>>3416334
> What is this?

Hello all, newfriends and shitposters. Do you miss the days of /tg/ quest hijacks? Well, you're terrible. But the concept itself isn't.

An Exquisite Corpse is a style of creative construct where one part is worked on then passed to another person to do the next.

So I thought it would be fun to try it here, and bring some variety to /qst/. We're stuck here forever after all, so instead of shitting all over it and then having to live in said shit, let's make it better.

The rules for this thread are as such.

> Whoever wins the vote, writes.

But, you say, you've put your own suggestions in! Well those are recommendations. If a writers recommendation is chosen, the first person to vote for it writes.

> write ins are always an option

I mean, I want to say obviously, but there's no harm in clarity.

> No namefagging

While known QMs are welcome and honestly preferred, the idea is that this kind of quest will be as much for people developing their skills as it is to showcase them. A place for people who want to try writing a quest but don't feel up to a full quest for various reason. A place for QMs to practice and read other writing styles. And hopefully, a fun time where people don't get salty about writers changing tone or themes etc.

A discord for it can be added later, or if QMs want to make their own whatever.

Why did I namefag at the top? Because I'm vain and want people to know who started it, and that's bad. Forgot my trip.

QMs can put their names in the opening post.

> You don't get to tell people what to do

Once you write your piece, the Corpse is passed along. You're done.

> No-one writes twice

I'll let this thread die here if no-one is interested, and try again with a new intro next Sunday.

> No planning ahead

I will do this for every Sunday if it continues, or if it's popular enough I'll set up the discord and known QMs can pick who to write the next intro. No discussion on the intro's until they're revealed, so that people don't plot ahead to "guide" the thread.

> I'm anonymous, not a Cop

These rules aren't fast and hard right now. Hell you can start your own thread. If you want to discuss them, head over to the General.

>>3416334
>Other
Try to remember who you are, and how you died. You don't gain anything from tearing yourself apart.

>>3416482
Time limit 30 minutes for others to vote.

If no-one votes, you get to write!

>>3416542
>>3416482
I'm just thinking it's a good idea to do a time limit so that you aren't just stuck waiting.

I'm excited for your post! Thank you for joining!

>>3416542
>>3416547
Oh alright, I'll get to writing.

>>3416645
Huzzah!

You attempt you remember what had happened to you. It's very foggy. But you remember you were:

>Royalty
>A Great Warrior
>A Ruthless General
>Other

But that basic knowledge is all you can truly remember. You look around. This environment was completely alien to you. It was:

>A crypt.
>A destroyed castle.
>Middle of the woods.
>A field, covered in skeletons.
>Other

>Royalty
>Middle of the Woods

>>3416914
Give it half an hour and then go! Feel free to use a name if you get a writing post, thanks for not using one during voting!

>>3416921
I'm excited! Would you prefer actual QM name or a psuedonym?

>>3416914
>>3416928
I can't prove it, but this is me (switched wifi).

>>3416928
Actual QM name could draw some people in, but it's up to you.

>>3416914
Writing.

You'd been told your blood was blue so many times you'd half-grown to believe it. You were lied to. The viscera you've just spewed is an ugly, base red.

You were Heir-Apparent Rufus Sarenjes, though nobody ever spoke those words. You were Kestrel, Kudzu-Crowned, Lower-Lord, Him. You were rosy with the glow of assumed immortality.

And now you are dead.

It's the only reasonable conclusion to draw. You are dead, and you are moldering somewhere dim and damp. Somewhere dim and damp and-- with trees, it appears, as you tug your gaze away from the curdled flesh that now stains your sixth-best tunic. (You downgrade it to your 17th-best tunic.)

Impossible. The closest nature reserve is on High Ground. You are forbidden from High Ground.

But these *are* trees, exactly as you've seen in your textbooks, and so you must be in a reserve. And you are dead.

May wonders never cease.

You are dead, but it doesn't come as much of a surprise. What Heir-Apparent lacks enemies? You'd love to meet the man, so you may tear out his eyes without trouble. It could've been Robed with Antlers. It could've been Kingfisher. (You hope it wasn't Kingfisher. That bastard needs to be taken down a peg.)

The troubling part comes from the living. You'd rather been looking forward from a respite from this madness. Why are you still here? What foul spark animates you? Why did you have to wear a tunic that clashes with blood?

Do you still have your stipulations? You figure you ought to. "Being dead" was never in the contract.

>[1] Enact Stipulation 17: Whomsoever Signs This May Be Sunketh Into The Sixty Waters
>[2] Enact Stipulation 332: Whomsoever Signs This May Be Shorn In Twain And Live In Twixt
>[3] Enact Stipulation 45: Whomsoever Signs This May Be Fillt With All The Good Things In This Earth
>[4] Enact Stipulation XX: Write-in

>>3417115
Great post! Things are chugging along!

Are we in some hell, with powers bought in blood? Or a corporate dystopia where steel hides the skies above? Or a broken land with pockets of life jealously guarded? Who knows what comes next, I really like the jumping off points you left.

>>3417115
>[2] Enact Stipulation 332: Whomsoever Signs This May Be Shorn In Twain And Live In Twixt
LIVE in twixt. We may be half the man we used to be, but we'll live again.

>>3417129
30 minutes and if there's no other votes itself all yours! If it's only two people, I'll roll a d2, or however many split votes there are!

Past writers can still vote too if other people want to try it!

>>3417160
Writing. This may take a few minutes.

>>3417193
No worries, it's a slow board and this is the first time so we have all week.

Each Heir, on the fourteenth day of his birth, would sign seven contracts with the Emperor, to prevent rebellion; these Stipulations, when activated by the Emperor (or an Heir who knew how to do so), would cause some terrible torture to befall the offending Heir -- you had seen such diverse misfortunes as the loss of all blood through the ears, the twisting of the body into knots and coils, and death by raccoon. You had learnt from those sights that the wording of a Stipulation was literal: if you were to live with your head fallen off, you would live the rest of your life a headless ghoul, and if you were to be slain by a child then you were fated to die due to a child's actions.

In that case, could one of your Stipulations force you to live once again? Surely life as a tortured man was better than no life at all?

In a hurry you searched for the old scrolls under your clothes (where you always kept them for fear of losing them), searching through viscera and stained fabric. And there they were: three chipped and stained jade scrolls, nestled away in your stomach.

Slowly, very slowly, you removed them, taking care not to open them or harm your insides further, and spread them out.
Yes, Stipulation 332 would do it: the Bisection.

For lack of ink, you used the few remaining dregs of your own blood to sign the scroll again, and then sat down and waited for a few seconds.

Suddenly there was a dreadful tearing noise, as if a thousand exquisite shawls were being torn all at once; and then you flew forward, unable to feel your legs, and stopped when you crashed into a tree.

You were now shorn in half as the Stipulation dictated, but why were you still in these misbegotten woods? Did this mean you were already alive, or did you simply not leave this place once you were resurrected...?

What shall you do now, Kudzu-Crowned Sarenjes?
>Go North, deeper into the woods
>Go South, where you hear what may be sounds of animals
>Go East, where the woods seem to thin out
>Go West, where nothing remarkable is happening
>Stay here and sulk

>>3417226
Forgot to include:
>Something else? Your mind, as sharp as it is, may find other paths which most do not see.

>>3417226
>Go West, where nothing remarkable is happening

I'll vote but I can't write. I don't know how the OP wants to handle this.

>>3417226
Reminds me of the old myth about Jinns that they only had half their body visible in the world and the other half was stuck I the supernatural!

So now Rufus Sarenjes has many mysteries to seek answers to! Who killed him? How? Is he even dead? Will his remaining organs stay with him?

Time to learn how to hop along!

Well I eagerly await the next person to write, but I have to sleep myself. Feel free to keep it going Aussies and Insomniacs!

>>3417252
Doesn't matter if you can't write! Give it a shot!

If you just want to vote, that's fine. The first person to second you, or to suggest something else if they want, can write.

If a third person wants to vote for yours again, then they can roll a d2 to see if them or the 2nd person writes. If they also don't want to write, well the 2nd person can either be generous and write the winning vote or they can write their own.

Don't worry about writing post quality though. Even the best QMs have individual bad posts. You can always just write the minimum you can to keep it moving if you want. Even the worst post will still give the next writer something to go off of, as well as previous posts.

If you're stuck, you can always just do a world-building post. Or introduce a waifu. Or a rival. Or through the MC into danger so someone else has to get them out. Or kill them off and switch perspectives, although that's kind of a risk. We're just creating here though. All the Exquisite Corpse threads are going to be oneshots refreshed on Sundays anyways, although if any writers want to take something and run with it go nuts..

Votes open until someone wants to write, after 30 min they can write immediately if they want.

>>3417252
If you want, you can simply describe what Torn Heir sees in the west.

Is it a peaceful town filled with lights? A road through rolling rotted plains where powerful horselords migrate on their steeds of bone and shell, strangely insectile bodies warped by magic/pollution? A path away from the dangers of the court to the hinterland when hard mine dig precious stones out from harder earth to trade the Empire for protection and food despite despising them for being a threat to their independence?

Remember the rule, when in doubt use the British Empire for a BBEG. Stealing shamelessly is a time honored writing tradition.

Go nuts with it!

>>3417266
>>3417272
I appreciate it, but you misunderstand: I don't mean "I can't write", I mean "I CAN'T write, I just went!

>>3417275
Ahaha I didn't look at your ID whoops.

I've been thinking about that though. Maybe a 24 hour cool-down period would be better than a straight one-and-done?

> Why am I so bad at sleeping.

>I Have No Breath and I Must Breathe

That's a fuckin' intro right there, OP.

>>3417291
Thanks! I was going for "being trapped in the moment of death". Psychological trauma, but in a world where the laws of death can be broken just how much of an effect could it have!

Feel free to vote and write a post, as well!

>>3417287
Yeah, I think a 24-hour cooldown is better, seeing as we have very little traffic in this thread.

>>3417356
Well it is late on Sunday.

I don't think even a person as shameless as me can shill harder without it being counterproductive either lol.

Hey, if QMs can run threads with one or two players though, this should be okay to let it burn slow throughout the week at first.

>>3417226
>Go East, where the woods seem to thin out

>>3417390
Write! It's been 30 minutes!

>>3417413
Swiping off the yellowing leaves shaken off the tree by the impact of your body, you winced from the pain and cursed quietly. Then, realizing the implications of this action, immediately started inspecting yourself.
You were alive and breathing now, no question. You could pant and wheeze and utter profanities and hear the thumping of blood in your temples. Instead of crushed viscera, smooth brown skin peeked out of the holes in your tunic.

The tunic remained as ruined as it was though.

In other news, you now had nothing below the waist. You suppressed a momentary urge to investigate the new state of your body closer. It would likely only upset you, and there wasn't a point to it anyway. You were stipulated to live, and so you will. Somehow.

Wincing again, you pulled your body off the ground, propping yourself up on your hands, and slowly waddled towards the direction where it seemed there were less trees. It was extremely inconvenient, but your arms were always strong, and you have just loss half of your body mass. If not for various debris biting into your palms, you could probably even waddle faster. In any case, in no more than twenty minutes you've reached the place where the trees parted.
Now you definitely knew you were on the High Ground. The sheer cliff you found yourself standing over was unmistakable. Below and far away, in the South-East, you could see the edge of the Capital, the mess of blocky buildings, pipes, and thin metal needles of Communion Towers stretching towards the huge mass of the Palace almost on the horizon. A railway run a smooth curve from the nearest outer checkpoint, past the cliff and on to North-West. You knew there was a station where it run nearest to the High Ground, with a stairway and an elevator leading down to it. You couldn't see if from here, but it should've been not far away.

>Get to the station and catch a train to the Capital. Cash in your favor with the Pseudobarbers.
>Get to the station and catch a train North-West. Get to the Terminal.
>Remain on the High Ground. You have unfinished business here.

>>3417457
>Get to the station and catch a train North-West. Get to the Terminal.

>>3417482
Dropped my trip.

>>3417482
Can't write yet, so I'll bump instead

>>3417556
Isn't writing once per anon only?

>>3417570
See >>3417287

>>3417574
Maybe just having it be "can't write twice in a row" would be better than a time delay.

I mostly was concerned that it would get dominated by 2-3 top writers, but for the first thread maybe that's what we'll get.

Like I said, if the rules don't work we can just change them.

>>3417605
Alright, then I'll write after dinner.

You resolved, in your peerless wisdom and intellect, to go to the Terminal and take a train back to the Capital; then you would learn what happened and how you came to be in this mess; then you would find your most hated nemesis Kingfisher, pluck out his eyes and hang him over a pit of sexually excited rams with a candle held to his bindings by his own hands.

But before revenge came the return. So you crawled down the tracks, expecting a train to come by but hearing none at all, and came to the staircase at the Terminal which was now made of some smooth grey material. How odd -- you remembered clearly that the station was richly (but tastefully) decorated and bedecked with all sorts of grand ornamentation, and also that there were usually people here: but now it was totally bare and seemed devoid of occupants.

You pressed the UP button on the elevator, only to find that the door opened up into a wall of the same stuff which formed the rest of the station. This angered and confused you.

After that you struggled for some minutes to scale the staircase, your now second-most-hated nemesis, and reached the platform.

The platform was colourless like the rest of the station, but for little blue squares in the tiles which gave off light, and black lights in the walls down which more blue lights travelled apparently at random. The seats were little metal things, clean and sleek, and the doors were white and smooth, with small but elaborate panels nearby with panoplies of buttons. Frames hung from the walls but no paintings occupied them; the ceiling was a flat rectangle with lights embedded in it.

Also, there was a woman in the centre... Nightingale, your wife. Pretty enough in her pistachio-coloured silks not for nothing was she said to be one of the most beautiful ladies alive, had a pleasant enough voice many suitors were driven to lunacy when they realized they could not listen to her words for a second longer and she was clever enough to argue with you when you slowed yourself for her benefit. Still, it couldn't be said that you loved each other much, and your lovemaking was too dry by half.

So what was she doing here?
Were other Heirs present?
And what shall you do now, Kudzu-Crowned Sarenjes?
>Call her. You believe that she still cares about you enough to help you up.
>Ignore her for now and inspect something else. There are better things to do than be bothered by her.
>Something else? Your mind, sharp as it is, may find other paths which most do not see.

>>3417688
I really need to remember to keep my tripcode on

>>3417627
>Call her. You believe that she still cares about you enough to help you up.

File: AaAaAaAaAa.jpg (43 KB, 428x538)

43 KB JPG

>>3417691
>Kignfisher

>>3417605
How about a combination? Maybe "past writers can go if it's been ~2 hours with no votes since the last post and they did not make the last post"?

>>3417741
Alright, I'm getting some serious deja vu now

File: 1554568444359.jpg (66 KB, 528x792)

66 KB JPG

>>3417745
W-what?

>>3417688
>Call her. You believe that she still cares about you enough to help you up.

File: Furioso-Pattern Headwiper.jpg (38 KB, 426x341)

38 KB JPG

>>3417750
I swear I saw this thread in the past. I remember seeing >>3417741 this exact post.

>>3417701
>>3417776
Someone get writing!

>>3417788
I guess it's possible there's been a thread with a similar premise and rules you might've seen, though I can't say I've seen any. Weird.

>>3417741
Yeah, sure why not. Not like we're short on posting space.

Honestly for some reason I thought that like 20 people would want to play immediately late on a Sunday night.

>>3417803
>>3417701
>>3417776

Aight, writing

>>3417688

Resting on your waist, you hurriedly try to adjust your tunic to hide the blood. While being half a man is unfortunate, being so garishly stained and disheveled is embarrassing and if you hadn't already been dead once you would normally have rather died than been seen like this.

Then, changing your mind, you abandon your fruitless efforts to hide as much of the bloodstained garb in knots beneath your waist and instead rip a ragged edge along it. You throw your hair forward to hide your face.

You still don't know who killed you, after all. And the Terminal platform isn't exactly the most discrete place to meet. Besides, it's okay to look this way if it's a disguise, right? Haha, yes now you look just like a real wretch from the outer rings of the capital that you're in.

"Stop". A cool look and a word that contains the melody of the stars. Most from the ring would not approach a noble from the tower in so straightforward a fashion if at all, none would dare to to argue much less ignore a word.

But you waddle closer. Unsurprisingly, her travel cloak begins to glow as its systems activate in response. The cool look becomes cold, and she begins to turn away. Despite the lack of guards, you know she is far from defenseless. If you continue your approach, the cloak will teach you your final lesson and she's likely put out this maddened malformed wretch from her mind already.

So when you reach out to her hand with yours she is completely shocked and spins and screams in shock and fear at the sudden touch and apparent failure of her cloak. Even her screams are lovely as stars dying, and if you hadn't had your nervous system reinforced after your wedding you would be dying too.

The nerve reinforcement was a wedding present from her father, who claimed correctly that it would be the recipe for a happy marriage with her.

"Damn you woman! Keep up your racket and I'll put you in a gilded cage to screech your heart out there like any other noisy bird!" You reply with a wry grin, your usual go-to response when you argue and you know you've lost.

She stops in shock, then screams even louder at you but this time with notes of mingled pleasure and rage.

Yep, you resolve as you had many times before after every fight to send her father a bottle of the finest witch-brew that grants pleasant dreams. She truly loves to scream at you, more than the act of lovemaking itself.

"Where have you been! Why are you dressed that way? First you don't call despite me trying to organize the upcoming festivities for your birthday, and now you've apparently let someone catch your stipulations while you were what, hunting mutants and 'breds in the hills with your brothers again? God, don't touch me while you're covered in muck." Eye's flashing, she looks you up and down and you regret your looks all over again. It was a necessity you tell yourself as your skin turns as crimson colour to match the bloodstains.

"It was a -"

File: Nightingale.jpg (43 KB, 473x578)

43 KB JPG

>>3418419

>>3418419
>>3418419
"Now we're going to have to visit a Seamstress and get you a new tunic, and new legs while we're at it. And we have to find one out here in the wilderness" your lovely wife gestures around presumably at the surrounding buildings of the city outside the Terminal.

"Well, perhaps -"

"Because we surely can't be seen at the Spire like this, and oh god your hand you've been walking on them you must be filthy and you TOUCHED me with them, no we must get you new legs oh god if you end up only being able to find a cart or something then you can just head back to the Capital yourself."

"Damn you woman! Keep up your racket and I'll put you in a gilded cage to screech your heart out there like any other noisy bird!" This time you shout without the grin. Yep. That's your wife, gorgeous and sought after by many. Oft times the star of the party, a voice like the stars.

And like many other men, you oft feel driven to lunacy when you realize you cannot listen to her words a second longer. Maybe you could go back to being dead? It was probably pretty peaceful before you woke up.

What to do?

> Interrogate your wife. You didn't even get a chance to ask why she's here. Maybe you can get a word in edgewise.

> Find a seamstress. Seriously, between your wife and your clothes you're starting to miss being dead. Also, some new legs would be useful.

> Reach a communion tower. You need to find your allies in the Capital to ensure the plans for your birthday and your ascension of another level have not been disrupted.

File: The Screamstress.jpg (13 KB, 236x354)

13 KB JPG

>>3418446

>Find a seamstress.
>Interrogate your wife on the way.
We need to look presentable before finding high society.
I'm not in a position to write right now, but if I get back and nobody's claimed this I'll go for it.

>>3418459
Dope.

God, I am so bad at dialogue myself. Much better at world building.

>>3418446
>Find a seamstress.
>Interrogate your wife on the way.

>>3418459
Supportin' ya

>>3418527
Do ya wanna write?

>>3418531
I'll be unavailable for a couple hours, but we'll see! Might wanna hold off til the update after.

>>3418541
Well that's how she goes. Do ya thing!

I am writing.

>>3418446
Perhaps a different tack will prove more effective.

"Darling," you say, with only the barest hint of acidity, "dearest, love of my life-- would you terribly mind helping me up? I assure you, this is worse for me than it is for you."

You feel quite a lesser beast under your wife's withering gaze. She matches your acidity and multiplies it until you must cringe away. "Kestrel. *Why were we betrothed?*"

"Convenience," you mutter, and tug at the brooch twining around your neck.

"Louder!" She is strident.

"Convenience!" You have half a mind to strike her where she stands, but you've lost half your stature. It will have to wait.

"Yes. And you know what is *not* convenient?"

The conclusion is as constant and inevitable as the circling of the stars. You draw up whatever scraps of dignity remain and answer: "...Helping me up."

"Yes. And disgusting, besides. Have you looked at yourself?"

Her voice is beautiful even as it bites.

You sigh and scratch at your neck. "Dearest, what are you doing here?"

Her cloak draws itself around her. She is nervous. She doesn't sound it, of course. "I ought to ask the same. You know full well you're outlawed."

"We were outlawed together, my pet. On our honeymoon. And I can't-- well, I didn't intend to be here. I was murdered."

"And you aren't now?" she demands.

"I'm afraid not."

"Damn!"

You take comfort in the fact you'd feel the same of her.

Any further conversation is interrupted by the warbling cry of the arriving train. It's an ancient model, all friendly rounded corners and fading dye job. You're suitably disgusted.

Your wife feels the same. "Is THIS the sorry transportation they have out here? Are you seeing-- is this from BEFORE the Rift? I mean it, are you seeing--"

You're already swinging through the doors. The faster this little inconvenience is dealt with, the better.

The interior of the train is lined with the Terminal's blue lights, although many appear to be on the fritz. Cracked polyester seats line the walls, as do tacky advertisements: "Tree Brew! Embrace the Vigor of the Forest!" "Saint Judith's Pocket Astrolabe: Keep the Stars at Your Fingertips!" This really must be a pre-Rift train-- astrolabes are all built in nowadays. You two are the only ones in this car, and almost certainly the train.

You heave yourself onto a brightly-colored seat, while Nightingale pointedly remains standing. It's of no matter. "So what *are* you doing here?" you press on.

"It," she says airily, "is none of your business."

Were you to strike her, it'd set off a litany of defenses that'd end with your defenestration. It would be worth it.

"I will throttle you into that cage," you start, and she laughs. It's as the chorus of a million silvery bells. Your resolve slips. "...sweetheart. I'm your husband. There's nothing you can't entrust with me."

(1/2)

"I can't even entrust your BIRTHDAY PREPARATIONS to you."

The rest of the journey passes in steely silence.

There is only one stop on the train, and so you are forced to depart at somewhere charitably called "slightly less the middle of nowhere". There are buildings, you suppose, and people, though they are so beneath your notice they are hardly worth describing.

You are well within their notice, though, and scarcely a minute after swinging onto the platform the two of you have attracted gagglers. They whisper, and point, and trail you all the way to the door of the seamstress.

A gravel voice sounds the second your wife opens that door. "Yes, it is free of charge. I'm a fan. Yes, I do body parts. Yes, I do legs. Also tunics, yes."

Precognition chips are excellent for business.

"Sure, you can do your *old* legs, but why bother? I've already tailored this to your specifications..."

>[1] Write-in. What kind of legs are you getting?

>>3419350
>The old legs. They were perfectly fine, and why not stick to a good thing?

>>3419350
> Those snazzy retrograde legs that are all the rage now. You need new pants anyways, and after getting killed and torn in two you feel like you deserve a special treat.

>>3419374
Actually since I can't write ignore my vote>>3419404

>>3419374
This isn't meant to be a collaborative writing on the posts, you should have free reign on what to do uninfluences by other people outside of their posts

Especially since it's slow, and we're letting people write new posts, how about new IDs get to write within 10 minutes and repeat IDs have a 30 minute delay? That way we can get more new people in faster?

>>3419417
This sounds alright.
However, people who want to stay might have to take a name or tripcode if their IP is dynamic.

>>3419347
Also living how the relationship dynamic is evolving. I wish I could write dialogue that well.

Especially love the little touches about the advertising and the globes also.

>>3419424
Sure, so long as people don't use their trips/name until they write.

I like the surprises from seeing who comes in.

Once again though I'm an Anon not a Cop. Do what you want, having fun > rules.

>>3419417
I'm a little confused as to what you mean by that. Are you saying that there shouldn't be any votes, that the next writer should just take an offered choice and go from there?

I'm half-inclined to agree. I don't see the point of a voting period, really, unless we did a thing where the QM and the option were selected separately.

>>3419424
Also >>3417702

You totally missed the opportunity to make your evil(? Or are WE the evil one) in game persona be Big Pimpin', the Knigfisher Master of Hoes.

I almost feel like you should make that a recurring character.

>>3419442
Yeah, the voting period was if we had a bunch of people wanting to write at once so that it doesn't get dominated by a few people, or to resolve multiple new people that want to write at once.

So I figure a 10 minute grace period for new writers, and a 30 minute grace period for people who previously wrote > 2 hours since the last quest post?

I don't want people to feel pressured to write fast so that someone else can have a turn, but I also don't want someone to get delayed longer than they can stick around to play.

But I want QMs to write *their* posts, to showcase their individuality and style.

While the whole is collaborative, the individual parts should have their own unique flavor.

That's why when you vote, it should be for the writer to write their idea. That's part of why I kind of don't like names being involved because people might just vote for their favorite QMs to continue writing.

But you know, we have IDs anyways so that's unavoidable.

>>3419444
>>3419424
A recurring character in different quests.

Also I'm super stoked with how the thread is going. I already am learning a lot and I have a good idea for making Exquisite Corpse Quest #2 not only improved but more streamlined. If no-one minds, I'd like to try out a couple things in the first 2 threads and then after that if it goes well I'd be down for passing the helm around to other players.

I'd appreciate having just one ECQ om the board at first so that we can all collaborate on getting the threads running smoothly, as well as building up a semi-regular player base, but I mean if people want to run multiples and do their own things then creativity should always be encouraged.

>>3419374
I'm excited for your post!

>>3419489
You'll have to wait a while, since I have classes for this hour and the next...
Universities were a mistake, it's all rotten from the inside

>>3419474
Sounds fine to me.

Hey, if you don't like names, I'd be happy to leave mine off. I have no particular attachment to using one or not.

This is up to you, but I would be interested in an Exquisite Corpse discord. I think it would be a good place to corral meta discussion, at least, since it's currently taking up half the thread.

>>3419496
That's fine. An exquisite corpse is an opportunity to both grow by working with others as much as it is to do your own thing.

And it's a slow thread anyways.

Get that piece of paper!

>>3419507
I *suppose* a discord is reasonable to keep the thread clean.

I'm just a grognard with unreasonable prejudices.

And names will help draw people in, just so long as you don't use it until you it should be fine.

With a discord there's no reason not to use the names afterwards anyways.

https://discord.gg/9dAFtT

Discord server

>>3419518
Discord servers end up becoming circlejerks. It happens too many times: someone makes a Discord for meta discussion, it becomes an echo chamber disconnected from the thread it was meant to supplement, and in the end the people there become a little gated community. I advise against making a Discord server unless you feel that you can consistently enforce a "meta-only" rule: the consequences aren't worth the initial benefits.

>>3419531
> I advise against making a Discord server unless you feel that you can consistently enforce a "meta-only" rule: the consequences aren't worth the initial benefits.

Better to have one I can control than have people make their own.

I personally also prefer to meta discussions in-thread, and I'm not going to put ban on in thread meta discussions.

The goal is to be inclusive, and that's going to mean people who prefer discord should be able to have one.

Let's say, you have to write in thread before using the Discord though.

>>3419540
>Better to have one I can control than have people make their own.
True.
>Let's say, you have to write in thread before using the Discord though.
This would be good.

>>3419527
New channel for pitching Exquisite Corpse Quest opening posts. Posts will be determined by dice rolls.

Only post your pitch, no discussion.

Pitches will be selected by dice roll.

If people don't use discord, link a pastebin with your pitch in it and I'll add it.

One pitch per person per thread, at least for now.

>>3419553
Pitches will start to be used from the third thread onwards.

Please be sure to make a complete post as they will be directly copy/pasted.

The two of you enter the workshop of the seamstress, and are greeted by utter madness.

Upon the off-white walls hang rainbows of fabrics, swatches of all colours and textures forming a garish tapestry which hurts your eyes from the sheer ugliness of it.

A large metal table with a glass top stands in the centre holding arms and legs of shapes, sizes and skin tones ranging from the familiar whites and browns to the never-before-seen siennas and puces; there are smaller tables up next to the walls, holding tools which seem to come from a watchmaker's shop.

In other words, it was a normal Seamstress's workshop.

Nightingale heads in, treading carefully over the occasional fallen limb and carrying you in both arms, over to the Seamstress, who was apparently putting the finishing touches on what must be your legs.

"Hmph, Lord Kestrel, looks like you chose your old legs after all." she warbles like a stream rushing over rocks.

"Indeed, Seamstress, and I presume those are them? I'm quite tired of being carried around." you reply with as much dignity as a legless man can muster.

"I, too, am tired from carrying him around." Nightingale adds, sounding unbearably sorrowful.

"You're both in luck, then. Put him on that stool over there and we'll have him walking again."

Nightingale complies.

A minute later you are lain on the stool and your new legs are propped up near your waist; the Seamstress has finished placing the sacrificial materials in the slots of the ritual circle carved into the floor. Your wife is giggling softly at the sight, sounding like the melodies played in the heavens, but you are unamused and silently consider gilded birdcages with a pout on your face.

"Now step away from the circle, I'm fusing these legs to his body and I can't be responsible for any.... accidents." she rumbles at your wife, who quickly steps back as her expression turns blank and her exquisite lips purse.
"Alright, let's finish it."

Slowly she intones the spell of joining, words from a faraway land conquered by the Empire, and you feel something in the air changing.

《BONE TO BONE...》 she bellows in an ancient tongue of magic, one you understand even though you do not speak it.

The lights dim.

《BLOOD TO BLOOD...》

The circle glows, and the items in the slots vanish in little flashes of light.

《JOINT TO JOINT...》

You feel your body being drawn to the legs and held fast.

《SO THEY MAY BE GLUED.》

Suddenly there is a sound you can only describe as that of a thousand torn shawls fusing together and a bright bluish-white light from below, and you can feel your legs again.

After some testing, you determine that they are a perfect fit, ignoring the substantially enlarged-- no, best not to think about that now. Or for a very long time.
Nightingale seems to agree, judging by the light blush on her snow-white skin.

>Cont.

>>3419793
"See? A perfect fit, yeah? I told you so." the Seamstress croaks, her face contorting comically when she waggles the shrubbery above her eyes.

You leave shortly after, in a replica of your eleventh-best tunic: a nice little piece which makes you rather resemble your namesake, the kestrel. Nightingale emerges shortly after with some hoods which she claims will make you look inconspicuous.

There are several paths available now: you could return to the Palace, or you could stay in the Capital and find out more about this world.
So what shall you do, Kudzu-Crowned Sarenjes and Beauteous Nightingale?
>Go to the Palace and seek out a courtier. You wish to return to your idyllic life at once and you will not be denied it.
>Stay in the Capital. It is foolhardy to rush in without looking, and Kestrel is the farthest thing from a fool.

>>3419801
>Something else? Your mind, sharp as it is, may find other paths which most do not see.

>>3419801
>>Stay in the Capital. It is foolhardy to rush in without looking, and Kestrel is the farthest thing from a fool.

>>3419801
>>Stay in the Capital. It is foolhardy to rush in without looking, and Kestrel is the farthest thing from a fool.

As much as you wish to return to your idyllic life in the Palace, you are no fool. No, you—Lord Kestrel and Heir-Apparent—is anything but foolish. You awoke dead for a reason and you intend to find out who murdered you in cold blood. For now the two greatest suspects are Robed-with-Antlers and Kingfisher. They both have their reasons to kill you, however legitimate or justified they are in their pursuit of vengeance.

As you watch Nightingale stroll across the street, empty as it is, to take a gander at the nearest shop you pull the hood over your head. For the first time since you awoke from death an hour or so ago, you finally find your footing once more. And it isn’t until now that you notice something pressing against your chest within the lined pocket of your tunic. It wasn’t there when you checked it with the seamstress, but you when you reach for it now a sense of Déjà vu overwhelms you.

Out from your pocket comes a palm-sized and silver-grey astrolabe in your hand. The numerical etchings and runic markings across it reminds you of something that you cannot remember at this moment. And by merely holding it in your hand it gives off a bluish light beneath its lock and you can hear someone humming a melody near your ear.

With a shocked expression, you turn to face Nightingale who remains oblivious to your discovery.

“All these cloaks are painfully inferior,” she finally gives voice to her disappointment, eyes wandering from one piece of clothing to the next where they’re laid bare at the shop window, “although they do match my eyes.” She muses delightfully, much to the apparent dismay of her own cloak that whips about her violently.

“Oh hush, darling. It’s only a jest,” she replies and turns to you, who promptly hides the astrolabe behind your back by reflex, “Why are we still here?” And this time her voice is anything but friendly. You give her a charming smile in silence and motions for her to go on ahead. She cocks her head at you for a moment before taking point up the street leading further inwards.

>Cont.

>>3419979
While she quickly becomes engrossed with her own chattering, be they to you or her cloak or herself, you take a closer look at the astrolabe again. It’s definitely pre-rift since it’s not only a pocket astrolabe but it also has all these markings and etchings, like tattoos; entirely foreign to the body. Your eyes catch sight of the tiny knot at the top of the circular device.

Although common sense begs you to put it away, your curiosity soon gets the better of you. And when you press it, the astrolabe opens up, revealing a stronger hue of the bluish light beneath.

And then broken pieces of everything comes to you at once, like waves crashing into a bedrock:

You witness the theft of a star; the birth of an Empire and the tyranny that followed; the Rift and rebellion that came soon thereafter, full of blood, hate, and hope; the death of countless nations, kingdoms, and planets; and a woman in a clothes and armor you do not recognize hovers in the midst of space and time—her entire right arm engulfed in the same bluish light from before and her index finger is reaching towards the nearest star from which the light comes from, as if It’s giving Itself to her. In her left hand there lies her Astrolabe. The very same you have in your hand. A name echoes in a whisper from nowhere and everywhere as you feel yourself pulled away from this dream.

Saint Judith.

And you’re back in the streets of the Capital, staring straight ahead. Nightingale has scarcely noticed you stopping and the Astrolabe is no longer in your hand, but tucked away in the inner pocket of your tunic.

Dazed, confused, and overwhelmed with everything you saw—even if they were but pieces of a whole picture—you resign to follow Nightingale for now. At least until you can make some sense of what just happened. Where did this astrolabe come from? Was it the reason you were murdered? If so, the list of suspects grew to insurmountable numbers bordering into the unknown.

The humming in the background is not lost to you.

>What do you do now?

>>3419980
I can't write because getting a colonoscopy today including sedation, and I got a lot to do.

But

> review birthday party plans with Nightingale

>>3420171
Just tossing that out there as a suggestion if people are at a loss.

bumping because I can't write yet

>>3420335
Well it's better to let it wait for a variety of people to post instead of only a couple dominating t.

>>3420407
>No namefagging
>Namefags anyways
This thread was doomed from the start.

>>3420408
Now you're just screeching.
I use a trip only because I expect to be a regular writer and my IP's dynamic.

>>3420416
I said namefagging, not tripfag. Of course a namefag would be a retard

>>3420407
>>3420416 (You)
To elaborate:

I want to shift to something like every fifth update at the maximum, and possibly work my way down from there. I'm going to be in this thread frequently, and I can't dominate the update scene, so I have a trip for this thread to make sure people know it's me and I'm not going to write.

>>3420408
Moi? At the start yes.

Because I'm vain. Also I originally planned to only write a single time, and for it to be the same for others.

But the thread was too slow, so repeat posting was allowed.

Besides, I'm shameless and if QM names can draw people in then I'll use that. I don't care if people are good or bad writers, they won't write many posts if even more than one per thread, and they're going to be oneshot threads anyways.

If enough people start writing, we can go back to not namefagging.

Or we can leave it that people have to be anonymous until they write.

Write a post and you can namefag for now.

>>3420427
Yeah that's fine. We can work things out as we go along, rules that don't work are just silly.

>>3420423
I haven't written in a while and forgot my trip. I could make a new one, but with IDs anyways it's redundant.

And if someone wants to steal my name and start a new thread, go ahead. More creation is something I support.

That humming in the background is your beautiful wife's mesmerizing voice. The brief moment of agony and silence is all the more worth it once she repeats herself, having seen the absent look on your face. There is a particular disdain in her gaze, something that you acqainted yourself with during your... fifteenth or so year together. Simpler times.

"Your birthday festivities..." She rings out. "Somehow you have a say in them, despite your horrendous tastes." A sly smile plays on her lips "You could almost consider them exotic, were they not borderline lethal to any sane man's senses." That damn tongue...

You force a calm look, not giving her the pleasure of even thinking she may have annoyed you, and recieve the scroll she so gracefully passes. You begin unfolding it, the paper longer than you may have expected at first. It reaches your waist, then your knees, and ends proudly at the hem of your tunic, completely unrolled. The text meticulously details all happenings and goings-on that shall take place at your birthday party, from a sizeable list of guests (which Robed with Antlers and Kingfisher must, regrettably, be a part of) and a dinner composed of no less than thirty courses (you commend your wife on the choice of fresh Chiropterophage tears for the final toast. She rolls her eyes at you.) to the traditional Hunt for the Red Herring and the choice of your personal bodyguard for the day (Only a formality or a show of wealth, with how trivial it is to cheat Lady Death after her escape from the known world). You read while walking, and glaze over most details, yet are mostly satisfied by the end of it.

Now, there is only the question of the afterparty. It is tradition to make it something... Special, where things are lost and gained by everyone involved. And it is frowned upon for this event to repeat itself in another birthday.

Nightingale looks over your shoulder, curious of what you will write in the blank space.


> An orgy. Classical, timeless. Your guests will lose dignity, but gain pleasures beyond compare.

> A moment of silence, when sounds will not be allowed to propagate themselves within your homestead. Your guests will lose patience and time, but may gain a different understanding by finally being forced to look one another in the eyes.

> A masked ball, something that has not been seen in a long time. Your guests will lose their identities, but gain the knowledge of secrets and revelations.

>Something else, a spur of the moment... [Write-in]

>>3422967
Haha I knew waiting would pay off! Thanks for writing!

> A masked ball, something that has not been seen in a long time. Your guests will lose their identities, but gain the knowledge of secrets and revelations.

We're an outlaw after all!

>>3422967
> A masked ball, something that has not been seen in a long time. Your guests will lose their identities, but gain the knowledge of secrets and revelations.

>>3424170
You can write it if you want!

>>3424196
In a bit.

>>3424200
Ah, the rotating ID

Kestrel examines the scroll you have given him, carefully controlling his expression. It's that one again: terribly irritated, but outwardly calm -- you can tell by the minuscule twitches in his right eyebrow, so easily overlooked by most but caught by your keen eye backed up with fifteen years of experience.

It pleases you somewhat less to see it than it did in the past.

His eyes burn holes in the parchment as he reads between the lines of the Invitation, his mind working at a pace well beyond your own, searching and puzzling and memorizing details.
Once he reaches the end, his eyes soften and lose focus for a few moments as he contemplates, and sharpen again as he reaches his decision.

"I have decided, Nightingale: we'll have a Masquerade. I haven't been to one in a while and never for one of my birthdays."

Exactly as you expected. He could never resist the opportunity to learn secrets (particularly the Princely Name of Robed with Antlers and something embarrassing about Kingfisher), and the price he would have to pay was trivial in comparison.

"Very well, then, a masquerade it is. You know what to do, so I'll leave you to the important business of filling that scroll."

"Oh, I know what to do: put you in a gilded cage. I think I'll do it after the party is done, as a matter of fact!"

"I-- just fill it..."

You turn away and fume for a moment while he fumbles for a quill and can't see you. That one still gets at you.

It would be nice to have a party, you think as he filled the many blanks and wrote the details needed, but what would you give and what mask would you wear?

>The secret of a small out-of-the-way shrine which hides a safehouse. Nobody knew of it except you, Kestrel and the architect who later choked on a chicken bone and died.
>The secret of the Rochforte Murderer's name. One could win great acclaim by apprehending or executing him.
>One of Kestrel's secrets, which you somehow learnt. Revealing this will anger him, but since when did you care for his moods?
>Something else? An Heir knows many secrets.

>You will wear a Hawk's mask, showing Fierceness. Guests are unlikely to realize that your identity.
>You will wear a Tigress's mask, showing Bloodthirst. Guests are very unlikely to realize your identity.
>You will wear a Nightingale's mask, showing Daring. Guests may not realize your identity, if only because it might be too obvious.
>No, none of these are any good. Something else?

Whew lads it's saturday, so go nuts.

Last day? No delays! Just post that you're writing to claim the spot.

>>3424507
>The secret of a small out-of-the-way shrine which hides a safehouse. Nobody knew of it except you, Kestrel and the architect who later choked on a chicken bone and died.

> You will wear a Nightingale's mask, showing Daring. Guests may not realize your identity, if only because it might be too obvious.

Writing this then. Muha. Muhwhahahahahjaa

>>3431610
Might take a bit.

>>3424507
Yes. With a chiming laugh that would stop hearts you engage the first step of your plan.

"Outlawed doesn't mean we've lost entirely. Merely the right to stand before the Emperor until we've resolved our . . . issues."

"Oh? My wife has a plan, then?"

"Yes, leave it to me. Look forward to my present, it will solve ALL your problems".

The safehouse. It was there that your maids had hidden the results of their decade long penetration into the staff of the Kingfisher and Robed with Antlers. If only one of the silly sluts hadn't gotten too ambitious and gone ahead and actually seduced Robed with Antlers, gaining entry to his inner circle but failing to pass the background checks.

What Heir apparent would allow someone to touch him raw without the myriad defenses they normally kept before resorting to drastic means.

Her cover family had disappeared in the night, and one last communique Firebird had been sent out screaming on burning wings lighting up the sky.

While it wasn't caught, it blazed a clear trail to one of your summer homes, a clear violation of the rules and the cause of your erstwhile embarrassment of social exile.

Not only was your husbands protection from his rivals lost, but you yourself were declared a valid target for kidnapping or even revenge!

How audacious of that stupid, stupid girl. Still, the hope remains that she wasn't merely overly ambitious and unable to handle the pressure. All your maids were chosen specially and raised from birth to be naturally loyal, no mindprinting or neuro-wiring to manage them that could be detected. Nothing that would leave suspicious patterns of behaviour, much less physical evidence, to be spotted by scans.

The fact that she HAD managed to get so close to Robed with Antlers was a testament to the success of such a technique. Time consuming, and with a host of *other* loose ends, when it worked it allowed for a perfect infiltration.


So long as they stay loyal. Perhaps the firebird message was a betrayal after all . . .

Regardless, while you had not had time to check the message yourself, it had been sent to the secret safe-house.

You would find there, if it was time to strike at one of his enemies.

Or perhaps it was time to cut your losses, and abandon a sinking ship.

cont.

>>3431703

"Both the beauty AND the brains. Seriously, if it weren't for your title and your admittedly endearing savagery when you do finally find a way to strike, I may have taken the Kingfishers proposal instead."

"Sometimes, *dear* wife, I feel concerned you might still."

"OH-ho-ho-ho-ho, if I ever do you'll be past worries. Now, the party. It will be at the Shrine of Silent Songs. Fitting, for our dual heraldry. I have a secret hidden there, one that will be sure to delight"

If it's not the thing that you hope it was, a secret worth a Firebird from anothers private estate pointing a finger at you, the Lady Nightingale might just be forced to accept the Kingfisher welcoming her as his second Wife. At least your father wouldn't allow you to go down with Kestrel.

"We shall wear our Heraldry proudly. For the Masque, at least, our enemies will be too unnerved by such a brazen display to move against us until they can decipher whatever plot we might have. And when they do, it will be too late. Besides, it's been too long since the courts yearning for me has passed -"

"Not as long as my yearning to strike down my enemies and finally take my spot above them. A gamble, then, is it? We shall expose ourselves, and thus draw them out. While the danger of being attacked without fear of retribution is high, there's no way mine enemies could resist the opportunity."

Indeed, the already had taken it, if his tale of how he awoke already dead once was true.

"Leave the details to me. Simply be sure to show up, ready for mayhem and murder. OH-HO-HO-HO-HO-HO"

Seeing the savage gleam of anticipation in his eyes, knowing that yours were alight in a reflection of eagerness, The Lady Nightingale laughed herself out.

Quietly, you whisper to yourself once the door is closed behind you "And if my maid was a traitor in the end, then all your problems will be solved, and someone will be delighted still."

You have a policy of not lying whenever possible, after all.

Merrily, you plot for murder. It will be a shame, you realize unexpectedly, if it does turn out to be for Kestrel. While your tastes in the bedroom diverge too much for complete satisfaction on either end, in war and politics he's an excellent match.

> Bonus OH-Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbfaF5otJv0

>>3431746
> What will we find in the Shrine? A secret, or a betrayal?

> Will Robed with Antlers fall?

> Will Nightingale abandon Kestrel, or maybe her father can intervene if worst comes to worst.

File: Shrine of Silent Songs.jpg (266 KB, 1110x1500)

266 KB JPG

>>3431703
>>3431746

Picture of the venue. A secret shrine!

File: The end is nigh.jpg (66 KB, 584x329)

66 KB JPG

>>3433964
>>3433964
>>3433964

Thread #2 has been started! You can still post here, though, if anyone wants to finish it off.