>>6386855
>There is a living tree ten feet away and priority number one is to touch it. Right now.
HOLY FUCKING SHIT A TREE

>>6386855
>>There is a living tree ten feet away and priority number one is to touch it. Right now.

>>6386855
>Crush his skull like a ripe melon. Then use his staff to finish scratching the goo off your crotch plate.

>>6386855
>There is a living tree ten feet away and priority number one is to touch it. Right now.

>>6386855
>>There is a living tree ten feet away and priority number one is to touch it. Right now.
>Try not to cry.
>Shed a single manful tear anyways.

>>6387124
+1, holy shit, this is beautiful. Did we die and go to heaven?

>>6386855

>>6386855
>>There is a living tree ten feet away and priority number one is to touch it. Right now.
I fucking love trees, bros.

>>6386855
>There is a living tree ten feet away and priority number one is to touch it. Right now.

>>6386855
>"WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED." External speakers. Full volume.
>There is a living tree ten feet away and priority number one is to touch it. Right now.
14 years of post apocalypse wasteland seems weirdly short.

>>6386855

Robes is saying something important. You can tell because he's gesticulating wildly. Could be directions. Could be a warning. Could be the meaning of life.

You walk right past him toward the tree.

It's an oak. You think. Could be a maple, could be a goddamn bonsai for all you know -- you grew up on a military base in a desert that used to be some place called Pennsylvania and your entire botanical education consists of "don't eat that." and cinematic wideshots in black and white prewar romcoms. But this isn't a movie. It's real. Alive. Beautiful.

Look at that bark. The tasteful thickness of it -- oh my God, it even has a knot on the trunk.

BIOLOGICAL SCAN.
Species: UNKNOWN (LOCAL FLORA).
Est. age: 340 YEARS.
Health: OPTIMAL.
WARNING! Operator pulse 128 BPM -- suggest cardiac review.

You put your gauntlet on the bark. Despite all efforts to keep moisture inside your eyeballs, a single tear escapes down your cheek with no means to wipe it away.

Then you feel something push back. Not physically. Inside your head. Like someone just hijacked your imagination. A presence. An unbelievably smug presence.

Back in reality (heaven?) a girl steps out of the tree. Literally steps out. Bark flows and knits into skin, some into hair, some of the roots turn into pointy bare feet on the grass. She's about eight years old. She looks up at you with the expression of a cat that knows it's sitting on your keyboard and does not care.

She tilts her head. The presence tilts with it, curious now, probing deeper--

She finds the wasteland.

You feel her see it. The ash. The awful flatness of the earth. The rain that glows deadly in the dark. The bugs.

She screams. Not out loud. Inside your skull, where there is no armor.

The tree detonates. Roots punch up through the dirt and slam your chest plate. Branches whip around your arms, twigs wriggling inside the cracks. Your HUD loses its mind:

ALERT. DAMAGE TYPE: UNKNOWN.
DAMAGE SOURCE: UNKNOWN.
ARMOR BYPASS DETECTED.
UNABLE TO CLASSIFY.
UNABLE TO CLASSIFY.
UNABLE TO CLASSIFY.

It HURTS. The suit has never let anything hurt you before, not once, and whatever this is goes straight through the plate and into your bones and behind you Robes is screaming and sprinting full speed toward you with his staff raised--

>Hold on. She's not evil. She's scared. Stay connected -- show her something good.
>Rip free. Break the link. Now.
>Grab Robes. Throw him into the tree. A failproof strategy.
>Write-in

>>6387173
>Grab Robes. Throw him into the tree. A failproof strategy.

>>6387173
>Hold on. She's not evil. She's scared. Stay connected -- show her something good.
lol what a wuss. Imagine if she saw that rat mutant friend of ours

>>6387173
>Write-in
>Grab Robes, take his staff. Try not to break it.
I don't know what your stick is about, but you shouldn't wave it at strangers like that. It's impolite.

>>6387173
>Hold on. She's not evil. She's scared. Stay connected -- show her something good.

>>6387173
>>Hold on. She's not evil. She's scared. Stay connected -- show her something good.

>>6387269
Supporting this first, to prevent him doing anything regrettable to either of us. Who even knows whose side he's on in a fight between us and a... Tree mutant?

Then:
>Hold on. She's not evil. She's scared. Stay connected -- show her something good.

Maybe one of those romcpm scenes? Maybe a hydroponic farm? Whatever we've got with pleasant plants.

>>6387173

>>6387173
>Grab Robes. Smash him into the tree until they both paste. Rip the hostile flora out by the roots and tear the girl into bits. Eat the remaining ground stew of flesh and veg, all part of a balanced diet.

>>6387173
>>Grab Robes. Throw him into the tree. A failproof strategy.

>>6387173
>Grab Robes. Throw him into the tree. A failproof strategy.

>>6387173
>Hold on. She's not evil. She's scared. Stay connected -- show her something good.
Hard to get mad at someone that looks 8 years old.

>>6387626
Bullshit. If you aren't willing to dropkick a child you ain't built for the streets cuh

>>6387173
>Grab Robes. Throw him into the tree. A failproof strategy.

We are under attack! All parties involved are now considered enemy combatants! We must now take (in)appropriate measures to ensure the safety of our person!

>>6387641
Correct, I am not built for the streets, unlike your mother.

>>6387805
Oh you saucy bitch.

OP? You still around?

>>6387981
Here's hoping. It was off to a very cool start.

>>6387981
coping and seething with work guys, bear with me. update tonight.

>>6388006
Glad to hear you're still around! Sorry to hear about your work being tough.

>>6387173

You hold on.

Good memory. Send her a good memory. You dig through your head like you're looking for that secret stash of painkillers after a relapse.

Wasteland. Worse wasteland. Sergeant Jeppson catching a scav sniper round the moment he opened his helmet to light up a Chesterfield. Burying the stupid dog that followed you around for a year after he got into a scuffle with bugs. The three weeks you ate nothing but irradiated gecko jerky and it came out both ends--

Wait. Is your life... actually miserable?

No. It's the trees that are wrong.

OPERATOR DISTRESS DETECTED.
Querying media archive... 1 FILE.
Recommend playback for morale.

Oh yeah. That'll work.

There's a guy in a flat pork-pie hat, and he's a projectionist in a movie theater, and he falls asleep at work and dreams himself right into the film he's supposed to be running. The scene keeps cutting on him -- one second he's standing on a garden path, and then the film splices and he's on the edge of a cliff, and then he's in the middle of a busy street with cars bearing down on him, and then he's on a rock in the ocean with waves crashing over his head. Every time he gets his balance the world yanks itself out from under him and he just keeps going, the same perfect deadpan, stumbling from one disaster into the next without ever breaking composure. The old stone face has never failed you, no matter how down in the dumps you got.

You grab that feeling with both hands and shove it down the link.

Her screams gradually fade. She finds the projectionist on his cliff edge, the ocean slapping him sideways, and a bright confused ripple runs through the link. She gets to the part where the street cuts to a snowbank and the guy just stands up and keeps walking, and you can feel her laughing -- a weird wooden creaking sound, like a branch in the wind. The roots around your arms slacken. The twigs stop digging. She plays the street-to-snowbank cut again, and the creaking gets louder, and by the third time through she's shaking so hard that little green leaves are falling out of her hair, rocking gently to the ground. You're OK. She's OK. Everything is hunky dory, as Sergeant Jeppson used to say.

A bolt of red-white flame hits the tree six inches from your hand.

The bark blows apart. The bark-girl shrieks -- out loud this time, not just in your head. The tree heaves sideways. Robes is ten feet away with his staff lit up like a welding torch, his considerable forehead mirror shiny with sweat, hands already lining up for a second shot.

"STOP." External speakers, full volume.

He flinches back a step. But he doesn't understand the word. He plants his feet. Steadies the staff. Aims.

>Draw and fire your weapon. 1% juice, non-lethal.
>Helmet off. Pop the seals. A human face to the request might translate better.
>Step aside. Maybe he knows something you don't.
>Write-in

>>6388051
>Pick up bark-girl and throw her at Robes, then run over and beat them both until they're a black and blue mess on the grass.

>>6388051
>>Write-in
>Just grab 'em. Bear hug. Robes is a little wuss and the tree gal looks 90lbs soaking wet. Can't use his funny energy weapon if he's busy being grabbed!

>>6388051
>>Draw and fire your weapon. 1% juice, non-lethal.

>>6388051
>>6388060
+1 this but also try to calm him down like a cat. You know, 'pspsps' into his ear and stuff

>>6388051
>Draw and fire your weapon. 1% juice, non-lethal.
Eat a taser, wizard.

>>6386855
Hmm. Something new, and sci-fi. I'll bite, QM. Bookmarked, and you have a new reader.

>>6388051
>Step aside. Maybe he knows something you don't.

>>6388051
>Helmet off. Pop the seals. A human face to the request might translate better.
We don’t speak the same language, he probably thinks our shout of stop was a shout of pain. We should show him a face not in distress.

>>6388051
>Write-in
>Standard CQC, rush, disarm then pacify Robes.

>>6388060
+1

>>6388051
>Draw and fire your weapon. 1% juice, non-lethal.
>Pop off helmet once he's not actively destroying our new friend's (literal) treehouse.

>>6388051
The 40KW phased plasma rifle unfolds from your back and seats itself in your hand with a clunk you've heard ten thousand times. At ten feet, the targeting computer is almost insulted.

You squeeze.

Blue-white flash -- the whole hilltop lights up like a star touched down on it. That's weird. Stun mode only uses a fraction of the full juice the gun can draw, it shouldn't have had such a dramatic effect. At any rate, Robes' gets thrown backward about ten feet, staff bouncing away across the stones. He doesn't get back up.

JUICE remaining: 99%.

The bark-girl stares at Robes in the grass. At you. At the rifle. She sinks backward into the scorched trunk without a sound, bark closing over her face like water, and the presence (which had become kind of pleasant) in the back of your skull goes with her. Your head now feels like a room after everyone's left the party.

You holster the rifle and go check on Robes. Thermals indicate no burns and a solid pulse. His right sleeve's ridden up past the wrist and there's a mark on his forearm -- not a tattoo, and too orderly to be a scar. A brand, deliberate and angular, shaped like a little tower, like the rook in a game of chess. This kid belongs to somebody. Where you come from, you only brand what you own. And only if you're one of the bad guys.

His parchment lies crumpled in the grass, covered in symbols and geometric drawings that would likely be nonsense to you even if the suit could translate them.

Hoofbeats.

A white horse trots up the south trail, and your prefrontal cortex steps out for a walk. You have seen horses before -- dead ones, mostly, and plenty in the old westerns. But, like the trees, this is the real thing, white coat, flowing mane, muscles working under the skin like smooth, perfect pistons, nostrils slightly moist from being recently licked. It whinnies a little as it comes to a stop in front of you. Is that... a horn on its head? It's a goddamn unicorn.

You would die for this animal right now, on this hill, no questions asked.

There is a man riding it. You barely even register him. The man, however, certainly registers you. He's wearing armor as well, about a millenia out of date: steel mail with a surcoat and a full helm. He dismounts, plants his lance, bows at you with one hand on his stomach, and begins delivering a rapid, completely incomrephensible speech directly at your faceplate while you try to manuever around him to see the horse better.

Another guy, this one even younger than Robes, scrambles up the trail dragging a mule behind him by the reins. Meanwhile the knight has finished his speech and is now drawing his sword and settling into a fighting stance.

>Let him swing. The gauntlet can take it no sweat -- catch the sword then yank it away.
>Unicorn. It's a unicorn. It's an actual honest-to-god living mythical creature. Pet it.
>Kneel. Universal gesture. Anyone who can mount a unicorn deserves your respect.
>Write-in

>>6388651
>Unicorn. It's a unicorn. It's an actual honest-to-god living mythical creature. Pet it.
Approach slowly. We don't want to scare such a majestic creature.

>>6388651
>Unicorn. It's a unicorn. It's an actual honest-to-god living mythical creature. Pet it.

>>6388651
>Unicorn. It's a unicorn. It's an actual honest-to-god living mythical creature. Pet it.
This is turning into the best day of our Powerarmored life

>>6388651
>>Unicorn. It's a unicorn. It's an actual honest-to-god living mythical creature. Pet it.

>>6388651
>Rip the man out of time's arms off, then rip off his mail like a rag and use it to scrape the goop off your crotch finally. Steal the weak man's unicorn, as he is clearly undeserving of it.

>>6388651
>Unicorn. It's a unicorn. It's an actual honest-to-god living mythical creature. Pet it.
Pet the tree, pet the horse

>>6388651
>Kneel. Universal gesture. Anyone who can mount a unicorn deserves your respect.
The sacrifices he's made....

>>6388651
>Kneel. Universal gesture. Anyone who can mount a unicorn deserves your respect.
The unicorn would probably impale us if the knight doesn't first.

>>6388651
>Unicorn. It's a unicorn. It's an actual honest-to-god living mythical creature. Pet it.
I kind of want to facetank the sword first then just ignore him but this is pretty funny too

>>6388651

You walk right past the knight.

The kid with the mule shouts something and grabs your arm. You could not feel this less if he were grabbing a lamppost. He's pointing at the unicorn, then at the knight, then back, and his face wears the universal expression for "please do not do the thing you are about to do."

You ignore him.

Her nose is warm and impossibly soft against your gauntlet. She sniffs your fingers with the delicate suspicion of a duchess inspecting the appetizer course. Up close the horn is faintly translucent, like someone carved it from solid moonlight.

She pulls back. The horn begins to glow.

A bolt of lightning drops out of a clear blue sky and hits you directly in the chest with tremendous noise.
Some smoke, then, a cheerful ding from the computer.

JUICE: 100%.
WARNING: Discharge inconsistent with atmospheric electrical event. Source localization failed.

The kid's mouth is agape. The knight has dropped his sword. Even the unicorn has an expression of mute wonder on its face.

You pet her again.

Behind you the knight has completely lost it. He's shouting, his voice cracking, stomping his feet. You think he might be upset.

The shouting wakes Robes.

He sits up holding his head, sees you petting the knight's unicorn, and immediately scrambles up and starts talking at you, gesturing wildly, and you're sure it's very important but you just remembered you have a piece of gecko jerky in your hip compartment.

The knight looks at Robes. When he speaks again his voice low and deliberate. Whatever he said makes Robes go white as bird shit. He backs up a step, hands raised, talking fast.

The unicorn takes the piece of offered jerky out of your fingers and chews nervously as if held at gunpoint. A moment later it's chomping at your hand for more.

The knight is shouting again, advancing on Robes, sword in hand. Robes is backing away toward the stone circle, calling at you.

>Step between them. Break it up.
>Step back. Probably best not get involved in local matters.
>Pick up Robes and run. Don't fight. Don't surrender him. Just leave.
>Write-in

>>6389055
>Allow the unicorn to mount us, then toboggan down the hills and plains on robes adequately flat body.

>>6389055
>Step between them. Break it up.

>>6389055
>Step between them. Break it up.
Woah woah woah, you're going to upset the beautiful magical steed!

>>6389055
>Step between them. Break it up
It does seem as though robes brought us here from our nightmare world. If true it’s because of him we got to pet a unicorn and hug a tree, and we owe him deeply.

>>6389055
>Step between them. Break it up.
>Write-in
>"Stop already." - External speakers

>>6389055
>Step between them. Break it up.
>Write-in
The thing in the tree can communicate with us right? Can't it also serve as an intermediary?

>>6389055
>Step between them. Break it up.
COOL IT!
O
O
L
I
T
!

>>6389055
>>Step between them. Break it up.
>>6389114
bro also stepped up and started blasting when he thought we were in danger. feel bad about tasing
him
>>6389266
also this, we need to communicate more

>>6389114
I wonder if he can summon any of our other buddies.

>>6389055
>Step between them. Break it up.

>>6389055

The knight's sword is already in motion by the time you get there. The blade catches you dead across the chestplate with a sound like someone hitting a cathedral bell with a lead pipe, and the rebound whips his arm back so hard he staggers into his own backswing and falls flat on his ass. He sits up, stares at the blade -- there's a notch in the steel deep enough to lose a thumb in -- and then stares at you, at the spot where he struck you, where there is nothing at all.

No movement. Even the insects seem to hold their breath. The only creature on this hill not turned to stone is the unicorn, who has found more gecko jerky in the grass and is chewing with an air of philosophical detachment.

Your HUD flickers. For the first time since you arrived, the computer deigns to print out the full tactical display.

=========================

STATUS

JUICE [||||||||||||||||||||] 100% | +1%/hr

SYSTEMS
SERVOS -- OFF [o-] ON
SENSORS -- OFF [o-] ON
COMPUTER -- OFF [o-] ON
SEALED -- OFF [o-] ON

RIFLE (x) STUN 1% ( ) BEAM 3% ( ) BLAST 10%

ARMOR NOMINAL -- last impact: NEGLIGIBLE

DATABASE
TRANSLATION -- 23 samples | next: 50
SCANS -- 3 entries
MEDIA -- 6 files
bkeaton_2.mp4
field_manual_x02.pdf
playlist_bbw.m3u
mixtape.m3u
bunker_9_photo.png
0x57414b45.bin #WARNING: UNKNOWN PROGRAM DETECTED

=========================

Huh, you don't remember seeing that last file before. And it looks like the computer needs more samples for the translation. Giving it some more juice might help. Or you could activate the servos and throw this guy around a bit -- or just get the hell out of dodge. Speaking of which, where is dodge exactly? A full sensor sweep might clear that up.

The knight speaks again, keeping the notched blade pointed nervously at your chest while he addresses the wizard behind you. Whatever he says makes Robes flinch like he's been slapped. The wizard fires back, pointing at the stones, at the sky, then at you. The squire chimes in from behind the mule, shrill and fast.

You're getting bored.

>Activate COMPUTER [write-in] (1% JUICE)
>Do a full scan with SENSORS (1% JUICE)
>Activate SERVOS [write-in] (3% JUICE)
>Blast mixtape.m3u on external speakers.
>Keep everything offline. Wait them out.
>Write-in

>>6389944
>Write-in
Go talk to the tree and pet the unicorn again. Both were chill and cool. Just make sure to record more translation samples while they talk

>>6389944
>Do a full scan with SENSORS (1% JUICE)
If there are actual bushes nearby I'm gonna freak the fuck out

>>6389944
>Activate COMPUTER [TRANSLATION] (1% JUICE)
Gotta figure out what the hell these dudes are saying

>>6389993
+1

>>6389944
>Blast mixtape.m3u on external speakers.
Start dancing too.

>>6389944
>Activate COMPUTER [write-in] (1% JUICE)
>Do a full scan with SENSORS (1% JUICE)
I hope these arent mutually exclusive. If they are i vote for translate first

>0x57414b45.bin
When converted w/ascii this becomes
>WAKE.bin

>>6389944
>Do a full scan with SENSORS (1% JUICE)

>>6389944
>Write-in
>Point at the ground near the knight with one free hand.
>"Stay goddamn there. And dont try again." - External speakers

>Do a full scan with SENSORS (1% JUICE)
Get a scan of the area going.

>>6389944
>Activate COMPUTER [Read field_manual_x02.pdf] (1% JUICE)
>Blast mixtape.m3u on external speakers.
>Sit on the Knight

>>6390353
>"Stay goddamn there. And dont try again." - External speakers
Just like we don't understand their language, they don't understand ours.

>>6390353
+1

>>6390478
Doesn't matter. We'll communicate with tone and gesture!

>>6389944

>>6389944
SENSORS -- OFF [-o] ON -- 1%
JUICE [|||||||||||||||||||.] 99%

You point one gauntleted finger at the dirt in front of the knight.

"STAY GODDAMN THERE. AND DON'T TRY AGAIN."

External speakers, full blast. He doesn't understand the words but he reads the finger fine. With a quick flick of his wrist, he lowers the blade and plants it point-first in the dirt. Takes his hand off the grip.

Good enough.

Meanwhile, the sensors are already painting the hilltop.

SENSOR SWEEP COMPLETE.

Knight, squire -- looks human. Skeleton, usual organs. No anomaly.
Mule -- equine. No anomaly (not that you'd really know).
Sword -- ferrous alloy. Some structural damage.

Wizard -- human. ANOMALY DETECTED
Unicorn -- ANOMALY DETECTED
Subsurface -- ANOMALY DETECTED

TERRAIN (elevated, 360):
S: Road. 0.3km. Recent traffic.
NE: Structure. 4.2km. Bearing 042.
W: Forest. Thermal contacts. 0.8km. MOVING.
E: River. 1.1km. Fresh water.

Anomaly appears to be some kind of unknown radiation field. Robes is wrapped in a coat of it that shimmers and undulates like Northern lights. There's a tight beam going into his forearm, coming from the northeast -- it's pulsing at a regular interval -- 7 seconds exactly, down to the millisecond.

The unicorn has the same shimmer but blazing, concentrated on the horn, recieving from all directions at once. The ground under the tree is thick with it too, rising through roots, getting stronger as it goes deeper underground until it's abruptly cut off -- the sensor's maximum range.

You could give the COMPUTER a crack at analyzing these signatures later.

The helmet has a telescopic zoom function. You use it now. The optics instantly pinch kilometers of distance, bringing to your sight a cylinder of gray crenellated stone rising above the treeline. Bearing 042. Roughly the same direction as the beam to Robes's forearm. Too far to peek inside or map out from here.

You sweep west. Switch to thermals. Movement between the trunks in the forest, 800 meters out -- low shapes in tight formation. The heat signatures flicker in and out, here one second, completely gone the next. You've never seen it do that before. The shapes are strange -- 4-legged, with what you'd guess is a tail that curves up like a scorpion stinger, and a small hump on the back that... moves?

South: a road winding away from the tower. Wheel ruts, hoofprints. Well-traveled.

East: a river in the valley, catching the sun. You wonder what fresh water tastes like. Probably not like recycled piss.

>Follow the road south -- away from the tower
>Northeast -- toward the tower and the signal
>West -- into the forest, toward whatever that was
>East -- the river, fresh water, open ground
>Stay on the hilltop
>Write-in

>>6391384
> >East -- the river, fresh water, open ground
Away from the displacer beasts? and towards clean water.

>>6391384
>Northeast -- toward the tower and the signal
>Grab Robes.

>>6391384
>Point at Robes and the Knight, then at ourselves. Follow me.
>Northeast -- toward the tower and the signal

>>6391429
+1, let's get answers from whoever is in charge around here.

>>6391384

>>6391384
>>6391429
+1! C'MON, SQUISHY FRIENDS

>>6391384
>Northeast -- toward the tower and the signal

>>6391429
+1

>>6391429
+1

>>6391384
You point the rifle at the knight. Then the wizard. Then northeast, at the tower above the treeline. Walk two fingers through the air.

The knight draws himself up and begins a speech. You let him finish. Then you jut your finger at the tower.

They follow.

You have to hand it to the group: it's a hell of an adventuring party. The prewar paperback covers strewn on the floors of the Bunker 9 latrine (covers were too hard to wipe with) had heroes and wizards and noble steeds marching toward distant towers. This looks exactly like that--if the hero had a plasma rifle and everyone else was a hostage.

The knight walks ten paces ahead, spine straight as a pike shaft, seething enough to heat a small barracks. The squire trails him, dragging the mule by its reins, sneaking glances at you. The wizard stumbles along at your elbow, chattering without pause. He points at the tower. Shakes his head. Points at himself. Drags a finger across his throat. Points at the tower again.

TRANSLATION: 34 SAMPLES. NEXT THRESHOLD: 50.

The unicorn trots at your right flank with perfect serenity, occasionally bumping her nose against the hip compartment where you kept the jerky. You slip her the very last piece. She chews with her eyes half-closed in pleasure.

The tower fills the treeline as you close the distance. Gray weathered stone, eight stories, no windows below the fifth floor. A pennant hangs dead from the parapet. The trail becomes packed dirt with wheel ruts worn deep enough to turn an ankle.

The wizard stops walking. The brand on his forearm is glowing through the sleeve -- a dull orange. On thermals, fifteen degrees above baseline and climbing. He grabs your gauntlet, says one word twice, points at the ground, and folds his arms.

You grab his collar and keep walking.

The knight falls back to walk beside the wizard. They're singing a different tune now, mutterings and whispers. But whatever the knight is saying, the wizard shakes his head.

Up close the tower has no seams, no mortar -- the whole thing cut from a single piece of stone. The iron door is twice your height and shut tight.

You knock, gauntlet on iron, and the boom carries for miles.

Nothing answers.

There is a recess in the wall beside the door -- narrow, vertical, the length of a forearm. At its base, carved into the stone: an angular tower symbol. The same mark branded on the wizard's arm.

The wizard sees it and stops talking. He holds his branded arm against his chest protectively.

The knight sees it too and steps back.

>Force his arm in the slot.
>Activate SERVOS to climb to the 5th floor. Solo entry. (3% juice)
>Create your own entrance. Rifle, full power BLAST. (10% juice)
>Write-in

>>6392788
>Create your own entrance. Rifle, full power BLAST. (10% juice)

>>6392788
>Create your own entrance. Rifle, full power BLAST. (10% juice)

>>6392788
>Create your own entrance. Rifle, full power BLAST. (10% juice)
KNOCK KNOCK

>>6392788
>Activate SERVOS to climb to the 5th floor. Solo entry. (3% juice)
We don't actually know who the good guys (if any) are in these parts. Best nor to ruin the locals' domicile.

>>6392788
>Activate SERVOS to climb to the 5th floor. Solo entry. (3% juice)

>>6392957
+1, seems unwise to blow things up right away. we can always go to plan B

>>6392788
>>Write-in
See if we can continue farming translation samples to start getting information on what's going on here and what these clowns are saying. Right now, we're retardmaxxing by not using out suit's capabilities and running around blind. We may be in power armor, but magic exists here, and we don't know how potent the magic is (it may be able to best us without our armor). Learning how to speak to the niggas who are indigenous to the world seems like a rational first step.

OP?

Sad, I liked where this quest was going.

>>6392788

You turn the dial on the rifle all the way over. You do not use this setting often. Mostly because it has a tendency to create more problems than it solves.

RIFLE ( ) STUN 1% ( ) BEAM 3% (x) BLAST 10%

You fire.

Robes throws himself flat.

For one bright blue-white instant there is a door. Then there is hot iron going away from where the door used to be at unbelievable speed. The recess, the tower mark, and a healthy slice of wall go with it. The boom rolls across the hills and comes back small and thin from the west.

JUICE: 86%.
ANOMALY FIELD SURGE: 0.4 SEC.

When the glare clears the knight is on the ground, the squire is in a bush, and the mule has deposited something unpleasant on the grass. The unicorn merely blinks.

Robes is still on the ground, hands over the back of his head, peeking at the smoking hole with awe mixed with what appears to be giddiness.

You step through first.

Inside is a round shaft, floor after floor circling the wall with no stairs between them. Books on one level. Green glass tanks on another. On a third, something in a brass cage is trying very hard to look dead before you notice it.

A tower mark is carved into the inner wall. Same one you saw outside. Same one on Robes' arm. Robes presses his branded forearm against it.

The brand turns white.

Stone treads punch out of the wall one by one, spiraling upward. Robes jerks back with a hiss. You point up.

He climbs.

At the next landing the stairs stop at a slab of black stone. Robes slaps his forearm against the mark beside it. He seems almost eager now.

His arm says something.

Not Robes' voice. Old. Dry. Absolutely livid. It comes out of the brand itself. Robes jumps, then starts talking back to his own wrist, jabbing at you, then himself, then higher up the tower. He laughs. More maniacal a laugh than you were expecting.

The voice answers.

Robes points through the hole you made, then spreads his arms at you like a man presenting a prize hog.

TRANSLATION UPDATE.
NEW SAMPLES: 6.
SIGNAL QUALITY: DEGRADED.

LIKELY TOKENS:
NOT
HE
US
UNDERSTAND

BEST ORDER:
HE NOT UNDERSTAND US

PRONOUN MATCH:
HE = OPERATOR (71%)

The old voice snaps again.

Robes doesn't cringe this time. He smiles. He taps his chest, raises one finger like he's making a point, then gestures at you.

REPEAT PATTERN DETECTED.
NEGATION STRUCTURE CONFIRMED.

BEST PARSE:
"HE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND US."

CONFIDENCE: LOW.

Well.

Robes seems to be bargaining over something, given his gestures. Probably you. And whatever's on the other end wants you badly enough to argue over.

The black stone door grinds open about three inches.

From far outside, down among the trees, comes a faint rolling thud.

Robes hears it too. His eyes flick to the sound. Then to you. Then up.

>Say it in their language: "I understand you."
>Play dumb. Let Robes keep talking.
>Shove through the half-open door and head straight upstairs.
>Write-in

>>6396035
>Shove through the half-open door and head straight upstairs.
We want answers, and the elss they think we comprehend (which admittedly is not much) the more truthful they'll be when talking to one another.

>>6396035
>Say it in their language: "I understand you."

>>6396035
Pantomime that we're learning and they can keep talking, we'll get there eventually.

>>6396035
>Play dumb. Let Robes keep talking.
I don't trust him.

>>6396035
>Shove through the half-open door and head straight upstairs.
Their words cannot stop us because we can’t speak

>>6396058
Going to back this as well.
>Play dumb. Let Robes keep talking.
That way, we can finally get proper sentences going. We're still blind.

>>6396035
>Shove through the half-open door and head straight upstairs.

Gonna rip whoever is up here a new asshole to shit through.

>>6396035
>Say it in their language: "I understand you."
I'd prefer to keep the magic user as a pet instead of needing to kill him. Also yay, OP is back!

>>6396035
You put your shoulder to the gap and shove. The black stone door gives with a deep grinding complaint and then suddenly too much, because as far as six hundred pounds of powered armor is concerned, ancient masonry and wet cardboard are cousins.

The chamber beyond is round and open to the sky. Wind circles high above. Shelves jut from the walls at odd angles, crammed with books, glass, bones, and things in jars that still twitch and tremble.

At the far side, twenty feet up the wall, sits a stone throne.

You stop and look for stairs.

There are no stairs.

No ladder. No platform. Not even a rope.

An old man is sitting in it in layered black robes, thin as a reed and meaner-looking than most raiders. A white beard falls to his chest. One hand clenches the armrest, while the other stabs down at Robes as he shouts.

Behind the throne hovers what at first you think is a statue of ice, made in the general shape of a woman, hair drifting like weed in a current, bare feet over empty air. But when she moves her head to look at you, you realize she isn't a statue at all, but something more like the tree-girl you met earlier. A spirit.

TRANSLATION UPDATE.
SAMPLES: 50.
VOCABULARY EXPANDED.

HIGH CONFIDENCE TOKENS:
GOLEM
MINE
BOY
TOWER
OTHER TOWERS
GIVE
MASTER
NO

The river-woman glides down from behind the throne without moving anything you can see. Up close there are pebbles turning in the clear parts of her. She's also not wearing any clothes.

When she speaks, it comes out in your own language, smooth and easy as running water in a river.

"The boy claims he summoned you, and with you he may take this tower."

She inclines her head toward the throne.

"My master says the boy is a thief and a fool. If the boy yields you now, this matter need not go before the other Towers."

Robes starts to say something, but the woman gives him a look and he goes pale as milk. The old man smiles a smile with no mercy in it at all.

The water-woman looks up into your faceplate.

"Speak plainly, Golem of Steel. To whom do you belong?"

>Stand with Robes. If he called you, say so.
>Go to the foot of the throne. Hear the old man out.
>Make it clear: nobody here owns you.
>Write-in

>>6396495
>Make it clear: nobody here owns you.
Good? Bad? I'm the guy with the POWER ARMOR

>>6396497
+1

>>6396495
>I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all

>>6396540
I'd also +1 this, if I was confident the USA existed in our time period and world of origin.

>>6396497
+1

>>6396495
>Make it clear: nobody here owns you.
We're pretty grateful to robes for summoning us from the ruined world we came from, but not grateful enough to be a slave.

>>6396495
>Make it clear: nobody here owns you.

>>6396495
You draw yourself up to full height, putting a giant gauntleted hand to your chest.

"I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO THE FLAG OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA--"

The room goes quiet. Robes is standing with a bewildered expression on his face. The water-woman's gaze sharpens. You get as far as "and to the Republic" before the COMPUTER decides to chime in.

PATRIOTIC KEYWORDS DETECTED.

The Star-Spangled Banner erupts out of you at a volume normally reserved for routing infantry. Brass. Drums. Choir. The whole shebang. The shelves rattle. Robes almost falls over. The old man's beard lifts in the blast. For a long five seconds afterward nobody in the tower says a word.

Then the water-woman silently floats back up, leans to the old man, and says something in his ear.

He listens.

His face contorts.

Apparently she has captured the spirit of the thing, because the old man rises half out of his throne and points at you like you invented hemorrhoids.

He speaks a single word.

A ball of orange-white fire the size of a helmet appears out of nowhere and slams into your chest.

There is a lot of flame. A lot of noise. Then a series of much more reassuring hisses from somewhere around your collar and underarms.

THERMAL SPIKE DETECTED.
FIRE SUPPRESSION ACTIVE.
ARMOR TEMP: STABLE.
DAMAGE: NEGLIGIBLE.

When the fire boils off, you are still standing exactly where you were. The old man is staring, mouth agape. Robes is smirking, arms crossed. The water-woman is looking at you with new professional interest.

You tap the soot off your chestplate.

Robes laughs again, babbling fast and with hysterical intensity. The old man cuts him off with another razor burst of words. The river-woman says, in your language, "My master wishes to know whether your banner of stars extends protection to thieves."

There are several possible answers to that.

>Draw and fire. 1% juice, non-lethal.
>Activate SERVOS and climb to the throne. 3% juice.
>Stand over Robes. If the old man wants him, he goes through you.
>Write-in

>>6396680
>Draw and fire. 10% juice, full power blast.

>>6396680
>My master wishes to know whether your banner of stars extends protection to thieves.
We elect one to be our leader every four years, sir.

>Activate SERVOS and climb to the throne. 3% juice.
Let's scruff this geezer like a cat in the cookie jar

>>6396680
>Activate SERVOS and climb to the throne. 3% juice.
Throne boy doesn't understand something. Robes isn't his, he's ours.

>>6396680
>Stand over Robes. If the old man wants him, he goes through you.
I know we've been no selling everything so far, but the way that woman can talk to us is worrying. If they switch to mental attacks we might be in a pickle. Best to not get too hostile.

>>6396680
>My master wishes to know whether your banner of stars extends protection to thieves
It strives to give everyone a chance to defend themselves when accused.

>Stand over Robes. If the old man wants him, he goes through you.

>>6396680
>My master wishes to know whether your banner of stars extends protection to thieves.
what is it we're even stealing here? or that Robes is stealing? stole?

>Stand over Robes. If the old man wants him, he goes through you.
i get the feeling however the old man got up on the throne, if we walk up to it, he can probably get off of it and go elsewhere

>>6397184
>what is it we're even stealing here? or that Robes is stealing? stole?
I think Robes is trying to steal the tower we're in, by force, using us, or so we've been told.

>>6396680
QM, can we get a current level of language download? It was over half for a few updates.

Also, what the actual hell is going on?
>Write-In: Ask who the thief is and what they're accused of stealing. If this water bitch can talk to us, she might have some kind of mental power. No known power armor in the Nukeverse (yes, I'm calling Fallout that) can protect against that shit, and we don't have mentats. So tread lightly.

>>6397339
>Nukeverse (yes, I'm calling Fallout that) can protect against that shit, and we don't have mentats.
I don't think there's been any particular indication that we come from the Fallout setting?

>>6397339
>>6397382
Yeah I don't remember fallout having power armor this advanced.

Also
>Ask who the thief is and what they're accused of stealing.
See >>6397295

>>6397295
That or he stole something from Throne dude, probably something related to the symbol, and Throne dude wants it back.

>>6396680
>Lift arm, wobble hand backa nd forth asif to say "sometimes, sort of, it depends."

>>6397383
Well there's irradiated wasteland, geckos, plasma rifle... fallout power armors did have hud and some even had voice I think... plus there was that stealth suit that had rather cute voice as well. But perhaps let's not make too many precise assumptions.

>>6397382
>>6397572
I was about to yell/rage at you guys, but I realize I have jumped the gun. To be fair, when I see power armor and irradiation or pollution in the same bed, I think "Fallout." It's ubiquitous enough to where those combinations are a thing. I don't think Metro has power armor, nor Stalker.

>>6397620
Stalker does have power armor. it's shit and will get you killed so nobody uses it except when moving house
shame on you for not knowing that

QM, where are you? Bring that ass back. Bring us that ass (pause).

>>6399629
OP seems to be the very sporadic update type.

>>6399629
Update imminent. Couldn't post for a while because of a range ban + issues with captcha.

>>6396680
You put yourself in front of Robes as your answer. You don't really know what's going on, but you're not about let some kid get barbecued in front of you.

You blink inside the helmet. "WHAT DID HE STEAL."

The water-woman tilts her head like and squints like you just asked her where babies come from. "Himself," she answers.

Your metal hand comes up to your chin. You look down. You ponder. You look up. "WHAT."

"Among the Towers," the water-woman continues, patiently, "apprentices are bound to their masters. They are his property."

You point at her. "YOU TOO?"

For the first time, her expression changes from the cool icy blankness, to something more mournful. "Yes. But whilst I remain, my master's wards keep my river sheltered and clean, it's creatures safe."

Not sure you like that any better. Sounds like commie talk. Another thought occurs to you. "HOW ARE YOU TALKING TO ME."

She turns her palm up. Water beads there from nowhere, hanging in the air like clear glass shot. "The language of my kind takes the shape of its vessel. Like water. Water receives all rivers and yields to every mouth."

The COMPUTER pings several times, as if clearing its throat.

EXPLANATION INCONSISTENT WITH FLUID DYNAMICS.

Below, something slams into stone hard enough to shake dust from the shelves.

Then once more.

Then three fast impacts in a row, irregular and ugly.

You look over the edge of the platform.

Three hollow boulders ricochet through the blasted breach below. Squatting inside them are little reptilian punks in patched leather and bone studs, hunched low and whooping at the top of their lungs. One boulder unfurls into a four-legged lizard thing mid-roll; its rider snatches a brass instrument off a shelf as he passes. Another points straight up the shaft at Robes' glowing arm and screams something ecstatic. Outside, the knight is yelling. The mule appears to be making a run for it.

>Activate COMPUTER. Tactical and strategic analysis. 1% juice.
>Activate SERVOS. Grab Robes and force a fast descent to the choke point. 3% juice.
>RIFLE BLAST. Fire down the shaft and vaporize the intruders. 10% juice.
>Write-in

>>6399826
>RIFLE BLAST. Fire down the shaft and vaporize the intruders. 10% juice.
SHOW OF FORCE

>>6399670
>>6399824
Huh? How come when I QM'd and had sporadic updates, my engagement flopped? I was told that voters are autistic with schedules. So which is it?

>>6399826
>>RIFLE BLAST. Fire down the shaft and vaporize the intruders. 10% juice.
Might as well get this show on the road.

>>6399881
You probably didn't have a fun concept or just sucked at writing.

>>6399826
>RIFLE BLAST. Fire down the shaft and vaporize the intruders. 10% juice.

>>6399881
A lot of quests are on a more sporadic schedule right now since a lot of the regular QMs are burnt out and the site has taken some hits lately, so I think most players are feeling chiller than usual about inconsistent updates. Plus, this quest is still pretty fresh, if it continues, maybe people will start to flake more and more. Don't listen to bully anon, I'm sure what you were writing was fine.

>>6399826
>Activate COMPUTER. Tactical and strategic analysis. 1% juice.
>Discombobulate
>Strike to the sternum
>???
>Profit

>>6399883
>RIFLE BLAST
for some goblins?
fuck 'em
our first priority is Robes, hopefully he knows what the fuck he did to bring us to this place and that might turn out to be very useful information in the future
the tower's owner seems like the type who can take care of himself
>>6399826
>Write-in
ask the river spirit thing wtf is going on with these punks

>>6399890
You must be one of them discord faggots.
>>6399900
Appreciate it, anon. The funny thing is, you get mutants like the bullyanon saying I sucked at writing, but when you try engaging in the general or the discord to level up your writing technique, you get trolls and shitposts. Make it make sense.

At any hazard, let us continue enjoying this quest.
>>6399955
Also QM, add this write-in response to the mix.

>>6399985
Right, the poor sportsmanship on the board is especially disgraceful when the community has already gotten so small. With so few of us left, we should be working together and helping each other improve, at least be polite to one another. I've already seen newbies and prolific QMs bail because of the needless hostility over adult online pretend time...

>>6399900
>>6399994
It'd be one thing if he truly was a newbie or prolific QM, but that's Sojourner you're defending.

>>6399826
>RIFLE BLAST. Fire down the shaft and vaporize the intruders. 10% juice.
Get disintegrated muties.

>>6400005
While I'm curious to ask how you are able to know that and also ask who that even is, I don't think this thread is the place for it, y'know? Don't wanna derail. Being unaware of such things I just wanted to be supportive to another player and push back against the larger culture of drama/disparagement on the board. Out of respect for the QM and other players here I am gonna drop this, however, and refocus my replies on the quest itself.

>>6399994
I agree. I'm not saying I'm a good person, but I at least am smart enough to know that alienating fresh blood will only hurt the hobby/community that we all enjoy.
>>6400005
Case in point. You retards really should stop assuming that anyone you dislike is (insert unpopular QM here).
>>6400016
It's for the best. They often do this "you're someone I don't like" crap. First it was the Soma troll, then it was Mist for at least a couple years, then it became Cynical in the general, and now it's some "Sojourner" person. Not even sure who they are. Their name doesn't ring a bell in any quest I've read. But I'm going to take a page from your book, report the clown's post, and reorient myself with the quest. I'm actually enjoying it so far and don't want QM to drop it due to negative energy. You're pretty wholesome, anon.

>>6400084
>Case in point. You retards really should stop assuming that anyone you dislike is (insert unpopular QM here).
It's easy to tell when only a couple people go right to blaming the discord. It's either you or schiz, and schiz would have mentioned abortion at least a few times by now.

>>6399826

One of the little reptiles stands upright inside his rolling stone shell and beats his chest with both fists. Red dust sifts off the studs in his leather. Another blows the brass thing he stole off the shelf, and the note comes up the tower like a furnace draft. All three are screaming at Robes' glowing arm with unmistakable religious enthusiasm.

"They are votaries of Ignatius the Red," the water-woman says, and for the first time her calm voice has fear in it. "A great lord of wind and fire. Our kind, who dwell in water, are his natural enemies."

You look from the screaming lizard punks to the stone lizards beneath them, to the horns and fire-colored paint and bone charms and generally terrible hygiene. For all that, they appear to have some semblance of intelligence--unlike the muties back home. They might even be capable of listening to reason, peaceful negotiation, possibly even to mutual benefit.

So anyway, you start blasting.

Blue-white plasma-glare fills the tower. The first boulder comes apart in a sheet of molten stone and screaming lizard. The second simply ceases to be a coherent political entity. The third hits the wall, bursts open early, and flings scales, gravel, and one extremely surprised reptile head across three different floors of books. Glass tanks explode. Shelves shear off. The thing in the covered brass cage gives up the pretense of death and shrieks at the top of its lungs.

JUICE: 76%.
WARNING!
STRUCTURAL INSTABILITY DETECTED.
RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE EVACUATION.

The whole tower lurches. A crack zigzags across the lip of the platform under your boots. Below, the shaft is now a chimney of dust, shattered masonry, boiling green fluid, and furious reptile profanity. You cannot see a clean second shot anywhere in it.

The old man takes one look at the mess and does the bravest thing he can manage: leaves. He raps his finger once against the armrest of the throne. A circle of darkness opens in air before him, edges shining like wet ink, the interior blinking with bright stars. The water-woman whirls. "Master--"

He leaps through like a diver gunning for a perfect 10. The portal shrinks to nothing. Gone.

For a heartbeat nobody says anything.

Then Robes makes a sound like a kettle about to burst. He's doing some kind dance, inexpertly, with great gusto. The water-woman turns to you. "With the Towermaster gone the wards on this land will fade away. The minions of the Red will soon be upon us." She gestures to Robes (currently trying to climb the throne and not succeeding). "The apprentice's brand can still command the tower."

Below, a horn answers another horn. Something heavy slams into the breach from outside.

>Help Robes and the water-spirit seal the tower.
>Grab Robes and run. Abandon the tower and the water-spirit.
>Hold the top and call down to the lizards. What do they want anyway?
>Write-in

>>6400137
>Help Robes and the water-spirit seal the tower.
I like her vibe

>>6400137
>Help Robes and the water-spirit seal the tower.
These people are a mess.

>>6400137
>Help Robes and the water-spirit seal the tower.

The water girl seems alright.

>>6400137
>Help Robes and the water-spirit seal the tower.

>>6400137
>Help Robes and the water-spirit seal the tower.
Your tower? My tower.

>>6400184
fuck yeah we'll bring Freedom, Democracy and Soap to these fuckers
>>6400137
>Help Robes and the water-spirit seal the tower.

>>6400137
You point to Robes, currently trying to (futilely) jump the distance to the throne. "WHAT DOES HE NEED?"

"To sit upon the throne," the water-spirit says.

You walk behind him. Grab him by the back of his robe and the seat of his trousers. He begins flailing his arms like upturned bug and yelling, as you carefully raise him over your read.

"UP YOU GO."

You toss him as hard as you can. Even without the assistance of the armor's SERVOS, he goes flying. His face sags around his skull by sheer velocity. He reaches the throne. Then shoots past it. He's about seven feet above it by the time his narrow parabolic arc reaches its vertex.

Hmm. Probably should have used the COMPUTER there.

Luckily, the water-spirit is there to catch one of his ankles a few inches shy of cranial impact. She tosses him upside down on the throne like he's a bag of garbage.

"Brand," she says.

His glowing forearm slaps the armrest. White fire races through the carved tower-mark. The whole throne drops like a snapped trap, catches him in the seat, and jolts hard enough to knock one shoe clean off. Robes lands with his arms pinwheeling, one foot bare, but wearing a (once again, surprisingly malicious) grin.

Stone answers him.

Deep below, gears the size of cottages begin to turn. Black slabs punch out across the blasted breach. One closes on a lizard halfway through the opening and permits exactly one of half of him (the top half) entry. Some kind of blue cement surges from cracks in the shaft walls, threads itself into glowing lines, and hardens instnatly into a blue lattice over the fresh stone. The tower shudders, complains, threatens collapse, but ultimately holds.

Outside horns shriek in outrage.

The water-spirit looks down at the more dozen muties gathered there with undisguised hatred. Robes, white-knuckled on the armrests, says something sharp in his own tongue. The tower answers by opening narrow firing-slits in the upper ring and retracting a section of floor beneath your boots to reveal a kind of stone ladderformed from evenly spaced grooves on the tower exterior.

One of the lizards below looks up at you, raises his remaining arm, and bites his own thumb hard enough to draw blood. The others answer him. A war-chant starts echoing up the shaft.

>RIFLE BEAM. Snipe them from the top until the rest break and run. 3% JUICE.
>Activate SERVOS. Go down there and finish the lizards up close. 3% JUICE.
>Sit back and let Robes and the water-spirit handle this. Conserve JUICE.
>Write-in

>>6400112
STFU faggot. Like God damn.

>>6400297
I'm not sure spending more juice is the right play here. Water bitch seems capable enough. We still don't speak the language yet. For all we know we're helping the bad guys. Just because they haven't murked us yet doesn't need they're legit. They may need us for and bullshit.

Hm. At a loss here. Don't want to make more enemies if I can help it. Y'all tell me though.

>>6400297
>RIFLE BEAM. Snipe them from the top until the rest break and run. 3% JUICE.
We should talk to these goobers about JUICE, perhaps trading our mercenary talents for more JUICE. Can't be a worse gig than wandering the wasteland hoping for a nuclear Winter...

>>6400310
nah fuck that
>>6400304
yeah
>>6400297
>Sit back and let Robes and the water-spirit handle this. Conserve JUICE.
>Write-in
check on the kniggit and especially on his unicorn who seems to be able to make JUICE flow down from heaven

>>6400310
Talk to them with what? Only the water-spirit can communicate. We still need to "download" (or whatever) this world's linguistic data. We can TRY asking her about an energy source, but it's not likely to exist here than in our OG world. Not to mention, any magically-based energy source may come with adverse side-effects.

Eh, I guess try asking, but proceed with caution. Don't go plugging in to any USB slots they offer us without thorough inspection.

>>6400310
We can ask the unicorn to recharge us. We just have to obtain more jerky for him. Or her. Hopefully they're still around...

>>6400297
>RIFLE BEAM. Snipe them from the top until the rest break and run. 3% JUICE.

>>6400298
Funny how faggot is your go to insult when all you ever write about is sex with twinks.

>>6400297
>>6400321 +1 to this

>>6400298
Also +1 to this.

>>6400384
Nobody cares about your gay discord and general drama. We're here for fun sci-fi fantasy adventures. You both should let it drop. Please stop.

>>6400394
If Soj can resist the urge to keep raising a stink then I'll have nothing to talk about, but I think we both know he's just not capable of that.

>>6400443
you can fuck off, both of ya

>>6400297
>>Sit back and let Robes and the water-spirit handle this. Conserve JUICE.
Blasting is fun and all, but we've already burned the better part of a day's worth of charge, and we still have extremely little idea about most things in this new place.
As an experienced wasteland survivor, we should know that resource management is a crucial skill. This includes knowing when we can afford to splurge on BIG BOOM.

>>6400297
>RIFLE BEAM. Snipe them from the top until the rest break and run. 3% JUICE.
Pew pew

>>6400443
>>6400394
You both are retarded. Shut up and drop it. Now.

>>6401490
You're literally saying the same thing I said in >>6400394, so 100% on board with that!

>>6401538
He said stop. That means . . . wait for it . . . STOP! Last time you're being told.

>>6401539
Agreed! :) I am 100% on board. I'm glad we're all in agreement despite your strangely imperious tone.

Low key, might hijack this if QM doesn't come back. It's an interesting premise. Might have to ignore posts from RZ7RLq5/ and EGFqgBU4 for being bad faith shitters, but this quest scratches my goddamn itch for real. I haven't QM'd in a while so I'm not sure if it's still the "wait a week first" rule or if that's changed.

>>6402453
Things are so slow now I would say it might be more polite to wait ten days or two weeks.

>>6402453
>RZ7RLq5/
That's me, and I am not trying to engage in bad faith at all. I hope OP comes back, and my only ask has been to leave Dsicord drama out of the thread and to focus on fun adventures.

>>6402453
I'd wait a day or two more at least. OP disappeared for a week last time and came back. Or, use this as inspiration and run your own quest, can always use fresh quests on the board.

OP here. I'm still alive. Just been locking in at work lately so haven't had time. Will post update soonish.

>>6402655
Glad to hear it, QM!

>>6402655
YEAH BOY!

>>6400297
Robes points through the open floor, then says something.

Then the translation, courtesy of the water-woman: "He commands you to descend and kill them."

You turn your helmet toward Robes.

He attempts to stare back and look tough. He manages this for about one full second before it turns into a sheepish, apologetic look. He makes a small motion on the armrest and a stone slab slides out of the floor behind you, broadens, hollows, and assumes the shape of a big chair (though not quite as high as his throne).

You sit.

The first few lizards attempt to come up the grooves Robes just made. Robes slaps his branded forearm against the throne and the grooves retract inward. The ladder becomes smooth wall, and the climbers drop in a clattering rain of scales, sharp elbows, and what you assume is profanity. Robes follows up with a volley of stone bricks that manages to catch one in the dome and smash its skull into a red mess.

"HOW IS HE DOING THIS."

"The tower is the source of all their sorcery," the water-woman says. She floats beside your chair with her arms crossed. "Seated upon them, they drink from the font of power: the sacred land."

"SACRED HOW."

"Deep water. Deep fire. Stone under strain. Towermasters use such words. But I know not their true significance."

Below, two of the four-legged beasts bite their own tails. The flesh freezes and hardens into stone, forming a hollow boulder. Riders flatten themselves inside the hollow as they roll with gathering speed toward the breach. Robes flinches, fumbles on his words, then quickly repeats himself and slides his hand across the armrest. A curved wall shoots up from the ground before the tower. The first roller rides the curve and shoots back through its own charge. The second hits head on, cracks open early, and spills a live mount sideways across three screaming riders.

"WHAT ARE THOSE ARMADILLO THINGS."

"...I have not heard them called that before. They are the mounts of the votaries. Their tails turn all they touch to stone, including their own flesh. In that state they are immune to harm." She turns and glances at your rifle on your lap. "Nearly immune."

Another group of lizards appear to be constructing a crude weapon of siege, a kind of slingshot using a rope and two fallen slabs, with one of the petrified beasts as the intended projectile. They pull it back as far as it will go. Then they release.

Robes grabs both arms of the throne and shouts.

The entire tower leans back.

The stone-roller launches, skims the tower wall just slightly while it's in motion, skips off the outside curve, and then drops into the yard on the other side with a wet crunch.

"WHAT DO THEY WANT."

"To spoil the tower," the water-woman says. "To break its wards, foul the river, burn out the roots, make the land fit for their kind."

>Write-in [more questions]

>>6402927
Ah, radiation mutants. Got it.
>Help destroy the votaries or drive them off
It's the responsible thing to do.

>>6402927
Sounds like raiders, bandits, or some of the marginally more intelligent mutants.
>>6402934
This, but in more of a passive role. Pick off individuals that look like they may break through, or that try to organize the others. Try and keep JUICE usage low, where possible.
If they do break through, mind what the water-lady said about their tails.

>>6402655
Welcome back!
>>6402960
+1 this

>>6402927
>>6402934
+1 to this
>>6402960
+1 to being mindful of da JUICE about it

+Ask the water lady
>"ARE THESE TOWERMASTERS TRUSTWORTHY, OR ARE THEY AS PSYCHO AS THEY SEEM? ARE YOU EVEN HERE OF YOUR OWN FREE WILL?"
Just a little chit chat while we kick the occasional lizard over the edge.

>>6402962
Kek, nice addendum. +1 to smalltalk.

>>6402927
IP changed I guess. I'm >>6402934

>>6402927
Actually yea, changing
>>6402961
to
>>6402962
Sometimes ya just gotta shoot the shit, y'know

>>6402962
Supporting.

>>6402927
>How would I apologize to a traumatized dryad?

>>6402927
"ARE THE TOWER GUYS ALL THIS CRAZY."

The water-woman watches Robes cackle at a lizard falling to his death after a well placed brick to the face.

"Some are worse," she says. "So I have heard. Sometimes they demand unreasonable things. Sometimes their wants grow... perverse."

"AND WHAT DID YOUR MASTER WANT FROM YOU."

"Only his ink cooled, his doors opened, visitors communicated, rivers to supply his reservoirs. At night he set compasses on maps and whispered over them until the sun rose anew in the east. Sometimes he would put half of me in a barrel and send it to a distant land, and ponder my distant reflections in the mirror." She looks to a stone basin filled to the brim with dark water.

Below, the lizards are pulling back. Robes interprets this as victory (judging by the return of his enthusiastic popping and locking) but it looks more to you like they're making room for something.

Not a second later, a rider comes up the road on something pale and long as a sewer pipe. It has no eyes. Red gills feather out from its neck, and transparent slime jiggles as it moves, its organs pulsating in full view within. Fresh holes from tower-stones (courtesy of a panicking Robes) close neatly as the slime engulfs them. The rider sits high on its back with a hooked pole dripping red from the tip.

"WHAT IS THAT."

"A creature of the deep water," the water-woman says, with new excitement. "Drawn from out its lightless wells."

The rider lowers the blood-hook. The blind lizard slithers after the smell.

The knight (now mounted on his unicorn) charges. Give the idiot this: he's no coward. The unicorn hits the yard like thunder. The knight's lance is poised to take the other rider in the chest, but the blind creature's tail whips around and swats him out of the saddle. He hits mud, rolls, and does not get back up.

The unicorn, staggered at first by the sudden blow, rises and runs back for him. She nudges him desperately with her muzzle, but he doesn't wake up.

Meanwhile the rider is still moving, shifting the hooked pole toward the unicorn. The blind lizard opens its mouth and follows.

Alrighty then.

TARGETING ASSIST ENABLED.
RIFLE ( ) STUN 1% (x) BEAM 3% ( ) BLAST 10%
JUICE [yellow][||||||||||||||......][/yellow] 73%

The brief blue-white beam makes a hole about the size of a #2 pencil in the rider's head.

He drops backward. The hook flips from his hand and lands behind him and the creature lunges after it, smashing through three lizards without a care in the world. The war cheers are cut suddenly short by the kind of hush that falls when someone on a long family roadtrip just confessed to the untimely release of their bladder on the brand new upholstery.

Then the lizards run. The creature runs after them, blind head swinging, tail mowing shrubs flat as it follows their noise into the trees.

You lower the rifle and sit back down.

"SO WHAT ELSE DOES THIS TOWER PROTECT."

[1/2]

>>6403942
The water-woman, gaping at you for a second, soon recovers, and then leads you to the stone basin. She places a delicate finger on dark water's surface, creating a ripple. The reflection across its surface morphs: a road, a market, a gate with heads on a pike. Flies. Bare feet in the muck. The creaky wheel of a wooden cart. A man with two missing fingers lifting a 4-year old girl onto his shoulders. Buying her a little flour cake from a woman with pox scars.

Lowford, the little village is called. The word "shitheap" comes to mind.

A little later, on the way down to inspect the damage, you bring up the COMPUTER.

TODOS:
[x] Trade throwing knives for iodine.
[x] Lecture bunker kids not to lick glowmoss.
[ ] Burn queen eggs under I-76 before dark.
[ ] Patch left knee servo before it locks again.

Seems a good time to add some items to the list.
>[ ] Find a way home
>[ ] Secure and inventory the tower
>[ ] Protect and improve Lowford
>[ ] Deal with the Reds
>[ ] Learn why Robes summoned you
>Write-in

>>6403944
>[X] Learn why Robes summoned you
First things first. Well, second. Third? Whatever step we're on now.

>>6403944
>[ ] Learn why Robes summoned you
Yea what the frick

>>6403944
>>[ ] Learn why Robes summoned you
>>[ ] Secure and inventory the tower
We seem to have stumbled into something of a friendly relationship with Robes, and by extension the Tower. It seems like a decent base of operations for now, and I imagine we're no stranger to casing old buildings as short-term bases.

Our world sounds like it was... unpleasant, but it was home.
Did we have any sort of larger purpose previously? Our existing TODO list implies we were engaged to some degree with some sort of society. And power armor and energy weapons can't be plentiful, or cheap.
I'm trying to establish if there's anyone/group that relied on us, or if we otherwise have strong ties to the wasteland. If we do, add "Find a way home" to the list.

That servo note worries me.
>Write-in
>[] Do a full systems check
Who knows what the 'transit' to this world might have done to our armor or other kit.

>>6403944
>[ ] Secure and inventory the tower
>[ ] Learn why Robes summoned you
>[ ] Identify a reliable source of JUICE

>>6403944
>>[ ] Learn why Robes summoned you
We need to learn more of this world to know how best to apply DEMOCRACY.
>[ ] Deal with the Reds

However... we should also Consult with COMPUTER if some of the beautiful green stuff all around could thrive back home. Or at least survive long enough to be able to spread... >inb4 we unleash some invasive mutant vine

Quick Q&A that I forgot to do:

>>6387170
>14 years of post apocalypse wasteland seems weirdly short.
5341 days is the suit's logged atmospheric baseline, not (necessarily) the age of the apocalypse. The suit is saying it has not seen air this clean in its current records.

>>6397382
>I don't think there's been any particular indication that we come from the Fallout setting?
It's Fallout inspired, but not the exact Fallout setting.

>>6397339
>QM, can we get a current level of language download?
DATABASE[\b]
TRANSLATION -- 88 samples | next: 100

>>6403967
>Did we have any sort of larger purpose previously?
Yes. Restoring the greatest country the world has ever seen to its former glory (and beyond) and ridding the world of the commie menace. God bless America. That said, it's not that urgent, what with the nuclear holocaust and all.

>>6403944
>>[ ] Secure and inventory the tower
>>[ ] Learn why Robes summoned you
>>[ ] Identify a reliable source of JUICE
Got to pump that JUICE. Though I think the Unicorn counts as a juice recharge I think, if the knight is still alive to get her moving.

>>6403944
>[ ] Deal with the Reds

>>6404167
OP life check

>>6403944

The tower has grown a stone bench along the cellar wall, courtesy of Robes. The squire has his master's helm off and a wet cloth pressed to the lump above his left ear. Sometimes the knight groans, which means he's still alive, but he hasn't woken up yet. According to the COMPUTER he has a CLOSED CRANIOCEREBRAL TRAUMA WITH SUSPECTED GRADE III CONCUSSION, whatever that means. The unicorn has her head through a window (also courtesy of Robes) and judges the people in room with her large, gentle eyes.

Robes sits on a barrel, one bare foot tucked under him, munching on a wedge of cheese.

"WHY DID YOU BRING ME HERE."

He jumps, then looks to the water-woman, who translates. His chewing slows down as he thinks. Finally he swallows and launches into what is obviously a prepared speech.

"He summoned a lawful instrument of his emancipation," the water-woman says.

You stare.

Robes looks at the floor and mutters something.

"He stole a forbidden rite from his master's lesser library," she amends, "altered it badly, and meant to call a war-golem no other Tower could claim."

DATABASE
TRANSLATION -- 100 samples | threshold reached

Robes mutters again. The water-woman doesn't catch it, but the COMPUTER does and it finally begins printing some subtitles.

BEST PARSE: I DID NOT KNOW IT WOULD HAVE A [UN-TRANSLATABLE. NEAREST TOKEN: SOUL].

Ah.

"CAN YOU SEND ME BACK."

Robes folds in on himself like damp toilet paper. Shakes his head once. Mutters some more.

"He says although he can open the portal again," the water-woman continues, "he does not possess the skill to decide its destination."

"WHO DOES."

Robes seems surprised by this question, as though it had never occurred to him. He ponders it for a long moment, stroking his chin. Finally he nods and speaks rapidly.

"He says there is only one person in the realm who might be able to do it."

He hangs his head as he utters the name.

"Randalf the Hightower," says the water-woman.

"WHERE IS HE."

Robes answers at once, then looks around as if the walls were bugged with listening devices.

"Most days," the water-woman says, "The Hightower abides in the royal palace, advising Her Highness the Princess."

"GOOD. THEN WE GO TO THE PALACE."

The water-woman's hesitant translations of this receives a general reaction similar to announcing you intend to take a leisurely stroll through an active minefield.

Robes talks very quickly.

"He says Randalf will not use sorcery. Not willingly. He is in recovery."

"FROM WHAT."

The water-woman hesitates.

Robes supplies the word.

"Connivitis," she says.

Your COMPUTER, after a respectful half second of pretending it knows what that is reports the following:

QUERY: CONNIVITIS.
DATABASE RESULT: NONE.
NEAREST TOKEN: CONJUNCTIVITIS
RECOMMENDATION: AVOID INFECTION.

"A DISEASE."

[CONT]

>>6408340
"A disease of the will," he confirms. "But not madness. It's just that sorcery encourages a certain... breadth of consideration. Plans. Necessary plans. Until every living thing becomes part of the plan. Until you are awake at dawn arranging for a baker's daughter to marry a bridge inspector because in seventeen years their grandson might inherit a toll road. There was a Towermaster once who kept a full household of attendants sworn to talk him out of schemes. He spent three years arranging their marriages, debts, fears, and inheritances until they could no longer disagree with him without ruining one another."

"SO RANDALF IS CRAZY."

"Randalf is one year clean," Robes says. "He just earned his one-year orb last month."

You picture a bunch of old greybeards in a church basement, sitting in a circle, clutching little colored crystal balls and admitting they are powerless over elaborate scheming and plotting.

"He attends no councils," the water-woman continues. "He keeps no apprentice. He commands no tower. But he serves the Princess, and if Her Highness wishes him to open your way, he will obey."

"GOOD. THEN WE ASK THE PRINCESS."

Another silence. Much longer this time.

Even the unicorn closes its eyes and slowly shakes its head. You get the sense if it had hands it would be palming it's face right about now.

"The Princess," says the water-woman, like you were a slow toddler, "does not grant requests."

Robes nods vigorously and begins counting on his fingers. The COMPUTER manages to translate some of it.

BEST PARSE: SHE IS WORSE THAN THE [UNTRANSLATABLE. NEAREST TOKENS: GLANS DISINTEGRATING] PLAGUE.

"Her Highness is lawful," the water-woman says. "Scrupulously so. As well she must be to keep the other Princesses in check. Even the Merchants Guild fears to sit at her table."

You haven't met the Merchants Guild yet. But you don't need to. Every world has merchants, and every merchant has the same iron flywheel where a soul ought to be.

"WORSE THAN MERCHANTS."

"She would not merely ask what you can do," the water-woman says. "She would consider what you are, what you might become, what your absence from your own world is worth, what your return is worth, and which of those prices can be collected from others, and which can be collected from you."

If you didn't know any better, you'd say water-girl here was a fan.

Robes hops off the barrel. He sets the cheese down with the solemnity of a man laying aside a loaded weapon. There follows gestures to the tower, to you, to himself, to the basin showing Lowford, to the smoking breach upstairs, to the dead lizards outside, and finally to the northeast, south, west, and possibly every other direction in which a Tower might be minding its own business.

[CONT]

>>6408342
"He says," the water-woman translates, very carefully, "that rather than hazard the palace at once, you might remain here. The votaries of the Red will return. But more pressing than even that are the other Towers, who will hear of his master's disappearance and begin scheming anew. With your strength and his seat upon the throne, this place could be secured."

Robes smiles at you.

"He offers you an honored place beneath--"

"BENEATH."

Robes sees death in the reflection on your faceplate and quickly amends his offer.

"Beside," she says. "An honored place beside him."

Hmm.

Robes swallows. His hands begin cutting the air into counties. He steps over a small puddle on the flagstones and draws borders with his toe in the dust. His voice rises. His eyes start to shine.

"He proposes a league of free Towers," the water-woman says. "No rods. No masters. Apprentices released from bondage. Spirits unchained from cruel service."

"FREEDOM." You like the sound of that.

Robes nods vigorously. "The weaker Towers might be persuaded first," he continues, "The crueler masters isolated and brought to heel by force. Their apprentices encouraged to defect with the promise of revised covenants. Their roads and markets brought under coordinated protection. A temporary central authority might be required, naturally, until the state of emergency has passed."

Robes clasps his hands behind his back and looks nobly into the middle distance.

You exchange a glance with the water-woman.

Robes notices everyone looking at him and immediately sits back down on the barrel.

"That was only a sketch," he concludes.

"UH HUH."

>Take the partnership.
>Head for the palace alone.
>Check out the locale.
>Write-in

>>6408343
>Take the partnership.

>>6408343
>Write-in
>HOW WOULD ANY OF THIS HELP SOLVE MY PROBLEM

>>6408343
>Check out the locale.
This guy's not going anywhere, and before we go agreeing to anything, gathering our own info might help prevent us from being rug-pulled. This isn't the first time we've had to navigate a shifty deal.
Broadly though, I am tempted to take him up on it, mainly so we have a home base for R&R, and so we can hold him to the lofty ideals expressed here (rather than him sliding into a dictator as is likely).

Also of note: this "disease of the will" affects the guys in charge of towers. Of which our slightly hapless Robes is now a member. We'll need to keep an eye on him.

>>6408515
+1, excellent thinking. Plus, keeping him waiting is a good negotiation tactic.

>t. merchant

>>6408343
>Check out the locale

Let's take a look how much FREEDOM and DEMOCRACY this place could use. Also we need to find some jerky for the Unicorn. Pet her.

>>6408343
>Check out the locale.
I figure the long-term plan should be to get ourselves a recharging source of JUICE, enough allies to back us up, then take out the Princess and install a new puppet. We've already demonstrated that we can take out most of what they might throw at us, all we need is more intel on what the Princess has that could stop us. She can be as lawful all she wants, it will be for naught if we burn down her kingdom. Ahem, I mean start a revolution for FREEDOM AND LIBERTY.