFO: 6 REMAINING]

And of course you tested it then. And of course, as Ramsey bears down on you now, you clench your fist and will your righteous flames back.

>[-1 ID: 15/16]

Goaded by the wind, they were already moving at a screaming clip, but now they howl and gnash and leap toward you— crashing like a wave over Ramsey in the way, who smokes and flickers and loses her rhythm just enough for you to skate cleanly aside. No time for crowing, though: she's not dead. Very far from it. You flicker too, your goo-armor bubbling from the heat of your Firy Aura (Richard should be taking note of your amazing Firy Aura), and pay Ramsey's Law back with the only one you know by heart: [OPEN]!

Ramsey is terribly strong, but the weight of her blow has trapped her axe an inch in the ground, and she needs a moment to tug it free. Only a moment of immobility, but it's all you need: when a door in her cloak swings neatly open, you dive straight through.

You are spat out somewhere else, somewhere black and red and roiling, heat lightning cracking the black clouds, illuminating the slick black cliffs, their black crenellated fortress, your shining armor. It's nowhere you've been, but you've seen it before. Once.

"Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Ramsey has apparated onto a ledge a little ways above you. Still masked, still cloaked, still Crowned (she's adjusting it right now), but marginally more physical. Also slightly singed.

>[RAMSEY'S BLOOD: 90/100]

She thrusts an accusing arm out at you. "Do you get off to this?"

"What?"

"Putting fucking doors in people? And I'm the coward? I try to whack an axe through your skull, like a normal person, and you're over here whanging around with—"

=Once again, typical Wingnut. Trying to skirt all common decency. Shameful.=

"Yeah!" Ramsey says. "Fucking shameful! Geez louise!"

"Maybe you're just jealous," you say virtuously. "Or terrified! For I have stricken into your inmost sanctum of your blackened heart, where I—"

"You mean my manse?"

(1/2)

Oh. This is her manse. You knew that. "You— you designed your manse on purpose like this?"

"Ohohoho! You fucking know it! Isn't it wicked?" Ramsey spreads both arms: lightning slams down behind her. You don't flinch. Only nearly. "Now who's jealous?!"

Are you jealous of her dramatic lightning timing? Do you wish your manse had dramatic lightning timing? Um... "Not me! I would never envy anything of yours, you—"

"BAD—"

Lightning crashes down within an inch of you. You skitter as Ramsey springs from her perch, whirling her axe around, bringing it down— but her wind-up was comparatively long this time, and you leg it backward without trouble.

"—LIE!"

Which is possibly what she wanted. The glassy ground KCRRRAKs where she gouges it, sending spider-cracks crazing every which way. Where are you, anyways? Cliffs before you. You can't afford to look back. Richard. Richard, look back.

«You are also on a cliff. Not far off the edge.»
«Steep drop. Clouds below.»
«Don't slip.»

What would you do without Richard's indispensable advice? You'd love not to slip. Unfortunately, you're closer to the weight of a lizard-thing than a young lady, and the cracks are crazing around your feet in particular. Not long before they yawn open.

What do you do?

>[A1] Exhale and make yourself lighter! You've done it before! [Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting IV]
>[A2] Let the cliff crumble! You'll leap and claw your way up! [The Herald's Body VII]
>[A3] Hold the cliff together! Do you or do you not have Earth Powers?! [Earthsense 0]
>[A4] Swap places with Ramsey! See how she likes it, plummeting into the void! [Extrareal V]
>[A5] Write-in. (Indicate up to two relevant perks, if you like.)

You've made it into Ramsey's manse! What's your main goal here, anyways? (You can combine a couple, but specify how you're doing that. If you have a more complex plan, feel free to share as well.)

>[B1] Kill Ramsey here and now! You have the power!
>[B2] Wound Ramsey! Wear her down! Strike her when she's unprepared!
>[B3] Taunt Ramsey! Get her mad! Hit her where it hurts!
>[B4] Strike fear into Ramsey's heart! Get her on the back foot! (Get #301 on the back foot too, if you can!)
>[B5] Nab the stupid Crown! You know it's not attached to her head— you saw her fiddling with it!
>[B6] Write-in.

>>6307747
>[A4] Swap places with Ramsey! See how she likes it, plummeting into the void! [Extrareal V]
>[B3] Taunt Ramsey! Get her mad! Hit her where it hurts!

>>6307747
>A4
I see you, trap option A3

>B4
I feel like our taunt game is lacking compared to hers. Freaking her out, on the other hand, should prompt her to bring out any aces she's holding. Also this is the press 301 into his real form option.

Rolled 61, 44, 95 + 53 = 253 (3d100 + 53)

>>6307752
>>6307772
Called for [A4]. [B3] and [B4] have enough overlap that I'll semi-combine them-- the [B]s are just for determining the direction of future vote slates, so nothing critical.

Rolling for Charlotte.

>3 1d100s + 53 (+30 HERALD, +25 Extrareal, +3 Underestimated, -5 Needs Finesse) vs. DC 105 (+50 CROWN, +10 In Own Manse, -5 Semi-Corporeal) to swap places with Ramsey!


>>6307772
>I see you, trap option A3
I mean... it's not a *trap* option... you just won't get a bonus on the roll! Maybe it's still worth it; who knows?

>Also this is the press 301 into his real form option.
Fair warning: you can give this a shot, but it won't be trivial. You can do this easily with Richard because he's in your head and subject to your perception, but #301 is not, so you'd have to brute force this with sheer god-power.

>>6307823
>114, 97, 148 vs. DC 105 -- Success

Pssh. Leave the dice rolls to me, apparently. I will generously default to No Spendy here.

I've settled on not rolling for Ramsey's actions while she has full use of the Crown: she just automatically succeeds at whatever she's up to, though you'll continue to have opportunities to counter. This could change later on.

Writing!

>Switcheroo
>114, 97, 148 vs. DC 105 - Success

Ramsey is advancing. Maybe she's trying to cut off your escape. Maybe she thinks she can back you off the cliff. Maybe she just wants a good view of your plummet. Wouldn't it be funny if you slipped behind her and shoved her off instead? Or not funny. Wouldn't that be right? Wouldn't it be just and proper? A heroine doesn't fall off a cliff and die. She doesn't fall into the void and die. Not unless she—

But you know who does? Villains! Obviously! You still prefer it when they get stabbed, or their heads chopped off, but a nice long fall off a nice big cliff is a perfectly sensible way to go. It doesn't make a lot of sense that you're here, is the gist of it. It just doesn't. You should be where Ramsey is, and she should be where you are, and if you shut your eye so your vision blurs and you can't tell where you're looking, exactly, just dark dark dark glass, it must be true. Reality is flimsy near you. It's true.

And the cliff CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKs and splinters and you look on smugly as (a bewildered?) Ramsey teeters backward, The Crown sliding off her— The Crown!! Sliding off her head!! But it falls, same as the rest of her, too fast for you to reconsider, and when you scramble forward and peer over the ledge she's already readjusting it. She is hovering. She was hovering before, in real life, so you probably could've anticipated that.

"What the hell?" she says. "How'd you do that?"

It sounds like she's genuinely asking. "I—" You point your sword at her. "I don't reveal my plans to evildoers! I already said!"

"Then you're just wasting my time! Holy shit!" She rises level with the remnants of the cliff. "Talk a big game about fighting me, and you're prancing around, cheating your ass off—"

You don't even know what to say. "You're trying to kill me!"

"Yeah? And? I'm killing you in a normal way, like a decent person? Fucking Snickers keeps trying to suggest I, you know, stop your heart, but that's just not— who does that? Fucking snakes. But you're really ticking me off with this doors thing, and switching places, and trying to throw fire at me, and..." She shakes her head mournfully. "What's next? You're going to put on a hat and do a dance?"

=I'm sure you could make her.=
=In fact, make Wingnut do it too. I would very much like to see that.=

"No! It's no fun if I make her! He just doesn't get it." Addressed at you. "I really- I think it's the snake brain. Pea-sized, apparently. Can't comprehend sportsmanship. Or fun!"

You are fairly sure that the unrepentant mass-murderer Jean Ramsey, who killed your allies, who destroyed your home, who stole your God-damn Crown, is attempting to bond with you over snakes.

(1/2)

Two things strike you:

1. She's not taking this seriously. Maybe she's a little annoyed at you. 'Ticked off.' But mainly she's having fun, or attempting to have fun. If she were serious about killing you, you- well, you might or might not be dead, but you'd be in a whole lot more pain than you are right now.

2. She's not taking you seriously. You are not an actual viable threat in her eyes- maybe strong enough to play-fight with, to work up a sweat, but for Ramsey there's no future where she dies here. She's like Horse Face, like you said, if Horse Face had no reason to be that way. And if Horse Face didn't know God when he saw her.

On one level, this is good. Yes, Ramsey, it certainly is unsportsmanlike to wield the nigh-absolute power of the 15/16ths full Crown to wave her hand and stop your heart. Yes indeedy. Carry on swinging her axe and missing, please. On another level, this isn't good at all. She gets to conserve her energy, study your skillset, hold God-knows-what back, then unleash it the second she gets bored or you get tired. Would you survive? You must survive. But the Herald never said it'd be pretty.

Something needs to change here. You need to knock her off-balance. You need to—

«Finally, Charlotte Fawkins, you may unleash your greatest talent of all. You may annoy this woman to death.»

You weren't going to say that! You mean, that's an option, you guess. If you could figure out how to actually inflame Ramsey, which, given her usual temperament, is better said than done. You were going to say that maybe you could scare her? Which is also better said than done, but you did it to Horse Face, didn't you?

«That man had fears to draw on, however disused.»
«I am uncertain whether this woman has ever feared.»

Wouldn't anybody fear God? And fine! You can at least spook #301, can't you? He's not actually a snake.

«...»
«...I would very much like to see that.»

You know he would. But that's all for the future, because Ramsey, seeing your lack of response, is sounding miffed. "Okay, fine. Don't know what I expected from a little kid, anyways. What were you saying, Snickers? ...Fine. Okay. You asked for this." Addressing you. "[WIND]!"

She says it differently than last time. And at you.

>[A1] Absorb the incoming Law into yourself! ([Extrareal IV]) [Roll.]
>[A2] Just tank it! You've survived worse! ([Positive Thinking IV])
>[A3] Write-in! (Up to 2 perks, etc)

[All of the [B]s are "possible rolls".]

>[B1] Do your best to anger Ramsey! Turn her dark and broody manse bright and pleasant! ([The Sun III])
>[B2] Do your best to anger Ramsey! Smash up her manse like she smashed up your home! ([Earthsense 0])
>[B3] Do your best to scare Ramsey! Get in her head like you got in Horse Face's! ([Communion 0])
>[B4] Do your best to scare Ramsey! Start speaking in tongues! ([Snaketongue III])
>[B5] Write-in! (Up to 2 perks, etc)

>>6307848
>[A1] Absorb the incoming Law into yourself! ([Extrareal IV]) [Roll.]
>[B1] Do your best to anger Ramsey! Turn her dark and broody manse bright and pleasant! ([The Sun III])

>>6307848
>A1
Probably trying to wind us up like a spring - it’s actually how I read it the first time. Was surprised when she just blew us around.

>B1
Maybe after this we ought to look into snatching that crown off her head

>>6307848
>>[A1] Absorb the incoming Law into yourself! ([Extrareal IV]) [Roll.]
>[B1] Do your best to anger Ramsey! Turn her dark and broody manse bright and pleasant! ([The Sun III])

>>[A1] Absorb the incoming Law into yourself! ([Extrareal IV]) [Roll.]
>[B1] Do your best to anger Ramsey! Turn her dark and broody manse bright and pleasant! ([The Sun III])

>>6307896
>>6307903
>>6307971
>>6308053
>[A1]
>[B1]

Cool! Let's roll dice. I need 3 2d100s.

>Roll 1: 3 1d100s + 40 (+30 HERALD, +20 Extrareal, -10 Impossible!) vs. DC 100 (+50 CROWN) to absorb [WIND] without difficulty!

>Roll 2: 3 1d100s + 57 (+30 HERALD, +15 The Sun, +7 Greatest Talent of All, +5 Renovation Experience) vs. DC 115 (+50 CROWN, +15 Her Manse) to do some redecorating!

AND

Spend ID on the rolls? You are at 15/16 ID.

>[A1] Spend 1 ID for +10 to Roll 1.
>[A2] Spend 1 ID for +10 to Roll 2.
>[A3] Spend 2 ID for +10 to both.
>[A4] Don't spend.


AND

Spend INFO on the rolls? You are at 6 INFO.

>[B1] Spend 3 INFO to roll an extra die for Roll 1?
>[B2] Spend 3 INFO to roll an extra die for Roll 2?
>[B3] Spend 6 INFO to roll an extra die for both?
>[B4] Don't spend.

Rolled 32, 38 = 70 (2d100)

>>6308154
>[A3]
>[B4]

Rolled 28, 45 = 73 (2d100)

>>6308154
>[A3] Spend 2 ID for +10 to both.
>[B4] Don't spend.

Rolled 19, 71 = 90 (2d100)

>>6308154
Here to save us from those pitiful rolls
Also
>A4
>B3
The +10 from ID seems pretty small next to those buffs

>>6308156
>>6308173
>>6308183
>ID Spendy x2
>No INFO

There's the Drowned dice we all know and love!

>ROLL 1: 82, 78, 69 vs. DC 100 -- Failure
>ROLL 2: 105, 112, 138 vs. DC 115 -- Mitigated Success

Writing.

>Redecorating?
>Absorbing [WIND]: 82, 78, 69 vs. DC 100 - Failure
>Brightening things up: 105, 112, 138 vs. DC 115 - Mitigated Success

It's Richard's fault, really. He didn't explain the whole "extrareal" business well enough. You were under the impression that you absorbed reality into yourself, making your blood all crystally, generating your Magyckal Aura, etcetera, so it was only natural to assume that if Ramsey yelled pure Law at you you'd absorb it harmlessly. You even put effort into absorbing it harmlessly, in that fraction of a second between hearing and feeling it, screwed yourself up and waited.

>[-1 ID: 14/16]

Ironic, the "screwing yourself up." Ramsey spoke [WIND] with a long 'I' and it screwed deep in your bones and stuck there. It made you twitch first, sharply, jerkily, head to toe, then the Law bloomed and you wound. Your leg around your leg. Your tail around your legs. (You fell.) Your fingers around The Sword. (You didn't drop The Sword.) Your torso around itself. Your neck around itself. You weren't turned to rubber: everything cracked. The armor squelched. Certain things tore.

>[-3 ID: 11/16]

But you're not dead. Not unconscious. You're on the ground, at a 17 on Richard's regimented Pain Scale, you think, and what did you make it up to? A 27? Over a month ago, a 27. It helps that Richard doubled your vertebrae, too. Speaking of Richard: Richard? Medicine?

«Yes.»

There. Not entirely gone— maybe he's trying not to dull your senses— but down to a 7, maybe a 6. Completely tolerable. Now can he get you untangled? Um, and unbreak a few bones? A lot of bones? That'd be wonderful.

«Complex task. Working on it.»

So curt. Is he mad? Probably not mad. Probably focused. Which is good, because you'd like to be mobile again- you know you could defeat Ramsey with one hand tied behind your back, but this is is taking it a little far. She's talking right now. "See? Was that any fun? Fuck, look at the state of you!"

You can't imagine Jean Ramsey squeamish. She prefers to twist necks with her bare hands, is all.

=Really, Wingnut. Did you prepare at all for this. Surely you knew the capacities of the Object... unless you lost that in the -wash-. Ha ha.=
=Of course, if you -had- prepared, I don't even know what to say. Ha ha ha.=
=I guess a craftsperson's as good as its tools, isn't that right. Ha ha ha.=

Geez! This is what #301 is like all the time?

«Yes.»
«I am concentrating on repairing you. He will receive his comeuppance when he receives it.»

"Work on punchiness, Snickers. You're wasting your material." Ramsey sounds nearby, but you can't move your head. Or speak, for that matter. Vocal cords all tangled. "But look, Charlotte Fawkins, I'm not sure I know how to undo you... so... whoops! Maybe once I've got that crystal, I can set us up, you and me, no cheats. For right now, lessee here."

(1/2)

A shadow claw hovers over you— either to pick you up or to scrape your armor aside. Richard.

«I cannot work any faster.»

Positive thinking, then. The claw descends, then—

>[-1 ID: 10/16]

"Yow!"

—thins, jerks away. A light is coming from somewhere. From... you, from your chest, like you swallowed a yellow glorb. What meaning does the sun have? you asked Ellery. I don't know, he said. It just shows up when things get tough.

What meaning did you assign to it? Hope? Resurrection? Rebirth? Ramsey is testing several claws at once, but they can't get near. "Boy, you don't like making things easy," she says. She'll probably mosey over and chop you in half next, and it'd take a long, long time for Richard to fix that one. Hmm.

Maybe the sun means: all isn't lost yet. Positive thinking!

>Richard's doing his best, but he clearly can't repair Crown damage fast enough for it to matter. You'll have to get out of this situation yourself. What do you do? (All options will require a roll.)

>[1] Come on! This isn't real. The pain isn't real. Your bones aren't real. You can untwist yourself no problem— like you are rubber after all. [Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting IV]
>[2] Who says you need this dumb body? This is your last day with it, anyways. Just shed your skin and emerge renewed. [The Red Stuff III]
>[3] You made a mistake. Reach back in time and find yourself before you made the mistake. Easy... though you do risk tipping your hand to Ramsey. [The Herald's Mind VII]
>[4] Your main problem is [WIND]— it's stuck in your strings. You're no string expert, but you can see them okay, so if you can identify the obvious interloper— and rip it out— you should be back to usual, right? [Fingerwork 0]
>[5] Write-in.

>>6308279
>[2] Who says you need this dumb body? This is your last day with it, anyways. Just shed your skin and emerge renewed. [The Red Stuff III]
This is why we loaded up on red
No collateral we care about nearby either, perfect opportunity to go murder mode

>>6308319
>No collateral we care about nearby either, perfect opportunity to go murder mode
Not quite yet, sorry! You're still at 3 SV: you haven't performed the enormous betrayal (discussed last thread) required to skyrocket you to 12. I haven't forgotten about it, trust me. What this means, though, is that because pre-Ramsey-adjusted [Positive Thinking VII] + [The Red Stuff III] >>> 3 SV, you have complete control over the red stuff you have right now... in theory letting you do gross snakey things like shedding your skin without going into a murder fugue, which might or might not be useful when Ramsey is so powerful and also questionably corporeal right now.

>>6308279
>>[2] Who says you need this dumb body? This is your last day with it, anyways. Just shed your skin and emerge renewed. [The Red Stuff III]

>>6308279
>[3] You made a mistake. Reach back in time and find yourself before you made the mistake. Easy... though you do risk tipping your hand to Ramsey. [The Herald's Mind VII]

>[3] You made a mistake. Reach back in time and find yourself before you made the mistake. Easy... though you do risk tipping your hand to Ramsey. [The Herald's Mind VII]

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6308319
>>6308460
>[2]

>>6308465
>>6308479
>[3]

Flipping.

>>6308504
>[2]

Okay! We're shedding our skin.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 45 (+30 HERALD, +15 The Red Stuff) vs. DC 85 (+50 CROWN, -15 Unsuspecting) to free yourself fast enough!

AND

>Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 10/16 ID.

>[1] Y
>[2] N

AND

>Spend 3 INFO for an extra die? You are at 6 INFO.

>[1] Y
>[2] N

Rolled 83 + 45 (1d100 + 45)

>>6308517
>N
>N

Rolled 18 + 45 (1d100 + 45)

>>6308517
>N
>N
I feel good about our chances on this one

Rolled 89 + 45 (1d100 + 45)

Rolling the last one.

>128, 64, 134 vs. DC 85 -- Success
>No spendy

Nice. Writing.

File: redness 8.jpg (92 KB, 564x748)

92 KB JPG

>Snakemode
>128, 64, 134 vs. DC 85 — Success

Ah, but if only you could lock eyes with Ramsey, smile with fangs, and do something amazing. Too bad your neck is stuck like that.

Not that it has to be. Thanks for trying, Richard— if you had the time, you're sure waiting for him would be safer— but you're in the business of not getting chopped in half, and you've got to do what you've got to do. Now, what do you have to do, exactly?

Get out of here. Yeah. You could fiddle around with trying to fix this body, but it's a manse: just get a new one. Not like you haven't done it before. Not like you won't be doing it again, very, very soon. But it's too early for that— too early for any sort of lizard, in your opinion; just more surface area for Ramsey to cleave. You'll stick with the classic. Hello? Hello, red stuff?

It doesn't actually talk. Or think. It makes you do the talking and the thinking and plenty more besides. Still, it's helpful for you to pretend that it does, to pretend to poke it, wake it, relay your intentions. You'll even compromise with it: if you get to skip the lizard, you'll let it gore you. Shower of blood. Whatever it wants. Yeah?

Yeah. Something shifts under your skin. Hey, Richard, sorry to interrupt.

«Yes.»

Maximum drugs?

«Yes.»

Right to your veins, which is convenient: that's where the red stuff is, too. You feel absolutely nothing as gross tendrils extrude through blood vessels through muscle through wounds or pores, weave lacily over your face and under your armor, sink in vicious hooks, and suck all vitality inward. Is this how Claudia felt when you absorbed her? Only you're absorbing yourself, your flesh dessicating, your mind sinking, draining, until it's not your body at all. A husk.

Forget Claudia: is this how Gil felt, way back when? You shouldn't bring that up. He gets kind of sensitive. And you're not sure how long beetlefying took for him; for you this happened quick. Ten seconds. Hard to tell if Ramsey is reacting, because you're enclosed now: just you and the sun in here. Pretty cozy. But no time to dither.

You extend a talon from inside your skin and slash yourself free, twisting out of the skin in one lithe motion. The air is cold. Er, remarkably cold. You have scales, don't you?

«Yes.»

Everywhere?

«Yes.»

Good. You'll retrieve the armor when you have breathing room: for now you throw your hand out and catch a cloak in it. (Ramsey might be evil, but you do admire how her cloak swishes.) Of course, "cloak" might not be the right word for yours. Cape? Mantle.

(1/2)

File: royal mantle.jpg (30 KB, 500x469)

30 KB JPG

Red with white trim. You toss it on and bend and scoop the sun from your chest and The Sword from your sad crinkled fist and pirouette sideways: an axe is coming down, inches away. If your new body is different, armor aside, you're not stopping to check. You have bigger concerns, like backpedaling, tossing the sun in the air, and swinging The Sword around to whack it— it sails merrily into the red sky and sticks, banishing the clouds, casting everything in pleasant gold.

"You're fucking with me," Ramsey says, a touch wearily. The black ground glows in the sun. "You're sure you don't want to put a hat on? Do a dance? I put a whole lot of time into renovating this place, and you know, if I wanted boring weather, it'd be a lot easier to— I mean— it's a lot of work to rig up lightning, let alone—"

She points at you. You tense. Nothing happens.

"You did not break my fucking lightning. What the fuck. That's not cool, Charlotte Fawkins. Fucking week-long project." Ramsey puts one hand on her hip. "Do you want to die?"

Oho!

>She's getting madder! Press onward! (All are possible rolls.)

>[1] Say yes. Then dodge all her swings. ([The Herald's Body VII])
>[2] Her lightning's gone? Boo hoo! Now what if her evil cliffs were nice and grassy? What if her evil fortress was a... happy fortress? What you say, goes! ([Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting IV])
>[3] The sun was weakening her shadow arms. Why stop with it in the sky? Shove some extra sun straight into Ramsey! ([The Sun II])
>[4] Write-in.

>>6308668
>A3
The bonus may be lower but I feel like she gets the most perturbed by shenanigans that directly affect her.

>>6308668
>A2
surely this would be the most humiliating result for ramsey

also i wonder whether at some point we could use the snaketongue to freak snickers out somehow? idk if we have dirt on him but feels like throwing him off his game could be good

and my memory is v fuzzy, could we keep burrowing into lower levels of the manse to the point where our snake mascots dont function anymore? i imagine this would be more of a debuff for us than for ramsey though

File: the box (and flat typewriter).jpg (147 KB, 924x727)

147 KB JPG

>>6308706
>also i wonder whether at some point we could use the snaketongue to freak snickers out somehow? idk if we have dirt on him but feels like throwing him off his game could be good
I was going to say that that was an option here >>6307848, but I think I originally had [Snaketongue] as targeting #314 and then changed it for consistency. So tl;dr yes, you can-- you would've gotten to it faster if you decided to scare Ramsey instead of anger her, but I'll save time for it. Great minds think alike?

>and my memory is v fuzzy, could we keep burrowing into lower levels of the manse to the point where our snake mascots dont function anymore? i imagine this would be more of a debuff for us than for ramsey though

Snake mascots being #314 and Richard? If you made it to a lower layer of Ramsey's manse, you'd get Richard squished into you, yeah-- but it's tough to say whether the same thing would happen to #314. Richard is particularly vulnerable to this because, when you force him into a human body, you're stripping him of all the psychic safeguards that come along with being a snake. One of the advantages of snake-form is that he's not exactly "present" with you in the real world-- crudely, he's on a "video call" when less engaged (/when the snake isn't visible) and has "VR goggles on" when more engaged, but his lizard body in Satellite remains awake/semi-responsive and can still, e.g., use his computer. I mean box.

But when you drag him into a human body (which you're able to do because of his epic genius dad-replacement scheme; it's not normal for agents at all), you're going, uhh, Sword Art Online on him. His lizard body is now comatose in Satellite, and 100% of his mind is now inside the fake (paper) body you assign him-- which works okay for getting drunk and things like that, but offers zero protection against the crushing pressure you get when descending through a manse. Meaning he gets squished.

Obviously #314 is still a snake, and Ramsey couldn't make him* human even if she wanted to, because he's a sensible lizardman who followed procedure and didn't cook up a crackhead alternative. So he'd probably keep being a snake even if you did descend...

...Not that any of that matters too much, because you don't have much in the way of tools for getting deeper. You used your last shot of [OPEN] to get in here to begin with, and you already blew all your [Communion] last thread, meaning Ramsey knows you can do that and has probably set up safeguards. Best to stay right here.

*Aside literally nobody cares about: most agents are "it" (the Wyrm didn't give a hoot about differentiating them), but Correspondents pick an imaginary gender for ease of human interaction, so #314 is either "it" or "he." Richard rather likes being a "he" and would get upset if you called him "it," one of many, many reasons he's considered a nutcase.

>>6308801
I thought Richard was 314 and Ramsey's agent was 301

>>6308804
Oops, I messed up. You're absolutely right.

>>6308668
>[3] The sun was weakening her shadow arms. Why stop with it in the sky? Shove some extra sun straight into Ramsey! ([The Sun II])

>>6308668
>>[2] Her lightning's gone? Boo hoo! Now what if her evil cliffs were nice and grassy? What if her evil fortress was a... happy fortress? What you say, goes! ([Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting IV])

>>6308668
>[3] The sun was weakening her shadow arms. Why stop with it in the sky? Shove some extra sun straight into Ramsey! ([The Sun II])

>>6308695
>>6308900
>>6308910
>[3]

>>6308908
>>6308706
>[2]

Sweet. I got back late tonight and can't update, but I can make you guys roll in the meantime.


>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 35 (+30 HERALD, +10 The Sun, -5 Double Sun?) vs. DC 100 (+50 CROWN) to successfully shove more sun into Ramsey!

AND

>Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 10/16 ID.

>[1] Y
>[2] N

AND

>Spend 3 INFO for an extra die? You are at 6 INFO.

>[1] Y
>[2] N

Rolled 19, 73, 68 + 35 = 195 (3d100 + 35)

>>6309047

let's see if i can remember how rolling works lol

>Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 10/16 ID.

>[1] Y spendy

>Spend 3 INFO for an extra die? You are at 6 INFO.
>[2] N
maybe we save this til we're on the back foot...?

Rolled 33 + 35 (1d100 + 35)

>>6309047
>N
>Y
ID is also our health pool, we can't spend it all willy nilly

Rolled 72 + 35 (1d100 + 35)

>>6309047
>Spendy
>Spendy

Rolled 67 (1d100)

>>6309077
>let's see if i can remember how rolling works lol
You got it right, but I need 1 1d100 from each unless otherwise specified. As a result, I'll be taking your first d100 (19).

>>6309077
>>6309103
>>6309188
>64, 78, 117 vs. DC 100 -- Mitigated Success

Rolling one more...

>>6309205
>78, 117, 112 vs. DC 100 -- Success
>Spendy x2

Nice call on the INFO. Writing... not sure. Maybe during the day? Maybe not? Will play by ear.

File: the gold-masked person.png (1.83 MB, 1181x1256)

1.83 MB PNG

>The sun solves all problems?
>78, 117, 112 vs. DC 100 — Success
>Spendy x2

You can pounce on this. What's annoyed Ramsey so far? Putting the door in her chest. Putting the sun in the sky. How to annoy her really, really bad: putting a door in the sky?

Just kidding. (You have to say you're kidding, or Richard will get upset.) Way earlier, you tested The Sword on Monty's own shadow-arm, not jabbing it, just holding the flames near, and it thinned and he winced and told you to stop. Which was very interesting to you. Did it hurt? Why would it hurt?

Monty said it did hurt. Monty said he didn't know why it hurt. You asked to actually jab the arm, and did, and it didn't hurt when you did that— so it was the flames for certain, and the sun by extension. You asked Monty if he was really, really sure he didn't have any ideas about the arm.

From the look on him, Monty did have ideas. But he didn't volunteer them, so you offered yours. It wasn't that Eloise was wrong about it being rejection fluid— it was awfully black and goopy— but rejection fluid isn't shadowy. So something else is shadowy. And the arm showed up after you (famous heroine Charlotte Fawkins), er, dug all the skeletons out of his closet. Maybe you also put on a bit of a skeleton parade. And he was really upset about that, was mad at you for a good long while.

So maybe the shadowy parts are... bad feelings? Or negative thinkingness? Or... sort of... hopelessness? Like he felt as though he couldn't ever make up for whatever he did? Or couldn't escape it? Except that wouldn't work for Ramsey. Hmm.

Monty looked down and said, stiffly, that it could work very well. It wasn't as though Jean was delusional. She'd attest to every bit of pain she caused. Call her a bad person, she'd agree happily. Evil? Sure thing. Irredeemable? Huh? Redeemed how? Why? For what? She didn't care, was the difference. Between her and Monty. They were both irredeemable and both knew it but he cared and she didn't, about anything. Wasn't built to care. At least by the time he got to know her.

He had always thought that the arm— the gunk— all of it— was his crimes manifest, personally. He saw in your face that you didn't agree. (Richard was in your ear saying that "crimes" were not, metaphysically, a thing. That if anything God was pro-crimes.) You said that maybe the shadow bits were about evilness? But not how evil he is! No, no, no! How evil, how vile, how irredeemable he feels! You boiled those feelings up, and they reacted with the mask energies, or something, or his blood, or fluids— you weren't Eloise; you weren't paid to figure out how it worked. It did whatever it did, and a spooky arm was thus born-eth. Meanwhile, Ramsey thought being evil was funny, so she could summon infinite shadow claws out of her infinite evil reserves. Huh? Huh?

(1/2)

And! Your fire and/or sun burnt it away because (deep breath) they were both infused with your epic heroism-plus-goodness-plus-positive-thinking? Which obviously countered infinite evil reserves, and also countered dumb people who thought they were infinitely evil even though they clearly weren't. And maybe it hurt a little to be singed by PURE HEROISM, and you were sorry, but this was good! For Ramsey. Because she needed to be singed ASAP.

Richard in your head was complaining that "pure heroism" was also not a metaphysical concept, that this was a gross oversimplification of whatever actual underlying mechanism was producing this effect, which could be interesting to study, instead of immediately labeling it in a way that conveniently accorded with your also oversimplistic worldview, etcetera, but Monty wasn't saying anything. He rubbed his forehead. "Yes," he said. "She does."

>[-3 INFO: 3 REMAINING]

ANYWAYS. That was a billion years ago, and Monty got better about the feeling-evil thing, and also died. Ramsey isn't dead yet. Bummer! Hopefully you can fix that, and you're going to be fixing that by shoving more sun where it, as Branwen might've said, "don't shine." What? You already shoved the sun into the sky? Who cares? You can make two! Yeah! Through the power of PURE HEROISM! And you'll see how much Ramsey likes that!

«Charlie.»

What? It's a good plan. You're not changing your mind.

«The plan is adequate. I would like to recommend, if the objective is to irritate your opponent, to appear to 'behave normally.' Dodge and use the weapon and so on. Then, when her spirit has been raised, you dash it.»

Oh. OH! That is a good idea! Thanks, Richard! You should've known he'd be an expert on pushing someone's buttons.

«Yes.»

It's great when it isn't used on you. Anyways. It hasn't been long. You've just been thinking fast. Ramsey asked, um, if you wanted to die. "No!" you say confidently. "Um, I'm going to fight you normal now! You convinced me!"

Ramsey doesn't yell "BAD LIE," so maybe that was a good lie? Or maybe she's extending the benefit of the doubt. "Fucking finally! Come at me, then!"

>[TO BE CONTINUED...]
>[...DURING THE DAY TOMORROW! CHECK BACK IN 8-10 HOURS! (SORRY)]

>>6309465
>8-10 hours
TICK TOCK

>>6309659
Sorry, anon, I was accosted by RL stuff I forgot about. Writing now, update 1-2 hours from now.

File: sun 9.jpg (37 KB, 540x418)

37 KB JPG

>Continued it ended up really long ok sorry

You come at her, putting up a convincing display of acrobatics, though you still can't manage a backflip. Maybe once you're God? You're still a good match for Ramsey in any case— her swings are powerful and accurate, but there's only so fast you can move a giant axe, and you narrowly dodge each time. Your mantle flaps dramatically, but when you're on the back foot, it's tough to get close. Hmm. You duck under a horizontal swing, wince as the flat of her blade bonks your horns, and dart to the left— her axe is to the right. Yes! Your arms aren't very long, but The Sword is, and you can thrust it handily into her cloak. It hits nothing.

"Nice try!" Ramsey crows, grabs your shoulder with her gloved hand, and wrenches. Does she mean to dislodge The Sword, dislocate your arm, rip it clean off? You have no armor on it. Doesn't matter. "Yeah," you grunt, "nice try"— then squeeze your eyes shut (SUN SUN SUN SUN SUN SUN SUN) and channel every drop of heroism you've got into her.

>[-1 ID: 9/16]

It works. It was always going to work. Something hot runs up your spine and down your arm and makes The Sword heat like a furnace, glow like a furnace, glow golder and whiter and whiter and whiter inside of Ramsey's cloak, which billows from the force of the heat and leaks fleeing black everywhere. She's screaming very bad words at you as she smokes and the darkness drains in rivulets over the black ground, all the darkness, not just a little, because the sun on the tip of The Sword is half your height all the way around. Correspondent #301 has vanished, her axe has melted, the empty cloak flutters and dissolves, the mask wobbles to the ground and sits there, and the Second Crown, your family heirloom, the object of your quest, falls last. Or not last. The sun, completely spent, marble-sized, falls last.

It can't be that easy. You spend half a second too long on how it can't be that easy; when the smarter part of you says CROWN!!!, you dive for it, but you're not the only one diving for it. Ten shadow-claws erupt from the muck and take hold of one side as you dig your heels in and take the other and tug for your life. But while you're strong (and pure of heart and so on), and you hold your own against ten claws, you can't do much against nine Ramsey-strength claws tugging and one systematically prying your fingers up. Imagine if you could breathe fire at them? Too late.

They heave-ho, the Crown goes flying up, and you go flying back, landing with a squelch and a crunch. Below you: one tattered skin of Charlotte Fawkins, one puddle of goo armor, and— thank God— one necklace with one tine of the Crown, still intact. Thank God Ramsey's not smarter than she is. You breathe heavily for a second while the armor oozes up and over your skin— though you're keeping the mantle. It swooshes.

(1/4?)

Ramsey's keeping her cloak, too, as she slides up and out of the largest darkness-puddle. The Crown is on her head, her axe in her hand, and her mask in the other: she starts to fasten it on, but catches you watching, scowls, and pitches it over your head. It sails and sails and vanishes off the cliff.

Her face is how you remember, but it's attached to a body that just keeps sliding upward. She wasn't this tall before, or this broad. Her cloak didn't stick out so conspicuously in the back. Is her axe bigger, too? It was already big, but now it could cleave Sgwd in two. Or Annie.

Ramsey, altered, points at you. "FUCK YOU!"

>[RAMSEY'S BLOOD: 70/100]

Weren't capital-E Evildoers supposed to be eloquent? They were supposed to blah-blah-blah, like Richard does, and you could shout something pithy and interrupt. It doesn't work if you're both pithy. Case in point: "No! Um, eff you back! I'm doing my job as a sworn heroine, and it's not my fault if you don't—"

"YOUR JOB IS TO DIE, YOU FUCKING IDIOT! I WAS NICE ENOUGH TO GIVE YOU A CHANCE TO RUN AROUND FIRST! AND YOU DIDN'T WANT IT? YOU SPAT IN MY FACE. SHOWS WHAT BEING NICE TO UPPITY LITTLE KIDS GETS YOU. NOW HOLD STILL."

You brandish The Sword for the fortieth time, probably. "No! I shall never— hey!"

Were you standing on a shadow-puddle? It's difficult not to be: Ramsey really got everywhere, and with the black shiny ground you can hardly tell the difference. So it's not your fault when a massive claw rockets out and snatches you up by your tail. Thwacking it with the flaming Sword is no use: it weakens, but other claws start twining up with it, reversing all the damage you're doing. And then you're in the air, upside-down, clinging onto The Sword for dear life. You are level with Ramsey's face.

"That's better," she spits. "You know, I liked you. Thought you were sort of cute. Had potential. But you're— well, listen, I'll give you one last chance. Do you actually think you can win this?"

You have a pure and honest heart. "I will win this!"

"Okay, so I was right. You're stupid. Common affliction. Everybody who ever fought me— they all used to be stupid too. Now their heads are on stickers. Cans of peaches. Part of my brand. Their bodies?" The claw dangles you a little closer. "In the ocean."

"Some brand for the Hero-Queen."

"Ha! That's a rebrand! Snickers said it'd piss you off. Did it? Back up there, I was the Executioner."

"Executioness," you mumble.

"Executioner. And, you know, some of the people I killed, they knew they were taking that risk. They thought it was a big honor. And they tried their best, and I gave them a fair fight, yaknow? Still killed them. But it was fair, and it was usually quick. Those were the smart ones. The idiots brought their bags of tricks, and they died slow. What I'm seeing from you, Charlotte Fawkins, is that, not only do you want to die, but you want to die slow. Is that it?"

(2/4?)

"I will NEVER die to you!" Maybe you can sort of swing yourself onto her head? Or drop your tail like a lizard? Don't lizards do that? "EVILDOER!"

"You're stupid and you're repetitive. Boy, I hate that. Hey, should I squeeze you to death? That's kind of fun. Ribs going pop, stuff like that. Hey, whoa, cut that out!"

You were swinging. Ramsey's cloak rustles and opens and an arm emerges: not a shadow-arm, an actual one, but it's black-scaled and sharp-clawed and thick as a tree and generally a embarrassing ripoff of your monstrous Lizard Arm. Can #301 not do anything by himself? Shameful! You're still gripped in it, though, arms pinned to your side, and you have no doubt it could squeeze you to death if appropriate measures weren't taken.

"Thank you. See, I like that option. But maybe instead I... hey! I see you concentrating!"

«I failed to improve the obviousness of your facial expressions. I apologize.»

Ugh! Yes, you were concentrating, though you hadn't settled on what yet. Maybe turning yourself so slippery she couldn't hold you, or something. But Ramsey is pointing, and her Crown is shedding light, and an arrow drives through your skull, or something, and your vision constricts and you ball instinctively.

>[-2 ID: 7/16]

"Yeah! Knew it! I have to watch you, don't I? You always think you can get away with something. Geez, I hate arrogant people. Wish I could watch you squirm when I get that crystal back. Maybe I can turn you into a mouse or something? A bug? Slug? Hell, why not? I'm not getting any good fight out of you. Here we go."

Now Ramsey is the one concentrating, and the arrow in your head is sending splitting tendrils out, and you are shrieking— can't help it— as something very, very bad is happening to you, as your saliva is turning burnt-tasting and goop is sliding from your nose and as your body is crackling and trembling and your skin softens and your toes retract and your eyeballs poke, one after another, curiously from out of your—

And it is worse than Richard, who has disassembled and reassembled you, but at his worst, at his snakiest, only did it with you asleep. (It was against his material interest to traumatize you.) You are attempting to marshal everything against this, and Richard is saying things you can't understand, but he's probably marshaling everything too, but it hurts, it hurts, and the whole Crown is nuclear white and bent against you. The power of God. 15/16ths the power of God.

>[-3 ID: 4/16]

And then it subsides and your eyeballs zoop back in and your toes (and fingers and) zoop back out and your skin is tacky with sweat but basically firm and you cough really hard. Ramsey frowns. "Fuck. I can't get it right. Snickers, how do I do this again?"

Her snake is still. She nudges it. "Snickers?"

=—do you MEAN, 'taken off the'— by the order of the— by the order of WHO?!=

(3/4?)

"Um... Snickers? Snick-snicks?" Ramsey looks puzzled. "Think you got your voice the wrong way around? It's just growling."

=The fucking DIRECTOR?! The DIRECTOR did not— the Director doesn't care about— this is HORSESHIT! This is FRAUDULENT! I want documentation. I want OFFICIAL fucking—=
=...=
=This is FORGED. This is a FORGERY. This is— you know what— this is— WINGNUT put you up to this. Fucking WINGNUT. Admit it! Who else! Does he have blackmail on you?! Is that how you're involved?! If he has blackmail on you, then we can run it up the chain, you know. We can get that asshole 'cyked so hard his scales turn grey. Which, you know, only EVERYBODY has wanted from the moment he— what?=
=...=
=Oh, it's not fraud? You're just an IDIOT? The fucking HERALD?! The Herald is a pretty story for trainees. Wyrm below, the Herald showed up, and the Wyrm sent us greeting cards, and we all get the next month off. The fucking STATE of—=

"Um, I think my snake's broken?" Ramsey shakes it. "You're hearing this, right, Charlotte Fawkins?"

#301 is speaking in Lizard. You understand it. Maybe Ramsey could use the Crown to translate it, if she even knew it was something to translate, but you're way ahead of her here. "He's getting fired."

"What?! From what, helping me with..." Ramsey shakes #301 a little harder. "Why?!"

"Because I made him get fired."

"What the hell did you do that for? That's exactly the kind of shitty, underhand... wait, how?! I didn't know— I didn't know snakes had people who could fire them?"

You feel slightly bad for her. Slightly. "Because I'm the Herald of the Bright Epoch."

"Are you saying that like it's supposed to mean something?"

=She is lying to you.= The snake twitches. =Of course she isn't. Such a thing would be ridiculous. A desperate attempt to confuse you at the hour of your—=

"Could've just said the first part, Snicks. I mean, I figured, but I just— I mean— are you getting fired?"

=No.=

«Yes. I can hear it from here.»

From his lizard desk?

«From my lizard desk.»
«I believe he's attempted to negotiate a little extra time, on the basis of the Task being completed imminently. Which it will be. But not by him.»
«I would be enormously gratified if you could demonstrate this right now, Charlie.»

And you won't turn into a slug?

«I will make every effort to prevent you from turning into a slug. But I believe your opponent is correct. She cannot get far in the process without needing assistance.»
«I believe that Correspondent #2 is currently watching over Dickface's shoulder, by the way. So it is not purely for my gratification. If you were able to demonstrate—»

Okay. You get it. You've got this.

(Choices next.)

>First, the important part:

>[A1] Just show off. #301 is receiving his comeuppance as you watch: there's nothing more you need to do. He can't be humiliated if he's dead, after all.
>[A2] No! He's as evil as Ramsey. He incited her to run off with the Crown in the first place. He's tormented Richard for years. You are the Herald; you will be God: show off, then kill him like he deserves. (Optional write-in: how?) [Roll.]
>[A3] Write-in.


>Next, how will you show off specifically? (You can pick multiple. Possible rolls.)

>[B1] Go full Herald? Duh? [The Herald's Mind VII]
>[B2] Go full Herald physically! If Ramsey can alter herself, so can you! [The Herald's Body VII]
>[B3] Attempt to transform #301 into his actual lizard self! [Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting IV]
>[B4] Speak to #301 in Lizard! (Optional: What do you say?) [Snaketongue III]
>[B5] Glow a lot! All divinely! [The Sun I]
>[B6] Make your surroundings Heraldy! Whatever that means! [Extrareal III]
>[B7] Forget the Herald stuff! Ramsey's distracted! Bite her lizard fingers! [The Herald's Body VII]
>[B8] Write-in.

>Also, you'll always regain at least 5 ID before any rolls, so don't sweat that!

>>6309776
>[B2] Go full Herald physically! If Ramsey can alter herself, so can you! [The Herald's Body VII]

>>6309790
Pick an [A] too! (Also, [B]s are pick as many as you want-- you're welcome to pick one, but you don't have to!)

>>6309776
>>[A1] Just show off. #301 is receiving his comeuppance as you watch: there's nothing more you need to do. He can't be humiliated if he's dead, after all.
Whatever, nerd
>[B7] Forget the Herald stuff! Ramsey's distracted! Bite her lizard fingers! [The Herald's Body VII]

>>6309776
>[A1] Just show off. #301 is receiving his comeuppance as you watch: there's nothing more you need to do. He can't be humiliated if he's dead, after all.

>[B2] Go full Herald physically! If Ramsey can alter herself, so can you! [The Herald's Body VII]
>[B5] Glow a lot! All divinely! [The Sun I]
>[B7] Forget the Herald stuff! Ramsey's distracted! Bite her lizard fingers! [The Herald's Body VII]

>>6309790
Sorry, I just got home.

>>6309776
>[A2] No! He's as evil as Ramsey. He incited her to run off with the Crown in the first place. He's tormented Richard for years. You are the Herald; you will be God: show off, then kill him like he deserves. (Optional write-in: how?) [Roll.]
He's a snake, right (not really but you know), tear off his hide and turn him into a pair of boots.

>[B2] Go full Herald physically! If Ramsey can alter herself, so can you! [The Herald's Body VII]
>[B5] Glow a lot! All divinely! [The Sun I]
>[B6] Make your surroundings Heraldy! Whatever that means! [Extrareal III]

>>6309776
>>[A1] Just show off. #301 is receiving his comeuppance as you watch: there's nothing more you need to do. He can't be humiliated if he's dead, after all.
>[B2] Go full Herald physically! If Ramsey can alter herself, so can you! [The Herald's Body VII]
>[B5] Glow a lot! All divinely! [The Sun I]
>[B6] Make your surroundings Heraldy! Whatever that means! [Extrareal III]

>>6309776
Alright, this is the moment
Ever since I saw the write in was up to 2 perks I was ready to submit
>Reveal Ourselves
With Herald's body and mind selected, but this works too.
So glad the Director finally came through for us

>A2
>B1, 2, 3, 4
>Tell him he backed the wrong candidate - just as the Wyrm swallows its own tale the victor must be us, was always going to be us, could never be anyone but us.

>[A1] Just show off. #301 is receiving his comeuppance as you watch: there's nothing more you need to do. He can't be humiliated if he's dead, after all

>[B2] Go full Herald physically! If Ramsey can alter herself, so can you! [The Herald's Body VII]
>[B4] Speak to #301 in Lizard! (Optional: What do you say?) [Snaketongue III]
>[B6] Make your surroundings Heraldy! Whatever that means! [Extrareal III]

Rolled 62, 39, 85, 72, 76, 14, 67, 71, 63 = 549 (9d100)

>>6309856
>>6309849
>>6309836
>>6309802
>>6309801
>>6309800

Hiya, folks. I had a nice big votecount post written up... then my computer crashed, and I'm not doing that again. Take my word for it (or count it yourself) that

>[A1]
>[B2], [B4], [B5], [B6], {B7]

won!

[B4] (I will take >>6309849's write-in) and [B7] do not require rolls. The other three do, mostly for efficacy vs. consequences (so don't sweat them toooo hard).

Herald's Body: DC 60
The Sun: DC 40
Extrareal: DC 55

The first and third roll might've been easier if you were doing [The Herald's Mind] as well, but it appears that Charlotte is rawdogging this.

>>6309880
Excellent rolls.

>Success
>Success
>Enhanced Success...

>[DEBUFF: Deep-Seated Fear. Your next rolled Enhanced Success is converted to a Failure.]

>...Failure!

I'm gonna be real, folks, that was not the worst roll for that to trigger on. It could've been a dodge roll! It does make it a little more difficult to work in, though, so if I can't figure it out I may kick the consequences down the road a sec. (This update might be on the chunkier side already). Writing.

>>6309882
>tfw we should have picked options with a higher DC to not get a enhanced success
>tfw no face

File: Spoiler Image (363 KB, 1920x956)

363 KB PNG

>Heraldmode
>Success, Success, Failure

The first thing you do, the obvious thing, is to reach for the skin of the Herald. Feel it papery between your mind-fingers. You could put it on and be her and #301's snake brain would ooze out of his snake nose and Ramsey would... be nonplussed, probably, until you reached into the future and found her corpse and brought it into the present and dropped it on her head. Something like that.

You think about that and you rub the skin and you hang it back up neatly. It would be good for you to be the Herald, and it would be useful. It might be the only way to truly change #301's mind. But what do you care about his mind? He poses no threat to you. He's already being fired. And Richard seems satisfied with that, oddly enough. (Shouldn't he be more vindictive?)

«His humiliation will be twofold. First, he is removed from his post by the Director Itself. This is entirely unprecedented. Entirely. But he will not yet be recycled.»
«Instead, he will sit by impotently as you destroy his prized client, reclaim the Object, absorb the Wyrm, and, in your parlance, 'save the whole entire world'.»
«Oh. And I forgot. As <I> am granted the highest honor for a Correspondent possible.»
«I do not care if he grovels. If you do not cow him he will be removed nevertheless, and, in his hubris, will grow angrier and angrier. Perhaps he will do something reckless to me or my property. Perhaps his status in the eyes of our peers will be permanently reduced. Better, perhaps he will be recycled for his outburst, and our last shining memories of Correspondent #301 will be of his arrogance and idiocy.»
«I would like this very much.»

Oh. You take it back. So he doesn't want #301 to die or anything? Because you could—

«You would allow him to escape the inevitable?»

Okay, you get it. Not killing him. Check. You really shouldn't be the Herald, then, or you might have strange lizardy impulses and kill him. Or humble him so much it isn't fun anymore.

«Well. You must put in some kind of effort. For #2 and the rest, if not him.»

Um. The rest?

«There may be certain additional spectators.»
«...Not the entire department. But the residents of our neighboring cubes have taken it upon themselves to stand around and rubberneck. It is frivolous. Do not let it influence you. They are hopeful that the end of our ordeal is at hand, is all.»

And they want to see Richard and #301 tussle by proxy? Don't lie.

«That as well.»

Okay. Okay, you— this is good! Positive thinking! You hope you've been putting on a good enough show for everybody, but now you have to put on a great one. They're not inside your mind, are they? The other agents?

«Not at all.»

(1/9?)

So if you want to make their snake brains ooze out of their snake noses, you have to become the Herald visually. Right? Because they're watching through their magyck cameras? Of course you're right! And it'll be easy! You're in a manse, after all— and even though it's just the top layer, you're sucking so much reality out you might as well be dreaming. (And you won't be corrected about that.) Also, Ramsey clearly just turned into half a lizard monster, at least, and she's not even the Herald. You are. You can give them all a sneak preview.

Now, where were you? Right. "Hey!" you warble. "Pay attention to me!"

«Straightforward.»

"Boy, I'd love to. But this little guy's going on about Heralds and Epochs and whatever, and you're going on about Heralds and Epochs and whatever, and it makes it kinda tough to focus on the squeezing you to death thing. Or the slug thing. Are you ready to help out yet, Snickers?"

"Correspondent #301 won't turn the Herald into a slug!" If only you could flourish The Sword for the forty-first time— you settle for tossing your head. "He knows better than that! As a matter of fact, Correspondent #301 is fully aware that, not only am I the Herald of the Bright Epoch, but I always was, and always will— ngh!" She's squeezing. Hard.

"Guess I'll go with the non-slug plan. Bummer. It was nice to meet ya, Charlotte Fawkins, but not that nice."

If you focus on nothing inside you going pop, it won't go pop. That's how it works. "...Ag...reed...!"

Then, unrelatedly, you bite down on her hand. A chomp, not a nip: your smaller teeth clack against her scales, but your fangs, two inches long, find purchase. Your weird glands begin to pulsate. While you're not sure if your venom will work on Ramsey, especially with whatever size she is, it doesn't need to: you just need her to yelp (she does) and loosen her grip (she does this too). Her mistake! You wriggle free, no slug slime required, and clamber onto the back of her hand.

>[RAMSEY'S BLOOD: 65/100]

Ramsey's face is all snarl: she tries to smack you off, but you stake The Sword through her knuckles ("FUCK!") and maintain balance with your tail. "Leave me alone! I'm trying to talk to your snake! Correspondent #301. Are you listening?"

=You taught the creature proper speech, Wingnut. What a waste of time. Should've taught it manners.=

"He taught me nothing! I'm the Herald, idiot! You don't believe me?!"

"Are you guys talking?" Ramsey says, less snarly. You feel slightly more bad for her.

=Gluing a tail to a mud-creature does not the Herald make. I apologize if Wingnut lied to you, creature. It is known to do that.=
=I feel so sorry for you, in fact, that I'll take your input on what form my client should put you in. She seems to prefer a slug, but she knows no different. Any small creature will do.=
=For instance, a lizard. It would match with the tail of yours.=

(2/9?)

Your instinct, as ever, is defiance. A forty-secondth brandishing. Then you think about it more and grin. Then swallow the grin. Hopefully #301 isn't good at facial expressions. "I— er— I can't believe he— he lied to me?! I'm not the Herald?! Then I'm, um, bound to lose! Yes! I am fatedeth to die a horrible death to your client Jean Ramsey! Being a lizard would be far superior."

«I hope you're going somewhere with this, Charlie.»

Richard hopes so? He doesn't immediately doubt your abilities? You've come so far.

Correspondent #301 turns its yellow eyes on you. =Indeed. I am aware my client is difficult to negotiate with, so I am glad the two of us can see reason. I am also aware it must be enormously trying to be bound to Wingnut, so you are forgiven for your earlier petulance.=
=As a show of good faith, I will make the process swift. Additionally, it is not impossible that my client will take a liking to your new form. If this is so, you will be well taken care of.=

It's incredibly hard to keep a straight face. If you bit your lip, would it paralyze your cheeks? You curtsy, face down, instead. "Thank you for your graciousness, kind sir. I look forward to my new lizard life."

=Yes, yes. Goodbye, Charlotte Fawkins. Say your goodbyes to Wingnut as I prepare the client. And ignore his objections. He is a liar, after all.=

Bye, Richard!

«Very funny.»
«Now you see how devastatingly intelligent Dickface is, yes? I approve of this. He will be more upset afterward.»
«I will undo Laws pertaining to a decrease in size. You will do the rest, I trust.»

Yes you will.

"What? We're back to that?" Ramsey is talking to her snake. "Okie-doke, Charlotte Fawkins! We're back to the slug thing! Snickers is helping, finally." (She flicks his head with a shadow-claw.) "I'm telling you in advance so you can get comfy, okay? Because you can't run. I'll catch you anywhere. Coulda done this the whole time, but I really wanted to have a fun... well, whatever. Ready?"

You have dug your fingers through your armor and, with a talon, punctured your paper skin. Deep breath. "I guess so."

"Ho ho! Took you long enough!" Ramsey's claw tweaks the Crown's angle. "Well, nothing to worry about. I'll tell all your buddies exactly what happened to you, 'kay? Maybe I'll show them. If—" She winks. "—I don't step on you first. Bye!"

No [LAW] out loud. This must be more complex— a lecture you dodged by losing the Crown. Still, you can imagine she pointed and said [LIZARD], because it doesn't feel that different: being clamped down on, scrambled up. This time is better than the slug because you expected it. This time is better than the slug because you're one-third lizard already. It does nothing for the first second, which is when your fingers inside your chest cavity rub your strings and make them glow. One last gasp of the sun.

(3/9?)

File: Spoiler Image (217 KB, 746x1371)

217 KB PNG

Then you explode in light and lizard. The light's for no reason but drama. It looks cool. The lizard— #301 meant a fence lizard, clearly. A little guy. But look: if he wants to make you a lizard, offered to make you a lizard, when you were planning on being a lizard anyways, could you turn down something so gracious?

It hits the preexisting lizard parts first: your tail stretching like taffy, your claws curving over your fingertips, your lips peeling over your jaw, your scales bubbling over your neck and face. You wouldn't call it comforting, but it's far more familiar. And Richard, from the buzz in your head, is keeping tabs on the pain.

«I was taken by surprise last time. My error.»

Then it goes for the rest of you. You note a mounting of pressure and terrible twinge where— you assume— you should've collapsed in on yourself. But Richard goes «Hmm» and «A-ha» and you jackknife instead, head to knees, then rebound in the opposite direction. Mostly your neck rebounds, as if spring-loaded, pulling your head up and up. Which has happened before, too, but you've hardly ever been lucid.

«I am glad of your extreme experience in turning into lizards.»

No kidding. You're not quite captain of this ship, but you've got your hand on the tiller. The trouble is, now you're not sure what's happening to the rest of you. Arcing your neck way back down, you discover slender, elongated arms and legs: not what you think of when you think "Herald," but you were a little worried about holding The Sword, so you'll take it. Your tail is enormous. The spines on your back are much longer. Actually, it's not nearly as much change as you—

Your nose pushes in. Your head crooks 90 degrees as your jaw grinds. Your gums bleed— you taste it— from the new teeth coming in. Sharp teeth. Then your eyes treble and your tongue narrows and your hair (this is the only thing that actually disquiets you) sheds all at once, drifting around you, catching on your neck, and you're bald. Which is normal for lizards. It's just that you like your hair.

But then it's over. You feel mostly like yourself but longer. And with sharper eyesight. And a face rotated around. But mostly yourself— Charlotte Fawkins— with nothing obviously crowding in on your thinking, not even native fear. This body doesn't comfort you, but you are comfortable enough inside it. Inside the Herald. What you always were and always will be.

>[+3 ID: 7/16]

Though you're still confused about the arms and legs. Richard?

«Er. It's a variant depiction.»
«Sometimes the Herald is more bestial, but very often it is shaped... how we are shaped, only further exaggerated.»

Which is why the neck is so long?

«Yes. And the tail.»

Right. Wow! Neat! You didn't know you'd have variants. (You were more worried about the arm situation than you thought.) It's very, very funny to think that, while none of this is real, literally exactly this will happen in just a few hours. In real life. Thanks for the dry run, #301!

File: correspondent #301.jpg (254 KB, 792x600)

254 KB JPG

Anyways, you're still on Ramsey's hand, though 'balancing' on Ramsey's hand is far more accurate. Also, your head is now way above hers, though you can see it clearly with your giant eyes. Your dramatic glow has dissipated, so Ramsey with her pathetic (mostly-)human eyes is squinting up at you. "Snickers?"

=Wyrm-damned fucking -Wingnut-.=

"Snickers, buddy, that is about the least slug-looking thing I have ever seen. I think maybe I get why you're being fired. You're not working with her, are you?"

"I told you I was the Herald," you call down at him. It's a lot easier to pronounce the words now. "I've always been the Herald. I always will be the Herald."

=How. How did he do this. How much time on his fucking hands does he -have.- This is— this should be reported. This is a flagrant -abuse- of working hours, to spend so much time on—=

"Snickers." Ramsey grabs him by the neck, pinches his little head between two claws. "I'm talking to you, you little fucker. You're not betraying me, are you?"

You rejoin the chorus. "It was always going to be this way, #301. Isn't there a Script, or something? Should've read it again. Because it says: Charlotte Fawkins is the Herald. Also, Charlotte Fawkins wins. That's the ending. I was going to win, always, and the Wyrm is just about chowing down on its tail."

Maybe it would've come out prettier if you were the Herald in your head, not just on the outside. You don't care. #301 is attempting to ignore you, anyways: =There is no betrayal. This was a malicious trap set out for me— for us, of course. For us, to turn the little human girl into a -facsimile- of a— a—=

"So you fell for that trap, is what you're saying?"

=I— I— in a way— we both did, yes.=

"What's that? We both did?" Ramsey's tone is a spike pit. "Really? Because, from what I know, you came to me saying you could help turn the gal into a slimy slug, no problemo, and I'm looking at her— I mean, I assume that's her— and, boy, I don't see an ounce of slime. And she's twelve fucking feet tall, Snickers."

Are you? Wow!

"So either you led me into this trap," she continues, "or you fucked up. At a time where, let me tell you, it's very important we do not fuck up. Because if Charlotte Fawkins was a slug, then I'd be a god, right? That's the trade?"

=I— I suppose that's—=

"You're fucking disgusting, Snickers. Sorry. You've gotta go."

And, as you watch, Ramsey casually twists her snake into two pieces. She drops them. They clank on the ground.

They don't move. Wait, is #301 dead?

(6/8?)

«I am... it's difficult to... there is a ruckus.»
«I believe he has collapsed. But the chassis should have preserved him.»
«He will awaken, I suspect, temporarily unemployed.»
«...»
«...»
«You've done me a great favor, Herald. You have my thanks to the extent I can give them.»

Ew! Richard can't call you Herald! That's so weird! Next he's going to start kneeling and kissing your— your sabatons, apparently; the goo armor has happily remolded to fit you. You should drop a big fat bag of chit on Pat's desk, when you're God. (So, in a couple hours. An hour. Brrr! You can't think about that now, not with Ramsey alive.)

Also, not with Ramsey talking. "Geez, what a bummer. But that's what you get for trusting snakes, I guess. He always was sort of dopey. Hey, you're Charlotte Fawkins, aren't you? I didn't turn your brain into a slug?"

It takes effort to speak how Ramsey will understand, and your voice comes out lizard-y. Deeper than you're used to. "It's still me. Um. Evildoer."

"Damn, I can't catch a fucking break here. Nice... uhh... tail." She can't help but squint when she looks up. "It's weird that you're standing on me still. Have to go out and say it. Do you want to get down?"

Of course. But you can't do anything amazing and heroic if she just lets you down. "No, I'm fine."

"Hey. Okay. Lemme rephrase: get the fuck off."

She swats you. Much better. Her shadow claws aren't big enough to have much impact, but her meaty lizard hand is, and you must have bird bones: you go flying. But this body bends everywhere, uncomplainingly, and you— no way. No way. No way. You do a backflip!

>[+3 ID: 10/16]

So this is the power of the collective lizard unconscious: they have created for themselves their stunning, perfect heroine, and that heroine is (and was and was always) you. But of course it is! Does that make this body magyck? Is that what that means? It never tires, it never thirsts, it does backflips on command?

«I—»
«I don't know if—»
«...»
«It hardly matters. Do as you will. Have fun.»
«Er, just remember to kill her sooner or later. I would prefer sooner.»

Yes! Of course!

>[You are in the Herald's (imaginary) body. Your +30 HERALD modifier will begin to increase while inside.]
>[Ramsey is now SNAKELESS. Her facility with the Crown is significantly reduced. Her +50 CROWN modifier will begin to decrease, and she will start rolling against you rather than auto-succeeding.]

(7/8)

"Sweet backflip," says Ramsey. How big is she? You're 12-ish feet tall, stretched out, and she's a couple feet taller. Maybe 15. But much, much broader. "Where was that earlier? Holy fuck. Were you dithering around until you got this set up? Are you going to fight me for real now? Because I like this! You did your little thing, I did my little thing..."

"Maybe." Actually, with #301 out of the picture, going 1-on-1 with Ramsey sounds a whole lot more appealing. "Shouldn't there be an arena, then? So nobody cheats?"

"Now you're speaking my language, kid! Oho! Lemme go ahead and—"

"No, I've got it." You have an odd feeling. Sliding The Sword out, you turn it over— it's grown to fit you— then raise it above your head and strike it into the black ground.

Something of you flows through you and down the blade and out around your feet. The ground quivers once, then collapses into soft white sand, the cliffs and crags into dunes, the fortress— well, it's far enough that the vibrations don't reach. You'll save something for Ramsey. An itch within you satisfied, you wiggle The Sword out of the silty earth.

Then the void opens up and you— you and Ramsey— fall.

>[1] ...Write-in? (Optional. Choices incoming when I'm awake.)

>>6309985
We’re picking the arena?
Make it a copy of the real one we built in the village, better to go with what’s familiar
Add lava though, and ominous pillars

>>6310026
Well... at the moment you're falling through the air... sorry, I think this was a weak end to the update. I was really tired when I got to that point. I think I wrote something on the order of 5,000 words yesterday.

But I am back now and with options!

>You have fallen through the floor of Ramsey's manse! Oh no! Ramsey is falling with you! Oh, that's okay. Maybe good, even. What are you going to do with this?

>[1] Falling? That's usually a transition point, isn't it? You could end up on the next floor of Ramsey's manse-- but, as far as you're concerned, that's almost entirely downsides. Why not transition somewhere else... like... *your* manse? Currently choked to the gills with Ramsey-targeted traps? That sounds good to you! [Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting IV]
>[2] Ramsey probably wasn't expecting that. (Not like she's been expecting any of this, but you digress.) With her off-guard, and your improved agility, maybe you could twist around and get a few stabs in? [Good With A Sword III]
>[3] You're falling. You would really prefer not to be falling. Maybe you can, err, reverse the direction of the fall? So you can land on the other side of the cliff? You'll go with that. [Extrareal II]
>[4] There's a whole lot of sand falling alongside you. Command it to get into Ramsey's eyes! Then strike! [Earthsense 0]
>[5] Write-in.

>>6310096
>[1] Falling? That's usually a transition point, isn't it? You could end up on the next floor of Ramsey's manse-- but, as far as you're concerned, that's almost entirely downsides. Why not transition somewhere else... like... *your* manse? Currently choked to the gills with Ramsey-targeted traps? That sounds good to you! [Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting IV]
You're in my world now, bitch

>>6310096
>[1] Falling? That's usually a transition point, isn't it? You could end up on the next floor of Ramsey's manse-- but, as far as you're concerned, that's almost entirely downsides. Why not transition somewhere else... like... *your* manse? Currently choked to the gills with Ramsey-targeted traps? That sounds good to you! [Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting IV]

>>6310096
>1
I was wondering how we'd get to using those traps.

>>6310096
>[1] Falling? That's usually a transition point, isn't it? You could end up on the next floor of Ramsey's manse-- but, as far as you're concerned, that's almost entirely downsides. Why not transition somewhere else... like... *your* manse? Currently choked to the gills with Ramsey-targeted traps? That sounds good to you! [Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting IV]

>>6310096
>>[1] Falling? That's usually a transition point, isn't it? You could end up on the next floor of Ramsey's manse-- but, as far as you're concerned, that's almost entirely downsides. Why not transition somewhere else... like... *your* manse? Currently choked to the gills with Ramsey-targeted traps? That sounds good to you! [Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting IV]

Hi, fellas. I have something in the morning, and I'm completely beat from all the writing yesterday-- I'll call this for [1] because it's so far ahead, but the update will come tomorrow.

I........ uh......... maybe..... 2 tomorrow?

>>6310810
Cringe!

>>6310810
dw about it !! :D

File: miyazaki write.jpg (67 KB, 503x767)

67 KB JPG

>>6310846
So true, anon. (Time really got away from me last night.)

But I'm back and writing at 11 AM, if that indicates anything, so (fingers crossed) will have an update out in 2 hours or so. Two and a half? I'm gonna put a timer on to try and keep me on schedule.

>>6310871
I'll worry a little bit about it, but less if I can make up for it today! Thanks, though.

File: void.jpg (76 KB, 838x838)

76 KB JPG

>Fallen down

You should be used to this by now, from all the manses, plus that other fall: the smell of salt, wind whipping, Richard tight around your shoulders. You are used to this by now, and this fall, into a cloudbank, isn't especially intimidating. Can't you do backflips? Of course you can do backflips. You do a midair backflip. You don't feel better.

But you don't know what it is; why your heart is clawing out of your body, why you can't look down, though down is the only direction to go. The Herald is a terrestrial divinity. You can't float. You have crumbled the safe rock under your feet, stupidly, and your fate was fixed from there. You were always going to fall. You were always going to hit the ground and die.

«Charlie.»

Or, worse, you'll never hit the ground at all. It's a manse. There doesn't need to be anything under those clouds: who says Ramsey built it out? You'll fall forever; you and the screaming void, forever. Charlotte Fawkins eternal and perfect and God in the void forever, and could you stand that? Have you thought about that? Really, really thought about it? Forget the Wyrm: do you have any possible way of surviving what comes after?

«Charlie.»

What are you going to be doing to yourself? What has Richard done to you? For God's sake, you're a lizard!

«Charlie.»
«I— I'm sorry. But—»

But you have to. You know. It's what you were always supposed to do. You know. What you've already done. You know. You'll be saving the world, maybe two worlds, if you decide on two, and you'll be the greatest heroine anybody has even known, and they'll throw parades for you and things, like they were always supposed to. You know. But will you be there to enjoy it? Will you be there to enjoy it? Or will—

You know it's too late. You know your course is fixed: can see yourself up ahead walking it. The solid ground has crumbled. It crumbled years ago. You just wish it... it... hadn't. You wish you weren't falling.

That's all.

>[-2 ID: 8/16]

«Charlie.»
«...I appreciate your talent for metaphors, but you are actually...»

Falling. Yeah. You wish you weren't doing that, either. You're shocked that Ramsey hasn't tried to grab you, but— oh, actually, she's beneath you. Your neck and tail have caught the air a bit. That'd explain it. Why hasn't Ramsey started floating, though? Or otherwise taking advantage of this? Does she want to be falling? ...Is this the way to the second level of her manse? Damnit! You don't want to be squished into Richard, not at this juncture, and if you get any deeper she'll get even stronger. You'd rather go anywhere else.

Which isn't to say you don't have certain preferences. If you had to choose, you'd rather avoid Ramsey's manse altogether. Can you drag her back into real life? But you have no way of knowing if everybody escaped the barrier, and Ramsey wouldn't blink at "accidentally" vaporizing them. How about your manse? That's more plausible.

«And, as I recall, you installed it with—»

(1/2)

And it is absolutely chock-full of wicked traps, which you have the dexterity to outmaneuver, and which Ramsey, massive and ponderous, will blunder into. Yes! That has to be it! If you shut your eyes, so all you feel is rushing air, you can pretend it's rushing air anyplace. If you can't see the void, you can pretend it's bright blue sky. Ahem. Richard can help pretend too, if he likes.

«Working on it.»

Wonderful. You hope he's working fast, because you're going to open your eyes in three... two... one. There! You've been dropped out of the sky, can see your shining fire-lake and green green garden and the wide vaulted roof of the central building, for months the only manse you knew— what is it?

«A cathedral.»

A cathedral. The ground crumbled a long, long time ago. Anyways, you're hurtling toward it, as is Ramsey, who looks like a great big bat or ink-blot outside her native territory, and who— oh. Um, who smashes through the roof of your poor manse, leaving a gaping hole, which you drop through neatly a second or two later. Catching a pillar to slow your fall, you crane your neck over and watch her land on her feet. She thuds, but seems little the worse for wear.

All for the best, because the thud promptly destabilizes about 20 different clever mechanisms, which Gil spent so much time on, which Richard spent a little time on too: you served as a font of inspiration, mainly, demanding more fire and more sawblades. And more oil! Burning oil! Ramsey manages to avoid the oil (though you spot a trickle across the way), but does not avoid a cavalcade of sawblades ("FUCK!") and a flamethrower to the back ("SHIT!"). And that's the least of it! That's the start!

>[RAMSEY'S BLOOD: 55/10]

You barely stifle a villainous chuckle, but not before Ramsey, cloak shredded in five places, snaps around to face you. "Back here? This is yours, isn't it?"

She stole the Crown from here. Of course she remembers. "Indeed! And it is the location where you shall face your—"

"Good call. Love the close quarters." She has apparently chosen to ignore the sawblades. Too embarrassing? Too much of a non-sequitur? "Well, me first, 'kay?"

She closes the distance fast. How does she close it so fast? One moment she's across the way; the next moment she's bounding over the pitfall and the newly exposed acid river and bringing the axe around on— not you. On the pillar you're clinging to, as if chopping a tree!

Wat do?!

(Choices next.)

>How to dodge? (All of these will use [The Herald's Body VI) to represent your serpentine agility!)

>[A1] Hop to the floor and hope the pillar doesn't fall your way! And if it does... um, get out of the way! Aren't you agile enough?
>[A2] The Herald can't fly. It just wouldn't work. But, God-damnit, the pillar is stone, and the ceiling is stone, and you're a lizard. Clamber onto the ceiling!
>[A3] Ramsey's right there. She's really big. Just leap onto her!
>[A4] Write-in.


>What do you do next?

>[B1] Avoid direct combat if you can: focus on baiting Ramsey around your manse, so she'll stumble into as many traps as possible. They weren't built for monsters, so maybe they won't be as effective, but quantity beats quality! (The Herald's Body V*)
>[B2] Baiting Ramsey around exposes you to too much danger. Stay as safe as you can and trigger all the traps remotely! It's your manse, after all! (Advanced [Advanced] Gaslighting III)
>[B3] Ramsey's big and heavy enough to stumble into a ton of the traps all by herself, especially if you can distract her with an actual fight. Try to cut that cloak off so you know what you're looking at, then go for the heart! (Good With A Sword III)
>[B4] Write-in.

*Will be V once the [A] takes place, unless someone submits a [A] write-in

>>6310956
>[A3] Ramsey's right there. She's really big. Just leap onto her!
>[B2] Baiting Ramsey around exposes you to too much danger. Stay as safe as you can and trigger all the traps remotely! It's your manse, after all! (Advanced [Advanced] Gaslighting III)

>>6310956
>[A3] Ramsey's right there. She's really big. Just leap onto her!
>[B2] Baiting Ramsey around exposes you to too much danger. Stay as safe as you can and trigger all the traps remotely! It's your manse, after all! (Advanced [Advanced] Gaslighting III)

>[A2] The Herald can't fly. It just wouldn't work. But, God-damnit, the pillar is stone, and the ceiling is stone, and you're a lizard. Clamber onto the ceiling!

>[B1] Avoid direct combat if you can: focus on baiting Ramsey around your manse, so she'll stumble into as many traps as possible. They weren't built for monsters, so maybe they won't be as effective, but quantity beats quality! (The Herald's Body V*)

>>6310956
>A4
Stay on the pillar and guide it as it falls so it hits Ramsey.

>B1
She's losing steam now without #301, so we just have to burn big perks and outlast her.

>>6310956
>>[A3] Ramsey's right there. She's really big. Just leap onto her!
>>[B2] Baiting Ramsey around exposes you to too much danger. Stay as safe as you can and trigger all the traps remotely! It's your manse, after all! (Advanced [Advanced] Gaslighting III)

File: stage 2s.png (585 KB, 2367x913)

585 KB PNG

Rolled 77, 1, 82, 15, 86, 85, 30, 5, 59 = 440 (9d100)

Sweet, glad you guys showed up despite the wonky timing. I'll handle the rolls for this one. But first, votecount:

>>6310961
>>6310992
>>6311076
>[A3]

>>6311039
>[A4] this probably wouldn't have been very effective: Ramsey is big enough to shrug off a falling pillar, though it's possible she'd get a little banged up

>>6311012
>[A2]


>>6310961
>>6310992
>>6311076
>[B2]

>>6311039
>>6311012
>[B1]

Called for [A3] and [B1]! [B1] will more difficult than normal, since you'll literally be on Ramsey's back while trying to concentrate on springing stuff on her. Also, you'll be on her back while stuff is sprung on her. Maybe not the ideal combo.

Uhh, I mean, positive thinking! Let's roll dice.

>I know I indicated above that Ramsey would need to roll for her actions now, but I can't think of any possible way she fails to chop the pillar! As a result, I will be doing a simple roll to determine whether she gets anything extra out of it. DC 50 -- if she gets 3 successes, something good for her happens; if she gets 3 failures, something bad for her happens. If it's 1 or 2 successes, she chops the pillar without issue.

>You don't need a roll for leaping. ([The Herald's Body VI] -> [The Herald's Body V])

>For Ramsey, reacting to you on her back: 3d100s + 50 (+45 CROWN, +5 HEY!!!) vs. DC 90 (+30 HERALD, +10 Slippery)

>For you, triggering the traps from afar: 3d100s + 56 (+35 HERALD, +15 Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting, +6 Stage III Traps) vs. DC ?? (+45 CROWN, +? Ramsey's Reaction)

Ramsey gets +6 to her Reaction bonus on a Mitigated, a +12 on a Success, and a +18 on an Enhanced Success.

>>6311127
>77, 1, 82
Ramsey gets an ordinary success on Pillar-chopping. Yes, I see that 1, but this is a nonstandard kind of roll as stated (and QM crits aren't supposed to count). Uhh. Maybe I'll factor something in sneakily later, but I won't be treating this like a normal critical failure, at least for the time being.

>65, 136, 135
Regular success on Ramsey reacting, which adds +12 against you on the next roll.

>86, 61, 115 vs. DC 107
And a Mitigated for you activating the traps, which I think is deserved. C'mon, guys, you want to be safe on the ceiling doing that. Jumping on Ramsey is for when you wanna stab her.

Writing!

File: swinging axe trap.jpg (39 KB, 500x313)

39 KB JPG

>Shadow of the colossus?
>Ramsey pillar-chopping & reacting: Success
>Activating the traps: Mitigated Success

Before the impact, you coil and leap for the nearest broad surface: Ramsey. As the axe thunders and the pillar crashes into rubble, you clamber over her shoulder and hook onto her back. It's not quite as comfortable as you were imagining— because you're nearly as tall as her, it's more "riding piggyback" than anything else— but at least you're latched on securely, thanks to your sharp little talons. "Hah!" Ramsey exhales, and a half-dozen shadow claws shoot around. To pry you off? Ha-ha! Fat chance!

Not to pry you off. They latch onto your wrists, your ankles, the base of your neck, and the tip of your tail. ...Why? You thought close range would neuter Ramsey's attacks: she can hardly swing an axe into her own backside.

Maybe you were thinking too positive about that. Not that she swings an axe into her own backside. But, almost without hesitation, she takes off sprinting— backwards— toward the opposite wall. To slam you into it? To slam you into the saw...blades. On the wall. Buzzing merrily away.

Damnit! Why hadn't Gil questioned your sawblade focus? Your armor and scales are both sturdy, but being ground up against a wall of spinning sawblades— God. If they weren't spinning, it'd be better, but you can't— you can't— you can! It's your God-damned manse! Shut your eyes and feel it as a polished sphere and reach in from the outside and put your thumb against the blades. They halt. And while you're at it—

First things first. You are rammed into the wall of non-spinning sawblades.

>[-1 ID: 7/16]

Ow. Ow. You aren't shredded into a million pieces, which was probably Ramsey's goal, but the impact was hefty and the blade bites through your armor. You have a big gash on your back, now, though you have no idea whether it's bleeding. Whether the Herald of the Bright Epoch has blood at all. In any case, it feels survivable, and it's not like you've been sleeping on your back recently. Not like you ever will again. Um. Anyways. While you're at it, you can brush your thumb along some of the ceiling traps, sending them swinging. This is how Ramsey takes an axe blade to the gut. Not her own.

>[RAMSEY'S BLOOD: 40/100]

She lashes out with her own axe and chops the trap-axe off by its handle, but the damage is done: you can peek over her shoulder with your prodigious neck and see the fallen axe blade bloodsoaked. Ramsey for her part made a noise but said nothing. Is she finally getting serious? Or, now that you're in a real fight, is she just that focused?

(1/2)

Ow! Ow ow. You might not know what she's thinking, but you know what she's doing: pressing down. The sawblade is biting deeper. Can the Herald of the Bright Epoch survive bisection?

«I wouldn't attempt it.»

Gil survived bisection. Just saying.

«The Herald of the Bright Epoch is not a lot of beetles dipped in goo.»
«If you need assistance, ask. It would be my pleasure.»

He sounds— owww— like Nice Richard. His pleasure. Come on.

«Sue me, Charlotte Fawkins, for being in a good mood. The hour of our victory is at hand. Provided you do not get bisected first.»
«Kindly extricate yourself.»

>You are pressed between Ramsey's (very wide) back and a wall of sawblades. Extricate yourself!

>[1] Okay, so it's not quite extricating, but it serves Ramsey right for not grabbing hold of the *top* of your neck. Bend around and sink your vicious lizard fangs into her face! [The Herald's Body V]
>[2] Did you install a trapdoor right here, right under your feet? Um... honestly, no, you didn't. But you could've! Or Gil could've, when you weren't looking. Wouldn't that be convenient? [Advanced (Advanced) Gaslighting II]
>[3] Since when do you listen to Richard? You're the Herald, God-damnit. You're going to be God in, like, an hour. Bisection, schmisection— just power through until Ramsey thinks you're done with, then strike! (Positive Thinking IV]
>[4] Fine. Maybe Richard killed your father, and maybe he's horrible and evil and you hate him forever, but he's at least more useful than #301. Let him do whatever he wants to do. [Richard VII]
>[5] Write-in.

>>6311127
>pic
We grow to 12 feet tall and we’re still the short one, wow

>>6311152
>4
Just so he knows we could do it ourselves. If we felt like it. We’re merely letting him feel helpful because we’re so generous and giving.

Also maybe it’ll annoy Ramsey to see how inferior her agent was.

>>6311152
>[4] Fine. Maybe Richard killed your father, and maybe he's horrible and evil and you hate him forever, but he's at least more useful than #301. Let him do whatever he wants to do. [Richard VII]

>>6311152
>>[4] Fine. Maybe Richard killed your father, and maybe he's horrible and evil and you hate him forever, but he's at least more useful than #301. Let him do whatever he wants to do. [Richard VII]

Rolled 90, 17, 13 = 120 (3d100)

>>6311203
>>6311210
>>6311258
>[4]

Nice. Rolling for how well Ramsey reacts.

>3d100 + 37 (+40 CROWN, -3 Slowing Venom) vs. DC 95 (+35 Richard, +10 Split Attention)

>>6311272
Don't have to do the math on that one. That's a Mitigated. It'd be a Success if those were Charlotte's rolls, because of <Lucky 17>, but fortunately Ramsey doesn't get to use your buffs.

Writing... ish. I have something important at 3 PM, and if I'm not done writing at least an hour before that, I'll have to put this on ice and come back to it afterward. I think it'll be short, so I should be able to pull it off, but otherwise we'll see what happens.

>>6311203
>We grow to 12 feet tall and we’re still the short one, wow
It's your curse!

File: 314 (human) - @urchin14.png (292 KB, 453x667)

292 KB PNG

>Helping hand
>Ramsey's reaction: 50, 55, 127 vs. DC 95 — Mitigated Success

Well, you weren't— you weren't rejecting his offer. You were just saying he phrased it dumb. Even though you don't actually need his help at all, you do recognize that the hour of your victory is at hand, etcetera, and you wouldn't mind speeding it up a bit. Also, even if you could survive bisection, you're not looking to try it out. You're not Ellery or somebody.

«I lost you there. What are you—»

Yes! He can help! As long as he isn't horrible and smug about it.

«Noted.»
«Give me a moment.»

You brace yourself for the traditional burning up your spine, but no burning comes. Instead, Richard shimmers into physical existence in front of Ramsey, about 15 feet away. He looks the same as he's been looking, wireframe glasses and barely-buttoned sport coat and all that, so it's not like he has armor or has a cool lizard form of his own or anything. He does have a gun.

Oh. Is that allowed?

"Doesn't matter anymore," Richard says, and grins snakeishly: Ramsey has barely enough time to go "Hey! You're—" and "I'm a little busy—" before she's shot. With a gun. Truthfully, you don't know much about shooting technique, but Richard's oozing horrible smugness, so you have to assume his form is impeccable. He must've downloaded it along with all those gun facts. From the looks of it, the bullets are big enough to pierce Ramsey's flesh, but not big enough to explode her skull or organs or anything— the first one lodged near her collarbone, the second vanished into her cloak, the third embedded into her knuckle, the fourth landing, at last, between her eyes. (Richard covering his bases?)

>[RAMSEY'S BLOOD: 30/100]

She doesn't topple; doesn't even sway. But she roars "LITTLE TWERP!", heaves off the wall— apparently forgetting you— and brings her axe down on Richard's head.

Or she would've, if Richard didn't vanish and reappear well out of reach. Ramsey's axe embeds itself in the marble tile, sending cracks every which way, but she hauls it up in time to deflect a couple more shots. A window shatters behind you.

How many bullets does Richard have? It's a fake gun. Nevermind. He looks like he's having a blast, blinking here and there, as Ramsey storms after him, batting away axes and darts, shrugging off nets, and not looking down, because if she looked down she wouldn't have put a foot directly in the acid river.

>[RAMSEY'S BLOOD: 20/100]

"AUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHH!!!!!" A howl of pain, a howl of anger. Same thing. "YOU'RE BOTH CHEATERS! SLIMY FUCKING CHEATERS! CAN'T WIN—" Her monster arm bends around, seizes your neck. "—FAIR AND SQUARE—" Clenches hard. Starts to pry. "—SO YOU RESORT TO—" Lifts you. "—TWO-ON-ONE— RESORT TO— TRAPS— AND FRAUD— YOU LITTLE FUCKING LIZARD BITCH! YOU! [BLOCK]!"

(1/2)

Richard freezes into a substantial block of ice. Oh. You hope that doesn't hurt. Meanwhile, Ramsey has you by the neck, which hurts quite a bit, and is dangling you up in front of her. She sure likes doing that.

"AS FOR YOU! I NEED THAT CRYSTAL!" Her other monster arm emerges, goes for your chest, begins to wriggle your armor off. "NOW!"

She won't be getting it. But you're glad she's giving it one last shot.

>Ramsey is angry and wounded! You might be able to deliver the final blow here and now! What do you do?

>[1] She has you by the neck? You're facing her? And her mask is still gone, leaving her face unprotected? Rear back and breathe fire into her face! Don't stop until she doesn't have a face any longer! [On Fire! III]
>[2] She has you by the neck? Who cares! Your neck is long, and your arms and legs are long too. Kick her arm away, then skewer her through the chest! [Good With A Sword III]
>[3] Richard just got, um, iceblocked. But didn't he say his colleagues were watching you? Are any of them still on Ramsey's side, after she did away with #301? You are the fabled Herald, and you look the part: appeal to them for aid! [Snaketongue III]
>[4] Write-in.

>>6311296
>>[2] She has you by the neck? Who cares! Your neck is long, and your arms and legs are long too. Kick her arm away, then skewer her through the chest! [Good With A Sword III]
Lets sword this matter out

>>6311296
>[2] She has you by the neck? Who cares! Your neck is long, and your arms and legs are long too. Kick her arm away, then skewer her through the chest! [Good With A Sword III]
We invested in the sword we're going to use the sword.

>>6311296
>[1] She has you by the neck? You're facing her? And her mask is still gone, leaving her face unprotected? Rear back and breathe fire into her face! Don't stop until she doesn't have a face any longer! [On Fire! III]
DRAGON DRAGON

>>6311296
>>[1] She has you by the neck? You're facing her? And her mask is still gone, leaving her face unprotected? Rear back and breathe fire into her face! Don't stop until she doesn't have a face any longer! [On Fire! III]

I cannot WAIT to do the fucking griddy on this bitch.

>[2] She has you by the neck? Who cares! Your neck is long, and your arms and legs are long too. Kick her arm away, then skewer her through the chest! [Good With A Sword III]

File: sword time.png (75 KB, 1096x403)

75 KB PNG

>>6311364
>>6311302
>>6311314
>Stabby

>>6311335
>>6311344
>Burny

The sword contingent wins out. It's probably good to stab your opponent in a duel at least once, huh?

I'll skip the roll on this one, since you're in close quarters and all that. Writing.

>Sword the matter out

Here's the situation: your neck is grabbed. Your chest is grabbed. Your arms and legs are free, as is your head, as well as a great deal of remaining neck. (How long is it? Five feet?) Consequently, you do the following: bite down on Ramsey's arm, again. Kick one boot up into her wrist and the other into her chest. Grab the neck of her cloak. Grip The Sword and fold yourself nearly in half to drive its blade directly into her heart.

You hope her heart. You hope she has one. Ramsey has turned white, a good sign, and she clenches her teeth, a good sign, and her shadow-claws are retracting to prod at the wound. "You—" she rasps. "You little—"

>[RAMSEY'S BLOOD: 1/100]

Then she flings you across the room. You sail and crack against the far wall and can only watch as Jean Ramsey, grievously(?) wounded, gathers herself up— herself and the Crown and The Sword embedded in her chest— and, in a twist of her vast cloak, vanishes.

Vanishes entirely, you mean. No shadow puddles or suspicious lingering masks or anything. Just gone. God-damnit! And you're Swordless! Not like you've been using it much, but you'll be damned straight to hell if you let Ramsey take off with it entirely. She wouldn't flee the scene, would she? With the Crown? She still needs your crystal, right, Richard?

...Richard?

Right. Frozen. You brush the dented arrows off your armor (there can't be that many traps left, can there?) and hasten over to the block of ice. Oops, he's definitely inside. His gun, too. But it's fine, because you can melt it with The Sw...

Um, you mean, you can pick up the whole ice block— oof!— and speed-waddle outside with it, into your nice green garden, mercifully untouched by Ramsey. (Though you can see all the broken windows from here.) You'd love to enjoy it, but you have an ice block in your arms. A dripping one. When you hold it very close to the surface of the fire-lake, it's a melted one, and Richard flops out into your hands. Poor Richard. He's sopping. You concentrate on him being warm and dry and cogent, and he flickers and is.

You set him down carefully before he can say anything. "Hello," you say.

"It's rude to talk from all the way up there, Charlie. Is she dead?"

"I... I stabbed her. Um." You suppose you will never learn to lie any better. "Then she sort of vanished. I don't have the Crown."

"Vanished? Like she—"

"She just poofed. Like, poof!" You make the gesture. "I unfroze you so you could tell me where she—"

"Back."

"What?"

"She went back, Charlotte. Give me your— here!" He was straining for your head, so you graciously obliged and bent it down. When he grabbed it and pushed his thumbs through your white scales, and when your head swam and you blinked and woke, you guess you could've expected that.

—

(1/4)

And when you say "woke," you mean you appeared, midair, over the roof of the temple, and dropped and landed on all fours atop it. With your neck, you can see out across Ramsey's makeshift arena: a big warped hole in the shadow-barrier, smoke wafting overhead, a whole lot more people than you remember. Still Lucky and the Courtiers and Horse Face and Earl (not a shark) and Sgwd (still a shark) and Gil, of course, Gil, but that's Madrigal, right at the front, and that's Ellery (wasn't he dead?) and Eloise and Pat and Henry and Claudia and... and... your beloved worm! Annie! You can't see her, but you'd spot that telltale ground-riffle anywhere.

Um, they're down there, so you might be missing some nuance, but they all seem to be staring.

«You're a lizard.»

Damnit. Still? You thought you'd— you thought when you left the manse— but no. It was the Crown doing it. The Crown actually, genuinely, permanently made you a lizard, because it can do that. Because God can do that.

«Yes on 'genuinely.' 'Permanently' is flexible.»
«One moment.»

Ow! Somebody has jabbed a scalpel or something into your back, and if the 'somebody' wasn't Richard, you might've twisted around and bit them. Instead, you pout and hold still as your back is sliced open and pulled— your vision contorts— over your head. You inhale sharply and touch your scalp. Hair. You don't know how to feel about that.

Doesn't matter. The crowd is reacting now, pointing and waving and yelling "CHARLOTTE!", but you can't concentrate on them; Gil is sprinting toward you. The distance between the temple's roof and the ground is suddenly dizzying, but you think about heroism and hold your breath and jump down, landing unharmed, and meet him halfway.

"Lottie!" he says. "You're alive! I-I mean, you're always alive. I-I-I mean— Ramsey, she— she was huge— were you a monster? Up there?"

You frown. "A monster?"

"I-I-I thought I saw— there was a big monster, with a big long neck, and—" You're frowning harder. "...I-It doesn't matter! Ramsey— she—"

"She's not dead," Gil hisses. "She fell out of the sky, and we were— I-I-I mean, Lucky thought we could sort of— corner her, and finish her off— once she came back. But then she was fucking gigantic! I-I mean, she was—"

"15 feet tall? Yeah. Uh." You'd think she'd stand out. "Where is she now?"

"There!" Gil points behind you. "I-I-I was saying, we were gearing up to— but then she was fuckhuge, and there wasn't any way we could— that's what that hole is!"

The hole? In the barrier? No, he's pointing behind you: oh, of course. The gaping hole in the front of the temple. God. At least she's stuck in there. Can't exactly sneak out like that. And it's not like there's much to do in there, without the completed Crown (or requisite agent, not that she knows that), so maybe you can... eh... mm.

(2/4)

Not much to do in there. Unless, for example, you forced your evil lackey to explode in there, coating the place in red stuff. Yucky, invasive, murderous, lizard-loving red stuff. Red stuff which doesn't require Crown expertise to use, or absorb into your already-horrible giant evil body, if, for example, you wanted to escape the inevitable and "win." Not that Ramsey would do that, of course. That would be cheating. She'd have to be dying to consider it viable.

"C'mon!" you yelp, and snap your fingers at Gil, who obligingly beetles and trails as you leg it. You are in the red-soaked temple; so is Ramsey, comfortably straddling the altar, her axe blades longer than you are tall. Your sword is right there in the middle of her chest— the cloak is gone. Below the head she's black-scaled and ridiculously muscled. Above the head she's leering. "THOUGHT you'd make it! You just don't know when to give UP, don't you?!"

"I— you're not allowed to say that! I had you— I almost killed you! You're dying! You're the one who doesn't know when to—" You swallow. "I mean, halt, evildoer! Your failure is inevitable! It's not too late to hand over the Crown! And my sword, please."

"HOHOHOHOHOHO! Hand OVER the Crown."

"Yes! And my sword."

"GO FUCK YOURSELF ON A RUSTY NAIL! What would YOU even do with this?!" Ramsey raises a protective hand over her head. "Let me guess. You'd make everything BORING?"

"No! I'd— I'd use it to help everyone who needs help, and I'd fix things, and—"

"BORING!"

You fold your arms. "It's heroic!"

"IT'S BORING! BOOOO!" She cups her hands around her mouth. "Fucking CHEATER can't think of anything fun to do?! Not one single thing?! GIMME A BREAK!"

("Lottie," Gil whispers, "don't you think you should—")

Shh! You're having a heroic conversation! This is in all the books! "I— I don't care about fun! I care about saving the whole entire world! Now fight me, villain, or hand over the—"

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Ramsey is leaning down at you. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Get new material! Brand's getting stale! We're done with fighting."

"You're just mad you lost!" you hiss.

"DONE with fighting. Tried that. Guess who fucked it all up? Maybe do a little self-reflection? Boy, you'll be thinking, I wish I fucking FOUGHT good ol' Jean Ramsey. I wish I FOUGHT HER, instead of sneaking around, and dancing around, and pulling all that GULLSHIT. Nope. Done with fighting. ''''Fighting.''''" She makes quotation marks with her fingers. "Crown's off-limits. Say bye to the Crown! Bye, Charlotte Fawkins!"

She's making a squeaky voice for the Crown. You actually probably should do something. (Are you allowed to turn back into a lizard yet?) But she still has The Sword, and— though you refuse to rest— the weariness is starting to kick back in. "Wait! You need my crystal to be God, don't you?!"

(3/4)

"Be God? You little dumbass! Who gives two SHITS about God?! Sitting around on your butt, waving your magic wand— fuck that! GOD? Ha!" She spits. "God has no fucking fun. I am going to have FUN, Charlotte Fawkins. Don't you understand? I am going to make things MORE interesting, not less. And, you know what?"

You really shouldn't ask what. "What?"

"Everybody's going to REMEMBER me. FOREVER. Watch!"

If you were armed, this is where you'd leap into action, springing off the wall, cutting off Ramsey's hand at the wrist before she could scrape off a massive palmful of red stuff, slicing her mouth from cheek to cheek before she could slide it down her throat. You probably could've even done it now, if you applied yourself. Could've made yourself a perfectly good lowercase sword and sprung and done all that. You probably could've batted the crown off Ramsey's skull earlier and have been done with it. And it's not like you chose not to. Not like you held back. You fought righteously and honestly.

But a tiny selfish part of you also wants things to be interesting. To be fun. And... what use is saving the whole entire world... if nobody sees you do it?

So when Ramsey buckles and swells you don't do much but get out of the way. When the red stuff suckers to her body, you don't clear it, and when she snaps her head down to swallow a big red growth, you don't jab her yellow eye out. When the temple can't contain her any longer, you dive out the (hole where the) door (was) and roll down the steps and shield your head as the walls are thrust upward and outward. Behind you, Ramsey roars.

Or the creature that was Ramsey roars. She is a lizard, you think. Something like a lizard. But black, blocky, crystalline, six-legged, head smooth gold, head jutting with Crownlike spikes, suspicious Crownlike spikes. You think, but aren't sure, that the poor stolen Sword is still lodged in her chest. You aren't sure because her chest is 50 feet up. Or 100. Way, way above the trees. You have nothing else to compare her height to.

You are in her shadow. Everyone is. "Lottie?" Gil says tentatively. "I-I... uh... you have a plan, right?"

You suck your lips in. You don't want to look backward, or you'll find everybody you know watching you. Or fleeing through the hole in the barrier. That would be worse. "Yeah."

"...Do you need help with it?"

"Um." You take a deep breath. "I might turn into a lizard. You know how it goes. But I'll— I'll sort of— I'll swish my tail twice so you know I'm okay in there. You probably won't need to do anything."

"...You'll swish your tail..."

"Twice. Like this! Swish swish." You demonstrate with your own. "That's it. Be back in a jiff, okay? And if I'm not, you can do your—"

"Yeah."

"—your thing—"

"Yeah." It might be a good thing that you can't see Gil's face. "Uh. Good luck."

"Won't need it!" You smile with all your teeth. "But thanks!"

————————————————————

(Choices next.)

>How HORRIBLE! It appears you have no choice but to partake in an EPIC KAIJU BATTLE by expending your massive reserve of SV (that you voted for in the timeskip, remember)
>What? You haven't actually ACQUIRED said massive reserve of SV? How do you acquire SV, anyways? You need to... um... oh. Right.

>[1] Who will you BETRAY and DRINK THE BLOOD OF in a (very quick) EVIL WYRM RITUAL for +9 SV? (Write-in.)

————————————————————

>ADDITIONAL STIPULATIONS:

- No Richard; you need him alive to sacrifice later. You're getting to that.
- No Horse Face; it's not much of a betrayal to kill him, because you already don't like him! Plus, his blood probably tastes yucky.
- There is a big list of people currently present a little ways above in the update! You might want to pick from one of those.
- There's no restrictions on healing and/or reviving the chosen person later. It might not be "free" to do so, but it won't "cost" anything more than healing and/or reviving anybody else.

————————————————————

Also, I omitted a line up there, and I'm not going to faff around with deleting multiple posts to fix it. Post #3 of the update should read:

...That would be cheating. She'd have to be dying to consider it viable.

God-damnit!

"C'mon!" you yelp, and snap your fingers at Gil...

>>6311465
>>[1] Who will you BETRAY and DRINK THE BLOOD OF in a (very quick) EVIL WYRM RITUAL for +9 SV? (Write-in.)

I feel like we'd face the least repercussions for drinking Lucky's blood.

>>6311465
>Annie
She’s already kinda Wyrm touched since she drank from that tainted pool, and she has that animal trust so she should count as a betrayal

>>6311629
Good point, +1

>>6311465
Lucky

>>6311465
>>6311629
+1 Sure why not

File: annie - @sugarcoated.jpg (392 KB, 937x2893)

392 KB JPG

>>6311629
>>6311673
>>6311732
>Annie

>>6311731
>>6311560
>Lucky

I know it's early yet, but I have a thing in the evening, so I might as well call the vote and get started. RIP Annie! Poor worm just can't catch a break.

Writing, but update won't be out until nighttime like usual.

>>6311731
This is my roommate, by the way, for anyone concerned by the shared IP.

Fellas, I did in fact write during the day, but not enough to post-- and I'm wiped. Going forward, I will have IRL difficulties updating on Fridays and Saturdays: not enough to say 100% that I won't update those days, but be warned.

I may try to crack away at this more during the day tomorrow, TBD.

File: tegaki.png (144 KB, 400x400)

144 KB PNG

>>6311995

Take your time, QM!

Take this image of the Herald holding a box of magic WRITE JUICE for additional good luck!

File: annie & charlotte - @heronn_.png (2.68 MB, 1700x2200)

2.68 MB PNG

>HORRIFIC BETRAYAL

Hopefully that wards Gil off: not that he isn't your best friend and retainer and so on, but you don't want him here to see this. Richard said, if you wanted to be a really big lizard, you'd need to appease the Wyrm. How to appease the Wyrm? Kill somebody you like, the more blood the better. Probably, the more you like them, the better it works. You loved your father and forgot: sacrificing him lodged some Wyrm in you forever, but not enough. You could try again. Do it to Richard. Ha-ha.

«Good luck.»

No. You can't pretend he's your father, and you don't like him enough when he isn't. You mean, you don't— you don't know. It's so complicated. You get the impression the Wyrm doesn't like 'complicated'.

If you could do it to Horse Face, it wouldn't be complicated. You don't like him. But you saved him already. Lucky? Pat? Would Ellery do it willingly? It wouldn't count if he did it willingly. A betrayal. You could call Gil back and give him a hug and tell him he helped you so much with everything, then slip a knife through his ribs and hold him as he sags, and you could lap his blood, and— you mean, you couldn't. He's made of goo. And even if you were God and you squeezed him in your hand and gave him flesh and blood again, you couldn't do the rest.

You flash him a reassuring smile (fewer teeth) and wave him off vigorously, this time, so he actually backs away. Of course he wouldn't leave without you asking. Then you turn your back and pick through the rubble, back toward the remnants of the temple— though not before weaving around one of Ramsey's staggering legs. She hasn't moved yet. Because she's not sure how to? Because she can't think any longer? Or because she doesn't need to: there's no knocking the Crown off her head now?

It's a good thing Ramsey isn't very smart. You duck behind a chunk of wall and plunge your fingers into the sand. A few moments later, the head of your beloved worm pokes out before you. (You may have indicated that food was available.) Oh, Annie, so beautiful, so innocent: she's never done anything wrong in her life, except eating Lucky that one time. Never done anything wrong to you. And she harbors no complexities, no conspiracies, nothing to untangle or struggle to understand. She's just a worm. A worm you like a great deal.

"Sorry, pretty girl," you whisper, even though Annie doesn't understand speech or apologies. "I'm so sorry. I'll— when I'm God, I'll—"

She doesn't understand what gods are. Doesn't understand what betrayal is. She won't know fear or anger or recrimination— won't stare you in the eyes as you twist the knife. She has no eyes. She will know pain, pain, pain, pain, then nothing, then something again, if you revive her, and she will go on her wormy way untouched and untroubled.

(1/3?)

You know this. You don't need Richard to tell you. You know this, but you sniffle as you raise your hand and stroke her rubbery head, and you blink furiously as you guide it downward: Ramsey soaked up most of the temple's red stuff, but there's still puddles of it amidst the rubble. Annie, your lovely, obedient worm, agrees to lie across the largest splotches of red. Annie, your gorgeous, absorbent worm, begins to turn crimson. Left unattended, she might double in size, grow scales, grow spikes, but you don't need all that from her. You just need red stuff in her body.

And you need her to rear up and out of the ground, as your eyes well and you cry out and shove a knife through her soft body. The grip of the knife is slick. The grip of the knife is tortoiseshell. Annie dribbles blue blood then, as you drive your arm into her, spurts it, then, as you pierce through, sprays it, drenching you totally. But she continues to rise, so your knife cuts down as well as forward, and worm guts squish around you, and all you can see is blue. All you can taste is salt. Annie makes no noise— she never makes noise. But she goes up and up until she flops and starts to fall, and then you swing the knife through her and chop off her head.

Is Lucky watching? You hope he's proud. Then you hope he's very, very disappointed.

You are completely blue. The water is dark blue, almost inky. You have betrayed your true friend and companion: if Lucky isn't watching, the Wyrm damn better be. You can't wipe your eyes, or you'll get more blood in them. What do you have to do, Richard? Mix it with dirt and eat it?

«Yes.»

How much?

«As much as you can stomach.»

Right. You take a look at Annie's head, her beautiful jaws like the gate of a shrine, and you sniffle and stoop and drag your hand along the ground. The is no shortage of blood-soaked earth. Annie, useful to the last. You have to brace yourself to swallow it, then brace yourself again as it slides down. Your stomach turns.

>[+1 SV: 4/???]

More than that. Two handfuls, and you widen your own jaw more than it ought to go to fit it, and it clogs your throat— you can feel the lump as it goes down, and as it heats and becomes oozing and jellylike. Your face flushes. Your heart hammers. Your stomach swells. If you were sane, you would stop here. If you were human, you would stop here.

>[+2 SV: 6/???]

Instead you lie on the ground next to Annie's body and shovel in wet grit. Your long-suffering body tries to reject it— you hack and spasm— maybe aware its time is almost up. You won't deign it with a response. Instead, you appeal to the mass in your chest: Hey, red stuff. Hello. A little help, please?

(2/3?)

File: redness 4.jpg (29 KB, 500x359)

29 KB JPG

Yeah, like that. Your skin bubbles as tendrils underlay it, forcing your lips open, pushing your jaw open, paralyzing your arms and legs and throat. It hurts dimly and warmly. Good! You hate this stupid, soft, frail mud-body; you like when it hurts; you like to hurt it in return. You'll consume the earth and it'll consume you. You will be heavy with it. You will—

>[+3 SV: 9/???]

You will lie almost dead on the ground, immobile, hot to the touch, your face buried, your jaws almost vertical, not chewing and not swallowing but simply pressing yourself into the ground so dirt is pushed into you. This is more effective than it sounds: you are exerting vast pressure; inside your throat, weird globules form around it, weird cilia force it inward, your body contracts and expands to hold it. Your stomach is full, so it is being packed into mainly your lungs. If you weren't what you were, you would be dead: in your hubris you'd freeze into stone. An idol of the Wyrm, who cares nothing for devotion.

But you are what you are, and you cling on barely. You can't feel it when Richard crouches over you, resting his hand on your back. You can't hear him when he speaks. He has to brush your crusty hair aside and lay his hand on your cheek to get through. «Charlie.»

The slave speaks to you.

«There is work to do.»

The slave knows nothing but work.

«That's correct. And soon I won't know anything. I'd like to speak to Charlie, please.»

The slave may not make requests. You are above it. You are—

(Richard!)

«Charlie.»

(Thank God. When do you turn into a giant lizard? Right now, you're just... you don't actually know what. You're doing something awful to yourself, and you're wedged in this stupid corner of your mind and can't get out. This is just like always. Why do people like the Wyrm, again?)

«They don't know better. Or they believe there is no better. Or they believe they deserve no better.»
«You look ridiculous, by the way.»

The slave is insulting you! Go! Grab it and wring it and throw it into the—

(Thanks. You figured. Can everybody see you?)

«I believe you are hidden behind the corpse of your worm. As far as they are concerned, you killed it and vanished. It has not been very long.»
«Are you full?»

(Of?)

«You know what of.»
«If so, I'd like to kickstart it. If I leave you for too long, I fear you'll, eh, leak.»

(God! Yes, please. Yes, you'd like to be a lizard. You don't mind being a lizard. It's better than being a sack full of dirt.)
(...)
(You don't know what you'd do without him. Even though all of this is his fault in the first place.)

«If it makes you feel better, Charlie...» Richard hauls you off the ground. You flop in his lap like a— er— well, like a sack full of dirt. Heavy and damp and limp. Unbreathing. So muddy your aunt would faint. «...I feel much the same. Is this what you were given?»

(3/4)

(Your vision is blurred. He's holding something small in front of you...? He is giving up and pressing on your temple, and in your dark mind-corner a snake appears. It is holding a syringe in its mouth. Oh. Yes.)

«I will use it, then. It is extremely challenging to retain your ordinary perspective when enlargened. The power goes to the head. Do your utmost to maintain your composure.»

(Yes, yes, yes, you know. You'll try not to step on him, 'kay? Can he get you out of here? You're not sacrificing Annie for nothing!)

«Yes.»
«Good luck.»

You can't feel the needle entering your neck, so it comes as a surprise to you when your blood begins to fizz, then boil. Yes! The red stuff transmutes: goes molten. YES! You emit steam. Your bones flex. Your skin drapes, then runs off in rivulets, as the rest of you collapses into a red, gloppy mound. Then you begin to stretch.

>[+3 SV: 12/???]

And stretch, and stretch, your strings rebinding around their new ordering principle: [WYRM]. Sayeth the red stuff: you shall be [WYRM], you will be [WYRM], you must be [WYRM], you are [WYRM]. You are huge and serpentine and perfect. You feel no pain and know no mercy. You are not the Wyrm— the Wyrm would consider you a mockery, an effigy— but this is the closest thing the world can support.

You will break this record in under an hour. But for now, you are...

>[1] SUN-WYRM. You are reborn.
>[2] FIRE-WYRM. It solves all problems.
>[3] EARTH-WYRM. It's always called to you.
>[4] WORM-WYRM. Annie's blood lives in you.
>[5] Write-in?

File: 200.gif (31 KB, 200x200)

31 KB GIF

>>6312319
>[4] WORM-WYRM. Annie's blood lives in you.

>>6312319
>>[1] SUN-WYRM. You are reborn.

>>6312319
>[1] SUN-WYRM. You are reborn.
Better late than never to start reading Drowned.

>>6312319
>2
Can't give up on DRAGON

>[4] WORM-WYRM. Annie's blood lives in you.

>>6312320
>>6312401
>WORM

>>6312321
>>6312353
>SUN

>>6312376
>FIRE

Alright! Instead of rolling between [1] and [4], I am going to take [4] now and [1]..... later. You'll see.

Writing.

>>6312401
Also, this vote is roommate again. You guys are just going to have to trust that I wouldn't be such an obvious samefag.

File: gil - @thedandyray.png (480 KB, 604x1072)

480 KB PNG

>Wormception

You are Gil Wallace. Who else would you be? Lottie? Holy shit, you're glad you're not Lottie: you think this on the daily, but it's never been truer than it is now. Holy fucking shit. What's a retainer's job again? To put armor on and off? You helped put it on, and she doesn't need it off yet. Meaning you are freely entitled to sit on your hands, like you've been doing for days at a stretch, you useless—

Ahem.

—sack of... aw, fine, you'll cut it out. Even if it's true. This is how Teddy pays the rent in your skull, by the way, clearing his throat real loud; not that the rent was too bad to begin with. Bit of a shithole in here.

I like "fixer-upper."

Bit of a fixer-upper in here: you should be paying him to live with you. But you are fixing things up, slowly. Very, very slowly. Some things that have helped over the last couple months: Teddy. Sprucing the locus up. The goo body. Madrigal switching to "Gilman" over "Bug Man." Continuing to adapt to the bug situation, which you didn't think you could do— you mean, you thought you were as adapted as you'd ever be— but the more you work at it, the more fine control you have over them. Also, acquiring finer control over the blessing really, really helped, both in a "this is way safer" way and, um, otherwise. Not like you're full of infinite love and acceptance and flowers and candy or anything. You're mostly full of beetles.

Heh.

You have Teddy trained to laugh at your weak jokes. This also helps. The point is, you're not drugged— are almost positive you're not drugged; Teddy says you don't seem drugged— you thought about asking Richard if you were drugged, or asking Lottie to ask Richard to check, but then you'd have to interact with Richard, who has gotten weird lately, and also busy. And he's apparently a lizard. Where were you? Oh yeah. Not drugged, though you have been worried about it, a little, whether you're drugged and don't know it. Because you do feel better when you use the blessing, calmer, but the feeling's been sticking around for longer and longer, to the point where you can barely tell if ever shuts off. Maybe it's permanently scrambled your brain? In a good way? Is brain-scrambling ever a good thing?

Well, anyways, you're not that scrambled. Still recognizably Gil, with the same preoccupations, the same flaws, the same goddamn stutter, just with some new paint up. Maybe some plaster on the falling-down parts. Is there no way to fix the stutter, by the way? Seriously? You're going to be humiliated for the rest of your life?

I said you should ask Lottie to do it.

Teddy did say that, and you ignored him, because it felt— you mean— it felt petty. Selfish. She's going to be God, whatever that means, and you're having her waste her infinite cosmic energies on a fucking stutter? No way.

You know she'd be happy to do it.

(1/3)

Right, because she's so great at prioritization. Like when she spent last night hauling your sorry ass (actually, your sorry half-ass) back to Pat, even slept on the couch in there, when she could've been off... you don't know... killing people? The whole point of the Game?

Gil.

Is that not the whole point of the Game?

You had half a body. One leg.

But it didn't hurt, did it? And Pat didn't have to spend all that time on the upgrades, either, just for you to stand around and not use any of them. You're doing a whole lot of standing, while everyone else seems to be moving: Lucky barking orders, Madrigal barking contradictory orders, plenty of people taking their own initiative and sprinting out of the barrier. The whole big plan to help Lottie, scuttled. The whole big plan to stop Ramsey, super-extra-scuttled: nobody expected her to re-emerge house-sized, except you, because it pays to expect the worst. Nobody, including you, expected it to get worse from there— that's how you know your brain is scrambled. But what would you have done, had you known that Ramsey was gearing up to be a giga-monster? Turned into beetles at her?

Should you have stopped Lottie? She'll turn into a lizard, she says, and runs off. And what was your pissant reply, again? "Good luck?" Way to convey nothing, Gil, nothing useful, nothing personal, nothing meaningful, on one of the last occasions, maybe the last occasion, you'll ever get to talk to her usual self. Just boilerplate sentiment as she goes and turns herself into a goddamn lizard, not that you know what that'll do. It was a big lizard, but not that big. Big and red. She's going to swish her tail at you? Don't think about her swishing her tail. You're friends.

It was pretty cute.

Teddy is such a fucking enabler. You're not thinking about it! You're just staring off at Ramsey's giga-monster-legs, yearning for the sweet release of getting stomped on, until someone shakes your shoulder. Not Teddy. "What the fuck are you doing? Get out of here! That fucking thing could get on the move whenever!"

Madrigal. "I-I-I thought Lucky was saying to stick around," you mumble.

"Yeah? He's a suicidal freak? He wants to go set fires, or something. You're not a suicidal freak, so come on. Is something the matter?"

She saw your face. "Um, I-I-I told Lottie I'd... um... she asked for my help."

"Oh. I gotcha. Where'd she go, anyways? She's not gonna climb the thing?"

A lizard might, now that you think about it. Fuck. "I-I-I wouldn't put it past her. But I really need to— I should— I should stay."

"Huh. Well, you're a good pal, Gilman. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And don't get squished, 'kay? We'll be clearing out to, uh, somewhere with a good vantage. Got the talkies and stuff, so thanks for those... uh, yeah. I'm scramming. Good luck, bud."

A brief pat on the shoulder, then she's off. You should be off, too.

>[TO BE CONTINUED!]

>CONTINUED

In the opposite direction, though: Lottie waved you away from her, but you can't exactly magic her from across the arena, can you? You can keep your distance, but not that much distance. Actually, you spot exactly where she went, because that's her worm poking out of the ground there. Try as you might, you've never understood her worm thing. Is it because of the Wyrm? Does she love all invertebrates? Is that why she likes you so much?

Maybe she likes the worm because it reminds her of you?

Because you both have no backbone? Sorry. Lottie is doing something to the worm. Hugging it? No. Uh-oh. Wait. Lots of blood. She's not...?

Oh, gods, and there goes its head.

I take it back.

You appreciate it. Alas, poor... uh... Annie? Was it Annie? What is Lottie doing now? Kneeling down. Shoving something in her mouth. Dirt? There has to be a good reason for this. Okay, she's chowing down. Okay.

Not cute.

Geez! It could be cute under the right circumstances. These are not the right circumstances: something about her body language reads as desperate. Good thing she's turned away, though— oops— she's dropped to her stomach, so you can't see her behind all the rubble. She's not far. Should you wait?

You wait, trying to ignore Giga-Ramsey far above your head. Will Lottie be a lizard when she gets up? She's making some noises. Some squelching. Er. You can't judge anyone for squelching, given the goo situation, but it could be a good sign that you're needed. But what if she's fine? If you walk over and she's fine, she'll get annoyed.

She doesn't make it easy for you, does she?

Teddy is a man of contradictions: world's biggest enabler, world's biggest cockblocker. You've wrapped your head around Lottie by now, and there's nothing wrong with her, except for when she turns into lizards and tried to eat people; you've been enlisted to solve this, so there's no big problem. No need to walk over. Pitch forward instead, free-fall, and don't land.

Now you can sidle closer, insofar as beetles can sidle. Great! Now you can see from multiple angles that there is no Lottie behind the rubble, just a shiny, lumpen, dripping mound. Is this what happens before there's a lizard? You'll go out on a limb and say it seems like something you could help with. A goddamn mound.

Also not cute.

Hey! Fuck off! It's Teddy's fault you're delayed: you don't actually make it to the mound before it trembles and begins to extrude. Fast. It starts off as a shiny, lumpen, dripping cylinder, then acquires definition, going scaly, growing jaws, growing more jaws, growing in general, piling up and over and over and over and over itself. This isn't a lizard, clearly. Did Lottie mess things up? It's kind of snakeish, but the jaws are weird, and the—

It's a worm.

Of course it's a worm. Gods— god— goddammit. Well, okay. It doesn't matter what Lottie is, only that she is Lottie, and that's obviously—

Up in the air.

(1/2)

What? No! Only Lottie would turn into a worm, and you mean only Lottie: imagine if you got wormed instead of beetled? You would've ki... you mean... you would've been pretty goddamn upset about that. You just don't know what you can do as a worm. Eat dirt? (Now that makes sense, actually.) Dig tunnels? What's she doing now? The growth appears to have slowed, and Lottie The Huge Fucking Worm has wrapped herself up one of Giga-Ramsey's legs. She's attempting to latch onto Giga-Ramsey's throat with her huge fucking worm jaws. Well, great! She doesn't need you at all! She, eh— Giga-Ramsey is stumbling. You hear yelling from behind.

I just don't know. Did she swish her tail?

What? Her worm tail? You'd claim you weren't looking, but you can see all the way around. No, she didn't. She probably forgot.

Gil.

Or what she has isn't a "tail," exactly, and she can't move the end of her body like she could a lizard tail. She's biting Giga-Ramsey, isn't she? Wasn't that the plan?

She'd lunge at anything in front of her. You're glowing like crazy, by the way.

You're... not... aw, fuck. Can't you turn that off? You mean... she can't have lost it, can she? So close to the end? "Be back in a jiff, okay? And if I'm not, you can do your—" Your thing. Your glowy thing. To restore her to sanity.

Congratulations. You get to be useful.

Congratu-goddamn-lations.

>Be useful, Gil! Somehow. How are you even getting to Lottie?

>[1] You're not that good at distance flight: Giga-Ramsey's stomach seems approximately an eternity away, to say nothing of her neck. But how else are you supposed to get at Lottie's head? Try your best.
>[2] You have more control over the beetles, not infinite control, and they're just not big or strong enough to head straight up. You're going to have to— do you *have* to? Do you have to physically climb the big fucking thrashing worm? At least you can turn into beetles if you slip?
>[3] None of this is going to work. No way you can magic Lottie from the outside, and you're not getting up there. So how the hell do you get in there? You shoot her and scuttle in through the bullet holes? A terrible, awful idea, but what other ideas do you have?
>[4] Write-in.


[The Red Stuff III] + [Positive Thinking VII] = 10. 10 < 12 SV.

>>6312628
>>[2] You have more control over the beetles, not infinite control, and they're just not big or strong enough to head straight up. You're going to have to— do you *have* to? Do you have to physically climb the big fucking thrashing worm? At least you can turn into beetles if you slip?

>>6312628
>2
Cop a feel on the way up bro!

File: sage advice.png (68 KB, 1036x704)

68 KB PNG

>>6312665

>>6312628
>>[2] You have more control over the beetles, not infinite control, and they're just not big or strong enough to head straight up. You're going to have to— do you *have* to? Do you have to physically climb the big fucking thrashing worm? At least you can turn into beetles if you slip?

>>6312628
>[3] None of this is going to work. No way you can magic Lottie from the outside, and you're not getting up there. So how the hell do you get in there? You shoot her and scuttle in through the bullet holes? A terrible, awful idea, but what other ideas do you have?
It only took 39(?) threads but Gil finally got inside Charlotte.

File: DQR - @bananasqm.png (244 KB, 1200x849)

244 KB PNG

>>6312630
>>6312665
>>6312729
>[2]

>>6312758
>[3]

Called for [2] and writing. Also, please gaze upon this awesome fanart by the inimitable BananasQM, featuring DQR's main characters: Charlotte, Gil, Richard, the Heralwyrm, and Eloise. (She thought it would be funny to photobomb.)

>>6312758
>It only took 39(?) threads
It took 19 threads! Gil entered Charlotte's weird mind dimension ...through her mouth... all the way back in Thread 30, which coincidentally was the first time the red stuff fully overtook her.

>>6312155
Aww, thank you, anon! I would add this to my "writing procrastination" image folder, but, uhh, I might never have another thread to use it in. I'll add it anyway, just in case.

>>6312695
Ok Teddy might be a little based

File: gil & teddy - @tromroan.jpg (3.55 MB, 3954x4303)

3.55 MB JPG

>Physically climb the big fucking thrashing worm

You mean, you'll do it. You have to do it. If there's even a chance Lottie isn't in control up there— if she finishes off Ramsey and goes blindly after everyone else, or if she tunnels off, never to be seen again, and the world fucking ends without her— and if you did nothing about it? Making all of that your fault, forever? Holy shit, you'd probably—

Ahem.

—feel really, really cruddy about it. Teddy can't prove you weren't going to say that. You'd feel cruddy for the rest of your natural life, and you feel cruddy enough as-is. Which makes the question: how the hell do you do this? Lottie's worm was bigger than you thought worms could go, and Lottie is three or four times bigger than that, both in length and in width. And she mostly goes straight up. You could fly, except you can't: you're not a flock of birds; you're not built for sustained distances. Are you going to have to climb? There's no better option?

Goddammit. Rephrase that. You have to climb; there is no better option; you don't have time to think of a better option. You should've started climbing yesterday, with the size of the fucking thing. Goddammit! You can't call Lottie a "fucking thing." Are you moving yet? Have the beetles been informed of the urgency of the situation? Or are you hovering here like a moron?

You are hovering. Can Teddy help? If he just got you started...?

No can do.

Please?

I'm dead. I can't play the big damn hero.

And you can? You're not Lottie: you're not out in front, fighting God, saving the world, none of that. You can help with that, sort of, sometimes. You're pretty good at helping. But you're just not a born hero. And when you try, you screw it up.

And she is a born heroine, and she never screws anything up.

No. Maybe. Fuck. You know she— you've heard her whole story, you've been in her head, talked to people who knew her before— you know she wasn't born like that, either. Nobody's born like that. You know she tries at it, and you know she— obviously she fails constantly. If she's really not aware in there, she failed just now. What makes her such a freak of nature is that she doesn't mind.

You? You mind so goddamn much. You'd rather hover forever than fail, and when you're forced into action, you fail anyways. And that's life! That's the kick in the teeth forever. Except Lottie gets kicked in the teeth as much as you, more than you, and keeps on smiling; rolls to her feet with her bloody gums and nut-punches life right back. Thinks positive. If she were here, that'd be her stupid, simplistic, sophomoric... staggeringly effective advice.

Look, you have your blind spots, but you can't argue with results. She gets results. You need results. You'll have to try it your way, though, systematically, or you won't be able to stomach it. Like this, maybe.

(1/3)

Negative thought #1: You are going to fucking die.
Positive thought #1: ...No you won't. You mean, you just won't. You're goo. You're beetles. You have a sweet metal endoskeleton, courtesy of Pat. Unless Lottie starts futzing with your strings, you're probably immortal, and what would she do that for? And with what hands?

Negative thought #2: Okay, maybe you're not going to die. But you could still fall a really long ways. One slip, and you're headed all the way down, and everyone you've painfully attempted to get to know will see you heading all the way down, probably flailing, possibly screaming. And then you'll splatter like rotten fruit, and you'll have to be scraped off the sand, and then Ramsey will probably step on you and the scraper both. Splat again.
Positive thought #1.5: You hadn't realized you were thinking about this in quite so much detail.
Positive thought #2: Um, you can't fall, either. If you slip, there is nothing at all stopping you from beetling the short way back up. Literally nothing. If there's no good handholds, same thing. You can't fly up all the way, but you can flit just fine.

Negative thought #3: What if you get tired, though?
Positive thought #3: You can't get tired. Where is this shit even coming from?

Negative thought #4: What if you make it to the top, but you can't actually fix Lottie?

I can help with that if you need me to.

Positive thought #4: Teddy can help with that if you need him to. Also, you won't know until you get up there. You are notably not up there.

Negative thought #5: Maybe it's too late for you to get up there.
Positive thought #5: Maybe it is too late, goddammit, and whose fault would that be? Is it getting any earlier? Is Lottie getting any saner? Get moving!

*

Now your beetles respond to commands; now you spiral up and away, seeking a safeish S-curve to land on. This is a difficult prospect, because Lottie is officially in deathmatch mode with Giga-Ramsey, meaning there's a lot of swaying and pushing and general wormy movement going on. On your first attempt, you coagulate and are thrown off immediately. On your second, you find a niche between two big spikes. Gripping onto one of them, you lean down and bite off your fingers, then switch hands and do the same on the—

You do introduce me to all sorts of new things.

Geez, it's not like that, alright? They're not flesh. They don't bleed. All you're doing is exposing your new metal endoskeleton, which will have a grippier grip than squishy fingers. Satisfied with your handiwork—

Heh.

See? Satisfied with your handiwork, you "crack" your "knuckles," then assess the situation. You've made it 10 or 15 feet off the ground, just from that. Good heroics, Gil. Too bad that's a tenth of the way up or less.

(2/3)

But now you can't stop, can you? Everyone can see you. (Negative thought #6.) Positive thought #6: good! You told Teddy you just needed a start, and now you've started. It's easy to get a process going: find handholds in spikes, jutting scales, feathery worm-bristles; haul yourself upward; repeat; put a foot wrong; fall; catch yourself midair; rise; rinse; repeat up and up. And don't look down! You'd see everything if you looked down, the blasted wasteland Ramsey left, the corpses, the survivors depending on you, whether or not they know what the hell you're doing. Everyone can see you. Surely they're watching.

Are you the picture of a big damn hero, grunting and slipping, occasionally beetling? You don't feel heroic. You want it to be over. The last time you slip, you surge as hard as you can back up, cresting and dipping and landing at last on top of Lottie's wide red skull.

You don't unbeetle: she's doing her best to shake Ramsey like a chew toy, meaning it's an earthquake up here, meaning you want your weight as distributed as you can get it. "Lottie...?"

Nothing. Shaking doesn't stop. You realize she might not have ears... or eyes. Shit! You half-heartedly stir up the blessing, just in case you can skip the talking, but it fizzles. You expected that. It didn't work on her possessed self in Us, and she wasn't even a worm, then. Teddy? Any ideas?

Yup.
You might not like them.

>[CHOICES IN THE MORNING!]

I'm back! Sorry for the delay, folks: computer issues.

>>6312848

Okay. Cool. Would he like to elaborate on that at all? Because you were thinking, you know, it's like the other time. The blessing won't work from the outside. You're probably going to have to get up in there somewhere, then eradicate the Wyrm gunk from the inside out, just like you were supposed to do (and failed to do) months ago. Remember that? Back in Us? How all of this could've been prevented?

I don't think it works like that.

You don't care how it works. What you're saying is, if you need to hurt yourself to save her, or if you need to peel off some beetles and toss them down a worm gullet and never speak of it to Lottie, that's fine. You're her retainer. It's your job. And it's the end of the world, apparently, and you don't matter more than the end of the world.

That's probably true. But I wasn't going to suggest that.

Giga-Ramsey is horking up shadow-gunk all over Lottie's worm face, forcing you to scatter backward. Her fucking giga-tail is battering trees. Way below, your sensitive antennae register smoke: what exactly is Lucky up to? And what is Teddy suggesting? Admittedly he does know more about the blessing stuff than you do, and it's not like you want to die. You almost entirely don't want to die. If he has an alternative—

Yeah. Listen, the gods put me here for a reason.

You don't like the sound of this. The super-dead gods?

Guess who's also super-dead, Gil. I think maybe that reason—

Come on.

—was to help you out. Fix you up. Get you here. And now I can move along, right? Get some rest. It's a lot of work to be a ghost.

Come on. What if you want him around? What if you like him around? What if you need—

You don't need crutches. I'm pretty satisfied with what I got done.
Now we can get this sorted out together. What do you say?

>Well?

>[1] Fix Lottie, with Teddy's help. [Charlotte POV will be restored. A few traces of Teddy will remain (enabling him to be restored with god powers, if desired).)
>[2] Fix Lottie. Let Teddy fulfill his purpose. [Charlotte POV will be restored. No trace of Teddy will remain. He will be unrestorable. Charlotte will receive a bonus against the Wyrm.)
>[3] Fuck Teddy and his dead divine purposes. It's been 200 years. You can handle this yourself. [Charlotte POV will be restored. I will roll for how much of Gil is injured.]
>[4] Write-in?

>>6313072
>>[1] Fix Lottie, with Teddy's help. [Charlotte POV will be restored. A few traces of Teddy will remain (enabling him to be restored with god powers, if desired).)

>[1] Fix Lottie, with Teddy's help. [Charlotte POV will be restored. A few traces of Teddy will remain (enabling him to be restored with god powers, if desired).)

>>6313072
>2
He yearns for the void.

>>6313072
>[2] Fix Lottie. Let Teddy fulfill his purpose. [Charlotte POV will be restored. No trace of Teddy will remain. He will be unrestorable. Charlotte will receive a bonus against the Wyrm.)
Give him something for the pain and let him die.

>>6313072
>[2]
Teddy has earned his rest. Besides, I think that we as Gil would want to give Charlotte the absolute best chance at beating the Wyrm, even if that means we have to do something we really rather wouldn't.

>>6313072
>>[2] Fix Lottie. Let Teddy fulfill his purpose. [Charlotte POV will be restored. No trace of Teddy will remain. He will be unrestorable. Charlotte will receive a bonus against the Wyrm.)

>>6313072
>>[2] Fix Lottie. Let Teddy fulfill his purpose. [Charlotte POV will be restored. No trace of Teddy will remain. He will be unrestorable. Charlotte will receive a bonus against the Wyrm.)

>>6313127
>>6313144
>>6313182
>>6313185
>>6313087
>[2]

>>6313078
>>6313086
>[1]

Seems pretty conclusive to me. RIP to a real one.

Writing.

File: the write cycle.png (1.1 MB, 1359x1039)

1.1 MB PNG

I knew this was going to be a long one, I started at an okay time, then I blinked and it wasn't an okay time, then I blinked and I'm falling asleep without all that much done. Oh, boy. I'll keep chipping away at it tomorrow, though there's no way I can day-update this, so tomorrow night. See you then!

Back aaaand writing. Gonna try and get this all in one go tonight.

>Eternal reward

You—

You can't talk about this like this. You're beetles. You're on top of a giant worm. The giant worm is wrestling a giant lizard that spits shadow goop. Teddy is beetles too, is really just a voice in your head, and you really wish— you just wish— you'd just like to see him. If that makes sense. It doesn't make any sense.

No, I think that's reasonable. Relax for a sec.

Easier said than done, under the circumstances described, but when a sharp tug comes you let Teddy reel you in: up into your mind, up into blackness. You are on the black ground. Teddy is offering you a hand up, but withdraws it when he sees your disinterest, dropping to his knees instead. "Hey, cuz. Is this better?"

"Yeah." It's crazy how related to you he looks, given the time gap: he has the Wallace jaw. You should've asked Lottie if she could let you see your family. If they're alive. If they want to see you. "...Can you do this better than I can?"

"Sorry?"

"If I told you to go fuck yourself, and I bailed out Lottie by myself, would it work? Does it need to be you? And i-i-if it doesn't—" Not the goddamn stutter. "—could I do it just as well? Or would I-I fuck something up? Just tell me."

"You wouldn't fuck it up. There's just some things I can do that you can't, and they'd help Lottie out in ways you can't help with. And she needs all the help she can get, given the Wyrm. Don't kick yourself."

It's logical. That's why you press your palms into your eyes. "Uh-huh. And, just to be clear, this would kill you."

"Hey, now, I'm super-dead." Teddy crosses his arms over his knees. "Can't get deader. But I know what you mean, so yeah. I wouldn't be coming back."

"You'd turn into a fish," you mutter.

"You know, I don't know if that still happens, but I sure hope so. I'd really like to be a—"

"A big silver one."

"Hey! You remembered. Fingers crossed."

He's actually crossing his fingers at you. Fucking hell. You clench your fists agaist your forehead, pressing your nails into the skin; it's a second before you can manage the words. "And you're cool with this. I-I-I mean, you're cool with dying. Or leaving. You don't care at all that you're fucking off and stranding me, and you don't care if— I-I-I mean— what if it hurts you? What if—"

"It won't hurt, Gil. And I know for a fact you'll figure it out."

"Lottie's fucking off, too," you say into your hands. "To go be God."

"I don't think she has much of a choice. But I know you'll figure that out, too. You're a tough cookie. Want a smoke?"

He's fished around in his big coat. "Now?" you say.

"Why not? The spanner is crazy. It's been half a second out there." Teddy klik-kliks his lighter, lights both, hands one over. "You'll feel better."

You feel better from the smell alone. Dammit. You shove the cig into your mouth.

(1/5?)

"Anyway, it's fine to miss me. No harm in that. But it's also good to get used to... I dunno... comings and goings. Right? You meet someone, they stick around for a long time or a short one, they leave. Same goes for anything. Even civilizations go. Even gods."

"Fingers crossed," you mutter.

"Yup. The new god comes; the old god goes. The good times end; the bad times end. The world goes to pieces, so people build a new one. Don't get too stuck on it, Gil. Wanting everything to stay just as you like it— I mean— that's what the Wyrm wants."

"That's what everyone wants, Teddy."

"It's what what we think we want. It's the Wyrm's lie in our ears. But imagine a world just like that. Everything in beautiful stasis. Everything perfect every day. Everyone happy. Nobody dies. Could you live there?"

You blow smoke through your nostrils. "That'd never happen. People would fuck it up somehow."

"Sure they would, but it's a thought experiment. It's perfect, so it can't get fucked up. God made it so."

"But—" Is he expecting you not to take this at face value? "—is everyone mind-controlled? Am I mind-controlled? Because I-I-I just don't see how else—"

"Answer for both. Either you're perfect, too, however that's accomplished, or you're just observing."

You sigh. "And when should I expect my grades back?"

"Humor me, Gil. I'll be super-extra-dead in a second."

The argument to win all arguments. Dammit. "Geez, okay. I-If I were plopped in to watch, I guess, I-I-I don't— everyone's happy? All the time? Nothing else?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, I-I'd be driven nuts by Hour 2. And i-if I were part of it, I guess... i-i-is this a trick question? I'd be happy. I-I guess. I-I-I-I wouldn't have a choice."

"Well, why would you want a choice? Suppose God gave you a dial. Would you ever set it to 'sad'? 'Angry'? 'Tired'? 'Jealous'? Why would you? Constant happiness is more efficient. I mean perfect."

He's baiting you along, but now you're invested. You clench the cig between your knuckles. "But I-I-I should get the choice, or else it's just Headspace. It's Casey Fucking Kemper with his fingers in my skull— and even he couldn't fully get to me, right? And he wasn't even trying to get me happy, just blank." You heard Ellery shot him in the head. Good! "I-I-I don't see how he could get me happy like that. Or even how God could, in the long run. Wouldn't people get used to it? Wouldn't everyone get bored as all shit? Even Us— you know— even we switched things up. It's the same forever?"

"Why wouldn't it be? There's no need for it to change. It can't get any better."

"Well, I don't believe that," you say, and rise to your feet. You shove your hands into your pockets. "Your hypothetical fucking sucks, Teddy. Is that the right answer?"

(2/5?)

"Hahaha. More or less." One of Teddy's legs is crisscrossed; the other sticks straight out. "The Wyrm could do it, but It couldn't do it to us. Or, in the doing of it, we wouldn't be 'us' any longer. Nothing recognizable as humanity. We were made this way on purpose, you realize? Born transient, born flawed—"

"Born to suffer?"

"Yeah."

"Born to die?"

"You've got it."

You stare at your burnt-out cig, then grind it under your heel. "I could've fucking told you that years ago, Teddy."

"It was common knowledge back in the day. You know snakes never suffer? They never die, either. Ask a snake if it likes being a snake, and it'll say: of course it does. It's the perfect being. But ask a person if they'd like to be a snake? Snakes don't suffer, and they don't feel, or care, or love. Snakes don't die, and they don't live. We do."

"You did," you say.

"I did. I lived pretty well, if I'm able to judge that. I died with no particular regrets. Then I came back." Teddy quirks his lips. "And I had a good time, and I came in handy, and I can— hey, what's her phrase? You know it."

"...'Save the whole entire world'."

"I can help save the whole entire world, just a smidgeon. Now that's a life, isn't it? Is there use in going any longer?"

"I-i-is there use? Is there..." He's out-maneuvered you, somehow. You can't articulate this without sounding pathetic. "Maybe i-i-it's not all about you, okay? I-I-I can't be alone."

"Sure you can."

"No, you don't— I-I-I'm busted, Teddy, I can't— I-I can't handle it." It sounds pathetic because you are pathetic. "I-I-I-I start talking to myself, and I'm a fucking prick to myself, and—"

"Then don't be, huh? Look, if it makes you feel better, I won't go anywhere. Watch." Teddy unfolds from his crouch, steps up to you. "Don't get me wrong, I'm heading out. I gotta go be a fish. But I'm pretty sure I'll stick around right there, aaaand... there... assuming you leave some room for me."

He poked your forehead, then your chest. You close your eyes. "Teddy."

"Uh-huh?"

"That's the corniest goddamn thing I-I-I-I've ever heard in my life. The corniest."

"Sure it is. And you're going to remember it, in 20 years, and you're going to think shit, he was so right."

And now there's nothing at all you can say to that. "...You're a cool guy, Teddy."

"Hey. You're a cool guy. Doing the family name proud, alright? Shake on it."

You accept his handshake and are only half-surprised when he grabs your shoulder and squeezes. You even have the presence of mind to squeeze back. Teddy steps back a few paces, once you separate, and grips the arm of his glasses. "Alright, cuz. You're not gonna flambé me if I go for it?"

You eye the indent in your left palm. "...No."

"Okay, then. Go out and live, alright? And let Us know where I'm headed. I gotta get on with this."

(3/5?)

File: blueness.jpg (83 KB, 564x842)

83 KB JPG

He pockets the glasses. His eyes underneath are glowing blue pits. That's new. Teddy flashes you a mute smile, then slides his thumb through his forehead and drags it down through the middle of his face and neck and chest and down from there. His skin falls flexibly around him, and you see, for a second, movement and light in the shape of him. Also new.

Then it loses definition, flares out, spills out, whirls out, banishing the blackness, sweeping you giddily up in itself, tumbling, bubbling, blue as anything, teasing the beetles out of you— no match for this magic, your sodden body falls apart immediately— bearing you aloft, washing you out of yourself, so you can see Lottie (worm) and Ramsey (giga) from way above. And, atop Lottie's head, a dark little speckle that could be beetles. Shit. Okay. Aren't you imaginary? How do you get more imaginary than that?

You have little time to process before the blue closes around you again, pressuring cold water through delicate beetle lung-holes, and you can't actually cough or spit or do much of anything but pray for air, for half a second, before you remember: imaginary. Or giga-imaginary? You are not beholden to lung-holes, and to prove it you take a deeply fulfilling breath of nothing at all. Ahhhh.

You are still in water, though— not the kind that you don't notice. Genuine, thick, wet water, ordinary water, which leaves you more surprised when it unfolds: you are now atop thick wet water. The water is in the shape of an enormous hand. The hand is attached to an enormous muscular water-arm, which is attached to an enormous muscular water-torso, to which is attached three extra arms and a head like a swordfish and eyes like two whirlpools.

Oh, SHIT! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! It's the fishman! Shit! You mean, it's a god! The one Garvin killed himself for! You unbeetle as fast as you've ever unbeetled and fall to your hands and knees and stay there.

}}}You have made good use of my blessing.}}}

You remain on your hands and knees. Teddy FUCKED OFF before he could tell you god etiquette, so, as far as you're concerned, one wrong move equals insta-death. Imagine getting fucking smited, here, now?

}}}Respect is warranted, god-son, not deference. Arise.}}}
}}}I said, you have made good use of my blessing.}}}

Are you about to argue? Ha-ha, imagine that. You're shaking as you rise... into a kneel. It's about all you can manage. "Y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

}}}It has deferred humanity's destruction, as hoped. But your alternative use amuses me as well. Could I see it again?}}}

(4/5?)

See it again. The blessing. See it... oh. You rebeetle, which doesn't help the jitters, then unrebeetle dizzily.

}}}Once more.}}}

It's disorienting as fuck to switch rapidly, blessing or no blessing, but you are jumping when Fishman (Quick Sea, you think) says jump. Clench up, so you don't fall over, feel yourself as one solid tense mass, get used to that, then throw it out the window and shatter. Let your vision rip and warp. Let your limbs fly off in all directions. But don't float away, even though you're 3/4ths air. It's about as natural as it gets now, but how you survived it the first time— unimaginable.

It's easier to handle the other way around, but somehow worse-feeling, the objection to debeetling coming mostly from your gut. The beetles clump and sort of mush together, and the beetles really hate this. You are on your knees again, breathing hard.

}}}I am pleased and satisfied. Thank you. You are a marvelous creation.}}}

That's better than the alternative, probably. But if you were less than articulate before, now you're entirely unable to cohere: having your head shattered and reattached and shattered and reattached in about that span of time will do that. If Fishman can read your mind, that's why you're not saying anything. You're really sorry. And you're really sorry for calling him Fishman in your mind even though you technically know his actual name. You would appreciate it if he wouldn't smite you but you understand if he needs to. You're not sure if you should capitalize the 'He's. Sorry.

}}}God-son.}}}

Is that a yes on the mind-reading?

}}}There is no reason to fear me. I do not spring to offense. I am your friend and your patron, and I desire the preservation of Man, though I can do little to affect it. I have died. This is another reason not to fear me.}}}
}}}But I see you are used to the Wyrm; I understand the way you are behaving. I understand also that your physiology is not wholly yours to control. If you will allow me, I can temporarily remedy this.}}}

Uhhhhhh. Sure?

}}}Then remain still.}}}

The great wet thumb of the hand you rest on rises up and presses down on the top of your head, and your vision blackens for a moment before resetting. It's like you've reset in general: your heart still, your breathing still, your mind still, mostly. As much as it gets. "T-thanks."

}}}You are welcome. I hope this will facilitate our conversation.}}}

"Yeah. Uh... maybe we should start over? Hello."

(5/6)