> Commence firing at the shadow. You're uncertain if it’ll work, yet it appeared to evade the prior shots. You only need to land one.
> Holler at Lyrebird to hurl you the bracelet, and do your blasted best to catch it should she follow with it.
> Leap to divorce your shadow from your form, and the move in leaps back to Lyrebird, in hopes that she'll find lesser hindrance employing the bracelet to help you.
> Abide till the shadow reaches your leg, then blast it with your iron, perchance injuring both it and yourself in the process.
> [Write In]

>>5791575
> Holler at Lyrebird to hurl you the bracelet, and do your blasted best to catch it should she follow with it.

Just a reader, bumping.

>>5791574
> Holler at Lyrebird to hurl you the bracelet, and do your blasted best to catch it should she follow with it.

>>5791574
>> Commence firing at the shadow. You're uncertain if it’ll work, yet it appeared to evade the prior shots. You only need to land one.
hope shooting works

>>5791574
>> Holler at Lyrebird to hurl you the bracelet, and do your blasted best to catch it should she follow with it.

>>5791575
>Holler at Lyrebird to hurl you the bracelet, and do your blasted best to catch it should she follow with it.

Bump. Sorry for the silence, will post an update today.

>>5791634
>>5791790
>>5791797
>>5791877
>>5791906
>>5792385

“Lyrebird,” you yelled, your open palm reaching at the air, “toss me that bracelet!”

The shadow crawled higher, its pure black tendrils encircling your feet and seeping its unholy essence into the ethereal fibbers of your soul. A grunt left your lips as an icy sap solidified your opaque flesh in obsidian sleeve. The phantom drew in another shivering breath, bringing back the silencing hush over the landscape, muting even Lyrebird’s answer. Staring back at you with her alight gaze, Lyrebird pushed her hand below her chin, her fingers fastening the beaded bracelet around her wrist. Seeming to grumble under a deafened breath, she stood up, walking with a staggered gait towards Goodwin’s motionless body, pressing her clad wrist against his skin.

Your hand curled into a fist, teeth echoing your frustration. Quickly, you aimed your iron at the patch of darkness beneath your boots. Your arm was seized by the stretched out limbs of the spirit, your elbow twisting back like a snapped branch—the dark liquor coursed through your incorporeal form to curdle as if tainted by a snakebite venom that turns blood into molasses. Inch by inch your limbs turned straight and stiffened, like a glass bottle left outside during a wintry night, your charcoaled bones surrendering to the flesh enveloping presence with blind passivity. As you snatched for the revolver with your free hand, it came to a complete stop. You shook your head—the very last vestige of movement you were left with—with even your voice stolen away by the spectre. Its siphoning fingers grazed your eyes, drifting you to forced slumber.

You fell to the ground, the lead weight of your bones blending with the curse of crushing fatigue. The moon’s unstained image blurred as if it had been nothing but a reflection.

*** *** ***

Awareness came back to you, rousing you in at the very heart of omnipresent darkness. A languid light emerged from the void, slowly dissolving the curtain of darkness that coated the things it hid like a varnish, tangibles and sights appearing from within it drawn by bright watercolours and oily brushstrokes. Waves of softened colours crashed against a sky of glass mist, unfurling with each surge, reaching higher and higher. Amidst the watered crescendo of colours a blinding warmth bathed you: the cloudless noon sun hanging above your head with its judgemental reckoning, akin to a God’s eyes scrutinising the world—or perhaps, you alone.

Sundry shapes and and overflowing forms appeared from the banished gloom, drifting closer like a gust of wind carrying within it coloured chalk. Wooden facades, stone houses, spires of chapels, and leafy trees solidified around cobblestone streets; each of them absorbed and reflected the burgeoning light, like oil painting come alive. Figures of people, too, emerged from the drifting rainbow mist. Dressed in fabrics and denims imbued with otherwordly dyes, they moved about, as if it wasn’t them who stepped out of the shadows, but rather, they were always there, only needing some backlight. Their contours and faces seemed smudged away.

When the colours sealed the circle of darkness around you, you found yourself still, much smaller in stature. There, right before you, appeared a horse, its coat such a deep obsidian black that not even the sun could highlight it. Its mane, equally as dark, laid motionless across its broad shoulders. The stallion’s eyes were empty pits, promising to show you the abyss were you to dare to look inside. Your hands appeared second to last, reaching for another’s sidearm holster with a glistening pearl-handled revolver inside. A broad weathered hand grabbed your wrist, painfully tightening the hold. A cowboy rider sat in the saddle with a silver-streaked beard, his eyes as vacant as the cold metal of unlit lantern.

“You want it?” He pulled the iron from its holster in one clean draw.

> [To Be Continued]

Forgot to post this at the start of the thread:
___________________________

> UPDATES?
Once a day.
> PREVIOUS THREADS?
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Wanted%20Dead:%20A%20Western%20Quest
> OTHER QUESTS?
https://pastebin.com/raw/4sBYKVqL

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

There will be another update with prompts tomorrow, I hope. We'll be switching a bit.

I'm a bit confused by what exactly Lyrebird did or didn't do with the bracelet but.. Shit, is that DEATH? Welp.

>>5794651
She fumbled with putting it on her hand first so she just pushed it into the spirit, then, once it turned its attention to you, she wore it properly and then approached Goodwin to try and use it on him.

File: OIG (10).jpg (290 KB, 1024x1024)

290 KB JPG

>>5791634
>>5791790
>>5791797
>>5791877
>>5791906
>>5792385

Mauled and then torn to shreds by the behemoth beasts, your brother’s killer vanished into the graveyard smoke; the golden watch he held in his hands disappearing together with him. Any remaining traces of his evaporated flesh grew faint, until even those were lost in the air. He forsake alone with the pack of dark-furred behemoths! From the mangled stumps where your hands had been torn off new ghostflesh had emerged, as if a dwindling ember given second breath by the wind. Your fingers fumbled to pick up the fallen revolver, struggling to pull on the tight jingling firing-pin. The attention of every hellhound was on you, echoes of their growls biting at your ears, coming from all angles as closed on.

> Lower the iron, so as not to squander the scarce bullets within. Resign to the mauling and tearing of the wolves, as you bear immortality here, and they ought to tire out eventually.
> Start shooting, and flailing your hands, to do your utmost to fend off the dark fur beasts. Perhaps they'll come to reckon that you're more trouble than you're worth.
> You haven’t strayed far from Ruetown’s bounds. Begin sprinting in retreat towards the town, whilst doing your utmost, with both gun and fists, to contend with the beasts.
> [Write In]

___________________________

Possessions:

Black Neckerchief:
A lengthy black neckerchief that dangles loosely around your ghostly neck, its dark weave drinking in the moon’s light. There’s little use from in the Graveyard Frontier.

Stolen Iron:
Crafted from the feeble iron sourced from the El Dorado Warren, this commonly seen Purgatory revolver is notably light in your grip, yet exceedingly frail, tottering on the brink of crumbling and breaking with each shot fired, of which only five remain.

Keepsake Shards:
Fragments of shattered gems “bestowed” unto you by the brother killer. Placed against your right ear like a seashell, they carry the murmurs of your brother and others that are laden with praises for you. If you them put to your left ear, naught but grievances from your past echo off them.

Lucifer’s Lead:
The copy of the bullet you used to damn the brother killer to the Graveyard Frontier. By his tale, he unearthed one in the depths of the El Dorado Warren, sprouting on a cherry tree wrought of bone and marrow. In another’s hold, it whispers temptingly as though it were their own inward thought to fire the shot. For you alone, as Reaper, it merely echoes the deceitful murmurs of a demonic entreaty. Those struck by the bullet are cast to Hell, as are those who miss their aim—or so it confesses when you don’t fall for it tricks.

Watermill Bonded Chalk:
A piece of dark scribbler strung on a plaited cord, intended to be adorned as a necklace. It hovers when set loose in the open, jostling to one side, aiming towards some distant locale. Likely, this chalk seeks the watermill where the brother killer quaffed the shadowed water from its pipes, charring his bones with some kind of magic.

Lodestone Cube Pieces:
Chunks of the dark, previously levitating cube, shattered by your own two hands when it sought to reap and consume your soul with a torturous hostility. It does nothing now.

>>5796371
> You haven’t strayed far from Ruetown’s bounds. Begin sprinting in retreat towards the town, whilst doing your utmost, with both gun and fists, to contend with the beasts.

I will never play an AI slop quest. Learn to draw.

>>5796371
>> You haven’t strayed far from Ruetown’s bounds. Begin sprinting in retreat towards the town, whilst doing your utmost, with both gun and fists, to contend with the beasts.

>>5796371
>> Start shooting, and flailing your hands, to do your utmost to fend off the dark fur beasts. Perhaps they'll come to reckon that you're more trouble than you're worth.

>>5796371
>> Start shooting, and flailing your hands, to do your utmost to fend off the dark fur beasts. Perhaps they'll come to reckon that you're more trouble than you're worth.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>5796445
>>5796731

>>5796745
>>5796886

>>5796445
>>5796461
>>5796731
>>5796745
>>5796886

The first beast you locked onto met the barrel of your iron, your shot piercing its forehead with a resounding bang. The fanged beast’s eyes burned out, their fiery glow snuffed out by your shot. Its limbs gave way, losing their strength to support its heavy monstrous form. It collapsed to the ground with a pained yell. Well aware that it took your brother’s killer at least two shots to put one of them down, you reckoned that it would take you two as well. You approached the fallen beast, cocking the hammer and squeezing off another shot, the sound of the discharge drowning out the guttural growls of the rest of the pack. You kicked its head and rested your boot on top of it.

“Who’s next?” you asked, well aware that you only had only three bullets left—but the animals didn’t know how to do math. The black fur beasts’ long shadows circled you like impatient vultures.

Suddenly, an infernal gleam rekindled within the hound’s dead eyes. It pushed you off with a swift jerk of its head, sending you sprawling onto the graveyard sands.

You winced in pain, and before you could raise your eyes, the seemingly immortal creature lunged at your face. You seized both lower and upper jaw with your hands, its teeth sinking into your flesh.

“How in three hells are you still alive?!”

> Persist in endeavouring to pry open its jaw with your hands, heedless of the pain it shall inflict.
> Thrust the Colt's revolver into its maw and squeeze the trigger to discharge a bullet through its throat and skull.
> Withdraw and secure the jaws within your grasp, then rise to encircle its neck with your elbows to, hopefully, break it.
> [Write In]

>>5797698
> Thrust the Colt's revolver into its maw and squeeze the trigger to discharge a bullet through its throat and skull.
>Then start running back to town
I am skeptical of this scrawny 12-year-old's ability to Rambo neck-snap a hellhound if Aug couldn't.

>>5797698
>Thrust the Colt's revolver into its maw and squeeze the trigger to discharge a bullet through its throat and skull.

>>5797698
>> Thrust the Colt's revolver into its maw and squeeze the trigger to discharge a bullet through its throat and skull.
time to use more

>>5797746
gun

>>5797698
>> Thrust the Colt's revolver into its maw and squeeze the trigger to discharge a bullet through its throat and skull.

>>5797723
>>5797728
>>5797746
>>5797748
>>5798002

You reckoned an answer wasn’t coming. Your gun dangled precariously off your fingers, only held by your thumb and the trigger guard, the jaws closing in on your hands. You grabbed the iron, shoving it deep inside the beast’s canyon maw. It’s fangs cut through your flesh like sun-softened lard, barely slowing when they’ve reached the bone. Pain seared up your arm, as if you’d dunked it in a bucket of nails and glass.

You pulled the trigger. The iron shuddered in your hand, as it did with each turn of the chamber, as if pleading you to lighten your less-than-tender grip. With a muffled blast, the bullet ripped through the black fur beast's gullet, rupturing on the other side of its skull. The famished growl ceased, the hellhounds death grip snapping down on your arm like a bear trap, severing your hand with one guillotine bite. You stumbled back, as if the reins you were pulling were either cut or snapped loose. Your limbs pilfered again, the radiating pain ensnared you into a stare-down duel, as if someone were rubbing a cruel mix of salt and hot ashes straight into your stumps— an unseen venom flowing through your soul.

You rolled your body, pushing on your knee to stand up. The beast had claimed your iron, as well as your hands, leaving you high and dry against its pack. You glared at the flickering red eyes of another hellhound. You grit your teeth to endure a slow torturous wait—bearing the mending of your hands, tick by agonising tick. Out of your blindside, a behemoth twice your sheer smashed you to the ground; its weight bent your bones, pushing the air from your lungs, its fangs inching towards your throat. Pushing against the pain, you felt paralysed, the beast’s weight pressing down on you like an anvil. You shut your eyes, waiting for the fangs to tear away a piece of you. The beast's breath halted inches from your skin. The hellhound first lifted its head and then stepped off you. A radiant glare pierced through your closed eyelids, emanating from where the beast had been.

> You have the chance, and you shan't squander it. You neither know nor care why the black-furred beasts ceased their assault, but you'll not linger to find out. Flee.
> Hasten to the fallen wolf, the one you dispatched, and once your hands have fully regenerated, snap open the jaw to retrieve the gun from its throat.
> First scurry a distance from the pack, then wheel about to discern the unfolding scene, and the source of the peculiar luminescence.
> [Write In]

>>5798864
>You have the chance, and you shan't squander it. You neither know nor care why the black-furred beasts ceased their assault, but you'll not linger to find out. Flee.

>>5798864
>> You have the chance, and you shan't squander it. You neither know nor care why the black-furred beasts ceased their assault, but you'll not linger to find out. Flee.

>>5798864
>> Hasten to the fallen wolf, the one you dispatched, and once your hands have fully regenerated, snap open the jaw to retrieve the gun from its throat.

>>5798864
> Hasten to the fallen wolf, the one you dispatched, and once your hands have fully regenerated, snap open the jaw to retrieve the gun from its throat.

>>5798864
>Hasten to the fallen wolf, the one you dispatched, and once your hands have fully regenerated, snap open the jaw to retrieve the gun from its throat.

Apologies, no update today.

Update tomorrow, I have it half-finished but I'd rather stick to usual update times so I won't skip over some players. Sorry it's taking a while ...

>>5801373
No worries, it happens. Thank you for the update!

>>5798893
>>5799171
>>5799653
>>5799722
>>5799997

Your gaze darted back to the wolf’s lifeless body. Turning a blind eyed to anything else, you sprinted towards it. Your boots etched scars in the sands as you fell to your knees before the canine’s carcass, impatiently waiting and watching as the cobalt wisps of smoke unfurled from your stumps to shift onto the spectral shape of your missing limbs. Once you could feel your fingertips, you gripped the beast’s jaw with all your might to pull them open. They stayed shut, as secure as a safe. You pushed your boot down against its lower jaw, feeling its iron grip begging to relent. Once you pried its wide, you jammed your knee against the roof of its mouth to keep it that way. The beast’s foremost fangs tore through your breeches and onto the flesh of your thigh, drawing a fine mist. Your forelimb plunges into the depths of its mouth, reaching farther and deeper until, with your arm fully stretched out, your fingers touched the brittle handle. Cursing, you leaned in, shoulder as well, to get a better grip on the hilt of your iron.

You suffered a headache for it, literally, and you weren’t going to part with it that that easily. Be it in the Wild West or the Graveyard Frontier, you learned that it was good sense to have a revolver with you. As you pulled back your hand and shifted your gaze your eyes caught something anew: a glow whiter and brighter than the moon momentarily scorched your sight—it felt like witnessing daylight for the first time, even though, in reality, the barren desert remained veiled in the permanent twilight. As seconds passed, your eyes adjusted to the light, and the root of it: the frontier myth, a buffalo. It’s towering form loomed even above the giant wolves, its luminous fur shining like an Indian tapestry woven from a blue-white winter sunlight.

The entire pack circled the spirit, and you were left forgotten. A white-hot alpenglow cleared the mist, emanating an intense warmth from the divine beast, surpassing even the hottest heats, then shifting into an almost numbing cold, like a shock of a sunburn. One wolf’s paw was branded by the light and evaporated into the air, like the stream’s final trickle. It’s growl morphed into a pitiful whine, yet another hellhound found the audacity to leap over it and at the buffalo. With a subtle shift, the white buffalo angled one of its horns to where they needed to be to impale the black fur beast while it was in air. And the hell beast yielded to the fall, skewering itself on tapered tip, the starless-night crescent piercing its dark innards with the ease of a nail through soft woof. The horn’s silvered engravings flared to life, their brightness searing through the darkened flesh of the beast. The nonsensical yet intricate designs—the interlocking geometrical patterns—all kindling alive, the dark body of the hellhound’s form seeming to crack and disintegrate under the intensity of the light.

The etched tips surfaced from the dead beast’s flank, the patterns aglow with otherwordly silver light, constantly twisting and shifting to reveal the symbols etched into the arching onyx bone. As the last wisps of the fallen hound vanished, a smoky haze began to wrap around the unburdened horn, as well as the other. The horns smudged in a myriad of hues and smells: earthy green, cedar red, herbal blue, honey yellow, as thought departing the dark spirit it had vanquished.

Yet, in spite of the white buffalo’s unbridled might, the pack of black-furred beasts showed no signs of retreating, as if leaving the spirit alive was something they couldn’t allow.

A whisper seeped into your thoughts, hissing and crackling like the fires of hell; Lucifer’s Lead, before only speaking within your mind when you had it in your hand, had adopted a louder voice. “Kill it. It doesn’t belong here.” The devilish voice hissed with seethe. “Your are already in a pact. Load me. Shoot me. Don’t miss the mark. Kill it right here, now!”

> Entertain the notion of Lucifer’s Lead. Query, why would you do such?
> Disregard the demonic utterances of the bullet entirely. Remain stationary, and observe the white buffalo to see the unfolding once it dispatches the hellhounds. What next?
> Without giving a response to the voice of Lucifer’s Lead, commence your retreat back to Ruetown whilst neither the buffalo nor the white-furred beasts' attention is upon you.
> [Write In]

>>5802144
>> Disregard the demonic utterances of the bullet entirely. Remain stationary, and observe the white buffalo to see the unfolding once it dispatches the hellhounds. What next?

>>5802145
>Without giving a response to the voice of Lucifer’s Lead, commence your retreat back to Ruetown whilst neither the buffalo nor the white-furred beasts' attention is upon you.

>>5802145
>> Without giving a response to the voice of Lucifer’s Lead, commence your retreat back to Ruetown whilst neither the buffalo nor the white-furred beasts' attention is upon you.

>>5802145
>> Entertain the notion of Lucifer’s Lead. Query, why would you do such?

>>5802221
>>5802381
>>5802667
>>5803218

You ignored the voice of the bullet, instead yanking the revolver from the dead wolf’s throat and then scooting back from the corpse. As you rose to your feet, your flaming eyes quivered at the sight of the buffalo’s blinding glow. Your attention shifted away from the spectral skirmish, settling on the mist shrouded horizon, where the flowing green light sketched Ruetown’s distant silhouette. Upon distancing yourself from the cadaver, a sudden fiery pain erupted above your heart, in the pocket that cradled the Lucifer’s Bullet. It burned through the cloth of your coat, falling out through the hole. You reached out to snap the bullet as it sailed through the air, clutching it in a grip before it could fall. The bullet burned thorough your palm like a piece of lava, leaving a scorching trail across your flesh. You screamed in pain, quickly praying that it wasn’t enough for either of the spirits to take away their attention. You shot a withering look at the bullet.

> Open the revolver’s cylinder and, with swift motion, pick up and seat the bullet into the vacant chamber. It might burn through that as well, might not.
> Leave Lucifer’s Lead in the sand, for another soul to find, as that seems its desire. It was the brother killer who bore the trouble of acquiring it, not you. Why are you even carrying it?
> Mark the spot where the bullet landed with the chalk tethered to the watermill, and if it holds, altering where the chalk will be directing towards.
> [Write In]

>>5804144
> Open the revolver’s cylinder and, with swift motion, pick up and seat the bullet into the vacant chamber. It might burn through that as well, might not.
As if /qst/ would ever forsake a rare relic with a cool name.

>>5804144
>Open the revolver’s cylinder and, with swift motion, pick up and seat the bullet into the vacant chamber. It might burn through that as well, might not.

>>5804144
>> Open the revolver’s cylinder and, with swift motion, pick up and seat the bullet into the vacant chamber. It might burn through that as well, might not.
time to shoot the satan bullet

>>5804144
>> Open the revolver’s cylinder and, with swift motion, pick up and seat the bullet into the vacant chamber. It might burn through that as well, might not.

>>5804314
>>5804368
>>5804573
>>5804861

Biting back your frustration, you unlatched and popped open the revolver’s cylinder, only two bullets waiting inside. Holding the gun aloft, just above your knee, you—briefly recalling the searing pain from moments before—reached down to pluck the hot bullet from the sand.

A voice that wasn’t your own intruded on your thoughts, each of its words laced with an eerie chill:

“You’re not fit to be damned. You won’t damn others. I serve no Devil’s purpose in your hands, Reaper. Leave me for another soul to stumble upon!”

Ignoring the searing sensation in your palm, you jammed the bullet into the vacant chamber, breaking any direct contact between your skin and the lead. You snapped the cylinder shut, making sure the next bullet in line wasn’t the Lucifer’s Lead. Securing the gun in your belt, you kept a wary eye on it, half-expecting the bullet to melt through the revolver’s iron frame—it didn’t. Perhaps the infernal bullet was content, trusting you had plans to fire it. Maybe you did, yet, not here, not against the sacred buffalo. Other time.

You plunged into the fog, distancing yourself from the clash of divine and damned, putting steps between you and the white buffalo’s scorching aura. When you no longer felt the icy burn seep against your flesh, you took one final glance back at the spirit. Even through the thick fog stretching for a mile, the buffalo’s white outline stood unblemished and sharp. Thrashing about in battle, effortlessly crushing the black fur beasts beneath its hooves and horns, the white buffalo’s eyes of opalescent pink, distant yet piercing like harbinger stars, locked onto yours.

“Quit your starring,” you muttered, scratching at your neck and narrowing your eyes. “I ain’t a dark spirit.”

You retreated further, finding your way back to Ruetown, the very place you’d left only mere minutes ago … or how long it was? You passed under the archway, the green light dancing off your dust-coated apparel. A face you knew gasped, noticing your return. She’d been here when you stepped off the gallows, where you left alongside the killer of your brother, and she was here again on your return, like a dog on an invisible leash. She reached for a leather loop sewn into her tight canvas skirt, pulling and then palming a feeble iron hatchet. A rolled-up bun covered the nape of her neck, once coiffed and styled but now now dishevelled and wisp. A maroon jacket laid on her shoulders, mottled with splotches of brown and grey dirt.

“It’s you, back again,” she yelled, brandishing the hatchet. “What in tarnation are you? You rode in with the Riddle Wrangler like nothing. You put lead against your noggin but didn’t die!”

> Disregard the woman and any others who'll choose to vex you. Stride directly to the saloon.
> Confide in the woman that you are an immortal Reaper, and but a fleeting visitor of the Graveyard Frontier. Admonish her not to trouble you unless she is privy to Henry’s whereabouts.
> Tell the woman that you’re at a loss as to how you live post blasting your head yourself, yet she needn’t fret. Tell her you’d be departing soon and advise her not to trouble you.
> [Write In]

>>5805129
>> Disregard the woman and any others who'll choose to vex you. Stride directly to the saloon.

>>5805131
>> Tell the woman that you’re at a loss as to how you live post blasting your head yourself, yet she needn’t fret. Tell her you’d be departing soon and advise her not to trouble you.

>>5805131
>> Confide in the woman that you are an immortal Reaper, and but a fleeting visitor of the Graveyard Frontier. Admonish her not to trouble you unless she is privy to Henry’s whereabouts

>>5805131
>> Disregard the woman and any others who'll choose to vex you. Stride directly to the saloon.

>>5805131
>Disregard the woman and any others who'll choose to vex you. Stride directly to the saloon.

No update today, apologies.

If anyone needs help visualizing Goldie, here are all the images I generated of her. Other souls look similar in the Graveyard Frontier.
https://imgur.com/a/LBCdHZf

>>5805131
> Confide in the woman that you are an immortal Reaper, and but a fleeting visitor of the Graveyard Frontier. Admonish her not to trouble you unless she is privy to Henry’s whereabouts.

>>5805983
Neat! Thanks, QM.

>>5805218
>>5805241
>>5805452
>>5805638
>>5805844
>>5806037

You rolled your eyes and headed for the saloon, not having much of an idea of what to do next. The woman’s brows formed an angle as sharp as a precipice, and she let out a spiteful hiss. Her body tensed, twitching as if to take a step, only to freeze. Her fingers clenched and unclenched around her hatchet’s handle. You felt the dissecting intensity of her glare, but there was nothing else to warrant a response; you left her to stew in her anger. Earlier, you had been told by one of the souls you bother-asked that the children less or more your age did inhabit the town, but none of them matched Henry’s description or went by his name, and you haven’t had the chance to double check yourself yet.

You walked a straight line through the effulgent shamrock-tinted streets, souls of dead men and women watching you from the porches and thresholds of cabins, bunkhouses, empty stables and shuttered stores. You reached and stopped at the saloon’s entrance, pausing to draw a short breath before reaching for the swinging doors. They creaked open as if by their own accord, a tall shadow enveloping you whole as a man too tall for the doorway placed forward his leg. He stooped to avoid striking the entrance, his face leveling with your upward gaze, the onyx stone on his bolo tie rippling your reflection on it. His lank body, obstructed by you, ended up wedged between the saloon’s interior and the outsides.

“About to leave, are you?” you asked.

Perry let out a brief whistle, one of his elongated arms gripping the doorframe.

“Huh … “ he muttered, extending his neck to give a sweeping look from left to right.

“Brother killer? He’s been offed,” you said. “No idea of his new whereabouts.”

“Aug was killed? A right pity, that,” Perry said, his voice devoid of emotion implied by his words.

“Yeah, you could say ‘pity’ is the word.”

“He ain’t around anymore,” Perry said. “No point in staying. I’ll be leaving then.”

You mirrored his stance, pressing your arm against the opposite side of the door’s frame.

“Leaving to where? The El Dorado Warren? You’re the crazy kind, ain’t you, miner?”

Pretty brandished the empty burlap sack, the bunched cotton bundled in his palm.

“Can’t do much. Can’t gamble without stuff. Been there, done that. Often. Time for another go-round.”

You snapped and then pointed your fingers at his eyes.

“Hold your horses. Not before you tell me what you and brother killed gabbed about. Had he mention any locales he had his sights set on?”

Perry wiped off an unseen sweat off his collarbone with the burlap, pondering in silence.

“No. Asked about the haul. What the ores do. And I told him. Nothing more.”

You bit your lip. “You ain’t lying to me, are you? He didn’t ask about the Coffin Fields?”

“The Coffin Fields?” Perry echoed, his brows lifting. He looked away. “Can’t reckon he did.”

You spat on the shrouded green wooden boards. “He seemed keen to know the way.”

“The way, you say? I know the way. But not for free. Not even for cheap,” Perry said, eyeing you as if appraising what you had.

> Offer Perry the Lodestone Cube, the larger fragment remaining after the brother killed seized a portion of it. Why?
> Offer Perry the Keepsake Shards. You'll yearn for the sound of Henry's voice, yet you're bound to find the genuine one ere long.
> Offer Perry all of the nails that should be in your coffin once you both unearth it. You have no need of them.
> Menace Perry with your feeble iron revolver. Inquire how vexing it'll be for him to locate El Dorado Warren when he materialises again in God knows where post his demise.
> Query Perry if he's acquainted with Lucifer’s Lead, then threaten the man with the devil's bullet.
> [Write In]

>>5807210
> Offer Perry the Lodestone Cube, the larger fragment remaining after the brother killed seized a portion of it. Why?
I see no reason Goldie would value the cube herself, after all. The rest have some form of use to her.

>>5807210
>> Offer Perry the Lodestone Cube, the larger fragment remaining after the brother killed seized a portion of it. Why?

>>5807210
> Offer Perry the Lodestone Cube, the larger fragment remaining after the brother killed seized a portion of it. Why?

>>5807210
>> Offer Perry the Lodestone Cube, the larger fragment remaining after the brother killed seized a portion of it. Why?

>>5807210
>Offer Perry all of the nails that should be in your coffin once you both unearth it. You have no need of them.

No update today because Thursday and my job shifts my work hours for today.
See you tomorrow and sorry for making you play as Goldie, I know so of you hate her!

>>5807936
I don't hate Goldie at all. I actually find her more relatable than Aug. I just enjoy their dynamic and it's funny playing Aug as a grumpy old bastard. Plus, she literally wants to trap him in Hell forever,. I can't imagine he'd be quick to warm to her.

>>5807936
As long as she gets abused as usual I don't mind

>>5807252
>>5807294
>>5807348
>>5807525
>>5807768

From the deepest pocket of your jacket, you pulled out the bulky, elongated remains of the black cube you had shattered hours before.

You poked it at the air above his face. “You can have this here damn cube, if you will. It’ll be of some worth to you, I reckon?”

Perry traced his fingers along the keen edges. “Ah, the Lodestone Cube. So, you’ve had it?”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “Wait a moment. Saw the brother killer messing with it before we left. Did you put that notion in his head?”

In spite of its vertically-pulled shape, Perry’s large fingers wrapped around the sooty cube effortlessly. “Said what it does,” he confessed, his eyes lingering steadily onto yours.

“And what might that be?”

“I hate repeating myself.”

Your hand reached for your iron. “I’ll give you another reason for hating if you don’t spill it out.”

He shoved himself upfront, forcing you to give ground, retreat a step, and free him from the doorway’s confines. Your teeth grazed your lower lip when his focus returned to the cube.

“That won’t be enough,” he said.

“Ain’t enough? You’re a covetous bastard, ain’t you, miner?” you said, your fingers tightening around the grip of your six-shooter. “You want my iron, is that it? I assure you, best you don’t.”

He shook his head and nudged his leg, allowing the swinging doors to close behind him with an echoing creak. “No, you keep it,” he said. “Isn’t enough to trade. Good for gamble, though.” He lifted his palm.

“A gamble, you say?”

Perry nodded. “For Coffin Field’s escort. If you’re game. If you win,” he said. “I’ll say it again. What I told manhunter.”

> Consent to gamble with Perry: the black cube fragment in as your wager for facts on what August did and his escort to the Coffin Fields.
> Refuse to wager the man, you aren't the gambling sort. Toss in the watermill-bound chalk and Keepsake Shards to your offer.
> You require no escort. Inform Perry you'll part with the Lodestone Cube provided he can furnish the directions to the Coffin Fields.
> Menace the man with the devil's bullet. You've attempted the polite route, but you aren't polite.
> [Write In]

>>5808516
No questions, y'all are roleplaying him well!
>>5808780
That's the spirit!

>>5808857
>> You require no escort. Inform Perry you'll part with the Lodestone Cube provided he can furnish the directions to the Coffin Fields.

>>5808857
>> Refuse to wager the man, you aren't the gambling sort. Toss in the watermill-bound chalk and Keepsake Shards to your offer.

>>5808857
> You require no escort. Inform Perry you'll part with the Lodestone Cube provided he can furnish the directions to the Coffin Fields.

>>5808857
>Consent to gamble with Perry: the black cube fragment in as your wager for facts on what August did and his escort to the Coffin Fields.

>>5808857
>> You require no escort. Inform Perry you'll part with the Lodestone Cube provided he can furnish the directions to the Coffin Fields.

>>5808946
>>5809414
>>5809486
>>5809738
>>5810280

You met his gaze, then clicked your tongue. You waved away his hand with your own, akin to a field mouse nipping at a serpent.

“I ain’t needing your escort,” you said. “I’ll hand over the Lodestone Cube” —you lowered the dark chunk you held— “if you point the way.”

Perry’s quiet grumbling quivered his Adam’s apple; he squared his shoulders and stretched his back, growing even taller in height.

“This here American Purgatory. Ain’t much excitement here. Not much to do. Only timewaster is gambling. August passed on it. You’re doing the same. Why do you say no?”

Your father met his end at a poker table, shot in the head during a whisked-fueled trouble. You weren’t even a newborn, you’ve hard it all from Henry and he never divulged more than that.

“I’m too green to gamble,” you said, obvious sarcasm burnishing your voice. “If you’re itching to gamble so bad, with this here cube in your hold oughta make finding some poor sap and a table easy for you, don’t you reckon?”

Perry’s mouth tightened into a thin line. He glanced into the saloon, noting only a sparse scattering of patrons. He gave a sharp nod to reckon your point, reaching into the depths of his jacket with one hand. He pulled out an inch of the chalk from his pocket, but then stopped, eyes narrowing toward something at the side. His disturbed gaze led your eyes to the horizon, the nuisance woman from earlier making her way towards you from the town’s other side. Sighing, you shook your head.

“Never mind her, just give me the—”

The woman lifted her hand, her hatchet-holding arm quivering as if ready to snap. Her knees gave way and she abruptly crumbled to the ground, her soul throw into the air in thick, bluish plumes as if burned from within. A child’s silhouette walked from the fading smoke; a distant humming rolled through the air, like a cave’s echoing, and then the air filled and began to crackle with malaise.

> Snatch the scribbler from Perry’s pocket whilst he’s distracted and hasten it out of the town. You lack both time and will to deal with all this.
> Shove Perry back into the saloon, then follow suit. You're uncertain of the unfolding scene, yet you'd favour some semblance of cover.
> Push Perry inside the saloon for his sake given his lack of immortality's safety net, then draw your six-shooter, maintaining your aim on the distant figure.
> [Write In]

>>5811003
> Snatch the scribbler from Perry’s pocket whilst he’s distracted and hasten it out of the town. You lack both time and will to deal with all this.
Skidaddle!

>>5811003
>> Push Perry inside the saloon for his sake given his lack of immortality's safety net, then draw your six-shooter, maintaining your aim on the distant figure.

>>5811003
>> Snatch the scribbler from Perry’s pocket whilst he’s distracted and hasten it out of the town. You lack both time and will to deal with all this.

>>5811003
>> Snatch the scribbler from Perry’s pocket whilst he’s distracted and hasten it out of the town. You lack both time and will to deal with all this.

>>5811059
>>5811154
>>5811460
>>5811579

He was distracted, and you didn’t waste the moment. Lifting your hand off the revolver, you slid your fingers into his pocket, loosening his lukewarm grip and snatching the scribbler from inside with a short snap. You turned your shoulder, sprung your body around, and then made one large leap away from the saloon. Still in the air, the drafting wind guiding your jump suddenly slapped your face from upfront. Perry’s arm clasped your wrist and the coal-black ore in your hand like a lasso, forcefully tossing you back to the ground and then pulling you in, cinching his tight hold. You stretched out the chalk-holding-hand away from yourself, even beyond his reach. You glared over your shoulder at him.

“It ain’t good stealing,” he said.

You twisted your arm, feeling the carpals inside crack loose from his grip. Even thought it would mend, the snapped bone throbbed with pain, and you grit your teeth to bear it. Whatever the remains of the black cube were or did, they seemed worth a bother; you pulled yourself forward and lofted the piece skyward with your broken wrist at the same time.

Perry let go of you, your body falling onto the ground, swirling up powdered white sands that stung your flesh like biting ants. He grabbed the fragment from the air, tossing it inside his half-opened sack like he was tossing horseshoes, and he had a knack for it. The broken cube disappeared within the stitched leather. He then stepped in to approach you.

“That ought to square us,” you whispered.

Perry shook his head. He whistled, and a ghostly bird, its feathers shimmering with verdant light, appeared from beneath the wooden shingles of the saloon and descended, its shadow hovering against the exposed knuckles of your hand. You grit your teeth and then lifted yourself with your elbow, keeping your eye on the bird … and you knew he had more.

“Not the guiding chalk,” Perry said. “I’ve promised a direction. Nothing but.”

Your eyes burned as you squinted at him. “Should’ve spelled it out! And we ain’t got time for this,” you said, nudging your head to the side.

The uncanny child had neared, her shape backlit by the stagnant moonlight, a sprawling malformed shadow cast throughout the weathered main street. The far-off chatter of two souls, both leaning on the parched wooden fence of the porch illuminated by greenish light within its grain, was muted when the humming girl passed through. One of the ghostly men grabbed his throat, hacking up a cough so ghastly, is seemed forcefully torn from the depths of his lungs. He grabbed his companion’s arm, collapsing on his knees and coughing even louder, each of his spewed breaths echoing like a misfired bulletshot. The other man looked down, his body flinching away from the coughing soul. He brushed his face, scraping at his cheek with his nails, while his free hand wormed its way inside his vest to dig and scratch at his stomach. He scoured and scraped through his spectral flesh, in such a frenzy it was as if a hungry newborn viper was hatched inside him. His gestures turned wild, and his eyes swirled in a drunken dance as he couldn’t keep track of the insatiable itch.

The girl’s hum crept into their voice, twisting it into nothing but wailed agony and desperate gasps. They both fell on to of each other, their bodies shedding dry to bleed the souls.

“We should skedaddle and now!” you said.

“And we will. Hang over the chalk,” he said.

> Hurl the chalk afar and buy yourself time; perchance Perry will deem it unworthy the effort to scavenge it from the sands.
> Seize the feeble iron firearm with your now liberated hand and then discharge a round at Perry's head.
> Rotate the chamber of the iron such that the Lucifer’s Lead is the next live round. Warn Perry of what you possess, advising he best flee sans the chalk.
> Wedge the chalk between your teeth to make it as formidable as possible for Perry to snatch it.
> Lean down and position the chalk before yourself, staring daggers to see where it points.
> [Write In]

>>5813197
>> Wedge the chalk between your teeth to make it as formidable as possible for Perry to snatch it.

>>5813197
>> Wedge the chalk between your teeth to make it as formidable as possible for Perry to snatch it.

>>5813197
> Seize the feeble iron firearm with your now liberated hand and then discharge a round at Perry's head.

>>5813197
>Wedge the chalk between your teeth to make it as formidable as possible for Perry to snatch it.

>>5813197
>Seize the feeble iron firearm with your now liberated hand and then discharge a round at Perry's head.

No update today but will be one tomorrow.

>>5813197
>> Wedge the chalk between your teeth to make it as formidable as possible for Perry to snatch it.

AI slop is based and valid

>>5815268
The writing's what I'm here for, anyway.

>>5813430
>>5813777
>>5813811
>>5814003
>>5814150
>>5814843

You turned away your head and hastily wedged the chalk between your teeth, biting down to secure it. Kicking yourself upright, you pressed your elbow against your mouth: an added layer of annoyance should Perry try to get it back. Your footing faltered, steps readying to break into a run, but the otherwordly canary hooked its talons into your hair, anchoring them deeper into your scalp. Perry’s whistle, brief and subdued, seemed intended to avoid the girl’s ears.

At his bidding, the bird leaned for your face, its beak carving into your flesh like a knife’s sharpened edge. Your skin gashed open, the pain making you yell out. Stumbling, you swatted at the bird with your right hand, only for your fingers to slice through its luminescent plumage as if through moist vapour. The bird’s beak scored another painful crest, this time beneath your nose, before delving its claws deeper into your skull—you could swear the talons nipped at your brain, or where it was suppose to be. It jerked your head back, leaving another scratch, then tore at the hand you had over your lips with its beak. Again, you fell, your immortal soul devoid of powers to dampen the pain of the injuries.

Perry’s footsteps approached your tarnished form, and, through a blurry haze, you saw his fingers reach for your throat. Struggling against the consciousness-robbing torment, you reached for the iron. The bird’s grip slackened with a final wrenching tug, flinging your head against your arm. The steps became inaudible …had they ceased or had the pain simply numbed your senses? You spat out the saliva-coated chalk onto your palm, grasping for a pained breath. The blurred lattice in flowing before your eyes sharpened, your focused settling on the damned age-alike.

Sixty-six paces away stood the gaunt girl, her skin a shade of ashen grey, stretched taut over her brittle bones, as if the slightest wind could’ve crumble her into marrow dust. There was no life in her eyes, even a flickering flame like yours was missing. She was garbed in worn and tattered deerskin, clinging to each spur of her bones. A patchwork of hides from three separate deer formed her native dress, each piece bearing scars and voracious bite marks from their suffering demise. The dress had a grim faded hue, as thought it was reflecting the girl’s visage like a scratch-marred mirror. The sleeves draped over her fingertips, veiling her arms. The beadwork and bluish patterns were tarnished and splintered, with the fringe listlessly brushing against the tops of her moccasin-clad feet. Her coal hair, parted into brittle pigtails, whispered dryly as she moved. Unceasing, she hummed her dark refrain without a pausing note.

You glanced to your left, to where Perry stood. He had miscalculated, wasted too much time; the girl—a dark spectre, an Indian wraith—could torment his soul.

A scuffling creak of her moccasins accompanied each of her steps before she finally stopped within your arm’s reach. Her teeth, dark as oil-soaked cotton, took on a fresh painted hue. Perry, who stood just as near, raised his bag to his chest, grasping his heart. He struggled to exhale, his breath wavering and sick. Green phlegm flecked off his clattering teeth, them and his entire body shivering with chills that were his alone to feel. He drew shallow breaths, hands clinging to the bag.

It is then she turned silent, her empty eyes shifting to Perry, to the headband circling his brows. You felt a tingling itch, a burning throbbing pain radiating from your forehead. It was a headache …

> Clutch the girl by her sleeve and yank her away from Perry. True, he and his bird disfigured you horribly, but you've since mended. Endeavour to save him.
> Lodge a bullet in Perry's brow, sparing him the torment the native girl has in store. She seems especially incensed with him for some cause.
> Turn your back on the pair and take to your heels; the redskin appears a dawdler, perhaps she won't give chase.
> Whilst her gaze is cast elsewhere, attempt to fire a round at her head with your six-shooter.
> Remain stock-still, and bide until she deal with Perry. There's little you can do to save him, even if you were so inclined—and you're not.
> [Write In]

>>5815268
>>5815286
If you were here for AI you'd get 2 (two) images of it!

>>5815507
>Turn your back on the pair and take to your heels; the redskin appears a dawdler, perhaps she won't give chase.

>>5815507
>> Whilst her gaze is cast elsewhere, attempt to fire a round at her head with your six-shooter.

>>5815507
> Whilst her gaze is cast elsewhere, attempt to fire a round at her head with your six-shooter.

>>5815503
>>> Whilst her gaze is cast elsewhere, attempt to fire a round at her head with your six-shooter.

You stayed still, waiting for the girl to approach Perry closer, her back unwittingly exposed to you—an error in her judgement. You drew the six-shooter, aiming it at the back of her head. Perry quaked before her, his spectral hue shifting to stark blue, as if his bones were becoming frozen from within. As her fingers reached out to brash his tricolour bandanna, you pulled and freed the hammer, the feeble body shuddering in your grasp. You silenced her hum, your third-to-last bullet tunnelled through her fleshless skull, a hole the size of a nut charring her cranium’s grey marrow. If she even flinched at that, you’d missed it. Her nails squeezed at Perry’s cotton cloth, tearing it away from his head. He fell, the flames in his eyes wavering as if fearing burning any brighter in front of her. The girl pulled at the bandanna, each passing second tattering the American tricolour, threads parting and snapping in a silent desecration.

A cuss escaped you as the hammer jammed mid-way, teetering to break like a child’s milk tooth. You slammed the hammer against your knee, not having the time to handle the pilfered iron with care. That didn’t help much. Breathless, you retreated a step. The indigenous wraith turned her head, relinquishing the torn threads to the lifeless winds. When she looked at you—her eyesockets a polished abyss reflecting your visage—a sharp pang ached in your head. Nevertheless, you weren’t down writhing on the ground like the rest of them. Was this dark spirit sparing you? Or was it—

A hair’s breadth from planting her skull into yours, she stopped, her empty eyes fixed on you, the bared blackened teeth she showed Perry no longer there.

You recoiled at her plaguing presence, your fingers flicking the gun’s jammed hammer while desperately tapping it against your thigh. One, two … It clicked!

“Who in three hells are you?!”

The girl angled her head. “Who in three hells are you?” she said like an echo, butchering your words with her native American accent.

The hammer fell back fully with a satisfying click, the barrel aligning with the last feeble iron bullet you had—with only Lucifer’s Lead after that.

“That’s what I asked you!” you said, your hand steadying on the grip—you had two bullets, but would this decrepit junk even withstand the next?

Her response wasn’t a repetition but a confused, almost curious gaze. Instead, she reached out, poised to touch your cheek with her marrow index.

> Smack her hand away from your skin, denying the embodiment of ghost sickness—if that’s what she was—the chance to touch you.
> Elevate the firearm and aim a shot at the temple of her cranium; reckon if a second bullet might suffice?
> Clench your teeth yet permit her to caress your cheek. Maybe she’ll leave you alone once she sees her powers aren’t influencing you?
> [Write In]

We're back!

>>5817426
>Clench your teeth yet permit her to caress your cheek. Maybe she’ll leave you alone once she sees her powers aren’t influencing you?

>>5817426
>> Clench your teeth yet permit her to caress your cheek. Maybe she’ll leave you alone once she sees her powers aren’t influencing you?

>>5817772
>>5818727

You grit your teeth, biting down like there was walnut between them to crack. With a tightened grip you pressed the revolver against your hip, hesitating to hoist it for another shot. You gasped a hacking breath, feeling her bony finger tracing a line across your cheek. A scalding pain emerged at the place of her touch, as if a large cyst was popped by a corroded nail. Wincing, you backpedalled out of her reach, shedding no tears enduring the pain. The dark spirit did not pursue, her eyeless gaze fixed on your burned through cheek with no visible malice—ignoring for the burn she was responsible for. You tapped the area lightly; within a few heartbeats, your immortal soul began to mend the harm done, washing away the pain like an expected rain erasing your footsteps.

Her head tilted, swaying like a seesaw, the dark braids brushing against her shoulder dryly like feathers of a decaying raven’s corpse. She smiled.

“There now,” you said, spitting on the ground and rubbing at your aching temple. “Happy? I ain’t got a clue what you did to others, but that ain’t going to work on me.”

The supposed wraith bobbed her head like a child. “Happy?” she echoed or inquired, elongating the ‘py’, her tone beating a rhythm akin to a drum.

You grunted, lifting the chalk-holding hand to keep her at a distance. “You’re rattling my bloody head. You ain’t going to kill me dead, but this town here is ripe with others for you to be bothering.”

Her cheeks, hollowed and sallow, pulled up her tainted teeth, exposing even more of her macabre smile. “Unalii,” she uttered, spreading her arms as if to hug.

> Permit the dark spirit to embrace you, though you're aware it will be agonising, it's preferable to rousing her ire—she still can cause you pain.
> Plant your boot in her midriff should she draw nearer, signalling an end to cordiality. Does she comprehend English? If not, how are you suppose to get rid of her?
> Refrain from any physical confrontation, retreating steadily in hopes she gets the hint. Point towards the saloon, where the bartender, if not others, should be, in the hope she'll leave you be.
> [Write In]

>>5818783
>> Permit the dark spirit to embrace you, though you're aware it will be agonising, it's preferable to rousing her ire—she still can cause you pain.

>>5818783
>> Permit the dark spirit to embrace you, though you're aware it will be agonising, it's preferable to rousing her ire—she still can cause you pain.

>>5818783
>Permit the dark spirit to embrace you, though you're aware it will be agonising, it's preferable to rousing her ire—she still can cause you pain.

>>5818783
> Plant your boot in her midriff should she draw nearer, signalling an end to cordiality. Does she comprehend English? If not, how are you suppose to get rid of her?

No update today.

>>5818817
>>5818834
>>5818941
>>5819580

You scowled, reluctantly lifting your arms in response. Her touch would be painful, you knew, and you braced for more of it to endure through … but, you reckoned, that was preferable to rousing her ire. As she wrapped you in her arms, her lipless teeth chattered ever so slightly. Your fever worsened, the last comforts you had in your body never having the awful pains linger erased as she skimmed at your clothes. Beneath your jacket, your opaque flesh turned clammy, the stifled smoke within beginning to fluctuate and quiver.

You’d suffered through your fill of ailments before the Graveyard Frontier, not knowing even half of their names, but her nearness jogged your memory of them, and the symptoms of those you were unfamiliar with. A mosaic of sickness unfurled underneath your garments, on your arms and along your back—where her grip was firmest. One arm burned as if threaded with scarlet stitches to mend a gruesome gash, while the other clustered patches of blisters and rashes, sprouting as thought her touch served as the nurturing sun. A smallpox prairie spread across your back, a field of boils ready to burst, seething with the bite of salt and the fire of black powder.

After a minute, she let go, the plague receding like floodwaters with the retreat of her touch. You grimaced at her grin, your mending arms piquing and drawing the girl’s gaze.

“That fucking hurt,” you said, rubbing at your aching temple, acutely aware that the headache was there to stay as long as she was close.“Damn it, you. So, what’s next on your devil’s agenda?”

She clapped her bony palms with a hollow sound, her attention drifting from your self-mending flesh. “What's next on your devil's agenda?” she said, her accented drawl splintering the words.

You rolled your eyes. “I aim to track down Henry, but first, I’ll need a handful of them Coffin Nails.” You brandished the stolen chalk, bringing it to your lips before taking a step forward, which the dark spirit shadowed. Spitting into the dust, you cast a sidelong glance at her, and past her to where Perry’s spectral remains were fading, the shimmering smoke dissolving into the mists together with everything he had. Maybe you should’ve stole more?

“You aren’t going to leave me alone, are you?”

“You aren’t going to leave me alone, are you?” she mimicked, the melancholy in her voice resonating like a voice lost in a deep gorge.

Exhaling, you looked at her. Was there any sense in questioning this girl further?

> Begin addressing the plague girl as “Unalii”, whatever that means.
> Refer to the native girl as “Feverling”.
> Henceforth, call the dark spirit “Cholera”.
> [Write In]

> She's a headache, yet she may prove useful in handling nuisances and souls that’ll get in your path. Abide with her until the Coffin Fields, at the very least.
> You've no need for her company, particularly as she'll inflict upon you the agonies of maladies, or solicit grievous embraces. Leave her sight at the earliest chance.
> You don’t really mind the headache, but you'll need to make it clear that embraces and handholding are off the table. Should her presence become overly irksome, you've always got Lucifer’s Lead to shot her with.
> [Write In]

>>5822187
> Begin addressing the plague girl as “Unalii”, whatever that means.
> She's a headache, yet she may prove useful in handling nuisances and souls that’ll get in your path. Abide with her until the Coffin Fields, at the very least.

>>5822187
>Henceforth, call the dark spirit “Cholera”.
lmao

> She's a headache, yet she may prove useful in handling nuisances and souls that’ll get in your path. Abide with her until the Coffin Fields, at the very least.

>>5822187
>> Henceforth, call the dark spirit “Cholera”.
> You don’t really mind the headache, but you'll need to make it clear that embraces and handholding are off the table. Should her presence become overly irksome, you've always got Lucifer’s Lead to shot her with.

>>5822187
>> Refer to the native girl as “Feverling”.
> She's a headache, yet she may prove useful in handling nuisances and souls that’ll get in your path. Abide with her until the Coffin Fields, at the very least.

>>5822187
> Henceforth, call the dark spirit “Cholera”.
> She's a headache, yet she may prove useful in handling nuisances and souls that’ll get in your path. Abide with her until the Coffin Fields, at the very least.

>>5822214
>>5822267
>>5822395
>>5822550
>>5823440

You squinted at her; the Graveyard Frontier was supposed to be a place free of thirst, hunger, fatigue, and disease—yet you could mark off half of them already. Here they were, tailored as cruel punishment for the ill-fated who were convinced otherwise, and the fleshless girl before you, surrounded by death and malaise, stood as a testament of that. A headache throbbed behind your eyes, your heart tied in knots, stomach churning … and she was the fault. Likely was it that your immortal body could withstand her powers without crumbling into mist, but it wouldn’t spare you from the agony it packed. For one reason or another she liked the fact that you wouldn’t die. In her empty eyes, there was your reflection: a cowgirl’s spectral remains dressed up in threadbare garments.

She could prove useful, as long as she wasn’t too much of a nuisance. You anticipated Coffin Fields to be awash with pilferers and bandits, eager to rob others of their enchanted nails. You heard that much. None of them would even get close with this wraith at your flank … and if she could afflict other sinister spirits likewise, especially the hellhounds, you were ready and happy to tolerate her being around like a sleeping man does bloodsucking mosquito. If; else you weren’t going to touch her.

“If you’re going to be a thorn in my side” —you pulled your black bandanna, scrubbing at your neck— “Then you’ll be needing a handle. How about … ‘Cholera’. You think that suits you?”

“You think that suits you?” she said with a vacant, almost innocent smile.

“Suits me just fine,” you said, slapping your own shoulder for the cleverness and then pointing the knuckles of the same hand at her. “You. Cholera.”

“Cholera,” Cholera repeated, winding each syllable, elongating the ‘ra’ as if it was a drawn bowstring.

With an eye roll, you hacked, “Hack it up any way you fancy.” Your eyes briefly skimmed over the town she had purged. The chalk in your grasp twitched and then jerked towards the northeast—pointing to the Coffin Fields, if Perry was to be trusted.

Henry, and the brother killer for that matter, would succumb to the deceases and meet their swift ends from just being around Cholera. You didn’t want to search for either of them just as you’d find them, as unlikely as that would be, at least for Henry.

“How in three hells can I get you to quit stepping on my heels once I’ll reckon to ask you?” you puzzled, lifting the neckerchief up to your chin and weathered lips.

“How in three hells can I—”

“God’s sake, enough!” you yelled, interrupting her. Either you’d have to school her to quit parroting your questions, or drop asking anything altogether. Annoyance!

Just as you finished adjusting the black cloth, an unseen forced yanked at your throat, an intangible noose hitching your neck an inch upwards, akin to an angel trying to lift up a sinner. You still had the gallows man’s cursed noose tangled around your neck, you were forced into remembering, and you had no answer to the senseless riddle. Spewing wicked cusses that felt hollow in your voice, you searched the white bleached sands. One of them souls might’ve dropped a knife for you to cut your head off, and make it one problem less.

> We will end Goldie’s side-adventure here, and return to August with a new thread tomorrow, Friday.
> I hope you found some fun in this half-thread. Whether you did or didn't, if you have any additional comments, please share them.

>>5824106
Goldie is a pretty likeable protagonist in her own right. I'd be fine with playing her for longer, but I'll also be glad to see what's become of Aug.

>>5825689
>>5825689
>>5825689