In the glow of dusk, you sit within the stone house, the last of the daylight being a time to finish your working. You smell the freshly rubbed vellum and place the page upon the scriptorium's table, pulling the guide ropes taut. They make horizontal lines across the worked skin, and you push the page over to set the margin before making final tightening once you are sure it is straight. You pick up the quill, rubbing your hand in reflex as it protests taking to the familiar position.“Oh Gods. Grant me the strength.” You laugh. The Gods are invoked to heal the wounds of warriors, not scribes, but at this moment the pain your hand surely must be at least worth a few battles worth of honor. You already know the words you must transcribe by heart, as you have already made two copies of it today, but you still glance back at the reference again just to ensure there are no mistakes.From Hroth, came the four princes and just one daughter, born of the last great Hrothian King. This was a strong bloodline. And of these four went out to carve Kingdoms of their own, founding a great city each in their own name, and their names were Inigo, and Alcepass, and Lugh, and Chermeset. But the daughter was the King's favored, as from the day she was born she was beloved by the whole world, and he believed her to be the true future of Hroth. The daughter was to be married to the last Prince of the Halitotians, uniting the two greatest peoples of that age. But upon seeing his hideous face, she refused, and a war broke out between those peoples.You rub your aching hand. The dusk is longer then you thought, judging from the light outside. You still burn a candle in the murkiness. Soon you will be finished, and may finally have a drink.The Hrothians prevailed, and buried the last of the Halitotians in their mountain fortresses, and their kind faded into history forevermore. As for the princess, she fled to the south, as far south as she could go, and married a black king of a tiny kingdom. The Okites, whose royalty now had a trace of white man's blood, came to dominate their desert homeland. But it was not from this union which gave the Okites their golden eyes, but instead from the Princess's dowry. As she so favored by the Gods, from the day of her birth to the day of her death, held in her hands the missing piece of the yellow moon.
It took long enough to finish this page that your candle wax had burned down low. You wipe the sweat from your brow and put the quill aside. Soon, this manuscript will be illuminated, then painted, and then finally bound to complete the painstaking process of creating just one copy of the Legendarium Historium. You turn to the window, finding it very queer how much light you still see from outside. Didn't the sun begin to set hours ago? You turn open the shutters to see a great flickering light coming from the village; the buildings are on fire.“Oh no!”Somehow, in your concentration, you did not realize what was happening. The far away screams and cries seem so clear to you now, the village has been attacked. Raiders, but from where? And who? Is it another clan from the Midden, or is it a foreign invasion? This would not be the first time the Kothites crossed over the mountains for need of fresh slaves, but wouldn't they fight against the hill tribes? Could it be Trogs coming to taste human flesh? No; they would not set fires. Fire would only scare them away.The stone-house was once a motte on the hill, with the village bailey beneath being the first natural choice to attack leading up to you. This gave you a little time before the attackers were upon you, which is why you remained undisturbed for so long. That, or they have already been repelled by your own village militia. You must make a decision; where do you go now?>To the barricaded cellar>Run down the back of the fortress and escape into the forest>Grab your cudgel and join in the fighting
>>6433605>Run down the back of the fortress and escape into the forestyea peace out forever fuckers
>>6433605>To the barricaded cellarWe can't deny our cellar its purpose now, can we?
>>6433605>To the barricaded cellar
>>6433605>To the barricaded cellarA cool place to wait out the flames.
>>6433604>Run down the back of the fortress and escape into the forestWe are so back
>>6433605>Run down the back of the fortress and escape into the forest
>>6433605>To the barricaded cellarI hope we’ve got some good wine down there.
>>6433605>Run down the back of the fortress and escape into the forestrun white boy
>>6433605>>Run down the back of the fortress and escape into the forestCoward Quest!
>>6433605>To the barricaded cellar'Tis what it is for, and who are we to deny this house a purpose it holds?
Normally I'd prefer not to call a vote too early, but I don't really have time to adapt an update with new drawings and the like if they're all ties down to the last second. So I'll just call it for the "barricaded cellar" choice for now.And as usual, while I'd like to avoid it, future important votes may have a "no 1-Post ID" rule to prevent shenanigans. This is your complimentary warning.
>>6433614Claiming this one with my trip because my ID tends to change as I travel.
>>6433605>>Grab your cudgel and join in the fighting
You decide to hide away. After all, if the village is already done for, whatever force strong enough to do this could easily overwhelm you at the unmanned fortress. You take the manuscript with you, heading down to the basement cellar. Not a moment too soon, you hear voices coming as the front door of the fortress is entered, with no resistance. They see you hurry your pace down the last step, close the cellar doors, and put the heavy wooden bolt in place, blocking the way not a moment too soon. A furious fist bangs on the barricaded cellar.“Ho! Open up!” The voice says, carrying a particular northern accent.“I don't think so! I did not know what barbarians came to raid our lands, but now I know it be the Nifel savages from the north! Did you run out of caribou or seal?!”The voice paused, realizing they had no easy way in, but still suspecting treasures. You believe him to be their leader.”You seem a man of learning, but we be not Nifel, we are Hrothians.”“Hah! The Hroth are a dead and gone race, your people squat in their ruins. Your father's father could be from anywhere from Kapoor to the Kodi! Get ye gone Northman!””I will not be lectured on lineage by a man from the Midden, a swamp-serf with the blood of every race in his veins! Are you even a white man?!”“Of course I am!””Well in that case, I wish to be reasonable. Open the door a crack so we can confirm it.”“Such a trick would only work on your troggish mother to let any man into her bedchambers! There is nothing worth for you to steal, Nifel dog!””Well!” The voice had lost all its cool confidence and was clearly now incensed. ”If there is truly nothing valuable within, then we have no reason to come in. Bar the door!”You hear a motion as the barbarians block the door from the other direction, and soon after, a great heat and smoke as the stone house is burned. You hear a loud crashing throughout the night, but eventually the heat dies down. In the meantime, you are sated by the wine barrels within the cellar, and the old seed grain that can still be had. Time passes, until you are sure they are gone. You unbar the door, but find a mess of ash and blackened wood. You push against it, but find it totally caved in and collapsed.“Hello? Open the way! Let me out! Anyone? Hello!!!”
It seems the horrible barricade has fallen in on the doors, the ruins of the stone house and your studio burnt to ashes and blocked the way. Within the cellar you are now trapped. For days and weeks you pound at the doors, breathing in the heavy ash as silence greets you. You can almost see the sunlight from just beyond, but are perpetually blocked from it. The cellar that was your protection now becomes your tomb! As the rats gnaw at you, and rainwater comes in, your remains slowly decay along with the only known volume of the Legendarium Historium, eventually its words become illegible and are lost forever. For many years later, this hill-fort ruin becomes a haunted place, where none come near in fear of the vengeful ghosts who may dwell in the ruins. Some even say that a voice asking to be freed can be heard from deep within the burnt and ashen ruin...
...But this is not your fate. For this is not truly you. Away from this sad place; away from the hill-forts and their chainmaille clad warriors, across misty marshes, past dark clusters of trees that make up the Middenmurk comes a lone figure. She comes from the way of the dry moors, over the daunting Centerran mountains, and the fuming hot jungles that no human expedition has been able to conquer! These jungles were once her home, and she has come farther then she has ever been to the north and west to lands unseen in an unshakable search.This is you.It has been long since you rested. The hour grows short as night falls, shading the land in an evening hue as you hurry your pace. Soon you will come to a town. The marsh-grass gets taller and taller as you enter the Middenmurk proper, soon swallowed up by it. You find the act of walking on two legs exclusively very strange, still getting used to not going about on your knuckles and climbing this way and that to get anywhere; the “road” is new to you.Oh, and your ears! You must tuck them away under your hood before anyone sees. Your terrible tattered rags and useful sackcloth, taken from a few corpses you found along the mountain pass, are your only item of the civilized world you have. After all, you only learned about it a few days ago. Ahead, you see the land change, flattened fields, and lights in the far distance.This is your first time you will interact with people. You know well enough to hide yourself due to your... unique appearance. But unfortunately, your rags cannot cover every inch of greenish skin, or your tiny stature. You decide to assume a sort of identity at a glance, which will hopefully help you blend in with the throngs of humankind a little easier.>Old Crone: Add a hunch and a hoarseness to your voice>Diseased: Steal a bell from one of the farm animals and pretend to be some leper>Foreigner: Perhaps you be some pygmy far off cousin of humanity. It wouldn't be far from the truth.>Priest: Some Hill-Men paint themselves blue. Maybe some far off mystic paints themselves green?>Confidence: You care not for what they think of you. It is no longer in your nature to cower.>Other (Write-In)
>>6434088>Old Crone: Add a hunch and a hoarseness to your voice
>>6434088>Priest: Some Hill-Men paint themselves blue. Maybe some far off mystic paints themselves green?
>>6434088>Old Crone: Add a hunch and a hoarseness to your voiceNot as presumptuous or threatening as a foreign priest, nor as likely to be chased off as a leper or foreigner.
>>6434088>Diseased: Steal a bell from one of the farm animals and pretend to be some leper
>>6434088>Old Crone: Add a hunch and a hoarseness to your voiceSeems most likely to be successful; Diseased comes with problems getting in places, and foreigner/priest are too at risk of falling victim to ethnic or religious prejudice.
>>6434088>>Confidence: You care not for what they think of you. It is no longer in your nature to cower.
>>6434088>Confidence: You care not for what they think of you. It is no longer in your nature to cower.
>>6434088>Confidence: You care not for what they think of you. It is no longer in your nature to cower.Reigan Arataka type shit
Perhaps an elderly crone? Maybe, but that wouldn't explain your skin color, nor how could you travel so far. You briefly consider not a disguise at all, but such wandering eyes and questions would no doubt plague you. Perhaps it is best to invoke the superstitions of the common man. You make up something impressive sounding, just as someone bursts from the tall grasses just besides you.”YOU DARE ACCOUST A WORSHIPPER OF THE-”He ignores your quiet voice and runs after his friend; the red-faced child holding a stick and playing knights until mother calls them in for supper. Well, now you feel a bit foolish. Collecting yourself, you continue on to the sleepy village.As with most of the Midden; the people here are white-skinned, with freckles, light hair that comes out in matted flat layers, wearing breezy simple tunics and long wrapped trousers to keep the bugs off. The colors were simple and dull, but these are common farmers with well-worn and sun bleached clothes; you don't expect the greatest of luxuries. They live in simple Wattle and daub huts with thatched roofs, though some are long houses of higher standing, with wooden doors and slated windows. The whole of the place is built among crisscrossed hills with taller and taller grasses at the low places where the hills meet and water collects; feeding into fertilized strips of land growing all manner of grain crops. Sheep are being brought in from the hills by the shepards now; guided by fences of woven brambles and wicker and prodded on by sling stones. Finally, you come to the main road of the village, the least muddy one, and come across a very fat pig.The pig sits by the side of the road. You look to the left and right, and see no farmer chasing it, nor pen where it was set to wallow. No bell or ring is set in its nose either. It has no fear of you, and simply stares on lazily. Then you realize more are nearby, sitting or laying in a polite and orderly line outside the biggest building in the town, the tavern, from which a delicious smell wafts. You find this very strange, but after all, you don't know much about pigs. You enter within to find the tavern keeper, his son nearby bussing tables and hard at work.
”Ho! Tavern keeper, feed this hungry pilgrim!” You put on your best voice of confident madness, as befitting those most devoted to jealous Gods. You shake a collection of stones in your hand to imply divining bones.“Pilgrim? Erhm...” He eyes you up and down. “...If you wish for alms, you will have to wait until after dinner. Though I am afraid there may not be any left after we feed the pigs.””Fattening them up for the future takes precedence over feeding a priestess today?”“Oh no.” He balks. “We can't, uhh, we don't eat the pigs. You said you were on a pilgrimage? What God would I be serving by feeding you... exactly?””The Great Green Forest God!”“If you be servant of a forest god, yet ye come from the South? Does your God not know that the greatest trees in all the world are to the North & West? The great redwoods of the Kodi with squirrels as big as a wolf and twice as ferocious?””Why do you think I am on pilgrimage? But enough! I do not beg for Mankind's charity. Will this suffice?”From your small sack, you bring forth a small bright red jewel. While pulled from the stone and washed clean of dirt, it is uncut and in its most natural form. The merchant takes it from your hand gingerly, holding it close and eyeing it in the light, clearly desiring it. You know you are overpaying him, but the exact value of coin has not been revealed to you.“For this? Oh yes... Sit. It is almost time.”
Within an hour, the cooking of the day is completed. Various dishes, sides, and meals are distributed out among the paying customers of the tavern. Naturally, given the nature of your payment, you were served first and you were served everything.Freshly cooked wheat bread, white from the fine grain, along with butter. He leaves the best loaf on your table. Heady and warm soup of barley, hearty cabbages, and chicken meat in a stock that was boiled with the bones of chicken and lamb for hours to release the flavors, topped with aromatic herbs. Strong and fine wine poured into the best cup; though he would have left you the whole skin you refused, as you do not yet know how the drink will effect you. You take an experimental bite of the small hand pie meant for desert, still wrapped in a cloth, nearly burning your tongue. The piping hot pie is filled has a cherry filling, mouthwateringly sweetened with honey and its crust flaked with a tiny dash of expensive imported cinnamon.As the Middenmen wish to leave nothing to waste, your main course is served on a trencher. The hollowed-out piece of stale bread is the perfect vessel for slices of freshly cooked lamb, stewed with the sugar-grass and fine swamp vegetables, the delectable pieces of meat are stabbed through with long thin wooden stakes to make eating the meat easier, and to save the fingers from its juices. You know after the meal, this well-soaked serving dish will be thrown to those very patient, polite pigs waiting outside this very tavern. For some reason, this irritates you, but you cannot articulate why.You eat. You have never tasted anything like this before in all of your short life. The raw ingredients and necessities of survival of your past days fade away; you'll take only the great works produced in kitchens from now on, thank you very much. You'll gladly be spoiled if it's like this. You are not used to being truly full, to not have some vague gnawing hunger in the back of your mind at all times, so you take care as to not eat yourself into sickness. It is still a welcome for your scrawny frame.You are so preoccupied with your first taste of the wonders of the civilized world that you hardly notice the interested figure on a far away table look over, get up, and take a closer look at your bountiful feast. You don't realize until later it's actually the bag of gemstones you left aside carelessly that drew him closer; you not yet having learned the instinct of the civilized to protect and hide one's valuables. As he comes closer to your gems, your instinct picks up by a low growl that he can't hear in the smoke and noise-filled tavern. Reflecting on this event in the future, you think it was more a food-aggression instinct from your primal side that came out here. The meat fork is in your hands before he even made a grab for your precious stones.
He withdraws his hand with a yelp of pain with two new bloody holes within it, the wounds shallow and not serious, but enough to draw attention as two fellows stand up. You see him step back to nurse his hand, with his two fellows almost ignoring him in favor of punishing you for your resistance. They stand with axe and cudgel; weapons they had no time to grab, as if waiting for trouble.The injured fellow twists, you now seeing the boar-tusk talisman hanging from his neck. He grabs it with his non-injured hand, shaking it at you. The low voices and sounds of feasting and drink have completely stopped, all eyes have turned to you, standing on the chair so you can be closer to eye level with the bullies.“Midget Bitch! What are you doing!? Do you see this? I am a member of the Order of the Tusk! We do as we please!”“Yeah! Our order rules the Midden!””I was only interested in those gemstones! But now, filthy wench, I will have to punish you.”“She injured your hand, so its only fair you take one of hers.””Ah! That's the lowest price one can pay to insult a member of my order. Which hand are you losing tonight, you heathen? Left or Right?””...Alone, you are fools. But together, your stupidity multiplies to levels unimaginable. I was not prejudiced; I gave the benefit of the doubt that your entire village was not stocked to the brim with the most ignorant and foolish of yokels and simpletons. You are making a great effort in proving me wrong however.””Huh? What is she saying? Bite your tongue, you dumb whore!” He draws forth his knife from its sheath.“Foolish traveller! No mortal man crosses the Order of the Tusk and still lives! Do you hear me? BEG FOR YOUR LIFE!”Believing themselves stronger then you, the predatory young men of the village seek to take advantage of your small size, your lack of companions, and the fact you appear completely defenseless. How many other travelers have been stolen from by these thugs? You drop the meat fork on the table, it will serve you no good at this point. In a physical contest, you are no match for them. They could easily overpower you with or without a weapon; you are as a child to them, and the difference in your sex as well. But this was their mistake in choosing you to be their next victim. You raise your hands and breathe out in concentration, the sound altered resonantly, akin to a wind blowing over an empty bottle of glass. The lights reflect weirdly in your eyes. You are no primitive, nor ascetic, nor victim. You are a Sorceress!>Transform the wooden skewers of your dinner into venomous snakes with a spell of INANIMATE LIFE!>Conjure forth the LIGHTS OF FASCINATION to control their foolish minds!>Strike them with flying knives controlled by the UNSEEN HAND!>Goad him to strike you only to turn it back on himself with the power of your MIRROR WARD!
>>6434582>Transform the wooden skewers of your dinner into venomous snakes with a spell of INANIMATE LIFE!Sticks to Snakes represent!
>>6434582>Transform the wooden skewers of your dinner into venomous snakes with a spell of INANIMATE LIFE!
>>6434582>Transform the wooden skewers of your dinner into venomous snakes with a spell of INANIMATE LIFE!Muahahaha!
>>6434582>Conjure forth the LIGHTS OF FASCINATION to control their foolish minds!Call us dumb, will you?
>>6434582>Conjure forth the LIGHTS OF FASCINATION to control their foolish minds!
>>6434582>Goad him to strike you only to turn it back on himself with the power of your MIRROR WARD!
>>6434582>>Transform the wooden skewers of your dinner into venomous snakes with a spell of INANIMATE LIFE!
>>6434582>Conjure forth the LIGHTS OF FASCINATION to control their foolish minds!We'll want the Skewer-Steaks with us as stores, we have no use for these Bozos.
>>6434706You may vote however you wish but I just want to say this is not the type of quest where you need to conserve a bunch of shishkebabs you used at dinner to cast an extremely specific spell five prompts down the line lol
>>6434582>>Transform the wooden skewers of your dinner into venomous snakes with a spell of INANIMATE LIFE!Power word : get rekt Steve Irloss
>>6434706Anon, there are more sticks outside, they just leave them on the ground everywhere for free. Bigger sticks, even. We could go get one after this.
>>6434582>Transform the wooden skewers of your dinner into venomous snakes with a spell of INANIMATE LIFE!Moses and Tulsa Doom got nothing on us.
Working on the update now. This one will be a little later then usual.
You take into your hands the wooden skewers. The fact you went for them instead of the knives on the table fills your aggressors with playfulness; they don't attack you immediately. Perhaps if they did, it would have saved them. You pull back your arm as if to throw them, your final warning, and the boys do not retreat.“Well? Beg!”You loose them forward, a changing in the air ripples through the stakes, fattening and softening as they go forward. By the time they reach the one with the boar talisman and his knife, they have already become alive.”Wha- AH!!!!”With a simple gesture, you have transformed the once lifeless sticks into writhing serpents, whose long fangs drip with venom. They bite, crawling over the boys and biting into hands, feet, and necks. The one with the axe jumps back, trying to cut one snake's head off as he smacks the floorboards, missing the second that bites him in the back. Small bleeding wounds are nothing compared to the venom now flowing into their veins. You stand back, no longer able to control the serpents anyway, they simply do what is natural to them when made defensive by large and rapidly-shifting mammals. They jump up with their feet, gnashing their teeth from the painful bites, one uses a chair to try and avoid reach, but falls from dizziness into the remaining vipers, who make from dark corners and holes in the tavern to escape to, or crawl from the cracked window to return their swampy element.”AHAHAHA!” You laugh maniacally at the destruction you caused. ”Next time, dumplings in the soup turned to draining leeches?! Or a cloud of dust and crumbs made into wasps and biting, stinging ants? Fools!”Turning and running, the boys make a break for it. Scared away by the sudden appearance of the vipers, the other tavern goers also jump onto their chairs and tables, or run for the door. It is not long the boys are outside, mistakenly jumping and yelling, circulating the venom throughout their bodies in blind panic. This leaves you alone and at peace once more. But by morning comes, the bullies who harassed you will be found with blackened veins, mouth filled with foam, dead.
You sit and eat the rest of your meal in silence. The tavern is empty, no doubt the villagers spreading word about your sorcery. The only ones brave enough to approach are the tavern keeper and his son, who tiptoe closer with their eyes all on the floor, looking for the asps you conjured.”...Worry not. They will have turned back into their true selves by now, or hidden in a hole, or eaten by a hunting bird. I do not know where they go.”“Erhm... High Priestess of the Great Green Forest God.” He says nervously, clasping his ring-wearing hands, shifting the fabrics of his expensive blue tunic. “A-Are you staying this night?””I was hoping to.”“We just, uhh, simply don't want to offend your God... Does the fire offend him? Or the metal? We'll put it out. W-We are not of the Order of the Tusk! We swear it. We serve the Midden's Gods, we swear, but we can give yours his credit, i-if your holiness demands?””You seem not to care much for this Order either.”“W-We mortals must serve whichever power is at hand. W-We did not know your God was so close! N-No human sacrifice is required to amend this situation, I h-hope?”You roll your eyes. No God would perform an act so obvious. At least, none that you have ever heard of has. But that was your assumed identity. Now they tiptoe around the appeasement of your fake supernatural patron. Clearly, they worry of another act of “divine wrath”, perhaps it would be best to come clean. Though then again, you could always try to take advantage of their fear as well.>Demand your gem back as recompense for the attack you suffered under his roof>Come clean and tell him of your origin>Tell him nothing and ask to be let to rest alone>Other (Write-In)
>>6434960>Other (Write-In)>"Should I expect that more of these tusk-bearing buffoons may come looking for trouble? They claimed authority in this area. I seem to have vacated your establishment of patrons, it would be a shame to fill it with corpses."
>>6434960>Tell him nothing and ask to be let to rest alone
>>6434960>Tell him nothing and ask to be left to rest alone
>>6434962+1
>>6434960>Come clean and tell him of your origin
>>6434960>>Demand your gem back as recompense for the attack you suffered under his roof
>>6434962+1, and once we have our answer, most probably>Tell him nothing and ask to be let to rest aloneOr else move on if we anticipate trouble.
>>6434960>Demand your gem back as recompense for the attack you suffered under his roof
>>6434960>Tell him nothing and ask to be let to rest aloneWe obviously don't want to cause a fuss
>>6434960>Other (Write-In)Tell him not to worry, the human sacrifices have already been made.
>>6435243Switching to this. It's funny.
>>6435258>>6434970My ID randomly changed, so fuck me, I guess.
>>6435243kek
”I wouldn't worry about the human sacrifices.” You say, with a sadistic grin under your hood. ”They've already been made. But should I expect more trouble from the tusk-wearing buffoons? I am weary of discussing “theology” with them, and you would be weary of replacing more patrons with corpses.”“N-no! They come and go with the time and seasons. The one you ended was an initiate looking to push his weight around. You are a stranger and they will not know you, so you may stay here tonight. Most t-tavern goers sleep in the common room.” He says. “But not you. You'll be sleeping in the best room, of course. In my bed. My wife and son and I will sleep here in the common room.””As long as I can be alone and unmolested.”“The door bars from the inside. I will send a servant to wake you at a certain hour, if you wish. No, wait, sleep in as late as you like. Ha ha. Unless... W-What may we call you?””My name? The name I have chosen for myself... Biawak. That is my name.”Soon enough, you are within a furnished room with bed, closed door, away from prying eyes. You pull down your hood. You set no candles or fire as you don't need them to see in the dark, unlike the humans, the light from the moons is more then enough for you. You open the window a crack and see some leaves have fallen in from outside onto the floor. You pick one up and close your hand around it, and when you open your hand, a winged insect flies away. Your magic of transformation, of life where there is no life, seems easier then when you practiced it last. Those snakes were especially lively, and filled humans with much more fear then you expected.Needless to say, you are not yourself Human. You are a Goblin.
Though perhaps you would prefer to be called something else, like a Forest Child, or the far off Green-Gray Pygmy cousins of mankind; regardless of the name, your appearance sets you apart. You come from a hidden jungle, the Centerran jungles, of which no human expedition has fully managed to penetrate. Most humans do not know or believe Goblins exist, and you couldn't blame them. Your “people” have no civilizations, no inventions, no culture of any kind. It was but weeks ago you were an animal.Born to the world a young and blind pup, you clung to your mother-goblin who raised you in hollowed out logs and under stones with her milk, your green skin protecting you from the sight of the many dangerous and powerful predators of the jungle. You relied on her for everything; and learned the things you had to know from watching her. How to scratch in the dirt for bugs and grubs to eat, how to clean oneself with waters from the stream, to find the good trees to hide under and which whose roots mean death. One day, your mother never returned to the hollow you hid within, which meant it was time she decided to make your own way or she was killed by a predator, and ever since that day you have been totally alone. You went on living the way an animal lives. You spent your days foraging for food, and finding places to hide, and avoiding dangers, and learning things from seeing them. You suppose you were clever in the way a primate is clever, but there were no words or true thoughts, at least not in the way you had them now. The past and future were not concrete concepts. Your mind was one without form or language, simply moving between desire and emotion and instinct; usually around hunger, or sleep, or running beneath the great broad-leaf ferns as cover from the things that swoop down from the tree tops in that lethal canopy. You suppose you would have lived that way forever, a solitary survivor creature of an obscure species, totally alone. At least until the time came for you to find a he-goblin, you suppose. But that never happened, as a single incredible event changed the entire course of your life.You had no idea the jaguar was there. Only by a chance bustling of the leaves and your instinct of caution did you ever have a chance to survive. The big cat pounced after you, chasing you under the overgrowth of the jungle, until you slipped underneath an old tree's roots, into a chamber lined with smooth river stones. You remember the feeling of euphoria of escaping certain death, the wordless appreciation of the hiding place, but knowing the cat remained outside. You performed an animal calculus and knew you must stay here until it got bored or hunger forced it to find new prey, and so you set yourself to wait. Parched from your chase, you found a most curious pool underneath that old tree, a small depression of stone that held trapped water that had not filtered through the tree roots but instead had come up from an unknown source.
There are three kinds of magic springs known to the races of men. The first and most sought after is the spring of life, which returns vitality, youth, and healing to whomever drink it. The second is the troublesome spring of love, to which any who drink it will find the next time they feel attraction it is the deepest and strongest love they ever have felt. Most of these springs are tiny trickles from between mountain stones or flowing up from hidden aquifers, which only by sheer chance do not flow into rivers and lakes diluting their power to nothing. But the third kind of spring is the spring of brilliance, which fills the drinker with knowledge. You happened across one such spring, which had been collecting its magic waters for untold years without spilling or evaporating away, and only by sheer chance were you desperate enough to taste the off-smelling mineral well as you were parched from your chase.In the same way a man with thirst is instantly quenched from the first sip of cool water, so too you felt an instant expansion of your mind and facilities beyond which you could ever dream. The first sip endowed you with language. Suddenly, everything had a name, and a description, and words could be used to make with them and new names too; and you knew that the thing that chased you was a “cat” and it was “cat-like” in the way it was so silent. And the library within your mind grew instantly to know all of the words of mankind, though the names of places and peoples and local fare were too specific for this magic spring to tell you about. It was less so you were being taught or told something, corrupted by the biases of the speaker or long hours of diction, but moreso that apparent and ephemeral truth flooded your mind. With the second sip, you then knew of cause-and-effect, and instantly knew that the predators of your jungle did not magically appear from the gloom because you were being too loud or hadn't washed in too long; they were drawn to you from those actions, as in that they existed outside of your knowledge and immediate state of being, and that the whole world goes on with or without you, and to the dizzying understanding of sonder came as easily to you as a parched throat be quenched with the cool waters.And still, there was more to drink.
From the next sip, your practical and worldly knowledge seemed completed; mathematical concepts and engineering principles of things beyond your capacity to build or even understand the purpose of filled your senses. As you saw the lever and the arch and the screw and the mathematical concept of zero and the delta over time and the opportunity-cost and when the arguments of man become more about arguing over the definitions of words then what they really mean. And you suppose at this point you had become as a philosopher. Within each droplet of the spring a new epiphany dawned on you, and you felt as though your mind was expanding from impressions of things, as shadows filtering through trees, to seeing things as they were, to seeing things for what they are and could be and the comings and goings, and you felt as though your mind was a crystalline palace as you began to understand that all of reality is but an illusion to your perception, but if this illusion was shared by all beings, then those who most stabilize and make-happen the illusion must be the least willful of it to prevent the illusion from breaking. So there must be beings who are most core to the fake-real then even the higher beings of Gods and Spirits; and so you mentally coined these beings as the Principalities.And still, there was more to drink.You had moved from slurping the water with a craned neck to cupping your hands to scrapping the last mouthfuls with a small empty shell. Never in your life had your motivation been so immediate and clear, and never before had you dropped all pretenses of survival and observation of your surroundings to focus in on some goal. You cannot lie to yourself; this dizzying expansion of your mind was by far the greatest feeling you had ever had in your life, it was addiction and haunting to your core, and you truly believed in that moment in a dirty jungle hole you had become akin to an infinite being; and were one with stardust and math and the expanse of time itself. And you opened your hands and from them lights and colors and sensations and invisible movements like from what you see when your eyes are closed. But in the bottom of the basin remained one more tiny spoonful of liquid enlightenment, and holding out your hands in your first act of Sorcery you attempted to squeeze more water from the stones, but a tiny crack appeared in the basin, and the last of the waters slipped into the black bowels of the Earth.That was the first time you felt true regret. But why?>You could have reached higher echelons of power>What secret mystery you could have known>Your arrogance and pride cost you something precious>Other (Write-In)
>>6435288>What secret mystery you could have known
>>6435288>Other (Write-In)>You were smart enough to know that it would be a very long time before the spring ran full with water again, and your hubris will cost others the opportunity to share in this illuminated state; more than regret, we feel a sort of survivor's guilt - we will be the last Brilliant Mind for some time.
>>6435288>Your arrogance and pride cost you something preciousI know this feeling well.
>>6435292That's an interesting one, but I don't yet get a selfless vibe from us. Maybe I can +1 it if, underneath that is less guilt than>loneliness, because you will be the last Brilliant Mind for some time.>>6435288So that is my vote.
>>6435288>You could have reached higher echelons of powerJust think about how much more we could have become?
I also want to say I'm very happy with the players picking up on the arrogant/cunty characterization of the MC. I think it's a fun archetype.
>>6435291>>6435288switching to>You could have reached higher echelons of power
>>6435304Oh I like loneliness more than guilt! Changing my vote, +1 When I think of someone really intelligent, I think of them being kind and humble, though. I've known clever narcissists/assholes, but their intellect always limits just how well they can think critically. But maybe we were still a couple of drinks shy of figuring that part out LOL
>>6435321We didn't come by our knowledge honestly. Information and capacity to understand it just got dumped in our little goblin monkey-brain all at once. Give us time, and maybe we'll become truly wise.
>>6435288>Your arrogance and pride cost you something precious
>>6435288>>Your arrogance and pride cost you something precious
>>6435320I've changed my mind again, back to >>6435291
You feel great regret over a few reasons. The upper echelons of power you could have had, from wasting the opportunity due to your arrogance, or even the sudden dawning realization of your total life-long loneliness that only grew deeper as your mind expanded to beyond that of any mortal soul. But the main reason for your pain was from the greater mystery you were just denied. You had already had revealed to you almost all earthly and spiritual mysteries. What incredible truth lay within just that one little sip? You may well spend the rest of your life wondering now....Afterwards, you escaped the hollow without having to wait out the predatory cat, as you now knew how to forge a weapon and make a trap, something no goblin had ever done. You baited the cat closer to stab it in the eye with a sharp stick, and then you had to decide what to do with the rest of your life.Simply subsisting within the jungle, with no purpose or goal in mind, was no longer acceptable to you in any way. You thought as a man now, and in most ways, were greater then a man even, and to live a life of animal feeling and animal struggle where any moment could be your end was more a nightmare to you now then it was simply your yesterday. And so you made a plan, and left the jungle for the world of mankind, with only rotten plant fiber rags and some rough-cut gemstones you curiously collected from the forest floor before your enlightenment, as from some strange instinct, to help you along your way. Well, that and your sorcery, of course.Just then, a low cry could be heard outside the tavern from the window, interrupting your soliloquy. It was far, but the voice carried itself along the wind, making it very clear even to you. Something about it makes your skin crawl.”DISGUUUUST!”“DISHOOOOONOR!”“DISGRAAAAACE!”The voice repeated many times over, fading in and out, as though circling somewhere else. It was not directed at you, but many times you felt great anxiety at the thought of it coming closer. Finally, once, you dared peek over the windowsill to see a figure standing in the dark along some grass covered hill, yelling out one more time, heading to the south and west towards the moor. You finally managed some sleep, and the next day, awoke to find the tavern owner and his boy already at work.“O-Oh! Good Morn! D-Did you want Breakfast? What kept from last night's feast is yours if you want it, f-free of charge of course, as part of your room and board.”After last nights meal? You still feel bloated! How much are these humans used to eating? You turn him down, and instead ask for some directions.
As you stand on the mainstreet of the town, you look out and remember why you came. To tell the truth, you had no specific direction in mind. You just simply knew you were on a quest for knowledge ever since that fateful day you were ascended from a basic animal form. You just knew that the Midden was the closest land to your jungle peninsula that was once your home. You did not expect such rich farm country this close to the moor leading down from the Centerran mountain range you had to cross, but you figured you'd run into people eventually. You also knew that the Middenmen were one of the peoples who make books, and so you assumed they must be a knowledgeable and wise people...In this time, Iron rules the world. You have some vague understanding that once Bronze was the main metal, and with Bronze tools mankind and those illustrious old races spread across the world completely, so that no habitable land or island was beyond conquest and colonization, with only the most dangerous and remote places remaining free from humanity. Many powerful weapons and tools have been invented; chariots, trigonometry, the water-powered milling wheel... but nothing to help with the laborious process of copying manuscripts and volumes by hand. Despite their value, or perhaps because of it, few know how to read. The tavern-owner tells you the only literate person in the town, besides himself to keep small accounts and tabs, would be the blacksmith. He is the “clever man”, and his name is spoken softly. It seems to these people, metalworking is as mystic of an art as your own...When asking about the strange calling at night, many villagers say that it is the burden of the village headman, who lives in the biggest longhouse on the hill, whose ancestors have lived in this place for many generations.You could also ask around about other rumors and local talk, though you aren't sure how much they'd be willing to share given you being a stranger, your size, and no doubt the news of what happened last night. But perhaps your cover as a priest could be useful in discussing the Gods and Spirits of this place. You are told the herbalist is the one most familiar with the forests and bogs, and knows the most about the “old ways”, before the Order of the Tusk and the Middenmen's Gods ruled supreme.What do you do?>Visit the Headman>Go to the Blacksmith>Seek the Herbalist>Ask around about the Order of the Tusk
>>6435833>Visit the HeadmanHe is the most mysterious one. Why is he shouting those things? I want knowledge of that shit.
>>6435863+1Though I am wondering what was up with those pigs. Were they still at the tavern when we left?
>>6435833>Visit the Headman
>>6435833>Go to the BlacksmithOkay metal man, share your secrets and I will share mine.
>>6435833>Seek the HerbalistSeems the best place to start
>>6435833>Go to the Blacksmith
Your quest begins. Though you thought you would be seeking mystical knowledge, or perhaps a person who knows where the source of the mystic wells beneath the earth flow from, you have been temporarily distracted by the strange figure calling in the night. Something about it seemed unusual, unless people in this town have gotten used to the insane man and simply ignore him disrupting their rest. Actually, come to think of it, this whole town is very unusual.”Nooo mother, I do not wish to wash the pigs!”“You must my child. It is your turn.” ”Why can't the Headman's son do it? Or the tavern-keeper's son? Why me?!”“The Watthills lent our family their strong oxen and plow this year, we will have a good harvest, we are indebted to them. The tavern-keeper's son is old enough to have real business to attend to. You must do your part.””I don't wanna!”“You know what happens to naughty children who don't do their chores, right? The boogeymans and snatchers come from the deep bog; and take them away! Gobble them right up!””I don't care about any crummy snatchers or any crummy oxen! I want to play before Summer is over!!!”“Enough. Do as I say, or else I will call Father.””....Fine...”You happen across a small paddock near the town, with no bar or gate, in which several of the local pigs have gathered. They do not run or flee, but once again, wait quietly and patiently for their turn... to be washed. The young attendant washes them clean of muck and grime with water and cloth, hanged out to dry. Humans consider the cleaning habits of pigs disgusting but you have more sympathy for the porcine animals. Mud is an excellent bathing material to scrap clean burs and ticks, and to protect the skin from biting insects... the small ones, anyway. You would need chainmaille to protect against the sting of the wasps or mosquitoes of your jungle home.First being their unusual behavior and calmness, barely an oink even as allowed to walk around freely. Then the best table scraps which they seemed to know they were being given, and now being washed by human hands as well. You have a lack of experience with domestic animals, but you know something here is very strange. But one mystery at a time.
Up the hill you go to the Headman's house. Around it are several fields and pastures, you see a decent looking horse and some oxen, grazing not too far from the fields of wheat-grain, growing strong and fine in the summer sun. This is the lazy time of the year of the farming calendar, to your understanding at least, but things will get very busy again come harvest time. The Headman's home is a big longhouse with a strong wooden wall and gate around it, a lesser type of fortress that could only repel a small party of bandits or act as a checkpoint for a larger force. It is clear that the owner of this home is of the highest status in the village, possibly even a protector from its mortal threats at the very least.Coming to the door, you give it a knock, and wait a moment until someone answers. You didn't expect a woman, but she comes in her fine green dress and matching velvety slippers, lined with thickened and textured fabric. She looks down at you with a maternal gaze, a natural sort of good-natured and kind feminine beauty all about her features and posture.“Oh! You poor sweat thing... Jonathan! There is an orphan here! Look at her, all dressed in rags!””...That is no orphan. That is the Priestess of the Forest God I told you about!”“Eep!” She startles with a feminine hand to her mouth, stepping back from you. She gives a curtsy. “My deepest apologies, your highness, err, I mean, your uhh... holiness?””Bring her in!”Her face a fine blush to it now, with the characteristic freckles of the people of the Midden. Her frame is well-fed, and you can tell she has been with child at least once or twice. She appears a little over twenty summers of age. Her skin pale from lack of sunlight, clearly from a domestic and indoor life used to servants and lack of hard labor that defines many of these peasant women's lives. Her hair is long and straight, without mats or crinkles, and not spotty from falling out and tearing in the natural process of survival as yours is. She is clearly the trophy woman of this village this generation, married off to the man of the highest wealth or standing. Even her ditsy clumsiness is emblematic of the feminine form. You appear as a shrewd child in comparison, stringy, rag-wearing, a sunken and grimness to all your features.Why are you comparing yourself to her anyway? Are you... jealous?>Yes>No>Maybe a little bit>Dumb whore should be jealous of YOU
>>6436277>Maybe a little bitAlas, magic is not in fact stored in the boobs
>>6436277>Maybe a little bitWe shouldn’t be, we’re not even human
>>6436277>Dumb whore should be jealous of YOUI can't not pick this one.
>>6436277>Maybe a little bitI read once that in Papua New Guinea, the social hierarchy revolves around pig ownership. The man that owns the most pigs is called Big Man, and various Big Men get together to conference and decide on matters every so often. This is because, in the humid, tropical climate, food storage was historically very difficult. With the domestication of pigs (I think brought by the Dutch?), they were able to store some food by feeding it to the pigs. I think 10% of the food energy that goes into a pig is stored as edible energy, whereas with a cow it's only 1%!
>>6436277>Dumb whore should be jealous of YOUI hope this doesn't make us sock her in the face or something
>>6436277>Maybe a little bit
>>6436277>Dumb whore should be jealous of YOU
>>6436277>NoGenuinely no. Why would we be? Our superior goblin form is of unmatched gremlin nature. The perfect size for kicking shins and biting ankles. Those gonads won't burst on their own! Much more energy efficient too, good at keeping cool in the jungle.
>>6436277Ah, voted without looking at anyone else's vote. I'll switch to>Dumb whore should be jealous of YOUalbeit with the same reasoning. We're not jealous, honest! That isn't denial, it is just that we ought be the envy of the world!
>>6436277>>Maybe a little bit>>Dumb whore should be jealous of YOU
>>6436277>Maybe a little bitShe's cute and easily accepted by society. Why not a little jealousy?
>>6436277>Maybe a little bitWe cannot live happily among our own kind, and among this kind we are as a deformed dwarf. It doesn't mean we have to admit it.
Goblin girls...
>>6436560Took longer than I would've thought for one of these to show up. Pretty good, anon, though I wish she looked less apprehensive.
>>6436560Thank you for this. I can finally flake and end the thread early.
Jealous? No, no. Why would you be jealous. Her marriage to an important man, whose chainmaille and battle-sword indicate high status as a warrior instead of simple helmet and shield, you are not jealous of this. Nor her success as a mother or her fertility, of which in yourself you have almost no interest. But she is fully figured, well clothed, respected, and effortlessly graceful and fully inducted into the rites of womanhood by her mother and her mother before her, so perhaps for this you are a little bit jealous.Finally, you are introduced to the Head-man. From one look at him, you are surprised. You were expecting a warrior, a leader of the local clan, and judging by his equipment he would be well fed and of goodly size. But you find a much more sorry sight. He's shriveled, great dark bags under tired red eyes. Sitting with agitation instead of the confidence of a leader of men. Some great trouble weighs on his mind.”...I will give you the respect your God demands.” The man begins, pointing a finger upwards. ”But I will not be your convert, and will not be wrathfully judged, by man or divine. Look! The Gods of the Midden are highest in this house.” That explains the curious carvings on the roof beams; you thought those symbols would be too high to easily see to be decoration, and now you see they are protective symbols; not unlike a household shrine or altar. Being carved into the support structure of the house gives it a permanence, implying the owner of the shrine or their faith will be leaving any time soon.”Worry not.” You say, waving your hand in a way that you think a priest would. ”My God is not jealous or cruel. Merely just. I defended myself. I was worried the locals may side with the Order of the Tusk for killing an important member of their-”
He interrupts with a laugh. ”Pfft- Hah! No no, the one you killed? Worthless layabout! Flashing his talisman to get respect or free food or women. They move from town to town, Just a few summers ago he would be the type to join with the defensive militia, harden his back on the field of battle and act as sentry against the aggression of the Hill Tribes or rival clans. Proper activity for a boy his age, not this revelry, and flower-gathering, and orgies in the woods to venerate their Boar-God. Just as many end up dead from mortal weapons as they do go missing from falling in the bog. Do not worry about retaliation from the Order; it would be a different story if you had killed a pig.” He shakes his head. ”Never would I have thought the killing of a pig would be more shocking then the death of a human being. Ugh. Disgust. Dishonor...””Disgrace?” You finish the mantra. The man's eyes shoot open.”WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!” He has jumped from his seat. His wife looks alarmed, clearly she has never seen him this agitated, or she has no knowledge of this sudden trigger.”...I said what that figure calls at night. That's what I came here to ask you about. The villagers said you would know about it.””Y-You can hear him!?”The Headman looks completely shocked by this, as though a great revelation passed through him. He holds his head in his hands, his red eyes moving towards his wife.”Take the boy and go to the other room. I must speak of this with the High Priestess alone.”His wife narrowed his eyes at him, then at you suspiciously. Almost as though she suspects you more then him of his great outburst, though you had no part in it. You suppose given your display of magic just last night, which now doubt will reach the next village by tomorrow, would give her that suspicion.“...I am your wife. Your troubles are my troubles.””Woman. Do as I tell you!”She looks into his desperate eyes again, then back to you, and after a moment she relents either from familial respect or love. She leaves, leaving you alone with the Headman. As soon as he is, he collapses into his chair and stares into space for a moment, as though a great trauma was just remembered.
”...Do you know this man? The figure at night?” You ask, trying to draw him from his silence. He shakes his head.”Not in life, no. I know of him, but that is no living man.””No one else in the village mentions that. Can they not see it?””Seen it? Yes, some have seen the figure coming from the barrow. But none can hear it, save for me, it is as though its voice is just outside my door at night. I do not know how you can hear his voice. He is... my burden. My shame.”This situation was much more complicated then you thought. What you thought to be some critical voice of the so-called local government turned out to be much more mystical in origin. This begs the question on how you could actually hear the voice, but judging as the man does not turn in his chair to the sound of his wife tiptoeing and placing her ear against the door the next room over, you realize it may be because of the differences in your sense of hearing. Nosy bitch! You can't fault her though, you quickly learn that the man is a great storyteller.”...Is your God a Death God? Can he bring a spirit to rest?””Perhaps. What is this ghost that haunts you?”He sighs. This seems to be a matter of his masculine pride and ego, which is perhaps why he is so slow to answer you. But with a possible solution in you, a mysterious and mystical stranger, perhaps he will finally open up. He sits up finally, waving his hand dramatically to set the scene.“...Many generations ago, men from the North discovered the secrets of Iron-working. They were called the Hrothians, and their lands were bitter and cold. Four great princes went out to conquer the warm and fertile lands that surround them, though no-one remembers their names today. In those days, the northern realms were not filled with white men, as they are now. There were though red people, and yellow people, and brown people, and the Midden was lived-in by a brown skinned race with spots and freckles all over; but the White-Man came and killed them all, taking only the comeliest women to survive and be their concubines.” He pauses to look down at his hands for a moment before continuing.
“...They sought to take over the whole world, you know. And they were mighty; armies of iron and steel, and the black mirrors they held which killed flames and rain before it could touch them. But even with all this they failed.” He smirked the same way a child does when hearing recounts of his father's failures; thinking they would be immune to such mistakes. ”To the East they could go no further south then Wada; past black skinned swordsmen who travel the bush as master and apprentice, turning their own arts against them. Just South of here is the Centerran mountains, which naturally no man has crossed and come back with any good stories or spoils at all; no human civilization can live among that accursed jungle. They managed to take a few warm and tropical islands from the Inaki within the great inner sea, but the Inaki just had to wait a few months for their weapons to rust to uselessness and take them back with warriors clad in wood and bone!”He reaches for the drinking vessel made of a fine lacquered hardwood, shaking it in his hand. He pouts when he finds it empty. You clear your throat, urging him to continue, but you are in no rush. Patience has always been one of your virtues as well.“...And to the West they took Koth, but the Kothities outlasted them with sheer number and tenacity and fervor for their animal-headed Gods that today scarcely does white man blood remain there, except in the fine pale skinned pleasure slaves of the elites. And while the peaceful shepherds of Enoch they took easily, but the giants in the hills they call Hinom terrified them. They could not stand the jungle heat further South either; losing against cannibals who wear clay pots on their heads! They couldn't hold Salmay and kill all the colored people there who are actually blue, if you can believe that. Nor did they even land on Chardue, and all those isles and wild far off places further away, unknown and undreamed by any White-Man!”Even your patience has its limits. ”But what about the spirit?””Ah-! Sorry, hah, my apologies. It's been a long time since I had a good campaign story to relive, so legend and myth I live instead. Ahem... But of those many warriors from the North who scattered and fought all the red and yellow and blue and brown people; some of them settled here. And to honor their dead, they raised a great burial mound in the moor, just south of here. And this is where the honored dead have been entombed ever since. But since about last year...”
”...The dead have become restless. Because of the pigs we entombed with them.””You put pigs in a warrior's tomb?””Yes! Exactly! It is an INSULT! Damn them, damn Order of the Tusk. Ever year it is something new, some new humiliation! When the Order first came, mind you this was in my grandfather's day, they only demanded that the pigs be killed no longer and let loose from their pens. And the people did it, because they had plenty of oxen and grain to be fed, and the Order promised them fecundity and protection, and they delivered in every way. Look at where we are, this is moorland, so close to the hills and dry mountain, yet it is as rich as the heart of the Middenmurk. But then it was to treat the pigs to the best leftover meals, even over human beggars, and then it was to wash them, and then it was my turn to appease the cult, and they asked that the pigs who die of natural causes be entombed in honor and respectful nature, and I had no choice else I would offend their rites and our pact with them. And now, my ancestor rises from the dead each night to admonish me for my weakness, to lay my honored among with filthy livestock in their final rest!”He sits back in his chair, fidgeting, tired and spent from his ranting. He looks to you with his hurt eyes.”...I cannot order the removal of the corpse from the barrow, else I'd offend the pact. I cannot simply refuse the spirit's calling, as it knows me and my name and I know it and its name. The only other solution would be to fetch some token from the warrior's tomb and give it proper rites and bury it away from the pigs' stink and hopefully appease it that way, but all of the townsfolk shun that place. What am I to do... Unless you can help?”>Claim to know a ritual or spell to put the dead to rest (lie)>Say you will go to the barrow and retrieve the token>Spite the man for his weakness and tell him to sort out his own troubles>”What's in it for me?”
>>6436635>”What's in it for me?”
>>6436635>Say you will go to the barrow and retrieve the tokenNever been in a barrow before.
>>6436635>>”What's in it for me?”
>>6436635>Say you will go to the barrow and retrieve the token>But you expect a reward
>>6436635>Say you will go to the barrow and retrieve the tokenThere might be other valuables in the barrow.
>>6436635>What's in it for me?”
>”What's in it for me?”
>>6436635>”What's in it for me?”But be subtle, make him think we want stuff for our fake God, rather than ourselves.
>>6436635>Spite the man for his weakness and tell him to sort out his own troubles
>>6436635>"Couldn't you build or have built the Pigs their own place of entombment? You promised them honoured burial, but not a specific grave nor the presence of your ancestors..."
>>6436635>”What's in it for me?”She would fucking say this.
”Perhaps I could help... but on your end of the bargain?”He blinks. ”What?””Reward. What are you giving me, err, my God? For his service?””Hmpfh. Mercantile God. I should have known your God has a tree for a head, then I would have guessed you were Kothian...” He reaches for his coinpurse, pulling it open, and reaching in for a handful of silver coins of various sizes. They are well handled and tarnished, but clearly still valuable. He offers them in his outstretched hand, which you do not take.”I don't want that.”He looks at you, baffled, then scowls as he puts the coin back in the sack. After a moment of hesitation, he offers the entire purse to you in his hand.”You aren't skinning me for more then this!”You slap the bag away.”No, you oaf! I don't want your money. Of all Mankind's inventions, nothing is more offensive to me- err- the Great Green Forest God then little flattened discs of metal! Terrible to transport, making an irritating clinking noise that never ends! Nothing more then your worker's efforts on the farm; nothing more then a lifeless store of caloric energy. It's so common and crass; it grows on trees. Awful! I refuse this payment. It is beneath me.””Wha-” He takes another coin and looks at it in the light, as though trying to see the metaphor you just spoke. He does not seem to understand the abstract concept of currency as a battery for necessary work and labor. ”...Then what do you want?” He asks cautiously, as though you were about to ask for his soul next.”I want your arcane mysteries! I want your secret arts, your hidden workings behind the crafts and trade! Give me your glowing crystals and leylines, your mysticism! Give me something with real value, real power; give me magic!”He's taken aback, and sits silently. He seems to be another dry well. You turn to leave before he interrupts you. ”Wait!...The warrior whose spirit haunts me was left-handed. He is the one I looked up to the most in the tales and held in highest regard. Warriors in those days wore torcs, inscribed with prayers and magic to the Midden's Gods. The Torc on his left hand is surely the more powerful one, and is the token which I would ask you to retrieve.” He says, already sensing your disappointment, so adds quickly. ”-And of course as these are my ancestors grave goods, so I cannot exactly let you pick through them.... But if, you know, in the course of many centuries and time, the torc on his right arm, the shield arm, inscribed with defensive runes and protective symbols, happened to go missing or be grave robbed, well I suppose that would be just an... unfortunate happening.”
”Is it truly magical? These torcs? Or do you dare send me on a fool's errand for nothing?””They are magic in the same way all old things are magic. I think you are all out ear to hear my tales, but it is a real and true account what am I about to tell you or so me be cursed thrice then I already am. That warrior stood atop the very last hill between here and the hill tribes, sword in left hand and shield in right, and held back an entire warband until dawn's light came and the village knew of the sneak attack and could rally to defense. The left-hand sentinel, they called him. He succumbed to his injuries the next day, but yet refused to be slain all the night long to protect his people. So perhaps the magic in that right arm was stronger then it may seem to you.””...It is quite a coincidence that the same warrior you idolized the most is the one who ended up haunting your sleep today.””Oh no.” He says, suddenly very quiet. ”It is no coincidence.”While it isn't exactly what you wanted, you suppose it is a start. With it being your only lead, you decide to go along with the Headman's plan and his promised reward. It irks you somewhat he is simply pawning off some ancient dead's jewelry to you, but given he is its closest living owner and you would have no idea of the torc's possible prowess, you consider it a fair trade. How much danger or hardship could recovering something from a silent crypt be anyway?
Given your current attire and lack of practical equipment, you decide to ask around town for some things to trade and possible supplies. Pretty soon, an entire blanket is laid out for you as neighbor after neighbor comes and lays out odds and ends, attic supplies and the small-crafts of various busybodies. It seems they're willing to make a trade, and seem very eager to do so, perhaps after word spread about your bag of gemstones, all wanting a part of the spoil. Without much in the way to make change, you will have to overbuy their potpourri of supplies, but this is no matter, as included in your bargaining price will be one guide to lead you to the barrow-mound, though you don't know if they'll accompany you inside. Perhaps this would be one such advantage of your most hated invention of “coin”, but you will never admit it.Select THREE items for purchase. You may use approval voting and vote for as many as you like, but only the top 3 total votes will be chosen>Rope bundle>Fat-Tallow candle lanterns>Heavy wood slates, which the villager would fit you for as “armor” if you wished>Lumps of hardened, black bread traditionally left out for the dead>Animal catch-pole>Iron spearhead (you'll have to find a fitting shaft)>Winnowing basket, which he swears you could use as a shield>Fishing net>Big sack, enough to stuff your whole body in>small bundle of torches>Billhook>Protective talismans carved with symbols of the Midden's Gods>Small, practical skinning knifeSelect ONE Guide.>Old Superstitious Forester>The Herbalist>Tavern Keeper's Son>Midwife with nothing to do
>>6437158>Fat-Tallow candle lanterns>Lumps of hardened, black bread traditionally left out for the dead>Small, practical skinning knifeLight source, food for ourselves or to ward off animals or the dead, a useful tool and emergency weapon. Really I'd be fine with most of these items, though I question whether armour or heavy polearms would serve us well given our small size and stature. I'd take the sack, but unless we intend to loot the whole tomb, I don't think we need it. Better only to take the torc or whatever we think we can get away with, taking too much might get us cursed, more so than just taking the torc. I'm fine with substituting the talismans for the bread, but I don't think it fits with our priestess alias.>Tavern Keeper's SonAlready cowed and subservient, presumably bigger and stronger than the herbalist or midwife.Reasoning why to take the son over anyone else is that the forester may have useful knowledge and skills, but the superstitions could inhibit us as much as help, and the mound isn't a forest. The herbalist is useful, but unless herbs are magic, I doubt they can be of immediate help, and I don't think a ton of plants grow in tombs. Maybe the midwife will be most eager to help because of boredom? Otherwise meh.
>>6437167>Light sourceAnon, no need.>You set no candles or fire as you don't need them to see in the dark>>6437158>Small, practical skinning knife>Lumps of hardened, black bread traditionally left out for the dead>Protective talismans carved with symbols of the Midden's Gods>Tavern Keeper's Son
>>6437158>Small, practical skinning knife>Rope bundle>Fat-Tallow candle lanterns>Old Superstitious ForesterWilling to bet on experience here.
>>6437169>Light sourceThe very next lines mentions that moonlight is enough for us to see in the dark, but I take that to mean that our vision is like IRL night vision, it isn't supernatural 'see in absolute darkness' vision, it merely amplifies ambient light. Therefore, we need actual light once inside the mound, especially if our guide is accompanying us inside.
>>6437176Once again I don't want to influence the votes but yes, it's superior to human vision in the dark but not meant to be "dark vision" or infravision. Goblins are kinda meant to have better senses then humans to make up for their small size and lack of technology. Though you'd still be way better off in total darkness then any human though.
>>6437158>Lumps of hardened, black bread traditionally left out for the dead>Protective talismans carved with symbols of the Midden's Gods>small bundle of torchesAnd>The Herbalist
>>6437158>Lumps of hardened, black bread traditionally left out for the dead>Rope bundle>Small, practical skinning knife>The Herbalist
>>6437158>Fat-Tallow candle lanterns>Lumps of hardened, black bread traditionally left out for the dead>Billhook>Tavern Keeper's Son
>>6437158>Rope bundle>Lumps of hardened, black bread traditionally left out for the dead>Protective talismans carved with symbols of the Midden's Gods
>>6437176>>6437183Alright, I'll swap talismans for torches.
>>6437158>Rope bundle>Small, practical skinning knife>Lumps of hardened, black bread traditionally left out for the dead>Old Superstitious Forester
You end up trading with the villagers for the most practical supplies, including some lumps of offering-bread for the dead, a small skinning knife, and some animal lanterns of oil-fat. While you almost took the rope, you made the executive decision to take a light source instead, so you haggled it down to one lantern with a smaller length of rope instead. Along with these, you'll also need a guide. While you have the general lay of the land, you would prefer not to spend hours scouring the hillside for the entrance to the burial mound, and secondly you want some legitimacy in going to the grave-site. You're already viewed with enough suspicion, grave-robbing unannounced and without a local to “keep you in line” you feel would be a step too far. Finally, even though you'd never admit it, you are just a tiny bit scared of going alone.“D-Do we have to go tonight?!””No reason to dawdle. Besides, it will be pitch black inside the barrow anyway. The time of day does not matter to me, and we'll be back before morning.”“It's just... that's when all the ghosts and ghoulies come out! Before the morning!!!”The Tavern-Keeper's son, whose name you learn is Garret, is quite talkative. He knows everyone in the village by their names, and likely many owe his father favors and drinking debts. Hence, he was the natural choice. While he isn't a full grown or armed man either, you wanted a chaperon in case you needed his physical strength. He's also seen your sorcery first hand, and is more likely to give you the respect your deserve, and at the very least you can make him carry this junk. As you walk out of the village and across the first few hills towards the barrow, your heart stops cold as you see a figure in the dusklight.
”Ack- That's it! That's the spirit!”“Wha- spirit? Yo! Nightwatchman!” Garret yells, raising an arm. The figure pauses, then raises an arm back.”Wha- What? That long scarf and figure along the hill. I-I thought that was... that was the ghost we are banishing?! Isn't that the ghost on the moor the whole village knows of?”“Ghost? No, that's just the nightwatchman. Our town always has one, since we have no walls, he is supposed to come running if he sees any far off lights of Hill-Tribes camping near to the village.””He just walks around in the dark?! Where's his lantern? And I heard his haunted words!”“Why would he carry a latern? He needs to see in the dark after all, and he doesn't want to be seen in turn. And yeah... he does talk to himself.” Garret leans in and speaks quietly, as though the far off man could even hear your normal speaking voice. “...We just ignore his ramblings. Being alone all the time and up all night messes with his head methinks.”Was he really the strange figure you saw at night? You grumble to yourself. You're starting to feel very silly.”Erhm... Lady Biawak... can I ask you something. How do you do the things you do? The uhh, magic I mean?”To the forefront of your mind your ability comes. You will reminisce on the nature of your sorcery either way, but the question hangs in the air. How much do you wish to tell this foolish youth?>Tell him how you do it>Imply it is a gift from your God and for him to drop it>Chastise him for asking>Other (Write-In)
>>6437618>Imply it is a gift from your God and for him to drop itIt even could be. Who knows what fortune led us to drink that precious water of wisdom?
>>6437618>Imply it is a gift from your God and for him to drop it
>>6437618>>Chastise him for asking
>>6437618>Tell him how you do it
>>6437618>Tell him how you do itIf he can't repeat it, that's something to know. If he can repeat it, we might find ways to do it better.
”Such a mystery is for the divine, not for man.”“But...””Speak no more of this. My arts are beyond you.”Garret falls silent, though clearly a bit of boyish curiosity still fills him. Does he believe your magic is some trick of the mind, or some kind of skill or art he could learn? Possibly, but very unlikely. How can you explain it to him? You can explain it to him no more then you can explain the colors of a beautiful, iridescent dress to an eyeless earthworm. It goes beyond simply explaining what colors and sight are to the blind, you must also explain what a dress is. This is the gulf that separates you.Your magic is not like the magic of the others you have seen or known in the vast recesses of your spring-infused bank of knowledge. Most Sorcerers have no power of their own. They act as intermediaries; calling upon the powers of spirits or demons or Gods or the dead, and the magic power of oaths and pacts and songs and names. Then there is the magic of sympathy, which is a folk magic. Many also tap into the powers of herbs and occult objects, of which alchemical science and mysticism blend together. Fewer know the secret powers of the angles and motions, of the invisible lines of force emitted from a mind in concentration, and the resonance frequencies which can knock down walls or shatter solid things into constitute parts. And yet fewer know of the secret powers of emotions and the “pouring out” of the essence of the soul. You know of these things, but only in the abstract, as the exact methods and words are unknown to you. Your magic is not like these things.In yourself are two infinities, one could liken them to skies. In one is the emotional and depth of imagination, of a lifetime spent as an animal, of golden skies of nostalgia and intense feeling. The other is akin to a sky of logic and math, of infinite knowledge and logical procession, gifted to you by the power within the spring of brilliance. But where these two skies meet, where you both feel and know, perceive and appraise, imagine and actualize, comes your font of power. It as if two infinite beings clash and grind against each other in friction, creating a storm. You call it your Dream Tempest, your most secret and sacred possession.
When you first awoke and left that underground hollow, the Tempest was at its strongest. Not even minutes ago you were an animal, bereft of language and all thinking orders of being, and suddenly the world around you was both infinite in its mystery and being, but so to did you understand it and could name each and every thing. You picked up a small stick and wished it to be a wriggly grub, which you so enjoyed watching wriggle, and it did so. Then you closed your eyes and saw the lights, and made them appear in front of you. You reached out your hand and could touch things from far away, or shielded yourself from all dangers and turn them back on those who would harm you. You even ripped apart a leaf and made it seems join back again, or coveted the darkness of the underbrush and wore it like a cloak; but you forgot how. You were as a Goddess was!But in the calm of your first nights sleep after your awakening, these things stopped being so clear and obvious for you, and you awoke in a more mundane world once again. Still knowledgeable, still bright with feeling and passion, but your storm is fading.Your Dream Tempest relies on two things; knowledge and feeling. If you feel intensely, or if you uncover some great mystery, these are as more clouds or pressure zones or points with which the two skies can clash and create your storm. Out of one, can come the other. But each and every day you live more of your lifetime within the civilized world, away from that innocent time-before. And also your knowledge, which now seems so fresh, could one day fade with time as all things do. If you forget either part of yourself, what will happen to your magic? You feel as though your power comes from your duality, and one day, it may go away. And if it does, you will be nothing but a little green girl with sharp teeth in a world ruled by men and their steels and irons and factions and laws; that or return to the jungle and live as a man playing at an animal where death waits around every corner. You simply refuse both. You will feed the whirlwind, one way or another.
Here are the current limits of your magic.You know of Four Spells.Your power of Inanimate Life lets your turn small objects into living things, on the principles of like-makes-like. Sticks become snakes, rocks become beetles, leaves turn to winged insects and so on. You've never made anything bigger then what you can hold in your hand, though even very small things can be fearsome, a lesson you've taken to heart.The Lights of Fascination creates motes of shifting, blinking lights which grow and change slowly, in hypnotic patterns, which enrapture the minds of the weak-willed who stare into them. You have some natural resistance, as they are both your lights and because you are not a foolish oaf who stares into enchantments you know will steal your reason. You can make a number of small lights, perhaps half a dozen, which burn with the light of candle flames, though you could also probably combine them into a much brighter, larger light that casts its enchantment farther.The Unseen Hand animates objects and tools at your wish, using them for intended purposes and moving them through the air unaided. They are used as strongly as skillfully as you could, and then some, but perhaps not as strong or skillful as someone dedicated to that craft or weapon could be with it.Finally, your Mirror Ward is a defensive spell. It invisibly protects you by knocking away with equal force attacks or motions made towards you, which you must concentrate on and fling back. You have not tested this spell and its limits much for good reason, but you are fairly confident you can turn back one or two arrows or charging warriors without risking the Ward being overwhelmed.You require some amount of concentration and spatial knowledge of your target for the effect, either nearby or within your sight, with the exception of your Mirror Ward which you think might even work better when you're not aware. Each time you cast a spell, you feel a small bit of fatigue, like walking for a distance without resting or listening to the Middener woman talk amongst themselves, but beyond this you have not yet found your limit.Garret and yourself make your way to the barrow entrance. He shows you the way, and says that only rarely do the villagers come here to bury a great warrior wrapped in burial shroud, at least they used to, until they began to take the bodies of the pigs out here as well to bury them inside. Near the front, a long flat stone with crumbs and wilted flowers is laid out.
“This is where offerings are left for the dead... We should put the bread here. Whenever we put out food for them, it is gone the next time we visit.””How do you know the dead eat it then? How do you know it is not merely the animals?”“Nobody touched the flowers since last time! They say the dead eat ash and dust and the old husks of insects in the underworld; even this burnt bread would be like heaven for them.”You watch in dismay as Garret puts out the funeral offerings. You suppose that is what they are there for, but you wanted to hold on them just in case. Garret lights the oil lamp in the last strings of daylight and holds it up, waiting for you to go first into the barrow. You sigh, and he follows you inside. The burial mound is a bit bigger then you expected. While mostly raised up with Earth, the inside is coated in stones and rock to keep it from collapsing, with some painted murals and more offerings laid out on this top level. After following the path in a horseshoe shape, the floor slants downwards into the darkness of the crypt for sure, swallowing you both up. Here, the walls are made of rougher stone and are cut with alcoves, and you see the first corpses. It is clear each alcove is made for one body, but you see several wrapped fat cylinders pushed into them, lumps barely contained by their burial shrouds. You turn up your nose.“...Those are the pigs.” Garret says knowingly, seemingly breaking the silence for his own nerves.As you go deeper, the bodies seem in greater stages of decay, and thankfully the slight damp scent of decay seems to leave here for dust. You begin to read any inscription you can find, trying to find evidence of this “left handed sentinel” you were tasked with, before you hear a small noise.”Do you hear that? Something moved.”“What?!? P-Please don't joke like-”A nearby corpse explodes out in filth as a massive centipede bursts from it, the blackened viscera drip onto the floor, the remains of its interrupted feast. It's been a while since you've seen one of these; you didn't think any would make it this far north out of the jungles.“Ahh!” Garret cries out, falling back from the sudden appearance of the monster, dropping the lantern on the ground.”Idiot! Don't let it go out!”It's clear the creature is hungering for a fresher source of meat. They mostly ate carrion of bigger animals that fell in the jungle, but they are opportunistic predators. There is little room to avoid it down here, so you may need to drive it off another way.>Conjure LIGHTS OF FASCINATION to lure it away>Animate nearby bones and weapons with the UNSEEN HAND to attack it>Draw your knife and stab it yourself>Other (Write-In)
>>6438106>Conjure LIGHTS OF FASCINATION to lure it awayBehold!
>>6438098Oh no, we're being Flowers for Algernon'd!>>6438106>Animate nearby bones and weapons with the UNSEEN HAND to attack itAssuming we live long enough to lose ourselves, that is. I don't want to risk it by having to deal with this thing twice. Kill it right now, spare us round 2 on the way out.
>>6438106>Animate nearby bones and weapons with the UNSEEN HAND to attack it
>>6438106>Animate nearby bones and weapons with the UNSEEN HAND to attack itNecromancy is BASED
>>6438106>Animate nearby bones and weapons with the UNSEEN HAND to attack itBut also animate your knife as well
>>6438106>>Animate nearby bones and weapons with the UNSEEN HAND to attack it
>>6438106I think the pig carcasses are what lured the centipede in, at least that's my theory. Order of the Tusk messed up the ecosystem (and the grave) by forcing the burial of pigs here.>Animate nearby bones and weapons with UNSEEN HANDTry for the gap between the upper armor and belly armor.>But also keep your knife in handJust in case we have to melee.
>>6438161>>6438214We'll put it to a side vote>Animate your Knife as well>Keep it on you just in case
>>6438106>Draw your knife and stab it yourself
>>6438106>Conjure LIGHTS OF FASCINATION to lure it awayIt may live in the dark but it definitely has enough eyes for this to work.
>>6438225I'll fold>Keep it on you just in case
Raising your hands, you puppet nearby bones and shards of ancient metal, forcing them into action. They levitate above the ground, as though held by invisible hands, and move towards the centipede creature. Uselessly, they strike the centipede's hard shell, bouncing off. Meanwhile, the creature turns its head away from Garret and towards you, and you let out an uncharacteristic shriek as it ignores the bigger male to go towards what it considers easier prey.You whip your knife out, though as you see the slavering mandibles come closer you very much do not want to use it, and are not sure how it would even find purchase. Just then, Garret yells a battlecry and leaps directly onto the monster's back, pinning it down with his weight, and punching and kicking at its shell, even lowering his head to bite pointlessly into its back. You have to admit you're impressed; for as much as a fool you consider him to be, instantly jumping to your defense without armor or even a weapon is quite a nice surprise. This action has slowed the creature down enough to save you from being bitten at least.”The legs!” You yell. You mentally refocus your animated weapons, instead aiming for the creatures many small skittering legs. The bone clubs smack at the chitinous spikes, bending them or knocking a few loose. Garret has heard you, and puts one of his hands out to grab a leg, pulling hard and twisting its joint backwards with a loud crack. This angers the creature, whose head suddenly turns backwards at Garret, coming in to bite him. He raises his upper body up and raises a hand, but this moves up his center of gravity, and the undulating centipede's tail forces him up off of it and knocks him back, bucking him off like a wild horse, flinging him backwards. For you, you can see where he lands from the dim torchlight just fine, but for his inferior human eyes that must have been a terrifying fling into the darkness.With Garret off its back the creature comes at you with renewed strength, though much slower now with many of its little legs broken or twisted at wrong angles. You stab forward with your knife in short bursts, not really aiming so much as trying to keep it away, the predator taking one or two quick pokes to its eyes as your floating clubs fly to your defenses, before it turns about with a very strange invertebrate hiss of pain and frustration and skitters away into a dark crack, deciding this fresh meat was no longer worth it. The rapid spin of the big creature knocked your knife out of your hand, and you quickly go to grab it, but find it quiet as the grave again when you come back up. The lantern light was now above your head, and you keep your hooded gaze downwards to avoid Garret seeing your face. He's not breathing heavy as you are from the fighting, cursing the unfair physical difference between you once again, but you collect yourself and soon move on.
Down the dark corridors you go to a deeper and even more ancient part of the burrow. The scent of rot and decay has totally abated now, with the dark alcoves on the shelves purely dusty human bones as the crypt-keepers refused to go any deeper to bury more pig corpses. The grave sites are also becoming more elaborate here, implying the ancient Middeners put more effort into their burial rites then the modern ones, or that these older graves are simply considered to be greater and greater heroes.”I think we're getting close...”Garret doesn't say anything, simply following behind you closely. You'd like to think he was compelled into silence by your impressive sorcery once more, but more likely he is staying quiet to listen out for the sounds of that thing coming back. That is a wise decision. You keep one ear peeled for it as you turn a corner to a larger tomb, dedicated to one man skeletal corpse.”Hold. Look for an inscription.”There is a detail here that caught your interest. The rusted and ancient decayed remains of a sword are entombed with these remains, but instead of being placed on the right side of the body, it is on the left. You read the words carved into the stone; Sentinel of the Left Hand, with two dully gleaming silver torcs among the chips and dusts of where the figures wrists once were. This is it!You climb up on the resting place and carefully take the two torcs, examining them closely in the murk. The twisted pieces of jewelry are less ornate or adorned then you thought, lacking the modern carvings and symbols of the Midden's Gods. In fact, they're almost totally identical.”Hmm...”You run your thumb across the groves, mentally noting which is which so as to not get them mixed up. If you dropped them in this gloom or put them in a bag where they'd get flipped around you'd easily lose track. This is at all what you expected, and not what the Headman seemed to think it would be like either. Come to think of it, you are completely certain he will not be able to tell which Torc you present him with at the completion of your quest. This gives you an idea; so before Garret sees you fumbling with the torcs or getting and ideas to the nature of your quest, you should decide what you are going to do with the torcs, heedless of the Headman's request...>Keep the Right Torc for yourself and give him the Left Torc, as agreed upon>Switch the Left Torc with the Right, keeping the warrior's sword arm's enchantment for yourself and giving the wrong one>Decide to keep both Torcs for yourself, and make mental preparations to prepare to leave town as soon as possible
>>6438516>>Decide to keep both Torcs for yourself, and make mental preparations to prepare to leave town as soon as possibleHmmm we do want to become a powerful sorceress. We ought to gather artifacts like this.
>>6438516>Keep the Right Torc for yourself and give him the Left Torc, as agreed uponWe should keep our word.
>>6438516>Keep the Right Torc for yourself and give him the Left Torc, as agreed uponIs my main vote though I can also accept>Switch the Left Torc with the Right, keeping the warrior's sword arm's enchantment for yourself and giving the wrong oneAs long as we stay in the area long enough to learn more of these mysteries, which means not (obviously) being a thief.
>>6438516>Keep the Right Torc for yourself and give him the Left Torc, as agreed uponWe should test both before we return though
>>6438516>Keep the Right Torc for yourself and give him the Left Torc, as agreed upon
>>6438516>>Keep the Right Torc for yourself and give him the Left Torc, as agreed upon
>>6438516>Switch the Left Torc with the Right, keeping the warrior's sword arm's enchantment for yourself and giving the wrong one
>>6438516>>Decide to keep both Torcs for yourself, and make mental preparations to prepare to leave town as soon as possible.If the Headsman wants the ghost gone, he can do the right thing.
>>6438516>Keep the Right Torc for yourself and give him the Left Torc, as agreed uponDefensive magic is more useful to us personally.
You decide to keep your word for now, and take the Right Torc for yourself, and give the left Torc back, as you promised the headman. You take the metal piece of jewelry into your hands, twisting its cold metal around your arm, and finding it way too big for your small child-like wrist, you move it up until the right Torc is around your right elbow and on the fatter upper arm, where it sits more securely and hidden under your tattered rags."This better actually be magic..." You say to yourself. You think about raiding the rest of the grave, but given the disturbing silence and your promise to the headman, and the fact you were given "permission" for only one such piece of loot, you decide to begin retracing your steps towards the entrance.Just then, you hear a panting and noise in the darkness. Turning towards it, you see something coming, and it has a human shape. Unnerved, you step forward to see it closer, finally seeing a figure crawling towards you."High Priestess Biawak! Oh, oh thank ye Gods! Thank all the Gods of the Midden, and the Great Green Forest God too, why not!? I thought for sure I was going to be lost in these dark tunnels forevermore! My worst nightmare! I had lost track of the lamp and... why are you holding it so high?"While you weren't sure what the voice and body coming towards you were, you feel a bit of relief as you realize it is indeed Garret in the flesh. You must have got separated when-Wait if that's Garret, then who-
>Run to Garret>Look up
>>6439127Screw that thing it has creepy black hair and definitely isn't Garret.>Run to Garret
>>6439127>Look up slowly after saying "He's right behind me, isn't he?"
>>6439127>>6439135+1
>>6439127>Look upHey, discovering what this freaky thing is will be a sort of like solving a mystery, right? Plus running to a kid is undignified.
>>6439127>Look up
>>6439135>+1This is a treasured timeless classic in all its forms.
>>6439135+1>*Gulp*
>>6439135+1
Slowly, you crane your neck up.
Then, the lamp goes out.
“AHHH! NOO!”This is total darkness. Within the bowels of the barrow-mound, your eyes cannot detect any light at all. You know this is what caverns are like, absolute darkness, but you've never truly experienced it before. Your sharp goblin eyes are well suited to pick up even the slightest glimmers of light. Even under the canopy and ferms and hiding within a rotten fallen log in the darkest nights you could still see clearly the forms and shapes of the forest floor and creatures around you, the smallest scraps of light from the stars and moons have always been enough for you. You close your eyes for a moment, and then open them again. No difference.“P-Priestess!? Are you there?”It's comforting to you, in a way. You reach out, feeling the sensation of total isolation around you. You can almost touch it.“C-Conjure forth a new lantern! Or take us from this wretched place!””Be quiet Garret.”As you move your hands through the impenetrable darkness, the cold air, the silence, you imagine the darkness around you as a physical thing. You move your fingers and almost feel it, like the smoothest black velvet; you roll your fingers through it as though it was the finest of silks. It bunches underneath your touch, almost real. Just on the edge of perception. You are close.“I-I'm scared...””Shhh...”Fully immersed in the darkness now, you feel on the edge of an epiphany. Your inner-self expands from this experience, fully open to this new primordial darkness, ready to let it seep into your being like a sponge. But you can't spoil it early, or else you'll lose it. So you'd have to go it alone...>Abandon Garret to his fate in the dark barrow forever (Learn new spell: "Shroud")>Conjure a LIGHT OF FASCINATION and lead both of you out of here
>>6439477>Conjure a LIGHT OF FASCINATION and lead both of you out of hereHe saved us earlier.
>>6439477>Conjure a LIGHT OF FASCINATION and lead both of you out of hereProtect the boy, he doesn't deserve such a fate.
>>6439477>Abandon Garret to his fate in the dark barrow forever (Learn new spell: "Shroud")
>>6439477>Conjure a LIGHT OF FASCINATION and lead both of you out of here
>>6439477>>Abandon Garret to his fate in the dark barrow forever (Learn new spell: "Shroud")
>>6439477>Conjure a LIGHT OF FASCINATION and lead both of you out of here"humanity" is important to keep as a very powerful being
>>6439743we're a gob not a human.
>>6439744hence the quotation marks
>>6439744Humanity drops from rats, why not goblins?
You're right on the edge of something, an opportunity for some small enlightenment. This one seems closer then others; as you remember you had this power just before, in your mind it feels just out of reach. In the real world? It was literally but a few short days ago. But in order to step over that threshold, you'd need to sacrifice Garret. Leave him to the dark, his worst nightmare, to fully embrace the all-encompassing black around you...Motioning with your hands, you shake off the feeling of nigh-breakthru and summon forth one of your lights. The small spell appears in front of you, its swirling colors removing the gloom; and shaking your mind of its sleepy dream-like poise. Similar to forcing yourself to rise when half-awake, you've lost this opportunity. Hopefully another one will come soon.“Oh! Oh thank- thank the- uhhh- the-...!””Don't look right at it you f- Ugh. Nevermind.”Garret, desperate for the light source in this dark place, stared directly into your fascinating light and has been struck. It's possible to resist its urge, and you can't say you're totally immune to it yourself, spending several hours the first time you conjured one just staring into its depths, but getting taken over that easily surely showed what a foolish mind he really possesses. Or at least, that he was desperate for something to look at.”Hehe... pretty colors...”“Yes Garret. Follow the pretty colors. Let's go.”Soon enough, you manage to retrace your steps past the gore of the battle with the centipede and return to the rotting stench of pig corpses in the upper parts of the barrow. You are getting closer, until finally you find the entrance, dimly lit with the stars and moons overhead. You snuff your light and let Garret regain his senses, while you look towards the stone altar and see all of the offering-bread remains there, not even a bird had pecked at them yet.”Oh, of course. The ghosts weren't hungry, I guess. I didn't do anything! That does it! This is the first and last time I am ever trusting any superstitious villager folk magic! I swear off it completely!”“What, we got out safely. Maybe the dead just wanted to play a little prank? I wouldn't count out folk rituals. You know, the Brujas and Brujos of Vas'Vamos have some powerful magic.””Oh yes, I'm sure their necromantic confectioneries are second to none.”“No, really! It's a land just east of here, just across the inland sea. They say the sorcerers there bind their souls to an animal familiar that-””Oh just shut up Garret, I'm not in the mood.”
You awake in the morning uncomfortably early, not much sleep came to you, but you are also not that tired. With the first dawns light, the village is beginning to awaken. You wanted to go to the Headman immediately, but then you realized he'd be asleep. It is very strange to adjust to existing on a schedule, and not simply sleeping when you wanted to or foraging when you wanted to as your body and mood suited you.While your initial payment is still more then enough to secure you lodgings and food at the Tavern for some time, your welcome is being worn out. Things are moving on, the village is preparing sleepily for some kind of festival, and some of the other “tenants” of the tavern are leaving and new ones will arrive in the coming days. The privacy of this room is all you have in this strange new world of civilization...With a few hours to yourself, you decide to continue the trend and do some other uniquely human thing. Why not practice with your magic? You haven't done much of it before, being an intuitive power, but maybe you could learn some kind of cantrip related to your abilities; a minor act of magic that is based on a “spell” but you will keep even if the core working of the spell is lost to you. During this training session, you also silently curse yourself for missing out on learning a new spell, even though you had a good reason to save Garret from his fate. Your mind wanders, how do you feel about him?How do you feel about Garret? (Avg. Score of all votes will be taken)>You think you may fancy him, just a little bit (5)>He's charming in his own yokel way (4)>Harmless, neutral opinion, you'd just like to avoid pointless death if possible (3)>Annoying, overgrown child. (2)>Don't care, you just didn't want the village to blame you for his disappearance (1)>Pathetic fool. You made a mistake in rescuing him. (0)In the meantime, what Cantrip do you learn?>Inanimate Life transforms an object just enough to change its color or texture, usually to a natural pattern>Unseen Hand gains a bit of finesse, letting it tie knots and snuff candles>Lights of Fascination can be tuned down to create distinct shapes or write letters or symbols in the air without hypnotic effects>Mirror Ward can hold an attack in place before turning it back, though this takes concentration and may cause the ward to fail elsewhere
>>6440003>Harmless, neutral opinion, you'd just like to avoid pointless death if possible (3)He is nothing. >Unseen Hand gains a bit of finesse, letting it tie knots and snuff candles
>>6440003How do I feel about Garret? Hm..>Harmless, neutral opinion, you'd just like to avoid pointless death if possible (3)>Unseen Hand gains a bit of finesse, letting it tie knots and snuff candles
>>6440003>You think you may fancy him, just a little bit (5)In the name of gender equality, so too must the female protagonists fall for the first boy trap.Also, grumpy goblin wizard with dumb young boy sounds like a fun intractation.>Unseen Hand gains a bit of finesse, letting it tie knots and snuff candlesConsider that, this being a primitive setting without delicate machining, locks and keys will be rare. We could literally open doors from the inside.
>>6440003>Harmless, neutral opinion, you'd just like to avoid pointless death if possible (3)He saved us, but seems dim and not especially handsome.>Unseen Hand gains a bit of finesse, letting it tie knots and snuff candles
>>6440011>He saved us, but seems dim and not especially handsomeTo be fair, I wouldn't call "diminutive goblin sorcerer" a particularly big catch either. I wouldn't wait for some long-haired blonde paladin in shining armor if I were you
>>6440003>Harmless, neutral opinion, you'd just like to avoid pointless death if possible (3)Unseen Hand gains a bit of finesse, letting it tie knots and snuff candles
Also for the sake of what I was going for with the first prompt, it should be "Average score will be taken INTO ACCOUNT" for the result instead of replacing it. That way if the majoroity vote for the explanation of "wanting to avoid unnecessary deaths" but the score was high, it'd he more like "wanted to avoid unnecessary deaths, especially his." Sort of thing instead of replacing it with result worth (4) if that makes sense.
>>6440003>Pathetic fool. You made a mistake in rescuing him. (0)>Unseen Hand gains a bit of finesse, letting it tie knots and snuff candles
>>6440003>Don't care, you just didn't want the village to blame you for his disappearance (1)>Unseen Hand gains a bit of finesse, letting it tie knots and snuff candles>>6440010nah the first girl trap like mayor's trophy wife is best.
>>6440002
>>6440126>interspecies green midget NTR yuri
>>6440155It's only NTR if the mayor is still alive when you do it.And it's only midget until you learn how to magically enlarge yourself.
>>6440003>Harmless, neutral opinion, you'd just like to avoid pointless death if possible (3)>Unseen Hand gains a bit of finesse, letting it tie knots and snuff candles
>>6440155I didn't expected you of all people to take the bait.
>>6440003>Harmless, neutral opinion, you'd just like to avoid pointless death if possible (3)>Lights of Fascination can be tuned down to create distinct shapes or write letters or symbols in the air without hypnotic effects
>>6440003>Annoying, overgrown child. (2)>Unseen Hand gains a bit of finesse, letting it tie knots and snuff candles
Voting closed. Unfortunately I could not finish the update in time for today. As a peace offering, here is an early version of the tavern fight-scene with a completely different main character.So instead, let's use this as a convenient mid-thread check in. How are you enjoying the quest so far?
>>6440392This quest is GOOD.
>>6440392It's pretty fun
>>6440392It has a really distinctive vibe and I am excited to see where it goes.
>>6440392I really enjoyed it thus far, and hoping it won't decrease in quality anytime soon.Also, Dawg why would anyone want to get in a fight with THAT character, it looks like it can eat a man alive.
>>6440431The sickening hubris of tuskoids knows no bounds...
Finally. A Good Fantasy Quest.
>>6440392I am enjoying it so far!
>>6440392its cool
Thanks for the feedback and kind words. Updates will resume shortly.
Thinking on Garret, you consider him little better then an annoying child. But he did jump to your defense without hesitation, so you have to give him some credit, even if it was dumb. Against a true threat, he would have just gotten both of you killed even as a useful distraction. Your opinion on him is and remains neutral, but you think you'd enjoy his company even less then you did before. The torc sits uncomfortably on your right upper-arm, feeling cold, reminding you of that barrow.While practicing your powers, you find you can channel the powers of the Unseen Hand to a smaller and more fine degree then before; able to manipulate and roll small objects, twist them through the air, levitate something that can fit in your hand, and all sorts of small acts of prestidigitation. You're fairly certain even if you forget how to animate objects with your powers fully, you'll retain this ability. It's quite a useful little charm, though manipulating anything more then a few feet away is like trying to finely manipulate things as though you are a wearing a large mitten glove; you feel as though your hands are simply too gross and imprecise of a tool for your magic, but you aren't exactly sure what else you could use...You eventually head to the Headman's house, and present the Left Torc.“Oh! You managed to retrieve this. Excellent. I must prepare to perform a warrior's vigil tonight; I also require one more thing for you. I will need funerary herbs. Go to the herbalist and tell her, she will know what I need.””...I accomplish your task for you and you send me on another errand?”“Ah. I am used to ordering people around. Wouldn't you do it for me? Some villagers fear the medicine woman and the woods in ways you don't. Let me fetch my purse- Hold! I know you do not care for coin, but the herbalist surely will.”With your new quest, you shake your head in irritation. You've been sent on another task, this time without even the expectation of reward. Considering you've already received your reward, you may as well just leave it be. But you have a desire to see this thing through, and besides, you actually wanted to see the medicine woman anyway. You follow a path thru the village and a ways into the forest that surrounds the bog and marshlands, isolated from the rest of them...As most of the villagers, the Herbalist woman lives in a small single room dwelling. It is old and decayed, with small holes and cracks showing the natural forest she lives within, but somehow improves the homey atmosphere. After all, if plants be her specialty and living, why not live among them, like the ivy growing on the walls?
“Oh 'ello there, you be the erhm, little midget prophet they say?””...What did you call me.”“Oh! Sorry, I meant no 'ffense, I just don't know what you're kind of people call 'emselves.””I'm... Just a servant of the Great Green Forest God.”“Another new God huh... Oh well. Would you like a spot of tea?””Tea? I've never had any. I thought everyone in the Midden drank ale and wine.”“Well, it's not from here. 'Mported East, from the land called Zant. I keep it for special occasions and even special'r guests.””Well... Guess I could stop for a minute to try some.”You quite enjoy chatting with the herbalist. She places a skin with fresh stream water over the fireplace to boil it, and eventually you have your first cup of tea. It gives you a slight buzz, though you recognize it as probably just being a mild stimulant. While she yammers on about them, you think the health benefits are likely placebo. That doesn't mean her other herbs and roots don't have useful properties, and her knowledge of them is far greater then yours, honed from a lifetime of experience that your few sips from a pool of true knowledge could never replicate.”...The Headsman told me to bring him some funerary herbs for some sort of vigil.”“Trying to appease spirits of the dead, eh? I 'an help you with that dear. We have sage and rosemary for ye, as well as bark from the willow tree. Though all the good-smelling herbs couldn't help what be going on by Holdfast in the heart of the Midden, coming straight out from the depths of the bog, that's a nasty business of spirits. Lemme' just fe'ch em for ye dearie, oh, there will be a small charge...””I have coin for that. But on the business of local spirits...”You try to interrogate her about any local mystic locations or phenomena that would be of interest to your studies. She's cagey at first, but eventually opens up.
“We have one here, a spirit o' life and death that lives in that old tree on the hill, though some would call it a demon. But you can't speak to it, it's invisible, it lives in the Spirit world. Don't bother yourself with it.””Ahh, but that's exactly what I'm after! I have need of psilocybin.” Judging by the look on her face, that name is too academic. ”Uhh, mushrooms. The the kind that give you visions. Used to communicate and cross into the spirit world?”“Oh, uhh, no dearie. Got none of those around here.””...Really? I am certain this climate is wet enough for them. Have you really never encountered them? I was told you would know all of the things that grow in the wild places-”“No dear.” She says again, sounded more angry. “We have no business with mushrooms like that. Not since the time of the druids.””Druids?”“Yes- Yes the damn Druids! There were entire fraternities and sororities of them in the Midden once, they spoke to spirits and appeased them, they kept the balance of things, they were the spiritual heart of the people. I mean, o-of course, we serve the Gods of the Midden here above all others, Man-Gods... But Gods is distant and far away, and Spirits be right outside of your village, so you needed someone who knew about them and could deal with them.””So? Where did they go?”“It- Ugh. Why do ye have to go and ask so many questions. It's all ancient history now.” She looks at you for a moment, trying to gauge your expression from under the hood, as if trying to see if you are a spy. But she's worked up now, and clearly has more to say, so you simply wait in silence until she breaks on her own.
“...The Order of the Tusk drove them out, you know. The Order came and promised everything; they became popular with the people because they promised the land to be fecund and the fields stripped of the weeds and of wild things to be fat and lazy instead of hungry and moving against man. But humans are fools. Everything has a natural order and time and place, and you cannot make one thing one way without making another thing go against it. Too many wolves mean the deer hide away and the grass grows too tall without grazing, but too many deer and the fields get too short and barren. But there is a cycle; too many deer means the wolves have plenty to eat for a time, but they get lazy and weak in the tooth and the deer can escape them. Once too few wolves are left and the deer get slow and dumb and the wolves that are left must become fast and sharp until their numbers return. This is the order of things. The lands cannot always be fertile and giving full yields without time for the fields to lie fallow, without barrenness and famine. Why do you think the bog has expanded so far? And great pits of quicksand and tar from the churned up earth can swallow a man now? It is because the Pig is in charge. The God of Pigs. They didn't listen when they were told that if Man has Gods, then Animals must have Gods too. And maybe Gods and Spirits and Demons be all the same thing, just depending on who you are or what they will do for you, if you understand my meaning.””Alright. But about the-”“So drop it dearie. I have no mushrooms for you, nor does anybody else here in the village, and ye won't find any so you can stir up the spirits. A-And we don't need some new foreign God coming in and saying they're gonna fix everything and give us great blessings and wealth and fertility all over again just to be deceived. With all due respect. You have your funeral offerings and you had your tea, now is the time for you to go.”It seems she is unwilling to help you, but despite her age and apparent wisdom, she makes for a terrible liar. How can you convince her to help get your mushrooms?>Promise to destroy the Order of the Tusk and bring a return of the druids>Bribe her with a juicy gemstone>Take down your hood and tell her your true story and see if it moves her>Cast the LIGHTS OF FASCINATION to distract her and then search her house for them>Other (Write-In)
>>6440840>Promise to destroy the Order of the Tusk and bring a return of the druids.From our experience they're just a simple gang of bandits and bullies who will be missed by hardly anyone if we drove them out. I mean obviously we don't vibe with them, and nobody had a problem with us scaring the life out of them back at the inn.
>>6440840>Bribe her with a juicy gemstone
>>6440840>Promise to destroy the Order of the Tusk and bring a return of the druidsNever liked those guys anyway.
>>6440840>Take down your hood and tell her your true story and see if it moves her
>>6440840>Promise to destroy the Order of the Tusk and bring a return of the druids
>>6440840>>Take down your hood and tell her your true story and see if it moves herGot a feeling we can trust her
>>6440840>Take down your hood and tell her your true story and see if it moves her.She's sick of gods, perhaps she'll deal better with Gobs
”...I came to this land to seek spiritual and greater levels of enlightenment. It's very important I get my hands on the mushrooms, and speak to the local spirit.” It's not a complete lie, at least. But she still refuses to budge.“I told ye, we don't have any mushrooms like that, and you won't find any. Don't you know the rules of hospitality? You're starting to wear out you welcome...””But I was sent here to bring balance back to nature. That's what the Great Green Forest God demands. Look at me.” You hold out both of your green arms, showing your unnatural skin tone to her. You know she saw it before, but up in the light its more obvious that it isn't just a simple skin paint or strange undergarment. You don't quite feel comfortable showing her your face, but maybe you can leverage this to your advantage. She leans in, touching your hand gingerly after a moment.”My God is a nature God. I have been turned green by his communion. Bring forth that water warmed in the waterskin, and any washing soaps or herbs you desire. You will see.” Now you're lying, but not by much.She obeys, perhaps more curious then anything. She pours out some of the warm water over your arms and you scrub them, allowing yourself to be inspected by her closer, revealing in the light and the rinsing of your hands and arms that nothing came off; your skins translucency in the dim light reveals it is its true natural skin tone. More and more she is impressed. While she likely knows of the different races of men, she's probably never heard of a green man before, all the better for you!“...You really are a High Priestess, touched by a God of the Forest?””You can see the proof for yourself. Those who upset the balance of nature will be driven out, and the return of the druids will come when the corruption is removed. You have illuminated me on the nature of the Order of the Tusk, and are clearly the sign my God wished to send me. I thank you for this, but communion with the spirits is of the utmost importance for my mission... Are you sure you don't have any of those mushrooms?”The herbalist, convinced by your queer appearance and words, finally relents. She takes aside a small cloth that hides a level on her shelf, and pulls out several small brown capped mushrooms, holding them out to you.“Here, takes these. But tell no one. We must pretend like we have all forgotten the old ways...”
First, a light, breathy tunic to keep the rougher materials off the skin.Next, a padded gambeson or undershirt with many thick layers, meant to protect against bludgeoning blows.Then, the main dress of chainmaille. Made of many small chin links riveted together, this armor is very flexible for the amount of protection it provides, but is expensive and time consuming to make. Many blacksmiths and apprentices churn out those rings, as it is a signature creation of the Midden. The armor goes down to the knees, with small slits in the sides to allow the legs to move and not impede movement.Over top of this, a light cloth tunic or tabard. This helps to keep the weather and gore off the chains themselves, keeping them fresh and less likely to rust. Or as the Headman says, “its to stop you puking all over your armor which is impossible to clean after you drink heavily from a hard-fought battle”. The other main reason for it is fashion, or to present a house or heraldric colors.Finally, a helmet and the weapons. The helmet is padded on the inside and put on last, though it is likely the most crucial piece of armor. Special hooks allow a small veil of chain to be hung from it, to protect all of the lower face and neck, though this is less protective then the rest of the body given the lack of padding. Warriors from the Midden carry swords, spears, and shields as their weapons, and ride on horses if the field allows it, but knowing the state of the marsh it is often easier to go on foot. However, servants or in this case the man's wife are always there to help don and doff the equipment to ready for battle.With that complete, the Headman now takes on the appearance of a fully armored warrior of the Midden. On the hill outside his home, he places the recovered left Torc, animal bones and fat, and the funerary herbs in a small fire bowl and lights it, before looking to the setting sun. He stands silently in the vigil, allowing the disgruntled spirit to pass on. The Torc on your right arm finally feels warm and comfortable against your skin, as though you're finally getting used to it. Or perhaps, something else supernatural has happened.You feel protected by the Right-Torc and the defensive power of your magic has increased!
In the silence of the vigil, you consider your biases for the moment. You very much did not like humans.When you first became enlightened and drank from the spring of brilliance, you were filtered true knowledge. This knowledge included things that humans know, and you learned of the names humans gave them, but some things humans did not know as well. To say you learned the things humans have known is wrong, because you learned it independent of them. And so needless to say when you learned of human things; of empires, slavery, and rape, and cruelty and torture and debt, and insanity, and all the evil things, you felt a strong and visceral reaction to it, as though humans invented these things and made them all. You were a creature of nature, and these things did not exist for you. Evil and stupidity and cruelty all stemmed from the human creature, and you were disgusted by it.But now, in the silence of the vigil, you must consider another truth. All of the evils humans do exist in nature as well, just not seen or named as such. Surely it must be better that humans acknowledge the bad things they do and seek forgiveness for them, then animals who simply do evil without even knowing it? You looked upon human relationships and families with scorn, especially the obsession with race and skin colors you felt from them, to which goblins have no equivalent. But as you see the respect the armored warrior has for a man he never even knew, you most consider that if you found your own mother's corpse in the woods when you were still an animal, you would have likely sniffed it for freshness and taken some of its meat for yourself instead of giving her a burial or shedding any tears for it. Humans are creatures of domination, but if any creature be given the same intelligence, would they not also seek the same domination? If goblins were smart and humans were feral animals squatting in jungles, would the goblins not create empires of grain-farms and trade routes and weapons to protect them, the same way as humans do?Now you must consider, has your opinion on humans changed at all?>Very much no, you still do not like them.>No, but a few of them are okay.>Maybe, you haven't seen enough of them yet to know for sure.>Yes, you think they're doing their best.>Absolutely. You were nothing but an animal before, and are inferior to man, but at least you are closer.>Other (Write In)
>>6441285>Maybe, you haven't seen enough of them yet to know for sure.
>>6441285>Maybe, you haven't seen enough of them yet to know for sure.Still not a great first showing since so many seem dumb, stubborn, or wicked.
>>6441285>Maybe, you haven't seen enough of them yet to know for sure.We've seen absolutely insufferable tuskoids, and we've seen good humans such as Garret and the Herbalist, so obviously they aren't uniformed enough in their behaviour to judge them as collective.
>>6441285>>No, but a few of them are okay.
>>6441285>>Maybe, you haven't seen enough of them yet to know for sure.
Maybe... Maybe they're not so bad. But you haven't got much evidence to the contrary. You'll reserve your judgment for when you get some more examples, after all, you've only seen one little piece of the world so far. So you'll call it a draw... for now.You aren't sure how long to wait at the vigil. The sun has gone down, and the very last bit of light washes over the village until true night comes. Nobody says anything, but the Headman's wife leaves to go inside, and you go soon after, as he stands there is silence. On the way, you take a few of the mushrooms, knowing that by the time you reach your destination, they will ferry you to see the other side of things.The Spirit Realm exists just behind the real world. It is invisible, and directs intangible forces, and it is normally completely out of reach. This you know from your bestowed knowledge, but you also know it can be accessed by mortals thru altered states of consciousness. You are supremely confident that you can navigate this process and seek truth or consul with the spirits; ancient and inhuman beings whose knowledge and power runs far deeper then any mortal man. But there is still some apprehension. You've never been “high” before.You lay down at the base of the tree of life and death, the same one the medicine woman told you about, and you presume the same tree the villagers speak of when they speak of the hanging tree. This is the place where criminals have been hung, but so to do pregnant women tough its old dead bark and seek to be blessed with a healthy child. It is a place of life and death, a perfect place for a spirit to live you think. You wouldn't know for sure, you still haven't met one yet!You feel giggly. You'd prefer to have someone to watch over you during your experience, but none of the villagers you trust much, maybe Garret if you liked him more, but otherwise you'd rather be on your own. At least the night will hide you as you shift around, hood falling as you watch the clouds breathe. They pulse in and out, you look to the hills and you see them breathing too. Everything is alive! You feel pleasant tingles, rubbing yourself up and down your arms as the texture of your rags feel new against your skin. Your mind wanders deliriously, but before you go completely, you make a mental effort to keep it together, to keep enough sense to-
You feel yourself rising. You're having an out of body experience, looking down at yourself is very strange. You feel unchained, and feel a small rising anxiety that your soul could get lost if you venture too far, your body becoming an empty shell or something else moving in. But you brush aside these fears; your mind is too powerful and the Dream Tempest too wild for another, lesser presence to take your body from you. Your hallucinations take on a newfound solidity as they become more and more real, long strings of light trailing down from the tree itself, you are sure you are crossing over into another realm. There is less lights and colors then you thought there would be. You follow the strings and come to a door inside the hanging tree, a distinct presence you feel within. Gaining the courage for a moment, you finally enter.Inside the tree you find a spirit. It has a human body with a goat-like, animal head; similar to depictions of Kothian Gods, but the rest of its body is strangely warped. One side is female and the other side male, a mix of both masculine and feminine, so you would assume it is a hermaphrodite, but between its legs is no sex organ but a long and writhing snake, which hisses at your spiritual form as you approach closer. It drips with deadly venom; a penis that drips death instead of the seed of life. Despite this beastly appearance, the spirit stares with a fearsome intensity, and its hands make occult symbols; it clearly possess a great intelligence. One hand points upwards, the other downwards; this spirit is one of duality in all ways.”As above, so below.” It's voice is a mix of both sexes, and of bleating and speaking. It switches its hands, so now the one that pointed up now points down and vice-versa for the other. You repeat the motion back to it, as some kind of greeting. You say nothing to the spirit out of respect, after all, this is its domain.”...Another seeker comes thru the white door. I have drank the souls of many would-be mystics, but this one is different. You are as no mortal spirit I have encountered.””You will not be drinking this one's soul today, if that's what you mean.”The spirit pauses, as the panther does when it thinks it has been spotted by its prey and must decide to pounce or drop the chase. ”We will see.””I come here seeking knowledge.” You say bluntly, not exactly sure what the decorum is for dealing with an ancient supernatural entity. The spirit doesn't seem offended by it.”Have you no eyes or ears? You can learn much from using those.””Knowledge of the unseen. Magical knowledge. I was gifted with some, but the last bit slipped my grasp. I- I was foolish. I want to know how to get it back.”
”Seeking knowledge that has missed you is foolish, like trying to save food that has spoiled. There is a time and place for everything, and you missed your chance. Grandmother with her pocked face has moved and stepped down; Wild-Brother has taken the head of the table, and his opposite in the Ageless-Sister is nowhere to be seen, not even in the south house. The Master moves between them, and will soon rule them all, as Iron does.””Spare me the mysticism. I want to learn more about my gift.””Have you been listening to a word I've said? Besides- nothing is free. Not on heaven, or on Earth. As above, So below. What spirit does your magic come from? Or from what wind? Or do you draw power from the primordial elements; as the Windspeakers and Rainmakers of the Kodi do? Or do you seek me as your patron of otherworldly gifts?””There is no spirit, I speak to no winds nor owe my soul to any demon. I call my power from the Principalities themselves!”Finally, you feel like you're no longer on the backfoot. The spirit seems taken aback, judging by its short pause.”...That is what you call them? That is quite interesting.””They have another name?””Ah-bap! They all have names. But nothing is free under earth or sky; but I repeat myself.””Then what do you want?” You ask, cautiously. While promises in the real world account to little more then words, in the spirit world, they are as binding as iron chains and fetters.”From life comes death, and death begets life. This is a primordial truth. So to as creation begets destruction, and so on and so on. The mortal world is so constrained. If I seek to make something, something must be destroyed first in equal part and measure, but I cannot act in the mortal realm, any more then your hands and spells can act upon this place. You are powerless here, as I am powerless there.”
”I am just as fearsome out of my body as within it, spirit.””Ho! I like this one. Then listen to me, little storm. I wish to create life. But I cannot do it without death first. Ah- don't interrupt me! I am not asking for you to murder. That is entirely your prerogative as to when and what you kill. But I want the death for myself. So here is the deal; the next time you own a death that I find worthy, you will turn it over to me instead of keeping it for yourself.””How can I “own” a death...?””It is a death you make by taking a life, of course. Or perhaps a great dead thing you find, that no one else can or has been able to find, or a sacrifice one makes for you; their lives are yours freely. You may tell one and all the life is yours, to defend yourself or further your goals, matters not to me. But the death, belongs to me. You will not loot the corpse, or move it to bury it in the manner men often do, nor will you tell anyone of its location, nor will you make meat or skins of the creature or man or whatever else it may be. And don't try to trick me by slaying some pitiful man or base animal and thinking you can pass it off to me. I will choose what death I want, and you will know I have claimed it by a dark shadow that passes overhead with no source. This will be my sign. You will give this death to me, or else you will suffer my wrath.”You feel a tingling in hands and fingers; your real ones. Your time is growing short. Urged on by this, and the promise of supernatural wisdom, you speak. ”I accept.”The spirit nods, and its snake-penis coils back in submission. It opens its hands now, extending its palms towards you in offering.”Then... tell me what it is you wish to know?”>How can I further deepen & sharpen my mind? (Learn some mental & psionic techniques)>Teach me how to shape the natural world around me (Learn spell: Command Elements)>Screw knowledge... give me power! (Learn all previous mentioned Cantrips & spells become stronger at a cost)>Can I become your student? (Gain this Spirit as a permanent Patron)>Tell me a name of the Principalities?>Where is the greatest collection of sorcerous knowledge in the mortal world?>What treasure in the mortal world would benefit me the most?>The last sip of the Well of Brilliance... where did it go?Approval Voting is allowed, but only the most voted choice will be answered.
>>6441680>Tell me a name of the Principalities?Assumption being that knowing name of the thing we use will be helpful in the future, somehow.
>>6441680>Tell me a name of the Principalities?Don't even care if there's any actual benefit, I wanna know more about these things.
>>6441680>its snake-penis coils back in submission...>>6434582"Transform the wooden skewers of your dinner into venomous snakes with a spell of INANIMATE LIFE..."Transform the tree demon snake phallus back into a wooden skewer or twig, and steal it. Always wanted a castrated wand
>>6441714That sounds like a permanent patron kind of thing, or like a way to make a permanent enemy of a god. >>6441680Either way i will +1 it.
Going to give a "No" to the write in here.
>>6441680>Teach me how to shape the natural world around me (Learn spell: Command Elements)I want to find a goblin god or 'monster' god to be our patron.
Actually I take it backNEW OPTION>Steal the snake-phallus in your vision and put it into a twig on the old dead tree (Get a magic wand, piss off the Spirit of Life & Death)We'll count it as 2 votes so far, but I'll give people time to change their mind or pick another option if they want since later write-ins are harder to win.
>>6441680>Tell me a name of the Principalities?
>>6441680>Teach me how to shape the natural world around me (Learn spell: Command Elements)
I don't really like the idea of using a snake dick as a wand. That sounds kinda gross.
>>6441857I would do it in a more metaphysical/drug trip kinda of way since it being literal is kind of silly, Biawak would wake up wtih a stick of the tree broken off in her hand and know the spirit is in it but in the real world she was just high as fuck and tugging on it lmao
>>6441858it's metaphysically gross
Also by the way since nobody has done it yet I am totally fine with approval voting for this one since there are a lot of choices, might be a bit late but I'm pretty sure I put it in the prompt but nobody seemed to pick one then one choice for some reason, might be too late for it to matter. Oh well.
>>6441680>Steal the snake-phallus in your vision and put it into a twig on the old dead tree (Get a magic wand, piss off the Spirit of Life & Death)Its certainly a very "goblin" move.
>>6441680>Teach me how to shape the natural world around me (Learn spell: Command Elements)Seems like this spell would be immensely useful
Didn't have update ready in time for today, will try to post in a few hours or skip for tomorrow.
I've decided to skip the update for the usual time tomorrow/later today my time (roughly ~18 hours from now). I've been intentionally trying to keep a reliable once per day update speed this thread, which I hope keeps up the pacing and makes it more engaging.
“The Principalities... The mystic beings I theorized must exist from my bestowed knowledge. They are real! And they have names! I must know; they are known by other names?””Yes, though it is curious a mortal feels their influence and sway. But is that the knowledge you wish to gain from our pact?””Yes! Tell me a name of the principalities.””Very well... One is named Zod.”Zod... It is merely a word, but one that sings with power. You almost feel as though it may itself be an incantation, though this is yet another form of magic you are not familiar with. You register it to your memory. You don't know its significance, but if you could understand the arcane connection between this name and your magic, you feel as though it could lead to even greater heights of Sorcery.”Wait... One is named Zod?” So each has a name. What are the other names?”The Spirit does not answer, staying still and silent, as though it no longer wishes to be disturbed. You insist, and it replies with an almost smug, self-righteous tone.”I have answered the question you asked, mortal. You asked for “A” name, not “their” names. Now keep in mind your part of the pact.”You realize for a moment what you have said, and feel a second of regret, once again, just as with the well of brilliance. But then again, you start to feel angry with the spirit.”Wha- You could have just told me the others but chose to play word games, huh? Some kind of lousy little spirit-guide you turned out to be.””Silence!” The Spirit's snake penis stands erect now, hissing and striking at your spiritual form as a warning, but this doesn't discourage you, if anything, it just drives you on more. As if you've never dealt with a striking jungle mamba. ”You are a fool, and suffer the price of fools. Now begone from this place, and keep hold your end of the arrangement!””You little least Spirit! How dare you call me a fool. You pagan wretch, tricking a girl barely woken up to the civilized world and the ways of words! You're as duplicitous as a thief, not some great ancient nature spirit of wisdom!” The snake cock strikes at you again, but this time you dodge and catch it in your “hand”.”What are you doing!? You will suffer my wrath, mortal!””Bwahaha! Pathetic little tree spirit! “I have drank the souls of so many mortals~” just shut up! You'd quake in your little horns if a man with an axe came to chop down your spirit-house in this tree. I killed three men with axes just this very week. I'm going to twist this stupid thing off!””Stop that!”
It is clear that the spirit is not actually being harmed by this, this strange illusion and hallucination. You feel a bit mischievous, tugging and pulling on the hissing snake-penis of the angered nature spirit, imagining ripping it off in a fit of child-like rage. It would also be the first time you ever touched a penis, but given its a snake and also none of this is real anyway, in your strange giddy delirious mind, you don't really think this counts.”HEHEHEHEHEHeheheheh!” You giggle to yourself, feeling the snake twist and crack, you hear a noise of splintering, and have almost fully emasculated this nature spirit before you find yourself coming quickly back down to Earth. Finally there is a snap, and you suddenly find yourself back besides the old dead tree, though you are standing next to it instead of laying under it as you did before.”Wha...” You hold your aching head. Still a bit delirious, you shake and pinch yourself to make sure this is really happening, and you find you have come back to the real world. But in your hand is no serpentine cock, but instead, simply a stick you pulled off the ancient tree.”But all the branches are way up there... how did...” You look down at the stick in your hand again, feeling a certain degree of something supernatural about it. At the same time, you feel a bit of anger radiating from the old tree. But you aren't going to apologize after the spirit tricked you! You'll take this piece of it for yourself, serves it right.In your hands you now hold a Wand of Life & Death. You haven't yet tried to use a wand with your magic before, but you believe that certain objects called Foci can increase the power or precision of your magic.The next day, you sit in the tavern hall once more with a much more humble meal then your first. Garret serves you. You thank him, and then go to ask him about some local legends about the spirit of life and death before he stops you.“I'm sorry... My father does not want me speaking to you any more. He thinks your bag of gems is a dowry to steal away a young boy of the Midden, and he's afraid you've got eyes for me now. I- I know it's ridiculous! Please don't tell him I said anything. He's very protective of me. Enjoy the food.”
What was that shit about? Now you're irritated again. You didn't even like that dumb boy! Of course, they assume you are a human. But would you even want to... mate with a human? You haven't given the matter much thought really. Just then, the Headman appears with a saunter in his step and his arms swung wide. Cherry wine splashes from his tankard.”There she is! The High Priestess! Curse-Breaker!””You're looking much better. Have you slept?””Like a babe!” He sits down with a smile. You roll your eyes under your hood. Getting a moment of thanks was acceptable, but what does he want to be friends now? Or is it some new issue he wishes for you to solve? You swear, the moment someone asks you to call upon your God and solve their male impotence problem or saggy breasts or whatever other vain thing you think you might lose it completely.”I've been thinking about something you said.” The Headman says playfully, not at all in the hushed tones of his ghost problem. He takes another sip of the tankard, before checking to see that yours is near empty. He calls for more, but you cover your cup with your hand, and he relents, finally continuing his train of thought. ”You said you care a lot about... mysteries, right? Or arcane secrets? Lore? History? Things like that?””Depends on what it is. Though I'd prefer not to be thrown into a haunted tomb again just to read its gravestones of who died in this battle or that.””Well fear not! This is something else. In the West, words are carved into wood or clay. In the East, they use paper. In the Midden, books of vellum and parchment; though we have no books here. The black men and brown men do not write their histories at all I think, it's all oral histories. But all these things fade; nothing remains except that which is carved into stone. Outside our little village, a ways past the barrow mounds and out into the moor proper, bordering the Hill Tribes, there is an ancient circle of standing stones. On them are carved inscriptions which meanings have been totally lost to time. Nobody has been able to decipher them.”
”...Is this another request to press me into your service? What, will I be graciously allowed to take a fallen pebble from the site as my reward?”He holds up his hand, frowning. ”Heyyo, I would never allow one to take from my ancestral right or deny a reward to a loyal servant.” He says, hinting you should not mention the desecration of the tomb, nor deny him his status in this public place. But by the tone in his voice you know he is still grateful. Perhaps this is a way for him to make things up to you. ”I was simply coming to offer you information about the location of these stones of which I thought you'd be interested, and to offer my aide as your escort.””Escort? You'd be coming with?””Of course! I'd never sit idle and let a lady walk the moor unchaperoned! Besides, I yearn for adventure! Tis the summer season! All the crops are growing big and strong, all the houses are repaired for the long winter, the animals well fed and lazy in the sun; this is the time for war and clan raids and journeys! Oh how I seek a beast to slay or a great vista to see once again! I have not been to those standing stones since once since I was a lad, I would like to see them again. I even have a few man at arms to call along with me. We'd make a whole trip of it! What do you say, Biawake of the Great Green Forest God?”You have to admit, this lead is a bit underwhelming. Historical carvings of old battle records or mythologies on ancient stones, faded and worn with time, might not be useful to you at all. But you know old things seem to be magic in this place, and this would be your best bet to go and explore them with some extra help. What do you say?>No, you don't really trust him and his group of men you'd be out alone with, you'll go to the stones alone>Agree, this sounds like a fun trip and you might learn something>You have no interest in going to the stones at all, so deny his request>Other (Write-In)
>>6442597>>Agree, this sounds like a fun trip and you might learn somethingI will never forget the day Souvslop made it into a Bananas quest.
>>6442597>Agree, this sounds like a fun trip and you might learn something.We're not in a particular hurry anywhere, and I doubt that dickwand of a spirit would be so angered as to cash in that "worthy death" thing literally the day after making the deal. If we're really lucky we might even find something relating to that zod word.
>>6442594kek, that'll show him!>>6442597>Agree, this sounds like a fun trip and you might learn somethingIf they betray our strut, we learn what the Wand of Life & Death can really do.
>>6442597>Agree, this sounds like a fun trip and you might learn somethingHis yearning for adventure seems similar to our desire for knowledge
>>6442597>Agree, this sounds like a fun trip and you might learn somethingWe're in the Tavern, we take the adventure hook. Now we just look around the dark corners for the other 2-4 guys to fill out the party...
>>6442663>>6442691I would say with dungeonmaster instinct, the stone circle is almost certainly a trap, it may not even exist he is taking the armed men escort probably because he wants to hand over the sorceress under guard to some zealot inquisition witchfinder people or Order Of The Tusk etc. And even if the hetman is himself friendly or well-intentioned, it is possible the other warriors/soldiers will be suspicious of the magic-wielder in their midst, and word will eventually spread etcThe foreshadowing is basically because the boy is warning us (the prevailing opinion in the settlement is turning towards superstition / mistrust) but you know I would support still visiting it out of curiosity, maybe see what the stone circle is like if it exists but maintain extreme ULTRA HIGH VIGILANCE for ambush / trap throughout etc(now after I wrote this BananasQM will no longer spring this trap, yay)>>6441877>>6442601>>6442606>"the goblin thing to do" PENIS WANDI agree, the character is a feral wild near animal savage creature, why would she immediately supplicate herself (O wise master please instruct me in the systematic ways of Vancian magic formulas, can I also attend a wizard academy? etc) that made little sense. Civilisation- boo, boo! Antinomianism, feral barbarian savagery, yay!
>>6442695idk about it being a trap but I dothink taking some random soldiers with us is a bad idea>>6442597>Other>Agree to travelling to the stones, but only with the Headman
"Standing stones huh... Has anyone copied the markings? So they can be studied without having to be at the site?""What? No. How? Do you suggest we move those massive stones that have been there since the dawn of time? Or carry some over there and bring them back so a chiseler can-""No! Just a transcription of a markings. You could do it with some paper and chalk for rubbing.""We have no paper, like I told you. And I only know of the mystics of far away places who make use of chalk for their geomancy.""Then with an animal skin and charcoal, blast it! It's not that complex. Here's the supplies we'll need..."Within a day or so, you've gathered up the supplies and the Headman gathers his men. Suspiciously, you do not hear of any tearful farewells or apologies to his wife; you think this may be a spur of the moment adventure for him that he will tell of no one to slip away unnoticed. They seem very irresponsible around the Midden, but at least they are in good humor about things.By the next day you are marching across the Moor. Heading to the West and South, you make your way from the more forested and marshy Midden towards endless hills of bright green grass and shrubland, the moorish steplands. Very far in the distance, you sometimes think you see the Centerran mountains of your homeland, reminding you how little you've actually gone."Say, High Priestess Biawak." The Headman starts, after the last hour discussing bawdy tales with his friends like you weren't even there. "You're not told us much about your home, or where you are from.""Yes! I was curious about this. You're small, like the people in the South or East. But not small like a black. And I've never heard of anyone painting themselves green.""I thought she may have been secretly Salmatian at first, but no, I think we would have found out by now.""Honestly... I thought it was a boogeyman under that cloak. N-No offense!""...You'll gossip over me instead of letting me answer?""Oh, my apologies, High Priestess. Go ahead then!"While some could see it as prying, it's important to register that their gossiping and exchanging of rumors is the news of this day. Not all of them have been blessed with knowledge from the ethereal heavens like yourself; you've already learned much from their chitchat by listening in, though how much is true, exaggerated, or just straight lies is impossible to tell. Without a true nation or culture to call home to; you're at a bit of a loss on how to respond.>Just make something up>Try to tie in your knowledge of the world to make a plausible sounding origin>Imply a civilization of people just like you could exist; but don't get too specific>Tell them where you're really from the Centerran jungles, but be vague with your origins>Order them to be silent and leave you alone>Other (Write-In)
>>6442943>Try to tie in your knowledge of the world to make a plausible sounding origin
>>6442943>Tell them where you're really from the Centerran jungles, but be vague with your origins
>>6442943>Try to tie in your knowledge of the world to make a plausible sounding originImagine the embarrassment if they met our relatives.
>>6442943>Tell them where you're really from the Centerran jungles, but be vague with your origins.Noone is going to go check there anyway, so no reason to lie about the location.
>>6442943>Imply a civilization of people just like you could exist; but don't get too specific
Don't reveal anything about your origins in reply to these ignorant superstitious villagers. As Apuleius said, Parit enim conversatio contemptum, raritas conciliat admirationem - Familiarity Breeds Contempt etc. Just say something like>"The perils of adventure permit the brave and loyal to transcend the fortune of their birth, just as the vengeful gods reward all treachery with agony and Death. (shake tree snake penis wand of Life And Death at villagers menacingly) Be content to know that the favour of the forests walks amongst you, and not against you!" (for now...)
Will be delaying the update for a day, ran out of time. My apologies.
You aren't exactly sure how to answer. They may have already bought your religious origin, but a physical one? Especially one that explains your size? Your worldly knowledge is not as full and complete as your scientific or philosophical understanding."...I'm from the South, yes. From a jungle.""Huh, you aren't from a clayman tribe are you? They're man eaters.""Have you seen me eat anyone? Come now.""Her tribe probably is preyed upon by the clay men; prays to a forest God for protection.""I mean that's South and West. It's not that far from Salmay, so I was closer then I thought.""Didn't tavern keep' say she was on a pilgrimage to the Kodi? Why would she come East thru the Midden instead of up North from that side of the continent"What, and go through the deserts of Enoch? And then through the forest of trees that grow spikes where leaves should be, with the thorn devils? No! Makes much more sense to come through the Midden along the lakes and streams.""Exactly." You add, happy they solved your origin for you."Yeah, I heard about the giant birds that pick up men and impale them on the thorn trees; the mighty Rocs! Giant Shrikes!""Whaaa- Rocs are giant eagles!""I thought they were like peregrines..."Letting them argue among themselves and stewing in silence is the best bet you have to keep your identity secret for now, and it works well. These men love to talk, and allow you to go undisturbed to the standing stones. The journey takes a few short days, of which you learn much of human culture through osmosis. Though you will admit, Middeners are perhaps not the smartest in the bunch, if first impressions are to be believed.
The standing stones are ancient things. Looking closer at the faded carvings, you believe they are a record of something, and not merely artistic or mythology. You see three figures repeating more then others; giants with weapons, medium humanoids with a symbol, and then slender ones often depicted with large mouths and teeth. Sometimes, these three are shown together, but sometimes they are being harassed or interacting with humanoid figures with lines or dots all over them. You can interpret these as clothes or maybe tattoos and body art jewelry, but the more esoteric carvings escape you."Ho, Biawak. Working on those carvings? Little more boring out here then I thought...""...Yes. Though I am trying to determine their age. Were these carved with iron? Based on the fading, I am not sure.""Oh, nobody knows that. It's been around before that, I think."" Then this would be have to be from the age of bronze. You can't make these carvings with stone tools. What's this symbol mean, on these figures?""Oh, that's the rain God, I think. Old religious stuff. I think the Rain God mated with the Earth Goddess and made the Harvest God or something like that? Sorry- those stories are boring to me. Since they can't carve color into the rocks, or like emotions, they'll use those symbols instead. Like the God of Fire & Metalworking is put on people who are so mad they turn red, if you don't have red paint.""...Does this mean these people were gray? Or blue? Could they be those Salmatians you talked about?""Oh yeah! Could be. Or it could mean they're like, sad. Or wet. Something like that.”Despite its inherent mystery, you feel as though you're getting a better view of things from ancient history from the perspective of mankind, in a way that your vague bestowed knowledge can't. Your understanding of ancient lore has increased!”Oh yeah- couldn't help but noticed you haven't made those rubbings and recreations of the carvings yet. We were so foolish to not have made them already. I want to stow them in our grand archive upon our safe return!” He says sarcastically, spitting chunks of his snack apple at you. Jerk. But he's right, you really haven't come up with a good way to copy these down. The stones are big, irregular, and have smooth surfaces worn by time that makes it hard to simply rub their designs onto your thin animal skins with your chalks and charcoals.How should you make your copy of the ancient stones?>Use magic to animate ropes and tie down the skins tightly, before rubbing the charcoal across them smoothly>Ask for the bigger humans help in holding up the skins and rubbing the patterns out>Give up with this ridiculous project, just commit them to memory as much as you can>Other (Write In)
>>6443818>Use magic to animate ropes and tie down the skins tightly, before rubbing the charcoal across them smoothly
>>6443818>Use magic to animate ropes and tie down the skins tightly, before rubbing the charcoal across them smoothlyOf course
>>6443818>Use magic to animate ropesSeems the optimal use here. Maybe have one or two men hold it up after, so we don't strain ourselves too hard.
>>6443818>Use magic to animate ropes and tie down the skins tightly, before rubbing the charcoal across them smoothly.After all, what kind of mage would we be if we didn't use magic for the most mundane of tasks?
>>6443818>Ask for the bigger humans help in holding up the skins and rubbing the patterns out
>Use magic to animate ropes
You aren't quite tall enough to push the skins up to the stones, nor can you hold them tightly while also rubbing the charcoal across them. You'd trust the men with you to do the task, but given how they chat and lay-about with little interest over the stones after the requisite few minutes of awe and gazing; you don't think they'd give it the care you'd want. Instead, you rely on your magic. Let's see if your practice paid off...With a sudden gasp, the men step back as your unfurl the skins with a motion and force them up against the rocks, tightened down with long cords and ropes even against the light wind. You then motion to a charcoal stick, “holding” it with your mind, and giving it much more care. The Unseen hand allows you to move it in very fine up and down motions even far above your head and much further then you can normally reach, motioning with it at a range with the same fineness as if it was exactly in your hand. You realize using your hands and fingers to direct the magic like a conductor of an orchestra seems to give you extra control; perhaps your wand would be an even better tool...You perk up, holding your floating charcoal stick still to get the Headman's attention, who has been watching your sorcery silently after the first few minutes in quiet amazement. ”-Does anybody else hear that?””What do you- HARK! RIDERS!”“Riders, from where? North and East? From town? Messengers, maybe?!””No! South-West! From the Hills! Hill Men!”With a sudden flurry, the men jump to action, grabbing their spears. You heard the light stomps of the hooves from a long distance, but not much earlier then the humans. Perhaps you were distracted by your task or maybe your hood is dulling the sound for your superior hearing. Regardless, you suddenly feel a great deal of panic as you look out and see a group of warriors riding right towards you, on huge horses; they tower over you! You go to run, but the Headman quickly puts an arm on your shoulder and stops you.”No! Do not run! The standing stones are our only cover! They will surely overtake you on open ground!”
He's right. You calm yourself for a moment and simply wait as the village men hold their spears out and at the ready, taking a formation too sparse to seriously stop the horsemen from charging in if they wanted to. You suspect they outnumber your group by about two to one; you never would have gotten away even in a chaos of a scuffle. For all the disdain you have for the minds of the Middeners, at least a certain degree of tactical wisdom is bestowed upon them. Within a few moments, the horsemen have encircled the standing stones, pacing around with a fair distance and keeping you hemmed in. But they haven't attacked yet. One trots his horse a bit closer, seemingly a war leader.Before any words are exchanged, you take a second to look at the horse riders, which you have identified as the mysterious and dangerous Hill Tribes that menace the Middeners. From a glance you can tell they are very closely related to the Midden-Men, genetically and culturally almost identical; you think they even worship the same Gods; but with widely different lifestyles. The Middeners you've dealt with so far are sedentary farmers, working the rich marsh farmland and living among the peaceful lakes and rivers of the Midden's many villages and fiefs. The Hill Tribes, on the other hand, live on these windswept moors; too dry and desolate to raise many crops and lacking in trees for industry. Instead, they rely on trade and raiding. You can tell just by looking at them; there is no uniformity among their armor or clothing or accessories. You can see styles of the Midden-Men for sure, but also their own unique style, as well as scavenged armor and weapons from many places and cultures; some wear lamellar armor despite chain being more popular here, northern style runic decorations, even a strange “horned” helmet made not of iron but bronze.”Ah! Jonathon. We meet again.” The leader says, recognizing the village's headman. It seems they have a history. ”Not even two summers ago you stole twenty head of sheep from our field. Did you really have the nerve to come out this day for another score?””Ahh, no, you see because of our stewardship, that twenty head of sheep became over sixty. With yours? You'd have less then ten by this point I'm sure.””Oh? And why is that, farmboy?””Ahh, because you keep sticking things in the wrong end of the animals.” He leans over to you as though confiding in a secret, but speaks loud enough for all to hear. ”It's the Hillman's vice, we call it. They took the term “animal husbandry” a little too literally.””Oh yeah? Better then- wait, who is this little midget?” Suddenly distracted by your presence, he shakes a spear at you.
”Oh, this? This is our all powerful sorceress, High Priestess of the Great Green Forest God! So you'd better watch your tongue or else she'd turn you into a mare. Actually, you'd enjoy that I'd bet. Get to know your men even better.””Why you-”“Pfft, hah!” The older, shirtless man in the back laughs scornfully. His manner is different from the other, less itching to fight and more calm and mystic. His differently colored eyes gleam as though from watching a lifetime of secrets, his skin marked with runic drawings, and a strange long bronze horn shaped to look like a roaring beast or dragon he holds instead of a weapon. “That little runt? What warrior-songs has she sung? What tattoos has she endured with blood? She has never painted the skin of a warrior to make him invulnerable. Pah! I bet I have more magic in my Carnyx then she has in her whole body!” He speaks, but else nobody seems to hear him. Could you have finally found a fellow magician? If so, his way of doing magic sounds much different then your own...
The two war leaders argue and insult each other while the man stand around expectantly. There is a very strange attitude between these two cultures; closer to brothers bickering then true hated enemies. You even suspect they might join forces against an even greater foe. But that doesn't mean they won't kill each other if spurred to it, and you can tell they seem to be working their way up to a fight.”You're outnumbered, fool! And we on horses. You know you're beat!””Everyone knows a civilized man fights as well as two barbarians; look, your mail is practically falling apart! Besides, our sorceress tips the balance in our favor. Especially around these mystic stones. You're already lost.”“Sorceress? The chief was seeking a healer's magic-” One on horseback idle mentions, but is quickly shut up by the leader.”Quiet you! Our magic is stronger then any villager's trickcraft, as is our skill of arms. We'll be taking your valuables and your weapons. Then we'll let you slink back to your inbred daughters you take as your farmer-wives.””We'll be giving you nothing, dog!”Relations are rapidly deteriorating. Swords are unsheathed and arrows nocked. While you lack the same tactical experience as the Headman, it's clear your group is severely disadvantaged here, at least in terms of mortal strength. What should you do?>Challenge the magic user to a one on one to avoid unnecessary bloodshed; maybe you can impress them enough to help with their magic problem?>Tell the Headman to surrender, his pride is getting the better of him>Begin casting offensive spells as a surprise attack; hopefully you can help your side win>Wait for the fighting to start, then slink away, you have no part in this.>Other (Write-In)
Holy fucking shit the helmet!!!! Everyone look!!!!! The helmet!!! Finally! The day has come!!!!! A GREAT FANTASY QUEST!!!!!!!!111!1!1!!!!!!>>6444348>Challenge the magic user to a one on one to avoid unnecessary bloodshed; maybe you can impress them enough to help with their magic problem?Let's lower the stakes.
>>6444348>Challenge the magic user to a one on one to avoid unnecessary bloodshed; maybe you can impress them enough to help with their magic problem?
>>6444348>Challenge the magic user to a one on one to avoid unnecessary bloodshed; maybe you can impress them enough to help with their magic problem?though it would be funny to >>6440148 them
