>>3747738
>>Try not to retch. Retch anyway.

>>3747738
>Try not to retch. Retch anyway.

>>3747738
>>Try not to retch. Retch anyway.

>>3747738
>...shouldn’t there be more blood? Or… ANY blood?
That may have been a mental projection/illusion, rather than the real man.
Also, LOOK A DISTRACTING DETAIL LET'S FOCUS ON IT AND NOT MAKE A MESS OF THE SCARY MAN'S SHOES.

>>3747738
>Try not to retch. Retch anyway.

>>3747738
>...shouldn’t there be more blood? Or… ANY blood?

>>3747738
>...shouldn’t there be more blood? Or… ANY blood?

>>3747738
You can’t.

You just can’t.

The rumbling in your gut only builds and though you fight it every step of the way, it was never a battle you were going to win. You dry heave, twice, and then you feel it bubbling up, and the awful sensation takes over as what little remains in your stomach is forcefully ejected, leaving you weak and numb. The world becomes a narrow corridor, all you can see--all you can focus on--is the growing puddle of filth at your feet. You hardly care that your shoes and the legs of your pants will need a good, long and deep clean at… some indeterminate time in the future when this is all just a long, awful and fading memory.

You hear the sorcerer, Edwin, speak again. Or you think you do. There’s some kind of muffled chatter, and a ringing in your head that feels like it’s growing in pitch and volume. Your breath comes raggedly, infrequently. You honestly feel kind of like taking a nap. Just… lying down and hoping when you wake up that this was all just a really, really shitty dream.

A louder noise alerts you, inasmuch as it’s possible for you to approach any state of alertness. Still groggy, you raise your gaze, reluctantly travelling over Nathaniel’s decapitated head to find--

Edwin’s body crashes onto the ground, sliding along the tiles before coming to a stop before the glass windows to your left. You blink, perplexed. What the hell is happening now?

Knowing that you won't like the answer, but needing it anyway, you raise your head to where you expect to find Nathaniel’s headless corpse draped over the counter…

...and instead find Nathaniel’s headless corpse standing upright, looking very much as though it’s just gone through the motions of throwing a man a distance not unlike that of which Edwin’s just travelled.

>1d100 to not freak out

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>3749550

Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>3749550
Rolling

Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>3749550

File: BehelitScream.gif (1.52 MB, 300x225)

1.52 MB GIF

>>3749554
>>3749555
>>3749601
Oh boy time for s c r e a m i n g

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90 KB PNG

>>3749550
Trying to keep it together under all the stress and the strain you’ve undergone in that moment is like trying to contain an ocean with a coffee mug.

It just isn’t happening.

Weeks and months later, when you look back on this particular chapter of your life, you’ll mostly be thankful that you didn’t crack altogether--though god knows you were close. Closer than you think you’ll ever readily admit to anyone.

You collapse and drive yourself back against the locked door. Numbing panic takes over and there’s damn little you can do to stop it. Sweat streams from your pores, soaking your clothes and your heart is banging around in your chest all wrong and feels like it’ll tear itself from your ribcage at any moment now. A dim corner of your mind that’s still in moderate control of itself wonders if you’re having a heart attack of some kind. Breath comes short, your vision is blurry and the lights seem a lot brighter than they should be.

You curl up into a ball and try to make sense of everything that’s happening as things crash and howl and shatter around you. There are voices around--familiar ones. You can’t make out any of it, such is your state. Something rumbles in the distance which is then punctuated by a horrific, keening wail like all the wraiths in hell screamed their unending torment at the heavens far above.

>1d100 once more, no strict TN but higher = better

Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>3750422
Dice

Rolled 7 (1d100)

>>3750422
Welcome back to the newest sequel of the original game DON'T SHIT YOUR PANTS!

Rolled 34 (1d100)

>>3750422
Oh...

>>3750567
>>3750500
>>3750447
And we shit our pants! Better luck next time I suppose!

>>3750422
There’s a voice--unmistakably frantic, calling in the back of your mind. You think you recognise it, but making it out is impossible. The world around you is a haze, and dancing things, impossible things inhabit it. This is no place for a mortal.

And as you wallow, descending further and further into madness, you feel something prick at your mind. Something wicked this way comes, and you’ve not either the strength or will to resist. Images are burned--branded--into your head. Ancient places, buried further and more deeply than any amount of mere human history. Places of power, of sacrifice, of revelry in front of a mumbling god that looked upon the cavorting of those that worshipped it and cared not at all.

Through these images, you see an eye. Bright, baleful, crystal blue, it is painted and daubed and scratched and chipped onto surfaces across the world: in great cities and sleepy forests and empty, skeletal ruins of civilizations long faded into dust. The location varies, images flicker from one to the next and though the place changes you know that the eye is focused squarely on you.

The fighting has faded to a dull, distant echo. Some part of you is aware that you are, physically, in the middle of what is likely a titanic struggle. But you have been pulled here. To a dark recess of your mind to...

...you have no idea.

Thoughts formulate and drift away like words whispered on the wind before you can catch hold of them. There is no attempt to try and visualise what you see--or think you see, for the image is in constant flux. One moment, you see an older man, so near and dear to your heart; in another, you see a much older man, bent over and made bitter and hard by his experiences. In yet another instant, he is replaced by a softly grinning blonde woman, fairer than any you’ve known yet made untouchable by her own wiles. You see these and more--people you know. Some of whom you might dare to say, in private, that you care about.

Watching, and you cannot say how you know for sure, but it is there, is an oppressive presence. A languidly malign foreigner who intrudes on your innermost thoughts no more casually than you might stroll into the abode of a friend. It is, you feel, both interested and disinterested, and the paradox of that knowledge gives you a splitting headache that only makes you want to crawl deeper into your own mind.

You cannot, however, for there is nowhere further to dig.

>What are you?
>Why are you doing this to me?
>Why am I here?
>Listen for the voice, maybe it can lead you out (TN??)

Literally also only just realised I've not put in any of the usual links. So, here they are, once more:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/FrostyZippo
Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Paranormal%20Agent%20Quest
First thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2907129/

>>3752958
>Listen for the voice, maybe it can lead you out (TN??)
Oh baby girl you know I can't resist Yoooooou~

>>3752958
>Listen for the voice, maybe it can lead you out (TN??)

>>3752958
>Listen for the voice, maybe it can lead you out (TN??)

>>3752958
>Listen for the voice, maybe it can lead you out (TN??)
It is beyond our understanding, but so are we to it. Best deal with it when we're safer.

>>3752958
>>Listen for the voice, maybe it can lead you out (TN??)

As a side note, I really, REALLY wasn't anticipating so many dice failures. I mean, I had rough outlines of what could conceivably happen in the event of a moderate failure here and there but damn guys. Damn.

>>3752958
Adrift on the roiling waves of your own mind, you listen for that faint voice you think you can hear. Like a sailor cast overboard reaching desperately for a life ring, you feel yourself strain as the presence of the outsider presses in. You don’t know--

--I dream--

--what it wants. You don’t know what it even is. You just want it gone, or to be away--out of its sight and far from its reach.

So, you listen. As a hundred whispering voices tickle your ears with the melody of madness, you listen for someone to show you the way out.

>1d100 (TN??)

Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>3755264
Always expect the best/worst from dice.

>>3755264
I won't even roll

Rolled 55 (1d100)

>>3755264

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>3755264

>>3755264
It’s… soothing, is your first impression. Even as the lovely lady--and you’re sure it is a lady--tries frantically to reach you, to reach anyone, you can’t help but feel your panic dissipate as it pierces the veil of insanity that shrouds your mind. The chittering whispers recede. The foreigner notes the presence of the voice and for a moment, you think your heart threatens to still, for even in your state, you are certain it is well within the foreigner’s power to crush that small, beautiful thing with barely more effort or thought than a man takes to grind an ant beneath his shoe.

The foreigner cares not. Content to allow events to pan out without interference from itself or its various shards scattered around th--

“Hello? Adam? Anyone? Please answer me! There’s something horrible going on in there and… and I don’t know what to do, but you’re right there--at the centre of it all!”

The voice conjures the image of a young woman from Louisiana. Vibrant red hair cut short that shimmers like a prize ruby in the light. A disposition that shines like the sun itself, such is the purity of her heart. A smile so brilliant, so genuine that you can’t help but grin like a hapless moron at the memory of it.

You latch onto the lifeline offered to you like a rescue rope thrown from up on high, not caring where it leads, feeling only that it would be better than here.

“Hold on,” says the voice, “I think I got… oh my lord, is that you, Adam? What happened to you?! Oh, mercy, your mind is all--I don’t even know where to begin!”

Answering is impossible. You’re too busy revelling in the comfort that is her presence. It’s so warm. Almost makes you want to curl up into a ball and just… sleep.

“No, no, you can’t do that! No sleeping! Errrm, let me think for a second here, how can I go about this...”

Is she getting quieter? No. You don’t want that. Without her you’ll sink back into the dark and hollow places. You don’t want that at all.

“All right, I think I got it. Adam, I need you to pay real close attention, sug. Piecing your mind back together ain’t gonna be easy with all the ruckus someone’s gone done to you, but it’s got to be fixed and you’re going to need to put in some legwork of your own. Can you do that for me?”

You try to answer back that in this moment, you’d walk on water for her.

“Oh my,” she giggles, “You charmer, you. Oh, heck! Ain’t no time for fun!” she is silent for a moment before returning again scant moments later, this time, all business: “All right, so I need you to think back on your earliest memory. Focus hard, all right? You can do it.”

>Watching the creepy fucking book in the attic
>Your dad putting on a little magic show for you before bedtime
>Asking your pa an innocent little question in the kitchen that cut him to the bone

>>3756558
>Your dad putting on a little magic show for you before bedtime
HAPPY MEMORIES.

>>3756558
>Asking your pa an innocent little question in the kitchen that cut him to the bone

>>3756558
>>Watching the creepy fucking book in the attic

>>3756558
>>Your dad putting on a little magic show for you before bedtime

>>3756558
>Asking your pa an innocent little question in the kitchen that cut him to the bone

>>3756558
>Watching the creepy fucking book in the attic

Rolled 2 (1d3)

Wow, a three-way tie. This is a first for me. I'd offer a run-off but looking at the post timestamps I think that'd just eat up time.

1 - Book-watching
2 - A Magic show
3 - Asking a question

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33 KB JPG

>>3756558
You pick up on shards and slivers of memory, sifting deep to rediscover what you should already know. So many little events flicker past you, some that made you tingle and laugh with joy--remnants of a better, uncomplicated time; others that made you weep and bawl in frustration or sorrow. All the good and all the bad, you feel as though your entire life quite literally flashes before your eyes.

It’s none of these, however, that you are looking for. Desperate to please the voice, you search ever deeper until, finally, you are rewarded. It’s strange… looking at this scene you remember so vividly despite your young age as though through a window, instead of the eyes that witnessed it.

“Watch the dragon,” your father grins. The tiny beast roars, a gout of flame blasting from its jaws as it circles a castle tower upon which a knight stands, shielding a princess with his armoured form, sword pointed up towards the fire-spewing creature. Your young eyes watch, enraptured, as scenes a normal boy would only ever read about in a book are played out at the foot of your bed.

The dragon dives, and you find yourself holding your breath alongside your much younger self, fearing for the life of this imaginary knight. The warrior, of course, knows exactly what to do, crouching low, blade raised until the last possible moment. He pushes the princess to safety before ducking below the snapping jaws and ramming his blade deep into its unprotected chest and into its heart. The dragon falls, screeching its last frustrated breaths.

This was but one of eight such private shows your father put on for you that cold, rainy night. Exhausted though he had been from a hard day’s work, he still found the time to check in on you after a bad dream. As you recall, you’d swapped rooms after that day. Curiously, one detail you pick out now that you hadn’t all that time ago was how he raised narrowed eyes to the ceiling--and the attic beyond--so briefly that it’s no wonder you missed it all that time ago.

After all, what was a little gesture like that compared to a miniature firework display played out on your little stomach?

You wonder what that was about. The sight tickles other memories within you, yet you can’t bring up the specifics beyond a feeling that you’re forgetting something.

“That was nice,” the voice murmurs, low, soft and filled with a warmth you could bask in forever, “I’m… sorry for prying,” she says, embarrassed, “but I got to stay with you for this. Anyway, that should do it for this stage. Now we need to find something a little more recent, but it can’t just be any old memory. It’s gotta be something that sticks out to you.”

>Your first kiss with a girl called Andrea
>The first time you conned a man out of some cash
>Showing your father the results of your practising with illusioncraft

>>3759119
>>Your first kiss with a girl called Andrea

>>3759119
>Your first kiss with a girl called Andrea
You're forgetting about the book in the attic dude.

>>3759119
>Your first kiss with a girl called Andrea

>>3759119
>Your first kiss with a girl called Andrea
I'll bet she had hair as black as night.

>>3759119
>Your first kiss with a girl called Andrea
And then there was a thump in the attic.

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340 KB PNG

>>3759210
The book will return again soon. It also serves a purpose in the overarching narrative, so I ain't going to go about dropping it that easily :V

>>3759119
The next point is obvious.

Really, how could it have been anything else?

You swim from this old memory to the next like a salmon through a river, arriving some ten years later--young adulthood. On a day where the rain cascaded down like a waterfall onto New York City, two giggling kids scamper inside a house you’d never fail to recognise. One is a scrawny blonde youth, blue eyes alight with mischief. The other is a skinny young woman, ill-dressed for the poor weather with hair as raven as they come and a set of blues to compliment your stormy greys.

“Did you see the look on his face?” the boy chatters, a wide, fool grin on his face, “I thought he was going to pop like a boil!”

“He was so angry!” the girl giggles, hands covering her mouth, “Good thing he’s so fat! The things he was saying he’d do to you.”

The boy scoffs, folding his arms, “He couldn’t have caught me if he were twenty years younger and thinner than a rake,” he declares.

The girl titters again, “Well, I’m glad he wasn’t.”

“What?” the boy asks, squinting suspiciously, “You don’t think I’d have outrun him?”

“There ain’t no one I know better at running away,” she says.

“Damn skippy,” the boy says. A look of puzzlement crosses his face before he regards the girl with a glare. “Hey. Wait a minute!”

The girl sticks her tongue out at him, hands clasped behind her back, face flushed with the aftermath of physical exertion. It’s as she strikes this pose that the boy pauses, taking in her slim, budding figure, outlined by the sodden cream sundress that clings to her like a second skin, her black hair given a curious sheen from the soaking she got outside.

“What?” she asks, curiously soft-spoken for once.

“You’re a girl,” is the boy’s response.

“What was your first clue?” she asks, irritated more by the tone of his voice--like it is something he has only just discovered--rather than the remark itself which, on its own, was stupid enough.

“No, no, Andrea, I mean…” he swallows, face burning, yet he does not know why. Not yet.

“What?” she asks, hands on her hips and a half-glare/pout that the boy finds he actually quite likes.

The boy struggles with his words--a far cry from the man he is yet to become. He has no clue what to say. Not for another minute, at least.

Fed up of waiting, however, the girl stomps a foot down, “Well if you’re just going to say stupid things and stare like an idiot then I’m going to go home!”

(Cont.)

>>3760641
The girl’s foot has dislodged the floorboard beneath her. The house is old, and neither of the two occupants know much in the way of how to maintain the property, and money is scarce everywhere, or so the boy’s father tells him. The boy is about to tell her that it’s still raining like God’s upended a great bucket of water onto the city. He is distracted when the girl yelps as she turns on her heel and the floorboard gives way, toppling her over.

The boy, fortunately, is quick on his feet, rushing forward to stop the girl crunching her head on the floor. He is not, however, prepared for the force she exerts--the speed at which she tumbled granting her more weight than the boy was prepared for. Both go down. The back of the boy’s head slams against the wooden floor and he sees stars. Dazed, he can only stare up at the girl on top of him, both arms pressed on top of his chest, her face practically aflame.

In his dazed stupor, he finds that the warmth of their contact through their wet clothes is pleasant to him. Very much so. It also lends him a peculiar sort of courage, allowing him to say what he had on his mind the moment he became aware of his friend as a member of the opposite sex.

“...anyone ever tell you that you’re really pretty?” he asks. Some of his words are slurred. The boy’s father will return in scant minutes to find his son entangled with a close friend, much to his bemusement. Until that moment, however, there is only she.

Her mouth works like a fish out of water. Even now, you smile, you remember that she wasn’t expecting that to come out of your mouth. Honestly, neither were you. You don’t regret what followed though, feeling a nostalgic warmth as you watch the girl clumsily lower her face to press her lips chastely against your own before drawing back.

You remember well how your heart hammered, and how hers drummed within her own chest. You remember the gut-churning tingle that spread throughout your body at the kiss. You remember the way that wet strands of her dark hair brushed against your face when she leaned back down after a heart-pounding minute of stunned silence. You remember the faint scent of summer berries--she had borrowed her mother’s perfume, the effect dampened by the pouring rain. You remember her cold skin warming rapidly up with each further experimental peck you shared together…

(Cont.)

>>3760645
“Andrea...” the boy breathes. A sigh, born of a swirling flux of emotions never before felt encompassing him. The girl pulls back and sits atop him, face riper than a tomato and now unable to meet his eyes.

Then the door opens, and an equally soaked-through man steps in, grumbling about inclement weather and other things under his breath. He hangs up his raincoat and turns around, freezing in place when he takes in the scene played out before him.

“...hello, little Andrea,” the man greets, slowly, “And what have you two been up to today?”

You are taken away, the memory receding and a more familiar warmth enveloping you. The owner of the voice is back--Des, you now recall. You… feel a little more like yourself, you think. Thoughts are coming more clearly. More frequently. Your own, you note, and not those whispered by whatever has taken root in your head.

“That was nice,” Des murmurs, “I’d not have thought you were the spontaneous type. I’m sorry again, by the way, for intruding.”

“Don’t be,” you tell her, “You’re helping.” You then pause before adding: “And I’m not. Not usually, anyway.”

“What happened between you two after? If you don’t mind me asking? She looked like she was… pretty into you,” you can almost picture her flushed face. Makes you wonder what her own experience might be--or if she has any to speak of. Maybe you’ll ask when you’re back--payment for her getting a peek at snippets of your life in this way. Or maybe you won’t.

>We were young, dumb kids. We had fun but we pretty swiftly grew up and grew apart.
>She came from a whole other world to me. Her folks moved out and I never saw her again.
>... (No response)

>>3760651
>She came from a whole other world to me. Her folks moved out and I never saw her again.

>>3760651
>She came from a whole other world to me. Her folks moved out and I never saw her again.

>>3760651
>>She came from a whole other world to me. Her folks moved out and I never saw her again.

>>3760651
>>She came from a whole other world to me. Her folks moved out and I never saw her again.

>>3760641
I was talking to the MC though)

>She came from a whole other world to me. Her folks moved out and I never saw her again.

>>3760651
>She came from a whole other world to me. Her folks moved out and I never saw her again.
That is the great weight of those with powers like ours. We're the outsider to the ones that lack it.

>>3762115
Well don't I feel silly now.

>>3760651
You affect a shrug, or whatever the equivalent is when inside one’s own head, “We came from entirely different worlds--in more than just the one way. Neither she or her folks had any inclination towards magic or knowledge of the things that inhabit the darker and less-remembered corners of our planet. To top it all off, we were dirt poor and she came from a pretty well-to-do family,” you pause, then add: “Not quite as affluent as your own background, but even with the Depression in swing, she made it pretty plain that they weren’t struggling.”

“I see,” Des says, “So, you never…?”

“Curious?” you tease.

“S-stop that! I mean it!”

You brush aside her indignant response and decide to throw the telepath a bone.

“Lord knows we wanted to,” you tell her. “Even back then, I could tell. But opportunities to meet up came less and less and before I knew it, she was gone. I thought maybe she’d got tired of me or found another, cooler guy,” you shake your head and chuckle, rueful. “I didn’t muster up the courage to find out until… I think maybe two weeks after she’d gone. By then, of course, the place was abandoned--not a lot of people had the money to splash down on a house.”

“That’s kind of sad. Did you try to fi--”

“No,” you cut her off. “Wouldn’t have been much point. I had no leads at all: no info on whether they were still in the city or in the next town over or even if they were still in the state. I never got an explanation why and I don’t expect I ever will. Besides, it happened almost half my life ago now. I’m over it.”

“Are you sure? You don’t sound like--”

“I said I’m over it,” you repeat, more firmly. “Besides, I think we’ve got bigger issues at hand than the ladies in my life.”

Des doesn’t respond at first. You expect she can tell that you’re full of shit. Fact is that it stung. Being reminded of it stings. But even now, what could you do about it? As you’ve already admitted to Des, you’ve got absolutely nothing in the way of a lead--you don’t even know her surname, for crying out loud.

No, this is just another chapter in your life that likely won’t see a conclusion beyond regretful musings on ‘what-if’s’.

But that’s something you can ruminate on at a later date.

“So, where do we go from here?” you ask, still conscious of the redhead’s presence in your mind.

“Well, ah, going by the current trend, it’d have to be a much more recent memory. Not necessarily too recent, though. You’re in a lot better shape than you were when I first found you.”

Well, that’s encouraging to hear, at least.

>The last time you saw your small group of friends before they were drafted into service
>Not long after your father… passed, you were in the attic doing… something
>A view of a fireworks display on the Fourth from a function in a hotel next to the Hudson River

>>3763607
>The last time you saw your small group of friends before they were drafted into service

>>3763607
>A view of a fireworks display on the Fourth from a function in a hotel next to the Hudson River

>>3763607
>The last time you saw your small group of friends before they were drafted into service

>>3763607
>The last time you saw your small group of friends before they were drafted into service

>>3763607
The next memory is perhaps a more subdued one compared to the one you relived just now, though it too holds a place in your heart.

Throughout your life, friends have been few and far between. You’d never go so far as to say you’re a loner, but your particular lifestyle means that making and keeping friends is difficult, to say the least.

Needless to say, the handful that you did manage to retain, you made an effort to keep. Not that you’d have let them know that, of course.

You and Des are pulled into a bar. The venue itself isn’t anything particularly special, but you certainly remember having seen much worse. It’s also a pretty standard affair: five young men enter, looking for cheap drinks and a way to pass time, moaning about all the usual aspects of growing up in a time where honest money is hard to come by. Of all of them, you are the one who sticks out: the only blond in a collective of varying shades of brown. It’s usually you that gets approached as a result, much to the grumbles of your fellows.

That, however, isn’t on the agenda tonight. No, this time, there is a cloud hanging overhead. A thousand miles away, men your age are fighting and dying on foreign soil. The thought of having a gun put in your hand, being pointed at another man on an opposite end of a field to you and told that if you do not kill him, then he will kill you…

It terrified you.

You never had any intention of honouring the draft from the start--another secret kept from your friends. Even despite this, however, you couldn’t help the sense of forlornness that loomed over you like a malevolent spectre. When they left, you’d be alone. Truly alone.

“I think someone needs another beer,” someone jabs you in the ribs with an elbow, forcibly removing you from your self-piteous musings. “Hey, barkeep, get us another round!”

The barman nods and moves to comply. Meanwhile, the grinning face of Joe Conti, a lanky looking guy with a snaggletooth and a boyish smattering of freckles, fills your view. Of all of them: Jimmy, Ted and Sam, you’ve known him the longest. Not that that’s saying a lot, considering you met the others barely a month later.

“Thanks,” you give Joe a gracious nod, before a thought comes to you. “Hold on. It’s not my round already, is it?”

“Sure is,” Joe laughs. “You’ve been real quiet all evening. Something on your mind?”

You can see in his eyes that he knows the answer to that question as soon as it leaves his mouth. It’s on his mind too. It’s on all your minds. You’ve hidden your thoughts a little less well than you normally would, though. Still, it’d be churlish of you to bring down the mood, especially with Jimmy probably a few drinks from trying to butcher Sinatra.

(Cont.)

>>3765552
“No,” you lie. “It’s nothing. Let me know what the damage is.”

Joe nods, and you pay for the five beers, handing four of them out to the others, who accept with typical gusto. Idle chit-chat carries your group through much of the night until, finally, a silence settles over all of you.

“So…” Ted starts but quickly trails off into an awkward silence. The few other patrons in the bar have all left, leaving your posse sitting around a table in the corner. The reality of your situation is dawning. There’s not much time left.

“Hard to believe this is going to be the last time we see each other for a while,” Sam murmurs, his soft brown eyes watering up. Or maybe that’s just a trick of the light.

“Yeah,” you agree, wishing but unable to say anything more.

“...I’m gonna miss this,” Jimmy says, uncharacteristically serious. Despite the fact he’s downed more than any one of you, he appears quite sober. His somber declaration drags the mood down even further.

“Hey…”

It is, of course, Joe who picks everyone up.

“Come on, fellas. Ain’t nothing says this is the end of anything. This…” he waves a hand, “thing over in Europe or whatever? It ain’t going to last. Hell, I bet by the time we finish our training and get shipped over, it’ll all be over and done with. We’ll be able to spend our time checking out a foreign country and all the sights they’ve got to offer,” he then waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Hell, maybe we’ll all bring an English or French girl back home with us.”

“Even Jimmy?” Ted pipes up.

That gets a good, long laugh out of all of you--even Jimmy can’t help the embarrassed grin that splits his face at the good-natured jab.

The laughter dies down, though, but before another silence can settle, Joe raises his glass.

“Gentlemen. We, right here and now, are going to make each other a promise--no, a vow. However long this business overseas goes on for, when we return home, on the first day of each month, we’ll drop by this fine establishment in the evening and wait for the rest of us to show up. Then, when all of us show up at whatever ungodly hour that may turn out to be, we’ll tell each other all the boring stuff that Uncle Sam decided we needed to do in the name of freedom for all those fine folk across the Atlantic.”

He sweeps his gaze across the four of you before beckoning for each of you to raise his own glass. A stab of guilt pierces your gut when his gaze falls on you, but you follow suit nonetheless.

“To us, gentlemen. And all the glory we’ve yet to achieve.”

“To us,” they echo, completing the toast.

>”To us.”
>Raise your glass but say nothing

>>3765554
>Raise your glass but say nothing

>>3765554
>>Raise your glass but say nothing

>>3765554
>”To us.”

>>3765554
>Raise your glass but say nothing

>>3765554
You couldn’t bring yourself to share in the moment. Knowing what you intended to do, you didn’t deserve to. So, you raise your glass, but keep silent. Noticing the quizzical looks you get from the others, you swiftly gulp down the contents of your drink and sigh, feigning contentment.

“I’ll get the next round,” you tell them.

“You sure? Isn’t it Jimmy’s turn?” Ted wonders.

“Jimmy look like he can count worth a damn?” you ask with a wry grin, injecting a little humour back into the night.

“One, five, six, fifteen-hundre--” Jimmy plays along before stopping to belch, loud and audible. You notice the barkeep give your group a flat look before shaking his head and cleaning the surface of the bar itself. That gets everyone chuckling again, and you spread your arms in a vague approximation of a shrug, as if to say ‘what are you going to do?’

You turn and plod towards the bar, fishing out a small wad of bills. You pay for the drinks and then return, and the night continues.

No one said anything, but you wonder now--did they suspect at all what you planned? Are any of them even still alive to do wonder at that little, quiet moment you had in the bar those months ago?

“Have you seen them at all since?” Des asks as the memory fades away.

“No,” you tell her, guilt pooling in your gut, weighing you down like an anchor cast out at sea.

“Do you know where they might have gone?”

“No,” you repeat. “I was...” you trail off, unwilling to pursue the thought any further. What would they think of you, knowing that you did everything you could to avoid what they had accepted, if somewhat dourly? They could have been injured--or killed, and you stayed behind in safety; in comfort…

Des’ warmth suddenly envelops you, like she’s embraced you from behind, “I know what you’re doing,” she says, her voice low, soft, soothing. It’s a marked difference from how she usually speaks. “Don’t let yourself stumble down that route, ‘cause it ain’t a pretty path. I’ve seen it before. Come on back, now. Come on back to the world.”

“The world’s kind of a shitty place,” you chuckle, though there’s no humour to it.

“Still the only world we got, Adam. And I’m real sorry, but you and all those others got work to do.”

It comes flooding back in an instant--the resort, Iszolda’s wounding, the shades and the wendigo and the wraiths and…

“Stay with me now,” Des urges, “I didn’t go through all that just to watch you fly off again. No, sir.”

(Cont.)

>>3766223
“What the hell am I even supposed to do?” you wonder, “Nathaniel ran the guy through and he might just have tickled the guy for all it seemed to do. He’s a goddamned sorcerer for crying out loud, what can I do against that? Not to mention all those weird… hell, I dunno, could be Fallen Angels, could be wraiths from the very bowels of Hell for all I know! And then there’s whatever is screwing with reality so badly that wherever we are looks like a run-down old pizzeria I used to visit with my dad!”

You feel spent after the rant. Tired.

“Yeah,” Des says. “There’s all that and more. But you’re the only one I found, and you’re the only one who’s able to make a difference now.”

“How? I’m a guy who literally just had his mind pieced back together.”

“Because I found you,” she says, her voice low and urgent, “I know where you are. It’s… hell, I don’t know how to go about beginning to describe it, but I got a fix on you when I touched your mind. My link with all the other teams is gone--something, either that sorcerer guy or whatever is at the centre of this whole mess, has brought it down, but by focusing my gift, I could reach out and touch someone, and that turned out to be you. Now you need to pull on those big boy boots of yours, mister, cause I don’t know what is being done up there, but it won’t be anything anyone wants.”

>As pep talks go, I can’t help but feel underwhelmed
>...fine. What is it you think I can achieve?

>>3766228
>As pep talks go, I can’t help but feel underwhelmed
>...fine. What is it you think I can achieve?

>>3766228
>>...fine. What is it you think I can achieve?

>>3766228
>>As pep talks go, I can’t help but feel underwhelmed
>>...fine. What is it you think I can achieve?

>>3766228
“As pep talks go,” you mutter, with another mirthless chuckle, “this is pretty underwhelming.”

You hear Des sputter, and cut her off with a heavy, leaden sigh.

“All right. Fine. What is it you think I can do here?”

“I need you to find whatever’s causing this disruption and give it a good whack for me. If the interference is gone, I can get back in contact with the others and give them your location.”

Sounds easy enough, but for one crucial detail.

“How do I know what the thing causing this interference for you will look like?”

“There’s no way you won’t know. This whole place is starting to feel all kinds of wrong, and it’s spreading. It won’t be long before it escapes the boundary of that resort and... “ she pauses, and it’s only then you hear the strain in her voice. How much is it taking her just to speak to you, never mind all she did just now in your head?

“I understand,” you tell her. You don’t--not fully anyway, but you know enough. “I just hope you’re right about knowing it when I see it.”

You don’t get to hear her response. Instead, light--blinding, piercing--engulfs you and you feel an irresistible pulling sensation that drags you ever faster into the radiance above…

...you open your eyes. The unmistakable coppery tang of blood is the first thing you smell, imposed over another, less definable scent. Your ears then pick up the din of combat. A man bellows, followed by a trembling in the earth and then the growl of upraised earth. Blinking, you find your vision is blurred, like you’ve awoken from a long, deep sleep. Groaning, you refrain from picking yourself up into a sitting position, remembering that Nathaniel and the sorcerer--Edwin--were locked in combat when you passed out.

Still lying down, you scan your environment. No longer does it appear as a place once known to you--now you lie in a large, dry cavern, no doubt underground, illuminated by...

“Oh,” you gape, your mouth dry as you find the walls studded with cyan crystals that glow a sickeningly familiar colour.

(Cont.)

>>3767575
A loud crash draws your attention to the far end of the cavern. Nathaniel, with his head back on, you notice with some relief, stands atop the sorcerer, stabbing down with his sword, an inarticulate warcry ripping from his throat as he impales his nemesis time and time again. The foe, for his part, looks decidedly unfazed despite his torn clothes and the dozen wounds dripping crimson upon his chest. He waves a hand and a fist of earth punches the Englishman off him before slamming him into the wall. You wince, imagining the crystals digging deep into his back and wondering how on earth the man can possibly have withstood such an assault.

He does, however. Somehow carving through the solid earth like it’s naught but a slab of butter and racing with impossible speed back towards the downed Edwin, battered, bloodied, and with a grimace of startling fury on his face. Sighing, like this whole business is no more to him than a tedious chore, the sorcerer snaps his fingers and tendrils of earth rise up to meet the charging swordsman.

>This fight is beyond you. Best try and move on deeper into the cavern and see if you can’t find what you’re meant to while Nathaniel keeps that sorcerer distracted
>Some help would be useful--perhaps two on one might give you that little bit of an edge you need to see the guy off for good.

>>3767634
>This fight is beyond you. Best try and move on deeper into the cavern and see if you can’t find what you’re meant to while Nathaniel keeps that sorcerer distracted

>>3767634
>Some help would be useful--perhaps two on one might give you that little bit of an edge you need to see the guy off for good.

>>3767634
>This fight is beyond you. Best try and move on deeper into the cavern and see if you can’t find what you’re meant to while Nathaniel keeps that sorcerer distracted
We don't come back as far as we know. Let's not try and find out.

>>3767634
>This fight is beyond you. Best try and move on deeper into the cavern and see if you can’t find what you’re meant to while Nathaniel keeps that sorcerer distracted

File: nothing_can_ever_just_lea(...).png (908 KB, 640x960)

908 KB PNG

>>3767634
Discretion, you think, is the better part of valour in this instance. Whoever--or perhaps whatever--Nathaniel is, he’s capable of tanking a lot more punishment than you are. That’s something you think requires probing at some point in the future. Right now, however, you need to make sure that you have a future. Edwin is distracted, and while he seems perfectly immortal, that doesn’t seem to equate to him being all-powerful, else he’d no doubt have dispatched the pair of you the instant you woke up.

A thought suddenly occurs to you and you remember the pile of agents that littered the floor of Garluccio’s, now a crystal-studded cavern as whatever magic was powering the illusion either fell away entirely or was cancelled. Sure enough, there they are, still slumbering away on the other side of the titanic brawl going on. Frowning, you decide against going to them. Drawing attention to yourself at this stage would be less than good and there’s no guarantee that you’d be able to wake them anyway if this racket isn’t causing them to stir.

It seems you are well and truly on your own.

Swallowing, you press on, trying to ignore the oppressive weight in the cold, still air. Finding your way to the opposite end of the cavern, away from the still-battling pair of Englishmen, you find an opening; a cave that, naturally, only leads deeper into the earth. Something scratches at the back of your mind as you take the first step in and you shudder at the wrongness of it. You don’t believe for a moment that it’s the kind of thing that will just go away, guess you need to move fast.

You travel roughly thirty feet before remembering that you’ve forgotten something, and it isn’t until you hear a shrieking banshee cry from behind you that you remember what it is. The noise forces a groan out of you--you’re goddamned exhausted. You’ve not got a lot left in the tank in terms of power, either.

>Throw out some sparse hellfire to keep the fiends at bay. You’ll likely still need some left for whatever this thing is that Des wants you to destroy (TN65+)
>The things have senses that can be fooled--you proved as much in their own world, no less. Bring out the big guns and slip on by while they’re distracted. (TN55+)
>You don’t have time or power to spare. Hot-foot it and pray you come out where you need to ahead of the things (TN70+)

>>3769682
>Throw out some sparse hellfire to keep the fiends at bay. You’ll likely still need some left for whatever this thing is that Des wants you to destroy (TN65+)

>>3769682
>You don’t have time or power to spare. Hot-foot it and pray you come out where you need to ahead of the things (TN70+)

>>3769682
>The things have senses that can be fooled--you proved as much in their own world, no less. Bring out the big guns and slip on by while they’re distracted. (TN55+)

>>3769682
>The things have senses that can be fooled--you proved as much in their own world, no less. Bring out the big guns and slip on by while they’re distracted. (TN55+)

>>3769682
Questions like how or why the things know to come after you can wait. You’ve got to get out of their reach because, while you know now that you could probably send one, two, perhaps even three at once up in a blaze of hellfire, your current trend of luck suggests that there will almost certainly be a lot, lot more than that. So, running is the only option. Of course, they’re also a lot quicker than you are on foot, so that’s not really the smartest call either.

Unless…

An idea forms in your head and while you know it’s going to drain what little reserves of power you have left, it’s also your most sure-fire way of surviving the impending chase. You proved that the things have senses--and you know better than most that senses can be fooled. It won’t be for very long, but perhaps that might just give you enough of an edge to find the source of this madness and bring in the cavalry.

You try not to think about the fact that you will almost certainly have a bit of a wait until any potential saviour shows up.

“All right,” you puff, sucking in air as you run, linking your fingers and stretching your fingers out. It’s a pretty meaningless gesture, but sometimes you find that a little stretch or pop of the knuckles or fingers gets the blood (and the power) flowing quicker. You draw upon the winds--that constantly flowing energy that you were taught from such a young age to feel--and start to mould, compress and form the image you want your pursuers to see...

>1d100 TN 55+

Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>3770301

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>3770301

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>3770301

I've realised literally only today that I've made a colossal blunder and failed to archive threads 13 and 14 on the suptg archives. I've transcribed my notes of the thread from the gdoc I used in both instances and found a link to both old threads but I've no idea if it's permanent or not. If anyone knows if it is, fantastic, I'll throw up a pastebin with all the links on there. If not, well, shit, this was my fault and that is my bad. I don't have any excuse and I won't make one.

>>3770301
Your craft isn’t particularly imaginative--a few running mirror images of yourself that slow or turn to fight. The cavern is barely wide enough to fit three men running abreast, and there aren’t any alternate pathways that you’ve come across yet. Reminding yourself that the idea was never to halt the things in their tracks, you force yourself to up the pace as your fake selves separate from you.

The plan works. Some of the screeches fall a little further behind as the shadowy creatures stop to dispatch the first of your lures. They return to the hunt in little time, however, and you wish you’d had more time, or more energy, or more power or…

...hell, you wish for a whole lot of things. What’s that old saying, though? ‘If wishes were horses?’ Something like that?

You come to a fork in the road, one more dimly-lit than the other. With only a few extra seconds bought at most, you don’t have time to reconnoitre or perform a more advanced check than a glance. If you had a little more time, you might be able to see if one of the pathways leads deeper underground--while not a sure thing, you’d put more money on the source of this hell being further down than up. Unfortunately, you don’t, so you’ll have to make a snap-decision and pray it’s the correct one.

>Take the brighter path
>Take the darker passage

>>3771983
>Take the brighter path

>>3771983
>Take the darker passage
Which archive for the old threads did you find?

>>3771983
>Take the brighter path

>>3771983
>Take the brighter path

>>3772244
Not one I'd heard of before my frantic googling. Here, they're still up, though for how long I certainly couldn't say:
Thread 13: https://yuki.la/qst/3651979
Thread 14: https://yuki.la/qst/3702033

>>3771983
Well, of all the things you’ve learned in your fairly brief tenure, you’ve learned that the dark passageways don’t necessarily lead to the goal. Based on what you’ve observed so far, it’s almost like that cave on your very first mission in the Pacific, only on a much, much larger scale. With that in mind, you figure that if it’s anything akin to that harrowing experience, the shard or fragment or whatever it is at the centre of it all will be lit up like the king of all Christmas trees.

So you dive off into the more brightly lit corridor, throwing a few more fakes down the other way just to throw off your enraged pursuers a little further. Your power reserves are now dwindling, and at most, you’ve got enough juice in the tank for maybe one big trick or a couple of little ones.

A pressure begins to build in your head as you make your choice, and though it’s far from a pleasant feeling, you feel a little vindicated in your decision already. The crystal growths are much, much more frequent, and it isn’t long before you’re having to gingerly pick your way through or risk tripping and gashing yourself open on the studded cyan fields.

Shrieks from behind you send a shiver down your spine and you try to pick up the pace. The pressure is now becoming a pounding, and you feel a killer migraine building in your skull. Gritting your teeth, you force yourself on, reminding yourself constantly that if you collapse, you will--

Pain erupts in your head as a keening, high-pitched whine blocks out all thought and noise and almost forces you to your knees. Warmth streams from your ears and from your nose and you stagger like a drunk, barely able to keep your balance as you feel… something’s eye on you.

>”Leave me alone.”
>”What do you even want?”
>”...hello?”

>>3773636
>>”What do you even want?”

>>3773636
>”...hello?”

>>3773636
>yuki.la
Just the site I thought it would be. Your fine, no need to worry that they’ll be gone.

>>3773636
>”What do you even want?”

>>3773636
>”What do you even want?”
"Do you even want?"

>>3773939
Oh thank fuck for that. Thanks for the info anon.

>>3773636
“What,” you grind out through gritted teeth, continuing to stagger on as carefully as you can, “do you even want?”

A part of you feels pretty damned stupid asking a question to thin air, but the presence is unmistakable. It’s the foreigner in your mind from when Des was piecing you back together. The pain recedes a fraction, allowing you clearer vision and more certain movement, but it’s still there, watching.

A thought then occurs to you, and before you can even formulate the next your mouth opens:

“Do you even want?”

Again, the pressure recedes. You feel as though it’s… curious? Puzzling over your question, perhaps? Or maybe it’s puzzling over you. Why, you have no idea--you don’t really feel you’re particularly worth ruminating over. Still, even if you probably won’t get an answer, whatever it was doing to cause you such agony has faded, even if only a little, and last you remembered there were still unholy monstrosities in pursuit, and you don’t want to think about how much ground they might have covered while you were stumbling abo--

--No--

You pause again before continuing. It felt like you heard something in your head, like when the others speak to you through Des’ telepathic network. This, however, is different. Your experience of telepathic communication so far is that when someone’s spoken to you, it’s like the message was another thought of your own, albeit one brought to the fore and spoken in the sender’s voice. It’s… odd, but not wholly unpleasant. This, on the other hand, feels like the thing has… branded its words into your brain. It aches and scratches and there’s a buzzing sensation in your head like you’re about to faint.

It’s only as you take this in that you realise you’re no stranger to this. The… hell, you’ve no idea what it could be, save for unfathomably powerful and, thus far, mercifully indifferent as to your activities. Whatever it is, though, you’ve felt its touch on you before.

--I dream. But now I awake--

Describing the voice is… flat out impossible. All you can pin down is that it echoes in your mind, droning and dragging, like merely speaking--even in this fashion--is an act the being is unfamiliar with. Without any idea of how to even begin to respond to something this cryptic, you focus on soldiering on, throwing out the odd question here--random, inane things like what it likes and what it dreams about in order to keep it distracted. Though it doesn’t answer again, each time you ask, you feel that grinding pressure lighten a fraction, which makes your life easier.

(Cont.)

File: it_hurts.png (184 KB, 450x400)

184 KB PNG

>>3776021
Typically, it doesn’t take long before, finally, the thing tires of the game. Not that it was really playing along. The pain returns in force, dropping you and it’s only through some last-minute flailing that you keep from impaling yourself on a rather sharp cluster of crystals, instead opening a number of red gashes on your flank on the bed you divert yourself onto. You bite down on the stinging pain and try not to look at the injuries, though even through whatever the foreigner is subjecting you to, you can feel that it’s not life-threatening. Not yet, at any rate.

--I come--

And then it is gone. Like it was never there at all. Your head clears, senses return. Tasting bile in the back of your throat, you swallow and pick yourself gingerly to your feet. You groan when you hear a shriek closeby--can’t be more than a few moments out. They’ve gained on you, and you…

…

You rub at your eyes, fearing for a moment that they are deceiving you. Shining like a baleful star at the heart of a gleaming crystal forest, sits a Shard. It is the spitting image of the thing you encountered in the depths of the merfolk-infested cave system hardly a couple of months previous. Oozing quiet malevolence, the eye at the base of the Shard regards you impassively.

You realise at once that this is a whole other ball game from the last time you encountered one of these things. The thing from the island couldn’t have been wholly active, because the aura exuded from this thing is on an entirely different level altogether. Your eyes itch the longer you stare; your vision tunnels on the Shard, hypnotising in its awful glory, and the scratching whispers return to drown out almost all other sound.

>You need to destroy this thing and you’ve not got a lot of time to do it in
>The shrieking angels will be on you soon and you’re not about to let them run you through while your back is turned

>Also 1d100

Rolled 41 (1d100)

>>3776024
>You need to destroy this thing and you’ve not got a lot of time to do it in

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>3776024
>The shrieking angels will be on you soon and you’re not about to let them run you through while your back is turned

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>3776024

>>3776024
>>You need to destroy this thing and you’ve not got a lot of time to do it in

>>3776024
>You need to destroy this thing and you’ve not got a lot of time to do it in
Purge. Now.

>>3776024
A snap decision is made: lose your soul versus only potentially losing your life? With all you’ve been treated to today alone, you’d wager you know which would be worse for you. Throwing off the hypnotic pull of the Shard--a feat you attribute to… hell, you don’t know, maybe you’re just that fed up of being jerked around and having your mind tossed around like a doll in a screaming toddler’s hands.

The Tommy Gun, miraculously, still hangs from its strap around your shoulder, though for all the good it will do you against both the Shard and the things coming in hot on your heels it’s nothing more than dead weight. So, with what little energy remains, you set both hands ablaze and prepare to repeat the act you performed on your first little jaunt overseas. While you can’t muster quite the same power you could then, what with the mounting fatigue, you feel pretty certain it will be enough.

It has to be.

With a bellow that is equal parts desperation, frustration and vindication at finally having something to take all the swirling emotions that have roiled through you over the course of this one, pretty shitty day, you unleash the burning fusilade squarely at the Shard, which explodes in a manner much akin to its brother, or sister or whatever the hell, way across the ocean. Unlike before, however, there’s no shriek of rage. No cry of fury. Only a shattering like glass.

There is a change, though. Oh boy is there a change.

The ground begins to shake underneath, and while you’re far from familiar with the geography of this area, you don’t think it’s especially prone to earthquakes. Struggling to keep your balance, you only just manage to turn in time to face the shrieking spectres as they rip through the entrance and into the cavern chamber which used to hold the Shard.

With hardly anything left in the tank and the ground shaking, you’ve only got the hope that Des or someone on the outside felt what you just did and is even now working out a way of getting to you.

All you need to do is keep alive until then...

>Try and dodge around them and hot-foot back up the passageway that led you here (TN 6+)
>Time to face the music--see how much your last few fireballs will take you (TN 65+)
>Maybe one last trick will get you through this. If it fails, though… (TN 70+)

>>3776916
>Maybe one last trick will get you through this. If it fails, though… (TN 70+)

>>3776916
>Try and dodge around them and hot-foot back up the passageway that led you here (TN 6+)
Also puff fire lightly to discourage touching when they get close, nothing too coherent, just enough to make them sizzle

>>3776916
>Try and dodge around them and hot-foot back up the passageway that led you here (TN 6+)

>>3776916
>>Try and dodge around them and hot-foot back up the passageway that led you here (TN 6+)

Fucks sake that first TN is supposed to read 60+ my bad.

>>3776916
Your options are depressingly limited, and what little avenues are open to you range from bad to dreadful and will universally end in your swift and untimely demise if you make so much as a single misstep.

Giving up, however, is also not an option.

“All right,” you breathe, “Let’s see how much left I’ve got in the tank.”

The spectral angels--you think you might just start calling them Fallen Angels for the sake of convenience--flit towards you, gangly arms reaching out to swipe and tear. You drop back before darting as swiftly around to their less-densely populated left flank and haring up through the gap. It’s a tiny gap, and even as you make for it, you know that it will be close…

>1d100 TN 60+

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>3778221

Rolled 18 (1d100)

>>3778221

Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>3778221

>>3778221
For a moment, you thought you’d gotten away with it. Then a swiping claw rakes you across the side, with just enough force behind it that it spins you around. Off-balance, it doesn’t take much more than another shake of the earth for you crumple and fall to the ground, grunting as you feel sharp crystals pierce your skin in several places. The pain is everywhere, hot to the point it almost feels like someone’s pressed your open wounds against a block of ice.

Frantically, you try to push yourself up, but already you feel yourself weaken, and a shadow descends and… well, this is the end, you think.

A flash out the corner of your eye distracts you from your final musings, and then a blur tears into the shaking chamber, piercing the fallen angel about to run you through with its talons. A raggedy man in shredded, bloodstained clothes stands above you, a dripping sword in hand and a thunderous expression on his umistakably familiar face.

“Nathaniel?” you manage to croak out.

The Englishman, who now has his head back on his shoulders--and you feel you might need to inquire about that sometime--doesn’t respond, lunging forward into the crowd of spectral slashers and lashing out with his blade. Each stroke that connects causes the creatures to shriek before quite literally vanishing from existence in a whumf of displaced air. You don’t know how he’s doing it, but he’s carving through the whole crowd like a turkey on thanksgiving. He is inhumanly fast, striking quick enough to leave the faintest shadow of an afterimage. You knew he was good, but either the blood loss is already getting to your head or he had shown off but a fraction of his true skill on that island during your first outing.

Finally, the last of the angels are dispatched, and the relief you feel is palpable… almost as great as... hm… feel... sleepy…

***
Your first thought on waking up is that you hurt way too damn much. The next is that you also feel heavy, like your body has been leaden down with weights. There’s also a light-headedness that gives you a weird sensation of floating. You’re lying down, but the surface upon which you lie is much softer than the rock and crystal of the cavern.

Groaning, with a dry throat and a ringing head, you open your eyes.

Hm.

The sky opens up before you--cloudy with a few spots of blue scattered here and there. A registering of chill reminds you that it is still early spring, and you can hear muffled voices, quite a crowd if you had to guess. With a grunt of effort, you manage to raise your head a whole two inches to check your surroundings.

(Cont.)

>>3779990
You are, as near as you can tell, still at the resort. The fog, however, is gone. The main lodge burns behind a group of men and women, most of whom look at least a little worse for wear. It strikes you that these are the same people you entered the resort with.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You turn, slowly--for even this slight movement causes a discomfort you’d equate to rusting gears grinding against each other--and find a bright-eyed man standing above you, a medical pack with a large red cross emblem stitched proudly onto the side. A doctor or medic, then. That means you’re in good hands, at least.

>What happened? I blew something up, then took a claw and then...
>Where is my team?
>Good to know everything’s all fine and dandy. I’m going to pass out again now and have a nice, long nap...

>>3779991
>What happened? I blew something up, then took a claw and then...
>Where is my team?

>>3779991
>What happened? I blew something up, then took a claw and then...
>Where is my team?

>>3779991
>>Where is my team?

>>3779991
>>What happened? I blew something up, then took a claw and then...
>>Where is my team?

>>3779991
>Where is my team?
>What happened? I blew something up, then took a claw and then...
priorities.

>>3779991
“What happened out he...?” you start to ask, but are interrupted by a fit of heavy, choking coughs.

“Woah, hey, easy now,” the medic--another American like you--soothes, reaching out with his arms as if to stop you from sitting up. A needless gesture, as that wasn’t your plan at all. “You took a real mulching down there. Lost a lot of blood so I bet you’re feeling pretty weak right about now. Take it slow and steady. No rushing.”

“Right,” you say and wince at the reedy croak of your own voice. You sound as bad as you feel. All the same, though, you’d like to know what happened. “I blew something up down below and--and then…”

The medic, who you estimate to be in his mid-thirties, nods, “Yeah. Soon as you detonated whatever was at the epicentre of this whole clusterfuck, the fog started to recede and Miss Fox managed to get the word out that you and Nathaniel were underneath the main lodge. A couple of teams managed to fight their way through what was left of the wendigo pack and dig you out--heard it was kind of a turkey shoot without their cover. The boss himself is scoping the underground out himself alongside Rowe.”

“Rowe?” you muse aloud, wondering at the way the name rings a bell, but not quite able to conjure up a face.

“The chief’s right hand man--er, woman,” the medic clarifies.

“Oh, yeah. Think I met her once,” you say. The medic nods again before giving you another once-over.

“It’s pretty hectic down there. Got teams taking samples of all kinds of stuff from what I’ve heard. Whatever would have happened here, it would have been big. Like ‘really, really shitty day for everyone’ big.”

“Well, glad I could be of service,” you mutter, resting your head back down as a woozy feeling momentarily overwhelms you.

“Well, shit, from what people are saying, we’d probably never have made it in time to stop whatever was going on without you,” the medic shrugs. “You helped save the day, friend. Possibly the nation. Maybe even the world.”

You’d like to scoff and say he’s being melodramatic. At the same time, though, a small part of you can’t help but feel a little warmth at his innocent declaration, however fallacious it is.

A thought then occurs to you, and you try to crane your head to see if there are any other casualties lying closeby. The medic notices your looking, as he leans back in, head cocked in curiosity as he asks: “Who are you looking for?”

“My teammates. There were three of them, plus three other agents from a team that got ambushed--one was pretty badly mauled.”

“Well,” he scratches at his head, “We’ve got four who are unconscious and have yet to wake up. A big guy, a little Japanese gal, and a man and a woman--”

“That sounds like them,” you say, then pause, “Wait. Four? Wasn't there a fifth?”

(Cont.)

>>3782260
“I was getting to that,” he says with a half-frown, “There was another guy with pretty savaged legs. He was dead by the time we got to him, though. Bled out.”

Ah, hell. That… kind of sucked, actually. All the effort his friends expended trying to save him, only to...

“Damn,” you murmur. “His buddies will be pretty devastated to learn that when they wake up. We tried to get him out, but we were ambushed and transported underground and...” you trail off, unsure of how to continue, or even what you should be feeling.

“You tried,” says the medic. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate that at least when it comes down to it.”

“Maybe,” you reply, not wholly convinced.

Another thought springs to mind and you change the topic back to your team. “I had another teammate. I didn’t see him with us in the cave down below so maybe he didn’t get taken with us. Don’t suppose you know if anyone’s found a lonely, blond German guy at all?”

The medic blinks, “I don’t recall anyone mentioning anything about finding one of Fritz’s goons here, but I can ask around if you really want.”

“Please,” you request. You haven't really gotten to know the German beyond a few sparse, light conversations here and there. You know he’s a bit of a coward (though, in fairness, he likely thought his time as a soldier would be spent fighting average joes like himself) and about as proud of his homeland as you imagine any soldier should be. All the same, he doesn’t strike you as the harmful type. There’s also that curious destiny or fate Grim seems to think he has. Unless said fate was to see him die here, it’s pretty likely that he’ll have found a way to keep alive.

Besides, you’d rather deal with the devil you know--so to speak, anyway.

“Sure thing, give me a bit of time, I’ll ask about. What’s the guy’s name?”

“Diedrich,” you tell him. The medic nods once more and turns to wander off toward a small crowd of tired agents, leaving you on your own.

>Someone approaches (Grim/Nathaniel/other?)
>Things are quiet and dull until you’re moved back to the Antarctic facility (timeskip)

>>3782263
>Someone approaches (Nathaniel)

>Someone approaches (Grim/Nathaniel/other?)
Nathaniel

>>3782263
>Things are quiet and dull until you’re moved back to the Antarctic facility (timeskip)

>>3782263
>Someone approaches
Zafi

>>3782263
>Things are quiet and dull until you’re moved back to the Antarctic facility (timeskip)

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Another tie it seems.

1 - Nathaniel approaches
2 - Timeskip

>>3782263
As it turns out, you don’t get an answer from the guy before you’re moved. You’ve no idea whether he got held up or plain forgot, but you find yourself and the other casualties scooped up in good order (if a little roughly) and transported back to the Antarctic, whereupon you are immediately sent to the infirmary, where the usual prodding and probing ensues.

“You seem familiar,” the European doctor muses.

“I was here not all that long ago. Though I wasn’t in as bad a shape then.”

He makes a bland hum and steps back, “Well, I won’t sugar coat it: you were in a bad way. You’ll live, but you’ll be out of the fight for a while: at least a few weeks.”

“Oh no,” you say, voice heavy with irony, “How will I ever cope knowing I won’t have to throw myself in front of a screaming predator from the mountains for almost a month?”

The doc offers you a smirk, “Less sarcasm, please. Else I’ll find a way of discharging you early.”

You offer him as much of a shrug as you’re capable of managing, “I got a chunk taken out of my by a spooky angel-thing from another plane of existence and then shredded by a field of glowing glass. I think I’m entitled to a little mouthing off.”

“If you don’t want a lollipop when you get out then, by all means, continue.”

You let loose a wheezing chuckle. The guy’s not so bad, his poking at your still-aching wounds notwithstanding. He’s rather thickset for a doctor, with blond hair and a neatly-trimmed mustache and beard and a pair of brown eyes that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a fox for the spark of sly mischief that twinkled within.

“Well, keep to your bed, no sudden movements and you’ll be fine. Your injuries were mercifully superficial in the grand scheme of things--no organ damage that I could detect and your bones seem to be fine. I’d say you got lucky.”

“Certainly didn’t feel lucky,” you grouse.

“More than the dozen agents who didn’t return,” he points out. “Some of those we’ve not got so much as a body to bury.”

He… has a point there. Sensing that you’re not about to carry on in response to that, he picks himself up.

“Don’t worry. As I said: you’ll be just fine. You just need rest.”

“Yeah, I got that. Thanks anyway, doc,” you say. “Get on out of here, I’m sure you got plenty of other folks to look at.”

“You’re not wrong,” he informs you, shaking his head, “Well, I or one of our nurses will check in on you again before the day ends. Keep well.”

“That’s the idea,” you nod.

(Cont.)

File: you'd_really_much_rather_(...).png (99 KB, 602x452)

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>>3783571
He leaves without any more banter exchanged, leaving you to muse and ponder on your own for at least a few minutes before you hear footsteps along with an infrequent tapping at the end of your once again curiously empty ward. You have an inkling of what to expect, but a glance at the end of the ward confirms your suspicions.

“Good Evening,” greets Grim, with the same dour half-scowl on his face that he always seems to wear, “I thought now would be a good time to debrief you in person...”

All you can do is groan in response.

>Here's where we'll end this thread. I wanted to get more done, but a lot of IRL stuff has cropped up and I've been given a specific task to accomplish and not a lot of time to do it in. Without blogposting too much, life will get pretty difficult if I can't achieve it, so unfortunately that's had to eat up a lot of my time and effort. I'm honestly not sure when I'll get another thread up and running thanks to life shit, but I'll try as best I can to keep you updated on when I'll be able to resume. Thanks for sticking around to lurk or participate despite all my bullshit, and have a pleasant weekend, anons. Hopefully I'll be back in action sooner rather than later.

>>3783582
Thanks for running Frosty. Hope things go well for you.