>>5517206
> (write-in) Kill yourself.

>>5517206
>a small, barren island of rock with a few shrubs and not much else, floating weightless in an endless sky illuminated by a huge but dim orange sun

Skyblock start, go!

>>5517206
>a surprisingly homey cottage with a grassy meadow outside the window, a blue sky, and a warm summer breeze wafting through, smelling faintly of honeysuckle

>>5517206
>a small, barren island of rock with a few shrubs and not much else, floating weightless in an endless sky illuminated by a huge but dim orange sun

>a small, barren island of rock with a few shrubs and not much else, floating weightless in an endless sky illuminated by a huge but dim orange sun
You always knew she wasn't one for interior design, but this is pitiful. It looks like she never even *used* the place. Actually... now that you think about it, you have no idea how to use it. You're not gifted with magic, after all. Mana is created in the ovaries (you've always thought it ought to be called womana), and you don't have any.

As your mind drifts, you cringe, remembering all the times your mother cursed you venomously for having been born a boy. She'd wanted a girl to carry on her matriline's legacy of witchcraft, whose price is sacrificing all but one's firstborn to feed the dark masters - meaning you were her only chance, and somehow, she blew it. Instead of blaming herself for sloppy fertility spells, she blamed you.

Shaking your head to clear it, you return to the task of controlling the place. It'll be useless if it's just one little island - there's not even enough space for a house. (And you desperately need one, to get out of the filthy slum apartment you ran away to a few years ago.) You know the demiplane must obey your orders, so you try speaking to it. Maybe you don't even need your own mana?

"Demiplane, can you hear me?" Instantly, a spectral voice in your mind replies, "Yes. I can hear your thoughts - you need not speak aloud." You're a bit unnerved, as this implies it can hear what you thought about its previous owner, but you continue, silently now.

"Okay. Demiplane, please..." You pause. What do you even want to do?
>Expand the island into a wide flat plane. It's unnerving to be this close to the edge.
>Create more islands and link them with bridges, and maybe railings on the edges.
>Transform the island into a floating stone palace with multiple levels - and railings!
>Create an ocean of water and set the island to float in it, so you won't fall into space if you fall off.
>write in

>>5517415
>Create an ocean of water and set the island to float in it, so you won't fall into space if you fall off.

>>5517415
>Create more islands and link them with bridges, and maybe railings on the edges.

"Okay. Demiplane, please... um. Can you create an ocean and have this island float on top? That way I won't have to worry about falling off."

If you fell, you could simply ask me to teleport you back on top.

"True, but... I'm a bit afraid of heights, to tell the truth. But the ocean doesn't bother me -I grew up swimming in the bay. Actually, now that I think about it, that may be one of my only nice memories of my childhood..." You don't know why you're telling it these things. Perhaps it feels like the closest thing to a friend you have. How pathetic.

Very well, sir.

Before you can blink, a vast, supernaturally calm ocean appears, stretching from horizon to horizon in all directions, its gently rippling surface glimmeringly aflame with reflections of the sun - which you realize now is slowly rising. The island sinks down into the water for a moment before bobbing back up, surprisingly buoyant given its size and weight. But then, it was floating in the sky earlier, so perhaps that shouldn't be a surprise.

Impulsively, you strip off your clothes and jump in. It feels wonderful - slightly cool on your skin, a nice contrast to the warm air. But floating is a bit more difficult than you expected. A lick of your wet hand proves your suspicion: this is *fresh* water, without a trace of salt in it. But perhaps that's fine. After all, you'll need something to drink when you end up living here full time.

"All right, um... how about a few more islands? And connect them with bridges!" You're beginning to have fun with this, imagining the layout in your head... something tropical, like the warm, lush paradises you've heard of from mariners hailing from far isles. A place of sunlight and blue skies, a far cry from cold, drizzly, miserable Shadowhold, the city in which you've spent your life.

As before, the change is instantaneous, and as you return to stand on the shore and survey the horizon, it looks exactly like what you were imagining. Except...

"I intended there to be more than just two other islands." You're a bit puzzled. Actually, there's a few other bridges, too, leading to nowhere.

My apologies, sir. I'm out of mana.

Your heart sinks. Of course. This place must have been fed by excess mana your mother generated while she was alive. Now she's dead, and you've used up what was left. To get more mana, you will need someone with ovaries. So... your dream of an all-male refuge from Shadowhold's accursed matriarchy of despotic enchantresses is doomed to fail before it even begins. You sink to the ground, and fight the urge to weep.

Sir, your despair is unwarranted. I possess ovaries.

>>5517636
Your heart leaps. But at the same time, your brow furrows. "Wait... *what?!*"

Properly speaking, they are ovotestes. Like all demiplanes, I am a hermaphrodite. The buoyancy you noted earlier after I turned gravity on was due to the fact that the central island is hollow. It contains my genitalia.

Your mouth gapes open. So many questions... but one is most important. "But that means you'll be able to generate more mana, right?"

Yes. My previous soulbond used everything I produced to fuel her spells, which is why I had so little built up when you arrived. I ask for your patience. After another of your circadian cycles, I will have enough mana to create much more for you.

Ah, so that's why she never did anything with the place! It was just a mana battery for her. You feel mildly incensed on the demiplane's behalf, though you doubt it takes offense at not being used to its full potential. Anyway, assuming "circadian cycles" means days, you'll have to return to the mortal plane, as there's nothing to do here. How will you spend tomorrow, besides the usual wallowing in soul-crushing poverty?

> Search the city for other men angry at the matriarchy who might like to join you in seceding... once there's room.
> Move all your things to the demiplane. You don't need to waste money on the apartment anymore, after all. But you have a *lot* of stuff, and it will take hours.
> Inquire with your mother's lawyer and - ugh - your grandmother, to learn more about the exact circumstances of her death. It was quite unexpected.
> Go to church. The Pure One's solace has been your lifeline, these past few years, and more than once Her clerics have saved you from starvation and homelessness.
> Look for short term work at the docks. There's always people needing strong hands to load and unload ships, since so many of them quit after seeing a sea-demon. But you've seen worse, so it's a good gig.
> something else (write in)

>>5517640
>start moving all your things to the demiplane.
After all you don't need an apartment now, and the sooner you leave, the sooner you can stock back money instead of wasting it on a useless rent. Might need large sums of money in the future.

>>5517640
> Go to church. The Pure One's solace has been your lifeline, these past few years, and more than once Her clerics have saved you from starvation and homelessness.

>>5517640
> MC is gay, but OP is the faggot

I give this quest 2 threads before it becomes furshit.

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[1/2]
"Well, I guess I'll be back. Um... bye for now, I guess?" The demiplane seems indifferent to your presence or absence, and does not reply, so you close your eyes and envision the sigil again.

A gentle violet glow later, you're standing back in your shitty apartment. Looking around, you decide you're going to have to move everything you can into the demiplane. With any luck, you'll be able to let go of the apartment, move into the demiplane, and save up money that would otherwise go towards rent. But it's too late for that tonight. Tomorrow morning, you will commit yourself entirely to the odious task of cleaning up.

A chill wind smelling of salt and fish blows through an open window, and you shiver. The contrast to the warmth of the demiplane is unpleasant. Looking out the window before you close it, as if futilely expecting the outdoors to be less dingy and ugly than the indoors, you see that the moon is new. There's nothing in the sky but stars. With a jolt, you realize that this is the perfect time to go to church.

Quickly you grab your cloak from a chaotic pile of clothes in the corner, put it on, and set out the door. You don't know where it will be this time - you never know - but you trust aimless footfalls in the darkness to guide you. As you walk, your eyes are drawn away from your path, which seems to be veering west, towards the tallest tower of the northern skyline, which glows a faint greenish blue, the brightest object on every moonless night. The Water School. You shiver, pretending to yourself that it's just because of the wind, and look away.

In time, you find yourself stopping, with a suddenness that jolts you from a half-awake stupor. You've left the Sunless Quarter altogether, and the beach is not far away - through the gaps between buildings, you can faintly see the piers of the harbor as black shadows atop the ocean, backlit dimly by sunken stars - and beyond them, a few yards out to sea, beset by crashing waves, the staccato line of silhouetted moai stretching north to south along the shore, their stoic gaze ever fixed upon the west.

Turning away, you recognize your destination at once. An old, rotting wooden building identical to all the other old, rotting wooden buildings. But the Presence is unmistakeable. You open the door, flinching at the creak of rusty hinges, and enter.

The sparse interior is lit, as is traditional, by a single candle on a low dais in the back of the room, flickering in the drafty air. Behind it, in a shallowly recessed alcove, stands a statue of The One Who Is Worthy Of Our Reverence - veiled, of course, and wearing an ornate, if old and moth-eaten, silver silken cloak, with not a millimeter of skin visible.

This temple is not, unfortunately, descended from the Aniconic tradition, as would be your preference. You suppose that some less imaginative people require visual stimulation to conceive of holiness, but it is in the nature of an image to entreat objectification of the depicted - becoming not a Thou, but an It. And this is not fitting to the Sovereign.

However, you note with approval that the figure is standing atop, or perhaps emerging from, a huge lotus flower, like the ones that bloom amidst the muck of the Dark Sea, where the ferrymen lay their eggs. It serves as a reminder that all the most sacred shrines are where the unrighteous would never think to look: "in Filth it shall be found," to quote an ancient prophet.

You take off your shoes, leaving them by the door - where you notice another pair already sitting, which you ignore for the moment - and pad forward across the creaky wooden floorboards, to kneel on the worn rug before the candle. Making the Silent Sign, you bow your head and close your eyes, whispering, first the Purification, and then a little improvised prayer.

"Hail Thou, Dusk-bringer, Dream-weaver, Law-giver. Hail Thou, Usurper of the Empty Throne. Hail, that I may thank Thee for Thy blessings." You prostrate fully, before coming back up to sit back on your heels, hands still fully committed to the Sign. Opening your eyes, you stare at the candle.

The tiny flame is completely motionless.

The profane would at this point ask for a blessing. But you are not profane. What of yourself will you Dedicate during this next month, to the One by whose grace you were pulled forth from the void?

> My mind. With my every word - nay, my every thought - I will strive for purity and ennoblement. But I can't promise I won't curse when mentioning my mother.
> My body. With... great effort... I will avoid defiling my flesh with anything spiritually polluting. I will touch nothing that has died, or that has tried and failed to produce life.
> My heart. With every interaction, I will do my best to empathize with the other person and to choose my actions with not only my own welfare in mind, but also theirs. Unless the other person is a member of my family. Then they can rot in hell.
> something else (write in)

Note: each of these comes with a blessing, but it would be sacrilegious to make a Dedication with a goal in mind, so the blessing will be revealed only after the choice is made. It will be replaced with a punishment if the vow is broken during the next month, however.

>>5517850
> My body. With... great effort... I will avoid defiling my flesh with anything spiritually polluting. I will touch nothing that has died, or that has tried and failed to produce life.

>>5517850
> My mind. With my every word - nay, my every thought - I will strive for purity and ennoblement. But I can't promise I won't curse when mentioning my mother.
I like this spooky esoteric witch-queendom a lot.

>>5517850
>My mind. With my every word - nay, my every thought - I will strive for purity and ennoblement. But I can't promise I won't curse when mentioning my mother.

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Holy fuck I wrote too much.

[1/4]
You stare into the candle flame, quieting your mind as the Presence fills you. The hairs stand up on the back of your neck. You have Her attention.

"My Lady," you whisper. "I aim to become a conduit for Thy grace in this world. If I could but refract a mote of Thy pale light through my own being, it would be a great blessing. But I am weak and childish. I know that You smile upon childish things, but I do not feel worthy of such kindness. Thus I have decided to Dedicate myself to Thee for the span of one moon, from new to new, in the hope that it will give me strength in my coming endeavor."

You take a deep and slow breath. "I cannot pretend that my rationale is entirely, or even primarily, pure-hearted... for my lonesome is great and I possess... desires, which are solely of my nature as a man, and not of Thine... but I long to save young men of this city like myself, who have been abused by oppressive uses of that Power which You brought for all sentient beings to share. I would bring them to a place where they can be free of the Sisters and their School, free of the simpering sycophantic Princes, free of the bewitchments that force them to lay with women against their will. Where they - we - can enjoy Thy gift of Magic, and the Drighten's gift of Love, freely."

You pause for a moment, trying to decide the best way to do the Dedication. "To remind myself of my higher duty, which is to Thy mission of universal liberation, I Dedicate my mind to Thee for the span of one moon. With my every word - nay, my every thought - I will strive for purity and ennoblement. But I can't promise I won't curse when mentioning my mother."

Upon saying these words, the candle flame burns extra brightly for a moment, and you feel a rush of... something. You know immediately that the Law has heard your vow, and written it into the fabric of reality. Hopefully, this vow will be pleasing to the Law-giver, as well. But it will be difficult to keep...

The candle returns to its flickering, and the air, which was still for a moment, feels once more full of little eddies. You blink, feeling a bit as if you are waking up from a trance, and stand up, bowing once more to the statue in the alcove. Turning around to leave the shrine, you notice with mild interest that the other pair of shoes is gone. Whoever was in the other instance must have finished their own prayer and left while you were in the midst of yours. You have never met another devotee of the Princess before - only the clerics, who don't technically count as people, being nonsentient; perhaps you'll be able to catch up to them?

But you don't have to go far. Immediately after exiting the building, wincing again at the loud creaking of the door, you look to your right and are startled to see a woman standing there, smoking a cigarette.

>>5518413
[2/4]
Her skin is light pink like yours, and her hair, done up in a ponytail, is blonde like yours - a common color in the noble lineages, not that you have any positive feelings about possessing *that* ancestry - but her garb is foreign to you: a shirt, blazer, and knee-length skirt over some sort of thin skin-colored tights, all well-tailored and with an air of formality, along with silver earrings, a silver watch and a pearl necklace, all implying tremendous wealth - but looking down, you can see that the shoes are the same ones you saw inside - odd, menacing things with tall heels, which look like something you've seen wealthier human sorceresses wearing on the rare occasions you've seen one.

You immediately stiffen, frightened of this strange woman. Everything about her implies that she is a dangerous sorceress from a high lineage - odd garments and affinity for the Pure One aside. But she sees your change in posture and chuckles, blowing a puff of smoke into the midnight air.

"Relax, kid. I'm not from around here. And I'm no fan of the worms either, if that's what you're worried about." You blanch. It's nice to meet a kindred soul - even if she *is* female - but speaking so openly about it! Does she know how risky that is?!

"Don't call them that outside!" you hiss. "You have no way to know if one of them is listening." Or... does she?

She smirks. "You're right, I don't. I also don't have to care." She takes another puff. "I've got diplomatic immunity." Another cloud of smoke. She holds out a hand. "The name's Asriah Moore. I'm the city's brand ambassador from CoCon." You shake her hand and mumble "Lauros," but can't keep the confused look off your face. Her name definitely sounds foreign. But what on earth is CoCon?

She shakes her head at your blank stare. "Nice to meet you, Lauros. You see, this is why I hate this place. Such a backwater - literally," she says, eyeing the coast, "that people here haven't even heard of the largest traditional company in the entire Dreamworld. The name is short for Cooperative Conglomerate. We buy, sell, manufacture, and ship all kinds of products all over the multiverse. Or at least the realms sufficiently simulationist to reject post-scarcity, like this one."

Flicking the used-up cigarette stub to the ground and grinding it into the sand with her shoe, she immediately gets another one out of the pack, sticks it in her mouth, and opens a small elongated box next to it. Whatever she expected to happen doesn't, though, and she sighs, putting the box away, and lights the cigarette with a summoned flame between her thumb and index finger - a casual act of magic which you eye enviously. "Not simulationist enough to use actual *technology*, though," she quietly grumbles.

>>5518414
[3/4]
"Cooperative Conglomerate... oh! Is that where those huge ships with the black, blue, and white flags that I see in the bay sometimes come from?" You've spent many a day, as a kid trying to avoid your mother, sitting on the pier watching ships float into the harbor, dreaming of getting on one and sailing away, knowing you never could. Though maybe now...

She nods, and recites with a slight smile of pride, or perhaps patriotism, "Black for customer satisfaction, blue for shareholder profit, white for employee well-being. Our three highest values."

It must be nice having a homeland you can be proud of. "Wow... also, by the way, I'm not quite sure what 'simulationist', and 'post-scarcity' mean, but I'm guessing those are terms related to the Law?"

She nods. "Yup. Not worth getting into much detail right now, it's late and I want to get to bed, but basically every world has its own local laws which are arbitrary restrictions of THE Law, the one that our patron," she glances at the temple behind her, "put into place back at Dusk. Like Shadowhold and surrounding environs, for instance, with their absurd, feudalistic nonsense where 'mana' comes from the ovaries." She shakes her head. "Those snake bitches up in the blue tower really ought to read the original Feminist scriptures, which preach gender equality, and give up their sectarian pendulum-swinging bullcrap." You're really not sure what she's talking about, but it sounds like Asriah is very familiar with pre-Dusk history and religions, and their effects on the modern world. You can't help but admire her wisdom.

"So... wait. Does that mean that the whole, men being unable to do magic, thing... is their doing?!" She nods. "Wow. I didn't know it was possible for me to hate them more." She cackles.

"I know the feeling, kid." She glances at her watch, which she illuminates with a finger-light spell and a furrowed brow. (Another pang of envy. Such a simple spell, but how nice it would be to have! And it's all the Sisters' fault that you can't...) "Shit. It's getting late. I need to get home. And you probably do too. Hey, would you like me to walk you home? It's not safe for a young man to be out alone at night in this town."

You shake your head. "It's okay, I don't live far away, just the Sunless Quarter."

She grimaces. "That's not much of an improvement. Don't vampires and stuff live there?"

You shrug. "Yeah, but they never bother me. My blood tastes weird."

She quirks an eyebrow, but lets it go. "Well, see you around then, Lauros." She turns to go, then stops and turns around again. "Wait, you never told me your last name."

You pause. You were hoping to avoid that.

"Mariana."

>>5518417
[4/4]
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Well heck. I thought you looked a bit like Prince Irin, but I didn't want to insult you with the comparison. Not that he's the worst of them, nowhere near, but you know. You kin of his?"

You nod. "He's my half-uncle."

She whistles. "What's nobility like you doing living in the slums? Oh. Well, duh, obviously you don't want to be nobility of a place like this, do you." You shake your head. She pauses to think - tracing genealogies? - and furrows her brow. "Wait... doesn't that mean... that your grandma is..." You nod, but say nothing.

"Shit. You've got problems, kid. Here." She fishes something out of a pocket in her blazer, and hands it to you. It's a card, with her name and CoCon's sigil on it. It glows faintly violet. "If you need anything, call me with this. Or hell, just call to hang out. Rare to meet somebody here who isn't brainwashed. But it's particularly nice to find someone who seeks the Princess." She reflexively makes the Silent Sign upon mentioning Her. "And I bet you've got one hell of a backstory. Anyway, gotta go. Good night." She waves, and you wave back as you walk home.

Asriah Moore, huh? Hmm. Maybe not all women are as bad as your mother.

---

You sleep deeply, exhausted from the day's stream of novelty. The next morning, you wake up with, thankfully, no memory of the usual nightmares. As long as you keep your waking mind pure, you feel sure, the Pure One will keep your dreaming mind pure as well. You make the Silent Sign as you consider this, and whisper a prayer of thanks.

Surveying your tiny abode, you immediately feel overwhelmed. You've been procrastinating cleaning up for months now, but there's no longer an excuse to put it off, since you'll be moving into the demiplane. The only question is... which "room" (really, which side of the room, since there's only the one) to work through first?

> The kitchen / dining room. *Nothing* there is clean. Stacks of dirty pots, pans, and dishes; cupboards of randomly placed cans and jars; cabinets full of cutlery and your secret stash of dreamleaf.
> The living room / bedroom / library. Papers piled up on the desk. Shelves of books in no particular order. Heaps of clothes, unfolded and unorganized. Handkerchiefs stashed under the bed filled with dried - no, pure thoughts only! Oh, and don't forget the plushies. Those were expensive.
> The bathroom / laundry room. Honestly, the laundry pile looks identical to the clean clothes pile. The tub and stool must be scrubbed, the bucket switched, the cabinets of medicines you never use and cosmetics you must admit you do use emptied...
> The garden on the balcony. You have the great privilege of *having* a balcony, though it's barely big enough to stand on, and you take joy in coaxing life out of the array of tiny green things you've collected in pots and cups. You may or may not also have a dreamleaf plant.
> You've probably forgotten something else that needs cleaning and hauling. (write in)

>>5518419
> The kitchen / dining room. *Nothing* there is clean. Stacks of dirty pots, pans, and dishes; cupboards of randomly placed cans and jars; cabinets full of cutlery and your secret stash of dreamleaf.
Clean it before it starts to mold.

OOC: I guess I probably should have a regular schedule so people know when to show up. I've been hoping to update roughly once every three or four hours, but I want to make sure that a few people get a chance to vote each time, so maybe being kinda haphazard about it is a bad idea?

Also I got a bit carried away with the wall of text this time and maybe that scared some people off? Dunno, this is my first time as a QM. Anyway, if you have suggestions for how I can improve this, I'd really appreciate it - I'm planning to be in it for the long haul, and I want everyone to enjoy it.

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[1/2]
With a sigh, you set to work. Cleaning the dirty dishes probably should come first. You're amazed that nothing has started to mold yet - particularly given the city's perennially humid weather. You'd be sneezing it there were mold in here, though.

As you wash - your least favorite activity, hilarious given your patron deity - you think about how you never really intend to let work pile up. And yet it does. A cascade of small "I'll do it later"s turns into doing something never, or at best months late. You're tempted to blame it on your mother, but that would be impure thinking. You have to at least try to be charitable.

Yes, she was a disciplinarian, who made you associate effort with pain. But you've been away from her for years, and still haven't trained yourself out of these terrible, lazy habits. At this point, isn't it really your own fault? You're not sure. You'd never say someone else's flaws were their own fault, if they were raised by someone like that. It would be uncharitable. But maybe failing to hold someone to a higher standard that you know they have it in them to reach is the truly uncharitable thing?

You try to avoid looking at the stack of things yet to be washed - and all the other clutter throughout the house to be handled afterward. Every time you think about all the work ahead of you, you feel heavy and want to go back to bed. You start thinking about the work after all that is done, too - the endless stream of necessary activities stretching on and on into the future, which will get only more odious as you get more and more responsibility - assuming of course that you succeed in literally founding a civilization despite being a teenager who can barely keep his apartment clean.

You feel a menacing Presence. Or rather, the shadow of one, which had been illuminating you, but is turning to leave. With a jolt, you realize that you are falling prey to the sin of acedia - spiritual sloth. Self-defeating despair over the endlessness of future labor is a form of psychic impurity. You're grateful that the vow apparently provides this warning nudge, and setting down the plate you're wiping dry, you make the Silent Sign, thanking the Princess for Her protection. You decide that no matter how unpleasant the work, you are going to do it without complaining.

But once you're done with the dishes, the prospect of organizing the contents of all the cupboards and cabinets sends a tingle of dread down your spine. Surely there is some way of speeding this up? You know impatience is not a virtue, but hard work really isn't your strong suit...

You complain a lot.

>>5518836
[2/2]
You blush as you hear the sexless voice of the demiplane in your mind. But you don't disagree. It's true, after all. "You've been listening to all that? I thought you could only hear my thoughts when I'm... uh, inside you." That sounds weird.

Our souls are bonded. I always know what is in your mind. You hear all my thoughts, as well, as right now. But I don't have the instinct to do anything other than what you want, and that includes thinking, so my mind is usually silent.

"So... why did you speak up just then?"

You wanted help cleaning up. I have recharged my mana somewhat. My power over your plane is far weaker than over my own, but I have enough available to complete this entire task for you, should you will it.

"This entire task, as in, cleaning up the kitchen?"

No. The entire apartment. I can't do it any faster than you can, not here, but it would free you up to do something else with your time, as long as you are willing to wait longer to continue building.

"That's..." You want to say that's fantastic, but actually, it seems kind of like a copout. Besides using this poor demiplane - whom you're starting to see as a companion of sorts - as a lowly servant rather than, well, a demiplane, it also seems like it would be an evasion of a sort of... moral lesson, or opportunity to build character.

Your entire life, you've seen your mother and other women particularly blessed with magic using it (including via the men they mind-control) to solve all their problems, rarely lifting a hand to do anything for themselves, and it made them entitled, narcissistic, and frankly weak. You fear using the demiplane for this task would be the start of a slippery slope towards just that. So, what do you do?

> Walk the path of virtue! Turn down the offer, and work through the process of organization and cleaning by hand, trying to interpret it as a sacrifice to the Pure One to maintain my motivation.
> Work smart, not hard! Let the demiplane do the work while I find something else to do in the apartment (specify what), and accept that I will have to wait another day to start building.
> Blow off the whole task and procrastinate some more, jumping straight into building - it's too much fun, and all this work stuff can wait anyway!
> Maybe I know someone who could help? I don't have many friends, but every task is easier with a companion to talk to. And somehow I suspect the demiplane isn't much of a conversationalist.

>>5518562
Some people work at jobs where they simply can't check in through the day. Then, Cloudflare also fucked up bad for a few hours.

>>5518840
> Walk the path of virtue! Turn down the offer, and work through the process of organization and cleaning by hand, trying to interpret it as a sacrifice to the Pure One to maintain my motivation.
>Save the mana for the demiplane. There is going to be a lot needed to transform it.

>>5518840
> Maybe I know someone who could help? I don't have many friends, but every task is easier with a companion to talk to. And somehow I suspect the demiplane isn't much of a conversationalist.
Maybe we can invite a nice boy o help us, and MAYBE we can pitch our demiplane male civilization idea to him?

>>5518840
>> Walk the path of virtue! Turn down the offer, and work through the process of organization and cleaning by hand, trying to interpret it as a sacrifice to the Pure One to maintain my motivation.

Having a troublesome day. Can't guarantee I'll manage to make an update but I'll try to get something written by tonight. My apologies, and thanks for your patience.

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[1/3]
You take a deep breath. "That's kind of you to suggest, but I think I need to develop my willpower. What kind of manly honor would I have if I let other people do such simple work for me? If I think of this as a kind of askesis or sadhana, a sacred task undertaken in Her name to help me grow into the role of a holy warrior of liberation..."

You struggle not to think everything you are saying is ridiculous bullshit. You, holy? A warrior? Cleaning your room as an act of reverence? It's eyeroll-worthy. But that's impure thinking. The Pure One loves impractical idealism, as most ideals are actually achievable with enough planning, effort, and creativity. Even the ideal of becoming a holy warrior of liberation. And She also thinks make-believe and roleplaying are wonderful and hilarious. So technically rolling your eyes at yourself about this is sacrilege!

Understood. I can help you with that as well, however.

You're a bit confused. "You can help me become a holy warrior of liberation?"

You feel as if the demiplane would sigh if that was a thing demiplanes did. Not that, specifically. I can help you keep yourself motivated. The link between our minds is such that to some extent, I can predict how different possible events or courses of action will affect you. I may be able to develop a system for quantifying your skills, psychological states, energy levels, health status, active magical effects, and so on, as well as my own relevant traits and statuses such as available mana, and project this information continually in an interface overlaid atop your sensory inputs. Then, instead of being confronted with a monolithic wall of responsibilities, you could treat your activities as a game of sorts, increasing good numbers and decreasing bad ones, gradually, with my prompts to guide you.

You're somewhat flabbergasted by the genius of this approach. "That... is a fantastic idea! How on earth did you think of it?"

As much as I would like to take credit for the concept, it is not my own invention. It is an ancient tradition among demiplanes, used to help our bonded companions parse the complexity of world governance. Extending it to outside worlds is only a minor variation on the usual practice.

You are suddenly very excited at the prospect of cleaning your whole house. But in a gamified way! "Wow! I'd love to help you design the system! Let's see, what all needs to be included."

I think it's best that we start small. I will count the items that need to be cleaned, labeled, or otherwise handled, and one by one I will highlight them and what you ought to do with them, in what I intuit to be the most efficient order. All you have to do is follow instructions. Perhaps every so many completed steps, I'll play a little victory sound for you, and a short hallucination of pretty fireworks.

You almost giggle at the thought. "Fantastic! Let's get started!" Apparently all it takes is some imaginary fireworks to motivate you.

>>5520139
[2/3]
"How do you know so much about cleaning and organizing, anyway? I mean, enough to manage the whole process like this."

I don't. The information comes entirely from your subconscious, as I know nothing about human tools and nests - though I am of course learning from you as I observe your own thoughts. However this means that if you would, working alone, have made a mistake doing something, my system will be unable to correct it for you.

That's good to know. You can't rely on it too much. But you're already dreaming of the possibilities, contemplating the uses for this magic while you work. The work is surprisingly absorbing, though, so you're not doing much thinking or daydreaming like you normally would.

After an hour or two, you ask, "Could this make me a better, I don't know... dancer? That's a silly example, but like, I'm imagining you highlighting how I ought to move so that I can follow the guidelines."

Hmm. Again, it would be relying on your own pre-existing knowledge. However it may be possible for me to watch someone else performing a given dance or other behavior and then translate it into a series of desired motor impulses and associated visible and tactile guides that would produce the same behavior in your body, or as close as possible given your abilities at least. As a matter of fact, at that point, I might as well just do it for you.

You pause for a moment while making the bed. "Wait. So you can just move my body for me?"

Yes. But only when you intend for me to do so, of course. The demiplane demonstrates this by wiggling your arms in a way you feel sure was intended to make you laugh. And indeed, you do laugh. Do demiplanes have a sense of humor? Or is this another thing it learned from your subconscious?

"Well, if you've known that the entire time, why didn't you just do that to begin with? It would save mana and save me from boredom."

It doesn't reply for a moment. I... wished to teach you a moral lesson about the value of hard work.

You first snort, then guffaw. "You didn't even think of doing that, did you?!"

You sense mild indignation. You didn't either. And you're the one with experience being a human, not me.

Perhaps you were wrong. The demiplane actually is a good conversationalist.

---

Several hours, a lunch break, and many, many fireworks later, you've finally managed to get the entire house cleaned up and all the objects sorted. You've also taught the demiplane many of the finer points of courtly etiquette, and answered its somewhat embarrassing questions about human physiology. You're pretty sure it could have just plucked the information straight out of your mind, so you're starting to suspect it simply enjoys talking to you.

You collapse on the bed, pleasantly tired. You bask in the warm glow of a job well done. Until you realize, sitting up with a jerk...

"Oh shit. I have to stuff all this inside you now!" And again, that sounds weird.

>>5520145
[3/3]
Yes. Well, there are multiple ways to go about this. The most obvious way is to teleport each item into me individually. I have enough mana now to build a replica of this apartment, at least, and I could put everything in the appropriate place. However, every use of the teleportation spell costs mana itself, and I would be unable to do any further building after that.

That's no fun. "What's the other solution?"

I hold open a portal and you and someone else carry the items by hand back and forth through it as quickly as you possibly can to minimize the length of time I have to hold it open, ideally without dropping anything fragile or damaging yourselves.

Oof. Whom could you possibly get to help you with something like that? "Why someone else?"

The demiplane projects an image of a nondescript face quirking an eyebrow in front of your vision for a moment. It really is learning fast. I've seen how quickly you become winded just walking.

You blush. It's true. You really don't take care of your body like you should. Growing up in a palace surrounded by servants who do everything physically possible for you, and magic that does everything else, tends to have that effect.

"You're right... but I don't know who to ask. I don't really have any friends."

Well then, let's test the new interface. Here's some things you might try.
> Go to the Black Cat tavern near the docks and see if any strapping, muscular young lads working nearby could help you carry things. This might be an opportunity to find recruits, as well. [+2 Social Anxiety, +1 Lust; Expected duration: 3 hours]
> Call up Asriah and see if she has time in her probably not very busy schedule (given that you've never actually seen any CoCon products sold in Shadowhold) to help you out with some magic and chat more about history. [+1 Social Anxiety, -1 Boredom; Expected duration: 1 hour]
> Use a small amount of mana to build a contraption for carrying lots of things, something like a wheelbarrow, and wheel that back and forth through the portal. You could do that all by yourself. [-1 Mana; Expected duration: 1 hour]

You squint suspiciously. "Do those numbers actually mean anything?"

Well, they might be useful things to track. I've never done this before, you know. You shrug. Hmm, but which to choose?

>>5520148
>Go to the Black Cat tavern near the docks and see if any strapping, muscular young lads working nearby could help you carry things. This might be an opportunity to find recruits, as well. [+2 Social Anxiety, +1 Lust; Expected duration: 3 hours]

>>5520148
> Go to the Black Cat tavern near the docks and see if any strapping, muscular young lads working nearby could help you carry things. This might be an opportunity to find recruits, as well. [+2 Social Anxiety, +1 Lust; Expected duration: 3 hours]

>>5520148
> Go to the Black Cat tavern near the docks and see if any strapping, muscular young lads working nearby could help you carry things.
Time to put the "gay" in "Gay Wizard Ethnostate Quest"

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[1/5]
It's raining this afternoon. Last night's clear skies were a rare fluke, unlikely to be repeated anytime soon. But the hood of your cloak keeps your head dry as you lightly step over mud puddles in the cracked cobblestone streets, and obscures your blonde hair and pretty-boy face - protecting you from the wrong kind of attention.

You hate going out during the day. At night, the men you meet are usually criminals, and they're easy to handle: first, ignore them. If that doesn't work, run away from them. And if that doesn't work, tell them you know Mharku. It's technically true; you do know him. But the false implication - that you're friends with him - is always enough to scare them off. The ones who aren't scared off also "know" Mharku, and use the same tactic - and usually buy you a drink.

Meanwhile, the women who skulk about at night are usually infertile, with little magic, and your blood alone is enough to protect you from their predations. Fertile women inclined towards crime get put down by the Sisters - or invited to a lineage where they can be controlled - before they cause any problems.

But during the day it all changes. The people out during the day are either: good people just going about their lives; manipulative schemers pretending to be good people; or sorceresses and their retainers. Distinguishing the first two requires more social skills than you are likely ever to have, so you avoid them both; sorceresses, on the other hand, are simply terrifying, and you would rather never leave the house than meet one. You particularly don't want them to see your hair.

Why not just dye it?

You silently reply to the demiplane's question. "I've tried. Lamia blood has a passive magical property that constantly regenerates the entire body and erodes spells affecting it. It's why the Sisters live so long. If I dye my hair, the color fades within an hour or two."

That's troublesome. But it sounds like a blessing more than a curse.

You shrug. "Not really. I don't get hurt much anyway. I guess it's nice never getting sick, but..." You pause. "I guess it feels like it's trying to stop me from changing, in a way. From growing out of their grasp. I just want to be..."

Human?

You nod lightly. "Something like that, yeah."

Miraculously, you make it to the harbor unaccosted. For the most part it seems that your habitual daytime disguise worked to protect you from prying eyes. As much as you hate it, it usually works: you're pretty, for a boy, and you've been trained to dress, walk, and act like a woman your whole life.

A few times, you passed women with the glint of magic in their eyes, and you could tell they were wearing charisma or seduction glamours, but the Pure One's blessing and your natural resistance to feminine charms protected you. But now comes the last challenge: changing into men's clothes without being noticed.

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>>5521604
[2/5]
The harbor is men's domain. Women, at least of high lineages, do not care for the filth, and smells, and folk of "impure races", that linger near the shore - and they particularly don't want to be anywhere near the Sea Wall - or the things that lurk in the ocean just past it. You thank the Powers every time you're here that the sea-demons are the only things the Sisters fear.

Gazing out over the waves that glitter with late afternoon sunlight, you say a silent prayer of thanks to the spirits of Crown Princes past who are entombed beneath the row of statues, guarding Shadowhold eternally against invaders from the deep - the one and only magical task that women cannot do.

Shouts and clangs and ship bells and other noises of daily business at the harbor clamor in the background as you hide in an empty, windowless alleyway, beneath the convenient overhang of eaves and the soothing patter of raindrops. You strip quickly, stuffing your lacy corset and ruffled petticoats into a canvas bag, stashing it in the usual place behind a tree that luckily chose long ago to root itself in the dirt of the unpaved alley. Soon you are wearing your preferred attire - button-down shirt, trousers, and of course, your cloak.

Turning back towards the harbor, however, you catch a glimpse of a young man standing on the end of a pier, shirtless and barefoot and seeming unbothered by the pouring rain, looking for all the world as if he'd just climbed out of the water. But more importantly: he is staring straight at you. He looks away as soon as you meet his eyes, but your heart jumps with fright, and you blush, pulling the hood down over your face and hastily leaving the alley.

"Do you think he saw me changing? Or where I put the bag?"

No. He wasn't in your peripheral vision while you were changing. From the looks of things, at most, he saw you in your underwear.

You're not sure how you feel about that. But he doesn't seem to be following you, and soon your racing heart stills.

The boardwalk is not too crowded yet, as it's still a few hours until most of the fishermen bring in the day's haul, and you feel safer here than in the rest of town. But you still let out an audible sigh of relief when you reach the Black Cat, the quizzical-looking whiskered fish on the sign welcoming you to your favorite place in the city.

As you enter, hanging your cloak by the door, revealing the fair hair and skin that marks you as a noble, all eyes turn to you. Normally, you hate calling attention to yourself, but here, it's a different kind of attention. One that you don't mind as much.

There's always new faces who stiffen and begin to rise when you enter. But regulars know you're not a Prince - at least, not one of those Princes - and calm them, whispering in their ears. You don't mind it. In fact, it makes you feel safe to know that there's strong men willing to protect the speakeasy from the prying eyes of the government.

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>>5521610
[3/5]
"Oy, Lau-Lau! Long time no see!" waves the barkeep. You grin as you approach the bar, ignoring the eyes following you.

"Hey, Uncle Kran! How's it been?" You take a seat as he pours a glass of your favorite rum, the blue-black tattoos of sea maidens on his arm glittering in the light of the setting sun that filters through the windows. You pull out an empty vial from your pocket, but he shakes his head. "Nah, this one's on the house."

Kran, a grizzled, muscular man in his early fifties, is not really your uncle, of course, but a now-retired fishing captain who found and looked after you the first time you ran away from home when you were a child (until your actual uncle came to fetch you back to face your mother's burning wrath), and has been dear to you ever since. You remember begging your mother to let you ask him to take you out fishing on his ship, but she just scoffed at your "childish and low-class" obsession with boats and sailing. Naturally, you snuck out again and did it anyway, after which you were confined to home for a month, and he was given lash scars on his back that he claims to be proud of.

You sip at your drink as he rambles on about various ridiculous fishing stories he's heard. At some point - he can be long-winded - you finally interject. "Um, uncle, would you mind helping me out with something?"

He raises his eyebrows and rests his elbows on the bar as you lean in to talk in a low voice. "I need someone strong who can be trusted to keep a secret." His eyebrows raise even higher. "No, I'm not burying a dead body." You grin as he snorts. "Just, I don't need you-know-who's attention." He nods. Kran has always been your most trusted ally, though not a friend, per se - more of a mentor - and you appreciate that he is discreet and doesn't ask unwanted questions.

He quietly replies, "Ain't many in this town who won't sell you out to the School for enough ink. But there's one I trust. I'll point him out when he gets in." Immediately afterward he begins loudly talking (to disguise your conversation, perhaps) about a mysterious young man who came in recently on a ship from the Fair Weather Isles. There's a twinkle in his eye that implies he wants to set you up for a date with the guy. He does sound fascinating though - it's unlikely to be true, but he claims to have personally fought a kraken, and merely having the balls to lie about something like that is admirable. And what if it's true?!

Not more than a few sentences have been spoken before first one lad, then another, come to sit down at the bar on opposite sides of you, acting very casual and nonchalant as if it's entirely coincidental. You smile into your glass as you recognize them from the set who were staring at you before. They're hard to miss, being identical.

The one on the left speaks first. "Hey, little man. I'm Walker." And the one on the right goes next. "And I'm his brother, Runner." Now both together: "What's up?"

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>>5521612
[4/5]
You glance at each of them, acting entirely uninterested. But it's hard. They're terribly handsome. Brown hair, brown skin, wide noses, green eyes, scruffy cheeks and chests, and ornate patterns of shimmering blue-black ink on their arms. The only difference between them is a scar across Runner's face, absent from his brother's. "Let me guess," you say after a sip of rum, pointing at the scar. "You ran into a tree, and he walked past?"

They both bark with laughter, and Walker replies. "Something like that, yeah." He bares his arm, and his brother hands Kran a small glass vial. "Let's have a round on us, eh?"

You quirk an eyebrow. "Do you two do everything together?"

Runner smirks as Kran, shaking his head, fills the vial up to the third line with viscous blue-black fluid. "You bet we do, baby."

Kran hands the vial to Walker, who pours half the fluid onto an inkless patch of skin on his bared arm. It sinks in, assimilating itself to the surrounding tattoos, as he hands the vial to his brother, who does the same. The barkeep watches till the debt-ink is fully absorbed - a mere formality, as he knows they can afford it - before pouring another two drinks and refilling yours.

As he sets down the glasses, he catches your eye and subtly glances at the door. You nod. His contact must have just walked in. He chuckles, turning away. "Don't get too sloshed, Lau-Lau. Gotta keep your wits about you among scoundrels like these two." They protest in unison, very ineffectually. While the twins aren't looking, you sneak a peek at the door behind you.

Once again, your eyes meet, and your heart leaps.

It's the young man from the pier.

He's still shirtless, and barefoot, and wet. And very muscular. Before, you didn't get a good look at him, with so much rain and mist in the way. But now you see the three-toned mottling of his skin: the tan of naturally light skin exposed to plenty of sun; the blue-black of debt-ink, in greater quantities and more intricate designs than you've ever seen before; and the glistening, amphibian blue-green of a sea-demon.

He really did just swim up out of the water. He's a half-breed.

You can't stop yourself from staring, even as he looks away and takes a seat in the corner, propping his legs up on the table and leaning back in his chair with hands behind his head like he hasn't a care in the world. His irises are pitch black, his lips are slightly wide, and he has unusual bone structure, but he is still quite handsome. His hands and feet are webbed - his feet in particular longer and wider and more clawlike than is typical, though they would pass for human at a glance.

It's not until his eyes meet yours again and he smiles slightly that you come out of your reverie, blushing profusely, and turn away to see the twins watching you with amusement.

>>5521616
[5/5]
"Tiffer's an ugly fucker, ain't he?" Runner says. "Not the most gregarious sort, either. But he's a hard worker, for a mutant." He downs his glass in one swig, narrows his eyes, and leans in a bit. "You ain't lustin' after some fish dick, are ya?"

You sip your rum, and blush harder, without replying. He throws his head back guffawing. "Man, opposites really do attract, don't they?"

His brother grins at you and slaps you on the back. "I always knew the royals were freaky bastards." You look down at your drink and think silently to yourself: if only they knew.

Ahem. I'm sorry to interrupt this... human mating ritual, but it's getting late. You should hire this Tiffer fellow, get home, and get all your things put up before nightfall. It'll be quite chilly tonight, given the weather, and it's best that you get to bed in the warm safety of our islands as soon as possible. I wouldn't want you to catch a cold.

Perhaps it's the rum talking, but something about this reasoning feels a bit absurd. "Sure thing, mom," you silently slur at the demiplane. But what will you actually do?

> Keep flirting with the twins. It's not a big deal if you don't get to bed tonight, if you can share the bed of two such warm inviting men - which you're pretty sure is what they want. You can always hide in the demiplane if they try to rob you or something after all.
> Make an excuse and get up to go talk to Tiffer and get ready for hauling. But you are NOT into him, thank you very much, you were just too shocked to see a half-demon here to respond to them, and anyway it's a purely professional arrangement!
> Why not both? Invite Tiffer to come chat with you and the twins. Then go home with all of them! Catch three fish with one net! What could go wrong?
> What about that guy who wrestled a kraken or whatever? He sounded hot. Is he here? You should ask Kran. There's plenty of time left in the night, and isn't making a new friend from exotic lands across the ocean who can teach you the art of kraken wrestling a really important opportunity to jump into the pants of? On! You mean, jump on!

"What, no magic numbers this time? Did you get tired of that already?"

You can almost feel the demiplane glowering at you. Can demiplanes glower? No, it's just perfectly obvious which choice you ought to make. Honestly, sir, can't you at least try to be a bit more responsible? Holy shit, what's with the tone...

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

>>5521618
>> Make an excuse and get up to go talk to Tiffer and get ready for hauling. But you are NOT into him, thank you very much, you were just too shocked to see a half-demon here to respond to them, and anyway it's a purely professional arrangement!
Witches fear sea-demons, he's half one, and we are making a place without them.
So he's a good recruit to start with.

>>5521618
> Make an excuse and get up to go talk to Tiffer and get ready for hauling. But you are NOT into him, thank you very much, you were just too shocked to see a half-demon here to respond to them, and anyway it's a purely professional arrangement!
But tell the twins it's business, not pleasure... And you'll be back for the latter. Maybe tomorrow?

[1/5]
You stand up, smiling graciously, and pat the twins' shoulders. "Sorry, boys. It's been lovely, but I didn't come here solely for company. Actually, I've got business with Tiffer over there. So, if you'll excuse me..."

The twins make a face at each other. "Ooh, he's got business. How mysterious!" Runner jokes. "What kind of business?"

"Private business, between me and him." You roll your eyes at his wide-eyed stare. "No, not that kind of private. I intend to hire him to perform a service for me, that's all." You facepalm as he snickers. "Not that kind of service! But..." You lean down between them and whisper, loudly enough for both to hear. "You boys can perform some services for me tomorrow, if you like." You wink, and the boys grin impishly in unison.

"Looking forward to it, little man." Walker winks back. You are tempted to retort that you are by no means little, you are perfectly average sized thank you very much, but that's what a little man would say, so without another word you turn away and go to Tiffer's table. Men whisper to one another as you approach him. You ignore it.

He raises his eyebrows as you seat yourself across from him, but says nothing, and even leaves his bare feet on the table. You try not to stare at them. Or at any other part of his body. You feel terribly awkward as you try to figure out what to say.

"I need someone strong to help me carry some things. I can do it myself, but it would take longer, and for... reasons I won't share in public, speed is of the essence. And... so is discretion." You worry that you sound too suspicious. It's unlikely anyone else in the room can hear you, unless there's a spy with a buff from a sorceress - but that's unlikely, given that the place is still open despite hosting plenty of seditious talk. But just in case - it's best to be vague.

He nods sharply, swigs the rest of his drink, sets it down on the table with a clack, takes his feet off the table, and stands up, all in a single fluid motion, so suddenly that you're a bit startled. "Eh. Beeta gut un, ya." (Aye. Better get on with it, then.) His thick creole accent - really, it's an entirely separate dialect - marks him as a Barrens native. What could bring a half-demon country boy to the city of his ancestral enemies? Yet another mystery to add to the pile...

"You don't... need anything else? I mean, you have no reason to believe I'm trustworthy or that you'd want to do the job..."

He just looks at you. "Preend a Kren, ya?" (You're Kran's friend, right?)

You nod. He shrugs. "Nup pa." (Enough for me.) Damn. Discretion indeed. He breezes out the door without looking back, as if he knows where he's going. But there's no way he could... right?

You stand up and hurry to catch up with him, pulling your cloak off the rack and putting it on while waving a hasty goodbye to Kran and the twins, who wave back and launch into some other conversation.

[2/5]
You finally catch up to him. "Hey, you don't even know where we're going. Don't march off so fast."

He looks at you with a placid expression. "Ken ya runnum pa teel." (I knew you'd run to tell me.)

Even for a Barrener, his speech is laconic. Each sentence takes a moment for you to parse, though you're familiar with the dialect. Once you figure out what he meant, you resist the urge to sputteringly call him a presumptuous fool like some girl from an ancient visual romance, and take a deep breath.

"Well, I live in the Sunless Quarter, so I guess just follow me..."

He shakes his head sharply. "Ken wee." (I know where it is.)

The growing frustration deepens as you follow him down the boardwalk. And the demiplane was right, you do get winded just walking briskly. How embarrassing. "Sure, but you don't know where in the quarter I live."

He shrugs, and continues ahead, still unaffected by the pouring rain. You wonder if maybe he likes being cold and wet. "Bih ya shawun pa gut." (Show me when we get there.)

You humph, and then, nearing the alley you stashed your clothes in, remember you need to change back. "Oh, wait! I need..." You trail off. He was turning into the alley before you even started speaking. He goes straight to the tree, takes your bag out of the hiding place, and brings it back as you enter the alley.

Oh. He was watching longer than I thought. The demiplane sounds annoyed. Actually, it's sounded annoyed for a while now. What's up with that?

Tiffer hands you the bag, sharply (like how he does everything), and waits expectantly. You appreciate that he doesn't ask why you wear women's clothes around town. What you don't appreciate is that he intends to watch you change. "Can't you turn around?"

He stares blankly at you. His lack of facial expressions is mildly discomfiting. "Wappa? Dun seein'." (Why? I saw you before.)

"I was in the alley because I didn't intend anyone to see me changing." You wonder how this isn't obvious to him. "I didn't know you could see, and wouldn't have done it if I had. For the same reasons, I don't want you to see now."

He stares for a moment longer, then closes his eyes. But he doesn't turn around. "Wa um riddens, ya?" (What reasons?)

As you try to figure out how to explain the concept of privacy, you take off your clothes (leaving your boots on - you'd really rather not get your feet muddy - though Tiffer clearly doesn't mind), putting them in the bag and pulling out the women's clothes. Your eyes are only away from his for a few seconds, but when you look back again, he's staring at you.

You blush with... anger? But just as you open your mouth to give him a piece of your mind, he grins ear to ear and throws his head back laughing, a great big belly laugh that echoes off the walls of the alley.

His teeth are numerous, and frightfully pointed, like a shark's.

His abs clench as he laughs.

[3/5]
You stand there, momentarily befuddled, holding a corset, your mouth opening and closing, wordless. You feel like you must right now look more like a fish than he does.

He goes quiet, but returns to staring at you, this time with a sheepish grin. Though it's more wolfish, with all the teeth. "Surry. Kenna risustun, ya." He looks down at your bare chest, and quietly adds, "Lek ya skun." (Sorry. I can't resist. I like your skin.)

You blush even more. There's too many emotions in your mind at once.

The sun is nearly below the horizon. You should hurry.

Snapping out of your reverie, you don't even bother to ask him to look away again. But you avoid his eyes as you change, embarrassed. Just before you put up the hood of your cloak, he startles you, reaching forward - sharply, of course - to brush a lock of hair out of your face.

"Prutty," he mumbles.

You look up. He's standing at a respectful distance, only stretching out his arm to touch you. But he's staring at you with an unreadable expression. Perhaps... predatory. Remembering those needle-like teeth, you shiver with... fear?

"Aren't you cold?" you ask nervously, looking at his half-naked body. With the cloak on, you feel warm. But your teeth chatter anyway.

He shakes his head, and walks past you, splashing in the mud puddles. You sigh, and follow behind him, holding your cloak close to you, with goosebumps on your skin.

As you walk, you try to make conversation. Small talk has never been your strong suit. Nor has getting to know new people. Particularly when they're so... strange. But he's the intriguing kind of strange.

"So, is this... what you do? Just, odd jobs like this?"

He shrugs. Something about the force he puts into his every motion startles you a little, every time. It's like he's always on the edge of some explosive move in a battle no one else is fighting. "Eh. An' em pushun, huntun, pahjun, itten pa luntsum." (Yeah. And I fish, hunt, forage; I find things to eat by myself.) He looks out over the ocean as he walks. "Gawun pa keebun pa unresty." (I go out on ships as a cabin boy when I'm feeling restless.)

You're impressed, and rather envious. He really is a country boy. What must it be like to be able to survive entirely without the comforts of civilization? And he's been a cabin boy on ships! He's probably seen fascinating far-off lands. Trying to imagine what it would be like to be so strong, you fail. "That's amazing. You must be pretty brave."

"Hm?"

"Well... most people on ships don't last long before wanting to quit and go back to land. I've met several who saw a single sea-demon and had nightmares for the rest of their lives." You worry that he'll be insulted. You're calling his ancestors terrifying, after all. Some of them, anyway.

He seems unaffected. "Hm. Dun seein', pa na wikklun nun. Um pela na skeeun nun. Unny, pada eem lubbun den ya." (Hm. I've seen them, but I'm no weakling. They don't scare me. Anyway, my father lives down there.)

[4/5]
You stop suddenly with surprise. "Your father... a sea-demon? You know him?" He nods without turning around. You want to ask so many questions... but you fear it would be impolite.

"Sumtem gawun pa sih. Bug hass." (I sometimes go to see him. He has a big house.)

The understatement in that sentence is fantastical. The average sea-demon's "house", from what your tutors told you, is a palace the size of an entire district of Shadowhold, with geometry that's warped in ways that boggle the minds of mortals. Again you shiver, and wonder just what Tiffer has seen when he visits his father. And how he's ever been able to come back.

You're silent for a while, lost in thought. Eventually he stops suddenly, and you run into his back. He doesn't seem to mind, but you can't help but notice that his skin is feverishly hot. Maybe that's why he doesn't mind the cold.

"Bih ya lidden nah, eh ya?" (Would you lead now, please?)

Looking around, you see you've already reached your part of the city. It doesn't feel like you've been out long, but the sun is below the horizon, and the night creatures are beginning to sing. Of course, it wouldn't matter if the sun was above the horizon, since the streets are entirely covered by curtained walkways erected by the vampires (hence the neighborhood's name, the Sunless Quarter), but you can still tell by the blood-red color of the ambient light.

You stride ahead, glad to finally be in the lead. Of course, it's silly to be competitive over something so minuscule, but he's been in front with you passively following the entire time, and it's a pleasant change. Though the sensation of having someone walking behind you in almost complete silence is somewhat unnerving - particularly around here, at night.

Soon you've reached the front door of the apartment building. But before you open it, you recall something. "Oh!" you exclaim. "We were never properly introduced. Where on earth did my manners go?"

You stop short and turn around, admittedly hoping he will run into you the way you ran into him before, so that you can feel his hot skin again - but he stops at nearly the same moment. How fast is his reaction time? Holding out your hand, you adopt a regal, princely posture. Though the effect is somewhat spoiled, since you're still wearing a dress.

"My name is Lauros." You hesitate before saying your surname. Given his ancestry, he probably doesn't need to know you're related to Lady Xanthe. Instead, you take a safer approach. "Lauros, son of Katana."

He shocks you (again) by not shaking your hand, as you expected, but rather taking it in his - and gently raising it to his lips to kiss the back of it! That's the first slow and languid movement he has made since you met him. He gazes inscrutably for a moment as another blush creeps across your cheeks and down your neck. He releases your hand, which you stare at for a moment, half expecting some kind of mark to have been left there. But there is none.

[5/5]
"It's lovely to meet you, Lauros." Your mouth gapes open as he speaks. "My name is Tiffer, son of..." A hideous sequence of sounds that you could not possibly mimic comes out of his mouth, and you try not to wince. Instead you just stand there, mouth hanging open, staring at him. Has he been able to speak the city dialect this fluently this whole time?! He even pronounced your name right! But he pronounced his own name with the Barrens accent - "teep-ha." Strange...

Before you can ask the extremely dumb question on your mind (What's your name mean, anyway? Do you get in tiffs a lot?), you feel the temperature in the air drop several degrees in less than a second, and hear a rattling, hissing sound, like someone struggling to breathe. He stiffens and turns toward it at the same time you do, though you already know what it is. Amazingly - perhaps you should stop being surprised by things Tiffer does? - he steps between you and the source of the noise.

"Lauros, dear, who is this young specimen?" The figure sniffs, his face invisible in the darkness. "He smells delightful. Could it be you've finally taken a lover? And such a taboo choice too. Your grandmother will be so amusingly enraged." The figure steps forward, and a shaft of light from a lantern by the door falls upon him. His eyes are blood-red, without any visible distinction between pupil, iris, and sclera. His skin is snow-white, with a papery texture. His canines are far longer than they should be.

"Leech," Tiffer hisses, and crouches as if preparing to fight. Though you can't imagine what he expects to be able to do to a vampire. You put a hand on Tiffer's inhumanly warm shoulder, absently thinking that this moment oddly reminds you of a scene in an ancient romance you once read. What was the name? Ah well, no matter.

"Relax," you tell him. "It's just Mharku, my landlord."

He doesn't relax one bit.

For the first time in hours, the demiplane speaks. But only to give you a list of options.
> Invite Mharku in for a drink. You don't like it much, but it's how you pay for the place, and he's a good conversationalist. He'll be grateful for the hospitality, as he can't technically get into the building unless invited, even though he owns it.
> Lie and say you're having a tryst with Tiffer and would like privacy. You don't want Mharku coming into the apartment and seeing that you've cleaned up, as he'd figure out that you're planning to move, and try to stop you (he really loves your blood's terroir) - but being a vamp, he's respectful of boundaries.
> Let Tiffer tackle him - he seems to want to - and while he's distracted, portal him into the demiplane, where the sun is still up. He'll be fried, and you'll technically be able to take his place in the vampire hierarchy, even though you're a mortal. They're honorable like that. But if something goes wrong... it could be very bad for you, and worse for Tiffer.

yes I made a conlang for this, bow to my autism

>>5522787
> Lie and say you're having a tryst with Tiffer and would like privacy. You don't want Mharku coming into the apartment and seeing that you've cleaned up, as he'd figure out that you're planning to move, and try to stop you (he really loves your blood's terroir) - but being a vamp, he's respectful of boundaries.
I kneel! Reminds me of dad's patois, actually.

>>5522787
> Invite Mharku in for a drink. You don't like it much, but it's how you pay for the place, and he's a good conversationalist. He'll be grateful for the hospitality, as he can't technically get into the building unless invited, even though he owns it.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Well heck, it's about time to start writing and it's a tie. Guess I'll flip a coin.

1: lie about the tryst
2: invite Mharku in

>>5523551
>2: invite Mharku in

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[1/4]
"Good evening, sir," you greet Mharku, bowing shallowly. He bows more deeply. Normally it would be the other way around, but in this case, the power dynamic is unusual: he's your landlord, but as a Prince, even one in voluntary exile, you technically outrank him.

"Good evening," Mharku replies icily, his question still hanging in the air.

You know he can smell your fear, and hear your heartbeat. So it is best to explain it away as startlement at his sudden approach, and avoid making him suspicious - you cannot lie calmly. Tactful truth-telling should be viable.

So you reply: "As much as it would please me to irk Lady Xanthe, he is not, alas, my lover, only an acquaintance I met at the bar who offered to escort me home. You know how dangerous the streets can be at night, I'm sure." Mharku grins eerily, his fangs glinting in the lantern light. He definitely does know - he's one of the dangers. "I thought I'd pay him back for the service by inviting him in for a drink. Would you care to join? I believe my rent is due anyway."

Mharku rubs his hands together gleefully, but keeps his voice perfectly calm and silky - as silky as a rasping, rattling voice can be. "I would be honored, dear boy. Lead the way." You incline your head, and look pointedly at Tiffer, on whose shoulder your hand still rests. He seems to get the hint, and relaxes, returning to his usual stance - neutral, yet poised as if for immediate action. But he continues to glare with thinly veiled distrust at the vampire as you open the door.

Mharku breathes a ragged sigh of relief as he breezes past you into the building to climb the shadowy stairwell. From past experience you suspect he has to pee. But like all vampires, he cannot cross a threshold into an enclosed space others sleep in without being explicitly invited. So he had to wait until a tenant showed up to let him into his own building. It's rather hilarious, honestly.

Tiffer starts to whisper something as you climb the stairs behind Mharku, who in his hurry is quickly leaving you behind, but you shake your head. Vampire hearing is superhuman, and it is best not to talk about him behind his back. This is a context skin language is perfect for, but you don't expect Tiffer to be familiar with it. Only those who often interact with vampires, lamias, or other clairaudient beings bother to learn.

Once again, however, he surprises you. Taking your wrist in his webbed hand, he positions his fingers as if on the holes of a flute, and lightly presses his fingers into your skin in complex patterns, each representing a phoneme. He's slow and awkward, making a few wrong presses, but he skintalks in the same accent in which he speaks aloud. Except for that introduction...

"Na trustun eem nun. Lich pela skee." (I don't trust him. Leeches are scary.)

[2/4]
You're mildly amused that he's afraid of vampires, but not of eldritch many-tentacled monstrosities - presumably because he's related to the latter. As you pull your hand out of his grasp, he lets go, but only just enough; your fingers brush against his as you take his wrist in turn, replying. Your skintalk is more fluent, your movements more deft - but you cannot compare to the gentleness of his touch. You try not to think about other kinds of gentle touching Tiffer might be good at. Mharku would hear your heart quicken from floors away.

"He's gruesome, but he's bound by the Law of the Hunt. He cannot touch you without permission. The most he can do is try to convince you to offer him your blood, or to agree to be hunted. I've known him a long time and he's never asked me for anything but rent-blood. You can't trust him, exactly, but he's predictable enough."

Tiffer seems a bit taken aback. He quickly grabs your wrist again, brushing his fingers against yours while switching positions. That has to be on purpose, and makes goosebumps rise on your skin. "Peyun pa blud? Wappa na ink?" (You pay him with blood? Why not ink?)

You don't know how to explain this without giving away that you're descended from the genetic enemies of his own nonhuman ancestors. So after a bit of thought, and carefully avoiding finger touching this time, you reply vaguely, "My blood is more valuable to him."

Tiffer looks at you, but says no more, and pulls his hand away as you approach your apartment door. Mharku is already there waiting expectantly for you to let him in, having finished whatever he was doing. You worry he will be suspicious about your having tidied the place - he's aware of your slovenly habits - but acting natural, you open the door.

Entering, he looks around with approval. "You've been busy. What brought this on?" He takes a seat in a chair which for the first time in months isn't covered in a stack of books. It's the only one in the room, so you gesture at Tiffer to sit next to you on the bed, but he shakes his head and sits on the floor instead. You realize with a bit of a blush that offering to sit together on a bed, even with company, is a bit forward.

Shrugging, you reply to Mharku. "I'm trying to get my life in order. They say the first step to being a mature, capable adult is to clean one's room. And it does feel better in here."

He nods, slowly, as if you've just pronounced an invaluable piece of sage wisdom. "Indeed. It is an artfully efficient use of space. You have some talent at organizing, I think." You're glad to hear it, but of course, it was the demiplane's doing for the most part.

Speaking of which... you need to get Mharku out quickly. Ideally out of the building, so he won't hear you moving your things into the demiplane. He is adept at acting like a kindly, eccentric old man, but you have witnessed his rage in the past, when other refused to play their role as his pets. There's a reason his name is feared.

[3/4]
You're racking your mind for a response when he continues, addressing Tiffer. "I don't believe I ever got your name, Mr...?"

"Nem Teepfa." (My name is Tiffer.) He does not rise to shake hands. Nor does Mharku. It is probable that the dislike is mutual, though Mharku hides his feelings beneath a veil of decorum.

"Hm. Barrens?" Tiffer nods, sharply. "Lovely. I had a tenant from the Barrens once. Lovely girl. Horrible taste. I much prefer lamia blood, like that of our dear Lauros here." He smiles, and it does not reach his crimson eyes until he hears your heart skip a beat. "Oh, but I wasn't supposed to tell, was I? How unfortunate, I'm terribly sorry." He's still smiling. You know perfectly well it was on purpose. He wants to see how Tiffer will react.

But if Tiffer did react, it didn't show on his face. He just keeps glaring coldly at Mharku, without even glancing at you. "Dun kennun." (I already knew.)

Huh? Your hair marks you as a noble, but there's plenty of blonde nobles who aren't from the Mariana line, or whose descent from the Stranded is diluted enough by human blood as to be in effect nonexistent. Perhaps he could smell it somehow? And if he already knew, how has he been so calm in your presence?

Mharku is silent for a moment, perhaps equally shocked, but regains his composure shortly. "Lovely. Well, we did retire for a drink, did we not? I for one am parched. As you can doubtless hear." He laughs, and it sounds like scratching sandpaper.

You sigh, looking forward to getting this over with, and roll up your sleeve. You regret having not been able to change back into men's clothes before meeting him. He always seems to get some kind of... thrill, out of seeing you this way. You stand as Mharku does, and present your arm to him, with a glance at Tiffer. He watches, glare unchanging, as Mharku delicately - a bit too delicately - takes your arm and raises it to his lips. You wince as he kisses it, and Tiffer visibly jerks and clenches his jaw, but remains seated. But then the vampire bares his fangs, and bites down.

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[4/4]
Several things happen all at once, almost too fast for you to process.

An acrid stench fills the air as your blood, glimmering blue-black in the candlelight, trails down your arm, rapidly congealing to the consistency of honey.

Several of the glamours that keep your body fully human dissipate as your regeneration is activated by damage. The room looks brighter as your eyes shift to the slitted pupils of a serpentine race adapted to benthic life, and you feel your tongue becoming forked. Your back itches, skin turning to scales.

Mharku's face, which was that of an old man, ages in reverse, until he resembles a boy no older than yourself. His skin becomes plump, and loses its papery texture. A sigh of pleasure, with no rattle, escapes his lips, muffled by the flesh of your arm. Your blood, a poison for mortals, an elixir for the undead, has renewed him.

And Tiffer growls like a beast, unlatching his jaws inhumanly to reveal multiple rows of needlelike teeth - and lunges at Mharku just as your arm is released from the bite. He is so fast that you cannot see him move, only feel the wind as he passes. Mharku reacts instantly, snarling, his fangs dripping with your blood, and rushes like lightning to meet in the middle.

Just before they meet, time stops.

I can interfere. But slowing time drains mana, as does calculating strategies, so hurry and tell me what to do. The demiplane's voice, for some reason no longer genderless, but rather firmly male, appears in your mind.
> Teleport someone or something into the demiplane (specify who or what)
> Generate something in the demiplane and teleport it out (specify what and where to place it; remember that the larger and more complex it is, the more mana it will require)
> Project a telekinetic field of force (the demiplane can physically manipulate objects or entities in your vicinity in any way you can, and it takes the same length of time, but it can do so at a distance and control multiple objects at the same time; specify what to do with this power)
> Allow the demiplane to control your body and perform some action with superhuman speed and effectiveness (specify what action; note that even at max power you are slower and weaker than either of the others)
> Don't interfere at all, for fear Mharku wins the fight anyway and questions how you used magic; instead just wait, watch, and see what happens

>>5523769
> Don't interfere at all, for fear Mharku wins the fight anyway and questions how you used magic; instead just wait, watch, and see what happens
Let's not give the game away. Besides, Tiffer brought this on himself... DESPITE our counsel.

>>5523769
> Don't interfere at all, for fear Mharku wins the fight anyway and questions how you used magic; instead just wait, watch, and see what happens

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[1/4]
"No. Don't interfere," you reply to the demiplane. "I told him to relax. He brought it on himself, and Mharku will be merciful if I ask him to. Best for Tiffer to learn a lesson." You feel you're being unnecessarily callous, but something about this Tiffer fellow spooks you. He's attractive and exotic, yes - but also a bit frightening. To attack a vampire unprovoked implies that either he is supremely stupid - which seems unlikely - or he expects to win. The implications of the latter are... concerning.

The demiplane assents - with an unexpected note of pleasure in its (his?) voice - and time returns to normal.

You immediately know you made the wrong choice.

The vampire and the half-demon meet with a sickening crunch, audible over their screeching and growling. At least one of them broke bones in the high-speed collision. It's unclear who. You can't follow what is happening - they both move too fast. But moments stick out, glimpsed while you sit on the bed clutching your knees, rocking, tears streaming down your face, reliving pieces of your childhood.

---

...Mharku's arm bitten clean off. Roaring, he snatches it away from Tiffer, sticks it back on, and the black goo leaking from the wound stitches it together in an instant.

Escaping your drunken mother's searching hands, you run crying to Lady Xanthe's harem. The consorts always comfort you, like fathers and brothers, touching you in ways that make you feel good. But you stop, hearing a scream, and cold terror rushing through you. Peeking through a crack in the door, you see a bleeding man with one arm missing, and your grandmother, in her half-serpent form, a large lump slowly sliding down her gullet as she swallows. She looks straight at you and smiles angelically. "I'm sorry you had to see this, dear. But he's been a BAD BOY, and I was hungry, so I had to punish him. Go be a GOOD BOY, and take care of your mommy, all right?" You nod slowly, shell-shocked, and return to your mother's room. There's no point in running anymore.

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[2/4]
...Tiffer's belly torn open by hideous claws, revealing his viscera. Several of the tattoos covering his body rise from the skin, flowing over his flesh and settling on the wound's edges, stitching it closed like a zipper of blue-black glue, before disappearing, all evidence of the lethal cut removed except the pond of scarlet blood staining his pants. You are too dissociated to question how this could be, but you sense the demiplane thinking.

Your mother screams in agony as her belly is bisected in a vertical line, from the place that should have been secret, all the way to her navel, by Lady Xanthe's knife-sharp claw. She coos at her suffering daughter in an approximation of love, stroking her sweat-damped hair with the other hand, as she pulls out the premature child, already near death due to the family curse, and cuts the umbilical cord. It's a boy, with a birthmark on his right thigh in the shape of a teardrop, and you already love him. The other Sisters in attendance, in traditional red birth-ceremony garb in a circle about the bed, bow their heads as the child, crying so quietly you can barely hear him, is gently placed in a magic circle inscribed with the hideous name of a sea-demon lord - and set on fire. He stops crying at the moment your mother does, black blood closing her cut as if it was never there. You say a silent prayer to the Pure One that his soul may reach peace, as you weep silently.

...Mharku picking up a plate to dash against Tiffer's head. You cringe, expecting a crash. But the half-demon somehow takes it away, gently sets it down on the stack it came from with nary a clink, and throws Mharku to the floor, stomping on his neck, breaking his spine - all in one fluid motion. The vampire's body goes limp. Before he can regenerate, Tiffer picks him up and throws him out the door of the apartment, onto the stairwell landing. Through the haze in your mind, you dimly notice that nothing in the room has been damaged, and there is no blood on any surface that can stain, except the floor.

Your mother screams at the serving boy as he cowers in the corner, dodging the plates she throws, which shatter against the wall. He has beautiful red hair, and you've been sweet on him. That's why she hates him so much. "You call this clean?! Every single plate has at least one spot on it, and you dare to place these before GUESTS?! A filthy commoner like you couldn't conceive of the risk to my reputation if any single act is less than PERFECT, and yet you seem to think you have the right to endanger it!" She marches over and grabs him by the hair as he sobs in terror, pleading with babbling, uninterpretable words. "The only reason," she whispers like a snake, "that I won't kill you, is because HE likes you." She points at you, glaring, and viciously throws the boy aside and stomps out of the room while he sobs on the floor. He resigns from his job at the palace the next day. You never see him again.

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[3/4]
...A thud from the stairwell. Creeping out of the apartment, your entire body shaking with fear, you see Tiffer at the top of the stairs, and Mharku at the bottom, having just been thrown down it. His spine is starting to heal, and he tries to push himself upright, but Tiffer leaps all the way to the ground floor in a single jump, and lands on his chest. You hear gasps, and look up to see people from all over the building standing outside their apartment doors, watching the battle.

The force of Tiffer's impact breaks open Mharku's ribcage. The shattered bones tear through the skin, and blue-black blood rushes out in a torrent. But little regeneration occurs, as Tiffer leans down to rub the lamia blood - the same substance as debt-ink - on every patch of tan or blue-green skin on his body. It seeps in, painting Tiffer's whole body black as night, and is lost to Mharku. In a moment, only the vampire's own red blood is left, trickling out of his chest and mouth as he attempts to breathe with a horrific gurgle.

The mangled body, unrecognizable as having once been human, of a girl from a lesser lineage - some distant cousin of yours, barely fertile enough to count as a sorceress - who threw herself off the top of the Water School after your handsome half-uncle Prince Irin spurned her advances. Her most potent love charm was not enough to sway him, for he had eyes for another much nobler lady. You never found out who. But he always doted on your mother, with whom he shared a father, Lady Xanthe's favorite consort... and people always say you look just like him.

The building is filled with an echoing uproar as everyone watching, all the way up the spiralling stairwell, clap and cheer. Someone yells, "Ding-dong, the leech is dead!" and a chorus of laughter intersperses with the applause. But in your current state of mind, you cannot remember why that statement ought to be funny.

Perhaps he wasn't as kind to them as he was to you?

Tiffer stands triumphantly beside his nearly vanquished enemy, and laughs - a horrible, innocent, boyish laugh, like a little child, not like a monstrous killer at all - before looking up, first at all the other tenants, then at you, beaming sweetly - just as one might look up at a parent or teacher or elder sibling one has made proud.

But you feel no pride. Instead you stare down, numbly, at what is soon to become your landlord's corpse. The smile disappears from Tiffer's face, and a look of concern replaces it. The bloodlust which had been triggered (you assume) by the bite in your arm - like a shark smelling blood in the water - has left him, an inkling of regret appearing in its stead as he sees the horror on your face.

[4/4]
A few tattoos raise up out of Tiffer's skin, running down his arm in viscous rivulets of black ichor, to pool in his hand. He holds it out over Mharku, who is nearing his last breath, without ever looking away from you. The applause has not stopped, but you hear only the silent question in his eyes. You feel like an ancient emperor, about to decide the fate of a vanquished gladiator. Thumb up, or thumb down?

> Let him die. Vampires are a pox on the earth as bad as lamias, just another race that uses power they never earned to enforce their will on the weak, and every one that dies is worth celebrating. Plus, as his vanquisher, who will take his place in the city's hierarchy, Tiffer will become even more useful to you.
> Spare him. Heal him with the eldritch ink that is poison and debt to mortals, potion and currency to lurkers in darkness. You don't know how he has treated the other tenants to make them hate him so, and you don't doubt he has crimes to repent for - but he did nothing to deserve *this*.

>>5524987
>> Spare him. Heal him with the eldritch ink that is poison and debt to mortals, potion and currency to lurkers in darkness. You don't know how he has treated the other tenants to make them hate him so, and you don't doubt he has crimes to repent for - but he did nothing to deserve *this*.

>>5524987
> Spare him. Heal him with the eldritch ink that is poison and debt to mortals, potion and currency to lurkers in darkness. You don't know how he has treated the other tenants to make them hate him so, and you don't doubt he has crimes to repent for - but he did nothing to deserve *this*.
Abusing and eliminating people who haven't actually wronged us is how our mother and grandmother behave. Are we no better?

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[1/5]
"Sp... spare him," you first squeak, then proclaim loudly enough to be heard over the applause. It stops as everyone looks at you. You wish you hadn't taken your cloak off. From their perspective, you probably look like one of the Sisters.

A chorus of boos begins to replace the applause. But you know this is the right choice. Abusing and eliminating people who haven't actually wronged you is how your mother and grandmother behave. How all your family behaves. That's why you left them: you choose to be better.

Tiffer nods, sharply, and then kneels down next to Mharku as the sound fades away. He carefully paints small amounts of ichor on the vampire's throat, lungs, and diaphragm, leaving everything else broken and useless. The vampire gasps as his breath returns, coughing up blood as Tiffer gently props his head up.

He stares at Tiffer with glazed-over eyes, and croaks in a weak voice you can barely hear, "You're with Ymria?" You don't recall hearing this name before. The half-demon does not reply, instead drawing a sigil in the air, which glows a pale violet. A portal opens behind it, and a beautiful woman steps through, clad all in leather, her visible skin totally grey and smooth like that of a dolphin or seal, and her hair as white as the full moon.

"Ah. If it isn't Mharku, at last. You're lucky. My agent has granted you mercy. Confess your crimes against the inhabitants of this building," she commands, loudly enough to echo through the building, "and perhaps that mercy will not be rescinded." You hear the people whispering. "It's the Investigatrix!"

Mharku coughs as Tiffer holds him up, too paralyzed to sit up by himself. He speaks slowly and unwillingly, in a raspy voice. "I have demanded more than rent-blood from the women of low sorcerous capacity who came to me for shelter, and have damaged their honor and that of the men who were responsible for protecting them. These violations have been many and frequent, numbering in the thousands over the time I've owned this building, and... I took great pleasure in conceiving of new amusements. Every man or woman who has tried to stop me, I have killed mercilessly."

The chorus of hate rains down again, this time directed at Mharku. Men and women shout their rage at the vampire, insisting that he, in turn, deserves no mercy. "Death to the leech!"

The woman - is this Ymria? - speaks again, and the crowd immediately falls silent. "Vow in the name of the One Law that you will have made amends for these crimes to the satisfaction of the victims and their families within the span of one year, and that you will never again commit any similar act, with immediate death and soul-exile on this and every adjacent plane as the penalty for oathbreaking."

Mharku glares at her with undisguised malice. "I vow it." Instantly you feel a Presence passing over you and the whole building, as the Law hears the vow and imposes it as truth upon the fabric of reality.

[2/5]
It's an impressive sentence. With one vow, an immortal sadist was humbled, forced to kowtow to mortals and earn their unanimous forgiveness within a year, or else die.

She nods at Tiffer. "Heal him." He pours the rest of the puddle of ichor all over the body of the vampire, which stitches back together almost instantly. At last even his spine heals, and he stands up, stretching and testing his limbs. The only visible sign that he was just at death's door is his tattered, bloody clothing.

He sneers at Ymria, and turns to Tiffer. To your surprise, he bows deeply, and stays bent over for a moment before coming back up. "My thanks for the magnificent performance. I haven't experienced such a thrill in centuries. Do please let me know if you ever wish to spar again, but I'd prefer if you Vow beforehand not to kill me next time." Tiffer nods, but does not reply.

Mharku sweeps his gaze upward across all the angry glares piercing him from the stairwell. Sighing dramatically, he declares, "I henceforth relinquish my ownership of this building to..." He pauses for effect, before turning towards you and bowing extravagantly. "My friend and savior, Crown Prince Lauros Mariana!"

You were shaking with fear. Now you shake with shocked rage as your blood boils. That treacherous, ungrateful, bloodsucking piece of shit just revealed your identity to an entire building full of people who have every reason to despise the nobility! And unlike the regulars at the Black Cat, they don't know you personally.

AND YOU'RE STILL WEARING A FUCKING DRESS.

Tiffer seems unimpressed. "Junrus." (Generous.) This provokes a few titters of laughter, but everyone is staring at you now.

"I, um..." you say, tripping over your words. You hold your liquor well, but two glasses of rum plus the exhaustion of your absurdly complicated and emotional day (which feels like it's been about five or six days) are starting to catch up to you. However, you summon your last ounce of strength and stride down the stairs as regally as possible to join the other three on the ground floor, and speak to the whole crowd.

"I thank you for the offer, but I feel that it would better serve your goal of turning over a new leaf if you were to transfer the building into the collective ownership of its current tenants, as a housing cooperative. I know someone who may be able to help iron out the legal details of the contract, and I will host a meeting with her here tomorrow to walk everyone through the process and ensure that the transition goes smoothly."

You're glad you thought to read a book about the economic systems of the ancient world last night before bed after meeting Asriah at the shrine. You don't know for sure that she will be able to help, actually, but since she works for the largest corporation in the universe, she probably knows someone who can.

[3/5]
"Also," you add, "I'm not the Crown Prince. I used to be. But I defied the family and was disowned. I've been living here, hiding my identity and pretending to be a woman for my own safety," you gesture at your clothes, "for the past few years, because to be entirely honest..." You pause for effect. Some of Mharku's rhetorical skill has rubbed off on you over time. "I hate every single one of those filthy, degenerate fucking worms and am ashamed to be related to them." You hear some amens in the crowd.

Then you take a risk, and gesture at the woman you presume to be Ymria. "If there are any doubts about my story, the Investigatrix will vouch for my honesty and integrity." You have no idea who she is, but these people seem to know and respect her, and she appears honorable, so the gamble is worth taking. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her glance at you for a moment, as if sizing you up, before nodding.

After a moment of stunned silence, the whole building bursts into applause again.

You're really tired of all the damn noise.

The applause dies down and everyone returns to their apartments. You're surprised nobody came down to thank her or Tiffer, but perhaps there are rules of decorum involved in interacting with... whatever she is. As they leave, the Investigatrix addresses Mharku. "Vampire, you need blood to finish healing. Do you have willing prey lined up for nonfatal feeding tonight in accordance with the Hunters' Law?" He nods. "Then get going." She waves her hand as if shooing him away, and he stiffens in anger, but stalks off out of the building and into the night.

She turns to Tiffer, who bows, as blood - his own, Mharku's, and technically also yours - continues dripping down his body onto the floor. "You need a bath. Actually, this whole place needs a good scrubbing after this. Since the attack was on my orders, I suppose I'll pay for it. But you did well. Under what pretext were you able to come?"

He bows again, more shallowly, to thank her for the compliment, and replies, "Sinkro. Larrus dun nidden jeb. Gut ya, sih Merko, fet." (Coincidence. Lauros needed a job done. I got here, saw Mherku, and we fought.)

She looks at you now, and you stand up straight, as if you're to be examined by a tutor. "Well, Mr. Mariana, if you don't mind being called that, I'm grateful for the role you played in this operation, even if you were entirely unaware of it. What job was it you wanted performed?"

"Oh, um. I just wanted someone strong to help me carry some things. I was planning to move out of here. Though I can stick around till after that meeting tomorrow, I guess."

Tiffer nods. "Eh. Seh wappa na bruk nun. An' na dun yeet. Beeta yomih gut un, ya." (Yeah. That's why I didn't break anything. And we're not done yet. Let's get on with it.)

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[4/5]
The woman seems satisfied with that. "Very well, carry on. But don't get blood on his things. I have work to do, so I'll see you later." She takes a card out of a pocket in her jacket, reminding you of Asriah, and hands it to you. "Here's my sigil, if you need anything, Mr. Mariana." With that, she summons a portal with the same sigil Tiffer used to bring her here, and goes through before it disappears.

Tiffer grins at you. "Dun sayun na trustun eem, ya?" (I said I didn't trust him, didn't I?)

You rub your eyes. You're getting a headache. And your feelings for Tiffer are decidedly mixed. But there's work to be done, so you return to the apartment together, without responding.

You change back into your men's clothes, finally, after making sure he's turned away this time, and afterward the two of you work quickly and efficiently, moving everything in the apartment through the demiplane's portal. He looks around with interest at the interior, particularly appreciating the huge orange sun - which for some reason still hasn't set below the horizon - and wasn't it rising at this time yesterday? - but he asks no questions.

When everything's in - even the bed, which he nearly could have carried on his own were it not for the awkward shape - you sit on the shore next to him, sweating, and looking forward to sleep. You still haven't said a word.

"Surrih pa skeeun." (I'm sorry for scaring you.)

You sigh. It's hard to be angry at this guy. "You're going to have to tell me what that was all about."

He nods, sharply. "Bes an' slip pa wun." (Bath and sleep first.) With that, he pulls off his blood-soaked pants, giving you yet another startle, and slips into the water and begins to wash before you can say anything.

You looked away before seeing his privates. But not before seeing the teardrop-shaped birthmark on his right thigh.

This is really all too much.

Let's worry about all that tomorrow. You need to take a bath and get some rest. I'll get the house set up, and when you no longer need the light I'll put the sun in night position.

So that's why it seems to have no clear cycle. The demiplane controls it directly. You nod again. Then your stomach growls. Ugh. You forgot about dinner. But you're too tired to eat! Noticing this, you feel your stomach mysteriously filling up.

I analyzed the composition of partially digested food at lunch, and copied it into your belly just now. That should hold you until a proper meal tomorrow. Just don't exert yourself too much swimming.

"What about Tiffer?" you ask.

The demiplane seems annoyed at your concern for him. I'll do the same for him after he's done, if he wants. You nod.

[5/5]
It's time to bathe.
> You're too tired to care about dignity. Strip off and bathe next to Tiffer in the freshwater ocean. But don't look at him, and don't think about the birthmark. Not until tomorrow.
> There's no such thing as too tired to care about dignity. Bathe on the other side of the island, far from that confusing young man, and try to forget about him for a while.

Then, sleep.
> Invite Tiffer to sleep in the house with you in an extra room. Just until tomorrow, as payment for his services.
> Make a portal and tell him to go wherever he normally sleeps. You'd like to be alone for a while.

>>5525374
> There's no such thing as too tired to care about dignity. Bathe on the other side of the island, far from that confusing young man, and try to forget about him for a while.
> Make a portal and tell him to go wherever he normally sleeps. You'd like to be alone for a while.
He's a secret agent who used us and complicated our situation, through duplicity, and triggered a panic attack in the process. Also, while he's hot, he's not got a lot of respect for privacy.

Let's at least make him work for it if he wants to tap that.

[1/5]
It's time to bathe. You're tired, and the part of you that longs for the simple comfort of another warm male body is tempted to just forget about dignity and join Tiffer in the water. But you need some time to sort out your feelings, and honestly, the guy is exhausting.

It's a rather tiny island, but standing on the other side, the house is between him and you. You have privacy, for now. Stripping, you sink into the warm water, trying to relax and let the stress of the day fade away. But questions keep coming to mind, unbidden, and you find yourself unable to think about anything but Tiffer.

Something about him calls to you, and it's not just his attractiveness. You've known plenty of attractive men throughout your life, and if it were that simple, you wouldn't feel this way. Tiffer has a mystery about him unlike anyone else. He seems subtly self-contradictory in multiple ways:

- acting spontaneously and recklessly as part of some kind of pre-planned operation
- speaking eloquently in his introduction, acting almost like a noble (you blush as you remember him kissing your hand), despite giving no indication before or after that he is fluent in the city dialect
- totally lacking interpersonal boundaries yet trusted to be discreet by both this Ymria woman and Kran

You can't help but wonder if his apparent personality as a simple, laconic country boy who fits all the half-breed stereotypes is a front, a veil for something else entirely. Given that he was apparently doing a job for someone called the "Investigatrix"... could he be a spy?

Though, you suppose in his defense, that at least he really is as discreet as Kran assured: he successfully kept his connection to Ymria secret the entire time you were with him, until after the fight with Mharku - which implies he can also keep your secrets.

Actually, his involvement with a woman who, if her title is to be trusted, tends to investigate things, may also explain how he already knew so much about you. Did he take the job in order to spy on you for her? What does she know about you? Who is she anyway? You resolve to find out. Yet another task for your to-do list...

You are used to going along with what other, more forceful people like him want. You let them walk all over you, mess up your plans, and interfere with your life, because you're afraid to say no. But you have to stop. This time was nearly disastrous. This time, you trusted a stranger, and he used you duplicitously as part of some unknown scheme - stomped on your privacy, boundaries, and decorum (though you must admit that your body wanted the entire time to tell your decorum to go fuck off); and triggered a panic attack, to boot.

And you've only now realized how hideously inappropriate his behavior has really been. He's actually an oblivious, inconsiderate asshole! How did you not notice before? Were you really just blinded by lust?!

[2/5]
And then there's the other, more concerning matter: he has the exact same birthmark on his thigh, in the exact same place, as your baby brother who was sacrificed right in front of you when you were four years old. And, though you hadn't stopped to consider his age before, he does look to be about that much younger than you, though it's disguised by his greater height and his muscular frame. (Actually, that may help explain his impulsive behavior... he's literally not as mature as you. Huh...)

But... you saw the baby burn to ash in front of your eyes. You had nightmares about it for weeks until your grandmother gave in and let you use memory serum to suppress it. How could this be? And if by some miracle he is the same person - perhaps the sea-demon he calls his father is the one he was conceived by and "sacrificed" to - then what does this mean for you?

The irony is not lost on you that this would mean you are attracted to your younger half-brother, exactly as the rumors claim your mother was attracted to, and possibly conceived you with, her own younger half-brother, Prince Irin. Your family is so fucked up it makes you want to scream.

Of course, there's also the possibility that he is simply a spy, hired by someone to wear a fake birthmark with that shape, in that location, precisely in order to confuse you. There were other Sisters in the room back then who could have seen, after all - and many of them are known to envy your family, the oldest and most powerful lineage in the city. It was exactly that envy which led generations ago to the infertility curse that made the infant sacrifices "necessary" to begin with.

But this all feels a bit paranod. Surely even inveterate schemers like Lady Zalaria wouldn't do something like that fifteen years after the event just to mess with you. And you're not even in the family anymore. There's no possible benefit to it. You start to discard the notion entirely... but it's a bad idea to underestimate the insanity of a lamia matriarch, so instead you file it away as extremely unlikely.

But... should you bring this up to Tiffer? And if so, how? "Oh, hey, I think you may be my half-brother I thought I saw die in front of my eyes, but it's okay, I still want to ram you in the ass if you're up for that! Incest isn't so bad if it's between dudes and one is part alien tentacle shark monster, right??"

You sigh, and step out of the water, your bath finished. Part of you expects to see him watching. But you're alone.

As soon as you remember that you have no towel, the water on your skin evaporates. "Thanks," you say to the demiplane.

You're welcome, little one.

Little one?

Ah, forgive me. I thought - well, humans use such terms to express endearment, do they not?

"Yeah. It's just... odd, that's all." Though you are technically little compared to an entire pocket universe.

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[3/5]
"Why'd you change your voice, by the way?"

I... noticed you like males a lot. And their voices.

"Yeah... so... you wanted me to... like you that way?"

Um... I just want you to feel comfortable, that's all.

That's not technically a no. But you're tired of thinking today. You put your clothes back on, and return to the other side of the beach, dreading that Tiffer will be stark naked.

But he is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is a note, with a sigil scrawled on it in what looks to be debt-ink. After the demiplane checks it for dangers, you relax your mind and gaze at the sigil, sitting cross-legged on the sand. It glows pale violet. You close your eyes as someone else's memories flood into your mind, one after another.

A screaming woman.
A little blonde boy, his face streaked with tears.
Heat, and pain.
The cool caress of Papa's tentacles as I sleep in his embrace.
Dreams of a little blonde boy, who should have slept next to me.
A warm current flowing past my gills. A deep and joyous breath.
A fish caught in my strong jaws. It tastes good. I thank the One for its sacrifice.
Dreams of a little blonde boy, who should have hunted with me.
Muscles flexing as I dart through the water. Papa is proud of my strength.
Dancing with all the other creatures who love Papa. He loves them too.
Telling Papa about a little blonde boy, who should have danced with me.
Papa telling me where I came from.

You feel tears streaming down your cheeks as you cry with a happiness you didn't know was possible, mixed with a melancholy as deep as the ocean. Your brother is alive. And what's more, he grew up loved, and happy. So much more than you. And... the sea demons... are kind?

My first steps on land. Warm sand on my feet and wind on my skin.
A village in the Barrens. The people there teach me to talk.
My first time wearing clothes. They're scratchy. I hate them.
A festival in the village. The people give Papa gifts, and he helps the plants grow.
Meeting Kran. He's nice. His boat is big. He takes me with him.
Seeing Shadowhold. It's horrible. Everyone is sad here. I want to help them.
Meeting Ymria. She takes away people's sadness. She teaches me lots of things.
Meeting you. I LOVE YOU.

The intensity and simplicity of feeling in that last snapshot memory jolts you out of your reverie. His every thought seems so pure, so vibrant, like a child's. Like HERS. It makes you shiver. But in that last memory... Tiffer's whole body felt like it was on fire as he watched you changing. He knew he should look away, according to the rules of humans. But he couldn't. And when you turned to face him, he recognized you.

The blonde boy who was sad when he was born and died, who didn't know he'd be born again. The blonde boy he's been dreaming of his whole life. The first person who ever loved him. His favorite person in the whole world.

[4/5]
Walking with you, ahead so I don't stare. I don't know why I'm not supposed to though.
Waiting with eyes closed while you change. But I can't keep them closed. You're too pretty.
You running into me when I stopped. I did it on purpose. Your touch feels good.
Talking in city speak like Ymria taught me to do. Your name is pretty like you.
Seeing the vampire Ymria told me to catch. I'm scared he'll hurt you.
Fighting the vampire. I made you cry. I'm sorry.
Winning the fight. Papa will be proud I'm so strong. But you're scared of me. I'm sorry.
Realizing I deceived you. I didn't mean to. I just don't think a lot. I'm sorry.
Seeing this beautiful island. I want to live here with you. But I don't deserve it. I'm sorry.
The sea needs more salt, but it reminds me of Papa. I'm going back to live with him.
I love you. I'm sorry.

You sob, clutching the sigil to your breast.

A body embraces you from behind, warm, soft, naked, and covered in fine hair. You know who it is before he speaks.

"It'll be okay, little one."

The sun sets all at once, as the demiplane's avatar picks you up, carries you inside, puts you to bed, and strokes your hair, staring into your eyes, until you close them, and fall asleep.

You dream of the ocean.

---

The next morning, the sun rises, all at once, a moment after you awaken.

The demiplane's avatar is still sitting next to the bed. He was watching you sleep, all night long, needing none himself. If he was anyone else, you'd feel uncomfortable. But he's already seen you doing everything, through your own eyes, and you know he wants only what is best for you. That seems to come with complications you didn't expect, but in hindsight, it makes perfect sense. So it's all right.

"Do you want a name?" you ask.

He nods. His skin is pale and freckled, like yours. But his figure is muscular like Tiffer's; his hair is red, like the serving boy you had a crush on as a kid; his eyes are green and he has a scruffy face, like the twins; and all the skin on his body is hairy, like Uncle Kran's. He's simply a mix of your favorite traits of all the men you know. This is probably on purpose.

Oddly, however, he also has little horns. What's with that?

"Oh," he replies, scratching his head with an embarrassed expression. You think it's cute when guys do that. That's probably why he did it. "I just thought it would look cool." You once... enjoyed... a picture of a satyr from a book cataloguing known races of nearby planes. That's probably why he thought it would look cool.

Two days ago, you would never have expected a pocket universe to end up sharing your mind, get a crush on you, and ransack your subconscious for information about how to get you to reciprocate its feelings. But then, you wouldn't have expected a lot of things that have happened recently. It's almost like you're the protagonist of an ancient harem romance.

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[5/5]
You think for a bit. He's got all the traits you like in men... he's the ruler of all that occurs in this realm... he's a demiPlANe... and he's got horns like a satyr.

"Oh, duh. Pan." He beams in delight as he hears his new name, immediately grasping the reasoning, and gleefully jumps in bed beside you, hugging you, his warm body pressed against yours.

He's also naked, and you just woke up. This is awkward.

When you feel a growing hardness press against you, it becomes even more awkward.

Somehow this still doesn't feel as weird as Tiffer merely looking at you. Probably because you know the demiplane literally can't do anything you don't want him to do.

Pan blushes. Did he learn that from you? You certainly do it enough. Clothes appear covering his body as he rolls back off the bed - a shirt like your own, and shorts like Tiffer's. You notice that he has also copied some of Tiffer's mannerisms, doing complicated maneuvers in a single fluid motion, but with less sharpness; the overall aesthetic is closer to your own practiced regal grace.

"Well," he says, clearing his throat. "It's morning, as you might have guessed. We've got a lot to do. Or rather, a lot of things we could do. It's up to you, I think, to decide what to do first." You nod. He's acting cutely flustered. But you know it's acting, because his sole purpose in existence is to please you, and cutely flustered guys please you.

He's not a human. You have to keep reminding yourself of that.

But what is the first priority of the morning?
> Expand the demiplane. There's plenty of mana saved up now to play around with.
> Talk to Kran and ask him what he knows about Tiffer, and how they met.
> Ask around about Ymria. You're apparently the only person who's never heard of her, but she seems like a big deal.
> Get in touch with Asriah about organizing the whole housing cooperative thing for the apartment building. That has to be done today, but not necessarily this morning.
> Take a ferry to the Barren Islands and see if you can find the village Tiffer lived in.
> Ask your grandmother - UGH - about that night. In particular, try to get the name of the sea-demon that was inscribed in the circle. If it matches the hideous name Tiffer gave as his father's...

"Um. Actually... you know memories encoded in sigils can be forged, right?" Pan shifts uncomfortably.

"Yeah, but a man reliant on the mana innate to sigil paper to make the spell work couldn't possibly do that. Even Lady Zalaria isn't powerful enough to forge a memory."

He nods. "True, but... Lady Xanthe is."

You think back to the memory serum she used to cure your nightmares when you were a child... and how she begged you not to desert the family, as you left the palace for the last time, four years ago.

Your stomach drops. You desperately hope he's wrong, and that this all isn't just a trap to make you come back.

But the question remains. What to do this morning?

Damn no replies yet, not even from my two usual people. Y'all okay, or did I do something stupid lol?

>>5526386
> Expand the demiplane. There's plenty of mana saved up now to play around with.

>>5527212
Sorry, I was busy uodating my quest last night, and reading (ironically) a romantic drama about starcrossed siblings.

>>5526386
> Expand the demiplane. There's plenty of mana saved up now to play around with.
I'm here for the demiplane building
Also want to be a good old brother to Tiffer now.

[1/5]
"Well," you say, taking a deep breath. "I've had enough stress for a while. Tiffer will be safe with 'Papa', if that's where he's going, so I don't need to worry about him right now, and if, Powers forbid, he's not who he seems to be, then I don't need to worry about him at all. I have plenty of time before having to arrange that meeting... so let's play with some of that mana you've stored up, and build things, and relax."

Pan rubs his hands together excitedly. "Lovely! I've been looking forward to spending time with you. Literally!"

You smile, but feel as if you've missed something. "What do you mean, literally?"

He furrows his brow. "Hm. What do you know about magical dynamics, anyway?"

"Um, only that mana is created by the ovaries. I don't really know how it works, since I've never been able to use it. It wasn't worth studying." You were much more interested in reading fiction than studying anything, truth be told.

He projects a diagram of a uterus into the air from his hands. Ew. "Right, so. The female reproductive system is the gateway between Not and Is, possibility and actuality. Just as they bring possible lives into the world, they have the power to bring in other possibilities as well."

You nod. Makes sense so far. He continues. "Mana, which is generated in the astral body of the ovary, is essentially stored up time, and is measured in units of time. One minute of mana, for instance, can be defined as the ability to instantly do anything you could realistically do in a minute the mundane way."

You think about this for a bit. "So, if I had access to an hour of mana, I could use it to instantly transport myself anywhere I could have reached within an hour by just walking?"

Pan beams at you. "That's right! So what you can do with mana depends upon where you are, and also *who* you are, what skills you actually have. Witches tend to be extreme socialites even if they're naturally shy, because it's so useful to have access to the abilities of lots of different people that you could, in potential, get to help you with things - which makes it take less mana to do those things."

You nod, thinking. This maps well onto your experience of the Sisters, whose political machinations are endless. "So, like, if you're good friends with a carpenter, you could, in principle, get him to build a table for you - so you can use an amount of mana proportional to the length of time it would take, to just summon up the table right now?"

The gleam in Pan's eye is adorable. Apparently, he's just been itching to teach you about magic. "Exactly! You could do that even without a carpenter friend, of course, but it might take a lot more mana, and you'd have to come up with another way to obtain the table and specify how, in order for the spell to work. Though, note," he warns, "that either way, you'd have to find a legitimate source for the wood or else someone will notice it suddenly disappear and maybe trace the spell back to you."

[2/5]
"Hmm. But it feels like witches ought to be much more powerful than they are, then, since most things worth doing don't take a terribly long time." Though, thinking of things like Lady Xanthe's memory serum, you can't even begin to guess how something like that could have been created without magic or how long it would take.

He shrugs. "Well, yeah, sort of, but the more likely something is to happen, the more 'real' it is sort of, and the easier it is to pull possibilities from. So in practice it almost always takes more mana to do something than the length of time it would take, because there's the possibility that the action might fail, which takes extra mana to overcome." He pauses. "Do you know anything about probability theory? It's a math thing."

You rack your brain. "Um. I was never much for studies." Though you loved reading about sailing, and the mysteries of far-off lands. But that isn't technically studying. "I think there's stuff like, 80% chance means eight times out of ten it'll happen, or something?"

"Yeah, basically. So essentially you divide by the probability to get how much mana something requires. An act with a one in a million chance of succeeding if tried will take a million times the mana as one that takes just as long to perform but is certain to succeed. That's the main reason magic is so difficult and requires so much study - most of the work is in trying to find highly plausible ways of doing things quickly via mundane means and then specifying those when you cast the spell."

Wow. Who knew magic was so rational? And mathematical! "Wait. How do you know this, and I don't? Where'd you learn?"

He looks at you with a slightly bemused expression, and chuckles. "I'm a demiplane. It's... kind of instinctive knowledge." Ah, well, that makes sense. But it raises another question.

"Wait... how do all those rules apply to you? You don't naturally have a body that you could manipulate things with."

"Actually I kinda do. I have the natural ability to move around matter inside myself. If I focus I can control individual particles, but that makes it take longer so spells relying on that use more mana. Also, you have a body, and in alternate timelines would do most tasks I might require, albeit with... a worrying amount of cajoling, if I'm interpreting the mana costs of some of these spells right," he laughs nervously.

Huh. Makes sense. You're pretty lazy. "Where'd this body come from, anyway? Wouldn't it take..." You appraise the avatar's apparent age. "...about twenty years' worth of mana to generate?"

Pan shakes his head. "It's actually not real. I'm just projecting a multisensory hallucination into your mind, which is much easier than making something physical. Plus, I'll be able to accompany you in the outside world this way, without attracting attention!"

Oh! That's pretty sensible, actually. "What about when you picked me up?"

"Telekinesis. I can move stuff around in here, remember?" Oh. Duh.

[3/5]
"Well," you continue, "it's been roughly... 36 hours since I last drained you." That also sounds weird. "So we have 36 hours worth of mana?"

He shakes his head again. "If I was human, yeah. For me it's closer to 360, actually. Or was, until I made the house, now it's about 340. I don't generate much mana most of the time," he adds, almost apologetically - as if ten times human speed is something to sneeze at! - "but during estrus the rate can climb to about a thousand. That comes with its own problems, though." He doesn't elaborate. And what on earth is a demiplane in heat like? Sounds scary. Sensing your discomfort, he hastily adds, "But we don't have to deal with that any time soon, don't worry."

Being told not to worry makes you want to worry more. But you put it out of your mind, and finish with the last questions on your mind. "So, how did you make the changes you already made? I can't see how you could have made the ocean, the islands, and the bridges using the mana you collected since my mother died. And I really can't see how you made a house using only twenty hours of mana."

He nods, grinning, and walks outside. You follow. He points at the sky. "Notice the clouds?" You nod. "There's moisture in the air. There's a constant small probability that it will coalesce into rain. I actually saved up quite a lot of mana, as your mother didn't use me to my full potential. So I just reproduced the effect if most of the water had spontaneously rained out of the air all at once. That's why it's only freshwater. But, it also took a lot of mana, since that has a minuscule probability of occurring." Wow! How ingenious! But... now you regret giving the order, now that you understand how much mana it actually wasted.

"There actually isn't a hard surface beneath the ocean, by the way," he continues, "only a sort of... blurry wall of space past which my control dissipates and the plane starts to blur into the interplanar abyss... but my membrane is strong, so you don't have to worry about anything big coming through." He seems to feel a bit guilty at that last statement, and amends it, "Well, not until I'm in estrus, anyway."

That is very concerning. But again, you put it out of your mind as a problem for later. Presumably, he'll tell you when that whole issue is likely to come up. "And what about the islands and the bridges?" you ask.

"Well, the first island already existed, and honestly I'm not sure why. It was there when I first awakened. So was the sky and the sun - which isn't a sun, by the way, but a tiny portal to an infinite plane of fire, which is why it's so easy to move. The other islands are kind of a hack. One of the things I can do directly, not using mana in the typical way, is modify the shape of space within the demiplane, which includes tearing open holes to create portals, which you've seen."

[4/5]
"So what I did to make the islands is just made huge vaguely island-shaped holes in space, which register to the physics of the place as voids and are thus buoyant, and covered their surfaces with sand that Not-you carried from the beach in a bucket. It's safe to walk on - the spatial surfaces are hard and I used a lot of sand - but it's pretty obviously fake if you dig down."

How fascinating! "And the bridges?"

"I built them with wood Not-you salvaged from abandoned shacks in the city - there's a frightening number of those - and driftwood from the beach. I don't know any carpentry, and neither do you, but it's not too hard to nail things together, and it seems you'd figure it out fast enough. You probably ought to learn, actually, since it would take some time out of the spells for building things. I expect we'll be using a lot of wood."

Cool! You're not a fan of working with your hands, but you must admit you can see the use of learning how. "Did Not-me build the house too?"

"Actually," he replies sheepishly, looking down at the ground, "Tiffer, or rather Not-Tiffer, helped with the house. That's why it took a lot less mana than the bridges. I think he knows a lot about woodworking, maybe, because every test spell I included him in while prodding for the right technique - you can sort of preview spells before casting them to see how much they'd cost, by the way - seemed to cost way less than I expected. And... he really likes you. When I added asking him to get other people he knows to help, the cost went way down. He was willing to call in favors for you, a guy he'd just met. Naturally, that's the one I cast. The twenty hours might represent something like 50% chance of ten hours, since I think barn raisings in the Barrens usually take about that long."

Ah, so that's why Pan seems to feel a bit guilty. Using unpaid labor from people you've never even met, in unreal possible future timelines... you don't even know how to start thinking about the ethics there. "Is it possible to use this to predict the future, or to obtain information about the present and past?" You think that seems like something the "Investigatrix" might do, and might explain how she was aware of Mharku's secret crimes.

He nods. "Yeah, you can replicate the counterfactual effects of thinking for a long time, gathering information, talking to people, investigating things, and stuff like that. If there's no possible way you could find out something using mundane means, you can't use magic to find out, either. But you can actually also learn a lot about the world just by testing possible spells and analyzing their mana costs. Though the cost is usually an interval rather than a single number and can be extremely uncertain, if the future itself is."

You're excited by this. "Could you use that to find out where Tiffer went, and if those memories were forged?"

[5/5]
"Hmm. Interference from other magic users can strategically distort projected mana costs to present a false picture, but I can try..." He closes his eyes for a moment, and soon furrows his brow.

He opens them again. "No, sorry. All the intervals are open-ended, with no maximum possible cost, which implies extreme interference. Somebody's cloaking his future, probably on purpose. If he's a spy hired by Xanthe or someone else, it could be them doing it. Or maybe Ymria since he seems to be her agent and it's probably useful for him to be untraceable. If he's really your brother, it could actually be his sea-demon father, since they're fundamentally unpredictable and wreak havoc on mana cost calculations."

He closes his eyes for a moment again. "Ah, I can't reuse the sigil he portaled out of here with after leaving the memory note one, either. It's a burner. Single use only. Shit."

You sigh. Of course, nothing is allowed to be easy. But the goal that you started with remains. Now you have a much better idea how to plan the building process - what is plausible to do with your 340 hours' worth of mana, and what is not. But... you actually have no idea what you want to make in the first place. You haven't given much thought to the actual use to which you want to put the demiplane, besides the vague idea of a refuge for men who love other men and want to escape from women... which itself was primarily motivated by your lust, loneliness, and anger at your family, and even ignoring that it might be seen as a bit juvenile... it's pretty open-ended.

So... what to build?

> ???

Sorry for the lack of pre-written choices, but my brain is fried. It took a lot more effort than I expected to create a rational magic system in which everything that's happened so far actually makes sense AND which is reasonably quantifiable with understandable limits. But I honestly have no idea what I want Lauros to actually do with the demiplane in terms of design and building. I think I'll leave that for anyone who wants to write stuff in, or until tomorrow, whichever happens first. If you do suggest something, give a mana cost and explain your reasoning for it, please.

>>5527867
A garden! We got to start growing food if we want to be self sufficient. Start small with some vegetables so we can learn about it. perhaps one day we can even learn how to cook and brew, so we could sell the produce. Getting money would then make it easy to theoretically acquire more goods, and therefore reduce mana cost.
Also maybe more houses, or atleast more rooms? Getting more people living here for theoretical workforce mana reduction would be nice.
Some type of library/laboratory and workshops. Getting something like a carpentry shack or a smithy would decrease the cost of other actions, and a place to start experimenting with magic, maybe one day find a way to have men cast as well, since we know it's the witches that did it, not a universal law. Of course it would have to begin with crude tools since we would need to be able to get them in the first place.
Is there a way to let people come and go expending minimal mana? Some sort of permanent portal connected to a portable stone? That way we could get some of the tenants to help out, and eventually they could move here. It would break the whole men only deal, but everyone deserves to get out of that horrible place to be honest. What would the Pure One think of that selfishness Lauros?

Having on-site ressources should greatly reduce all mana costs (because telekinesis), and allow us to simulate trade, to similate being rich, to simulate employing skilled artisans. Focus on creating a forest and a stone quarry, by transporting trees and rubbles. Would have a colossal mana cost. Simulate asking the building tenants for their help, and maybe calling on a favor from our grandmother. If we still have mana, we could then catch/buy chickens, goats, sheeps or fish.

>>5527867
I support a garden and some more rooms for people to live. Maybe see about visiting a library or purchasing basic books on gardening and carpentry, which we can read an practice a little to reduce mana costs?

>>5527898
> Getting money would then make it easy to theoretically acquire more goods, and therefore reduce mana cost
I may not have been clear enough about this with the driftwood etc examples, but you can't make something out of nothing with this - the stuff you obtain through magic has to come from somewhere, so if you do a not-trade, you're essentially stealing from the real version of whoever you not-traded with. However, services that don't involve an exchange of physical objects are alright, I think.

> Is there a way to let people come and go expending minimal mana? Some sort of permanent portal connected to a portable stone?
Portals are a more fundamental, "older" form of magic than the stuff with mana and counterfactual shenanigans, and I'm not sure how to quantify their cost yet, but yes, this is possible. Opening one to begin with takes a significant expenditure of mana, though I'm not sure how much; keeping it open requires a continuous trickle; but both are proportional to size, so the usual way to do this is to make a really tiny portal and expand it for a short time exactly when it's needed, contracting it the rest of the time.

With certain arcane methods known to the demiplane, one end can be attached to the abstract idea of a some arbitrary complex shape - a sigil - and pulled into reality and inflated temporarily, long enough to traverse, when that shape is drawn (anywhere, on any plane of existence, which is why it has to be rather complex, to avoid accidents) and a bit of mana poured into it, which is usually stored in specially-prepared sigil paper or provided directly by the mage... so to end my nerdy lore ramble, yes, this is entirely possible.

Thanks for the ideas, everyone. Might take a while to write this one, but I'll get to it.

[1/7]
Pan begins, "Your intent is basically to found a new civilization here, right?"

"It sounds so absurd when you put it like that, but yes," you reply.

"Well, if you want to be self-sufficient, people are going to have to have something to eat. That means we need gardens. We might be able to sell stuff we grow, too. From the looks of the city, I doubt there's a lot of fresh produce."

You nod. The dark, cold, rainy climate of Shadowhold is not ideal for growing things. Most food is either collected from the sea, or imported from the Sisters' vassal states - the reclusive sunfolk of the northern mountains with their city-sized subterranean forests, the warlike beastmen of the eastern plains with their monster herds, and the troublesome half-breeds and demon-worshippers of the ironically-named Barren Islands off the western coast.

All of this involves expensive importation across long distances, and the fresh foods grown by magic in the city itself are mainly an elite luxury. Many would leap at the opportunity to eat healthy, locally sourced food without taking on too much debt-ink.

"Great idea. I'm not sure I relish the idea of getting dirty gardening, but maybe I'd enjoy it. And I just have to get good enough at it that it can be automated with a spell, anyway." You can't help but wish Tiffer was here - having grown up in the Barrens, he probably knows a lot about farming.

"It'll also be necessary at some point to build more houses," Pan replies, "but unfortunately that would take too much mana right now with Tiffer gone. It looks like you don't have a lot of friends at the Black Cat who are actually willing to do stuff for you..." You nod, with a bit of sadness - you've never really been good at building relationships that are more than merely superficial - and resolve to make it a priority to get more people living here as soon as possible. Each new strong body committed to the cause will decrease mana costs further.

"I'd like to learn carpentry and gardening," you suggest, "so I'll need to either apprentice myself to someone, which I'd prefer to avoid," primarily because you are proud and hate being told what to do, not that you'll say that, "or read books about it. But there aren't any libraries outside the rich part of the city and I really don't want to go there for fear of being spotted by someone who knows me..."

You think for a bit. "Hmm. Could you do a mana cost test for me?" Pan nods. "Check the cost of calling up Uncle Irin, having him lend me some books on carpentry and gardening, and bringing them successfully back here." Your uncle is arguably more of a bibliophile than you are - and what's more, he actually reads useful things, rather than stories. You're not sure why, though. You've never seen him actually use his hands for work in your life, and as a male he has no need for encyclopedic knowledge to determine efficient spell mechanisms with. He must just enjoy knowing how things work.

[2/7]
Pan closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them. "About four hours. Huh, why so long?"

You're glad. You knew you could trust Irin, though you hate having to do it. "Probably because we'd need to meet up somewhere private to exchange them, and because he'd want to talk to me for a while afterward and catch up, make sure I'm doing okay, and so on. Actually, I maybe should talk to him anyway, because he probably knows more about what happened to Mother. I've been so busy lately I haven't actually had time to look into that." Or rather, you've been dreading it. You really don't want to get caught up in the family's drama again.

"You know, I could spend some more to get Not-Irin to instead have a printing press copy those books and give you the copies, if you have a source of blank paper and ink. Then the spell would just summon the copies, made of materials you already own. It would take about an hour per book."

That's ingenious, and a relief. You honestly don't want to face your uncle. Not yet, anyway. "Yeah, that's fine. I think there's more than enough ink, and you can use some of my empty diaries. Speaking of which, I need to write about what happened yesterday at some point... Oh, and get some about cooking and brewing as well, please. And geography so we can find sources for things we need." The demiplane's avatar nods, pleased at your forethought, and you follow him back into the house, where he points out six books: one each for gardening, carpentry, cooking, brewing, and geography - and your most recent diary. On the open page, a detailed description of the exhausting events of yesterday has been written in your own handwriting.

He smirks. "You write slowly. The diary was a whole extra hour. 334 left."

You huff. "Writing is hard! Thanks, though, I was dreading that. Anyway... I've been thinking. I know my initial goal here was a men's world... but the whole thing about Mharku's crimes shook me." You try to figure out how to put what's on your mind. "I've gone my whole life always looking up to women, expecting them to be in charge, to be powerful, to be the authority figures in every situation, with men always secondary. I kind of started to feel like the whole female sex are too dangerous to be around, particularly since I don't personally have any desire for them."

"But I guess I never thought about what it's like being an infertile woman. I've always known the Sisters suppress the fertility of 'lower-class' people with magic, and reward those loyal to them with the right to have children - or manipulate their germlines to breed them into docile slave castes..." The image of huge, lumbering cart-carriers springs to mind, and the odd, oar-footed ferrymen of the Dark Sea - both races born of the Sisters' biological experiments, though the latter went rogue and formed their own civilization outside the city's grasp, allied with the selkie privateers of the Brittle Isles.

[3/7]
"But I was so isolated, so molded by their way of thinking, their presumption of female dominance, that I never realized that this means most women in their domain are at best equal to men, and in the case of vampires like Mharku... sometimes are even weaker."

Pan listens patiently, though you still haven't gotten to the point. "Basically what I'm saying is... I'm not sure it's ethical to entirely forbid women access to this realm. No sorceresses - I don't want any group of people here to be inherently more powerful than any other and able to impose their own will on the rest - all magic should ultimately rely on your willingness to share your mana, I think, so that it's based on merit rather than anything innate. But women who can't do magic, or very little, who are otherwise cursed to live their whole lives slaving away as prostitutes in the slums or peasants in the Barrens or dancers in the palaces, and not even have the blessing of children to make it more bearable... I can't just... ignore them. What would She think of me then?"

He nods, slowly. "That's very noble of you. But... I suddenly realize that there's a big problem with all this, though. And there has been from the beginning."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"In a civilization of only men and barren women... where would the children come from?"

You know, you never actually thought about that. "Um... yeah, good question. But I think we can worry about that later. Much later. After all... we're the only ones here right now, anyway."

He shrugs, accepting that logic, and adds, "Also, you know, there is that whole thing Asriah said about mana not innately working like that, solely coming from women. That's a local property of the plane ruled by the Sisters. I have to obey it also, since I exist in their jurisdiction. But if I were freed from that constraint and could sail off to the 'international waters' of the extraplanar void... we might be able to do things differently."

Your ears perk up at the mention of sailing. "Okay, I have to know, how does that work?"

Pan grins. He really loves explaining things to you. "Basically the metaverse is a vast many-dimensional ocean of... well, I'm not sure what, I just call it aether. Most of it is 'unsettled' and chaotically changes form and structure and rules, like the sea with waves rippling across it, but there are stable, deeply rooted islands called planes, with fixed internal laws of physics and magic."

[4/7]
"Demiplanes like me are sort of like ships or boats, I guess," he continues, as you gradually get more and more wide-eyed, "We're really small, but not fixed to one 'place' like planes are, and highly adaptable. Portals are something like anchors tying me to the shore of the plane, but also enabling people to get on and off. Moving around through the aether is slow, and much more dangerous than being anchored to a plane since there's big waves and storms and sea monsters and such, but it's also more free, since you're not bound to the laws of reality in the local plane, and can make whatever rules you want. Though you're still bound by the One Law, of course."

You are very excited at this point. "Do you mean to tell me," you demand, "that I am now the captain of a magical interplanar talking world-ship?"

Pan grins with delight, and salutes you. "Aye, aye, cap'n!"

You completely lose it, feeling like a kid again for the first time in ages. "THAT'S SO COOL!!!"

Pan giggles. "You know, we've been standing here yapping as the sun rises, talking about what to do, but you haven't given me any orders yet, except for the books."

You stop squealing with joy, reluctantly. "Yeah... I guess the first order of business is to ready this place for planting gardens. We need bigger islands and more of them. Though, we'd need soil to plant in. I doubt there's any fertile soil in the city, so we'd have to take a trip to the Barrens or the sunfolk for that. Preferably the Barrens, so we could investigate Tiffer while we're at it..." And also because you find the sunfolk a bit creepy. They have far too many legs, arms, and eyes. That said, the ferrymen are pretty creepy too.

Pan nods. "Actually, we don't have to go in person to get earth and sand - it looks like if you say you know Tiffer most of the villagers on one of the smaller islands become willing to help you out, which I guess means that's where he grew up. A weird little village called Kite's Corner. But if I include asking them about him, it goes unbounded. Definite interference." He thinks a bit longer. "Looks like the best I can get is about a week. One day to get there, five days carting earth and sand back and forth, one day to get back. And nobody will notice a bunch of dirt missing if I cast the spell." He looks at you. "Actually I could shave a day off if you want to drop the coming back part and teleport the anchor to the Barrens right now?"

"You mean like, moving the other end of the anchor portal, as if I'd carried it with me on the ferry?"

He nods. "You'd have to spend another day to get it back inside your old apartment, though, and you told the tenants that meeting would be today, so I guess I'd have to spend a whole week either way. But we'll be able to see what happens if you talk to the islanders, maybe."

[5/7]
You think about it. "Just do the six for now, and in a bit I'll decide if I want to talk to them today or just immediately bring the portal back here." It might be best to prepare before visiting suspicious country people, after all. He nods, and instantly an archipelago of new small islands covered in fertile black earth and beaches of white sand appear in the ocean before you, linked by bridges presumably also built by the Not-Barreners (they have a different, more professional style than the ones Not-you built, though they still appear to be made of driftwood, presumably because it won't be missed now that it's disappeared).

"190 hours left. Hmm, while we're here..." Pan begins. He appears to be checking mana costs for a moment, his eyes glazed over, and then says, "How about some seeds? Looks like the villagers would give you a few seeds of various types, enough for a small vegetable garden. If you actually ask them in real life they'll give you a lot more - they're surprisingly generous after you warm them up with a few hours of small talk - but I can't take much magically without them noticing."

"Hmm. I'll decide about that in a bit." You think aloud some more. "It might be nice to get forests growing so we can harvest wood to build with, though that might be too much work for the mana we'd have left over. Maybe something to do with stone? But that doesn't grow..."

Pan strokes his beard. "May I spend a few hours looking into those?" You nod, tentatively. You don't see anything happen, but his eyes glaze over again. "Okay, 184 hours left. This took Not-me some digging through the geography book to think of - thanks for that! - but apparently when we return to Shadowhold, there's a cart-carrier headed southeast to the chasm titans. If we say we're making a refuge from the Sisters, they're happy to dig up some trees and replant them here for us and dump stones from their quarries, since they've never forgiven the Sisters for the Dam and the drownings. However I'm pretty sure if we actually cast that their seeress will notice that we've stolen their trees and rocks, which apparently they're very attached to, and send curses our way - and you do NOT want that, if the infinite mana cost is to be believed."

"Infinite?!" you ask, shocked.

"It means you die if you do that, so the action has a 0% chance of success."

You gulp. "Okay, best to go talk to them in person then. Not necessarily today, though. I may want to learn some more about such... dangerous people, before interacting with them." To be honest, you've never heard of chasm titans before. You really should have put more effort into your studies...

[6/7]
"Right. So, we've got plenty of mana left, but I'm not sure what to do with it... wait, actually, now that the portal's moored at Kite's Corner..." He checks something. "Ah, yeah, we maybe could get the villagers to help build some houses. These people are way nicer than I expected based on your memory of all those stories with perverted mutant islanders worshipping evil gods in gibbering tongues you read as a kid." You blush. Those stories were probably propaganda, you realize now. But thinking about Tiffer's lack of understanding of privacy, you feel sure that the "perverted" part, at least, is probably accurate. And the tongue of the Barrens is frankly somewhat gibberish.

"I guess that's about ten hours per house from what you said before, right?"

He nods. "More like fifteen since there's a chance of pissing them off by asking too much so it's a harder task, but it would only take ten to actually do it. Oh, and it's not just houses, by the way, I think any building of roughly similar size would take just as long. Like workshops or whatever."

"Where do we source the wood from, though? There can't possibly be that much driftwood."

Pan's face falls. "Oh. Yeah... you'll have to get permission to cast the spell using a local source of wood in person if you want to use the Barrens for it, then. With the apartment tenants back at the city, the cost would be higher, due to their lesser skill, I think, even if offset by greater willingness to help after the cooperative meeting... but you could take wood and tons of other stuff from abandoned shacks and nobody would notice or get mad at you for it. So I guess it's your choice."

"Hmm... Well, either way, we need a day left over to move the portal back home, whether we do that before or after building, so that's..." You do some math in your head. "Enough for ten houses, with 34 hours of mana left - 24 for the ferry trip and 10 extra to save for later." You sigh. This is all too much goddamn math and your head is buzzing.

[7/7]
Time to make some choices.
CURRENTLY MOORED AT: Kite's Corner, a small village in the Barrens
MANA AVAILABLE: 160 hours (plus 24 in reserve to return the anchor portal to Shadowhold before the meeting at the apartment building)
DEMIPLANE CONTAINS: Ten small islands covered in sand and fertile earth, linked by bridges made of driftwood. On the central and largest island is your house, made of reclaimed lumber from an abandoned shack.

Time to make a choice! Choose 1 or 2.
> 1. Stay at Kite's Corner, and leave the demiplane to talk to the islanders.
Here you will:
1a. Spend real time chatting with the locals, getting to know them and earning their trust. Specify how many hours. This will permanently increase your reputation with residents of Kite's Corner.
1b. Ask them for permission to use their local lumber in building spells. Cost is 15 hours of mana per building. Cost decreases by 1 hour per building for each hour you spent chatting with the locals. Each building comes empty. Specify number and types of buildings.
1c. Obtain a whole packet of seeds in each of five varieties for each hour you spent chatting with the locals. Specify varieties. This costs no mana.
1d. Ask around about Tiffer, who apparently grew up here. You'll get one Interesting Tidbit of potentially useful info about him for each hour spent chatting with the locals.
1e. Return the anchor portal to your apartment in Shadowhold, using the 24 mana hours set aside for this. (Unless you specify a good reason not to do that!)

> 2. Stay only long enough to magically pilfer a few seeds that won't be missed, and go straight back to Shadowhold.
In this case, you will:
2a. Obtain enough seeds to grow ten individual plants in any set of varieties you like. Specify varieties. This costs 5 hours of mana.
2b. Return the anchor portal to your apartment in Shadowhold, using the 24 mana hours set aside for this.
2c. Cast building spells with the possible future labor of your tenants. Cost is 20 hours of mana per building, with no decrease possible. But each building comes stocked with any number of objects you might expect to find in abandoned shacks in the city. Specify number and types of buildings, and any number of reclaimed objects you want to find, of any types conceivable, costing 1 hour of mana per object - at most one of which may have some notable magical property, which you may choose, and which is not insanely overpowered or else I won't accept it.

Holy father of half-breeds, this was painful to write. So much math. So much thinking. I may get an entire tabletop RPG magic system out of this quest by the time I'm done lol!

>>5529256
> 1. Stay at Kite's Corner, and leave the demiplane to talk to the islanders.
1a. Spend real time chatting with the locals, getting to know them and earning their trust. Specify how many hours. This will permanently increase your reputation with residents of Kite's Corner.
10 hours
1b. Ask them for permission to use their local lumber in building spells. Cost is 15 hours of mana per building. Cost decreases by 1 hour per building for each hour you spent chatting with the locals. Each building comes empty. Specify number and types of buildings.
15 to 20 buildings. We are going to need one library, one smithy, one warehouse, one carpenter, one stone cutter, one tavern/inn/restaurant/mess hall/social-place-to-cook-and-eat and one shrine to the Pure One (it's going to be very bare, but it's a start). Everything else should be houses.
Could we try to get help getting the tools for the specialist building? Use some more of our time?
1c. Obtain a whole packet of seeds in each of five varieties for each hour you spent chatting with the locals. Specify varieties.
Potatoes, because they grow quickly so we can start it up, and then Wheat, Beans, Turnips and Clover to set up a good crop rotation, with the last one being green manure instead of harvest.
Maybe we should get some bees to act as pollinators while at it.
1e. Return the anchor portal to your apartment in Shadowhold, using the 24 mana hours set aside for this.
Got to make that communal contract, start talking to them and making friends.
Sorry for the autism

>>5529308
Forgot to say I wanted to
1d. Ask around about Tiffer, who apparently grew up here. You'll get one Interesting Tidbit of potentially useful info about him for each hour spent chatting with the locals.
As well. I messed up the math

>>5529256
> 1
If we can make it back for our council meeting
OR
>2
if not.

>>5529308
Oh lol you accidentally found a loophole I didn't intend to include. I meant to say that the minimum length of time it could take to build a building regardless of how much you talk is 10 hours, because I'm pretty sure Amish barn raisings irl literally take all day long - but I forgot to include that so it's canonical now, the Barreners have insane building skills and if the whole village likes you enough they can get together and knock out a whole house in five piddly hours, they're super-Amish! Also thanks for the autism <3

>>5530047
Oh, I didn't even thing that building a house in 5 hours would be freakishly fast, I was too busy trying to think how to balance the time talk and the time building. I like city building but suck at math.

>>5530053
Oh, and another thing I forgot to mention/comment
>>5529245
>"that I am now the captain of a magical interplanar talking world-ship?"
I now want to get a captain's hat or a pirate outfit for Lauros sometime in the future. Maybe Tiffer will know where to get one.

>>5530053
If you don't mind I'd like to pull the chatting down to 5 hours, and keep the building cost to 10. 10 hours would place it at nearly sunset before they get back and I want to have time to do stuff in the afternoon before then. A building cost of 10 is still more than enough for all the special buildings you mentioned plus several houses.

>>5530054
Yes. This is planned.

>>5530144
I'm ok with that.
Pirate wizard soon

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[1/4]
"Let's go talk to the Barreners, I guess. We'll visit for the morning, then have everyone's Not-selves help us build some houses and workshops, collect seeds, ask around about Tiffer, and then go back to Shadowhold to talk to Asriah and prepare for that meeting," you decide.

Pan nods, and opens a portal before you with a flourish of his hands. You walk through, and find yourself in a stunningly beautiful natural environment such as you've only read about in books. You seem to be in a clearing in a dense forest of tall hardwood trees covered in mosses and lichens, with an understory of shrubs and ferns. Mist fills the air, wafting in from the eastern coast, whose waves you can hear in the distance, and coalesces on the waxy oval leaves, rolling down them in countless drops to hang for a moment on the pointed tip before falling to the ground with a subdued "plink". It is comfortably warm here - spring seems to have arrived already, while in Shadowhold it is still winter, with the sun beginning to peek above the horizon more and more every day, but the temperatures still quite frigid. There's no way these isles are just west of the bay. This seems like a far southern latitude, subtropical perhaps.

"Barren Islands, my ass," you mumble. Pan, as an image, materializes in the air beside you. He cannot use telekinesis here without heavy mana expenditure, so you wave your hand through him, amused at his incorporeality.

He smiles. "Yeah. It's pretty lush, isn't it?"

You furrow your brow. "How is it possible that something like this is just to the west of Shadowhold Bay? This seems like it's in some far southern latitude."

"Um," he bites his lip. "If I remember from that geography book, it actually is really far to the southwest. Like, so far that there's actual seasons here instead of just half a year of night and half a year of day. But the Great Current goes past both the Barrens and the Dark Isles, so the ferrymen can use their weird magic to go back and forth with insane speed."

You vaguely remember reading somewhere once that the ferrymen, actually all technically female, highly fertile, and parthenogenic, use their magic to traverse ocean currents at greatly increased velocity, which is one of the primary ways the Sisters were able to conquer such vastly separated regions of the ocean. But since they broke their psychic bondage a century ago, the majority of them no longer live within Shadowhold's grasp, hiding an entire civilization of their own in a network of islands inaccessible except via "subtle currents" which only they can perceive and follow. But they still come back to the giant saltwater lotuses of the Dark Sea to lay their eggs and trade, preferring to remain on neutral terms with the "mother city".

"Well, I guess we should get to that village. Where is it anyway?"

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[2/4]
He points to the east, toward the gently wafting mist. "Down on the coast. The further inland you get the higher you get. This island is technically all one big semi-active volcano. See the smoke?" He points back to the west, which you notice now is gently sloping uphill. In the distance, above the trees, you can see a thin line of smoke trailing up from a mountain in the center of the island. Waterfalls rain down its lush, verdant slopes. "That's why it's so fertile, apparently. The volcanic ash makes everything grow better. But it hasn't actually spewed lava in centuries. Just ash."

You nod. "Why is the portal anchored up here, anyway, rather than in the village itself?"

He shrugs. "I didn't bring back much information beyond what was needed for the spell, but I think it's something about this being the preferred entry point for magic users so they can be seen before they enter the village. There are wards up over the rest of the island preventing portals from landing anywhere else." That sounds a bit ominious, but it makes sense that a village which supposedly worships sea-demons would want to be forewarned in case a Sister approaches.

You follow him down a well-worn trail to the east. You're not actually far from the coast, it seems, and within a few minutes you've gone past the treeline, and a beautiful beach of glistening white sand appears, roughly crescent shaped, with rocky cliffs jutting to either side. The sun is further above the horizon already, so early in the morning, than it ever gets even at noon in the dead of summer in Shadowhold, which is so far north that were it not for the Great Current it would be frozen solid.

Studded around the beach where it meets the forest are various quaint circular thatched cottages made of some dark, perhaps volcanic stone, and on the southern cliff overlooking the tiny beach, linked to it by a curving stone staircase carved from the rock, is a single fingerlike tower in the Shadowhold style - tall, cylindrical, surrounded by tall narrow arches, and topped with a pointy conical roof - all made from the same dark stone, highlighted with white stucco. There is some kind of large white crystal unfamiliar to you set into the roof, facing the sea. Perhaps some kind of magical light, enabling the tower to double as a lighthouse?

You startle as you notice the singular tower's architectural style, cursing yourself as you remember all too late that Sisters from lesser lineages are generally sent to govern subject isles. A witch from the same unsavory stock as your family may even now be watching from that tower, aware of your presence. Perhaps that's why the portal dock was placed where it was - so she can see rival Sisters as soon as they enter her domain.

File: zhi.jpg (76 KB, 512x768)

76 KB JPG

[3/4]
This isn't a particularly important island - it's one of the smaller Barrens, barely visible on the map in the geography book, and Kite's Corner isn't even marked as existing - so it's probable that whoever governs this island is relatively weak or even somewhat disgraced - though the exile-like effect of the place is somewhat ruined by the way the ferrymen's absurd speeds result in it effectively being only a day away from the city.

That said... the mana costs for visiting here would have been huge if interference by a local sorceress had prevented Not-you from safely spending time here... so presumably it's safe. Tentatively, you walk down the path toward the beach - which appears deserted - with Pan following behind you, staring in mild paranoia at the tower the whole time. The cliff behind it is beautifully green and grassy, terraced as it climbs up the side of the mountain-island, and interspersed with cottages similar to those on the shore. You can see some kind of four-legged animal grazing between the cottages, but you can't recognize it from so far away.

"Welcome, stranger. Or not, depending on why you're here," someone says just behind you, from inside one of the cottages. You nearly jump out of your skin and whirl around to see a man in his early thirties, seated on a stool with his legs crossed, looking at you with a placid expression and a relaxed demeanor. He has long jet black hair with shaved sides and the top pulled back in a bun, almond-shaped eyes behind expensive-looking eyeglasses, an elegant beard, and the lean frame of one accustomed to leisure, but not to idleness.

His skin is lightly tan, and he is wearing an open vest over an odd garment tied around the waist made from a single piece of cloth. It's a bit cool for that, you think, but given the humidity it probably warms up later in the day, which might warrant such a style of dress - particularly in the summer.

The most notable things about him, however, are that despite all the skin showing, you don't see a single speck of debt-ink - and he isn't speaking with a Barrens accent. That can mean only one thing.

"Y-you're a..." you stutter, too frightened to get the words out.

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Prince. Same as you, if the hair is to be believed. Though of a much lower standing in the family than you," he says the word "family" bitterly, "if your resemblance to Irin is to be believed."

He stands, and bows in a perfectly polished courtly manner. "Prince Zhi Scylla, youngest son of Lady Meilin Scylla, Sixth Sister of Shadowhold." Righting himself, he strides toward you in a fast, but graceful motion, almost like a dance, and has his hands around your throat before you can even bow and squeak out an introduction of your own. His grey eyes, previously almost kind, now burn with an inexplicable fiery rage.

"What are you doing on MY island, Mariana? And what spell did you just cast with the spectra of MY citizens?"

[4/4]
How will you handle this situation?
> He seems to have a grudge against the family. Tell him who you are and that you are estranged from them also. Pretend you don't know what he's talking about regarding the magic - "what? men can't do magic, what are you on about?"
> Same, but tell him the truth about your possession of a demiplane and that you used the villagers in a spell to move earth to the islands, and inquire as to how he knew in the first place.
> Lie - he clearly is here at the bidding of his wife, the true ruler of the island - they would never give a Prince this kind of power, and anyway he could not have sensed magic being used - and she is trying to trick you into being honest by having her husband talk to you. (Specify the lie to tell.)
> Teleport out of his grip and use magic and your rather limited fighting skills, amplified by Pan, to subdue him.
> Something else (write in)

Taking it a bit slower and not writing as much next few days. Trying to get realistic climate and geography and biology and find out how the hell farming works so I can describe a farming village properly... so we may be at Kite's Corner for quite a while real time while only a few hours pass in-world. :)

>>5530662
>Teleport out of his grasp and talk
>"Just call me Lauros, I've been distant from my family for a long time, and I would rather keep it that way."
>"I have not hurt or forced anyone, or their Spectra, to do anything. I asked for help and they provided it."
>"I recently received help from an ex-resident from this village, but he left before I could properly thank him. He also ended up making me responsible to care for some residents, so I decided to solve two problems at once and see if I could get some help with getting some fertile soil, seeds and constructing a few buildings for them to live in."
>"I honestly did not think that the isle could be under someone's protection, or to ask for permission from someone other then the villagers, or their Spectra themselves. I apologize deeply apologize for this mistake."

>>5530698
It somehow looks even bigger and more autistic now that it's posted then while I was writing.

>>5530703
Nah bro I really value your contributions so far. Thanks for enjoying my creation <3

>>5530698
Autistic? maybe. A good idea? Absolutely. Supporting.

>>5530662

>>5530698
Some small corrections I feel like I need to point out.
A "while I was here searching for him" after the help with building.
Also I wrote apologize twice, it should be only "I deeply apologize"

What I'm trying to do is to not lie in case it would break our oath, but at the same time not giving all the information in case this is some kind of ploy. Also trying to be polite and peaceful because he could just be protective of the good people in the village, or tired of magic users (sorceress) walking over him and whatever authority he has, in which case he could be a potential ally, and Lauros would probably find it relatable.

>>5530802
>>5530942
Thanks.

[1/7]
Almost reflexively, you teleport out of his grasp, Pan latching on to your silent intention to escape and expending a few minutes of mana simulating the effect of having struggled away from him - an act which should only have taken a few seconds, meaning it's quite unlikely - which has frightful implications for this man's fighting skill.

Or at least, you try to teleport out of his grasp. The instant the spell takes effect, you find yourself a few meters away, on the other side of the beach... with Zhi still in front of you and his hands still around your throat. He doesn't even look surprised. But you are. How the hell did he teleport with you??

Pan silently answers your unspoken question. Either 1. there's a sorceress watching who can sense our spells and cast counterspells for him, 2. he's actually a witch using flesh-shaping to appear male, 3. he possesses a demiplane like you do, or 4. he has some other, unknown source of magic. I could try to find out, but I expect the information gathering spell would be countered as well.

"You can't escape from me that easily, Mariana," he growls. "I'll ask again. Why are you here, what did you do, and who's casting for you?"

So he didn't think you cast the spell, only that you were the agent of someone who did. This makes it more likely that he, too, has female backup. You glance nervously at the tower, half expecting to see someone standing on a balcony watching you. But there is no one.

He's not actually pressing hard on your neck. Only enough to let you know he could do worse. So you stammer out, "I - I - I didn't hurt or force anyone - I'm just - I needed help and they - their 'spectra', willingly provided it."

Before you can continue he barks out another question. "What kind of help?"

"I beseech the One Law to strike me dead this instant if I harbor any ill will towards you or your citizens, or if I came here knowingly acting as an agent for any other entity who does," you babble at a rapid-fire pace. You feel a Presence washing over you, with a feeling of being scrutinized, and then it passes with no effect.

Zhi immediately lets go of you and backs away several feet, wiping the angry expression off his face and replacing it with one of dignified calm. He certainly has the manners of a Prince. You feel yourself quaking, and have the urge to gasp, but you don't actually need to. He didn't constrict your breathing - only scared you.

"My apologies for the fright. Please continue." He doesn't take his eyes off you, and very visibly does not trust you. Vows to the Law cannot be forged, but you suppose he expects you are unknowingly acting as an agent. Still, you thank the Law for intervening on your behalf, and the Pure One in whose name it was originally proclaimed.

[2/7]
Taking a deep breath, you begin. You're not going to tell him everything, but lies are impure speech; it is your responsibility to tell the truth, even if not the whole truth. "I recently received help from someone who I believe used to live in this village, but he went missing before I could thank him or pay him back. I also have recently become responsible for a small group of... victims of improper governance, for whom I wish to build a new place to live. I aim to help them resettle on a small uninhabited archipelago, and I decided to catch two fish with one net and come here for aid in preparing the place for their arrival, and also to learn more about my mysterious benefactor. I honestly did not think about the fact that this island might have a protector whose permission I ought to ask before using it in spells, and for that I deeply apologize."

He is silent for a moment, considering all you have said, before asking, "You still haven't said who's casting for you. And also, where is she?"

You decide the demiplane is technically at least half female, so it's not a lie to allow him to believe you have a female helper, and reply, "I'd prefer not to say, only to reiterate that she is no danger to you or your people - and is definitely not a Sister using me to encroach upon your wife's domain, if that's what you're worried about."

He huffs at the mention of a wife, but says nothing about it. "Hm. And do you know the name of this 'mysterious benefactor' you're looking for?"

You hesitate. Can you trust this man?

He seems impatient. "Whoever he is, if he has ever lived here, then his welfare is my concern, and I have a right, indeed a responsibility, to know that you have been in contact with him in case you put him in some kind of danger."

Oh. You were actually more concerned about getting Tiffer in trouble. But Zhi thinks you're the trouble. So... "His name is Tiffer." The prince's eyebrows shoot up at the mention of Tiffer's name. "Wait, do you know him?"

Zhi nods, slowly. "He's memorable." That's an understatement. But that means... he really did live here.

Those memories weren't fake. He really is your brother.

There is an awkward silence as you process this. "Do you... have any idea of his current whereabouts?"

"That really depends on who's asking. You may not harbor any ill will, but Tiffer is young and naive, and I don't want him getting mixed up with... the wrong sort." You wonder what he could possibly mean by that. He's a Prince himself. Is he referring to the Mariana lineage? "May I ask for your name?"

You straighten up, bow more deeply than Zhi did before, and righting yourself, reply, "Crown Prince in exile Lauros Mariana, firstborn son of Princess Katana Mariana, firstborn daughter of Lady Xanthe Mariana, First Sister of Shadowhold."

[3/7]
His eyes widen, and his body visibly relaxes. "Ah! So you're the heir to the Black Mask who ran away after the First Sister tried to marry you off to... who was it... Zalaria's granddaughter? That scandal caused quite the stir in the School. Nobody would shut up about it for weeks. I laughed my ass off, of course. Serves the old worm right."

Your annoyance that everyone knows you, even if you don't know them, is replaced with surprise at his use of the slur for lamias. Does he actually hate the nobility as a whole as much as you do?

"Yes, but... who did you think I was? I only know of one other male Mariana, and he's technically adopted."

He shrugs. "I thought you were him, coming here to snoop on behalf of the First Sister, actually. I wouldn't put it past Irin to get flesh-shaping to look younger. His vanity is legendary." You grudgingly agree. That does sound like something he'd do.

Zhi sighs. "I'm sorry for being so hostile. But I'm not on good terms with the family either, and I dread their coming to find me." Ah, so that's why he's speaking more openly and is less standoffish now that he knows who you are. You share a common burden of dissent.

"Is that why you're all the way out here?" you ask. Though, "all the way" might be a stretch.

He nods. "The ferrymen don't bring anyone who might be a threat to me, and they've exiled this island from the main bulk of the plane with their ocean current magic so that no one can stumble upon it with normal seagoing vessels - but ferrymen are neither infallible nor incorruptible, and I also can't assume people who show up here via magical means didn't find some other way around those protections."

That makes sense. "So you're basically free from the grasp of the Sisters here?"

He shakes his head. "Not free. Just harder to find, and harder to get to." He gestures up at the tower. "Would you like to sit down and talk in my home? I'm interested to hear as much as you feel comfortable telling about how you know Tiffer, and about these people whom you are helping to resettle. I'm afraid I don't know where he is at the moment, though, to answer your earlier question. But I can give you some ideas where to look."

You nod, and follow him up the short helix of stone steps carved into the side of the cliff. The steps are hard, rough, and slick with condensed mist and algae, and you wonder how he can walk barefoot up them comfortably. From the grassy top, you are even more struck by the beauty of the ocean, the early morning sun sparkling on the waves. Something seems missing, but you can't put your finger on what.

He sees you gazing out over the water, and smiles, remarking, "Yes, it's lovely isn't it? That's why I put the tower here." He put it there? But wouldn't his wife have been the one to make that decision? You wonder what kind of woman would marry an exiled Prince. Or maybe she's a sister who came with him? But he mentioned no such thing...

[4/7]
Turning away from the coast, you can see more clearly the layers of terraced pastures and paddies and gardens climbing up the slope of the island, and the strange lizardlike beasts that graze here and there, attended by villagers in garb similarly revealing to Zhi's - or more so. The women, you notice with slight revulsion, do not wear anything covering their breasts.

But that discomfort is counterbalanced by the pleasingly sculpted bodies of all the men and boys, who are clearly accustomed to labor - particularly the ones working in the rice paddies, who are all nude save for a loincloth - revealing that these tan-skinned islanders, much like Zhi, are mysteriously possessed by no debt-ink. Their bodies are adorned only by elaborate and beautiful patterns of scarification, and a wide array of piercings, studded with rings (which appear to be gold!), and even jewels, resembling the unfamiliar crystal you glimpsed at the top of the tower. How wealthy is this land, that peasants can wear such things?! One young man meets your gaze as you stare at him, and you blush, turning away.

You daydream with pleasure as Zhi unlocks and opens the door to the tower - why does it need to be locked? - about what it would be like to live in a place so consistently warm that clothes are not necessary, and decide to implement this in the demiplane - at least for the males. It is generally warm there, after all, and the temperature can easily be adjusted. But any females who live there ought to at least have their sagging, fat-filled parts covered - else they will be eyesores.

As you think this, you feel a cold darkness come over you on some astral layer of reality, and you quickly end that line of thought, for fear of breaking your oath to your divine patron. She does not begrudge you the healthy and innocent desire for pleasure, when that is rooted ultimately in companionship and playfulness and not in mere dehumanizing lust; but She frowns upon judging entire individuals - or halves of the human race - based on nothing but their appearance as filtered through your own aesthetic preferences. You whisper a short prayer asking Her forgiveness.

Finally Zhi gets the door open, and ushers you in. You gasp at the ornate, luxurious decorations in this small circular room. It appears that this is a traditional palace of lesser nobility, with each floor being one large room, but with many floors. This floor is covered in an exquisite circular rug with a similar pattern to the scarifications you saw on the bodies of the islanders outside and the patterns on their scarce clothing - floral and organic, woven in vibrant purples, blues, and greens. Along the walls in a circle are comfortable-looking couches with similar but more subdued designs in shades of brown and green, and between them, in front of strategically placed windows letting in the morning light, grow exotic potted plants.

[5/7]
Zhi seats himself on one of the couches, draping his arms over the back and spreading his legs comfortably wide (you blush as his... sarong? for just a moment reveals a part of him that you do not think he intended to show - but at least you now know he's not a sorceress pretending to be male), and gestures at you to take off your boots and leave them by the door. When you finished, he pats the couch next to him, and you pad across the pleasingly soft rug to sit down - but hesitate. You feel a bit uncomfortable with the prospect of being so close to this handsome older man.

He notices your hesitation, and waves his hand, which you notice for the first time has a ring on it. So he is married. "Ah, forgive me, I had forgotten that we have a somewhat more... relaxed atmosphere here than in the city. Sit wherever you prefer. Make yourself at home. As much as you can yet, anyway. The icy grip on your heart of Shadowhold's stifling rules of noble decorum will melt with enough time spent here, I think."

You think he is misreading your feelings somewhat, but you to not correct him, and sit on the next couch over. Close enough to not feel formal, far enough to not feel... you would say flirty, if it weren't for his wife. Where is she, anyway?

"Who... else lives here?" you ask, tentatively.

He furrows his brow. "On the island?"

You shake your head, lightly. "I mean in the tower."

"Ah. Only the servant. Speaking of which..." He picks up a little bell on a stand next to the couch, and rings it. Momentarily, a very pretty boy comes down the stairs, almost running, as if eager to please. He looks to be about twelve or so, and is clearly a native - shirtless and barefoot with a sarong, and with the same skin tone and dark hair, but fewer piercings, and no visible jewels or scarifications (perhaps those mark some milestone in puberty?).

The boy snaps to attention, glancing at you with wide eyes, but clearly trying to act formal, "Eh, sa?" (Yes, sir?)

"Would you mind bringing me and my guest here a bottle of wine from the cellar, Muwe? Choose a fine vintage, please - it's rare I have a guest worth having, and I'd like to treat him." The boy bows clunkily and then races further down the staircase, which you notice for the first time passes down through the floor. You idly wonder how many levels there are below the entrance - this tower can't delve far into the cliff before reaching sea level, and floors below would be quite prone to flooding, you imagine.

You know you ought to get to telling your story, but it seems that now that Zhi feels assured you are not a threat, he would rather return to the slow and easy pace of island life. Well - island life for a noble, you think to yourself, remembering the hard-working peasants outside. Considering the servant and the luxurious interior, he seems not to have let go of all aspects of his upper-class heritage.

[6/7]
So you resign yourself, with a mote of impatience, to some small talk. At least getting in his good graces will help you along in your goal of getting permission to use the island's resources for building in the demiplane - since he ultimately owns them all.

"Is this wine grown here, or imported?" you ask, partly to make conversation, and partly out of genuine interest. Everything consumable in the city is imported, except for various fruits and vegetables in the palace greenhouses, which try as the gardeners might never seem to resemble the warm, sunny climate of the south sufficiently to cultivate grapes.

His face lights up. "Grown here, in fact! We're terribly proud of it. And it's our little secret, too. I'll show you the vineyards later if you want. Of course all the Barrens have vineyards, but only ours have the distinction of... well, you'll see." You can't imagine what distinction he's referring to - truth be told, you know almost nothing about wine - but he has piqued your interest.

The serving boy Muwe returns, bottle in one hand, and two ornately carved and painted stone goblets clasped together in the other. You're a bit surprised. "Why stone rather than glass?" You've never seen such a thing before.

Zhi shrugs as he takes one of the goblets and trades an oddly meaningful glance with Muwe as the boy pours him a cupful. You notice the boy's hand trembling slightly as he pours, but cannot guess why. Zhi swirls it around, sniffs it, and takes a sip, before replying. "Glass breaks if dropped. Stone doesn't. I don't see unnecessary fragility as beautiful, however graceful it may be. Quite the opposite, in fact. Strength, adaptability, and authenticity have their own allure." He takes another sip while Muwe hands you a goblet and pours some for you, before setting the bottle down on the table and returning to stand at attention by the staircase. You mimic what Zhi did, and enjoy the aroma before you take a sip, but you're not a connoisseur, and doubt you can perceive the complexities he does.

The prince continues. "Take Muwe here, for instance." The boy beams as his name is mentioned, and visibly quivers a bit. He's very excitable, isn't he? Perhaps he just likes being of service. "He works hard to fulfill my every need, however unusual..." - the boy giggles - "...and unlike nobles back at home, utterly lacks pretentiousness. That is why I find him most alluring of all."

Zhi beckons him over. Muwe eagerly obeys, and... sits on - no - leaps into Zhi's lap! Is this what he was excited for??? The prince smiles at him in a way at once paternal and... something else. With an air of innocence, he asks, "Would you like any other refreshments, Lauros?"

Muwe looks at you curiously.

[7/7]
At first you are a bit befuddled, but after a moment it sinks in. A blush spreads over your whole face and neck. "Oh. Oh, no, thank you, ahaha, I uh. I um. Uh." You stammer, unable to come up with anything to say. "Wait, what does your wife think about this?!"

He smiles. "I don't have one." Muwe looks at him suspiciously with narrowed eyes, and he laughs, petting the boy's head affectionately. "Unless a boy wife counts."

Your discomfort deepens. "Well then... who casts your spells?!"

"I do." Zhi waves his hand, and the stone on his ring - which you realize now, looking at it, is similar to the one on the tower and on the piercings of the villagers - glows with a pale violet light, as the bottle of wine on the table teleports to his hand.

You gape.

> Interrogate him about the whole "boy wife" situation. Is this "normal" in the Barrens? What do the boy's parents think? How long has this been going on?
> Meh, let the man have his deviance. Muwe seems to like it, and that's what matters. What's more important is *holy shit a man just did magic*, is it something to do with those crystals???
> You *still* haven't gotten around to explaining how you met Tiffer and what you need help with from the locals, and asking what he knows about Tiffer's whereabouts. That is first priority. These other curiosities can come later.
> Zhi is clearly an *unusual* individual. Ask him what, exactly, led him to want to leave the capital and go into hiding to begin with. Does it have anything to do with... proclivities such as he has just demonstrated, perhaps?
> Talk about / do something else (write in)

Hope this isn't too risque, but you know, muh transgressive art, all standard disclaimers apply, blah blah. If it pisses you off too much I won't go anywhere near that topic again, so just let me know. Also sorry no pictures, wrote too damn much, tired.

>>5532878
> You *still* haven't gotten around to explaining how you met Tiffer and what you need help with from the locals, and asking what he knows about Tiffer's whereabouts. That is first priority. These other curiosities can come later.
> Meh, let the man have his deviance. Muwe seems to like it, and that's what matters. What's more important is *holy shit a man just did magic*, is it something to do with those crystals???
>Now that you feel you can trust Zhi more, reveal that your caster is a demiplane called Pan that you inherited after your mother died. Although you do not know how she died, or why you even inherited it when you were exiled.
It doesn't seem to be that risque to be honest. And while I'm not gay, it's in the title of the quest, so I knew what I was in for. Actually I thought this was going to be a shitpost quest and joined to see a trainwreck, but then all the effort in the worldbuilding, characters, writing and city building ended up drawing me in.

File: zhi's palace, ground floor.jpg (145 KB, 640x640)

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Some pictures to make up for what I didn't provide yesterday. First, Zhi's palace, the ground floor sitting room, where the characters currently are. Courtesy of Lexica Aperture, a really fantastic art AI.

File: islanders in rice paddy.jpg (96 KB, 640x512)

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Barren Islanders in a rice paddy, studded with wealth unexpected for mere peasants. Or is that all they are? Also HOLY SHIT Lexica Aperture is good!!!

>>5532878
> You *still* haven't gotten around to explaining how you met Tiffer and what you need help with from the locals, and asking what he knows about Tiffer's whereabouts. That is first priority. These other curiosities can come later.
> Meh, let the man have his deviance. Muwe seems to like it, and that's what matters. What's more important is *holy shit a man just did magic*, is it something to do with those crystals???
>Hope this isn't too risque
Kek, remember you're running this in a shithole where pedophilia is more accepted than homosexuality.

>>5532878
> *holy shit a man just did magic*, is it something to do with those crystals???
I can't imagine fucking prepubescent boys is kosher with The Pure One's moral strictures, and would rather that it not be with our MC, but it is what it is in baby-burning witch-woman hellworld. Let's focus on what matters and avoid making enemies OR becoming a tropical nonce.

>>5533474
>>5532878
Oh, and ask about Tiffer, like >>5533373 and >>5532902 said.

[1/5]
After a few blank-minded seconds, you close your mouth, take a deep breath, and steady yourself. You're not here to wonder at the sexual proclivities of an exiled noble or the mores of his host culture. You are a bit curious why he hates the Sisters so much in the first place, and why he left the capital, but that can wait. A technology that enables men to do magic is unprecedented and revolutionary.

"Can I ask how you did that? I saw the crystal on your ring glowing."

Zhi pours himself another drink before setting the bottle down. "I'm afraid that information cannot be given out for free, not even to a fellow prince in exile. If you tell me the source of your magic, I'll tell you the source of mine." He takes a sip. "The real source, please. I know you came alone."

You debate for a moment with yourself about how much to tell him, but decide to come entirely clean. This man is a potential ally, after all - though you do worry sometimes that you tell the truth entirely too readily, to complete strangers.

"A few days ago," you begin - and how much longer it seems already! - "I received word that my estranged mother died unexpectedly." He raises an eyebrow, but sips again and says nothing. "I do not know why, but she possessed, and left to me in her will, a demiplane."

Zhi's eyes widen in surprise. "A demiplane?! Where on earth did she get it? I've never heard of anyone, not even a Sister, having access to such a thing. Honestly, I'd somewhat thought that they were myths."

Muwe, who appears a bit bored and restless, shifts position to lay down on the couch with his head in Zhi's lap and his legs propped on the armrest. The boy's eyes close and he lets out a little sigh as the prince strokes his hair. Honestly, you find it a bit distracting, seeing them together. You wish you had someone to cuddle with like that. Though, preferably a few years older - you do worship the goddess of childhood, after all, and even though it appears consensual, this relationship skirts the line of impurity, as the boy has likely just barely begun puberty. Your mind threatens to turn again to the heat of Tiffer's skin, and you refocus yourself on the present.

You continue. "Yes, I was quite shocked myself. But I have long had daydreams about finding or building some kind of refuge from the Sisters and their tyranny, so I was excited at the prospect. I was even more excited when I discovered that demiplanes can generate, and use, mana."

The prince's excitement only grows. He leans forward a bit, grey eyes glimmering, and even Muwe opens his eyes and looks at you, appearing to have become mildly interested in your story. "How much? Is their output comparable to a human's?"

You nod. "Ten times what a human produces, actually."

Zhi almost shouts. "Ten times?! That means that since you stepped foot on the island, you've already accumulated ten more hours of mana! How amazing! I think only Lady Xanthe in her prime could have matched that."

[2/5]
You check silently with Pan, whose presence you nearly forgot - he is very silent when you are focusing on matters in the external world, presumably to prevent you from accidentally speaking to him in the presence of those who cannot see him. It appears that you have even more mana than you thought, since more was also being produced while you planned your day earlier. You've currently got 180 hours.

"Yeah. It's actually kind of overwhelming, I don't know what to do with it all. Anyway, the first thing I did was move my things from my apartment to the demiplane, and that's how I met Tiffer, searching for someone to help me carry everything."

He relaxes a bit, and nods, though still visibly eager to learn more about the demiplane. "You know, I was here when Tiffer first swam up onto the beach, about seven years ago. It was right after we had taken down the first of the Stormsingers. I expect that was no coincidence." You finally realize what looked so odd to you about the ocean before - there was no Sea Wall, no row of stone guardians - Stormsingers - wrapping around the island just offshore to keep the sea-demons out. Why take them down, though? Did they actually want to let sea-demons - and their half-human offspring - onto the island? You think back to the apparent worship directed towards them in Tiffer's memories, and wonder.

Muwe speaks up, in the reverent tone of a boy talking about his hero. "Teep-ha eem dun hepun po den singa, pa o tem eem lubbun ya, to less wan. Eem trang pa muktak o pa luntsum, ya." (Tiffer helped pull down Singers the whole time he lived here, until the last one. He's as strong as a muktak all by himself.) What's a muktak?

"Indeed," Zhi replies, smiling at the boy's enthusiasm and sipping his wine again. You notice he drinks very slowly, savoring every sip, and actually doesn't seem to have had much of the stuff. "I was quite amazed to see a boy so young lifting so much. Of course," he adds hastily as Muwe eyes him with narrowed eyes again, "strength isn't everything, and he was too young even for me when he arrived. And by the time I might have been interested, he knew enough of the language to describe a blonde boy he always dreamed about, so I just gave up. Then I found this little rascal and my loneliness was dispelled." He tickles Muwe's belly, grinning, and the boy giggles and playfully fights him off. You blush again and turn away, as much because of the tickling as because you know you are the blonde boy Tiffer was talking about.

Interesting Tidbit about Tiffer, number one.

Now it's your turn to ask for more information. "Well, I've told you about the source of my magic. Now I'd like to know about the source of yours. I'm guessing it's something to do with those crystals I keep seeing?"

[3/5]
He nods, spreading his fingers to clearly show his ring. "These are a gift from the Sunken Lords." Seeing your blank expression, he adds, "Usually called sea-demons. They don't particularly like that designation, however. Here we offer them a bit more respect than they are afforded in Shadowhold, and they reward us with, well," he sweeps his hand widely, gesturing at the room and the lush landscape outside. "All this. Paradise."

So they made a deal with demons. Or with ancient, uncanny, inhuman entities that live far beneath the ocean, at least. "Where's the catch?" you ask, skeptically, thinking of the hideous, cyclopean Black Cube that hovers in the sky to eclipse the midsummer sun at the annual sacrifice, dripping black ichor into the mouths of the ecstatic serpentine Sisters as they strangle and consume the "criminals" to be executed in its name. Pacts with unknowable monstrosities always have a catch. You shudder at the memory.

He seems to know what you're thinking, and a slight shudder passes over him as well. All Princes know the terror: if I make one false move, one misstep, will I be disgraced, and fed to the source of the Sisters' baleful blood? You realize that Zhi has even more reason to be worried than you. You are the sole heir of the entire Mariana line. They need you. They don't need him.

"No, it's nothing like that. Not like the Cube. Every Sunken Lord is different, of course, but ours is a loving father. The children call him Papa, in fact." You get goosebumps as you hear the nickname. That's what Tiffer called his father. And his memories did imply that he was the son of this island's patron beneath the waves...

You are still skeptical. They could simply be brainwashed. But you set that aside for the moment. "So, how do these crystals, these gifts, work?"

Muwe gets up off the couch and trudges back up the stairs, sighing with exaggerated despair. You get the feeling you're about to receive a lecture the boy has tired of hearing - and that his desire for whatever excited him earlier has been frustrated.

Zhi chuckles, takes a sip, and explains. "The female principle brings possibilities into the world." You nod, familiar with the notion from Pan's explanations. "The male principle winnows them down, selecting the most fit, which is why only Princes - and dead ones, at that - are capable of nullifying magic, such as that of the Sunken Lords. That's the principle behind the Stormsingers." You didn't know this, but it makes sense. However you wonder... does this imply that Princes could be trained to counter magic to some extent while still alive?

[4/5]
"However. Just as on the physical plane, the male body produces seed, and the female body receives it, so in the astral, it is the female body that produces mana, and the male body which can receive it. The knowledge to do so was lost, or rather, buried on purpose, centuries ago - and I'm sure you can guess by who - but there are techniques whereby I could, for instance, steal the vitality of a woman with whom I laid, and shape it into magic. And I can also store it, given the right receptacle. Enter the Sunken's gift: mana crystals."

He stands up, and turning around, shrugs off his vest, revealing a sequence of crystals, each about an inch across, studding the length of his spine. Pulling it back on, he sits back down. "What I've got installed can hold, at maximum capacity, about three months of mana. Of course," he adds with a chuckle, "you could generate that in nine days."

"Where exactly do they come from?" you ask. Ideas are swirling through your head now. If these could be manufactured and distributed on a mass scale, they would completely upend the economy and political structure of Shadowhold. It would not only liberate men and infertile women from the tyranny of the Sisters (and children from the tyranny of their parents, though you suppose there's good reason a spirited youngster like Muwe doesn't have any yet), but also possibly lead to the downfall of the entire oppressive regime. And, you think with a bit of guilt at your selfishness, it would mean you could pick and choose who should join your demiplane, instead of having to take in everyone you can for morality's sake.

That's presuming, of course, that enough palace consorts could be convinced to defect and trained in the art of mana-stealing, and that the logistics of smuggling mana crystals in and out of the palaces could be arranged. And if people started using them regularly, the Sisters would find out and crack down on them immediately. Somehow all those people would have to be convinced to hide their crystals until some preplanned day of revolution, when they would storm the Water School all at once. Is such a thing even possible?

"They are generated by the Sunken themselves, via a process they keep entirely secret, and our envoys bring back crystals provided in trade for our own goods and... services." You wonder what kind of "services" he's talking about. "We suspect that the Sunken ultimately wish for the crystals to attain a wide distribution on the surface, but as far as I know, no one outside this island has yet been granted any."

This puts a bit of a damper on your enthusiasm. Even if you could convince the Sunken Lords to provide enough crystals for a revolution, you would simply end up beholden to them instead, as they would have a monopoly on manufacture of this product foundational to the new society. You feel like Asriah might remark on this, though you're not sure if she would admire the Lords' business savvy, or rue them for their cartelism.

[5/5]
"Actually," Zhi remarks, "an envoy is going on an expedition to Papa later this morning. He welcomes guests, particularly if they bring gifts, and we can find something for you to carry if you choose to accompany her. Since you know his son, Tiffer, you'll definitely be in his good graces, I think."

The idea frightens you - you've met people who went stark raving mad upon seeing a sea-demon up close - but you know of no better way to investigate the ultimate nature of these crystals than to ask the one who supplies them. You'll just have to hope that all the horrors you've already seen in your life have inured you to the shock.

"I'll definitely consider it," you reply.

Just as you're about to change the subject with the mention of Tiffer, and ask about his whereabouts, you hear a knock on the door. Zhi stands up, but before he has even taken one step, Muwe has bounded down the stairs and run to the door, opening it.

"Mama!" he exclaims, and he takes the hand of the middle-aged woman at the door, pulling her in. "Suttih men eem dun comin' pa tak, ya. Eem na lek wam nun neda." (A man from the city has come to talk! He doesn't like the worms either.)

The woman squints at you suspiciously for a moment, eyeing your blonde hair. But then she enters, her grass skirt rustling as she walks, and glares at Zhi.

"Ya suttun pa tring, pa ohh bilaj wak. Dun spollun Muwe pa lezzih an' na ibba dun widdun nun, ya? Bih ya guttun nah!" (You sit and drink while the whole village works. You've already spoiled Muwe with laziness, and haven't even been married yet, you know? Get going now!)

The prince chuckles as the boy complains, and stands up stretching. Bowing to you, he says apologetically, "Please excuse me. My soon-to-be mother in law Sila here organizes the village work schedule, and today I'm supposed to be at the taro fields with Muwe. I may be a prince, but here, that means nothing - which is part of why I like the place. You may explore the tower or the village while we're away - I'll tell everyone who you are - but don't open the trapdoor in the cellar, please." And with that, he follows the clucking woman (who has completely ignored you since the squint) out the door, followed closely by the sullen boy, and closes the door.

> Open the trapdoor in the cellar. If he doesn't want you to, there's probably something cool and secret down there.
> Go upstairs and see all the rooms. The view from the top of the tower is probably gorgeous, and you might be able to inspect the big crystal and find out what it's for.
> Follow them out to the village. You're going to be gardening soon, so you might as well get firsthand experience, and meet some of the natives.
> Go down to the cottages on the shore. Does anyone live in them? What are they for?
> Do something else (write in)

>>5533683
> Follow them out to the village. You're going to be gardening soon, so you might as well get firsthand experience, and meet some of the natives.

>>5533687
You read really fast. I keep noticing you reply like within minutes of my posting. I appreciate that.

>>5533683
> Go upstairs and see all the rooms. The view from the top of the tower is probably gorgeous, and you might be able to inspect the big crystal and find out what it's for.
Was gonna go for the trapdpor, but that's lile the default option so I'm going for epical heights instead.
>>5533698
Damn, I should've stayed and finished the update, was on good track to match that anon, having finished 3/5 in under 9 minutes.

>>5533698
>You read really fast.
I often catch the update in the second or third post. Because of the 1 minute between posts, by the time you post the last one, I already read a lot of the update.

>>5533683
> Follow them out to the village. You're going to be gardening soon, so you might as well get firsthand experience, and meet some of the natives.

btw when I said "you've currently got 180 hours" I meant spare, leaving out the 24 for getting home, so actually 204. sorry for the confusion there.

[1/4]
Though you are very tempted to explore the tower - what could all those rooms be for? - you know that you're going to be gardening in the demiplane soon, and you need to get firsthand knowledge, obtain seeds and baby plants, and of course, befriend the locals to ask for their help in building houses for your future inhabitants. So you quickly get up and go out after them.

"Actually," you start, as they turn to look, "would it be okay if I come with you? I'd like to see the village and help you with whatever gardening you're doing. I can't say I'll be very good at it, but it's something I want to learn."

Zhi and Muwe both look to Sila. You find it a bit amusing that she is the authority here, not the prince who lives in the tower. She shrugs. "Mo hen o tem gud." (More hands are always good.) She doesn't seem concerned that you're nobility from the city, which you find comforting.

As they climb up the trail away from the shore, you look back for a moment at the sea, wondering if Tiffer is down there somewhere with his father, before following. A sequence of terraced levels have been carved into the hillside along a wide arc of the small island, fading into forest at their edges. Each level is secured against erosion by a wall of stones. Some areas are flooded and home to rice paddies that beautifully reflect the sun; others have a wide variety of plants growing in neat rows.

Steps carved from rock similar to that of the cliffside connect the levels and the path, which is surprisingly paved with interlocking stones set neatly into the earth, their surfaces level with the grass. At the top, above the highest terrace, right in front of the treeline, the steps merge into the base of a small, pretty temple, from which aqueducts sprout like roots growing down the hill, each feeding a different terrace plot. Water is coming out some of them and not others; you assume that there is an intricate system of locks and valves to control it.

Zhi sees you looking and points behind the temple. "You can't see it well from here, but a stream flows behind the water temple there, and there's ditches dug to divert some of the water through it. The silt is great for the plants. When it rains too much and the stream threatens to overflow we open up more ditches and aqueducts to drain the extra water elsewhere on the island."

You are in awe at the design. Truth be told, you never really thought about where your food was coming from, or how it was grown. You just ate it. But systems like these in the colonies feed the city. "I'm guessing some past Prince or Sister responsible for the island designed this?"

He laughs, and Sila snorts. "No. The islanders themselves did. Our ancestors learned a few architectural tricks from them, actually. You know the aqueducts in the city that bring water to your faucet?" You nod. "The Barreners invented that system."

Sila remarks, "Heed beeta na pruttih sing pa neek, ya." (Our heads aren't just pretty things on our necks.)

[2/4]
Your eyes widen, and you blush a little with embarrassment at your assumption. You'd always thought people of the Barrens were just ignorant savages! But they had running water before Shadowhold did?! Of course, you had those opinions without ever meeting one - until Tiffer, who admittedly did not try hard to dispel that assumption...

"What all grows here?" you ask. "I guess with all the water and sunlight, probably quite a lot?"

"Well, some plants like to be cold. But in these fields we've got rice, wheat, onions, taro, potatoes, sweet potatoes, cassava, and all sorts of vegetables. There's orchards elsewhere on the island with breadfruit, bananas, plantains, and all sorts of other fruit trees and berry bushes and nuts. And I'm probably forgetting a lot of other stuff."

What a bounty! "How can you even eat it all?"

He smiles. "You'd be amazed how much a few hundred people eat. And we feed Papa, too. He has a big appetite. And I haven't even counted the eggs and milk from the muktaks yet. That's those big girls," he says, pointing at the huge squat four-legged lizards (or birds?) grazing in the pasture and acting as beasts of burden in the fields.

The muktaks are covered in soft down and have beautiful multicolored feathered crests on their heads that wave back and forth as they chew with their dainty beaks. With a start, you realize that one of your plushies back at home, which you'd always thought was simply a fanciful creature, is actually a representation of a muktak. And it's probably stuffed with muktak down, too! Looking closer, you also notice that some of the muktaks - the ones with larger and more colorful crests, presumably the males - have crystals studding their backs like the ones Zhi wears, but much larger.

Thinking about what he said before about how the crystals work, you take a guess. "Do the males somehow charge the crystals when they mate the females?"

He nods. "They're smart beasts. It's oddly easy to teach them the secret techniques of mana manipulation." He points out a female muktak carrying on his back, tied down to the crystals, a heavy load of baskets filled with vegetables, grains, and tubers. As you watch, he teleports across the field to a huge building that you presume to be a storehouse (but why does it have to be so big?), and waiting villagers begin untying the ropes and carrying the baskets in.

As if that wasn't strange enough, as you approach the field and Sila, with Muwe tagging along, begins telling a few youngsters waiting there what to do (speaking Hakebwi, the native language of the islands), you notice for the first time that plants throughout the field are growing in real time. Young men and women studded with crystals walk slowly and meditatively up and down the rows in each terrace, and as they walk, the crystals glow and plants spring up around each step.

[3/4]
Zhi grins as you gape at this. "We don't do most of the work by hand. It's necessary to learn how to do it, to the point of muscle memory, to maximize efficiency of mana usage, and to keep in practice and maintain all the systems, even if they are only little used in reality - but nearly all the work of growing is done with mana, simulating years of growth every few days. This is only possible with the aid of the muktaks, who charge most of the crystals, and of those women who choose to donate their fertility to feed the crops."

"But why so much?!" you exclaim. "At this rate, you could feed the whole city of Shadowhold with just this one island!" You think of all the hungry beggars in the streets of the slums, and wonder how a world so unfair as this could exist.

He shrugs. "Papa has a big appetite. So do his sons."

You wonder at this mention of sons, but before you can ask about it, Sila and Muwe return from instructing the other youths. Well, only Sila was instructing - Muwe appeared to be cracking jokes about something the entire time. The older woman clucks at Zhi. "Leess tak, mo wak! Mejih pa ohh sing na gud nun - bih trangun speel pa hen, ya!" (Less talk, more work! Magic for everything is no good - strengthen your spells by hand!) The prince sheepishly sits down with Muwe next to the empty field with a bunch of stalks of some plant.

Sila turns to you. "Eh. Ya taro." (Hey. This is taro.) She shows you one of the plants. It looks like just a long stalk. She points at a little nub at one end. "Ya com." (Here's the corm.) Pointing at the place it meets the stem, she says, "Kipp seef." (Keep this part safe.) Measuring off a few inches with her fingers, she breaks the stem there, and then pokes the stalk, corm down, into the thick, slightly moist, loamy soil, until about half of it is beneath the dirt.

She points at the sun, now about halfway through its trek from the horizon to the apex of its journey, and rotates the stalk in the ground to point at it as well. "Pont pa rezun pa mo com. Pont pa seetun pa mo stum. Com nah." (Point it at the rising sun for more corm. Point it at the setting sun for more stems. Corms now.) Placing one hand next to the stalk she just planted, she stretches the other out two or three feet. "Put ya." (Put the next one here.)

Sila looks at you expectantly, and you take more stalks out of the pile and mimic her actions exactly, finally preparing to place the third one the same distance away from the second as it was from the first. She nods, satisfied, and stands up to go supervise someone else with a stern closing remark of, "Pa hen, ya?" (By hand, okay?) You nod. It's somewhat relaxing, actually. Once you've got it down to muscle memory, you'll be able to automate the rest with magic, but that will take a while.

[4/4]
Soon the entire field has been planted, and someone opens a valve to allow water to trickle into it from an aqueduct as several young women, and a few men with glowing crystals, begin walking in that strange slow meditative way up and down the rows. You assume this is because they must precisely imagine everything they would normally do by hand in daily cultivation of the plants while directing the mana to speed the process.

Water gushes out of the aqueduct in a torrent - far too much, you think, and you expect the field to be waterlogged - but the sped up growing process means that the plants simply soak it up as fast as it comes, the stalks growing huge heart-shaped leaves that climb up into the air as you stare in wonder. Eventually, they begin to turn yellow, as fat, round tubers poke up out of the soil. At that point, Sila makes a signal and the walking stops. The women look winded, and the men's crystals look transparent instead of their usual opaque whiteness. Everyone sits down to relax, and you feel slightly guilty that all you did was plant the things.

I somehow took all day just to write this much - it takes a while to learn about taro cultivation lol, but it's so fascinating and I kinda lost track of time! - so I'll stop this kinda artificially and inadequately here

> Help Muwe and Zhi load up some muktaks with the produce and learn more about the beasts
> Join Sila to cook the taro and hear her tell local folktales - and maybe ask her what the relationship between Zhi and Muwe is all about
> Wander off and talk to other villagers - maybe some of the people doing the growth magic could teach you something
> Ask to see the temple (who's it dedicated to?) and learn how the waterworks function - you might could replicate them in the demiplane
> Discreetly try to learn more about Papa and his "sons" - are there other half-demons here?
> Something else (write in)

>>5535182
>> Ask to see the temple (who's it dedicated to?) and learn how the waterworks function - you might could replicate them in the demiplane
I'm betting it's dedicated to Papa
Until you said that were learning taro cultivation, I thought it was a plant you came up with. Now I know about yam's cousin.

>>5535182
> Ask to see the temple (who's it dedicated to?) and learn how the waterworks function - you might could replicate them in the demiplane
> Discreetly try to learn more about Papa and his "sons" - are there other half-demons here?

>>5535182
> Join Sila to cook the taro and hear her tell local folktales - and maybe ask her what the relationship between Zhi and Muwe is all about
I personally don't mind, huge updates can get tiring to read when they drop twice a day. Comfy writing, btw.

Hey so, I am probably burning out from writing too much. Today I've been trying to research the subak system of irrigation in Bali, which is what I was going for here (though they only use it for rice and I have other stuff mixed in and I imagine that's nonsensical), while also trying to decide exactly how I want to write Papa and what his motivations are, and honestly I'm kinda tired. I know that if I skip a day, I will have a harder time restarting tomorrow, but I don't have enough written yet and there won't be time tonight to finish, so... I'll try to get something put out tomorrow. Hope that's not too disappointing.

>>5536040
You write quite a lot for daily updates, so it's understandable.
If you want to keep the daily pace, then try to not make it a habit of skipping days, because then it would be hard to break ut of it.

>>5536044
The spoiler feels a bit condescending or accusing reading it now. That wasn't the tone I was going for.

>>5536040
Don't worry QM, you can write less and it won't be a problem at all. There is no need for padding or getting PhDs in irrigation to wrire book-tier story twice a day. As far as players go, we're fine with as little ax one-post update once a day, as long as it's comfortable for you!
>>5536049
Didn't come off condescending and also I agree with what you said.

> Ask to see the temple (who's it dedicated to?) and learn how the waterworks function - you might could replicate them in the demiplane

Tbh I'm also feeling a bit uncomfortable with the way this has been going.

First of all: I write so much because it's hard not to. Like, I try to write less and I can't lol. I am in the mindset of a writer, not a game master, and it's hard for me to find a place where I'm willing to pause, let go of control, and provide options where I don't know what will happen. But really, this is a quest. Y'all deserve more influence over what happens. But... I have a hard time finding points where there's a meaningful choice to be made, or figuring out what the prompts should even be, and the less I write, the more often I have to figure that out. Which is hard as fuck.

Second of all: I want something that feels more like a litrpg or a progression fantasy. But the way I've been writing it, due to the fact that I don't have any actual experience playing ttrpgs, is just... author writing a story. There's no sense that the main character is on some kind of journey of growth; he's static. But that's partly because time is so dilated - it's like a week irl per day due to how much I write. And I love writing, I want to write novels, but again, I don't know how to do less!

Oh and the demiplane is OP and so I have to try to figure out what to do with all that insane amount of mana, which is a missed opportunity for gradually leveling up its production.

AND I'm a perfectionist and the inconsistencies of worldbuilding compared to my vision for the world is driving me nuts.

Sorry to rant but goddamn this is just really difficult actually and I need to figure out how to pivot to a different way of doing things but I don't know how or what lol.

>>5536044
Agreed. As a QM myself, I have to force myself to produce an update some days, but I know from experience that if i start to slack on a project too often I will abandon it. This isn't true for everyone, but if QM feels it is for him, he should heed that feeling.

>>5536040
That said, burnout can be an issue, too. take a day when you need it. You shouldn't write out of obligation.

>>5536208
You're doing a fine job, that said. You write quite a bit, but I doubt anyone's complaining, especially given the quality of the worldbuilding. One solution I've found is to post a few broad strategic and emotional prompts at once in an update. You can thus ask (for example) how the character is feeling about major events or discoveries, what his general plans are moving forwards and how he plans to focus his energies, and if he wants to take any specific short-term actions. Then you can write an entire 'day', or a major portion of one, all at once with a clear understanding of how the players wish to develop the MC, how he should interact with other characters in a way that makes players feel immersed, how they want to use the demiplane (we'll come up with ideas to spend that mana, never fear!), and even what major story beats you might be able to set up to intersect with our broad objectives.

File: nehiri.jpg (94 KB, 512x768)

94 KB JPG

[1/5]
As others approach with muktaks to begin harvesting the crop, you ask Sila, "What will be done with it?"

She mimics a pounding motion. "Cok, klin, mek pest. Taro pest gud fod. Lib, stum bol, mek sto." (We'll cook it, clean it, and make paste. Taro paste is good food. The leaves and stems, we'll boil and make stew with.)

It sounds intriguing, but your eyes are drawn to the network of aqueducts, and the temple on the hill that feeds them. You're curious about how it works and to whom the temple is dedicated. You ask, "Is it okay if I go see the temple and study the water system?"

Sila shrugs. "Bih ya bek pa mo plent, ya." (Just get back when it's time to plant more.) You nod, and turn to follow the stone staircase up the terraces.

You neglected to replace your shoes before running out behind Zhi and Sila before, but it seems no one else here wears them, either. It's not necessary; the stone is well-swept, and the grass is soft and weedless. It feels odd to be barefoot outside, but also a bit pleasing. You could get used to this relaxed way of life - though the hectic pace of planting somewhat clashes with it.

Looking around, you see much labor being done by hand, despite the availability of magic. It's primarily young people, developing skills to automate them later - such as boys Muwe's age or younger who haven't earned any crystals yet. No one is using magic at all in the little plots surrounding cottages on the outskirts, which have mixtures of different plants growing together, unlike the orderly rows in the terraces; perhaps magic is used only in what is grown for export? You decide to ask about that later.

At the top of the hill is the temple of black volcanic stone. It comprises a gated courtyard, with four towers in the corners and one larger shrine in the back behind a shady portico. Passing through the gate, legs burning from all the climbing, you pause to bow to each pillar, making the sign of the crossroads, with a short prayer to the Lord in His aspect as the guardian of the threshold.

The courtyard's paving stones, damp from the ocean mist, feel warm on your feet. Approaching the shrine, you see a young woman kneeling within. She senses your presence, and comes out to stand in front of it, blocking the entrance.

She has long silky black hair, tan skin, and almond shaped eyes, like every other native you've seen, as well as full lips and a slender but curved body. You expect most men would desire her.

All her clothes are white: a sarong long enough to graze the ground, a chest wrapping that covers her breasts (she's the first woman you've seen here with one), and a gauzy veil attached to a thin golden circlet, which drapes over her face and torso. She wears minimal ornamentation - golden anklets grace her feet, but she has no piercings or scarifications.

[2/5]
"Since last you immersed your entire body in pure water, have you been in contact with any meat, eggs, dairy, blood, semen, or any other substance which recently was alive or able to give life and is now dead?" the young woman asks in the city dialect, in a softly lilting voice and only the slightest trace of an accent. You do blush a bit at the nonchalant mention of semen.

"I have not." You sat on a wooden stool temporarily in the palace earlier, but you doubt that wood counts as having recently been alive, and you're probably overthinking it.

For a moment she appears to be listening to something you cannot hear. Then she inclines her head. "Very well. Enter, if you wish." In a smooth, practiced motion, she summons a veil like her own from thin air - presumably stored somewhere else in the complex - and hands it to you. "But do not enter Her Presence barefaced, please. Her nirmanakaya may have left us, but Her sambhogakaya remains."

Despite the "please", this is clearly an order. But you gladly don the veil, excited by the implication, and by the deft use of theological terms. Could this be...?

It is! Following the... priestess? into the shrine, you are greeted with a magnificent sight: a huge, empty golden throne atop a stone lotus encrusted with jewels. Almost involuntarily, you fall to your knees, the impact cushioned by the intricately woven carpet before the throne, at the same time the priestess does, and bow your head. In unison, you make the Silent Sign and intone the Purification, and you add:

"Hail Thou, Pure Daughter, Usurper of the Empty Throne. Hail the Law, Thy lotus seat, untouched by the fetid swamp."

The priestess smiles, seeming to appreciate your improvised words. She closes her eyes, praying silently for a moment. You do as well, though you have little to say, only thanking Her for guidance in holding yourself to your vow. Soon enough you both are done, and silently leave the shrine together. The priestess, oddly but sweetly, blows a kiss towards the throne before closing the door.

Only now does she speak again. "I am Nehiri." She bows, and you do as well, before responding with similar simplicity: "I am Lauros."

"What brings you here?" she asks.

You start to reply. "If you mean to the island, I'm here to -"

She shakes her head, laughing, and cuts you off. "Zhi told me. You need to build things in a demiplane." You're somewhat miffed that he shared such sensitive information, but she quickly adds, "Don't worry, your secrets are safe with me. I'm a priestess, after all." Her smile wavers a little. "For now anyway." You frown at that last comment, but before you can ask, she continues. "I meant, what brings you to the temple?"

"Ah. I just was wondering how the irrigation system worked, since I'd like to try building something like it. And also who the temple was dedicated to. I honestly expected it to be the... Sunken Lord, whom you call Papa."

[3/5]
She nods along until the last sentence, whereupon her face darkens for a moment. But then she smiles, covering it up. "I see why you might think that, on his festival day, with everyone doing communal labor to feed him, but no. He is... an ally, of sorts... but not a god to us. Not like Her." She turns around to gaze up at the ornate architecture of the shrine, covered in dharmapalas and dakinis, images of the Lord and Lady in Their wrathful forms, guarding Their daughter from the filth of the world. "Have you ever heard the story of how Dawn Girl led the island people - that is, humans - here from the previous world? Every child here knows it, but you're from the city."

You shake your head. There are so many myths about Myth Herself (hallowed be Her name, and all Her many titles) that it is frankly impossible to learn or remember them all.

"When the first people sailed to this world from the previous world, guided by Dawn Girl and the Hero Twins," Nehiri begins, "they wanted to make a place where all lives would be in harmony. But when the Divine Children left, the Black Cube came, and dripped its ichor, and those it touched changed. They forgot Dawn Girl, they forgot their place, and they could no longer see the sun. The old lands sank and new ones rose, as the old people, led by Papa Many-Mouths, went beneath the sea and built the Stormsingers, to protect their children from the Cube, and the new people, led by Stranded Woman, built a city rising out of the sea and sought to gain its favor, for, ironically, the exact same reason. And the sun people, who loved Dawn Girl the most and were most distraught when She left, hid themselves away from the Cube in their secret cities until the Twins return to slay it and She returns to take us all to the next world."

As soon as she finishes the story, you burst forth with questions. "I thought the Stormsingers were built to keep the sea-demons - that is, the sunken people - out of the Sisters' domain?"

Nehiri shakes her head. "It was the other way around. The sunken people cannot cross the border to attack the city or the Cube, but neither can the risen people afflict those below with their pestilential black ichor. It is not only Princes of the city who are consecrated to the Lord of the crossroads and buried beneath those statues, but sons of the ocean, as well, on the other side. Together in death as they could never be in life, they maintain the separation of the two worlds."

Something about this reminds you of the Hero Twins, but you can't quite say what. You've never been well versed in the lore of the Pure One's brothers - which is ironic given your mating preferences. "So that's why you took down the Stormsingers here? To make trade with Papa possible?"

She nods. "We wanted a way to protect ourselves from the Sisters."

[4/5]
"At first Papa was angry because there was a possibility of ichor slipping through and contaminating the ocean. But then Zhi had the ferrymen cut the island off from Shadowhold, and did the rituals to rebury the guardians in the tower catacombs and convince their spirits to protect the island from the Sisters instead. After that Papa sent one of his sons to the surface as an ambassador, bearing gifts - the first mana crystals - and negotiating on Papa's behalf over the trade deal."

The timing there is notable... could it be? "Was that son named Tiffer, by any chance?"

Her eyes light up. "Ah, you know him?"

You wonder how much to tell her. "I only met him for a short time, but I seem to learn more about him the longer I spend here. In fact part of why I came to this island was to find out where he might have gone. He said he was returning to live with Papa."

She looks thoughtful. "I haven't seen him lately, but he probably swam straight there if that's the case, so I wouldn't have. It's surprising though - he always seemed to enjoy his independence. Papa can be a bit..." her face darkens again. "Stifling." She hurriedly shifts her expression to a positive one again, as if hiding some sorrow she doesn't wish to share with strangers, but you wonder what it could be. "Did he ever tell you about the time he swam upstream through the canals and aqueducts all the way to the source lake and startled the priestesses there breaching out of the water?"

You laugh. "No, but it sounds exactly like the kind of thing he would do." Also it sounds like it would take a lot of strength to swim against a powerful downhill stream like that, for that long... you fight off a blush as you think about his muscles.

Interesting tidbit about Tiffer, number two (being a trade negotiator) and three (swimming up the aqueducts).

"How does this whole system work, anyway? It seems very intricate." She is excited to show you. For an hour, Nehiri walks you through the temple's water infrastructure, shows you maps of the island and the hydraulic system, explains the bottom-up democratic principles behind the island's water management (you keep those in mind for designing the cooperative at the apartments later), describes the painstaking labor with which the aqueducts were originally built, before the era of mana crystals, and generally geeks out about the whole thing. You have a hard time following it all, but Pan assures you that he's soaking up all the information to use later.

In the middle of a fascinating conversation about planning crop rotations to control pests and maximize soil fertility, you are interrupted by the voice of Sila, sounding exasperated.

"Dun stillun mo waka pa, eh, Nehiri?" (Stolen a worker from me again, eh, Nehiri?)

Nehiri jumps, startled, and looks embarrassed as she switches to the creole dialect. "Surrih, mama! Eem wana ken pa weta wee, ya." (I'm sorry, mama! He wanted to know about the water ways.)

[5/5]
Mama? Sila sighs, and looks at you. "Dun kennun dota, ya." (You've met my daughter, I see.) Turning back to Nehiri, she quietly adds, "Bih ya guttun reedih. Na lang nah," before returning to the fields. (Get yourself ready. It's not long now.)

A look of dread passes over Nehiri's face, and she just sits there on the ground, where she had been showing you various papers she'd brought out from her quarters during the talk.

You ask, tentatively, "What's wrong?"

She doesn't look up. "I'm the envoy to Papa today."

Ah, that explains it. "You're afraid you'll go mad when you see him?"

She shakes her head. "No. That only happens to those afflicted by the ichor." You didn't know this, but now is not the time to ask about it. She sighs, and hides her face in her hands, beneath the veil. "I'm to be his next bride."

Oh.

"It's not because of Papa himself!" she hastily adds. "He's... I've heard from previous envoys that he's... gentle, if strange. And - it's a sacred duty. An honor, really," she explains, as if trying to convince herself. "But..." She glances up at the shrine, and almost whispers. "I won't be able to hear Her anymore."

You are surprised. You were only able to hear the Pure One for a few years as a child. Most people lose their innocence, and their direct link to Her, long before they reach the age of Nehiri, who appears to be about seventeen. "You mean you've never...?"

She shakes her head. "All the children grow up playing like that, of course. It's normal here, as you might have guessed seeing my brother." You nod, assuming that by "like that" she means sexual exploration. "But... I took the veil early. I wanted to know Her better, to go on adventures together in Her fantastical dreamworlds - and to not lose myself in the world of matter. Even when my body rebelled, I did purifications every time I bled, to stave off the inevitable. But now..." She looks almost like she wants to cry. "I can't disappoint the village. Papa needs sons. And for his sons, he needs mothers." You're not sure you understand why, but this duty seems to be very important to her.

What should you do?
> Encourage Nehiri to face the transition with equanimity; the Pure One will always watch over her, even if from a greater distance, and caring for children will give her a new way to worship.
> Help Nehiri find another woman to replace her as envoy so that she can continue serving Dawn Girl / the Pure One here on the island.
> Pray to the Princess to intercede with a miracle, convincing everyone to allow Nehiri to follow Her through the dreamworld instead of being an envoy. (This has in fact been known to happen, if rarely.)
> Convince Nehiri to join you in the demiplane and run away from the island. She wants to go on adventures and see the universe; so do you. Why not together? And it would help to have someone as knowledgeable as her around.
> Do something else (write in)

>>5537160
> Pray to the Princess to intercede with a miracle, convincing everyone to allow Nehiri to follow Her through the dreamworld instead of being an envoy. (This has in fact been known to happen, if rarely.)
> Convince Nehiri to join you in the demiplane and run away from the island. She wants to go on adventures and see the universe; so do you. Why not together? And it would help to have someone as knowledgeable as her around.
Lauros: Rebel without a cause

>>5537177
This one can also work I guess
> Help Nehiri find another woman to replace her as envoy so that she can continue serving Dawn Girl / the Pure One here on the island.
But I'm banking on the prayer.
Papa sounds cools and all, but he did make a deal to burn our baby brother, even if he transformed him into one of his sons.
Unless he rescued Tiffer from the demon that did it.

>>5537160
> Help Nehiri find another woman to replace her as envoy so that she can continue serving Dawn Girl / the Pure One here on the island.
I sure hope this doesn't become straight wizard quest if she joins.

>>5537160
If Papa isn't a cruel creature, I see no need to intercede...
>invite Nehiri to join you in the demiplane and run away from the islan, IF she wants to

> Help Nehiri find another woman to replace her as envoy so that she can continue serving Dawn Girl / the Pure One here on the island.

This usually doesn't work/ people refuse/ other reasons but maybe getting the priestess involved would be beneficial.

As Ultima ratio the > Pray to the Princess to intercede with a miracle, convincing everyone to allow Nehiri to follow Her through the dreamworld instead of being an envoy. (This has in fact been known to happen, if rarely.) - plan

Voting locked. I'll use instant runoff voting because I'm a nerd. Nobody chose face with equanimity; find replacement and run away were first choices of two people, and pray for miracle was a first choice of one person, so it loses; of the other two, find replacement was also someone's second choice, so it's the winner.

I'll mix it together as follows: we find a replacement for the priestess, and then offer to have her join us in the demiplane, not to run away, but entirely legitimately, since she's no longer bound to another duty. I'll start writing now. :)

>>5538015
Nice, she can help take care of the little shrine I had voted to build.

[1/4]
"Maybe you could find someone else to go in your place?" you suggest.

She shakes her head. "The reason I was chosen, besides Mama's status as village leader, is that all my years of dedication to Dawn Girl have made me a more fertile mana producer than anyone else on the island. Having intercourse with men or contact with spiritual pollution tends to slowly leech vital force away from a woman, while cultivation through ascetic spiritual practices strengthens it. It's hilarious, isn't it? The reason I don't want to be married to him is also the reason I am the best choice."

That's problematic. "Surely there are other good choices, though? Wouldn't your mother understand if you step down for religious reasons?"

Nehiri seems to calm somewhat as she thinks about this. "She'd be disappointed, but not surprised, I think... I've made my feelings on the matter clear in the past. And Uncle Kenu could probably convince her to accept it - Mama says I take after him with my free-spiritedness. But I must find and convince the replacement myself. It would be deeply dishonorable to just... run off."

"Who do you think would fit the role? Do you know of anyone?"

She thinks for a while. "Hmm. I can come up with three, actually, but I'm not sure who would be the best choice. Each one comes with... significant downsides, even though I'm sure Papa would be happy with all of them. He's not exactly picky, but there's island politics to consider."

"First of all," she begins, "there is the most obvious choice, my cousin Koyemai. She's my father's sister's daughter, so she's in the same clan as me, Seal Clan, and we're the majority in this village, so it would be a popular choice even besides the fact that her mother is a respected medicine woman. It would bring nearly as much prestige to my mother as if I were the envoy, too, since my father raised her, of course, and our families have always been close. Koyemai is not very good at magic, but she's proven to be highly fertile already, which Papa prizes, and I wouldn't be surprised if she were to bear him multiple children. But... that brings us to the complication."

Nehiri clears her throat, appearing slightly uncomfortable. "Koyemai is... already married, with three children, and she's only a few years older than me. And, that sounds like it's an impediment - normally it would be - however she and her husband are... adventurous sorts, and I happen to know for a fact that her husband would be..." She looks mildly queasy. "Amused... by the prospect of sharing his wife with a Sunken Lord... as would Koyemai... honestly, knowing Papa, he might invite Tasitu to join in when the children are conceived..." She grimaces. "I'm sure you can see how the arrangement might prove unpopular with some more conservative sorts on the island."

You keep wanting to ask about that, but now is still not the time. "That's a... complicated situation for sure. Do you have any other possibilities in mind?"

[2/4]
She nods. "Two others I can think of, but neither is much more appealing. Sengari definitely would be suitable. She's the oldest daughter of the matriarch of the Shark Clan, who married within the clan, so Sengari inherited membership and will be the next matriarch. She'd be a very prestigious choice and make everyone from Shark Clan very happy. When you look at her in the right light you can kind of tell that the clan descended from a Sunken Lord - not Papa, a different one, Mama Knife-Eyes - and she's always kept her teeth filed to points, the clan tradition, which I honestly find rather gross. At least Tiffer doesn't do that."

You interrupt her. "Wait, what? Why would he?"

"Oh! I forgot to mention, when he came to the island, Sengari's mother is the one who adopted him and raised him the human way. He's sort of Sengari's adoptive little brother. Though," she says drily, "they never exactly got along - and most of the hostility was not on his end."

Interesting tidbit about Tiffer, number four.

"Anyway," Nehiri continues, as you ponder this information, "she'd probably consider it an honor to be chosen, but she's... a bit fiery, and very loyal to her own clan's ancestress. She'd probably challenge the ambassador from Papa to a duel and not accept the marriage unless he can defeat her and prove that Papa can give her strong warrior children. Which, as I'm sure you can imagine," she laughs, "would make a bit of a scene." Her humor is replaced with a serious look. "And it would be an even bigger problem if she wins."

You blink. "Is that... likely?" You remember what it was like to see Tiffer fighting with Mharku, moving too fast for you to see, and wonder how a human could possibly match that, however well trained in fighting - even a woman.

The priestess nods. "It's highly plausible, though not guaranteed. Which brings us to our last choice: Momwi." She pauses for a moment, as if expecting you to recognize the name, and then, remembering you're not from the island, continues. "She's... somewhat infamous here, and certainly wouldn't be a popular choice, but would be a very pragmatic one - perhaps the best as far as Papa's concerned, due to her powerful magic and her knowledge of the Sisters and their weaknesses."

"You see," Nehiri explains, "Momwi was once something of a rising star in the island courts, before the secession. She was hoping to get invited to a sorceress lineage, so she and her husband, whom she loved dearly, ingratiated themselves with the local Sisters, she as an enchantress, he as a spy. But when her husband was sent to seduce and assassinate a high-ranking lady in a rival lineage, he was caught and executed, so Lady Veriante, with whom they'd actually had a somewhat friendly relationship, was forced to save face by exiling Momwi here to Kaitsi Kona."

[3/4]
Veriante?! That was the name of one of your mother's apprentices! What's she doing in the Barrens? Nehiri sees your surprise, but mistakes it, explaining, "Oh, yeah, Kite's Corner is a cityspeak calque - the real name of the island and the village is Kaitsi Kona, which just means 'small island' in Hakebwi." You don't correct her - she likely knows you're a noble, but you'd rather not share exactly how high up you are in the hierarchy, so best not to mention that you know Veriante.

"Anyway," she continues, "this political stuff means little, now that the island is protected by Papa and cut off from the other islands, but there are still many people who would see it as dishonorable for Momwi to be married to Papa, due to her history with the Sisters, and she's something of an outcast. Worse yet, there's no other Snake Clan members here for her to turn to, so even on the island she was exiled to, she is further exiled." Nehiri seems sad.

"She has always been kind to us, though, and Mama is well-regarded enough that it's not much of a hit to our family's reputation that we talk to her - it's just seen as an act of charity, though I don't really like that. Muwe, in particular, took a shine to Momwi almost from the moment she came to live here, and has always regarded her as a kind of extra aunt, constantly asking her to regale him with tales of the bigger islands and the intrigues of the courts."

Nehiri smiles as she remembers it. "She's always promised that when she finally gets back to her old standing, she'll take him on a voyage to see Father and our other Seal Clan relatives in the other islands, but until now I hadn't thought that was likely to happen. If Papa can somehow use her as a spy... it might be possible. And she would definitely jump at the chance, both to pass on the mana cultivation techniques she learned at court to descendants, and to have a chance to see Lady Veriante again. Of course," she adds with a wry smile, looking pointedly at you, "there's also two other mysterious exiled outsiders here with connections to the courts who might be able to take Muwe along. Well, only one really - Zhi has no intention of ever leaving this island again."

You don't relish the thought of pulling on connections you'd rather forget in order to help Muwe, particularly since you're unsure how Zhi would feel about it. But before you find a way to politely say that, a question comes to mind. "Wait, your father doesn't live here? He's on one of the other islands?"

She nods. "Yes, he was always loyal to the Sisters, and parted ways with the rest of us when the island decided to separate. It was rather sad, but I never saw him much anyway - he just brought me toys when he visited Mama, and send me off to play with Koyemai and her brother so he could be alone with her. Koyemai and Pogu were both terribly distraught about losing their uncle, though, and only stayed here because Aunt Menya did."

[4/4]
You're somewhat puzzled. "Fathers don't stay with their families here?"

She seems equally puzzled by your reaction. "No? That's what uncles are for." But then a thoughtful look crosses her face. "Actually, now that you mention it, though, that may be part of why I admire Koyemai so much. She and Tasitu have an unusual marriage in more ways than one. She actually lets him live with her and help raise her children! And he gets along fantastically with Pogu - unlike Father and Uncle Kenu, who never really liked each other - so it works well. In fact, it might be that since he already shares his children with their uncle instead of just visiting and bringing gifts occasionally like most fathers, he might feel it's reasonable to go a bit further and share his wife with Papa."

What a strange culture. Nehiri sighs, looking at the position of the sun in the sky. "It's nearly time to prepare the feast. I'll have to tell Mama I don't want to do it and get her permission to go try to convince one of the others to take my place, but there's only time to talk to one of them. Can you help me decide which?"

You think about it carefully. Which woman would make the best new bride for Papa?
> Koyemai the ordinary, but extremely fertile, fisherman's wife, cousin of Nehiri
> Sengari the fierce pointy-toothed descendant of a sea-demoness, adoptive sister of Tiffer
> Momwi the exiled court enchantress and widow of a spy, scion of your mother's apprentice

As you consider it, the idea springs to mind that the demiplane needs a shrine to the Pure One, and a cleric to maintain it. Nehiri would be a great choice, and has stated that she wishes to go on adventures, following in the footsteps of her divine patron, which you can assist her with. How do you feel about this?

> Excited at the prospect of having your first inhabitant, even if she is a woman. She's chaste, at least, and won't bother you - and she shares your reverence for the Daughter!
> Somewhat wary of the idea, but reluctantly feeling as if it is a necessary evil, as you are certainly not pure enough to take care of a shrine properly yourself.
> On second thought, not a good idea at all. You want a world primarily for men... surely you could find a male cleric?
> Some other feeling (write in)

>>5538271
> Momwi the exiled court enchantress and widow of a spy, scion of your mother's apprentice
> Excited at the prospect of having your first inhabitant, even if she is a woman. She's chaste, at least, and won't bother you - and she shares your reverence for the Daughter!
While I think the Demiplane should have religious freedom, Lauros is a follower of the Pure One, and she is the multiverse overgoddess. So I think it's ok to put her above the rest.

Small pedantic correction to what I wrote: Koyemai is Nehiri's father's brother's daughter. In the Barrens, clan membership passes from father to child, while lineage membership and other forms of inheritance pass from mother to child. Also, it would be hideous and unthinkable for a maternal uncle to abandon his nieces and nephews, as he plays the same role in the family that a father would in ours, due to the matrilineal system. This also means Koyemai and Pogu wouldn't have been tempted to go with him, just sad about his leaving. Dunno how the hell I managed not to think about that.

>>5538271
>Koyemai the ordinary, but extremely fertile, fisherman's wife, cousin of Nehiri
Only IF she and her husband are legit okay with it.

>Excited at the prospect of having your first inhabitant, even if she is a woman. She's chaste, at least, and won't bother you - and she shares your reverence for the Daughter!
We dislike the idea of female sexuality and the Sisters and hey, look, an celibate priestess who dislikes the Sisters! Perfect. Best kind of woman there is, says I.

Voting ends in about an hour and a half, anyone with an opinion, chime in please. :)

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Voting locked. Lauros is excited about the prospect of having Nehiri and will ask her to join without any worries, and either Koyemai or Momwi will be the next bride.

I'll flip a coin for it, 1 for Koyemai, 2 for Momwi.

[1/4]
"I think Momwi is the best choice," you respond, after some thought. "Koyemai may have a lot of family here, but with the scandal, I can't imagine that the arrangement would be pleasant for her and her husband after the excitement wears off; and that Sengari woman sounds way too feisty to become anything like a 'wife'... but Momwi would see it as a ticket to regaining her lost honor, since if Papa trusts her that pretty much proves she's no longer aligned with the Sisters. And if we can somehow use her as a spy in the courts of the other islands, that could be useful both for protecting Kaitsi Kona, and for learning secret magical techniques we could use here, right?"

You're momentarily surprised at your own use of the word "we". You've already started to like these people. It's strange... you've never been around people you felt like forming a "we" with before. But Nehiri doesn't seem to notice, and nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah... you're right, Momwi offers us opportunities even I couldn't provide. And I think Zhi would probably support this plan, which would help sway Mama to let me make the switch." She stands up with a determined look. "Let's go talk to her right now. It's nearly time for the feast, anyway." You stand up with her, and she magicks away the papers strewing the ground, returning them to their proper places in the temple buildings.

---

The conversation was surprisingly short. You and Nehiri helped Sila pound taro to make poi paste (a surprisingly nuanced process), while they, with Muwe occasionally joining in, argued, somewhat heatedly, about Nehiri's future - in Hakebwi, meaning that you have no idea what they said and were just standing there embarrassed the whole time.

After a while Zhi joined in - he's quite fluent in the island tongue, apparently - and after hearing your and Nehiri's explanation for why Momwi would be a good choice, agreed, already beginning to strategize about how she could be useful to the island as a spy in the court. His support for the plan convinced a reluctant Sila to finally give in and allow her daughter to pass on the responsibility - assuming, of course, that she could convince Momwi to take it.

As soon as it was clear that you'd be visiting Momwi's isolated home higher up the island's slope, Muwe excitedly offered to come along. Zhi patted him on the head and took his place in the preparations for the feast, so now the boy is with you and Nehiri.

The path through the forest behind the temple gradually rises upwards, with an erratic slope. For a time, it is paved, with stretches of level ground alternating with sequences of a few stone steps inset into the side of the hilly earth; but after turning onto the side path that Nehiri says leads to Momwi's house (the main path connects the temple with the more central water temple at the base of the mountain), eventually the paving tapers off - or rather grinds to a halt - leaving only a steep dirt trail that seems rarely used.

[2/4]
If your legs weren't burning before, they definitely are now, and your feet hurt. Both will be sore tomorrow. You wish you'd brought your shoes, but they are still sitting in Zhi's living room - and they probably wouldn't help much, anyway. It's not the surface that's the problem - it's the walking. Nehiri and Muwe seem to have no trouble with it, but then, they've been living here and getting plenty of exercise their whole lives. You feel a pang of envy for them, getting to live in a place like this since childhood.

You know, I could probably have just teleported you all to the destination, given an accurate enough description of how to get there.

You're slightly startled as you hear Pan's voice in your mind. Honestly, you'd almost forgotten about him. "Good point," you silently reply. "I didn't think about it, but honestly I probably need the exercise anyway."

Understandable. You're still not used to having access to magic, and probably won't be for a while. I'm surprised Nehiri didn't suggest it, though.

You decide to inquire. Nehiri and Muwe are in the middle of a conversation in creole about the foods they're looking forward to at the feast later - Muwe seems fond of something unfamiliar to you called "tempeh" - but when there's a lull, you ask Nehiri, "Hey, why did you decide to walk here instead of teleporting? You could have, I think."

She shakes her head. "I vowed to Her once never to use my mana for my own benefit except to protect myself when in danger. Only for the benefit of others in need. We have plenty of time, Muwe is a strong boy who could walk up a steeper hill than this without getting winded, and although it slows us down a bit when you stop to rest every few minutes, you're getting good exercise. The way I see it," she continues, sweeping her arm out to gesture at the forest around you, "the plants and animals of the island need my help more, so I'm saving up my mana to feed the earth spirits later."

"Earth spirits?" You've heard of spirits, but never interacted with any. They're usually only visible to people with lots of magic, though you're unsure why.

She nods. "You'll probably prefer not to do it today - you've walked enough already - but if you want, sometime I'll take you with me to one of the totems in the woods. The spirits are skittish around unfamiliar people, but I feed them every day and they trust me, so they might accept you."

Hearing this, you remember that you'd thought about building a shrine in the demiplane, and that you'd wanted a cleric for it. And, honestly, you've been excited to make a new friend who shares your reverence for the Pure One and who might accompany you on your adventures. But she may have duties on the island to attend to that preclude her from doing this. Now is probably a good time to find out.

[3/4]
"Actually... I've been wondering, what actually are you responsible for here? Like... if hypothetically you went somewhere else, what other roles, besides new wife for Papa, would need to be filled?"

You wonder if this approach is too obvious, or perhaps, too oblique, but she doesn't seem to mind either way, and just looks up into the sky as she walks, thinking. "Hmm. Well, as I mentioned I feed the spirits, but others also do that - it's a common hobby of those willing to spend time getting to know them, and there's even a small spiritwatchers guild. I tend the temple, but I'm not the only one who does that either. Normally there's multiple clerics there, but today being a festival it was all hands on deck to get planting done, so it was just me praying for help getting out of my predicament with Papa - which, actually, I seem to have gotten, as you arrived only a few minutes later." She smiles at you. "Besides that, I mostly just help my family with farming. Why do you ask?"

"Well... I've been thinking of building a shrine in the demiplane. To the Pure One. Dawn Girl, that is... and I would appreciate having someone there to take care of it. And a personal spiritual advisor, perhaps." You laugh nervously. "You've expressed you want to go on adventures with Her, so I thought..."

Before you can even get the words out, she jumps in. "Yes."

You blink. "Yes?"

She grins from ear to ear, her eyes lighting up. "Yes, I'll do it! I'll join you!" Impulsively, she grabs you for a surprisingly strong bear hug. In that moment, you are glad she's not a boy. It would be very awkward if she was. As it is, it's still awkward. You've never been good at hugging, and only manage a light pat on her back in return for her torso-squeezing. But as always, she doesn't seem to notice your flaws - or overlooks them.

"Eh mo, ya?" (Can I come too, please?!) The boy practically jumps up and down with excitement.

Nehiri giggles and pats her brother on the head, who squints at her in annoyance. "No, dear, Mama needs at least one child to stay here and help her! And anyway, Zhi would be sad to not have you around all the time. He's very excited to teach you the secret arts of the Princes, isn't he?"

His excitement fades, and he looks at the ground, kicking the dirt. "Eh..." he says reluctantly. "Mama, ha na ohh trang pa luntsum..." (Mama isn't strong enough by herself.) You snort - the woman is stronger than you are. But he continues, with slightly more energy in his voice: "An' Zhi gombih teekun pa tak preents gust pela den pa ketakum wun dun meeryun!" (And Zhi is going to take me to talk with the ghosts of Princes down in the catacombs after we're married!")

[4/4]
The last part catches you off guard. Ghosts? Of Princes? In the catacombs? You vaguely remember Nehiri mentioning something about Zhi having convinced the spirits of dead Princes, who'd been buried beneath the Stormsinger statues offshore to guard the island, to switch allegiances from the Sisters to Papa and guard it from a catacomb beneath the tower instead... but somehow you never thought about what it means that he literally dug up and reburied their bones beneath the tower and summoned their ghosts to talk to them and is a necromancer holy fuck. And now he's planning to teach Muwe about all that? What?!

"Aren't... aren't you a little young for that sort of thing?" you ask, rather weakly, and immediately feel ridiculous. Isn't everyone too young for necromancy? And it's not like he's apparently considered too young around here for some other things.

He looks at you quizzically. "Eh dazan toh, ya!" (I'm fourteen!)

Fourteen?! You've thought he was twelve this whole time. Nehiri notices your confusion and explains, almost apologetically, "He's a shower, not a grower." Her brother immediately punches her in the arm, hissing, and she cackles.

Suddenly you are startled to hear an older woman's voice from up ahead. You hadn't been paying attention to the journey for some time, but apparently it's come to an end. "Ah, my dear niece and nephew, it's been a while! Still rascals, the both of you, I see. And what's this I hear about you leaving?" How long was she there listening?!

Immediately the roughhousing stops, and they both turn toward the voice, guiltily - as do you. You assume this is Momwi. She is...

> A stern-looking middle-aged woman in an elegant dress, with hair tied up in a bun and heavy makeup, standing in front of a surprisingly large house built approximately like the villas of lesser nobles from the city, surrounded by manicured formal gardens, complete with golem gardeners made of mossy stones.
> A woman about Zhi's age who looks like she just got up in the morning and hasn't even combed her hair yet, grinning from ear to ear, surrounded by odd small beasts of various sorts (one of which is sitting on her head, appearing to whisper in her ear), in front of a small hut that blends in with the forest.
> An old lady with grey hair, smiling serenely, who doesn't seem like she could possibly still be fertile, seated in a meditative pose on a rock before a wide still lake. Her entire body is glowing pale violet, and a circle of mushrooms is growing out of the earth around her as you watch.
> Something else (write in)

>>5539501
> A stern-looking middle-aged woman in an elegant dress, with hair tied up in a bun and heavy makeup, standing in front of a surprisingly large house built approximately like the villas of lesser nobles from the city, surrounded by manicured formal gardens, complete with golem gardeners made of mossy stones.

>>5539501
> A stern-looking middle-aged woman in an elegant dress, with hair tied up in a bun and heavy makeup, standing in front of a surprisingly large house built approximately like the villas of lesser nobles from the city, surrounded by manicured formal gardens, complete with golem gardeners made of mossy stones.
Ooo, a craft-an-NPC choice. Neat! Makes me wish I had a better idea than this, but I already quite like what you've written.

>>5539501
>> A woman about Zhi's age who looks like she just got up in the morning and hasn't even combed her hair yet, grinning from ear to ear, surrounded by odd small beasts of various sorts (one of which is sitting on her head, appearing to whisper in her ear), in front of a small hut that blends in with the forest.

>>5536208
I'm not going to read a quest about gay wizards, and I suspect that 90% of /qst/ won't either. You shot yourself in the foot and the other foot and the groin with this dumb-sounding premise, no matter how much it apparently isn't a troll quest. That being said, you've been all cute and earnest about this in the QTG, so here's some advice from a long-term QM before I vanish.

1) This might not be the right website for you. I don't say this lightly, because I despise other questing websites with all my being, but SB and SV have a culture of longer updates over a longer period of time. Quests there might update a couple times a week with several-thousand-word updates each time, rather than /qst/'s nigh-mandatory daily updates. They're also less likely to be turned off by a title like "Gay Wizard Ethnostate Quest," I'm assuming, though I can't overstate how awful of a title that is. Like it's possibly the worst title for a serious narrative quest that I've ever seen.

2) We are not your practice girlfriend. Questing is its own medium with its own rules, tricks, and culture, and it produces something distinct and special from other kinds of writing. You can't write a novel here. You're not going to learn about novel-writing here. If you want to write a novel, just do that. If you want to run a quest, stop posting about the novel thing and run a quest on quest terms. Read some other quests to figure out how they do it. But the "practice" thing is tacky.

3) You're not going to make money off of this. Like, at *most* 5 bucks. Don't even try. (I also find it tacky, but that's subjective.)

4) People don't care as much as you do. Not in a mean way-- people don't care about my quest as much as I do, too. What I mean by this is that if you ever feel like not researching taro cultivation or Bali irrigation systems, literally nobody is going to notice if you just make it up. Do the crazy intensive stuff if it's fun and you feel like it, but don't flake over it.

>>5518562
> I've been hoping to update roughly once every three or four hours
This is ridiculous with your update size. You're going to kill yourself. Update once a day.

>I guess I probably should have a regular schedule so people know when to show up.
This is a good idea for session quests, but it's better to just update once a day.

>maybe that scared some people off?
You scared most of your playerbase off with the title. Your remaining players were probably just busy. Don't freak yourself out about it.

(1/2)

>>5536208
>I am in the mindset of a writer, not a game master, and it's hard for me to find a place where I'm willing to pause, let go of control, and provide options where I don't know what will happen
It's good that you're aware of this, because the major appeal of quests is the interactivity. Good things to think about are: can the MC ask different questions here? Take different tones? Approach a situation in different ways? Solve a problem? Choose a risky path for more rewards, or a less risky path for less? If you write the MC responding in a certain way, is it *mandatory* that they respond in that way, or can the players decide? (Usually they can.)

>There's no sense that the main character is on some kind of journey of growth; he's static.
It is LITERALLY the first thread.

>But that's partly because time is so dilated - it's like a week irl per day due to how much I write.
Yes. Quests are like this.

>AND I'm a perfectionist and the inconsistencies of worldbuilding compared to my vision for the world is driving me nuts.
You HAVE to let this go if you want to run a quest. Repeat after me. You HAVE to. Quests are inherently uneven, inconsistent, and riddled with typos and plot holes and weird gaps in the setting. This is the nature of the medium, and where (I'd argue) a lot of its charm and SOVL come from. If you have to write something flawless, leave immediately and go write something you can edit.

>Oh and the demiplane is OP and so I have to try to figure out what to do with all that insane amount of mana, which is a missed opportunity for gradually leveling up its production.
Can you not just scale everything else up? Or say "sorry guys, I got the numbers wrong" and nerf it? Hint: you can, and nobody will care.

My final advice is to lurk moar. If you want to stick with this (and I want you to stick with this, I am always genuinely in support of new QMs), you have to learn how quests work and adapt accordingly. You're going to flake if you don't.

>>5540018
>This might not be the right website for you. I don't say this lightly, because I despise other questing websites with all my being, but SB and SV have a culture of longer updates over a longer period of time.
I'm gonna warn you now OP, this shit's not gonna fly with those places rules, don't even try.
This guy has a point about curbing your enthusiasm but other than that there's no certified school for qst besides trial by fire, what works for other quests may not work for you.
For what it's worth, I think you are doing well.

Tbh I woke up this morning thinking that I'm sick of this stupid fucking story and its pathetic pansy main character and my inability to send it in the direction I wanted at first and now I see walls of text encouraging me to stop caring and... yeah. Fuck this.

>>5540192
Hey QM, chill.
There's no need to overreact about that anon's opinion.
I think he's trying to tell you to take it easy, not to not give a shit. Have fun writing, not to burn yourself like a quest was an essay.
What's your problem with the story, main character and the direction you wanted to go through? Maybe if you talk about it we can see about expectations.

>>5540201
Ok, I went to see what was about this thing on qtg that anon mentioned and I found these two posts
>>5539138
>>5540199
If your problem is that you would rather write a webnovel and have full control over the story, I guess there's not much we can reconcile with the nature of quests. I guess you could write things about a set character, and only have options that you want to write, basically just having the readers choose what part they want to see rather then how the character would act or think, like a choose your won adventure book, but some players would be turned off by that.
Also you seem to go judge yourself and your writing very harshly overall, which is something I can relate to. That anon was right about trying to be more laid back with your writing to avoid a burnout, but that's way easier said then done. I was enjoying the lore, worldbuilding and the quality of the writing so far.

>>5540201
>>5540209
Hey, I'm sorry for being nasty, you've been very kind to me so far, but I just... the fact is, 4chan is really not the right platform for me. For one thing, I actually would rather write something that incorporates more erotica than is possible given /qst/ rules. For another, I am a pretty emotionally sensitive person and cannot handle criticism well, which I know will cripple me as a writer but I might be able to handle it if I'm at least making money, which I can't do here. I do like the quest format, but I allowed myself to slip into writing Lauros as just a self-insert like I always do, because I didn't carefully pre-plan his personality and make rules for myself about how he'd think about and react to things, and if I give choices I don't actually want to write - which in hindsight, I did, many times - then it's my own damn fault.

My issue is that I wanted to understand the backstory of one of my worldbuilding project ideas, to build it from scratch - a world of males only. Or at least, people with male secondary sex characteristics - some have vaginas and ovaries, but still look male, so that the race can propagate. Point is, the whole thing should have been written in a way that didn't even focus on a single character to begin with, but more about nation building or something. But I let myself get bogged down in trying to tell a story about a single character, completely losing sight of the original purpose almost from the beginning because I didn't think carefully about how to serve that purpose, without even knowing for sure who that character is or what his motivations actually are, and without any direction or landmarks to write towards. And I was worldbuilding on the fly instead of having a lot of stuff mapped out from the get-go.

If I were to do this again - not that I will here, as I feel like even this board is probably hostile to a literal gay wizard ethnostate quest (I named it that not as a troll or shitpost but because it's *literally what I wanted to make*, I just was a dumbass who didn't know how to write a quest yet) - I would force myself to zoom way out and make it something more like a weird evogame, where every update is a biography of a single character across their whole life span, the child of two previous characters, and where we examine through those biographies the history of an entire world and the evolution of cultures over the course of centuries. Or maybe each update is a summary of an entire year, with all the major events of the world across that year? I'm not sure, but it should have been on a massively wider scale than this.

I do enjoy exploring the minutia of a single character's life. Obviously I do, since I wrote all this so far. But I realize now that I shouldn't write a quest about a pre-existing idea. The whole point of quests is for player input to determine a lot of what happens, which means I can't afford to go into it with a firm idea of where it's going. That was a stupid mistake. I was thinking like a novelist rather than a quest master. And in that sense >>5540019 was correct. And I'm sorry for snapping at you, btw, writer of that post - I was feeling like shit when I woke up and had a hissy fit.

>>5540229
>>5540230
In that case, I wish you good luck if you ever decide to write something, in whatever site or format you end up choosing.

>>5540235
I'm willing to try to write another quest here. I've enjoyed it but just... didn't do it right the first time. But as the other anon pointed out... I'd have to adjust my expectations. Since you seem like my most enthusiastic player, I'd like to get your input about that, if that's okay with you. If I were to write more on here - assuming you want me to - which of these would you prefer? (Anyone else who cares can vote as well, ofc.)

> Explore Shadowhold some more, but at a different time period and different characters. The possibilities are endless; wanna be a serpent woman? A selkie? A chasm titan? A half-demon? A cart-carrier, a ferryman, a beastman of the eastern horde? Instead of having a pre-existing character and storyline in mind, I would focus on letting players explore the world their own way.
> "The Scrap Dragon of Kenshaw County", an extremely vague but cool idea I got a few days ago about a cat-sized dragon that goes mudlarking or picking and collects random interesting junk in a fantasy version of the Great Depression era. Each update would focus on the events of a single day and I'd somehow come up with rolls and stuff to determine what he finds, and players could help build backstories for remarkable objects and for the setting itself.
> A story about the evolution of a newly settled world, where every update summarizes the events of an entire year with a few snapshots of particularly interesting moments, and where characters choose major events in each year, such as marriages, births, wars, etc, building a community over the long term (I'd have to figure out how to do this as I go, but I have some system ideas and it would be quite cool if done well)

>>5540192
It's literally just one anon who doesn't even read your quest. The rest of us enjoy it. That said, if you were already having a bad time, don't gorce yourself. Quests aren't jobs, they're a fun hobby.

>>5540243
All these conceots sound great. We don't have any promineng and active civquests right now, so the last one may be best, though as someone who quite enjoys your worldbuilding in this setting, I think the first one sounds like a blast.

>>5540283
It might be possible to merge the two concepts. I'd like to examine the history of Shadowhold (if you haven't noticed, worldbuilding is my passion, much more in fact than fiction is). So there's a vague idea in my head about starting in the mythic era, with the cataclysmic arrival of the Black Cube sinking the ancient cities and provoking Stranded Woman to slither out of the Dark Sea and lay a clutch of eggs in a forgotten library of eldritch tomes on the shore of what would later be called Shadowhold Bay - eggs that would hatch into the first lamia Sisters, the founders of the city, who after consuming the corpse of their mother read the ancient grimoires and raised a School of forbidden sorcery out of the water... damn sorry I went all poetic there, anyway point is, we'd maybe somehow do a thing where people use tripcodes to each play as one of the first Sisters, expanding her own lineage and domain in sibling rivalry with the others over centuries, eventually dying (of assassination, of course - they never die of old age) and replaced by her heir, etc. Along the way maybe we could somehow examine the lives of lesser characters... not quite sure how to do it, but does that sound interesting to you?

>>5540243
>> Explore Shadowhold some more, but at a different time period and different characters. The possibilities are endless; wanna be a serpent woman? A selkie? A chasm titan? A half-demon? A cart-carrier, a ferryman, a beastman of the eastern horde? Instead of having a pre-existing character and storyline in mind, I would focus on letting players explore the world their own way.
I would love this because I'm a lore autist
> A story about the evolution of a newly settled world, where every update summarizes the events of an entire year with a few snapshots of particularly interesting moments, and where characters choose major events in each year, such as marriages, births, wars, etc, building a community over the long term (I'd have to figure out how to do this as I go, but I have some system ideas and it would be quite cool if done well)
This would be awesome, but would have a big chance of burning you out again. Take it on if you believe you are ready for it.

>>5540307
For some reason I don't enjoy each anon being a different character, but I could give a try.
There's a risk it might swamp you with keeping track of too many different things though.

>>5540309
>>5540322
I'm caught between two goals: 1. worldbuilding for the fun of it because I love it, with the aid of other people, and 2. building something I can later revise, once it's finished, and turn into a novel of sufficient quality as to potentially make me munny. Yes, I know, I should just write commissioned erotica, and I probably will, but I like getting multiple uses out of things I do.

I didn't really get burned out of writing, itself - I think I've found the rhythm I need - but I just have had misgivings about this story pile up, because it was trying to merge too many different ideas that don't fit together.

I'm willing to try to keep track of something kinda big; the main issue is that it would have to involve some kind of ttrpg system, and I'm a madlad autist who wants to design those anyway, so I have to figure that out ideally before running the thing... etc.

Ofc, a well-developed ttrpg could also make me munny, so testing it here would be useful multiple ways even if the result is not novelizable. I hate having to think about things like that, I hope I don't sound like Mr. Krabs, I just don't want to be a neet anymore but sure as shit don't want to be a wagie either...

As for the whole multiple characters thing, hmm. Tbh I'd rather focus on just one character myself, like we've been doing, but it makes the whole civ thing a bit harder to deal with, and I do want to explore the internal diversity of the Sisters, their factions and rivalries, etc. Not sure what to do.

>>5540307
That does sound interesting but, remember: pick a premise and setting where you won't be annoyed or demoralized if players go in a fundamentally different direction than you expected. Don't get to invested i having the history, setting, or characters develop "correctly" into the Shadowhold in your head.

>>5540322
I also agree with this. I'd prefer players conteolling one faction or lineage, personally.

>>5540342
You can explore the differences between factions without controlling them all. That's what personal and political interactions are for -- rivalries, wars, alliances, intermarriages!

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>>5540192

>>5540192
>my inability to send it in the direction I wanted at first
Write a fic, not a quest lmao

>>5541410
May be best, perhaps.