Your legs cannot take any more, and you collapse down onto your knees. Pain hits as they scrape against the grimy stone floors of this bizarre cell. Your peripheral vision is fading, darkness encroaching from every side. The remaining eye you possess is fixated, jittering on the crumpled, bleeding corpse in the corner. Its red is streaking heavily down the walls. The beast is dead. Definitely dead. You heard the shriek it made as you forced the life out of its lungs with a single punch.

You weren't unscathed, though. The arm you used isn't in pain yet, but the pitiful way it hangs at your side tells you that it's been shattered. You can't will it to move. The other arm isn't in a better way, bleeding profusely from the arms the wolf inflicted. This will kill you quickly.

But you have no way to stymie the blood. And you are all alone.

>1. Pray to the Lord to deliver you to safety.
>2. Investigate the body of the werewolf. (1d100)
>3. Investigate the room you are in. (1d100)
>4. Try and get out of the room.
>5. Call as loudly as you can for help.

Posting so I can find this on Mimi.

Rolled 51

>>30784003
>3. Investigate the room you are in. (1d100)

See if there is anything that can help us not die.

If we were in better condition we could skin part of the werewolf and use its fur to stem the bleeding, but we're down to one hand so that's not really an option.

Rolled 33

>>30784003
>1 Pray to the lord
>2 Examine the monster

Rolled 45

>>30784003
2
1
3

make sure it's dead before anything else.

>>30784003

Guess the Instinct of Providence does not work when badly injured?

>>30784194
>>30784210
>>30784239
You first direct your attention to the place you are in. You had precious time to inspect it before you were attacked, and with grit teeth push off your pain as you take a second look. The enclosure is clearly meant to be a living space, though the quality leaves much to be desired. There is a pile of cloth, wood, and feathers in a corner that may once have been a bed. Did the wolf do this itself? Why would it destroy its own bread? You find further remnants of furniture among the ruins. Its like rot has consumed this place, everything but the prisoner kept here. As you try to continue your rounds, the last bit of strength in your legs departs, and you collapse again.

You try to stand again, but your legs are shaky, refusing to cooperate. You can only shuffle your knees, staggering yourself closer to the body of the scruffy beast. Before you even get close enough to take a look you are confronted by the smell. An overwhelming aroma of rot and gore. You squint, and try to shake your head to waft off the scent. This beast must have been down here for months. Years, even. Its fur is mottled and unkempt. You pray to your Lord for guidance as you muse on this pathetic soul, see the expression of shock and pain etched in its face. It was a werewolf, but perhaps not like the kind you know from stories. Did this thing possess a human form? A name? You have done battle with the undead, but this one mentioned children. Did you just slaughter a living, breathing human?

>1. It does not matter. Catarina warned you that murder would be a part of your work, and you accept that.
>2. Even if that is true, it's impossible to accept.

>>30784803
>1. It does not matter. Catarina warned you that murder would be a part of your work, and you accept that.

>>30784803
>1. It does not matter. Catarina warned you that murder would be a part of your work, and you accept that.

this sounds cold but it was clearly a fight or die situation.

>>30784803

>3. It was more of self defence than outright murder, but pray for forgiveness for myself and for deliverance of this tormented soul I've dispatched nonetheless.

>>30784843
>>30784906
You cannot start down that path. Regardless of his humanity, he was the aggressor. Murder is one of the many burdens of an Executor must shoulder. You won't worry over what has already passed.

Your Faith is now Strong.

17/15 Wounds taken!

You double over, all stamina sapped from your body. You can't stay here, or you'll bleed out. You have to do something quickly.

>1. Use something in the room.
>2. Try and get out of the room.
>3. Call for help.

>>30785116
This

>>30785193
>1. Use something in the room.

We might be able to use the cloth to wrap our wounds so they stop bleeding out.

>>30785240

second.

>>30785193
Can we sear our wounds closed with the cross of new orleans?

>>30785240
>>30785356
You blink several times, before aiming your body towards the shattered bed at the back of the room. That's your only chance. You can't recall much about first aid, but you think you can cobble together a tourniquet from that much. You toss your body that way, inching along the floor and scraping across the muck until you get to the edge of the pile. A low groan escapes as you survey the materials you have to work with. A lax hand scrapes around the ruined sheets until you find yourself a scrap large enough to suit your purposes. But then you look down at yourself, and remember your predicament. You need to apply the tourniquet yourself, but your other arm is broken.

"Darn it. How am I going to do this?.."

Everything goes fuzzy as your vision blacks out, but you shake your head and force yourself back to consciousness. Quickly. You will do it quickly. "First I have to get this thing off." You go at your frock with your teeth, tearing at the fabric a little above where your wound is. It's made of tough stuff, and your gums feel like crap by the time you're done, but you manage to chew away enough threads to rip off your sleeve, leaving the wound exposed. You apply a thin layer of cloth over where you've chosen to apply the bandage, struggling to keep it tight as you take another strip of bedsheet and wrap it around your arm. With your teeth and tongue, you try your best to wrap it up into a knot. It takes you a few tries, your makeshift knot undoing itself several times to your consternation, but you manage. You tug at the ends with your teeth, leaving them sore and aching once the knot is tight enough to suit your needs.

You spit, trying to get the taste of old bedsheet out of your mouth, but at least you've succeeded at this much.

Bleeding Stopped. 18/15 Wounds taken. You will die at 20.

You lean backward, and stare up at the ceiling. With so little natural light you cannot see it.

You doubt you applied the tourniquet as well as you should have. It likely won't last you for long. And you wish to be out of this place.

>1. Try and call for help.
>2. Head upstairs and try to find Wayne.
>3. Try to find Aldric.
>4. Look for a Golem to take you to Kayton.
>5. Do something else.

>>30785844
>4. Look for a Golem to take you to Kayton.

>>30785916

Eh. Might as well. It's not like he won't figure out we've been snooping around soon enough.

>>30785844
>2. Head upstairs and try to find Wayne.

>>30785916
>>30785944
As much as you dislike the thought of revealing your less than perfect attitude as Kayton's guest, he is the only person you know of that could provide immediate medical attention. And as it stands, looking at your mortifying state, that takes precedence over keeping secrets. You suppose after what you've done to this prisoner, he would have found out sooner or later anyway.

You think you'll live if you walk the distance. Might not be pleasant, though. You crawl to the nearest wall and use it to prop yourself against, shimmying back up to your feet. The act is exhausting, though you've only just begun. You take small, jerky steps, careful not to lose your balance as you get yourself to the door before hunching over, using your numb and listless arm to manipulate the handle. You just barely manage to operate the device, and just use your weight to push it open once you've done so before stumbling out into the room you came from.

The stairs are easy enough to reach from there; you don't even want to think what might be behind the five doors you've neglected. The steps provide an unwelcome challenge, but will they stop you? You make a wheezy laugh as you throw your leg forward. Not a chance.

Up and up the stairway goes, and your wounded body inches up every step of the way, until you finally spill back out into the halls from which you came. At once, the air becomes drier and cooler as you escape the muggy dungeon, and feel the chill of the outside winter air creeping through the walls of the old estate. All around the halls you can hear the rhythmic marching of the unliving host that guards the mage's home.

But one set of feet marches out of time with the rest.

Your eye catches sight of a beast of great rock at the far end of the hall to your left. Its bright, bizarre eyes behold you for a moment, before the unique beast shuffles off in a different direction.

>1. Pursue that golem.
>2. Speak to one of the other golems.

>>30786335
>1. Pursue that golem.

>>30786335
>1. Pursue that golem.

We might be critically injured but that doesn't mean we can't be stupid.

>>30786335
>1. Pursue that golem.

As if it needed to be said

>>30786451
>>30786585
>>30786721
You adjust your course to pursue the retreating golem. Even if you are in your current state, the intrigue of the night, and what you found in that journal has wrapped you up too tightly. You feel compelled to seek answers about this bizarre creature. Is it another of these "Ghost Liners" that Kayton alluded to, or something else entirely? Your ragged breath leaves puffs of mist in the frigid halls dragging behind you as you pick up your pace. The gap between you and your target shortens rapidly, at the cost of your health.

19/15 Wounds taken.

You turn the corner, and your limbs tremble as you come to a stop. It is waiting for you. The construct is larger than you'd realized, as it stands nearly eight feet tall, towering over you quite markedly. Jagged spires of rock poke up from its back, leaving its bizarre head at around its midsection to stare blankly at you. Both arms hang limp at your sides, and you believe you must look a sorry sight indeed to this marvelous thing.

It does nothing in your presence. You cannot decide yet if that's bad or good. But it seems you'll have to initiate this.

>1. Can you speak?
>2. What is your name, golem?
>3. I know what you are.
>4. I'm sorry that you're forced to live like this.
>5. I need you to take me to Kayton.
>6. Say or do something else.

>>30786936
>3. I know what you are.
>4. I'm sorry that you're forced to live like this.
>6. I'm wounded, and will die without healing. Please help me.


We're at 19/20 HP, guys! Best make em count!

>>30786936
>1. Can you speak?

>>30786936
okay, maybe being stupid was a bad idea.

>>30787009
supporting this

Rolled 78

>>30787009
Yeah. Can we please not die. I look forward to this thread more than my weekly manga. We can't die!!

>>30787009
>>30787018
>>30787086
"I--" your first word is cut off immediately by a hacking cough. You keep your legs rigid to avoid falling over. You fear something like that might be the end of you; as straight as a statue you choke up everything pooling in your throat, your lungs. And then you try again, with a voice so hoarse it cannot carry above a whisper.

"I know what you are."

The golem doesn't move, its lidless eyes watching you. Or perhaps not. Lacking pupils, you cannot tell where its attention is directed. But you appeal to it all the same. "I found a journal of Kayton's. It told me where you come from. I'm... I'm sorry that you're like this. Trapped in a prison of a body. But I," you cough a few more times. "I am afraid I need your help." You flash a goofy smile at the thing. "A-as you can see... I am wounded most dearly. I killed my attacker but, but I think I'm going to die soon if I don't get any help."

You take a risk, and step a little closer to the behemoth. It has no need of breath or balance through muscles, and remains perfectly still as you do so. "Please. It is much to ask, but I need your help. I'm going to die if you don't help me. So..."

That is all that you manage. Having expended all the air left in your lungs, your speech fades, and a moment later your muscles go with it. Your knees buckle, and your body tumbles forward. Your eye shuts, too heavy to keep open while you die. You let yourself fall.

And you stop as an outstretched arm, tough as stone, catches you.

...

>1. Play Intermission.
>2. Languish in the dark.

>>30787337
>1. Play Intermission.

ALWAYS

>>30787337
>1. Play Intermission.

Rolled 17

>>30787337
>1. Play Intermission.
Not going to lie, languishing in the dark sounds terrible.

>>30787496
Plus, we get to learn about this world and see different PC perspectives. And who doesn't like learning more about Bartolome's world?

>>30787337
>1. Play Intermission.

>>30787397
>>30787438
>>30787496
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Huh. What's with clocks going tick-tock? Who decided clocks should make that noise? Maybe it should be tock-tick. Or tick-tick. Ooh, or maybe a snare drum. Snare drum clock. Look into that.

You are Wayne Tepes, and Kayton is bad at board games. "B7," you murmur, wrapped up in the intricacies of clock sounds. Your comrade scowls, placing down another red peg.

"How do you do that? You sunk my battleship."

"Impossible," you murmur. Hey, if you let vanilla-flavored milk spoil long enough to turn solid, would it be like eating tapioca pudding? "I've only put three pegs down on B. That must be your PT Boat."

"It's all the same thing." Either way, he doesn't seem eager to keep fighting this losing battle. In silence, you both listen to the drumbeat of the clock, which now reads 4:23 AM. He looks at you with narrowed eyes. Crap, he's in serious mode now. You doubt he'll be in the mood for 1313 Dead End Drive if he's going to be like this.

"This stranger you brought into my home is starting to be more trouble than he's worth. I thought the Brunestud would be the worst of it. To think that he would take advantage of my hospitality and snoop through my home--when he could have just asked whatever he wanted to know. Now Lachlan is dead, and an entire route of study is cut off to me unless I can convince his pack to give me one of his children to continue my research. It's a miracle that Subject One had the sense to bring him to me, or else he'd be dead too."

Werewolves never made much sense to you. Why wolves, of all things? An apex predator doesn't need to shore up population numbers, phantasmal beast or otherwise. If a few die off the remainder just have more territory and food. It's the prey species that need the advantage in reproduction. Why the hell aren't there weredeer running around somewhere?

Oh, right. You forgot there was a reason he brought that up. Not every day a meek priest out of Madrid punches a supernatural monstrosity to death. Didn't know he had it in him.

Still, kind of got him off on the wrong foot with Kayton. Maybe you should try and smooth things out a bit?

>1. Look, I'm sure Bart has a valid explanation.
>2. I'll vouch for him.
>3. Maybe next time you should lock your test subjects' doors.
>4. So what if he killed a werewolf? That he did that deserves investigation.
>5. Say, what are your thoughts on weredeer?

>>30787937
>1. Look, I'm sure Bart has a valid explanation.

>>30787937
>5. Say, what are your thoughts on weredeer?
4. So what if he killed a werewolf? That he did that deserves investigation.
3. Maybe next time you should lock your test subjects' doors.

this order

Rolled 63

>>30787937
>5. Say, what are your thoughts on weredeer?

I love RP as Wayne. He says the darnest things.

>>30787937
>4. So what if he killed a werewolf? That he did that deserves investigation

File: 1394591893229.jpg-(270 KB, 503x755, 1334258553877.jpg)

270 KB JPG

>>30788062
This, in this order.

Wayne, your Jew-boy sarcasm knows no bounds! Gawd, I love the characters in this quest. Their personalities are so disparate yet so believable.

>>30788062
>>30788182
>>30788192
"Say..." you peck at the board a few times. "What are your thoughts on weredeer?"

Kayton's mouth falls agape. You can hear him struggling to find something to say. He winds up just settling for an understated sigh. "No, I mean, hear me out," you tell him. "Why would there be a predatorial magical species, but no prey equivalent? Basically, in terms of evolution, it's just not sound construction of an ecosystem, when the predators can reproduce quicker than the prey. So we need weredeer for werewolves to eat. See?"

Kayton munches on a cookie. He's very quiet. Is it possible to make a perfectly quiet record, or will there be too many pops and imperfections in the recording?

"Wayne, I hope you had something more to say than that. If you need me to repeat what I said, just ask."

"Heard ya the first time, jaggoff. Who cares if Bart whacked your little pet project?" You feel a nugget of hard wax in your ear, and stab at it with a pinkie finger. You hear Asian people have harder earwax than other races. Apparently they use some kind of little pick to get it out. How do they keep from scraping on their eardrums? Wouldn't that hurt?

"The fact that he did it merits attention. Right?"

Kayton folds his arms and reclines in his chair, sighing. His big nose flexes a few times. Jeez that's a big honker. Do all people move their nose like that when they're upset? You should watch noses more often and find out. "I suppose you are correct. He's an anomaly, if nothing else. I expected him to have SOME means of self-preservation but, you say he's an amateur. And more importantly..." He scratches at his chin lazily. "That wasn't thaumaturgy from the church. That was magecraft. Where in the hell did he learn that?"

You check the clock again. "Sun should be comin' up soon."

"In a few hours, but, yes. Bartolomè should at the least be mobile by this afternoon. We can bring him to the Painter then. If you have anything else you need to do, I would get it handled in the interim." Kayton turns away from you, doing that thing he does where he pretends to have more important things to handle. Standing up, he departs the room with his hands folded behind his back. Probably just has to take a dump.

You, on the other hand, DO have some responsibilities. For once. You need to check on Bart, make sure he hasn't died in his sleep or something. Kayton insisted you all give him space to recuperate, but that damned little vamp wouldn't budge from his bedside. Better check Bart's neck for any marks while you're in there.

You also need to check in with your superiors. Kinda lost track in all the excitement, but you DID complete your objective of returning the Orb of... Algalon? Albion? The Orb of Algae to Kayton. You might have new orders.

>1. Check on Bart first.
>2. Find a phone and call the boss-man.

>>30788693
>2. Find a phone and call the boss-man.

>>30788693
>2. Find a phone and call the boss-man.

>>30788673
>>2. Find a phone and call the boss-man.
Ask if he knows of a de La fuente line of mages

>>30788693
>2. Find a phone and call the boss-man.
Do this first.

Then we can
>1. Check on Bart .

Also: loving Wayne's ADHD stream-of-consciousness. Fucking hell, no wonder he's a shitty mage: he can't concentrate on shit worth shit.

Rolled 88

>>30788883
I def agree here. Wayne's perspective is too good.

Make call and check on Bart.

>>30788748
>>30788764
>>30788821
What's that phrase they say? All work and no work makes Jack a dull... work? Hell, you never liked proverbs anyway. You hop out of your chair and decide to be productive before you have to spend an evening in the... "delightful" Painter. Carp D.M. and all that.

What does a carp look like? You kind of always imagined them as sort of fat goldfish. But aren't big goldfish just koi? Damned water-breathers all look the same to you.

Kayton's got a real swanky place, but it's not as complicated to navigate as it looks. I mean sure, you got lost a few times your first night here.

And your second.

And third.

But you know it like the back of your hand now. He's got a phone real close to you, just one floor down and past a couple hallways. You whistle a tune along the way to amuse yourself. You'd play your saxophone if you could, but you'd probably kill everybody on the floor. You should really buy a regular saxophone sometime.

The phone isn't exactly top of the line, looking closer to the kind Alexander Graham Bell might have used. Who invented the graham cracker? What's IN a graham cracker? Is it just cinnamon for flavor? How do they make it so crumbly? Should investigate.

You pick the little doodad off its holster thing and stick a finger in one of the holes, spinning the dial around until you've put in the combination for your boss' phone. He's a real punctual guy. Always answers when you call, so you shouldn't have to wait long. The phone rings twice before he picks up.

"It's four in the morning. Whoever this is, I hope you've got a damn good reason for calling at this hour."

"It's Wayne, boss."

"Of course it is." He always sounds so dejected when he finds out it's you. In retrospect, calls like these are probably why he keeps sending you on the suicidal missions. "Well, I hope you've got something good to tell me, Enforcer Tepes."

"Always do, don't I? I'm calling from Kayton's house. Returned the Orb of Apple Crumbles to him, as requested. Can also confirm that he has no affiliation with Klaus Hind or any other Dead Apostles."

"Really. You can confirm that, can you?"

"Mm-hmm. Turns out he did turn over the Orb willingly. Thing is, he thinks he was supposed to."

"'Supposed' to?" You pick out the precise moment all spirit leaves his tone.

"He paid another visit to the Painter. Guess something he saw convinced him he had to do it."

"Did he now? Maybe I should have a chat with her myself one of these days..."

Silence. There's not even a drum to fill the silence. Wait, clock. You meant clock. "Sir? Anything to say to that? I mean, usually you give me new orders, or start muttering about how I'm a 'disgrace to the Association' or somethin'..."

More silence. "Heh. Or was I not supposed to hear those parts? How 'bout this, I already agreed to help that priest I told you about pay a little visit to the Painter. Mayhaps I can keep an eye out for what put Kayton on edge in the first place?"

"That sounds perfectly fine," your superior responds. "Go ahead and do that."

"Right. And another thing to report, as per previous orders. You wouldn't know anything about a... de la Fuente line of magi, would you?"

"Would I?.. No, I don't believe I would. Is there something you're getting at?"

"Naw, just call a hunch. Our little shepherd's just... full of surprises, it seems."

"Is that so?" he asks. You think you hear him lick his lips. Creepy. "Well, I'll look into it. I AM curious to learn where an Executor might have acquired knowledge of our craft. And, one more thing..."

"Yeah, sir?"

"Don't forget what we discussed last time. Keep as you are, and report any unusual happenings with the priest, or the Angel, directly to me as soon as possible. Is that clear, Enforcer Tepes?"

You salute to the man standing somewhere far, far away who can't see your salute. "A'course. Can do, Lord Refulge."

"Good. We'll speak again soon." And then he hangs up. Yeesh, you've heard of wet blankets before, but ol' Mr. L's a whole other level of damp. He's got a whole mighty cypress tree wedged up his ass. At least the boring part's over. Time to check on Bart.

>1. Check on Bart.
>2. On second thought, you need to do something else first.

>>30789578
>1. Check on Bart.

>>30789578
>1. Check on Bart.

Rolled 20

>>30789578

>1. Check on Bart.

>>30789444
>You'd play your saxophone if you could, but you'd probably kill everybody on the floor. You should really buy a regular saxophone sometime.

I'm laughing so hard right now. Wayne has a Mystic Code Murder Sax? Now THIS I wanna see!

> the Angel
Aldric? Or is there something else I don't know about here?

Angels are more that priest's domain, anyhow. Priests are weird folk. I wonder if Judas Priest has a new album out, anyhow. It beats the old Queen tapes...


Eh, enough of that. maybe we should
>1. Check on Bart.

>>30789662
Catarina has been called the angel of death

>>30789578
>1. Check on Bart.

>>30789590
>>30789627
>>30789641
Now that that's handled, you really should check up on the sleepyhead. Committing violent murder sure tuckers the poor guy out. The guy was out for, what, a week after the thing with the vampires? Two weeks? You lose track of time too easily; you consider buying a calendar. But then again, all those swimsuits are kind of tacky. Do they make calendars without girls in skimpy swimsuits on them? Those are the only ones you ever seem to see on TV.

Bart's chilling in the room he was afforded by Kayton to spend the night in before everything went crazy last night. So at least he's not taking up extra space at the moment. You press on the door and step in to find quite the crowded space.

Bartolome's right where you left him last time. Flat on his back and out like a light. He doesn't seem to have moved much, since the blankets are still tucked in like you left them. He kind of looks silly, though. You weren't quite sure what to do with the eyepatch. Is he supposed to take that off when he sleeps, or leave it on? You settled and took off the strap, but kind of let it sit above his eye, just to be on the safe side.

Everything's so peaceful you can almost forget about the intruder. A particular corner of the room has this unpleasant vibe coming from it. You would even be so liberal as to call it "murderous." This is probably because its inhabitant would like to murder you. You glare the Aldric Brunestud, curled up and sat beside Bartolomè's bed, giving you a look that could kill. That's literal: you're pretty sure she tries to use her Mystic Eyes on you every time you walk on you. You're starting to wonder if you forgot to tell her about Circuit Breaker; you're not sure whether you should, or if it would be more fun to keep screwing with her. You stick your tongue out at the unsuccessful attacker and walk over to the other side of the bed and step up to the side. Or, rather, you kind of sidle up. There's not much room.

You see, there's a big-ass golem sharing this side of the bed with you. Far be it from you to question an extra guard for the priest, to make sure Bitey McVampire doesn't try anything, but still, you don't have the slightest clue what it's doing here.

Kayton's earthen monster should have returned to its patrol once it brought Bartolomè up here, but the darned thing just sat itself here like a--well, like a ROCK. And it hasn't budged since. Not even a direct order's gotten the thing to get out of the way. Kayton's not sure what that means, though it probably just means he should consider binding more pliable spirits for familiars next time.

"You still breathin', Bart?" You check his pulse, his temperature, and his other vital signs. Kayton's methods are effective, but he's no healer. This is a patch job at best, and it'll take time before he's in fighting condition again. But hey, at least he isn't dead.

An unpleasant thought hits. This is the last thing you had to occupy yourself with. Now all that's left on your schedule is... the Painter.

"Shit."

...

A faint voice calls to you in the darkness.

"Bartolomè... Bartolomè, come down here."

>Bartolomè: Wake Up.
>Bartolomè: Is this a dream?

>>30790108
>Bartolomè: Is this a dream?

>>30790171
Where did everyone go?

>>30790108
>>Bartolomè: Is this a dream?

>>30790108
>Is this a dream?

>>30790171
"Bartolomè, come down here."

Papi is calling. You toss away the comic book you'd been reading and stand up, running out of your room. It's a warm, sunny afternoon, and you've been waiting for dinner to be finished. You pass by dozens of photos on the walls, though you can't see what is on them. You're not tall enough to be eye level with many of them just yet. You hustle down the stairs as quickly as your growing legs can take you, and come down to the kitchen.

Your mother is there, serving up some kind of stew into bowls. Your little sisters are already seated at the table with theirs. Mom smiles when she sees you. "Yours is already at the table, angel. Go sit down."

"Yes, mama." You walk into the dining room and hop up into your chair. Papi is at the head of the table. He hasn't begun eating yet, waiting for everyone to arrive so he can say grace. You can see his wily eyes playfully glancing at your sisters, to make sure they're doing the same. They have innocent expressions, keeping their hands in plain sight, waiting for the opportunity to take a bite.

Mama comes and sits beside of Papi. You take your spoon and go for a bite, but Papi holds a finger up. "Ah, ah. Not just yet, my son. It's impolite to eat before everyone is here."

Confused, you look around you. "But everyone IS here." Papi chuckles. "Not today. Today we are expecting company--" The doorbell rings. "And there they are now! I'll get it." He stands up, heading for the door while you ask Mama a question.

"Who's eating with us?" you ask.

She explains, "A colleague of your father's. She'll be staying with us for the couple of months."

You can hear the door opening, and Papi greeting your guest with pleasantries and smiles. He leads them in to the head of the table, where you get your first look at the girl.

You thought a priest would be older. She only looks like a teenager. Her hair is short, cut off at maybe an inch under shoulder length, and is quite dark. Dressed in a turtleneck sweater and jeans... you don't think that's how a priest should really dress. She holds a Bible in her hands, held out in front of her. But you get the most confusing feeling looking at her.

It's probably because she's staring so intently at you.

"Everyone," says Papi. "Please say hello to Catarina. She'll be our guest, starting today, so treat her like a part of the family."

...

Your eye opens, and you sit up in a rush. Your eyepatch tumbles off your face and down onto the floor. You can hear confused sounds coming from your right, but you ignore them. All you can think of is that young girl's face.

And I think that's where I need to call it a night tonight, guys. Thank you all for playing, and I hope you had fun! Follow me @Frolloswagendir for updates on the Quest, and let me know there or in here what you thought of today's Quest. What went well, what can be improved, etc.

Thanks again!

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>>30790612
>d. You pass by dozens of photos on the walls, though you can't see what is on them. You're not tall enough to be eye level with many of them just yet.

That's foreshadowing, isn't it?


>"Everyone," says Papi. "Please say hello to Catarina. She'll be our guest, starting today, so treat her like a part of the family."

WHAT A TWEEST!

>>30790644
Thanks again! I just want to say again you just _get_ how to write quirky, belivable characters in this setting, and get the right mix of horror and whimsy in these threads!

Take care, Beatta!