>Saturday, September 6th, 1884.

You awoke before the sun rose.

Everything before you was a blur. If you had dreamed of anything this night, you hadn't remembered it. Your hotel room was dark, quiet-- for a moment, you thought you saw movement at the foot of your bed... and only relaxed upon remembering who lay there.

"Up y' get, Mary," you whispered to your sheep. You were not about to leave her in the hands of strangers while she was this vulnerable. "We've got work t' do."

As you swept through your room like an exhausted phantasm, changing your clothes and washing your face, your heartbeat acted as soundtrack to your morning routine. With every third beat, you were doing something new.

Ba-dump. You gave the ornate clock hanging above your bathroom door a glance. Four in the morning-- perfect.

Ba-dump. You carried Mary with you into the hallway, making sure to close your door as quietly as possible, and slipped down the carpeted staircase.

Ba-dump. The stable doors creaked open, stirring awake the horses closest to its hinges. Florian squeaked at the noise, so disproportionate to the quiet blanketing everyplace else-- you promptly quieted him.

Ba-dump. Aster huffed, stomping in place as his stable door swung open. Your heart briefly skipped a beat, somehow expecting to find a bleeding wound upon his leg, only returning to its normal pace once Aster took a confident step forward.

Ba-dump. You left the hotel behind, Aster's flaming mane coming alive and trotting ahead of you.

Ba-dump. Dark figures lined the streets, sparse in number yet unmistakeable in silhouette-- state militia.

Ba-dump. By the light of Aster's mane and the glow of tonight's blue moon, you continued forth into the shadowy city streets, reminding yourself of your goals...

<><><><><>

"...keep it quick, keep it quiet. Andrew will lead from the front, reinforcements'll be from the sides..."

A cool breeze blew through the small off-road you had all gathered in. Muyr was repeating what he had clarified last meeting. This group was his most important, after all, so such caution was required.

"...militia would be best struck near the neck're legs. Aim t' knock them out, to avoid blood on our hands..."

You held your team together tightly, whispering your plans under your breath in the vain hopes that a member or two might be able to understand them. Everyone here was to go together, on Muyr's signal... except for you.

"...if our own start t' fall, shoot to kill. We have more Staters than they have troops..."

...at least, there were more Staters than troops awake at this hour. All you had was your small party of neofauna. But, you hoped, they were just an emergency measure. The capitol would only have a few militia soldiers in front of it at this hour, not the usual scale of extensive security throughout its halls, so you weren't going to be fighting like the rest of them were...

"...have you any words t' say, say them now."

>Try to rouse the troops like Muyr did. A boost of confidence wouldn't hurt, right?

>Ask a question. [Write-in what question.]

>Pray.

>>6319264
>Ask a question
"What if they have some neofauna of their own?"
The governor may be spiteful to the 'demons', but that may be because he wants a monopoly on force.

Welcome back, QM!

>>6319264
>Try to rouse the troops like Muyr did. A boost of confidence wouldn't hurt, right?

A question would just create doubt and hesitation at this point. Just say something short to show we're confident.

>>6319264
>Try to rouse the troops like Muyr did. A boost of confidence wouldn't hurt, right?

“Huntington leads his troops the same as he does anything else… with the grace and precision of a three-legged cow. Listen to Muyr and we’ll get through this thing fine.”

>>6319472
>A question would just create doubt and hesitation at this point.
I nevertheless see some value in being prepared and having a strategy for if we encounter a fire-breathing weasel, or something worse.

Rousing the troops it is. Writing!

>>6319294
Glad to be back, anon. Thank you for coming along for the ride!

"Ah have a few," you mentioned. Muyr stepped aside to allow you to shuffle forth, then turn your back on the capitol and your attention onto your fellow men.

The night was short, and the crowd's patience was already beginning to thin. You decided to keep things brief. "If any'a you are havin' doubts, put them t' rest. I've seen how we've trained, an' I've seen what we're up against. Huntington's a bloated ol' fool with the grace of a disabled cow-- as long's we follow Muyr into the daylight, ah say we'll be fine."

You finished the brief speech with a grin, but couldn't help betraying your own words. The very confidence you wanted to impart unto others was shaky, uncertain-- blanketed in just the slightest hints of doubt.

And yet, nevertheless... the Stater troops you'd addressed pumped their fists in approval, saluting if they couldn't, trying to make as much of a scene as they could without giving away their position. Their confidence reassured you, reinforcing the strength of your own... and, by the time everyone had quieted down, you couldn't help but feel like things were going to turn out quite alright.

Soon after your speech, the countdown began. You checked your watch and began to saunter off to the side, keeping your eyes on the crowd.

"On one, two..."

Muyr was giving you glances. His eyes bounced between you and the capitol lawn as he continued counting under his breath, his hand tightening around something within his holster's pocket. You knew what he meant.

"...three, four..."

Men were already rushing to the front of the road, huddling around the edges of each building flanking it, giving Muyr space...

BANG

"GO!" Muyr shouted, spitting forth his first command.

Almost a hundred Staters flooded forth onto the capitol lawn all at once. Men poured in from every cardinal direction, save north-- from the east, you could see Andrew leading the charge; from your south, Muyr moved forward.

In all the confusion that followed, with the tide of men splitting into various different groups all aiming for various different parts of the lawn, nobody managed to keep track of you.

You slipped into the crowd, blending in almost unnoticed amongst the sea of warm bodies. As men dispersed, you slipped between tight crowds and aimed for the giant white dome you'd all arrived to capture.

Gunfire drowned out your thoughts as you accompanied various men in a rush towards the capitol steps. You reached them, just in time, only to have your efforts squandered by a militia troop shoving you backwards--

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--who next found himself on the ground, twitching uncontrollably, covered in Florian's spores. "Good job," you whispered to your small plant friend. You swerved behind you, expecting another attack-- instead, you were met with a far greater skirmish than you'd expected.

The lawn had quickly become a mess of lead and fury. State militia troops wrestled with Staters, wrestled with neofauna, wrestled with each other-- in all the chaos, it was almost hard to make out that you had the militia on the defensive. A great start-- and a distraction from what you needed to do.

The steps of the capitol were easily climbed. Your greatest trouble came in keeping yourself on-balance, not tripping over your own toes as you climbed the brief staircase and rammed into the building's doors, turning to shield Mary as you threw your entire body into the great oak gate keeping you from Sacramento's head of state. It took only two attempts for the doors to swing open. They... hadn't been locked.

Once you'd stumbled forth into the grand foyer, you stopped. It was hard not to be taken aback in brief awe. The ceilings of the building were enormous-- at least thrice as tall as you were, if not taller. The lavish domed roof hanging over your head put your hotel's lobby to shame, with its intricate patterns and detailed color work uniting in a wonderful display of...

creeeeak

Your heart skipped a beat.

You weren't alone.

You checked your watch again, as if hoping it would show you some other time if you squinted at it hard enough. No-- it was hardly four thirty. Nobody was supposed to be here until hours from now.

The floor here was wooden, carpeted. A familiar stench arose from it-- one that reminded you of the hotel's stables. The stench, however, brought you far more comfort than the continued creaking from above.

You gave the lawn one last glance, its chaotic battle almost inscrutable from this distance. Aster had gone to Andrew, as you'd commanded him to, and yet...

No-- the carpet simply had to be cleaned, that was all. And besides-- the rest of your team remained with you. There was every possibility they were the source of this.

You strafed right, into the carpeted corridors. The creaking above you never ceased-- it only grew quieter without the echo of the dome to amplify it. It was as if a man was pacing-- patrolling, perhaps, some general area on the second floor. A pity-- that was exactly where you needed to be. And yet... what good would pacing do at a time like this? For what reason would there be any need of...?

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The stairs! You'd made it to the stairs. This was no time for speculation. You climbed them without hesitation, your hand gripping the banister like each step was about to give out from beneath you.

The stench only worsened the further you climbed. It came to your uneasy attention, around the same time, that the wing you'd wandered into happened to be the same blackened part as you'd seen just a few days ago. But for that to be the source...

crk crk crk

...you trailed off. Whoever was patrolling the corridors was going in the opposite direction. Good-- you were certain the governor's office wasn't far from here. All you'd have to do, then, was get in there and hold the fort until Muyr could join you...

Your free hand slipped over to your left shoulder, prompting Taylor to climb atop it and chitter. You quickly shushed him, motioning with your head for him to look forward, and continued forth. It wasn't long before the governor's office was within reach...

...but you could hear your unwelcome company beginning to approach again. There was definitely some kind of patrol officer wandering these corridors.

If you played your hand right, you could slip past him without ever catching his attention. If you were caught, however...

>Try to neutralize your unwanted guest before entering the governor's office, and risk losing access to it entirely.

>Take your chances and attempt to get into the governor's office, and risk getting caught by whomever was wandering the corridors.

>>6320137
>Take your chances and attempt to get into the governor's office, and risk getting caught by whomever was wandering the corridors.

Remember the mission. This is all for nothing if we don’t get into the office.

>>6320141
+1

>>6320137

>Take your chances and attempt to get into the governor's office, and risk getting caught by whomever was wandering the corridors.

If we stumble upon him we can take action anyway.

Alright: in advance of tomorrow's entry, please roll 1d100! Bo3 rules.

Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>6320611

Rolled 86 (1d100)

>>6320611
RNGesus, hear my plea!

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>6320611

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>>6320634

>>6320137
>>6320141
+1

>>6320634
Nice one, anon. I am worried about us getting cut off from behind since we left our patrolman friend unparalyzed, though.

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>>6320634
Oh, wow, you dodged a bullet. This roll is only 6 points higher than the DC.

We'll be trying to get into the governor's office without neutralizing the guard. Writing!

...you were going to worry about that when it happened, and not while you were trying to be stealthy.

Slowly but surely, you crept towards the governor's door. You crept past the auditor's office, past the senate offices...

crk crk crk

An armed guard walked down the hall, rifle in hand. He glanced from side to side, his grip tightening, his eyes narrowing.

All he laid eyes upon was an empty hallway and a gaudy carpet.

Carefully, quietly, you crept closer to the governor's office. Your free hand traced the wall, then positioned itself nearby the door handle.

You heard steps coming your way. A brief moment of panic caught you, you gripped the door handle tightly-- and let go of the breath you realized you'd been holding in, forcing yourself to keep calm, reminding yourself that the mission came first.

The door to Governor Huntington's office creaked open without further interruption.

The room itself was grander than you could have imagined. Its ceilings stretched far above you, nearly as high as the dome itself. Its curtains-- great big red things that brought to mind the capes of old kings-- hung over the office's enormous windows like a veil over a mourning widow. The floor they just barely reached was covered in ornate carpeting, littered with black hairs, without a single inch of wood exposed.
Upon the paneled walls they hugged hung portraits of governors gone by-- none of whom you could name. These men, seemingly of great stature, were framed in gold and positioned in such a way that almost disconcerted you-- made you feel like you were being haunted by their disapproval. You almost wanted to apologize, before discarding the ridiculous thought and letting your eyes finally come to rest... upon a swivel chair.

This swivel chair, directly across from you, stood behind an ornate mahogany desk. It was clearly made with care-- you could see some sort of paneling upon it, not unlike the same kind the walls were decorated with, and the wood that comprised it seemed polished to a mirror sheen.

The chair rested with its back to you, seemingly more preoccupied with the window that framed it.

There was nothing to see out of that window. Muyr had made sure of it. Huntington's office was opposite the capitol lawn, away from all of the action.

Your eyes drifted back to the room. There were a plethora of bookshelves here, stuffed to the brim with all kinds of records. There was a regular office desk, too-- nowhere near as ornate or resplendent as the one that sat directly across from you. The desk itself was littered with pictures and portraits, mostly of a single woman, alongside the usual litany of state-related forms and papers. The entire office seemed relatively well-organized, almost immaculate in its presentation, save for this one desk.

So why, then, did the entire room stink?

Why had the stench from the stables followed you here? As you slipped Mary out of your hands and onto a nearby cushioned chair, you ruled her out definitively. She was not the source of this smell. But neither Taylor nor Florian could be, and after a quick check... you ruled yourself out, as well.

tap

You froze.

Your eyes shot back to the door-- still open, now closing itself after a brush from the guard.

Your eyes shot towards the curtains-- none of them were moving.

tap

You listened closer. The sound was clear.

Nails on wood. Nails on... wood.

tap

The swivel chair moved, slowly, to one side.

You were not alone here.

"I was correct. I was correct! To hire him-- to remain here. To-- Lord, every part of my aging instincts have served me well."

Collis Porter Huntington's voice cut through you like an ice-cold knife. The trembling in his tone only served to worry you further. You had only heard it once before.

"My guard shall protect me. Do you hear me? I have a guard. He is armed, and he shall serve me well. Do you--"

The chair swiveled to the right and slammed into Huntington's desk. The man himself soon rose from it, leaving the chair behind, turning away from the window to face the desk you had just looked at.

"GUARD?" Huntington yelled. His voice nearly cracked-- when he tried to repeat himself, Huntington merely found himself coughing. It took the governor realizing that the door was closed shut to stop himself.

"No matter. I have yet to be shot-- I am alive. If there is an assassin in my midst, he is quite terrible at his job."

Huntington cleared his throat and paced back to his desk. He paced back and forth, back and forth, his eyes never leaving the ground, his left arm remaining within his coat. His dirtied coat, that he was still wearing, despite the fact that you had seen him in this exact dress nearly three days ago.

By some divine intervention, Huntington had yet to spot you. Mary, neither, despite her sitting plainly atop one of three chairs in the entire room. The man seemed too preoccupied with whatever was in his head, too caught up in himself to do so much as look to his right.

You needed Huntington out of this office, and the capitol in Stater hands.

You had a chance-- just one chance-- to do something.

What would you do?

>Write-in.

>>6321086
>This looks like a job for Florian's pacifying mist or paralyzing powder!

>>6321086
>>6321088
Ooo, I had an idea for what to do after he's zonked out!

>Have Taylor bundle him up, too! maybe we can even lower him down out the window on a string of silk, or drop him onto a Cotton Spore cushion?

>>6321088
>>6321096
+1
What the fuck is causing that smell?
What the fuck left those black hairs?

>>6321117
Houndour? Quilava?

>>6321086

>Hold him at gunpoint. If he does anything we don't want him to do, shoot him dead. Do not give any wiggle room to him and use Florian to make him fall asleep.

If he wins this conflict (which I hope he does not), it was all a bad dream.

Not kidding, this is literally the best way to get him 'out' of that office. If his puny little guard comes in with his single-shot trapdoor rifle, he can eat absolute shit against our revolver. This guy literally barged into town, declared himself governor and started to rule like a tyrant. His rule is illegitimate anyway, so I'd argue that shooting him would not be against the law.

>>6321120

If a Houndour or Quilava shows up, we use our gun pointed at Huntington as a threat. If any action is taken against us by the Neofauna, Huntington gets a bullet to the skull.

>>6321200
He wasn't elected?? I missed that plot point somehow.

>>6321086
>>6321088
+1 for paralyzing. If we try holding him at gunpoint, I don't think Walter would be easily willing to shoot an unarmed man, and any hesitation could mean him calling the guard.

Who is Huntington talking to? Who did he hire?
>I was correct! To hire him
>My guard shall protect me. Do you hear me?

>>6321293
I think he was shouting to the Staters outside.

Wait. The yellow fur that disappeared out the window, along with the incinerated remains of McClatchy, Cunningham's almost possessed behavior... I ignored the possibility of a Stone evolution and am nonlonger pleased by the thumbnail.

>>6321378
But what about the black fur?

Clarifying in advance: I won't be including >>6321096 in the next entry because it doesn't have nearly as much support as the option it's attached to. Also, it would immediately kill both Huntington and Taylor no matter the dice roll. Which I don't want to write, and I'm quite sure anon did not intend to happen.

As for trying to paralyze/pacify: roll some dice, please! Same rules as last time: 1d100, Bo3 rules.

Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>6321651
>that spoiler
Holy shit, are you kidding me? Are we that high up? That's a bit out of nowhere don't you think? Thanks for the warning though

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>>6321663
Yes. (Apologies for the crusty image, couldn't find a better one with someone in such a good position for measurement.)

For reference: this is the building we're currently inside. The people near its steps seem about average in terms of height, and they're on the highest step. Assuming the guy I'm highlighting here is about 6 feet, the drop anon was suggesting would be about 24 feet. If he was exceptionally short and only 5 feet, it'd still be 20 feet.

We're not on this specific side of the building, but the room we're in is on the same level. Anyone dropped on their backs from that height, even with a cotton cushion, has about a 1/5 chance of dying instantly upon reaching the ground. If they're lucky, they'll just be permanently paralyzed for life.

Given that Taylor is barely a foot long and only about 5ish pounds, he wouldn't be able to hold up Huntington whatsoever and would immediately fall out of the window with him. Even in the best-case scenario of Taylor's silk cord snapping before he's dragged out of the window, that's a very dead governor and possibly a badly injured mandible for Taylor. Worst-case scenario they're both dead in very public fashion, and there's only one possible culprit.

This is all from very rough and quick estimates-- I don't want the quest to rely too much on realistic weight calculations or anything like that, but I have to bring it up here because I want to explain my reasoning and, even in the most generous possible interpretation of anon's choice, I can't really implement it without severely fucking up the party in ways that would place undue blame on the audience and just make the story less fun to read and write.

Paralyzing's fine, though. I can work with that no problem, so I'll write tonight's entry off of that. How it ends up just depends on the dice now, and I don't think even the worst possible rolls will end in a death there.

>>6321670
*anyone dropped from that height, doesn't need to be back-specific. Forgot to edit that out after messing with the sentence.

Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>6321651
Stop resisting!

>>6321670
Thanks for the explanation. Yeah that sort of plan is a serious no-go then with the reality of the situation as it is

>>6321670
>I want to explain my reasoning and, even in the most generous possible interpretation of anon's choice, I can't really implement it without severely fucking up the party in ways that would place undue blame on the audience and just make the story less fun to read and write.
See this is part of what makes a good QM, being willing to explain why a particularly appealing-sounding write-in will seriously fuck shit up beyond player agency and acceptable/foreseen consequence and is therefore vetoed by the QM.

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>6321293
>>6321651
rolling

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>6321717
Hope that's close enough since we got the drop on him.

>>6321670
I see. Well, fair enough. Thank you for clarifying and warning us.

>>6321700
Agreed. QM is a champ.

>>6321727
We'll soon find out...

>>6321670
>Walter Buchanan, famed Neofauna researcher and tamer, jailed for defenestrating the governor.

Thanks for not rug-pulling us QM. Even if that would be a really funny ending to the quest.

>>6321867
>ending
>implying we wouldn't flee the state

>>6321727
Maybe! We'll see.

Writing!

You would paralyze him. You had to, at least, try.

Ba-dump. You crouched down next to Mary's chair, keeping an eye on Huntington while your Taylor-less hand found its way to your shirt pocket.

Ba-dump. Huntington turned again, heading towards the rightmost part of the room-- away from you. "As is my guard. I have called him twice now. Thrice, almost. And he has yet to appear."

Ba-dump. You gave Mary's cheek a stroke and scanned the room. The curtains were far too obvious-- Huntington would hear rustling and see a bulge underneath them. The desk reeked, badly-- your nose wouldn't be able to take hiding under there. You'd have to sneak up on him, from behind, unguarded.

Ba-dump. Your heart caught in your throat, ceasing to function for just a moment, as Huntington turned around on a dime and narrowly missed your location. He raised a brow... and moved on.

You snuck closer, your heart still racing, your neofauna more silent than you had ever known them to be, your steps quiet and carefully planned as you passed by Huntington's most spectacular desk, praying under your breath...

"I suppose it is good, then, that he won't be needed. I will be able to take him off of my payroll with a clear conscience." Huntington continued to ramble to himself, fixating on one of his smaller windows. One that you hadn't realized was there, and that Muyr... had forgotten to account for.

"As clear a conscience as one can have after murder, anyways."

...whose murder, exactly?
Speculation raced through your mind. Of the most immediate theory, one made itself well-known-- perhaps Huntington felt guilty for the murders of Staters, which he had commanded by proxy? Or-- well, no. He couldn't be the culprit, surely. That didn't make-- that didn't add up. If he had--

You'd stopped.

Right.

You had to keep going.

Quiet words were whispered to Florian. A similarly quiet squeak of affirmation was given back. A smile crept its way across your face. To think, Florian was barely listening to you when you first came here...

For a while, all was quiet. Huntington stood, back to you, facing the window. Your steps, as careful and quiet as a young doe's, went unnoticed.

You only realized the error of your assumption when the silence was broken by a low growl.

"You've come to a great place indeed, young Buchanan. But I'm afraid you will never be able to leave it."

Huntington turned, slowly, to face you. His words were mumbled, overpowered by the crescendoing growl, possibly best left unheard.

He was almost invisible. The darkness of the room, combined with the deep wrinkles that further shadowed his face, made it nearly impossible to make out the man who spoke to you.

All you could see, now, was a hand reaching out of his left coat pocket.

A charred, burnt, almost unrecognizable hand.

"You have come here seeking death, and, by God, I shall grant it to you."

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KKRRR-THUD

Something jumped out from under the desk and pushed the swivel chair back into the wall--

An overpowering odor overwhelmed you. The sounds of barking, slobber flecking across your cheek as a pair of sharp-tipped paws dug into your chest and left you gasping--

You shouted for spores, Florian let them loose--

CRRRSH

A bookshelf fell where Huntington once stood.

The man himself had escaped-- he was running back to his ornate desk. Glass flew everywhere, shreds of paper were strewn about as record after record was torn apart by broken glass casing--

You scrambled to your feet and retreated, on all fours, staring down your opponent, almost slamming up against a wall before jumping to your feet and fleeing towards the door. You pulled on it, yanked the handle-- and realized it was locked.

RRRR WOOF WOOF

You turned around, your eyes racing between the window, and Huntington, and the evil--

The black-furred creature, bound in bone, with eyes like pinpricks, reeking like the stables, baring sharp fangs from an orange snout that held upon it the traces of a torn leather belt around the muzzle and foam around the mouth--

Huntington screamed over the creature's vicious noises-- its heaving, its growling, its constant snarling-- "Why is it that you care so much, Walter? What good does it do you to betray California to your ends? I've seen your general down there, I know his name-- I know all about him, in fact, even more than he would be willing to tell you-- and I know you have no business being in his company, spreading such hatred against the lone bulwark of humankind. Have you no love for your fellow man-- no respect for the sanctity of your compatriots' eternal souls?"

The man was a lunatic. A raving lunatic--

You glanced back down at the creature, still foaming at the mouth. It was-- twitching, paralyzed. It was far enough away to not even be a threat anymore. But you could see in its eyes-- it wasn't going to give up. Every inch of it twitched and raged, screaming to break free, staring daggers into your soul and striking fear into your heart. And you knew this spore couldn't leave an opponent disabled forever.

Huntington continued, even as the demon's snarling hatred for you continued to make itself known. "Have you a spy in my midst? Some kind of double agent? How else would you-- could you-- have known of my being here? My awakening in the early morn, specifically to root out would-be assassins like yourself?"

>Shout back. Try to reason with Huntington, explain yourself-- and hopefully end this without a fight.

>Try the door, again, as hard as you possibly can. Break it if you must. You need to get out of here, fast.

>Write-in.

>>6321120
One cookie for anon, coming right up!

>>6322033
>Try the door, again, as hard as you possibly ca . Break it if you must. You need to get out of here, fast.
He already suspects us and is high on his own paranoid farts, there is no reasoning with him now.

>>6322044
Can't we have Taylor use Razor Leaf to slice the door apart or weaken it so Walter can break through it? Maybe around the hinges if possible?

>>6322033
>Have Mary zap the demon-dog until it's unconscious
This is for everyone's safety and as a reminder to Huntington that he'd better stay put and not try anything funny if he doesn't want the same treatment.

Then:
>Shout back. Try to reason with Huntington, explain yourself-- and hopefully end this without a fight.
I don't know about the one HE'S got here, but most neofauna are NOT demons! There are good ones and bad ones. yes, some are dangerous, but as we're currently proving, some can be friendly and helpful. Most of all, what he's proposing isn't possible: they're here to stay, worldwide, and we HAVE to get used to living together.

>If we can bait him into a debate, have Florian hit this room with calming scenes if he can, too

>>6322121
+1

Rolled 43 (1d100)

>>6322033
>Write-in
>Point gun at Huntington and demand he calms the dog down. Tell Mary to be ready to zap the dog. If Huntington refuses, or tries to stall with conversation, or just cannot calm the dog down, tell Mary to attack the dog, and shoot the door with the gun to try and break it enough to open.

Mary likely won't be able to take a whole battle in this condition.
Taylor could wrap the dog in silk, but I don't think it would be fast enough or effective enough.
Florian did a good job, but I don't think there's more he can do.

>>6322121
>>6322134
If you guys going for an attack, you should roll as well.

>>6322033
>Write-in.
Shoot the dog. If that doesn’t work, have Mary zap it until it’s a Hiroshima shadow.

Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>6322207

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>>6322208

Why are you guys rolling unprompted?

>>6322218
The QM said before that we need to roll for combat

>>6322218
Because teal told me to.

>>6322218
I'm not? I'm >>6322134

>>6322139
>Mary likely won't be able to take a whole battle in this condition.
Which is why, like in the games, you must take it down while the paralyzed status lasts.

Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>6322033

Supporting >>6322139, he who can't see reason shall feel it. If it ends his life, then it shall be so. If we must, we can also shoot his Houndour. It's clearly mad and vicious, just like its owner.

>>6322602

Neeevermind we're actually fucking dead good quest guys it was fun

>>6322603
It’s almost like Waltur isn’t a hardened killer or something.

If Andrew were up here instead then everything in this room would already be dead.

>>6322647

(including us)

Rolled 6 (1d100)

Oh, we're meant to roll?

>>6322676
Not before an option is decided on, and the vote is currently stuck in a tie. I'll let you know when it's good to start rolling.
Good thing these rolls don't count yet, because the dice seem to really hate this thread today.

>>6322139
+1

>>6322692
Oh, speak of the devil.

Alright ladies and gentlemen, roll some 1d100s. Third verse same as the last two, Bo3 rules.

Rolled 24 (1d100)

>>6322702
OK now that we got the bad rolls out of the way before the vote was called, will we score BIG?

Rolled 19 (1d100)

>>6322139
>>6322702
rolling

>>6322711
oh no

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>6322702
GIVE PRAISE, FOR HE HAS NO EQUAL!

>>6322718
YES YES YES

>>6322718
Saved by the bell!

Alright, I'm going to start writing now. That was a very close call lol.

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>>6322718
Saved it!

GRR. RRRR--KHHH--RR

The devil snarled and spat and hacked, its endless foam beginning to coat the carpet. You wanted to question why-- how-- on earth Huntington had managed this, but--

RRRRGRRRR

You didn't have time. Even through the paralysis, you could see it forcing itself forward-- through every growl, the creature crept forward like each new step would induce some kind of horrible pain.

Eventually you had to look away-- it was sickening to watch, even if your eyes begged not to leave it. The way it shambled forward, clawed at the carpet--

"Oh, I know. I think I know now, boy, why you're here. How you figured out my precautions. You were simply researching your beloved home city."

Huntington was the perfect distraction. And he needed to be-- dealt with.

The last thing you wanted to do was leave this town with blood on your hands.

And yet, now, with your hands slightly trembling, you were pointing a revolver at the state governor.

"C-calm that dog down, Huntin'ton." You bit your lip, trying to keep your tone cool. "T-tell it t' stand down. Now."

HRRR. HRRRKH.

The creature snarled, inching ever closer, fighting the paralysis with its every breath. You thought it was heaving-- yet, you could've sworn you heard similar heaving from behind. From behind, where...

"Don't turn away from me while I'm speaking, Buchanan." Huntington had been speaking? "Your guns don't shake me. If I was supposed to be-- if this was supposed to intimidate me, you should have taken notes when your precious thunder-cloud did nothing to deter me."

He was trying to stall.

You turned your head to the back-- gave Mary the attention she deserved earlier.

She was... shaking. Twitching. Even with her legs tucked underneath her, you could see her lower half trembling alongside them. Maybe she was just as enraged about the situation as you were.

You whispered for her to shock the creature as soon as it took another step forward.

"Even now, you prioritize these beasts over humankind! These shortcuts to power-- is that what you so desire, Buchanan?" Huntington spoke confidently... despite his trembling hands.

"Tell th' dog t' stand down," you repeated. Your finger remained far away from the trigger, but the thought invaded your mind-- for just a moment.

WHAM

Huntington slammed on the desk like a spoiled child, roaring loudly enough to make his attack dog flinch and Taylor fall off of your arm. "SHOOT, CHILD!! SHOOT, NOW, if you ever intend to!"

You froze-- baffled, angered, and disoriented all at once. You almost dropped the gun-- you tightened your grip on it.

"SHOOT," the man repeated, "OR I WILL."

You stepped forward.

HRRR

Your arm remained outstretched.

HRR...

Your hung onto your Webley-Pryse No. 4 for dear life...

~~~~~

...something wasn't right.

No, this wasn't how it was... supposed to happen.

Mary sat, watching, as her closest compatriot froze up.

She knew the feeling well. To be presented with danger, to stare it down and do nothing...

The very angry one across from him, who smelled and looked like her favorite member of the herd, hit the warped tree beneath him and made noise. Noise that Mary could not understand, but knew nonetheless.

More noise joined him. Hacking. Spitting. Frothing at the mouth.

Noises Mary had not heard since she had gone to bed, and woken up with pain in her leg.

Her legs, which now betrayed her. Her legs, which forced her to sit and watch.

To watch, as her herd-member stayed frozen.

To watch, as her old assailant drew closer to him.

To watch... like she had before.

No.

No, Mary couldn't stand for this. She couldn't-- she couldn't let this happen again.

An overwhelming anger began to overtake her. An anger nothing like she had ever felt before. No-- she was tired of sitting here. She was not going to sit here, atop a wonderful cushion, watching as-- as it happened again.

GRRRRRR--

The demon grew closer, its eyes upon her companion's blue leg, its eyes as hungry as they once were-- for her.

Mary had to help.

She had to get up. She had to-- she had to move, she had to--

Mary had to do something--

~~~~~

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BANG

BANG BANG

One shot.

Two shots more.

You swiveled around-- you'd hit the door. The bullets ricocheted off the hinges-- you saw dents, they came undone--

"COWARD!" Huntington roared, slamming the desk once more. His burnt arm flew forward, his decrepit lips spat commands--

RARRF WOOF WOOF WOOF

The demon was so much closer than expected! You fell forward, trying to push the door open, nearly falling over as you changed course last minute. You spun on your heel, your jacket smacking wood with a loud CLING, your gun swinging towards your calf as you saw the rabid thing opening its mouth to feed upon it--

BANG

One more bullet expended, an ear clipped-- even now, as blood burst from this rabid animal, you couldn't help but see its kindred from the Stater meeting. You almost felt guilt, for just a moment--

FWOOSH

--until its mouth caught alight, and the relentless attack was refined.

The demon dug its claws into the floor so loudly they made the wood CRACK. It snarled, its hind reared upwards, the hellspawn unable to control itself as it leapt towards you before Huntington's command--

WWWWHUMPH

A bright light engulfed the room. The demon whined--

"Wh-- FINISH IT, FINISH HIM! Don't-- the plan--!"

You shielded your eyes from the phenomena, convinced you'd broken a light. Huntington kept shouting-- you had no clue what-- over top of everything. Hissing could be heard to your left as an enraged governor's rantings began oscillating between fury and dismay--

K-K-K-THNK

Your hands hit the floor. The floor!! You could escape into the hallway--

Your mind went back to Mary. She'd surely die if you left her in those hands. You had to--

>Stay to protect her, even if it meant your injury!

>Run for safety, alert the Staters!

>>6323067
>Stay to protect her, even if it meant your injury!
Might as well start writing the next update, QM.

>>6323070
+1!!!!!

>>6323067
>Stay to protect her, even if it meant your injury!
As if we'd abandon our starter.

I'm glad we're finally getting an evolution at a climactic moment of do-or-die like this. Ampharos STILL cannot learn Tail Glow for fuck's sake!

>>6323067
>Stay to protect her, even if it meant your injury!

Mary's POV was awesome QM.

>Oh, I know. I think I know now, boy, why you're here. How you figured out my precautions.
What precautions is he talking about here? What did we figure out?

>>6323181
I think Huntington thinks we know more than we do, both about his secrets and abotu New York.

>his secrets
I think Huntington erroneously believes that by taming a Houndour, he has entered into a literal Faustian pact with the devil or something for an actual hellhound... Which, under the circumstances, is a defensible position, even if OOC and IC alike we know he's wrong and just has a weird angry magic dog. I think he made this "deal" to maintain order and to save the community from the anarchy brought on by "demons."

>New York
I think the reason he believes this ties in to what he's rambling about to Waltuh. New York is chaotic right now, as we know. I think their governor was assassinated with a mon, or deposed by a trainer revolution, and he thinks that inspired us and the Staters to do the same. He may even believe the revolution to be Satanic.

>>6323141
She'll only be a Flaaffy for now, anyway.

>>6323205
makes sense, I forgot a lot of people still call them demons and not neofauna like us

>>6323067
>Stay to protect her, even if it meant your injury!

We still have two bullets. Make them count!

>>6323067

>Stay to protect her.

Shoot Huntington in the head, and then use your spare bullets on the Houndour. At the end of this, only one man can leave this office alive.

>>6323815
That's a good plan except for the fact that it's murder, it's out of character and we're definitely not that good a shot.

>>6323815
>>6323838

I am also against shooting him if zapping him and the hound into paralysis or unconsciousnesses is on the table.

(Gotta delay the entry one more day, sorry. Got real busy today and I'm still not done. Won't be able to write before midnight, and by then I doubt I'll be capable. Apologies!)

on another note,
>>6323181
>Mary's POV was awesome QM.
thank you, I'm glad to hear it! I was very nervous about including it, so to hear that it landed is very nice :)

Okay, I'm keeping my word today. We're staying to protect Mary.

Writing!

>>6324489
Moment of truth time!

--stay to protect her! To consider anything else was bordering on sacrilege by now.

As your vision cleared, your eyes needed a few moments to readjust to the prevailing darkness. Huntington's silhouette became a panicked face, the image of a man darting around his room shouting commands--

Commands, of course, directed towards the rabid assailant that had made a beeline for your leg mere moments ago. The creature looked no less hellish on second glance-- it hardly sat still, darting across the room, jumping atop furniture and leaving a trail of disgusting froth atop almost everything it besmirched with its step.

The froth, of course, wouldn't have been visible if the governor's office was still totally dark. Nor would it have been tinted with the blue glow it now possessed. Even the light of the battle below the capitol, the distant bits of it that seeped through the windows and into this den of madness, would not have been enough to illuminate such things.

No, the source of this light-- this glow-- was almost even less believable than that

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A great pink creature, unknown to you, now hunted your enemy like his own kin would. It bore the mannerisms and the hallmarks of someone you had grown to cherish-- and yet, it was unlike anything you'd ever seen.

Blue lightning arced across its eyes and burst forth from its wool. Shock after shock shot towards the rabid dog, dissipating into thin air as each and every bolt missed, and was followed swiftly by one of two hooves.

Upon the creature's left arm was a scar. A very familiar one-- a scar that resembled a wound you had spent the last two weeks tending to. An infected, handicapped leg... now healed and fully functional, as an entirely separate type of limb.

Huntington's hound had incurred the wrath of a newly-transformed, almost human-like... Mary.

"By the--" Huntington's face was the kind of disbelief you figured didn't exist. Pale, aghast, stretched thin-- and, almost as suddenly, boiling with rage. "BUCHANAN!! You-- do you realize the demons you've courted??"

While Huntington's afflicted hound made a mess of the governor's office, the man himself stormed towards you like one of his old trains. Your arms shot up, reflexively, your fingers hovering around the gun's trigger-- before immediately finding themselves someplace else, shaking.

Teal streaks lit up the face of a man who seemed unable to settle on any one expression-- frantic glances back to his decrepit companion, utter terror at what pursued him, and furious rage unlike any you'd seen before. The governor almost seemed to froth as much as his hound. "You don't-- you do not seem to understand what you have done, boy. I thought you naught but a coward, stumbling onto a stash of dynamite. Someone out for my life, but without the guts to do his simple job."

Huntington's fists were so tightly-balled that you saw his nails beginning to break skin. "I can no longer be so kind. Do you understand the significance of that color, Buchanan? That shade of teal?"
The governor's voice trembled like the ground during an earthquake, his eyes enflamed and almost-- sorrowful? "You play with necromancy, boy, and your companion now harbors the spirits of the dead!!"

You were left so baffled by this statement that you were glanced by Huntington's first punch.

He was-- he was serious, you figured, as the man threw another towards your left cheek. For a moment, you thought he might be right-- the implications of what you saw disturbed you, let alone the change they brought about-- but... you were a man of God, and you knew full well that He would not allow such a thing to pass. Who else, after all, could have been responsible for this miraculous recovery?

"A-ah don' know what yer on about, gov'nor!" You thought aloud, stumbling around the room, trying to find your footing as Huntington's punches came quicker and quicker. You recalled the photos you'd spotted earlier-- of a woman, somewhere around his age.

As you cast a glance towards the desk they lay upon, the governor's hound bounded atop it. Its paws dug into the photos, its frothing saliva dripped onto the chair nearby...

"Then either you lie, or you have doomed this city where I intended to save it!" Huntington threw another punch, aiming for your clavicle, and... struck true.

All the air within you left your lungs in an instant. You fell backwards and hit the floor with a loud THUD. Something ran up your throat-- blood, spit, you weren't sure of the specifics.

Huntington continued to speak. "I sought only a future for this place-- a legacy to leave behind-- the salvation of humankind in the one place I could instate it! And you-- you!!-- see it fit to bring me hellfire instead?? You bring with you the wretched destroyers of your home state, consorting with them as a father does his children, intent on preventing the defense of your own people against the armies of hell... and you assume a mere revolver will have me accept it?"

His words were laced with an abominable marriage of insincerity and passion-- a true desire to do as he said, laced with an unspoken ulterior motive. He was clearly speaking from his heart-- his rotten, shriveled, blackened heart-- but...

Huntington raised his left arm. The sight of the shriveled mass looked even more abominable when lit by Mary's tail-- red, laced with bite marks, blackened and falling apart and almost skinless in seemingly random places. His fingers, possibly the most human-looking parts of that arm, snapped-- Huntington's dog, still stood atop his master's desk, pricked his ears and looked alert.

"Let me now put such delusions to rest!! Hound-- scorch it all!"

What--

FWOOSH

Mary's light was beaten back by the glow of flames arising from the dog's mouth.

All the froth had turned to fire-- almost every inch of its maw... laced with embers.

It all fit together...

...and then the dog jumped.

Huntington's hound leapt forward, paws outstretched, aiming for Mary.

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The stink of the stable hit you like Huntington's most recent punch. You scrambled to your feet, aiming your gun, firing a shot before you'd steadied your legs--

BANG

--you hit a portrait, and the hound came crashing down upon your companion.

~~~~~

FWW-THD

Mary slammed onto the carpet, twitching. Her opponent had her pinned down, its humid exhalations nearer than ever--

Mary rolled her head to the left. His fangs missed her neck-- narrowly.

Already, the sheep was inundated with heat. She bleated for help-- her friend could save her, after all, if she was loud enough! But her eyes betrayed her, the sheep's wool perfectly positioned to swamp her brain with fog--

No! Mary wouldn't let this happen again! Even now-- even as she could hardly look her assailant in the eye, even as she trembled with rememberance, with familiarity, with fear-- as she and her old attacker's eyes met-- she would not let him win!

Lightning raced through her wool, electrifying her blood, swelling inside Mary and begging to be released. The sheep made good use of her new legs, taking the absence of her old hooves as an invitation to grab onto her victim like he once did onto her, letting this force of nature take hold of her before bursting forth as an enormous shock--

~~~~~

Your and Huntington's eyes lit up like a light show, neither of you truly able to grasp what you were witnessing.

A veritable wave of thunder Discharged from the pink creature's wool, meeting with the electricity leaving its eyes, coursing through Huntington's hound and bringing forth its skeleton into view.

The creature yelped, stiffening up-- giving Mary just enough time to throw it to the side and run to you. Mary bleated, her voice all-too familiar to you-- there was no doubt in your heart, this was her. Mary gripped your waist and looked up at your shirt pocket, bleating something to Florian, searching around for a now-missing Taylor.

You were more preoccupied with Huntington's hound. It hadn't moved, and you were certain it was a goner. How could even the most resilient creature survive something like that? What looked like some kind of holy force, directed straight at the core of the creature's being-- there was no way it could withstand such a blow.

And yet...

Across from you stood Huntington's hound. It had patches of fur missing. It was trembling. But... it was still standing.

Its jaws flared to life once more, absolutely caked in fire. The creature's glance swept the room-- it passed over a terrified Taylor, huddled beneath a chair, over you, over... its master. Governor Huntington itself.

And it recalled the command he once gave it.

<><><><><>

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crckl crckl crrckl

Flames licked every wall of the hallway you ran down.

You hadn't been able to see where he'd gone. You didn't have the time to look. You sped forward, your legs practically immaterial, every part of you screaming to get out.

Taylor rode upon your arm. Florian remained in your pocket. Mary-- ran beside you, as if she'd only had two legs her entire life.

Huntington's words echoed through the hallway. Every one curdled your blood. They weren't audible-- but you could tell they echoed his sentiments from when the office first began burning.

"Run, then, traitor to your species!! Flee from the cleansing you deserve-- try to outrun fate itself!! See how it helps you!! It will treat you as kindly as it did I-- with no remorse!!"

Words of a madman-- one so lost and trapped in his own head that even other men could no longer understand him. Words, yet, that haunted you-- haunted your pursuit, as you missed a burning curtain by the skin of your teeth.

You needed to find a way out of this place as soon as possible, but your options were rapidly shrinking.

>Attempt to run down the dome's staircase. It's nearest to you-- but also nearest to the flames.

>Try the staircase you initially came from. It's further down the hall, to your left, and much narrower...

>Run for the balcony and alert the Staters to your situation before anything else.

>Write-in.

>>6324523
>Do you understand the significance of that color, Buchanan? That shade of teal?
>You play with necromancy, boy, and your companion now harbors the spirits of the dead!!
Which mon is he talking about? Alolan Marowak? Litwick line? Maybe Greavard?

>>6324527
>Try the staircase you initially came from. It's further down the hall, to your left, and much narrower...
Narrow is a detriment to whoever stands in Walter's way as he is rushing to the exit. I don't trust stairs near the fire source and I do not trust balcony heights that could kill us. We RUN

>>6324527
>Try the staircase you initially came from. It's further down the hall, to your left, and much narrower...

>>6324531
I think he may just have rabies and be delusional, manifesting as a religious psychosis because of the circumstances.

>>6324527
>Run for the balcony and alert the Staters to your situation before anything else.
Muyr has an otter that can put out fires with water attacks.

>>6324527
>Try the staircase you initially came from. It's further down the hall, to your left, and much narrower...

>>6324527
>Run for the balcony and alert the Staters to your situation before anything else.
They need to know Huntington's setting fire to the place. Maybe some militiamen will overhear and realize he's way beyond unfir for command.

(Delaying the entry until tomorrow again, I need to fix my sleep schedule; sorry)

>>6325464
See you soon, QM!

This vote’s a narrow one, but we’ll be taking the corridor we came from!

Writing!

Options, options— the dome would do you no good. It was too steep a drop. The balcony— if the fire caught up with you, your only choice would be to jump.

It was a no-brainer.

You bolted down the corridor, trying to ignore the crescendo of crackling fire chasing your every step, bounding beside your— your first partner, whose form remained unrecognizable. It took Taylor’s chittering to alert you to a pursuer.

“YOU— STOP RIGHT THERE!” Huntington’s guard hollered, his rifle pointed squarely at you. A ring of flame surrounded him— he bolted towards you without hesitation.

“Damn it—!” You hadn’t meant to curse, but your manners escaped you— seconds after, you attempted a similar escape down the stairs that had brought you here.

Taylor ran across your arm, running across your jacket like a nasty winter breeze. He clung onto your shoulder, face facing backwards, and briefly knocked you forward— down the stairs, just enough, to miss a step and clutch the railing for dear safety.

You threw a glance behind you— the guard had been covered in silk. Guilt shook you like an unannounced quake— yet, as Huntington’s fires engulfed what more you could see of the second floor, you forced yourself ever-further.

thd thd thd thd CRK

You missed the final step and landed with a harsh crack. Though your lips bled and your ankles hurt— you were unharmed.

A torrent of ashes swept down the domed staircase, soon followed by their creators. The entire building— whatever Huntington’s dog had done, it was going down. There was no way the man himself could have survived by this point. That, to your displeasure, was a relief. One that you clutched to, for hope—

—until you saw a pair of eyes, sat atop the dome’s grand staircase, glaring at you from inside the fire.

The sight tore into your soul and ripped a part of it out. A primal shout left your red lips— and you stumbled forward, tripping over yourself, bounding forth like an animal, slamming your full body weight into the giant doors of the Californian capitol—

BAM

—and being rejected, stuck inside the building, with Huntington’s hound still approaching. There was no choice— not now— you had to—

“MARY!” You threw one hand forth, pointing to your target, and left the second to hoist you up from the floor— “MARY— SHOCK IT!”

Your partner echoed your shout, letting off a Shock of Thunder as she roared her battle cry, aiming for the silhouette of the hound as it got ever-clearer—

BAM

You slammed against the door once more, unable to devote your attention wholly to the battle. Once Mary made clear that the shock didn’t stop your enemy with a loud bahh, you gave her another command— “Keep at it! ‘Til the door’s down!!”

For a moment, you wondered if her shocks would help— then watched, as she missed her second shot and her thunder bolt dissipated against a wooden pillar.

Taylor soon joined her, crawling across your shoulders and spitting as fiercely as he could, while pillars of flame crept into your peripheral vision. Your brain began to soak in its own sweat, your brow hung heavy over your drooping eyelids— as the very ground beneath you began to complain of your weight, you knew it was now… or never.

Your full weight wasn’t enough, so you stumbled back, prepared yourself— and charged, full force, into the capitol’s doors!!

[ROLL A D100!]

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>6326262
Gonna need a miracle since we're running this solo.

>>6326264
Miracle Max over here, clinching it.

>>6326264
I guess we don’t need any more rolls, lol. Alright, hang tight for the second part of this update!

BAM

One final push— and you were out!!

You tripped over yourself, clinging to a pillar— you’d caught yourself just before falling down the stairs. It was hard to think, even harder to see— darkness still blanketed the capitol park, even at six a.m, and only the back of the capitol was totally alight… for now.

You dared not look back. The supernatural cracklings of thunder mixed with the ever-familiar sound of fire, ever-hungering fire, consuming every single inch of wood and carpet, and possibly even—

RRROOF, WRROOF WOOF

No! It was still alive! ”MARY!” You yelled, your voice cracking. “MARY, COME!”

Taylor clung to your shoulder with a grip so fierce it pierced your jacket. You almost wanted to force him back onto your arm, get him to substitute for your revolver— but, as a stray stream of fire licked at the heels of your boots, you snapped back to reality and stormed down the capitol steps.

The sight you were greeted with would have broken your heart, had you not devoted the last month to this cause. Countryman fighting countryman, battling without restraint. Bullets passing shoulders, narrowly missing ears, landing squarely between—

You looked away. There were others— less violent soldiers, off to the fringes. Instead of bullets splattering brains and rifle butts dislodging teeth, you were met with a comparatively civil match— man and neofauna, side by side, dodging a man with awesome sharpshooting skills and retaliating with gusts of wind and deftly-woven Winged Attacks. This kind of song and dance— it was almost beautiful enough to distract you from the matter at hand.

Not that it was hard— every breath of yours was heaved, every thought of yours uncertain. You stumbled ahead, looking to the side— somehow, not expecting Mary to be there. And yet, your pink friend was— looking behind you, loosing thunder bolt after thunder bolt, still attempting to Shock…

RA-WOOOOOOOO

A chilling howl brought frost to your bones. The humid prison you’d known for so long fled in favor of uneasy fear. Fear…

crrreeeeak

…that only doubled, as you turned around… and saw the first signs of the capitol beginning to fall apart.

“Dear Lord in Heaven,” a soldier near you whispered under his breath. You weren’t sure of his alignment— Stater or otherwise— but you were certain of his shock, and shared in it intensely.

“Aster— Aster!!” You yelled, well aware that he wouldn’t hear you. Man after man shouted, ran away— while you stumbled forward to search for your future steed, Mary’s appearance terrified your opponents and lit the way.

“Aster??” You cried out a third time, choking on your words. Instead of summoning your equine acquaintance, you’d summoned someone completely different— yet just as partial to your neofaunic friends.

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“Walter— what the fuck have you done??” Andrew spat. He grabbed your shoulder and forced you under his arm— gave Mary a glance— then returned his eyes to the throng of people ahead of you, and continued. “I— Is Huntin’ton in there?”

“Ah— yes, yes!!” You shouted, only barely hearing him over nearby gunfire. “Ah didn’— he jus’—“

“Good job!!” Andrew yelled over the crowd, smacking you on the back. You saw a smirk peeking out from his stubble in the light of another gunshot— one you narrowly dodged by ducking and strafing left.

“Wh— good job??” You echoed, simultaneously proud of yourself and baffled. “Ah— we weren’ supposed t’— what’ll Muyr—?”

“Shut up!!” Andrew barked, still running. “We came here t’ save this state from ‘n unworthy ruler, an’ that’s what we’ve done! You’ve jus’ taken a shortcut!”

You almost wanted to be disgusted— to remember the sanctity of one human life. One human life, no matter whose it was… and yet…

“Ah know where Muyr is. Ah’ll get you to him, no sweat, soon’s ah can. Chickpea’s already doin’ us so many favors—“ As he said that, you heard a loud cluck from your right— “—an’ this— this new… whatever ah yours will…”

Andrew slowed as he began to connect the dots. “Wait a minute, where’s M—“

“We don’ have time!!” You cried back, pulling your formerly sheepish companion further ahead. She was starting to lag behind— and, even though she no longer threw bolt after bolt of electricity behind her, you could feel her tiring. “If you know where Muyr is, take him to us! Now!!”

NNNNEIGH

You saw a trial of flame make its way through the crowd, seemingly running hither and thither without direction. That had to be— “Aster!”

You broke away from Andrew and chased it, shoving away soldier after soldier—

BAM

—stopping just short of a bullet, before finally breaking through to find your fiery friend surrounded by fire… and burnt fabrics.

As the flames that had pursued you without end neared your most recent teammate… you noticed that he was left unharmed.

>Confront Huntington’s hound a second time, now with Aster by your side. You’d have to leave Andrew and abandon hope of finding Muyr— for now.

>Call for Aster to join you on your way to Muyr, and stay by Andrew’s side.

>Write-in.

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(good job, btw— you were only 5 above the DC. Any lower and you probably would have croaked.

Happy Halloween!)

>>6326300
>Confront Huntington’s hound a second time, now with Aster by your side. You’d have to leave Andrew and abandon hope of finding Muyr— for now.
Finish the job! Confront the pursuer! Also if Aster has Flash Fire then this dog's fucked KEK

>>6326302
>only 5 above the DC. Any lower and you probably would have croaked.
What, did we pick the wrong choice in escape route? You'd kill Walter and end the quest that easily?

>>6326300
>Confront Huntington’s hound a second time, now with Aster by your side. You’d have to leave Andrew and abandon hope of finding Muyr— for now.
For all the staters that he killed at Huntington's beck, for McClatchy and --worst of all-- for hurting Mary, this hellhound cannot be allowed to run amok for the good of Sacramento.

>>6326318
>You'd kill Walter and end the quest that easily?
Yes, it was stated early on that if we met our untimely demise we would switch PoV's to somebody else.

>>6326320
Damn, I'm glad we beat the 80 DC then. Way too high though. I'd expect 65 or maybe 70 to be reasonable. And it just occured to me we could have done something smarter and quicker like rush a window in one of the ground floor rooms, and break out that way instead of chancing the big heavy wooden front doors. That write-in might have saved us, but hindsight is 20/20

>>6326300
>Confront Huntington’s hound a second time, now with Aster by your side. You’d have to leave Andrew and abandon hope of finding Muyr— for now.

Scientist Walter wants to battle!

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Great news, lads. My computer completely crapped out today. I can’t write.

Going to try and find a replacement or something. Getting really fucking sick of this year’s tricks. If i don’t find something by Thursday, I’ll try to write through a tablet or something instead.

See you all then.

>>6327060
Eesh, the curse really has it out for you, huh? Good luck, QM.

>>6326300
>>Confront Huntington’s hound a second time, now with Aster by your side. You’d have to leave Andrew and abandon hope of finding Muyr— for now.

>>6326322
A window probably would have been smarter, but hindsight is 20/20

>>6327060
... the curse needs to go and stay go. Hope you find something you'd prefer to work with.

>>6326300
>Confront Huntington’s hound a second time, now with Aster by your side. You’d have to leave Andrew and abandon hope of finding Muyr— for now.

Just caught up on this quest, and I have to say, even though I love the story so far, there's a lot to regret here, especially in the Sacramento arc. I see hints towards an alternate story path where we helped Huntington reconcile the trauma of his wife's death and his beliefs towards these "demons" before he truly crosses the line, and help him become the (Fire type) Gym Leader-equivalent community leader Sacramento needed, maybe even investigating the Rolycoly population together as the first puzzle piece to [i]actually[/i] reviving the American railways.

How Redding was handled was also regrettable. If we encounter anymore cities with a serious typing imbalance, we really ought to find someone worthy and help them cultivate an expertise in that typing.

>>6328241
>an alternate path where we help Huntington

We lit the madman on fire and Walter will sleep like a baby. I regret nothing.

>>6328241
Hindsight is 20/20, but I'm with >>6328273

>>6328241
Problem is that I'm pretty sure he mass-murdered a bunch of Staters before we even got to know him proper, within the first week even. I well and truly believe that he found that Houndour and started losing his mind before we even got there.

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Alright, it's update time.

I've got a replacement PC at the moment. Problem is: it keeps crashing. Randomly. Without an error screen or any indications as to the cause. I can find absolutely no correlation between the times it's occurred-- it seems totally random. It's crashed while my PC was idle, while my PC was actively being used, while I was doing lots of things at once and while I was only doing one thing...

I save obsessively as a rule, so I should be able to update well enough for now, but I'm basically on a raft built out of flotsam and well-wishes in the middle of a violent storm. Expect some roughness between updates for a while.

With all that said: it seems we'll be confronting Huntington tonight. Writing.

>>6326318
>You'd kill Walter and end the quest that easily?
Yes.

>>6328241
Alas, things did not go that way. For the record: Huntington did have the hound before you met him, but he wasn't properly losing his mind until you showed up. It would have been a very hard-fought redemption, had you attempted it, and would have ended very differently. Not sure whether it would have been better or worse than this, honestly.

(And thanks to all wishing me well. I'm hoping the curse lets up soon, too, but I'm bracing for the worst right now and not expecting things to get much better for another month or two minimum. Have some nice art I found as thanks.)

>>6328892
Damn, where'd you get this replacement, if it's already crapping out on you? Regardless, glad to see you back, QM!

Your heart soared. Assuming this was real-- assuming the heat wasn't just getting to you-- you might have just found your wild card. The secret weapon you needed to help save the capitol, save anyone near it--

"Andrew! You go on ahead!" You yelled over the crowd. Your eyes remained fixated on Aster and his ring of fire-- the ever-approaching circle of flame, which you were half-expecting to devour him, that instead did little more than lick at his heels...

If Andrew heard you, he never made it known. You could see Chickpea still doing his dirty work-- men fell to their knees from a seemingly invisible kick, feathers flew into the air in their wake. But you had a better idea, now, and you couldn't stand to wait for him and Muyr.

"Nnnngh?" Aster seemed surprised as you approached him. You saw him flinch as you traced his flank-- you'd meant to get him to turn around, but the motion stirred Aster into carrying himself on his hind legs. The fire surrounding him soared into the air, following his rise and nearly becoming a flaming cage...

...before settling down with your whistle. "C'mon, boy! We've got someplace t' be, a-an' ah can't have you..." Your eyes drifted to the burnt fabrics. You ignored the flesh they sat upon. "Ah can't have you runnin' about without me. C'mon."

Aster turned to you, a trail of smoke leaving his nostrils. The thick, black, oppressive stench of it forced you to cough, but you didn't let it deter you. You offered a hand to Aster, hovering near his cheek, waiting for him to give you permission.

As the horse maneuvered his cheek into your palm, you gave him a scratch behind the ear. You let your hand begin tracing its way down to his neck, trying to recall what Andrew had taught you back at Sutter's Fort.

His words echoed through your head. "Be gentle with 'em, then grab on 'n never let go." Hold on like your life depended on it. Especially if you were going without a saddle.

With a grip as tight as you could muster, you grabbed onto Aster by his shoulders. You threw yourself over his right side, immediately folding your legs alongside Aster's torso, offering a hand down to your pink acquaintance and hoisting her up beside you... before giving Aster a light kick and shouting those words you'd so dearly missed--

"GIDDY UP!"

~~~~~

A torrent'a fire tore through the state militia. I almost couldn't believe my eyes-- before I realized who'd left my side in the last five minutes.

"WALT'R!" I yelled, but it wasn't loudly enough. The streak of cinders scattering all my enemies was bolting in one direction so fast I doubt he heard me.

I wanted to thank the man-- he wouldn't even let me do that. I couldn't help but be proud of that. The bashful farmer boy I'd met back in the wilds had grown more in the last month than some scumbags I knew had in their lifetimes.

So why, then, was he throwin' away his life? Why was he charging back towards the capitol building?

BANG

A gunshot reminded me of my place in this whole scene. Right-- on the battlefield. Away from Walter's fancy negotiations 'n deep thoughts.

As I fired a returning shot from ol' reliable numero uno, the Winchester-Hotchkiss, I couldn't help but laugh at my would-be assassin. "You may still be fightin', boy, but you've already lost!"

Chickpea wasn't too far off. I still had sights on him-- takin' care of another failed attempt at my head with one of his forward-slashes. The mere sight of him nearly made my cheeks hurt.

Whatever Walter was doin', I had to trust that he was right. With a companion like Chickpea by my side, that was easier than ever.

~~~~~

The sun was beginning to rise.

You clutched Aster as hard as you possibly could. It had been months since you'd last ridden a horse-- and even longer since you'd ridden one as short as he was. At a meager three feet and five inches, Aster was practically a pony-- and yet, you had no time to waste. You couldn't afford to get here on foot.

Charred wind and choking smoke blew past you as the fire began to spread outward from the crumbling capitol. Several rooms on the upper level had already collapsed-- if Huntington had managed to hide out in any of them, he was as good as dead. Incredibly, his office was still standing-- as was the dome, and most of the lower floor. But you could see the cracks forming even from here-- from who knew how many feet away-- and the fires consuming every inch of the building showed no signs of stopping.

Mary sat behind you, hugging your waist, having given up on grabbing onto Aster long ago. She was holding on very tightly-- it was hard enough to breathe as it was, let alone with a pair of strange fins pressing down on your stomach. Taylor hung onto her, now, with only a marginal attachment to your shoulder through his mandibles... Florian remained in your shirt pocket, hiding himself as much as possible.

You had to take stock of everyone you had. It was imperative that you came into this with a plan. And yet, here you were, charging in without a care. You'd seen your horse dancing on fire, walking among destruction without a single burn to show for it... and you knew what had to be done.

As you approached the capitol steps you had so recently escaped, the only sound you could hear was your heart in your ears. You glanced skyward-- the flames almost seemed to be snuffing out the night's stars. No more distraction could be afforded, however, as you laid eyes upon your greatest opponent so far.

grrrkh. hrrrrrkgh. grrrrrr.

The hound was... uncomfortably muscle-bound. You'd heard it howling earlier, and it only just occurred to you that it had stopped. A concerning thought crossed your mind-- was the fire giving it strength, too? Had it saved its strength, awaited its return, stayed within its element-- all to bring you down with his master's headquarters?

Such distraction was unwarranted. You refocused. Aster reared up and made himself known.

NEEEIGH!

"HUNTINGTON!" You yelled, voice cracking. "WHETHER YOU BE SPIRIT OR MAN, I CHALLENGE YOU-- AND YOUR COMPANION-- FOR THE SAFETY OF SACRAMENTO!"

Gunfire overwrote most of your declaration. Your own throat, now ailing from the circumstances, helped dampen your voice further. But, despite that... your spirit remained strong, and your intentions clear. You had chosen to save this state from its unworthy governor, and the harm he intended to inflict upon its people. If that harm was to arrive by Huntington's own neofauna... you would not falter.

grRRRRR AAAAWRRROOOOOO

The hound howled back, as if to accept your decree. It almost seemed to grow stronger through the very utterance of that sound.

If you were to act, it had to be fast. You had to do something now. There was no time for strategy: how would you open?

>By charging headfirst into the hound upon Aster!

>By calling for Mary to dismount and tackle it!

>By attempting to slow it down with Taylor's strings!

>Write-in.

>>6328922
>Bu charging headfirst into the hound upon Aster!
Trust in our apparently fireproof steed.

>>6328935
+1, Aster's got this. Ponyta/Rapidash get Double Kick, right?

>>6328922
>By charging headfirst into the hound upon Aster!

>>6328922
>By charging headfirst into the hound upon Aster!
I guess we're going balls to the wall on this one

>>6328922
>The hound howled back, as if to accept your decree. It almost seemed to grow stronger through the very utterance of that sound.
He's got his attack buffed now. Aster could null Fire Fang but everybody else is in danger. We need to get him paralyzed again and hope Aster can Double Kick or hit hard without fire

>>6329116
We could probably do a ride-by sporing or spore him point-blank if he tries to fang Aster.

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Heads up, i've caugh a bug that I can't ignore anymore
Was already mildly sick when I was writing the last entry but since it was just a sore throat I didn't want to skimp out. Now i've got headaches and serious ENT issues, I have to rest because I cannot think let alone write. I odn't think it will last longer than a week-- i will try to get something out by Wednesday if I can, if not I will let you all know. Sorry for the hold-up once again

>>6329499
Probably something viral. Those generally last up to 2 weeks. Put a mask on and rest and get fluids.

>>6329499
Rest up, OP. Get well soon!

>>6329499
Get some rest and feel better soon QM. I always default to lots of soup/tea, toast, OJ (anything with vitamin C, really) and lots of sleep when I'm sick. Hopefully you've got a routine that works just as well for yourself.

>>6329116
>>6329120
True, a ride by string shot or stun spore would be really smart. Would back that if QM rules we have the presence of mind to do it whilst charging in (I'm >>6329058 ).

>tfw meant to only make one post but accidentally hit post before I meant to

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Still sick, likely headed to the doctor's tomorrow to figure out what's wrong. Not a fever but th issues are spreading instead of healing

>>6329501
>>6329522
>>6329630
Thank you all, i've been doing mybest and hope recovery speeds up soon

As for this:
>>6329631
Honestly not sure it'd be doable without a roll, and the DC wouldn't be super low, but I could see it happening

If you want to vote for something other than what was directly listed in an option, just use Write-in and I'll see what I can do

Here's some more art as compensation for all the waiting. Thank you all for being so patient

>>6331050
Thanks for the update, QM! Rest well.

Alright:

I seem to be on the mend. I got the equivalent of a really bad cold and it took me out of commission for a while. I'm at a point where I can start working again, but just barely.

I'll have an entry out on Sunday, likely. Sorry for the long wait.

>>6332425
I'm glad you're on the mend. See you soon!

>>6332425
Stay alive

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>>6332475

>>6332760

>AI slop

Not in MY Poképocalypse.

>>6332901
It DID make Andrew look weirdly Mexican, but when you need a Bee Gees meme with a bunch of 19th Century meme and a Pokemon and can't draw for shit, there's no substitute.

Okay! It's pretty unanimous-- we'll be charging straight ahead upon Aster!

Please roll 3 d100s. I'll start writing now, then check in once I'm at the point where they'll be relevant. If there aren't enough rolls by then, I'll compensate.

>>6332760
Huh, I had no idea AI had gotten this good already...

Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>6333601
It's gotten much better if you put in a bit more effort or pay for a premium one, but it's still no substitute for real art.

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>>6333604
...This is my curse placed upon me for slandering the machine god.

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>>6333604
Off to a great start.

Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>6333601

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>6333601
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

>>6333607
Welcome to hell, we're in down in it

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>>6333613
Thank you, anon.

In a similar fashion, of course!

You gave Aster a soft kick on the stomach, making sure it was just light enough to be felt-- yet not hard enough to hurt. "FORWARD!"

Fire exploded from Aster's mane, missing you by an inch, clouding your vision as your steed charged forth-- like a bullet from a gun-- straight ahead. A dog couldn't see that coming, it wouldn't expect such action from a flaming horse-- it would expect more fire, or a leap, or some kind of kick. A straight trampling would do the trick, you figured... even as the thought of what might remain mildly sickened you.

Aster charged forth, closing the gap between you and the hound in seconds. His tough hooves rose from the burning wooden floor, gleaming in the firelight, aiming to set themselves upon the dog's forehead--

--and instead finding themselves upon an ashen plank, digging into the ground.

A hoarse whinny echoed through the burning capitol hall-- you grabbed Aster's neck on impulse, grabbing it as you would the last piece of rock atop a crumbling cliff-- as the horse reared up once more, shrieking in pain.

The hound-- the creature, the monster-- had latched onto Aster's back leg. Growling and snarling and raving noises joined Aster's shrieking, combining with the cacophony of falling wood and distant gunfire to drown out your thoughts, etching the noise of them all into your cooking brain. Without thinking, you yelled a command--

FWOOSH

Fire spewed forth from the capitol stairs as a burning piece of the second floor fell down its steps. Aster dove forward, attempting to dodge it, bucking wildly while he tried to rid himself of Huntington's demon. It took three tries to rid the creature-- three rounds of rodeo to shake off what remained of the neofauna Huntington had so corrupted. You couldn't help but laugh-- so long had it been since you did this, so scattered was your sweltering psyche-- and breathe a sigh of relief, when Aster finally calmed down, and seemed as able to walk about as ever.

The two of you, now one in the same, stood nearest a flaming pillar. You couldn't help but notice-- the embers clinging to its splintering wood almost drew themselves into Aster's mane, as they had once circled his hooves.

When you returned your attention to the vulgar hound... a similar pattern was quickly observed. The first hints of chill you'd felt all day ran down your spine-- and were soon amplified by yet another howl.

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The weight of the capitol building began to build into a choir of burning wood and failing infrastructure. The hound looked no less mad than before-- though the consequences of Aster's bucking had drawn blood near the brute's ribcage. Your eyes briefly darted past the hound, which stood under what was once the capitol's grand doorway, and towards the capitol lawn.

The distant shapes of Staters and state militia alike were beginning to dwindle in number. The sun was beginning to bring clarity to the battle's casualties-- and the crowd that was beginning to gather nearby them.

You could hear the wood above you beginning to buckle. You couldn't stay here long.

Time was running out.

>Try to lure the hound nearer to this fragile architecture. If you can't attack it directly, maybe using the building against it will work.

>Call for help. You're not sure anyone is still left in this burning wreck... but, just in case...

>Return to the capitol lawn and try to lose the hound among the remaining soldiers.

>Abandon the fight-- try to search for Andrew and Muyr again.

>Write-in.

>>6333670
>Try to lure the hound nearer to this fragile architecture. If you can't attack it directly, maybe using the building against it will work.
>Try and get your little buddy Florian to Stun Spore it when it's in position

>>6333668
Confirmed, both have Flash Fire

>>6333676
Is this the best we can do?

>>6333678
I figured this Houndour must have Intimidate given how shook we keep feeling.

>Return to the capitol lawn and seek allies against “Huntington’s hound.”

Let’s not stick around in the collapsing building, please and thank you?

As for the reason by the quotation marks: Hopefully, shouting about Huntington having a hound will shake the resolve of the enemy soldiers.

>>6333681
>>6333716
It still feels lacking. How are we supposed to take this thing down if Aster gets hurt?

holding entry off til tomorrow for the sake of more rest and a tiebreaker apologies
finals are kicking my ass lol

>>6333670
>Return to the capitol lawn and seek allies against “Huntington’s hound.”

>finals are kicking my ass
I hear things like this and I am reminded that yet another year separates me from my youth.

One day people will actually pay you to work. It’ll all be worth it, keep at it QM!

Alright, 2-1 we're heading back to the lawn! Writing.

>>6334615
>One day people will actually pay you to work.
I do hope so lol. I haven't got much confidence given the market and my degree taking nearly a decade. Ah well, there's always writing to keep me sane.

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>6335199
I forgot the die...

Crackles of starving fire seeped into your thoughts, slowing them to a crawl. It wasn't safe to stay here any longer, and it was a fool's errand to fight this thing alone.

You stared down the hound one more time. Fire flared from its nostrils and crept around its jaws, hoisting its jowls just high enough to show off those dagger-sharp teeth--

Just as the dog began growling, you felt your hands moving towards your gun-- and moved them away, instead choosing to grab hold of Aster's neck. The pillar near you began to crack, joining the ever-heightening chorus of burning bark. You were wasting time--

"HO!" You kicked Aster and charged forward once more. A loud neigh followed your frontal assault, as did an entire torrent of fire.

You threw up an arm and yelled, hoping Aster would understand-- and, as he leapt into the air...

...he landed with a firm THUD upon the capitol's crumbling porch.

In your wake lay countless embers, spewed forth not by Aster's hooves... but by the hound. The crazed animal turned around, clearly intent on chasing you, but whatever else it did was beyond your sight. You were too busy weaving between an ever-thinning crowed of Staters and militia to pay much attention.

~~~~~

I had stopped commanding the forces long ago.

It was my duty to continue, of course. And I had no intentions of abandoning such an important role.

Yet, the sight of the capitol... of the most important building in this entire affair... going up in flames...

The otter-creature was still at it. She was standing in for my incompetence. I couldn't believe how eager she was to add to all of this-- as if she was a soldier, trained from birth, to understand the flow of combat. I had meant to direct her towards the building-- and I had-- yet she always returned to our enemies.

Our enemies, I reminded myself, that had lit that building on fire. That had almost certainly burnt down everything we were working towards once Walter made his way in. The spiteful brutes that, I told myself, tore this down just to cheat us out of one last victory.

...as a man upon a flaming horse grew ever closer, I started to doubt myself.

But, I insisted, I knew better than to give in to such suspicions...

~~~~~

"Where's the otter?" You forced Aster to a standstill, your mind racing.

"She's-- I lost control of her," Muyr admitted. You almost heard a hint of anger in his voice, but ignored it. "Somewhere among the state militia."

Too early, you told yourself. Too early to bring her into battle like this. And yet-- she was helping, wasn't she? You could see soaked clothing upon most of the downed soldiers. Had... had they been burning before the otter had reached them?

Well-- you were here to put a stop to more of that, weren't you? "Nev'rmind, then," you insisted. "Catch her if y' can, a-an' try t' find Andrew."

Muyr nodded, but he hesitated to leave. You saw him eyeing Mary, and shook your head. "It's-- ah'll explain later. Huntington's gone, the capitol's lost, an' there's-- just bring water."

Another pillar of flame was loosed from the capitol's steps. You stopped dead in your tracks as you realized the height of it-- nearly half as tall as the building itself.

A tsunami of terror overtook you, but you beat it back.
This was a meatgrinder, you were sending men to their graves--
Men who'd signed up for this, and pledged to face such danger down with their lives.
If the fire only made it stronger--
Then you would douse it, no matter what it took!

"Giddy-up," you mumbled to Aster once more. Muyr waved you goodbye, and the pair of you sped off.

Across the lawn you rode, raising your hand, calling to the remains of your small army.

"STATERS, HEAR ME!" You raised a hand to catch attention. "THOSE OF YOU WHO CAN STILL FIGHT, AH ASK'VE YOU... LEAVE THE MILITIA ALONE! FOCUS YOUR EFFORTS 'PON THE CAPITOL, AN' FOLLOW ME INSTEAD!"

A small shop's worth of guns diverted their attention squarely to your head--

BA-BA-BA-BANG

--rifle fire exploded all around you, bullets whizzing past your ears and temples... missing your head entirely as you quickly disappeared, charging forward with Aster once more.

You changed course-- left, to the small group of Staters still fighting-fit. Again-- right, to where there were some Staters with neofauna. No group could be spared, no soldier could be left in the dust. All hands were needed on deck.

HAARRRROOOOOO

Another howl rang out across the lawn. It was louder than any you'd heard before-- men mere feet away from you were cringing, not as used to the noise as you had become. You noticed Florian quivering in your pocket, Taylor clinging to your shoulders.

"Lord'n Heaven..." a familiar voice commented. You nearly jumped--

"Andrew!"

"In the flesh," the cowboy nodded. "Not fer long, though, if that thing stays alive," he motioned to your (very) distant right. Towards the capitol steps... where a hint of black and white could be made out among the burning columns.

Muyr was the next to speak, returning to you slightly behind Andrew. He was completely fixated on the endless smoke rising from the capitol. "There's no savin' this place, is there...?"

You shook your head, hesitant to give a firm answer. You'd sought to maybe quench some of the flames with Aster, but... well, such a risk was far-fetched by now.

"Sir Buchanan," a Stater soldier placed an arm of his upon your leg, "we're waitin' fer yer word."

You turned your eyes away from the burning capitol and the distant silhouette of the hound, refocusing instead on the building group of remaining, living, Stater soldiers now gathered by your side. Your heart sung as you realized just how many there were. Upwards of a hundred people-- just behind you, Andrew, and Muyr alone-- most of whom could lay claim to a neofaunic partner.

All of them stood, by you, ready to hear you say...

>...FIRE! The hound stood beneath the capitol's balcony. You could see the pillars cracking already. If you just put the full weight of your army behind them...

>...CHARGE! Assault the hound with everything you have! With this many men and this many neofauna, your odds were greatly improved...

>...nothing. You have a plan... [Write-in]

>>6335228
>...FIRE! The hound stood beneath the capitol's balcony. You could see the pillars cracking already. If you just put the full weight of your army behind them...

>>6335360
+1
Fuck it we ball

>>6335228
>...FIRE! The hound stood beneath the capitol's balcony. You could see the pillars cracking already. If you just put the full weight of your army behind them...
Sad to see the capitol up in smoke, but sending men and mons into a burning, collapsing building is a baaaad idea.

Need to delay again due to health and work
Expect something by Thursday at the absolute latest. Sorry.

>>6336114
Stay alive QM

>>6336114
Feel better soon, QM.

Schedule suddenly cleared up, but I'm totally wiped. I'll start on the entry today and finish it up (+ hopefully post it) tomorrow.

Glad to see a unanimous vote-- we'll be firing at the balcony. Look forward to that tomorrow (again, hopefully).

>>6338675
Looking forward to it!

"FIRE!"

The next few minutes were almost beyond belief-- certainly beyond your hearing.

A torrent of smoke and fire erupted from a wave of quickly-raised rifles, followed by arcs of lightning and periodic balls of fire. The dry Sacramento air caught alight with the choking stench of smoke, powder, and burning metal. The entire capitol lawn was engulfed in a neverending dark fog.

rrrrrrmbl

The sounds started slowly, with distant cracks. Your heart raced ahead of your brain, your eyes fixated upon the capitol steps. The hound was still there.

rrrrrhaaWWWOOOOOOrrrrRRRR

You could hear its eerie howling through the collapsing building. As one column cracked and shattered, another began to buckle under its own weight--

RRRRRRRRRWWWWOOOO

The hound jumped forward to try and avoid the oncoming disaster. You saw it expel an entire wildfire's worth of flame in some backwards attempt to save itself. You saw what remained of the capitol's largest supports go up in flames...

RRRRRRCCKCKRKRWWOOOOooooMMMBBLLLLSHHHHH

...and, as Huntington's only legacy trumpeted its final battle cry, you couldn't help but remain unsettled.

Once the front of its executioner had become a mix of burning wood and unrecognizable ash, the rest of Sacramento's capitol was soon to follow. The building collapsed in on itself, almost like a circus tent, with each falling pillar signaling the death of another room.

It took only five minutes for the seat of California's entire legislature to be reduced to nothing.

Victorious cheers came slowly, with caution. They started with the soldiers-- tired, bleeding, overjoyed to have made it out alive. Andrew was among them, smiling more than you'd ever seen him, hollering and hooting like he was attending a wedding. Then, the soldiers' partners-- cautious friends in arms, unsure if cheering was appropriate, and neofauna, simply engaging in mimicry. You found yourself among them, briefly... before your eyes turned to Muyr.

In all the cacophony, through all the celebration, Muyr stood... silent. His eyes never left the smoldering remains of California's capitol. There was a certain graveness to them-- like they'd just watched an old friend die. You had seen a facsimile of this look only once before: when news came of Bruce's death. Nevermore.

As you watched Sacramento's lynchpin follow Huntington to hell, the two of you remained absolutely silent.

<><><><><>

Dawn broke not long after.

Against your better judgement, your first course of action had been to return to the ruins of the capitol. You trod upon the burning wood, still sat atop Aster's back, doing your best to redirect the flames into his attractive ankles and tail. Yet, while you searched the ruins of the grand building, you had another goal in mind. Beyond putting out the remains of the fire... you were searching for the hound.

It was an irrational act, of course. For anything to have survived such a monumental collapse would be beyond miracle. And yet...

Mary ran ahead of you, clearly elated to be armed. She spread her new fins out like a delighted child, dancing upon the capitol as if it were a playground, occasionally throwing you large smiles and joyous bahs. You forced yourself to smile back, yet your mind was plagued with as much discomfort as your ailing body. Despite all the pain, despite Mary's dancing, you continued sifting through burnt planks and a sea of ash...

A skull! You jumped a little bit-- you'd seen that skull before. It was the very same that'd sat upon the hound's head. Carefully, slowly, you pried a pile of debris off of it. Underneath that indeterminate rubble...

...Huntington's hound lay dead, mangled nearly beyond recognition. The only recognizable portions of its body were the bony parts it had exposed while alive... and even those were cracked and broken in places.

With a sick feeling in your stomach and no better model at your disposal... you pulled out your sketchbook, and tried to draw up an approximation of its features.

<><><><><>

"Thank you, Buchan'n."

Muyr's voice was weary, quiet. He looked like he'd aged ten years in one hour. He shook your hand firmly, once, and almost forgot to let go of it. "We'll... have t' rebuild. The next week or two at minimum, t' set up a new government... a makeshift one, fer now."

The man grew pale as he brought a hand to his forehead. "How we can explain this t' the citizens of this great city... I don't know how we'll do that, I really don't know. Ah don't think any of us ever intended..."

His eyes drifted back to the capitol, now totally extinguished. The only solace both of you could share in was that most of the city's residents wouldn't have to see their government literally ablaze upon waking up today. Muyr under his breath. "Buchanan... did you ever find out why? Why Huntin'ton... burned the place down?"

For a moment, you were surprised he didn't accuse you of the act. You couldn't help but reminisce on what had happened back at Shenanigan's Gulch and expect fingers to be pointed at the flaming horse you had yet to dismount. When you corrected yourself, you cleared your smoggy throat and responded as honestly as you could. "...only inklin's. He brought up demons, the aft'rlife..."

Mary was off with Andrew and Chickpea, talking to the troops. You pointed Muyr in their direction. "When she... when Mary changed," you still struggled to put a name to the phenomenon, "Huntin'ton cried sorcery. Necromancy, ah think. Said I was workin' in league with the devil, an'..."

Muyr's eyes went wide. "Necromancy? You... was he really just out've his mind? He didn't really believe...!"

You just shook your head in response. "Muyr, after all we've been through... ah ain't surprised anymore. He could very well be right."

The two of you meant to talk further, but words escaped you. Instead, the pair of you simply dispersed to various parts of the field, taking turns tending to soldiers' wounds or explaining events to frantic passerby.

<><><><><>

>What happened to Mary?

>A pyrrhic victory remains a victory. Celebrate.

>You want to spend some time away from Sacramento for now.

(Jeez, god really hates this entry. Fourth time I'm trying to post it; the power cut out the last three times.

Anyways-- happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I'll try to post every other day from now on.)

>>6339397
>What happened to Mary?
Glad to have you back QM! You left us on a fucker of a cliffhanger.

>>6339512
+1
The questions remain: "Now what?" and "What's next?"

>>6339532
Onwards to New York, mayhaps? We have a reward to collect, and a fanily to reconnect with.

>>6339397
>What happened to Mary?
Happy Thanksgiving, QM! Glad to see you back.

Huh, unanimous again! Writing.

>>6339512
I suppose I did! Sorry about that, I genuinely didn't notice.

>>6339637
Happy belated Thanksgiving to you too, anon. Glad to be back.

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What happened to Mary?

You had been asking yourself that all day. It was already noontime, and you were finally given reprieve from assisting the Staters in cleaning up after your... mess.

Against your better judgement, you'd found yourself drawn to Sacramento's cemetery. A better man would have likely known to move on-- to put all this mess behind himself and celebrate without hesitation. But you were not that type of man, and you felt yourself incapable of simply allowing Huntington to dissolve into ash and be forgotten. You had seen his office, you had seen the photos. You knew nobody else would be doing this for him.

What had happened to Huntington?

Mary found herself briefly dethroned as you found yourself an empty plot of land, technically adjacent and not owned, and began digging a hole. The face of Huntington's beloved haunted you. It could have just been his sister, you figured, or a cousin. Someone he was close to, like any other family member. But who would be so near and dear to Huntington for him to beg for an escape from life without them? Why would he ever come to Sacramento without her?

You motioned for Taylor to slice off the top of a nearby stump with his leaves. Whether that was a possibility remained uncertain-- until your leafy companion chittered, happily, at the sight of a cleanly-cut ring of tree bark sliding off of the arboreal carcass. Almost numb to the absurd feat, you gave Taylor a good scratch behind the collar and thanked him for his effort.

It took a few more minutes for you to feel your makeshift grave satisfactory enough for the bastard you were burying. Not deep enough to show respect, not shallow enough to be noticeable. Three feet about did it. Now all you needed to do was bring yourself not to go deeper, and figure out what to write on this slice of stump...

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"Yer a better man than I, even with that bleedin' heart'a yours."

You felt something hit your back like a rock and flinched on instinct. The familiar chuckle that came afterwards only barely eased your tensions. "Andrew, how th' hell--"

"Don't play dumb, Walt'r. Or are you tellin' me you left your biggest fan behind on accident?"

You flushed red with a mix of embarrassment and confusion. You weren't used to Andrew being this upbeat-- let alone poking fun. And-- wait, had you left Mary behind?? This whole time, you'd accounted for everyone... except her? "Ah didn'... uh..."

A shake of the head dispelled your discoloration, and a look to Andrew's side confirmed his accusation. Mary stood there, still pink, still on two legs, looking at you like a mildly confused puppy. She didn't even seem hurt-- just confused. Like you were.
A short laugh escaped you. The absurdity of the situation-- you'd been thinking about Mary all day, nonstop, and somehow...

"Come here, you..." ...trailed off, didn't know what to say. You just kept your arms wide and let Mary run right into them. Without any hesitation, she wrapped her weird fins around your chest and gave you a tight hug.

"Cute." You swore you could see a smile creeping onto Andrew's face. "Chickpea ain't there yet... too busy tryin' to fight everythin' he sees."

As if on cue, the creamy chicken-man ran into view. A short 'bok' made his presence known, as did his immediate head-tilt. Of course-- just because Andrew had caught on, didn't mean his companion would be able to realize...

"That's Mary, ain't it?" Andrew returned to a more familiar grumble. "Just... in some new form."

You nodded. You hoped Andrew was right. Really-- this morning had left you too shaken to be certain. He was probably correct. And yet, you kept hearing it over and over in your head. Necromancy, spirits of hell-- "A-ah s'ppose so. I s'ppose it has t' be her. I... who else could it be?"

Andrew shook his head. "Would it really matter if it was so frien'ly? Ah knew Chickpea was still Chickpea without missin' a beat. You're worryin' too much over what shouldn' shouldn't be."

The cowboy shuffled a twig from one side of his mouth to the other, making you aware of its existence, and headed to your right. He stood beneath a grand oak, presumably your old stump's murderer, and stared into your grave. "But I won't begrudge you it. God knows no bastard in this city would dig a murderer his own grave."

"...least ah could do fer givin' him reason t' need one," you mumbled.

"Don't kick yerself. It ain't good for the soul," Andrew spat. "That piece of shit knew what he was doin' when he decided t' coup, an' especially when he went after the saloon. You should feel proud fer riddin' this city of that kind'a scum, not guilty over doin' the right thing."

A cold breeze flew between both of you. It rustled the tree Andrew sought shade underneath, loosing a few leaves into the shallow grave you had yet to fill.

Without further hesitation, you pulled out your pencil and began writing upon the ring of wood.

HERE LIES COLLIS HUNTINGTON, POWER-HUNGRY GOVERNOR

FELLED BY HIS OWN FLAME

d. 6 SEPTEMBER 1884

You briefly wondered if it would be appropriate to add a second grave marker for Mary. One look at her made you decide against it. This was still her-- she was still here, alive. Although Mary wore a new face, a new body, a new... posture, this was still her. Somehow. There was no point in convincing yourself otherwise. You were being melodramatic.

"Gave him more words than ah'd bother with," Andrew observed.

All you could do in response was nod.

You had gathered some ash to bring with you here. It wasn't a wise decision-- the ash had gotten caught between the fabrics of the pouch you'd carried it in, and you weren't certain you'd ever be able to get it out. But you had to fill that grave with something.

Once the pouch had been emptied into the shallow hole, you got to your feet and backed up to stand beside Andrew. "Goodbye, you old fool. Hope you get t' see your sweetheart 'n hell."

Andrew didn't bother with words. He just spat upon the grave and tossed his mouth-stick in it.

The two of you covered the grave with haste, and you planted the carved wood at its head like you would any other gravestone.

"Wonder how long it'll last," Andrew chuckled. "Maybe it'll burn like he did."

As you looked upon your creation, the ever-present question returned.

What happened to Mary?

"...Andrew, d' you think we're makin' a mistake?"

The cowboy balked at the thought. "A mistake-- what, with these things? Bringin' them close t' us? Our mission?"

He motioned to both Chickpea and Mary, who were now mutually examining each other like a doctor would his most sensitive patients. "No, not't all. Look at what we've achieved with just a few of 'em. We've put t' bed the greatest threat t' California since the Civil War. We've defended ourselves against the Californian wilderness, saved entire towns from collapsin'. In another world, that bastard," Andrew motioned to Huntington's fresh grave, "could've driven all've Sacramento t' ruin."

"In another world he would've never had the chance," you mentioned. "He wouldn't've molded one've these neofauna 'nto his personal weapon, he wouldn'ta felt the need to 'save mankind'...

A-all've his last words were panicked, Andrew. He saw th' light've Mary's tail an' cried necromancy. He said ah consorted with devils-- that Mary was a demon. A-an'... an' ah just wonder... there's no better explanation, is there? Fer why these creatures like t' fight so much. Why they change shape 'n have all these supernatural powers. They... they really are demons, aren't they? Have-- have they twisted us into agents've the devil? A-are we-- are we damnin' the world?"

Andrew's face bore anger, first-- then confusion, then some kind of pity. His mouth only opened when he'd settled on some kind of distant sorrow, and his hand rested upon your shoulder. "...Walter. If what yer doin' is the work of the devil, then ah dare say he's redeemed himself. Satan would'a killed that little girl you'd helped. He would'a let that town get overrun by Steele's moles, or let those coal creatures from the train station burn all've Sacramento down."

The cowboy went quiet for a time. His eyes drifted back to Chickpea and Mary, still poking and prodding at one another. The two played like children, ducking and weaving whenever one of them upset the other enough to retaliate. You could see his stare soften the longer he watched them.

"If those're demons... they're the nicest demons I've ever known. An' if I have t' go t' hell t' stick with them, then so be it."

"But that's just it, isn't it?" You interrupted, unable to calm yourself. This was fitting together too neatly-- how could you continue ignoring it? "That's exactly what a devil'd want-- i-it'd play nice, it'd look cute, it'd do anything t' gain yer trust. A-an' then, a-and then..."

Andrew's face began to age twice as fast as the man himself. Sure, he never looked like the young adult he really was-- but now, as you struggled to move past the subject of demons and fake children, Andrew almost seemed as old as Steele.

The two of you said nothing for some time longer. You both opted, instead, to watch Chickpea and Mary together... and, eventually, Aster as well.

"An' then what, Walter?" Andrew broke the silence. "Then it'll turn on you? Attack you without warnin', leave you t' fend fer yourself?"

You wanted to affirm Andrew's conclusion, but the words died in your throat as he whistled for Chickpea to return to him. The neofauna ran back to Andrew without question, only giving you a brief glance before looking back at Andrew with wide eyes and a loud 'cooo.' To your great surprise, the hardened buffalo hunter you'd known for the past month of your life... reached down and ruffled Chickpea's feathers.

"That's hardly just a devil's work, Walt'r. Men do it plen'y too. 's up t' you t' trust them either way."

The following silence helped you get a grip on things. You were still scared, a little concerned-- there was a chance, a slim chance... that Huntington was completely right, and you were selling out your soul. Selling out humanity's soul to further your own selfish obsession. But... as Mary ran over to you, as Aster huffed his impatience and demanded to go someplace more interesting with a stomp of his hoof... you couldn't bring yourself to care too much. And you certainly couldn't abandon the small menagerie you had built up, whether it consisted of God's creatures or not.

"I'm sick'a this place. Let's go someplace else. You need a drink'n a rest, anywho, an' t' get yer mind off've death."

You weren't given an option to stay. Andrew just put his arm around you, made sure all of your companions were following you, and brought you someplace else.

While the two of you started down Sacramento's streets, all you managed to hear was Andrew mumbling about luck and sympathies under his breath.

You wondered where he was going, and what you would do after you got there.

<><><><><>

[Pick two.]

>You need to document whatever happened with Mary. And what happened with the hound. And everything that happened today.

>You need to get away from Sacramento, if only for a little bit.

>You need to find Steele, and establish some kind of plan for the future with him and Andrew.

>You need to ask Andrew more about himself.

>You need to stop thinking so hard, and just go with the flow.

>You need to go to bed early again.

>>6340480
>You need to document whatever happened with Mary. And what happened with the hound. And everything that happened today.
RECORD RECORD RECORD
and then and ONLY then
>You need to stop thinking so hard, and just go with the flow.
Start enjoying our hard-earned break... until it's time to ditch Sacramento once more and decide which way we're going next. The road to New York is a long one. Probably right into Nevada and the deserts then... where? Salt Lake City? Colorado? Southeast to New Mexico and right through the huge Navajo territory? Who knows?

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>>6340480
>You need to document whatever happened with Mary. And what happened with the hound. And everything that happened today.
>You need to find Steele, and establish some kind of plan for the future with him and Andrew.
Time to leave California. But that said...

>>6340486
With all this talk of religious significance, I just realized we're only a couple years out from the IRL Ghost Dance religious movement... A short-lived religious movement led by Wovoka Jack Wilson, that prophesied the living would reunite with spirits of the dead, bring the spirits to fight on their behalf, end American Westward expansion, and bring peace, prosperity, and unity to the Native Americans around Nevada, and would in particular be presaged by the sudden magical return of the depleted buffalo herds.

All that is to say: if we're passing through Nevada, we should expect Indian trouble, and make it double. Huntington and our poor impressionable boy Waltuh probably aren't the only ones with prophetic spiritual interpretations of the neofauna.

That Buffalo are back. there are Ghost-types. They CAN be teamed up with and trained to fight The White Man. Westward expansion WILL be at a standstill. Jack Wilson's cult is going to be fucking HUGE in this world.

I'm glad that I finally had the opportunity to catch up with the quest since the last thread. Amazing stuff, QM.

>>6340480
>You need to document whatever happened with Mary. And what happened with the hound. And everything that happened today.
>You need to find Steele, and establish some kind of plan for the future with him and Andrew.
After that, get some rest.

I don't think we can leave Sacramento with a healthy conscience without helping the Staters bring some kind of stability to California's new state government first. There's just too much chaos that could and would happen without someone with our neofauna experience around to set things in place.

>>6340621
>the IRL Ghost Dance religious movement
With Pokemon in play, Native Americans are no longer at a technological disadvantage in warfare; "neofauna" are the great equalizer in this age's arms race. We may even see nations of Native American tribes begin to form, even if they aren't formally centralized. Mexico is also in a position to make power plays as well. They may see the chaos as an opportunity to get the land they lost after the Mexican-American War back. It only happened less than forty years ago, after all.

>>6340480
>You need to document whatever happened with Mary. And what happened with the hound. And everything that happened today.

>You need to go to bed early again.

>>6340838
to be desu, the war-technological disadvantage by the 18th and 19th century was a lot less severe than the industrial-technological disadvantage (everyone had guns, but only some people could MAKE guns, and also many otehr more practical but less deadly things that make life easier and more stable). That and numbers, and disease resistance, and political connection to (and recognition by) outside empires in a consistent fashion would all still put them at a disadvantage... But if someone gets a legendary, they might be able to carve out a small free indigenous state or two, or at least keep fighting way longer or harder.

Yet another relatively ironclad vote! We'll be documenting and planning for the future. Writing!

>>6340833
thank you! I'm glad you like it. :)

Andrew had brought you to a small picnic table on the outskirts of Sacramento.

Apparently, this was where Chickpea had found Thomas J. Steele-- sitting among the tall wild grasses, underneath the shade of an ancient tree, letting the scorching September sun beat down upon his tailored back like a Southerner once beat his slaves. You'd have expected him some place far richer-- back at Igel's, or at a similarly moneyed establishment back in Sacramento. Instead, to your great surprise, the aging statesman ignored the river of sweat upon his brow, and the untouched meal sat upon his table, to give all of you a hearty greeting.

"Andrew! Buchanan! Your friends!" Steele threw his arms wide open and smiled. His eyes darted from face to face-- first to yours, haggard and uncertain, then to Andrew's. "You look well!"

"Thanks," Andrew grinned back. You wanted to echo him, and opened your mouth to try, but decided against it once you saw a certain someone stumble forth.

"Mary, don't--" Your words fell on deaf ears as Mary clambered over to Steele, eyes wide and fins outstretched. She wasted no time in getting close, grabbing Steele's coat and... yanking it, backwards, as hard as she could.

"Oh, goodness--" Steele, not expecting the gesture, had to grab the table to prevent himself from falling into the grass. His efforts unfortunately failed his black-felt bowler hat-- the expensive accessory floated down into the grass, rim-side up, practically begging to be blown away by a wayward Saturday wind.

Andrew was the first to act... by stifling his laughter and turning away from the both of you. You were next, quickly admonishing your curious pink companion and returning Steele's hat.

"Sorry, sorry-- she, ah... a-ah guess she's gettin' more curious now that she's..." You felt like your tongue was in knots. Even now, as Mary was giving you the same look an irritated child would her disciplining father, you couldn't help but wonder why she'd chosen to tear at Steele's coat like that. It wasn't conspiracy-- it couldn't be, you were just tired. She probably just wanted to know how the coat felt without tasting it...

"As you should be! This piece cost nearly a hundred to tailor... I try only to wear it for special occasions," Steele humphed. "Like today!"

And just like that, the man's snooty history melted into the background. "I suppose I should congratulate the two of you on a resounding success? Neither of you seem especially downtrodden, after all!"

You didn't know whether to laugh or correct the man. You decided to do neither, instead letting Andrew take the stage and explain things. "A resoundin' success indeed, old man. Walt'r here's still conflicted over it, but ah'm sure he'll make up his mind by the evenin'. 'Specially once he's eaten."

"Eaten! Yes, right! Well," Steele cleared his throat, "I must clarify that this was mostly meant for me. I only intended the sandwiches for you two."

A pair of wrapped packages unraveled to reveal two toasted beef-and-lettuce delights, with melted cheese atop one and mayonnaise upon both, held together with toothpicks that probably cost more than your old Floating Dollar dinners did. "I remember you mentioning a similar recipe, Buchanan, after you'd told me of your mother's letter. I couldn't gather all of the ingredients with this new world's limited supply, but I tried my best."

After all you'd been through today. After Huntington's grand speeches, the burning of the capitol, the burying of his deeds and his ashen body alongside a portion of your own untempered optimism... why was this sandwich what finally broke you?

Was it Steele's apologies, as you sat down to eat without another word?

Was it how similar this tasted to your last meal before leaving home for the once-great West?

Or, maybe, was it just a culmination of all these things finally overloading the dam?

"Thank you, Steele," you choked. "T-thank you f'r... f-f'r thinkin've this."

"You're welcome, Walter." The businessman spoke quietly, without judgement. He then turned to Andrew, probably to ask him about his own sandwich, but you weren't listening by then.

You missed your family, dearly. You wanted nothing more than to be with them again. To hear Looker and the pups barking at the horses, to see Mabel laughing and playing among all of them, to smell your mother's cooking on a distant stovetop... you would give anything, anything, to leave all this Stater business behind and abandon California completely.

But you knew you couldn't do that. You owed Sacramento a great debt-- Sacramento, and the rest of California. The next few weeks, at minimum, you felt you'd need to spend cleaning up after yourself... and, of course, Huntington's doings.

You took another bite of your sandwich. Each and every one felt like an assault of nostalgia, unwanted and unwelcome, embraced with such rabid fervor that your heart couldn't help but betray your head. Now was not the time for thinking. Now was a time to relax... at least, for a little bit.

-----

It took you nearly a half hour to finish that sandwich.

Between various distractions-- Mary abusing her new arms, Chickpea making very good use of his, the rest of your neofauna attracting any three of your's attentions-- it didn't really feel like it had taken that long. But the pocketwatch Steele had gifted you said otherwise, and the man himself soon remarked on the time just in case Andrew had been left unawares.

"My, it's been too long. If it weren't for this shade, I dare say we'd have melted into a puddle of flesh by now," Steele chuckled to himself. Indiana, previously asleep upon his lap (now awake), seemed to agree with his usual shushing noise. "So-- how about one of you two tell me what happened in the city?"

"Not now, Steele-- you'll... you'll see it, later." You trailed off, but forced yourself to continue. You had an idea. "Right now, I wanna discuss the future. A-ah mean-- the far future, sort've, in a week're two from now.

Ah'd like t' be out of Sacramento by October, an' spend the next two weeks with the Staters, but after that..."

>It'd be best if you headed straight for New York. There was far too much business the three of you needed to tend to in that general area, and there was no use wasting time sightseeing when matters were so urgent. [The fastest, most dangerous route.]

>You wanted to take in the sights and sounds of the nation, and document as much of these neofauna as possible. No matter your current doubts, you were still fascinated by the things... and almost certain that they were no longer exclusive to California, or even the States themselves. [A scenic, less dangerous route.]

>>6341355
>letting the scorching September sun beat down upon his tailored back like a Southerner once beat his slaves
I almost spit out my drink reading this.

>>6341359
>You wanted to take in the sights and sounds of the nation, and document as much of these neofauna as possible. No matter your current doubts, you were still fascinated by the things... and almost certain that they were no longer exclusive to California, or even the States themselves. [A scenic, less dangerous route.]
This seems like the option that will give the QM a broader range of stuff to write about, so I opt for this choice. However, I wouldn't be against the other one.

>>6341359
>It'd be best if you headed straight for New York. There was far too much business the three of you needed to tend to in that general area, and there was no use wasting time sightseeing when matters were so urgent. [The fastest, most dangerous route.]

>>6341378
+1

>>6341359
>You wanted to take in the sights and sounds of the nation, and document as much of these neofauna as possible. No matter your current doubts, you were still fascinated by the things... and almost certain that they were no longer exclusive to California, or even the States themselves. [A scenic, less dangerous route.]

I kinda want to know the state of the Bee and the like before we go. We might have finally gotten a response in the mail.

>>6341359
>It'd be best if you headed straight for New York. There was far too much business the three of you needed to tend to in that general area, and there was no use wasting time sightseeing when matters were so urgent. [The fastest, most dangerous route.]
I'm concerned about what Huntington said about New York.

>>6341359

>You wanted to take in the sights and sounds of the nation, and document as much of these neofauna as possible. No matter your current doubts, you were still fascinated by the things... and almost certain that they were no longer exclusive to California, or even the States themselves. [A scenic, less dangerous route.]

Not going for a safe route is going to get us killed.

>>6341912
>I kinda want to know the state of the Bee and the like before we go.
Me too!

>I'm concerned about what Huntington said about New York.
Me too...

Wow, lots of votes this time around! Thanks, everyone. 4:2 say we're going the scenic route. Writing.

"...ah thought it might be best t' take a more scenic route. T' see as many sights an' sounds as we could, while helpin' whoever's there."

You flinched as you spoke, your concern for your family weighing heavily upon your shoulders. This didn't mean you were going to leave them completely, of course-- you weren't a monster, no matter what you may had heard this morning. But... something told you that whatever New York had in store for you was dangerous. Even moreso than anything you had faced before. You couldn't place why, exactly, but the way people talked about it... you'd think the entire place had been bombed overnight. As much as you wanted to run straight back to the city... you felt more careful preparation would be ideal.

"I know you said you had bus'ness 'n Indiana, Steele. How important is it?"

The statesman rubbed his chin, taking quite a while to ponder what you thought was a rather simple question. "Well, I would much rather not delay it... but, upon further reflection, I can always arrange--"

"Have you got family?" You interrupted, only half-aware that you'd even opened your mouth.

The comment took Steele aback, leaving him silent for some time. "...well, yes, but they can take care of themselves. They have for some time now."

"By choice?"

"By... choice, yes." Steele cleared his throat and returned his hands to his shirt pockets. "Buchanan, I can assure you they are in good health. I can further guarantee you that my accompanying you shan't hurt them, nor should it concern you. You have an entire menagerie of other people that require you. Leave me be."

Andrew gave you no time to dwell on Steele's words. "Sounds good t' me," he shrugged, "salary'r not."

"You don't want to stay with th' Staters?" You asked, somewhat surprised.

"There won't be any more Staters come t'morrow. There'll just be a government, an' I ain't no good at governin'. I'll help 'em set up, teach 'em a few things're two... then I'll be on my way, as usual." Andrew spoke frankly, nearing some kind of monotone, but you could tell he was a little broken up about the situation. You'd seen how his position under Muyr had invigorated him, and now...

"Steele's still payin' me t' protect him, fer some darned reason," Andrew chuckled, "but whether he still wants t' waste that money is up t' him. I'll tag along with you two either way, if you'll have me."

"Course we'll have you," you blurted out. You needed the muscle, after all. And the company.

"Then it's settled," the cowboy nodded. "I'll tag along. Where's our first stop after Sacramento's well enough not t' need us?"

That was a good question. One that you'd come prepared for... quite a while ago.

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After rooting around in your haversack for a moment, you procured a map of the United States. It was a big one-- covering nearly the entire West Coast and parts of the interior. You'd gone searching for something like it soon after getting to Sacramento, but only found success recently.

"Well, that's up t' you. Ah had two routes'n mind-- through the territories, on through the South, would be th' first."

Steele interjected, his skin slightly pale. "Any other option would be preferable. These are the hottest months of the year, and the Indians are still skirmishing all throughout that land."

Shoot, that was a good point. "Well-- the second option's up through the north, through Oregon'n the colder territories. We'd go through the lakes t' get back to New York, or through the interior."

Andrew shook his head. "Wildlife up there woulda killed ya before it started breathin' fire. The buffalo alone'll stomp us flat if the snow'n wolves don't get t' us first."

And the months would only get colder as time went on...

"...well, we can't scale the Rockies, so we have t' pick one." Your brain tried to insist otherwise. What if there was some kind of neofaunic species that excelled in mountain climbing? Some sort of super-animal that could burrow through an entire cliff-face, or scale a snowy peak like it was nothing? For the first time today, that familiar thrill of possibility came flooding back in--

--then it left, as quickly as it'd arrived, with the cold realization that such a neofauna's whereabouts were completely unknown to you-- and likely not in California.

"Since we're at an impasse, maybe it would be best if you chose for us, Buchanan. I would much rather avoid total war," Steele posited, "for nature's own disasters. But Andrew clearly feels similarly about his own suggestion... and neither of us are very fond of compromise."

Andrew grunted his agreement.

"In all honesty, I would much prefer a well-insulated train to either option. But such things are a luxury, nowadays, so we must work with what we have!" Steele tried to joke. Indiana shushed his approval, but you barely heard it over Steele's continued talking.

"So-- what will it be, Buchanan? The northern territories or the southern ones?"

>Aim for the northern territories. Although settlements and support will be scarce, as will food and warmth, you'll avoid becoming caught up in a war and be free of the blazing sun.

>Aim for the southern territories. There's more infrastructure, more people, and more life. Trudging through a hundred-degree sun and ongoing war is close enough to what you've already been doing not to concern you.

>>6342212
>Aim for the southern territories. There's more infrastructure, more people, and more life. Trudging through a hundred-degree sun and ongoing war is close enough to what you've already been doing not to concern you.
So my hope is that, if there is a Ghost Dance or similar religious movement taking hold early in light of the Pokepocalypse, maybe Andrew being so gosh-darned good at training them (and having the nutberries) will make him the next best thing to a holy man to them.

>>6342212
We are in September right now, and I guarantee you we WILL be caught in the late 1880s winter if we go north... but we do have Ponyta and Andrew has Combusken. Steele's Indiana can help carve up trees for wood even though he's more suited to earth, and we can easily get us fire going whenever. Maybe Indiana can help us dig a small burrow combined with Taylor's silk for support, and we can have a half-decent hole to shelter out the cold in. But even so, frostbite and unironic non-Pokemon cryptids are things in the deep north we could easily suffer from, and that's ignoring new mon-based threats. None of this is anywhere close to solving our food issue either unless we begin to figure out how to eat mons firsthand.

>>6342212
>Write-in
>Take the California Trail until we reach Fort Hall, then take the Oregon Trail further east to Scottsbluff, then to Council Bluffs in Iowa, then to Nauvoo in Illinois
This should take us more or less down the middle, helping us avoid the extremes of the North and South. If Mormons aren't a problem for Steele and Andrew (they are a problem for me though; Mormons are Masonic heathens pretending to be Christian), we can take a shortcut through Salt Lake City to save some time.

>>6342242
They’re a problem for a whole different reason. Brigham Young’s “Zion” at this time was fond of a practice called Blood Atonement.

Outsiders in their territory were regularly shot. It might not be as dangerous as Apache territory, but it’s no walk in the park either.

>>6342212
>Aim for the southern territories. There's more infrastructure, more people, and more life. Trudging through a hundred-degree sun and ongoing war is close enough to what you've already been doing not to concern you.

>>6342212
I'm >>6342236
My vote is
>Aim for the southern territories. There's more infrastructure, more people, and more life. Trudging through a hundred-degree sun and ongoing war is close enough to what you've already been doing not to concern you.

>>6342341
At one point during the Mormon Reformation era, IIRC, the Mormons even teamed up with (possibly tricked) some Paiutes into joining up with their party for the Mountain Meadows Massacre so they could try to evade accountability to the American government by framing their attack on immigrants as tribal warfare. That said, Brigham Young died in 1877, and John Taylor started shifting away from blood atonement by extrajudicial church authority. By 1889 IRL, they repudiated it outright...

But who knows how the Pokepocalyspe affected that, kek? Great State of Desert when?