>>2767976
>Look at the environment around you

Ready to strike at any enemy and crush any trap

>>2767990
The tall plants here are growing yet nearly dead, while sucking muck pulls at your boots. What trees do grow are scraggly and ooze red tar like sap. Running your fingers over a trunk, your accompanying waif looks at you in shock. "The sap of a blood pine can taint a man's destiny...but just man. Be wary what you grope at here in the swamp my lord, and heed our bargain when you meet the elder. please." Kill what they are too weak to kill, return with the head, slip into the void. Break the cycle...did it matter anymore? The years had passed by like snowflakes in a storm. She has been talking the entire time, most of which you have ignored. "...the Arcerien swamp is old, the resting place of dead gods, heed my wa" swamp. dead gods. voice noise...words. words. talking.

You mechanically follow, crushing roots, reed, and scurrying, crawling, life beneath your boots. A strange creature resembling an ape covered in spines charges at you from the brush before you grab it's skull and crush it, the headless body falling limply into the fetid waters. If not for the rot of this land, the swamp would have frozen like everything else. The woman...her name was never asked, and never given, she stares at you with a blank dead eyed stare. "We'd best continue."
---
>select from the previous menu.

>>2768026
Follow and remain vigilant
Keep an eye on the woman. If she attempts to deceive us, remove her heart while it still beats

>>2768252
>lol namefa-
i apologize, greatone

>>2768252
Thin and wiry..she looks as if someone took the twigs and vines of this land, and shoved them into a sun tanned carcass. Overly large green and glassy eyes endlessly scan the environment with casual familiarity but practiced caution. For many men a few weeks on the road, she would be considered beautiful. She has all her teeth, but so do you. Behind an iron mask, a grey tongue runs habitually over sharpened teeth. Just past pert breasts, through the ribs, are organs, and veins, bone and sinews; incomplete ruin, like everything else. A corpse waiting to happen.

She crawls through a particularly dense thicket while you cleave your way through with the falx.

"Not far now." the thin woman's voice is muffled but not far.
----
>roll 1d100

Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>2768363

>>2768371
you hear something familiar but barely audible; it sounds almost like the ring of steel mixed with crunched glass. The keening noise increases as vegetation clears out, and the beginnings of a settlement appear. twine and plant sheds perch over swamp on crude twisting trees. Beneath them bones, teeth, and skulls form strange chimes in an area with no wind. As people walk over them, they rattle all the same. Boards and rope creek and groan with the daily bustle of activity. All women. No men. Something about this place sets you on edge. you grip your falx a bit tighter as you are lead towards a clearing. "Empty man, you need'nt worry. We are all a empty here. We are all free here, from the natural order." An older woman with grey eyes and grey hair, otherwise a near copy of your companion is speaking, but her voice is too flat, too muffled.
---
>Listen, but be on guard
>Time to kill (1d100)
>Interrupt the endless monologue (1d100)
>Attempt to summon Myssadrah, the fallen god. Determine if this is more of her bullshit. (1d100)

>>2768486
Determin if this is more of her bullshit.
Phone posting from whataburger.

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>2768486

>>2768510
There is the barest cackle as check on her. "Thallos...unwilling herald; Oh...I see." Your thoughts are wordless, but full of imagery "you tread fascinating landsss; of other gods lacking the strength to manifest. Younger than I, shards leftover from the war in heaven.mmm.. Vall's hand wrought this, ever eager but sloppy. No patience for details." You tire of her prattle "Do as you will Thallos, even a void enacts change as things rush around, by, from, and to it. So endless, and true irony that you sought to break the wheel, but are still cast in it's shape.." and like that she is gone.

You let out a long deep exhale, drawing the grey eyes to you. "Empty one, my eyes cannot see you, but the hole you leave in this world is plain to all. My daughter tells me you are not much different in appearance. How thematic." She sifts through the mud in front of her, drawing up a dagger nearly as long as your forearm. "I offer again; a dip in the void, true freedom, for only a small favor. Kill the Gryrsulf. Accept this task, and our huntresses will share with you their knowledge."
---
>Time to kill the Gryrsulf
>Kill everyone
>Kill old lady

>>2768532

>Time to kill the Gryrsulf

Huzzah!

Rolled 69 (1d100)

>>2768532
>Kill the Grysulf

".....where"

>>2768532
>Time to kill the Grysulf

Kill Kill!

>>2768787
>>2768841
It takes a concentrated effort to make your scarred throat work in anything resembling an approximation of normal speech, but from behind your helm a single cracking, rasping word slips out "...Wheeere." The older woman locks onto the sound of your voice with those dead eyes and whispers to herself, something you just manage to capture. "blacker than the pool." quickly composing herself she gets up and effortlessly navigates the swampy ground level of the village, her light frame barely leaving footprints on the sucking much and layer of dead leaves. You follow her, the villagers pause to stare; Waifs one and all, garbed in the same roughspun fabric, armed with thin brittle daggers. They endlessly stich and weave at fabric and reeds, though some stare off into the distance, glassy eyed, hands moving, but no textile being made.

Eventually you come upon a rocky outcropping that marks the end of the swamp, where frost immediatly licks stone and frigid winds eagerly rip at your companions. "Beyond here in this nameless place it dwells, formed of it's own will and dreams, Kill the Grysulf, Bring me it's heart, and we will share with you the void and it's many gifts." Stepping forward into the wind, snow assails your sight, and the swamp is barely visible despite the clear view a moment before. "Forward, monster, kill, and kill...and kill." the old woman urges you on.

You begin the long walk into the domain of the Grysulf. Cold and austere, shattered rocks covered in hoarfrost make up the entirety of the ever ascending landscape. You spot dead women of the village below, frozen and dead, armed with blades and crude armor. Entire war parties.
----
>Keep walking
>Examine the hunters 1d100 (low DC)
>Listen (1d100) high DC

Rolled 12 (1d100)

>>2769133
>>Examine the hunters 1d100 (low DC)
First the Grysulf, then all of these women. I don't like their impudence... Thinking they can give us something that we won't take by force ourselves, ripping it from their dead bodies. We are the Ruinbringer for a reason.

Rolled 22 (1d100)

>>2769133
>examine the hunters

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>2769175
>>2769181
Examine the bodies

Thoroughly ;)

>>2769188
ew defiler

>>2769188
>>2769200
The Defiler is one of Thallos' titles. No kinkshaming.

File: Spoiler Image (44 KB, 650x488)

44 KB JPG

>>2769188
>Thoroughly ;)
Snow crunches under foot as you approach the bodies of the frozen swap villagers. Women on in all. Huddled together. Looking closer you notice they all have the same thin bladed daggers as the normal villagers. The only actual equipment they bring with them are packs, strange gords, and woven reed armor.

Grabbing hold of a pack, the arms of a corpse simply snap off as you roughly tug. Inside are modest provisions, and yet another gord. Shaking it, the contents are still liquid. A simple pull and twist removes the stopper, and you pour out the contents. Red. Sticky. The sap of the pines. As it hits the ground, it hisses violently, boiling and causing the winds around you to howl like an animal before it neutralizes. The land where it fell is scarred, as if eaten away by fire. The few drops that got on your boot offer no effect.

Next you grab a blade, but it simply collapses under your touch. One after another, you are unable to take the blades. Magic. You angrily lash out at the bodies. Sorceresses. Mages. The frozen corpses offer no resistance as you covert them to rubble. Your ruined hand and face feel no pain, but the the memory offers a throbbing that reminds you of another time...

...you were on fire in the arena, screaming until the living flame crept down your throat, your masters watched with interest and excitement, though you had slain many, they brought ever new and dangerous challenges. Laying there in consuming pain, you realized you were not besting for them, they were just trying to break you like a bored child with a toy...
---
>Fall deeper into the memory
>Listen to the wind
>Keep walking
>Other

(1d100 for all actions)

>>2769226
>>Fall deeper into the memory
Reminiscing of a time when our humanity was not so fragmented.

Rolled 43 (1d100)

>>2769267
no dice

>>2769272
>43, mild fail.
The memories are there, but disassociated. You have wandered like this longer than you lived. The faces and voices of friends and enemies are muted, almost forgotten as you cling to the experiences. The endless pursuit of freedom, revenge and retribution as seen many sacrifices made. You look down at your hands, one cased in a black gauntlet, the other a mass of twisted and gnarled flesh and bone, bound in a steel band, white as as a flowing candle's tallow. If you still cared, there might be a moment of philosophical thought on what a man is after he strips away everything, but you went past that long ago. Your knees and back snap and crack as you get up, eyes looking towards the summit of this strange place.

Digging through the other hunter's packs you scavenge bits of dried meat and swap vegetables. If you could still taste, it would have been bitter. Gnashing the food with indifference you have done the minimum to sustain yourself. The wind rips at your exposed skin, and tugs the tassled remains of hair under your helmet. Your hide cloak was in poor shape as it was, but now tattered strips fall off, devoured by the white landscape. Ahead is a path, and a cliff. ascent would be possible.
---
>Walk onward
>Climb the cliff.
>Listen to the wind

>1d20 please.

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>2769493
>>Walk onward

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>2769493
>Climb the cliff. We may find our victim there or scout for in at the vantage point

>>2769537
>>2769503
The cliff is tall, but the path is your quarrie's given territory. tall and almost sheer, it stretches up into the hazy storm, the summit out of sight. There has been a presence in this land, the ruler of this dominion, watching you. Cold, empty, and vaguely familiar.

Committing to the ascent, you dig into the face of the cliff seeking purchase, there are enough cracks in the ice, or jagged rocks who promise swift death should you fall. To your deadened hands they serve to aid in your climb. The progress is slow, your passage etched into the ice with blood, fresh gouges, from iron gauntlet, and boots. You are not alone, ever on the periphery of your vision something furry, something wolf like, but malformed watches you. At times whispers in a low growl, not words but intent.

You see evidence of earlier attempts at ascent in the form of pinions and old weather rotted rope; along the way a strand of climbers are frozen serving as both warning, and grim wind chime. The bodies clink and clank against each other, chipped and scarred from brushing against the rocks. More of the strange daggers, a different design.

The Climb is difficult, and you find your body responding less and less to willed command. Not far up is an inlet.
----
>Continue to climb (1d20)
>Go into the inlet (1d20)
>Cut the rope of the dead climbers. (no roll required)

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>2769926
As much as a berserker this one is, Thallos remains cold.

>Go to the inlet to rest

AI thallos may fall I scares

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>2769926
>Go into the inlet. Even we need a bit of rest

>>2770361
Looking up you would have grimmanced at the prospect of climbing further had you still any lips. Instead you let out a death rattle that will have to pass for an exhale. The wind takes away the sound with it's own howling. Inch by inch you haul your armored form up the ascent and into the lip of the shallow cave, it will be a good place to ride out the storm. Rolling stiff shoulders and stretching over worked legs rewards you with a series of loud snaps and pops. How long was it since you truly felt anything? Holding up your maimed hand, it the fingers are raw and bleeding, soon to add new scars on top of old. You have been chasing the void, or any hints of it without thought or reason for so long, simply on instinct. A large rock provides a place to sit as you sit and rub away the stiffness in your wrists. "No good to be unprepared for war." a traveling masseuse told you once. Behind you the ice and stone crack, the small inlet opening into a larger cavern. You strain your neck moving it as much as it will to look over your shoulder.

>"Thallos. Speak with me." The voice is as ugly as yours, louder but uses less effort to speak.
---
>Ignore it.
>Investigate it.
>Question it (write in)

>>2770700
>Question it (write in)

"Are you of any help, wraith? Bugger off before I kill you more than once"

>>2770725
you grit your teeth in mild irritation. Talking is always a burden. "Be...of use...or fall..under blade.." your voice carries out past the thick iron helm as you turn fully to face the direction of the apparition. Down the cavern there is still light, reflecting off crystals, the source unseen but radiant. A thick fog clings to the floor and gradually spills out over the cliff's edge.

>"Haaa...haaHaaHAHA" What sounds like gasping laughter from an inhuman mouth fills the cavern "If only I were a spirit Thallos. Come see with your own eyes, there will be no surprises on my behalf, but perhaps one..." Each word ripples the fog, like thunder over a lake.

Getting up, your plates rasp over each other clanking into place as each heavy step fractures the icy floor of the cavern, the fog recoiling from you. The walk was but a few moments, and soon the source of light is apparent. There is a large chamber within. At it's center sits a crystal heart beating with dim light, gnawed on with chunks missing, it is overshadowed by a massive statue made of ice and frost, a beast never described before.
---
>Examine the heart
>Examine the statue

>>2770785
>Examine the statue

>>2770785
>Examine the heart
I've never not been late to this.

>>2770830
I am a lazyQM. Back for a sec before i go again.
-----
As you walk into the opening, the chamber reveals its brutal splendor. Large clear ice sheets reveal a stark blue sky, allowing sunlight to refract around uncountable glassy shards. Idly you run your hand across one and the material eagerly bites into your iron leaving a shallow score in the metal. The frozen statue dominates the room however; looming over the heart, it is purely the image of a predator. A seven legged wolf...if a man was stretched into such a form. It conveys torment, suffering, yet somehow resolve and predation. In place of fur thick cabling vines forest over it's features. For a moment you find yourself reaching out to it, to brush away the hoarfrost that covers it, yet you stay your hand. Taking in more of the awful majesty of the thing, you see it has no eyes, just yawning black pits where no light returns. Yet it is familiar.

>>2770884
The crystal heart audibly beats faster in your presence, the staccato of fear, or perhaps anticipation. little shards lay around the pillar it resides on, periodically twitching. You pick up a sliver and crush it, tasting the dust between iron clad fingers. Nothing, at least for you. The various shards look like they would socket back into the object somehow.
>"You carelessly touch such things, the blood, the heart..."the voice trails off, great puffs of cold humid air rain down on your back before it continues "...of an unmaker...Truly the Defiler of fate?" Looking around quickly, there is still nothing, just you in an empty room.
---
>Take the heart
>Repair the heart <1d100>
>Destroy the heart
>Roll for perception <1d100>

>>2771282
for those just joining the thread:

sidestory 1
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2629825/
sidestory 2
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2719724/

Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>2771282
Perception test......something feels off.

>>2771306
>dayum. thats good. I'll hold for a few more rolls. I have family stuff to take care of but this will get a result later.

Rolled 67 (1d100)

>>2771282
>>2771306
Supporting.
Though I feel a primal need to destroy the heart completely. Perhaps it is the heart of the beast.

Hmm, I think that that fucking statue is either a warning of what we are facing, or what we are facing anyway.

>>2771358
67: Heart

Looking at it, the heart is off. The blood. The heart. You are untouched by fate, and so remain unaffected. Even the great entity of this place seems vexed by the object. Power or weapon? Experimentally, you take a gourd out, one taken from the frozen corpses. Its contents syrupy and red, readily eating at the fabric of this place's reality...Many would mistake you for an unthinking creature of pure animus. They would be wrong, momentum drives you moment to moment, but cold rationale exists within those actions. You place the gourd next to the heart. Carefully picking up the crystal shards, you place them where they seem to fit, as if an unseen hand guides your own. Nothing, more than the strange object beating slower. The gourd. You slowly release it's contents onto the crystal heart, blood seeping into it's clear form, staining it a glowing red. Cracks fuse and mend, the chamber is filled with a slow, massive, heart beat.

>"Defiler...you undo my work, a labor of great pain" rattling breath sucks the air around you "you act...aid neither the enemy, yourself, or my own ends." The voice again. "Whyyyy?"
>>2771306
72: Statue
Ignoring the glowing bauble, you turn to the statue, your suspicions very correct. You look at it's maw, tooth and jaw are eroded in the same manner as the ground where you poured out a gourd earlier. The barest strand of saliva runs down it's lipless jaws. So familiar. You grip your Falx, having had enough games of this place and its custodian. It is not a mindless beast, attacking with abandon. Looking into the pits that serve as eyes, your face distorts into a half snarl. "No masters." your voice rasps out.
>"Myssadrah...my mother...sent you to unmake me? The false unwravelers below? Your own wandering?"
---
pick up to 3
>Its not attacking, let it keep talking. Learn who would seek to use you. <no roll>
>There is something here, pricking at the base of your skull, a thought. <1d100> low
>Other, ask a question; write in what you want to know. and roll <1d100> varies
and/ or
>Kill it. <1d100> high
>Smash the heart <1d100> low
>Smash the heart and kill it. <2d100> high

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>2771582
>Thought [roll]
And a question.
You are a spirit, of some description or another, And capable of some thought. So tell me whose heart is this, and are we stood in the middle of a giant dormant creature or spirit form.

in whatever manner he is able to talk, i will roll again when asked for.

Rolled 26, 9, 4 = 39 (3d100)

>>2771582
>Its not attacking, let it keep talking. Learn who would seek to use you. <no roll>
>There is something here, pricking at the base of your skull, a thought. <1d100> low
Then
>Smash the heart and kill it. <2d100> high

File: 1529461928450.jpg (33 KB, 629x505)

33 KB JPG

>>2772035
what have I done

Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>2771582
>There is something here

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>2771582
There is something here, pricking at the base of your skull, a thought. <1d100> low
It gnaws at the back of my mind...

>>2771605
Also supporting the question.

>>2771605
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhvqQ9orRrs&spfreload=5 (Spacemind - Rainy Days)
>65
"..Spirit..." You gesture to the statue like entity with your falx, and then to the heart "Explain" you have speak, half exhale. It shakes off frost and sheets of ice like a giant dog. It lowers it's head to your height as it speaks; icy breath washes over you, colder than winter's night.

"Not spirit, not anymore. Followed...father, wandering, discarding myself to become more." It uses one of it's many giant paws to gesture to the crystal cavern in a sweeping motion "We all shape the world around us, through our own means...Where I dwell is mine, shaped..wrought. Not like you, destroyer. Not like those below, unwravelers, remakers." It takes a long shuddering breath, speaking seems to exert it. "..not like the unmaker." It gestures with it's nose like a hideous and titanic dog towards the pulsing heart.

"We all here interact with the fabric of existence, drawn together...always drawn. Not you though, only by chance or guidance." It rumbles out, bits of crystalline ice falling down around you.
---
>Who are you?
>Who is your father?
>Who is the Unmaker?
>Who are the Unwravelers?
>How do you know me?
>Explain it plainly!
>Other: write in (1d100)

>>2772263
>Who spawned you?
>Who is the unmaker?

>>2772323
Gesturing at the crystal heart with your Falx, you wordlessly query. For a moment the beast looks down, and then at the heart, a massive paw running along the scarring and erosion of it's face. "The Unmaker..." It rumbles "A dead god; destroyer...eraser." It's voice grows clearer as little pricks of light form in it's hollow eyes, "unmaker destroys that existence which needed destroying. Too dangerous to exist for one, laid low, It's body made into weapons fit for eroding existence...eating away fate. not like you...different. Not like the unravelers who simply undo the fabric to create their own vision from what was truth..." It mulls the thought over "Years spent in pain, destroying the heart. Years spent against those who would reclaim it for their own use as they do it's rotting body." You nod, your neck snapping in acknowledgement. The light in it's eyes fades out, and it exhales deeply. "Effort. pain.." You know of effort. Forcing your scarred throat to work you ask it something easy "Whhat...ssspawned you?"

The creature looks at you and laughs, it is a wet, rasping thing, booming from the sheer enormity of it. More shards of ice fall down around around the room, like crystalline rain, vanishing before they hit the floor. The horrible laughter sounds so much like your own. Finally it cocks its head at you, studying you with empty eyes. "The Unwanted Patron never told? Father, did. You. Never with name until enemies named me; The Gryrsulf."
---
>Who are the Unwravelers?
>What are you?
>Kill it
>Smash heart
>Retrieve heart
>Ask what it wants.
>Side with the Gryrsulf against the Villagers.

>>2772624
>Son, I am proud
>Side with Grysulf against Villagers.

Our monstrous child has no need to fear us.

>>2772636
There could have been many words, many questions. Instead you puck the beating heart from it's plinth and stuff it into a sack with the gords and other items. "slave...no more." the worlds effortlessly fall out of your mouth, the Gryrsulf grinning vicariously for you. Outside the storm has cleared, and one can see clearly for miles to the ground in all directions.
---
The swamp witches saw the hateful tower of ice and stone explode at it's peak, and begin to cascade towards the earth. The fateless thrall more than willingly accepted the task, his only reward was to seek oblivion in the void itself.
"A shame the void seeker met his end like that."
>"Inevitable as it was mother...he was rewarded all the same, no?"
The sightless elder chuckled with her daughter, the constant companion; though the loss of the hearth was a setback, they would harvest the essence of the unmaker, and rise to power in this land yet.
"I suppose you are right, child."
No longer would they have to unwravel the Gryrsulf's reality and substitute their own...
---
Riding tumbling wave of frost and stone, you ride on the twisted back of the 'Ulf. It howls in mad joy, finally able to be free, to slaughter once more. "My teeth will sharpen upon the bones of swamp whores." Great stands of saliva whip past you from it's hungry maw. Teeth like a man's, but too large and too numerous line it's maw. You hold onto it's tendrils, and can only sigh as it continues to rave. "For a mortal life, I've bound them! Bled them! Now I Kill them here!" Like any child, it talks too much. You impact the ground with an unexpected lightness, the ulf' taking off at a wild charge. Behind you the imaginary domain crumbles, leaving a barren expanse. Ahead you rush through the forest, a swamp huntress small but growing in the distance, her eyes wide at the thundering approach. The sound of snapping jaws and a flash of blood rushes by you. Pounding massive feet on frozen dirt drown out any scream, but you notice a dagger planted in the jaw of your child, dissolving flesh, tooth and bone...wildly shaking side to side the Gryrsulf nearly bucks you off. "unfated whores! unworthy wenches!" it spits bloody froth with each jerking word, and with it's oaths a chunk of flesh and dagger fly free.

The ride abruptly ends as it slams into an unseen wall, catapulting you over it's shoulders and head, into the swamp beyond. Deranged vows of massacre and vengeance leave it's lips. "RETURN THE EYES OR JOIN YOUR HEART WITH THE UNMAKERS!" Repeatedly the Gryrsulf slams against the unseen barrier. Cold grey skin steadily flushes with pink and red, flesh tendrils fan out into a swaying forest of frustration and hate, grabbing at each other, at the air, anything.
---
>Return to the village in a calm manner. (med)
>Kill everything on your way to the village. (low)
>Sneak to the village. (high)
>Feed the heart the rest of the blood gords. (no roll)
>Carve fate vs barrier. (high)
roll 1d100.

Rolled 32 (1d100)

>>2772841
>Carve fate

IM FEELIN LUCKY

Rolled 29 (1d100)

>>2772841
so cursed asked for a roll

>>2772873
>32 Fail.

Looking at the swamp village's border where the frost begins, you see their work. Past the physical, the works of their unwravelers is apparent; a slow moving glacier of poorly knit fates and destiny, haphazard but enormous, collapsing at the edges under it's own weight. Sloppy. You look over at the Gryrsulf; it is as unnatural as a creature can come, yet wears mortal flesh despite it's cold soul. Somewhere within that twisting mass of flesh is the heart and mind of a man. If you could grin you would, that such a thing has more humanity than you do.

Spining your falx like a baton, you carve at the strands of fate bound around the swamp. They part easily enough but soon you realize they come faster than you can ever hope to rip. The source is beyond the women of that tribe, and likely the decaying form of the unmaker itself. It keeps away those who exist, or should exist, you spot a huntress retreating back in towards her people. An empty shell masquerading as a person with all it's ambitions and petty drive, seeking to fill itself. There is no void here. At least not within them. Snarling behind your helm, you slam forward into their barrier with no effect to yourself. "Send some...my way..." The beast seems to be loosing itself to rage, the human features of it's body giving way to something that looks as if a nightmare would imagine a wolf, fangs growing ever longer, grey skin sheeting with sweat, its tendrils forming into a horrific writhing mane of flesh.
---
>Sorry, no doggo on this adventure.
---
>Feed the heart? (Y/N)

>Kill everything (Y/N)

also 1d100 please.

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>2773049
>feed the heart
What if we just... ate it?
>kill everything? strong Y

Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>2773049
Kill.......Everything. But leave the elder woman till last, she will speak before we snap her neck. what she tells us will determine if she dies in an instant or over months.

>>2773144
>30...well that's better than 4.

Rummaging in your pack you quickly clasp the throbbing crystal heart. With your teeth you rip out a stopper on a gourd, and pour the blood onto the object. It somehow penetrates the crystal and condenses into the center, the heart pounding harder, glowing brighter. Each time you repeat the process the effect magnifies until you are out of the gourds.

Like wild animals peering through the brush, you spot the women of the village peering out at you, blank eyes and bloody mouths. Their odd daggers are blurry to the eye, longer than normal. They channel the unmaker's body, you hold the heart. Behind you the 'Ulf lets loose inhuman howls and pounds itself against the barrier, growing more and more gruesome by the moment. Ahead the swamp is changing, and so are the women.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQcMi-DdyGY <EMIKA - Flashbacks (Gnothi Seauton remix)>

The sky ahead grows cloudy and dark, yet stars shine through like the clearest of nights. Black twisting plans, glossy as a beetle shell, sharp as a blade, grow up rapidly; as if they are being yanked from the mud by an invisible force. The land itself ripples and flows, arching upward slightly two great clawed hands burst from the muck, each the size of a long house. the trees twist and climb ever higher, trying to meet the blackening sky, a hundred sets of eyes, stark and glowing, white against impossibly black silhouettes, a countless voices as one, whispers and laughter call out to you, as a dim iridescent purple mist begins to coat the ground...the magic is thick here.
>"Defiler, void given. Thallllosssssss...The heart. The Gryrsulf...Give us these, and be on your way...."
It echos all in front of you, around you to the point you momentarily consider seeking power from the heart. The truth is you cannot, any more than it could harm you as it is. Your grind your teeth in pure anger. You really hate witches. Overhead in the clouds and not stars an impossibly large moon turned eye looks down upon you. At least they didn't manage to wake the corpse.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2MNGk7W_H8 < (((O))) aka Holy Grin - Death Waves >
---
> LOOK at them for what they are.
> Look at this place for what it is.
> Follow the pull of the heart.
> Walk ahead of your own volition, falx at the ready, use the damn heart as a lantern.

1d100 rolling time

Rolled 23 (1d100)

>>2772035
>>2773144
>>2773202
>LOOK at them for what they are
Have I been cursed?

Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>2773202
>Look at them for what they are, Walk forwards and if they get in range........time for them to lose some weight, about half their body weight in fact.

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>2773202
>Kill kill kill kill kill

>>2773220
>>2773216
>>2773215
I got a call, sorry to call it an early night, but work comes first. I''ll be by later.

Rolled 100, 15 = 115 (2d100)

>>2773222
>>2773216
>45

You attempt to look past the physical world, your mortal eyes unable to clearly see ahead. What lays beyond is a wild gale storm of intersecting bands of shredded fates and destiny, endlessly in motion. Flickering specters dance in and out of it, as if born to the madness. You are unable to peer past anything. Sloshing steps guide you forward through the unnatural waters, quickly becoming as black as pitch with an impossible gloss across the surface.

A black eyed and red mouthed witch comes at you from nowhere, her keening blade breaks on your armored hide. It was a mistake for them to think they could approach you with such confidence, one you correct immediately. Grabbing her by the cheeks with your gauntleted hand, you simply crush delicate bones until the top of her head is liberated from it's body. Falx yet wetted with blood, you see a towering object in the distance, like a rolling hill of jagged spines the size of a tree. A massive broken ribcage...

>"Thallossss...things will get s t r a n g e...no w...." the voice of the elder witch calls out to you.
---
>Try not to murder. (1d20)
>Murder (1d100)
>Murder a lot. (3d100)
>Examine the glowing crystal heart. (1d20)
>write in.

Rolled 23, 76, 63 = 162 (3d100)

>>2773713
>>Murder a lot. (3d100)
>Implying there are any better options than this

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>2773713
>Examine the heart as we murder

Really, you fuckers need to relax.......though that 100 is a bit scary

Rolled 18, 31, 77 = 126 (3d100)

>>2773713
>Murder a lot. (3d100)
Let's hope my rolls aren't still in the gutter

Rolled 2, 66, 94, 34, 84, 65, 65, 7, 57, 30, 49, 37, 96, 78, 79, 41, 86, 26, 4, 40 = 1040 (20d100)

>Cleansing the foul rolls of this threads karma

>>2773745
>15: Success
(+5 to all rolls for the duration of the swamp section)
The heart seems to tug in your grip, pulling you towards the massive ribcage, its illumination chases away the fog, clearing a narrow channel all the way to the resting corpse of a god. You look down the pathway, black gloss and fog, stars and eyes intermingling in the distance. The conclusion is simple; Power has been lent to the witches, and power can be taken away.
---
100, 15 vs
23, 76, 77
---
You lope along the path; a beast in iron. Hands and branches reach out to grab at you from the darkness. The falx falls in steady rythm, cleaving wood, flesh, and bone alike. You are rewarded with screams of pain and indignation. Your strike is broken when you fall, legs numb; you crash into the morass and skid for several feet before gaining your balance. Another attempt to stand, another fall. Magic. Swinging your blade in a wide arc, the fog dissipates but nothing is revealed. Slap, by numbing slap, you are steadily eroded. Every time you think you have located the source of the attack, there is nothing but an unnatural blur and fog. Blood drips from joints in your armor, the defense normally offered bypassed by the supernatural. "Foul..Mage. Scum." you grunt. In response is a mirthful and feminine laugh touched by the barest amount of cruelty. "Thallos...you wanted the void, here it is, all around you. Are you not in awe of your reward?" A thousand voices ask. Acting quickly, you throw your axes into the inky blackness, two meaty thunks echo back followed by wet splashes. A few more hands attempt to grab at you, but their owners are soon strangled to death, delicate necks and fine features broken into unnatural angles in their death. Your body fills with vigor and excitement, the prospect of true combat teases at your find.
---
>Attack (2d100) easy
>Continue charging towards the corpse (1d100) moderate
>Attempt to build wroth during combat. (2d20) hard

File: the_witches_by_navate-d3i781d.jpg (627 KB, 1391x900)

627 KB JPG

>>2774742
Little visual for the swamp witches.

Rolled 13, 20 = 33 (2d20)

>>2774742
Do we have that 3 berserk from telling vall to fuck off? Also
>Attempt to build wroth during combat. (2d20) hard

Rolled 10, 17 = 27 (2d20)

>>2774742
>>Attempt to build wroth during combat. (2d20) hard
Some wroth won't hurt us. Though it will hurt them real bad.

Rolled 7, 13 = 20 (2d20)

>>2774742
>Charge towards the corpse

Now i don't know about you lot, but i find that if we stand still, we get ganged up on. if we keep moving then we are harder to hit and can crush any resistance or singluar snare before it can build on its advantage

>>2774963
>>2774963
we have a perpetual 3 berserk to start with, plus some more from you getting slapped around.
---
>>2774963
>13,20: natural crit. Thats a lotta wroth.
>Banked: 1 Carve Fate.
Around you the strange magical impacts have reduced in potency but increased in volume. Vicious blows turn to drop of rain. Sizzling drops of pure entropy streak down like liquid light, splashing on your armor, flowing between creases and joints. The dead witch in your grip begins to dissolve, skin fizzing. Their attempts at slaying you are less than impressive. You drop the mangled corpse, it unexpectedly sinks beneath the ankle deep water as if it were falling into a bottomless lake. Another existence...another entities work, despite the grandness, it is incomplete. Through pure will you collect potential that has not been expended. The coils of fate flow around your fingers as you clutch at them, holding tight, stored for later. The heart in your off grip flares brightly as it soaks in the strange energies you collect. Obscuring fog recedes, exposing Several dozen of the witches and their leader, chanting and twisting, doing their damnest to bring you harm. Their leader seems exhausted.

Thallos Ruinbringer
-The Defiler
180/300HP
10/10 wroth (max 10/10 wroth)
6/3 berserking (max 9/3 berserking)
>Berserker Mode: Each point of berserking increase's thallos's speed and agility, with the first 3 bringing him up to what his normal speed would be at if he were not an old man in heavy armor, and far exceeding after that.
>Any ability burns all of Thallo's pool, leaving him slower and thus more vulnerable.
Reckless abandon- Charge at twice your current max speed, crushing those in your path and lending momentum to your swings.

Too angry to die- Convert each stack of 3 rage into 100 temporary health.

Inhuman rampage- Berserker packin' man and a half! You become so enraged that you loose the human notions of using tools. Your fists become weapons beyond compare, momentarily able to tear men asunder bare handed.
----
>Wroth: Burns a set amount of points. Wroth is a contextual skill that can change as the story or situation does. Consumed at the end of combat.
Projected strike- Swing where your enemy will be, not where they are. Chance to maim them on the next turn, ranged attack within LOS. 3 wroth
Frozen second- the world around you seems to slow to a crawl; enough time to dodge, enough time to murder...but only for a second. 5 wroth. can be used twice in one turn.
Shatter- Deliver a blow that makes your victim explode. 7 wroth
Carve fate- Finishing move for defeated enemies. Grants, valuable and unexpected rewards. 10 wroth.

>>2776097
Well witches and bitches, have you given your damnedest? Have you given your all? HAVE YOU TRIED HARD ENOUGH TO KILL ME!!!???
No i don't think you have. so let us have some fun.

>Projected strike
take out the leader. if there is any way to knock them out then it may be helpful, if not just kill them. Otherwise our next plan should be to close our distance to the corpse of the god. coincidently, we should make sure to carve our way through all the witches in our way. If they retreat from our path then the body is not worth our time. If they fight with greater vigor then we know what they don't want us to do and we should either do it more, or the act should case them to draw in closer with those knives.

Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>2776097
"Give us the heart fool!" the elder witch shrieks at you. The tendons in her neck strain as grey eyes bluge, growing larger and steadily turning black as night. "I'll have my prize, empty one, I'll have my work. Neither you, nor that dog will keep it from me.." Tufts of fuzz erupt across her body as moth like wings emerge from underneath a threadbare tunic. "The unmaker will not awaken" the words are more of a hiss than anything human at this point. Long black talons replace fingers as they twitch spastically. Behind her the other waifs have similarly twisted, their bodies shedding clothing and skin as new forms burst fourth.
---
Attack: The basic, the gold standard; Violence. The medium in which you are the brush and the canvas. Thallos will tailor his attack to the situation at no penalty, lashing out at enemies as directed.

Leg breaker: Aim below the thighs with a vicious and sweeping 360 degree strike. Can permanently hobble or incapacitate an enemy(s). Likely to connect but leaves yourself exposed DURING the attack.

Neck crush: Horrifically strong one handed grip. Crush a windpipe and/or break a neck. FIRST TIME is a charm, after that most enemies wise up if they are strong enough to resist; sadly few are. Option to grab two opponents if not wielding a weapon.

Reaping strike: A telegraphed, wild two handed spin and that leads into an overhead, hyper extended one arm swing from the pommel. Can break lesser weapons. Deals 4x damage. has extreme range compared to normal attacks. Leaves you open AFTER the attack.
---
>Rush towards the god's corpse (1d100)
>Attack the witches (how?) 1d100
>Run back to the Gryrsulf and shatter the barrier

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>2776134

>Attack the witches (how?) 1d100

> Neck crush their craven crone of a queen

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>2776134
Holy mother fucking fuck.

>CORPSE

Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>2776134
>Rush towards the god's corpse (1d100)
Get ready to reaping strike if they start to catch up too quickly

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>2776134
>>Rush towards the god's corpse (1d100)
We could use Reckless Abandon for this, right? Charge, maiming everything in our path.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>2776150
lets see if that 99 hits.

>>2776150
>>2776652
it missed
>>2776639
because
>>2776150
you ran.
---
The strange witches, now revealed as some sort of horrific moth demons let loose keening shrieks beyond any normal human volume. You cant feel pain ,but the pressure in your skull is immense, the taste of blood that runs down your nose and into your mouth is not a good sign. Something punches into your back, and you loose stride for a moment before returning to a brisk sprint. The suffering only fuels your rage.
<+3 berserk, -60HP. 120/300 thallos is in pretty bad shape.>

You hatefully grumble between breaths. All around you, magical strikes go wild, invisible in this darkness, but their impacts carve out chunks of the swamp. The gaping chest of the giant corpse grows ever closer, already your feet make solid purchase on a giant spine, the heart pulsating wildly in your grip, practically dragging you along towards it's destination. Ahead of you a crowd of the strange creatures await you. The ambush perfectly set. You have been herded like a beast to slaughter. Their laughter radiates around you as you skid to a stop. Strange blades and strange faces almost leer at you, hungry for your death, this close to their source of power the little weapons have become formidable. One lashes at you, carving a deep rent into your forearm, while another gouges you in the calf from behind. The blades fall fast and relentlessly, while their magic offers you no harm, as you have nothing to erase, their unnatural sharpness will work all the same.
<-15 hp 105/300>
Lashing out with an elbow you speak "You like...tricks..." a wet gob of phlegm is hawked from your throat onto her smashed face. "I've a few myself" your voice comes out clearer than it has in a while, a rumbling growl. Reaching deep into the well of your anger, you dump adrenaline into your body. Muscles bulge, and blood pressure rises. Deep cuts spray blood like a dying man as your eyes feel like they are about to pop out of your skull. The corners of your mouth pull up into a feral grin, if you live for anything, it might be this. At the same time you expend all the scraps of fate around yourself, crystallizing reality into a few moments of the Wyrd. Two seconds. In your younger, bawdier days you would have joked that is all a man needs. It might just be true now.

>>2776866

>activated frozen second x2, Reckless abandon x3.
<0/10 wroth>
<0/3 berserking>
---
pick 1
>Leg breaker/ Reaping strike (very low DC)
-Murder the crowd
>Charge in a straight line for the heart's resting place. (mid DC)
-Let it guide you and cut off their magic by restoring it. surely the Unmaker will be appreciative.
>Use this moment to attack the lead witch (high DC)
- she is far behind you, but you will have the element of surprise and overwhelming momentum.
and
pick 1
>Summon Myssadrah's voice for council (low DC)
-Will offer many options on what you can do.
>Release the Gryrsulf (low DC)
-Will brutally attack and/or murder the witches behind you.
>Show them what real emptiness is. (high DC)
-try to draw fourth the void.

roll 2d100, it will be hard to fuck up a moment frozen in time, but a nat 1 should do it. Strategy saved you last time, and making complimentary decisions will do so again. Though reward never comes without risk.

Rolled 80, 77 = 157 (2d100)

>>2776873
>>Charge in a straight line for the heart's resting place. (mid DC)
And
>Show them what real emptiness is. (high DC)

Manipulate the void, possibly with some help from the resurrected Unmaker. Seems like he knew about emptiness quite a bit.

Rolled 95, 97 = 192 (2d100)

>>2776873

Rolled 65, 14 = 79 (2d100)

>>2776873
>Leg breaker/ Reaping strike (very low DC)
>Release the Gryrsulf (low DC)

Remember Thallos is a cold and calculating corpse. He may be a berserker but he looks for the safest outcome. The Grysulf has power over these witches, so he will feast.

>>2776951
>Charge in a straight line for the heart's resting place. (mid DC)
>Show them what real emptiness is. (high DC)
Can we void eat the heart?

File: 1438144308763.jpg (18 KB, 215x235)

18 KB JPG

>>2776951
RAGERECTION

>>2776951
if you toss the heart into the void, its just gone. The void is the big empty, no energy, no nothing. Really shouldn't even exist.
>Show them what real emptiness is. (high DC) 95
>Charge in a straight line for the heart's resting place. (mid DC) 97
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BTm5_uraTI
This absurdity of the whole event is not lost on you, how many times have you stepped into a mad entitie's own realm, visited a void, tasted death?"HahaaHAHAaa" You laugh like a dead crow, but that was the case before you got fucked up. A hundred pairs of eyes look at you in the darkness, the intent to kill radiates from each and everyone. Somewhere in the distance the 'ulf howls and screams, any vestiges of sanity in it's voice gone to consuming rage. When had things like this became normal? "You play..." a racking breath forces broken and badly healed ribs open, snapping and resetting, bringing a thick wetness to your voice "...at ruin, borrowing...from the rotting corpse of a dead god." with another heaving gasp you get the rest of your thought out with the gurgling words of a drowning man. "Let me show you...more."

Unmaking, the thought ran through your head. Just to undo. How weak. Grabbing the fragile strands of existence in this place, you simply break them, the snap creates a uncountable ribs in the fabric, pieces breaking off, disconnected, free from the wheel, no longer a part of anything. And around that, under it, for whatever mortal perception someone would use to describe it; lay the void. It shouldn't exist, but there it was. Less than nothing. For you, beautiful, absolute. for the witches...not so much. Their perfect unity of voice degraded into screaming madness, in the distance some fell down and wept uncontrollably, others clawed out their eyes, took their lives, others lives, used their weak magic to escape the creeping oblivion. Above it all was your own laughter. The inky gloss that passes for water boils away into nothing, leaving murky patches as the magic all around you dies. The Massive corpse twitches like a man having a seizure, it's limbs crushing those too involved with madness to escape. Their pain was pathetic.

The icy cold of the world held at bay finally seeps into this rotting refuge, moisture on your armor rapidly condenses into a layer of frost and the cold winds gleefully rip through. Already though, your damage done is being recovered by the elder witch, her features ever twisting; ribs pop out of parchment thin skin, only for new flesh to crawl along them, stretch, and become slender arms. Behind her, several of her lessees pull themselves up and continue their work, now frantically attempting to weave shut the rents in destiny that you have opened. A few obviously fearful for a lack of a future, they panic and flee away from you.

-continued

>>2777608
Turning on heel, you rush towards the spasming body's center. The crystal heart pounds firmly in your head, it's beat echos off the massive rib cage. Up this close you see it has been split open like a chest of drawers. Somewhere in the distance you hear a triumphant scream and a howl, seems like no one is running anywhere. Deep in the center of this place, you spot what looks like the right place. Each step you take towards it fills you with nausea. There are so many forks in the road ahead. Choices. You grunt in irritation, staggering along like a drunkard as you reach for walls not there to brace you. Eventually the distortion brings you to your knees, but the urge to press on is great. Crawling along, you vomit blood, trail spit and snot. A whisper tickles your ear...Myssadrah. It wants something, or to tell you something so It gets what it wants...Ahead a strange form sits cross legged at the edge of something. A pool? The figure, a young male, looks at you and puts out his hands in a cup. Down his chest a rent sits closed and weeping, thick red blood like pine sap pools around him. Far behind you, the elder moth witch crashes into the spine like a falling star, shattering an enormous vertebrae, a supplicant clutched in each of her 4 shiny chitin claws. At least she wastes no time screeching at you, and instead strides forward, unencumbered by her minions or this place's aura.
---
>"Myssadrah...make it quick." she may have insight, or lies, but probably both. cunt.
>Ignore her. Try to talk to the figure.

>>2777627
>Ignore her. Try to talk to the figure.

>>2777627
>ignore her

Rolled 36, 55 = 91 (2d100)

>>2777662
>>2777679
(real life update: unexpected move in progress. sorry this quest has been a shitshow far as updates with any consistency goes)
Shaking your head, you block out her attempts to communicate with you. Fucking Myssadrah...this might well be part of it's plan anyway. You are always hesitant to assign it human traits after you saw past the veil to what it truly was. Crawling forward, you attempt to communicate with the figure, it's emaciated hands continue to form a cup, the heart practically leaps from your grip towards it. You do not have much time to decide your action. The howls in the distance grow closer, it would seem the 'ulf has found its own way in.
---
>Hand the heart to the figure.
>Hand the heart to the figure, and destroy it once the two are embraced.
and
>Attack the witches
>try to hide long enough for backup, you are nearly dead.

>2d100.

Rolled 37, 92 = 129 (2d100)

>>2778764

> Hand the heart to the figure
> Try to hide long enough for backup, you are nearly dead

>>2778881
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F7O1z-Vw9Vc
>37vs36; that worked just barely
You look up at the man, he cracks a weak smile at you as you reach out with your good hand, holding the heart. Pushing yourself up onto one knee and hand you ram the heart into his chest through the wound. His eyes go wide, flaring to life like miniature suns. Light shines out from the massive rent in his chest, his eyes, his mouth. Just as suddenly the body falls over, inert. The debilitating effects of it's presence fade away like a receding tide, and you are able to walk again. Already scarred and grey flesh is beginning to reknit itself, but you are in no shape to fight.


All around you the facade crafted by the witches shows signs of faltering, cracks and rents open in the unnatural night sky; the cold grey of winter behind, but it is much slower than it should be, as if they are holding onto their power, fighting. A solid shaft of boiling energy slams into a rib near you, erasing it from existence, multi colored vapor coils around itself, collapsing into the point of contact as the local existence is simply unmade.
"DEFILER!!! I'll have your balls, and use them to hex your line!" The elder witch is not pleased with your action, and her minions seem to feed their very life into her, the creature unmoved by the loss of her patron's power.
>92vs55; she wasn't expecting this.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqQxhs8efWA
With the ill effects of the rotting god neutralized, you manage to shuffle deeper into the giant corpse, moving like a half crushed insect. Hiding in the dark, you grin, the witch and her cadre stalk after you, following a trail of blood. It was too late. Tearing up after them is your mad child, the Gryrsulf; the creature explodes up into the room and grabs one of the witches like a dog shaking a squirrel to death. The witche's blood and visceral splatter across entropy rotten bones, a floor of dusty leather, and her kin. Trying to run, fly, or hide serves none of them. The beast pins one under it's massive paw and pulls the screaming waif in half, intestines the only bridge between the formerly unified body. There is more violence you can't see, but soon a face lands wetly near you. "MY EYES, WHICH OF YOU HAS THEM?!!" There is more screaming, some of it the 'ulfs, some of it whatever remains of the witches. Not too far from you, you spot the elder witch, hiding in terror. Her features so alien now, suddenly though, you realize that she has the 'ulfs eyes. Those big, black eyes. Moving far too quietly for an old man in full plate, you creep up behind her as she watches the ulf finish ripping apart the last of her companions. A better man would have had something sharp to say, a final biting whisper or insult. You just hack into her with all the fury available to you, the first blow carves off her left shoulder and small insect like arms, the next carves from spin to hip, sending her to the ground in a rapidly darkening pool of thick red blood.

>>2779220
Smashing your boot onto the creature's head, you retrieve the oversized eyes from the gory mess. This was a long day, and for the first time in many months you feel a weariness creeping into your bones. Taking off your helmet it drops to the floor with a dull thud. Above and around you the sky opens to the natural world, dispelling the foul magics of the witches. The lungful of fresh winter air is welcomed, chasing away the vestiges of the stale, humid swamp. You look to the beast, "Come." this voice, your own, is something still unfamiliar to yourself. "Father..?" You reach out and pat the oversized head. Above you grey skies cast down snow, blanketing the bones of a dead god. The beast, your child, seems smaller now. Coated in a layer of slick gore, its features once again seem strangely human. Gripping the beast on either side of it's massive head and push the wet eyes into empty sockets. immediately the 'ulf blinks, black fades to grey, grey fades to an all too human and familiar ocean blue that brings back painful memories. "My first sight in a life time...is how ugly you are, father." The few strands of hair on your scarred head dance freely in the wind. You shrug, bones cracking, you need a seat and take the most immediate one available.

The afternoon is filled with the creature enthusiastically telling you of several mortal lifetimes, of powerful siblings and rivals, its time before the witches. How long have your wanderings been? Of siblings; with a gesture of your Flax you punctuate the question "Siblings?"

The Gryrsulf looks at you confused for a moment before understanding the question. "Of your unions with Myssadrah...I am the first. not the greatest...but first." The lack of confidence in the creature after the recent display is almost farcical. It holds onto the the title of first as a point of pride, perhaps it's only one. "Others." you ask command again. It would seem that Myssadrah has borrowed your sleeping form more than once. You learn of the others in a limited fashion as well as it's cousins...the descendants of a long ago dalliance. Hmm, a wyrm, a giant, a beast of iron, a living storm, and a nightmare. Moving off your seat, the inert avatar of the unmaker, it's body cool and grey, it is time to resume the journey.

You look at the unmaker's avatar, and back to your child. There is still enough potential in this place to tie together the strands of fate. Near you one of the moth witches heaves an agonal breath. It had been holding out for a while.

>shatter the avatar
-Godslayer, start all battles with +3 berserk
>awaken the avatar
-Balancer, start all battles with +5 wroth
>Bind the vestiges of the power to the moth, and the moth to Myssadrah
-gain boons, and a potential party member.

>>2779244
>Awaken the avatar

cool as godslayer sounds, wroth is worth more than beserk. And leaving another unbound destroyer alive seems to be something that could be amusing to us.

>>2779244
>shatter the avatar
-Godslayer, start all battles with +3 berserk
To be honest I'd rather have roth, but you just can't pass up an opportunity to slay a god

>>2779244
its worth mentoning that i don't do BO3 unless otherwise stated. Im gonna head to bed, and when I wake up, whatever has the most votes wins.

>>2779253
alright...seems im gonna roll the dice if no other players vote. I'll shore this one up by 2 or 3 pm CST. got real life stuff going on.

>>2779491
>fate of a god decided on 1d2
Kind of a bummer, but I guess fair's fair

>>2779492
Yeah.....I suppose i shall try to point out the values of letting it wake up.

Why don't we get the mechanical advantages, as well as unleash a gods fragment like crazy fate bitch from thread 2, so that they can run rampant as they like and we slowly invite more and more void stuff and unmaking into the world. if we keep this up, then eventually we will make a real name for ourselves as something even greater than a god slayer, world devistator.

>>2779244

Wroth would come in handy from a mechanical perspective, and Thallos would leave a greater impact on the world, more of a crater...

That said, it wouldn't feel in character with how we've played Thallos up until now. He's always been a bringer of death and destruction, as mindless as it is. Moving up from slaying bandits to eradicating gods is how we will eventually reach our ascension.

>Shatter the avatar

File: 1527564326619.jpg (136 KB, 920x700)

136 KB JPG

>>2780093
>tie broken
>and for all the right reasons
bless you, clutch anon

>>2780093
agree on the first point, and on the second how we have been playing him is kinda a blank spot here. we play him as a hollow terminator mother fucker who just will not die, that doesn't really have an answer to "do we get stronger and assemble a second spirit pokemon" or "do we end the ender, and become the new unmaker"

but i bow to the will of the anon's, rip and tear away

>>2779244
>Awaken the avatar
Gotta get that wroth

>>2780208
You kind of answered your own question there in my opinion. Thallos, as you said, is a sort of "hollow terminator motherfucker". We wouldnt really be doing favors for gods unless it's a last resort, and we really shouldnt, considering the situation with myssandra.
So why would we resurrect this god and hope he isn't a cock when we can simply slay it and take what we can for ourselves, and move on?
The roth would be nice but godslaying is cooler, more in character, and has a much smaller chance of coming back to bite us.
Plus we might still have that carve fate banked and we might as well make use of it

>>2780458
maybe because i am not thinking far enough ahead, maybe because i enjoy needless challenge but my idea is that if he is left to whisp about and unmake things, he might cause chaos, damage and the rest and return some of his energy. at that time we may return and claim a larger portion of power than we could easily take now, witch may in fact be nothing of great use outside of the mechanics and the admittedly awe inspiring title.

though as for why thallos would let it happen.....the only idea i got is "he makes void things, let him make void things then kill him after he makes enough to be satisfied with"
a flimsy and ultimately not very likely thing to happen. None the less, its happening any way. just to make sure we don't get locked again
change >>2779249
to shatter the avatar

>>2780488
>>2780458
>>2780396
>>2779244
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F7O1z-Vw9Vc <PARADISE LOST - No Hope In Sight>
The unmaker, slain god, made whole if only to spite a coven of swamp witches. Now dormant, and reccently your chair. The Gryrsulf looks at you, the dying moth woman also rolls her head and stares through half glazed eyes. This thing is too weak to be a god, now just a seed waiting to be awoken once more, begging for more. You ponder slowly; releasing it would add to the world in the way it had before, though it was weak enough to be slain once.

"It could be an ally...or dangerous tool in the wrong hands" the ulf's commentary is obvious, but no less true. Next to him the moth breathlessly mouths something only she can hear. You are reminded of a merchant from years ago, surrounded by bandits as they took from his caravan, and moved to take his wife, and daughter. In the end you killed him for his weakness, no...not weakness, cowardice, perhaps even worthlessness.

The falx rises and falls, cold judgement final; such a mercy would be a waste. You grunt with each strike, the murder of a spirit such as this was neither easy, nor clean, it required commitment and follow through. Each hacking blow chipped away at the peaceful form. You could have stopped, tried to piece together the first chips, instead you set to the task. The witch wept as the drawn out process continued into the late afternoon, even the 'ulf eventually looked away.

Your breath comes heavily with the final strike, a reality shattering noise signals the true death of a god, and like predators and small fish alike drawn to the corpse of a leviathan, soon the spirits and gods of this strange land make themselves known. A coming storm without rain, the sky fills with volcanic light and blood. Thunder comes before lightning, which soon bridges the gap between heaven and mortal land. The ground splits and fractures, ruddy red light illuminates ash fluttering on thermal updrafts, twisting away into arctic winds. Vall. Great chunks of the dead god convert into molten light, fluid and twisting, launching skyward to puncture great vortexes into the sky.

-continued

>>2781059
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IcJLGoHGrmY <Paradise Lost - Punishment Through Time>
An almost mocking feminine chuckle twisted its way past your ears, slowly turning into a fading moan of pleasure, one that makes you clench your jaw and grimace. "Myssadrah" you spit out through your teeth. "You never fail to surprise Thallos...though this way has worked as well my dear consort. my herald." The words twist in your side worse than any blade. Small bits of rubble from the avatar turn to a pale liquid light, and seep into the air around themselves, a glowing haze forms and fades quietly as the mad spirit feeds freely and unobserved by greater powers.

Flickers of foxfire lick through the air while a sea of whisps bleed into reality, witness to the event, drawn like flies to carrion. They were coming to feed. Each chunk of the unmaker turned to a strange flowing liquid light, gradually vanishing into the aether as it was supped at by entities both seen and unseen. That your actions are being treated as plan, or benefit fills you with a sort of rage that a man cannot easily describe. They would not walk away so easily, fully victorious..no. There was no howl to the heavens, a man railing against gods, only cold spite and an unsuspecting vessel. You reach your hand into the liquid light, you dig around with reckless abandon, searching for it, the last remnants of the unmaker's corpse, a fragment, it's truest core. Something hard, pulsing, still alive. You clutch the shard in your hand, and yank it free with a splatter of divine gore. Glowing like a blinding hot star, cascading white hot sparks and embers like the forge of a mad smith. It is beautiful in it's own way. Despite your unnatural grip, you cannot crush the thing. Smashing your fist to the ground, you are only rewarded with a shower of sparks. The damn thing would not break, and around it there was no fate to rip, to weave, it could not simply be removed from the cycle. Only now did your anger peak once more. Fuck.

There the last witch lay, no longer gasping. Hauling her up by chitinous tendrils that passed for hair, her eyes still held a glimmer of life as they locked with yours. Your scarred face furrows into deeper displeasure. "Open your mouth whore." the words come like gravel and tar. Her lips barely part as you roughly jam the shard into her maw, small mandibles decorating it's sides grip obscenely at your fingers, offering contrast with human lips. Immediately the essence begins ravaging a mortal body, either destroying it or changing it forever.

>Roll a 1d100. lets see what happens.

File: Spoiler Image (489 KB, 900x900)

489 KB PNG

Rolled 16 (1d100)

>>2781095

Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>2781095

Rolled 37 (1d100)

>>2781095

Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>2781095

Rolled 90 (1d100)

>>2781095
Motherfucker thats our heart of a dead god

>>2781521
>61 mid pass. witch does not explode

Aether boils and warps around the waifish swamp witch as you let go. The screams are truly impressive, more so as she lifts off the ground, writhing and twisting in agony. Her body is yanked to a place between realities, a cocoon between realms. The strange energies swirling about begin transforming the waif; blurring, distorted, unreadable, something greatly changed. Wings grow, limbs sprout. The thick fibers of fate split open as a reforged witch spills fourth and looks at you past your eyes and face, into your depths. Her own impossibly black eyes, cold as a cloudless winter sky, sparkling with the stars themselves. It's mouth moves silently, forming words you don't know.

An arc of light interrupts you both, shattering stone and igniting dry scrub. Instead of shock or surprise, she simply looks at the ever increasing brightness. "wonderful." a woman's voice like autumn breeze and dry parchment. Above you the vortexes in torn into the sky have merged into a single baleful point, unnatural loops of flame and blood colored lightning twist and arc across it. The Ulf cranes it's face skyward for a moment then shakes it's head. "Vall's fist...he prepares to drop it. not out of rage, but...as gift. We must leave. Climb." It gestures for you to get onto it's back. Grabbing hold of fleshy tendrils that make up it's "fur" you haul your metal clad form up. The moth continues to stare, transfixed, her voice barely audible. "I see you.."

"Boy! We leave." the 'ulf barks back "No boy old man! NO BOY." Leaving the witch behind you make distance between yourself and what is likely to be great destruction. Several long moments of a wild dash leave the beast panting and winded; it turns with you to face the site of impact in time to witness annihilation you could only dream about. She was right. The engulfing ball of light explodes outward, washing over the landscape, incinerating trees and melting rock before shattering the ground. The blast of heat washes over you, causing the 'Ulf to flinch backwards for a moment. "This is not wise father...We leave now. If you disagree..Walk." behind you a dry voice whispers into your ear "You dropped this. She told me so." A chitinous claw reaches from behind you, your helmet in hand, promptly set into your lap.

Behind you lays the former site of a dead god, now reduced to fissured canyons of shattered obsidian and arcing energy, giant shards jostling like the teeth of a great beast in a crowded jaw. Despite the glowing heat, you watch long enough to see snow begin to settle onto the glossy stone. You were tired, hungry, and would seek camp.
---
Gained "Godslayer" +3 starting berserk, total of 6 at the beginning of every fight.
Gained Unwanted Companion(s).
-Gryrsulf (mount)
-Moth Witch (insane woman and seer)
Gained the amused attention of Vall.

>>2781586
fuck you vall, bastard.

>>2781532
>90: I missed this but now compensate.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yw9Y_LX9wTw

Sitting at your campsite, your sit in a divot carved from the snow and small rocks staring into the distance. The Gryrsulf gnaws on a massive elk like creature you slew while riding; taking it's head off with your flax as it rushed by you. The Seer sits near a small fire of her own making, it glows green; because she is a fucking sorceress, full of foul magic. Frowning, you look toward the two. Your child asks why the Moth Seer only took what it did. She eats the eyes of the creature, along with it's face. "sometimes you get hungry for faces." was her only response to the question of the 'Ulf. Little bits of attempted conversation rattle between the two, lost to you as your fingers touch jagged teeth and exposed gums.

"Gryrsulf...the others. The spawn?" It looks at you and shrugs it's shoulders. "Dead. Alive. Don't care." it declares through a mouth of barely cooked meat. The moth woman looks off into the distance and absent mindedly points "that way. One is that way." it would seem she has some use.

>>2781591
---
>pick which of the other spawn you wish to track down.

>>2781595
>Living Nightmare

SEEEEEEEEEER, point me to my spawn so i may kill or enslave them.

>>2781595
>The Living Storm
There is no wrong choice except any choice that isn't this one.

>>2781595
>Living Nightmare

I wanna see Thallos memories.