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Ooze. You feel it sticking to your waist as you trudge through it, the sickly fluid sticking to your hair and skin, as if trying to climb you and subdue you, like a giant writhing serpent. You resist and carry on, going deeper into a cave with no end in sight. Your attention is oft occupied by the occasional glitter seen in the depths of the foul liquid. Golden coins carrying the faces of ancient emperors, diamonds and gemstones with an eternal shine emerge, float on the surface and taunt you. Take me, they whisper to you, take me and want for nothing more, you deserve it…

You shake your head, lies lies lies, all of it sweet, rotten promises. Lost in your thoughts, you don't notice how your legs or maybe even the ooze, carry you further. That is when you appear somewhere breathtaking and utterly dreadful. A chamber of the cave, large and imposing like a regent's hall, stretches in front of you, it's ceiling populated with stalactites covered in drops of dew, the droplets brilliantly shimmering like some natural chandalier. The beauty ends there, for a towering figure sits before you on a throne of jutting stalagmites. Like a shadow, he lacks the features of any man or animal, a being of complete darkness, except two opal eyes. No pupils, no warmth. Two impossibly white orbs revealing nothingness. Ocassionally, the shine of the floating treasures and droplets of humidity reveal a glimpse of what hides behind the shadow and your mind recoils, unwilling to comprehend the vile nature of the being. It cares not, perhaps it even taking some slight pleasure in your torment as its milky eyes gauge you out.

Soon, it is joined by others. Chittering, squeaking, howling, yelping and other spine tingling noises bombard you. Bale, yellow eyes emerge from the darkness, eyes of uncountable beasts, natural and otherworldly. As they all turn their gaze at you, you feel the ooze climb. You try to rip it away, shake it off, you scream hopelessly. It forces itself down your throat, probes into your ear and nose, even your eyes, like unholy tears wriggling their way back in. You gargle, spit and sob as the dread grows in your heart and mind, the noises of the creatures twisting into a screeching laughter. You… you…

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You wake up, cold sweat drenching your chest and forehead. You instictively grab your throat, the places where the vile concoction intruded. It was just a nightmare, you think. Just a nightmare… You slowly sit up in your bed, the mattress filled with cheap wool. You stand up and walk up to a plain wooden table, on it a plain wooden bowl filled with clear water. Flower petals float on its surface. Petals… Yes, today is one of the Saints. Saint Grgur, the saint of your village, protector of shepherds and the sleeping…

You ponder the irony of you having a nightmare on the day of the Sleeping Saint. Or perhaps it's a sign? You stare into the reflection in the water, a face looking back. You're no holy man or wise woman.

You're…
>Zlatko, 'Golden', your parents were truly poor, labourers who worked themselves ragged, yet you were their greatest treasure.
>Bogdan, 'God-Given', for your mother thought she could bare no children, yet you appeared. A gift from the God and his Saints.
>Srećko, 'Lucky', the name of your grandfather, a warm-hearted man who saw you when he was on his deathbed. He smiled as he passed on.
>Some other name? (Write-in)

>>5778401
>Srećko, 'Lucky', the name of your grandfather, a warm-hearted man who saw you when he was on his deathbed. He smiled as he passed on.

>>5778401
>Bogdan, 'God-Given', for your mother thought she could bare no children, yet you appeared. A gift from the God and his Saints.


Cool premise, OP.

>>5778401

>Bogdan, 'God-Given', for your mother thought she could bare no children, yet you appeared. A gift from the God and his Saints.

Love this concept, OP

>>5778401
>>Bogdan, 'God-Given', for your mother thought she could bare no children, yet you appeared. A gift from the God and his Saints.
Time to plunder

>>5778401
>Bogdan, 'God-Given', for your mother thought she could bare no children, yet you appeared. A gift from the God and his Saints.

Let's be a bandido lord.

>>5778407
>>5778408
>>5778423
>>5778439
>>5778447
Bogdan it is! Writing.

>>5778587
Test

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Bogdan. A strong name, as if God is your shield. It is said that your mother and father grew desperate trying to conceive you. A year of marriage and still no pregnancy, it was whispered that your mother was barren and that your father's line will end with him. Your father assured your mother, Vesna, that he will never leave her, even if she bore him no children, no sons. He was a man of his word, your father, but mother felt the dissapointment in his words. One day, when he was away, she snuck out of the house and village, for she made an oath to one of the Saints. Many women would've chosen one of the dozen fertility Saints of Western origin, but your mother, for all her desperation and doubts, was a brave woman.

She heard of a small altar atop of a barren hill, dedicated to Saint Bogdan, a warrior saint of local origin, said to have died with sword in hand defending his family hearth from devils and demons, removing a hundred vile heads before succumbing to his wounds. She made an oath to him, that she will walk barefoot to the top of the hill, get on her knees, pray to him and then return barefoot once again. All for a son. She set out during dawn, a few moments after her husband left for work. He came back to find an empty house and he looked all over, calling her name and searching. After raising the alarm in the whole village, she appeared during the dusk, her feet beaten black and blue, scratched bloody by torn and burned by the summer heated stones. She collapsed into the arms of your father, delirious and dead tired from the trip.

In a few weeks, her moon blood never came, in nine months, you were born.

File: A long time ago, when you(...).jpg (2.56 MB, 4047x5103)

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Talking about your mother, there she was. Her face was still youthful, but wrinkles already marred her face, age and hard work showing their toll. Yet her eyes stayed impossibly warm, a tint of sadness in them after your father, Goran, died. She sat on a chair, knitting gracefully and quickly, her experience as a housewife showing. Her eye soon settle on you, snapping you out of your morning stupor.

„Bogdan, are ye ready for mass?“ She questions, with a slight threat in her tone. Saints, even after all these years, the motherly disapproval of her voice cuts you down.

You groan. „Aye, mum. I will get to it, don't worry yer head about it.“ You pass her by, embrace her from the back and kiss her on the head, her serious facade melting as she chuckles.

„Now, now, don't use those ol' tricks, Bogdan.“ She wags her finger at you. „Get yer Sunday clothes on, yer mate is already waiting for you.“

You grunt approvingly and put your white vest and red pants on which your mother put out for you. Red and black patterns cover the collar and the end of sleeves, while your red pants are joined by colorfoul leg wrappings and a pair of leather shoes. You take your headwear, a circular cap with a red flat-top, black sides and black tassel. You step outside, breathe in the air and are instantly greeted with a familiar voice.

„Oi, Bogdan!“ cries out:
>Mirko, your second cousin, the son of your father's cousin. You were practically raised with him and you're like brothers, always getting into trouble and bantering.
>Stjepan, an older man and your godfather. Well-travelled and an experienced hajduk, he helped you and your mother immensely, becoming something of a mentor and then a friend to you.
>Ivan, a vagrant youth. He was left early without parents and the local priest took him in. A troublemaker, quick and keen like a fox, he has taken a shine to you and you to him. Seems like he only really listens to you, that little rascal.

>>5778676

>Ivan, a vagrant youth. He was left early without parents and the local priest took him in. A troublemaker, quick and keen like a fox, he has taken a shine to you and you to him. Seems like he only really listens to you, that little rascal.

Thief sidekick sounds most fun

>>5778676
>Stjepan, an older man and your godfather. Well-travelled and an experienced hajduk, he helped you and your mother immensely, becoming something of a mentor and then a friend to you

>>5778676
>>Mirko, your second cousin, the son of your father's cousin. You were practically raised with him and you're like brothers, always getting into trouble and bantering.

>>5778676
>>Mirko, your second cousin, the son of your father's cousin. You were practically raised with him and you're like brothers, always getting into trouble and bantering.

>>5778676
>Mirko, your second cousin, the son of your father's cousin. You were practically raised with him and you're like brothers, always getting into trouble and bantering.
Always good to have that special homie.

>>5778676
>Stjepan, an older man and your godfather. Well-travelled and an experienced hajduk, he helped you and your mother immensely, becoming something of a mentor and then a friend to you.

>>5778677
>>5778799
>>5778904
>>5779004
>>5779010
>>5779016
Cousin Mirko it is! Writing.

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You turn to the source of the voice and see your cousin, Mirko, leaning on the wooden fence that surrounds your humble home, a smug smile and raised eyebrows plastered on his face.

„Fuck me Bogdan, aren't ya dapper lad today? Must say, ye look less shit than ye usually do.“ He snorted, his smug smile becoming even wider as he leaned onto the fence the same way a cat stretches her legs. „Do ye fancy a lovely girl, Boggy Boy? One o' the tavernkeepers daughters, aye aye?“, Mirko imitates one of the old crones in the village, the kind that keep their noses constantly out of the window and in other people's bussineses.

You roll your eyes and join him by his side, punching his shoulder harder than you usually do, Mirko wincing but laughing it off. „Good morn' to ye too, Mirko. Didn't think ye would be in the mood to torment me so early in the day, God forbid ye put this same amount of will to gettin' yourself a lass.“, you wiggle with your eyebrows, forcing Mirko to be the one rolling eyes now.

„Aye aye, Bogdan, always the tomcat, ye. When we're already on about the girls and wooing them, what are ye plannin' to do on the festival today? Thinkin' about inviting Milica to dance with ye?“, Mirko and his hard hitting questions, you think to yourself. Milica was indeed the tavernkeeper's daughter, a fiery, but good-hearted lass, which chewed out many would be suitors and interested men, giving her father quite the headache. Yet, for her wily nature, she has piqued your interest and you hers. Perhaps it was the fact that you could keep up with her taunts or the way you two could keep up with each other during labour and dance alike, your eyes meeting and goading each other to do better.

„Aye, was thinkin' 'bout it, maybe seein' us dancin' will melt the cold heart of that father of hers.“, you groan, the old man wanting his daughter to marry a better standing member of society, your own standing and belongings quite humble. „What 'bout you, Mirko, any lass caught yer eye?“, you ask, snapping yourself out of your romantic melancholy.

Mirko takes a hold of his chin and hums, thinking. „Ye know Ana, the miller's daugher? She's quite nice, a lovely gi-.“

„Ana? Aye, quite lovely. Her rack is even lovelier.“ You already start running before Mirko can lift his foot and kick you in your arse, both of you laughing and taunting each other all the way to church.

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You arrive in front of the church, already many villagers crowding the entrance, chatting and gossiping about their daily lifes, commenting what the sermon will be about and other minutiae about village life. The church, weathered and old, still stands proudly, a place of great importance and faith to the local folk. Some say it was built by the first converts, a labour of love and dedication, stone masons and labourers toiling under the gaze of the priests. Some even say it's older, that it was there before, built by a people long perished, the stout temple being the only thing left. Could be all of these things or none, who knows?
Of the multitude of people gathering there, a few of them catch your attention:

>Milica, the girl you're infatuated with. She arrived in tow with her younger siblings, herding them the same way one would herd cats. Her father is not currently present…
>Father Zvonimir, the priest of your village. A wiry old man, he's strict, but a wise, caring man, who, despite his education, is humble with his parishers. You remember he wanted something from you…
>Dušan the Bear, a former harambaša, a leader of hajduks. Even in his old age, he's imposing and large, even if the years and a few too many roasted pigs gave him quite the belly. He has a proposition for you…

>>5779732

>Dušan the Bear, a former harambaša, a leader of hajduks. Even in his old age, he's imposing and large, even if the years and a few too many roasted pigs gave him quite the belly. He has a proposition for you…

We can go hunting for women after we hunt down some monsters

>>5779732
>Father Zvonimir, the priest of your village. A wiry old man, he's strict, but a wise, caring man, who, despite his education, is humble with his parishers. You remember he wanted something from you…

>>5779732
>>Milica, the girl you're infatuated with. She arrived in tow with her younger siblings, herding them the same way one would herd cats. Her father is not currently present…

>>5779732
>Milica, the girl you're infatuated with. She arrived in tow with her younger siblings, herding them the same way one would herd cats. Her father is not currently present…

>>5779732
>>Dušan the Bear, a former harambaša, a leader of hajduks. Even in his old age, he's imposing and large, even if the years and a few too many roasted pigs gave him quite the belly. He has a proposition for you

Give me my quest!

>>5779732
>Dušan the Bear, a former harambaša, a leader of hajduks. Even in his old age, he's imposing and large, even if the years and a few too many roasted pigs gave him quite the belly. He has a proposition for you…
Can't ignore the big village chief

>>5779738
>>5779807
>>5779809
>>5779884
>>5779988
>>5780121
Dušan wins! I apologise for not updating, had a busy day, but I will call the vote here and write up the update tomorrow.

Also, what do you guys think about the quest? Any improvements, thoughts or criticisms?

>>5780372
>Any improvements

Yeah, I want a cool sword

>Thoughts
How tall we are?

>criticisms?
There is no cool weapon yet.

>>5780372

I dig the vibes and setting, put us into the action QM!

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As you scan the crowd, Dušan, the former harambaša, locks his eye on you and raises his meaty hand, calling you and Mirko over. To the many lads of the village, you included, Dušan is a legend. Tales of his exploits, raids and fights are told over in taverns and during festivals, something which the old man takes great satisfaction in. He towers over the other men, his great gut protruding infront of him and his grey-white whiskers drooping down, a confident smile or smirk always plastered on his face. But one would be mistaken to consider him a simple brute or meathead. Many hajduks die young, cut down because of arrogance and inflated sense of self. To make it so far, to such an old age, reveals a great cunning and skill.

„Bogdan, Mirko!“, exclaims Dušan, before taking your hand and kissing both of your cheeks, a greeting between friends and family who haven't seen each other a long time. He repeats the action with Mirko and stands there, nodding his head at you two, the same way a horse merchant would inspect some finer specimens.

„Ye've grown into proper men, m'lads. Yer fathers, may the Saints rest their souls, would be proud.“, Dušan speaks softly, a tint of melancholy in his voice, for days and comrades who have passed a long time ago. Your and Mirko's father were hajduks who roamed with Dušan, raiding foreigners and fighting beasts. Both of them met an untimely end, yours earlier and Mirko's later, something Dušan never forgave himself, you thought. Since then, he would often pinch in when times got tough for your two families.

„Listen lads, I have a proposition for ye. Real men deserve real work and I've decided that ye lads should help me on a task, a proper task.“, as the words left his mouth, you looked over Mirko, both of your eyes filled giddy. Finally! This is what you've been waiting for. While the both of you accompanied hajduks as lookouts and menial help, this was your first proper hajduk excursion and you were getting restless at the mere thought.

Dušan chuckles at the youthful mirth of you and Mirko, but soon his face takes on a more serious expression, „I want ye both ready tomorrow when the sun dawns, ready yer supplies and yer fathers' weapons.“ Mirko nodded enthusiastically, but you were struck at the mention of the weapons. You didn't have the weapon your father carried, merely a simple dagger. Dušan noticed your worry and furrowed his brows, muttering, „Did she not give it to ye…“, he shook his head and gave you a meaningful look. „Talk with yer mother Bogdan, after the mass.“, as he said those words, the church bells sounded and the crowd went into the church.

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„…Truly, there isn't many men that encompass the words of Saint Grgur more than the shepherd, he who guards the flock against the beastly and wicked, who, with a righteous hand and intent protects his own. But know this, my friends, that evil is not only found in the outside world, but inside the hearts of all men and one should always be on the lookout for it, 'lest it take root and we ourselves become the very wolves we hunt down.“, such were the words uttered by Father Zvonimir as he finished his sermon, yet your mind was elsewhere. Why did your mother hide the weapon which should rightfully belong to you?

As the crowd poured outside, chattering and making noise, you said a silent goodbye to Mirko, whose face revealed that he felt your tension. He merely put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed. He knew all the words he could say wouldn't be half as effective as the small gesture and he gave you a slight nod. You felt a part of the tension melt away and you prepared yourself to face your mother.

As you came in front of the door of your house, you heard the voice from inside call, „Bogdan, dear, is that ye? Come in, come, tell how the sermon went.“ As you opened the door and looked at her, she froze in place, instantly feeling your confusion and anger.

„What's wrong dear?“, she asked, worry marring her face. You hold your tongue for a moment, before looking her in the eye. „I spoke with Dušan… He wishes to take me on a task. Said it was my time to prove myself.“, as the words left your mouth, your mother bowed her head, as if in shame. Questions and demands for answers came pouring from your mouth while your mother silently passed by you, your face crumpling even more at her silence. That is, until she removed a floorboard under her bed and pulled out a bundle of cloth, offering it to you.

„Forgive me Bogdan“, she whispered silently, her eyes red, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, „I simply couldn't bare that one day you would take it up and… And…“

Perish like my father, you finish the sentence in your head. You go in for a hug and bring her head to chest, caressing her the same way she did to you so many times when you were a child. You weren't going to, you whispered, the Sains will be merficul and good, you went on, but a part of you was unsure. All you know, that her fear was justified in many ways.

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You unfurl the cloth and in it was:

>A musket, it's stock beautifully carved with arabescas and geometrical symbols, the center piece being the Sign of the God and his Saints, circled by a sea serpent biting its tail, something which was most likely carved by your old man. It is said your father had an aim able to snipe a sparrow in flight and you have inherited his eagle eyes. [Flintlock Weapon Proficiency]
>A jatagan, a sword most likely plundered from the Easterners. The blade curves elegantly, as sharp and cold as the winter ice, the handle made of ivory and inlaid with various stones and decorated metal. Your father's sworhand was famed among his fellow hajduks and some said it was a natural extension of his hand. You have inherited his steady hand. [Bladed Weapon Proficiency]

>>5780888
>>A musket, it's stock beautifully carved with arabescas and geometrical symbols, the center piece being the Sign of the God and his Saints, circled by a sea serpent biting its tail, something which was most likely carved by your old man. It is said your father had an aim able to snipe a sparrow in flight and you have inherited his eagle eyes. [Flintlock Weapon Proficiency]
Yeah cool weapons

>>5780888

>A jatagan, a sword most likely plundered from the Easterners. The blade curves elegantly, as sharp and cold as the winter ice, the handle made of ivory and inlaid with various stones and decorated metal. Your father's sworhand was famed among his fellow hajduks and some said it was a natural extension of his hand. You have inherited his steady hand. [Bladed Weapon Proficiency]

Don’t worry Ma, we know how to play with sharp objects

>>5780380
The cool weapon criteria has been fulfilled.

>How tall are we?
Around 188cm, which is like 6'2
>>5780397
Thanks anon, I appreciate the compliments!

Also, I will most likely cook up a rolling system soon and an explanation for it, so be on the lookout for it.

>>5780888
>A musket, it's stock beautifully carved with arabescas and geometrical symbols, the center piece being the Sign of the God and his Saints, circled by a sea serpent biting its tail, something which was most likely carved by your old man. It is said your father had an aim able to snipe a sparrow in flight and you have inherited his eagle eyes. [Flintlock Weapon Proficiency]

It's a new age now lads.

>>5780888
>A musket, it's stock beautifully carved with arabescas and geometrical symbols, the center piece being the Sign of the God and his Saints, circled by a sea serpent biting its tail, something which was most likely carved by your old man. It is said your father had an aim able to snipe a sparrow in flight and you have inherited his eagle eyes. [Flintlock Weapon Proficiency]

>>5780888
>A musket, it's stock beautifully carved with arabescas and geometrical symbols, the center piece being the Sign of the God and his Saints, circled by a sea serpent biting its tail, something which was most likely carved by your old man. It is said your father had an aim able to snipe a sparrow in flight and you have inherited his eagle eyes. [Flintlock Weapon Proficiency]

Let's be the Sniper, Mike can be the meat shield.

>>5780372
I have a feeling we'll die by betrayal after completing a heist or something similar against the Sultanate

>>5780888
>>A jatagan, a sword most likely plundered from the Easterners. The blade curves elegantly, as sharp and cold as the winter ice, the handle made of ivory and inlaid with various stones and decorated metal. Your father's sworhand was famed among his fellow hajduks and some said it was a natural extension of his hand. You have inherited his steady hand. [Bladed Weapon Proficiency]

>>5780888
>>A musket, it's stock beautifully carved with arabescas and geometrical symbols, the center piece being the Sign of the God and his Saints, circled by a sea serpent biting its tail, something which was most likely carved by your old man. It is said your father had an aim able to snipe a sparrow in flight and you have inherited his eagle eyes. [Flintlock Weapon Proficiency]

>>5780890
>>5780892
>>5780926
>>5780927
>>5780951
>>5780964
>>5781205
Shootin' and tootin', writing!

>>5781228
Test

>>5780888
>A jatagan, a sword most likely plundered from the Easterners. The blade curves elegantly, as sharp and cold as the winter ice, the handle made of ivory and inlaid with various stones and decorated metal. Your father's sworhand was famed among his fellow hajduks and some said it was a natural extension of his hand. You have inherited his steady hand. [Bladed Weapon Proficiency].

Melee combat is great, and no hectic and troublesome reloading.

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You pick up the musket, your fingers brushing the fine engravings, each meticulously done, hours of care put into them. While the engravings are truly fine, there is one that catches your eye, perhaps the one who holds the least masterful skill. Goran, your father, travelled a long time ago to the Western parts of the Frontier, where the sea meets the land and where the Westerners fight bloody rows with the Easterners, be it piratical raids or skirmishes among the karst hills and fields. That is where he most likely carved it, the mighty sea Leviathan biting its own tail. To the coastal people, it was once a tyranical deity, until it was struck down by one of the Sajnts. The serpent bites its tail, for it is stuck in the mortal planes like all men and creatures, the only thing above it being God and the Saints that serve him. Only faith can save one from the constant cycle.

The symbol is rough, but it holds the most importance to you. After all, you can imagine your father whittling away at the stock during his service as a mercenary for the Westerners, whistling a content tune. You don't have many things left from your father, so you tighten your hold on the gun, its weight feeling right. You look down its length, focusing on the floor. The perfect size, your father had great taste.

The cloth didn't only contain the musket. With it, a pouch with plenty of musket balls and a powder horn accompanied by an ample amount of gunpowder. All the needed ingredients for putting down men and beasts.

Your mother looks at you inspecting your musket, a forlon look in her eyes and hands clasped over her long skirt. Your giddiness is soon replaced by worry. Worry for your old mother, worry for your own safety and worry what will happen if you were to lose your head. You've heard many strange and terrifying noises in your life, but none so soul-crushing as the wail of a mother whose child perished.

You lay the tools of your trade on the table and shuffle closer to your mother, hugging her tightly.

„No worries, ma. I'm yer big lad.“ You pull back a little, giving her a winning smile, the glint of youth in your eye. „I'll strike down every bugger I see. And if they get close? Mirko will wallop them with that big ol' axe of his.“ Your mother gives you a chuckle and touches your cheek, her weariness slightly subdued.

„Ye remind me so much o' him, my child.“ She shakes her head slightly and smiles. „But thank the Saints, they gave ye his looks and my smarts, that will have to keep my worries at bay for now.“

„Mother!“ You burst out laughing, the quip about your dear father unexpected.

„What boy, ye think I'm one o' those widows who only moan and cry over their dead husbands?“ She snorts and gives you a wink. „Yer pa wouldn't begrudge me a joke on his behalf. Now go, the village is preparin' the festival and here ye are wastin' yer time with an ol' woman.“

You give your beloved mother a beaming smile and quickly put on your regular clothes, before rushing outside as quickly possible. Thoughts bombard your head, about the festival, your future, the people around you.

You exit the house and see Mirko waiting for you, changed to his daily clothes. You assure him of your new position and brag a bit about the weapon, Mirko's eyes lighting up at the mention of the beautiful musket.

Soon, you talk of other things:

>You mention how you recently talked up an Eastern merchant and his mercenaries. They almost discarded you as a heathen yokel, but your charms, social skills and limited knowledge of languages quickly won over the men and they shared with you some delectable sweets and the location of a quality tavern, should you ever go down to the nearby town of Uzgor. [Social Skills and Language Proficiency]
>Your recent journey through the woods. While the village itself is already among the wilderness, you feel truly at peace among the old trees of your homeland. You spent your time tracking animals, picking a variety of berries and mushrooms and even thought you saw a fairy or two giggling among the canopies. [Tracking and Nature Proficiency]

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>>5781369
Forgot the image, whoops

>>5781369

>You mention how you recently talked up an Eastern merchant and his mercenaries. They almost discarded you as a heathen yokel, but your charms, social skills and limited knowledge of languages quickly won over the men and they shared with you some delectable sweets and the location of a quality tavern, should you ever go down to the nearby town of Uzgor. [Social Skills and Language Proficiency]

This seems most helpful

>>5781369
>Your recent journey through the woods. While the village itself is already among the wilderness, you feel truly at peace among the old trees of your homeland. You spent your time tracking animals, picking a variety of berries and mushrooms and even thought you saw a fairy or two giggling among the canopies. [Tracking and Nature Proficiency]
Autismo hunter

>>5781369
>>You mention how you recently talked up an Eastern merchant and his mercenaries. They almost discarded you as a heathen yokel, but your charms, social skills and limited knowledge of languages quickly won over the men and they shared with you some delectable sweets and the location of a quality tavern, should you ever go down to the nearby town of Uzgor. [Social Skills and Language Proficiency]

>>5781369
>Your recent journey through the woods. While the village itself is already among the wilderness, you feel truly at peace among the old trees of your homeland. You spent your time tracking animals, picking a variety of berries and mushrooms and even thought you saw a fairy or two giggling among the canopies. [Tracking and Nature Proficiency]
Can Mirko get the other proficiencies? Him having those and Bogdan having these feels right to me.

>>5781369
>>You mention how you recently talked up an Eastern merchant and his mercenaries. They almost discarded you as a heathen yokel, but your charms, social skills and limited knowledge of languages quickly won over the men and they shared with you some delectable sweets and the location of a quality tavern, should you ever go down to the nearby town of Uzgor. [Social Skills and Language Proficiency]

>>5781369
>You mention how you recently talked up an Eastern merchant and his mercenaries. They almost discarded you as a heathen yokel, but your charms, social skills and limited knowledge of languages quickly won over the men and they shared with you some delectable sweets and the location of a quality tavern, should you ever go down to the nearby town of Uzgor. [Social Skills and Language Proficiency]

>>5781369
>You mention how you recently talked up an Eastern merchant and his mercenaries. They almost discarded you as a heathen yokel, but your charms, social skills and limited knowledge of languages quickly won over the men and they shared with you some delectable sweets and the location of a quality tavern, should you ever go down to the nearby town of Uzgor. [Social Skills and Language Proficiency]

New goal: acquire enough shekels for 2 flintlock pistols so we are deadly at close range as well.

>>5781369
>>Your recent journey through the woods. While the village itself is already among the wilderness, you feel truly at peace among the old trees of your homeland. You spent your time tracking animals, picking a variety of berries and mushrooms and even thought you saw a fairy or two giggling among the canopies. [Tracking and Nature Proficiency]

Is this the Albanian Qst I've been hearing about?

Hey people, just gonna drop by and say that there won't be an update today, but I'll post one tomorrow evening. Had plenty of chores to do and I'll have to travel for uni tomorrow, meaning I will be only be able to post an update way later.
>>5782383
I suppose? It's generally inspired the Balkan peninsula, so you could say that. Besides, I'm glad my quest is getting recommended!

Also, the vote is still open, if anyone new is reading the quest.

>>5781369
>Your recent journey through the woods. While the village itself is already among the wilderness, you feel truly at peace among the old trees of your homeland. You spent your time tracking animals, picking a variety of berries and mushrooms and even thought you saw a fairy or two giggling among the canopies. [Tracking and Nature Proficiency]
Losing your pursuers in the mountains has always been a classic way to escape, also its more or less required if we want to be a good hajduk

>>5781369
>>You mention how you recently talked up an Eastern merchant and his mercenaries. They almost discarded you as a heathen yokel, but your charms, social skills and limited knowledge of languages quickly won over the men and they shared with you some delectable sweets and the location of a quality tavern, should you ever go down to the nearby town of Uzgor. [Social Skills and Language Proficiency]
it makes sense as a main protagonist not!cossack, we are brains of operation, while Mirko is more of a brawn type of a guy.

>>5781401
>>5781448
>>5781484
>>5781487
>>5781650
>>5781776
>>5781910
>>5781929
>>5782873
>>5783827
You're a talker and a money maker. Writing.

File: The Merchant.jpg (136 KB, 587x959)

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Your tongue is silver and your words are gold. Or atleast, that is what you and some people think. Those people also include the Eastern merchant Faruk and his mercenaries that you met. His caravan made rest near the village a few days ago, snow white tents popping up on a nearby green field, like mushrooms after a season of rain. Their appearance caused quite the furore in the village, for their is great animosity between your people and the Easterners. To you, they are heathen invaders, cruel conquerors come to take all, while to them, your people are infidel savages and bandits who skulk in their miserable hills and forests. Rumours started spreading that they were the Sultan's troops, here to plunder and pilfer, but their mercantile nature was soon revealed and plans to plunder and pilfer them were soon hatched. Some of the bolder lads, wanting to shower themselves in loot and fame, were ready to go, but you soon advised against. The caravan was well guarded by armoured riders and, should you win, the nearby governor, the pasha, would most likely take it as a just cause to ransack the village and terrorise the children and womenfolk. The youth were dismayed, but many of the older men of the village saw wisdom in your words. Besides, caravans can always be plundered further from the village...

Still, curiosity got the better of you and you went down to the foreigners, the mercenaries and trader giving you a weary look, convinced this was a trick or trap. They were soon perplexed at the simple Eastern words that came pouring out of your mouth, your rudimentary knowledge of the language being the consequence of gathering information for the raiding parties and a simple impulse of wanting to know more. Through gesticulation and simple sentences, Faruk and his men soon found themselves comfortable, if strange company. While the servants brought forth some tea and delicious sweets, you instructed the merchant which villages were worthwhile to visit on his way to Uzgor, the merchant delighted by your advice. He and his men soon answered with tales of their travels and exploits, the skirmishes of the Sultan's armies with those of Western Emperors and Kings, and so on. They even gave you a quick language lesson, mostly teaching you some new swear words and insults.

After saying your goodbyes, Faruk leaned in closer and told you you're welcome to visit him in Uzgor and use his services. He chuckled and a perfidious glint lit up in his eyes, mentioning how he may even use your services, nodding to the dagger at your hip…

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After a lengthy walk, you arrive into the village center. The men are doing hard labour, carrying materials for the different stalls and bonfires, the women put their sewing skills to use and turn cloth into decorations and vibrant stall covers. Children run around, either doing small errands or being loveable nuisances. Butchers already bring out the freshly slaughtered pigs and lambs, while brewers, both big and small, bring out kegs of beer, wine and hooch. You and Mirko give each other a knowing smile, for the day will be filled with joy and merrymaking, a celebration to winter's soon passing and to the beauty of spring's bloom from the cold dew. You're quite unsure what to do with yourself though, as most of the jobs are already being done, so you get summoned to do one of the more menial task. Yet, while doing them, you feel… Strange…

What is this feeling?

>You help Father Zvonimir prepare the blessing ritual for the festival, his altar servants mysteriously missing, those devilish rascals. They're going to get an earful later on… Yet, as you fill the censer with incense, the strong smell brings forth… A sound? The sounds of small bells, being carried by the wind, into the far blue sky, where pale faces look on from a strange mist and hymns strange and hypnotic resonate… [The Chimes of the Saints]
>You help some of the older folk and women create customs, using the horns and skulls of rams and various pelts and cloth to create frightening masks. An old tradition where men wear them and jump over fires, symbolising the banishment of winter and return of spring. While you whittle away at a horn, something glitters inside and you take a peek, visions of a great bonfire surrounded by mismatched figures flaring in your thoughts. A tune, ancient and primal, plays, something only remembered by blood and marrow… [The Call of Yore]

You can consider this a proficiency

>>5784346

>You help some of the older folk and women create customs, using the horns and skulls of rams and various pelts and cloth to create frightening masks. An old tradition where men wear them and jump over fires, symbolising the banishment of winter and return of spring. While you whittle away at a horn, something glitters inside and you take a peek, visions of a great bonfire surrounded by mismatched figures flaring in your thoughts. A tune, ancient and primal, plays, something only remembered by blood and marrow… [The Call of Yore]

Give me that black magic

>>5784346
>You help Father Zvonimir prepare the blessing ritual for the festival, his altar servants mysteriously missing, those devilish rascals. They're going to get an earful later on… Yet, as you fill the censer with incense, the strong smell brings forth… A sound? The sounds of small bells, being carried by the wind, into the far blue sky, where pale faces look on from a strange mist and hymns strange and hypnotic resonate… [The Chimes of the Saints]

>>5784346
>>You help Father Zvonimir prepare the blessing ritual for the festival, his altar servants mysteriously missing, those devilish rascals. They're going to get an earful later on… Yet, as you fill the censer with incense, the strong smell brings forth… A sound? The sounds of small bells, being carried by the wind, into the far blue sky, where pale faces look on from a strange mist and hymns strange and hypnotic resonate… [The Chimes of the Saints]
Death to heathens

>>5784346
>You help some of the older folk and women create customs, using the horns and skulls of rams and various pelts and cloth to create frightening masks. An old tradition where men wear them and jump over fires, symbolising the banishment of winter and return of spring. While you whittle away at a horn, something glitters inside and you take a peek, visions of a great bonfire surrounded by mismatched figures flaring in your thoughts. A tune, ancient and primal, plays, something only remembered by blood and marrow… [The Call of Yore]

Eastern boy wants to fuck us?

>>5784346
>>You help Father Zvonimir prepare the blessing ritual for the festival, his altar servants mysteriously missing, those devilish rascals. They're going to get an earful later on… Yet, as you fill the censer with incense, the strong smell brings forth… A sound? The sounds of small bells, being carried by the wind, into the far blue sky, where pale faces look on from a strange mist and hymns strange and hypnotic resonate… [The Chimes of the Saints]

>>5784346
>>You help Father Zvonimir prepare the blessing ritual for the festival, his altar servants mysteriously missing, those devilish rascals. They're going to get an earful later on… Yet, as you fill the censer with incense, the strong smell brings forth… A sound? The sounds of small bells, being carried by the wind, into the far blue sky, where pale faces look on from a strange mist and hymns strange and hypnotic resonate… [The Chimes of the Saints]

>>5784346
>>You help some of the older folk and women create customs, using the horns and skulls of rams and various pelts and cloth to create frightening masks. An old tradition where men wear them and jump over fires, symbolising the banishment of winter and return of spring. While you whittle away at a horn, something glitters inside and you take a peek, visions of a great bonfire surrounded by mismatched figures flaring in your thoughts. A tune, ancient and primal, plays, something only remembered by blood and marrow… [The Call of Yore]

>>5784346
>You help some of the older folk and women create customs, using the horns and skulls of rams and various pelts and cloth to create frightening masks. An old tradition where men wear them and jump over fires, symbolising the banishment of winter and return of spring. While you whittle away at a horn, something glitters inside and you take a peek, visions of a great bonfire surrounded by mismatched figures flaring in your thoughts. A tune, ancient and primal, plays, something only remembered by blood and marrow… [The Call of Yore]

>>5784346
>>You help Father Zvonimir prepare the blessing ritual for the festival, his altar servants mysteriously missing, those devilish rascals. They're going to get an earful later on… Yet, as you fill the censer with incense, the strong smell brings forth… A sound? The sounds of small bells, being carried by the wind, into the far blue sky, where pale faces look on from a strange mist and hymns strange and hypnotic resonate… [The Chimes of the Saints]

>>5784362
>>5784468
>>5784510
>>5784758
>>5784789
>>5784902
>>5784994
>>5785338
>>5785648
Holy songs and a place far, far away. Writing.

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Tranquility.

The only way you can truly describe it, the place where you appeared. It is like you're ripped out of your village and put in a sea of mist, thick and floaty. You look around, trying to find the source of the chimes. The sound was so tinny, so soft, something you thought no metal or alloy, no matter how masterfully wrought, could create. You part the mist with your hands, swearing that it feels slightly viscous or touchable, as if someone took spider silk and made it even lighter.

As you delve further and further into the mist, those delightful chimes are soon joined by a hymn, murmured and far away. Your head turns slowly around, marvelling at how it reverberates all around you. As you were turning, you spot him right in front of you, a ragged man with a large wild beard and his eyes carved out. You stumble backwards, eyes wide in shock and mouth agape. The man wears a simple brown cloth, like a beggar would. Soon, clouds of mist move and reveal further men and women, staring at you. Warriors, priests, bishops and kings stand side to side with peasants, shepherds and smallfolk. Yet, all of them lack the ostentatious decorations and pomp you're so familiar with seeing on the frescas and murals in the churches of your faith. They look all so… plain, yet unbelieveably strong. Be it kindness, weariness or pain on their face, they all carry themselves with an otherworldy strength.

That is when you feel the pressure, the weight of their stare. All great believers, raised to the status of Saint by God, were anchoring their gaze at you and you felt ashamed, as if you're supposed to live up to their great legends. One steps in front of you, as sensing your discomfort, a warrior of old, carrying weathered and beaten armour and arms. He puts a hand on your shoulder and your eyes meet his, the hawkish look piercing you, something familiar in it, warm even. That's when it dawns on you.

„S-saint Bogdan?“, you utter, awe creeping into your voice. His grip tightens and he lets out a raspy voice, speaking with an authority ordained by the Heavens.

„Some men are born to heal. And some are born to fight, child. Lacking, are the shepherds down there, for they let their flock be damned if it lets their bellies be filled with ale and flesh.“, he shakes his head. „Fight. Fight back, for I have given you a hand true and firm and it shall lead you on the rigorous path you embark upon. Know, that the way to the Heavens is never easy.“ A slight smirk lights up his gravel-like face, scarred and ugly, none like the pretty knight shown in icons.

„But you never had doubts about your fate, Bogdan."

File: Father Zvonimir.jpg (35 KB, 680x741)

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„Bogdan! By the Saints child, are you deaf?!“, as the weathered warrior says your name, you snap back into reality, Father Zvonimir stands before you, looking at you admonishingly. You blink a few times and straighten yourself out, embarrassed that you were caught daydreaming. But was it daydreaming? It felt real, like you were truly among the Greatest and Most Faithful.

Father Zvonimir soon notices your confusion and sighs.

„Bogdan, may I know if the censer is filled so that the villagers don't think me an old fool for waving around a heated metal ball with no smoke?“, he comments in a sarcastic tone, but less annoyed from before. You meekly nod your head, your earlier confusion soon replaced with a deep furrow of your brow.

The old priest notices your change of emotions and his facial features deepen in worry.

„Is something wrong, Bogdan? You seem… troubled. It's as you saw a ghost or spirit.“, when he mentions the possibility of spirits, the flinch of your face makes him narrow his eyes, as if trying to discern why the mention of such would make you react.

„It's...It's fine Father. I haven't been graced with a good night sleep. Y'know, the excitement 'round the festival and all.“, you make up an excuse, for you're afraid what the holy man would think about you prattling about visions of Saints.

He lingers with his gaze on you, steely and strict, quite the opposite of what people say of meek clergy. Eventually, he wavers and lets out a deep sigh.

„You know Bogdan, if something truly bothers you, simply talk with me. After all, it is one of my duties, to tend to the minds of my parish. But, have it your way. And thank you, for helping me.“, he gives you a small smile and shoos you away, muttering something about you having fun at the festival.

You soon come back to a lively athmosphere, people going about and enjoying the variety of activities of the village. Laughter is heard and songs are bellowed.

File: The Festival.jpg (153 KB, 900x541)

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What will you do?

>Many of the people in the village are gathering for a traditional dance. Women and men all of ages gather around. The older folk who still have the strength to dance, the married couples to show off their dedication and plenty of young folk who wish to woo their sweethearts. You see Milica loitering around there. A dance perhaps?
>You see Mirko and some of the other village lads enjoying some booze while having a boisterous conversation. The topics are varied, but soon, challenges are issued, games are demanded and fires are stoked. Seems many of the lads want to test their skill against each other and are even ready to bet on it. Mirko winks at you, an invite to partake. Should you?
>On a large table which takes up a central position, Dušan and many of the old heads gather round. Men with silver whiskers and deep wrinkles wet their throats with beer and wine as they prepare to tell their stories. Many of them are boasts, but many others are often useful experiences on how to best prepare for hajduk excursions, be it against soldiers or beasts. Perhaps you should listen in?

>>5786633

>On a large table which takes up a central position, Dušan and many of the old heads gather round. Men with silver whiskers and deep wrinkles wet their throats with beer and wine as they prepare to tell their stories. Many of them are boasts, but many others are often useful experiences on how to best prepare for hajduk excursions, be it against soldiers or beasts. Perhaps you should listen in?

We should go back to speak with the Father once our head has cleared a bit - a priest will know what to make of our vision

>>5786633
>>Many of the people in the village are gathering for a traditional dance. Women and men all of ages gather around. The older folk who still have the strength to dance, the married couples to show off their dedication and plenty of young folk who wish to woo their sweethearts. You see Milica loitering around there. A dance perhaps?

>>5786633
>Many of the people in the village are gathering for a traditional dance. Women and men all of ages gather around. The older folk who still have the strength to dance, the married couples to show off their dedication and plenty of young folk who wish to woo their sweethearts. You see Milica loitering around there. A dance perhaps?

Let's enjoy ourselves while we can.

>>5786655
Also supporting this anon in taking it up with the priest.

>>5786633
>>Many of the people in the village are gathering for a traditional dance. Women and men all of ages gather around. The older folk who still have the strength to dance, the married couples to show off their dedication and plenty of young folk who wish to woo their sweethearts. You see Milica loitering around there. A dance perhaps?

>>5786633
>Many of the people in the village are gathering for a traditional dance. Women and men all of ages gather around. The older folk who still have the strength to dance, the married couples to show off their dedication and plenty of young folk who wish to woo their sweethearts. You see Milica loitering around there. A dance perhaps?

>>5786633
>>Many of the people in the village are gathering for a traditional dance. Women and men all of ages gather around. The older folk who still have the strength to dance, the married couples to show off their dedication and plenty of young folk who wish to woo their sweethearts. You see Milica loitering around there. A dance perhaps?

>>5786655
>>5787005
>>5787382
>>5787841
>>5788386
>>5788404
The dance it is. Now, I need three anons to roll a d20 and one to roll a d6!

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>5788827

Let’s show these goons how to do it

Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>5788827

Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>5788827

Rolled 1 (1d6)

>>5788827

>>5788829
>>5788835
>>5788865
>>5788907
The best of three is 19 plus the 1 from your Social Skills Proficiency makes a 20. It seems you're quite the dancer. Writing!

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https://youtu.be/oFGFQiTAxC4

As the village folk mingle more and more, kegs are opened and instruments are brought over. People dressed in their best jape, joke and sing while mouth-watering roasted lambs are laid on great tables, various vegetables and side dishes accompanying them. The women bring out all kinds of pies and sweets made from honey and fruits, while the various traders and travellers have hauled their own goods, mostly food stuff, but also many tools and utensils needed in everyday life. Children run amok as their own parents are caught up in the festivities, reliving their carefree days. Father Zvonimir's blessing was a somber lull in the whirlwind of excitement, but it soon picked up where it left off and the the old priest soon found himself surrounded by burly village men convincing him to drink, the erudite man quite out of his element. Still, you did spot him with a mug of wine in hand…

Yet, all those colorful scenarios pale to the enormous circles that were gathering in the village square. Men and women took up each others hand and coordinated their dances, kicking and stomping their legs in unison while a collective song sounded from their mouths. First, it was the grey-hairs, the older folk who still could dance in their advanced age. There weren't many of them and they lacked the energy of youth, yet their skill and fluidity was astonishing. Then came the younger married folk. People who already had families and children, but who were determined to show their love and skill to the youth, to lead them and ease them into the dance. You were among that youth and you readily joined in. The circle would oft break, couples dancing, mirroring each other, swapping partners and returning once again. All was accompanied with the rich decorations of customs and clothes, creating a dizzying experience.

While one would easily find pretty gals among those gathered, among the countless girls who came from your and nearby villages, only one had you interest.

File: Milica.jpg (136 KB, 784x1019)

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Her hair was tucked under an elaborate headpiece, yet an auburn lock escaped, wild and uncaring like she was. Her blue eyes jumped excitedly from person to person, pure joy, yet when she spotted you, a mischevious glint shimmered. An invite, you thought to yourself. You observed for a while, thwirling among the other lads and lasses and you simply couldn't resist. You moved along, positioning yourself until you got close enough.

A hand was offered and she turned around, for a moment surprised. Soon, that surprise settled into a smug look. Her fingers brushed the tips of yours, as if she was playing with you, testing how you would react. Your gaze steadied, never leaving hers and when her fingers played further down your palm, you struck, taking it and thwirling her, a laugh escaping her rosy lips. Men often compare the laughter of women to honey and nectar, yet Milica's was sharp, like the bark of a fired gun. It maddened you.

You found yourself in a passionate dance with her. It was not strange for people to break off from the collective effort and have those around them cheer on. But, your dance drew quite the attention, as you and Milica were locked in something furious. While you matched each other in all the steps, it seemed to the onlookers that you were trying to outdo each other, one trying to get the hand over the other. Sweat dripped down your foreheads as the fury between you two grew. The cheers from the nearby youth and her sapphire eyes got your blood boiling and it felt like you could break a tree over your shoulders. It is no wonder that the crown jewel of your performance was you hoisting Milica high into the air, gripping her by her sides. No small feat, the people would comment later on.

You lowered her to the floor and you shared a look. That devilish glint was still in her eyes, but it was joined with something else. A sense of content and assurance, like someone worthy was standing in front of her. You have no doubts a similar emotion could be read on your face.
Your moment was soon cut short when the people swarmed you, jubilations declaring the prowess of the young couple, much to the dismay of Milica's father who was looking on the entire time.

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As the day grew late and merrymaking eased into comfortable evening conversations, you met up with:

>Father Zvonimir. You've been haunted these last few days, you felt. First by that nightmare that shook you awake and then the manifestation of Saints and the Heavens a few hours prior. You have no experiences with such things and you feel pertrubed, to say the least. Perhaps the priest will know? You pray so, for you feel a great weight forming on your shoulders.
>Mirko. While Mirko is your cousin, you would consider him more a brother than anything else further down the bloodline. Excitement wells inside of you at the thought of going out with Dušan to a proper excursion, yet worry bites at you. Will you and Mirko live up to the expectations? What will you find on this travel? Could your mother's worse prediction come to fruition?
>Milica. The dance has left you wanting. You're convinced that Milica is truly the women for you, a woman strong and ferocious. You wish to talk with her about your future and about the problem of her father's disapproval. What are your plans? Your feelings? Even passionate moves can't answer that, only words can and a lenghty talk awaits you…

>>5789392
>Milica. The dance has left you wanting. You're convinced that Milica is truly the women for you, a woman strong and ferocious. You wish to talk with her about your future and about the problem of her father's disapproval. What are your plans? Your feelings? Even passionate moves can't answer that, only words can and a lenghty talk awaits you…
If we're gonna do this then do it right because I worry about how many updates we still have in the village. Y'know the classic "tragedy strikes the young hero's home, forcing him to embark on an adventure" trope. A Bonnie and Clyde dynamic could be kinda cool too though.

>>5789392

>Father Zvonimir. You've been haunted these last few days, you felt. First by that nightmare that shook you awake and then the manifestation of Saints and the Heavens a few hours prior. You have no experiences with such things and you feel pertrubed, to say the least. Perhaps the priest will know? You pray so, for you feel a great weight forming on your shoulders.

We gotta get right with the Saints, we can only finish the job of seducing Milica if we survive actual combat.

>>5789392
>>Milica. The dance has left you wanting. You're convinced that Milica is truly the women for you, a woman strong and ferocious. You wish to talk with her about your future and about the problem of her father's disapproval. What are your plans? Your feelings? Even passionate moves can't answer that, only words can and a lenghty talk awaits you…

>>5789392
>Milica. The dance has left you wanting. You're convinced that Milica is truly the women for you, a woman strong and ferocious. You wish to talk with her about your future and about the problem of her father's disapproval. What are your plans? Your feelings? Even passionate moves can't answer that, only words can and a lenghty talk awaits you…
Run away

>>5789392
>>Milica. The dance has left you wanting. You're convinced that Milica is truly the women for you, a woman strong and ferocious. You wish to talk with her about your future and about the problem of her father's disapproval. What are your plans? Your feelings? Even passionate moves can't answer that, only words can and a lenghty talk awaits you…

>>5789401
>>5789488
>>5789609
>>5789661
>>5790201
The queen of your heart it is. Writing!

Also, I apologise for the rare updates these days, I've moved for college and the work has been already piling up. I will try to tie up things in this thread but it seems it's quite possible that I'm going to continue it in another thread.

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The festivities went quiet as the day grew dark, the people tipsy, well-fed and in a mood to sit down and unwind after a hard day of preparing and celebrating. Even drinking and eating takes a toll on a man and the only proper way to decompress is to sit down and chat it away. While the villagers go on with their retellings of the day, you look for Milica. The dance has certified it, you truly wish to take her, but such things cannot be rushed and dance moves, while quite expressive, aren’t a proper substitute for a proper talk. So, you search and search around the different tables. But as much as you tried, it seems she eluded you. You cursed yourself, she was the only woman with such fiery hair in the whole bloody village, yet you couldn’t find her.

After asking around, one of her friends, Ana, the girl Mirko fancied, said she saw her going down the small river that borders the village. You thanked her and uttered a quip about Mirko wanting to see her, giggling all the way to the river, knowing that Mirko will blunder and sputter while trying to conquer Ana’s heart. Well, experience is the best teacher and you know Mirko will endear himself someway or the other.

As you walk down the river, you spot a lone girl sitting under an old willow tree, the hanging branches creating a canopy over her form. You can hear various insects buzz about as you silently sit down next to her, the willow hiding the both of you from the half-moon that dimly lit the night sky and the surface of the river.

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Milica glanced to you, giving you a tired smile. You reciprocated, the both of you being too worn out by the day and dance to be fully dedicated to mischievousness. Once upon a time, when you were children, you would’ve probably put bugs inside each other’s hair and tussled about it. But such days were far gone, and instead of a gruff remark or pinch, she tenderly laid her head on your shoulder, both of you laying down on the grass.

Your fingers gently brushed her locks, the beautiful ringlets finally free from her headpiece, laying wildly all around. For the longest of moments, only your and her soft breath filled the air around you, accompanied by the tender buzz of critters and leaves hissing softly in the breeze.

“Y’know…”, Milica begins, the air tense, “I remember pushin’ ya into this river when ye were huntin’ a frog.” You burst into a deep chuckle, glancing down at her, just in time for her to jerk her head in for a quick peck on your lips. Frankly, it was unexpected, and your face is left beet red, from the laughter and daring move by your sweetheart.

“I…”, you clear your throat, composing yourself, “I want you for my wife Milica, it is as simple as that. No other girl does to me what you do. Your every move, every word, Saints, you’re so infuriatin’, so bloody pig-headed sometimes, and yet it makes me love ya more and more.”, as you say those words, you hold her hand tightly, caressing it gently.

“Damned idiot, who talks to a girl in such a way…”, Milica mutters, slightly hiding her reddening face. The freckles with that rosy tint are cute, even when she unsuccessfully admonishes you. Her adorable anger soon gives up to worry as her face scrunches up and you feel her shoulders tense.

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“My father… Doesn’t approve.”, she swallows, the harsh truth making her and you anxious, “Says yer family has nothin’, that ye couldn’t provide for me. That you’re gonna mooch of his tavern…”, she grips your clothes, ruffling them in anger, but soon relaxes, straightening them out a bit as if reprimanding herself, “And he’s most likely gonna marry me of to a man who has never even laid an eye on me…”

You feel an anger rising deep from your core, an anger born out of unfairness and incompetence. A part of you wishes to simply whisk her away and go somewhere far away, yet so much ties you here and her father’s cruel words ring partly true, leaving you with a bitter taste in your mouth. How will you support her, even if you eloped together? You have almost nothing to your name. Nothing, expect your father’s gun…

You take her hands and look her straight into her crystal blue eyes, iron conviction clear in your gaze and speech.

“Milica, I swear to God, the Saints and ye, that I’m goin’ to return these days and throw enough sack of coins ‘front of your father that he can bloody drown in them if he wishes so,” you clasp grows firmer and Milica’s face grows softer, as tears fill her eyes.
You hug her close to yourself, and before you could go, you share one last passionate kiss…

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Morning comes and the old cock sounds his morning cockerel. You wash your face in the plain wooden basin and put on your clothes. You take the dagger that marks you as a grown man and put it on your waist, feeling its weight in your hand. The day may come soon when you will use it… You cast a glance to the gun leaning on the wall near your bed and you let out a deep sigh.
Your mother has already woken hours before you and prepared a travelling bag for you. Bread, dried meats and a waterskin are just a few of the things packed there. Countless other knick-knacks and utilities are packed in the way only a mother can pack, overprepared some would even say. She kisses you on your forehead and utters a small prayer, before you sling the pack over your shoulder and balance the gun on the other.

Dušan and Mirko wait for you in front of your house. Dušan smokes a long pipe, great white clouds billowing from under his great white moustache. A mighty sabre hangs from his pipe, while some flintlock pistols are tucked in a special made pouch on his belly. Mirko carries a great shepherd’s axe over his shoulders, like one would carry a water pail. They greet you, banter about your impressive dance about Milica and then you start your journey, to the town of Uzgor.

Soon, Dušan acquaints you with the problem you were summoned to deal with:

>A graveyard has become a place of greater fear than usual. A hideous, gangly creature stalks the tombstones, releasing an unholy scream, freezing goodfolk in their place. The beast has been rummaging through the graves and disrupting the dead, but a gravedigger has been recently attacked and ripped into. Something must be done before the ghoul causes any further damage. [The Drekavac]
>A vile creature has been slaughtering many of the poultry and stock of the nearby houses. What was first attributed to a wily wolf, soon became the deed of a vile dog-headed creature with one baleful eye. The stock was bad enough, but the beast has broken into some houses and rummaged through jewellery and gold, even slaughtering a merchant to rob him of his wealth. [The Psoglav]
>A hag-like creatures, akin to some goblin, has been jumping on the backs of unsuspecting travellers, in the outskirts of the city. While such beasts often prove more annoying than serious, this one has become vicious and enlarged, ripping out the throat of a young lady and supping on her life blood. It could grow into something fearsome should it be left to grow. [The Karakondžula]

>>5793170

>A graveyard has become a place of greater fear than usual. A hideous, gangly creature stalks the tombstones, releasing an unholy scream, freezing goodfolk in their place. The beast has been rummaging through the graves and disrupting the dead, but a gravedigger has been recently attacked and ripped into. Something must be done before the ghoul causes any further damage. [The Drekavac]

Not to mention, this choices aligns with our religious motivations

>>5793170
>A graveyard has become a place of greater fear than usual. A hideous, gangly creature stalks the tombstones, releasing an unholy scream, freezing goodfolk in their place. The beast has been rummaging through the graves and disrupting the dead, but a gravedigger has been recently attacked and ripped into. Something must be done before the ghoul causes any further damage. [The Drekavac]
None of these really stand out to me so I'll just use the religious motive anon mentiones to pick this one.

>>5793170
>>A hag-like creatures, akin to some goblin, has been jumping on the backs of unsuspecting travellers, in the outskirts of the city. While such beasts often prove more annoying than serious, this one has become vicious and enlarged, ripping out the throat of a young lady and supping on her life blood. It could grow into something fearsome should it be left to grow. [The Karakondžula]

>>5793170
>A vile creature has been slaughtering many of the poultry and stock of the nearby houses. What was first attributed to a wily wolf, soon became the deed of a vile dog-headed creature with one baleful eye. The stock was bad enough, but the beast has broken into some houses and rummaged through jewellery and gold, even slaughtering a merchant to rob him of his wealth. [The Psoglav]

We need funds and this option promises the best loot

>>5793170
>A graveyard has become a place of greater fear than usual. A hideous, gangly creature stalks the tombstones, releasing an unholy scream, freezing goodfolk in their place. The beast has been rummaging through the graves and disrupting the dead, but a gravedigger has been recently attacked and ripped into. Something must be done before the ghoul causes any further damage. [The Drekavac]

This seems far more adventurous.

>>5793170
>A vile creature has been slaughtering many of the poultry and stock of the nearby houses. What was first attributed to a wily wolf, soon became the deed of a vile dog-headed creature with one baleful eye. The stock was bad enough, but the beast has broken into some houses and rummaged through jewellery and gold, even slaughtering a merchant to rob him of his wealth. [The Psoglav]

>>5793170
>>A hag-like creatures, akin to some goblin, has been jumping on the backs of unsuspecting travellers, in the outskirts of the city. While such beasts often prove more annoying than serious, this one has become vicious and enlarged, ripping out the throat of a young lady and supping on her life blood. It could grow into something fearsome should it be left to grow. [The Karakondžula]

>>5795252
>>5793992
>>5793910
>>5793717
>>5793444
>>5793425
>>5793190
The vile drekavac haunts the graves, I'll close the vote here, and I'll update it some of these days.

>>5796652
Some of these days huh?

>>5807496

Hush you, let the man write

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>>5807496
>>5807503
Apologies lads! Uni has been fucking me in the ass these few weeks, plenty of work to go through. I was thinking about archiving this thread and actually making a full fledged quest considering my ideas are clearly too much for one thread only. It will also give me some time to flush out stuff and give some proper story lines

>>5808390

No problem QM - I’ll await your next thread eagerly!