>>4552369
>Calmly request to meet with their leader; despite these tests of your patience, all this can surely be resolved amicably over a cup of tea.

>>4552369
>Calmly request to meet with their leader; despite these tests of your patience, all this can surely be resolved amicably over a cup of tea.

>>4552369
>Fake out the guards and make run for the tower walls, at risk of bodily harm; a mere touch of the wall and a magic word will transport you within.

>>4552369
>Polymorph the guard into a duck, expending several of your spellslots but putting the fear of Zod into these insolent squatters

>>4552369
>>Polymorph the guard into a duck, expending several of your spellslots but putting the fear of Zod into these insolent squatters

>>4552369
>Calmly request to meet with their leader; despite these tests of your patience, all this can surely be resolved amicably over a cup of tea.

>>4552369
>Fake out the guards and make run for the tower walls, at risk of bodily harm; a mere touch of the wall and a magic word will transport you within.
Need to get into tower ASAP. Can rain hellfire on these fools from there.

>>4552369
>>Polymorph the guard into a duck, expending several of your spellslots but putting the fear of Zod into these insolent squatters


INSOLENT FOOLS YOU DARE TRESPASS MY PROPERTY?!!!

>>4552369
>Polymorph the guard into a duck, expending several of your spellslots but putting the fear of Zod into these insolent squatters

>>4552369
>Polymorph the guard into a duck, expending several of your spellslots but putting the fear of Zod into these insolent squatters

>>4552369
>Polymorph the guard into a duck, expending several of your spellslots but putting the fear of Zod into these insolent squatters.

I rarely go for the more harsh routes, so why not give it a shot here?

>>4552952
>>4552949
>>4552873
>>4552834
>>4552468
>>4552426
Vote closed.

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The oafish guard looks to his equally dimwitted partner, and then dares to touch you, asking if "he can't help you find your way home, old fellow?"

"UNHAND ME, YOU GORMLESS DOG!" you say, calmly. He throws his hand back and you unleash John's Greater Polymorph. Now, a Wizard of the 5th Caliber is thus pedigreed by the liberation of his fifth spellslot. Usually its' the fourth that is cause for celebration, since it allows access to the expert level spellforms, and after that the seventh, which likewise gives access to the master level ones, but the 5th Caliber lets one keep an elementary spell in reserve, so that when a higher tier spell, such as variants of the polymorphism, are cast, and should that demonstration prove inadequate, one has the security of a quick flamebolt to the head.

One never knows how the John's Polymorph will resolve. John was something of a philistine and his spells--while efficient--lack that aesthetic cohesion found in the works of his contemporaries. Case in point, the guard transforms bottom first, landing on two small, webbed feet, with the upper half human just long enough to express his surprise--"What the fu--" before he is cut off by the formation of his own bill, and a frightened quack. You smoothly step over him and toward the gate. The other guard remains. He looks at you. He looks at the duck. He looks at you again. He bows low, and promptly steps aside to let you enter.

"Thank you," you say.

"Please don't kill me," he replies, still bowed.

"Fair enough," you say.

You touch the tower wall and speak the magic words: "Mortimer, you ass, open the goddamn door!"--and are instantly transported to your inner sanctum, a spacious chamber whose description you leave for another time.

>Approach the ornate mirror atop the dressing table, and demand explanations from your servant, Mortimer, imprisoned within
>Draw a much needed bath and soak away your aches and troubles, as well as the accumulated grime; everything else can wait
>Secure your notes and souvenirs in your study for later perusal, if you don't do it now, you'll just leave them all over
>Write-in

>>4553093
>Approach the ornate mirror atop the dressing table, and demand explanations from your servant, Mortimer, imprisoned within
Mortimer you ass, what happened

>>4553093
>Approach the ornate mirror atop the dressing table, and demand explanations from your servant, Mortimer, imprisoned within

Loving your sense of humor.

>>4553093
>Approach the ornate mirror atop the dressing table, and demand explanations from your servant, Mortimer, imprisoned within

>>4553093
Approach the ornate mirror atop the dressing table, and demand explanations from your servant, Mortimer, imprisoned within
Always love a wizard quest.

>>4553093
>Secure your notes and souvenirs in your study for later perusal, if you don't do it now, you'll just leave them all over

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>>4553099
>>4553110
>>4553121
>>4553177
>>4553207

You throw down your things and rush to the ornate mirror atop the dressing table. Its reflection is dark and impenetrable at first. "Mortimer!" you say. The darkness recedes and a grinning skull appears, cheeky as ever. "My lord, you're back! You know I think I've developed a form of Lockholme syndrome as a result of my long imprisonment. I looked it up, I have all the symptoms: escapism, dry skin, suicidal thoughts, sexual fantasies about being overpowered by my captor while wearing--"

"Silence!" you say, deeply regretting the purchase of this impertinent waste of silvered glass from that devious--but admittedly, comely--witch. You snap your fingers twice at your old leather chair. It springs to life and merrily shuffles over for you to sit. Then you get to work on your boots, unlacing them by hand. "Tell me, slave, why are there squatters in my land?" You look up. The skull opens and closes his jaw but no sound comes out. To think you even began to miss this imbecile. "Speak!"

"Ah, thank you, my lord. Squatters you say? I hadn't noticed."

"You hadn't noticed the town and it's two hundred or so residents that have settled around my tower, possibly over the course of several years?" The skull disappears into the reflection for a moment, then returns, still cheerful.

"Oh, those squatters. Yes, well, I didn't think you'd mind."

"You didn't think I'd--" you bite your lip. "One of these days Mortimer, one of these days--"

Before you can finish, the mirror shimmers and presents a panorama of the land which quickly narrows to the entrance of your tower. A short, portly gentleman and a burly, eye-patched one are trying to help the remaining guard shepherd a rather panicked duck. "It appears we have visitors my lord."

"Yes, yes, might as well get this over with." You clear your throat. "Ready?" Mortimer nods (as much as a disembodied skull can nod). "Insolent squatters! Attention! I am the great and powerful Zod--Wizard of the 5th Caliber, master of the Prancing curse, keeper of the Sacred Mango, et cetera. et cetera. You are trespassers. Get off my land post-haste, or be annihilated. Erm," (was there anything else?--these laces are so tricky, and you're altogether too tired from the journey, you really shouldn't have released the expert spell, it always makes you sleepy) "That is all," you conclude.

1/2

The menfolk, and now, it seems a few gnomes as well, fall into a vigorous discussion. The duck, having calmed down, is now staring sadly at a reflection of himself in a small puddle. You go back to taking off your boots. You've just gotten the first one unlaced when your servant informs you, "My lord, it seems they've prepared a response." The portly gentleman, looking up at the tower's cupola and violently dabbing his forehead with a folded handkerchief, speaks in a loud clear voice. "Now, look here, my good man. You can't just come around and start turning people into aquatic birds. It's isn't polite." He pauses, taking heart in his continued existence as something other than a scorch mark. "Now, we didn't know this was your land. We thought that the tower was abandoned. The monsters which plagued us in other places seemed to avoid this one. There was plenty of pasture for our animals. Wood nearby for our houses. Even a river. In short, we thought this was free real estate."

"FREE REAL ESTATE?" your voice booms across the entire town, throwing at least one cat from a fence and inspiring the aforesaid duck to attempt his inaugural flight (he instantly plummets, the poor bastard).

"We know better now, sir," says the eye-patch. "But we're here now, sir, and we ain't able to move out so quick, being our lives and our homes and our work and suchlike rooted here. We could pay, sir, rent-like--"

"Fool! What need have I, the great and mighty Zod, for your pitiful mortal currencies?"

"Surely," chimes in the portly one, "surely there is something we can offer?"

"You could use a feather duster my lord," says Mortimer. "Just look at my surface--absolutely filthy."

"Silence, slave." The one thing you could use are some living test subjects. Pigs, goats, maybe something from the forest. They're always such a bother to catch yourself, and then you have to keep them around until you use them, and then they smell and the manure gets everywhere.

>Accept; living tribute in exchange for not obliterating the squatters--and you'll turn the duck back too
>Accept, but the duck remains a duck. He must pay for his insolence.
>Refuse. This is YOUR land. Cue the lightning.
>Write-in

>>4553290
>Refuse. This is YOUR land. Cue the lightning.

>>4553288
>I will give you squatters one month to vacate the area. If you are not gone by the end of that EXCEEDINGLY GENEROUS timespan, you will face magics great and terrible.

Is one month enough time to evict them? Or is it too long you think?

>>4553290
Accept

>>4553290
>accept and turn duck back too
wait polymorph is permanent in this setting?

>>4553290
>>Accept; living tribute in exchange for not obliterating the squatters--and you'll turn the duck back too

Let's be somewhat nice. Give them one single chance to prove themselves worthy.

>>4553432
Polymorphisms have different variants depending on how the spellform is put together. John's Greater Polymorph is permanent, but others, like Loki's Elaborate Prank, wears off after a random number of minutes proportional to an Exponential distribution that has a conjugate Gamma distributed prior. It's all described in Loki's seminal work, The Mathemagics of Antics, Hijinks and Other Tomfoolery.

>>4553290
>I will give you squatters one month to vacate the area. If you are not gone by the end of that EXCEEDINGLY GENEROUS timespan, you will face magics great and terrible.
oh, and
>you may have your duck turned back too

>>4553290
>Accept; living tribute in exchange for not obliterating the squatters--and you'll turn the duck back too

>>4553290
>Accept; living tribute in exchange for not obliterating the squatters--and you'll turn the duck back too

Mortal currencies isn't so bad. We may have enough for some more books, plus a chance to replace Mortimer with that devil witch though I would never out of character.

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>>4553432
>>4553443
>>4553457
>>4553480

"Very well, I have decided to spare you all. In exchange, you will provide me with a living tribute before this moon's end."

The portly one and the eye-patch exchange glances. "Very well, Wizard Zod, we have a deal." Excellent, you wouldn't have had the energy to destroy them anyway, had they refused. What you need right now is a warm bath, a nice long nap and--

"Er, one more thing, my good wizard--"

Will these tiresome disruptions never end? "Yes, what is it?"

"About Mr. Porter here," says the portly one, flourishing his hand toward the duck. "Will you turn him back? Whatever he did, I, Rotomund Phlab, as governor of Towerton, do beg his pardon."

"Please sir," adds the eye-patch, "he's a father of six."

"Oh, very well." Unfortunately, John's Greater Polymorph does not have the customary reversal clause, so you'll have to prepare the full counter-spell. "Let him remain at the gate. I shall deal with him by day's end." The duck begins to waddle excitedly (no further attempt flight, however).

"Oh, thank you, your wizardliness," says Rotomund. The crowd disperses and you at last have some peace and quiet. You unlace the other boot, throw them both aside, put on your slippers, and shuffle to your desk. After rifling through the drawers you find your prize: a crystal globe about the size of your fist, containing within it a small reproduction of the hot springs in the mountains of Ghol. You strip down to your underclothes and, once ready, close your eyes and rub the surface of the orb with your thumb. When you open your eyes again, the room has switched places with the globe.

Steam hisses from thermal vents. An errant breeze blows hot vapors in your direction, joining your skin to its warmth. Without further ado, you slip in, releasing all your tensions, letting your mind drift inexorably toward that one burning, unachieved desire.

>To take the crown from the reigning Archmage, Jebediah Black, and become a Wizard of the 10th Caliber and finally prove to your mother, that no, you did not "waste your life on that hocus pocus instead of becoming a chartered accountant"
>To solve one of the three unsolved problems of Modern Wizardry: the Honeycomb's Time Paradox, the Don't Care Conjecture or Merlin's Exercises Left To The Reader #12
>To cheat Death--he is an astonishingly good poker player, and an incorrigible braggart
>Write-in

>>4553600
>the Don't Care Conjecture

>>4553617
This one seems the most interesting. +1

>>4553600
>To solve one of the three unsolved problems of Modern Wizardry: the Honeycomb's Time Paradox, the Don't Care Conjecture or Merlin's Exercises Left To The Reader #12

>>4553600
>To solve one of the three unsolved problems of Modern Wizardry: the Honeycomb's Time Paradox, the Don't Care Conjecture or Merlin's Exercises Left To The Reader #12

>>4553600
>To cheat Death--he is an astonishingly good poker player, and an incorrigible braggart
Lich quest!

OP how powerful are we actually? We're 5th degree, highest is 10th, so we're only at 50%? How many wizards are on our level, how many higher?

>>4553600
>To solve one of the three unsolved problems of Modern Wizardry: the Honeycomb's Time Paradox, the Don't Care Conjecture or Merlin's Exercises Left To The Reader #12
The Don't Care Conjecture, undoubtedly.

>>4553600
>>To solve one of the three unsolved problems of Modern Wizardry: the Honeycomb's Time Paradox, the Don't Care Conjecture or Merlin's Exercises Left To The Reader #12
Any problem will work.

>>4553600
>To solve the don't care conjecture
I already have a theory on this inscrutable problem, that despite being a conjecture, all the required information is already discovered, yet simply cannot muster the effort to make sense!

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>mfw everyone votes for the unsolved problems
Remember that you asked for this.

>>4553788
There's a few things to keep in mind. Firstly, the Wizarding community aka "The Gathering of Magic" is actually quite exclusive. Only Wizards of the 2nd Caliber and above are allowed admission, which is already something like the top 25% of thaumaturgically gifted creatures--not including gods, spirits, sorcerous plasmoids, sentient natural disasters, eugenics experiments, or the Blacks (the family not the race). Of those thousand or so, about three-fifths are of 4th Caliber or below, so called "Acolytes" or more colloquially "Prags" as they tend to be understudies, apprentices or willing prisoners of higher Caliber Wizards. Wizards of the 5th Caliber up to the 7th are "Sorcerers" and they make up most of the other half. There are half as many Wizards of 6th Caliber as there are of 5th, likewise for the levels up to the 9th. The 9th Caliber consists of the Council of Mages--fixed at 25 seats--of which the 10th Caliber Wizard, the Archmage, is head. Currently, the Archmage is also the only Black (again family, not race) in The Gathering.

As explained earlier, the Calibers are dependent on how many spellslots have been liberated. The exceptions are the 9th Caliber and above. Most of the Council members have 7 slots, the Archmage has 8. It's been a while since anyone has had 9 or more. They tend to ascend to godhood or turn into the aforementioned sorcerous plasmids, terminating their membership.

>>4553600
>To solve one of the three unsolved problems of Modern Wizardry: the Honeycomb's Time Paradox, the Don't Care Conjecture or Merlin's Exercises Left To The Reader #12

>>4553600
>To take the crown from the reigning Archmage, Jebediah Black, and become a Wizard of the 10th Caliber and finally prove to your mother, that no, you did not "waste your life on that hocus pocus instead of becoming a chartered accountant"

It'll only help solve our Wizard's Problems and cheat Death, that braggart!

>To take the crown from the reigning Archmage, Jebediah Black, and become a Wizard of the 10th Caliber and finally prove to your mother, that no, you did not "waste your life on that hocus pocus instead of becoming a chartered accountant"
Gib crown

>>4553600
>>To solve one of the three unsolved problems of Modern Wizardry: the Honeycomb's Time Paradox, the Don't Care Conjecture or Merlin's Exercises Left To The Reader #12

This shit is hilarious OP, please continue

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The three unsolved problems of modern Wizardry, aka the Trinity, the Big Three, the Threesome, Those Problems, etcetera, have plagued The Gathering of Magic since its founding, nearly two millennia ago. The problems have claimed the lives of dozens of Wizards, of every Caliber, of every species and specialization. Even the ascended gods do not dare to trifle with them anymore--that, they suppose is "wisdom"; you call it cowardice--as does every self-respecting practitioner of Reality misdirection. For the last forty years you've labored tirelessly to solve just one of the problems--just one, the Don't Care Conjecture--and for the last forty years the problem has held. Never mind the nearly unlimited power you would wield should you prove it (disproving it earns more limited rewards), but the pure, almost orgasmic pleasure of a solution so long shrouded is prize enough.

You return the modern form of the Conjecture: every combination of N-forms is homeomagic to a 2-spell, or equivalently, for every N-spell there exists a bounded equivoque, dubbed the "indifference transform", to a 2-spell. The Conjecture has been proven for the trivial 1- and 2-spell cases (which can both be done without using an indifference transform, obviously) and has even been proven for 3-spells--which revealed the existence of the aforementioned transform and the related Apathy-Potency-Enigma (APE) theorem; as a side-effect, it also rendered all 3-spells obsolete. That proof was given by one of the Blacks, of course (family, not the race) and propelled its author to his current position of Archmage. You are working on the 4-spell version of the problem. A few Wizards of higher Caliber are working on the 7-spell case, which many of the Gathering Council, including the Archmage himself, now claim is impossible (no doubt, out of a fear of losing their positions). The generalized N-spell case is, of course, the grand prize. Its proof would render all higher level spells obsolete. Preparing a Time Stop with only two spellslots? A Wizard can dream.

Back in your chambers, you happen catch a glimpse of yourself in the standing mirror. Harsh conditions in the Bearbor and your subsequent clean diet and exercise with the Ghols (which they accepted in exchange for room and board fare--strange people, the Ghols) have put considerable muscle onto your old bones. You can't help but flex a little, as you dress.

"Looking diesel, my lord," says Mortimer.

"Silence, slave."

>To the spellroom--to prepare the counter-spell and reverse the duck's polymorph; his family's probably worried about him.
>To the dining hall--to clean out your kitchen of junk food; the Ghol's taught you that a healthy mind requires a healthy body
>To the library--to call your mother and let her know you've returned, she'll gripe endlessly otherwise
>Write-in

>>4558489

>To the dining hall--to clean out your kitchen of junk food; the Ghol's taught you that a healthy mind requires a healthy body

We'll let Mr. Quackers wait a bit... it'll help the lesson sink in.

>>4558489
what?
sorry you lost me

>>4558489
>To the dining hall--to clean out your kitchen of junk food; the Ghol's taught you that a healthy mind requires a healthy body

Keep gains, acquire wizardry

>>4558489
>To the dining hall--to clean out your kitchen of junk food; the Ghol's taught you that a healthy mind requires a healthy body

>>4558521
From what I understand if we can figure out the theory we could cast any spell pretty much without a reaction on spell slots or a need for wizard "levels"
Like a lvl 2 wizard could cast 9th lvl spells.

>>4558489
Clean the dining hall and toss the food out the front door for the neighbor/pet people.

>>4558489
>To the dining hall--to clean out your kitchen of junk food; the Ghol's taught you that a healthy mind requires a healthy body

Everything else can wait.

No, I'm not ignoring you, Mother! I'm not a NEET anymore, but a Chad Wizard now! NO WAIT DON'T THROW OUT MY FIGURINES-

>>4558489
>To the dining hall--to clean out your kitchen of junk food; the Ghol's taught you that a healthy mind requires a healthy body

>>4558489
>To the library--to call your mother and let her know you've returned, she'll gripe endlessly otherwise
Most hilarious option

As you retire to the dining hall to reorganize your cupboards and eradicate all trace of complex sugars and starch, below in the town, the governor, Rotomund Phlab, watches the Captain of his guards pace in his small office. Rotomund Phlab considers himself a lucky man, a self-made man, a self-indulgent man, an optimistic man.

"We're screwed, Jenkins," he says to the Captain, cradling his head in his hands. "We're screwed."

"Sir, we just need to think is all. Think, sir!" says the Captain.

Rotomund Phlab is not a thinking man. He begins to sob. "What am I going to tell the people? Dear gods, what am I going to tell my wife? She never wanted to move here--and that father of hers! He's never had a good word for me. The last time we visited he took me aside and insinuated that I was--well, I shan't repeat it in polite company, but let's just say there was a question regarding my manhood."

"How did he insinuate that, sir?"

"He asked me point blank if I was impotent."

"Are you sir?" asks Jenkins, suddenly interested, which he expresses by adjusting his eyepatch, as one might his glasses.

"Jenkins, you know very well that I have two children."

"Yes, sir."

"They have my eyes. I've always said that."

"Naturally, sir. Unmistakably blue."

"Mine are brown."

"Yes, sir, lovely shade."

"I meant the shape. Very like my own. And little Tyler is spitting image, ah!--and earlobes. My grandfather used to say earlobes were the final proof. Attached you know, all of them--and mine," he offers the Captain a good look. The Captain confirms with a grave nod of his head, returning to his pacing.

"Living tribute. Living tribute. Surely it can't be that, sir?"

"Most assuredly it is, Jenkins. This is a Wizard we're talking about; a kind of god in the flesh--and what do the gods mean when they ask for tribute, Jenkins?--rhetorical question Jenkins," warns Phlab, for the Captain was ready to answer. "They mean flesh. Virgin flesh."

"Yes, sir. Flesh. Virgin."

"Alas, the only virgins in our little town are little themselves. Chastity has gone out of fashion in Towerton."

And Jenkins, being a bachelor, thanks god for it every night. "There has to be someone, sir, someone that isn't a child, that hasn't had sex, and that isn't of much use to Towerton. Who'd no one miss and suchlike."

Phlab, who'd been banging his head against his desk, suddenly sits up, illuminated by a flash of neuronal light. "Jenkins, my good man, you're a genius!--hyperbole Jenkins," warns Phlab again, for Jenkins was ready to accept the title. "Yes, yes," says Phlab, hastily putting on his coat. "I know just who to send."

Meanwhile, you've just finished removing the last of a particularly good chocolate cake your mother baked for you the last time you went to visit her (she uses sugar to force a kind of emotional debt upon her two children, for which guilt is the interest), when Mortimer informs you that, "My lord, I'm afraid the duck is gone."

1/2

>>4560150
"Gone? What do you mean, gone?"

"Gone: the past participle of go; no longer present; departed, as in "the Wizard's tender lover is gone". Informally, having reached a specified time in a pregnancy, as in 'the Wizard is now four months--'"

"Silence! Where has the duck gone to?"

"Ah, now that's the question isn't it? And the answer?" The skull pauses dramatically. "I don't know."

"Mortimer, I swear, I'm going to turn you back into sand."

"That's a master level spell, my lord."

"I studied sand crabs for the last six years, Mortimer. What do you think is their specialty?"

A pause.

"So, anyway, as I was saying, my lord, I don't know where the duck is presently, but I did see him being taken by several gnomes. To what end, for what purpose, who can say? The duck, for one, did not seem agreeable to the arrangement."

>Ah, well, it's not your fault the duck was stolen. As far as you're concerned you tried your best.
>Dust off your living armor and send it to the burrows to investigate; you've never liked the gnomes, bunch of greedy, long-bearded bastards.
>Prepare some spells and go down to investigate yourself--in disguise--it'll give you a chance to get the lay of this new land.
>Write-in

>>4560152
>Dust off your living armor and send it to the burrows to investigate; you've never liked the gnomes, bunch of greedy, long-bearded bastards.

Take every duck they got, as it would be hard to tell which is the one we want.

>>4560152
>Dust off your living armor and send it to the burrows to investigate; you've never liked the gnomes, bunch of greedy, long-bearded bastards.

>>4560152
>>Dust off your living armor and send it to the burrows to investigate; you've never liked the gnomes, bunch of greedy, long-bearded bastards.

>>4560160
+1

>>4560152
>Dust off your living armor and send it to the burrows to investigate; you've never liked the gnomes, bunch of greedy, long-bearded bastards.
I didn't expect OP to return desu

>>4560152
>Dust off your living armor and send it to the burrows to investigate; you've never liked the gnomes, bunch of greedy, long-bearded bastards

I am absolutely in love with this quest so far. It strongly reminds me of Terry Pratchett's works.

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>>4560152

>>Dust off your living armor and send it to the burrows to investigate; you've never liked the gnomes, bunch of greedy, long-bearded bastards
>>perhaps i could send out punchy the goose and handstand those homoculus know how to get stuff unlike Mortimer and they do speak duck and human badly

>>4564071
>*get stuff done

>>4560152
>Dust off your living armor and send it to the burrows to investigate; you've never liked the gnomes, bunch of greedy, long-bearded bastards.
So now we have a gnome infestation too? What’s next, our chimeras breaking loose? Ghosts squatting in our library? Our mother coming for a surprise visit?

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Gnomes. You've never liked them--not even the few gnome Wizards that are in the Gathering. They're always looking for ways to fill their coffers, not at all concerned with knowledge, just the bottom line. You don't know why they took the duck, but you'll be damned if a couple of gnomes are going to make you break your word.

Now there's something to be said about the catharsis of handling things by oneself, but as a Wizard of such high Caliber, it would be unseemly to mingle with lesser life-forms. Thus, all Wizards employ an array of slaves, serfs and servants, ever ready to fulfill the Wizard's every whim. Wizards of your Caliber also take apprentices, what are known informally in the community as "prags". You've never had a taste for mentorship and have instead resolved to using agents with a little less free will.

You descend to your laboratory. All is as you left it--the operating table, the workbench, the summoning circle, and of course, Lawson, your suit of living armor, lying in a small pile at the far end of the room. You approach the pieces of armor--still in good shape, albeit dusty. A quick wave of your hand vaporizes the dust and cobwebs. A touch of the crest on the breastplate brings it to life. It self-assembles, piece by piece. A greenish flame appears where the head would be and forms into something like a candle-flame, but with two holes and a small slash for a mouth, from which a thin, fragrant smoke periodically emanates, as if it were smoking an invisible cigar.

"Well, boss," says Lawson, "been a while, he said, in a voice as smooth as buttered glass."

Now you remember why you stopped using this idiot. "Yes, yes. Let's just skip the pleasantries shall we?"

"Now ain't that a fine howdoyado, he thought." Smoke-rings now. "Whatcha need boss? Got a job for me? he asked. The old man had been hitting the iron. Forget looking good for his age--the man was marble."

You close your eyes and sigh. "Yes, Lawson, I have a job for you. I need you go into town and retrieve a certain duck for me. Mortimer says the gnomes have got him."

"Duck? He smirked nonchalantly." The two eyeholes casually scan the room. "You starting a petting zoo? The old man was charmed by his wit."

"No, the old man was not," you say. "As for the duck, it's a long story."

"So gimme the short version."

"Gnomes took the duck. I want it back. Can you do that?"

"Easy-peasy, he lied. Lying was as easy as breathing now. The old man didn't suspect a thing."

"Gods give me strength."

"This duck got a name?"

"Porter."

"Porter. Good name for a duck, he thought. Porter. Port. Very aquatic."

"Yes, great. Look, I need you get him back before day's end. And he needs to be in one piece. I don't want another severed head fiasco."

"He wanted to tell the old man that if he didn't want a severed head, he shouldn't have said 'I want his head on a silver platter'--but he kept his mouth shut."

1/2

"It's an EXPRESSION, you utter pillock. And where did you steal that silver--" you rub your eyes. You should have stayed in Ghol. "Look, bring back the duck. ALIVE. Is that clear?"

"Anymore clear and it'd be crystal."

"Mortimer, get this idiot out of my tower before I suffer a stroke."

A poof, a flash of light, and the suit of armor is gone. All that remains is a final smoke ring, drifting lazily across the room. You return to your dining hall and take your supper--prepared according to the nutritional guidelines set forth by the burly men of Ghol--and then retire to your study to smoke. That was the one point upon which you and Ghols disagreed--they hated smoking--but what's a Wizard without his pipe? All Wizards smoke. And all Wizards smoke Southern Star. Southern Star--it's downright magical.

You've just made yourself comfortable on the sofa when Mortimer again interrupts you. "My lord, brace yourself." Death itself could not be more grim. You bolt up in your chair, realizing instantly your fatal misstep.

"Oh dear gods. I forgot to call her. I forgot to call her after I came home. Do you know what this means? It's been six years, Mortimer. SIX YEARS. WHY DIDN'T YOU REMIND ME?"

"I-I forgot myself, my lord."

"YOU FORGOT?"

"I'm sorry. I-I can't hold her back much longer."

"What do you mean you can't--don't you dare open that scry-channel, Mortimer. I'm warning you, you son of a bitch, don't you dare let her in."

"I'm sorry, my lord--"

"MORTIMERRRRRR"

"I'm so sorry."

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH--"

The mirror shimmers for a moment, the skull vanishes and in its place appears the warm, wrinkled, already teary-eyed face of your dear mother. "Zoddy? Are you there? Can you see me?"

"Mother!" you say, casually emerging from behind the sofa. "What a wonderful surpri--"

"Why didn't you call me once you'd returned, Zoddy? And not a single scry since you'd left? Not even a letter? Six years, Zoddy! I've been worried sick! You've no idea how sick I've been--with worry--and after six years you don't even think to let your mother know you'd returned?"

"Mother, I've only been back a couple of hours. Of course I was going to call you...eventually." She begins to cry, using her apron (which she still wears despite the fact that she has several dozen servants waiting on her hand and foot) to dry her eyes. "Oh, mother, please don't cry," you say, clasping your hands to your chest, trying to will the filial pain away.

"I hope you have a good explanation for breaking your poor mother's heart," she replies. Ice cold.

>Change the subject, it's likely to lead to some kind of future obligation, but will at least get her off your back.
>Try and explain that there's no scryception in a wasteland, and that you were too busy with your research.
>Lie goddamn it. Tell her you've met someone (she's been harping about that for ages)--you're in love. You can sort it out later.
>Write-in

>>4564820
>Lie goddamn it. Tell her you've met someone (she's been harping about that for ages)--you're in love. You can sort it out later.

Most hilarious option. Also I have a feeling we have a gal coming our way soon.

>>4564820
>Try and explain that there's no scryception in a wasteland, and that you were too busy with your research.
come on mom, we're our own burly wizard man now, can't we disappear for a decade or two

>>4564820
>Try and explain that there's no scryception in a wasteland, and that you were too busy with your research.

You know how magic is, it comes and it goes

Who really understands it?

>>4564820
>Lie goddamn it. Tell her you've met someone (she's been harping about that for ages)--you're in love. You can sort it out later.

>>4564820
>>Try and explain that there's no scryception in a wasteland, and that you were too busy with your research.

>>4564820
>no scryception

>>4564820
>Try and explain that there's no scryception in a wasteland, and that you were too busy with your research.

>>4564820
>Try and explain that there's no scryception in a wasteland, and that you were too busy with your research.

>>4564820
>Try and explain that there's no scryception in a wasteland, and that you were too busy with your research.

>>4564820
>Lie goddamn it. Tell her you've met someone (she's been harping about that for ages)--you're in love. You can sort it out later.

>>4564820
>Lie goddamn it. Tell her you've met someone (she's been harping about that for ages)--you're in love. You can sort it out later.

>>4564820
>No scryception.

I mean we probably aren't lying.

File: acfb2799503a45e7e69a0facc(...).jpg (83 KB, 551x763)

83 KB JPG

"Mother, of course I wanted to call you, but there's no scryception in the Wasteland."

"You couldn't write a letter?"

"Uh...there weren't any pens in the Wasteland?"

Your mother folds her arms. "Zoddy, don't lie to your mother."

"I'm not!"

"I know for a certainty that you were only in that awful place for four years. You were with those barbarians the rest of the time."

"Who, the Ghols? I'm not sure they'd take kindly to being called barbarians, Mother. Theirs is actually quite a sophisticated culture. Did you know they settle all their disputes with harmless competitions of strength? Better than the wars we have in our so called 'civilized society'."

"I see they've gotten to you," says your mother, giving you an censorious look.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've been starving yourself--just look at you! I've always suspected you were of the other persuasion, and now I see that it's all true. It's so clear now," she starts to dab her eyes again, "this is why you won't give me any grandchildren."

"Now wait just a minute! That's a common misconception. Just because the Ghols like to exercise and are inordinately fond of wrestling, does not mean that they're--and I'm not--I'm married to my work, Mother! To Truth. To my research."

"Ha! Yes, your research. And how goes that? Any progress these last FORTY years?"

"It's an unsolved problem, Mother," you say, grinding your teeth. "We've talked about this. Its solution would change the world, would transform magic as we know it, would turn me into a living god!" A peal of thunder cracks outside in the cloudless sky.

"Meanwhile," says your mother, unaffectedly removing a piece of lint from her sleeve, "Todd has a prosperous little kingdom with a wife and three children."

"Ohhh, here we go again. Yes, let's hear more about Todd, shall we? The golden child, the prodigal son who was never prodigal, the favorite."

"I love all my children equally, Zoddy," your mother says gravely. "Todd is very happy. If I mention him, it's because I want you to be happy, too."

Damn her. You slump down on the chair, resignedly rubbing your forehead. "I am happy, Mother."

"Are you? All alone in your tower, doing god knows what--going off on dangerous trips--also alone--carousing with savages--a man your age shouldn't be alone, Zoddy."

"I'm sixty-seven years old Mother. And I've never 'caroused' in my entire life."

"I want you to do something for me." Here we go. You brace yourself, but your mother never gets to finish her thought. Mortimer appears again, with a new message.

"Sorry to interrupt, my lord--Mrs. Zod--but we have a visitor."

"Visitor?" Lawson can't be back this soon, but it's just the excuse you need. "Oh. Excellent! Yes, yes, send the visitor in. I'm so sorry, Mother, but I really must go. Can't keep the visitor waiting."

"But I--"

"We'll talk again soon, Mother. Love youuuu!"

1/2

The connection is cut and the mirror goes blank, reflecting for a moment, only your own tired form.

"Um, excuse me sir," says a small voice behind you. You turn. You rise from the seat. A small girl, fourteen or fifteen at most, with sunken eyes and skin as pale as down, cowers before you.

"Mortimer, what in gods' name is this?"

"It's your 'living tribute' my lord."

"This is a little girl," you say.

"My name is Charlotte, sir," says the girl clearing her throat. "I'm a virgin--but not by choice."

"Oh dear god."

"Kinky," says Mortimer.

Meanwhile, near the gate of the tower, Lawson, the Living Armor, appears in a flash of light and smoke. The weather was fair, sunny, cloudless. Birdsongs and town chatter and peals of laughter mingled into a pleasant soundscape. Lawson surveyed the scene. "It was another dark, dismal day in the city of sin. In a den like this, there was no need to look for trouble. Like a bloodhound with a fresh scent, trouble would find him."

A wonderstruck little girl in pigtails stops and points at Lawson. "Mommy, that armor is talking to himself."

"Don't look at him, honey. Just keep walking."

>Take a closer look at the scene of the crime--slow and steady ain't just a strategy for turtles these days.
>Pay a visit to the town piper, see if he won't sing a tune or two about this ducknapping business.
>Sometimes the quickest path to a perp is the long way around--but this ain't one of those times. Head to the burrows and knock a few heads.

>>4566246
>Pay a visit to the town piper, see if he won't sing a tune or two about this ducknapping business.

>>4566246
>Sometimes the quickest path to a perp is the long way around--but this ain't one of those times. Head to the burrows and knock a few heads.
I fucking love your style OP! Zodd and Todd! XD

>>4566246
>Pay a visit to the town piper, see if he won't sing a tune or two about this ducknapping business.

We would actually do our job just heading to the burrows. Don't want that.

>>4566246
>Take a closer look at the scene of the crime--slow and steady ain't just a strategy for turtles these days.

>>4566246
>Pay a visit to the town piper, see if he won't sing a tune or two about this ducknapping business.

He's probably in a pub, by coincidence I'm sure. If not, we'll probably have to take him to one. For proper ambiance.

No rush, we don't have to be back by day's end.

>>4566246
>>Sometimes the quickest path to a perp is the long way around--but this ain't one of those times. Head to the burrows and knock a few heads.
or
>Pay a visit to the town piper, see if he won't sing a tune or two about this ducknapping business.

>>4566246
>Sometimes the quickest path to a perp is the long way around--but this ain't one of those times. Head to the burrows and knock a few heads.

>>4566246
>Pay a visit to the town piper, see if he won't sing a tune or two about this ducknapping business.

OP, never lose your way. This shit is hilarious.

>>4566246
>>Sometimes the quickest path to a perp is the long way around--but this ain't one of those times. Head to the burrows and knock a few heads.

>>4566246
Weird question OP but did you run a single-thread quest last year about learning Fightan Magic from a frog? http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/3425088/
Because I still think about that and this reminds me of it.
(If not that's cool too)

>Sometimes the quickest path to a perp is the long way around--but this ain't one of those times. Head to the burrows and knock a few heads.

>>4568486
Wow. At the risk of admitting my flakiness, yes I did run that quest. And many others, a few of which were even quite popular in their day.

>>4568513
HA! You magnificent bastard. I swear to god I still think periodically about that quest. Here's hoping this one lasts a little longer.
Sadly I don't have any more 500 IQ guesses about who you are I'd say Blorp but they fled to SV, so I guess that'll have to be up to another anon...

>>4568486
Thank you for that one anon

>>4568523
I confess I've written many quests under many nom de plumes, but I am not that particular QM. My two most popular quests were probably Elf Slave Quest and Peasant Lord Quest. Although I think I got the most players for the only quest I ever actually finished (and my personal favorite in terms of execution): Levy Quest. There was also Ex-Guard Quest which had my best attempts at worldbuilding. Yes I am drandruff and am something of a loser. One of these days I'll quit questing for good and start working on my novel(s).

>>4568693
Oh!!! I never read Elf Slave while it was going, but I enjoyed the archives. RIP Fantasy Restaurateur

>>4568513
Was bridge troll quest also you? The brand of humor and seething hatred of gnomes seems familiar...

>>4566246
>Go bust up some heads

I think we should also explain that being a virgin is not a requirement for a test subject. Now, does she understand the basic principles of the Don't care conjecture?

Because I'll be honest, I don't think I do either.

>>4566246

>Sometimes the quickest path to a perp is the long way around--but this ain't one of those times. Head to the burrows and knock a few hea

>>4568873
no that wasn't me.

closing the vote. knocking heads wins.

>>4568873
I almost forgot about that quest, that was a fun one.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-_MOSki7Ko
mother would be happy if we find someone like this

Beneath the tower of Zod and within the hill upon which it stands, a intricate series of tunnels connect a number of small, tastefully furnished burrows. These are the gnome warrens. The gnomes had come a few years after the villagers had founded Towerton, offering their services as traders, merchants, moneylenders, in exchange for their unfettered use of the hill. Rotomund Phlab was only too eager to comply. Nowadays, they maintain a respectable distance from their fellow citizens, preferring instead the company of their own diminutive species. Their leader, Gerome, is considered something of a holy man by his people. He seldom admits visitors, speaks little, and spends most of his time engaged in fasting and prayer and in the writing of a comprehensive history of those who had spent their lives in fasting and prayer. But for all his isolation and eccentricity, he is a good and kindly gnome, beloved even by the humans. His grandfatherly beard, his childish, mischievous eyes, his gaunt and wasted body, leaves an indelible impression on all those who behold him.

It is this same Gerome, peaceable, compassionate, fond of knock-knock jokes and of children, who is currently being held in a headlock by the Living Armor, Lawson.

"Talk old boy, or I'll have it out of you the old fashioned way, and you won't like me then--he said, tightening his arm around the geezer's neck," says Lawson. Gerome quite sensibly says nothing; he is busy suffocating. "He remembered the old man and how he had told him not kill anyone and he reluctantly let the geezer off. I'm warning you old boy, one toe out of line and you'll have just the nine left--and that's if I'm still feeling generous." So saying, Lawson releases him. "Where's the duck--and no games now--I ain't in the mood for 'em. He was, in fact, looking forward to a game of checkers with Mortimer when he returned, but it wouldn't do to admit that to the geezer."

"Yes, yes," wheezes Gerome. "I'll answer your questions, please don't hurt any more of my people."

"Nobody's dead yet, old boy. But that can change. A lie of course, but the geezer would never know. Where's the duck?"

Gerome rubs his tender throat. "Duck?" He searches his mind, trying to figure out a way to placate this clearly insane construct. Lawson advances on him. Gerome holds up his hand. "Wait."

"This look like a restaurant to you? Do I look like a busboy?"

What is the poor old Gerome to answer? How does one communicate with the mentally ill? What is a busboy? He needed time. "You are looking for the mercenary." A long pause. Gerome had long made peace with his god. His god was, in fact, quite fond of him and was waiting impatiently for him to die. Alas, it was not to be just yet; Gerome would live on.

1/2

"Gawain?" asks Lawson. "The mercenary, he thought, his oldest enemy. The one that got away. He would have him this time."

Gerome wisely nods his head, though he has never heard this name in his whole life. "He has your goose."

"Duck."

"Right."

And in a moment, the Living Armor, satisfied with this obvious lie, clanks away into a tunnel and is gone. Gerome goes to work. He would have the duck in his possession before the construct returned, come hell or high water.

Meanwhile, in the tower, you are trying to come to terms with the sullen, sickly looking girl you've received in place of livestock.

"Age?"

"14 sir, almost 15."

"And your parents?"

"Dead, sir."

"And who raised you?"

"My aunt, sir."

"Let me guess. Oppressive? Vindictive? Short-tempered? Ugly?" The girl nods in the affirmative to each of these queries. "It's all a bit cliche isn't it? Next you'll me you cleaned chimney sweeps and that you're wearing glass slippers."

The girl flushes. "I-is that what you're into, sir?" she says, beginning to carefully raise her frock.

"Patrician fetish, my lord," says Mortimer.

"SILENCE!" you say, calmly. "And you! Stop raising your frock this instant!"

"Are you going to ravish me, sir?"

"What--ravish? Absolutely not!" You look around--this is surely some kind of trap, it has the stench of that accursed wizard, Hansen, all over it--I, the QM, would like to take this opportunity to say that this is absolutely not that kind of quest. This is a clean, Christian quest for a clean, Christian imageboard. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.

"What then will you do with me, sir?" asks Charlotte.

What indeed?

>Kill her. You've been meaning to commune with one of the ascended gods on some of the finer points of the Apathy-Potency-Enigma theorem, a virgin sacrifice will do nicely to open a channel to the upper realms--they love that sort of thing
>The time and effort necessary to train this girl to help with your scholarly pursuits is too high, better she remain as a servant--your tower could use a woman's touch
>With some proper training and study the girl might make for a useful wizardly assistant, much as you abhor cliche--besides, this is a blue board, you can't just go around sacrificing little girls

>>4576249
>As pleasant as servants who lack free will are, perhaps someone who is not that enervate skull could deal with the villagers on your behalf to ensure this does not happen again. And who knows, as you explain the Apathy-Potency-Enigma to her perhaps you will get a breakthrough. Although that might mean a small education is in order.

I want the wizard to slowly warm up to her working as his apprentice over time rather than leap into it.

>>4576249
> First she needs to get FIT
> After that, wizardly assistant

>>4576249
>With some proper training and study the girl might make for a useful wizardly assistant, much as you abhor cliche--besides, this is a blue board, you can't just go around sacrificing little girls.
"It would be much easier if I was the type to sacrifice humans. Now your first task is to inform the mayor I meant animal offerings before this happens again."

>>4576249
>The time and effort necessary to train this girl to help with your scholarly pursuits is too high, better she remain as a servant--your tower could use a woman's touch
let her dust off the globes and such. I smell Hansen all over this!

>>4576249
>The time and effort necessary to train this girl to help with your scholarly pursuits is too high, better she remain as a servant--your tower could use a woman's touch

>>4576249
>With some proper training and study the girl might make for a useful wizardly assistant, much as you abhor cliche--besides, this is a blue board, you can't just go around sacrificing little girls

>The time and effort necessary to train this girl to help with your scholarly pursuits is too high, better she remain as a servant--your tower could use a woman's touch
We'll have to find another way to contact the ascended gods I suppose.
How do they feel about goose sacrifices?
or maybe living armor?

>4576249
>>With some proper training and study the girl might make for a useful wizardly assistant, much as you abhor cliche--besides, this is a blue board, you can't just go around sacrificing little girls

Better than the alternatives. As the old manager’s adage goes, “If you want someone trained right, train them yourself.” Begrudgingly accept this “sacrifice,” and use her to explain to the village what we actually meant later. Also, make a mental note to rub Mortimer’s face in how competent she’s become after sufficient training.

>>4577449
I'll support. Fuck the skull

>>4576363
>>4576364
>>4576560
>>4576580
>>4576703
>>4576763
>>4577177
>>4577449
>>4579227

Alright. Looks like the consensus is to teach her magic. However, as the prospect of also making her weight-lift and get diesel is hilarious, if there are no objections, I will also include this as part of her "training".

>>4579384
Sounds good to me, boss.

>>4579384
Yes! The Ghol drill! No more carbs!

>>4579384
Absolutely. That said, we may need to get her to a baseline level of health before the training can begin if she’s too malnourished. Also, make sure we don’t put her through anything that will stunt her growth. This child shall go from starving orphan to a paragon of physical fitness and arcane might. Mother may not like it, but this is what peak performance looks like. We’ll show her for shitting on our gainz.

>>4579914
I cast Fist to the Face

Free will is, of course, a tricky business, and generally more trouble than it's worth. Then again, you haven't had much luck with slavery either. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. You'll soon see what she's capable of and at worst, she can serve as an intermediary between you and the village--her first task? Procure the livestock you ordered.

"You were sent here as a sacrifice, you are aware of this?" She hangs her head. "You have no one, no connections to any living creature on this earth--"

"I did have a cat," she offers.

"No, no, that wasn't a question."

"Yes, sir."

"No one would miss you if I were to spill your--you did say you were a virgin?"

"Yes, sir but only because we live in a society--"

"Yes, yes, whatever the reasons, virgin blood has its uses--however!" You loom over her, enveloping her in your long shadow. "I think I have a better use for you. Tell me, do you even lift?"

"I can't say that I do, sir."

"No, I thought not. And, tell me something else: do you like eggs?"

She blinks. "What?"

Meanwhile, the Living Armor, Lawson, having trekked through vale and wood, river and road, has finally come to the lair of the dread cyclopean mercenary Gawain. Standing atop a bare hill, Lawson looks down upon a small valley in the forest. There Gawain and his loyal goblins, two-score in number, make camp. "I guess I'll have to try the stealthy approach, he thought," says Lawson.

"What? Is there somebody up there?" says one of the goblins, who had momentarily paused his patrol duties to relieve himself. He looks up from the parabolic arc of his excreta, immediately spotting Lawson's glowing head against the darkening sky.

"I guess I'll have to try the stealthy approach, he thought," says Lawson again, a little louder.

"What are you going on about mate, can't hardly hear ya. Speak up."

"I GUESS I'LL HAVE TO TRY THE STEALTHY APPROACH, HE THOUGHT," says Lawson a third time.

"Fuck me," says the goblin, hastily buttoning himself up. "We've got an intruder lads!" The goblin runs off. "Darren ya stingy cunt, give us your crossbow."

A few moments later, Lawson stands in front of Gawain's tent, bound in ropes and chains, awaiting the cyclopean judgement. "Well, ain't this a dill pickle? he thought," says Lawson. "He wondered how the goblins could have possibly spotted him. Gawain was something else; a worthy rival."

"Oi, put a sock in it, mate," says one of the goblins. "Noisy cunt," adds another.

Finally, the tent flaps pull back and Gawain steps out. His lone eye widens in pleasant surprise. "Is it Lawson? Oh, it's been yeaaaars. How are you?"

"What's that on your face, Gawain? You fall face first in a cowpie?"

"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times--it's pronounced "Gain"--and this," he says, wiggling his fingers over his face, "is a mud mask."

"What's it for?"

"It's supposed to be good for the skin."

"Aw, you didn't have doll yourself up for me, Gawain."

1/2

"Ever the rascal," says Gawain, laughing. He takes his seat on a tree stump, casually crossing his legs and folding his hands on the knee. "So, to what do I owe this rare pleasure?"

"I want the duck."

"Oh my, we are forward this evening aren't we? This is isn't at all how I imagined it--no candles, no fireworks, no chateubriand with a bottle of cabernet under the stars--tut, tut, this will never do, Lawson."

"What? No, the duck. Where is it? The gnome told me you had it and the old man wants it back."

"Duck?" he looks around questioningly to his goblins. One of them--sporting a beard and a monocole--approaches, bows and then whispers something in Gawain's bent ear. "I see...oh, is that right?--no," gasps Gawain, "Zod's back? And the duck? Oh, I see, how awful. Very good, Patrick, as usual, you earn more than your keep." The goblin steps back in line with another bow and Gawain rises to address Lawson. "It seems I hold all the cards this time, Lawson. I don't have the duck--whatever information you received was woefully--or else maliciously--misinformed. But I do know where the duck is and I shall tell you--if you can best me in single combat; well, you know the drill. I believe I'm at 9 wins and 8 losses?"

"Last one was a draw. It's 8 wins each."

"Is it? Well, who's keeping count?" He orders one of the goblins to fetch his sword from the tent. "So, what will it be? Will you fight?"

>A tussle with the old cyclops could be extremely painful--he's a big guy, even for you--but time is a-wasting and you never back down from a fight
>Maybe you oughta speak the mercenary's language instead--and it ain't steel, but gold; promise him the old man will reward him for the duck, as you're sure he will.
>Maybe he's telling the truth--you've seen pigs fly before--and maybe now isn't the best time to settle an old feud, what with the deadline.

>>4580124
>A tussle with the old cyclops could be extremely painful--he's a big guy, even for you--but time is a-wasting and you never back down from a fight

>>4580124
>A tussle with the old cyclops could be extremely painful--he's a big guy, even for you--but time is a-wasting and you never back down from a fight

>>4580124

>A tussle with the old cyclops could be extremely painful--he's a big guy, even for you--but time is a-wasting and you never back down from a fight
it seems these guys are eager for a little man on man action and I don't want to get in the way

>>4580124
>>Maybe you oughta speak the mercenary's language instead--and it ain't steel, but gold; promise him the old man will reward him for the duck, as you're sure he will.

>>4580124
>A tussle with the old cyclops could be extremely painful--he's a big guy, even for you--but time is a-wasting and you never back down from a fight

>>4580124
>A tussle with the old cyclops could be extremely painful--he's a big guy, even for you--but time is a-wasting and you never back down from a fight

>>4580124

>A tussle with the old cyclops could be extremely painful--he's a big guy, even for you--but time is a-wasting and you never back down from a fight

>>4580124

>A tussle with the old cyclops could be extremely painful--he's a big guy, even for you--but time is a-wasting and you never back down from a fight

File: mustrum-ridcully.jpg (1.03 MB, 1756x1407)

1.03 MB JPG

I just realised with the way wizards and magic is treated in this setting and the tone Zod is giving off some strong Mustrum Ridcully vibes just more swole and I now want a hat filled with inbuilt compartments and a crossbow.

>>4580527
Well luckily we don't have to manage the unseen university but just some unruly villagers and autistic servants

>>4580124
>A tussle with the old cyclops could be extremely painful--he's a big guy, even for you--but time is a-wasting and you never back down from a fight

>>4580598
can we at least get a orangutan to take care of our books? or a orangutan skin for Mortimer.

>>4580124
>A tussel with the old Cyclops could be painful

Come on OP, Iz really enjoyin this

Closing the vote here, in favor of the tussle. I'm a bit swamped with work at the moment so it might be a while yet before I can get an update out.

>>4583990
Looks like update will have to be in a new quest. Someone archive this!

>>4586771
No