>>2534010
Frowning as if trying to remember what he was talking about, Frederick seems to flounder about mentally as he stashes the badge back somewhere on his person before finally returning to his end of the conversation. “Ah, sorry about that, having to memorize things as often as someone in my position needs to puts more strain on the mind than one would imagine. Anyways, the Order of Intelligence or O.I. specializes in not only keeping up-to-date on people of varying importance, but we also take care of threats foreign and domestic to the peace of the nation. That usually ranges from infiltrating and wiping out bandit clans to assassinating a greedy lord somewhere who wants to try and convince his fellows to invade our territories.”

Looking at him with a strange frown, you really don’t know how to process the claim for a few moments before stuttering out, “S-so the King thinks it’s perfectly okay for you guys to just go out and murder people for the greater good? Isn’t it maybe a little strange having an organization that powerful performing what could amount to acts of war overseas? I mean hell, I don’t like bandits either but I’m not going to intentionally exterminate all of them without mercy, you know.”

Frederick shrugs his shoulders and explains, “The King is given reports daily about our activities, and honestly doesn’t seem very picky about how the threats to the Kingdom are resolved, you can say. And either way, you make it seem like we’re mindless barbarians who burn and pillage our enemies until nothing remains. We have skilled individuals infiltrating and watching our enemies at all times, and when it becomes necessary to take them out after all attempts at non-lethal resolution have failed, they do what needs to be done. I suppose it doesn’t take well with you, but perhaps you can at least admit that peace cannot survive without sacrifices being made?”

Twiddling your thumbs, you find that you don’t really have a solid answer and nod awkwardly before responding, “Yeah, I guess I can’t disagree with that.” Struggling to come up with something else to ask the man, you remember a line of inquiry that quickly draws your full attention. “About R.” Gesturing for you to go on, Frederick looks genuinely interested where you’re taking the conversation as you continue pressing.

“R. is Robert right? As in my buddy upstairs? I’m not going to be that mad if he is, you know. He seems like a nice guy and I already consider him a friend, especially considering he had to drag me and some unconscious guys into town all by himself the same day I hit him with the puppy eyes. I just want to hear you confirm it in person more than anything else I guess.”

(2/3)

>>2534024
The older man gives you a wry smile, “Indeed. Robert R. Holton was one of our finest agents at one point, a real rising star in our line of work. Unfortunately, as it so often goes, the constant stress from prolonged stretches of high-level missions just burnt him out. The mind can really only bear so much pressure, and after a few undercover operations in a row, he began to fear that his instability would jeopardize any future missions so he requested a transfer to the surveillance team.”

You narrow your eyebrows as you meet Frederick’s eyes with growing incredulity. “Shadowing me for months, even years at a time was his solution to being nearly losing his marbles at work?”

Nodding without any change in his expression, Frederick keeps his voice nearly deadpan as he explains, “Aye. It’s not too difficult, watching somebody without being seen if you’ve trained hard enough and stay disciplined about it. Most of the time when one our agents gets caught it’s because they pick up bad habits or don’t focus at the wrong time. Compared to something like infiltrating a foreign noble’s social circle undercover for multiple years, shadowing is like child’s play and he’s definitely taken the time to recover.”

“He doesn’t look it now, but after his last infiltration mission? The man looked a few missing teeth away from resembling a regular village drunk, though I don’t think anyone’s ever blamed him for it. He infiltrated a brigand gang of an especially powerful and sadistic nature and from what I hear, he had to do some pretty atrocious things to keep his cover. A few weeks in, and without getting any additional information about the locations of rival gangs, he just snapped and slaughtered the entire crew one night. We came in to identify the bodies and had to rely on things like rumors about scar tissue and guesswork on some of the poor bastards because he’d just torn them apart so thoroughly. I swear that I’ve still never seen anything like it, but either way, he’d accomplished his mission and immediately asked for a transfer.

Whistling, you think quickly about Frederick’s words and the implications it brings to your already murky image of Robert. The man doesn’t even look remotely capable of violence, but you suppose it’s fairly
easy to hide with the right mannerisms. After all, you don’t exactly look like a Witch who really really enjoys fighting and the martial arts. Maybe you’ll talk it over with him later, if you get the chance.

Tilting his head, Frederick looks at you with curiosity, “Well, with that addressed, I trust that I have satisfied your curiosity for now?” Nodding, you admit to yourself that you’ve run out of questions for now and allow the man to continue onwards by introducing the final document, the employment notice.

(2.5/3)

>>2534030

Reading the print as he lays it out in front of you, a fine array of numbers appears under a fairly short description for the position of: “Part Time Witch Warden”. The crimson stamp of the royal family lies near a precisely detailed line addressed with the word “Signature” right next to it. All at once, a few questions pop into your head even before you finish reading the description and judging by Frederick’s face, he clearly was expecting you to ask some. With a strange expression on his face, the man draws your attention to the largest printed numbers on the notice that comprise the pay with a sharp, bony index finger. “I’ve read your file, y’know, and I was just wondering,” he says with pure curiosity leaking through his tone, “What would you get for your little hut with your first payment for this job?

>Expand the structure, a proper cabin would be nice.

>Hire some help for the farm, you could use some extra hands.

>Buy the seeds of some rarer plants, would help in starting up some potion-making capability

(3/3)

Gonna go get dinner now, so leave your votes!

Reminder: Tomorrow I'll run too just to make up for lost time. Announcing time of run will probably be at the end of this session today.

Happy Cinco De Mayo?

>>2534037
>>Expand the structure, a proper cabin would be nice.

>>2534037

>>2534037
>>Buy the seeds of some rarer plants, would help in starting up some potion-making capability

>>2534037
>Expand the structure, a proper cabin would be nice.

>>2534062
>>2534232
Expand

>>2534072
Rarer plants

Vote called in favor of expand!

>>2534037
>>Expand the structure, a proper cabin would be nice.

>>2534336
“I’d love a bigger place for sure. With some money, I guess I would get some more materials and work on expanding my living space. To a cabin, maybe.”
Frederick chuckles at your answer, “Makes sense I suppose. That hut you’ve staked out seems crowded even for one person, not even counting the familiars.” Quickly returning to his calm, neutral demeanor, Frederick removes a pen from his coat and lays it on the counter before speaking once more, “I’m not going to beat around the bush here, Solana. You’re being offered a part-time job as the first Witch Warden, a position that didn’t exist until yesterday and that pays well enough that you’ll be able to upgrade that hut into a cabin in no time at all.”

Blinking quickly, you immediately counter before you can even formulate your thoughts properly, “Why is the Order of Intelligence extending this offer to me first? I don’t exactly see how I’ve earned the honor, if you get my meaning.”
Smirking, Frederick just sarcastically places his hand under his chin and poses like a thinking statue, “Hmm, well I don’t know exactly. Why would you of all Witches be selected for this offer?”

“Maybe it could be because we haven’t spotted any other predator witches in a meaningful amount of time? Oh, perhaps it’s the fact that you’ve somehow survived an instance of the same magically-induced sleep that’s been victimizing the nearby countryside? No, that can’t be it, mayb-“

You interrupt Frederick by plonking your drink on the counter hard enough to nearly spill some of the devil’s piss inside. Putting your hands up to express your good will, you simply let the silence reign for a scattered moment before taking another quick sip of the brew and trying to enjoy the infernal heat that erupts from your throat directly afterwards. Though it again brushes you closer and closer to inebriation and inevitably the loss of your functions, you embrace the burning and attempt to enjoy it knowing that you’ll likely not experience something like it by choice for a good, long time to come.

Mollified, Frederick rubs the back of his head and apologizes, “Sorry about that, I couldn’t resist y’know? Anyway, long story short, you’re the only person who can help us and in turn, we think that you’ll appreciate us helping you.”

“What is a Witch Warden, anyway,” you ask curiously, “And why is it a part-time position?”

Smiling, the spy simply uses his finger to point out the relevant section on the paper, which you read carefully. In fine text, the description reads, ”The Witch Warden position is, in essence, a Witch representative of the Order of Intelligence on the ground. Said representative will be sent to investigate and resolve disturbances of a magical, or non-magical nature on order and functions independently of other Order of Intelligence units. T-“ is all you manage to make out as the rest seems to have been accidentally smudged out by a wayward touch as the ink was drying.

(1/2)

>>2536425
It really must have been on short-notice, for an official employment offer to be in this state. Either way, an official representative huh? Well, you suppose it can’t be that bad for the kind of pay being offered, and if what Frederick’s said of the Order, you won’t exactly be short on excitement.

“You haven’t answered on why the position is part-time as opposed to full-time still.”

Frederick leans on his stool and braces his fist against his cheek as he glances at you with weary smile, “We both knot the answer to that, don’t we?”

You concede the point, after all your years travelling you’d be damned if you were going to ever get too far from home for too long.

“So…will you take the job? Better to tell me sooner rather than later, yeah?” says the man on his video feed, sitting directly next to him in the bar.

>Definite yes

>Maybe

>Nope

----------

I'm sorry about the enormous gap between last update and even this half-hearted prompt. I was actually writing the update when my dad came to tell me (he was nearly in tears) that my four year old dog at home had to be hospitalized for cancer. Needless to say, I've been fucked up mentally for the past couple hours and have had problems trying to get my shit together. Instead of continuing, I just decided to throw in the towel for tonight rather than prolong this sleep-avoiding nonsense.

Again, I apologize and will attempt to continue this thread in good spirits when I wake up, in about ten hours or so. God bless you all, and I pray that you can appreciate what you have before it's gone.

>>2536427
>>Definite yes

>>2536427
>>Definite yes

>>2536427
>>Definite yes

>>2536427
>>Definite yes

Let's get to it.

Alright! I'm back! Let's get this show back on the road.

>>2536440
>>2536551
>>2536686
>>2536960
Called for Yes

>>2538053
aye

“Got a pen?” you ask without even blinking, somewhat surprising Frederick, who fumbles in with his hands before handing you a small container of ink and a similarly tiny brush. Opening up the black substance, you dip the whiskers of the brush inside and begin scrawling your signature out before handing it back to the spy.

“Alright,” you say as Frederick stows the document in his jacket along with his ink and brush, “So what now?”

Rubbing his chin, the spy gives you an embarrassed look before answering, “Well, we weren’t really expecting you to sign on so quick, so we don’t really have any missions for you at the moment so you’re likely free to do as you want for at least a week. We’re very considerate about what we assign each of our employees to so you won’t have to spend too long away from home, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Well that’s reassuring, you suppose.

“What’ll happen to Robert?” you ask curiously, “If I’m working for you guys now, what’ll he be doing now? I’m assuming you don’t run surveillance on your own employees.”

Frederick grins, “Well, he’s definitely freed up, but my best guess is that he’ll stick around the area and request an assignment close to you. I expect he’ll ask to see if you’ll need a bodyguard or something similar.”

Your eyebrows furrow instinctively, replacing your need to actually speak out your question.

“Robert’s a good man, and in my estimation, I think he might be getting a little too attached to you for his own good. What with you being in mortal danger twice in the same day and all, I’m getting the feeling that he’s decided to hang around you to make sure you don’t end up dead one of these days.”

Nearly spitting, you make your frustration at that statement clear with a fiery glare, “I can take care of myself. I don’t need a goddamned baby-sitter watching my every move, again!”

Shrugging, Frederick just chuckles as he takes another drink and gets up from the bar stool and stretches his arms. “Just saying, it never hurts to keep a little company every now and then, yeah? The man carried you all the way here himself, you know. Didn’t use a sled or anything, townsfolk guessed he’d lugged you over his shoulder for maybe half a day. That’s the kind of thing that deserves sincere thank-you, in my eyes.”

A tinge of red comes to your cheeks as you remember that you’d forgotten to ask Robert how he’d taken care of everything after that damned nightmare took you out. He wasn’t looking that tired before you’d gone under, that’s for sure. Unquestionably, you owe the man a sincere thank-you, there aren’t that many people in your estimation who would go through all that trouble for someone they’d just met.

“I suppose I wouldn’t be too bothered if he really wanted to stick around. Another set of hands around the house would really speed things up, you know.”

(1/3)

>>2538996
Nodding slowly, Frederick continues grinning as he begins to walk to the door. “Well, then I think things should work out just fine after all. I’ll send for a messenger to inform you when we find some work for you, but until then, you have a good night Miss Portula.”

Pausing by the door, he raps his knuckles against the wall a few times, presumably to signal to somebody waiting outside but after a few moments, no response appears. “I’m ready to go, Johann,” announces Frederick as he waits a few seconds before putting his hand around the door handle, “You there, old friend? You better not have fallen asleep on me again, brother.” Releasing the lock on the door and twisting the handle, he leaps back as the door gives way and throws the bloodied form of a cloaked man onto the tavern floor. Without a word, Frederick crouches and
catches his friend before quickly dragging him further inside as the previously silent-bartender standing patiently behind the counter draws a dagger from somewhere on his person and rushes to the door.

Immediately, you reach for your broomstick before mentally calling out for your familiars with frantic urgency. ”Terror, Scourge, you hear or see anything! We’ve got a man down here on the ground floor!”
Taken by surprise, you feel them fumbling about before getting any responses. ”I haven’t heard anything, Boss! You need me down there with you now?! yelps out Terror through your link as you feel him leap to his feet. ”I haven’t seen anything outside all night, Master.” declares Scourge in a tone that gives the impression of frustration for not noticing anything at all, ”I’m heading outside now, hold on.

Thinking over to Stomper, you ask him if he’s noticed anything sitting outside all night. In his characteristically slow fashion, he responds that he hasn’t but will keep on the lookout now.

“He’s still breathing, somehow. They must have hit him when his back was turned, he wouldn’t have gone down without a warning otherwise.”
Glancing back at Frederick, who is now ripping apart some clothing with a knife to form a makeshift bandage, you notice the victim bleeding primarily from his head, as if trounced upon by a foe with a club or mace.

“You see anything?” you ask frantically to the armed bartender currently peering outside into the darkness but get no other response than a muted shake of the head.

Damnation! You’re under attack but you can’t even figure out who or where your foes are supposed to be. Making your way to the door, you stick your own head outside and squint your eyes to try and make out any shapes or movement in the black night but find nothing except the quiet atmosphere of a sleeping town.

“Where the hell could they be?” you shout angrily as you slam your palm against the wall of the tavern in frustration.

“Solana.” You turn your head to Frederick, who is currently wrapping his friend’s head with strips of torn cloth to stem the bleeding.

(2/3)

>>2539012

“We need information on the situation, but we can’t get any of that by staying hunkered down here,” he says with a scarily calm expression on his face, “Looks like you’ll be earning your pay sooner than later, eh?

Nodding, you grip your broomstick tighter, and a wicked smile blossoms on your face as you stretch your neck with a twist. “About damn time. Just tell me where you need me.”
Thinking quickly, Frederick works out a plan as he blinks quickly and then begins to reply, “Alright. Narrowater has a watchtower, barracks for the town guard, and a station for the sentries on the walls. If I was leading a force to infiltrate, I’d be aiming for those three spots before bringing in reinforcements. You’d best head over to one of those spots, I’ll try and head over to another, and the bartender here can try and cover the last one. Where you want to head to is your call.”

Your mind racing, you begin to formulate the possibilities of this decision before getting to work. Checking out the watchtower would hopefully allow you to contact the guards nearby and hopefully get a bell ringing to wake the town. Heading to the barracks, you can probably rally the meat of the town guard and ready them for battle. If you were to cover the walls, you’d most likely be able to spot any potential assailants and be in a good position to convince the sentries on duty to give you information on how to deny access inside the town.

>Watchtower

>Barracks

>Walls

-----

God I really suck at updating quickly. I'm sorry ya'll, I just can't seem to write very fast but regardless, I want to thank you from my heart if you're still around to put up with my shit.

>>2539017
>Walls

>>2539017
>>Walls

>>2539017
>>Walls
as long as you are constant, it really doesn't matters. Personally it helps me because i don't have to be glued to the screen all the time

>>2539017
>Walls
Since you have such large updates your writing speed is fine

>>2539029
>>2539055
>>2539065
>>2539075
Called for walls!

The walls, you’ll head for the walls. The sentries on duty should know best how to hold the town, and they’ll find the enemy first.

“I’ll try and alert the sentries, hopefully if everything hasn’t gone to shit yet, we’ll be able to seal the gates and get some torches burning. Meanwhile, if I don’t hear the watchtower bells ringing or see any guards around by the time I’m done I’ll assume you’ve run into more trouble than I have and head over to help, okay?” Looking at the bandaged man lying at Frederick’s feet, you notice that at least his bleeding has somewhat abated. You decide that you’ll check on him after tonight’s bloody business for what you guess must be a concussion and that cut on the back of his head.

“You going to leave him here, alone? Not that I think you have any other choice, but it might be risky considering we don’t know if this place is going to be safe all night.”

Frederick grits his teeth before drawing a wicked-looking dagger from somewhere behind him, perhaps from under his beltline and then gesturing for the bartender to help him pick up his friend. Hauling the unconscious man behind the counter, he grimaces and speaks with a tinge of resigned frustration. “Nothing to be done but hide him here, I suppose. Johan would agree with me if he weren’t sleeping on the job that alerting the town takes precedence over his safety. We’d best be off before something happens we can’t fix, I think.”

“Not without me, you aren’t.” Slinking into the tavern like a shadow, the hooded form of Robert appears at your side with his bow drawn and Terror walking not far behind. “I saw some cloaked figures scaling a rooftop nearby, infiltrators to be sure. Armed and dangerous, no doubt and good, too.”

Struggling to mask your surprise at his sudden entrance alongside your familiar, you fire off a question as you grip your broomstick tighter, “You see what they look like? Anything would help.”

Frowning, Robert nods before responding, “Aye. They were smaller than I expected, not that I was looking for giants to be skulking in the dark. But they weren’t very big, and mostly had clubs or small knives and such. Not prepared for a proper fight I think so if we can get the drop on ‘em, we should wipe them out fast.”

Nodding, you turn to the so far silent bartender and looking at his weathered knife, which he holds with a little more ease than you’d expect considering his average appearance. “You some sort of agent, too? An ex-soldier, maybe? A disgraced knight? Nobody seems to be what they say they are anymore, maybe it's just the company I keep.”

(1/2)

File: You'd think some people w(...).jpg (104 KB, 1280x720)

104 KB JPG

>>2540710
Earning yourself a chuckle from the man, the bartender flicks his blade about with practiced movements before rasping back in a granite-like voice, “Just a bartender who isn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty to protect his home and business. Simple motivations and a simple life, yeah? You won’t find much trickery with me, miss Witch.” Offering a similarly weathered hand, the two of you share a firm handshake before he offers his name, “I’m William Glass, proud son of Narrowater. And I won’t let some damn sneaks put this town in danger, not if I can help it.”

Grinning, you give him a quick nod before twirling your broomstick before heading to the door, followed by Robert and Terror. Peeking out once more into the blackness and finding nothing, you stack look your comrades in the eyes before sticking out three fingers. “On three, we make a break for it, got it?”

“One.” You drop a finger, and everyone behind you braces.

“Two.” Another one goes, leaving your index finger.

“Three.” You burst out of the tavern and into the night but three steps in, a blazingly fast projectile flies past your face and buries itself with a quiet THUNK into the wood of the tavern.

“Ambush!” you cry out as a furious hail of arrows rains down from the rooftops above, forcing everyone to scramble desperately out of the open. Glancing at your hooded, shrouded assailants loosing arrows at you from the nearby rooftops, you focus and attempt to bat some out of the air simply because you’ve got no choice but to continue sprinting ahead. Slamming one to the side, you swerve from side to side and grunt as several arrows make closer and closer misses to your person.

Rolling forwards into a nearby alleyway, you drive yourself against one of the stone walls and flatten against it. Panting, your heart races as you listen carefully for any pained cries to indicate the wounding of your fellows, but no such sound is raised to your ears besides the scuffing of feet from both the street and the rooftops above. Whistling under your breath, you smile, knowing your sudden intervention being the first person being so hard to hit probably threw your attackers for a loop and ensured that nobody got hurt. You put your fingers to your temple and close your eyes to think to your familiars.

”Terror, you make it out buddy?”

A few moments of panting before your answer, ”That was a close one, Boss. If they hadn’t all gone for you, I think we’d be pincushions!”

Carefully listening in on your surroundings, you hear nothing else move and continue to think back to your mastiff, ”It’s difficult being this good, I know. Jokes aside, is Robert with you? We might be split up, but our objective is still reaching the walls.”

Another pause along some panting, ”I think I’m in an alley near you, but I lost Robert somehow in the scramble. I hope he didn’t get hit or anything, but I’m going to try and get back to you now so stay put, Boss!”

(1.5/2)

>>2540714

Alright, so you’ve no idea where Robert is, but maybe you can call up a friend to help with that.

”Scourge, you see anything yet? Our ambushers would be a good start, might I just add.”

Faintly amid an audible gust of wind, your familiar responds instantly, ”Rooftops; counting ten or more but fast, disciplined, and on the move. They’ve started to split up and I can’t track them all, but I’d be careful in case they return to finish the job.”

At that moment strange a growling noise, akin to what one would assume a wild animal would make if it could mutter, draws your attention to a shadowy figure directly across from you perched on a roof holding a bow drawn at you.

”One of them just stopped moving, Master. You may want to watch out fo-"

As your heart jump-starts as if struck by lightning and the adrenaline rushes through your veins, making time slow to a crawl, you sigh heavily as the reality of your situation is transmitted quickly to your familiars.

”….Well, master. If you don’t die now, you’ll live to excoriate me to your heart’s content.”

As if that would make you feel any better.

>roll 1d20, bo3

----------
I don't even really have an excuse anymore. I just got caught up with some friends on sunday night and then I never recovered my focus from then on. I'll keep going just to make up for it though the pace will be slower since it's running into weekdays.

File: born2feel.jpg (236 KB, 1203x1447)

236 KB JPG

Oh did I forget to close an italic bracket? Fuck. Off.

Anyway, leave your rolls below!

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>2540720

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>2540720

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>2540720

>>2541006
>we trip and hit our head, knocking us out from all the combat and putting us in comma for a week.
Welp. Such is life.

>>2540806
>>2541022
>>2541006
Called. Writing will begin in three hours when I get out of class.

>>2541031
Luckily I did say best of three, otherwise this might be pretty realistic.

File: Bastard can aim, you'll g(...).jpg (256 KB, 700x560)

256 KB JPG

Rushing forwards, you attempt to hit the ground and roll in one smooth motion to throw off your assailant’s aim, but unfortunately for you, your previous display of evasion seems to not have been lost on the shrouded archer. Even before you get mid-roll, you feel a sharp pain in your side and grunt as you complete the motion and continue sprinting side to side. Hearing an awful gurgling noise, you grit your teeth in pain as you twist yourself around and look back at the location of your attacker.

Shuddering uncontrollably, the shrouded figure begins dripping rivulets of blood before collapsing forwards lifelessly and slamming into the ground with a sickening thump. Standing in his place is Robert, splattered with blood and brandishing his similarly stained hunting knife, who quickly glances at the arrow stuck in your side and lowers himself to the ground with haste. As you lean against a wall, you look down and inspect the bloody wooden shaft protruding from your clothing and attempt to ignore the leaking blood, instead noticing the rudimentary work of the arrow itself. It doesn’t seem like a particularly high-quality arrow, and as you grip onto the wood to tear it out, Robert dashes up to you and holds your hands still.

“I don’t think you should be letting yourself bleed out so early into the fight, eh?” he chuckles halfheartedly whilst also brusquely pulling part of your shirt up to get a closer look at the extent of the injury. “Hold still, I’ve got a better angle on this than you do.” Letting out a low whistle, you look at him appreciating the streams of blood slowly rolling down your skin before a strange thought runs across your mind.

Shaking your head back and forth to fight off the oddly crude idea, Robert glances up at you with an unamused look, and you resolve yourself to continue to not move as he returns to checking out the wound.

”That what I think it is, Boss?” chirps in Terror with an amused, hyena-like laugh, ”I’d never have though-“

”How about you quit your yapping and get over here you goddamn mutt!” you snap irritatedly, shutting him up instantly.

Pouting like a chastised child, your familiar hops to you from around the corner of the alley and hurries to your feet. ”Bah, you’ve had worse! You ought to tell the poor guy that you can fix yourself up just fine, y’know, unless…you like it like this, eh?”

Glaring daggers at the black mastiff, Terror turns his back theatrically on you before approaching your slain attacker. Rolling him over with his snout, Terror cock his head to the side as he uses a paw to pull up the black, partially blood-stained red hood to reveal the face.

“Boss, I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a green midget before have you?” he thinks back to you confusedly.

With your temper rising at his antics, you think your retort back instantly. ”Terror, quit playing around! I’ve had enough of your nonsense for one night already.”

(1/2)

>>2543540

Dragging the body back over to you and Robert, your mouth hangs agape as you get a better look at the bloody corpse of your foe. Distracted by your own surprise, Robert turns around and acquires a similar expression on his face as the two of you stare at the body. A long misshapen nose framed by a warped, filthy green face smeared with black face paint awaits your horrified gaze as Terror continues to tear at the body. Shredding the thin black robes, further evidence of inhumanity becomes clear as the clothed, short frame of your opponent quickly transforms into a green-skinned, hunched-over mockery of a man.

”Well, then. I suppose I owe you…an apology, T.”

Staring for a few more moments in complete silence, Robert eventually pulls himself together first and taps you on the stomach with a finger to get your attention.“Doesn’t look nearly as bad as I thought, looks like you’re lucky greenie over there wasn’t drawing a bigger bow. That being said, arrow wounds are all nasty business. I’ll try and take this out so you can fight better, but we’d best get this taken care of for sure soon.”

Taking off his coat, he begins to make some makeshift bandages but suddenly the sounds of clashing steel ring out through the night not too far from your own position. The pained scream of a man follows, yet the sounds of battle do not cease.

At that, you brush him off and glare at Robert with irritation, “I’m fine! Just get to the walls, damn you! Sounds like they need your help right now more than anything else, I’ll be there in a moment.” Stepping back, Robert kneels and puts his jacket back on and stows his knife, replacing it with his bow in his hands. As he moves to leave you, the spy looks back at you with a worried frown, “You sure you’re going to be alright? Serious or not, you’re still leaking blood and an arrow wound is no joke.”

Terror also gives a similar look, wordlessly wondering if you need him to stick around or to head off to the walls with Robert. Scourge doesn’t seem to be answering your link, so she’s probably preoccupied with something, though you can’t imagine what.

Looking down at the dead…beast or whatever it is lying on the ground covered in its own blood, you glance at your own wound and wonder if the corpse still has enough blood and flesh to patch yourself up with before another pained scream is heard from the walls nearby.

If you’re wrong about how much blood is left, you’ll be stuck dealing with the arrow all night, but if Robert and Terror don’t get moving there might not be enough sentries on the wall to help you repel the attackers.

Damn it!

>Tell Robert and Terror to leave you, better to gamble on the corpse than to have the sentries overwhelmed

>Ask him to treat you quickly, the defenders on the walls will just have to stick it out for a little longer

>Have him help you up to the walls. Moving is painful, and fighting even worse, but at least you’ll be able to meet up with the sentries.

(2/2)

My update time is pretty fucking inconsistent I know, but I'm going to keep going hopefully until I get to 100+ replies simply for pacing. As it is, I think I can't afford slower progression on anything so I'll continue to run sporadically through the week.

I'll update twitter whenever I finish writing, just so ya'll will know when to check back in!

https://twitter.com/Leave_QM

Don't forget!

>>2543543
>Have him help you up to the walls. Moving is painful, and fighting even worse, but at least you’ll be able to meet up with the sentries.

>>2543543
>>Tell Robert and Terror to leave you, better to gamble on the corpse than to have the sentries overwhelmed

>>2543543
>>Tell Robert and Terror to leave you, better to gamble on the corpse than to have the sentries overwhelmed

>>2543774
>>2544103
Go it alone

>>2543698
Get carried

Okay! Vote called, writing now!

“Forget me, already! You and Terror need to get on the walls and save those sentries or we’ll have nobody left to save!”

Setting his jaw, Robert nods and dashes into the night alongside Terror, who joyfully wags his tail in anticipation of a coming fight.

Grunting in pain, you stumble clumsily to the fallen monster-man and draw Lucille’s knife from your belt. Slowly lowering yourself to the ground, conscious of the arrow sticking out of your side, you use a free hand to examine the body.

Looking around and listening carefully, knowing that for a few minutes you’ll be vulnerable to a surprise attack if any stragglers remain, you eventually begin applying your knife to the corpse to ply your bloody craft.

(Roll 1d20, best of three)

>>2545214
Wow, that looks a lot shorter than I imagined with 4chan formatting. Either way, I'll need some quick rolls for the medicine check and then I'll get out a much longer update for tonight.

Voting period time: 1 hour

If I don't have enough, I'll do the rest myself and we'll go from there!

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>2545214

File: 1508794005592.png (765 KB, 1001x1001)

765 KB PNG

>>2545246

File: 1522558174665.jpg (15 KB, 326x326)

15 KB JPG

>>2545250

File: 1499397343766.jpg (43 KB, 583x736)

43 KB JPG

>>2545246

>>2545246
>inb4 another 1 on the next roll

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>2545565
OP said he only takes the best of three, so no worries.

>>2545246
Eviscerating the body in front of you with surgical precision, and specifically utilizing the experience you’ve acquired from your lengthy nightmare, a sizable offering of puddled blood and cuts of green flesh is prepared. Gritting your teeth, you grip the shaft and offer up a prayer to nobody in particular in thanks that the arrowhead hadn’t struck anything important or hit any bones. Slowly, surely, you extract the length of the projectile with trembling hands as fresh waves of sheer agony begin to push you closer and closer to screaming into the night. Although you nearly black out, and it takes a little longer than you’d expected, the damnable arrow is finally extricated in place of a rush of fresh blood that erupts from the wound. Wiping your eyes and sighing in relief, you place the arrow on the ground and immediately begin to focus and chant in the Witch tongue to repair yourself with the flesh and blood sitting in front of you.

“Here goes nothing.” You whisper to yourself nervously before the process begins in full.
---------
A few gore-splattered minutes later, you gently hold the arrow that had previously made a home in your body and chuckle softly. By all standards, the projectile barely deserves the title as you attempt to clean the blood off of the shaft with the now-ruined cloak of the green-skinned inhuman and notice strange, primitive-looking symbols carved into the wood. Examining the feathers, you feel them with your fingers and marvel at the strange coarseness of the material, wondering just what kind of bird these must have come from. And finally, you tap the crimson-splashed stone arrowhead, chipped and mass-produced by some overworked tribal fletcher somewhere.

Squatting down and leaving the arrow next to the horribly mangled corpse of your foe, then grabbing his blood-slicked shroud and covering the body in respect. Skill certainly wasn’t an issue for the monster, the quality of his equipment was. Had he been packing some better tools; your situation may have shifted from dead to rights to just plain dead. Pulling your bloody shirt up again, you glance at the site of the wound at your side and smile seeing the skin sown together and healed as if nothing had ever happened. An old predator Witch saying comes to mind as you keep your gaze there, something about inheriting the valor of your foes by using their flesh and blood.

Hearing a sudden burst of noise from the town walls nearby, you realize that you’d been completely ignoring the sounds of combat the entire time you’ve been fixing yourself up. Tapping your index finger against your head to focus, you try to reach out to Scourge but for some ominous reason she seems to not be able to respond.


(1/2)

>>2546044

Swapping to Terror, you feel and hear nothing but his frenzied lust for blood, no doubt engaged in heavy combat on the walls alongside Robert. Shaking your head at being out of the fight for so long, you stretch your limbs out and start dashing through the streets. Finally, clearing the alleyway and staring wildly at the situation on the walls, your eyes show an assortment of familiar shrouded figures armed with clubs, knives, and bows fighting savagely against an array of scared, desperate men dressed in the arms and armor of the Narrowater town guard.

Weaving in and out of the fray, tearing their foes apart where they can meet them, you note Robert and Terror knee-deep in the bloodshed. Sprinting into motion once again, you spot a nearby house with a rooftop closer to the walls than the rest and hurry near to it. Tossing your broomstick up on the roof itself, you hop onto a nearby fence and then launch yourself on a nearby window frame, barely managing to hold onto it. Pulling yourself up on a series of makeshift fixtures and footholds protruding outwards from the house and connected to other buildings, you grunt with exertion as you hoist yourself to the top.

Grabbing your broomstick, you take a few steps back before sprinting near the edge and leaping as high as you can. Clambering onto the stone wall, you carefully navigate the nearby carnage happening around you as guardsmen fight for their lives against the brutish, yet lightning quick movements of the hooded monsters attacking them. One of them quickly notices you and lunges like an arrow at you with a barbaric, spiked-club raised high above it’s head. You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline or if that old Witch saying has any truth to it, but you reach back and slam the broomstick against the face of your attacker with enough speed that it seems to immediately ragdoll the monster, sending to the ground in a crumpled, broken heap.

Another attacker betrays its presence behind you by stepping forwards too quick after you dispatched it’s fellow and ducking instinctively you avoid the razor-sharp edges of a knife smeared with some unknowable substance. Muttering furiously in some grotesque language, it attempts to strike you again, but this time you abuse your superior reach, striking the creature several times with enough force to break bone. By the time your flurry finishes, your foe is out on his feet, and you take the opportunity to grab him by the shoulder and toss him over the wall to the forest below.

“They’ve taken the gatehouse!” screams a guardsman not far away as the sounds of battle continue, and monster and man roar and die together in furious battle.

(1.5/2)

>>2546050

Looking over at the speaker, you notice a group of cloaked monsters not only swarming the gatehouse, but also attempting to pull up the doors to the town. Rushing over in a hurry, by-passing several men and monsters locked in lethal combat, you soon notice the dwindling numbers of guard sentries remaining on the wall compared to their attackers. Not far from yourself but opposite the gatehouse, you note Robert and Terror fully stuck into the middle of the fray, wreaking havoc together but slowly being surrounded despite themselves.

You only have a few seconds to make a decision before things get far, far worse.

If you rush the gatehouse, you’ll likely have to fight alone and clear it yourself, leaving the guards and your friends in the middle of the meatgrinder. If you help the sentries, chances are you’ll have a larger portion of guardsmen remaining alive but the gatehouse will remain in enemy hands and Robert and Terror still surrounded. If you help out your comrades, the other two will similarly be overwhelmed.

Swearing angrily, you decide that life isn’t worth living without a little risk before bringing your broomstick back to bear.

>Head for the gatehouse

>Clear the walls with the Guardsmen

>Rush over to Robert and Terror

(2/2)

File: 00090.png (215 KB, 691x590)

215 KB PNG

I mean I suppose I can wait for votes?

That's okay, I know weekdays are busy times for everyone.

>>2546052
>>Rush over to Robert and Terror

>>2546052
>Rush over to Robert and Terror

>>2546052
>>Head for the gatehouse

>>2546052
>>Head for the gatehouse

Wondering if I should see if a natural tiebreaker will come or if I should roll it.

>>2546052
>Head for the gatehouse
If it's possible can we animate something to support the duo on the way? Or would that take too much time?

>>2548062
Would take too long, this is a pretty split second decision.

On that note, >>2546975
>>2547430
>>2548062
Vote called for gatehouse!

File: You don't want to get cut(...).jpg (498 KB, 1920x1400)

498 KB JPG

Gritting your teeth, you force yourself to ignore the desperate plight of both your friends and the guardsmen fighting to the death on the walls. If the enemy holds that gatehouse, whoever they’re working with will have free access to the town and you’re definitely not going to let that happen if you can help it.

Sprinting quickly towards the gatehouse, you duck and dodge several wayward strikes and arrows flying your way, paying them little mind knowing that their attention will soon return to the guardsmen. Running directly into a surprised monster guarding the entryway, you quickly batter the beast upside the head and leave him a bleeding, unconscious wreck before finally making your way inside the torch-lit gatehouse.

Shielding your eyes from the brightly lit interior for a moment, you quickly hear the tell-tale whistle of an arrow being loosed in your direction and instinctively drop to the floor. As you attempt to get to your feet, an armored fist appears from above and you push yourself backwards to avoid the stone-shattering impact. Rolling and slipping back onto your feet, you take a deep breath and look upwards at your attackers, scoffing at the unwelcome sight of five larger, taller green-skinned monstrosities. Although still robed in the same black shrouds used by their comrades outside, these five seem to have crude pieces of armor strapped to them that protrude from the cloth. Each one seems to wield devilish blades that contain entirely too many sharp edges and spikes to be practical, yet the blackened steel of each remain dripping with fresh blood.

A quick look around the room reveals the source, a group of hopelessly outclassed guardsmen who now rest on the floor, bloodied, beaten, and broken.

With their hoods fully removed, you fully appreciate the savage features of the green-skinned beastmen, their long, wart-ridden noses, the shifty, merciless eyes, narrow cheeks and jaws that resemble those of a rat rather than of man. Everything about these creatures breeds contempt, and you admit that perhaps the phenomenon has worked itself on you with great effect.
As you return their predatory gazes with a steely glare of your own, you switch your focus to the pair of winches located at opposite corners of the room. Judging from the disarray of chains wrapped around each, you may have interrupted their attempt to open gates at the right time. As they slowly begin to circle around you, one of them decides to make a pre-emptive strike to try and catch you unawares. Blocking the slash with your broomstick, you attempt to counterstrike with a cracking sweep to the legs but find that your target has already withdrawn before you can connect.

(1/2)

>>2549027
Hearing an angry grunt from behind you, you turn and block a heavy overhead swing that nearly pushes you back for an instant before you recover and loosen your grip, forcing your attacker to overbalance himself trying to throw you to the ground with his blade. As he hits the ground, you quickly attempt to stomp on his neck but as soon as he makes contact with the floor, the bastard rolls and only takes a passing blow on his back. Returning to guard, you tap your feet impatiently as you wait for another attacker to try his luck, but none of them move forwards, perhaps expecting that you are attempting to bait a strike.

Fighting five-on-one isn't a particularly favorite tactic of yours, but every moment they're not forcing the town gates open, the better. You can tell that you won't outlast five different opponents, so you're best bet is to rush forwards and catch them quickly in the hopes of disabling or killing a few before they overwhelm you, and you ought to do it fast because you've got a group of guardsmen bleeding to death in a corner nearby.

Wetting your lips, you think about throwing out an insult or two before you remember that they probably don't speak your language. And you'll need every ounce of breath in the coming moments if you want to make it out of this alive.

(roll 1d20, bo3)

(2/2)

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>2549031

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>2549031

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>2549031

File: 1458682147321.jpg (31 KB, 638x540)

31 KB JPG

>>2549206

>>2549206
Great...

>>2549290
I did specify best of three, so it's fine. That being said, >>2545565 was partially right!

Update will probably be up in around seven to ten hours after classes and etc.

If you follow my twitter I will tweet out when the update is out if you don't want to camp the thread.

>>2549335
Changing stances, shifting back and forth, you allow the tension to build in the gatehouse in complete silence. Listening intently, besides the sounds of battle outside and the occasional moaning of a wounded guardsmen on the floor nearby, you hear nothing to distract you from reacting to any audible signals of attack. Glaring at your attackers in particular, a motionless standoff ensues for a few moments, one that you stretch out only to try and find an opening somewhere, anywhere, before going on the offensive against five enemies.

Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you catch one of your attackers nervously shift his gaze away to one of his comrades, perhaps feeling uneasy that no combat is taking place despite holding the number advantage. At that, you twirl your broomstick in your hands fast enough to blur the space around you before twisting around and bringing the wooden end down on the distracted monster like a falling star. Cracking against it’s skull with a sickening, audible thwack, your ears become overwhelmed with the sounds of movement around you and without hesitation you dive and roll forwards, avoiding several swords landing in the exact spot you’d just occupied.

As soon as you come to a stop, you’re met by a waiting monster who attempts to slice you in half from shoulder to hip, but he is thwarted by a quick strike to his shin that forces him to hop back, roaring in pain. Looking at the fallen green-skin, you chuckle seeing his motionless body communicating his overt unconsciousness to everyone still on their feet.

One down, four to go.

Banding together, the remaining four silently group together into a kind of wedge, preventing you from easily picking any individual member apart as with their fallen comrade. Grinning wildly, you pin your broomstick behind your neck and gesture them to bring it, inciting them to slowly trudge forwards. Waiting patiently, you only switch back to a guard once within range and step back before spinning launching a crippling backhand swing that is immediately caught by two different blades. Before you can retract it, your broomstick is immediately pinned and wrenched from your hands by two other assailants. Stepping back, you put your fists up and sway back and forth again, watching your foes toss your broomstick behind them and into an obscure corner of the gatehouse. Before you know it, another attacker dashes up to your side and attempts to cut you to pieces from your flank as the other three continue forward.

Waiting, you wait until the greenskin gets closer, watching his every move with murderous intent. As he zig-zags in and feints a horizontal swing, you force yourself not to react to it and correctly read his follow-up underhand slash as his comrades close in on you. Gambling on a split-second dodge, you barely manage to evade the swing and as it is, the blade shears off part of your shirt but leaves your attacker fully off-balance.

(1/3)

>>2552360
Taking advantage, you lean backwards before throwing your elbow crashing into his nose, a cracking sound giving you a visceral signal that you’ve broken it. As you wrestle for his sword, you hear the faint whoosh of something cutting through the air and decide to grab his wrist instead. Dragging it as you rush behind him, twisting his arm as you go, wicked steel flies past and leaves some hairs dangling from the back of your head, half-cut.

Guiding your victim along, stringing him in front of you like a shield, you drive your fist into the back of his head, forcing him to loosen his grip on his weapon, allowing you to wrest it from his grip. Without hesitation, you force it against the monsters’ throat and drag it, spilling blood all over floor, leaving it slickened and hazardous to cross.

Two down, three to go.

Letting the monster drop to the ground in a heap, clutching his cut throat, you look up and are half-way through thinking of an appropriate insulting gesture to use before a flash of steel catches your full attention. Another attacker, incensed and furious at your dispatching of his comrades, leaps over the growing puddle and brings his sword against yours with a colossal impact that leaves your hands shaking.

“Got you mad now, huh?” you grunt out as he disengages before launching a hateful barrage of swings that begins to numb your fingers as you desperately block them, each strike slamming into the crude sword you’re holding with truly monstrous strength. Pushed back closer and closer against the wall, you notice that his confidence seems to soar with every blow. Instantly, you resolve to convince him of his superiority, and as you block the next strike, you intentionally stumble back and let out a shocked gasp. Roaring in triumph, your opponent bats your sword aside and prepares to land the finishing blow, his compatriots waiting patiently nearby, allowing him to execute you personally. You hate to disappoint them, but as soon as your own weapon is swatted away you start moving to the side, turning from the falling blade and wincing as the noise of it smashing into the stone wall kicks up sparks and unleashes a painful clang from the sword. Dragging your own sword along, you drive it into the monster’s chest with a furious shout, piercing through the clothes and splattering both of you in blood.

Just two left.

Beating their chests in bestial rage, the remaining two charge forwards, catching you flat-footed and without a weapon in your hands. One slams its shoulder into you, tackling you to the ground and knocking the wind out of you. Dazed, you attempt to scramble away but are seized by the shoulders and thrown back against the stone floor with violent force. With on of them pinning you down, you struggle helplessly as the other plants it’s foot on your chest and raises a sword high above your head.

(2/3)

>>2552362
Driving your fists into the greenskin holding you down, you hit him with everything you have but the creature only smiles wickedly as it continues to keep you on the ground while it’s comrade winds up his swing with brutish theatricality.

Closing your eyes in resignation, you only hope that the old tales of there being an afterlife are true once you shed your mortal shell.

“Hold!” shouts a ragged, hoarse voice from across the gatehouse that snaps your eyes open in surprise. Rising from the ground, a Guardsman, his helmet dented, his chest rent and his body limp, takes hold of his fallen sword and waves it unsteadily at your two attackers.

“Where the Waters meet, where river spirits sleep,” chants the Guardsman, his back straightening by the moment as he clearly composes himself with sheer force of will, “By the Oath I swore before the Shallow Gate, you will not claim any more lives this day!”

Limping forwards, the valiant Guardsman readies himself for what must be one last swing, raising his weapon high above his head. Roaring in amusement, your would-be executioner faces the Guardsman and stomps towards him with relaxed footsteps. As he moves away, the attacker pinning you lowers his sword and instead draws a dagger from his belt, intent on finishing you himself.

“Have at you, cur!”

Screaming with effort, the Guardsman launches himself forwards and brings down his bloodstained sword at the laughing greenskin, who catches it effortlessly with his own blade. Backhanding the wounded man with a contemptuous fist, the Guardsman staggers backwards before charging back into his foe and clashing blades in a desperate embrace. Noting suddenly that you and your own opponent are fixated on the fight, you break free of the spectacle and lash out with your elbow, catching the creature directly on the chin. Bringing it down to one knee, you immediately follow up with a brutal uppercut that impacts so hard you fear you may have shattered something in your hand. Wresting the knife out of it’s hand, you lunge straight in and begin stabbing and slashing at the monsters unprotected throat, spraying yourself with another fresh coat of blood. As your victim shudders and takes his final breath, you instantly get to your feet and find yourself staring down the business end of a swinging sword. Barely managing to dodge the initial blow, you use your free hand to grab the hilt of the blade in desperation, holding it still while you attempt to dash in and bring your final attacker down.

Unfortunately, it seems that the last monster standing has fully adapted to your strategies as he greets your rush with a clenched fist that cracks into the side of your head and sends you sprawled out on the ground fighting for consciousness. Blinking back the darkness and fighting a murderous pain in your head, you slowly crawl back to your feet only to hear a sickening, gurgling noise erupt from nearby.

(2.5/3)

>>2552364
Drawing his blade from the back of the last greenskin, the Guardsman attempts to smile but sways on his feet before dropping like a rock from, if you’re guessing correctly from the puddling blood, his numerous wounds. Stumbling over, you check his body and find such numerous injuries that you’re impressed he had even made it to his feet, never mind distract and slay one of those black-clothed demons himself. Laying your hands on him, you look quickly around and hurry over to his comrades, most of whom are either unconscious or in worse shape than him.

Cracking our knuckles, you draw Lucille’s black knife and prepare for some serious first-aid as you start dragging bodies to the center of the room.

You’re not letting anybody die if you can help it, but you figure you might need to buy significantly more sets of spare clothing in the future if this situation becomes standard practice.

(Roll 1d20 bo3)

(3/3)

----

My apologies! Got caught for a whole day! I'll be around today though so don't forget to vote!

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>2552367

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>2552367

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>2552367

>>2552378
>>2552420
>>2552995
Okay, writing!

Twelve hours later, I finally have the update ready. Being that saturday is regular running hours, I'll finally be able to dedicate myself to a regular session.

>>2555483
Next post will be that update, and will signify the beginning of the saturday regular session in which I will attempt to land at least ten updates.

Start time will be announced on twitter or basically when this thread updates next.

Thank you for sticking around, and god bless.

>>2555484
To say I overslept today would be an understatement. To say I have been hit by life yet again today would similarly be an understatement.

The ACTUAL session will be tomorrow on sunday, if nothing else goes wrong.

Again, thank you for your patience and have a blessed day.

Okay fuck it, we start now fuck everything fuck this shit.

You do the best with what you have, but there simply isn’t enough flesh and blood to go around to fully fix everyone up. Hacking and carving as fast as you can, you divide up your resources and after a truly bloody healing process that paints the gatehouse floor red, you manage to at least ensure that none of the wounded guardsmen die. Laying the valiant guardsman who’d saved you earlier to rest, you set him up against the wall and stagger outside into the torchlit walls after grabbing your broomstick off the floor.

What greets your eyes doesn’t particularly shock you, but despite yourself you shake your head wearily and force yourself to walk forward. Strewn all over the walls are the rent, broken bodies of the defending sentries and of their greenskinned attackers, many of them lying on top of each other or impaled on the points of spears or hacked apart. Wounded soldiers are being carried on stretchers or being lifted by hand off the walls down to a makeshift hospital at the base of the stairs, where groggy-eyed apothecaries dressed in bloody aprons attend quickly to the survivors. Stepping over bodies, you clear the ramparts, slick with blood, and stumble down the stairs where a waiting guardsman hurries over to you and attempts to help you over to a bed.

Waving him off, you tell him there are more wounded in the gatehouse, and after calling for some fellow guards, he rushes up the stairs to retrieve them. Brushing past the group of able-bodied guardsmen sprinting up the stairs, you make your way through the hospital, looking for Robert and Terror. Slipping around the busy apothecaries and other professionals attending to patients, you finally find the pair resting on bloody bedrolls, the two looking much the worse for wear. Covered in numerous cuts, slashes and bruises, the two of them look like they’ve been through hell although you realize that the combat on the walls must have only lasted ten, maybe twenty minutes of intense battle.

Noting Robert blinking, seemingly holding onto consciousness, you examine his most critical injuries, many of them hastily wrapped with white cloth bandages now stained red. Turning over Terror, you notice much of the same, although you know that he’ll be up and out much faster due to his familiar status so you wave off his wounds as being far less serious. Looking around for some more bandages, you find a roll lying nearby and, with Lucille’s knife in hand, you slit your one of your wrists, holding it over Robert’s most serious wounds.

Focusing intently, you tear open his bandages and chant under your breath, ensuring that you simply seal up the bleeding for now. A woman dressed in the clothing of the apothecaries checking on nearby patients notices the shredded bandages and approaches hurriedly until she notices the hat on your head and nods sagely before turning away and attending another group of wounded guardsmen.

(1/3)

>>2561306
Applying the finishing touches, you wrap your wrist as tight as you can with the bandages, constricting the wound so you don’t pass out from blood loss later. Feeling faint-headed, you give Robert a solid flick to his forehead, snapping his eyes open in indignation.

“You know you could have just, I don’t know, given me a good shake or something.” Groaning, he slowly lifts himself up from the ground and stands up on unsteady feet. Cursing you lift his arm around your head and let him lean on you for support, although the weight difference between the two of you makes this somewhat less effective than usual.

Still cursing under your breath, you help him for a few steps until a nearby guardsman on watch notices your predicament and hurries into a nearby home, presumably his own, and returns with a wooden cane. Handing it to Robert, the spy leans heavily on the cane but shakes his head and thanks the attentive guardsman who just smiles and returns to his post. Able to move again, the two of you wordlessly keep moving to the center of town, sometimes having to slip by hurried townspeople running back and forth.

“So, did the old man or that bartender make it out? I wasn’t really able to tell, fighting in that damned gatehouse and all.”

Smiling with a slight expression of pain hidden underneath, Robert simply beams as he responds, “Seems like it, I’d thought I was hearing myself being welcomed to the afterlife for a moment after hearing that bell until we were reinforced by fresh guardsmen coming from the barracks. I suppose the walls were hit the hardest which makes sense, really. If that gate had gone down, we might be having other things to think about.”

Putting his free hand on your shoulder, Robert smiles and gives you a soft pat, “You did good, Sol. I saw those mean bastards cut their way into the gatehouse, but I was tied down so I couldn’t intervene. No small feat coming out of that without nothing but a cut shirt, I think.”

Looking at his bloody, beaming face, you get a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest that you don’t understand but continue to enjoy. Savoring the moment, you eventually shake your head to focus and slowly brush his hand off your shoulder.

“I’m surprised there hasn’t been any sign of activity from the wall. You’d think they would have come in to finish the job.”

Robert shrugs his shoulders, still keeping his trademark smile. “Who knows? Maybe they decided not to go ahead with their plans after finding out we’ve repelled their infiltrators. This town might not be a fortress, but I’d think twice trying to directly siege a place with defenders like it does, yeah?”

Leaning forward on the wooden cane, Robert tilts his head grinning all the while. “I’m headed off to find Frederick and that bartender fellow. You coming with?” Furrowing your eyebrows, you display your confusion audibly. “I’ve got somewhere else to be? I figure you might need help getting up and down stairs or something.”

(2/3)

>>2561322
He flicks you on the shoulder this time and chuckles. “Taking care of other patients, you twit! You’re no physician or apothecary but you also don’t play by the same rules, Sol. Terror’s taking a nap, but you don’t have to help out at the wall either. The fighting at the other places must’ve been pretty rough, too.”

Frowning deeply, the look on your face immediately tips Robert off about your thoughts on the matter but the spy cheers you up with by tapping his cane and flashing that champion smile at you. “Hey, now, don’t give me that look! You’re working for the Kingdom now aren’t you? Well, there’s plenty of wounded boys around town and not much time left in the night before some of them begin to find out what the afterlife’s like. You ought to choose a place to setup and save lives, I’ll catch up with you later, maybe find out what happened to your bird too.”

Watching him limping away, you remember how Scourge hasn’t said responded for a while and attempt to contact her again but get nothing in response. Closing your eyes and letting out a sigh, you figure Robert is right after all, you’re probably more qualified to be saving lives than some of the people treating the wounded right now. Just need to figure out where to head to, really.

The Walls are the obvious choice, you still have a familiar hanging out there and firsthand experience of the kind of reckless carnage that was wrought there. On the other hand, the Watchtower must not have been particularly pretty either. That kind of height must have meant close, desperate fighting in cramped quarters with stairs and ladders everywhere. Then there’s the Barracks, which housed the Guards and must have been the site of some truly brutal combat given the importance of that location and the number of enemies that must have been dispatched to deal with it.

It’s your choice where to start saving lives, now.

>The Walls

>The Watchtower

>The Barracks

(3/3)

>>2561328
>>The Walls

>>2561328
>>The Barracks

feel free to roll if theres a tie.

>>2561328
>>The Walls

>>2561343
>>2561365
Called for walls.

Going to get some food first so I don't pass out at the computer and then I'll announce when write.

>>2561433
Successfully managed to not pass out! Writing now!

The wounded at the Walls probably need the most attention, you figure. The gore-stained walls of Narrowater are likely the site of not only the heaviest fighting you’ve ever been in, but most likely the heaviest fighting ever seen in this region. And until the situation around town is fully stabilized, guards are posted at every nook and cranny to search for any infiltrators in hiding, and contact is reestablished with other villages and towns, that fact may change at any given moment.
If it appears that those black-clothed demons were in fact, the vanguard of an approaching force, you’ll need more than just every available guardsman on their feet to repel the attackers.

Keeping that in mind, you stroll back to the hospital near the wall and ask around until you can find the head apothecary, identifiable by the metal angel pinned to his bloody apron, busy discussing issues of rations and medical supplies with several other concerned colleagues.

An exasperated apothecary raises his voice and accidentally makes the plight of the physicians known, “At this rate, we’ll run out of supplies by sunrise. Even if we confiscate things we need from local townsfolk, that’ll not only create chaos but we might not even still be able to save our most wounded patients.”

Nearly bringing himself to strike the man, the head apothecary merely glares him into silence before addressing the group in harsh whispers, “I’m not about to start triage, man! Whatever you have to do to save these men, do it. I’ll shoulder the blame for everything that happens in the next few hours, I only ask that we do our jobs and save lives. They did their jobs on the Wall, so what we do next can hardly be any more difficult.”

Approaching the circle awkwardly, you silently gain their undivided attention with the help of your pointy, bloodied-yet-again Witch hat and address them all at once. “You won’t have to do all that, I think. If you can get some helpers to haul some carcasses over I can probably take care of your worst injured, let you send a few people over to the other sites that were hit.”

Looking suspicious, the head apothecary seems to think about your request while judging you by your appearance and demeanor which, to be fair, is probably warranted given that you are currently covered in a few different layers of drying blood. Before he can make his own decision, the apothecary who’d witnessed you fixing up Robert speaks up and puts her hand on his shoulder.

“She’s the real deal, Bruce. I’ve seen her work firsthand. She might be their only hope of surviving the next few hours.”

Considering her words, the head apothecary relents after a few moments more, waving over some idle guardsmen watching the hospital. “Very well,” he says as he stretches his limbs out, clearly preparing for a long few hours of work even with you involved, “You’ll have your carcasses and your patients. Just do your best to save them, Witch. Heaven knows we won’t be able to.”

(1/2)

>>2562179
Nodding, you are led to a lone tent near the edge of the hospital and soon understand exactly why the place is located as such. Screaming, crying for their mothers, the wounded here are not only in extreme pain but are likely very close to an ignoble death on a bed. Approaching the dying, looking as some of the more conscious patients stare at you deliriously, you crack your knuckles as guardsmen behind you hurriedly drag corpses of pigs and cows, freshly slain.
Time to get to work.
----------
Several viscera-filled hours later, you finally drag yourself outside and into the fresh sunlight, sagging tiredly and nearly rubbing your eyes with bloody sleeves. Happy that you caught yourself in time, you find a wall to lean on and slowly drop to the ground in exhaustion. It wasn’t easy, but you can at least safely say that none of your patients will expire from their wounds tonight having had to apply every single drop of your experience and power patching up some of the most horrendous wounds you’ve ever personally witnessed.

Smiling, your eyes start to close by themselves, and without protest you simply pull your witch hat over your face and slowly fall asleep.

(Roll 1d20)

(2/2)

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>2562183

>>2562183
I meant to specify bo3 so I'll look for two more rolls!

Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>2562183

Rolled 4 (1d20)

Oookay then. I got it don't worry!

>>2562510
There we go! Writing!

File: Familiar, but different....jpg (1.73 MB, 5472x3648)

1.73 MB JPG

Feeling the cold, tearing slashing of wind on your skin suddenly, you quickly open your eyes and shake your head. Blinking rapidly, you shake your head and rub your eyes before looking around and sighing heavily. Instead of the town of Narrowater, you are surrounded by an unforgiving, frigid wasteland of snowy bluffs and dead or dying foliage covered in white. Shivering as snow continues to fall and drops onto your skin, sapping the warmth from your body, you quickly get to your feet and kick a pile of snow into nothing out of frustration. Realizing your broomstick is missing, you pat yourself down and find nothing else present except for that damnable black knife, which you touch gingerly.

Another strange dream, it seems. Hopefully you’ll be out of here soon, because as unwelcome as the last one was, at least you weren’t freezing to death.

Stowing the knife away, cursing as your fingers nearly burn with cold after touching the metal, you figure you’ve got nothing else to do but walk forwards. Choosing a random
direction, you move trudge forwards through the deep snow, swearing intermittently as you sink into hellishly frigid layers of snow every few steps. After what seems like an eternity in frozen hell, your attention is drawn to a sonorous howl in the distance. Bursting from a nearby brush on the edge of a snowy forest, just like the last time, you come face to face with the massive frame of the misshapen wolf-creature from your last nightmare.

Staring and narrowing your eyes, you wrap your sleeve around your knife and angle it in your lead hand, ready to get a little revenge. However, it seems the beast has a different idea as it snorts and turns it’s back at you, wagging a bony, flesh-stripped tail as if trying to get you to follow it instead. Puzzled, you don’t loosen your grip or change your stance for a moment until the wind and snow picks up dramatically, slamming into you in a cruel, freezing hail. Gritting your teeth, you realize if you don’t head forward, where the wolf-beast is aiming to lead you, you’ll freeze to death here in the open.

You can’t really die in a dream, right?

Turning around slightly, the creature looks at you confusedly, perhaps wondering why you aren’t following, as if it cannot understand why you would feel apprehensive being near it. Feeling your fingers starting to hurt from the chill of holding the knife, you snarl knowing you’ll have to decide what you want to do quickly.

>Lower the knife and follow. If it isn’t attacking you now, maybe you’ll push your own feelings aside and follow it wherever it wants to lead you so you don’t freeze in this storm.

>Trail slowly with your guard up the whole way. You’d rather be sick than dead if the beast decides to catch you off guard.

>Attack the damn thing. You won’t satisfied until you at least make it bleed for taking your hand last time.

>>2562820
>>Lower the knife and follow. If it isn’t attacking you now, maybe you’ll push your own feelings aside and follow it wherever it wants to lead you so you don’t freeze in this storm.

>>2562820
>>Trail slowly with your guard up the whole way. You’d rather be sick than dead if the beast decides to catch you off guard.

fuck you wolf, its going in your eye next time we clash

Will need one more vote, though I can roll tie-breaker if needed.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

1 - Lower knife

2 - Trail

Okay after throwing up, and numerous other things I'm going to post an update in a few hours and call it for this thread. Will probably run next thread on Saturday, have a good one everyone.

Don't forget that I will be posting exactly when the next thread goes up on twitter! https://twitter.com/Leave_QM

>>2564166
QM your life sounds like a nonstop rollercoaster

File: Lucille Isengrinn.jpg (113 KB, 1200x952)

113 KB JPG

Facing the prospect of staying outside in the storm or following the very same wolf that’d tore your hand off the last time the two of you met, you begrudgingly decide to simply follow the damn beast this time though you don’t like it at all. Stowing your knife, you glare impatiently at it until the animal nods and begins trudging through the snowy brush with moderate speed.

Swearing, you force yourself to struggle through the snow to keep up in pursuit as the storm begins to worsen. Tripping, sinking, you somehow manage to keep up and chase the wolf into a dark cave, where you finally lean against a frigid wall to catch your labored breath in pitch-blackness.

Hearing something shifting elsewhere in the cave, you immediately flick your hands for your knife and face the direction of the rustling noises. Freezing in your tracks as a faint light immediately blooms into a blazing campfire that burns bright against the stormy backdrop.
Sitting comfortably nearby, along with a full complement of firewood, cooking spit, and roasting meet, you notice the figure dressed in a familiar black dress punctuated with feathers, bones, and a spiffy witch-hat that easily rivals your own.

Finally getting the perfect angle on the meat roasted over the fire, a wicked grin crosses the face of one Lucille Isengrinn as her misshapen wolf-beast nuzzles her legs with unadulterated love.

“Been waiting on you, Solana! Short time no see, huh?”

Still brandishing the knife in your hands, your confusion is treated with a bout of laughter rather than concern and your fellow Witch waves you over with a gloved hand. “I’ve got other knives Sol, don’t worry. Just get over here, you look hungry and I don’t think I’ll be able to finish this food myself. It’s a sin to waste good food, y’know!”

Slowly putting your knife away and walking over to the fire pit, Lucille slaps you on the back with a hearty chuckle. “Haha! I knew you’d see the light, smellin’ this beautiful cooking. Now, settle down tight friend because have I got a story to tell you tonight!”

Smiling despite yourself, you find the warmth of the fire and the strange friendliness of a Witch who by all rights should be slitting your throat to provide an interesting combination of emotions for you. Sitting happily, stuck in a dream once again but with company this time, you feel that tonight will definitely be one to remember.

>>2565760
Thread End

>>2565393
You could put it that way, yes. I don't get seem to get much sleep or get much done work-wise nowadays

I just want to put this out there again, that I fucking love everyone who lurks or plays my quest. I wouldn't have the drive to go on without ya patient bastards, bless your hearts.

(Every time I read something typed out that's more than a vote I feel fuzzy inside.).

See you Saturday!