>>4219615
>Village Hero

>>4219615
>Western
>But with magic
Stop the tape. You got my attention.
>Village hero

>>4219615
>Village Hero

>>4219615
>Wannabe Ranger

>>4219615
>Reformed Bully

>>4219633
+1

>>4219615
>>Reformed Bully

>>4219615
>Wannabe Ranger

>>4219615
>Reformed Bully

Rolled 1 (1d3)

A three-way tie. Guess I'll roll for it.

1 is Reformed Bully
2 is Village Hero
3 is Wannabe Ranger

File: Jack.png (908 KB, 772x1028)

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Growing up in the most boring town in the republic can make a lot of stupid stuff seem like a good use of time. When you were younger, you were the terror of Briarpatch – there wasn’t a kid around who wasn’t afraid to see you walk by.

You spit in the ground as you think back to those times. God Above, you’d been a fucking idiot. When you think about the things you did to people you’d now happily call your friends…well, not much use thinking back on it now that it’s done. Still, a part of you is worried that you won’t ever escape the person you were as long as you stay here. Every time you walk by one of the kids your age you remember how you…

>Teased them mercilessly
>Beat the shit out of them
>Plotted elaborate pranks
>Turned them against each other
>Lay in tireless wait for ambushes
>Stole toys, trinkets and candies straight from their hands or pockets

This time, voting will end 20 minutes after the post. Votes after 20 minutes won't count, even if I'm late on locking the vote.

>>4219701
>Plotted elaborate pranks

>>4219701
>Teased them mercilessly

>>4219701
>Stole toys, trinkets and candies straight from their hands or pockets

>>4219701
> Lay in tireless wait for ambushes

>>4219701
>Teased them mercilessly
>Beat the shit out of them
>Turned them against each other
>Stole toys, trinkets and candies straight from their hands or pockets
Jack was a fucking hellhound who led a gang of little shits.

>>4219701
>Turned them against each other

>>4219717
I don't mind working multiple options into the backstory, but for the purposes of voting I'd ask that you pick one to prioritize over the others.

>>4219725
In that case, prioritize turning them against each other.

>>4219701
>Beat the shit out of them

>>4219713
Changing to ambushes.

>>4219701
Switching my vote >>4219707
to >Teased them mercilessly

>>4219701
>Beat the shit out of them

>>4219725
Is it stat related?

>>4219701
>Beat the shit out of them

>>4219750
Switching my vote to this.

>>4219760
Yeah.

>>4219770
This is past the 20 minute mark but I really don't want to roll again so Beat the shit out of them takes it.

File: Alice.png (556 KB, 834x904)

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>Beat the shit out of them

The thought of it makes you spit again. Yeah, you’d been something of a hellhound in the days of your youth. But that’s all behind you now, you hope. You glance up at the sky and shield your eyes from the sun, which hangs in the cloudless blue and hammers you with an unrelenting heat. Summer in Briarpatch really is awful. Not as bad as Spring, or Autumn, you suppose, and certainly not as bad as Winter. But awful nonetheless.

The dusty road carries you to the town’s inn, where you find Alice sitting on the porch, poring over some musty old tome.

It’s strange. As a kid, Alice was the one you harassed most. She was an easy target – quiet and soft and a little strange, and since she was a witchling to boot, the other kids never bothered to come to her defense. Everyone knew it was bad luck to befriend a witchling, after all. Hardly a day went by where you didn’t knock her to the dirt, until she practically flinched at the sight of you. And yet she’s the reason you put all that behind you - she's one of your best friends in the world. She…

>Saved your life when you got lost in the Wistful Woods
>Chased away the spirit harassing you
>Zapped you with a whole bunch of magic lightning
>Healed you when you were sick with the fever
>Intervened when the other kids ganged up on you
>Wove you a scarf when yours got torn

Fuck it, I lock the vote when I lock the vote. It'll be about 20 minutes.

>>4219789

>Healed you when you were sick with the fever

>>4219789
>Zapped you with a whole bunch of magic lightning

>>4219789
>Wove you a scarf when yours got torn

>>4219789
>Healed you when you were sick with the fever

>>4219789
>Wove you a scarf when yours got torn
Just a normal simple act of kindness.

>>4219789
>Healed you when you were sick with the fever

>>4219789
>Intervened when the other kids ganged up on you

Can I switch my vote to
>Wove you a scarf when yours got torn

>>4219789
>>4219837

>>4219798 is my old vote

>>4219789
>Healed you when you were sick with the fever

>>4219789
>>Wove you a scarf when yours got torn

Vote locked, scarf wins.

>Wove you a scarf when yours got torn

Your old scarf had been your prized possession, thick and warm and soft as a dream. You had loved it so much that when you had torn it in the woods, you had actually cried. A few days later, Alice had come to you with a new scarf – not quite so soft, but thick and warm and redder than the sunrise. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you, and on the spot you had decided that you would be a better man from then on. You still have the scarf, hanging on your bed at home, waiting eagerly for the autumn chill.

“Hey Alice,” you say, flopping down beside her. “What’re you up to?”

Alice glances up at you, startled. She has a habit of getting too engrossed in things, whether it be her work or her books or just staring up the clouds. Her fingers find the strange pendant she wears around her neck – an old gold coin surrounded by twines of bone, hung on a leather thong. The familiar motion seems to ground her. “Just reading,” she says. “I had to come out here because Daisy’s causing a ruckus inside again.”

You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the inn’s interior through a dirty window, but the angle is wrong. “What’s got Daisy all riled up?”

“Oh, just the usual,” Alice says, marking her place with a piece of cloth and gently closing the book. “Some travelers got in today.”

“Travelers?” Travelers aren’t exactly a rare sight in Briarpatch – it’s a common enough stop for people taking one of the longer routes from the civilized east to Fort Redrock, the true end of the republic. Still, travel has been slow this season, and the thought of something to distract you is a welcome one. “Should we go in and see?”

“I suppose,” Alice says, shrugging one shoulder. You leap to your feet, then help her to hers, and the two of you push past the inn’s door to find travelers arguing with…

>Your father, the village pariah
>Your father, a fisherman
>Your father, a farmer
>Your father, the local smith
>Your father, a shepherd
>Your father, the innkeep
>Your father, the village storyteller
>Your father, the village watchman
>Your father, a woodsman
>Daisy, a performer. Your parents died when you were young

>>4219895
>Your father, the village pariah

>>4219895
>Your father, the village watchman

>>4219895
>Your father, the innkeep

>>4219895
>Daisy, a performer. Your parents died when you were young

>>4219895
>Your father, the village watchman

>>4219895
>Your father, the village pariah

>>4219895
>Your father, a woodsman

>>4219895
>Your father, the village watchman

Watchman wins.

File: Sheriff O'Harahan.png (1.29 MB, 956x1110)

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>Your father, the village Sheriff

Your father is an old man – past his prime, some might say, although you wouldn’t go that far. You’ve been on the receiving end of his justice enough to know exactly how quick and dangerous the old man can be. A veteran of two wars and thousand battles besides, you would assume that your father would understand your thirst for adventure. But he seems more determined than anyone to keep you in Briarpatch, safe and sound and bored out of your skull, until you die.

Currently he sits with one boot up on the table, one hand resting quietly on the handle of his holstered revolver. “We don’t take kindly to the handsy strangers round these parts,” he says, fixing the travelers with a dark look that you know only too well. “Go back to drinkin or get the hell out, I ain’t picky.”

The travelers, two men in travel worn clothes, sneer. “First that fucking thing in the woods and now this,” one of them says, spitting on the floor. “Shithole town you got here.” Your father keeps his gaze steady, and after a moment the two of them turn back to the bar and call for more beer. Slowly, the inn starts to return to its normal routine.

You and Alice share a look and approach your father. “The hell was that about?”

Your father shrugs. “Daisy got friendly with one of their friends. They took that to mean all the girls are so inclined.” He nods towards Mattie, the barmaid.

You nod. Daisy is nowhere to be seen, so you figure she’s taken this friend of theirs upstairs for some…quality time.

“Um, Sheriff?” Alice asks. She’s standing almost behind you, as if using you as a shield against your father’s attention – she’s always been nervous around him. Nut clearly something is on her mind. “They said…something in the woods?”

Your father grunts. “Guess they did,” he said. “Somethin’ spooked their horses on the way here, I believe. They was moanin’ about it when they came in. Probably just a wolf, nothin’ to be too concerned over.”

Alice nods, but as the two of you move towards the bar her brow furrows. “I don’t know, Jack,” she says after a minute. “I don’t know if it’s just wolves. I’ve been…” she glances around to make sure nobody is listening, and drops her voice to a whisper. “Dreaming things,” she says. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Dreaming?” You’ve known Alice long enough to know that her dreams aren’t just idle fantasies – not always, anyway. You don’t know if that’s a witchling thing or just a special gift of hers, but you suppose it doesn’t really matter. “Sounds like some excitement,” you say, a grin cutting across your face like a knife. “What should we do about it?”

Alice says talk to the...

>Blacksmith, your master
>Fishermen, who train you
>Hunters, who train you
>Elders, who teach you chess
>Old widow, who you help with housework
>Retired cavalry scout, who taught you to ride

>>4219992
>Hunters, who train you

>>4219992
>Retired cavalry scout, who taught you to ride

>>4219992
>Retired cavalry scout, who taught you to ride

>>4219992
>Blacksmith, your master

>>4219992
>Retired cavalry scout, who taught you to ride

>>4219992
>Retired cavalry scout, who taught you to ride

>>4219992

>Retired cavalry scout, who taught you to ride

File: Ralph.png (577 KB, 760x750)

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>Retired cavalry scout, who taught you to ride

Gap-tooth Ralph lives on the edge of Briarpatch, closer than anyone else to the Wistful Woods. When you and Alice arrive at his ramshackle hut he’s out in front, chopping firewood and whistling an old army tune.

“Ho, boy!” He raises a hand in greeting as he sees you approach. “And little Alice! What brings the two of you all the way out here?”

You look to Alice, to see if she’ll speak, but she shakes her head imperceptibly and pushes you forward. “Just checkin in, Ralph,” you say, striding towards him. “We got some travelers today.”

“Did we?” Ralph asks, returning to his work. “Can’t say I give much of a damn, but thanks for the gossip.”

“They were coming from the east, through the woods,” you say, used to Ralph’s tact. The suffered claimed he had suffered enough in the war, and had no more patience for fools or small talk. “Somethin’ spooked their horses on the ride. Got’em pretty pissed.”

“Aye, well, woods’re full of beasties and critters that’d give a horse the spook,” Ralph says. “Why’re you tellin’ me this, boy?”

“You ride the wood’s paths more than any of the other townsfolk,” you tell him, truthfully. “I figured if anyone knew what’d spooked those horses, it’d be you.

Ralph scratches his chin, looking at you. “An’ if I say it were probably just a wolf, or a bear, or a snake in the grass?” He nods towards Alice. “What’s the witchling been seeing in her dreams?”

“A dark path that leads nowhere,” Alice says quietly, before you can respond. “And everywhere. Smiles in the dark.”

Ralph nods, gravely. “Well,” he says, “I reckon you know about as much as I do.”

“A path that leads nowhere and everywhere?” You ask, turning to Alice. “That’s fairy talk.”

“Aye boy,” Ralph says. “The woods have been wild recently, I’ll tell ya that. Things moving in the leaves. Birds that sound like people.”

You can’t stop your eyes from widening, or the smile from stretching across your face. Ralph cuffs you. “Ain’t nothing to smile about,” he says. “Fairies are bad news. An if travelers have been stompin through those woods…” he shakes his head. “Somethin’s comin.”

You turn back to Alice. “We should go back,” you insist, eyes shining. “I’ve got to get my scarf! And oh! My…”

>Dragon’s scale
>Fine revolver
>Rabbit’s foot
>Compass
>White hat
>Horn

>>4220141
>Dragon’s scale

>>4220141
>Fine revolver

>>4220141
>Fine revolver

>>4220141
>Fine revolver

>>4220141
>Fine revolver

Big Iron time

>>4220141
>Fine revolver

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>Fine revolver

Your father isn’t much of a believer in birthday presents – but the year after you started to turn your life around, he had gifted you a revolver he had taken off a Loyalist solider during the war. Sleek and beautiful and deadly it is a constant presence in your dreams of adventure, a flash of lightning and thunder in your fist. If there are fairies about, you’ll want it close.

You and Alice race through the streets of Briarpatch so quickly that you barely notice their surprising emptiness. Normally at this time of day there’d be people out in the streets – mothers doing the washing, children playing baseball or marbles or jacks, men drinking and arguing – but all are curiously absent. When you emerge from your house, revolver slung along your hip and scarf settled comfortably on your shoulders (you think you cut a dashing figure, though you’d never admit it), Amy is looking nervously down the road towards the town square.

“What’s goin on?” You ask, coming up beside her. “The hell is everyone?”

“Down there,” Alice says, pointing. “By the well.”

You follow her finger, and sure enough you can see a number of people crowded around the wall. By the sound of it they’re arguing, although you can’t make out any words.

It’s only when you get closer that you discover what the source of the commotion is. “Wine!” Old Bertha is shouting, shaking a bucket this way and that. A dark red liquid sloshes over the edge as she flails. “Nothing by wine!”

“That there’s a fuckin well!” A man shouts. “If wine came from the ground I’d be drunker than this!”

“Nobody’s drinkin the magic wine!” Somebody else shouts. “This is magic! Dark magic!”

You turn to Alice, suppressing a laugh. “Wine in the well?” You ask. “This wasn’t you, was it?”

Alice shakes her head indignantly. “As if we need more alcohol around here.”

You…

>Try to calm people down (Roll CHA: Less than 13 is pass)
>Try to drink some of the well-wine (Roll DEX: Less than 18 is pass)

I'm going to be taking a break - will be back in a few hours.

>>4220287
>Try to drink some of the well-wine (Roll DEX: Less than 18 is pass)
Burn the fairies at the stake!

>>4220287
>Try to drink some of the well-wine (Roll DEX: Less than 18 is pass)

>>4220287
>Try to calm people down (Roll CHA: Less than 13 is pass)

>>4220287
>Try to calm people down (Roll CHA: Less than 13 is pass)

>>4220287
>Try to calm people down (Roll CHA: Less than 13 is pass)

>>4220287
>Try to calm people down (Roll CHA: Less than 13 is pass)

>>4220287
>Try to drink some of the well-wine (Roll DEX: Less than 18 is pass)

>>4220287
I dive face first into the old grimey well. Not like it'd be any dirtier than it was when everybody was dipping their grubby buckets in it. As I fall I hum to the tune of Caved In by CunninLynguists.

Rolled 11 (1d20)

Vote is locked. "Try to calm people down" wins.

Rolling 1d20. Because of your stats and skills, a roll under 13 is a pass, while a 13+ is a failure.

Jack O'Harahan
15 years old
Str 10; Dex 16; Con 14; Int 10; Wis 11; Cha 11
HP: 11
Initiative: +3
AC: 14
Weapon Specialization: Revolver (+1 to hit; +2 dam)
Knack: Great Strike (+1 dam with all weapons)
Skills: Athleticism, Deceit, Intimidation
Items: Fine revolver (d8), knife (d6), Minor charm (+2 AC), red scarf, clothes, playing cards, bottle of whiskey, $19

File: well.jpg (65 KB, 636x424)

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“The hell is this about!” You shout, striding into the thick of the crowd. The people make way before you, likely more out of surprise than respect for your authority. Still, the light gleaming off the gun at your hip doesn’t hurt your gravitas.

“The well’s full o wine!” Old Bertha shouts, shoving her bucket up to your face. You have to jerk backwards to avoid getting wine all over your boots.

“That was mostly rhetorical, Bertha.” You turn to the crowd and put your hands on your hips. “What I meant was why the hell y’all are actin like children! A little bit o magic and y’all start losin y’alls damn minds.”

“It ain’t natural!” Pete shouts at you. Pete is excitable in the best of times, and with all the hullabaloo his leg has started twitching like crazy.

“Well no shit, Pete,” you say.

It’s at that moment that a roar goes up from the other side of well. You spin on your heel to one of the fishermen, Joseph, grasping Alice by the wrist. She clutches a small pail in one hand. “The witchlin’s tryin to take the wine!” He shouts triumphantly. “It was her that did this!”

Your eyes find Alice’s and are met with burning shame and a little fear. You don’t know what possessed her to try to sneak a bit of the wine, considering how volatile the situation is – but Alice has the uncanny ability to save her bravery for when it is least useful. Some of the other men are joining Joseph, dark murmurings on their lips, and before they can do something stupid you pull the gun from its holster and fire it into the air.

The shocked faces of the townspeople turn towards you. “This ain’t witchlin work,” you say in the silence, holding your revolver up. “This here is fairy magic.”

That gets a reaction. Many of the townspeople make the sign of God Above, and others whisper prayers.

“But don’t any of y’all worry your pretty heads,” you say. You holster your revolver and stride forward, pulling Alice from Joseph’s grip. “Alice an I are gonna take some o this wine down to Miss Betty at the river, and she’s gonna clear this fairy trick right up. Ain’t that right, Alice?”

“Y-yes!” Alice shouts, her voice high with anxious relief. “I was just…getting it for Miss Betty at the river!”

The name of the town witch gets a few of the townsfolk grumbling, but not as many as would normally. Situations like these were exactly why witches were tolerated after all. Personally you’ve never much liked Miss Betty at the river – as a bully because she was old and mean as a snake, and more recently because she refused to give Alice the title of apprentice - and the small amount of relief from townsfolk suspicion it would bring. But with fairies on the loose, there isn’t much choice.

You start to pull Alice away, and she leans close. “Should we find Daisy?” She asks, her breath hot on your ear. “Miss Betty at the river always liked her.”

>Find Daisy
>Go straight to the Witch

>>4220557

>Find Daisy

>>4220557
>Find Daisy

>>4220557
>Find Daisy

>>4220557
>Find Daisy

>>4220557
>Find Daisy

>>4220557
Find somewhere to expel Alices terrible cooking.

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The two of you make your way back to the inn, keeping a careful eye out for your father (who likely heard the gunshot, and would certainly seek to spoil your fun). Luckily, you make it without incident, and just in time to see Daisy shove her newest suitor out of one of the inn’s second story windows.

He turns a flip as he falls, before landing unceremoniously on his back. His shirt is entirely gone and he’s halfway out of his pants, but thankfully his underwear is still there, his modesty preserved.

“Pig!” Daisy shouts from the window. A shirt, jacket, belt and a pair of shoes come flying out one after another, lying in a heap around the still groaning man. Daisy’s head pokes out next, her face screwed up like she’s about to set off on one of her legendary string of expletives, but then she sees you and Alice and all the rage on her face melts away. “Hey y’all!” She shouts. “What’s the occasion?”

“How do you know there’s an occasion?” You call back, while Alice makes sure the man hasn’t broken any bones.

Daisy leans her elbows on the sill and smiles, white teeth behind red lips. “It’s the dead of summer and you’ve got your scarf,” she says. “Which means there’s some excitement or the other. You dork.”

“We’re going to see Miss Betty at the river,” Alice says. Her voice is soft as usual, but Daisy has ears like a bat and never seems troubled to hear her.

“We’ll fill you in on the way!” You shout. “Get down here!”

Daisy whoops and ducks her head back inside – but a moment later she scrambles out the window and onto the roof, pulling on her clothes with one hand and clutching her banjo in the other. Daisy Kettlecorn might be Briarpatch’s best claim to fame nowadays – a young woman with a voice like an angel and the beauty to match, she’s long since mastered the banjo and swears that any day now she’ll take off to ply her trade in the big city. A few years separate you and so Daisy was never really one of your targets for harassment, and the two of you became close when…

>Daisy threw a drunken soldier out of the inn, with a little help from your fists
>Daisy put herself between a strange beast and a child, and you drove the thing off
>A man who claimed to be a fairy prince challenged Daisy to a game of riddles, and you passed her a hint to secure her win
>A Senator passed through on the way to Fort Redrock, and you and Daisy had to talk up the town

>>4220653
>A Senator passed through on the way to Fort Redrock, and you and Daisy had to talk up the town
She our waifu?

>>4220653
>A Senator passed through on the way to Fort Redrock, and you and Daisy had to talk up the town

>>4220655
I’d say Alice would make a better one

>>4220653
>A Senator passed through on the way to Fort Redrock, and you and Daisy had to talk up the town
Alice best waifu, psychic and she makes scarves
so what’s our stats looking like from these choices

>>4220653
>A Senator passed through on the way to Fort Redrock, and you and Daisy had to talk up the town

>>4220674
But Daisy is hotter. She can also play the banjo. The second best weapon for dueling. Behind a gun of course.

>>4220653
>>A Senator passed through on the way to Fort Redrock, and you and Daisy had to talk up the town

>>4220691
>He’d have the village bicycle over a cute proto-Goth GF
Simp

>>4220758
>putting a girl on a pedestal just because of an archetype that she doesn't even fit
Hello, pot.

>>4220761
>>4220758
We aren’t even a gunslinger yet and their is already a waifu war

File: Ms. Betty at the river.png (708 KB, 642x814)

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Your dad talks a lot about the assholes who run the republic, about how they're all Loyalist stooges who wouldn’t understand freedom if it whacked them in the head, but you kinda liked Senator Hart. He had had some good stories.

Daisy leaps from the inn’s roof, arms pinwheeling as she lands. “Not bad, right?” She asks, throwing an arm over Alice’s shoulder. The witchling shies slightly from the contact, but doesn’t pull away. As the 3 of you make your way down to the river, you do your best to fill Daisy in. She’s a very good listener, oohing and ahhing at all the right parts, and pulling Alice into a crushing hug when she hears about the attempted wine theft. “And to think I was wasting my time with Mr. city slicker,” she grouches. “I should stick with y’all more.”

Ms. Betty at the river owns a small hut on the bank that looks straight out of a storybook, squat and round, built from thick grey bricks that has vines and plants growing from the cracks between them. The roof is covered in grass, so that from the wrong angle you might thinking the hut nothing more than a small hill.

You’re a few dozen feet from the door when you hear an ear-splitting scream, as if someone inside is being ripped apart. The 3 of you share a look, and then the three of you are sprinting.

You throw the door open with your shoulder, bursting into the hut without breaking stride. The interior is dim and musty, lines of light streaming in through slats in the window. The walls are covered in paints, carvings and baubles, and a ramshackle bookshelf holds 6 tomes bound in leather, each more wicked-looking than the last. No wonder the townsfolk are suspicious of magic, if this how a supposedly friendly witch presents herself.

Your attention is torn from the decor by two shapes in the back corner. You see Ms. Betty at the river hunched over the bed, muttering to herself, hands stained red with blood. On the bed in front of her is Darla, still screaming her lungs out and very much in labor.

You just barely manage not to vomit.

Ms. Betty at the river rounds on you, eyes shining in the dim light. “Scatterly wreckenson!” She shouts, sending you stumbling backwards into Daisy and Alice, who have followed you inside. “Dawdlesome cease it! Usenfy yourself!”

“What are you saying?” You ask, before remembering that Ms. Betty at the river has never once spoken a coherent sentence as long as you’ve known her. “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?”

“She says stop standing around and help!” Daisy says, pushing past you. “Darla’s hurting!”

You whirl to Alice, who is looking about as green as you feel. “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked for adventure!”

“I…” Alice clutches at her stomach, but when she meets your eyes again her gaze is hard, determined. “I don’t think we get to choose."

How do you help?

>Get water! (Roll STR: Target 12)
>Calm Darla! (Roll CHA: Target 6)
>Stop the bleeding! (Roll WIS: Target 11)

>>4220771
>Get water! (Roll STR: Target 12)
We’re trying to get lower than the target right?

>>4220771
I ask Betty politely to whip up a tonic to cure stomach aches, and to teach Alice to cook edible food.

>>4220771
>Get water! (Roll STR: Target 12)

>>4220771
>Get water! (Roll STR: Target 12)

>>4220771
>Stop the bleeding! (Roll WIS: Target 11)

>>4220771
>Stop the bleeding! (Roll WIS: Target 11)

Rolled 4 (1d20)

Get the water wins, rolling.

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“Water!” Daisy shouts to you, and you’re only too happy for the opportunity to get out of the hut. You snatch a bucket from near the door and emerge back into the bright summer sun, scrambling for the river.

Cool blue water cascades past you, fast enough that you wouldn’t want to fall in but not nearly so bad as it gets in the spring. Briarpatch’s river doesn’t have a name, by unanimous agreement of the townsfolk. It had had a name once, of course, but nobody could agree on what it was and everybody insisted on calling it by the name they thought was correct, and it was all terribly confusing. Everyone agrees that things around Briarpatch go much smoother when the river has no name.

You dunk the bucket into the water and turn to head back to the hut, but to your surprise the bucket does not follow. It stubbornly remains in the water, and in fact nearly slips from your grip entirely. You frown and place another hand on the handle, pulling with all your strength. And though the bucket begins to come, it cannot fully break the surface of the river.

It’s only then you see it. Two faces near your bucket. At first you think they’re merely in the water, but after a moment you realize that they’re made of water, tiny eddies sketching mocking smiles that seem to taunt you as you pull.

Fairies. You curse and dig in your heels, straining your muscles, and as you pull the smiles turn to snarls, and then to gaping dismay. A moment later the bucket finally breaks the surface, triumphantly throwing droplets of water up into the sunlight, where they refract a thousand tiny rainbows.

You stumble backwards, an exhilarated cheer bubbling from your throat, and just barely manage not to spill the bucket into the grass. You extend your middle finger to the watery faces, and they stick their tongues out at you before racing off downstream.

You would like to say that the rest of the labor goes by without incident, but truth be told it’s a terrible, bloody affair. By the time the baby is out and crying, the sun is low in the sky, the world cast in hues of pink and orange.

Darla, Daisy and Alice are busy cooing at the baby when you finally remember why you’re here. “The well!” You shout, smacking your head. “Ms. Betty-”

“Theyselves quicklike departentate,” the old witch snaps, not paying you any mind. “longentime drowsenmuch thisunwill.”

“But there’s fairies-” you gape as Ms. Betty at the river brushes past you, as if she can’t even hear you speak.

You…

>Try to intimidate her (Roll: HIDDEN)
>Get Daisy to help (Roll: HIDDEN)

>>4220876
>Try to intimidate her (Roll: HIDDEN)

>>4220876
>Get Daisy to help (Roll: HIDDEN)

>>4220876
>Try to intimidate her (Roll: HIDDEN)

>>4220876
>Get Daisy to help (Roll: HIDDEN)

>>4220878
+1

>>4220876
>>Try to intimidate her (Roll: HIDDEN)
Confoundenize minderparts hagwoman.

>>4220876
>>Try to intimidate her (Roll: HIDDEN)

Rolled 19 (1d20)

Try to intimidate her wins

Rolling: 9 or lower is success

>>4221016
Pfft.

File: Stag.png (753 KB, 710x720)

753 KB PNG

You draw yourself up to your full height (admittedly not that impressive, but you’re still growing). “This can’t wait!” You declare, the full force of your authority behind you. “You’ve gotta listen to me!”

Ms. Betty at the river fixes you with a stare. It is heavy with years, exhaustion, and annoyance. She glances down at the revolver slung across your hip, chuckles to herself, and pats you on the cheek. “Theyselves adequitsit drudgerdone. Worriself littlefolk theyplace doesn’tmuch.” Then she walks to a tangle of blankets in the corner, gathers them up around her like a nest, and goes to sleep.

You turn to Daisy. “What?”

“She said we did fine work,” Daisy says, prying herself away from the newborn. “And that she ain't worried about the fairies long as we’re here.”

You glance over at the gently snoring witch. “No idea if you’re speakin truth or not, but if you are then that’s the nicest thing she’s ever said to me.”

When you get back to the well, you find your dad sitting on the rim, rifle across his lap. Around him are townsfolk, sleeping peacefully in drunken stupor. Wine stains the dusty road, remnants of a legendary debauchery.

“Heard you went to visit Ms. Betty at the river,” your dad says.

Your rub the back of your neck. “Thought she could help, but we got distracted delivering Darla’s baby.”

Your dad’s eyes are surprisingly understanding. “That woman ain’t much use in the best of times,” he murmurs. “But Darla an the baby are more important than a well, at least for today.” He sighs. “I ain’t likin this. Fairies causin mischief…Briarpatch ain’t had this much trouble with the Folk in years.”

“Don’t you worry a bit, Sheriff,” Daisy says. “We’re gonna take care o this, I promise.”

Alice nods eagerly. “They won’t…just keep doing this,” she says, eyes on her feet. “The pranks, I mean. They’ll want to…talk to us soon. We just have to be ready.”

It's then you see the stag.

It isn't like any earthly beast you have ever seen. It doesn't walk so much as glide silently across the earth, each stride carrying it further than physics should allow. Its fur is white as new snow, and its antlers shine silver, like the moon and stars.

It is a fairy creature. It prances back and forth on the edge of the town square, watching you.

Your dad whirls on it, leveling his rifle, but stays his trigger finger. At his motion the stag trots backwards, as if about to flee. But it doesn't break, not yet.

You take a step forward, entranced, and the stag closer as well. It jerks its shining antlers backwards, towards the forest.

“It wants us to follow,” Alice breathes, winding her arm through yours with slow, reverent care.

“Stay where you are, kids,” your dad says. “We can’t trust it.” He takes a cautious step forward, and the stag tenses as if about to bolt.

You…

>Fire! (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC12)
>Follow the stag

I'm done for the night, will pick this up tomorrow. Thanks for a great first day guys!

>>4221043
>Fire! (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC12)
Get blasting

>>4221043
>Follow

>>4221052
+1

>>4221043
>>Follow the stag

>>4220758
This

>>4221047
Follow

>>4221043
>Follow the stag

>>4221043
>Fire! (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC12)

>>4221043
>>Follow the stag

>>4221043
>Fire! (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC12)

>>4221043
>Follow the stag

>>4221043
>Follow the stag

>>4221043
>Follow the stag

File: Wistful Woods.jpg (56 KB, 500x500)

56 KB JPG

>Follow the Stag

You grab your dad’s elbow, stopping him from moving forward any more. “I don’t think we can afford to leave it be,” you tell him, your voice low. “Look what they’ve done to the two in one day, dad.”

Your dad looks around at the sleeping townsfolk and grimaces. “Guess we won’t last much longer like this,” he admits. “But I can’t let you kids just wander off into the woods alone.”

“Hey, who are you calling a kid?” Daisy says, pulling you and Alice close. “I’ll look after them Sheriff, don’t you worry.”

“If it were up to me, I’d put Alice in charge,” your dad says dryly. He unslings his holster and hands it, revolver and all to the witchling girl. “I see Jack’s got his gun, and I know Daisy’s always carrying, but you’ll want this,” he says.

“Th-thank you,” Alice says, handling the weapon like she might a newborn. The three of you start towards the waiting stag, but after a few steps you turn to give your dad one last look.

“If you lot ain’t back by sunrise,” your dad says, “I’m comin in after you.”

You give him what you hope is a cocky salute, and then you’re off.

The stag leads you through the eerily deserted town, past Ralph’s house and into the Wistful Woods. You have wandered past the tree line hundreds of times in your short life, and count the woods as your home, but tonight something is different. There is something in the air like the calm just before a storm in the summer, a spell that could only be broken by the first drop of rain. Lights dance at the edge of your vision, vanishing whenever you try to get a better look at them, and the hairs on the back of your neck are caught in a perpetual prickling, as if you’re being watched by something you can’t see or hear.

“There’s magic…everywhere,” Alice says, wrapping her arms around herself as if cold, despite the summer heat. “It’s like walking through mud.”

“Do you two hear something?” Daisy asks, her eyes unfocused. “I could swear…”

The stag leads you deeper and deeper into the woods, until you are well past the areas familiar to you. The sun has well and truly set now, and night blankets the air around you, a thick and oppressive darkness. The only source of illumination is the stag’s antlers, which shine ever brighter in the night.

Eventually, the stag leads you to a gently gurgling creek, narrow enough that you could leap across without much difficulty. It bounds over the running water, then without even turning to look at you, vanishes into the trees.

“Shit,” you murmur, running up to the bank. “Where did it go?”

“Was this a trap after all?” Daisy asks. There’s a moment of silence, and then a flare of light as she strikes a match against her boot and sets light to a hooded lantern she carries. “At least we can see properly, now.”

>cont.

File: Chukka.png (941 KB, 740x934)

941 KB PNG

>>4222332
“Can you, I wonder?” Asks a small voice near your knee.

You practically jump out of your skin at the sight of the fairy. You aren’t the only one surprised – Daisy shrieks, and even Alice gasps.

“And greetings to you as well, my friends,” the fairy says, smiling a too wide smile. “You may call me Chukka, her grace’s most loyal watchman.” He dips into a deep, flourishing bow. “You stand at the boundary of her grace’s queendom, oh yes. Just across this river and you will be in her power.”

“Her grace?” Alice asks. “Is she the one responsible for what’s been happening to Briarpatch?”

“Well I wouldn’t right know!” Chukka declares. “I am but a simple watchman…but one who is happy to see new faces, after so long.” He holds up a tiny gnarled hand, and in the torchlight you see the flash of gold coins dance between his fingers. “A gift,” he purrs, “to welcome you to a strange new land.”

>Accept
>Decline

>>4222336
>Accept
the stranger is offering you a gift

>>4222336
Shoot him

>>4222341
this

>>4222336
>Decline
Supporting whatever as long as we dont take the gift, never accept gifts from fairies and make sure no one thanks him as well

>>4222341
+1
trust no fairy

>>4222353
+1

>>4222336
>>4222341
Supporting.

So anyway I started blasting.

>>4222336
>Decline

>>4222336
>Decline

>>4222341
support

>>4222341
+1 a good fae is a dead fae

>>4222336
>Accept

No food tho, eating magical food in most folklore and legends ends pretty badly.

>>4222336
>Decline

>>4222341
This

>>4222336
Decline.

In all the lore I know you never accept a gift from fae. They always have a trade off and rarely a pleasant one.

File: Flower & Thorn.jpg (71 KB, 820x608)

71 KB JPG

In one smooth, practiced motion you pull your revolver from its holster, cock the hammer, and shoot Chukka in the face.

The bullet tears through flesh and muscle and bone alike before it pops out the other side of the fairy’s head and buries itself in the dirt. Chukka’s body tumbles to the ground moments after, limp and lifeless.

“Holy shit!” Daisy shouts.

“You killed him,” Alice says, as if she doesn’t quite believe it.

“Holy shit!” Daisy shouts again.

“What?” You ask them, spreading your arms. “I’ve heard enough stories to know you never take a gift from a fairy. We take those coins, we end up having to give Chukka our firstborns, or solve a bunch of riddles, or somethin. We don have time for that!”

“There’s a time and place for violence,” Alice says, narrowing her eyes at you. “And a time and place for tact. You might’ve just declared war on the Folk!”

“They declared war when they started fucking with our town,” you argue.

Alice stomps her foot in frustration. “You just want just shoot things like you’re some sort of gunslinger!”

“Well…so?” You ask. Alice rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, but says nothing more.

“Hey, no need to get testy,” Daisy says, looking between the two of you. “What’s done is done, and we still have a job to do.” She extends her hand. “Together?”

“Together,” you echo, putting your hand on top of hers.

Alice rolls her eyes again, but places her hand under Daisy’s. “Together,” she says, quiet.

The three of you hop the stream, and are well and truly gone from the realm of men.

The strangeness of the forest redoubles here. You see eyes watching you from the shadows of the trees and bushes. Some are slitted, like a cat’s, some glow softly with ethereal light. The leaves and branches move back and forth, pushed and pulled by a wind you cannot feel. The heat of summer fades, replaced by a strange chill, and you wrap your scarf tight around you neck. You glance over to Alice and see her rubbing her hands together, shivering slightly.

>Give Alice the scarf
>Keep the scarf

After a bit of wandering, the three of you come upon a fork in the path. You debate back and forth amonst yourselves for a minute before deciding to go down one direction for a bit, then turn back and check the other way.

The left path reveals a thicket of thorns blocking the way. They gleam wicked sharp in the moonlight and seem to whisper at you until you walk away.

The right path is a simple, straight path, dotted with clusters of pale blue flowers.

“So…right path, then?” Daisy asks.

“I don’t know…” Alice says, chewing her lips.

“Those thorns looked might sharp,” you point out.

“Yes,” Alice admits. “And I’m quite sure they would hurt but…this is not our place. It’s theirs.” She shrugs. “That sounds silly. I don’t know.”

>The path of thorns (Roll: CON HIDDEN)
>The path of flowers (Roll: DEX HIDDEN)

>>4223393
>Give Alice the scarf
>The path of thorns (Roll: CON HIDDEN)
Yes yes yes kill all fairies

>>4223393
>Give Alice the scarf
>The path of thorns (Roll: CON HIDDEN)

Well this is going to end terribly but fuck it.

>>4223393
>Give Alice the scarf
>The path of thorns (Roll: CON HIDDEN)

>>4223393
>Give Alice the scarf
>The path of thorns (Roll: CON HIDDEN)
>magic cowboys
I've been hankerin' for a rootin' tootin' point & castin' story for eons now.

>>4223393
>The path of flowers (Roll: DEX HIDDEN)
>give scarf

>>4223393
>Give Alice the scarf
>The path of thorns (Roll: CON HIDDEN)

Giving anons a gun is always a terrible idea

>>4223608
This. Many things shall be shot. Do we have ammo restrictions?

>>4223393
>Give Alice the scarf
>The path of flowers (Roll: DEX HIDDEN)

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>Give Alice the scarf
>The path of thorns

Rolling CON with a DC of 16. As always, success means rolling under.

>>4223608
>>4223619
Trying to blast your way through every problem won't work as well as it did with Chukka.

>>4223619
I definitely should've mentioned this earlier. You have 24 bullets (now 23), enough to empty your revolver 4 times.

Alice and Daisy also have 24 bullets each.

>>4224193
Luckily for you, a roll of 16 is also a success.

File: Path of thorns.jpg (17 KB, 564x375)

17 KB JPG

>Give Alice the scarf

The cold bites at your neck as you unwind the scarf and pass it wordlessly to your friend, but you don’t mind it. Watching Alice smile shyly as she wraps the wool around her neck helps keep your mind off the chill.

When she’s sure Alice isn’t looking, Daisy beams and gives you a thumbs up.

>The path of thorns

“We’ll brave the thorns,” you decide. “Alice knows more about this fairy magic shit than either of us.”

Daisy groans, but doesn’t argue. Alice smiles, her eyes twinkling. “Jack O’Harahan,” she says, fingering the scarf around her neck. “Are you admitting you were wrong?”

“Hey now, I didn say that,” you say, holding up your palms. “I just trust you, is all.”

The thorns are even more foreboding on second viewing. When you get close they seem to bear a strange coloring, as if slick with blood. But you’ve made your mind up and so you set your jaw and make your way through the brambles.

The thorns tear at your skin as you pass, drawing tiny lines of red, but when you emerge from the bushes into a small clearing, you pat yourself down and find no serious damage. Alice and Daisy follow behind you, similarly unharmed. “See?” You ask. “Not so bad at all.”

“We were lucky,” Alice says.

“Gunslingers make their own luck,” you reply. “Now step lively. We’ve got a fairy queen to find.”

>cont.

File: the queen.png (1.36 MB, 766x1040)

1.36 MB PNG

>>4224324

“You have found her already,” the forest says.

You whirl, looking for the source of the voice, & as your eyes pass over the woods you find it changed. What had moments ago been an unassuming clearing shifted when you looked away. The oppressive canopy opens up to reveal a brilliant night sky, & moonlight floods the grass around you. There are things in the trees, bobcats with fur like spun metal, pixies floating idly under the power of goassamer wings, little men like Chukka holding spears and knives, twisted goblins with sharp claws and teeth. They press in closer, forming a half-ring around you. Alice grips your arm with all her strength.

You & Daisy draw your weapons, Samuel Colt’s beautiful children shining hungrily by moonlight. But something stays your trigger finger. The fairies, though they look perfectly capable of gutting you, aren't preparing an attack. Rather, they seem to be herding you.

You look up. Before you stands a throne built from ancient stone, moss growing in splotchy patches across it. It is a simple, rough-hewn seat, & yet it radiates power.

Or perhaps that is the woman on it. She is beautiful, though you are young & know little of women. She is dangerous, though you are young and know little of war. If a cat walked on two legs and could sit a throne like a man, you imagine that is how it would sit, draped across the seat like a liquid, grace and power evident despite its repose. She wears nothing – no robes, no crown, no symbol of office – and yet you know in your bones she is a queen. Her skin is the sky at dusk, & strange silver patterns dance across her curves, constellations wrought on skin. Her eyes are each a moon, silver and unblinking. You have to remind yourself to breathe.

Her lips part, but it is the forest that speaks. Her voice is everywhere at once. It is the rustling of leaves in the wind, the babbling of a brook over stone, the hum of insects, the song of a bird hidden in the branches. “Children of Adam,” she says. “I called, and you have come.”

There is power in her words. You want to drop to your knees in exaltation. You want to pull the trigger of your gun and spit lead and fire into the heart of her spellwork. You can’t imagine that either reaction would be particular wise.

“You were in my dreams,” Alice says. To your shock, her voice is neither quiet nor shy. You can’t remember her ever sounding stronger, more confident than she does here. “Why did you call us here?”

The queen tilts her head slightly, as if to see Alice at a new angle. “I have need of you."

“You got a funny way of showin it,” Daisy says, though her pistol vanishes into her clothes as she speaks. “Harassin the villagers. Our friends.”

“There is power in such acts,” the queen replies. “In the fear and reverence of Man. No lasting harm has been wrought.” She fixes you with her gaze, light roiling in her eyes like liquid. “Not by fairy hands, at least.”

>cont.

File: throne.png (959 KB, 570x846)

959 KB PNG

>>4224326
“Hey, well…” your voice sounds small and childish to your own ears, but you set your jaw and persist. “Chukka was a bag o dicks.”

There is a silence that stretches for a long, long time. And then the queen laughs. Though no human emotion crosses her face, the forest shakes softly in the rhythm of her mirth. “Perhaps,” she admits. “Chukka sought leverage over you. Of all my children, he was grasping. Ambitious. There is a price for that ambition, paid in blood.”

“What do you need from us?” Alice asks.

Around you, the forest grows deathly still. “In the heart of my court,” the queen says, “there is a stone. It is an ancient place, and powerful. Its magic keeps my enemies at bay.”

“Your enemies?” Daisy asks. “You mean us? Humans?”

“No. I am not the only sovereign of this forest,” the queen replies. “And my neighbors grow…hungry. You will travel to this stone, and reawaken the power within it.”

“But why us?” Alice asks. “Why not send one of your subjects to do it?”

“Because it must be done with mortal hands alone,” the queen says. “Because it is the magic of art, the magic of the soul.”

“An if we say no?” You ask, feeling unusually bold. “You ain’t exactly given us much reason to do your biddin.”

The queen’s eyes are on you again, her gaze old and terrible. “Do it, and you will be rewarded,” she says, her voice ringing with truth. “Decline, and I will show your village what it means to fear the forest at night.”

>Accept and speak to the court before leaving (Roll: CHA 11)
>Accept and leave immediately
>Start blastin (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC HIDDEN)

Either “Accept” vote will both count towards Accept, to stop votes from being split.

>>4224329
>Start blastin (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC HIDDEN)
Die fae

>>4224329
>Accept and speak to the court before leaving (Roll: CHA 11)

>>4224329
>Start blastin (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC HIDDEN)
Time for murderin

>>4224329
>Accept and speak to the court before leaving (Roll: CHA 11)

>>4224329
>Accept and speak to the court before leaving (Roll: CHA 11)

>>4224329
>Start blastin (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC HIDDEN)

>>4224329
>>Start blastin (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC HIDDEN)
Do not fall for their tricks

>>4224329
>Accept and speak to the court before leaving (Roll: CHA 11)

Ask her to swear to not harm the village after this.
And ask why we should help her over her enemies

>>4224329
>Start blastin (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC HIDDEN)

>>4224329
>Accept and speak to the court before leaving
The devil you know is better than the demon you don't.

But throw in some of this >>4224418

>>4224329
>Start blastin (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC HIDDEN)

>>4224329
>>Accept and speak to the court before leaving (Roll: CHA 11)

>>4224329
>Start blastin (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC HIDDEN)

>>4224418
support for asking her to swear not to harm the village

>>4224329
>Accept and speak to the court before leaving (Roll: CHA 11)

>>4224329
>Start blastin (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC HIDDEN)

>>4224329
>>4224418
+1

>>4224989
My bad, folks. Fucking around with counting and posted this. I believe vote is tied right now so I will give it twenty minutes and roll if there's no consensus.

>>4224418
Support.

>>4224989
>>4224998
QM samefagging their own quest? Lmao, we have another velo right here.

>>4224329
>Start blastin (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC HIDDEN)
Gas the faes

>>4224329
>Start blastin (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. DC HIDDEN)

tsk tsk. That wasn't very chivalrous

>>4224418
Support

Fucking sad if this ends prematurely due to the gangbang. I hope you guys are happy if the quest dies this soon

Rolled 1 (1d20)

Start blastin takes it. This update's gonna be a doozy.

Rolling 1d20+4 vs. a DC of 17

>>4225068
Holy shit

>>4225068
Wack

>>4225068

kArma for being too trigger happy

>>4225068
we fucked up blasting bros

>>4225076
It's a roll under quest anon. This is going to be fun. Reminds me of the skaldening in black company.

>>4225068
WE ARE THE FAE EXTERMINATORS NOW HAHAHAHAHA

>>4225080
Unfortunately I'm actually using the Beyond the Wall system, which doesn't use roll under for combat. 1 is a crit fail.

>>4225068
I feel this is what anons deserve

>>4225092
Well, shit

>>4225092
spare us from too much injury at least

>>4225092
Please be as cruel as possible.

>>4225092
crap. guess that's the waifus dead

>>4225092
>dice system which uses the same die size but has differing measurements of success
Truly, the shittiest of rulesets.

“Well I suppose there’s only one thing I can say to that,” you say, gun hand creeping towards your hip. “Yee-haw.”

Your fingers close around the gun’s grip, the wood cool against your skin. “Jack, no!” Alice screams, but you’ve already yanked the gun free and are pointing it at the fairy queen. Glory flashes before your eyes.

But only for a moment. Your grip on your weapon is not as secure as you might’ve imagined, and as your finger squeezes the trigger the pistol bucks like a wild stallion. Your eyes widen, then snap shut as the gun leaps from your hand, tumbling through the air, a roar like thunder filling the clearing.

You crack your eyes open. Your weapon lies in the grass, still smoking. Everyone around you, mortal and fae alike, stands frozen in stunned disbelief.

You look down at the gun, at your trusty big iron. You wonder if you could reach it before one of the fairy creatures shivs you.

The fairy queen is the first to react. The forest shakes around you as her lips move, incredulity splashed across her face. “You brought…violence here,” she says, as if not quite believing it. “To the seat of my power.”

You throw a sidelong glance at Alice, who’s aghast. Then to Daisy, who still doesn’t seem entirely sure what’s going on.

The forest explodes into light, and noise, and fury.

>>4225194
Black hounds as big as horses burst from the treeline. Their muzzles are slick with blood – and not just human blood, red as rubies, but pale pink, like Chukka’s had been. The hounds’ eyes shine with a terrible light, the last embers of a once-great fire nestled deep within the ashes. The largest of them throws back his head and howls, and the noise cuts through the night’s silence like a knife.

The fairies scramble to action, racing across the ground towards their queen with an inhuman speed. One of the goblins throws himself into the air towards a hound, serrated claws flashing in the air, but the beast catches the tiny green figure in his jaws and bites. Bone and flesh crunches, and pink blood bursts from the goblin to drench the ground below.

You scramble forward and pick up your gun, your fingers cold and numb. The fairy queen roars in wordless fury, the forest threatening to rip itself apart under the force of her rage. “CHILD,” it says, all around you, “I WILL PAINT THE STONES WITH YOU FOR THIS.”

One of the hounds barrels into her legs, and they fall to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs. You only watch long enough to see the queen rip the hound’s throat away with her teeth before you’re running back the way you came, grabbing Daisy with one hand and Alice with the other, praying to God Above to give you a path through the chaos.

Figures are in the trees, blocking your escape. They are as tall as men – no, taller, but thin where men are stout and curving where men are angular. They wear leather and bone and hold in their hands great curving bows carved from a pale wood.

“LEAVE,” the forest roars, trees cracking and splitting from the strain, tumbling to the ground and shaking the earth with their bulk. “YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE.”

You can see a silhouetted figure further into the woods. He is taller, taller even than the hunters that stand before you, and two great horns curl upwards from his head, pitch black antlers that drink the light around him. He raises a hand, and the hunters nock arrows.

“No!” You shove Alice and Daisy to the ground and point your weapon in return. It spits fire, and you see a hunter fall – but then pain blooms along your shoulder, and you look down in shock to see an arrow has sprouted from your skin, pale wood flecked with dark blue feathers.

You stagger backwards, but strong, delicate hands catch you before you fall. Daisy’s arms are around you, her hair in your face. She is screaming Alice’s name.

Blackness sweeps over you.

>cont.

>>4225197
At first, you think that you are dead – but though the light fades, the pain and the din of battle remain. You blink, then touch your face, confirming your eyes are open. They are, but no moon or starlight reaches them. You gasp. “I’m blind!”

“Shh!” Alice slaps a hand over your mouth. “Not blind,” she whispers. “Magic. My magic.”

You are too lightheaded to suppress a chuckle, though you keep it quiet. Sometimes you forget that Alice is a witchling, but thankfully she never seems to.

“We’ve got to go,” Daisy says, her voice just as quiet.

“To the left,” you murmur, hoarse. Your shoulder aches, and you feel dizzy, but you set your jaw and remain standing. “Weren’t any…to the left.”

“The left then,” Alice says, her fingers winding through yours. “Now.”

The three of you start to run. A few steps and you clear the cloud of unnaturally blackness Alice conjured, back into the silvery light of the queen’s court. Chaos still rages around you, as fairy and hound hack and bite and claw at one another. The queen’s subjects are bleeding the hounds for every step they take, but they are losing ground. You make for the trees, for the safety that they promise, the sheltering darkness. You’re so close…

And then a bear appears. Like the hounds he is covered in shaggy black fur, but his eyes shine with a strange intelligence. He rears back onto his hind legs and lashes out with a paw, and you scream as Alice’s fingers are torn suddenly from your grip and she is thrown several yards away. She soars through the air, hair suspended around her confused and terrified face, and then she hits the ground with a crack, rolls twice, and lays still.

Before you can possibly make sense of this the bear is upon you. You’re forced to throw yourself to the side, crashing into Daisy, sending the both of you stumbling. The bear roars, flecks of spit and blood and gore flying into your face, but dark shapes drop the trees onto its back and shoulders and suddenly the bear is reeling. Knives flash in the moonlight, inhuman cackles harmonizing with the squelch of metal tearing flesh.

“Jack!” Daisy shouts, and you turn to see thin fingers in her hair, dragging her deeper into the forest. One of the hunters, his bow slung across one shoulder, regards you impassively.

You…

>Save Alice (Roll: Str 8) (Roll under)
>Save Daisy (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. 14) (Roll over)
>Run

>>4225202
>Save Alice (Roll: Str 8) (Roll under)

>>4225202
>>Save Alice (Roll: Str 8) (Roll under)

>>4225202
>Run

>>4225202
>Save Daisy (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. 14) (Roll over)
What a silly dice system

>>4225202
>Save Alice (Roll: Str 8) (Roll under)

>>4225202
>>Save Daisy (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. 14) (Roll over)

>>4225202
>Save Daisy

>>4225202
>Save Daisy (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. 14) (Roll over)

>>4225202
>Save Alice (Roll: Str 8) (Roll under)
Why Did we just shoot at the Fairy queen? That was one of the worst decisions I've seen on this site.

>>4225202
>Save Daisy (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. 14) (Roll over)

>>4225687
You can't just drop your age like that lil dude.

>>4225202
>>Save Daisy (Roll: 1d20+4 vs. 14) (Roll over)

>>4225687
to be fair, this is /qst/ and we're known for bad decisions

>>4225687
It was a stupid decision. Very very stupid. And now we are paying the price.

>>4225815
Fairy Queen cursed us with that critical failure

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>>4225202
>Save Alice

>>4225202
>Save Daisy
At least qm gets his waifu war several threads early

>>4225687
We need a quest that's full of guns but they explode into MC's face every time he tries to use one of them
>>4225202
>Save Alice (Roll: Str 8) (Roll under)

Save Daisy wins. Rolling 1d20+4 vs a DC of 14. Again, attacks roll over. I didn't build the system, I'm just too retarded to streamline it.

>>4225815
Two things, the opportunity to plug a fairy queen doesn't come often so taking it isn't so bad. The other is that the scarf is very clearly our source of power.

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>4226169
Or to roll dice apparently, Jesus.

>>4226172
Cursed

>>4226172
Clearly I need to stop rolling for y'all

>>4226172
god how i hate this idiotic roll system

>Save Daisy

Your gun is still in your hand, the wooden grip cold against numb fingers. You level it at the hunter that has Daisy by the hair and try to will your hand to stop shaking. Daisy is screaming and thrashing, beating her fists against the hunter’s arm, but it weathers her blows with an alien strength.

You scream. Once, twice, three times you fire. Four, five times you fire, and then more and more, each trigger pull after the fifth rewarding you with nothing but the click of an empty chamber. The five bullets slice through the night, lead trailing fire, but none find their mark. The hunter blinks owlishly, as if genuinely surprised to still be alive, and then he hauls Daisy into through the underbrush, both vanishing as if they were never there.

You turn, eyes searching for Alice, but you find only your caught haphazardly on a branch. Your friend is nowhere to be seen.

You run, barreling into the safety of the woods, barely coherent enough to grab the scarf as you pass it. The arrow in your shoulder throbs, fire pulsing through your veins, as the din of battle fades behind you.

>cont.

I told you, the scarf is our source of power. Without it we can't shoot anything.

>>4226229
You awaken to the orange light of sunrise.

You are laying on your back under a thick cluster of trees, which cast shadows like long fingers all around you. The pain is brutal and unrelenting. When you sit up your muscles spasm and for a moment you fear you might die.

But you don’t. You lean your back against the nearest tree and breathe, trying to gather your racing thoughts.

You have an arrow in your shoulder. This seems like the priority right now. If you don’t get that fixed, you doubt you’ll be able to make it to the next sunrise. You glance down and find that the shaft must’ve snapped during your panicked flight, as only a few inches of wood extends from your skin.

You root around in your pack for a moment and produce a bottle of whiskey, which you take several long swallows of. It tastes like fire in your throat, but it does dull the pain, at least a little. Then you put your pack of cards between your teeth, grab the remaining shaft with one hand, and pull.

It’s a gamble, for sure. If the arrow is barbed, you’re like to do more damage to yourself pulling the thing out than leaving it in, but it’s not like you have much choice. Pain explodes across your body – but when you throw the arrow to the ground, you are relieved to see that not only is it not barbed, but the arrowhead came out with it. Had you not just been the victim of a truly legendary streak of terrible luck, you’d say that God Above was looking out for you.

You douse the open wound in whiskey, biting hard enough into the playing cards to split some of them, and work to bind it to the best of your abilities. By the time you’re done, the sun is halfway to its height, and you are shaky and exhausted.

But you dare not sleep. Everything has gone wrong. Alice is gone, Daisy is gone, the fairy court in disarray, and you are deep within the Wistful Woods.

Your dad had said that if you weren’t back by sunrise, he would come for you. Are the men of Briarpatch already in the woods, searching for you? Is it you they’ll find, or a group of hunters? You grimace and push yourself to your feet. Best not to think about that. This is all your fault, and you aim to fix it.

>Track Alice or Daisy (Roll: Wis 13)
>Find a fairy (Roll: Cha 15)
>Rendezvous with the Briarpatch Men

>>4226234

>Track Alice or Daisy (Roll: Wis 13)

>>4226234
>Track Alice or Daisy (Roll: Wis 13)
We are a pretty fucking bad gunslinger

>>4226234
>Track Alice or Daisy (Roll: Wis 13)

>>4226234
>>Rendezvous with the Briarpatch Men

Another day, another quest screwed by retarded murderhobos. Good on the QM for not protecting them from the consequences of their retarded bullshit with plot armour, handholding, and asspulls. You do dumb you die dumb.

Also, you need to be careful of samefagging and learn to give the middle finger to stupid write-ins that intend to sabotage and ruin your quest, QM. This murderhoboing faggot>>4222341 disappeared after he shat out his stupid murderhobo write-in. His ID has only 1 post which is the stupid write-in itself. He never posted before or after it. Two of the votes for the stupid murderhobo write-in were IDs with only 1 post that haven't posted anything after they voted for it and simply vanished. With that all said, ciao.

>>4226311
if you learned to read you would see that it has 3 votes

>>4226311
People are going to vote the way that people are going to vote. I can't rightly make a cowboy quest and not expect anyone to roll in guns blazing.

>>4226234
>Rendezvous with the Briarpatch Men

>>4226234

>Track Alice or Daisy (Roll: Wis 13

Locked. Tracking Alice and Daisy wins. I'm gonna take a break from rolling so could someone roll 1d20? DC is 13, roll under.

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>4226741
Marvel at this nat 20

>>4226744
Well good to see the quest is only mostly cursed.

"Reformed" but still a dumbass trigger happy Mc Great

>>4226780
Are you still whining?

>>4226780
Dude its done move on

You take a few more swallows of whiskey as you push your way through the forest, until your body is pleasantly numb rather than a bundle of aches and pains. You can’t imagine that wandering into a firefight drunk will help with your streak of incompetence, but it’s got to be better than barely being able to move.

Luckily, your panicked flight last night left a noticeable imprint on the woods. It’s easy to trace your steps by following the snapped trigs, trampled underbrush, and splotches of dried blood. A lot of blood, you note, clenching your teeth. Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking so much.

When you emerge back into the clearing, carnage greets you. The bodies of hounds, goblins, pixies and those strange bobcats litter the grass, pale pink blood pooling around them. There are hunters dead too, including the one you shot. You spit on him, for good measure.

The absent corpses are just as noticeable as the present ones. The fairy queen is nowhere to be see, nor is her throne. The strange, antlered shadow you saw directing the hunters is similarly missing. Most importantly, you find neither Daisy nor Alice amongst the corpses. This, at least, is good news. You can’t imagine them dead. You must keep faith.

It is said that only a legendary woodsman can track the Folk through a forest, and you are a novice woodsman at best. But you don’t need to track the Folk. Daisy and Alice are your targets, and they’re as mortal as you are. You find blood on the forest floor, and not far from it strands of golden hair caught on a tree branch. You follow this trail for some time, and just when you think you might’ve lost the scent, you notice a scrap of cloth wedged between two stones. You pull it free to confirm your suspicions. It’s from Daisy’s shirt.

Your thank God Above for clever friends, and continue on your way.

Similar scraps continue to guide you. More hair, more blood. A boot. Three bullets. A half dozen matches. The trek through the woods takes you hours, but an insatiable fire in your gut drives you onwards, burning away the pain and weakness in your limbs.

>cont.

It’s not over, we can redeem ourselves

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>>4226891
In time, you find the place you have been seeking. You have noticed the trees growing taller, thicker as you made your way deeper into the woods, but when the first shadow falls over you and you look up you realize what that means.

A longhall sits perched in the branches high above your head, connected to smaller structures in the trees around it by rope bridges that sway gently in the breeze. You duck into a tangle of massive roots and cast a wary eye around you, but see no-one. Satisfied that you are alone, you find winding steps carved into the tree trunk and begin the slow ascent, one hand on your revolver.

When you reach the longhall and peer inside, you are rewarded with the sight of several hunters, feasting, drinking and laughing in celebration of their victory. There is no sign of the antlered figure, nor of Daisy and Alice – but in the far, shadowed corner of the hall is a face your recognize. The fairy queen is suspended in the air by the rope that binds her limbs, her dark skin covered in pink blood. For a moment you think her dead – but then one of the hunters throws something at her, and her eyes flash with a raw and terrible hatred.

You did not leave the fairy queen on the best of terms. But something tells you that cutting her free would be like unleashing a tornado, swift and brutal and devastating. She might know where Daisy and Alice are, and perhaps you could extract a promise from her before she’s freed, that will spare you her wrath. Failing that, you have half a bottle of whiskey and six matches. You’re sure you could find some use for them. But fire is a dangerous, indiscriminate weapon.

>Set fire to the longhall
>Free the queen (Roll: DEX 16)
>Keep looking for Daisy and Alice (Roll: Dex 14)

>>4226894
>Keep looking for Daisy and Alice (Roll: Dex 14)
The fae queen will blame us.

>>4226894
>Free the queen (Roll: DEX 16)
Tell her we fucked up and will help her + do the thing she wants if she helps us find Daisy and Alice

>>4226894
>>Keep looking for Daisy and Alice (Roll: Dex 14)

>>4226894
>Set fire to the longhall

>>4226894
>>Keep looking for Daisy and Alice (Roll: Dex 14)
Priorities.

>>4226894
>Keep looking for Daisy and Alice (Roll: Dex 14)

>>4226894
>Keep looking for Daisy and Alice (Roll: Dex 14)

>>4226894

>Keep looking for Daisy and Alice (Roll: Dex 14)

>>4226894
>>Set fire to the longhall

>>4226894
>Free the queen (Roll: DEX 16)

>>4226894
>Free the queen (Roll: DEX 16)

>>4226894
1st choice
>Free the queen (Roll: DEX 16)
>>4226900
+these conditions

2nd choice
>Keep looking for Daisy and Alice (Roll: Dex 14)

Keep looking for Daisy and Alice wins.

Could someone roll 1d20? Roll under 14 succeeds.

Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>4227788

>>4227800
Why do the dice taunt us so?

>>4227817

They know how bad we want to be epic gunslingers and spit on it

>>4227817
As I mentioned here: >>4224195 rolling on the DC is also a success.

You tiptoe away from the longhall, careful where you place your feet so as to avoid the creakiest bits of wood. You’ve always been nimble, and are long practiced at avoiding the watchful eyes of your dad. Taking the rope bridges between trees leaves you unavoidably exposed, but luckily the network of buildings seems largely empty. It strikes you that the most of the hunters are likely sleeping after the battle, if they’re not usually nocturnal.

You are just beginning to despair at ever finding your friends when you hear something, a familiar song dancing lightly on the breeze. You have to stop yourself from abandoning all attempt at stealth and scrambling to follow the noise – but when you finally reach the source of it, several painful minutes later, you glance through an open window to see Daisy, bound hand and foot in the corner of a large room. She is battered and bloody, but very much alive, singing softly while leaning her head against the wall.

You keep your voice so low that at first she can’t even hear it. “Daisy! Daisy!”

Daisy sits bolt upright, then cranes her head to see you. Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Jack?” She whispers, equally quiet. “You’re alive!”

“Barely.” You cast a look around. The room in which Daisy is trapped is empty except for another hunter, sleeping peacefully in a chair. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Daisy says. “They made me sing and play, and hurt me when I stopped, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Rage and guilt coil in your stomach, but you ignore it. “Is Alice here?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Daisy swallows. “She was here, but the leader, this fairy with a stag’s antlers, he took her away.”

“Dammit. Well, we have to get you out of here. Can you walk?”

Daisy’s eyes flash with cold fire. “I can do more than that. It should be easy, the guard’s drunker than Pete on All-Summer’s Eve.”

>Kill the guard (Roll: Dex 14)
>Ignore the guard (Roll: Dex 14)
>Interrogate the guard (Roll: Cha 17)

>>4227851
>Kill the guard

>>4227851
>Ignore the guard (Roll: Dex 14)
we should stop trying to kill everything

>>4227851
>Interrogate the guard (Roll: Cha 17)

>>4227851
>Interrogate the guard (Roll: Cha 17)
Try to kill everything has brought us nothing but trouble

>>4227851
>Interrogate the guard (Roll: Cha 17)

>>4227851
>Interrogate the guard (Roll: Cha 17)
Is this a roll-under roll or a roll-over roll
If it's roll over I'd rather
>Ignore the guard (Roll: Dex 14)

>>4228025
***
Additionally, planning forward, when we get Alice, we should have her cast some stealth-enhancing spells on us so we get gtfo
Hoping we go back to save the queen as well