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> Continue moving on; screw this potential way to quench your thirst.
> Climb the scaffolding to reach the blade and attempt to push it along.
> Ask Goldie to climb up the tower and then attempt to pull the blades.
> Tell Goldie that with the thirst it’s possible you’ll “die” and re-emerge somewhere else—God knows where—which will complicate it for you and her. Tell her to help.
> You are being followed by the Leftovers, luck would have it, they are still on your trail. The powerful wind follows them, it seems. Make camp and wait for them …
> [Write In]

___________________________

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>>5607743
> Tell Goldie that with the thirst it’s possible you’ll “die” and re-emerge somewhere else—God knows where—which will complicate it for you and her. Tell her to help.

>>5607743
> You are being followed by the Leftovers, luck would have it, they are still on your trail. The powerful wind follows them, it seems. Make camp and wait for them

>>5607743
> Tell Goldie that with the thirst it’s possible you’ll “die” and re-emerge somewhere else—God knows where—which will complicate it for you and her. Tell her to help.

>>5607743
>> Continue moving on; screw this potential way to quench your thirst.
best keep moving

>>5607743
>Tell Goldie that with the thirst it’s possible you’ll “die” and re-emerge somewhere else—God knows where—which will complicate it for you and her. Tell her to help.

>>5607743
>You are being followed by the Leftovers, luck would have it, they are still on your trail. The powerful wind follows them, it seems. Make camp and wait for them

>>5607743
>> Tell Goldie that with the thirst it’s possible you’ll “die” and re-emerge somewhere else—God knows where—which will complicate it for you and her. Tell her to help.

>>5607743
>You are being followed by the Leftovers, luck would have it, they are still on your trail. The powerful wind follows them, it seems. Make camp and wait for them
Thirst won’t kill us from what we were told, but we could use something to barter before we hit the town.

>>5607743
> Tell Goldie that with the thirst it’s possible you’ll “die” and re-emerge somewhere else
> Ask Goldie to climb up the tower and then attempt to pull the blades.
She's thirsty too, I bet.
And betting on Leftovers to come close enough to move the windmill that might not even work in the first place, is gamble I don't want to make.

>>5607791
>>5607798
>>5607799
>>5607853
>>5607854
>>5607918
>>5608058
>>5608074
>>5608706

You dragged your hand against the ghastly pipe. You struck it with your knuckles to no avail.

“Are you thirsty?” you asked her.

“Why should you care?” Goldie said. She crossed her arms and, after a pause, remarked, “No … I’m neither hungry nor thirsty nor do I feel tired. That's how it works here, it seems.”

“Lucky you,” you said, not putting much weight into your words. You pointed to your throat. “Looks like your brother’s thorns didn’t bedevil your body in any way,” you said, “but as for me, I feel as dry as a tumbleweed, thirsty enough I can imagine myself biting the dust. If that happens, I’ll reemerge God knows where from here.”

“Yes, I get it—you are in pain, how bad. How horrible. If we followed into the town instead as I said, you could’ve found a drink there.”

“You suggested we go there before we even stumbled upon the Prickly Niceties,” you sighed. You nudged your head up, “We need to pull the blades to see if that’ll get the rotor and the pump movi—”

“Us?” she asked, furrowing her brows and scowling.

Your fingers trailed a path through your greying hair. “You got an unbreakable soul when you got here, girl. Do you want me to disappear out of your grasp or nay?”

Goldie pouted. Her eyes rolled up to the top of the windmill. “I don’t really like” —she swallowed— “Do it yourself, you are making it hard for me so why should I make it easier for you? The more in pain you are the breezier it’ll be for Henry.” She cocked her head and, for a second, her irises shrunk. “I know you are going to resist.”

You exhaled through your teeth and then spat on the ground. Rolling your shoulders and flexing your arms you approached the twisted timbered tower and, grabbing into the vague spectral wood—chilling, fizzy and wispy to the touch—you began to ascend it. Slowly. Irregularly, your fingers slipped through the wood like it was rotten but it returned to its unstable firmness when you removed your hands and it didn’t repeat the trickery on your second tries. Eventually, you stood near the decaying blades. You peered towards the horizon but the hanging haze hid anything of interest, the shadows of the hanging billows shrouding everything else.

You approached the edge of the platform, steadying yourself in the harrowing moonlight as if you were closer to it than it was within the Graveyard’s Frontier law. You reached beneath the closest blade with your fingers, and, as soon as you brushed against the rusty iron, you feel a piercing bite, your shining skin cut to the bone.

> Use only one hand to pull the blade against the clock with as little pain as you can.
> Grab the blade with both hands and use all your strength to pull it, ignore the pain.
> You would like a drink. You really need a drink … but maybe it can wait a little more. Climb down.
> [Write In]

>>5608975
> Use only one hand to pull the blade against the clock with as little pain as you can.

>>5608975
> Grab the blade with both hands and use all your strength to pull it, ignore the pain.

>>5608975
Yeah, that went like I expected. Good to know she’s afraid of heights though.

Iron might hurt more than usual against soul stuff too. Bullets are usually made out of “feeble iron” and Bill’s knife was iron too. Could be practicality, could be a known weakness.

> Find some wood to clutch in your hands to keep the iron from biting deep, or possibly at all.
> Grab the blade with both hands and use all your strength to pull it, ignore the pain.

>>5608975
> You would like a drink. You really need a drink … but maybe it can wait a little more. Climb down.

What's the point in relief for our thirst at the cost of one or two hands? Both pains are going to come back, might as well just suffer with one than two.

>>5608975
>> Grab the blade with both hands and use all your strength to pull it, ignore the pain.

>>5608975
>> Grab the blade with both hands and use all your strength to pull it, ignore the pain.

>>5609017
This, find something we can use as a tool. I know last thread this dude hugged a cactus but how did he survive 40 years if he’s retarded enough to grab sharp rusty metal with his bare hands in the age before tetanus vaccines

>>5609370
He's normally not a parched ghost in a hell-realm, operating on a time-limit and in a place with limited access to supplies and tools, being hunted by vengeful apparitions with the instincts of homing pigeons. Though...

>>5608975
If
>Find some wood to clutch in your hands to keep the iron from biting deep, or possibly at all
is viable, please add it to my vote at >>5608994

>>5608975
>>5608991
Changing my vote to support >>5609017

>>5609017
+1

>>5609017
+1, let's not get ghost tetanus

>>5608975
>Do the wood.

>>5609059
>>5609122
>>5609154
>>5609370
>>5609382
>>5609395
>>5609452
>>5609804

You released the blade with a flinching gasp. You took a look at the wounds, the ghostly flesh shifting back onto its place, mending the cuts but not the pain of it. You cursed—Fuck!—and waved your hands to make sure the only damage was the burn of the cut. You sighed and turned to a piece of the scaffolding, grasping it first and then pulling it to break to use it as some sort of clutch. The devilish wood hissed at your touch, its palish glow dwindling the closer you came to breaking a piece of it. It tonelessly cracked as you pulled a clutch-worth of lumber; big enough to use as a medium between you and the sharp iron. Almost weightless, it lost its fiendish light and, moments after, vanished from your hands into a cyan mist. You held into the dying sparks, but the dust soon resettled where you broke it off and reappeared.

It didn’t seem like it was made using nails, at least. With an annoyed sigh, you took off your vest and covered your naked hands with it, approaching the blade for the second time. You grabbed into it and felt the edge cut into your soul, the thick cloth doing not much short of nothing. You yelled in pain as you turned the blade with a hollow grind. The gears rang above your head like a slowly cracking bell as the edge cut you again. You pulled the blade all the way down below yourself and further … Shuddering from pain you approached the tower’s edge, clenched your fists, bit your lip and then spent an unpleasant moment with the anguish.

“Is there anything at all?!” you yelled, your voice cracking from a duet of pain and thirst.

You could swear Goldie rolled her eyes. “Yes! There’s something,” she yelled back, “but you better climb down faster, there ain’t much there!”

Your palms felt as if they were cut by an executioner’s clean sever, only to regrow to be cut again—an existence worthy of a damned Hellworld. You took a moment to bargain with the fresh sensation before you began the descent. Your hands infrequently passed through the unstable scaffolding but it was less worry climbing down. You jumped off and onto the ground when the height got negligible, raising a dust cloud beneath your feet. You came within the reach of the damp pipe …

Goldie stood not far from it, her palms cupped together with a murky black liquid held in them.

You raised your pained arm. “Don’t even think about it, brat.”

She smirked. “Think about what?”

“About drinking it yourself.”

She cast her gaze at the drink. “There’s no way I’m drinking this shit.”

“ … or about throwing it on the ground.”

She frowned. “I hate you so much I would really like to, just so know that,” she said. “Fine. Do you -want- to drink it?” she rose her hands.

> Approach the girl and drink it from her hands.
> Come towards Goldie and cup your hands. Ask her to pout the liquid onto your hands instead, though probably in less quantity.
> That does not look drinkable. Sure, you already made the sacrifice to get it, but maybe it’s better to leave the liquid alone.
> [Write In]

Don't suppose we could filter the liquid using clothing, wetting and wringing.

>>5609984
So some structures follow the same rules we do? They get injured, they break apart and reform? Wonder if that means cover regenerates.

I’ll back
>See if you can filter the water at all using cloth. Place your vest over your hands and have her trickle the water into your own cupped hands. Either the vest will hold the water entirely or it will be absorbed to be wringed out and leave behind… some black residue.
No idea if it really makes a difference but at least we’re learning things about how stuff behaves here.

Whether we filter the water or not, I say we drink the final product in small amounts. If the cloth doesn’t absorb the water then it’ll make for a good bowl to hold the water while we drink sips.

>>5610034
+1

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>>5610034
If we have a hat we should wring the vest out into it.

>>5610034
>>5610491
+1

>>5610034
+1

>>5609991

Apologies, no update today.

>>5609991
>>5609993
>>5610034
>>5610096
>>5610491
>>5610534
>>5610603

You stopped in front of the girl and looked at the spirit, blackish and watery, shifting the visage of her glowing skin and bones. It didn’t look that appealing. You took off your Stetson hat and span it in your hands to point the crown downwards. You removed your vest and a part of it on top of the under brim, gently pressing a cavity.

“Drop it here,” you said.

"Tsk." Goldie clicked her tongue and opened her hands, pouring the efforts of your sweat onto the cloth. The black water trembled as it fell on top of your vest but then it settled still, and, very slowly, began to filter through the canvas and cotton. Goldie waited impatiently as you watched, drop by drop, the fluid seep through the fabric without leaving any stains or muck. Your hands quavered from the cuts as you kept the hat steady. After several long moments, you removed the vest and looked inside.

The liquid was as black as before. Either the makeshift filter wasn’t good enough or this is how the underground water looked in its purest form in this hellhole.

> Drink the water in slow sips.
> Keep it for now in your hat. You are not sure how long it’ll last there without starting to seep through, but maybe El Dorado Warren is just a few minutes away.
> Insist that Goldie takes a sip to see the effects, although there’s not that much to share.
> Drop the liquid on the ground, you would rather not take the risks.
> [Write In]

>>5612255
> Drink the water in slow sips.
We did what we could. May as well buck up and try it.

>>5612255
>> Drink the water in slow sips.

>>5612255
Smell it first then if it doesn’t smell like anything obviously poisonous or make us wanna hurl then sip it slow

>>5612255
> Drink the water in slow sips.

>>5612255
> Keep it for now in your hat. You are not sure how long it’ll last there without starting to seep through, but maybe El Dorado Warren is just a few minutes away.
Man fuck this

>>5612255
> Keep it for now in your hat. You are not sure how long it’ll last there without starting to seep through, but maybe El Dorado Warren is just a few minutes away

>>5612255
> Drink the water in slow sips.
So... Thirsty...

>>5612255
> Keep it for now in your hat. You are not sure how long it’ll last there without starting to seep through, but maybe El Dorado Warren is just a few minutes away.

This is a fucking oil well isn't it?

>>5612263
>2
>>5612413
>>5612638
>>5612644
>>5612746
>>5612806
>>5612933
>>5613139

You hesitated yet eventually rose the hat to your chin, smelling the onyx fluid. It had no smell, no foulness that anything not meant to be drunk should have had. Then again, this was the underworld, the Graveyard Frontier, things didn't act, feel, or smell the way they were supposed to. You glanced at the still steel blades of the windpump; someone had made this thing, somehow, to pump the liquid from the grounds below. Would someone go through all that trouble just to pump poison? You reckoned it to be unlikely...but if this windpump was truly crafted by Purgatory herself, then it wouldn't make sense for it not to try to seduce you with the blades already spinning and the water pouring.

You took a bitty sip, swirling the water between your cheeks for any faults. It tasted like water, freshening and quenching; there was also a strange mellow bitter taste, noticeable but sparse; it tasted like an over-roasted coffee, tolerably charred and smoky. You swallowed and, after a brief pause, you then raised your hat to take a second drink. There was only a handful of the strange liquid for you to drink, and in only half a dozen mouthfuls you emptied your hat off it. Your thirst was sated, just a tad, but there was also something else … you felt heavier and tenser, your feet sinking deeper into the sand.

Goldie narrowed her eyes.“What in all hell is happening to you?”

You didn’t feel like you were dying, however, but something did feel different. Wrong. You stood up, your body denser and heftier than before. Underneath the luminous skin, your ordinary alabaster bones had become charred black and had a rugged grainy texture. Your unsteadily shining flesh felt constricted as if the bones clung to it tighter than ever before …

“My bones turned black,” you said.

“I can see -that-,” she huffed and then pointed her finger at your chest. “Anything else?”

You paused, looking over yourself; your every bone was blacker than before. “I feel a tad different,” you said, “but I’m not sure what exactly is happening.” Your thirst was delayed. You looked over yourself once more and then took a step forward, your body lowering slightly yet much deeper into the desert plains as if it was snow.

In the distance, beyond the veil of mist, a shifting light caught your eye. It was in the very loose semblance of a horse, its shape burning a pure white hue with dancing spectral outlines. It drew nearer, or so it looked that way.


> Bare your empty gun and wait to see if there is any rider mounting the horse.
> Quickly leave the windpump before the horse approaches any closer and sees you.
> Try and hide behind the windpump together with Goldie (tell her to be silent) and wait.
> [Write In]

Apologies for no update, decided to make it Chore Day yesterday.

>>5614646
> Try and hide behind the windpump together with Goldie (tell her to be silent) and wait

>>5614646
> Try and hide behind the windpump together with Goldie (tell her to be silent) and wait.

>>5614650
No worries, QM. IRL comes first!

>>5614646
>> Try and hide behind the windpump together with Goldie (tell her to be silent) and wait.

>>5614646
>> Try and hide behind the windpump together with Goldie (tell her to be silent) and wait.

>>5614678
>>5614680
>>5614932
>>5615984

You shifted your gaze from your bones to the spectre. Cursing through your teeth, you took hold of Goldie's elbow and scorned her once she complained.

“Be silent,” you said, motioning towards the figure which you put hope in that she noticed too.

Goldie grumbled at you initially, then quickly covered her mouth, as if trying to stifle any sounds or words that might escape through her hands. The both of you hurried behind the construction that was neither tall nor especially wide, but enough to take cover behind. Leaning against the tower's shimmering emerald and sapphire tones, you waited for it to draw nearer; and it did. It was a stallion, a ghost, with a rider on top. The horse paced, his hooves flowing above the untrodden sand as it neared the windpump and halted with a whine.

The rider, his bones blacker than yours, took his hands off the reins and slid off the fiery horse, his boots landing on the ground with a hollow thwack. He was without a hat. A loose-fitting oilcloth duster covered his body together with similar-looking leather trousers. Dropping down over his upper lip was a thick horseshoe moustache.

The man approached the steed's backside and from it deftly pulled down another shadowy figure, whose flickering flames emitted a dim yet distinctively sharp purplish-white hue, unlike the bluish glow emanating from your, his, or Goldie's flesh. The rider picked the man off the ground and then pushed him towards the tower’s hulk. His victim let out a mournful sound as he wobbled to the tower, all of his body shuddering and his eyes hollow of any life. Once he approached closer, you saw that chains with links of different sizes and shapes were wrapped around his chest and lower body. Around his neck, a large, opaque metal collar hung like that of a slave. His wrists and ankles were bound in bracers, shackles, and leg irons, each tethered to a ball of metal with thin links that seemed almost invisible, like strands of spiderweb glinting in the light but real and burdensome to him.

The prisoner grasped the planks of the half-corporeal structure and, gasping for air and then clenching his jaw, pulled himself up. The wood creaked echoing your attempt, but the weight of the heavy anchors seemed to be nonexistent to the structure, as there was little difference. The windmill's traps were the same, and as he ascended higher, the man's hands phased through one of the scaffolds. In a moment of panic, he grasped onto the one below, but lost his grip and tumbled down to the ground with a clamorous clatter.

The cowboy snapped the whip, thick as a snake’s body it cracked in the air inches away from the poor man’s face and the thorns surrounding the braided leather scarred over his body. “Don’t go dying on me, you rascal! I brought you here to do a job, and you are going to do it,” he said. “Now, start climbing!"

The man stood up, his empty irises briefly glancing to where yous stood. He then turned his attention back to the tower before him, leaving you wondering if he had truly seen you or not.

> Continue watching.
> Try and escape into the mist while the two men are preoccupied.
> Leave the shadow of the tower and present yourself to the man and his prisoner.
> Bare the empty revolver and show yourself to the man, demanding answers from him.
> [Write In]

>>5616962
> Try and escape into the mist while the two men are preoccupied.
Not our kind of people, I reckon.

>>5616963
> Continue watching.

>>5616963
>> Try and escape into the mist while the two men are preoccupied.

>>5616963
>Have Goldie try to distract the slaver(?) so you can club him with the revolver.
Ought to have some things we can loot if nothing else.

>>5617418
Maybe if I trusted the girl and her ability more.

>>5617428
I trust her to shrug off wounds and be a little hellion. She can run up and attack him as the distraction for all I care. And doesn’t she want to be a hero?

Maybe the slaver has some way to bind her, but getting her carted away would solve one of our problems.

>>5616963
>Try and escape into the mist while the two men are preoccupied.

I hope by drinking the black liquid we haven't Persephone-d ourselves.

>>5616986
>>5617125
>>5617219
>>5617418
>>5617428
>>5617437
>>5617438

As soon as the cowboy became distracted by well the captured climbed the malignant windpump you stepped back, and then walked into the thick graveyard mist. Swivelling her gaze from you to the two men, Goldie let out a low-volume hiss and then her darkened figure followed you. With her petite limbs, she scurried to catch up with you, to avoid losing you in the fog. She glared at you in silence once she could see your face; you had no intention of getting rid of her right now, but she didn’t need to know that. You put two fingers to your lips and then turned away from her, quickly and quietly moving forward from the sights of the two men—one a slave and one a slaver.

After a few minutes, you halted your stride and glanced behind your shoulder. Bedevilled blades howled in the distance. You could no longer see the blades—nor the windpump—but their churning and clattering rang out like a pleading presence. The deep invisible cuts on your palms burned in response to those sounds. You met Goldie’s gaze.

“For a moment, I wondered if you were going to stay and lend a hand to the man in chains,” you said.

“No” —she swallowed and looked up from her childish height with her eyes squinted— “the only thing I care about is Henry, no one else.”

“Good,” you stalled on the last two syllables. “Good, we are on the same page. I don’t care about the man's well-being to help either.”

You walked, your charred bones now lumbered with vehement weight and strain, tempered by the water you drank. The other man, you reckoned, he had a horse, he had a whip designed by devils, and his bones were black like yours. You didn’t know the exact effects of what changed within you, but either it was a drug you now had to deal with or something beneficial; you prayed it was the latter …

You saw Goldie look behind her shoulder a few more times until the sounds were muted by a long distance. The elusive El Dorado Warren remained hidden from your sight. Were you even going the right way? Was it even there? How convinced even were you that Bill didn’t lie so that you wouldn’t find him? And even if he didn’t, you only had a single direction given to follow, and you had plenty of distractions since. There were no landmarks but the moon to readjust your inner compass, and though you made notes in your head, they were just that. You had to hope that the harvest moon wasn’t here to harvest your suffering but to—passively—assist you.

> Do not speak about anything until you stumble upon anything interesting, hopefully, the Warren.
> Make Goldie feel bad by mocking her morals and how she left the shackled prisoner to wallow in slavery.
> Ask Goldie what she plans to do after her brother kills you and the two of them return back.
> Ask Goldie if she is aware of any way to return to the wild west USA if, by chance, her brother is unable to kill you.
> Ask Goldie if she is willing to tell you about the deal she made with the Devil, and the details of how it was achieved.
> [Write In]

>>5617983
>> Do not speak about anything until you stumble upon anything interesting, hopefully, the Warren.

>>5617981
> Ask Goldie if she is aware of any way to return to the wild west USA if, by chance, her brother is unable to kill you.
Hey, it’s possible someone else could kill us first. This is also an indirect way of asking how we could escape ourselves. I won’t be surprised if she doesn’t have an answer though.

>>5617983
> Ask Goldie what she plans to do after her brother kills you and the two of them return back.

Get her talking, she might slip up and give us something useful.

>>5617983
> Ask Goldie what she plans to do after her brother kills you and the two of them return back.

>>5607729
I apologize for no updates, been busy with work. I'll continue with new updates tomorrow.

>>5617983
> Ask Goldie what she plans to do after her brother kills you and the two of them return back.
> Ask Goldie if she is willing to tell you about the deal she made with the Devil, and the details of how it was achieved.

Start with this. Build trust. If we ask for a way out point blank, she'll clam up real quick.

>>5618256
>>5618311
>>5618499
>>5618539
>>5620044
>>5620122

Goldie shadowed you like a ghost, like the Grim Reaper she pretended to be. The silence was deafening and tense.

“Well now,” you said, “do you already have a plan on what are you going to do once you drag your brother out of here?”

She paused and smirked ever so slightly. You glanced elsewhere to not see her face. “You want me to believe you accepted your fate? Well if you did, we should be walking to him.”

You let out a loud sigh. “Whether I did or not, we are still going to need bullets.” The ill-fated burden of your weighty bones had Goldie easily keep up with you—even soon catch up.

“I guess,” she said, obviously annoyed. She cleared her throat and then spat out. “Why are you asking?”

You shrug one of your shoulders. “Just wondering.”

“For someone living on your own in a far-away cabin you sure crave for any scraps of a conversation, brother killer.”

“Forget I asked.”

“What are we going to do after,” she said as if ignoring your last words. “Anything we want, together, as a kind. We’ll find a job, prove our worth, build a life somewhere safe.”

You blinked and turned your head back at her. “You … you got no damn ideas or plans on what you are going to do after this?”

“Screw you, I just told you,” she said. “What did you expect me to say?”

“I had no expectations, and you still managed to come up short.” You saw her brows furrow. “Do you think the fact that your once-dead brother is alive won’t be a problem?”

“Why would it be?”

“The people who saw him die? The people who buried him? His grave? His bounty?”

She waved her hand as if waving away all the concerns you raised. “Our only relatives probably never heard, and no other people cared. As for bounty, it was five years ago.”

"You might be right, you might not. I haven’t even heard any tall stories about the dead coming back. Will he raise from his grave, his body rotten?”

“No.” Goldie looked you in the eyes and hesitated. “No, his body will be alright. I think.” Her brown hair rippled as she rocked her head. “I know, that’s what the Devil promised me!”

“The Devil promised you,” you said with sarcasm. “Anything else he said?”

Goldie scratched her head, tightening her locks within her grip. “You think I’m some dumb kid, do you? I’m not. He didn’t say anything that’ll help you escape if you are wondering.”

“Can’t say I wasn’t, but if there’s a way for both you, me, and your brother to leave this place in one piece, wouldn’t you reckon that would be for the best?”

She harrumphed. “Even the way I’m doing it is unconventional, brother killer. I doubt there’s another one to make everyone happy, and I doubt I want you to be happy.”

“Do you care more about bringing back your brother, or having your revenge, brat?”

“Both,” she said with no hesitation. She pushed her finger at her head. “I would prefer both, those five years I lived without him are still here.”

“You’ll barely remember them when you’re as old as me,” you said with a sigh. “So, did you sign some kind of written agreement, a piece of paper?”

“Of course, and if I don’t keep my part of the deal he’s going to take me to fiery hell court with hell judges and I’m going to have to hire a hell lawyer or two to defend me.”

“Fine, fine. I get the gist: no contract.”

Goldie kicked the dirt and then leaned towards you. “There was, he ain’t tricking you, he made sure a few times that I understood the deal.”

“Were you not afraid of him?” It’s the Devil for God’s sake!

She hesitated, her voice as firm as a string. “No … he ain’t that monstrous, least not from what I saw. He was a black, dressed as any other man. Only his eyes were red; that and his voice were the only giveaways. Well, and the fact that he appeared to me in the middle of the highway crossroads, in the middle of the night.” She paused to remember. “He said he was waiting for someone else, but my request would do.”

“You -really- aren’t bothered by your deal?”

“If he had offered me to sell my soul in exchange for my brother’s … well, I would have to think. But he didn’t ask my soul, he said he would allow an exchange of Henry’s for yours.”

“And if it fails, then he’ll get yours,” you corrected her.

“ … I’m not going to. You won’t go to Hell if Henry kills you, you’ll stay here in the Graveyard Frontier, like everyone else. Henry will go back, and so will I. What is there for you to return to?”

> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you would rather die from an illness or old age, as Bill said, and see another afterlife.
> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you want to reconnect with some of your relatives and friends with the last years you have.
> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you want to live the last of your years to the fullest instead of withering away in retirement.
> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you want to return to your bounty hunting days and kill people whose victims await them here.
> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you want to make others aware of it as well.
> [Write In]

>>5621222
>Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you want to return to your bounty hunting days and kill people whose victims await them here.
Another day, another dollar.

>>5621222
> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you want to reconnect with some of your relatives and friends with the last years you have.
We’d stay here if Henry kills us? Wouldn’t that mean someone else could kill us too and be freed? That’d mean two freed souls in exchange for ours, and assuming we stick around after the second pass then even more could be let loose.

Seems too straightforward to be true. We shouldn’t be that valuable to the devil.

If we want to keep the conversation alive,
>Wonder how many people could be living here. A soul can be freed if they kill their killer, a one-for-one trade. If that’s the only way out then the number of trapped souls could only go up.

>>5621222
> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you want to return to your bounty hunting days and kill people whose victims await them here.

Let the dead get their due.

>>5621305
+1, funnily enough a similar desire to what she has.
That conversation addon makes me think how packed the place would be in modern times.

>>5621305
A killer can only be judged one time. Only one person gets to kill Aug for their ticket out, according to the first thread.

And our ticket is to kill Goldie, who is unkillable. A bit of a problem. Maybe there's a window after Henry kills us where we can kill her? Probably just sends us on to Hell itself though...

>>5621371
Thanks, I misremembered how it worked.

I’m not sure killing Goldie is our way out. The bullet didn’t hit anything vital, just our Shoulder. It seemed like we ended up here before we truly “died”. Something about how we ended up here is different than usual, same as her.

It’d be funny if killing the killers actually sent people to Hell for murder. Seems like the kind of lie the devil would spread to give people false hope and encourage violence.

>>5621222
> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you want to make others aware of it as well.
Ain't fair that God set things up this way and never told no one.

> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you want to return to your bounty hunting days and kill people whose victims await them here.
Ain't fair that regular innocents are stuck in this pit, either, just for being gunned down.

Before she asks, no, Henry doesn't count as an innocent... But plenty others do.

>>5621222
> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you want to return to your bounty hunting days and kill people whose victims await them here.
> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you want to reconnect with some of your relatives and friends with the last years you have.

>>5621222
>> Tell Goldie that now that you know of the Graveyard Frontier, you would rather die from an illness or old age, as Bill said, and see another afterlife.

>>5621291
>>5621305
>>5621361
>>5621364
>>5621371
>>5621392
>>5621420
>>5621521
>>5621557

You shook the still-wet hat by its crown. “Now that I’m aware what sort of afterlife awaits me here? First things first, I’d like to reconnect with some of my kin and my old pals with the time I've got left. I never knew what to expect, but if it’s an eternal purgatory, then sharing a drink and a few tales with them would be downright grand.”

Goldie narrowed her eyes. “You want to meddle with Henry’s one chance just so you can say your goodbyes? Try better.

You glared hard at her. “I’m not bothering to convince you, you rodent. Were you even asking in earnest?”

“Not really.”

You cracked your blackened joints, dismissing her. “ … and now that I’m aware of the Graveyard Frontier, I want to return to my bounty hunting days and sent a few killers whose victims await them here.”

Her pace slowed down, the raised dust settling on the bottom of her jeans. “You want to kill … more people?” she spoke, her voice almost choking. “Am I understanding it right?”

“It ain’t fair that innocent folk are stuck in this pit, either, just for being gunned down. Don’t you think people here deserve some sort of justice? At least one of them per killer?”

“I know that Henry deserves his damn justice.”

“If we ignore Henry—”

“Why” —she raised her voice, her tiny fists clenching— “should we ignore Henry?”

You sighed and rubbed the hairy edges of your neck. “For fuck sake kid … is there anything else in your mind besides him?"

Her irises sharpened like polished daggers, whittling you like silver birch. “Why should there be?” she said, tameless impatience growing.

You sighed again. It’s not healthy, you thought to yourself. You walked furthermore in silence. However, the words neither of you spoke were only a small part of the cacophonous whole as if the open plains sifted every sound through a fine mist of echoing. Your bones creaked and cracked, your clothes rustled, Goldie’s teetering steps crunched the sand beneath them, the rolling tempest clouds rumbled like cracking ceiling, and the forlorn moon hummed as if waves splashed on its unseen white terrain.

Then you heard a whistle, a quiet and distant one. You broke your stride. The swollen fog lightened and settle into the blue-grey plains. Granite flats, cracked into stretching expanses of hundreds of massive ragged tiles, appeared to you, no longer hidden by the mist. Your boot stepped on one such unyielding rock, covered in a grainy crust that fell as if barely clinging to the surface of the piece. The moon shimmer began to dance on the now-cleaned coarse-grained stone. Each monolith plate was unlevelled, stretched, bumped and fractured by a few inches between the other, yet the land still appeared as flat as a pancake. White gold, iridescent with intense colour, connected each fissure and crack, solidified yet seeming liquid and flowing.

You took a moment to admire the scenery before heading to the whistle. There, a few yards away, almost unseen unless one was looking for it, was a deep crevice, veiled by the scintillating white light of its walls and uncarved steps descending into eventual darkness, large enough to be a mineshaft. A pile of pickaxes laid in a pile nearby, emitting an eerie green and blue glow from within their opaque forms. Another whistle echoed from within the tunnels beneath and then a blurry shadow jumped off the wall, trembling and then slowly growing with each moment after.

> Not many places to hide but try anyway. Wait for the figure to come out before deciding on what to do next.
> Grab a hold of Goldie and push her down the descending steps to meet the approaching figure as you watch from a safer distance.
> Climb down with your gun lifted and meet the figure head one.
> Wait patiently for the figure to appear before you with your iron unholstered and your expression void of threats.
> Take one of the pickaxes and begin your descent, pretending to be another miner like the one, hopefully, ascending … or, do you have to pretend?
> [Write In]

>>5622745
> Wait patiently for the figure to appear before you with your iron unholstered and your expression void of threats.

>>5622745
> Wait patiently for the figure to appear before you with your iron unholstered and your expression void of threats.
>Tell Goldie to take point. She’ll take a bullet better than you and she knows it.

>>5622745
>>5623019
Supporting.

>>5622745
>> Take one of the pickaxes and begin your descent, pretending to be another miner like the one, hopefully, ascending … or, do you have to pretend?

>>5622745
This>>5623019

>>5623019
+1

>>5623019
support

>>5622775
>>5623019
>>5623032
>>5623192
>>5623606
>>5623723
>>5623728

You called out for Goldie to approach, and she did. You grasped her shoulder firmly and tilted your head towards the shadow; you hoped she would take the point.

“Someone there,” she said.

“Yes, and you can take a bullet better than me if it’s someone hostile,” you said, releasing your grip and pushing her with your palm. “I’ll vanish elsewhere if I die.”

“Yeah-yeah,” she grumbled “I know that. Sure, I can take a bullet, but I’d rather not because it hurts, and because I’ll be doing it for you.”

You rolled your eyes and then came to the edge of the chasm. You drummed your fingers over the stitches of your leather holster before you slid them off, deciding to appear unthreatening to the nearing silhouette. Carrying on with their whistles, the living soul drew near. As you heard a sudden thrashing of wings you stepped aside before half a dozen canaries careened from the mine, their wings glowing like those of fireflies. The songbirds chirped with haunting cadence as they circled the plunge like vultures.

When you lowered your gaze a man was in your sight. He was tall but lank with scrawny body and square shoulders. His chin was chiselled sharp and his cheeks were sunken like stone reliefs. Over his neck was a bolo tie, the onyx stone shining with the bright light of a recently bought oil lamp. The man was gripping a pickaxe—unlike the ones huddled together in a heap close by, it looked real, with a solid wooden handle and a hardened iron head. Despite his height, the pick wasn’t too small, it was the ideal length and shape. In his other hand was a burlap sack, filled and tied by a braided leather knot. He had no hard hat, but a stripped bandanna with the blues, whites, and reds of the American flag. One of the ghost birds dived into the gulch to land on the man’s shoulder. He let out a whistle, a tune, and then twisted his dim glowing arm and the white bones that were visible beneath it.

“Huh …” he said, tapping the wood against the shoulder of his shirt. “Huh …” His gaze fell on the girl and then back at you. “‘Charred Bones’, I heard. Trying to rob me?”

> Nod, pretending to be the man he mistook you for. Make sure you are behind Goldie as you raise your bullet-less revolver. “Yes, give me all the loot you got.”
> Correct the man’s mistake, tell him that you do not go by that name. Ask him if this is El Dorado Warren or not, and what advice he can give you if you’ll go down.
> Tell the man that while your bones are charred, that is not your epitaph. Explain the situation and, if he’s friendly, ask if he’ll be willing to barter for his ores.
> [Write In]

>>5624234
> Correct the man’s mistake, tell him that you do not go by that name. Ask him if this is El Dorado Warren or not, and what advice he can give you if you’ll go down

>>5624234
> Correct the man’s mistake, tell him that you do not go by that name. Ask him if this is El Dorado Warren or not, and what advice he can give you if you’ll go down.
We've got nothing to barter, and we're no thief. Not like that Henry fella.

>>5624234
>> Correct the man’s mistake, tell him that you do not go by that name. Ask him if this is El Dorado Warren or not, and what advice he can give you if you’ll go down

>>5624234
>> Correct the man’s mistake, tell him that you do not go by that name. Ask him if this is El Dorado Warren or not, and what advice he can give you if you’ll go down.

>>5624234
> Correct the man’s mistake, tell him that you do not go by that name. Ask him if this is El Dorado Warren or not, and what advice he can give you if you’ll go down.

No update today, sorry.

>>5625557
No worries, QM. Thanks for letting us know!

>>5624234
>Correct the man’s mistake, tell him that you do not go by that name. Ask him if this is El Dorado Warren or not, and what advice he can give you if you’ll go down.

>>5624348
>>5624357
>>5624790
>>5624817
>>5624883
>>5626586

“No, that ain’t me,” you said, keeping your feet unmoving.

“Not you?” His eyes briefly widened as he tilted his head. “There is one thing. One thing about him. ‘Charred Bones’’ black bones. Only one like that.”

You looked down at him. You rolled your hat over your elbow and then fit it on your head to then tip it towards the man. “Make me a second one. The name’s Aug.”

Again, he looked at Goldie who, as if to your annoyance, said nothing. The man rolled his shoulder to position the pickaxe and then ascended a few more steps.

“I haven’t heard that,” he said. The man’s glowing blue gaze crept up and down your body. “If not for ambush. Why are you here?”

You gestured with a nod behind him. “Well,” you said, “if this is the El Dorado Warren, I’m here to get some Feeble Iron. Is there any in there?”

“Among many other things.” Concealed spoils within the man’s sack rattled with the sounds of ore and iron. “As for advice. Don’t. It is too dangerous.”

“Dangerous you say … not dangerous enough to stop you?”

He drew closer. He placed one of his feet firmly on the canyon’s ridge and then looked over the pile of picks. “You’ll get lost there. Like many others.”

“Many others?” You followed his glance and furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?”

“The mine wants miners. It lures them inside. Then most get lost.”

You swallowed hard. “But do you know of a way to keep me from getting lost down there?"

He shook his head. “Less of a way. More of an expertise. You might gain it.” He climbed out of the pit and passed you by. “You want to trade?”

You caught the nudge. “I wish I had anything to barter with,” you spread your arms. “But I'm afraid I don't have anything of interest to you.”

“Anything to drink?” he said, his voice as dry as grinding millstone.

“I wish I had some myself.”

He scoffed. “Yeah … Then I’ll be going. My name is Perry. Remember it or not.” He took a few steps forward, but Goldie stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Where are you going now?” Goldie asked the man.

“I thought you mute,” he said. He tapped his collarbone. “A town that’s near. They’re waiting to trade.”

“A town” —her noggin turned to you as she waved her hand— “we should be going there.”

You gave a disdainful snort. “I need to replace the bullets you wasted, kid. I am not going to any town without some cartridges.”

“Then … Then …” Repeatedly she gripped and then let go of her fists. “You got your revolver, just exchange the things he got for it!”

Perry’s eyebrow perked as he inched his gaze at you.

“Why the hell would I need bullets if I lose my iron? Have you lost your senses?”

“You got two!” she retorted. “You got the gun you stole from me, you can just use that one.”

“It barely works.”

“It works well enough, or do your gunslinging skills depend on how good the gun is?”

Damn snake. “You are not going to rile me up.”

Perry balanced the pickaxe on the ground. “You got an iron? Can I see it?”

You reached for the holster and pulled out your keepsake by its pearly grip.

He nodded. “Something not from here. Out of this wasteland. Want a fair deal?”

You turned the firearm in your hand. No, you didn’t want to, but you doubted he would be as interested in Goldie’s rusty piece as in this.

“Or maybe,” Perry said. “We can do gamble.” He scratched the pocket of his pants as if his ghostly skin was itching. “Winner takes all.”

“You got cards or something?”

“I do have cards."

> Agree to gamble, then decide on what he can offer you.
> Agree to trade your precious revolver, then decide on what he can offer you.
> Refuse on both counts and give Perry a farewell nod. Take a pickaxe and begin ascending down the mine.
> [Write In]

>>5626653
>> Refuse on both counts and give Perry a farewell nod. Take a pickaxe and begin ascending down the mine.
nah this is the kind of guy who would take our soul.

>>5626653
>> Refuse on both counts and give Perry a farewell nod. Take a pickaxe and begin ascending down the mine.

>>5626653
>Agree to trade the rusty iron, then decide on what he can offer you.
If the gun is important because it came from outside and is more durable, that could still hold true for Goldie’s gun too.

If he won’t trade, I’ll back heading to the mines. We’ve been told feeble iron stuff falls apart already. Bullets are fine, but a feeble gun is a problem. I’m not giving up a reliable gun we don’t know if we can ever replace.

>>5626653
> Refuse on both counts and give Perry a farewell nod. Take a pickaxe and begin ascending down the mine

>>5626653
>Refuse on both counts and give Perry a farewell nod. Take a pickaxe and begin ascending down the mine.
Hopefully we can ditch the brat in the mines, preferably after nicking her compass.

>>5626653
> Agree to gamble, then decide on what he can offer you.
Wonder if Goldie would be willing to help cheat.

>>5626653
> Refuse on both counts and give Perry a farewell nod. Take a pickaxe and begin ascending down the mine.

>>5626770
>>5627117
>>5627130
>>5627267
>>5627812
>>5628547
>>5628596

After a moment of thought, you said, “No.” It was your prized possession, and you weren’t willing to let go of it. Goldie glared at you like a rattlesnake as you refused the man his offer. You tipped the barrel and, with a flick of your wrist, twirled the six-shooter back into your holster. From your belt, you took out the girl’s worn-out iron. You gripped the bottom of her gun and then lifted it to present to the man. His expression soured. Barely.

“I’ve heard feeble iron ain’t that durable,” you said. “If that’s the case, even this thing here will be better over what you got, as it’s from the outside world, no?”

“It’s not durable,” Perry said with an unmoving stare. “I see it’s weathered. Old. Feeble iron guns ain’t.”

“It can still fire a round.” Your shoulder ached as you spoke.

“We need reliable guns. I will not trade,” he said.

Suit yourself, you shrugged your shoulders. You snatched one of the dozen pickaxes and tested its weight in your hand, feeling its ethereal lightness. You walked past the towering man and then skipped on the hard granite steps. You nodded to the man in a farewell gesture and then, lazily eyeing Goldie, you took another step down.

“Not willing to trade,” the man repeated, making you stop. His hands trembled as he squeezed his pants. “But I will gamble.”

You sighed. “I’m not gambling with my soul”

“No, not your soul. That revolver for iron. Smidgen of feeble iron.”

You placed your free hand on your hip. “How much is a smidgen?”

“It’s three bullets worth.”

“For the used gun?”

“For the used gun,” he echoed.

> Agree to the terms. Ask what game you’ll be playing.
> Agree to the terms but force Goldie to play in your stead.
> Tell him that you’re willing to gamble as long as he hikes the reward to six-bullets-worth of Feeble Iron.
> Three bullets worth and a question regarding the Graveyard Frontier (or the El Dorado Warren), is what you ask.
> Say thanks but no thanks. Descend further and enter the warren tunnel.
> [Write In]

>>5628860
>Agree to the terms. Ask what game you’ll be playing.
Could we suggest that we choose the game?

>>5629395
Sure, you can suggest to him that. What card game?

>>5629418
Black jack or something with a dealer and unknown cards. I was hoping that either our bounty hunter knows how to cheat or Goldie would be willing to be a dealer and lend a helping hand, though she might be too spiteful to do so or unskilled. Do any others have ideas?

>>5628860
> Say thanks but no thanks. Descend further and enter the warren tunnel.
He seems desperate. He needs this more than we do. Means what we have is mroe valuable than what he has. Screw that. Ain't no reason to be scared of a hard day's work, and if we were afraid of danger we'd have been in a different career.

>>5628860
>> Say thanks but no thanks. Descend further and enter the warren tunnel.
Nah. even though we could beat him in black jack i wouldnt trade or gamble ever with someone like him.

>>5628860
> Say thanks but no thanks. Descend further and enter the warren tunnel.


Ifhe wants it, must be worth keeping

>>5628860
> Say thanks but no thanks. Descend further and enter the warren tunnel.

>>5628860
>Say thanks but no thanks. Descend further and enter the warren tunnel.

>>5629395
>>5629422
>>5629438
>>5629494
>>5629508
>>5629512
>>5629674

The man was desperate for a deal, but if he wasn’t going to barter with you; you weren’t going to entertain his whims either.

You shook your head and then holstered the iron. “Thanks, but no thanks, partner.” As you descended, the granite ledge sliced through the hounding moon like a sharp blade and, with one more step, buried all of it entirely. For the first time, the spotless satellite no longer loomed above your head, although its sickly white glow still bathed the sparkling crevices and cracks. Goldie sat on the edge of the hole. She gnawed her lips as she watched you leave.

“You’re not going?” you asked without much concern.

She hissed in response. “I’m not interested. Damn it, you are doing whatever you want! I think I’ll just stay here, yeah. Come back quickly.”

You let out a weary sigh. “Do as you please, but if I don't make it back, you'll be none the wiser, and you'll just be sitting here like a lost fawn.”

Goldie’s eyes widened as the truth of your words hit her like a slap. She grunted and then, slapping her pants clean, approached the heap and snatched a pickaxe identical to yours with both hands. Grunting under her breath, she bounced down the first gradual slope. She stared you down, her bedazzling immortal body trembling.

“I was going to tell you to pick one up,” you said, nodding at the pick she held.

She spat. “I didn’t pick it because you were going to ask me to! God damn!”

Perry approached the edge and looked down at you, his shadow casting over you and the girl and his outlines glinting bright beneath the moonlight. He whispered.

He clenched his hands until they stopped trembling. With a dejected sigh, he returned the pickaxe to his shoulder. “Let’s gamble anyways. Hear me out," he said, pausing. "If you go down. If you come back. Find me. On those conditions. I’ll give something worthwhile. I bet you won’t. You will venture inside. You will not return. Bet on your fortune.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yeah,” you drawled. “Maybe some other time.”

With each further step down the chthonic staircase, the clinging sparks of moonlight dwindled further into subdued drops, their brilliance quickly fading into the darkness. Soon, the only light remaining was the washed-out greenish glow of your pickaxe. Goldie’s similar flickering illuminated the returning ascent. Your glistening skin seemed weak and fleeting, like a reflection of a candle on a surface of a lake. It seemed that your charred bones weakened the shine from your flesh. Damn it.

Eventually, you reached the bottom of the hole. The tunnel was your height—undersized for Perry—and opened with a shambled jagged arch as if carved by unskilled hands; perhaps unpaid demons. You looked at Goldie, who remained pouting and silent. With a sigh, you stepped inside the El Dorado Warren. Your plan of action was simple: dig up enough of the feeble iron to never need more and get out.

You flicked the weightless pickaxe like an ethereal torch, its light illuminating the shifting colours of the walls. Waterfalls of frozen mercury swallowed the pickaxe’s glow—what remained of hazy radiance dimming and fading into pure black. There was no mist or fog, and the air was dry and warm. The granite seemed to change colours as if made from chameleon skin, turning black and then pristine white as you shifted your gaze.

“You are awfully quiet,” you said as you turned your head to look over your shoulder, but Goldie was gone.

Your leg twisted as you stopped abruptly.

“Brat?” you asked, waving your pickaxe to see no one hidden in the shadowy corners. You circled your body. “Goldie?” You tried out her name but heard no response. Have someone, or something, snapped her without you noticing? You looked forward, then back and suddenly realized that the roughened stone and serrated granite faces appeared much the same but very actually different! Tiny, small, almost invisible, but you could swear there were differences!

The tunnels were changing their forms, or their entire design when you weren’t looking at them; such was the feeling you had. When you moved forward they stood still.

> Sit down for a moment and see if anything changes if you just sit and keep your gaze unmoving.
> Continue moving forward, and try not to look back to not mangled your return path any worse.
> Change your direction and move “back” to the shifted tunnel. Call out for Goldie as you do so.
> Look back and forward multiple times to see if the shifting tunnels will make anything interesting appear to you, or if it just boring tunnels and mineshafts.
> It looks the same as all the granite and stone surrounding it but … strike the centre wall with the pick to see what happens. At best, it’ll leave a mark for you.
> [Write In]

>>5630143
> It looks the same as all the granite and stone surrounding it but … strike the centre wall with the pick to see what happens. At best, it’ll leave a mark for you.

>>5630143
> It looks the same as all the granite and stone surrounding it but … strike the centre wall with the pick to see what happens. At best, it’ll leave a mark for you

Then

> Sit down for a moment and see if anything changes if you just sit and keep your gaze unmoving.

Wonder if the best way to navigate this place is blind? Just reject sight outright.

>>5630143
>> It looks the same as all the granite and stone surrounding it but … strike the centre wall with the pick to see what happens. At best, it’ll leave a mark for you.
Could we try scratching a message of some sorts?

>>5630365

Sequential numbers or tallies might be simple and effective. The smaller the number the 'closer' we are to the entrance.

Everything depends a lot on how this place is fucking with us, it could easily be powerful enough to erase, rearrange numbers, add fake ones.

>>5630143
> It looks the same as all the granite and stone surrounding it but … strike the centre wall with the pick to see what happens. At best, it’ll leave a mark for you.
Goldie has her ”compass” to help her get out and find us. We do not have that luxury.

I can also support
>Close your eyes and tap around, listening for changes as you move forward.
kinda like >>5630340 is wondering.

>>5630697
support

>>5630143
This>>5630340

Apologies, no update today.

>>5631381
Understood. Happy Easter!

>>5630154
>>5630340
>>5630365
>>5630629
>>5630697
>>5630729
>>5630838

In the ghost illumination of your pick, the granite wall in front of you showed little difference from the rough neighbours around it. You grasped the pickaxe’s hollow handle and then struck the middle of the speckled surface with a steady hand: not too forcefully but not too half-heartedly either. Your pickaxe clanged against the sheathing of the granite as you engraved a vertical stripe, barely an inch in size or depth. The companionless ringing crept against the crevices and cracks and then scrammed into the darkness where the living tunnels shifted and changed. You stepped back and made note of your work.

Alright, you thought to yourself. The sentience of those ghost-carved galleries didn’t let them feel pain from being struck, or at least not immediately. With harshened breath and stubbornly returning thirst you waited for any dismal signs, but, as your eyes remained on the scratch you made, there were none. You raised your hand to touch it but found nothing suspicious. You turned away your gaze, and when you looked back at the wall, the mark was gone. In the dim green light, it was impossible to differentiate one grainy surface from another, but it was clear that no traces of your strike remained.

Gripping the pick with both hands you bent your body and hit the wall for a second time, chiselling a mining scar twice as large as the last one. A much louder sharper sound momentarily cut your ears and then, as if disregarded by the walls which were supposed to echo it, was gagged by them instead. Staring directly at it you blinked, as it was human nature, and, to your faint hope, it was there. Gripping the handle again you, this time intentionally, shut your eyes, counting to no more than two seconds before opening them again. This was enough for the bedevilled subterranean face to shift, change, or swallow the mark without any sound or spectacle.

You lifted your head to the darkness of one of the passages. You expected the wall to change again the next time you looked back, as it has done several times now. Before you could ruminate further, you heard a sound from the deepest unseen distance. It was faint yet inviting; it took you a few seconds to realise it was a human song.

> There’s no way you want to deal with a source of the creepy serenade. Look away and back in the hope it disappears for more promising options.
> Keep your eyes straight and try to blink as little as you can to avoid the walls shifting. Approach the source of the singing in the darkness ahead.
> Look back and forward to vanquish the singing presence with the assistance of the cursed tunnels. If all is well, without looking away, simply begin mining the granite wall.
> Keeping your eyes straight, either strike the wall with your pick to make a sound or shout out into the darkness, and see if there's any response from the singing presence. [What to do if there is or ain't any?]
> [Write In]

>>5631520
Happy Easter!

>>5632360
> Keep your eyes straight and try to blink as little as you can to avoid the walls shifting. Approach the source of the singing in the darkness ahead.
Not liek I have a better plan for how to get out of here. Maybe this person (?) can be a guide... Even if we need to force them to be such.

>>5632360
>> Look back and forward to vanquish the singing presence with the assistance of the cursed tunnels. If all is well, without looking away, simply begin mining the granite wall.

>>5632360
> Keep your eyes straight and try to blink as little as you can to avoid the walls shifting. Approach the source of the singing in the darkness ahead.
Orpheus, is that you?
Perhaps we could lay down a beat/rhythm with the pickaxe in conjunction with the melody.

>>5632360
>> Keep your eyes straight and try to blink as little as you can to avoid the walls shifting. Approach the source of the singing in the darkness ahead.

>>5632360
> Keep your eyes straight and try to blink as little as you can to avoid the walls shifting. Approach the source of the singing in the darkness ahead.
Hopefully this isn’t a siren or anything.

>>5632367
>>5633053
>>5633075
>>5633121
>>5633193

You kept your gaze fixed ahead and your eyes steady and unmoving to avoid the tunnels morphing around you. You crept towards the source of the singing in the darkened passageway. Gripping the borrowed pickaxe you skulked around the cavern walls, circling the bent drifts with your pick’s ghostly light as your torch. With each step you took, the melody grew louder and clearer, rising in its height. The source of it wasn’t too far.

You stepped into a chamber that was wide and expansive, yet also confining due to the crushingly low ceiling: there were only inches to spare for your head. Twilight hues flooded the den from the roof, the colours merging with the song. Above, spread over the entire ceiling, hung a chain of purple stalactites in the likeness of a web woven by hundreds of spiders. An illuminated vent, roughly the size of a revolver, extended ahead from the carved meshwork, nearly at its centre but not quite. A returning melodic medley of three women's voices flinched you: it was your mother’s, Mercedes’, and another you couldn’t quite place. You couldn’t remember who it belonged to and you cursed yourself for it: despite how soothing your mother's voice was, or how serene Mercedes was, this third, remote yet recognisable songster overshadowed them both. Shimmering like morning dewdrops, bluish-red sparks coated and drifted down the spider silk strands as if they were guitar strings. The more the lines scintillated, the more inviting and familiar the voices became.

You yawned, feeling tired for the first time. You shook your head. Where once your charcoal bones made you tense and heavy, now you felt relaxed and calm, drifting into sleep. Sleep? You recalled Bill’s word, that in Graveyard Frontier one does not need to eat, sleep, or drink … was this an exception? You swallowed another yawn and then realised that the brief thirst you felt was gone. The pain from the Prickled Niceties, the endless ache in your palms from the rusted blade, and even the gunshot wound from Lucifer's puppet ... all of it was gone. Your bones stayed charred and black, but, in your eyes, even they were becoming blurry and faint.

Your body felt soft and your mind was drifting into the fog. It took a great effort to stagger against a wall and, as you turned your head, you noticed that the way you came from was gone. The cavernous chamber became enclosed and, while it did change when you looked away and back again, the replacing stone walls remained sealed.

> Cover your ears and dash around the cavernous room, blinking your eyes and shaking your head in hope that the tunnels will spare you and an exit will reappear.
> Approach the centre of the singing stalagmite web and smash it with the pickaxe in the hope it’ll do something good. Keep at least one of your ears shut.
> Kneel down and then toss the pickaxe from below at the centre of the glowing web. Close your ears and eyes moments before the impact in case there’s an aftereffect.
> Follow the dew-looking shimmering sparks to try and collect them with your hands to see what happens. You’ll have to get much closer than you are now for it.
> Perhaps your worries are for nought, and the familiar voices are attempting to heal your wounds? Sleep is not dying, is it? Kneel down and sing along with it.
> [Write In]

File: 1287688.jpg (2.54 MB, 3840x2160)

2.54 MB JPG

I hope everyone is enjoying the quest so far, and if there are any suggestions or advice or any other comments I would be happy to hear them out.

>>5633272

Oh, it's a spider siren. Lovely.

> Cover your ears and sing the foulest nastiest drinking song you know back at it, off key. Circle the outer edge of the room, looking at the center, and use our feet to kick the wall behind us, hoping a passage will open up.

>>5633269
> Approach the centre of the singing stalagmite web and smash it with the pickaxe in the hope it’ll do something good. Keep at least one of your ears shut.

>>5633291
+1
>>5633277
I find the story's premise interesting, though, at the moment, it seems we are still in the wandering stage and still discovering some of the rules of this afterlife. Though, I think we're still discovering stuff partly because of hesitance, which I think is rightful, interacting with other souls in this place.
I am very interested to see how the confrontation with Aug's past bounties will go.
I don't have much to comment about the Goldie relationship besides that it makes sense to me, her being angry at Aug and him at her for sending him to limbo. I wonder if it will become more frosty in a relationship or if it will become warmer in some impossible way. Considering the penchant Aug has displayed for smacking her, I don't know.

>>5633272
>Cover your ears and sing the foulest nastiest drinking song you know back at it, off key. Circle the outer edge of the room, looking at the center, and use our feet to kick the wall behind us, hoping a passage will open up.
>>5633277
It's pretty damn unique, but got a bit monotonous at some point, so I'm only checking it every few days or so.

>>5633272
>Cover your ears and sing the foulest nastiest drinking song you know back at it, off key. Circle the outer edge of the room, looking at the center, and use our feet to kick the wall behind us, hoping a passage will open up.

>>5633277
I like ti quite a bit. I disagree with >>5633461 about monotony, but WOULD encourage speeding up the pace just a little

>>5633291
support

>>5633556
Well, the monotony I referred to was around the time we were mindlessly walking through the desert still. There's more stuff going on now.

>>5633291
>>5633304
>>5633433
>>5633461
>>5633556
>>5633815
>>5633853

You pushed your back against the jagged surface of the cavern wall and let go of the feather pickaxe to have it settle silently underneath your feet. You covered your ears as tight as you could and then you began to sing the foulest nastiest drinking song you were aware off—full of slurs, cusses and double entendres. Your stare hung on the shimmering dripstones that hung from the ceiling as you awaited a reaction from it. The gradient glow intensified.

More and more sparks settled on the petrified ceiling cords, brightening from softly flickering pinks to blinding purples. Soon, the once mellow voices resounded in your mind despite your best efforts. Whenever your intentionally bad singing had no effect, or it made it even worse, you didn’t know. What you did know was that the serenade oatmeal heightened while remaining soft and soothing.

In addition to feeling calm and relaxed, you also felt dizzy, as if you had been drinking the strongest rotgut for the whole night and the sleep would have been a remedy for both your hangover and exhaustion. The sharp details of the cavern began to flash and blur. You fumbled to reach for the pickaxe before you finally felt its handle. The unprotected ear you couldn’t cover let in the low-pitched yet almost deafening sounds of magic; like a bell ringing inches away from it. You quickly covered it with your elbow, but it could barely deafen the cursed singing. You limbed with your shoulder scrapping against the sealed cavern. You kicked and felt to no avail.

> Leaving your ears unprotected is no longer an option. Draw near the centre and make an attempt to smash parts of the stony web to see if it’ll be of any help.
> Were the three voices singing the same song? It seemed so. A song you were familiar with, although not to the point to remember the lyrics. Try singing it.
> You have little time to spare before this damned sonorous lullaby puts you to sleep … and what then? Continue desperately searching for a way out around it.
> [Write In]

I appreciate the feedback.

>>5633999
>> You have little time to spare before this damned sonorous lullaby puts you to sleep … and what then? Continue desperately searching for a way out around it.

>>5633999
>> You have little time to spare before this damned sonorous lullaby puts you to sleep … and what then? Continue desperately searching for a way out around it.
>Use pain to focus, bite the inside of the cheek, hard.

>>5633999
> Leaving your ears unprotected is no longer an option. Draw near the centre and make an attempt to smash parts of the stony web to see if it’ll be of any help.

Violence solves everything!

>>5633999
> Were the three voices singing the same song? It seemed so. A song you were familiar with, although not to the point to remember the lyrics. Try singing it.

>>5633999
> Were the three voices singing the same song? It seemed so. A song you were familiar with, although not to the point to remember the lyrics. Try singing it.

>>5633999
>> Were the three voices singing the same song? It seemed so. A song you were familiar with, although not to the point to remember the lyrics. Try singing it.

>>5633999
>Leaving your ears unprotected is no longer an option. Draw near the centre and make an attempt to smash parts of the stony web to see if it’ll be of any help.

Next update tomorrow.

>>5634838
Shit, have to leave to job earlier. I'll try to update after.

>>5634256
>>5634260
>>5634293
>>5634427
>>5634492
>>5634589
>>5634736

You bit the inside of your cheek to bring a pain you could focus on. Dazed by the shifting sounds, you inhaled. Instead of trying to drown out the singing of the gemstone stonework, you attempted to join in with the barely familiar melody. Each verse you recalled accurately silenced the painfully deafening melody, but when you stumbled over the wrong lyrics or replaced a word with a hum, the sound abruptly returned with a deafening resound, without a moment's pause between the silence and loudness. You closed your eyes and waited until you could sing along. Then, blinked them open in the brief mute moment. Carved into black stone at the other end of the cavern was a narrow, tight passage. Enough to squeeze through, you reckoned. You snarled when the sudden crooning echoed in your ears. As long as you kept your gaze steady, you could see the way out, unwelcoming as it was.

> Run across the chamber, beneath the sparkling stalactite mesh, and do your best to escape before the sound rips your ears.
> Run across the chamber and then drag your pickaxe across the singing stonework in hope that it’ll give your ears some respite.
> Drop the pickaxe and run across the chamber by covering an ear with a hand each. Sure, it’s a useful tool, but you’d rather not be in the Graveyard Frontier deaf.
> [Write In]

>it took him how long to write -that-?!
Yes, apologies.

>>5636212
>Run across the chamber and then drag your pickaxe across the singing stonework in hope that it’ll give your ears some respite.

>>5636212
>Run across the chamber and then drag your pickaxe across the singing stonework in hope that it’ll give your ears some respite.

>>5636212
>Run across the chamber and then drag your pickaxe across the singing stonework in hope that it’ll give your ears some respite.
Man this situation is so weird on meta level. Really makes me wonder whether there is a real threat and intended solution (path) that won't get us killed or we'll eventually break free as long as we don't do something incredibly stupid and will eventually recover from any potential damage. This also kind of applies to the big picture and us escaping Raveyard Frontier, with these smaller events adding up to the final outcome. It's weiiird.
>>5636213
Shut up and take your time, it's not a race. And thanks for still going strong.

>>5636226
>Raveyard
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kp6yD1l5A4E

>>5636212
> Run across the chamber, beneath the sparkling stalactite mesh, and do your best to escape before the sound rips your ears.

>>5636213
Been there, no worries.

>>5636212
> Run across the chamber and then drag your pickaxe across the singing stonework in hope that it’ll give your ears some respite.

>>5636212
>> Run across the chamber and then drag your pickaxe across the singing stonework in hope that it’ll give your ears some respite.

>>5636221
>>5636223
>>5636226
>>5636236
>>5636266
>>5636816

You felt both dizzy and drained as you stumbled towards the narrow egress. Despite your efforts to shield your ear, the singing resonance grew so loud it effortlessly penetrated the spectral flesh of the hand you held over your ear; even though you tried to sing along with the song you barely knew, it scrambled your hearing and consciousness when you botched the lyrics. Your sluggish feet defied your impulse to escape, slowing your dash to a plod. You squeezed and twisted your ear, adding more pain to prevent yourself from collapsing. You felt engulfed by the scintillating hues of the twilight overhead as you sneaked beneath where it was the loudest.

You swung your pickaxe in an arc, plunging the blade into the tangled web of twilight stalactites. The sparkling dew crackled as your pickaxe blade scraped it off the ceiling, the once melodious singing twisting into a cacophony. Your writhed and cried as the changed melody no longer sought to lull you to sleep, but only cause you pain. You dragged the pickaxe for several feet above your head before twisting and pulling it down, a shower of purple dust and debris cascading behind it; very little humanity remained in the high-pitched clamour. You squeezed yourself into the passageway and then moved away from the chamber.

The rough granite scraped your seams and nicked your ghostly skin as you pushed through the barely-passable crawl space. Your hand grasped the open air before you pushed your entire body free and collapsed onto the lukewarm parched terrain. The luminous glow of your pickaxe shielded you from the warren’s abyss. The repeating voices burned in your ears like the voice of a scalped preacher gasping and choking in his slow and anguishing death. It didn’t linger for long. Echoes of your wounds reappeared all at once. The prickling stabs, the shot shoulder, the drying thirst, the fleshy gash across your palms … none of those afflictions were enough to rip and scatter your soul—yet, together, at the same time, they could. You felt like dying. You were dying. You closed your eyes as your spectral flesh flared and twisted. You felt your charred marrow twist and curl into fleeing essence, seizing it with a savage wolf’s unyielding bite. You laid in the ghostly light for a long time. The voices returned in one ear.

“That was a fine shot, little man.” “If I weren’t in such a dire need of cash, I wouldn’t take it, Heart; that was quite the night.” “The townsfolk are looking to add to the bounty reward. You really going to turn down their generosity?” “I wish my husband was at least half the man you are.” “You might be the most cherished man in the West, Aug.” “Impressive. Let’s give it another go.”

Your bones loosened and your ghastly skin stitched itself together. You grunted at the flattery and pushed your wrists up against your earlobe. Other faith voices echoed in your other ear.

“What … what do you mean he ain’t not a wanted criminal?! You … you can’t just up and leave!” “You shouldn’t be stealing, August, it ain’t worth the trouble.” “And here you are, gunning down a woman for her voice.” “You are gonna die miserable and alone, Aug.” “She’s gone, August. Three weeks ago. Tuberculosis. She wished you’d been there so she could see ya.”

Shit. Fuck. What?! You covered your ears and muffled the praises and condemnations. Shimmering in the bluish-greens you noticed a dozen broken blueberry shards resting on both your shoulders. With a grunt, you dusted off the ambers into your palm and, to your relief, that helped. At last, the only voice you could hear was your laboured breathing …

> Keep the shards in the pocket of your jacket. Perhaps they can be of use.
> Toss away the accursed ambers. They might be silent for now, but who knows what they’ll begin whispering next?
> [Write In]

>>5637146
>> Keep the shards in the pocket of your jacket. Perhaps they can be of use.

>>5637146
> Keep the shards in the pocket of your jacket. Perhaps they can be of use.

>>5637146
> Keep the shards in the pocket of your jacket. Perhaps they can be of use.
Ah sweet, pocket trauma

>>5637146
> Keep the shards in the pocket of your jacket. Perhaps they can be of use.
That’s definitely going to be used to stab someone

>>5637146
> Keep the shards in the pocket of your jacket. Perhaps they can be of use.

>>5637146
>> Keep the shards in the pocket of your jacket. Perhaps they can be of use.

>>5637146
>Keep the shards in the pocket of your jacket. Perhaps they can be of use.

I have to wonder whether these shards are what the user considers the most poignant memories/voices or if it is the actual voices that hits the hardest morally.

>“If I weren’t in such a dire need of cash, I wouldn’t take it, Heart; that was quite the night.”
I would guess Mercedes, but I get the feeling she would have said Señor.
>“And here you are, gunning down a woman for her voice.”
She's here in the Graveyard Frontier, isn't she?
>“What … what do you mean he ain’t not a wanted criminal?! You … you can’t just up and leave!”
Somehow this feels the most damning in my estimate of Aug's character.
>“The townsfolk are looking to add to the bounty reward. You really going to turn down their generosity?”
Yet this is uplifting that Aug did not seek more.

>>5637162
>>5637218
>>5637342
>>5637387
>>5637405
>>5637755
>>5637803
>>5637811

You reckoned were you to keep those gemstones near your ears, you could hear much more. As long as you did not, they couldn’t trouble you. You pushed the handful of dust shards into your pocket. You took off your hat to notice the same glistening flakes topping its crown. You shook off more of those shards to mix them with those in your jacket’s hollow and then sealing the button shut. You let out a tired sigh. Gradually, you rose to your feet, all your tormenting sensations biting into you like birds of prey. It ended up too good to be true: it was too greedy of you to hope the soul-mending salve wasn’t a deception. You grabbed your pick and lifted it up to illuminate the path ahead, the cindered surroundings whitening by the lustre. You had no idea how you were going to get out. The rodent had a watch to guide her; you weren’t given the convenience. Pondering this and more, like how the feeble iron was even suppose to look, you rounded a sharp corner.

Cling. Clang. First you heard the sounds of pickaxe, and then you saw a brotherly flicker of another pick's green-blue lights. Up ahead worked a man, his ragged, grime-coated clothes clinging to his ghostly flesh and white marrow as if held by adhesive sweat. His back was turned at you, and what he mined was no more than granite.

> Shut close your eyes, turn around, and hopefully watch the man disappear. You’d rather not deal with the locals.
> Call out the man from a distance to gauge his friendliness. Keep your pick at the ready in case he isn't.
> Approach the man with your revolver drawn and its hammer corked. Strike up a conversation with him.
> [Write In]

>>5637907
>> Shut close your eyes, turn around, and hopefully watch the man disappear. You’d rather not deal with the locals.

>>5637907
>Shut close your eyes, turn around, and hopefully watch the man disappear. You’d rather not deal with the locals.

>>5637907
>> Call out the man from a distance to gauge his friendliness. Keep your pick at the ready in case he isn't.

>>5637907
> Call out the man from a distance to gauge his friendliness. Keep your pick at the ready in case he isn't.

>>5637907
> Call out the man from a distance to gauge his friendliness. Keep your pick at the ready in case he isn't.

>>5637907
> Call out the man from a distance to gauge his friendliness. Keep your pick at the ready in case he isn't.

>>5637907
> Call out the man from a distance to gauge his friendliness. Keep your pick at the ready in case he isn't.

>>5637914
>>5637974
>>5638088
>>5638262
>>5638281
>>5639122
>>5639628

“Hey there, partner,” you called out from a safe distance.

The ghostly figure froze. His spine straightened from the hunched posture he had. Lifting his shoulder, he turned his head, his chin pushing against his shoulder. The sunken eyes within his ivory skull flickered with pale blue spark and then, as if it broken, his jaw fell open and his mouth stretched wide. The man released the pick, and with writhing echoing exhale, he twisted his shape and collapsed face first onto the ground. Like an animal he dashed at you on both his hands and legs.

You grabbed and lifted the pickaxe to defend yourself against the deranged miner, but his savage unpredictable movements made him hard to predict. He scampered from one wall to another before lunging at you. You winced as he leaped. His trembling opaque hands gripped your face and forced your eyes wide open. You locked eyes with his crazed gaze.

“Don’t close them,” he said. “Don’t. Blink!” His breaths came out rapid and shallow. “Where did you come from?” He lifted his head. “Is it from there? Don’t you fucking blink! Don’t turn away your face? Where … don’t!” He raised his voice. “Don’t fucking blink, I said! Where is the way out? Is it there? How far is it? Is it far? I said don’t blink!”

> Toss the man off yourself and bare the pickaxe at him to make it clear he shouldn’t mess with you.
> Confess to the man that you are lost yourself, and he won’t be able to follow you all the way back because it is no longer there.
> Try and lie to the man that you are well aware of the oddities of the Warren, and that you didn’t blink so he can run and leave the place.
> Try your best to calm the man down and ask him for his name, and what is his story, but only in brief.
> Tell the man that if he cool down his temper you’ll help him, as you will also be looking for a way out once you get what you need.
> [Write In]

>>5639697
> Tell the man that if he cool down his temper you’ll help him, as you will also be looking for a way out once you get what you need.

>>5639697
>Toss the man off yourself and bare the pickaxe at him to make it clear he shouldn’t mess with you.

>>5639697
>> Toss the man off yourself and bare the pickaxe at him to make it clear he shouldn’t mess with you.

>>5639697
> Confess to the man that you are lost yourself, and he won’t be able to follow you all the way back because it is no longer there.

>>5639697
>> Try and lie to the man that you are well aware of the oddities of the Warren, and that you didn’t blink so he can run and leave the place.

>>5639697
>> Try your best to calm the man down and ask him for his name, and what is his story, but only in brief.

>>5639716
>>5639719
>>5639720
>>5639761
>>5639942
>>5640063

“Get off me!”

You struck the man’s stomach with your knee. His grip weakened as he flinched and grimaced from your blow. You grabbed his collar and then hurled him off you. As his body fell onto the rough solid ground, you lifted the pickaxe pointed the chisel’s tip at him. He jerked, falling onto his knees and then dragging his head against the dust-coasted floor. Though he was a soul like you, his slate ghostly glow was weathered and dim. He painted and then eyed you warily.

“I don’t know a way out,” you added after a moment of silence. “Don’t you dare touch me again, partner.”

The man lurched back on his legs. He gripped his knees with his hands as he recoiled. “The way out is there, just don’t don’t blink!”

“Too late for that,” you said. “I’ve already blinked more than a few times. I didn’t know it was a rule before I got here.”

“No …” he whispered as his voice turned quiet. His eyes, suddenly wide, darter towards the wall he mined; your eyes followed.

“No!” he cried out, dashing towards it and then slapping his palms against the unyielding granite. He scraped his nails against the speckled stone. The efforts of his hard work had disappeared.

He fell on his knees gasping for breath. He began to scratch the tunnel wall in desperation. “Come back. No. Come back. Give it back to me … Please … Please!”

You stood there in awkward hush, your pick casting its eerie radiance on the deceiving tunnel walls.

The man’s head snapped to you. “It’s your fault,” he said. “Wait, I see. Your bones … you are just another twisted creation like the one before. You’re not trapped! Damn you!” He punched the wall; his bones crackled like burning firewood. “I’m sorry. I am sorry. Please let me out, El Dorado. Let me out. I left you all your riches! I don’t need them!”

> Turn around and walk back from the strayed man and leave him to his own fortune. See where the shifting maze leads you next.
> Approach the man and assure him that you are not of El Dorado’s breed, and you are indeed a damned ghost like him.
> While keeping the man a good way off from you, ask him questions. How long has he been here? Have he came alone? What methods had he tried to escape? What is the “twisted creation” he is talking about?
> [Write In]

> I welcome any additional comments or thoughts along with a selected prompt if you have any.
> I couldn't update yesterday. Would you prefer me to tell you every day I am unable to update or does it not trouble it if I don't?

>>5641278
>> Turn around and walk back from the strayed man and leave him to his own fortune. See where the shifting maze leads you next.

its fine we are used to people not updating every day.

>>5641278
>While keeping the man a good way off from you, assure him that you are not of El Dorado’s breed, and you are indeed a damned ghost like him.

>Would you prefer me to tell you every day I am unable to update or does it not trouble it if I don't?
It's better to keep players informed, when you can. Personally, I haven't seen a quest that didn't lose some player retention when QM started going off schedule and didn't communicate and it seems to usually be a sign of either lack of care or flaking or both. And on the opposite side, the QMs who interact with players seem to be held in higher regard than those who just update and have no thread presence otherwise.

>>5641278
> While keeping the man a good way off from you, ask him questions. How long has he been here? Have he came alone? What methods had he tried to escape? What is the “twisted creation” he is talking about?
Keeing us updated is appreciated. As long as you don't ghost and flake, though, I'm nbothered.

On another note: if we kill this poor schmuck, will he respawn topside? Would he like that?

>>5641278
> While keeping the man a good way off from you, ask him questions. How long has he been here? Have he came alone? What methods had he tried to escape? What is the “twisted creation” he is talking about?

>>5641441
You can try and kill him or ask why he didn't kill himself, yes; always an option.

>>5641278
> While keeping the man a good way off from you, ask him questions. How long has he been here? Have he came alone? What methods had he tried to escape? What is the “twisted creation” he is talking about?
>prefer
I think it would be better to keep us informed.

>>5641291
>>5641397
>>5641441
>>5641571
>>5641620
>>5641631

You remained still until the man spieled out his guts. Once he was out of little breath he had, you asked.“How long have you been here for?”

He wrapped his arms around his stained wear and then curled up on the rock-faced floor. His whole body was wriggling and shuddering.

“Too long,” he finally said.

You rolled your eyes. “Too long can mean a whole mess of things. A few days? A couple of weeks? Many months?”

“Months … I reckon,” he rolled on his back gasping for air. The muted embers of his eyes looked up to the gnarled ceiling. “Or days. Or years. I stopped counting.”

“It can’t be years,” you said with a sigh. Can it? For how long the Graveyard Frontier had existed? You scratched your neck. “Instead of suffering down here, have you tried killing yourself? You know: to have your soul rejuvenate aboveground? It’s how it works, right?”

His breathing stopped. He wheezed. “You didn’t know? You haven’t ‘died’ even once yet? You won’t be, the El Dorado keeps your soul!”

His head rolled as his cheek touched the rugged ground. “It’ll regenerate, sure, but down here. You’ll always appear down here, even more lost than before.”

“Is that right?” Darn. You bit your lip. “You came here alone?”

The man’s eyes shifted to you. “I don’t know what’s up with your bones, but I’ll trust you’re real.” He averted his gaze and closed his eyelids. “Of course, I wanted -all- the riches I could get, so I went all alone. And sure, I got them. I got all the things the people in the Endless Walk need for! Damn it, damn you, it won’t let me leave!”

“And what ways have you tried to escape with?”

“Everything you can think of, I’ve tried. Now, I was just trying to break through those walls by force. But them walls are unyielding.”

“There must be a way,” you said. “How else would all those other miners who come here and back return to sell what they mined?”

He put his hands on his face and started to sob. “I don’t know. I don’t know! I wish to know how they’ve done it. What’s their trick? What is it?! Tell me!”

You ignored the man’s cries.

“Have you met more miners trapped hereabouts?”

“Many. Lots of them. They were all mad. All lost down here!”

The man didn’t count himself as one. Your fingers moved over your neck and then skimmed inside your unshaven chin. “And what’s that creature you mentioned?”

You saw him shudder and then tighten his embrace. “It doesn’t have a name … but it’s a frightful thing. A grey hairless hound, it was.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Sure, that’s not common but doesn’t sound like something to be scared of. Something more to it?”

He swallowed and nodded. “It morphs you into cattle. My arm somehow became a cow’s leg and my head that of a sheep.”

“You look human to me now.”

“You return to normal when you die after it’s done eating you. So painful. So awful. It’s somewhere in here, with us. I don’t want to see it no more!”

> Invite the man to walk with you together in search of feeble iron and the way out.
> Leave the man alone to his grief and surrender. Turn your head, blink your eyes, and have the walls appear shift around you.
> Give the man the rusted revolver to defend himself if he’ll be lucky enough to find his share of feeble iron. Say your farewells.
> [Write In]

> I welcome any additional comments or thoughts along with a selected prompt if you have any.

>>5642304
>> Give the man the rusted revolver to defend himself if he’ll be lucky enough to find his share of feeble iron. Say your farewells.

>>5642304
> Try to further calm down the man to clear his mind a little and brainstorm with him. If all the miners he has seen were mad, then it means they all were doing something wrong, repeating mistakes, including himself. There must be something - possibly illogical - he and they didn't try that would trick this place to allow you to leave.

>>5642304
> Invite the man to walk with you together in search of feeble iron and the way out.
> Try to further calm down the man to clear his mind a little and brainstorm with him. If all the miners he has seen were mad, then it means they all were doing something wrong, repeating mistakes, including himself. There must be something - possibly illogical - he and they didn't try that would trick this place to allow you to leave.

>>5642304

> Offer to work together, you'll walk facing each other, so the walls can't shift too much on you.

>>5642304
>> Invite the man to walk with you together in search of feeble iron and the way out.
>> Try to further calm down the man to clear his mind a little and brainstorm with him. If all the miners he has seen were mad, then it means they all were doing something wrong, repeating mistakes, including himself. There must be something - possibly illogical - he and they didn't try that would trick this place to allow you to leave.

>>5642776
Ooo, clever idea. Adding it to >>5642418 (mobile vote)

>>5642304

>>5642347
>>5642394
>>5642418
>>5642776
>>5642889
>>5642940

“Now, now, calm down,” you told him as you lowered the pick in a gesture of goodwill. “I ain’t planning of leaving just yet, I came here looking for feeble iron, and I’m not returning without getting me some.” You hit your hat’s brim and then peered down at him. “And after that’s done, I’ll be more than happy to find a way out together."

The man blinked at you. Scoffing, he staggered from the speckled floor to sit down on it instead. He pushed his knees to his chest and then put one of his hands on the ageless granite. He began to rub it as if hoping to scrub it off like dirt. “You think I’m dumber than you? How do you figure you'll find it?”

You shook your head. “If you and the rest of the prospectors you met had gone mad and lost, that means all of you are doing something wrong here.”

“Yeah.” He lifted his trembling digit at you. “We erred by setting foot here in the first place!"

You rubbed the temple of your forehead and sighed. “No," you said. "When I was entering the Warren I met a man who was leaving it.”

The man let go of the stone and turned to you with his eyes wide open. “You did? A man leaving?”

You nodded. “Correct. I assume you weren’t fortunate enough to meet him, or he made sure to avoid you. He had a bagworth of stuff he’d mined.”

“He walked out? He just walked out of the mine?”

“In a way,” you recalled. “Let’s see. He had a real pickaxe, not one you and me picked from the entrance. He also had a bolo tie that shone as bright as a lantern. Oh, and there were ghost birds, flying around him. Perhaps they showed him a way out?” You glanced around the dispersing blue-green lights. “Nothing I’m seasoned to.”

The man’s bones cracked as he interwove his hands together and then set them on his knees. “Maybe. No. Either he had them on him when he passed, or he used coffin nails to manifest them. If it’s the second then … then … they would be infused with the powers he needs. Yes, of course, he had everything thought out. Damn him!”

“It’s the second time I’m hearing about those ‘coffin nails’, care to clue me in?”

The man swallowed, seeming to regain his composure—at least in your eyes. “Fine. Sure. I’ll tell you. This damn place has many rules and quirks. One of them is the so-called Coffin Field, a place where your casket appears if you get a burial. A proper burial. And everyone else’s. I’ve been there once, but for all it's worth, I didn’t get a pine box for myself.”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” he said. He hid his face in his knees and continued talking, his voice much rougher then than before. “I died in a mine. Reckon they didn’t bother to haul out my body”

“In a mine?” you asked. Was he pulling your leg?

“Yes! I died in a cave-in! And now I’m stuck here. Darn. Again.”

You waved your palm at his outburst. “I get it, simmer down. Ain’t you suppose to get killed by someone to end up here?”

“That’s what they say.” He sighed. “Someone fella used a stick of dynamite, I guess they are the ones the blame counts at. Great.”

“Not that great," you said what he really meant.

Would they bury you? Your homestead was a bit out of the way, but still within a town’s reach. You had a decent name there. “What about them that do get a coffin? Do they get devil’s nails from them? And then one can pull it out to make a thing?” A thing like a watch Goldie had made.

The man nodded with little enthusiasm. “Fishy. Seem like you know more than you are letting on. Are you really here just for the feeble iron? That’s all?”

“I reckon I just got a quick wit,” you said. “And yes, just need more bullets. Unless there’s something else I ought to be interested in?”

“I ain’t sure,” he said. "Anyhow. Only a person buried can prey on a nail from his coffin, but after that, that nail is fair game for the taking. Ain't nothin' stoppin' it from bein' swiped right off your hands. Plenty of no-good rogues and bandits lurk in the Coffin Fields, waiting for folks to do just that. Even if you do get a coffin, it won’t be of much use to you if you’re stuck down here in El Dorado.”

“Ain’t not lie in that." You nodded. "Let’s hightail it outta here. These tunnels shift when you ain’t looking, so how about we walk back-to-back so they don’t pull any more tricks on us?”

With a wobble, using the granite face to assist his clamber, he stood up from the ground and bowed his head. “Sounds like a plan unlike any I got, stranger.”

“I go by Aug.”

“I’ll be Landry.”

> Suggest you’ll be the one walking back towards the dark expanse.
> Suggest that you’ll be the one walking second to Landry, keeping note of any dangers.
> [Write In]

> Suggest you turn your head back and forward and blink and unblinking before anything interesting appears.
> Suggest that you walk through the tunnel that is currently presented to you, no matter what’s in there.
> [Write In]

> I welcome any additional comments or thoughts along with a selected prompt if you have any.

>>5643117
>> Suggest that you’ll be the one walking second to Landry, keeping note of any dangers.
> Suggest that you walk through the tunnel that is currently presented to you, no matter what’s in there.

heres hoping we encounter the monster so we can kill and eat it.

>>5643117
> Suggest you’ll be the one walking back towards the dark expanse.
> Suggest you turn your head back and forward and blink and unblinking before anything interesting appears.
This part with the trapped guy is surprisingly engaging. I missed the part of us entering this place, but I'm glad that I picked the quest up again for Landry.

>>5643124
...why would we eat that thing?

>>5643179
+1
>>5643180
I also want to know

>>5643179
Support.

>>5643117

>>5643180
>>5643185
It might be funny.

>>5643467
So far nothing we've encountered in this godforbidden deathhole was funny to interact with.

No update today, apologies.

>>5643124
>>5643179
>>5643180
>>5643185
>>5643247
>>5643467
>>5643988

“Landry, glad to know you.”

You cast a glance to where you’d come from—the path that was swallowed by the phantom mineshafts. You clicked your tongue.

“Here’s the plan,” you said. “Like I mentioned, we’ll be walking face to face. I’ll be the one walking first, my back facing the darkness. Sounds about right?”

He nodded, “Sounds about right. Yes. I’ll be behind you, keeping an eye on what’s ahead. I can’t say I’m too keen of the prospects, though”

You shouldered your pickaxe. “Not like we got a choice, you and me.” You scratched your whiskers. “Before we make an unchanging tunnel, let’s find one that’s more interesting.”

Landry gnawed on his nails; his ghostly fingernails crumbled to dust before reforming again. “I don’t know. I ain’t sure if we should do that.”

You corked your eyebrow.

“You see,” he said, “the more we let them caverns change around us, the deeper they take us. The deeper you go, the harder it is to leave, is what I reckon.”

“You say that, but I can’t recall any kind of descent ‘cept from the entrance one. I have only been walking straight, bumps and all.”

He hesitated for a moment. The black forelocks of his hair draped over his face, veiling his eyes, his nose, and lips. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

“Maybe you are,” you nodded. “Come on, let’s turn away from it and see what we can rustle up.”

You averted your gaze, focusing on the ink-coloured walls instead. Landry let out a sigh and followed your example. On your return look, they tunnels had convoluted again. The new granite walls were nigh on identical to the ones you faced seconds before: marked with surface-level veins and gritty jagged ridges. There was nothing of particular uniqueness you could see. You looked at Landry. You turned your eyes to the unfocused man and gave him a nod. You tried again, two times, but your only luck was to replace one dark tunnel with another.

You spat. “Not even a sound. It ain’t giving us anything interesting without exploring first, is that how it is?”

“Yes,” Landry said. He pattered the ground with his boot. “There’s nothing fortuitous about El Dorado. Not a lick. Zilch.”

You shook your head, let out a deep sigh, and then scratched the edges of your brows. “Let’s delve in, if it want us to.”

Keeping your attention on your new acquaintance, you slid your feet back. “You ready? It’s awkward walking like this, so don’t be too hasty.”

“You shouldn’t worry, Aug. Unless there’s a clear image of the sky I ain’t running.”

You snapped your fingers. “Even if there is, you shouldn’t. It’s best if we have both pairs of our eyes on it.”

Landry took a moment to nod. He fell in your pace as you, face towards him, began to walk in reverse. You embarked through several turns for a couple of silent minutes.

“I have a question as well. I’m curious,” he uttered, his blue eyes burning into yours. “If you’re a ghost like me, what happened to your bones? That ain’t normal, Aug.”

> Should you tell him? Do you even know yourself? Have you figured out what the windmill’s water affected your marrow?

>>5644962
>I recon my bones are full of lead, or sin, or some other such thing. it pulls me down, gives me weight, makes me more... Here, a creature of the Graveyard Frontier. Maybe the lead that darkens my bones is the lead of bullets, fired to kill. I drank the water, see. My granny was from Ireland, and she always said that if you find yourself in another world, like the one of fairies, you shouldn't eat fairy food or you'll become trapped there permanent-like. Well, I reckon I should've listened.
Feel free to leave out the embellishments if you already had a family history in mind

>>5644962
>Tell him about the watermill's water.

>>5644962
>"Drank some black water when i got thirsty and it just changed my bones black. Tried to clean it, but it wouldnt get any black out."

>>5644962
>Tell him about the watermill's water.

>>5607729
Apologies, no update today.

>>5644997
>>5645002
>>5645022
>>5645604

“It ain’t nothing to be riled or scared about,” you said. “On my way here, there was a watermill. Before that, I’d stumbled upon some Prickly Niceties and got tricked and pricked. Them things are infamous, ain’t they? I was parched as a desert, partner, so any kind of chance to quench my thirst was a godsend. And so I drank the black water that came from the pipe, and it changed my bones black. And it wasn’t much I drank. I’ve tried to clean it, but you can’t simply scrub it off. Thorn in my boot.”

“Huh. So, no repercussions besides that?”

“Well,” you bit your lip, “Nothing I’m aware of besides the colour.” You opted not to bring out the owner of the mill with the same bones as you; nor his prisoner.

“Down here there’s always a catch, Aug. I doubt it’s just a paint for your bones. I don’t reckon so. You best figure it out, lest it turns out to be a rattlesnake in your bedroll.”

You briefly glanced at your marrow fingertips and returned a nod to the man in front of you. You shuffled back your foot and then another as you stayed the backwards course. You pondered on your change and whether it was a permanent grime on your phantom frame or not. With a sigh, you decided to focus on the—

You heard a crack beneath your boots as the ground underfoot shattered like brittle glass. It exploded. Shards of piebald stone tore your britches and pierced your ghostly boots. Sharp yet tiny, those splinters sliced through the cloth and leather but went no deeper, only barely scrapping your phantom skin. You came to a halt—Landry didn’t catch on quick enough. He lost his footing, lost his balance, and collided with you. He wasn’t that strong or hefty but it was still enough to force you to take another step back. You closed your eyes, bracing for the worse, but no second shattering came. Landry squinted, then gazed down at the granite foundation. After a short moment, you grabbed the man’s shoulders and pulled him back. You turned around and then stood up right next to him.

A deep crack split the ground. Its blackened innards were filled with toothed sharp stones. The other place you stepped on wasn’t.

“Apologies,” he said, looking at you. “That was too sudden.”

“It's all good,” you said. You snapped your fingers to turn the man’s attention to the ground. “Let’s make sure we are looking at the same place here.”

“Yeah,” Landry sighed. He crouched before the hole you made by stepping on it and then hovered his trembling hand above it. He kept his hand an inch from touching it.

“Got any notion what’s happening here?” you asked.

Your eyes trailed the granite walls, its ceiling and the floor, there was no noticeable difference between the place where the ground exploded and where it didn’t.

“If it’s our luck, we just stumbled upon some feeble stone,” Landry said, “and where there’s fragile stone, there’s feeble iron. This here seems like a deposit.”

“How does it look? Can you see it?”

Landry slowly stood up. “Feeble iron? If you've ever been to a mine you’ll know, it looks like regular iron ore, but more on the silvery side. The problem’s with the feeble stone. Ain’t nothing useful about it. It looks like granite because it’s so reflective, but it sure ain’t.” Landry gestured towards the tunnel ahead. “So they look the same. If you step on the feeble stone, it’ll do … well, you know by now. Them shards can be small, but they also can be sizeable. You can never be sure.”

“Feeble iron is what I'm here for. Do I have to break the stone to find it?"

Landry shook his head. “Not always. Feeble iron will be visible, unlike the feeble stone. Sometimes a vein of it will be around feeble stone instead of the granite.”

“So, if I’m lucky and only step on the real granite, nothing will go wrong for me?” You saw him nod. “Can’t we use picks to see if the path is safe?”

Landry let out a mocking chuckle. “You could. It could get in your eyes or, if it’s a large enough chunk of fragile stone, explode like a dynamite bomb. Imagine.”

> Ask Landry to assist you, else this path forward is a no go and you’ll have to “manifest” a new one and do it all over again.
> Do it yourself. Begin moving yourself through the tunnel with very slow steps. At any potential crackle and crack try and retreat.
> Use the pickaxe. Gradually slam the pick end at the floor in front of you to see if it’s a safe passage. Shield your face if it explodes.
> Use Goldie’s rusty revolver to tumble it against the ground and see how far it goes before it falls upon the fragile stone.
> Just imagining the pain of hundreds of sharp stones penetrating your body makes you shudder. Forget the feeble iron and look for another way to walk towards.
> [Write In]

> I welcome any additional comments or thoughts along with a selected prompt if you have any.

>>5647179
>> Do it yourself. Begin moving yourself through the tunnel with very slow steps. At any potential crackle and crack try and retreat.

>>5647179
> Ask Landry to assist you, else this path forward is a no go and you’ll have to “manifest” a new one and do it all over again.

>>5647179
> Ask Landry to assist you, else this path forward is a no go and you’ll have to “manifest” a new one and do it all over again.

>>5647193
>>5647204
>>5647795

“No, I’d rather steer clear of both,” you said. “However, unless we go through here, this tunnel is a no go. We’ll need to find another way through”

Landry scratched his flake-laden hair and sighed. “We haven’t travelled that far,” he said, catching your glare. “If we do that it’ll take us further. Deeper.”

“Let’s not unhammer that nail then. We’ll go through here,” you said, nodding your head at the tunnel ahead. Maybe pick some fragile iron on your way through, you reckoned.

“We’ll have to,” he said, returning the nod.

“I’m counting on your to lend a hand.”

He tucked his forelocks out of his eyes. “Aug, I may not look that way, but I’ve been dying and suffering in this cursed place for ages. The pains, wounds, injuries I’ve got —they all make themselves known every tick of the clock. I’ll lend you a hand, but you’re the lead rider. I’d like to sidestep adding anymore injuries to my case. Alright? So?”

> Ask Landry to follow behind you and pull you back the moment he hears a crackle.
> Ask Landry to join by your side and explore the safe parts of the ground with his pickaxe, the same way you’ll do it.
> Ask Landry to look out for and spot any feeble iron ore from a safe distance, as well as ask him to memorise the path that’s safe.
> [Write In]

>>5648138
> Ask Landry to join by your side and explore the safe parts of the ground with his pickaxe, the same way you’ll do it.
Does he want out, or not? Come on.

>>5648138
>> Ask Landry to follow behind you and pull you back the moment he hears a crackle.
I dont want to die

>>5648138
>> Ask Landry to join by your side and explore the safe parts of the ground with his pickaxe, the same way you’ll do it.

File: b4cd4468174f340e275a5e31c(...).jpg (44 KB, 564x579)

44 KB JPG

>>5650031
>>5650031
>>5650031