File: You will arrive along the(...).png (1.48 MB, 1920x1080)

1.48 MB PNG

You travel along the old road. It is a sinuous and treacherous path. Each turn is a jerking tug, pulling at the coach with damning intention. Inside you make company to dreary thoughts of foreboding omens. In your hands you hold the gloomy letter. The words are hastily written, shakily, stained in blood and whine.

What they ask of you, pleadingly, is great. What they offer is immense.

Even today you remember the opulence of your uncle’s estate. Proud, palatial. Heavenly decorated, lush gardens that stretched for miles. To the west it overlooks the great sea atop an indomitable cliff. An entire hamlet was built merely to house the servants that cater to the needs of the lord of the land.

All of it, yours.

But it comes with a steep price in blood and madness. The letter whispers of earthly dangers and transcendent terrors. It pleads to you, ride swift and make haste. Put an end to the nightmare that is your family’s estate. Be the higher person and give yourself, body and soul, to the task of purging this desecrated and misbegotten land.

Family, duty, riches. It’s all very alluring and noble. But what lies within your heart? Your true motives.

>Duty. I have an obligation to mortal men to see this evil beaten back.
>Fame. To have all taverns in all nations singing my tales of dare-do.
>Family. This is my estate, my lands. My name will not fade into history.
>Power. My dream is to hold everything I see. To do with it as I please.
>Riches. Luxury and comfort. All I want is an easy life.
>I am not sure, yet…

>>434344
Cool, a DD quest!
So... what can we do?

>>434344

Things I know: Eldritch Horro themed, we must reclaim family house.

Alright. Question time. Who are we? What's the setting? What are our resources? Where are we?

>>434350
Ok then:
>Family. This is my estate, my lands. My name will not fade into history.

Not getting into thr same stuff as our Ancestor, might as well clean the name of the family.

>>434356
Ah, see you answered most of those in follow up post. Good, was real worried for a second.

>>434350
>>Duty. I have an obligation to mortal men to see this evil beaten back.

>>434364
Family sounds good to me. That and we have more to gain from this than we have to lose, especially since our family will fade into irrelevance if we don't do anything to save it.

>>434364
You want what is right. To be the better person. Groomed since birth as a noble, your greatest treasure has always been your family and its name. It is your rightful place to lead those of lesser birth.

You are driven out of your thoughts by a hellish screech and a scream of pain. Your carriage topples. The world turns upside down, darkness making your acquaintance. You lay still, sight blurry, head pounding. Dreams catch you as you fall unconscious.


*****
The coachman crawls from under his perch. The first thing he notices is the neighing sound, a terrible pained scream. One horse lies on the ground with legs broken and stomach open. A gash as deep as it is gruesome splits the poor animal from one flank to another. A slow and painful death. The other horses escaped, gone into the night.

After verifying he is unharmed the coachman makes inventory. What has he in his possession?

>He still holds his trusted pistol, his wicked knife and his sharp wit.
>A sword as tall as he, sharp and cold.
>His trusty axe and a hooked chain, made for maiming.
>A crooked spear stained with the scars of a dozen battles.

>>434409
>>A crooked spear stained with the scars of a dozen battles.

>>434409
>He still holds his trusted pistol, his wicked knife and his sharp wit.

...we have ammo, right?

>>434409
>A sword as tall as he, sharp and cold.

Let's grab Reynauld.

>>434409
>>A sword as tall as he, sharp and cold.

>>434423
If this is anything like the game, the pistol's ammo should be infinite. If not, oh well. Sounds like a cool challenge.

I vote this.

>>434409
A crooked spear.

>>434409
>>434423
>He still holds his trusted pistol, his wicked knife and his sharp wit.
The guy's a coachman, not a warrior AFAIK.

Rolled 1 (1d6)

Tallying votes.
>>434428
>>434434
>highlander

>>434423
>>434436
>>434464
>click click bang bang

>>434422
>>434459
>crooked harpoon


Writing for bangs and slashes

>>434428
Fuck Reynauld and his kleptomania.

Let's have Dismas find his own head. That's always a laugh.

>>434466
BTW OP, I don't know about the other anons here but I wouldn't mind seeing classes of your inventions. Also don't be afraid of making genderbent versions of pre-existing classes.

File: Hwy_final_logo.jpg (1.17 MB, 1000x1768)

1.17 MB JPG

>>434466
Fuck yeah, Dismas. We redemption now.

>>434476
Wouldn't the spear option have led to a male Hellion, or is there a class option that's slipping my mind?

It is with a heavy sigh of relief that the Coachman finds his pistol in its holster. He still has a handful of ready pellets, enough lead to star a fight. Or end one. If black powder isn't enough to cut it the Coachman also carries a vile and sharp dagger. It is as long as his forearm and has slit the throat of many a scum. Some innocents too...

When you approached him the man was all skepticism, but you are nothing if not persuasive. After all, how could he refuse accompanying you? Atonement, riches, glory! Your words were coated in honey and his desires far surpassed his senses.


Duty bound, he climbs the side of the toppled cart. A moon full to bursting serves as his guide. He kicks in the door, splinters bouncing harmlessly over your limp body. For a moment he freezes as thoughts of your demise flood his head, quickly dismissed by your heaving chest.

Who does he pulls out of the wreckage?

>A master. Proud, strong and charming.
>A mistress. Cunning, resourceful and charismatic.

>>434489
Well, I suppose the Hellion does carry a polearm though that's a halberd.

>>434492
>>A master. Proud, strong and charming.

>>434492
>A mistress

>>434494
Actually my bad, it's a voulge. But in any case not a spear.

>>434492
>>A mistress. Cunning, resourceful and charismatic.

>>434476
I have plans to allow customization and to introduce things that one wouldn't normally find in DD.

I don't want to spoil much, but let's say humans are not the only playable race.

>>434492
A wymyn

>>434492
>A master. Proud, strong and charming.

>>434494
>>434498
That is true, though it's a close enough approximation that one of her camping skills is named Sharpen Spear. Regardless, it seems that OP is evidently not planning on doing this entirely by the book.

>>434505
>Inter-abomination rivalries!
"Wait until I get my pet otyugh to bite your face off!"

Also digging the prospect of having to square off with the fey kind and/or recruiting some of them.

>>434492
>A master. Proud, strong and charming.

File: every single fucking day (...).png (134 KB, 462x531)

134 KB PNG

>>434505
Be straight with me - will we be finally able to defeat bosses by chucking loads of wine at them?

>>434492
>A mistress. Cunning, resourceful and charismatic.

Tallying votes.

>>434497
>>434511
>>434522

>>434498
>>434504
>>434506
>>434531

Writing for fermale

>>434527
I can not confirm nor deny that, while sipping my glass of holy whine.

You are not too heavy, nor too tall. Some would say you are imposing, your chest bared proudly and your head crowned by silky and velvety hair, the sides stylistically trimmed. All the same it is not an overly difficult task for the Coachman to grab you out of the wrecked coach.

You seem unhurt besides a small concussion. Your wear the heavy garments of a noblewoman that are both protective and a fashion accessory. At your hips your family’s saber, the greatest heirloom of your house, rests undisturbed. The Coachman refraining from even looking at the hilt in all it’s twisted craftsmanship. He was well warned of its eldritch powers and the danger they pose to would-be robbers and burglars.

There is a question of how much does the Coachman trusts his skills to protect you in your helpless condition. The dead don’t pay tabs, after all.

Dare the Coachman venture forth?

>He will carry you on his shoulder and march forward. The town mustn’t be much further.
>No, he will set a campfire. Tend to your injury and put that baying horse out of its misery.

>>434527
>holy whine
Does that mean the cup is filled with the salty tears of those we have defeated?

>>434544
>>No, he will set a campfire. Tend to your injury and put that baying horse out of its misery.

>>434544
>>He will carry you on his shoulder and march forward. The town mustn’t be much further.

>>434544
If all we have is a small concussion...
>>He will carry you on his shoulder and march forward. The town mustn’t be much further.
Best be out of this dreaded forest as fast as we can.

>>434546
That was an honest but not unwelcome typo.
Like if you squint you can read the quest banner as Dankest Quest.

>>434559
DESU, I still preferred the banner when there was the red outline. Gave the impression of impending and foreboding danger.
Still looks pretty swanky though.

>>434553
I vote this, but let's still put the horse out of its misery as a courtesy. Won't take but a moment.

Tallying votes

>>434547
>rest

>>434550
>>434553
>>434573
>piggy back ride

>>434573
>shoot the horse

Writing for forward

Will also shoot the horse if no one has anything against it

>>434587
I doubt anyone would object to such a Virtuous act.

>>434593
Agreed. Evil lurks amongst these woods after all.

File: these cobbled roads are v(...).jpg (188 KB, 1920x1080)

188 KB JPG

Gun in hand, the Coachman turns to face the agonizing animal. Under the blue moonlight his wounds look black and grotesque. He cocks the hammer. It is done with a thunderclap and a spray of brainmatter and bone shards.

But what was that?! There was something in the dark! Watching. “Who is there” he asks, first low and rumbling, then loud and threatening. No answer. No sight. Perhaps a trick of the light? [+1 stress] He shrugs, It must be the nightmares again, those visions most foul. With a heave and a push he easily rests you atop of his shoulders. He presses on, with one more weary glance for good measure.


*****
You awake, swaying from side to side. As you stir the Coachman lays you down. “Are you alright, boss?” he asks.

“Yes” you say. “Where are we?” He explains that your coach toppled, you hit your head and he has carried you most of the way. You remember it. Something tugged at the coach, tipping it, and the wheels gave way.

You lay in front of closed gate, heavy lock and heavier chains blocking your path. He was about to try and pick it.

>Good. Do that, I have yet to find my legs.
>No, I will take care of that. This is my land, I go where I please. [use your sabre]
>Just shoot the lock.

[For either option roll me 3d6]

Rolled 6, 5, 6 = 17 (3d6)

>>434637
>>No, I will take care of that. This is my land, I go where I please. [use your sabre]

>>434637
>No, I will take care of that. This is my land, I go where I please. [use your sabre]

One, it's symbolic
Two, it's badass.

Rolled 6, 1, 6 = 13 (3d6)

>>434637
>>No, I will take care of that. This is my land, I go where I please. [use your sabre]

Rolled 3, 1, 2 = 6 (3d6)

>>434637
>>No, I will take care of that. This is my land, I go where I please. [use your sabre]

Rolled 3, 1, 3 = 7 (3d6)

>>434637
>Good. Do that, I have yet to find my legs.
It is preferable that we be able to lock this gate again, after.

>>434641
First roll, one short of highest number... it is still a 1.39% roll. Color me impressed.


>>434661
>>434654
>>434646
>>434641
Writing for showing off

>>434664
Will take that in mind too

>>434667
Cool. Then, let us dispatch this lock in brutal fashion, that all may know of our arrival.

>female mc
into the trash it goes

You stand up, legs wobbled but still subservient to your will. "Stand aside" you say. The Coachman complies, apprehension apparent.

In one fell move you draw your blade, heirloom weapon of your noble line. It's hilt is an intricate design of a dragon of the sea, scaled and winged. You point it to the lock and focus. Tendrils of fog crawl around the blade, unearthly visage and whispers of eldritch powers. With a practiced step you trust the tip forward towards lock and chain, but you hit nothing. In front of your eyes the padlock opens by itself, the chains sliding off like tentacles of a mighty sea beast.

A stone gargoyle perched above the archway lights with unseen power. "The rightful owner has returned!" it proclaims in a voice ethereal, before once more reverting to inert decoration.

You step forward into the side path, shy at your own unknown authority over this gloomy place. The Coachman follows humbly.

Inside you see two ways forward. Go right, through the side path, out of the old road. Or go left by the ancient gardens, once lush, now overgrown and unkempt.

>Go to into the side path, it is the shortest way albeit a byzantine one.
>Go through the gardens.
>Walk back to the old road. It is longer by food, but clearer and well maintained.

>>434737
>>Go through the gardens.

>>434737
>>Walk back to the old road. It is longer by food, but clearer and well maintained.

>>434737
>Go through the gardens.

writing for gardening.

You choose the left, the Coachman does not object. You take no more than ten steps when you hear the chains slithering back into position tightly coiling the gate door. A heavy ornate padlock rests everything closed. Your way is set.

The gardens were some of your favorite features in your uncle's estate. Now they are no more than a wild jungle. You sneer in disgust as you hack away at the obstructing vines and branches. You stop as the Coachman holds your shoulder, gun loaded and hammer cocked.

Silence reigns. Soon you too hear a rustle through the low bushes. The coachman jumps in front of you, pistol at the ready.

A beast steps out of the brush. A dog, haggard and mingy, eyes sunken and full of a cannibalistic hunger. It snarls, teeth bared out.

>Ambush! You can take initiative or give commands to your retainers.
>[It is your turn now.]


>Command your retainer to shoot it!
>Bear your blade at it.
>It is just a lowly dog, watch as your retainer takes care of it.

>>434833
>>Command your retainer to shoot it!

>>434833
Forgot to mention, you have an Affliction.
[Concussed - Your movements are more sluggish.]

>>434791
>gardening
Hot Inheritor on sexy dryad action when?

>>434833
>Command your retainer to shoot it!
Let's not take any risks shall we?

roll me 3d6 twice.

>>434833
>Command your retainer to shoot it!
inb4 horrible damage because the dog isn't marked

File: 1375997664777.png (12 KB, 499x393)

12 KB PNG

>woman
dammit not again

Rolled 5, 4, 6 = 15 (3d6)

>>434872

Rolled 1, 2, 1 = 4 (3d6)

>>434872

Rolled 4, 1, 6 = 11 (3d6)

>>434872
Wonder how crits will work here?

Rolled 5, 6, 3 = 14 (3d6)

>>434872

>>434877
>>434732
I don't know if it will alleviate your guy's worries, but the MC isn't the only character on the game that the players will follow.

>>434884
A critical hit! Impressive.
>>434886
4 damage, plus 2 bleeding damage

>>434887
I work on a d6 meet target basis. On this combat it was a target 4. 1 hit is a success, 2 a great success and 3 a crit. There is also a solid DC target that increases damage and gives bonuses on hits and tests. In this case 15 gave bleeding.

"Shoot it" you say, tone flat. The Coachman levels his gun and squeezes the trigger. A thunderclap, a flash of light and the sulfurous smell of gunpowder. A decisive hit! The dog's sides are burst open, ribs cracked. A soup of putrid blood and feasting maggots seeps from the wound. The smell is enough to churn your stomach.

It looks hurt, it falters in its step, but it is still not yet defeated.


The rabid dog barks and lunges forward. It bites the Coachman's leg and shakes his disease ridden head to mangle the limb. It doesn't penetrate too deeply, but the wound is bloody. Without ammunition in his barrel the Coachman weakly pummels the creature's head, only strong enough to make it let go. You can see maggots begin to dig at the man's flesh as you watch. [+4 stress] He is otherwise fine. [Health 10/15]

>Your turn again! A gun needs to be reload before shooting again. If left alone the coachman will reload.

>Other your retainer to draw his weapon and attack the beast.
>Move forward, have at the beast yourself.

[Either case roll me 3d6]

Rolled 4, 3, 6 = 13 (3d6)

>>434923
>>Other your retainer to draw his weapon and attack the beast.

Rolled 1, 5, 2 = 8 (3d6)

>>434923
>Move forward, have at the beast yourself.
Cover him while he reloads.

>>434904
>no stress reduction
Well, we're screwed.

>>434923
>Move forward, have at the beast yourself.
If he needs to reload, let's give him time.

>>434929
>no stress reduction
Wait, where is that said?

Rolled 2, 1, 6 = 9 (3d6)

>>434923
>>Move forward, have at the beast yourself.

Writing for hitting it very hard.

You sidestep your companion. The Coachman loses no time, quickly refilling his pistol with a paper satchel and setting it with a long wire. You are now face to face with the foul beast, your heirloom blade in hand. Being of noble birth means you have been well trained in duels and fighting one on one. The beast tentatively lunges at you but you quickly sidestep it, moving your body to one side as you bring your sword down on the dog. You feel it dig into rotten flesh and hear the crunch of broken bones. [6 damage dealt]

It barks, topples and stays limp. These monsters can be beaten, they can be felled. A great surge of pride and accomplishment washes over you and your one retainer.

"Thank you, boss" he says meekly. There is worry in his tone, fear in his eyes. You see maggots falling from the wound and as you look back at the god's carcass you see the same maggots quickly devouring it, flesh and bone alike. This bodes ill.

>Leave the coachman to dig the worms out.
>Dig the maggots yourself.
>Leave the wound for now. We aren't much farther from the town and medical help.
>Other.

>>434991
>>Dig the maggots yourself.

>>434991
>Leave the wound for now. We aren't much farther from the town and medical help.

>>434991
>Dig the maggots yourself.

>as you look back at the god's carcass
Sure hope that was a typo.

>>434991
do not touch those fucking maggots with our hands. Use something else to help get 'em out, if we can.

>>434991
Do we have anything like alcohol we cacn use to both disinfect the wound and drive off the maggots?

In any way: >Dig the maggots yourself.
>We need to be careful though. If there's a doctor in the town nearby, I'm not sure he'll appreciate us butchering his prospective work.

Writing for bug picking

And sadly all your worldly possession were trashed when your coach toppled. You do have a handkerchief.

File: Maggot.png (151 KB, 456x361)

151 KB PNG

You raise a hand. "Lay down on the ground..."

"Dismas" he says. "My name, ma'am." You nod.

"Lay down, Dismas" he does as you say and you kneel near the injured. From your pocket you remove a handkerchief, white, stainless. Dismas frown. You begin picking the worms that you can see, pulling them from the wounds when needed. After you remove most of the critters you ask for his dagger. You dig the holes on the wound and remove two more, these are so engorged with flesh that they look on the point of bursting. You pop most of them with your hands, but you throw the worst offender on the ground as you step on them.

"Can you stand?" you ask once the operation is done and you have thrown out your handkerchief. It is vile with the innards of worms and the pus they contained.

Dismas nods and you help him up. He is limping but is surely temporary. You hand him back his dagger as you press forward into the gardens.


*****
The moon has long began its descent across the star-domed sky. The beauty of the lights above do little to help your nerves as you and your one retainer make your way across overgrown bushes and twisted trees. More than once you catch you and him chasing a phantom with your eyes. There is movement in the gardens, but it has kept out of sight. It is unnerving. [+2 stress]

You then come across what you think is an abandoned campfire. To one side lies a discarded backpack. To the other a crate, sealed, if a bit weathered.

You will-
>Search the backpack.
>Open the crate with your blade.
>Rekindle the dying fire.
>Look around.

You can also order your retainers, or leave them to their chores.
>Dismas will search the pack.
>He will open the crate with his dagger.
>He will rekindle the campfire as you search around.
>He will stand guard.

>>435030
>worldly possession
Erf, sadly it seems we will have to reconstitute our expensive collections of liquors and spirits by ourselves... Maybe our Ancestor possesses a cellar?

>handkerchief
It will do.

>>435062
>Rekindle the dying fire.
Then we can do the rest.
>He will open the crate with his dagger.

>>435062
>>Rekindle the dying fire.
>Dismas will search the pack.

>>435062
Stand guard while Dismas gets to work on the crates.

>Lighting fires, Dismas will loot

You sit across from the fire pit lazily. "Dismas, see if there is something in those crates" he obeys promptly. They open with a loud pop. From inside he removes two rolls of light fabric, bandages, and two torches. It also had some rations. He gathers it all and deposit it across your feet atop the underside of the crates lip. You check your gains.

There is a small wheel of a light yellow cheese, two strips of dried pork and a corked wine bottle. Chateau de François, vintage of 1779. Not bad at all! You pry the cork open without much effort. With a chug you confirm it is indeed well flavored, if a bit dry.

By now the fire is back to life, gently licking at the charred logs. You hadn't noticed until now how hungry you are, and by the growling sound so is Dismas.

>Divide the cheese and the pork equally.
>Divide the cheese, take the pork for you. You deserve the higher share, being a better person.
>Dismas is wounded, he should eat more. Eat part of the cheese but give him all the pork.

>>435129
Inventory.
[Bandages x2, Torches x2]

I am assuming you wanted to eat now, but that was shortsighted of me. Should given you the option to march on on an empty stomach.

If there is interest for rationing I shall redact that.

>>435129
>>Divide the cheese and the pork equally.

>>435145
seconding why not

>This talk of eating
I will grab some food and be back in an hour, tops

Have a character sheet.
http://pastebin.com/tFU47xhH

>>435145
>>435173
Thirding

Also:>being a better person
Well fuck you too, Inheritor.

Back, writing

File: Poor creature, poor creature.png (128 KB, 390x464)

128 KB PNG

Dismas noticed how you split the rations equally. He will remember that. You eat in silence for no more than ten minutes. You stand up first, busying yourself, but it is the Coachman who hears the intruder first.

He moves as quick as an arrow dashing after the interloper as you grab your sabre. Few moments later he comes out of the bushes dragging a sore sight, blade at its neck. The man Dismas is holding is pallid, gaunt and wide-eyed. His gums are dark and his teeth are rotted. He speaks in a hasty staccato, tripping over his own words.

"P-p-p-please d-d-don-urt m-m-meeee!" His pleads descent into a convulsing sob as he begs you for mercy.

>Have Dismas release the wretch so you can speak to it.
>Have Dismas put it out of its misery.
>Don't let him go, but ask him a question _write in.

>>435370
Don't let him go yet. Ask him where he's from and why he came to us. Could just be an honest mistake, for all we know.

>>435370
>Have Dismas release the wretch so you can speak to it.
Do we have any wine left? This wretch is needing it more than most I think.

>>435370
Uh, I don't want to be a stick in the mud but are we talking about the same Coachman who got bitten in the leg?
And got that same leg injured further by maggots?
Eh, whatever.

>>435370
>Don't let him go, but ask him a question: what are you doing here, in the middle of a place that dangerous?

Writing for interrogation

>>435435
Yes. He is Dismas the Coachman. His leg is bloody but it is mostly superficial. He has a limp when he puts weight on his wounded leg but he is still limber and spry.

You motion for the Coachman to hold his blade. "Who are you? What are you doing in my estate?" Your tone is cold, professional. The wretched man stutters for a minute before you lose your temper. "Speak up, wretch!"

This seems to startle him into some sense. "W-we ran away..." his voice is calm like a sea before a storm. "We toiled day and night in the dark of the catacombs. We dug with hardy shovels, moved rubble by the tonnes. Until finally we found them... Those gates of black marble, sculpted by antediluvian hands. Hands with eyes that crawl. With gnawing maws in their tentacled fingers. They caress my brain, call me wretch, they call... They say - Wretch, kill them in their sleep, they say. I don't want to, but they scream louder and louder and louder until I can't take it anymore and I kill them all. Then they stop."

This man is obviously unhinged and quite dangerous. As you move to sheath your blade his eyes go wide. "You!" He tries to free himself from Dismas strong grip but the Coachman holds him firm. "You carry them. You carry them with you! Why do you carry them?" His frantic breathing eventually slow downs as Dismas tighten around his neck more. In the end he stops, his limbs go limp and Dismas release his hold slightly. The poor man just looks at you, panting, and asks in a hushed whisper.

"Who are you...?"

>This man is insane. Execute him Dismas.
>I am your master, overlady of all you see. This is my estate. If you work here you work for me.
>An old family member finally coming home. Do you know my uncle?
>Other?

>>435492
>This man is insane. Execute him Dismas.
He's creepy enough fuck him

>>435492
>I am your master, overlady of all you see. This is my estate. If you work here you work for me.
Project natural authority, assert yourself.

>>435504
>Talks about killing
>Totally insane
What could go wrong

>>435492
>>An old family member finally coming home. Do you know my uncle?

>>435516
Hey, don't diss the insane. They at least have certainty in their actions.

Rolled 3 (1d3)

Tallying votes
>>435498
>off with their head

>>435504
>own it

>>435521
>just family

What do we do now, timmy? Dice fall where they fall

File: Dismas.jpg (89 KB, 850x1070)

89 KB JPG

"Don't force my hand" Dismas threats seem serious but all the fight seems to have left the madman.

He isn't making much sense but you answer him anyways. "I am family. My uncle owns this estate and seems to have left it to me, having no heir apparent. Do you know him?" Your voice is calm, soothing. Dismas still hold tight onto the madman, just in case.

The wretch is looking at you as if you were some sort of angelic being. "Y-you carry them, a-and they obey you. You are the mistress." You sigh, placing your hands over your temples and standing up. Seems you are having difficulty reaching this poor soul. You turn your back and wave to Dismas. He understands it and moves in to draw out the wretches blood but he interrupts the Coachman and screams to you.

"Wait! Yes! Yes, mistress, I knew the lord! Please mistress, let me come with you! Wretch will serve well his mistress!"

You pause. Oh?

>Order Dismas to free him. He seems subdued enough.
>Have Dismas bind his feet and hand. I don't trust this wretch but he might still be of use.
>Move your finger across your neck. Dismas knows what to do.
>Other.

>>435603
>>Have Dismas bind his feet and hand. I don't trust this wretch but he might still be of use.

>>435603
>>Order Dismas to free him. He seems subdued enough.
He's our source of information on on what happened here.

>>435603
>Move your finger across your neck. Dismas knows what to do.

Rolled 3 (1d3)

>>435640
>>435632
>>435617
I will be arrested for gambling at this pace.

Roll me 3d6. It seems some executions are in order, but I will keep in mind you guys want to interrogate him.

Rolled 3, 3, 3 = 9 (3d6)

>>435680

You turn back to the wretch. "Tell me all you know" you sound threatening. He answers with an excited yes mistress and struggles to find and present you with a collection of parchment notes that was tucked and hidden under his ragged clothes. "I-it is all in here" he says. "Our orders, o-our daily schedule. I-it is the lord's handwriting. Look, look!"

He doesn't lie. It is your uncle's notes about a project or another. "Where did you find these?"

As a form of answer all he does is point up and northwards. Following his emaciated finger you can glimpse through the foliage the sight crumbling ruins, ravaged by time. That is your uncle's estate, or what is left of it.

You return your attention to the notes, sitting down to read them. They begin by numbering and describing resources for an endeavor; an excavation. Shovels, torches, lumber for fires and hard wood for beams and afixes. It is boring and has little meaning to you, but the number of workers greatly unsettles you. Over five hundred free hands were employed in this task! Surely your uncle didn't want to turn the entire estate into a quarry. What would he have use for all these hands? Some are quite suspicious too. Diviners, oracles, priests and all sorts of mercenaries, brigands and other never-do-wells. This is half an army in manpower alone. And by the looks of it your uncle didn't call for them; they came to the estate by themselves.

The next notes are a sort of loose diary. They tell you of findings. Artifacts so alien that your uncle struggles to describe them. Items of great power. Weapons ancient, mysterious altars and scattered mentions here and there of vile creatures. It is all very worrisome.

The last pages recount how your uncle came to be in the possession of the estate. Seems that much like yourself his coach toppled over and left him stranded. He had to kill brigands and crawl through the overgrown side paths before reaching the hamlet proper. You never heard him mention any of this. As far as you remember he always lived in the estate, luxuriously even. This raises even more questions than it answers.

"What else do you know?" you ask the wretch.

"Nothing else, mistress, Wretch swears! Wretch is n-not from here, only work f-for the lord, mistress." Albeit frantic he seems earnest enough. You might have exhausted his usefulness, however. Dismas is questioning you with his eyes. He seems to be asking for your permission to put the poor madman out of his misery.

>Spare him.
>Unburden him of his life.

>>435780
>>Spare him.
C'mon, don't be an asshole. There's always the sanitarium once we get this place running again.

>>435780
>Unburden him of his life.

>>435780
>Spare him.
We need as many men as we can get, though he'll probably stress the party.

File: it feels nostalgic to be (...).jpg (869 KB, 1920x1080)

869 KB JPG

You raise your hand to motion for Dismas to end it, but stop. There is something about this poor man you can't really place. "Let him go" you speak and lowers your hand. The Coachman seems unsatisfied and wary, but nods. "As you wish, boss."

The madman bolts off at the first opportunity he has. Dismas tries to grab him but fails [3, 3, 3, target 4]. You motion for him to let it be. Some time later you hear his voice coming from deep into the woods. "Wretch will find the witch for m-mistress! Mistress will praise wretch, then, yes yes!" and then it is gone.

"Weird fellow" Dismas comment. You are inclined to agree.


*****
It takes you ephemeral time to finally reach the hamlet. Dismas gathered all you had and pulled it inside that abandoned backpack. He also found a lengthy rope inside it, albeit nothing else.

As you cross the cobble road and make way into proper civilization you are greeted with the faint smell of roast, cheap alcohol and incense. It is good to be back home. The town is much as you remember it. A collection of main buildings divided by function and importance. Namely the sanatorium, the inn and the church. They are surrounded by many other smaller faculties like stables, cheaper housings and the myriad other business needed for the hamlet to function.

In fact all seems rather nice and mundane if not for the sight of your uncles estate, ruined and broken, laid against the night sky. What has he done?

You consider checking if the rest of your luggage arrived. You sent it quite ahead of you, so it might be at inn already. Dismas seems quite partial to visiting the inn. It provided other assorted services aside from board and meal, as you recollect.

>Go to the inn, might as well check your room and other belongings.
>Go to the church. You have always been a pious woman and this day has given you thought.
>Go to the sanatorium first, inquire if they lost a patient. That might explain that madman.
>Other.

>>435918
>>Go to the inn, might as well check your room and other belongings.

>>435918
>>Go to the inn, might as well check your room and other belongings.

Dismas opens the door for you as you step inside. You are immediately greeted by a strong smell of alcohol and make up. The decoration hasn't changed a bit either. Tapestries, portraits and busts depicting someone or another of your family. The main floor is crowded with tables, chairs and stands in no particular order. The bar and reception are in the same corner, which makes a very particularly fun challenge to reach past the crowd of drunken townsfolk to the attendant lazily polishing her nails behind the counter. Dismas is the one doing most the pushing and shoving around for you, but your stare also placates the fighting nature inside some of the drunkards you have displeased.

"What can I help you with, madam?" the pimped harlot doesn't even deign to look at you.

"Reservation. The royal suite and one room, plus a coach carrying a number of personal belongings. It must have arrived earlier to day.."

She absentmindedly picks up a booklet and flits through the stained yellow pages. "Name?" the strain she puts on her As make you cringe, but you suppress the urge to lash out at her.

"What is your name, madam?"

>Write in.

>>436009
Marie

File: sleazy mayor.png (92 KB, 257x328)

92 KB PNG

Your hand comes down on the table. The mahogany whines and rumbles under the weight of your arm. "Marie. Darkest. My room, please." You can tolerate much. A disrespectful atitude is seldom one of them.

Silence blankets the room as men and women look at you in awe. Hushed whispers of the lady and the family came back slowly break the silence. The attendant looks much more subdued, if a little bit colored on the cheeks. "Here, madam. I am sorry, madam." She hands you a pair of keys, one heavy and silvery the other of a light alloy. You thank her and turn for the stairs. Fate has it that you wouldn't make your way unmolested, because as you make for the first step a soapy and raspy voice calls to you from the door. "Lady Marie, if you'd please."

It is none other than the mayor, Sir Trussas. You were never accused of having a lack for imagination but not once in your entire life have you managed to imagine this man a knight.

"I would much dearly like to speak with you. It is about your uncle and the terms of your... inheritance." You were waiting for this moment.

"But let me be the first to extend our welcome to you, Lady Marie of the Darkest family. Welcome to your home." His grin splits his face in an unsettling way. All present begin whispering their wishes to you. "Welcome home" and "welcome back" they say one by one.

Hardly a warm welcome, but expected no less from your family.

>Take Trussas to your room to discuss in private.
>Open a table here, talk among the townsfolk. They need to see who their new lady is.
>Go outside.
>Tomorrow, old man. I am tired and wish to retire for the night.


[this is the last update for the night as I have to spirit myself to the dreamland. See you all tomorrow, space cowboys. Thanks for playing.]

>>436091
See you. Thanks for running QM

>>436091
We'll rest soon but we should definitely get the word out that we're back. We need all hands on deck and establishing ourselves as an expedient and productive leader should be the first order of business.
Also, we might learn who the crazy dude is.

>>436091
>Open a table here, talk among the townsfolk. They need to see who their new lady is.

>>436091
>Take Trussas to your room to discuss in private.

>>436091
>Take Trussas to your room to discuss in private.
To be loved among the people is desirable, but they must, too, understand that we are yet not one of them.

>>436651
Change my vote to this for now. Still, I want to speak to the town after we get our sitrep from Trussas.

>>435370
>He will remember that.
Wait, are we playing a Telltale quest?

>>435603
>"Wait! Yes! Yes, mistress, I knew the lord! Please mistress, let me come with you! Wretch will serve well his mistress!"
Yay, our very own personnal Golum.

>>435918
>a lengthy rope
Great, now we just need a fifty foot pole and we'll start being an adventurer.

>>436091
>Marie. Darkest
You know, when they were talking about the "Darkest" Dungeon, I think it was a figure of speech...Oh well, it does sound good.

>Open a table here, talk among the townsfolk. They need to see who their new lady is.
1)We can still eat and do whatever we need to do.
2)We can ask the common folk for whatever has been happening ("Who is wretch?" or "Is there anyone else interested in our estate?")
3)Finally, Dismas might gain from going to the clinic to get fixed while we discuss.

File: dazed... reeling... about(...).jpg (91 KB, 1157x711)

91 KB JPG

I live! We shall continue.
Before we begin, I apologize for my over 24+ hours of tardiness. Depression caught up to me, but I feel better now. This might happen from time to time.

Tallying votes.

>>436111
>>436649
>>436845
>public meeting

>>436651
>>436780
>>436794 (I don't know which one was your vote, but I will count you as a 1.5 vote)
>private meeting

>>436845
>telltale quest?
No, but I enjoy some of their writing and I am a hack.
>figure of speech
It was, but more will be revealed later.


If no one objects I will write for a private meeting and then some socializing to acclimate the people to you. You are not beyond social charms.

You suppose if the mayor himself comes to speak with you you might as well listen. Still, you aren't fully comfortable with the idea of people you barely know and trust listening in. Family or not. You motion for Trussas to follow you to your suite and order an attendant up so you can make an order. You ate travel rations but you feel rather peckish for actual warm food.

The stairs groan as you make your way, but they are as sturdy as they have ever been. You make your way without further fanfare, still remembering clear and well the way to the suite. Not surprising. You have probably spent more days here than at your own home, with your father and mother, as loath as you are to give them the time of day. The door opens smoothly, well oiled hinges only slightly squeaking. It reminds you of a giddy dog happy to see their owner back after too long an absence. You take a moment to take in the smell of incense, flowers and lavender oils that waft from your room. The bed is just as you left it, albeit well groomed and cleaned to a perfect condition. The table is already set with your prized cutlery, surely someone took notice of your baggage and arranged everything as you like it. To the other corner you see the den of pillows surrounded by plates of fresh fruits, wine and smoked meats.

Now is the question of what to do with this meeting of yours and the mayor. Should you approach the man with some familiarity or would it be too improper? You haven't seen him since your debutante years.

>Make yourself comfortable and invite the mayor to partake from your lounge of pillows and small vices.
>Sit at the table. Make it as official as possible and ask Dismas to get the attendant to bring you something cooked.
>As above, but no food. You want to hear what mayor Trussas has to say before you feast.
>Other?

>Let Dismas listen in.
>Ask him to stay outside.

>>440961
>>Sit at the table. Make it as official as possible and ask Dismas to get the attendant to bring you something cooked.
>Let Dismas listen in.

>>440961
>>Sit at the table. Make it as official as possible and ask Dismas to get the attendant to bring you something cooked.
>Let Dismas listen in.

You motion for the old cavalier to sit on one end of the table as you sit across from him. With a hand you call up to Dismas who promptly runs to your side. "Order the attendants to cook something and bring it up." He is gone with but a nod. Not long after he reapers from the door and close it behind him. You motion him to take a seat at your left. He fidgets uncomfortably but obeys.

"Now, Trussas, what is it you have to speak that was so urgent you couldn't wait?"

The mayor's face splits into a sleazy smile. "I admit it is of an aggrieving nature, ma'am. You have surely seen the condition in which the Darkest estate lies. Brigandry has taken the roads and we are staffed short to deal with these vast lands. But worse of all of our grievances is the bank, ma'am. The key to its vault was lost during a great fire that burned Castle Darkest. I fear the root of all our problems might lie in those catacombs that honeycomb the hill, but without access to your fortune there is little we can do to rectify it."

The man is interrupted when a knock from the door warns you dinner has arrived. You let the working girl come in and serve you, Trussas and Dismas. The food is simple yet welcoming, homely even. Roasted poultry marinated in a soup of potatoes, onions and spices, with a side dish of fried tomato and eggplant.

You continue your meeting into dinner nonplussed. "I have seen the ruins. I never expected that a proud castle like that could fall so thoroughly." Your commentary is interrupted by chewing, but you give it little mind. Dismas eats uncomfortably, careful to not touch anything more than he absolutely must. Sir Trussas seems even more dismissive of table manners as you are.

"Truly the biggest tragedies of our time. It happened at the dead of night. At one moment it sat there vigilantly watching over the moor, then it was a pyre consumed by a roaring inferno. No one was the wiser and it took over a week for the good people to finally put it down." You have never seen the mayor this slumped and depressive before. It is really disconcerting. "We found no sign of your uncle or any of his retainers or staff. All we ever got out was that letter addressed to you and your mother. Sent it myself that very morning."

(1/2)

You spend the rest of the night making small talk as servants come with wine and desserts of all sorts. You always had a strong sweet tooth. Trussas quickly regained his sleazy demeanor and Dismas seems to be more at ease as the wine flows. Not long after the mayor stands voicing his desire to retire to his home. You nod.

"Let me accompany you to the ground floor. I have to show the town that the family is back." He merely nods, his sleazy smile growing ever so slightly wider.

The ground floor is much less populated than it was when you went up the stairs but it is still close to maximum capacity. Trussas quickly bows out and limps out of the door, swaying from side to side. The old man always enjoyed his liquor but never had any stomach for it.

You take your time to look around. You see some familiar faces even if they are a tad grimmer than you remember. You could always catch up to previous gossip with those old acquaintances or cast a wider net and try to befriend and socialize with as many townsfolk as possible. Alternatively you could just go back to your room and talk more with Dismas, get to know your Coachman better. He has saved your life and you owe him some sort of reward, especially now that he also found out your vast treasures are out of reach behind a locked vault. Or you could simply retire for the night.

>Catch up in gossip.
>Socialize with everyone. Tonight they dine well!
>Retreat to your room and go over your contract with Dismas.
>Sleep for now. Tomorrow you will worry about your obligations.
>Other?

[Cellphone posting]

>>441147
>>Retreat to your room and go over your contract with Dismas.

>>441147
>>Socialize with everyone. Tonight they dine well!

>>441147
>Sleep for now. Tomorrow you will worry about your obligations.

Gonna grab some eats. Will wait for more votes and if we still have a tie I will roll for fairness.

Rolled 1 (1d3)

Dice fall where they fall.

File: Dismas, the Coachman.jpg (117 KB, 800x1409)

117 KB JPG

Menagerie of joys and vices. A strong drink, a game of chance, and cheap companionship. The rush of life surrounds you. You breath it in, deep and long, but wrestle yourself away with some effort. You motion for your Coachman to follow you. He doesn't tally from wrenching himself away from the someone or other he was chatting with. "Yes ma'am?" Seems he is quick not only with his deadly weapons, but also his sharp tongue.

"Accompany me back to the room, Dismas. It won't take long." He files in right after you.

Once you are again secluded from prying eyes you make yourself comfortable in your bed of pillows. Wine is abundant and you enjoy it freely. Dismas is less extravagant and looks whole uncomfortable sitting in his puffy cushion.

"You heard the mayor. While I won't be able to pay you what we were agreed upon fully, I still have needs of your services, mister Dismas. Not only that, but I am also indebted to your grace for saving me from that wreckage earlier. What do you wish to ask for a boom as a point of compensation?" Your voice is sweet, but business-like as usual.

Dismas struggles for words. "I don't wish much, ma'am. But if you could I would like paying a visit to the sanatorium to look at my wounds. Just in case, y'know. And perhaps access to the bar."

That sounds reasonable, if only very unambitious.

>Acceptable. Close the contract.
>Refuse him the free drinks. You wish him on his feet tomorrow, and not nesting a hangover.
>Offer him something else_ Write in

>>441520
>>Acceptable. Close the contract.

File: Another day, another victory.png (1.05 MB, 1920x1080)

1.05 MB PNG

You shake hands. A deal is set. He is bound to you as you are bound to this place. That settled, Dismas takes his leave and you are left with no company but the night.

You drink more wine, you nibble at some fruits and you ponder dark thoughts. Ruin has come to our family said the letter. Our family and not my family. Your uncle had never seen his bastard sister, your mother, as family and although your father went to great lengths to secure her hand she was not someone important. Besides her you are pretty secure that there are no other living member of the Darkest family. Then again so aren't you, being a Sacrossaint yourself. But you have nothing but disgust for your father's name. You much rather be a Darkest, even if your mother would disagree.

She never liked your uncle even if he was nothing but good to you. At first she arrested your relationship as hard as she could, but as you grew old she grew sick and senile and so you became a free woman. To think the man you loved as a father, that raised you as the woman you are now, is gone is a burden you didn't expect to be so heavy.

You drift into dreams all but swimming in grief. It is a heavy and warm sleep, the likes of such you hardly experience.

*****
>End of Day 1
Missions:
>Reach the Hamlet of the Darkest Estate - Completed

Level ups:
>Marie Darkest from 0 to level 1
>Dismas from 0 to level 1

You acquired:
>2 torches, 2 bandages and 1 length of rope
>1100 coins distributed among personal belongings of luxury

You killed:
>One rabid infested dog
>One horse

Sheet:
>http://pastebin.com/Lk8KwwVz


Thank you all for playing tonight. Tomorrow I will hopefully have the whole day for writefaggotry since I have no other earthly obligations, so let's at least begin our first expedition into enemy territory!
>Save game before quiting?
Yes <
No

>>441664
>Yes save the game

It's looking to be rather interesting, juts make sure not to do that thing where you have each anon be a player cuz then you're going to drown in wait times.

>>441669
>each anon be a player
Oh no, oh no.
There is only one player, although there will be many characters. Retainers, mercenaries, allies and more. Much like in the game itself.

Continue Game <

A moment of respite. A dreamless night surrounded by weak and flickering firelight. The sheets are warm and welcoming, but the light filtering through the curtains eventually manage to nag you away from your bed. The room is much as you left it, pillows strewn everywhere and wine bottles scattered about. The morning routine includes a refreshing bath in ice cold water, but you endure.

There are hardly no one up and about when you go downstairs to fix yourself breakfast. The attendants look equally demure after last nights festivities. Seems they also endured some rough handling by the way they walk and the dry sweat glistening from their brows.

Food is lukewarm and greasy, but filling. Baked pastries, mostly. The chef usually favors you the best portions, but this visit came unannounced and the man had little time to prepare.

Sated, you stand up.

Dismas is nowhere to be seen, probably still in his room. Outside you can make out a new coach. So word is travelling, stirring ambition in distant cities and places. You could use that. You also see that the smithy is on full blast. Where to know, oh intrepid leader? You have much to do and an entire estate to rebuild.

>Fetch Dismas. He is your only retainer as of yet.
>Check the new arrivals. Greet the foolish and brave enough to visit Darkest lands.
>Go to the smithy and see why the foles are at full blast.
>Other? (Sanatorium, church, mayor's office, etc)

>>443779
>>Fetch Dismas. He is your only retainer as of yet.
A lady does not wander a disreputable place without an escort handy.

>>443779
>Fetch Dismas. He is your only retainer as of yet.
Though we are no simple lady.

>>443779
>>Fetch Dismas. He is your only retainer as of yet.
You must gather your party before venturing forth.

>>443779
>Fetch Dismas. He is your only retainer as of yet.
Afterwards head to
>Check the new arrivals. Greet the foolish and brave enough to visit Darkest lands.

We need to fill out our party

File: Dismas likes the d.png (1.23 MB, 1210x1139)

1.23 MB PNG

writing for fetching the coachman and greeting the masses

You make your way back the stairs and knocks on Dismas' door, feeling a bit demeaned for fetching your own manservant, but you did give him the night off. That is on you.

Many minutes later the man himself steps out wearing his characteristic grim suit and shawl. His eyes are heavy and lidded, but he doesn't look any less attentive then he was the night before. You also note his leg has been properly sutured and bandaged. "So you did go to the sanatorium." He nods. It takes a brave man to face the wild with blade in hand, but a braver one to face a physician holding a scalpel.

You two make way outside and are greeted by a small group of people making way with luggage and bags, three of which you find peculiar to say the least. The ones doing the most carrying around are the attendants of the inn, so you presume they already bought food and lodge.

The one closest to you is a stout looking man with deep sideburns and no other weapon of office besides a sidearm sword. He looks taciturn and distant, almost shy, but there is an aggressive gait about his steps. In front of him, directing the luggage, is a very uncharacteristic pair. One wears the obscuring attire of a plague doctor. Her face is a beaked parody of a bird and her eyes are but dark lenses shining in the morning light. The entire thing looks awfully like a buzzard or other sort of carrion bird.

The last member of the trio is a tall man in chain and plate armor holding a long and knightly blade. His face is disfigured, ugly, giving him an unapproachable appearance, all the more contrasted by his content smile.

Everyone seems preoccupied with something or another and haven't noticed you.

>Make yourself seen. They ought to pay respect to the landlady, whatever is their business.
>Watch it intently. Get a grasp for these visitors.
>Ask Dismas to help them move their belongings.
>Approach one of them individually (nervous man, plague doc, knight)
>Other?

>>443924
>>Watch it intently. Get a grasp for these visitors.

>>443924
>>Make yourself seen. They ought to pay respect to the landlady, whatever is their business.

If no one objects, I will do
>>443929
and then
>>443934

File: Sit Faust Carmine.jpg (169 KB, 540x810)

169 KB JPG

You decide to observe these travelers. Measure them.

The man with only a sidearm paces to and fro, like a caged beast, his eyes darting. He has sensed you somehow, for he begins walking away from your prying eyes. Strange. You had him on your sights this entire time and not once did he pay you the barest of glances. Soon he is gone on the other side of the coach, moody as only he.

His companions seem more oblivious. The plague doctor is all but screaming at the handful of servants that are carrying all sorts of luggage. She, you believe it is a she because of her voice, seems adamant that their incompetent and clumsy hands will drop or otherwise damage 'unreplaceable scientivic equipment var beyond their meek understanding'. You are not sure how to place her accent, or if it is just the mask warping her voice.

The tall knightly man is another curio in and of itself. He is tall, strong and broadsided. Ugly as sin too, but he acts like a soft and well-spoken gentle giant. He helps the servants and apologizes for the admonishments of his companion. Mrs Katherine, he calls her. Married then? You would never have guessed.

After observing the fanfare for a while you bring your hand to your mouth and loudly clear your throat as to get their attention. The servants promptly greet you with the 'good mornings' and 'madame Maries' that you are so used to. The doctor and the knight turn to look at you. The man opens into a great smile and the doctor is undecipherable given the mask and attire.

The tall man is the first to approach you. Damn, is he ever oh so ugly. "So you are the lady of the estate, miss? I am Sir Faust Carmine, knight errant. A great pleasure to make your acquaintance." He bows and fetch your hand for a kiss and all you can do is focus on not staring at his horribly scarred face.

"Marie Darkest. Likewise." You manage to answer after an unwelcome pause. You then turn to Katherine, uncertain how to approach a plague doctor. She sees your wariness and steps forward, saving you the trouble.

"Mrs Katherine Von Ward. At your service, ma'am." She salutes you, clean and efficient. Military.

They speak to you of their aspirations. Katherine is a travelling collector and student while Sir Faust is her official escort and a very capable man-at-arms. For some reason Dismas seems really uncomfortable around the man. After you finish introducing yourselves you get a glimpse of the third man, the one with big sideburns, behind the coach. He is trying to spy on the four of you almost in a childish way.

>All very interesting, yes. Go do something else.
>Bring the subject of the other member of their group.
>Ask them about their work.

>>444097
>>Bring the subject of the other member of their group.

Once you get an opportunity you point to the coach and the man who seems bent in staying out of sight. "Who is that man, scurrying about behind my inn? He came here with you, did he not." The one to respond is Mrs Katherine.

"Ah, that would be my assistant, Claude. He is terribly shy." He seems to look around at the mention of his name, but Claude doesn't come out, preferring to brood by himself over there. "Never much vor public places. Pay him no mind, ma'am."

You announce your desire for talk to them further and instruct them to meet you at your suite for lunch. If they are as competent as they look they are certainly strong candidates for your expedition. The promise of fortune is enough to attract good service, and there is a great sum of fortune behind your locked vaults. That key, it must be yours by the end of the week.

You depart the group and find yourself walking through the main yard. Here the statue of your family's ancestor stands proud and tall, holding in his hand an orb of unknown making.

Dismas clears his throat and ask, humbly. "Are you visiting any of the faculties, ma'am?"

You think.

>In fact, yes, I am. Let's go to the [choose one] _smithy, town hall, sanatorium, church, graveyard.
>No. I will retire to my room. Have plans to make, an expedition to fund.

>Dismiss Dismas.
>Bring Dismas along.

>>444258
>In fact, yes, I am. Let's go to the smithy.
>Bring Dismas along.

And I guess I fucked up again. Thread is permasaging so I will wait a bit and make a new one going from this post forward.

>>444285
Seconding

>>444258
>In fact, yes, I am. Let's go to the town hall.
>Bring Dismas along.

File: Old Smith.png (286 KB, 682x599)

286 KB PNG

[changed my mind, will do two more posts here before moving on to a new thread, get the boring stuff out of the way]

You motion for Dismas to accompany you and files in obediently. The smithy is right across from your Ancestor's monument. You are at its door in mere moments.

Inside you can see this lanky old man, grey beard and aged leathery skin. His muscles are defined and hardened, and his hands callused. In the end, every plan needs a reliable arm, and tempered steel. The old smith has no shortage for work. Even now at the brink of day he is hard at work blowing his bellows. The furnace is a hot orange, the heat emanating even out here. He notices you approaching and cleans his face of soot with the same rags he was using to oil some piece of steel or another. All it does is smear the dirt around.

"Aye! Marie, lass?" He is a hard working man and a genius at work, but his vocabulary is lacking at best.

"Good morning, old man. Why are you blowing heat this early?" His answer come in the form of a crate by his feet. "Ore." He says. "Iron, it is. Smelting." He takes the moment to clear his sinus; He spit the glob of snot inside the open roaring maw of the furnace. Something whines, hisses and pops. He looks untroubled. "Dirty shit." He iterates on the quality of the ore.

He is not the best conversation piece. Still, Dismas want to have his blade resharpened and oiled and the old smith takes it in hand. He nods to you. "Your tab." He says, raising five fingers. Ah, how generous, a discount.

>Agree to the price, move on to the town hall. [1100c]
>500?! Old man, who do you think you run this town for? [Barter for a lower price]
>Give him a promissory. Pay later when you can open your Vault.

>>444822
>>Give him a promissory. Pay later when you can open your Vault.

>>444822
>>444837
Seconding, again

>>444837
Thirding if he accepts it. If not, haggle!

File: provisions and treasure i(...).jpg (659 KB, 1920x1080)

659 KB JPG

[Yay for terrible sleeping hours and huge families]

You spend some time producing an oficial piece of paper. In it you write the promissory. This is valid as payment for the smithy of a value of five hundred coins by the Lady Marie Darkest of the Darkest Estate and seal it with wax. The old smith accepts it with a nod.

Soon you are making way to the old town hall. It is humbled by the huge church at its back, quite modest in comparison. It is still a very presentable office. Or at least on the outside.

Mayor Trussas is an eclectic colector of all sorts of resources and provisions. Among other more obscure curios. The town made a lot of coin selling of supplies to explorers, adventurers and other foolhardy dare-doers. You heard much of those troubled uncertain times from your uncle's stories. Thought them no more than that. Stories.

Sir Trussas himself greets you as you enter, that sleazy smile still plastered on his hangover face. Ever since you met the man he hasn't gone one day without drinking. "Marie, sweetie, close that door. Torment me no more. The light is a scourge." You smirk and close it.

"I need to prepare an expedition, old man. Into the heart of my uncle's castle." His attention is picked, his smile grows ever so wider.

"To retrieve the key to our city's most vault." It wasn't a question. You nod. He suppresses a cackle with one hand. "Very well, ma'am. Will you pay in interests or from your -heh- pocket? And what is it -hehe- you desire to take?"

Hum.

>Changed my mind. Take nothing. You will improvise on the road.
>Take only the absolutely necessary. Rations and some torches, one shovel. [225c]
>Take one of everything, from ropes to bandages and antidotes and remedies. [750c]
>As above, but double up on it. [until the maximum you can carry] [1500c]

>Pay from your pocket [1100c]
>Pay in interests. Means you will pay with the money and treasures you get back, at a higher price rate.

>Ask Dismas for his opinion?

Next post coming up on a new thread since this one crawled into the butts of /qst/.

>>446791
>Take one of everything, from ropes to bandages and antidotes and remedies. [750c]
>Pay in interests. Means you will pay with the money and treasures you get back, at a higher price rate.

New thread:
>>446928

Do like grim patron and get in here.