File: Burn.png (209 KB, 344x211)

209 KB PNG

The cruel mirth stitched into the lips of the fire dragon's reptilian smile after he finishes informing you of his ultimatum infuriates you so intensely it feels like your blood is boiling. Well, your blood may actually be boiling from the intense surge in magic potential you feel seeping into the lifeblood flowing through your veins directly from the draconic source smirking smugly in front of you. But still, this cocky, over-glorified lizard makes you fucking mad.

“Message received,” you quickly spit out through grit teeth. “I should tell you, however, that the people who disrupted your tribute did so of their own accord against explicit orders.”

“A shame they didn't listen to your commands. If my minions disobeyed me,” he leans his long neck closer towards you, his head now close enough that you feel the intense heat that wafts off his crimson scales practically overheat your already feverishly burning skin, “I'd slay them on the spot. Thirty days. Inform your people. Collect your gold wherever you can find it. Leave it in front of your gate by dawn.”

Before anything else can be said or done, the dragon just disappears in one amazing instant. One second Burn is there, the next he's not. The warmth that had been radiating off of his form dissipates, either leaving with him or now simply dispersing into the atmosphere.

You breath a sigh of relief as your vision starts to swim, your limbs practically shaking as an itching sensation covers your whole body. You wish to just scratch away your very flesh until you can rip away the irritant beneath, but dismiss the errant thought as you realize that desire is both futile and irrational. You managed to steal, adopt, adapt, ASSIMILATE a nice chunk of Burn's natural magic prowess his aged, mystically potent blood possesses with him none the wiser about what you were doing. That or he didn't care. But if he was unaware, that means he most likely doesn't possess an instinctual or automatic ability to detect your unique powerset's presence nor when you're using it.

Which is good. Although perhaps next time you should take smaller steps with your thievery. You almost bit off more than you could chew and, uh, well you're starting to see double now so that's not as good.

You think you spy in your peripherals Eve turning around and floating back towards the Circle – wordlessly and solemnly. It would help if focusing your vision wasn't so difficult right now. Fluctuating between your arcane sight and your regular sight you flounder in mid-air, very disoriented. You think you might need to take a rest for a few . . . hours or so.

You turn towards the sullen gnome and fly after her. “Are you alright, Eve?” you call out hoarsely, your throat contracting and feeling swollen as you utilize it.

She doesn't answer, but simply hesitates for a moment before continuing on towards the tower. You bite your lip, wondering if you should say something else in lieu of her lacking response.

She was crying and digging her claws into the flesh of her palms.


>Burn's a fucking shithead, forget about him. He's underestimating just how dedicated to being a dragon you really are. His pride and sense of superiority will be his downfall. You're clearly making progress in your evolution and I'm sure if you keep at it one day you'll not only succeed at becoming a dragon, but surpass Burn's abilities. Let today motivate you to eclipse Burn utterly and be a better dragon than he ever was. Because to me, you already are.

>I warned you about this, Eve. Multiple times. I'm sorry this is what it took for reality to slap you in the face, but it's time you stopped living in your fucking fantasy world. There is nothing admirable about being a dragon. It's time for you to stop idolizing and glorifying them and especially Burn. At the end of the day you're a gnome. A magically powerful gnome who has some amazing potential. But you are a gnome. Get used to it.

>Keep quiet, give her some time to stew in her own thoughts and reflect on the situation without any outside input from you.

>>1133574
>>Keep quiet, give her some time to stew in her own thoughts and reflect on the situation without any outside input from you.

afterwards, then use

>Burn's a fucking shithead, forget about him. He's underestimating just how dedicated to being a dragon you really are. His pride and sense of superiority will be his downfall. You're clearly making progress in your evolution and I'm sure if you keep at it one day you'll not only succeed at becoming a dragon, but surpass Burn's abilities. Let today motivate you to eclipse Burn utterly and be a better dragon than he ever was. Because to me, you already are.

>>1133574
>Keep quiet, give her some time to stew in her own thoughts and reflect on the situation without any outside input from you. Still be there for her and maybe bring a nice cup of tea, whiskey to pour in said tea optional.

>>1133574
>Keep quiet, give her some time to stew in her own thoughts and reflect on the situation without any outside input from you.

Fuck no to telling Eve to continue pursuing her goal of becoming and venerating dragons as above other races.

And I said that telling Burn that Irontide acted against orders was a waste of fucking time, and all that's what it turned out to be.

>>1133574
"Eve, you taught me something more important than just sorcery. You showed me, showed everyone, that you CAN become more than what you were. That it was worth it to try. I don't know what your bloodline may or may not be, and I don't care. Look at the results! My entire power is literally getting to copy stuff, and you're still ahead of me on becoming something greater. As far as I'm concerned, you're already a better dragon than Burn. It's just a matter of time until you get to prove it to him."

File: Circle of Mages.jpg (89 KB, 900x600)

89 KB JPG

A few thoughts on what to say to her to comfort the girl race through your mind. They conflict and you wonder about how much guidance you should really be giving her and what the effects on her might be depending on what you say and it all is just sort of making your head throb and tingle as you fly behind her in an unintentional zigzagging pattern, your glowing, burning eyes straining to stay open and focus on the caster in front of you to guide you safely back to the Circle so you can lie down for a minute. Woo!

Even thinking about yourself and your surroundings seems to run together in a mishmash of unorganized ideas.

Perhaps remaining quiet is the best option for Eve and your swollen throat. The dragon worshiper is probably in a vulnerable and malleable state right now and you don't want to influence her too drastically when that sort of decision should come from her own thoughts and reflections about what just happened. You wouldn't want to taint the purity of her interpretation by substituting your own version of events and what their significance is.

So you resign yourself instead to float behind her off to the side a bit, focusing on keeping aloft as you . . . as you feel . . . oh bother. You're having some difficulty keeping your head up and staying afloat.

You black out for a moment and only regain consciousness when the sensation of falling jolts you awake. You blink rapidly and realize being so high up off the ground isn't the best idea. You fly as fast as possible, overtaking Eve as your rush diagonally past her towards the front door on solid ground. You think she notices as you pass her by, aiming for the top of the marble staircase that lead to the 1st floor of the tower.

You land on the top step beside the manned kiosk next to the front entrance. You don't get a good look at whoever is actually manning the thing as you fall forward, collapsing into the door and sliding down it.

“ALAN!” you hear Eve shout loudly above you, the first word she's spoken since Burn ridiculed her. You turn over onto your back, staring up at some humanoid figure wearing a black robe standing over you. You don't really recognize them as you can't make out their face through your blurry vision. But your arcane sight reveals the person possesses some modicum of magical talent, so they were probably the person on guard duty for the Circle.

Soon a small bright orange figure bleeding off magic signals that pulse with the frequency of an ecstatic drum beat lands beside you, nearer to the ground and closer to your face. She leans over you, Eve it must be, and inspects you. She lays a cool, scaly hand on your forehead as you struggle to breathe and feel sweat ooze off your body and seep into your uniform.

“Oh shit you're burning up, buddy,” she comments. Suddenly you hear the loud footsteps of a figure approaching. An armored man also stands above you, by your feet.

File: Hell Dream.jpg (38 KB, 413x310)

38 KB JPG

“What happened?” you hear the man ask. Gale's voice. You close your eyes, too tired – oh shit, you don't sleep anymore so you aren't supposed to GET tired – and too exhausted to keep them open.

“I don't know,” she responds, turning to look at him. “He just seems to be really sick. I don't . . . oh crap! Pick him up and take him upstairs to his room. You," she suddenly orders, shifting her head to look at the black-robed figure. "Grab like three buckets of cold . . . wait, no, find a mage with ice powers and bring them over here. Hurry!”

As the armored figure stoops down and slips his hands under your back, beginning to heft you up off the ground and over his shoulder, you fade into unconsciousness.

. . .

Flames and heat plague your dreams.

You find yourself sitting upon a throne of bones and hellfire, attended to by a mass throng of devils. You have returned to Hell once more, the conqueror of this domain with none left living within it save for those you spared in your scouring, who grovel and serve you on hand and foot. You are the King of Devils, blessed with all the powers and abilities this dimensional plane has to offer you. You could rest. But you have so much more to claim. You look up above and feel the urge to take power from . . . from them all. With the immense strength at you disposal, it's not a matter of who . . . but a matter of who first.

>Ascend to the Heavens, strike Him down
>Traverse the mortal plane, lay low the mighty dragons
>Search for Rowe, your love

>>1135030
Write in:

Hold it in. Contain yourself.

If you feel the need to take power, draw from yourself.


If the write in option is not possible, choose >Traverse the mortal plane, lay low the mighty dragons

>>1135030
>>1135065
Chain yourself down if you have to.

>>1135030
>Traverse the mortal plane, lay low the mighty dragons

>>1135030
>Write-In: The Devils are but one-third of the Burning Hells: there remains the Abyss, home of Demons. They will be our next target, as we told that succubus.

>With the immense strength at you disposal, it's not a matter of who . . . but a matter of who first.


From the way this is written, I fear that if we do give into these impulses, we will be hard pressed to turn back.

Assimilation was fun to begin with, but now it's starting to be more sinister. If we choose to indulge ourselves, even on other demons or devils, we might find it harder to stop later on.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

1 - Dragons
2 - Contain Yourself

>>1137210
2

>>1137212
Wait are you an actually new poster?

>>1137215
Yeah, spent last night and missed a class to read the entire archives.

>>1137220
Holy fuck dude alright then. Welcome aboard. Great to have a new player.

That's two votes for containing yourself.

Writing now.

>>1137229
I really like this basis, and since I never get to do D&D IRL, this gives me hope and happiness.

File: Spoiler Image (12 KB, 236x314)

12 KB JPG

No.

What do you mean, 'No'?

Something feels wrong about this. This desire and urge. Removed from you by several degrees of separation. You don't need to take more power. Not now. You're content.

You're limited. You could recreate a thousand thousand planes of existence in your image if you just assimilated a few more powers.

But you don't need to do that. Existence as it is now is fine and you only need to live in one. Why take more?

Why stop here? You've already taken so much – become so much – with just a bit more you could ensure your continued survival. None of these feckless weaklings would have a chance of usurping you or your position. You don't actually think if you stop now you'll suddenly become a good person, do you?

You squint. You wish to be a good person.

Then seize the power to create a good universe. Not many have the capability for a chance such as this. You'd squander it? Leave it to others you can't control to dictate the rules?

You feel . . . like you're being misled. There is no benevolent ulterior motive behind this. This is simply power mongering of the highest order. Selfishness to the extreme. One does not need to have everything or be everything to make the world . . . the multiverse right. You refuse to move from this spot.

You're a shortsighted fool.

Or perhaps you're just not a gullible one. You rule Hell for eons. Eternities upon eternities. You create your dukes and your princes – your soldiers and your subordinates. They remain orderly and benevolent under your command, doing right. No matter how strong the pull is you refuse to leave and cultivate further discord with your special skill.

Eventually the desire fades, the other voice screaming for you to progress in the back of your skull fades into whispers and soon becomes nothing. Life in Hell becomes tolerable . . . as insane as that sentiment sounds.

. . .

Your eyes flutter open. You're looking at the roof of your room in the Circle. Your mouth is parched and your body is sore, but you feel much less terrible than you had last you were conscious.

“Alan is this another fever dream or are you actually awake?” Eve's high-pitched squeaky voice inquires. You look to your side to answer her and . . . woah.

Even before the beginning of her transformation she didn't look like that. Her skin is much paler and her hair is longer than you've ever seen it before, although it's still a tad unruly. Although if your eyes don't deceive you there's not a hint of a scale upon her. At least from the usual spots – the flesh Eve usually has on display. No longer wearing her usual red sorcerer's robes she is garbed in a yellowish-golden gown laced through olive-green arm length gloves.

>How long have I been out?
>Why are you in my room, Eve?
>What happened to you?
>Get out of bed
>Does everyone know about Burn's ultimatum?
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1137464
>How long have I been out?
>What happened to you?
>Other: Do you know what happened?
If we have enough power to take over the Burning Hells, then I'll be content.
But until then, I still think we should ASSIMILATE whatever powers we need to kill Burn, the Master, and General Killman.

>>1137464
>"In order:
>How long have I been out?
>Why are you in my room, Eve?
>What happened to you?"

File: Dragon Ears.jpg (101 KB, 900x675)

101 KB JPG

“How long have I been out?” you ask hoarsely, coughing as you finish your question. The gnome points to your bedside table where a large pitcher of water stands beside an empty glass. You give her a silent nod of thanks before pouring yourself a drink.

“Three days,” she tells you sympathetically. Your shaking hand nearly spills as you bring the filled glass to your mouth.

“Shit!” you lower the container for a second and go to speak before realizing you should probably drink first. You gulp down a few mouthfuls of the cool liquid before continuing. “That long?”

“Yep! Like when you had that cursed mummy disease. Or when you first learned magic.”

You finish your glass and begin refilling it after its emptied. “I was only out for a day when I first learned how to cast magic from you.”

“Eh,” Eve verbalizes her indifference to that discrepancy. “Really doesn't matter. You have a habit of knocking yourself unconscious for long periods of time and I have a habit of watching over you while you mutter and thrash in your sleep.”

You stop drinking for a moment and reflect on the truth of her words. “Huh,” you utter. “You watched over me when I was dying of that mummy's curse?”

“Yep! Someone had to give Rowe a break every once in a while. Like with this new thing you came down with.”

“So that's why you're in my room,” you say with a bit of realization. “Taking over for Rowe.”

“Yep!” she repeats.

“Guess it is a bit of a tradition, then,” you comment, finishing your second glass of water. You lift the covers ever so slightly to inspect your modesty. You're dressed in a simple white-shirt and loose breeches. So nothing too risque if you decide to get up out of bed right now.

“The time I stop is the time you'll finally croak,” Eve declares.

“So, uh . . .” you trail off and she cocks her head, confused about what you were about to say. You gesture a hand towards her person and wave it lazily to indicate her attire and . . . look. “What happened to you?”

“What? Um, noth – OH! Ohhhhhh,” She looks down at herself and then looks over her arms, turning them over in front of her. “This is just a . . .” A tiny blush comes to her cheeks as her smile turns to a slight frown. “Just a glamer of sorts. Makes me look . . . uh, different. I'm surprised you can't see through it, Alan.”

You squint, examining her closely as she reveals to you the presence of her illusion. After a few moments of intense study your iron clad mind and perceptive eyes do manage to pierce the visual effects of her magical disguise. For a few moments it flickers and dissipates before you, the scales down her arms and on her face – the true appearance of both her eyes and ears – swirling into your perceived reality. You drop your focus once you confirm that Eve still really does have her golden skin complexion and short, spiky haircut and let the glamer reform before your eyes.

“I have to recast it every two hours,” the gnome informs you. “But . . . uh, I think I like the way it makes me look.”

>You shouldn't disguise yourself just because of Burn
>I agree. You look good, Eve.
>Assimilate the spell
>Did you tell everyone about what Burn said?
>Do you know what happened to me?
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1138349
>Do you know what happened to me?

>>1138349
>Do you know what happened to me?

>>1138349
>You shouldn't disguise yourself just because of Burn, but I agree. You look good, Eve.

>>1138349
>Do you know what happened to me?
>Did you tell everyone about what Burn said?
We need to know if everyone realizes we're on a 27 day time limit to git gud for the big fight with Burn.
>Something else: You look nice; it's just like makeup, right? Dyeing your hair or using hair extensions if you want a different look.
The idea is that we already accept changing our appearance at a whim with makeup and wigs and clothes; how is using magic any different? The person doesn't change, just the appearance.

>>1138421
>>1138453
yes
>Did you tell everyone about what Burn said?

File: Circle Magister Study.jpg (3.23 MB, 2560x1440)

3.23 MB JPG

“Do you know what happened to me?” you ask her as you throw your feet over the side of the bed and rise into a sitting position, stretching your muscles after three days of bed rest have left them feeling sore due to lack of use.

Eve chuckles. “Yeah, I'm pretty sure. You used your, uh, special gift on Burn, didn't you?”

You nod your head, rubbing it to work out the lingering, throbbing headache still causing you pain. “I assimilated as much as I could without him being able to detect what I was doing. I went for . . . elements about him that weren't overtly obvious and physical. I suspected there was a chance he could figure out what I was doing, but he seemed unaware. Still . . . I almost felt like I had taken in more than I could handle.”

“I'll say,” Eve concurs. “You essentially infused yourself with dragon blood. Fire dragon blood. Which is pretty hot, Alan.”

You nod. “I admit it felt that way. Like I was burning from the inside.”

“You've been wrestling with it like it was a poison for the past three days and nights. Your body initially tried to reject its presence but was essentially forced to accommodate it. With much difficulty, resistance and plenty of potentially lethal obstacles, however. The Sculptor and Dolah had to heal your internal burns to ensure you didn't die multiple times.”

“ . . . Oh. I guess I should thank them.”

Eve shrugs. “Rowe helped too. Regardless, whatever you did ultimately worked. From my own dragony senses I can tell you're part-dragon now. Draconic blood pumps through your veins right out of that heart of yours as naturally as your lungs breathe air,” she points to your chest and then back to herself. “Like me! So we're both . . . science experiments now.” She mutters the last part under her breath and shakes her head. Her legs kick a little angrily in the chair she sits in, too high off the ground for her feet to make contact with the floor. Looking back up to you, she puts on a determined face. “Your body has survived the process and adapted to the potent magical bloodline of Burn's ancestry and heritage. It wouldn't be so far fetched as to say you're blood relatives now.”

“Great,” you comment as you stand up, rolling your shoulders. “We're cousins.”

“We may be related now too,” Eve admits, looking contemplative for a moment before returning to her serious expression. “It doesn't matter though. You apprenticed under me when you were learning the basics of sorcery and I was your only viable teacher. And we have come to this crossroads once more, now that you have the potential to access a wealth of powers that solely I have the experience and knowledge to instruct you about. I am . . . willing to take you on as an apprentice once again so you can learn and explore the powers and responsibilities you carry within yourself. Under my tutelage, you will tap into this awesome inner reservoir of . . . dragon stuff.”

>Sure, Eve. I'd love that
>I really don't think that will be necessary
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1139431
>>Sure, Eve. I'd love that

>>1139422
>Sure, Eve. I'd love that

>>1139431
>Sure, Eve. I'd love that
I hope we can unlock fire immunity.
Seeing as we're going to be fighting a dragon, being immune to fire will go a long way towards not dying.

File: Circle Interior.jpg (498 KB, 1914x859)

498 KB JPG

“Sure Eve. I'd love to do that,” you tell the gnome.

She smiles wide. “Good. It was hard enough for me without a good teacher or role model. Wouldn't want the same for you.”

You nod as you slip on your mythral shirt and fix your buffering cap to your head from where you find your things have been safely stored in your room. Then, you stride towards the only door into and out of your magister's chambers. Eve jumps out of the chair she's been sitting in, following on your heels as you make your exit into the sixth floor hall.

“So,” you begin, “Our time limit until Burn makes his return for his payment has shrunk by three days while I was out.” You suddenly halt in your tracks, turning towards your curious gnome companion as a sense of dread fills you. She was the only other person in Seaside who knew about that. “The others . . . do know the details of Burn's visit, right?”

Eve recoils for a moment, looking at you incredulously. “Psssh, of course! Everyone was running up to me asking 'What did that dragon do to Alan?' and 'What did the Dragon say, Eve?' and 'Are you sure that's it?'” She shakes her head, disappointed. “Such little faith. Everyone's precisely aware of Burn's monetary demands.”

“And how have people responded?” you inquire.

“Wellll,” Eve draws out as she recalls the events of the past few days. “Blackburn is attempting to contact his superiors back in Ceril to bankroll the money. Although considering what he was implying about how the Mainlanders view this . . . uh, I think the word he used was 'project' it doesn't sound like that's going to work. That Ashe guy got really mad about what Irontide did and since the dwarf hasn't returned to Seaside the monk left to find his group to get them to return the money they stole for the tribute. Dolah, uh, decided to accompany him on his search. The two of them left early this morning. Gabby suggested we talk the kobolds of the Firegem nation into giving us all their rubies since they worship Burn anyway. I can confirm we could probably convince them to do that. Well, more accurately, I could probably convince them to do that. Quissonce, Ed, Flid and the Archmage have been meeting. They say they've devised a plan that might work but refused to tell me about it. Rowe has spoken multiple times about how she's going to wait for Burn to arrive and unleash Gaea's Warden on him and let Her solve everything. And, well, with the repair efforts directed towards repairing the clock tower and the vampire attacks everyone's all over the place and jumbled.”

>What do you do?

>>1139990
"Vampire attacks? They got worse? I think I'll track it down and either get it to work for us or I'll take its powers before staking it. I know that my ASSIMILATION of everything has people spooked, but with a dragon ready to burn us to ash, I'm with the Circle and Rowe on finding a permanent solution to the Burn problem."
Though I think Gabby has a very good idea; a one-time payment to get Burn off our backs for another month means one more month of preparation and levelling up that we can get.

>>1139990
Find out what Quissonce and Ed have in mind, refine it and make preparations/coordinate with Rowe and Irontide's group to maximize it's potential effectiveness.

On the side, consider Gabby's request and talk to the kobolds just in case we don't get the other plans working in time.

Find out why there are more vampire attacks.

File: Paul.jpg (77 KB, 711x800)

77 KB JPG

“Vampire attacks? They've gotten worse?” you ask as you stop in the hallway, turning to face the gnome and give her your full attention.

Eve nods emphatically. “Yeah, two more people were found 'dead',” she makes air quotes as she utters the word dead, “drained of all their blood by fangs while you were unconscious. Bringing the body count up to three.”

“What do you mean . . . 'dead'?” you make the air quotes yourself.

Eve chuckles nervously. “Well, uh, remember all that bullshit with Paul?”

Your face blanches as she reminds you. You jump to conclusions about what she's implying. Eve takes notice of your reaction and chuckles, rubbing the back of her head.

“Yep! So, while Gilda was inspecting the corpse of the first victim and keeping it in a side chamber in the Research Library it sorta . . . came back to life and tried to kill her.”

Your eyes go wide. “What happened? Is she alright?”

“Well, as the Archiver tells it,” Eve explains to curtail your concerns. “It tried to bite her. She shoved garlic in its face. It recoiled. Then she had her pet fire beetle set it on fire. And then she stabbed it in the heart with a nearby wooden stake she was keeping on hand just in case anyway, which 'killed' it. Apparently, it's not completely dead though. She removes the stake and it comes back to life trying to bite her again. So the other two victims the guards found in the streets have been staked as well. Desden has argued fiercely for them to hand the vampires over to the Church of the Great Will so they can dispose of them cleanly, but Gilda isn't entirely sure they can't be saved.”

You shake your head. “So this is practically a repeat of the Paul conundrum.” Except with Desden taking Dolah's place and Gilda taking Quissonce's.

Eve shrugs. “Gilda seemed to really take a liking to the ghoul. I mean, he saved her life when those orcs tried to rape-kill her. I think she wants the story to end better this time and with less necrotic explosions. And, well, between you and me,” Eve leans close like she's telling you some grand secret that must stay hidden as if you two were being watched by spies yearning to learn of this information or something ridiculous like that. “I think Gilda may have had a crush on him.”

You reflexively make a face of disgust. Paul was a nice guy, but at the time Gilda met him he wasn't exactly . . . attractive. “I don't know about that, Eve. Sounds like a bit of a stretch.”

She waves away your doubt casually.

“Well,” you say, taking in all that new information and adjusting your plans accordingly. “Tracking the vampire down to either work with it or kill it seems like a good plan. Maybe assimilate some of its powers that might help us combat Burn, even if some people are spooked by me doing that.”

Eve shrugs. “It's mainly Desden and some of those Great Will folks who don't like it. I don't give a shit about you or your creepy powers Alan.” She smiles broadly.

“Thanks Eve,” you reply, choosing to interpret her poorly chosen words for the compliment they were intended to be. You cross your arms across your chest as you continue to think. “I'm also wondering if we should follow through on Gabby's idea. We clearly need a permanent solution to the Burn problem, but if those rubies could buy him off for a month we double the time we have to prepare.”

“We don't even have to give them away permanently,” Eve points out. “After we kill Burn we can just take the rubies back from where he keeps his hoard and return them to the kobolds as a reward for helping us out.”

You cock an eyebrow. “You're fine with the concept of killing Burn?”

“Oh I'm double fine with the concept of killing Burn,” Eve answers firmly.

>Tell Eve to contact the kobolds.
>Go visit the vampires held at the Research Library
>Find Rowe
>Contact the wizards and find out what they have in mind
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1141593
Well, first, have Eve go contact the kobolds and check out the vampires. Then we can move on to other stuff.

>>1141593
>Find Rowe
To let her know we're up and about.
>Contact the wizards and find out what they have in mind
Once we know what they're planning, then we can begin looking at the vampire problem, and if it doesn't require Eve's presence, she can go to the kobolds.

>>1141593
>Find Rowe
To let her know we're up and about.
>Contact the wizards and find out what they have in mind
Once we know what they're planning, then we can begin looking at the vampire problem, and if it doesn't require Eve's presence, she can go to the kobolds.

File: Gaea's Warden.jpg (261 KB, 1024x683)

261 KB JPG

“I'm going to find Rowe and then meet up with our wizards. See if we can't combine a few of our plans together.”

Eve nods. “When I tagged in to watch over you she was heading down to the 1st floor cafeteria. She should still be there eating.”

With your girlfriend's current location confirmed, the both of you make your way to the stairs and stroll down the many levels of the Circle. As you move, you feel your pains and hurts fall off you like shed skin. You adjust completely back to normal. Well, your normal. The constant rhythm of Eve's shoes pattering against the cobblestones helps keep a sense of consistency in your journey.

As you reach the eating area where most of the magically adept take their breakfast, lunch and dinner you almost immediately spy – to your convenient convenience – Rowe, Ed and Quissonce all sitting down together over light lunches of salads and fruit. As your own stomach grumbles, yearning for sustenance, you decide to grab yourself some food first before sitting down to discuss your impending dragon infestation.

(Alan!) Rowe intensely thinks at you as you fill your plate with eggs, bacon and toast. You turn round from the kitchen area to see Rowe has been boring her eyes into the back of your skull all the way from the dining area for at least a few seconds before she projected that thought into your head. She waves to you and you respond in kind, Ed and Quissonce also turning in their seats to drink in your waking form. (You're up. That's good.)

Once you and Eve have your food prepared, you approach and sit down. Eve sits between the elf and her half-orc boyfriend much to their mutually unstated but visually apparent annoyance, while you sit beside your lover, directly across from the trio. Rowe grabs your shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“He didn't die!” Eve declares before digging into her spiced curry.

You shrug. “She speaks the truth. I yet live.”

(Try not to kill yourself with your powers.) Rowe thinks to you half-jokingly but still concerned. (For me at least.) She then kisses your cheek and returns to her food.

You grab her hand and squeeze it below the table as your former roommate leans towards you. “So what was it like staring down a dragon?” he asks, curiosity, excitement and genuine fear mixed on his face as he probes you for your version of events.

“Intimidating,” you inform him truthfully. “But he was more focused on Eve. Paid very little attention to me.”

Quissonce nods. “That's reassuring. Very likely if he suspects you exceed the capabilities of the average human he may eliminate you before you become a threat to him.”

Rowe gives a derisive scoff. “Well he's underestimated all of us,” she says as she forcefully skewers her greenery with her fork. When he rears his ugly head again I'm letting Gaea's Warden lodge an arrow in his forehead.”

“You sure you'll be up to it?” Ed inquires, concerned.

>>1142019
seconding

File: Ed.jpg (35 KB, 270x330)

35 KB JPG

The half-elf nods confidently. “I'm ready to call her right now. I've recovered 100 percent since the last time I did it.”

“Well, uh,” Ed lets the words fly from his lips as a slight hint of embarrassment enters his tone. “Give me a heads up if you're ever about to bring her in again. So I can keep some distance.”

Rowe furrows her brow. “Why?”

Quissonce coughs as a slight blush forms on her cheeks. “It doesn't matter. Don't worry about it too much.”

Rowe opens her mouth to continue her interrogation, but is quickly halted.

(The effects of my presence on plant life are much more pronounced than my effects on animal life. Orcs fall under the purview of plant life. )

Rowe's eyes flit off into the distance, staring at nothing, as you eavesdrop on her mental conversation with the frank goddess. (All you do to plant life is make it flourish and spread.)

(How do orcs flourish and spread, Rowe?)

( . . . Oh!)

You ignore that interesting piece of information and switch gears to discovering whatever plans your wizards have concocted. You turn your attention to the two of them.

“So I hear from Eve that you have been meeting with Flid and Essentia to discuss matters of grave importance in regards to our current dilemma.”

Quissonce and Ed exchange a furtive glance.

“We . . . have,” Quissonce responds to your comment. Eve chews on her lip, sporting an upset expression as she looks between the two taller folk on either side of her.

You give the elf a few moments before gesturing for her to continue. “And?”

The wizard taps her fork against her plate, creating metal tings that resound unmistakably throughout the cafeteria. Ed coughs.

“It's a bit of a last resort,” Ed reveals, spinning his own utensil on his fingers. “Much safer to go with Rowe's 'call in the goddess' plan.”

“Can you at least explain what it is exactly?” you implore them.

Quissonce licks her lips. “We'd rather not,” she answers succinctly.

“Huh,” Rowe utters, a bit surprised. “That bad?”

The elf shrugs. “The less people know the specifics the better.”

“Why?” Eve asks.

Quissonce gives the gnome sitting next to her a glare. “Well an explanation would require me to tell you the specifics, wouldn't it?”

You frown. “That's unhelpful.”

Your wizard companion raises her hands. “Then you'll either have to trust us or believe the plan to be unreliable. I'd recommend the latter. Look for other solutions elsewhere, we'll be happy to help.”

>Tell Eve to contact the kobolds.
>Go visit the vampires held at the Research Library
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1142643
>Go visit the vampires held at the Research Library

>>1142643
>Go visit the vampires held at the Research Library

>>1142643
>Go visit the vampires held at the Research Library
>Something else: Tell Quissonce and Ed that we support Gabby's idea of sending Eve to get gems from the kobolds, to pay off Burn for an additional month that gives us more prep time.

>>1142643
>>Tell Eve to contact the kobolds.
>>Go visit the vampires held at the Research Library

Well that explains why Dolah has been acting like a cat in heat. Someone should probably tell her.

One last little bump

So since there's no discussion at the moment I'm going to put forward a topic on my mind.

I think Alan should go for being a Cleric of Gaea. Reason being he's consistently shown he cares about accountability and responsibility both in himself and in others.
A very large part of questioning my own Christian faith was wrapped up in that as well. If God is unable or unwilling to be accountable to creating a world wherein awful things can and do happen to undeserving people, is he worth worshipping? If he has omnipotence, how could he not be held responsible for refusing to intervene? If part of being Good is using the power allotted you for the sake of good, how can refusing to use it not be Evil?

Not only has the Great Will seemingly refused responsibility of his highest servant acting apparently in His name, Gaea has gone so far as to contact us and explain herself. That's huge.

>>1143449
Considering that He hasn't contacted His highest angels or His fellow gods and goddesses of Good, yet divine power is still there to be tapped, I'm wondering if it's more that He can't rather than doesn't want to communicate with His petitioners.

This is NOT an omnipotent Creator-God we're talking about here. The gods are curtailed and limited in what they can do; they can't even send power to most of this planet and are geographically limited in what they can affect, and even then only through focusing their power through petitioners.

So getting back to the "can't rather than won't" argument; complete silence from the Great Will for millennia, when He used to communicate with His followers, puts Him right now in danger of losing his foothold among believers.
Shouldn't we try to figure out if His silence coincided with all magic on this planet becoming confined to this island? That whatever event caused magic to be imprisoned here also caused the Great Will to become comatose.

>>1143658
Guy you're responding to no longer on my phone.
Fair points. I believe magic has "merely" been gone for centuries rather than millennia however. Else there'd be little to no written record available, and Eve's bloodline would be diluted to the point of homeopathy.

From Alan's perspective though, if the Great Will is truly incapable rather than unwilling, is it still worthwhile compared to the one that's been proven both capable and willing? And one that demonstrably has faith in him in return instead of one who seems a little more...on the fence?

I admit I could be projecting here, it's difficult for me to tell.

>>1143812
No I get it. If I had a choice between a deity that actually communicates and explains themselves as opposed to one that is silent and I just have to interpret from their followers I'd take the former.

That said I'm not the most faithful person and Alan is.

>>1143812
>if the Great Will is truly incapable rather than unwilling, is it still worthwhile compared to the one that's been proven both capable and willing
Sure, yeah, it makes sense from a purely selfish point of view.
However, for the gods, a mortal worshippers are also what they need to affect this planet as well as getting power that they need to stay relevant.
Faith and divine power appear to be a two-way exchange, if what I remember Gaea's Warden telling Rowe is correct.

>>1143983
Isn't the Great Will's following one of the larger religions in existence though? That was certainly the impression I got.

>>1143996
I remember that flashbacks showed that it was considered a religion in decline.

File: Garlic.jpg (16 KB, 400x278)

16 KB JPG

As you finish eating your food, feeling energized and woken up, you address the rest of your crew.

“Well, I'm going to wash some of the grime off and gather all my equipment. Then I'm heading over to Gilda's to investigate these vampires. See if we can't solve that problem quickly so we can focus all our attention on the dragon. You all free to come with?”

A few nods and murmurs of agreement erupt from the congregation of your allies confirming they'll accompany you.

“Let's meet out front in half an hour,” Rowe declares. The rest of you nod your assent to her impromptu time table and go about your separate ways to prepare yourselves.

. . .

After fastening your cloak of elvenkind around your shoulders and strapping your canteen to your hip, you notice that your quill of scrivener's chant has seemed to have disappeared. Feeling slightly confused and alarmed at having lost it, you search around your room desperately to find where it may have rolled off to. After using your arcane sight doesn't have the object turn up, you decide to instead inquire about its location with a few of your friends.

“Oh yes, I was required to return that mystical artifact to the 8th floor for inventory,” Quissonce informs you as you meet up with her and Ed on the 4th floor. “The archmage lent it to us for our mission. Rowe gave it to me yesterday.”

“Oh, alright,” you reply, relieved to know that at least it hasn't been lost. You meet Rowe and Eve out front of the Circle and together your crew stroll to the western end of Seaside where the Research Library is located.

You arrive at the building, entering to find Gilda herself at the front scribbling down something on a piece of parchment while her assistant who usually mans the front desk is off down a side corridor with a mop and bucket, washing the floors.

She looks up at your group and flashes a wide smile. “If it isn't my favorite delvers,” she says giddily, enthused by your group's arrival. “So what brings you to my office?”

“We were wondering if we could take a look at the recent . . . victims,” you choose your words carefully.

Gilda looks between your faces and, considering the people she's talking to, intrinsically adopts a look of trust as she silently nods and beckons you to follow after her.

Moving through the sterile corridors, you're led to a newly installed metal door with a shiny silver lock. Cloves of garlic hang from the ceiling in front of it upon ropes tied to hooks lodged in the hallway's ceiling.

The Archiver removes a matching silver key from her pocket and unlocks the door, guiding you into a decently sized room that has the look and feel of a miniature-sized morgue. A few wooden tables are evenly placed apart from each other – five in all – the entire length of the room. The first, third and fifth table have pure white corpses laid atop them. Paler than even Quissonce. Their skin is alabaster, like that of a porcelain doll or an albino.

File: Anara's the one on the right.jpg (49 KB, 736x582)

49 KB JPG

The first two bodies are those of rough, grizzled men with dark eyes and bushy brown beards – likely sailors, guards or porters. The third . . . oh.

Despite the stake jammed through the center of her chest, the pale white skin and the much less revealing, tattered outfit she wears, you recognize Speaker when you see her.

One of the two agents you had rescued from the Forest Hunter Tribe way back when. Anara was her name, if you recall correctly. Huh. A strand of dirty blonde hair curls down her face and a distraught expression seems to be stitched into her face in her state of false death.

All three of the corpses are secured to the table by by tightened leather straps around their wrists, ankles, forehead and neck.

Gilda sighs out as she looks out at the bodies, a slight frown forming as the gloomy atmosphere sours her mood. “The woman was found late last night. She's the most recent one. Be careful if you remove the stakes. They'll come back to life and snarl at you quite violently.”

>Ask Gilda more questions (what?)
>Attempt to assimilate something off one of them
>Remove a stake from one of the corpses
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1144267
Yooo, Anara had a shitty life.

>>Ask Gilda more questions (what?)
Any connection between the victims? Attacked in a similar area? Anything that can point us to the vampire's lair.

>>1144336
second

>>1144267
>>Something else? (write-in)
also get Eve to contact the kobolds.

>>1144267
>Ask Gilda more questions
What area were the victims found in? Any trace of them having been moved to where they were found?

Any evidence of sapience, or intellect?

Are they affected by holy water, and if so, can it be from any Good-deity source?

Has anyone seen any magical means of control? Could these thralls be controlled by the vampire that made them?

>Something else?
Check them out with our Arcane Sight.

File: Blessed Decanter of Endle(...).jpg (83 KB, 736x736)

83 KB JPG

“Are there any connections between the victims,” you ask the half-elf scientist. Quissonce and Ed approach the 1st body near the far side of the room.

She shakes her head.

“The first was a dockworker. The second was a guard. The third was a former Orcish translator, but as far as I'm aware she spent most of her time running a flower shop in town.”

“Were they attacked in similar areas?” you investigate.

“The dockworker was attacked near the waterfront. The guard was found near the area he was patrolling – the westernmost side of the city beneath the walls. The florist's body was discovered two streets away from the Sword and Shield tavern.”

“So I think we can limit the search to Seaside,” Rowe comments ruefully beside you.

“Do you think there's a chance they might have been moved to wherever they were found?” you offer, hypothetically. “Drained one place and then placed at another location.

Gilda 'hmmms' as she considers your theory, rubbing the bottom of her chin. “I . . . doubt it. All three victims were found in the areas they were known to usually frequent. The one unifying factor between them all is that they all were all most likely intoxicated at the time they were attacked and bled. Both the dockworker and the florist had been seen drinking at the Three Whore Pub and the Sword and Shield tavern respectively the night they were killed. The guard in question – and I have Betsy's word on this – was suspected to be drinking on the job. That is a common factor, I suppose now that I think about it.”

Rowe sighs as Eve approaches Anara's corpse, stretching up on the tips of her toes to look over the edge of the table and peer at the deceased woman's features.

“That would make them more vulnerable,” Quissonce notes as Ed taps the tip of one of the wooden stakes, setting it to wobble ever so slightly. “And if a vampire can smell blood, maybe it can smell blood alcohol content.”

“Are they . . . sapient, do you think, Gilda? When they aren't staked?”

Gilda chews her lip, her expression uncertain as she sucks in a breath. “Perhaps? The one I had a scuffle with seemed ravenous and rabid, but there's a chance they can still communicate with their words.”

“Do you think holy water would affect them?” you probe.

“I haven't tried,” Gilda admits.

Eve whips out the blessed decanter of endless water she carries in her backpack at all times now apparently. “Don't worry, I'm on it!” she assures you all.

Before Eve can get to hosing down corpses quite disrespectfully, the Archiver rushes over and firmly puts her hand on the bottle, pushing it down. She chuckles nervously. “If you wouldn't mind, I'm not sure if that will destroy them permanently and I'd like to . . . delay that possibility for the time being.”

The gnome shrugs. “Alright.”

File: Crypt.jpg (269 KB, 800x450)

269 KB JPG

You flip to your arcane sight and inspect the bodies. All three have a slight, swirling grey color emanating off their flesh – although you notice the color pulsing off of Anara's corpse is slightly more intense than that of the two men. “Does anybody here have a method of detecting magical means of control? Maybe it's possible the lead vampire has these ones under its thrall, able to direct their actions.”

Gilda and Eve immediately respond in the negative so you look to the wizards. Ed gives you a thumbs down as well.

Your elven wizard, however, utters a lengthy groan as she listens to your words. “I doubt I have anything at my disposal. Perhaps H. Stephen's necromantic tome has a few spells listed within with regards to vampires, but . . .” she trails off, the remembrances of the last mishap as a result of messing around with necromancy draining her of courage and confidence. Ed rubs her back in a consoling gesture.

“Eh, think that avenue's probably a bust,” your half-orc friend mentions casually.

“I do know how to command undead,” Quissonce pipes up. “I could cast the spell upon one of our . . . friends here. It should make them friendly and willing to talk.”

>Unstake an undead and let Quissonce cast her spell
>Unstake an undead, don't cast the spell on the vampire in question immediately
>Ask Gilda something else? (what?)
>Take your leave of the Research Library
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1145552
>Unstake an undead, don't cast the spell on the vampire in question immediately
Let's see if Anara can control herself to communicate.

>>1145552
>Unstake an undead, don't cast the spell on the vampire in question immediately
Then, if all things fail, cast the spell

>>1145599
>>1145552
Actually, wait. do we know if Anara had any magical abilities?
I don't want a spellslinging vampire to accidentally get loose.

>>1145552
>Unstake an undead, don't cast the spell on the vampire in question immediately

>>1145545
>All three victims were found in the areas they were known to usually frequent. The one unifying factor between them all is that they all were all most likely intoxicated at the time they were attacked and bled. ... That is a common factor, I suppose now that I think about it.”

So... I guess the plan is to get smashed with Gabby and lure out the vampires so we can beat them down?

>“Eh, think that avenue's probably a bust,” your half-orc friend mentions casually.
shouldn't Ed be full orc?

>>1145552

>Unstake an undead, don't cast the spell on the vampire in question immediately
just be ready to hold it down in case the bonds aren't strong enough.

>>1145674

Ed's half-orc. Although his orcish side is more dominant than his human side and since your time on the Island has gone on he has gradually adopted a more orcish appearance. Same is true for Dolah, but a little less intensely.

>>1145879
Huh. I knew Dolah was half, but I would've sworn Ed was full orc.

>>1145895

I might have slipped up at some point and called him "your Orcish roommate" but he's been half-orc since the beginning.

But he can sort of pass for three-quarters orc at this point.

>>1145904
If Orcs are plant-based, does that mean that herbicides will be as effective on them as regular poison gases are on humans?

>>1145973

To an extent. They can still be harmed by poison gases.

File: Wooden Stakes and hammer.jpg (50 KB, 570x711)

50 KB JPG

“I'm gonna unstake Anara,” you explain to Rowe primarily, but cast your voice loud enough so the rest of the people in the room hear your intentions.

She nods. (I'll keep you covered.) The half-elf unslings her bow, muttering a few words as she prepares to notch a glinting silver arrow. Her composite longbow crackles with magical energy, the lightning and corrosive enchantments upon it coming to life. Ed and Quissonce quickly consult their spell books before putting themselves in positions of relative safety behind one of the empty wooden tables, hands at the ready to sling spells.

Eve brings the decanter to bear like it was a rifle, ready to hose the room down in holy water like she was at a church-sanctioned wet t-shirt contest.

You move towards your target, stopping beside her table and casting your glance down to inspect her features in intricate detail. You cannot deny she appears very beautiful. Much more so than you recall when you had 'saved' her from the Forest Hunter tribe. Granted, she had been brutalized and dressed in naught but the furs of tribal orcs, but you swear it seems her facial structure has changed. She has a more regal-looking face, with higher cheek bones than you recall her possessing the few times you've seen her around Seaside. The pale skin is another big deviation from her usual look. And, as you gingerly lift her upper lip to confirm your suspicions, her canine teeth have grown to quite the unusual size

Despite those drastic changes, Anara looks similar to how she was before she had her blood drained by some asshole vampire. After taking a few moments to drink in her exact form, you move your hand and firmly grasp the stake lodged into her breast and place your other hand upon the wooden table to support yourself. You take a step forward and bend your knees, lowering your body slightly as you look back and make eye contact with everyone else in the room to confirm they're ready. When you receive confident nods from your team and a nail-biting one from Gilda as she retreats to the doorway leading into this side chamber, you prepare to do the deed.

As carefully as you can you squeeze the wooden implement in your hand and rip it out of the deceased woman in one quick motion. You ready yourself to immediately jam it back into her heart as you wait for the thing that you used to call Anara to react.

You watch the gaping wound in her chest seal up near-instantaneously.

File: Vampiric Snarl.jpg (47 KB, 540x436)

47 KB JPG

. . .

Seconds pass.

. . .

She lunges forward, mouth open wide and snarling as her eyes explode open. You quite easily suppress the urge to flinch, drawing upon your meditative training under Gabby's tutelage to keep your hands steady and your mind calm. Rowe keeps her composure much the same, but the rest of your crew can't help but recoil at the sudden violent explosion as Anara momentarily struggles against her bonds, snarling and sniffing like a raving beast as she snaps the leather restraints taut in her attempts to lunge up off the table for your throat.

You wait a few moments, inspecting the straps holding her down to ensure they aren't weakening under her efforts. Once you're satisfied she is properly secured, you prepare to speak. Swallowing hard, you notice her fingernails seem to have elongated ever so slightly into powerful claws meant to rake and slash.

You are almost paralyzed by indecisiveness, unsure if and when you should interject in an attempt to communicate. You decide to just go for it.

“Anara!” you shout at her. “Can you understand me?”

At the sound of her name, her ears twitch and a light in her eyes shifts as she experiences what looks to you like a cognizant reaction.

She stops snarling like a mad woman gone feral. Once calm and quiet, you notice immediately the fact that her chest isn't heaving from that rapid struggle, which means she's not breathing. She's dead. Her irises flit to your own, establishing eye contact.

“Anara?” you repeat your question, prepared for treachery.

“ . . . so thirsty,” she moans at you, pained. The words are elongated, emphasizing her torturous need for sustenance. What form that sustenance is supposed to take . . . well you have an educated guess.

>Feed her animal blood
>Offer your wrist
>Assimilate
>Ask her a few questions (what?)
>Stake this bitch
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1146074
>Feed her animal blood
>Something else: cut our hand and let our blood fall into a goblet if the animal blood doesn't work out.

>>1146074
>Feed her animal blood
>Something else: cut our hand and let our blood fall into a goblet if the animal blood doesn't work out.
Seeing as we have no idea if this is a thrall-vampire or a full conversion, NO Assimilation.

>>1146074
>>Feed her animal blood

>>1146091
>>1146296
I'd advise against using our own blood, if only because I'm not sure what side effects it might have.

consider getting a blood bank of sorts, blood donations from volunteers.

>Ask her a few questions (what?)
Did you see who did this to you?

File: Dire Rat.jpg (36 KB, 483x503)

36 KB JPG

You sigh out, staring her up and down. You do feel a sense of pity for her current state of being, considering all the bullshit she's had to deal with in her life. To have her life taken from her in the middle of Seaside when she thought she was safe – probably drinking to forget her horrid experiences – and be left like this . . . it's monstrous, really. She doesn't deserve to suffer like that.

You turn to Gilda. “You wouldn't happen to have some rats on hand, would you?”

Gilda gasps. “Yes, but most of them are examples of local fauna or fodder for experiments.”

You roll your eyes. “Consider this an experiment in Vampiric diplomacy.”

The Archiver sighs, but takes her leave of the room and goes to grab a few rats for you to feed your pet vampire with.

Rowe flashes you a smirk. “Best not to tell Vrimkis about this.”

. . .

You lower the wriggling, squeaking, terrified rodent down into the waiting, open maw that is Anara's fang-filled mouth. It tries its damnedest to escape your iron grip upon its tail, wriggling in every direction to avoid impending doom, but unfortunately this mouse must pay the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good.

The second the rat is within reach of her tiny window of head movement, Speaker juts her head forward and bites into the rat with a disgusting, gooey crunch, draining it of all its fluid, blood and guts in a matter of seconds.

The disgusting display causes Quissonce to nearly retch and Eve to stick her tongue out and make a grossed out face. You're just thanking The Great Will that you're wearing gloves right now. Although, another part of you, again, feels rather bad that Anara's body – if perhaps not exactly her mind and soul as it once was – must endure this inherent disrespect and ridicule. Reduced to being force fed rats is a humiliation you wouldn't wish on your worst enemies.

. . .

The process with the rats is repeated about five more times. After half a dozen small snacks, Speaker licks her lips and is finally willing to say something other than “sooooooo thirsty”.

“Anara?” you ask again. “Can you understand me?”

“Yes,” she says. “I can understand you . . . Alan.”

“Good,” you tell her, nodding your head and looking round the room, making eye contact with your crew.

“So, let's start with my first question: Did you see who did this to you? The person who attacked you?”

File: Vampire Feeding.jpg (656 KB, 709x945)

656 KB JPG

“ . . . Yes,” she answers. “I saw him. He was beautiful . . . and pale . . . and dangerous. And for some reason . . . he was so enthralling. Enchanting. I walked right to him. I thought he was kissing my neck, but soon there was pain and then there was . . . nothing. But now . . .” she smiles suddenly, letting a giddy, dainty chuckle slip from between her lips. “Now that beautiful, dangerous man is . . . my master,” she speaks the phrase like a sigh uttered from the lips of some love struck young thing recalling a poem written for her by a beloved suitor. It's eerie, disturbing and makes you cringe internally on some level.

(Yuck!) Rowe thinks from behind you.

“Do you wish to serve this master of yours?” Quissonce asks, cocking her head, curious.

“I must serve my master,” she utters, lettering her eyelids flutter as she weaves her head back and forth, head dancing to the beat of some phantom drum.

Your elven wizard looks at you. “I could easily usurp control with my Command Undead spell. Enslave her to our wills instead of his.”

Gilda raises a single eyebrow. “Could you have worded it to make it sound more morally reprehensible?”

Quissonce shrugs. “I don't believe in sugarcoating the truth.”

“Heh,” Rowe utters, chuckling to herself. Quissonce glares at her for but a moment, before looking back to you.

>Do it. Cast the Spell
>Don't
>Ask Anara more questions
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1148332
>Do it. Cast the Spell

>>1148332
>>Ask Anara more questions

>>1148332
>Ask Anara more questions

>>1148395
>>1148399

Shit, what do you ask that was meant to have a write in option next to it

>>1148399
>>1148402
Probably details about the master and his looks.

>>1148332
>Ask Anara more questions
Are you able to communicate or sense your master?
Do you feel any connection with the other thralls?

>>1148332
>>Don't
>>Ask Anara more questions
>>1148412
>>1148414
seconding

Huh. Is it moral to usurp mind control from an actively hostile controller to a benign controller if breaking the mind control at all is currently impossible?
Since the link can't be broken, isn't it morally good to at least transfer the link to someone who is not a criminal and hostile to the victim's friends and acquaintances?

>>1148332
>>Do it. Cast the Spell

>>1148822
Nope, her soul left for the afterlife as soon as she turned. What's left is just the imprint that soul left on the body mixed with some vampire template.

>>1149055
is that how it works in pathfinder?

>>1149055
How does the state of her soul affect the morality of taking control of her away from an actively hostile controller that would use her against us?

oh, hey, we still have to get that new holy symbol for alan, don't we?

Also, a thought occurs, is the master she's referring to the same evil entity that resides in the island's dark corners?

File: Dashing raven-haired man.jpg (20 KB, 236x548)

20 KB JPG

“Can you give us any more details on how your master looks?” you ask the bound vampiress.

“My master is raven-haired and dashing. Muscular and lithe. Agile and soooo handsome,” she curls her fingers and coos out her description of the man who killed her.

“Are you able to sense your master and communicate with him?” you probe further.

“Why yes I can,” she reveals, almost humming. “I can sense him all around me,” she tries her hardest to flex and writhe on the table, the lusty display immensely hampered by the restraints. “And I can hear him whispering sweet nothings into my ear.”

“Even now?” Gilda inquires, perplexed.

“Yes. He tells me to feeeeeeed,” Anara answers.

“Can you speak back to him?” Rowe investigates. “Like, through some sort of mental link?”

The former translator sighs out. “Nooooooo, I can only listen.” Your lover frowns.

“Do you feel a connection to the other thralls?” you continue interrogating.

“Who?” she asks, confused. You step back and gesture towards the two men still strapped down.

“Oh . . .” she lets slip from between her lips, confused at the sight of them. She frowns momentarily. “My master sired other children before me?” She looks hurt and perplexed for only a moment before her face adopts a new grin and instead beams. “Still, they are likely just servants. My master will make me his wife.”

“Marrying your kids is gross,” Eve comments offhand.

>Cast command undead
>Take your leave
>Ask Anara more questions? (what?)
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1150019
Just to clarify, these victims were all alone when they were attacked, correct? They left the bars individually and not with friends?

Ask this, if it hasn't been answered already.


afterwards, we could just put the stake back in and try and come up with a plan.

My initial thoughts are to get drunk at a bar and use ourselves as bait for when the vampire comes out to bite us.


also have Eve go to the kobolds afterwards to get the rubies.

>>1150044
>Just to clarify, these victims were all alone when they were attacked, correct? They left the bars individually and not with friends?

Yes they were alone

>>1150019
>Something else?
Before we cast Command Undead, ask Quissonce some questions about it.
Is it permanent?
Is there a way to make it permanent until we can break the control link?
Because if it's not permanent then we'll need to stake Anara went the timer is up.
Also, we have to consider if we should put Anara under our control, because the master vampire will likely feel when the control is taken away from him. We may not want him to learn that we are on his trail.

File: Undead Horde.jpg (121 KB, 800x500)

121 KB JPG

You turn to look at the elven wizard, a few burgeoning questions about her spell floating around in the back of your mind.

“Quissonce, is this spell permanent?”

She shakes her head. “No, it would only last for a little less than two weeks.”

Hmmm. “Can you maintain your control over her for longer until we've dealt with the main vampire?” you inquire.

Quissonce narrows her eyes as she thinks. “Yeeaaah, I should be able to recast the spell before the time limit for it expires if we aren't able to find and slay the master vampire within the next twelve or so days.”

“Huh,” you utter, considering that information. “I'm leery that if we take control away from him he'll sense what we've done and figure out we're hot on his trail.”

The blue-robed magical genius shrugs. “It's a possibility. It might feel like control over his thrall has been wrested away from him by another experienced in necromancy.”

“Or,” Ed interjects, scratching his chin beard. “Perhaps it would seem no different than if we had simply re-staked her or slew her permanently. He obviously can't control them while they're in this state.” The half-orc gestures to the two enthralled vampires still lying on tables, in a state of false death as the wooden stakes in their heart remain steadfast. “Perhaps the sensation of 'losing control' will seem similar enough that he won't suspect what we've done.”

Rowe nods. “It would be slightly risky, but Ed does have a point. This vampire may not realize what we've done and the advantage of having our own vampire could be very helpful.”

>Cast the spell
>Don't cast the spell and restake Anara
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1150989
>Cast the spell

>>1150989
>>Don't cast the spell and restake Anara
not sure how useful having her under our control would be at the moment.
wouldn't it be best if we could first encounter the vampire first and take him out before we do anything with Anara?

>>1150989
>Don't cast the spell and restake Anara
Don't know enough about vamps to make an informed decision yet.

>>1150989
>Don't cast the spell and restake Anara

File: Staked Vampire.jpg (41 KB, 500x440)

41 KB JPG

You sigh out and shake your head, relying upon your better judgment not to take an unnecessary risk. “It isn't worth it,” you explain. “As far as we know the head vampire is unaware of our investigations and I'd like him as in the dark as possible. I'm not even sure what we'd do with Anara once she was under our control.”

“And it is a tad unpalatable, being necromantic,” Gilda tacks on. Quissonce rolls her eyes at the Archiver's statement, but raises her hands in a placating gesture, acquiescing to your decision.

“If that's what you think is best, Alan,” the elf says, “Then I'll trust whatever alternative you're concocting. Hopefully my magical expertise can provide us with some other asset in the future.” You note she says that last part with a slight twinge of annoyance in her tone.

You decide to ignore that and turn back to look at Anara. She hums melodically to herself, at ease despite her restrained, immobilized state. You almost feel bad as you grab the stake you removed from her heart from where it lies nearby on the empty table beside her and see her eyes suddenly flit to what you're doing, growing wide in horror. She tenses up as you approach, the sharpened piece of wood in your hand held tight.

“Wait, no, please, Alan don't –”

You grab the table again with your left hand as you jam the stake into her heart, your superior strength making the act of piercing her chest with the implement a trivial task physically even if it still remains taxing emotionally.

Anara utters a high-pierced shrieking scream of pain for the short moment the staking process lasts that leaves you feeling slightly dirty. But you breathe out and retreat from her prone form, the deadened stare from her eyes as the small, insane light that animated them earlier disappears doing its best to unnerve you.

Turning to your team, still assembled in this small side chamber of the Research Library, you ponder on what the next step should be.

(Got a plan, Alan?) Rowe thinks at you.

>I think I'm going out drinking tonight
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1151521
>I think I'm going out drinking tonight
>Something else: Let's get geared up with vials of garlic oil, so the vampire won't smell the garlic until we break the vials in his face, and get some stakes prepared.

>>1151521
>>1151525
seconding

>>1151525
add to this plan:

go to a tavern, get drunk, go out alone as bait along a predetermined route. Find one spot that would be a prime location to pick off a target and loiter there. If possible, have some of our friends set up in ambush there hours beforehand.

I'd also suggest that some of our companions (ie. Gabby and Rowe) trail us from the tavern

File: Sword and Shield Tavern.jpg (96 KB, 1024x728)

96 KB JPG

You put your hands on your hips and smile broadly. “I think I'm going out drinking tonight!”

Rowe flashes a playful smirk while Ed and Quissonce simply share a look. Eve scratches her head, confused.

You walk towards the room's exit, giving Gilda a wave goodbye, thanking her for her assistance. You look back to the rest of the team, giving the team a nod encouraging them to follow you. “Come on. We've got work to do.”

. . .

The loud noises of multiple raucous conversations fill the common room of the Sword and Shield tavern. You look over the back of your seat out through the window. A guard passes by holding a lantern and as the light of it fades away you see that the darkness of night has taken hold of Seaside's streets.

You jolt slightly as Gabby slams the bottles of Dragon Punch Whiskey and Sealord Wine down upon the table as she slides into her seat.

“Only the best for us, Al,” she tells you turn to face her, sitting across from you. She pops the tops off both alcoholic beverages.

You look around, confused. “Where are the glasses?”

The monk cocks an eyebrow. “Figured we'd just drink from the source.” She smiles mischievously. “I mean, I wouldn't think swapping spit between us is an issue at this point.”

You chuckle. “I guess not,” you tell her as you grab the wine and prepare to take a swig. You pause momentarily as Gabby starts chugging the whiskey. “We are on a mission right now Gabby, you know that, right?”

She pulls the bottle off her lips with an audible pop and utters a satisfied sigh. She gives you a slightly disappointed look. “Yeah yeah, we're getting drunk as a skunk to kill some shit later tonight, but c'mon. The more 'natural' it seems the better to make the vamp drop his guard, right? So let's drink like we're just buds taking a fucking day off. Who knows, with all this shit going on all the time, when we're going to have another chance to do something like this.”

You shrug, accepting the truth of her words and guzzling some of the sweet-tart flavored red wine. She has a point, you're usually pretty busy with either training or keeping Seaside from collapsing. Time spent genuinely enjoying a drink with a 'bud' should be cherished, even if you do have ulterior motives.

. . .

Pretty soon you're a few glasses worth in to both the wine and the whiskey and the small talk about pets, recent occurrences, rumors and general exchanges meant to catch each other up on what's currently going on in each other's lives has concluded. As you thumb the opening to the whiskey bottle, a few thoughts roiling around in the back of your mind percolate to the surface.

>Ask Gabby if she has any plans for the future
>Ask about what running the Sword and Shield is like
>“Buds”?
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1153821
>Ask about what running the Sword and Shield is like
>Other: Ask if she has any plans to upgrade from her shack; surely her puppies would like a bigger place? Maybe she can put in some living space above/behind the tavern?
I think asking about the future would be a bit of a sensitive topic, and I'd like to avoid it until after we deal with the vampire.

>>1153821
>>Ask Gabby if she has any plans for the future
>>Ask about what running the Sword and Shield is like
>>“Buds”?

>>1153877
>>1154566
sure, I guess we'll leave the future for a little later.

>>1153877
though, out of curiosity, what did you want to discuss about her future?

>>1153821
Green Anon got it right with:

>>1153821
>Ask about what running the Sword and Shield is like
>Other: Ask if she has any plans to upgrade from her shack; surely her puppies would like a bigger place? Maybe she can put in some living space above/behind the tavern?
I think asking about the future would be a bit of a sensitive topic, and I'd like to avoid it until after we deal with the vampire.

I would mention that we and Rowe are looking for a possible new place, and would be open to suggestions near the tavern.

File: Gabby Shack.jpg (20 KB, 236x359)

20 KB JPG

You take a critical look at the bustling atmosphere of the bar. Over in the corner, above the fireplace, the oversized lantern you received from that hill giant encounter sways proudly. A few of the more rowdy customers bray and shout for the bartender to come over and light the thing after they pour a dozen regular-sized lanterns' worth of oil into the thing. Scott shakes his head and orders one of the serving wenches to watch the bar while he heads over carrying flint and tinder he grabbed from beneath the bar counter. The patrons cheer as he goes to complete their request.

You stare down at what you and Gabby are drinking, realizing between the two of you you're draining a quarter of a hundred gold's worth of drink. Considering the average drink is a few copper pieces and the overhead it takes to keep the bar running likely bites into that profit quite a bit, you're wondering how badly these free drinks are pushing the Sword and Shield into the red.

“How do you keep this bar profitable?” you ask her, before taking another sip of wine.

She shrugs. “I don't.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “You run it at a loss?”

“I mean, booze and atmosphere ain't a loss. I could probably do some shit, charge more or something to start making it profitable but it's much easier to keep it nice and still do fun shit with it if I accept I'm going to be spending more money on it than I make from it. Last thing I want this place to become is some business venture. I make so much fucking gold from delving I've got no clue what to do with it anyway. So I spend it all on tattoos, the dogs and now this bar.”

“So, how much effort do you put into running it?” you inquire, surprised.

She looks over to where Scott has finally lighted the lantern you've left here as a curiosity – a monument to remember your adventures. “I let Scott do all the hard work. He asks for the money to do a thing and I give him the gold. Simple system. And he hasn't asked for anything outrageous yet.”

You drum your fingers on the table, reflecting on her words and sentiment carefully. “Well if you have excess gold, have you ever thought of upgrading your shack.”

She snorts. “Yeah, no. That place is a dump. Technically I'm squatting, but Blackburn doesn't seem to give a shit.”

You lick your lips. “Well, have you ever thought about adding onto the tavern? Maybe a second floor for a living space.”

She chortles as she chugs more whiskey. “Live at the bar? Eh, it's an idea.”

“With five growing pups, you're probably going to want more space for them anyway.”

She nods. “I'll think about it. Certainly isn't the worst idea floated across the table here.” She drops the nearly empty whiskey bottle on top of the table, the meager remaining liquid contents sloshing as the bottle wobbles slightly. Damn, she barely has a flush to her face. Gabby's tolerance for drink must have shot through the fucking roof. You wonder if she considers that a blessing or a curse, considering her proclivities for drink. “So, Alan, I think I'm pretty fucking buzzed. How about you?”

You look at your half-finished bottle of wine and realize you feel a bit of sway in your movements already while still sitting down at the table. “I'd say I'm a bit more than buzzed,” you answer truthfully.

She smiles wide. “So is it time to send you off as bait?”

. . .

God, she's pretty.

>Yeah, let's head out
>Attempt to assimilate some of Gabby's alcoholic tolerance
>Ask Gabby if she's ever thought about her future or envisioned what it would be like
>Tell Gabby you love her
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1157814
>Tell Gabby you love her

>>1157814
>Ask Gabby if she's ever thought about her future or envisioned what it would be like
We are NOT telling her we love her in this state. I live with a guy who did this, and it was hell.

>>1157905
Hm... Fair enough.


>Ask Gabby if she's ever thought about her future or envisioned what it would be like

>>1157955
I am all for telling her later, when we are either slightly drunk (just loosened inhibitions, not impairment) or sober.

>>1157814
>Something else?
"Hey, mind if I assimilate some of your alcohol tolerance? Then we can see which can drink the other under the table, your monkish endurance or my copycat ability?"
She'll probably take it as a challenge and want the loser to sexually satisfy the winner under the table.

>>1157980
probably for the best.

>>1157989
but then we'd have the same monkish endurance.

It'd be a tie.

>>1158004
We would probably lose I think. Since we are drunker than her right now, if we then gained the same resistance and drank the same amount, we would both gain the same level of intoxication, remaining drunker than her.

>>1158027
This deserves a wager.

File: Lost Island 3.jpg (61 KB, 1024x768)

61 KB JPG

You think for a second, reeling your head back and forth as you think about how inebriated you are. Looking around at some of the other patrons however and . . . well you doubt you'd stand out to a vampire at the moment. You shake your head, reaching out and grabbing the Dragon Punch Whiskey. “Gonna need to be a bit drunker,” you assure the monk.

You drain the last of the whiskey as Gabby gives you a proud clap to celebrate your efforts. You place the bottle back down, feeling that dark, harsh liquor burn in your throat, reminiscent of the burning sensation you felt in your blood a few days ago when you assimilated some of Burn's magical talent.

A thought you've been keeping on the back burner bubbles up to the surface and you need to wait awhile longer for the freshly swallowed alcohol to hit your blood stream, so you decide to let it fly while you pass the time.

“Gabby . . .” you begin, putting together the next sentence in your mind as you think. She raises her eyebrows, waiting for you to continue.

“Yeah, Al?” she asks.

“Have you ever . . . thought about the future?” you eventually blurt out.

She cocks an eyebrow. “Thought about the future?” she repeats.

“Yeah,” you nod in assent. “Like, envisioned how yours was gonna be.”

She leans back, casting baby blue eyes up towards the ceiling. You see the outline of her tongue wagging across the inside of her bottom lip. “Shiiiiiiit,” she says, thinking. “We're at that point of the night, are we?” The monk sighs out. “I mean, I guess. Figured I was just going to keep my head low and let my old man wallop me until I eventually got the nerve to run away. Then I thought, with the training I had, I'd kick his teeth in and run the damn household myself. Then, after things went too far, I thought I would stay on the run and, I don't know, kill dudes for money or something. Maybe become a crime boss.”

You utter a short laugh. “An underground syndicate?”

She smirks back at you. “Yep. Hell, even after I got caught, locked up and eventually sent here I thought . . . eh,” She waves away however she was going to finish the sentence, looking off in the distance towards the throng of patrons crowding the bar and chatting at the various tables in her establishment.

“What?” you ask, eager to hear what she was about to say.

She looks back to you, an expression of honesty on her face. “Well . . . let's just say, if it wasn't for you – and fuck me do I hate to fucking admit it – and Dolah I'd probably be a much . . .”

“Much what?”

File: Sky over Seaside.jpg (4 KB, 275x183)

4 KB JPG

“A much . . .” you see a momentary flash of anguish on her face, before it turns back into a jesting expression. “A much more powerful person here in Seaside. I'd practically run the goddamn place. The guards would be in my pocket; I'd make drugs in the tavern basement; Irontide and his bitches would report to me; I'd have a harem of boytoys in the beachfront property I'd own. Frankly, you ruined my potential for greatness.”

You laugh uproariously before raising your hands in surrender. “I apologize for everything,” you tell her jokingly.

“You should,” she mockingly jabs.

“Well,” you continue. “Forgetting hypothetical mob boss Gabby, what about now? What does this Gabby want for her future.”

The blonde powerhouse shrugs. “Eh. Shit changes all the time with more crazy every damn day, I can't really say for sure.”

“Let's say we win the war tomorrow,” you propose. “Old man Kardas chokes on a chicken bone and magic spreads across the planet and we're allowed to leave. Any plans?”

She grimaces slightly. “I don't know . . . maybe travel the world. Old me would want to take over a place and rule with an iron fist but, eh, too much fucking effort. What's the point? If I really wanted to prove how tough I am I could just find Great Willie and wrestle him into submission. That'd be fun to rub in Dolah's face.” She smiles at whatever image plays in her head after saying that sentence.

“So . . . traveling the world or wrestling a god?” you restate.

“Take your pick,” Gabby says casually.

>Well . . . would you like to come see Basye with Rowe and I?
>Do you see yourself doing that . . . alone?
>Tell Gabby you love her
>Tell Gabby about your own plans
>Alright, I think it's time to head out
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1158732
"Wrestle a god. Not necessarily the Great Will, but if you do, I'm betting against you."

"But after that, would you settle down? Rowe and I are thinking of going back to my hometown, Basye."


After this, then head out.

>>1158732
>I don't think that the Great Will would be one to wrestle, maybe you'd have better luck with the Relentless Surge.
>Well . . . would you like to come see Basye with Rowe and I?

>>1158732
>>1158750
Seconding

>>1158732
>Well . . . would you like to come see Basye with Rowe and I?
"At least as your first stop in the Gabby World Tour."

>>1158750
>"But after that, would you settle down? Rowe and I are thinking of going back to my hometown, Basye."
>Well . . . would you like to come see Basye with Rowe and I?
we could sort of mix these two together.

File: The Docks.jpg (81 KB, 800x532)

81 KB JPG

“Wrestle a god?” you say again, sipping on wine before passing it across the table to the ambitious monk. She takes the bottle from you.

“Yep,” she confirms, taking a pull from it right afterwards.

“I don't think The Great Will would be the one to wrestle,” you opine. Gabby puts the Sealord wine back down on the table. A quarter of its liquid content remains.

“You don't?” she asks, intrigued by your phrasing.

“If you're gonna wrestle a god – and no offense Gabby, but I'd be betting against you – I'd go for the Relentless Surge. You'll have more luck getting Him to agree, I'd wager.”

“But I lose out on the opportunity to insult Dolah that way,” she points out.

You shrug and suppress a belch with the back of your hand. “Well, besides wrestling gods, you ever think you might . . . I don't know, settle down or something.” You half-smile, your vision swimming slightly.

Gabby chortles. “Fuuuuck no. Could you actually imagine that? Me sitting in some cottage somewhere . . . fucking knitting or something.”

You study the ceiling for a bit, stealing the wine bottle back on the sly. “I think I could. A nice house . . . a dog . . . a few kids . . .” you trail off, putting the mouth of the bottle to your own, drinking more to shut yourself up before you say too much.

“Well Al, congratulations,” she tells you, flashing a smile. “Your imagination is much more fantastical than mine. Pretty sure I'll be . . . unsettled until the day I die. Domestic life is way too fucking boring.”

You put the wine bottle down, grimacing at her sentiment. “Well excitement can have a tendency to . . . be taxing. Rowe and I are thinking of going back to my hometown. Basye.”

Gabby nods, eyes lighting up with genuine interest. “Oh yeah? Meeting the folks?”

“For better or worse,” you answer, less than enthused.

Your drinking companion raises her eyebrows in rapid succession at your response. “See, now that actually sounds exciting. Racist in-laws are the best fucking part of having a family. I definitely hope I'm invited to the wedding.”

“Of course Gabby you're welcome at . . . pretty much everything, alright?” you offer earnestly.

“Thanks, Al. I appreciate it.”

“In fact, would you like to come see Basye with Rowe and I? At least as the first stop in the Gabby world tour,” you chuckle at your own joke the second after you utter it.

The monk leans over and grabs the wine bottle, polishing off the last of it before replying.

“Sure. I don't see why not.” She tosses the bottle across the room, expertly landing it on the bar counter top standing upright and unbroken. Scott casts a disparaging glance in your direction as the loud noise of the collision startles him and draws him out of the daydream he was having while cleaning the counter. He mutters under his breath and grabs the container by the neck.

>Head outside and bait vampires
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1159371
>Head outside and bait vampires
>Something else: make sure we can still cast a spell/have our weapons ready, Muffin and Pascala are ready to provide us with a warning if our inebriated senses fail us.

>>1159371
>Head outside and bait vampires

>>1159371
>Head outside and bait vampires

>>1159371
>>Head outside and bait vampires

File: Guard.jpg (62 KB, 736x1128)

62 KB JPG

You stand up, wobbling slightly. “Well, good,” you comment in response to her answer. “Shouldn't be too hard a thing to coordinate,” you say, the process of thinking how you'd organize giving Gabby a tour of your hometown making your head ache with how difficult and complicated it seems right now in your inebriated state. You lazily jerk a clumsy thumb towards the exit. “I think I'm finally ready and we're out of booze anyway.”

Your monk friend stands up as well, producing a bottle of beer from out of her robe, waggling it. “We're never out of booze with me around.” She twists off the top of the container and follows after you as the two of you head towards the establishment's front door. “But yeah, let's head out.” She starts guzzling her beverage as you stumble and sway you way outside, pushing open the door by staggering forward into it, causing it to swing wide and slam open. The white-robed blonde chuckles at your antics, putting an arm around your shoulder and shaking you jocundly.

“Sure you don't need me to escort you home, honey?” she asks, emphasizing the pet name in a mocking tone that has you believe she might be imitating a phrase she herself has heard many times before.

You shake your head. “Nah, I'm good,” you explain. There's a chance the vampire won't make a move on you if you aren't alone. You need to set yourself up to seem like the perfect victim.

She vigorously pats you on the back with enough force to send you teetering forward if she hadn't quickly grabbed the back of your coat to jerk you backwards, keeping you on your feet. “Well alright then. Be careful though, walking alone at night. These streets can be dangerous.”

She unlinks her arm and parts ways with you, walking backwards towards her shack as she flashes you a jovial smile, raising her eyebrows and finishing her beer. She tosses the empty glass into the alleyway beside the Sword and Shield, the container landing in the trash as she turns around and finally focuses on making her way home. At least that's what it would seem to any onlooking bystanders. Of which there are a few. Guards carrying lanterns interspersed in seemingly random locations, patrol the streets. .

File: Seaside alleyways.jpg (59 KB, 694x717)

59 KB JPG

You spend only one moment focusing on Gabby's fine rear as you watch her leave, before turning around and blundering towards the Circle. Doing your best to seem natural while still taking the sketchiest, riskiest side streets as your path towards home.

Thankfully, despite the dark of night pressing in all around you and the silence of it all constructing a foreboding atmosphere, your elven eyes let you make out the most intricate details of your surroundings in the low light conditions. Or at least they would if everything didn't seem so fuzzy and hazy unless you focused intently on whatever it was in question you were staring at for a few seconds straight.

You feel exposed as the footfalls of your boots sound loud upon the cobblestones, echoing throughout the enclosed space of the back alleys you weave through on your journey.

Come on vampire. This is your best chance.

. . .

A cold wind whips at your cloak, causing it to flutter and a small chill worms its way up your spine. Thankfully the liquid courage in your belly helps keep you warm, your face feeling flush.

. . .

You really hope he's out on the prowl tonight.

>Roll me 1d100 + 22, best of three. This is a will save.

Rolled 68 + 22 (1d100 + 22)

>>1161182

Rolled 3 + 22 (1d100 + 22)

>>1161182
Come on....

Rolled 93 + 22 (1d100 + 22)

>>1161182
I wonder if we can assimilate a stronger will.

File: Vampire.jpg (564 KB, 1505x1100)

564 KB JPG

The looming sight of the Circle draws ever closer as you drunkenly walk towards it. You grimace. Maybe he's taking a break tonight – or worse – currently draining the blood from a much more vulnerable target halfway across the city while you're masquerading taking a night off as important subterfuge.

You start to wonder if there's a hangover removal spell or if you're just going to have to ask The Sculptor to channel enough positive energy into your face until the poison is purged from your system so you can . . . do this all again tomorrow night? Hope it actually works and catches him in the act this time? You might just have to give up on this avenue of pursuit. Think of something . . . think of something . . . think of . . . so hard to think.

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head as the alcohol your brain is swimming in leaves you feeling discombobulated. You stumble and stagger, putting a hand out to lean against the wall of the nearby building to steady yourself.

When you open your eyes again you see him standing before you, a dozen feet away or so. He faces you, the edges of his own cloak flapping against the back of his calves. You're forced to blink, the wooziness and fuzzy feeling in your head making it hard to focus on his exact outline or specific features. But there he is. The evil vampire.

. . .

You think?

He may just be some guy, staring at you strangely. You are pretty drunk and frequenting secluded alleys like a weirdo. You should walk over to him and take a closer look, chat with him and see what he . . . wait a minute . . . what the fuck are you talking about this guy is obviously the fucking vampire. It's just the booze talking, screwing with your sense of judgment and rationality. Or . . . or maybe its more than just that. You keep your feet planted where they are, refusing to move towards the figure as you focus your eyes, trying your damnedest to really look at him.

He's handsome as Anara implied – that's for sure. Strong features, but pretty. If you were a woman – or you swung that way – you could understand finding him captivating. I mean you do find him captivating. But despite his alluring qualities your sense of self preservation overrides your desire to speak with the man like he was a close friend of yours. He's dressed almost regally, a gentlemanly awareness of fashion obvious in his outfit. His kingly posture also helps emphasize his manner of dress. You'd think it would look gaudy on someone who didn't know how to pull it off. And sure enough, he sports long dark locks of inky black hair, just like Anara mentioned.

His eyes possess a catlike appearance, bright orange irises made the more curiously vibrant when contrasted with his unblemished, alabaster skin. He cocks his head slightly, the inquisitiveness of his facial expression growing more apparent as his eyes flit up and down your form.

“Approach,” the command flowing from his lips like satin sheets being drawn across your skin.

You feel the urge in your mind to listen, for your feet to follow the sound of that tone – egged on by the impetuous spontaneity the alcohol running through your system encourages.

But you've done this song and dance before. You've experienced a feeling quite similar brought out by Qyrryss's attempt to dominate your mind. You didn't listen then and you won't listen now.

Or, well . . .

Maybe this is the alcohol in your system still talking, but . . . well, maybe you should listen.

>Approach and throw garlic oil in his face
>Approach and stake him
>Mentally shout out for Rowe to attack
>Assimilate
>Kiss him and drain his energy
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1162733
Plan 1: Mentally contact Rowe and have her snipe him while we toss garlic oil in his face.

Plan 2: When he gets near and tries to bite, intercept and kiss him while giving him a bear hug and drain his energy.

In either case, we could see if we can assimilate his ability of flight (Is that an ability? What abilities do vampires have, anyway?)


Though, I think I'd rather just stick with plan 1 without the assimilation for now.

>>1162733
>Assimilate
>Mentally shout out for Rowe to attack
>Approach and throw garlic oil in his face

>>1162733
>Mentally shout out for Rowe to attack
Make sure the ring is actually off before we attempt this.

>>1162854
You aren't wearing it.

>>1162873
Good.

Nah. No need for flashy showmanship or some risky, bold maneuver. The trap is set. It's time for the woman you know and love to capitalize upon it and turn this bastard into a pin cushion.

(ROWE IF YOU CAN HEAR ME I HAVE HIM IN MY SIGHTS.)

His eyes narrow as he sees you aren't moving or responding to his commands. Even his perturbed frown seems majestic.

“Approach!” he commands again, firmer this time. Still, you stay rooted to the ground like a mighty oak tree instead of letting that niggling sensation – a metaphorical wriggling grub – convince you step even one step closer towards that monster.

. . .

Nothing happens. He snarls, his lips parting to reveal his sharp, wet fangs – the enlarged canines glinting in the dark, hungry for your blood.

For a moment you flinch, sure he's going to rush you and you'll have to scramble to protect yourself. And then suddenly four arrows whoosh down from overhead, their arrowheads bright and lively with pulsating hues of blue, red, green and yellow. They sink into the vampire's chest – each one burning, freezing, shocking and corroding his clothes and flesh simultaneously.

His face contorts in pain and he screeches in animalistic fury, the beast within him brought out in that one moment of ambush. Your eyes glance up, arcane sight at the ready as you spy your girlfriend perched stealthily atop the roof of one of the buildings you're trapped between.

No. That he's trapped between.

>Attempt to stake him
>Throw garlic in his face
>Draw your shotgun and pump him full of buckshot
>Cast a fireball at him with your wand
>Something else? (write-in)

Whatever you vote for, roll me 2d100, best of 3. I'll determine bonuses after the fact.

Rolled 22, 80 = 102 (2d100)

>>1163488
>>Attempt to stake him

Rolled 73, 98 = 171 (2d100)

>>1163488

>>1163488
>>Something else? (write-in)
Actually, not something that we'd try right now, I suppose, but I wonder if we could use that sort of subconscious connection to Gabby to see if we can suggest to her to go places or do things. And also to see if we're able to mix dreams again. You know, for science.

Rolled 60, 57 = 117 (2d100)

>>1163488
>Attempt to stake him

>>1163502
>suggest to her to go places or do things
what I had in mind, at the moment, was "come over here and save my ass"

>>1163488
>Throw garlic in his face
Don't try to stake until he's worn down some more.

File: Crescent Moon Necklace.jpg (60 KB, 603x603)

60 KB JPG

You teleport forward, appearing right in front of the vampire very unexpectedly, judging by his surprised reaction. You draw the wooden stake you were carrying on your person out from your pocket and jam it full force into his chest.

He jerks backwards at the last possible second, twisting slightly as the implement pierces the ruffled white material covering the upper part of his chest, ripping the weapon out of your hands as it remains lodged in his chest. Again, the monster hisses in pain, spittle flying off its fangs in a rage at your vicious assault – but your stab must have just missed the heart. In immediate response to the damage and pain yourself and Rowe have just inflicted upon him, he lashes out with two clawed hands, grabbing you by the shoulders with an inhuman burst of strength and speed. You're too close and not prepared enough to dodge away from the grapple as his grip on you turns to iron, holding you in place. You struggle for a moment, arms forcibly held at your side as he leans forward to sink his fangs into your neck.

Oh god here it comes you think to yourself, powerless to stop him from gorging on your blood in the heat of this moment.

. . .

Suddenly, the vampire lets go and recoils, shrinking backwards and raising his hands in front of his face defensively as he voluntarily let's you escape his clutches. You squint your eyes, wondering if one of your vials of garlic oil broke and started leaking. Looking down at your body, you gasp as a current of joy and hope runs through your body.

Calloway's necklace glows with a vibrant blue aura, pulsating. Looking back up at the undead predator and you can tell the crescent moon holy symbol draped round your neck is the source of the monster's fear.

It still has power. Even in this moment, long after his death, Calloway has managed to save your life. You grit your teeth as tears run down your face.

>Brandish the holy symbol, keep marching the vampire backwards
>Attempt to channel positive energy
>Assimilate
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1164019
>Assimilate
I want that speed and strength.
But none of the weaknesses, though.

>>1164019
>Attempt to channel positive energy
If we can't cleric now, when IS a good time?

>>1164019
>>Attempt to channel positive energy

>>1164019
failing the channeling of energy, try and stake him again

Roll me 1d100 + 12, best of 3!

Rolled 42 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>1165242

Rolled 11 + 12 (1d100 + 12)

>>1165242
Gott Mitt Uns!

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>1165242

File: Alchemist's Fire.png (23 KB, 133x200)

23 KB PNG

You grab the crescent moon pendant with a firm, but measured grip, pulling it off from around your neck and holding the holy symbol up high. A warm light seeps into your form from some far off place, channeling power directly through you. Confidence and faith flows through your swaying, drunken body. Your outstretched hand glows golden, brimming with divine energy and you smile wide. Your clerical abilities are back.

The vampire retreats back away from you with another step, the movement drawing your attention from the amazing rediscovery of your talents back to your adversary. You laugh to yourself. Time to pull out a much beloved and well missed trick.

You step towards the beast, the burst of positive energy rippling out from the item clutched in your hand. You instantly feel rejuvenated from the divine healing force, your inebriated state lessened and repressed for the moment – leaving your mind to think perfectly clearly as you close the distance between you and the vampire.

It shrieks in reaction to the positive energy washing over its body like it was a wave of acid, still holding its hands up in front of its face to protect itself from the sheer holy significance of the goddamn relic you hold.

You channel again and again as you walk closer, emboldened and stimulated with each burst as your foe is weakened. Its screams – vocalizing its torturous agony for all the world to hear this otherwise quiet night. Suddenly, the raven-haired terror dressed in man's skin finds some bravery in its corrupt form, lunging forward and smacking the obsidian, crescent moon out of your hands. It clatters into the alleyway, clinking against the ground as you blink, drawing your hand back, spying two bloody scratches across the back of your hand from where the vampire raked you.

Before the monster can profit off its momentary success, another four arrows sail down from the roofs overhead, striking the vampire's upper back, a few more magical explosions erupting from where your lover's missiles have struck true.

He falls to his knees as the pitter patter of feet alert you to more of your backup arriving.

“Duck!” Eve shouts and you do as such, snatching your holy symbol from where it glitters on the ground. A torrent of holy water explodes past you from the decanter she holds, drenching the vampire further.

Its screams rise to a high pitch you've only ever heard from men burning to death as steam pours off its body in every direction. Ed and Quissonce, who flank the smaller sorcerer, accompany the torrent by unleashing an absolute assault of magic missiles – blue beams of mystical light explode as they slam into their target. Kyra appears – from where you have no clue, she's just suddenly there – on the other side of the vampire, helping trap him in the alleyway. She lobs a bottle of alchemist's fire forward into the mix, the explosive burst of flame somehow mixing beautifully with the geyser of scalding divine water.

File: Vampiric Mist.jpg (56 KB, 275x394)

56 KB JPG

Rowe unleashes a few more arrows down into the conglomerate of all your attacks.

“Wait!” you call out for them to hold, raising a free hand up for them to desist. Eve utters the phrase that causes the decanter of endless holy water to turn off. The vampire's corporeal form seems to shrivel as it burns to ash under the effects of both the alchemist's fire and the divine waters.

The steam that rises, however, as the vampire seemingly perishes, takes on a reddish tint. Soon, after a few prolonged seconds of observing it, the vapor becomes a dark, blood red and starts to swirl against where it should be blown by the wind currents, taking shape as if it was being sculpted by some unseen artist.

. . .

The skeletal apparition that appears before you cackles menacingly, before it begins to float away up into the sky.

“Shit,” Quissonce utters. “That's a spell. I don't think it's dead.”

>Follow after it!
>Let it go
>Something else (write-in)

>>1166502
>Something else (write-in)
Earthbind! (and telling Rowe over thoughtcomms)
*Imagine roots and vines reaching out of the earth and binding that thing to the ground!*

>>1166502
>Follow after it!

>>1166732
Does she even have that spell?

>>1166813
Might as well try.

>>1166817
She's a Ranger, not a Druid.
And the vampire is in mist form, it can't be caught by entangling plants, of which there aren't any around here anyway.

>>1166502

>Follow after it!

>Something else (write-in)
is there a spell that can be used to siphon fluids into containers? Maybe we can use that.

>>1167220
The spell doesn't use plants, but energy. The vines and roots thing was for a visualization, which is necessary for the spells in this system (at least, to my understanding).

>>1167250
If you're referring to the DnD Earthbind spell, then there's three problems with that.
1. We're using Pathfinder.
2. Rowe isn't a Druid.
3. Earthbind doesn't affect Mist Form Vampires because the spell requires a Fort Save and as an undead, vampires are immune to spells with Fort Saves.

Roll me 1d100 + 40, best of 3. This is a perception check

Rolled 94 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>1167315

Rolled 3 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>1167315

Rolled 76 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>1167315