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“Move!” She yelled as she swung up her shotgun; She had no need to aim at this range and Scraptooth was jumping from the awkward position, reaching down a hand to his gun, not knowing the threat's reach but trying to get out of it. With Scraptooth's shell pointed at Kicker she fired, and was already loading another shell by the time she confirmed two of the… claws? were bloody useless messes now, and there were several craters on the… chitin? Bone?

Lowtail fired his pistol quickly, hitting its claws and legs as it continued to crawl out of the sand, and she pushed him back to the bridge to make him retreat and stretched her claw to pull Scraptooth away from that thing.

She wasn't fast enough. Even with all the damage it had taken in the span of a few seconds, even with Lowtail firing twice again as he moved, it still hadn't made a sound or even responded to any beyond bucking a little when shot, and not caring any for it's wounded claws or legs it grabbed Scraptooth's tail and lifted him in the air, quickly wrapping several claws around his barrel and hips to secure its catch.

Scraptooth screamed an obscenity, unloading his gun on the creature as it ran away carrying him.

>2/9

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There wasn't any choice on the mater. Kicker and Lowtail dropped to four legs to keep up with the thing and gave chase, trying to think of anything they could do. The thing was fast and (however slowly) gaining distance, even though it was wounded and carrying Scraptooth who had dropped the empty gun and was trying to fight his way out of the hold with a knife.

“Go for the head!” Snapper yelled behind them.
How were they supposed to? The damn thing had no head!
“Boss, I've heard of these things.” Lowtail said. “Bug weapons! They take you to a pack if they can't get you on the spot!”

Were they so many claws around Scraptooth a moment ago? He was fighting just to keep a hold of the knife now, surrounded by more and more of them. Snapper's loud, penetrating whistling made them jump sideways on reflex, and the creature must've noticed them because it tried to jump as well. Snapper's bullet passed between Kicker and Lowtail with a sharp whine and a blast of hot air, clipping the side of the creature as it pounced.

The meat it touched exploded, tearing skin and muscle down to the bone. And even then it continued to run, without any blood and barely acknowledgment of the wounded leg. More claws emerged from wherever they did, reaching for Scraptooth's neck.

>3/9

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“The legs! Aim for the legs!” Kicker yelled at Snapper, pointing at them.

He whistled an affirmative, punching the rifle's lever. Kicker made a few quick claw gestures as she ran again, and Lowtail nodded his own affirmative following her lead.

They ran in an arc, willing to lose some ground against the creature. Would another one come out of the sand under their feet? Kicker didn't know, but had no time to care beyond a split second of consideration and mental preparation for such a thing happening. Now that they weren't between Snapper and the creature, he gave no warning before shooting and turning a chunk of the creature's already damaged hindleg into a red- no, magenta mist with his next shot, sending fragments of flesh and bone everywhere, everything under the hip falling twitching to the sand.

It almost lost its stride from the sheer force of the impact, but kept running on just three legs. It was slower and shakier now, and when Lowtail stood on its way and opened fire it tried to dodge him.

That was all Kicker needed. She reached it when it turned, grabbing onto the thorn flesh with a claw and burying the bayonet of her shotgun on its side to get a proper hold. Before it had the time to react she climbed to its back, her bayonet coated in something more like tar than blood, burying her knife on its chitin not-head to anchor herself, making it sway between the weight of two armored herreras and a missing leg.

“Scraptooth!”

He couldn't answer, too busy biting the emerging claws and tearing them to pieces with his eyes blodshot from the yellow claws choking him, his serrated knife swinging wildly.

>4/9

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Kicker buried her bayonet on the creature's back and fired, creating a crater. It still didn't bleed, just made a small splash of magenta tar.

But the creature, satisfyingly enough, shook from the hit, finally acknowledging something. Kicker loaded the shotgun again and buried it in the wound and shot again. Another crater and splash, this time not just flesh but bone as well, and the creature's one hindleg fell limp. It kept dragging itself on the sand, even as Kicker and Lowtail kept firing on it.

And then, just as suddenly as it had emerged form the sand, it fell dead, body sagging down and wheezing from somewhere Kicker could see and the hands growing limp and letting Scraptooth fall, panting and clutching his throat.

Lowtail was on him like a mother hen, pulling his claws away to properly look at it.

“What's his state?”

“He'll live.” Lowtail didn't look at her. “Nothing seems broken, but I need more time to tell and the inflammation won't let him breathe properly. I say we camp until tomorrow.”

“The Teeth won't like that.” Scraptooth wheezed.

“He can choke on a chode. Status?”

“Thing tastes horrible.” Scraptooth tried to smile but it was grim, with skin and bone stuck between his teeth. “Was about to pull grenades when you jumped on, boss.”

Lowtail nodded absent mindedly as they spoke, looking at the yellow creature. “They were bug weapons. Mines. They'd bury the eggs and they hatch to capture or kill you if you walk over.”

Kicker knew she'd heard about that, but needed a moment to remember clearly; The bugs just had so many weapons. “But the war was… over a hundred years ago. I thought the eggs had all died.”

“I thought so too. Maybe this one got lucky?”

>5/9

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“That's the kicker, isn't it?” Snapper said, flying over them, and did a flip in the air to pass the large rifle from his feet to his claws before landing with a distraught look on his face. “Wars keep going after they end.”

Lowtail was visibly uncomfortable at a friend and feather saying this, but Kicker asked him, however softly: “You think they're planting fresh eggs?”

Snapper and Lowtail considered the possibility, but the former shook his head. “No. That'd be a lot of movement on the border and they've never cared about us.”

Still, there was a weight in their chests. Once they crossed this bridge they'd be in bug territory- and not just for a day or two or to take the easier path, which was common occurrence. They'd dash deep for a mission she wasn't authorized to give them the details of until after crossing. Saying they were about to violate maw-bug peace treaties was putting it mildly and bugs, peacefull neighbours as they were, had almost no concept of diplomacy or gradual escalation. They'd investigate, ask questions, and if the answer didn't satisfy them they might attack on full force.

“If we fuck up we're on our own, aren't we?” Asked Lowtail.

“If.” Kicker said drily. She might not be authorized to tell them anything just yet, but she could assure them they weren't burning a village or something. She offered Scraptooth a claw and more or less coerced him to climb to her back. “That's enough, people. We're burning the body, crossing the bridge, and camping.”

The whole time they spent moving and setting up the camp, a nagging thought kept coming back to Kicker, that the teeth would be quite happy, quite happy indeed, if fang were at war again. Types like him went into withdrawal without it.

>6/9

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Later in the evening, as the rimlight faded, they sat by a fire. The bridge had been on its last tether before they crossed and they'd spent the last half of crossing it with planks cracking and even collapsing under their feet, and a strong breeze would've been enough to send them all tumbling to the rapids below. The season had been hot and dry, though, and the rapids below were little more than a tickle and this had probably given the bridge a slightly longer last breath of life. She counted her team lucky for this, and didn't expect the bridge to still be there come morning.

“Can the teeth cross this?” Asked Lowtail. “I know they're big, but…”
“It's his problem if he can't jump it.” Kicker replied without giving the mater any mind, and asked Scraptooth. “How's the neck?”
“I'll be fine in the morning.” He wheezed. “Boss, the orders.”

She nodded and took a small scroll from a pocket under her plate. “We are to reach site one, secure the facility, and wait for the teeth. Once he's there we look for…” She read the scroll. “'A cylinder seventy centimeters in width and a hundred and twenty in height.'. He will then deem if it's a threat, and if we are to take it to the Mountain or destroy it on the spot through explosives. Site two, three, and four are possible settlements we'll have to go around.”

“I can blow things up.” Said Scraptooth. “But blowing up something that size discretely is difficult.”
“Where's site one?” Asked Snapper. The initial briefing hadn't had any specific coordinates.
She took out a map and pointed it to them. Deep in bug jungle. They couldn't write it down either- another security measure pushed by upper brass.
“Any other questions?” She asked.
“Facility?” Asked Lowtail. “Well. That's new. Of what kind?”

“I don't know. I asked the same- neither brass nor the teeth would tell me.” Kicker poked at the fire to grab a piece of coal between her nails. “I'm unsure they know at all; Maybe we're not authorized to know, maybe we're acting as scouts in more ways than we were told. But I don't believe we'd be tasked to secure it for the tooth if he had to help us do it. That puts two possible upper limits to how dangerous they expect it to be.”

Snapper nodded, grimacing again. At least he had a bird's view, but some bugs could fly too. Not a lot, not as high as him, but some could. He'd have to be careful as they went deeper.

“Not dangerous enough to overcome a teeth…” Lowtail mussed. “That's a very high 'upper limit', Kick. Not a lot of things that can threaten them one on one.”

“It's something.” She shrugged, still contemplating the coal distantly. “Little things that slip by if you don't catch. We'll just have to find a way.”

The rimlight was almost gone now, leaving just the dark night sky above her and the fire's red glow.

>7/9

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Later still, when the rimlight was all gone and the sky was empty blackness, Scraptooth woke up for his guard shift. Snapper could just barely be made out a few feet from the fire, his head almost covered by puffed up chest feathers.

Scraptooth stretched, took a steel cup from the fire's coals, and sat with Snapper. The soup didn't taste like anything in particular and the diced beef jerky in it was leathery, but it was leagues above the flavor of the claws creature's arms.

“What's the deal.” He asked after sitting for a few minutes.

“What deal?”

“What you said today about the war.”

“That?”

“If we're thinking about the same thing… that'd be the first time you bring it up to us.” Scraptooth took a sip of the soup. “I always found it odd you didn't. Pteryxe usually do.”

“I'm army too. It'd look bad. And you're friends and weren't there, I don't blame you.”

“What changed?”

Snapper took his sweet time to answer, so long Scraptooth thought he'd fallen asleep or didn't want to answer. After a few minutes, though, he did:

“Remember that pteryx a few weeks ago? During leave?”

“Chick at the park?”

“Yeah. Live eggs. Mine.” There was some disbelief in his voice, like he was telling it to himself as much as he was to Scraptooth. “I received the news just a few hours before our orders.”

“Dude! You're a dad!?”

Snapper glared at him, “I haven't told anyone else, don't wake them up.”

“Got it. But what's weighting on you?”

“The… Just, the weight of it. In general. She said she'd like to date, and see where it goes. And I can visit them one way or the other.”

“Will you?”

“I should. Would be an idiot not to give it a chance, wouldn't I? And there's so few pteryxe left, I should be there to raise them.”

“Hey, no kids involved but been there. Dating someone you don't like?” Scraptooth gestured cutting his throat. “Don't do that. Bad for the kids too.”

“Liked her well enough to roll around. Pretty laugh, nice face, good chemistry between us.” He smiled a little for the first time in a while. “But that's not it either. It's…” He trailed off into silence.

“Start small.” Scraptooth said gently.

“Well. I think about, my father used to talk about raising me right. Was mad about me joining the army… for a lot of reasons. But what stuck with me was the time he was drunk and told me not to dare die before he did. Too many pteryxe have buried their children as it is.”

Scraptooth winced. “He's not wrong.”

“And I think I really understand what he meant now. Or I'm starting to, at least. I never thought about starting a family, and how if you're lucky the kids are still there after you're gone. Helps you get why someone would die to end a war, or be willing to go through with one. A little bit of you is left.”

The night moved on. Snapper fell asleep where he was at some point and the sky, black as ink, slowly lit up with rimlights.

>8/9

The day was boiling.

They were cold blooded- the heat was usually reason for mirth for claws, but today was too much and even they had to stop on the rare ocasions they ran into shadow. Only Snapper, who was flying too high for it, remained unaffected. Kicker found herself more than a little jealous of him and his wings as the day progressed.

At around midday, a small light blinked in the sky, making her spit out a curse under her breath as she took a mirror to blink a roger-roger to Snapper, wishing it wasn't bad news.

What followed was a series of blinked lights between them, the first advising Kicker to continue running to keep appearances. Then, in quick succession, the situation: Two bugs following them at a distance. No weapons or communication devices sighted. Skilled at tracking but not so much as to be reason for alarm, and experienced with the terrain. Not a particularly dangerous species, either. Most likely to be civilians.

>9/9
>wat do?

Damn, I'm really just totally ignorant of tgchan and all its derivatives. Questden? Get Ye Flask? Where did these things come from?

>>5417746
>wat do?
Continue on, but keep an eye out for somewhere we might be able to ambush them/catch them following us.

>>5417755
Questden is tgchan, they renamed for board culture reasons.
Get ye flask is a recent site that was made largely because TGCh's community administration is really fucking obnoxious and clickey

Is this advanced furryism

>>5417890
Yes.
Consider posting it on >>>/trash/ instead.

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>>5417755
Kicker told Lowtail and Scrapthoot of the chasers and signaled Snapper to keep an eye on the chasers, but otherwise they kept marching through the desert. Sometimes they'd run across dead grass patches with a dried out pond in the center and gnarled trees either dead or waiting, leafless, for a drop of water to fall down and breathe life back into their trunks. On these spots they'd also see -and once, stepped on- the dried out carcass of some small critter, husked out into a pile of fur and bone by the elements. Whatever wildlife yet remained hid well, staying away from the herreras that trampled through their domains.

But they didn't run into any good spot to lay an ambush during the day, no stone crops large enough or even tall enough grass to properly hide. Kicker knew the tall grass fields at the foot of the mountain where she could easily vanish by no more than lowering her head, and to her this growth, barely reaching her hips, was meek in comparison. Climbing vines coated in something like velcro would sometimes stick to their scales, irritating them to no end and getting stuck on their claws when they tried to get off. After the second patch of grass, they just let them cling until the rocky sand outside the oases took them off over time.

They didn't run into any during the day, at least; As the rimlight faded they saw another mirror reflection and followed it, deviating slightly from their route, to a stone outcrop surrounded by grass. In the center, under the stone's shadow, was another dry pond. Ambush or not, they were tired, overheated, and needed the rest and cover of this place.

Snapper waited perched atop the outcrop, staring into the distance.

>>5418305
damn thats a nice rock

i have no clue what to do as i have no military experience. but is there anyone anywhere out there? and eventually you must get into shelter is true

Great art man do we suggest here?

>>5418422
Yeyeye, don't wait for formal prompts. If I do multipart posts I'll say so and post them all at once.

>>5418305
>Meet with the bugs

They’re civilians and have no weapons. They shouldn’t pose much danger. If they’re willing to follow us this far might as well see what they’re on about.

>>5418632
Or you know just camp here and wait for them to show up

>>5417890
It would appear, I assume they got ran off and made their own chan on account of it.

>>5418411 >>5418414 >>5418422 >>5418432 >>5418632 >>5418636
Kicker, Lowtail, and Scraptooth walked under the outcrop, looking for somewhere with a little shelter. It wasn't much, but there was a concave area on the stone where the pond had eroded it.

But none of them moved start the fire even though, being cold blooded, they'd soon grow slow and morose without a heat source. Part of it was they were tired and still overheated, but other part was simpler: They weren't sure they wouldn't be jumped. Or if they'd lay a trap for the bugs.

When Snapper landed, Kicker didn't waste any time. “What's the situation.”

“Lost them a few minutes before signaling you here. They broke off from you and headed spinwards. Maybe back home. I couldn't keep track of them and you at the same time.”

“Could you find where they went?”

“Probably. Civilian places stick out in places like this.”

“Think they'll follow us tomorrow too?”

Snapper was surprised at the question; The “Deal with anyone who sees you” part of the mission was very loaded in an assignment the upper brass had treated so seriously. Still, he didn't take long to answer. “We'll find out.” He said with a small shrug. “They somehow foraged while tracking you. It looked like roots. So they could keep it up for who knows how long if they want to.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes.” Snapper did take a second to think about this. “It wasn't always two tracking you. Some time after I first signaled you, they spent most of the day taking turns to track you. Every two hours or so one would go away spinwards, and the other come back to take the spot. They know the terrain very well to be able to keep up with you and you and track each other so easily. Looked like they kept you on the very edge of their sightline the whole time.”

“Could have another way to find each other.” Said Scraptooth. “Weird bug stuff. Smell or something.”

“Land workers.” Lowtail chimed in. “Civilians, in as good shape as army, and know the terrain and how to eat off of it. So they're land workers. So…” He trailed off briefly. “…Are they coming to us or are we going to them?”

>>5418835
>Come to us

We’re tired.

>>5418940
+1
I hope we have enough food and water. dying of dehydration and starvation sucks.

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>>5418940 >>5419730
“They can come.”

“I'll start the fire.” Said Snapper, opening his wings. “You cool off.”

They took off their armors and first sat, then laid, on the cool sand. The rimlights faded little by little, and they stuck to their water provisions for the night; The heat only meant they had to last. They ate lightly and Snapper, who was warm blooded, took the first watch. The night was uneventful.

------

Come morning they cleaned their camp, mixed the ash with sand until it couldn't be made out anymore, and stored all the coal left in small pouches; if it became necessary they could burn it, inside the pouches, between their chainmail and armor to warp themselves up. Once everything was done they stood still for longer than they needed to, Scraptooth and Snapper sharing nervous looks.

The bugs didn't come, and after some time Kicker walked then ran off without a word followed by the other herreras, and Snapper waited a bit longer before taking flight. Maybe he'd have to signal the tooth too if things didn't go smoothly, which was never pleasant.

An hour later, Kicker cursed under her breath -and immediately felt dejà vu- when Snapper signaled her again with a light. This time it was higher priority, and he rushed his message the moment she confirmed contact: He'd sighted the bugs again, but this time they weren't followed them yet. Instead, they'd taken something metallic from the sand under their camp Snapper couldn't make out through his scope.

tgch >>1045103
“Something— did either of you see anything metallic under the outcrop?” Kicker asked without stopping running, feeling frustrated and still tired from the heat the day before. Something buried under their camp? Was it dangerous?

“No, like what?” Asked Scraptooth.

“Snapper couldn't tell.”

“Well, it was a pretty good spot.” Said Lowtail. “Maybe they've camped there before and left it there, and they took it before someone else came?”

For some reason, the idea of the bugs making metal things was difficult for Kicker to accept. She pictured them as just… bugs, which they were, even though she knew full well they had made some use of normal weaponry during the war. But she pushed the surprise to a side and tried to think of any other explanation. After a moment, she just gave up and shook her head. “We'll find out when and if it maters.”

That if and when happened a couple hours later. As twilight just began to tint the sky a light pink, Scraptooth stopped running suddenly. The others stopped just as quickly with their claws scrapping against the rocky sand for a few inches, and Kicker knew, with just a look at his face, he'd fucked up and he knew it.

“A can.” He said, and opened his bags to run a quick inventory, muttering to himself. Then, when he was done, he closed it. “Boss. They didn't bury anything, I left a food can at the camp.”

Army rations didn't have much writing, other than dates and -alleged- contents… but they were army rations, and that was enough. Everyone carried at least one day's worth, and it was a *trace* that'd tell the bugs almost nothing, but just enough.

She didn't say anything; Her expression was enough for Scraptooth and Lowtail. The later racked his brain intensely and spoke up, “I- I must've buried it. When we were taking care of the ash, or the coals.”

A moment passed.

“Boss?”

She turned away from them, took out her mirror, and signaled Snapper. The message was simple: To tell the tooth tailing them to delay his progress for one day. Whatever happened she didn't want him making a bigger mess out of things, and with his size he could easily retake the lost distance. Snapper noted his discontent in the answer, but roger-rogered on it. The second part of the message was what was more complicated, to find out where the bugs had gone.

He roger-rogered again, but added they'd save time by heading spinwards while he located the track. It'd save them time.

And now there was Scraptooth and Lowtail to take care of. Kicker rubbed her temples.

>>5421097
who are our enemies? also those claw fingers are cute

>>5423518
I hate writing meta posts but honestly, the enemy right now isthe fact that I didn't put a whole lot of thought into the minutia of the latest prompt. I came back to the thread today and reread it to refresh my memory and it's the dumbest I've written in years.
I'll come back tomorrow and probably leave >>5421097 as non canonical or something and just move on.
Tripcode on in case my IP changed since then.

On the third day after crossing the bridge, the squad took refuge from the sun under another stone outcrop. It was just too hot today, and Lowtail had ended up pulling rank as medical officer to tell them to take a break, which he others didn't argue with. Truth be told, while Kicker was too exhausted to talk and say it out loud, the only reason she hadn't done it earlier was she was in too much of a stupor to think clearly, and it took until a moment after they found refuge and caught their breath for the brain fog to diminish. It was a shorter but wider column coming out of the sand, surrounded by a dry lake and dead grass and trees like the last one had been.

Less than an hour later, they got a message through Snapper that the teeth had reached the same conclusion as them, and buried himself in the sand to sleep during the day and travel from noon to morning.

“So the big guy feels it too.” Snaptooth joked, leaning on the cool stone. “Not so though after all.”

“The size makes heat worse.” Replied Kicker without thinking, her eyes fixed on the horizon. If one could just survive this desert for as long as they wished and keep walking away from the root, one could reach almost halfway across the leaf before being stopped by the ocean. Beyond the bug lands lived glimmers, distant cousins of the herreras, and past that strange creatures wrapped in feather or fur, and animated marionettes who were said to live and remember forever. When was the last time she had even thought about any of this?

“Just joshing. He must've been pushing himself hard to keep with us in this weather, huh?”

“It'll be bad for him if we don't run into water soon.” Kicker said without concern in her voice. “Have you ever met a glimmer?”

“A tolsoy? Yeah. A family of them visited when I was a kid, we played while our parents caught up and they showed off how they could crawl on the ceiling, and were super squishy.”

“Do you think it's true they live so far so the teeth can't reach them?”

“One needs a lot of patience for tyrs sometimes.” Scraptooth chuckled a little. “But you really believe all that?”

“That the glimmer…”

“No, no.” Scraptooth interrupted her, “That the tyrs die if they go too far from the root.”

“Of course.”

Lowtail seemed to wake up from his stupor, and gestured at them to wait while he rubbed his face. “It's true, we examined a body at med school. The air thins out the further you go and adult tyrs are too big and suffocate.”

“I heard if you keep carrying them further they explode.” Said Scraptooth.

“Well that's bull-” Lowtail started, but stopped with a frown. “I… guess? Maybe? Kicker.”

“Yes?”

“We sleep through the heat too. Doctor's orders.”

They didn't argue with that either and started a small, perfunctory fire away with a pile of large branches near it. They laid away from it, and it was more like allowing themselves to pass out than falling asleep.

1/2

Kicker woke up to the thunderclap of a gunshot.

Her nerves were on end. Her pupils dilated, her muscles tensed to a near breaking point, ready to pounce and claw and bite before any coherent thought had formed. Before any of them was fully lucid Kicker, Lowtail, and Scraptooth were in a threeways back to back, reaching for guns that weren't there in holsters they weren't wearing. Their gear laid, in a pile, inches from there they'd slept.

A shell the size of their fingers fell to the ground nearby, still hot and smoking.

Kicker had the time to untangle the mix of reflex, trained instinct, and intuition she'd acted on. Snapper had fired from the air, which meant he'd take much longer to reload as he did the complicated air maneuvers required to operate a gun while flying. She didn't see anyone, though the rimlights were all gone and the world beyond their fireplace was inky blackness, and the others were still which meant they hadn't either.

The brain fog hadn't quite gone yet, and the verse of some poem forced its way to her thoughts, “Silence cracks open the halls of the dead”

She was still facing the horizon and counterrootwards, and Scraptooth and Lowtail facing her left and right. Behind them, covering their rootwards flank, was the stone outcrop.

>2/2

Alright, consider >>5419967 soft removed. First time doing that but there's a first time for everything

>>5425704
get your guns FAST but dont expose yourself in that direction they where aiming

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>>5426020
They took their weapons and a handful of shells each and made themselves ready, but nothing jumped them immediately.
“Gear up on ones, go!”
Scraptooth readied his aim on her side and took his shell, which normally protected his explosives from gunfire, as a shield while Lowtail, being the medic, put on his chainmail. Another shot, and a couple seconds later another casing fell near them, this time outside the light cast by the fire. Why hadn't Snapper perched on the stone to shoot yet? Firing while flying didn't just slow him down, it impaired his aim.
Nothing ran into them screaming, no fire rang in the distance, nothing but the complete darkness outside the light cast by their fire under an empty sky.

>>5426974
why is nothing shooting back at us is it some creature?, dont stare into the fire as it will ruin your night vision, hope nothing sneaks around the rock, can you see the exact direction they are shooting in?

/qst/ >>5427523
tgch >>1045724

Kicker looked away from the fire into the dark to keep her night eyes and tried to figure out what it could be: If it wasn't shooting back it was likely an animal, something that gave Snapper some reason to shoot from the air rather than perch. Her gut told her something bigger was going on, a feeling she couldn't place her claw on because, she realized in that moment, she'd been carrying it for days now. This… skirmish, if it's what it was, had just made it more intense. Given it something to point itself towards.

A white fl- no, a reflection! It was gone in an instant but her gun was already trained on the spot, and Scraptooth aimed his own gun at the same spot. Lowtail tightened the buckles on his chainmail as quickly as he could behind them.

Scraptooth had the better throwing arm and she wanted her nighteye. “Light wood and throw it.”

He moved. Wood crackling. Another shot, another casing. Silence.

Clacking; Lowtail must've begun mounting his plate. Scraptooth took one of the branches, felt it's weight, and threw it with a gentle swing of his arm.

Finally, a slight sound: skittering as the torch flew. A pair of white reflections (Wide and curved things) and by the time the torch landed, nothing was lit by it but sand.

She looked away from it and waited for Scraptooth to throw another, training her ear. Skittering. Who knew how many tiny feet moving at once on the sand.

Lowtail, wearing just the most vital parts of his plate, tagged Scraptooth's shoulder, who tagged Kicker. “Boss. Your turn.”

“You first.”

Scraptooth gave her his shell for cover and slid back to put on his chainmail.

“Give me one.” Kicker stretched her claw. Lowtail put a lit branch in it, “We throw together in three.”

“Roger roger.”

One.

Silence. Scraptooth slipping into his mail behind them.

Two.

Skittering.

Three.

>1/2

Lowtail threw and she waited a split second longer, eyeing the trajectory of his branch. Hoping her guess was right, she threw at a nearby spot.

More panicked skittering, his torch lit nothing but sand… then hers fell and lit… scarabs? Coating the ground, each the size of a child and with circular shells. It was like being lit by surprise turned off something in their brains, because they stood there, frozen in place, so many they were standing atop one another with their respectably sized mandibles waving slowly with their breathing. They were a layer on the ground more than a pile or a group, at spots three of four scarabs tall, their shells black and shinny. Were they aggressive? Were they people? She couldn't remember any speaking bug like this, and they acted like animals so far…

Another shot. Another case.

But it was so many of them! They woke up from their dazed status and, all together, opened their mandibles and screeched low pitched whines as they trashed away from the light. More screeching came from the dark all around them, and five seconds later it stopped as suddenly as it'd begun and the only proof they'd ever been there was marks in the sand.

Dust fell, sliding on the sharp incline of the stone outcrop.

>2/2

Kicker glanced at the dust and back at the dark, dead still. “How many branches left in the fire?”

“Three.”

“Throw two. Spread them.”

“Roger.”

Silence. Lowtail threw a stick. Scraptooth hadn't put on his chainmail yet.

Another shot. Another casing softly clacking against chitin somewhere in the dark.

More silence. The seconds dragged. Was Snapper firing at these? She didn't think so. They weren't hostile, despite having them surrounded, they just… were drawn by the warmth, maybe?

Another shot, surprisingly early after the last. Then another, and another, was Snapper just firing and reloading while freefalling? A new sound, soft stomping, faded in.

The scarabs screeched again, but it was no use: yellow arms flashed into the light waving each a caught scarab, trashing and screeching. Another shot ran dangerously close, making a plume of purple goo splash into the sand as the shot creature ran away.

And the scarabs didn't stop screeching this time, running into the light in their panic and biting at the air, tripping and flipping each other upside down. More dust fell and before Kicker knew it, red hot pain flared in the arm she held her shells with, scarabs falling from the stone outcrop and biting on whatever they fell.

>>5431005
I am not a military man i have no idea what to do i am sorry to say

>>5438026
why would you need to be a military man?

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tgch >>1046517
>1/5

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>2/5

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>3/5

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>4/5

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Was that a dream?
>5/5

>>5443205
seems our arm is broken most liekyl only fractured as its not bending in any odd directions, where are we what is that strange metal plate?
WAIT that was not a dream? there are new track?

>>5443561
New track?

>>5443965
yeah at the bottom compare the nondream and dream picture at the bottom of the nondream there are 2 new circles at the bottom

tgc >>1047558
qst >>5443561
Kicker stared at the claw creature. There were… an orange thing and something else before, weren't there? What happened? She didn't remember blacking out. Her memory just cut out as drily as the sand under her was. She looked up, hoping and knowing the hope to be vain that she'd seen the glitter of Snapper's mirror telling her he was on his way to her.

Shifting her position sent spikes of pain up her arm. It wasn't broken… not quite. But that bug had to have cracked the bone at least a little, and she worried the wound might be infected. She wouldn't be putting weight on it for, at minimum, a few days. Good thing when it came to firing she was ambidiextrous.

But Scraptooth's armor shell! He wouldn't like missing it (No demolitions expert ever did; Without it his explosives were exposed to gunfire and the elements) but it was the only thing she had. She flipped it around with her good claw to check under it.

The pockets inside the shell had a few bandage wraps, a half empty bottle of liquor, and scraptooth's water for the next two days. Under it she found a small candy which she ate thoughtlessly: The sweetness washed away a small but very needed bit of her worry. Her mouth felt parched, her whole body ached from the creature's rough handling and the scorching sun, her eyes stung, her arm was almost cracked, but even without being there Scraptooth found a way to ease her pain a little.

She kept checking the pockets. The only other thing she found on it was a small piece of flint and steel- too small for her claws, but she could make it work.

The wound on her arm hurt again, a pang like needles… and a bad omen for her. She wouldn't get away without more pain, wouldn't she?

"Fuck damn it." She said, grabbing the liquor. If it was Scraptooth's there wasn't a chance in hell it'd be soft, and she considered taking a sip to dull the pain but decided against the idea. The pain was the only thing keeping her sharp, and sharpness was the only thing she had.

>1/2

Kicker didn't give herself any more time to dread it, and poured liquor on the wounds, and being alone as she was she allowed herself to cry out in pain. It was like molten metal washing into her body, the dulled pain of the inflamation rearing up into a full on scream up her arm, her teeth baring and jaw clenching so hard it hurt, but some part of her, kicked in by a combination of experience and training, noticed she was holding the liquor so hard the bottle was cracking, and she forced herself to relax the grip.

Blackness climbed at the eye of her vision, but she willed herself, somehow, to close the lid of the bottle and set it upright of the sand, and to wrap bandages around the wound before it got dirty again. And then she didn't go unconscious- not quite, but there was a slackening of her muscles, a darkening of her vision, and a couple seconds or minutes that just slid by unnoticed.

The pain began to fade, just a little bit, enough for her to stash the liquor and what bandages she had left back into Scraptooth's turtle shell. More time passed and the pain kept diminishing, even became bearable.

As time passed, and she was dangerously short of things to do (things she could do) so she examined the claw creature from a safe distance: It didn't have any noteworthy wounds (Just a few stray shots on the rear, all of them bloodless, probably Scaptooth's and Lowtail's) and she had the feeling, worrying on its own, it had just ran with her until it died of exhaustion. What possessed these things to be this way? School had taught her the bugs… made them, like a kid shapes putty, as weapons of war. Had they made them to just run to death? Shaped their… heads like an axe, or an open book? What kind of mind devised such a thing?

Time passed.

She was in the middle of the desert, with no way to find the rest of her team or any refuge from the scorching sun on sight. The mission required her to keep marching counterrootways and hope to encounter the others along the way, but marching on this desert with her scales uncovered was certain death. Even Scraptooth's shell wouldn't give enough protection.

>2/2

Kicker looked back at the creature, realizing what came next. She had nothing else she hadn't used but the dead creature.

She walked to it slowly and feeling in her gut the thing would, any time now, rise up and stomp her into a paste, crawling slowly and keeping her good claw ready to attack. When it didn't jump up, she poked at it's gut with it. Bullets had pierced the hide, after all, it just didn't bleed after. Hopefully that'd make this easier.

A second passed. Her nail was still prodding at the creature.

It did not jump up. Little miracles.

She buried her nail on its side to test the resilience. It was too hard for that. She buried her teeth instead. The flavor was bitter, disgusting sickening in the way all cold dead sun bleached meat is to a predator. But she kept digging her teeth in it, pressing until she poked a hole through…

…and had to pull her head away in disgust,retching on an empty stomach: Flatulent gas was leaking out of the hole she'd poked in the smooth, furless hide, smelling of rot and somehow bitter like the smell of grass. The gas kept escaping for several minutes, the creature slowly deflating before her eyes, until it went from plump looking to a sack of bones. Once she was sure all the rot-gas had leaked out, she poked her nails into the hole and worked on expanding it.

Most of her day went away on that, slowly tearing off the creature's gut skin. When she was done, she had a ragged patch that should work as a tunic. How long it'd last before rotting into nothingness, or if the desert heat would tan it, she had no way of knowing.

>1/2

tgc >>1047644 >>1047686
Kicker looked back at the creature, realizing what came next. She had nothing else she hadn't used but the dead creature.

She walked to it slowly and feeling in her gut the thing would, any time now, rise up and stomp her into a paste, crawling slowly and keeping her good claw ready to attack. When it didn't jump up, she poked at it's gut with it. Bullets had pierced the hide, after all, it just didn't bleed after. Hopefully that'd make this easier.

A second passed. Her nail was still prodding at the creature.

It did not jump up. Little miracles.

She buried her nail on its side to test the resilience. It was too hard for that. She buried her teeth instead. The flavor was bitter, disgusting sickening in the way all cold dead sun bleached meat is to a predator. But she kept digging her teeth in it, pressing until she poked a hole through…

…and had to pull her head away in disgust,retching on an empty stomach: Flatulent gas was leaking out of the hole she'd poked in the smooth, furless hide, smelling of rot and somehow bitter like the smell of grass. The gas kept escaping for several minutes, the creature slowly deflating before her eyes, until it went from plump looking to a sack of bones. Once she was sure all the rot-gas had leaked out, she poked her nails into the hole and worked on expanding it.

Most of her day went away on that, slowly tearing off the creature's gut skin. When she was done, she had a ragged patch that should work as a tunic. How long it'd last before rotting into nothingness, or if the desert heat would tan it, she had no way of knowing.

>1/2

And under the skin the creature was, not, anytihng she could call natural. It was made of flesh, alright, but there were no intestines or stomach, instead green and yellow structures that almost looked made out of fiber. What she guessed was a heart was right in the center, encapsulated by a hollow bone chamber, held in place by tendon and muscle. Around it were four… lungs that against all sense still moved, slowly, making whistling and wheezing sounds as they forced rotten air to move.

And the oddest part was a chitinous skull embedded in the chest, in front of the heart chamber between two lungs, it's toothless snout elongated and with tubes running in and out of the mouth and neck, it's empty eyesockets letting her see what had to be a brain contained in a balloon made of transparent film.

She didn't want to look at this. The bug exoskeleton of a skull might at any moment turn her way and say something macabre she'd rather not hear. The legs might move and crush her. The lungs might wheeze out a voice and ask to be allowed to die like all the other flesh around them.

Night was falling and she was exhausted, but she wouldn't sleep. She wouldn't waste the cool air, and she wouldn't allow herself to lay again, vulnerable, near this pantomime of a living being.

She covered her head and barrel on the skin, held it in place by wearing Scrapooth's shell, and didn't run away from the creature.

------------------------------

Next noon, she woke up half buried by sand. Had wind picked up during the day? She forced herself up through the weight of the sand and her gear and exhaustion, and looked at the horizon. The rimlights were fading as the sky turned to a pink hue, but she could still see the root perfectly and orient herself with it.

She kept scanning the sky, hopefully. No glitter, no sign of Snapper.

Had the fire…

No.

A waste of thought. She'd find out if she found out.

Kicker took a deep breath, drank the day's water ration (A single sip out the canteen, and even that was too much considering how much she had), and started running again. Her stomach growled. She ignored it.

------------------------------

Another day passed. She woke up not buried this time, and looked at the last of her water miserably then up to the sky. No glitter. Back to the water. Her head felt about to burst, and her hurt claw screamed with her every motion.

Something passed above her head, quick and small and whistling. A bullet. Adrenaline filled her.

>2/2

>>5417723
what is crossing the rubicon about
look like a cool setting

>>5450372
Kicker, Lowtail and Scraptooth (Three herreras, or in the army, claws) and Snapper (A pteryx, or feather) are leading and scouting a path with a tyrant (Or tooth/Fang) follows them at a day's distance due to his size. If they see a group of people, they are to signal the fang to avoid the people or wait for the scouts to deal with it. Their country and the bug's had a war and they can't be caught doing a highly classified mission in bug territory. They're pretty much on their own if that happens. More details about the mission at >>5417742 .
Presently, there was a bushfire and attack that separated Kicker, the scout squad's commander, from the rest of her team. And after wandering the dessert with barely any water and no food for several days she's being shot at.

>>5450382
oh so its its like some pseudo CIA mission with lizard knights with guns and weird monsters, pretty cool

Alright so are there any issues with the quest or what.
I've been QMing for a longass while and hadn't ran into just not getting replies in at least six years now, I'm doing some stuff that's pretty uncharacteristic for me so I expected mixed results, but at this point the (lack of a) reaction just puzzling.

>>5455492
Not sure if that's what you want to hear, but I checked out the thread when I first saw it on the catalog but it seemed too weird and I got filtered by wall of text.

Skimming through the thread, did you really use no prompts at all? Were you purposely trying to make the barrier to entry as high as possible?

>>5455519
I don't know how to not be insulting here so I won't try, I don't care for players who need prompts to function. Never did that before, yet to see any good reason to.
Needing a prompt is pretty much needing to be able to make an uninformed choice. Don't want that.

>>5455492
Between the fact that it led with a bunch of unfamiliar and esoteric setting jargon and was a crossposted, I assumed it was some sort of long-running quest or a fanfic quest for a setting I'd never heard of. Is it? I'm still unclear. Regardless, that was my first impression and it put me off looking into it further despite the cool premise (I think?) and the nice art. I already have so many quests on the go, and this just didn't grab me.

>>5455543
>Between the fact that it led with a bunch of unfamiliar and esoteric setting jargon and was a crossposted, I assumed it was some sort of long-running quest or a fanfic quest for a setting I'd never heard of. Is it? I'm still unclear.
Nope to all, I just felt like making a setting. I have some stories to introduce it hovering in my head but never planned to make such a thing necessary.

>>5455492
>are there any issues with the quest
>the (lack of a) reaction just puzzling
>>5455535
Yeah, I think I've figured out the problem. You shouldn't be surprised that a quest you purposely designed to be obtuse proves to be unpopular. Instead, adjust your expectations and either make your quests friendlier to newcomers or accept that there are few to no players who are autistic enough to try and figure out how your brain works in order to participate.

>>5455555
Quinto-quints of deception and foolishness.
But no, jokes aside, I'm perfectly fine with "reading comprehension" being a barrier to entry and don't want players who can't do that. If the posts are too long that's a separate issue.

>>5455557
Then you're fine with how this quest ended, right?

And to answer your other assumption, prompts aren't a matter of reading comprehension or stupidity or whatever else your autistic brain tells you. Prompts are training wheels, they guide anons and help them realize what's possible so they can plan and write their own write-ins. You can get away with not using prompts if your quest is easy to get to, by setting it in an existing property or toning down the worldbuilding autism, for example, but you can't drop people in a weird setting with no directions, ask them "what do?" and expect serious answers.

>>5455563
Anon, if the worldbuilding autism had anything to do with the prompts I'd agree with you, but it hasn't at all. I'm not asking players to choose between quajingas and jijimbos because the yiguzy is blue or any such nonsense. Every prompt has been something direct and approachable like "you were already dying in the desert and now you're being shot at."

Reminder that you brought up this quest in the discord and everybody told you not using prompts was a dumb idea and you'd scare off players. And now you're surprised that you scared off all your players?

>>5455566
Dying in what desert? Are there any oases or cities or anything that might save me so that I can haul ass towards salvation? Do I have any water left or is it time to consider exsanguinating someone or drinking cacti? Shot by whom and with what? Can I run or will I get gunned down without cover? Can I hide behind a dune? Do I have any weapons that can return fire? I'm apparently a dino, is my hide tough enough to withstand fire so I can charge them and bite their head off?

Players need answers to those and a ton of other questions in order to formulate a plan. A prompt provides those answers in one easy to process format. It shows their capabilities and their options in a way that eases them into the role, especially if you plan to start by putting them into danger. I didn't read your quest, but can you honestly say you gave your players all the info they needed to make a plan?

>>5455492
I liked the pictures anon but personally I didn't engage with the walls of text and lack of prompting. Your setting seems interesting but between it and your characters I'd have no idea what would be considered an appropriate response or how plot decisions actually get made with the whole crossposting thing. It just immediately went on my 'check back later to see how it developed' list.

Seems like other folks covered the points I was gonna make already, but one bit of advice I'd give is to take a look at the other quests currently on the board to get a feel for how they work--you mentioned you ran on another site before, so it couldn't hurt to get a feel for what works on /qst/ at the moment. You seem passionate about this story so I hope you continue, but at the same time I think it could definitely benefit from the advice some of these anons are giving. You asked for feedback and you don't have to take it, but it certainly couldn't hurt.

>>5455648
oh yeah I got what I asked for, there's stuff here I'll weight in.

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Another shot.
Kicker's anger took her over for a moment, and she found herself turning to growl at the aggressor.
Another shot. Sand splashed her feet.
...to growl at an aggressor who wasn't there. Not right next to her, anyways. This was a sharpshooter.
Another shot. This one just buzzed by her crouched head. Five now?
...not much of a sharpshooter. The rimlights were fading into dusk, but she was still perfectly visible. The rate of fire was respectable, but Snapper would've got her in one. She held the irrational want to laugh. That was the thirst and hunger and heat and loneliness, it had to be. She'd never be so unprofessional otherwise.
Something slammed her on the back hard enough to make her stumble forward a coupld steps. Six shots, and the only hit was on her armor. The shots came from a rock outcrop a ways behind her.

>>5456116
What would she do next?
>Drop and take cover until it's dark
>Keep walking, he's a terrible shot
>Run
>Turn around and charge at the sniper
>Something else
Seriously, why are you so allergic to prompts?

>>5456212
>>5456116
>Turn around and charge at the sniper

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tgc >>1048734 >>1048731
qst >>5456468
With no cover or weapons, her only options were to charge or to cower under the armor shell, and cowering would get her killed. Who knew how much ammo they had?

Gunshots cratered the sand around her, and she turned around and began running in one swift motion, the sand slipping from under her feet from the sheer force the adrenaline conferred her legs. She bit her tongue and felt herself scream, forcing herself to move. Another shot flew by, gracing her neck. She lowered her head and shut off everything but running forward.

Thirty steps. Sand cratered in front of her, splashing her face. Inhale. Exhale. Her legs pumped. Her wounded arm screamed. The sand kept sliding from under her. She adjusted her feet, shifted the angle slightly to adjust. More shots flew. Two graced her face, and one hit the shell and almost made her legs buckle under her.

At some point she found herself at the rock outcrop. The shots had stopped a while ago, but she still twitched every time she expected one to happen. Like this, panting and forcing her breath to calm down, she walked all around the outcrop until she found a door. Ancient wood. Something engraved on it. She was still panting, but had almost calmed that down by now. Through the cracks in the door, she could peer ancient steps sculpted into the stone, going up a winding and twisting stairway.

Kicker pocked her wounded arm into the hallway, but it wasn't shot off and, having no other options, she climbed up the steps. Coolness hit her like a brick wall when she entered, giving her a brief dizzy fit. The climb was uneventful other than that, and at the top she peeked her arm, then her head into the room.

The bug inside wheezed as hard as she had after the charge, its legs shaking just with the effort of staying. Some kind of creature she vaguely recalled from photos of bug guns stuck to the side of its body, breathing more calmly, its long snout poking out the window almost a foot long.

>>5456212
>Seriously, why are you so allergic to prompts?
Oh! Earlier you (and everyone else in qst who brings the topic, really) banged on about accessibility, so I spoke on that subject exclusively and I already made my thoughts on the mater clear, but I should give the full answer. I sometimes list possible prompts, for myself, to make sure I gave the players a wide enough range of choice. If I can't think of at least three it's railroading imho.
But I don't give prompts because I'm interested in what the players have to say. Giving a ABCD choice erodes that voice and reduces the likelyhood of players surprising me with their answers, which I always seek. I guide the answers with prose, but don't want to do it with a list.
If I wanted to do ABCD choices, I wouldn't be doing a live interaction format. Doing that removes much of what I get from the craft, so I don't and won't.

>>5456495
Kill it.

>>5456764
Look man, you still don't understand. Hiding the prompts doesn't encourage player creativity. It encourages them to play "guess the password" with the prompts that you generated yourself. If you give them prompts, they'll have a base of workable solutions to jump off and use their creativity. Without a prompt, they'll just pick the easiest and simplest solution that comes to mind because they can't read your mind and have no idea what you consider possible.

Let's take the last update you posted as an example. What am I even supposed to be voting on? Whether to kill it or not? Is there any not to? Can it be used as a hostage? Does it have useful intel to make an interrogation worth it? Can whatever passes for its blood be drunk to quench the MC's thirst? Is the MC even ruthless enough to torture it or drink its blood? Or am I off base and I'm supposed to vote how to attack it? I don't know because I can't read your mind and you made no effort at all to show me where player input is supposed to go. This is just a fanfic that you cat at an arbitrary point.

I am willing to keep trying to help if you want, but you really have to let go of your "NO PROMPTS" autism. You say you generate the prompts for yourself. Show me. What prompts are there for this update? What are the options that I was supposed to guess?

>>5457588
>Is there any not to?
Is there any reason not to, no idea how that word got deleted.

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tgc >>1048815
qst >>5457065

Kicker didn't waste time and jumped, arcing back her good claw during the motion and bending a knee to spring forward, allowing herself to freefall for less than a split second. For that brief instant, the dizziness and exhaustion and heartache stopped existing, replaced with the cold calculation of where and how to land the hit.

She reached the right spot and sprung up her bent knee, noticing the bug was moving its arms. Time didn't slow down for her: Once violence exploded it only burst by faster and faster. She readied to use her wounded claw. The bug grabbed something from the windowsill- a gun aimed at her face. She slapped it out of the way with her wounded claw, and was surprised at how strong the bug's hold on its gun was. Flame burned at the back of the claw as the gunshot went wild, scrapping against her scales.

The claw she'd swiped with connected: Without a thought she'd grabbed the by the shoulder with her good claw and was holding the gun at bay with the other, though she didn't have the strength to make him drop it. His strength continued to surprise her as she pinned it down, not quite managing to break out of her hold with his weak legs but able to match her arm strength equally.

And, jut like that, the violence was over. She panted. He wheezed more. What now? The adrenaline would fade. They'd grow exhausted.

“Here to finish the job?” He said, pronouncing it something like “'ere to fi'ish the yob”. She had noticed how rugged he looked, but by the mountain, his voice sounded ancient, and manic. It wasn't a wonder his legs were so weak and he'd missed so many shots.

“What?”

“Here to finish…” He wheezed again. “The others aren't answering. I knew the war never ended, I knew it…” War? The war had ended before her grandmother was born! She let him spin his wheels, catching her breath. “I keep asking the Whole for orders, and they say it ended, until they just stop answering… and now the others don't answer either. But you finished them off, didn't you? Your people was right patient, it was… I'm next, aren't I?” A small burst of strength came to the leg he held a pistol with, but she was able to keep him pinned. “Betrayers, sibling-killers…”

>>5457802
I don't know what your talking about. I have no beef with you!

>>5457802
There's no reasoning with crazy holdouts.
"Wars over for you, you old bugger. Surrender or die, I'm not picky."

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>qst >>5458245
>tgc >>1048822
“I have no quarrel with you.” She pressed his shoulder harder. “I am lost and looking…” Did she really want to mention her friends? The mission still required discretion. “…for safety and you shot me unprovoked.”
“Like shit,” He trashed and screamed, shooting his handgun- she couldn't tell if on purpose or on accident, but it made her ears whistle. “A saur whould never, you'd never be here for no reason-”

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tgc >>1049018 >>1049023
qst >>5459218
“You fought in the war?”
“Yes!”
“Then you know I could've killed you.” Kicker pressed his shoulder harder. “Do you think a herreras claw would stop at just cuddling if they wanted you dead?”
He mumbled something, but cut it out and stopped the trashing, his antennae relaxing.
“Good.” She continued, relaxing her grip just a bit. “I won't hurt you if you don't make me. Can I trust you?”
The bug was frozen for a moment, tensing again, so rigid for a moment Kicker considered he might've had a heart attack. But he relaxed again, and mumbled out something.
She let him go, still tense.
He slapped his bug-gun rifle out of the wall, where it was waving its snout in the air, “You're lucky. Nancy almost shot your brains off.”
“Nancy?”
“My farshooter.” He said as he huddled down, crossing his arms and seeming to wither into the corner under the window. “Don't mater if you got them or this freak heat did. They're gone.”
“Who is?”
“My friends. Not answering the radio. Too old to go check.”
Kicker turned around and scanned the room as he spoke: for being seemingly alone in the middle of nowhere, he was well stocked. He could probably last two more weeks if he ate as much as she did just on the jars here. And water! It felt like ages since she'd seen a whole glass of water, nevermind a bottle.

New thread >>5462556