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You are the ever-proud APPRENTICE of the great witch SIGRID DE HAUTDESERT–but without woolen raiment on nor wand in hand, you are not yet ready to engage in another wonderful day of ASSIDUOUS THAUMATURGICAL EDUCATION.

LAST THREAD: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=greenhorn
RECAP: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQIDHmJo4IQ
DISCORD: https://discord.gg/XXj28TYt8B
>>
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[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQIDHmJo4IQ]
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You lie strewn out across your bed, gut full of food and head full of dreams after a long night of bread and circus in the chapel halls. You feel the gentle caress of light on your cheek–the sun as it rises over the sea and pours into your room–but it’s not enough to wrest you from your sleep just yet.

>You dream of your childhood, a home of warm hearths and among nine siblings.
>You dream of your days at St. August’s Conservatory.
>You dream of your master in a scandalous pose and outfit.
>You dream of that cool chicken with the cigarette from the first picture.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5879585
>You dream of your master in a scandalous pose and outfit.

we’re so back.
>>
>>5879585
>>You dream of your childhood, a home of warm hearths and among nine siblings.
>>
>You dream of your master in a scandalous pose and outfit.
>>
>>5879585
>You dream of your childhood, a home of warm hearths and among nine siblings.
A voiced animatic?? Amazing! Welcome back, QM.
>>
>>5879585
>You dream of your master in a scandalous pose and outfit saying how much she appreciates you and your help.

FUCK YEAH GREENHORN’S BACK
>>
>>5879585
>Write-in
>You dream of Bredbeddle in a scandalous pose and outfit.
We’re so back
>>
>>5879609
I'll support this if wholesomeness doesn't win. Bredbreddle is Bestbeddle.
I hope the real one's still alive
>>
>>5879585
>You dream of your childhood, a home of warm hearths and among nine siblings.
A voiced recap? You spoil us.
>>
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>>5879585
>You dream of your childhood, a home of warm hearths and among nine siblings.
I clapped when I saw this quest return.
>>
>>5879585
>You dream of your childhood, a home of warm hearths and among nine siblings.
>>
>>5879585
>>You dream of your childhood, a home of warm hearths and among nine siblings.
>>
>>5879585
>You dream of your master in a scandalous pose and outfit.
>>
>>5879585
>You dream of your master in a scandalous pose and outfit.
>>
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>>5879633
>>5879632
>>5879626
>>5879623
>>5879622
>>5879609
>>5879596
>>5879593
>>5879591
>>5879588
>>5879587

"Oh, Bobby.." Your eldest sister, Catalina, dabs your tears away with her kerchief. You are back in your childhood bedroom–a slipshod mess of planks and stone, the bottom bunk among three other beds, floors run black with the burns of chemical pet slime stains. “She’s not going to take you away. Come on. She just wants to see you..”

“She wants to see me? More like she wants something out of me.” You bark back. “Like she knows anything. I don’t even want to be a stupid wizard. I want to be a chef.”
“Please, Bobby. You know, she’s really not that bad. I’m sure she just wants to see how tall you’ve gotten.” She places her hand on your shoulder as she sits next to you. “Do it for me, at least?”

>Go see her.
>Quickly, run away! There’s a window out of your room to the street.
>Tell Catalina to leave your room.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5879701
>Can you go with me?
>Go see her.
>>
>>5879701
>Can you go with me?
>Go see her.
>>
>>5879701
>Go see her.
face destiny
>>
>>5879701
>>Go see her
>>
>>5879701
>[Write-In.]
>Can you go with me?

I didn't come to feel.
>>
>>5879770
+1

>verification not required
>>
>>5879701
>Quickly, run away! There’s a window out of your room to the street.
>>
>>5879701
>Go see her.
>>
>>5879701
>>Tell Catalina to leave your room.
>>
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>>5879705
>>5879707
>>5879754
>>5879755
>>5879770
>>5879804
>>5879854
>>5880449
>>5880457

>Can you go with me?
>Go see her.

“Fine. I’ll go see her. But only for a little.” You mutter as you stand. “Can you go with me?”
“..Okay.” She reassures you with a smile, a small hand over yours.

You follow after her lead through the door, past the colorful wax scribbles along the walls of the hall and wooden toys along the ground. You feel almost dream-like as your feet glide along the floor like and trace in the steps of your sister. You have to hold your breath as you step into the parlor.

Your visitor stands in wait in wait just ahead–casting black, oily shadows as she observes the hearth, standing so tall her hennin near scrapes the ceiling, almost phantom-like. Her head tilts back to follow your movement, though you cannot trace the line of her gaze beneath her bonnet. You can’t help but feel your tongue glue up your mouth. Your sister’s grip on your hand tightens.

“Bobbington. And.. Catalina.” Your mother, MILADY DU-SAINT-WINIFRED–or, as is what your pa calls her, MOLLY. This is the first time you remember seeing her. “You’ve grown.”

>Remain silent and let her speak.
>Demand to know what she wants.
>Flee. She’s really scary, actually.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5880538
>Demand to know what she wants.
>>
>>5880538
>>Demand to know what she wants.
>>
>>5880538
>Flee. She’s really scary, actually.
>>
>>5880538
>Demand to know what she wants.
>>
>>5880538
>Flee. She’s really scary, actually.
damn
how is mom that tall and we're this short
we were robbed
our older siblings took all the tall genes and left us nothing
>>
>>5880538
>Demand to know what she wants.

>>5879622 is me. I'm away from home.
>>
>>5880538
>Remain silent and let her speak.
>>
>>5880594
The price of short kings winning the toll gorl bowl.
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>>5880538
>Remain silent and let her speak.
Maybe try to hide behind Catalina too.
>>
>>5880538
>>Demand to know what she wants.
>>
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>>5880551
>>5880556
>>5880561
>>5880567
>>5880594
>>5880611
>>5880619
>>5880620
>>5880687
>>5880761

>Demand to know what she wants.

“What are you here for?” You ask–the words cut the air, terse and a little frightful. You do your best to hide yourself behind your sister.
“Bobbington, I..” Your mother takes a step toward you, but you shrink in her presence. You watch her fall back to the hearth. “..You needn’t worry. I won’t take you away from here. I simply came by to give you a gift.”

“..A gift?” You echo. You watch her reach into the hem of her dress–and then, slowly, her fingers unfurl around a thread of wood and root–a wand.
“It’s a dyadic wand-woven of yggdrasil and holy thorn. It is very powerful.” Your mother’s words are careful and deliberate. “You’re nearly of age now–”

“Didn’t pa tell you? I don’t want to be a wizard.” You spit back at her. “You can keep it.”
“Oh, Bobbington.” Your mother smiles sadly. “I’m sorry, but–.. fate has a way of twisting our arm. Even when we don’t want it to.”

Your nose twitches. You hear a–knock, from outside. The outside of your home? No, wait. What are you doing back here?

>You accepted the wand.
>You didn’t accept the wand.
>What does it matter whether you took it or not? You’re a wizard now. She was right.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5880792
>What does it matter whether you took it or not? You’re a wizard now. She was right.
>>
>>5880792
>You accepted the wand.
>>
>>5880792
>What does it matter whether you took it or not? You’re a wizard now. She was right.
Curse you, Fate! Except, well, we met our maser this way, so actually THANK you, Fae!
>>
>>5880792
>You accepted the wand.
thanks mommy
>>
>>5880792
>What does it matter whether you took it or not? You’re a wizard now. She was right.
>>
>>5880792
>You didn’t accept the wand.
>>
>>5880792
>You accepted the wand.

So be it.
>>
>>5880792
>>What does it matter whether you took it or not? You’re a wizard now. She was right.
>>
>>5880792
>You accepted the wand.
Weird that we were so disinterested, seems like we're pretty eager to be a wizard now.
>>
>>5880792
>>You accepted the wand.
>>
>>5880792
>What does it matter whether you took it or not? You’re a wizard now. She was right.
>>
>>5881105
children are fickle
>>
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>>5880796
>>5880798
>>5880811
>>5880821
>>5880822
>>5880847
>>5880986
>>5881102
>>5881105
>>5881145
>>5881160

>What does it matter whether you took it or not? You’re a wizard now. She was right.
>You accepted the wand.

Why fight it? You know how this ends. You can do more to stop fate than you could the hands of the clock. You take the wand in your hands–each groove familiar and comfortable in your grip. You were meant to be a wizard.
“Good. You will need it.” Your mother breathes a sigh of relief as you take the wand into your hands. Your childhood home begins to dissipate all about you as the knock from outside grows more and more loud–the walls and floors, the toys and warmth, and your sister, until just you and your mother stand in the parlor.
“You are a child of the wild gods, Bobbington. You have the capacity to do great and terrible things. You are both cursed and blessed.” Your mother extends her hand out toward you. “Your patron wild god–Leshy, He From the Forest, will try to reach out to you soon. He will call you L–”

You wake with a start as the rapping grows too loud to ignore. You are shirtless, pantsless, and dignityless, cornbread crumbs on your stomach and a crust of drool along your mouth. You can hear the log-legged gnome’s voice on the other end.

“Snuff. Rabbit-ears. Dorkus. Pineneedle.” Bredbeddle calls for you as she hammers on the door. “You up yet?! Your runt master wants you. Or are you still leering at that weirdo poster you got of the great witch? I bet you are, you pervert.”

>Open the door. What does she want?
>Try to roll back to sleep. The dream was getting good.
>Leer at weirdo poster of great witch.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5881194
>Leer at weirdo poster of great witch.
>>
>>5881194
>Open the door. What does she want?
>>
>>5881194
>>Try to roll back to sleep. The dream was getting good.
>>
>>5881194
>Don shirt, pants, HOOD, and dignity before opening the door.
>>
>Leer at weirdo poster of great witch.
>>
>>5881194
>Open the door. What does she want?

>>5881244
Don't do this.
>>
>>5881194
>Open the door. What does she want?
My favorite gnomish skinwalker.
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>>5881194
>leer at the weirdo poster of the great witch
Good idea! We need strength for the coming day
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>>5881244
Do this
>>
>>5881194
>Open the door. What does she want?
>>
>>5881244
+1
>>
>>5881194
>Open the door. What does she want?
>>
>>5881194
>Leer at weirdo poster of great witch.
>Recover clothes and dignity.
>Open the door. What does she want?
>>
>>5881194
>VIEW ADMIRINGLY at ARTISTIC poster of great witch.
>>
>>5881194
>>5881388
+1 to this, but after that....
>Open the damn door and ask what the freaky skinwalker thing wants
>>
>>5881194
>>Leer at weirdo poster of great witch.
Wand maintenance is important
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>>5881400
IC, I don't think we're aware of the impostor/skinwalker.

>>5881194
>Open the door. What does she want?
>Steal a quick glance at weirdo poster of great witch.
>>
>>5881194
>Open the door. What does she want?
>Don't put on clothes
If it's the skinwalker, they will be too shocked to kill us. If it's the real Bred, it'll be really funny. Win-Win
>>
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>>5881204
>>5881213
>>5881215
>>5881244
>>5881259
>>5881264
>>5881266
>>5881299
>>5881314
>>5881318
>>5881322
>>5881363
>>5881369
>>5881388
>>5881400
>>5881406
>>5881419
>>5881456

>Leer at weirdo poster of great witch.
>Recover clothes and dignity.
>Open the door. What does she want?

“Ghck–” You choke on your spit as you shoot up, little else on save for our breeches. You woke up late! You hop off your mattress and finagle your way into the robe at your bedside–you remember (fortunately or unfortunately, in your situation) to at least don some clothes before you move to greet the gnome and avoid any comedic scenarios. You steal a quick glance at the weirdo posters that line your room as you do–a comfort in hard times.
You move through the room like a hurricane–hood on head, wand in hand, egg in pocket–before you swing the door open to meet her eyes.

Bredbeddle stands before you, looking for all intents and purposes just as acerbic a gnome as ever. The pickpocket rolls her eyes at the sight of you. “There you are, sleeping beauty. Your master was up my ass asking me to wake you. She told me to tell you we were “here”, whatever that means. Said you knew what it’d mean. Done polishing your wand, or should I give you a few more minutes?”
“I wasn’t polishing my wand.” You mutter back in response. It is strange that you woke up late, though.. you’re normally up-and-at-em by 4.

>Get to your lady. She needs you!
>Ask Bredbeddle what she wanted to do in your master’s room last night.
>Look back into your room at your weirdo posters in more detail.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5881463
>Ask Bredbeddle what she wanted to do in your master’s room last night.
>Look back into your room at your weirdo posters in more detail.
>>
>>5881463
>Ask Bredbeddle what she wanted to do in your master’s room last night.
>”Don’t talk to me about being a creep when you ask for those sorts of favors, Bredbeddle.”
>>
>>5881463
>Get to your lady. She needs you!
No time for love! Or for Bredbeddle!
>>
>>5881463
>[Write-In.]
Kill the rats.
>>
>>5881463
>Pet the rat
>Get to your lady. She needs you!
>>
>>5881463
>Ask Bredbeddle what she wanted to do in your master’s room last night.
>Pet the rat
>>
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>>5881476
Also
>Pet the rat
Casting Rat requires live rats as material components. It would behoove us to keep our supply relatively happy.
>>
>>5881463
>>5881472
+1
>>
I just realized, later we should Clothing Beam the cockatrice and give both heads sunglasses and cigarettes to make it a cool cockatrice.
>>
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>>5881472
>>5881476
>>5881482
>>5881494
>>5881506
>>5881551
>>5881564
>>5881575

>Ask Bredbeddle what she wanted to do in your master’s room last night.
>Look back into your room at your weirdo posters in more detail.

You glance back to your room--are your weirdo posters so obvious? You’ve an impressive selection of memorabilia about your fair lady, from photographs of her in the capitol to made-to-order illustrations (many of them of the tasteful and savory variety, mind you!) Your master never enters your bedroom, so you seldom have to worry too much, but still.. if the gnome saw them right away, it's only a matter of time before word gets out to the rest of the chapel. You had better put your awesome memorabilia somewhere more discrete.

“I’m not a creep!” You insist as you shut the door behind you to hide the bikini-clad illustrations of your master. “I’m–normal! And what would you know about creepy? You acted all weird and flirty last night..! What did you even do in my lady’s bedroom, anyways..?”
“Uh? Is your head on right?” The gnome raises a brow. “What are you talking about? I didn’t go into your weird runt witch’s bedroom last night.”

“Wh–.. then, why did you ask where it was?” You frown.
“I didn’t even talk to you last night after you gave me the corndogs.” She scoffs. “I took them to my room and ate about thirteen.. or fourteen, then I got sick and threw up in a hat, and then I went to sleep. And acting weird and flirty with you? You're gonna make me throw up again. You must’ve eaten way too many corndogs.”

“U-uh.. What?” Your eyebrow twinges. “But–I did talk to you.”

>Interrogate Bredbeddle to see if she experienced or saw anything funny.
>Try to use your brain here.
>Go to see your lady. This isn’t something to consider now.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5881635
>Try to use your brain here.
It is rather unusual of Bredbeddle to do that - what if it wasn’t her we talked to?
>>
>>5881635
>Go to see your lady. This isn’t something to consider now.
No time for brains! Milady needs us!
>>
>>5881635
>>Interrogate Bredbeddle to see if she experienced or saw anything funny.
>>Try to use your brain here.
Time to use all 5 of our iq points.
>>
>>5881635
>[Write-In.]
The lady covering her one eye and leaning backwards is the best poster.
>>
>>5881635
>Bredbeddle’s just being shy after flirting so hard last night. Reassure her that while you’re spoken for, you understand her infatuation with you.
>>
>>5881635
>Try to use your brain here.
Bredbeddle, corndogs don’t make you hallucinate conversations with others sometimes, do they?
>>
>>5881635
>Try to use your brain here.
>Go to see your lady. This isn’t something to consider now.
>>
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>>5881668
>>5881677
>>5881678
>>5881802
>>5881821
>>5881829
>>5881936

>Try to use your brain here.

You try to string together what theories you can to explain the strange perturbation. You suppose the gnome could be lying--perhaps she stole away with something invaluable from your master's room in the evening--but what reason might she have to lie to you about something so plainly instead of coming up with a more reasonable explanation?

You guess it could be some bad cornbatter, or perhaps the offal in your sausages that went bad: a very strange hallucinatory conversation born out of corndogs isn't entirely out of the question. You did sleep very soundly last night--far too soundly than you like to sleep, at least. You've never woken up late before while at the chapel, and at least not to this extent.

You also can't entirely rule out the possibility of an impostor gnome. It could've been a wild fey trickster come to play a prank. You've met with some in the wilds before, and they tend to the primordial sea like mosquitoes to open water. Or it could've been a bunch of rats in a cloak. Yes.. a possibility you cannot afford to rule out. Or, even then, it could be a doppelganger--a species well-renowned for spying, assassinating, and playing at political gambits..

"Do you have a promiscuous evil twin, Bredbeddle?" You ask her.
"What? No." The gnome stares at you funny.

>Go see your lady. You had best alert her of the situation.
>Wait--can you even trust your master? Perhaps this IS a doppelganger situation.
>Demand Bredbeddle PROVE, without a doubt, that she is Bredbeddle.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5882085
>Demand Bredbeddle PROVE, without a doubt, that she is Bredbeddle.

If she does, give her a CODEWORD she can use for quick future identity verification.
>>
>>5882085
>>Demand Bredbeddle PROVE, without a doubt, that she is Bredbeddle.
>>
>>5882085
>>5882089
+1
>>
>>5882085
>Wait--can you even trust your master? Perhaps this IS a doppelganger situation.

Is Leshy already here? Are you the sole survivor amidst a chapel of intruders?
>>
>quest with a discord
How many troons in there?
>>
>>5882085
>Go see your lady. You had best alert her of the situation.
>>
>>5882085
>Go see your lady. You had best alert her of the situation.
MIYUKI MENTIONED
>>
>>5882085
>Go see your lady. You had best alert her of the situation.
>>
>>5882085

+1 to >>5882089
But then, also,
>Go see your lady. You had best alert her of the situation.

>>5882120
A hundred and fifty, 151 if you have a Gameshark.
>>
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>>5882089
>>5882090
>>5882109
>>5882111
>>5882121
>>5882123
>>5882233
>>5882238

>Demand Bredbeddle PROVE, without a doubt, that she is Bredbeddle.
>Go see your lady. You had best alert her of the situation.

“I see.. then, we may have a situation on our hands.” You had ought to see your master posthaste about this situation–but first.. you cast your gaze back down to the scullery maid. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are the real Bredbeddle–not some gnomish impostor in her skin.”
“Huh?” She stares agape at you. “What? You think there’s a faker or something around here? Like, a shapeshifter? Then–uh.. how am I supposed to prove that I’m the real deal?!”

“Hmm–.. tell me something that only the real one would know. Like, a memory between the two of us, or..” You begin, but catch yourself. “Ah. No. Wait a minute. That won’t work–doppelgangers have some minor thought reading capacity. We’ve only been traveling for a couple nights, so they’ll be able to scoop memories between is from my brain like icecream.. You’ll need to do something only the real one could.”
“Well, I can do some crazy stuff, but.. definitely nothing you ought to know about.” She folds her arms and shuts her eyes. “Ah, wait. Here. This’ll work, right?”

The gnome raises a finger in the air and twirls it–and with it, a few stray burls of wood from the planks beneath your feet curl up beneath your sabots. You feel them lick at your heels as you raise your boot in surprise. “See? Gnomish magicks. Little wood growth.” Bredbeddle observes. “Doppelgangers can’t copy magic, right?”
“Ah–true enough.” You nod, hand on your chin–doppelgangers can copy physical strength, agility, and flexibility to an impressive extent, but not at all magic. “Then, you’ll have to excuse me. I have to see my lady.”

[...]

Your find your master stood at her study, staff in one hand and pipe in the other–she appears lost in thought as she stares out at the endless expanse of green outside. You knock first.
“Lady Sigrid.” You bow your head as you approach her. “I came to–ah.. you smoke, Lady Sigrid?”
“Hm. I try not to do it too often–it’s a foul habit.” She glances back at you, coils of a hazy fume curling up about her lips. “Only when I’m very, very stressed. Like now, for instance.”

“I see. Then, my lady, I–..” You catch yourself. You can’t quite be sure if your theory even has grounding, but still–you can’t be entirely sure if your master is your master at the moment.

>Just play along as if this was your master for now and ask about the final ingredient. Maybe you’ll catch a slip-up.
>Ask her if she can perform some magic for you.
>Surreptitiously ask her what her thoughts on doppelgangers are. Does she think they're awesome?
>Trust the figure before you and tell her about what you think may have happened.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5882120
Keep yourself safe.

>>5882415
>Ask what bothers her currently
>>
>>5882415
>Surreptitiously ask her what her thoughts on doppelgangers are. Does she think they're awesome?
She can't really do magic anyway, right now. It's why she needs to polymorph herself into a human.
>>
>>5882415
>Just play along as if this was your master for now and ask about the final ingredient. Maybe you’ll catch a slip-up.
>>
>>5882415
>[Write-In.]
Is that Pipe-weed? May I try some?
>>
>>5882415
>Trust the figure before you and tell her about what you think may have happened.

The Great Witch Sigrid would never allow herself to be impersonated. Obviously she has long since copyrighted her likeness.
>>
>>5882430
But she can channel the dead!

>>5882415
>Trust the figure before you and tell her about what you think may have happened.
>Ask her if she can perform some magic for you.
>>
>>5882415
>Trust the figure before you and tell her about what you think may have happened.
>Ask her if she can perform some magic for you.
>"I'm having a weird feeling towards a doppelganger being in our midst, or some sort of mind altering magic. My memories of last night don't line up with what Bredbeddle says happened and that concerns me.
>>
>>5882415
>>Just play along as if this was your master for now and ask about the final ingredient. Maybe you’ll catch a slip-up.
>>Ask her if she can perform some magic for you.
>>
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>>5882428
>>5882430
>>5882492
>>5882550
>>5882551
>>5882753
>>5882790

>Trust the figure before you and tell her about what you think may have happened.
>Ask her if she can perform some magic for you.
>"I'm having a weird feeling towards a doppelganger being in our midst, or some sort of mind altering magic. My memories of last night don't line up with what Bredbeddle says happened and that concerns me.

“My lady..” You decide to get right to the point. “I think there may be an impostor in our midst–a shapeshifter, perhaps, or an illusory or mental magic at work. I thought I met and spoke with the gnome last night, but her recollection doesn’t align with mine.”
“You suppose there might be a spy? A doppelganger, maybe?” Sigrid raises a brow.

“I believe so–they asked for the location of your room. I supposed it might have been to clean up, perhaps, but..” You eye your fair master, who looks, for all intents and purposes, just as she always does. “Do you mind casting some magic? Just–anything, really, to set my mind at ease.”
“You’re doubting me? Really?” Your master scoffs. “Don’t you think it’s a little more likely that the gnome is lying to you than that a spy snuck into the chapel?”

“Well..” You murmur.
“And is the whole purpose of the journey not to brew a potion so I might use my magic? I can’t cast much right now, unless you’ve got a fresh corpse for me to channel.” She continues. “I’ll look into it–but if you ask me, it’s much more likely the gnome stole away into my study to take some money. Our focus should be on getting that transpeciation potion together and dealing with Leshy. We’re very close.”

“..I see.” You make a mental note that your master did NOT cast any magic–though, whether that’s because she is an impostor or because of her stress is yet to be seen. “Is Leshy really of that much import?”
“What do you think?” Sigrid eyes you as she takes another whiff off her pipe. “I hate dealing with gods.”

>Ask Sigrid for what you should do to help her.
>Tell her of your patrimony with him. He’s spoken to you recently, like in the dungeon!
>Insist she perform some magic to prove she isn't a doppelganger.
>Ask Sigrid if you can bring anyone with you to meet Leshy–maybe they’d prove useful?
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5882885
>[Write-In.]
Is that Pipe-weed? May I try some?
>>
>>5882885
>Ask Sigrid for what you should do to help her.
>Tell her of your patrimony with him. He’s spoken to you recently, like in the dungeon!
>>
>>5882885
>Tell her of your patrimony with him. He’s spoken to you recently, like in the dungeon!
He told us we misplayed our random spell cards and gave the ones we didn't use to the boss like some jerk too.
>>
>>5882885
>Ask Sigrid for what you should do to help her.
>Tell her of your patrimony with him. He’s spoken to you recently, like in the dungeon!
>>
>>5882905
+1
>>
>>5882902
>>5882918
+1 to both of these

>>5882885
>>
>>5882885
>Tell her of your patrimony with him. He’s spoken to you recently, like in the dungeon!
>>
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>>5882902
>>5882905
>>5882918
>>5882928
>>5883087
>>5883094
>>5883100

>Ask Sigrid for what you should do to help her.
>Tell her of your patrimony with him. He’s spoken to you recently, like in the dungeon!

“Is that pipe weed, my lady?” You eye the thin, wispy trails of smoke that ebb from the bowl. You’ve never been one to smoke, but you’ve heard tell of pipe weed before–it’s particularly popular among the short sort and is notoriously difficult to get outside of their underground communities. “May I try some?”
“Yes. And no.” Your master takes another puff. “Like I said, it’s a foul habit to pick you. Your mouth is just as important a tool for you as a wizard as your wand, so you’d do well to keep it clean.”

“I see.. well, then, might I ask what I could do to help you with the god?” You offer. “Like–perhaps a strategy of sorts, or a clever gambit? You know, as a child born of the wild gods, he’s actually my patron.. in fact, he spoke to me in the dungeon! Even if he was a little mean, but.. you think maybe he’ll just give us the hair as a gift for his son?”
“Oh, that’s right–it was his star you were born beneath, wasn’t it? Your mother made mention of that.” Your master sighs. “But no. Not likely.”

“We can do little to plan for this. The wild gods embody chaos, and he most of all relishes in it.” Your master looks out the window bitterly. “When people think of wild gods, they imagine fertility, bucolic scenes of pasture, fecund woodlands and peaceful wildlife.. not the roiling cosmological tempests that they are. The wilderness is, by nature, untamed, uncontrolled, and unbound. Just look at the primordial sea. It surrounds all known civilizations, no matter how much we try to conquer it. We’ve been tamed by the wilds, not the other way around. That’s why I hate that name–’wild gods.’ They’re more like chaos gods.”

You know little about the wild gods and you’d like to know little still, but if it would help your master.. “You mentioned you had run-ins with him before, have you not? How did those go..?”
“Embarrassing. Frustrating. Humiliating.” Your master’s gaze grows angry, then falls. “He generally avoids killing, but we should still watch ourselves around him. If we’re to head out, I’d prefer it just be you and me, to tell the truth. Any more and things will get unwieldy. Leshy preys on that.”

>Go out with your master.
>Try to convince your master to bring along someone else from the chapel. [Write-In.]
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5883151
>Go out with your master.
>>
>>5883151
>Go out with your master.

Definitely.
>>
>>5883151
>Go out with your master
Been a while since we had solo outing time with our biggest ever crush and beloved master.
>>
>>5883151
>Go out with your master.
On a date, that is
Go out as a MAN and a WOMAN
A romantic outing
>>
>>5883151
>>5883201
+1
A date it is!
>>
>>5883151
>Go out with your master.
Skinwalker time?
>>
>>5883151
>>5883201
+1 to Snuff treating it like a date and rizzing it up
>>
>>5883201
+1, I know this is going to end horribly since Snuff has the social skills of a duck.
>>
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>>5883157
>>5883162
>>5883170
>>5883201
>>5883254
>>5883438
>>5883537
>>5883538

>Go out with your master.

"Really? You don't suppose one of those in the chapel might be able to help us?" You place a hand on your chin. "We may be able to make us of Molly or Van den Bos's strength, or Bredbeddle's.. legs?"
"No. Leshy isn't a foe you can defeat by virtue of strength or magical prowess. Or fat legs.” Sigrid responds, observing the blunderbuss on her wall. “You have to outsmart him, beat him at his own game. And I trust in your intellect.. even if you make that difficult sometimes.”

You do your best to see off your chapel fellowship before you set out for the final ingredient. Van den Bos pats you on the back as the chickens peck at your sabots. Molly grunts in her sleep as you try to wave her off. Bredbeddle, who you found in the pantry admist a few empty cans of sausage, seems happy enough. And Drumstick guards your room and snaps at your fingers as you attempt to pet him.
“Done? Good.” Sigrid leans against the door out of the chapel. “Let’s hope he makes this quick. For both our sakes.”

[...]

You wade through the grass of the primordial sea after the trail left by your master. The wind laps at the green, forming cresting waves that break against your hips. The sky is clear, save for a few froth-like bubbles of clouds that foam up about the horizon. The primordial sea stretches out endless all about you–no towns nor people, just endless wilds.
“We’ll go a little distance from the chapel and summon him there. Snuff, are you paying attention?” Your master glances back at you.

“Ah–..uh, yeah.” You draw your gaze away from the sea and focus on your master.
“Good. And promise me something, Snuff.” Sigrid stares ahead. “No matter what game Leshy wants to play with me–or you–just go along with it. Don’t try to fight him or stand in for me. This isn’t like the boar or the decanter or the residue. You’ll just make it worse for us. I really mean it this time. He’s not liable to hurt us as long as we go along with what he wants.”

>Promise her you won’t.
>You can’t promise anything if it means protecting her.
>Drop a bomb-ass pickup line.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5883580
>[Write-In.]
Why not just accept Leshy as one does nature instead of going against the flow of Chaos? Can a god even bleed?
>>
>>5883580
>Promise her you won’t.
>Drop a bomb-ass pickup line.
How could I ever say “no” to you, master?
>>
>>5883580
>Drop a bomb-ass pickup line.
>>
>>5883589
+1

>>5883580
Cast some advanced rizzmancy
>>
>>5883580
>Drop a bomb ass pickup line
>>
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Won't be updating again tonight--in the meantime, I'd be up for lore questions or some drawing requests to put in my queue.
>>
>>5883943
Is Leshy an actual literal, biological ancestor, or just a progenitor-and-father in SPIRIT by dint of our star-sign?
>>
>>5883943
Can we get more doodles of Bredbeddle when you have free time?
>>
>>5883943
How good is Snuff at cooking? Seeing as he wanted to be a chef
>>
>>5883943
Draw snuff being his usual wholesome self
>>
>>5883943
Draw Snuff grown up, as a great wizard.
>>
>>5883943
Can you do Bredbeddle reuniting with her long lost evil opposite twin?
>>
>>5883943
Draw our master dressed as Grandma Duck.
https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/Grandma_Duck
>>
>>5884744
This is the best one.
>>
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>>5883587
>>5883589
>>5883629
>>5883638
>>5883677

>Promise her you won’t.
>Drop a bomb-ass pickup line.

“I promise I won’t.” You swear solemnly. You try to wink beneath your hood. “How could I ever say ‘no’ to you, master?”
“That’s a good point. You shouldn’t say no to me, since I’m your master. And yet you seem to anyways..” Your bomb-ass pickup line drop seems to fly over your master’s head. “Just keep your head on straight and avoid giving in to his badgering. I’ll be fine and you’ll be fine. Now..”

Your master suddenly pauses her walk, causing you to near stumble over her. You catch yourself from toppling down on top of her as she sticks a thumb in her mouth and raises it in the air–observing the sea all around you, your lady takes a quiet breath. “Yeah. This is good enough. He should hear from out here. Be quiet a moment, Snuff.”
Sigrid shuts her eyes. “How did it go again..? Uhm..”

”Hark, Leshy, hark! Amidst yon grasses rise,
Grace us, he from the forest, the father of lies.

Pass through woodland bush, cant’r through the fern,
Let the ancient sea part so that thou mayst return.

O, Leshy, master of magic, amidst the untamed wilds born,
Bestow upon us eyes to see, we foolish greenhorns.”


You wince in wait as your master closes her prayer–perhaps, waiting for the skies to crack with lightning, or the ground beneath you to roil and belch fire–but no godly retribution meets you. You instead catch a short, rhythmic beat on the breeze–the clop of horse hoof against grass.
“There he is.” Sigrid grumbles.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpnE7L94B8w]
>>
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You watch a figure crest over a hill in the sea–a man riding atop a six-legged horse, wild mane of hair catching the wind, dancing in it. The old man does not resemble a god in the least–hunched back, sloped brow, untamed white hair–..no, he looks more like a naked old man, actually. Your master stiffens up next to you.
“Lady Sigrid, is that really..?” You begin, but your master elbows you in the gut, her subtle signal for you to shut up.

The old man brings his horse to a slow amble, hooves kicking up clods of dirt as he rides up before you. You have to crane your head up to meet the old man’s eyes–standing overhead, he seems to block the sun, casting a long shadow over the pair of you–though you can’t make out much beneath the sag of his brows.
>”Sigrid de Hautdesert. It’s been a while, has it not?” The old man’s voice is.. strange, to say the least. The way it resounds in your head–.. less like he’s speaking to you and more like he’s somehow in your mind.

“It has.” Your lady responds tersely.
>”About 1312 days, by my measure.” He leans in, almost bored. “And who’s this? Achk–.. what was your name again..? Bobbington? Snuff Sigurdsonn..? Bezwzględny Pietraszkiewicz? Something like that. How have you been, my boy? Keeping out of trouble?”
You wait for the usual spiel of responses to pour into your mind in response–.. but nothing does. Your brow furrows–something’s off.. What’s he done?

>”What’s wrong? Waiting for something?” He grins at you. “If you’re going to say something, say it yourself.”
>>
>>5885093
"Hey, old man. Thanks for that 'help' in the dungeon."
>>
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>>5885093
>"You're a big guy."
>>
>>5885093
Hold up one leg and fart really loudly.

"May the wind ever grace your presence."
>>
>>5885093
>"Why do you call me, 'my boy'? Who am I to you really?"
>>
>>5885093
“Back in the dungeon - may I ask why you would intervene?”
>>
>>5885093
>"No, I'm getting into as much trouble as possible actually. Seeking out trouble."
>>
>>5885268
Kek. This is good. Adding it to >>5885098

>>5885093
>>
>>5885268
>>5885093
+1
>>
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>>5885098
>>5885107
>>5885111
>>5885131
>>5885167
>>5885268
>>5885295
>>5885327

"No, I'm getting into as much trouble as possible actually. Seeking out trouble." You ignore try to ignore the strange mental perturbation. “And thanks for that 'help' in the dungeon. You really made a mess back there."
>”Trouble? Good. A little mischief suits you.” The old man leans in, the wrinkle of his eyes betraying a smile beneath his beard. “As for the dungeon.. I just happened to be passing through this world back then. I thought I might play along with your little quest.”

“Snuff..” Your master begins to warn you, but the god cuts her short.
>”It’s quite alright. You ought to let the boy speak if he wants to.” Leshy waves off her concerns. “Now.. what is you brought me out here for, Sigrid? I was riding through the wilds of the most fascinating world when you thought it fit to drag me out to the boondocks–dark and cold, still as the grave, but with the most beautiful monsters you could imagine..”

“We are.. here to make an imploration, Leshy.” Your master takes deep, slow breaths between every beard, her voice firm. “..I need a strand of your beard hair.”

>”A strand of beard hair? It figures. I thought you looked a little shorter than usual.” The god guffaws. “Well.. it won’t come easy. The people in this world make fortunes selling and trading in my detritus. Do you have something to offer me? Something worth it? I’ve no particular interest in gold or magic from this world. Or.. how about you, boy?” He turns his gaze toward you. “Have you something to give in exchange for your master’s wishes? It had better be valuable.”
>>
>>5885559
On us? Tell him a joke.

That we can get? One of our sacred treasures.
>>
>>5885559
>>5885567
+1 but our specialty is chicken jokes
>>
>>5885567
>A chicken joke
if that fails
>An autographed poster of the Great Witch herself!
The two most valuable things we own.
>>
>>5885559
Oh god
It rends the heart to offer a poster
But it's all we have
>>
>>5885572
+1
>>
>>5885559
How about some of our most valuable Duckworth outfits. While our master our the halfwit couldn't recognize their worth surely the Lenshy would appreciate them.
>>
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>>5885567
>>5885572
>>5885817
>>5885883
>>5885884
>>5886178

“I see. An offering?” You place a hand your chin–you’ll need something worth equal measure to a god.. “Then.. one of my best jokes. Why did the chicken cross the road?”
>”To get to the fool’s house.” Leshy responds in turn. “Knock-knock.”
“..Who’s there?” You ask.
>”The chicken.”

“Ahck–” You wince. You fell victim to one of the god’s mental tricks–how naive of you. “Then–.. then.. how about a poster of the Great Witch Sigrid de Hautdesert herself..?! A good one, too–from my private collection.” You might’ve offered an autographed poster, but you don’t actually have any.
>”I’m afraid I’ve already seen all your posters–both savory and unsavory.” Leshy regards you with a shrug. Your master shoots you a befuddled look. “But.. no. Without anything of equal value to trade, then we’ll have to resort to contest, I’m afraid.”

The old man reaches over the side of his horse, and–seemingly from nowhere–draws a large axe from his side. The weapon measures near your height in length and breadth.
>“We shall play a beheading game for my beard hair.” The god hefts the immense axe over his shoulder with ease. “Your master will strike for my neck. Then I, for hers. What say you?”
>>
>>5886347
>You might have trouble with that at her current height.
>>
>>5886347
>"But you're a god! How can she trim the beard of a god?"
>>
>>5886347
"I have complete and utter faith in my Master inevitable success!"
>>
>>5886347
>"I'll take on this contest myself. You and I shall play the beheading game."
>>
>>5886347
>>5886352
+1
Remember what Sigrid said about going with the flow and all that.
>>
>>5886347
>>5886352
>>5886393
>"You might have trouble with that at her current height."
>"I'll take on this contest myself. You and I shall play the beheading game."
>>
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>>5886352
>>5886383
>>5886391
>>5886393
>>5886440
>>5886475

“My lady may have some trouble with that at her current height.” You look to your master, who still resembles a grouchy snail. “I can take on this contest myself–play along with this ‘beheading ga–”
“No, Snuff.” Sigrid barks, more force in her voice than usual. “I’ll do it.”

>”That’s right. You’re not the one after my beard hair, are you, boy?” Leshy grins. “This isn’t your quest, is it? It’s hers. You’re just along for the ride.”
You’d open your mouth to protest, but your master seems intent that you don’t involve yourself in this.

>”Now.. it’s only sporting that you strike first. I was the one to propose the contest, after all.” The old man swings the axe up with a grunt and holds it out to your master–but strangely, as she takes it up in her hands, the weight of the axe seems to shift to accommodate her new form. Your master handles the axe with a comfortable sense of ease and finesse.

“..Okay, Leshy.” Your master hefts the axe up and down a few times in her hands, a tired look in her eyes. “Let’s get it over with. Kneel.”

>”Of course. Great Witch Sigrid.” The god regards her mockingly, kneeling in the grass before her. The hobbled, hunch-backed old man seems almost infinitely larger now than before. You feel the wind in the air run thin.
“Now..” She takes a long, deep breath, eyes shut. “..Off with your head.”

Your master swings the axe down onto the god’s neck. A spurt of blood flies from the cut and spatters her cheek. A gasp of air escapes the god’s lungs as his body collapses onto the ground. A gentle breeze rustles the grass all around you as the head rolls to his side. Your master seems all too comfortable with the killing, though you can’t say for certain all that experience comes from dealing with gods.

“There. Done.” Sigrid sighs as she turns you. “Snuff? You should turn around. You’re not going to like what happens next.”
“..Lady Sigrid?” You watch your master kneel in turn.

>Follow her wishes and turn around.
>Keep your eyes on her. What if Leshy tries something?
>Grab her hand and try to pull her away from here.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5886533
>>Keep your eyes on her. What if Leshy tries something?
>>
Oh, I get it.
She'll be fine. More portable, realy.
>>
>>5886533
>Keep your eyes on her. What if Leshy tries something?
Don't do anything. You just need to burn what's going to happen into your mind and not react yet. There'll be time for that later.
>>
>>5886533
>Follow her wishes and turn around.
>>
>>5886533
>>Follow her wishes and turn around.
>>
>>5886533
>Follow her wishes and turn around.
>>
>>5886533
>Follow her wishes and turn around.
We'll trust Lady Sigrid. We can't do everything for her, after all.
>>
>>5886533
>Keep your eyes on her. What if Leshy tries something?
>>
>>5886533
>Follow her wishes and turn around.
>>
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>>5886542
>>5886544
>>5886545
>>5886550
>>5886553
>>5886557
>>5886562
>>5886587
>>5886597

“..Very well, Lady Sigrid.” You decide it best to place your trust in your master. You take a deep breath and turn around–and, for good measure, you shut your eyes.
You hold your breath as you do. You feel the gentle rustling of grass about your sabots, the lapping of the sea breeze on your face. You feel everything falling silent about you as something behind you stands up. You hear the gentle creak of bone and flesh, a thrum of fingers around wood. You hear your lady’s short, sharp gasps.

>”Have off thy helm from thine head.” Leshy’s voice rings in your head “And have here thy pay.”
You hear the swing of steel as it cuts through the air–the squelch of flesh and spatter of liquid against skin–and then a thud as it cleaves the sea. You continue to hold your breath in wait.
>"Boy.” Leshy’s voice commands. “Turn around. Take a look at your master. See what she really is."
>>
>>5886599
>Turn around.
How could you disobey a god? What a grand and intoxicating innocence.
>>
>>5886599
>Turn around
Master...?
>>
>>5886599
No, I do not believe I will.
>>
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Also, a slightly older drawing. Bredbeddle is a fan of gnome music.
>>
>>5886599
We were told to go along with him, right?
>>
>>5886599
>Dew it
>>
>>5886599
>Turn around
>Scream internally
>>
>>5886599
Nnnnnnnnnno!
>>
>>5886599
>Turn around
It's the skinwalker, I'm calling it.
>>
>>5886599
>Turn around
>>
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>>5886600
>>5886601
>>5886602
>>5886624
>>5886647
>>5886675
>>5886679
>>5887038

You take another deep breath and turn around.

Leshy holds up Sigrid’s head in his hands by the hair. It hangs limp and lifeless.

>”Stay," quoth the god, "and ye shall speedily have that which I promised ye–see your master for what she really is.”

You feel a strange pulling sensation emanating from it–drawing you to look into your master, like a swirling vortex..
>>
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You feel the primordial sea stretch to infinity all about you, grasses rising and crashing around you like waves. The sky shrinks to the size of a pinprick as the wilds dominate all else. Your body seems to go tumbling–spinning, twirling–into the endless sea of green, a seed of grain in the endless fields of the psychosphere. You are brought somewhere far, far away.
>>
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You come from the dark with a jolt, splayed out across the ground like clothes dashed out to try. You are.. somewhere unfamiliar to you.

You try to take stock of your surroundings–.. you are somewhere small, warm, cozy–it appears to be a home, perhaps..? You reach for a small table and try to pull yourself up only to bump your head against the ceiling.

You are just a little too large for the room–your hood scrapes the roof at a hunch, and you could sprawl yourself out across all the furniture with ease.

You catch a faint mildewy damp scent in the air intermingling with the scent of baking as well as a few stray voices from the other room.

>Call for Lady Sigrid.
>Call for Leshy.
>Move toward sounds of voices.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5887261
>Call for Lady Sigrid.
>>
>>5887261
>Move toward sounds of voices.
>>
>>5887261
>Move toward sounds of voices.
>>
>>5887261
>Move toward sounds of voices.
>Be all stealthy-like
>>
oh so this is like her inner world where she's a kid and we realize that she's not actually a bitch she's just trying way too hard to not be her parents
>>
>>5887261
>Move toward sounds of voices.
Damn Leshy's got a baller beard
>>
>>5887286
Journey to the center of the mind! or maybe she just ahs huge insecurities for some other reason. Or maybe, rather than a halfling, she's... Something else?? Like a BIG NERD?
>>
>>5887261
>>Call for Leshy.
>>
>>5887261
>Move toward sounds of voices.
>Quietly.
>>
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>>5887262
>>5887272
>>5887274
>>5887284
>>5887321
>>5887425
>>5887464

>Move toward sounds of voices.
>Quietly.

You decide to play this quiet-like, moving toward the sound of voices with your feet light and head low (more a result of the low ceiling, but still). You find the home around you very lived-in: etchings in the wall in crayon, wooden toys scattered along the flooring, discolored patches in furniture, all the walls done up in countless frames and photos.. it reminds you of your own home back in the country.
You find a scent wafting past as you approach the voices–something sweet and savory all at once–and the sound of voices mixes with clattering pots and pans. You gently ease past the crook of one wall to peer into the next room over, where you’re near bowled over by a pair of halfling kids.
The kids seem too stuck in their world to notice your presence, blowing down into the hall in the midst of a game of tag. The kitchen before you is rife with many just like them–girls and boys, children and infants, shouting over each other and playing games and picking their noses. The one stood at the stove–a head or two taller than the rest–is simultaneously stirring and lidding about seven pots at once while cradling a baby in the crook of her arm and shouting down at the rest of them.

“Luckiwise, put that down. It’s hot.” Her voice is firm despite the exhaustion written in her face. “Maybell–no–there’s no lizardman cheese left. You’ll have to make due like the rest of us. And for gods’ sake, Brandibuck, would you go fetch Bertie?”
“Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec, ma..” Brandibuck, a young boy halfling sat at a massive round table, seems to be in the midst of an intense card game with himself.

>Make your presence known.
>Attempt to get fetch ‘Bertie’ yourself.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5888128
>Make your presence known.
>>
>>5888128
>>Attempt to get fetch ‘Bertie’ yourself.
>>
>>5888128
>Look around for our master
Which one of these kids is her, huh? Or is her witch name an affectation, like Bobbington/Snuff?
>>
>>5888128
>>Attempt to get fetch ‘Bertie’ yourself.
>>
>>5888128
>Make your presence known.
>Tell them that they're cool people, not like those nasty gnomes.
>>
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>>5888136
>>5888152
>>5888244
>>5888338
>>5888566

>Attempt to go fetch ‘Bertie’ yourself.
>Look around for our master

You do a brief scan around the kitchen–halflings, one and all, short and freckly and hairy–but your master does not seem to number among them. You would recognize her keen glare and heavy eyebags out of any crowd of half-feet. You decide to instead try your hand around the rest of the hovel.
You creep away from the kitchen, down a few round tunnels and into a hallway–this one in particular is a real mess, a far cry from the relative cleanliness of the rest of the house. The floor is rife with balls and books and wax crayons, spatters of paint on the wall and plates along the ground. The hall is lined with doors, each embossed with a small aluminum plaque–you recognize some of these names from the kitchen.
You read the plates as you pass–Maybell, Pippinack, Marleberry, Applewink, Billicup, Brandibuck.. and at the very end of the hall, above a dim and dusty door, is a nameplate that reads “Bertilak.” You glance it up and down–the door slightly askew–before slowly peering in through the crack.

The room is a right mess–books piled high in every corner atop every piece of furniture from bed to shelf, strange wooden stick effigies hanging by twine from the ceiling, and all manner of odd trinkets and baubles decorating the floor. The room is dark and kind of creepy, distinct from the warm homeliness of the rest of the home.
And in the center of the room, elbow deep in a small toy chest, is a young halfling–eyes heavy and dark, brown hair tangled and knotted over her eyes. The girl’s got a sharper look in her eyes than the others you saw at the dining table–more bitter, a little red. She glances over her shoulder back at you as the door creaks.
“Snuff, there you–..” The halfling begins, before realizing the situation. “Snuff?! What the hell are you doing inside my head!?”
“Leshy brought me in, Lady.. Sigrid..? Is that.. you?” You squint in shock. “You–you’ve gotten smaller! Your condition seems to be getting worse..”

“I’m not getting smaller. I’m just young again. I’m–we’re–in a memory.” Your master rubs her eyes. “And it’s not a ‘condition.’ I’m just a halfling.”

>Ask to know what’s going on and what she’s doing.
>Pinch her cheeks.
>Try calling her Bertie.
>[Write-In.]
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>>5889067
>Pinch her cheeks.
D'aww~
>Ask to know what’s going on and what she’s doing.
Sorry, couldn't help myself
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>>5889071
>Try calling her Bertie.
>Ask to know what’s going on and what she’s doing.
"So, Bertie -- I mean, MASTER Bertie -- what's going n? Are you... Dead? Did Leshy kill you?"
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>>5889067
>Ask to know what’s going on and what she’s doing.
>”Also, I’m glad your head wasn’t actually chopped off, Master… although…”
>Pinch her cheeks to make sure her head is still on.
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>>5889067
>>Pinch her cheeks.
>>Ask to know what’s going on and what she’s doing.
>>
>>5889112
>>5889100
>>5889071
>all this cheek pinching
Didn't go well for Mort over in Redhorn...
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>>5889071
>>5889085
>>5889100
>>5889112
>>5889130

>Ask to know what’s going on and what she’s doing.
>”Also, I’m glad your head wasn’t actually chopped off, Master… although…”
>Pinch her cheeks to make sure her head is still on.

“My lady..! It really is you!” You’d recognize that sheer exhaustion and irritation anywhere! You breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m relieved to see your head wasn’t chopped off, but.. What’s going on..? Where are we?”
“We’re in my head.” Sigrid sighs, returning to rooting through the toy chest. “It’s a beheading game, Snuff–Leshy chops your head off and drags you into your own memories. You have to escape by passing through memories–lapsing them, as it were, by breaking the sequen–HEY.”

Your master suddenly snaps at you as you reach out to pinch her cheeks, biting down onto your hand hard. You wince in pain as you shrivel back. “Achk–”
“Ahem. E-..excuse the outburst.” Your lady clears her throat. “I remember you–everything, of course–but.. the magic of the memory influences how you act. And at this age, I tended toward biting people. So please refrain from doing anything strange. I’d rather you not influence my head in weird ways.”

“..My apologies.” You bow your head, making a mental note not to pinch her cheeks in this memory. “Then in that case, Lady Bertilak.. what are you doing?”
“Like I said, we have to try to break out of the memory by lapsing it–doing something in this memory I couldn’t possibly fathom and passing into another memory. Unfortunately, that’s a lot harder than just going somewhere I never went or doing something I never did. My fantastic intellect means that I can imagine innumerable scenarios and fill in lots of gaps myself.. so I have to try and be creative about this. I’m looking for anything that might help.” Your master grimaces. “And Snuff?”

“Yes, Lady Bertilak?” You ask her. “Or.. would you prefer Bertie, or..?”
“If you ever call me Lady Bertilak or Bertie again, I’ll renounce your apprenticeship.” She hisses. “Never, ever call me that again. My name is Sigrid de Hautdesert.”

>Help her root through the chest.
>Look around her room for something.
>Attempt to cast a spell.
>Ask about her family. It seems a lot like yours.
>Suggest your own means of breaking her memory. [Write-In.]
>[Write-In.]
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>>5889189
>Bite her back in this new game of Bertie-Biter.
>Ask how many times she's done this before.
>The beheading game, not biting people.
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>>5889189
>”…wait, Master? If you don’t like going by that name, wouldn’t you pretending to prefer going by that name in here be something that you couldn’t conceive of, thus getting you into the next memory? Or is it more of that at this point of time, that name didn’t have the baggage that came with it from later situations, thus rendering using that name on purpose pointless?”
>Ask about her family. It seems a lot like yours.
>>
>>5889189
>Apologize profusely and urgently
Our apprenticeship! NOOO!

>Ask about her family. It seems a lot like yours.
>Suggest your own means of breaking her memory
If her response to her birth name and her similarities to us reflect a similar family dynamic, probably the most shocking/memory-breaking thing she could do is make up with her mom or dad or whoever she begrudges. She much bregrudge SOMEONE enough to change her name and turn her old one into a "dead" name... Unless she just really goddamn hates the name "Bertilak", which is also pretty reasonable desu.
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>>5889191
>biting our master
>calling her Bertie again
You're gonna' get us replaced by that full-elf rival of ours, anon.
>>
>>5889189
>Attempt to cast a spell.
Good to know if we can or not
I'm sure even she can't imagine the full range of possibilities our wild magic can realize.

Also why didn't she let us play in her place? We're way dumber UH I MEAN more imaginative, we could break out easy with a little heads up.
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>>5889189
>Help her root through the chest.
>Ask about her family. It seems a lot like yours.
>Attempt to cast a spell.
>>
>>5889189
>Ask about her family. It seems a lot like yours.
>>
>>5889191
>>5889208
>>5889216
>>5889219
>>5889224
>>5889228
>>5889294

>Ask about her family. It seems a lot like yours.
>”…wait, Master? If you don’t like going by that name, wouldn’t you pretending to prefer going by that name in here be something that you couldn’t conceive of, thus getting you into the next memory? Or is it more of that at this point of time, that name didn’t have the baggage that came with it from later situations, thus rendering using that name on purpose pointless?”
>Attempt to cast a spell.

You watch your master take to digging through her toy chest (presumably on the lookout for any old trinket to do.. something with) while you lean against the doorway, brainstorming. “So.. my lady..” You remember not to mess up the name. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen your family. You never mention them in any interviews, but.. they seem nice. They seem a lot like mine, actually.”

“Well, they’re not like yours, Snuff.” Sigrid tosses a small glass bottle over her shoulder. “This memory–.. I came home from school one evening to find my mother had thrown my books on witchcraft into the hearth. Said she thought I’d grown out of them and needed kindling. Didn’t even bother to apologize. Got into a big argument with her over it, so I locked myself in my room for the night and refused to come out for second dinner.”
“..I see.” You can’t imagine. Your father spilt olive oil on your wizard’s cape once and had sewn you a new one right away.

“I sobbed all night over it.” Her voice drips with bitterness. “My mother thought I was wasting my time on a hopeless endeavor. My siblings treated me like a monster–called me a lich freak. This is the night I swore I’d become a witch, no matter what it took. And I did. And they’re still getting fat on breakfast cakes in some muddy, wormy hole in the ground.”
“So.. that’s why you refuse to go by Bert–er, that name, Lady Sigrid..?” You ask.
>>
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“No. It’s because Bertilak is an awful name.” Sigrid scoffs. “Bertie.. just ugly. Bleh. I took the nom de sorcellerie Sigrid from my favorite witch, Sigrun la Sylvestris of the Lake. I actually based some elements of my human form off her appearance as well."
“Oh. I see.” You nod. It is kind of an ugly name. You decide to turn your attention to more important matters, however–removing your dyadic wand from your frock, you feel the familiar sensation of coursing WILD MAGIC through your veins. You may be able to use your wild card magic to your master’s advantage.

>Telepathic Bond: You forge a telepathic link among up to eight willing creatures of your choice within range, psychically linking each creature to all the others for the duration. You can communicate telepathically through the bond whether or not they have a common language and project images into others’ minds.
>Project Image: You create an illusory copy of yourself that lasts for the duration. The copy can appear at any location within range that you have seen before, regardless of intervening obstacles. The illusion looks and sounds like you but is intangible. You can use your action to move this illusion up to twice your speed, and make it gesture, speak, and behave in whatever way you choose. It mimics your mannerisms perfectly and you can see through its eyes and hear through its ears as if you were in its space.
>Modify Memory: You attempt to reshape another creature's memories. You can affect the target's memory of an event that it experienced within the last 24 hours and that lasted no more than 10 minutes. You can permanently eliminate all memory of the event, allow the target to recall the event with perfect clarity and exacting detail, change its memory of the details of the event, or create a memory of some other event.
>Dispel the spells. You see no need to cast anything.
>[Write-In.]
>>
Man these are all interesting spells. I bet Modify Memory has the potential to kill them both lmao. Could it help otherwise in jarring the memory?
Telepathic Bond could be for spooking or deceiving them, but would it work on a memory?
Project Image could be useful if we want to spare Sigrid from having to do things herself. Or we could do some shenanigans somehow.
Honestly I don't know, I'll leave it up to smarter anons on what we should pick.
>>
>>5889384
>Modify Memory: You attempt to reshape another creature's memories. You can affect the target's memory of an event that it experienced within the last 24 hours and that lasted no more than 10 minutes. You can permanently eliminate all memory of the event, allow the target to recall the event with perfect clarity and exacting detail, change its memory of the details of the event, or create a memory of some other event.
We can use this to create an implausible event which our master couldn't conceive of. maybe something like... her idol, Sigrun la Sylvestris of the Lake, arriving to spirit her away and turn her mother into a newt for disrespecting her youthful enthusiasm?
>>
>>5889384
>>Telepathic Bond: You forge a telepathic link among up to eight willing creatures of your choice within range, psychically linking each creature to all the others for the duration. You can communicate telepathically through the bond whether or not they have a common language and project images into others’ minds.
>>
>>5889384
>Telepathic Bond: You forge a telepathic link among up to eight willing creatures of your choice within range, psychically linking each creature to all the others for the duration. You can communicate telepathically through the bond whether or not they have a common language and project images into others’ minds.
Wonder how it works to read the mind of a memory
>>
>>5889384
>Telepathic Bond: You forge a telepathic link among up to eight willing creatures of your choice within range, psychically linking each creature to all the others for the duration. You can communicate telepathically through the bond whether or not they have a common language and project images into others’ minds.
>>
>>5889384
>Modify Memory: You attempt to reshape another creature's memories. You can affect the target's memory of an event that it experienced within the last 24 hours and that lasted no more than 10 minutes. You can permanently eliminate all memory of the event, allow the target to recall the event with perfect clarity and exacting detail, change its memory of the details of the event, or create a memory of some other event.
>>
>>5889384
>Modify Memory
>>
>>5889384
>Telepathic Bond
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>>5889438
>>5889465
>>5889484
>>5889524
>>5889706
>>5889708
>>5889723
>>5889902

>Telepathic Bond: You forge a telepathic link among up to eight willing creatures of your choice within range, psychically linking each creature to all the others for the duration. You can communicate telepathically through the bond whether or not they have a common language and project images into others’ minds.

You settle on telepathic bond--neurons sparking and brain crackling, magic sparks flows from your cortex into your spine and through to your fingertips. You feel the telepathic pathways extend like tendrils from your wand and brain and sprawl like an octopus out across the room.

"Telepathic Bond." You try to control the electric tendrils, but they break from your grasp for just a moment, undulating and squirming for the nearest thought.

You feel just the briefest crackle as your tendrils connect with your master's--interlinking your thoughts with her brain, causing her thoughts to seep into yours--before the connection breaks. Your master shoots you a glance.

"Telepathic Bond? Really?" Sigrid scoffs. "I hope you're not planning on looking any deeper into my brain. You're standing in it."

>Ask to connect with Lady Sigrid again.
>Reach out to her family.
>Recall the spell.
>[Write-In.]
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>>5890118
>Reach out to her family.
If we're doing this, we're doing this. let's see how it even works in here!
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>>5890118
>Reach out to her family.
The Halfling Mind Network begins NOW
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>>5890118
>Reach out to her family.
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>>5890118
>reach out to the senpai
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>>5890118
>Reach out to her family.
Some interesting thoughts she has, "miss my tits" is killing me.
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>>5890166
>>5890170
>>5890182
>>5890209
>>5891173

>Reach out to her family.

“I may be able to manage a lapse if I could connect with your family–seeing what they’ve got going on inside their head may be the break in perspective necessary, my lady.” You focus your thoughts, tendrils thrumming out from your wand and curling into the next room over, odd memories and ideas undulating beneath your brain..
“If you’re looking for an emotional breakthrough from one of my family members in the hopes that they embrace and accept me, it’s not going to happen.” Sigrid scoffs. “I might remind you that this isn’t time travel, Snuff, this is a memory. The ghosts in the other room aren’t really my family, but what I remember of them–and the thoughts you read of theirs represent what I think they thought, not what they actually thought. I’ve a good read on people, and the memory might seem real–but this is nowhere close to the real thing. This is all a simulacrum of my reality, not how it actually is.”
You feel your thoughts gently ease and connect with your lady’s, and then with her family, one by one in a pool of hazy memory and thought. Your master was right: unlike her own, the thoughts of her memory family are less complex, more flat and two-dimensional. You don’t suppose she thought much of them–or, thought they thought much of her, as confusing as it is trying to wrap your head around the situation. You are at least sure that the spell has done its job, at least.

>Try to connect her mother’s thoughts with her.
>Try to project her current memories to her family.
>Project your mental image of a bikini-clad Sigrid to the family.
>[Write-In.]
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>>5891196
>Try to connect her mother’s thoughts with her.
>Try to project her current memories to her family.
Confront her mother with an image of the Great Witch Sigrid de Hautdesert in all her glory, and see how she addresses the knowledge that she was wrong about her daughter.

Worth a go?
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>>5891196
>>5891196
>Try to project a mental image of Sigrid today. Not her human persona, but her as she truly is.
Maybe the family would be more happy to see her halfling self rather than the fake one?
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>>5891196
>Try to connect her mother’s thoughts with her.
>>
>>5891196
>>Try to project a mental image of Sigrid today. Not her human persona, but her as she truly is.
>>
>>5891196
>Try to project a mental image of Sigrid today. Not her human persona, but her as she truly is.
Which obviously means bikini-clad
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>>5891196
Sigrid thinks at least one family member believes elves are fake? Huh.

>Try to project a mental image of a bikini clad elven apprentice rival.

>Try to connect her mother’s thoughts with her.
Feedback loop lets goooo
Sell the idea as uh confronting her unconscious biases or something.
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>>5891409
>Sell the idea as uh confronting her unconscious biases or something.
You think she'd buy that? Anyway that's a based idea man.
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>>5891222
>>5891257
>>5891331
>>5891368
>>5891385
>>5891409
>>5891553

>Try to connect her mother’s thoughts with her.
>Try to project a mental image of Sigrid today. Not her human persona, but her as she truly is.
>Sell the idea as uh confronting her unconscious biases or something.

"Ah--I've got an idea, Lady Sigrid." You thumb through the index of minds and thoughts available to you. “What I were to link your brain with your mother’s..? You know–project a mental image of you as you are today to her–not your human persona, but you as you truly are. You can–.. you know.. confront your unconscious bi–”
“You don’t need to bullshit me Snuff.” Your master waves her hand. “I can see the idea. You can write a feedback loop–I think of what my mother thinks of me as what I think of me as what my mother thinks of me, so on and so forth, ad infinitum. It’s a clever idea. But risky–I’ve only been able to intuit the mechanics of this memory world from past experiences, and I’ve no clue as to what mental magic like that could do while I’m in my own mind. This is the first time I’ve ever had another spellcaster with me during a memory..”

“You’d rather I not do it, then..?” You ask, hand careful on the tendril that connects their thoughts.
“The greatest developments in all of magic history have never once come from first asking for permission. Just do it. I trust you not to fry my brain. Sever the connection if you feel anything amiss.” Your master grimaces. “The best case scenario is that we get out of this scene fast. The worst case is that I start acting and speaking like my mother. Please kill me if that happens.”
“Of course, my lady.” You bow your head as you plug the two minds together.

The connection comes between the two like wires crossing–neurons sparking, electricity flowing, you feel thoughts ebbing and flowing between the two. You project a mental image of your lady–as unbiased and grounded in reality as you can manage–between the two links. And just like your master said, her perception of her mother’s perception of her perception of her mother’s perception begins to bounce between the two heads. The neural network crackles with light as the ground beneath you seems to undulate and sink. The walls fade into swirling wet paint, the floorboards curling up about you like a wooden embrace.

You feel that same tugging, pulling sensation you felt when you first saw your lady’s head, and you begin crossing into another passing memory.
>>
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You come to with a jolt on the floor. You lift your head groggily, rail spikes pounding into your head with each breath. You try to shake the sensation off as a voice cuts through the haze of pain.
“The good news is you didn’t fry my brain.” Sigrid sits atop a bunk before you, eyes low. “The bad news is that I wish you had.”

You begin to take stock of your surroundings as you reorient. The room is redolent with the smell of ink and bullywug acid. You see oaken panels flooring the ground, a domed ceiling yawning above you. The room is messy: stacks of papers and half-empty bottles lining the shelves and floors, books spilling over themselves from off the shelves, the mattress hanging like a fat white tongue off the nook. You find your eyes drawn to the colorful tapestries lining the wall, lit up with posters of various witches and wizards, flyers for capitol delis and restaurants, school assignments..
“Ahh–..ahh!” Your face lights up in recognition and delight. “We’re at St. August’s Conservatory! Ah..! I missed this place!”

“We are. This was my dorm room.” Your master looks.. different. Her last form had that kind of half-foot charm as they clumsily grow into themselves–eyes and ears a bit too big for themselves, almost rabbit-like–but she seems to have quickly outgrown it. Her hair is a matted mess, her eyes are lined with dark bags, and she exudes a kind of creepy greasiness. She reminds you a bit of a creepy lizardwoman stalker you had back at the conservatory, actually..

>Ask Sigrid about the memory.
>Take a moment to enjoy the conservatory setting. It’s been a while since you’ve been here.
>Ask Sigrid why she looks like that. Is the memory really that awful?
>Get to casting. You’ve got to hurry out of here!
>[Write-In.]
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>>5891617
>Take a moment to enjoy the conservatory setting. It’s been a while since you’ve been here.
>Try not to think about the lizardwoman. You had to start wearing a hood to keep your loose hairs safe...
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>>5891617
>Take a moment to enjoy the conservatory setting. It’s been a while since you’ve been here.
>Try not to think about the lizardwoman. You had to start wearing a hood to keep your loose hairs safe...
>Ask Sigrid why she looks like that. Is the memory really that awful?
>>
>>5891617
>>5891634
+1
>>
>>5891645
+1

>>5891617
>Take a moment to enjoy the conservatory setting. It’s been a while since you’ve been here.
>Try not to think about the lizardwoman. You had to start wearing a hood to keep your loose hairs safe...
>Ask Sigrid why she looks like that. Is the memory really that awful?
>>
>>5891617
>Take a moment to enjoy the conservatory setting. It’s been a while since you’ve been here.
>>
>>5891617
>Ask Sigrid why she looks like that. Is the memory really that awful?
I bet she got bullied
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>>5891634
>>5891645
>>5891653
>>5891655
>>5891656
>>5891773

>Take a moment to enjoy the conservatory setting. It’s been a while since you’ve been here.
>Try not to think about the lizardwoman. You had to start wearing a hood to keep your loose hairs safe...
>Ask Sigrid why she looks like that. Is the memory really that awful?

You take a moment to breathe in the air and admire the atmosphere: the scent of magic suffusing the alchemical reagents in the air, the thrum of motor carriage wheels against cobble from the capitol streets, and the cool breeze of the Phorsyic that wafts by every now and then. You love your master and the chapel, of course, and you wouldn’t trade your position for the world, but still..
The chapel is a still and quiet place, a corpse overgrown by flowers and chickens where your housemates are quiet and distant. The conservatory is a live and restless body, one where students and teachers alike study and work and trade spells and cause disasters–it wasn’t uncommon for one or two students to die every week, and a major incident to occur every two to three weeks.

You can think of no magic academy that comes close to the conservatory’s statue, and it was the danger and death of all of it that led to those very breakthroughs. You had your studies, friends, research opportunities.. you were actually on track to TA for a course on the biology of beasts with magic organelles (a course with a 35% mortality rate) until your apprenticeship was given former approval.
Your apprenticeship’s approval came not a minute too soon–you were the subject of affection for a very pushy lizardfolk classmate whose lust for you had begun to spiral out of control. You’ve no quarrel against lizardfolk nor prejudice for their appearance–and you thought her nice enough–but when you found bits of skin she’d shed in the omelets she gifted you, you’d been a little grossed out.

Actually, where did the eggs for those omelets come from..? You push the thought out of your mind immediately and refocus. “You look a little.. unkempt, my lady.” You try to be nice about it. “A rough morning?”
“No. I always looked like this. The wizards and witches at the cutting edge of magic don’t have time to fret over appearances–they’re too busy working.” Your master snorts with derision. “I only began to take care of myself after I was given the title great: showering daily, combing and curling my hair, applying makeup, wearing different outfits.. it’s all a massive hassle for public appearances. I kind of miss this. No, this is the day I was expelled from the conservatory for the first time. Where the title “the Disinherited” comes from..“

>Ask for details. Anything to help work on breaking her out of it.
>Begin conjuring up a spell. You’d better get to work on breaking this memory fast.
>Try to remember the details of how conservatory expulsion works.
>Wait, where did those omelet eggs come from?
>[Write-In.]
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>>5892172
>Ask for details. Anything to help work on breaking her out of it.
>Try to remember the details of how conservatory expulsion works.
>>
>>5892172
>Ask for details. Anything to help work on breaking her out of it.
>Try to remember the details of how conservatory expulsion works.
>>
>>5892172
>Try to remember the details of how conservatory expulsion works.
>Ask for details. Anything to help work on breaking her out of it.
>Ask if, on a totally unrelated note, serving a classmate eggs you laid was the sort of expense which could get a person expelled
hahaha, just asking for a friend, no reason...
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>>5892172
>Wait, where did those omelet eggs come from?
Once thought it cannot be unthought
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>>5892471
+1
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>>5892471
+1
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>>5892198
>>5892299
>>5892471
>>5892582
>>5892828
>>5892903

>Try to remember the details of how conservatory expulsion works.
>Ask for details. Anything to help work on breaking her out of it.

You’re not all that familiar with the details of conservatory expulsion–being that it is extraordinarily rare for the conservatory to disinherit a student–but you’ve some understanding of the proceedings.
The student is brought before a tribunal made up of a council of iudices for their area of study: for arcanists, the council is made up of the deans of schools, with abjuration, transmutation, conjuration, divination, enchantment, evocation, illusion, and necromancy, for a total of eight judges (your mother being the dean of divination). The council would hear the student’s plea and vote on their fate, to either expel or forgive them.
You haven’t seen one expulsion in your time at the conservatory yourself–in fact, you’ve seen one student kill another and been let off with a suspension. The academy values the talent and innovation it breeds more so than even the laws of the land itself.. so the likelihood they would expel a witch for serving a classmate eggs they laid seems low.

“It may help to get some details on to break us out of the memory. You were expelled for studying.. ghost magic, right?” Your brow furrows.
“Yes–cadaverine magic, ghost magic, spirit magic.. the common school of thought was that it was a subdomain of necromancy, but we now know its a wholly unique field with its own schools just like arcane and divine magic. It draws on the latent magical power of spirits to cast magic, just like divinists call on gods.” Your master seems happy to speak on it. “The magic’s been outlawed to study for the last millenia, with most books burned and research censored, after the Red Cathedral resurrected Lich King Mortis. But imagine that..! A whole field of magic, with its own unique schools and fields, ignored for a thousand years, just because one dusty lich almost split the planes and tried to split his spirit among seven million vessels.. what a waste, right?”

“Uh–yes.. it sounds very much like a waste, my lady.” You nod.
“Anyways, the practice is technically punishable by death everywhere–specifically, being burnt on the stake to ensure a total elimination of any residual ghost magic in the body.” Your master rests her hand on her cheek. “But, like everything the conservatory does, they broke from the laws of the land and simply expelled me–and warned that I had better keep my head low and out of capitol wizard affairs for a few years. The tribunal is in.. a few minutes from now.”
“A–a few minutes..?” You bawk. You hear a sudden knock-knock-knock from the dorm door, steel against wood.

“That must be them.” Sigrid sighs.

>Try to break out from the window.
>Peep through the crack in the door.
>Cast a spell.
>Go along to the tribunal with her.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5893007
>>Cast a spell.
>>
>>5893007
>Go along to the tribunal with her.
>>
>>5893007
>Go along to the tribunal with her.
Magic Lawyer Time!
>>
>>5893050
+1
Snuff Sigurdson, Aarcane Attorney!
>>
>>5893007
>Cast a spell.
hopefully we draw Polymorph Into Expert Lawyer
>>
>>5893007
>Go along to the tribunal with her.
Let's go, Turnabout Spirit
>>
>>5893021
>>5893036
>>5893050
>>5893079
>>5893102
>>5893197

>Go along to the tribunal with her.

“Then.. then..” You look around the dorm in a panic as the knocks grow louder. “Ah–I know! I can be your attorney for the tribunal! You know–pull a real turnabout last minute and save you..!”
“You want to actually go to the tribunal? ..Fine. I believe the council allows for one emotional support jester for students in the bailey.” Your master casts a lazy glance over the door. “I’d be impressed if you embarrassed me any more than the conservatory did, after all.”
“Sigrid de Hautdesert!” The door bursts open with a spark of light, a wizard at the head of an assembly of iron-clad conservatory guards. “Your hearing is about to begin–proceed to the courtroom at once!”

[...]

Your walk through the conservatory halls of your master’s time is all at once familiar and unfamiliar–a few hallways out of place, a bit less blood in the carpets–but you can’t much take the time to enjoy it. Your master is paraded and prodded through the halls in cuffs like an animal, students parting and gawking at her from the sides.
“They’d normally throw students under question in a cell before court–keep everything hush-hush, ensure students are out of the know.” Your master gnarls at you when she can. “But they shut me up in my dorm with a sealing spell and made a show of parading me through the halls to make an example of me–to break my spirit before the tribunal.”

The tribunal hall–a bailey, in the heart of the conservatory–sees far more use for awarding students accolades and commending advancements in the field of magic: banners done up in the green and gold of the academy’s colors, portraits of the founders and famous graduates, embossed wood and gilded panels. The hall is lively, light, proud, a place of festoons and garlands–but not now. A kind of solemn stillness hangs in the air as the bailiff shoves your master up to the dock before the nine deans–sat in their high chairs, they leer down at your lady with all manner of expression.
>>
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[...]


“The disciplinary tribunal is now in session.” The fair-haired elf at her seat looks bored, her judgment presumably passed well before the time of trial. “Sigrid de Hautdesert, necromancy undergraduate, is charged with the study of ghost magic, a magical heresy punishable by up to sixteen-hundred years in prison or death by fire at the stake. I ask that our iudices confirm their appearances here.”

“Anurak sri Singamangaraja, Ill-borne of the Old House, dean of the School of Illusion.” The mindflayer sits purple and pallid at his seat, his voice in your head low and solemn. “Present.”

A pause in the air. “It was decided Milady du-Saint-Winifred, dean of the School of Divination, would not appear at today’s proceedings, as her pre-existing relationship with the accused may influence her judgment.” The elf continues. “We will continue without her.”

“Morgan an Sprys XIX, Heir of the Revolution, Fair Elven Lady, High-Borne, dean of the School of Conjuration.” The fair-haired, long-eared elf continues, her name and titles clear and smooth from off her tongue. It is clear she’s familiar with them. “Present.”

“Sigismund. School a’transmutation. Here.” A scruffy, white-haired dwarf grunts.

“Angrboda af Járnviðr, the Gnome-Mother, dean of the School of Abjuration.” A sleepy-eyed gnome at the front smiles. “Here.”

“Erasmus de Orpheus III, dean of the School of Evocation, is present.” A human announces–white, beard, long hair.. a bit boring looking, to be honest.

“THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER, DEAN OF THE SCHOOL OF ENCHANTMENT, IS HERE.” THE EYE announces with a strange, guttural throat-like tone in your head.

“Balthazar Ayebaeki-Ipretemondifere-Aghosikigha, dean of the School of Necromancy, present.” A corpulent corpse of a man in a dark hood–pale flesh sloughing off, eyes aglow in red, he looks dead already. “I must say, Miss de Hautdesert.. it’s disappointing to see you here under these circumstances.”

“Wizards sure love their names and titles..” You observe. The deans don’t differ from your time at the conservatory, but you can’t say you’re all too familiar with any in particular..
“It was a close vote, as I recall.. 3 vs. 4.” Your master glances to you. “I can’t recall who supported me, but if you were able to convince just one who voted against me..”

>Allow the council to make their case.
>Hone in on a particular dean to make your case for. [Write-In.]
>Begin making the case for your master.
>Cast a spell.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5893288
>Allow the council to make their case
>Ask Balthazar where the Nightsong is
>>
>>5893288
>Allow the council to make their case.
>Ask Balthazar where the Nightsong is
>>
>>5893288
>Allow the council to make their case.
Court is now in session
>>
>>5893288
>Allow the council to make their case.
Now we're in the Turnabout Witching Hour arc
>>
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>>5893288
>Allow the council to make their case
Let's hear opening arguments, then REFUTE THEM
>>
>>5893288
>Allow the council to make their case.

>>5893007
>after the Red Cathedral resurrected Lich King Mortis.
This is truly a redhorn moment of all time
>>
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>>5893342
>>5893346
>>5893364
>>5893411
>>5893510
>>5893866

>Allow the council to make their case.

“The council may make their case.” You step out from behind your lady, hands on your back. “But know that I will be on any discrepancy like a hound!”
“Miss de Hautdesert, we must ask that your emotional support jester refrain from any more outbursts during proceedings.” The human graybeard sighs, tweaking his mustache. “The jester may only make jokes during quiet moments in the tribunal, or when we request it.”

“Yes, please keep that thing quiet.” Morgan, the haughty high-elf clears her throat. “..The accused is charged with the practice of ghost magic, with several hundred witness statements to corroborate, including students, guards, teachers, and some on the board ourselves.”
“I remember it well–fifth night of last week, a pillar of green light burst from our chapter house dormitory.” Balthazar sighs, hand on his face. “The morgue was shrieking, all sorts of ghosts and spirits being pulled into the vortex.. even had a cemetery down the road sending us formal writs of complaint for upsetting the dead. Embarrassing! If you’re going to practice forbidden magic, at least be discrete about it–just what have I been teaching you..?”
“The magic began to spread into the sky and crack clouds, like a roiling thunderstorm of spirits. The voice of countless dead hung in the air. I was in the midst of an anatomical class for illusionists–dissecting a corpse so they might better fabricate bodies–when the spirit just up and left my cadaver.” The mindflayer grimaces (somewhere beneath his tentacles). “I shot off to see to the mess myself.”
“The accused was found in her room in the necromancy chapter house dormitory, surrounded by several magic circles inscribed with forbidden runes and chanting in a dead tongue. The magical radiators in the room were so intense that they melted several rats into the walls.” The elf finishes. “I might add the room’s condition was deplorable–well beyond the standards we set for students here–and her RA was reprimanded and the student was billed for repairs. Just why are we wasting time on this half-foot, exactly?”

“I-I.. I-..” Sigrid attempts to speak, but her words seem to glom up in her mouth.
“I WOULD LIKE A JOKE NOW.” The eye of the beholder loudly demands.

>Demand more details. What ritual was she trying to perform?
>Tell a joke.
>Cast a spell.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5894219
>Demand more details. What ritual was she trying to perform?
>Tell a joke.
"The real joke, as I'm sure ab eyeball of great import like yourself can see, is this FARCE of a trial! What ritual was my m-- My CLIENT even trying to perform? if you don't know that, you can't prove anything about her intentions!"
>>
>>5894219
>Tell a joke.
Do not deny the beholder
>>
>>5894219
>Tell a joke.
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but pee is stored in the balls/Beholder? I hardly know her!/BeholDEEZ NUTS
>>
>>5894219
>Tell a joke.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
>>
>>5894219
>>Demand more details. What ritual was she trying to perform?
>>
>>5894219
>Demand more details. What ritual was she trying to perform?
>Tell a joke.
I suppose one could say that illusionists class were left for dead.
>>
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>>5894222
>>5894270
>>5894518
>>5894556
>>5894592
>>5894664

>Demand more details. What ritual was she trying to perform?
>Tell a joke.

"Well.. then, I-.. I suppose one might say that the class of illusionists was left for dead..!” You try your best joke off the top of your head.
You manage a few stifled laughs among the council, but most just look bored or annoyed. The eye rolls itself. The mindflayer looks upset. “It was a very important lecture–much of the material is on the next exam in a few days from now. I do not have the luxury to reschedule.” Anurak grimaces. “It is of no laughing matter.”

“For gods’ sake, why do we still allow in the emotional support jesters..?” Morgan whispers.
“The emotional support jester is a sacred tradition.” Sigismund barks. “You’ll get rid of ‘em soon as you get rid of me.”

“Well, the real joke is this farce of a trial!” You shout over their gibes, eager to establish yourself among the tribunal. “What ritual was my mast–er, my client even trying to perform? If you don’t even know that, you can’t prove she was actually practicing ghost magic..!”
“Ah. The ritual.” Balthazar kneads his forehead. “Yes, I saw the thing in her room myself. I personally led the team to disassemble it, piece-by-piece, and return all the parts to the morgue. It was very complex–knotted, intricately composed. I would compliment you were it not for the circumstances..”

“U-uh.. what..?” You glance back to your master.
“It was, uh-..” Your master’s eyes shoot about the room as she lowers her voice. “..The tribunal are speaking of Freyja–my first attempt to address the wine cask problem, before I came around to human transpeciation. I was able to keep up with the academic rigor of my classes, but my magical ability was lagging behind my peers, so.. I thought I was in need of a new body with decent magical capacity. I called her Freyja. The ritual was an attempt to transplant my soul into the chimera, but they cut me short before I could finish–”

“Your client stole student corpses from the conservatory morgue, sawed them apart, and glued them back together.” Morgan rests a hand on her cheek. “It was made of several different species–a kind of magical chimera–and she was in the midst of placing her soul into it to use their power. I recognized some of the students involved.”
“She didn't even file the right requisition forms for the parts! Didn’t pay the fees! It made putting them back in their place a real hassle..” Balthazar sighs.

“I mean, that’s– uh..” You try to phrase this right. “That’s.. wow, master..”

>Who hasn’t stolen corpses, glued parts together, and tried to transplant their soul into it? That’s innocent knucklehead kid stuff.
>Cast a spell.
>Attempt to escape.
>Ask your master about ‘Freyja.’
>Try to tell another joke.
>>
>>5895089
>Who hasn’t stolen corpses, glued parts together, and tried to transplant their soul into it? That’s innocent knucklehead kid stuff.
>>Ask your master about ‘Freyja.’
>>
>>5895089
Holy parallel thought, batman, this exact scenario was almost a plot-point in MY quest...

>>5895089
>Who hasn’t stolen corpses, glued parts together, and tried to transplant their soul into it? That’s innocent knucklehead kid stuff.
Seems like it should be punishable with a fine and suspension, really. it was ultimately a paperwork error!
>Ask your master about ‘Freyja.’
Maybe this could solve her current problem more permanently! Why did she abandon it?
>>
>>5895089
>Who hasn’t stolen corpses, glued parts together, and tried to transplant their soul into it? That’s innocent knucklehead kid stuff.
Wizards, no sense of right and wrong. Still, this sound pretty tame all things considered.
>>
>>5895089
>Who hasn’t stolen corpses, glued parts together, and tried to transplant their soul into it? That’s innocent knucklehead kid stuff.
Literally Balthazar looks like he already did that himself. Multiple times.
>>
>>5895154
>Literally Balthazar looks like he already did that himself. Multiple times.
Also worth bringing up.
>>
>>5895089
>>5895154
>>5895198
Supporting this.
>>
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>>5895107
>>5895116
>>5895128
>>5895154
>>5895198
>>5895236

>Who hasn’t stolen corpses, glued parts together, and tried to transplant their soul into it? That’s innocent knucklehead kid stuff.
>Ask your master about ‘Freyja.’
>Literally Balthazar looks like he already did that himself. Multiple times.

“..You stole student body parts from the morgue to stick together, lady Sigrid..?” You keep your voice low and nudge your master. “That’s, I mean.. was your construction of this ‘Freyja’ really worth it..?”
“Feh. Of course it was. The body I’d built had all the social and magical advantages of an elf on top of the physical advantages of all manner of races–lizardfolk, gnomes, humans, aarakocra.. and a handful of miscellaneous species internally.” Your master ruminates. “What a loss. It took me months to wait for the right students to die, to put her together..”
“Well.. it sounds like it could solve your current problem quite permanently, master.” You try to picture a chimera great witch as your master instead. It’s not all that difficult–just a little more scaly, a few more feathers here and there. “Why did you abandon the idea?”
“A human transpeciation potion is bit more ethically sound as a means to attain more power–and a human face is more merchandisable than an amalgam of several different species’ corpse with a hobbit soul inside.” Your master sighs wistfully. “Of course.. it would be a lie to say I’ve wholly abandoned the idea. I’ve ruminated on it before–the construction of a Freyja 2.0 with my current resources and power. Rather than piecing together the scrabble bits of dead students, I could use the corpses of great witches and wizards for her..! Imagine that! All the magical capacity, beauty, physicality of my forebears.. I would be the greatest great witch of all time! Practically a goddess! Imagine it, Snuff.. the Great Witch Freyja de Hautdesert, Lady of the Slain! Heh–.. heh heh..”

“WHY IS SHE GIGGLING.” The eye of the beholder loudly demands.
>>
You try to ignore your master’s dark, ominous laughter and turn your attention back to the board. “My client is a bit of a knucklehead, sure–she did a dumb thing. I don’t deny that. But we need to remember two salient facts! Fact 1: Nobody got hurt! Not a soul!” You begin to pace before their seats. “Fact 2: the counsel weighs all these charges on a small matter of necromancy. All my client did was steal some corpses, glue them together, and try to transplant her soul into it. That’s kid stuff for wizards. Just look at Balthazar! He looks like he’s done that to himself already! Multiple times..!”
“The issue with Miss de Hautdesert is not what she did–it is how she did it. We have not once taken issue with soul transplantation–the heresy in question is ghost magic.” Morgan speaks firmly. “Soul Jar is a perfectly acceptable, legal spell under the Concordat of Maggots. A necromancy student can transplant their soul into a corpse with the full approval of this counsel, so long as they’ve filed the requisitioned the appropriate contracts and purchased the parts from our in-house morgue. Your client not only stole the parts, but the ritual circles and chants she used were identified as ghost magic, not necromancy–a heresy punishable by death by fire in the common world. I believe I’ve said enough.”

The elven lady raises her gavel. “I vote to disinherit Sigrid de Hautdesert from the Saint August Conservatory. And remove her emotional support jester from the premises along with her.”
“I’ve actually transplanted my soul six times already.” Balthazar sighs. “I hate to do this to such a promising young necromancy student.. but laws are laws. We need to abide by them, lest this all fall into chaos. I vote to disinherit Sigrid de Hautdesert from the Saint August Conservatory.”

>Make the case that ghost magic isn’t so bad. Surely, they can look past this?
>Try to reach out to another specific wizard on the counsel. You need only convince one. [Write-In.]
>Try to flee.
>Cast a spell!
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5895487
>Make the case that ghost magic isn’t so bad. Surely, they can look past this?
What's even the DIFEFRENCE between 'ghost magic' and 'necromancy magic that affects souls', anyway?

(We can sue the lecture which will no doubt result from these authoritative fuddy-duddies to stall while we do the next bit...)
>Cast a spell!
>>
>>5895487
>Make the case that ghost magic isn’t so bad. Surely, they can look past this?
>>
Hmmmm, don't we need to just convince one person? Isn't that how we get to the next memory?
>>
>>5895487
>Make the case that ghost magic isn’t so bad. Surely, they can look past this?
Ghost magic is necromancy adjacent! If anything it's Balthazar's fault for not making sure students knew the difference. His expulsion vote is just to cover his own ass!

>>5895669
The vote was 3 vs 4, so we need to convince one of the 4. So far Morgan and Balthazar look like 2 of the 4, Anurak is probably a third. I want to believe the beholder isn't 4th because it's based. Sigismund, Angrboda, and Erasmus all haven't really talked so hard to guess how they voted, but Sigismund seems like a stickler for tradition so he might be the fourth.
>>
>>5895487
>Make the case that ghost magic isn’t so bad. Surely, they can look past this?
At the very least, the school should have to explain in better detail what differences there are between Ghost Magic and Necromancy, what the practical uses Necromancy has that has it be a recognized school of magic rather than something that would lead to pyre burning or outright stoning, and whether this is just wizards once again scapegoating the shamantic traditions as "Dangerous" and "Subversive" just because they prefer their clan organizations rather than accept Magiocratic rule as standard.

>>5886606
So, what music would this fall under, then?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EE-LD2EcASo
>>
>>5895855
>So, what music would this fall under, then?
Based.
>>
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>>5895855

this is definitely shiny rock

>>5895522
>>5895661
>>5895669
>>5895701
>>5895855
>>5895862

>Make the case that ghost magic isn’t so bad. Surely, they can look past this?
>At the very least, the school should have to explain in better detail what differences there are between Ghost Magic and Necromancy, what the practical uses Necromancy has that has it be a recognized school of magic rather than something that would lead to pyre burning or outright stoning, and whether this is just wizards once again scapegoating the shamantic traditions as "Dangerous" and "Subversive" just because they prefer their clan organizations rather than accept Magiocratic rule as standard.

“Now.. now wait, hold on!” You raise your hands as several other iudices raise their gavels. “I ask the counsel.. what even is the difference between 'ghost magic' and 'necromancy magic?’ The two are dead-adjacent, are they not..? The distinction can’t be so vast that one should have its own school in the conservatory and the other earn the practitioner death by fire and stone!”

“Wh–I–..” Balthazar sputters, his pallid face about as red as it can get (not very). “Why I never! The gulf between necromancy magic and ghost magic–.. you may as well measure the east and west ends of the primordial sea with a reach like that!”
“Yes, Snuff, they’re different schools of magic.” Sigrid looks a little annoyed as well.. for some reason. “The school of necromancy is a subdivision of arcane magic–practitioners call upon internal powers to summon and command spirits to do their bidding. The practitioners manipulate and shape the essence of the dead, raising zombies, communicating with spirits–like an outsider sculpting clay. The school of ghost magic is unique from arcane magic, as we call upon spirits as a power source, in much the same way divine magic calls upon the gods. The connection is more.. symbiotic, and we can form alliances with specific ghosts–like being the clay yourself, in a way. The magic is founded on occult rituals, offering, prayer.. and we can get all sorts of benefits! Like psionic telekinesis, elemental powers, possession.. anything necromancy can do and more.”
>>
“No, the emotional support jester is right for once. They’re basically the same thing.” Morgan scoffs as Balthazar continues to steam. “But the issue of heresy is not a distinction we draw ourselves. It’s by royal decree. And for us to accept ghost magic out of accordance with them.. it would give rise to unnecessary political challenges. I might remind you, Balthazar, necromancy has only recently been permissed as an acceptable field of study under the Concordat of Maggots. But ghost magic has no such concordance. We would invite unnecessary scrutiny were we to so flagrantly overlook this. Especially with the scale of the stunt she pulled--hundreds of witnesses in and out of the school..”
“I am in agreement with Morgan.” Anurak, the mindflayer, raises his gavel. “We–as wizards and witches–have a duty to work with the outside world, not around it. We are simultaneously master and slave, benefactor and beneficiary. We can push and pull those bounds for the sake of progress.. but only to to a certain extent. And to that end, you have overstepped our boundaries, Miss de Hautdesert. I vote to disinherit Sigrid de Hautdesert from the Saint August Conservatory.”

>Why not demand audience with a royal yourself?
>Cast a spell!
>Try to reach out to another wizard on the counsel. [Write-In.]
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5896229
>>Try to reach out to another wizard on the counsel. [Erasmus de Orpheus III]
But wizards (and witches) ARE the best, right? They SHOULD rule everything, RIGHT? Why, think of the good old days... or bad old days, maybe? Think of how much better things would be if men of LEARNING and UNDERSTANDING were in charge... Maybe that starts here, with asserting our independence on matters arcane, divine, and spooky within our own walls?
>>
>>5896229
>Ladies and gentlemen (and eerie floating eyeball) I believe ALL of us have forgotten an important viewpoint: What does the dead have to say about these two schools? I SAID DEAD, BALTHAZAR, NOT UN-DEAD, YOU GOT TO CHOOSE TO KEEP YOUR SPIRIT IN YOUR CORPOREAL FORM OR NOT! Most everyone else doesn't get to choose, so perhaps we should ask them on the matter? Perhaps by asking the royal family to visit the matter themselves, either with one of their ancestors or by waiting until one of them dies so that we can ask them which they prefer?
>>
>>5896292
Also clever. I can back this in a pinch.
>>
>>5896292
Just had another (big) thought to add to this:
>Furthermore, as you yourself has said, Anurak, wizards and witches have a duty to work WITH the outside world, but if the art of necromancy is about calling spirits to do the caster's bidding, it seems like that would fulfill the portion of MASTER, not of SLAVE. Whereas the use of ghost magic, while obviously having the potential to be abused, seems to intrinsically offer those beyond the veil of life a way of working WITH the caster should they wish to do so.
>WHICH THEN BEGS THE QUESTION, ladies and gentlemen (and eerie floating eyeball)... If the dead were willing to give Miss de Hautdesert a portion of their power, why would they do that?
>Perhaps they were offered a means of finishing business left untended to in life? Perhaps they might resent being commanded as one would do a dog or servant? Perhaps they prefer more equitable treatment, as ghost magic may seem to them more of a request rather than a command?
>Mayhaps we should look further into these questions as equals to the dead, before the answers decide to come to tell us in exacting detail.
>>
>>5896226
>"What right do the royals have to declare ghost magic illegal? Such distinctions should be made by the foremost experts in the fields of magic, ie the ones currently in this room.
>>
>>5896533
+1
>>
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>>5896256
>>5896292
>>5896308
>>5896499
>>5896533
>>5897202

>But wizards (and witches) ARE the best, right? They SHOULD rule everything, RIGHT?
>"What right do the royals have to declare ghost magic illegal? Such distinctions should be made by the foremost experts in the fields of magic, ie the ones currently in this room.

The throng of counsels begin to whisper among themselves: with three iudices now in accordance, they need only one more vote to expel your master to reach an agreement. You watch some hands gingerly brush up against the handles of their gavels.

“Now–just hold on a second, ladies and gentlemen and eerie giant eyeball of the counsel!” You slam the dock with your fist as hard as you can muster. “I would hardly call the relationship between the common world and the magic world one of balance here–no, you are kowtowing to royals who’ve no idea what magic entails! They base their dictations of ‘heresy’ off superstition, ghosts they catch flitting in the shadows of their candles! What right do royals have to declare ghost magic illegal? Such distinctions should be made by experts in the field–such as the ones currently in the room?”
“The conservatory is on crown land, boy.” Morgan’s eyes narrow. “That we practice and study here means to abide by their laws insomuch as we believe is reasonable. We can sidestep some laws, but..”

“No, the jester has a point.” Erasmus gingerly strokes his beard. “Just when did we start bending over backwards for the edicts of kings? The greatest developments in all of magic came during the Witch Trials when we could operate out from under the cloying eyes of the common folk. Just how much different is the practice of ghost magic from the study of alchemical transmutation or necromancy?”
“You can’t be serious, Erasmus.” Morgan glares at the human. “This isn’t some cutting-edge magical experiment by a free-thinking mind. It’s a shoddily conducted experiment by a hobbit that used stolen materials and illegal books to fail at a basic necromancy practice. And that’s not to mention what the king would do–he’s already fuming for–”

“I would hardly call that the spirit of revolution. What happened to the an Sprys’s, eh?” Sigismund leans in.
“Dwarf..” Morgan warns him, venom in her tone.
“THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER VOTES NOT TO DISINHERIT SIGRID DE HAUTDESERT FROM SAINT AUGUST’S CONSERVATORY.” A thin, wispy tendril of the floating eye reaches out, wrapping itself about its gavel and hammering it into its dock. “THE EYE SEES NO REASON TO DRAW SUCH A SEVERE LINE BETWEEN GHOST MAGIC AND NECROMANCY MAGIC.”

"EYE, please.." Balthazar groans.

>Perhaps you could channel a spirit of a dead royal to weigh in on this.
>Go harder on stoking division among the iudices.
>Make the case that ghost magic is a fairer practice than necromantic magic.
>Cast a spell!
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5897402
>Make the case that ghost magic is a fairer practice than necromantic magic.
>>
>>5897402
>Go harder on stoking division among the iudices.
We're so close to a breakthrough, I swear!
>>
>>5897425
>just a little more forbidden magic and then I’ll be confident and happy and respected by my disapproving hobbit mother, just a little more magic, please bro I swear just a few more corpses and a bit more magic, please, I'm almost there, just a bit more magic and leeway and some dead bodies and ghosts and maybe some research grants, just a little more magic bro, you know I'm good for it bro, please, just...
(I mean, I think this approach would actually work on some of these big magic weirdos)
>>
>>5897402
>Make the case that ghost magic is a fairer practice than necromantic magic.
>You, Balthazar, of all the ones on the council, cannot claim to be at least interested in seeing how ghost magic can help augment and advance the goals of necromancy to become more widely accepted amongst mundane society as more than just using the dead as material or fodder.
>>
>>5897402
>Go harder on stoking division among the iudices.
>>
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>>5897428
>>
>>5897402
>Go harder on stoking division among the iudices.
>All fields of study must start somewhere! Not all grand breakthroughs were made in the towers of archmagi, and tossing Lady de Hautdesert's experiments out as a simple student's folly is shutting down a whole new avenue of magical innovation! Does that spit in the face of what places for magical study stand for?
>>
>>5897402
>Go harder on stoking division among the iudices.
I would like to remind the court that Balthazar is a fat hypocrite and nobody even likes him. I rest my case.
>>
>>5897402
>Go harder on stoking division among the iudices.
>>
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>>5897407
>>5897425
>>5897428
>>5897510
>>5897575
>>5897600
>>5897662
>>5897802

>Go harder on stoking division among the iudices.
>All fields of study must start somewhere! Not all grand breakthroughs were made in the towers of archmagi, and tossing Lady de Hautdesert's experiments out as a simple student's folly is shutting down a whole new avenue of magical innovation! Does that spit in the face of what places for magical study stand for?

You see an opportunity and glom onto it, a thin air of tension around the jurors now. “All fields of study must start somewhere!” You proffer as you snatch back their attention. “Not all grand breakthroughs were made in the towers of archmagi, and tossing Lady de Hautdesert's experiments out as a simple student's folly is shutting down a whole new avenue of magical innovation! Does that spit in the face of what places for magical study stand for?”


“Hmph. Well said, jester. Even evocation–the most common and acceptable of magicks today–was once grounds for execution among the common folk. We cannot hope to beat the threat of machinery if we cling to tradition and practice like dogma.” Erasmus continues to run his wand through his beard as one would a comb (is that safe?). “I suppose you’re not all bad jokes.”

The old man raises his gavel. “Erasmus–” Morgan begins, but the magical clatter of hammer against desk drowns her out.
“I vote not to disinherit Sigrid de Hautdesert from Saint August’s Conservatory.” The wizard enunciates his words as he would a spell. “I do not believe there is a future for magic if we continue to quash new avenues for innovation–even should the laws of the land forbid their practice.”

“A foolish decision.” Anurak kneads a wet brow. “I say that as a friend, Erasmus.”
“I vote not to disinherit the half-foot, so long as it makes the elf mad.” Sigismund slams his gavel in turn after the wizard.
“Sigismund!” The elf hisses through her teeth, the dwarf’s wish made reality. “This is serious..! The king will have our heads for this! You can’t–.. ugh. Angrboda? Angrboda!”

“Uh-yh–.. Wha..?” The gnome mother says her first words of the trial, head popping up from her chest and wiping the drool from her mouth. “Yes..? Yes?”
“Have you been sleeping through all this? Ugh.” Morgan looks exhausted. “Look. Just vote to disinherit the half-foot.”
With Anurak, Balthazar, and Morgan against your master, and THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER, Erasmus, and Sigismund for her, it seems the deciding vote comes down to Angrboda–and unlike the others, you’ve no read on her.

>Make a plea toward Angrboda.
>Cast a spell!
>Make a plea for one of the iudices to turn around their vote. [Write-In.]
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5897833
>Make a plea toward Angrboda.
Play on her Gnomish curiosity. Surely shutting out a new field of mysteries would be abhorrent to a Gnome!
>>
>>5897841
Oh god, our gnome-racism is going to catch up on us here, isn't it?

>>5897833
>Cast a spell!
Panic! at the Disciplinary Tribunal
>>
>>5897833
>>Cast a spell!
>>
>>5897833
>Cast a spell!
>>5897850
hey, it's casual gnome racism, not gnome racism
there's definitely a difference because
>>
>>5897833
>>Make a plea toward Angrboda.
>>
>>5897833
>Make a plea toward Angrboda.
We’re scholars at heart.
>>
>>5897833
>Make a plea toward Angrboda.
Dean Angrboda, surely you must know how difficult it is to go without breaking even a single pesky little law? Lady Sigrid is just a student, don't end her future over a student's mistake.
>>
>>5897833
>Make a plea toward Angrboda.
>>
>>5898090
Also...
Ask Sigrid and Angrboda if Half-foot is a derogatory slur towards Halflings. We could get Morgan forcibly recused for anti-small sized rhetoric.
>>
>>5898104
Ooo, clever.
>>
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>>5897841
>>5897850
>>5897858
>>5897865
>>5897933
>>5897971
>>5897979
>>5898090
>>5898104
>>5898108

>Make a plea toward Angrboda.

"Mistress Angrboda." You decide to make a personal plea toward her--she looks affable enough. A little like your sister, actually.
"Oh? The emotional support jester?" The gnome-mother smiles. "Yes?"
"Surely, you must know what it's like to be curious? To poke and prod where you don't belong?" You try to appeal to her sensibilities. "To shut out a new field of mysteries--why, the notion must be abhorrent to a gnome..!"
"To a gnome?" She echoes. The corner of her lips twinge.
"Uh--well--.." You catch yourself. "I-I mean, you know how hard it is to go without breaking a pesky little thing as a law of the land. The defendant is just a student!"
"Why would I know how hard it is to go without breaking a law?" Angrboda leans over the desk.

"Oh gods." Your master places her hands on her face.

>Try to not stuff your foot into your mouth while speaking to Angrboda.
>Switch to a plea aimed at Morgan, Balthazar, or Anurak. [Write-In.]
>Cast a spell! Remove your gnomism from her mind!
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5898893
>Play it off as a joke
>Cast a spell!
>>
>>5898893
>Try to not stuff your foot into your mouth while speaking to Angrboda.
"To a Gnome or any respectable wizard. To be curious is the mark of any find wizard surely. And to be a bit rebellious is the make of any woman coming into their own. Surely as a mother, you must understand that a child is to be reprimanded and guided towards brighter paths when they make a mistake than to be cast aside."
>>
>>5898893
>Cast a spell! Remove your (warranted and justified) gnomism from her mind!
Quickly, before we tell her some of our best friends are gnomes
>>
>>5898936
+1
>>
>>5898941
Depends on if Bredbeddle is a friend or not.
>>
>>5898936
+1
SAVE IT QUICK
>>
>>5898936
supporting, we need to beat the racism allegation
>>
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>>5899060
>>
>>5899081
>>
>>5898893
>Stuff your foot into your mouth while speaking to Angrboda
"Some of my best friends are Gnomes, so I know how you people are."
>>
>>5898919
>>5898936
>>5898941
>>5898972
>>5898980
>>5899031
>>5899060
>>5899201

>Try to not stuff your foot into your mouth while speaking to Angrboda.
>"To a Gnome or any respectable wizard. To be curious is the mark of any find wizard surely. And to be a bit rebellious is the make of any woman coming into their own. Surely as a mother, you must understand that a child is to be reprimanded and guided towards brighter paths when they make a mistake than to be cast aside."

You decide to try to word your way out of your gnome racism--just have to phrase this right..

>Roll a 1d20, Bo3.
>>
Rolled 10 (1d10)

>>5899213
Don't worry boys, I got this.
>>
Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>5899213
Rollan for Racism
>>
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Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>5899213
Oh god...
>>
>>5899214
>>5899215
>>5899216
...13 should be good enough, right?
>>
>>5899217
One was a 1d10
>>
Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>5899213
The first was a 1d10! Please don't get owned...
>>
Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>5899219
OH SHIT!

>>5899213
>>5899214
REDO!
>>
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>>5899215
>Rolled 13 (1d20)

"I mean--you know, I--ah--.. being curious is the mark of any respectable wizard, much less a gnome! And a rebellious streak is the mark of any woman coming into her own." You sweat. Did you say something wrong? You didn't mean to.. "I mean, as a mother, you must understand that a child be only reprimanded for mistakes and guided toward a better path, not cast aside? Does Sigrid not remind you of your own children? I mean, gnomes and halflings are very similar, are they not? Just--halflings are a little--uh, smaller, than gnomes, and--.."

There are few words fit to describe the look on Angrboda's face--even Sigrid, your master, seems shocked.
"They are NOT similar, Snuff. Not even close." Sigrid hisses between her teeth. "And she's not actually a mother. That's just a title."
"Oh, my. The emotional support jester is racist." Morgan smirks.

Angrboda picks up her gavel. "I vote to dis-.."

>Cast a spell! Quick!
>Make a plea toward Morgan, Balthazar, or Anurak. [Write-In.]
>Grab your master and flee.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5899261
>>Cast a spell! Quick!
>>
>>5899261
>Cast a spell! Quick!
AAAAAAA
>>
>>5899261
>>5899261
>Cast a spell! Quick!
SPELL OF OH GOD I DIDN'T MEAN TO BE RACIST
>>
>>5899261
>Cast a spell! Quick!
The spell of turning back time 5 minutes
>>
>>5899261
>Cast a spell! Quick!
Implying an upper crust elf like miss an Sprys over here would not be racist
>>
>>5899261
>It's so over, accept the sentence
We've gotta hang out with Bredbeddle later to over come our prejudice...
>>
>>5899352
But our prejudice is that gnomes are tricky, cheap, criminals. And Bredbeddle, I love her, but she's... Uh...
>>
>>5899357
Yeah...
>>
>>5899357
Perhaps we could bond with her over gnomecore music as a way to bridge the gap?

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=LzG-qji05Lc&list=RDEMl1DkrCzzf-nLl_XfAz2pwQ&start_radio=1

Anybody else got any gnomecore suggestions we could use to bond with Bredbeddle? Or just expand my music library?
>>
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>>5899263
>>5899267
>>5899270
>>5899273
>>5899273
>>5899279
>>5899352

Your hand flies for your wand. You need to cast a spell, quick!–something covert, that might help to either ensure no judgment from the iudex or wind back time to take back your gnome racism..

>Arcane Hand: You create a large hand of shimmering, translucent force in an unoccupied space that you can see within range. The hand lasts for the spell's duration, and it moves at your command, mimicking the movements of your own hand. You can move the hand after summoning.
>Animal Shapes: Your magic turns others into beasts. You may choose any number of creatures that you can see within range, with increasing difficulty upon turning more people into beasts. You transform each target into the form of a large or smaller beasts.
>Command: You speak a one-word command to a creature you can see within range. The target may try to resist, but will follow your command if unsuccessful.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5899788
Command: You speak a one-word command to a creature you can see within range. The target may try to resist, but will follow your command if unsuccessful.
>Tell the gnome to "calm."
>>
>>5899788
>Animal Shapes: Your magic turns others into beasts. You may choose any number of creatures that you can see within range, with increasing difficulty upon turning more people into beasts. You transform each target into the form of a large or smaller beasts.
We just need to cause dome kind of change to break out of the memory, right? Surely turning the court into animals would work too.
>>
>>5899788
>Animal Shapes
Turn ourself and Sigrid into animals who are too cute to expel and disinherit.
>>
>>5899788
>Animal Shapes: Your magic turns others into beasts. You may choose any number of creatures that you can see within range, with increasing difficulty upon turning more people into beasts. You transform each target into the form of a large or smaller beasts.
Turn the gnome into a chicken. We know how to deal with chickens, much more agreeable than gnomes.
>>
>>5899788
>>Animal Shapes: Your magic turns others into beasts. You may choose any number of creatures that you can see within range, with increasing difficulty upon turning more people into beasts. You transform each target into the form of a large or smaller beasts.

Let’s turn An Sprys into a chicken
>>
>>5899788
>Animal Shapes: Your magic turns others into beasts.
>>
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>>5899880
>>5899885
>>5899903
>>5899931
>>5900048
>>5900108

>Animal Shapes: Your magic turns others into beasts. You may choose any number of creatures that you can see within range, with increasing difficulty upon turning more people into beasts. You transform each target into the form of a large or smaller beasts.

“Animal Shapes.” You whisper. You feel it first in your heart–the blood of wild beasts howling and screeching and clawing their way through your veins, so hot it tingles your skin and burns your fingertips. You feel it ebb from your hands into your wand, kith and kin of the animal kingdom in yggdrasil and holy thorn. You need only cast it–but on whom, and into what..?

>Who do you cast the spell on? What do you transform them into?
>>
>>5900158
>”Everyone in this court is now a chicken.”
>>
>>5900158
>>”Everyone in this court is now a chicken.”
>>
>>5900158
>Angrboda into a chicken

>>5900170
>>5900181
>Animal Shapes: Your magic turns others into beasts. You may choose any number of creatures that you can see within range, with increasing difficulty upon turning more people into beasts.
>increasing difficulty upon turning more people
Everyone in the court is gonna be pretty tough if not nigh impossible
>>
>>5900158
I reiterate:
>>5899903
>Turn ourself and Sigrid into animals who are too cute to expel and disinherit.
Give 'em the kitten eyes.
>>
>>5900158
Idea: how about we turn ourselves into a chicken, allowing our master to claim that she couldn’t hire a court jester on short notice, so she made do with turning a chicken into one?
>>
>>5900158
>>5900326
I like this idea... switching my vote.
>>
>>5900326

+1
>>
>>5900326
We’re just a damn smart chicken. the fact they were reduced to such divisive arguing by a mere beast clearly means the issue should be postponed further until they can better understand things.
>>
>>5900326
I can back this. As long as we also play it real cute. Who doesn't love chickens, after all?

>>5900158
I'm >>5900243
>>
>>5900158
>>5900326
+1
Chickem
>>
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>>5900170
>>5900181
>>5900220
>>5900243
>>5900326
>>5900399
>>5900401
>>5900492
>>5900566
>>5900810

>Idea: how about we turn ourselves into a chicken, allowing our master to claim that she couldn’t hire a court jester on short notice, so she made do with turning a chicken into one?

You instead focus the spell inward: like acid, the flow of beast blood ebbs from your wand and drains into your hand, through to your arms and along the cavity of your chest, into your legs to pool up in your sabots. The magic begins to change you, bit-by-bit: toes curl inward and sharpen into talons, a feathery down sprouts up along your cloak and flesh, your lips curl and harden into your teeth.. were this magic not a natural analgesic, the process would be agony. You instead feel a mild tingle as your form warps into that of a bird.

You look up with a puff of magical radiator smoke, now a chicken for all the court to see. The whole of the court stops in their tracks in surprise–which includes the gnome mother, gavel still in hand.
“Why is the jester a chicken.” Morgan stares daggers at Sigrid.

“I–I.. ah-..” Sigrid stares between you and the elf. “It’s, ah–.. actually–.. yes, my emotional support jester was a chicken the whole time, actually..! I couldn’t hire a court jester on such short notice, so–.. I made do by turning a chicken into one..?”

The court falls silent, passing glances at once another, whispering and snickering.
“You serious, halfling?” Sigismund leans over the desk with a squint.

“Oh, my. Erasmus..” Morgan doesn’t bother to stifle her laughter as she looks between the chicken and the human greybeard. “You were led on by a chicken.”
“Bah. It says more of your position that even a chicken has foresight to see what you cannot.” Erasmus scoffs.

“It’s very cute. What is it, a silkie chicken?” Angrboda observes.

>Play up your cuteness.
>Signal to Sigrid that they can’t disinherit her yet if they were swayed by a mere beast. The issue should be postponed!
>Attack one of the board.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5900880
>>Play up your cuteness.
>>Signal to Sigrid that they can’t disinherit her yet if they were swayed by a mere beast. The issue should be postponed!
>>
>>5900880
>>5900907
+1
>>
>>5900880
>Play up your cuteness.
When brought up to the board, keep acting cute until you get to Morgan. Then just steal her paper.
>>
>>5900907
>>5900880
Yup.
>>
>>5900880
>Play up your cuteness.
uh that spell has a duration, right?
it's not permanent, right?
or depend on the caster to cancel it?
>>
>>5900880
>Play up your cuteness.
>Signal to Sigrid that they can’t disinherit her yet if they were swayed by a mere beast. The issue should be postponed!

>>5901040
There are worse fates than being a chickens. Chickens are cool. And our master can fix it when she gets Leshy's beard hair!
>>
Wait up guys…
If they think Sigrid conjured up an emotional support jester out of a chicken, then they’re assuming she’d have created a spell that would save the conservatory hundreds of thousands of gold on hiring support jesters. They could literally pay literal chickens in chicken feed. All she has to do is convince them to keep her enrolled.
>>
>>5900880
>Play up your cuteness
>Signal to Sigrid that they can’t disinherit her yet if they were swayed by a mere beast. The issue should be postponed!
>>
>>5901239
Also a good addendum.

>>5901143
>>5900880
>>
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>>5900907
>>5900925
>>5900934
>>5900996
>>5901040
>>5901143
>>5901239
>>5901269
>>5901298

>Play up your cuteness.

You play up your cuteness, hemming and hawing and puffing out your ruff for the counsel–which seems to soften the gaze of a few of them, namely, the gnome Angrboda and the EYE.
“HOW CUTE. IT THINKS IT’S PEOPLE.” THE EYE muses.
“Oh, my.” Angrboda smiles. “It is very cute, no..?”

“Are you insane? It was just racist to you.” Morgan scowls.
“We can hardly judge the moral standards of chickens by the same standards as wizards, Morgan.” Erasmus waves a hand. “It’s a wonder it wasn’t more racist, really. I’ve spoken to chickens before.”
“Bah! This trial is a farce!” Balthazar gnarls. “The invocation of ghost magic by a hobbit, a tirade by a chicken emotional support jester.. and to compare mere ghost magic to necromancy magic..!”

“Well..” Angrboda sighs, a hand on her cheek. “I must say.. it is very cute. I think.. this was all just a mistake on the part of the hobbit. I mean, the situation is a mess, sure, but.. to think she couldn't even hire a proper emotional support jester, and made do with a racist–if cute–chicken! I don’t think we can very well judge the girl as right in the head, no..?”
“Angrboda..” Anurak begins.
“I suppose.. given the circumstances, and so long as proper disciplinary measures are taken to ensure she won’t do it again..” Angrboda sighs. “I vote not to disinherit Sigrid de Hautdesert from Saint August’s Conservatory.”

The board erupts in arguments–Morgan spitting venom, Balthazar slamming his fist, Sigismund guffawing, and the eye dancing. Your master’s eyes, meanwhile, light up as she picks you up in her arms and twirls you around in the air. “Aha..! Snuff! Snuff, you really did it..!” Her face is alight with joy, a genuine uncontrollable grin on her face–one of the first you’ve ever seen. “Snuff, I’m not expelled..! You..”
“A-ah..” Sigrid’s eyes fall in realization. “No, that’s right. This isn’t real.”

Your master’s smile turns sad as the ground and floor begin to warp and melt, the fine garlands and gold banners pooling up into each other like paint swirling in a can. The iudices join, distorting into a whirling miasma of colors and form, light and sound. Your master sighs and shuts her eyes.
You feel the familiar tugging sensation as you begin crossing into another passing memory.
>>
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The creak of old wood against tidal waves of grass jolts you awake. Thin rays of sunlight break the gap between the rickety planks making up the wall. Outside, a roiling sea of tall grass stretches out to infinity under a cloudless sky.

You slam your head against the roof as you rise in this.. room? It feels like a cabinet. You're no longer a chicken, at least. You groggily reach for your wand as you come to your bearings. Where are you..? You’re no longer in the capitol, certainly–the familiar scent of grass and wind in the primordial sea is thick in the air–but.. where’s your master..?

>Call your master’s name.
>Look around the room, inside and outside through the window. Gather your bearings.
>Open door out of room and look around.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5901656
>Look around the room, inside and outside through the window. Gather your bearings
>Be all sneaky-like
>>
>>5901656
>Look around the room, inside and outside through the window. Gather your bearings.

Also
>“It’s a wonder it wasn’t more racist, really. I’ve spoken to chickens before.”
>Erasmus recalls a memory of a gathering of chickens marching while holding cheap torches
>"BAWK! BAWK BAWK! BAWK BAWK BAWK!"

Any chance we'll get to see Sigrid's actual smile eventually?
>>
>>5901656
>>5901672
+1

>>5901695
Sigrid's smile is a rare thing we must work towards.
>>
>>5901656
>Look around the room, inside and outside through the window. Gather your bearings.

Can't believe the chicken plan worked. Sigrid must not think too highly of the intelligence of those deans.
>>
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>>5901672
>>5901695
>>5901799
>>5901870

>Look around the room, inside and outside through the window. Gather your bearings.
>Be all sneaky-like.

You recall the three tenets of teleportation mishaps from your introductory teleportation course–first, if you’re alive, gather your bearings. You cannot hope to escape the situation without an awareness of where you are–spatially, temporally, dimensionally–and you’re certainly not dead.
The cabinet of a room you’re stuck in looks as if a storm has blown through it–dusty books half-opened, weathered, and scattered on top of one another, jars with all manner of strange substance heaped on creaky shelves, wands and magical memorabilia hung askew from the walls. And, strangely.. the room seems to tilt and creak, jars rolling and furniture grinding against the floor as if you were in a ship.

You move to the porthole outside and stick your hood out: sure enough, you’re in the heart of the primordial sea, endless fields of grass and sky that stretch out into the great wild green yonder. You’re certainly not in the green chapel, though.. this rickety mess of splintery planks and lumber appears to be a slipshod caravan of sorts.. tattered red flags adorn its side.
Ah–.. could it be? You recall something from an interview you read from your master in a magazine: she was a spellsword of sorts after her expulsion from the conservatory, traveling the primordial sea while researching ghost magic and hiring her services out to the highest bidder–a mercenary.

You seem to be on a traveling caravan of “mercenaries:” warriors, assassins, and thieves that travel in gangs and hire their services out to towns along the primordial sea frontier, where laws are held to less rigid standards than the heart of civilization. You’ve seen them pass by the chapel before, towering caravans jaunting along the wilds, pungent with the scent of booze and blood.
You can’t imagine your master–as beautiful, elegant, and shapely she is–traveling with a throng of cutthroat and roughneck murders and robbers.. even if she has been pretty casual about killing people before. You can’t imagine her proud of her time here. You had better find her, quick!

>Call out for your master’s name.
>Attempt to sneak out of the room through the door.
>Leap through the porthole and try to get in through the front of the carriage
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5902249
>>Call out for your master’s name.
>>Attempt to sneak out of the room through the door
>>
>>5902249
>[Write-In.]
Stop and search the room. If we can say for certain it's master's we could just sit and wait.
>>
>>5902249
>>Attempt to sneak out of the room through the door.
>>
>>5902249
backing >>5902280
>>
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>>5902249
+1 >>5902280
Also, look out the window and admire that handsome stallion pulling the cart! Such a good boy! He surely deserves an apple for all his hard work.

It’s nice to be back… really hitting me in the nostalgia here, QM…
>>
>>5902249
It all comes full circle.

>Call out for your master’s name.
>>
>>5902280
This

>>5902249
Then:
>Attempt to sneak out of the room through the door.
Mercenaries are bad and scary people, I hear, and uncouth. Except our Master, of course!
>>
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>>5902259
>>5902280
>>5902341
>>5902382
>>5902392
>>5902421
>>5902436

>Call out for your master’s name.
>Stop and search the room. If we can say for certain it's master's we could just sit and wait.

“Sigrid..? Lady Sigrid..?” You try to keep your voice quiet enough to avoid any unwanted listeners but loud enough to permeate through the slapped together walls. It’s very difficult. “My lady, it’s Snuff..?”
You wait a beat–no response.. perhaps she’s out of audible range? You instead turn your attention back to the room. You begin to pick through it with a bit more care, paying heed toward the little trinkets littering the shelves and the labels of the books spilling off tables.

You find a few notable odds and ends–a steel rack on the wall that would do well to hold a gun, a few grass-stained gambesons and scarves hung up in the closet, and a banister labeled with a gold A and C pinned up like a curtain–the symbols of the conservatory. You feel it confirmation enough–this must be your master’s quarters!
You sit yourself down on a (very small) chaise in the corner of the room and fold your hands. You need only stay quiet and your master will turn up soon enough to her room. Your eyes wander the room as the minutes tick by, one by one, picking up the labels of certain books you’ve read and admiring your master’s.. less than conventional organizational system.

You start at a creak at the door–your master, certainly..! You begin to move up to greet her, but..
The door swings open to someone who is not your master: no, a veritable mountain of a person ironclad in tan armor, a red cape and shield as paraphernalia. You freeze. The mountain freezes. And in just a second’s breadth, they burst forward like a steam train, their gauntlet around your head as you might pick up an apple.

“What are you doing here?” The knight demands, steel helmet staring into you, only the black pinprick eye holes of the helm meeting your gaze. You instinctively reach for your wand, but the knight’s hand shoots out and clenches your fist before you can. You get the feeling they could mangle your hand into a pulp of bone and flesh should he choose to. Do injuries carry over in memories? Oh god, you hope not. “Why are you in this room?”

>You’re a family member of Lady Sigrid’s.
>You’re a visiting classmate from St. August’s Conservatory.
>Try to cast a spell anyways.
>A thief?
>Sigrid’s boyfriend?
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5902505
>You’re a visiting classmate from St. August’s Conservatory.
We can actually back this one up since we attended the Conservatory
Sigrid may have talked about not having friends, maybe change it to secret admirer.
>>
>>5902505
>Any chance you know a Sigrid de Hautdesert? Big hat, spooky ghost magic, hates it when you ask if it's like necromancy?
>You’re a visiting classmate from St. August’s Conservatory, magic communication spell got botched and turned into a teleport to receiver spell.
>>
>>5902505
>Sigrid’s boyfriend?
>>
>>5902505
>You’re a visiting classmate from St. August’s Conservatory
>>
>>5902505
>Sigrid’s boyfriend?
>>
>>5902505
>You’re a visiting classmate from St. August’s Conservatory.
When we're not looking for trouble, the trouble finds us instead.
>>
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>>5902515
>>5902521
>>5902524
>>5902536
>>5902576
>>5902597

>Any chance you know a Sigrid de Hautdesert? Big hat, spooky ghost magic, hates it when you ask if it's like necromancy?
>You’re a visiting classmate from St. August’s Conservatory, magic communication spell got botched and turned into a teleport to receiver spell.

“I-..I’m from St. August’s Conservatory..! A classmate of Sigrid’s!” You manage to choke out with what air you’ve left in your lungs, the grip on your throat like a vice. “Y-you know.. big hat, spooky magic..?”
“That’s a lie.” The iron claws around your throat tighten. “Sigrid has no friends. Who are you, really?”
“Ana. Ana!” A small voice cries from the doorway. “He’s with me. Let him go.”

“Sigrid?” The knight glances back over her shoulder–and with a wrench, your head slips from her grasp and you collapse to the ground.
“Ggchk–..” You try to choke air back into lungs and color back into your face while the mountain of a woman turns away from you.
“What do you think you’re doing? Bringing a stranger into the caravan like this.. it’s not like you.” Ana scolds your master. “We’re not a traveling hostel, you know. Much as it might seem with our.. other cargo.”

“Sorry. I meant to tell you, but.. I forgot. This is a classmate of mine. Snuff.” Your master’s tone is strange, soft, a manner you’ve never heard before from her.. what’s the word? Deference? Respect? “I didn’t invite him, though. He botched a communication spell, mixed it up with a teleportation spell and wound up here. I figured we’d drop him off at the next town.”
“Hmph. I see. Just tell me next time. I could’ve killed him. Wizards..” Ana mutters under her breath. “Keep him in here, yeah? Don’t want him seeing anything or anyone he doesn’t need to.”

And with neither apology nor acknowledgment, the knight leaves the room, the clank of her armor quiet down the hallway. You breathe a sigh of relief.
“Some.. large friends you have, Lady Sigrid..” You pull yourself up back up with the aid of the chaise, your legs a little more firm.
“Hm.” Sigrid shrugs. “I’d kill you if I found you in my room, too.”

>Ask what your lady was doing faffing around with a gang of killers.
>Ask about the lady knight who nearly killed you. Sigrid actually showed some regard for her.
>Ask for the details on this memory in particular.
>Look your lady up and down again. She looks a little.. furball-y.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5902785
>Ask about the lady knight who nearly killed you. Sigrid actually showed some regard for her.
>Take a look over the blunderbuss, it looks like a newer version we have back in the cathedral.
>So if you were friends with that knight, how come she hasn't come over to visit you?
>>
>>5902798
Y'know what, throw in
>Ask for the details on this memory in particular.
as well. I kinda want to hear how the Butcher Block crew were...
>>
>>5902785
>Ask about the lady knight who nearly killed you. Sigrid actually showed some regard for her.
>Ask for the details on this memory in particular.
>Look your lady up and down again. She looks a little.. furball-y.
>>
>>5902785
>Ask what your lady was doing faffing around with a gang of killers.
>Ask about the lady knight who nearly killed you. Sigrid actually showed some regard for her.
>Look your lady up and down again. She looks a little.. furball-y.
C-CUTE
>>
>>5902785
>Ask about the lady knight who nearly killed you. Sigrid actually showed some regard for her.
>>
>>5902785
>Look your lady up and down again. She looks a little.. furball-y.
>Tell her she lookd great!
>Ask her how she's been.
>>
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>>5902798
>>5902801
>>5902809
>>5902868
>>5903357

>Ask about the lady knight who nearly killed you. Sigrid actually showed some regard for her.
>Take a look over the blunderbuss, it looks like a newer version we have back in the cathedral.
>So if you were friends with that knight, how come she hasn't come over to visit you?

“My lady, just who was that mercenary, anyways..? A-achk, ow..” You rub your throat in dismay–the teeth of her gauntlet seem to have left superficial perforations around your head and neck. “You were a mercenary alongside her, right? You didn’t seriously run with that brute..?”
“I did.” Your master responds very matter-of-factly. “That was ANA DE ARMAS, head of the gang back when I was a spellsword.. a good friend of mine. You got off pretty easy, all told. You could’ve been burnt alive. And not the fun, magical burning alive, I mean the flesh-melting chemical burning alive.”
“A friend? I mean.. really..?” You frown.

“I went foul in the head after my expulsion from the conservatory. I thought everything I had had just gone up in smoke–all I ever wanted to be for my entire life was a witch, and I had wasted it.” Your master’s words are short and plain, but wistful. “Ana hired me as a mercenary for this gang and dragged me out of my second lowest point in life. I don’t tolerate people as a rule, but with them, I was.. happy, for a time.”
“Hm? And.. then what?” You know how mercenaries are. “You never mention any of them in any interviews.”
“Life happened. The company split up because we had separate paths to walk. We keep in touch, but.. things are different. You’ll see when you’re a little older.” Sigrid shrugs. “I made my return to the conservatory and became a great witch. Ana retired–think she’s a fisherwoman or whaler now, lives with her family on the Waxing Coast in Curna. One shipped off to the east end of the Phorcysic, became a master tailor.. she actually made the dress for my human form. And the last.. well, I shouldn’t say. But you probably know him already.”

“What? Who?” Your brow furrows. “U-uh.. Van den Bos? No, Lud Cornwall? Can I have a hint?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Sigrid scoffs. “Anyways, enough digging around my past. We need to get out of this memory.”

>Ask for specific details of the memory–a thread to pull at.
>Head out into the hallway. Investigate the other rooms of the caravan.
>Hold on, your master really stinks in this memory, actually. It’s kind of plugging up your nose.
>Cast a spell. See what you roll.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5903718
>Head out into the hallway. Investigate the other rooms of the caravan.
>>
>>5903718
>Ask for specific details of the memory–a thread to pull at.
>>
>>5903718
>Ask for specific details of the memory–a thread to pull at.
>Promise that you'll always be by your master's side, so she never needs to worry about being lonely again
>>
>>5903718
>Hold on, your master really stinks in this memory, actually. It’s kind of plugging up your nose.
SMELLY
>>
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May or may not update again tonight, so I'll post some responses and a drawing request:

>>5883947

Leshy is more of a father in spirit by dint of the star sign, not a literal father.

>>5884170

Snuff was angling to go to culinary school and become a pro chef before finding out about Sigrid and taking an interest in magic. He's a great cook now, but had he chosen to actively pursue it, he would've been fantasy Gordon Ramsay level.

>>5884634
>>5884150

While Bredbeddle really doesn't have a legitimate evil horny twin, Snuff's imagination got the best of him.
>>
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>>5904271
SHE
>>
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>>5903720
>>5903735
>>5903740
>>5903782

>Ask for specific details of the memory–a thread to pull at.
>Head out into the hallway. Investigate the other rooms of the caravan.

“Hmm–..well..” You begin to creep into the doorway out of her room, cautiously peering your head out and looking both the ways. The slipshod assemblage of wood that resembles a hallway seem outright dangerous to walk through, as if you’d crash through the floor if you set foot on the wrong board. “You remember anything in particular from this memory, my lady? A thread for us to pull at?”
“If I remember correctly–hmm.” Your master steps casually through the doorway past you, each step causing the caravan to shudder and whine. “I think this is when the princess was accompanying us out for a journey. She’d run away from home in search of adventure and got stranded out in the sea.. got a few of her honor guards slaughtered. We figured we’d drag her back home.”

“The princess? You met with a princess? The kingdom doesn’t have a princess.” Your brow furrows. “Wait–do you mean Good Queen Galia?”
“Yes, that’s what they call her now.” Sigrid seems bemused. “We found her in a wrecked carriage and hauled her a few days back out to the kingdom–for our trouble and her brattiness, we all got a good haul of gold and a royal connection. How do you think ghost magic was made legal in the country, anyways?”
“Oh! I see.” You nod, a hand on your chin–the timing does make sense.. “So, then something to do with her?”

“If I recall the details of the memory correctly, I’d set out with Ana to fetch supplies in a town outside around now. We could go observe the town for something to break. I’m sure there’d be plenty of opportunities there.” Sigrid casts a glance down the hall to a door. “Or, if you really want to, you could look for something to do with the princess. I don’t think you’d find her very pleasant, though, all told..”

>Follow Ana to see the town and pursue an opportunity there.
>Remain in the caravan to bother the princess Galia.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5905241
>>Remain in the caravan to bother the princess Galia.
>>
>>5905241
>Galia
>Like a chicken, Gallus gallus
Chickens really ARE the best, huh?

Oh, right, my vote...
>Remain in the caravan to bother the princess Galia.
>>
>>5905241
>Remain in the caravan to bother the princess Galia.
>>
>>5905241
>Follow Ana to see the town and pursue an opportunity there.
In order to move on I think Sigrid needs to see the disruption we cause, and this isn't even really the princess, just a simulacrum made from Sigrid's memories.
>>
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>>5905249
>>5905253
>>5905374
>>5905586

>Remain in the caravan to bother the princess Galia.

“How about the princess? You don’t know her quite as well as your boss, do you? There may be something to pick at there.” You propose. You are a bit curious to see the queen in her (relative) youth, to tell the truth. You know her now as a half-elf storied for her kindness, her generosity, and her intelligence–a queen who’s revolutionary ideals have carved a path forward through a millennium of outdated practice.
“Uh.. sure.” Sigrid eyes a doorway down the hall. “But just know she had to grow up quite a bit to become the queen you know. And she was in a foul mood when we found her..”

“She can’t be that bad, can it?” You shrug off her concern as you creep toward the door, careful not to break the knob off its hinge as you turn it. You gently peek your head (and hood) through the crack.
The princess is sat atop a patchy bed of rags and cotton, her brow furrowed and face scrunched up–and, notably, her arms are bound up behind her back in ropes. The current watch of the princess seems to be.. something tall, with thin, gangly, almost translucent arms that hang low about its knees, face and body hidden behind purple rags and belts of daggers..

“A-ah..! Doppelganger..!” You shriek, nearly tumbling back onto your backside and hand flying for your wand.
“Not a doppelganger. A changeling. There’s a big difference, Snuff.” Sigrid sighs, stepping over you (while you sit on the ground, even more racist than before). “Where’s Scuffy, Miyuki?”
“Asleep. In his room.’ The changeling’s voice is strange, soft and whispery, almost sickly. “My shift to watch the princess. Who..?’

“A friend of mine from the conservatory came to visit. Ana gave the okay.” Sigrid shrugs.
“Oh, great. Another one..” The princess rolls her eyes. “And he sounds even stupider than the last. Listen to that accent. Where’re you from, Luswurg? Hillbilly.”
"I don't.. have an accent. Do I..?" Your cheeks flush with self-consciousness. You are actually from near that area.. "Lady Sigrid, do I have an accent?"

Your master makes a so-so motion with her hand.

>Why have they bound her? This caravan isn’t.. weird, is it?
>Try to speak to Glaia on her terms.
>Attempt to free her. Perhaps that’s the key to breaking this memory.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5906558
>Why have they bound her? This caravan isn’t.. weird, is it?
>Engage in haphazard, misinformed discussion about BDSM best practices to distract them
>Liberate the princess
Let's take this memory off the rails!
>>
>>5906558
>Why have you BDSM weirdo’s tied up the princess?
>>
>>5906558
>>5906561
+1 we all know Snuff reads those weird eastern books
>>
>>5906558
>Why have they bound her? This caravan isn’t.. weird, is it?
>Talk to Miyuki about being a changeling, and ask her if she had ever changed into an animal before. We’ve been a boar once, and fairly recently a chicken, but that’s it.
>>
>>5906558
>Why have they bound her? This caravan isn’t.. weird, is it?
>Try to speak to Glaia on her terms.
>>
>>5906558
>Why have they bound her? This caravan isn’t.. weird, is it?
>Talk to Miyuki about being a changeling, and ask her if she had ever changed into an animal before. We’ve been a boar once, and fairly recently a chicken, but that’s it.
>>
>>5906558
Miyukibros we're so BACK (in a memory)
>Why have they bound her? This caravan isn’t.. weird, is it?
>Talk to Miyuki about being a changeling, and ask her if she had ever changed into an animal before. We’ve been a boar once, and fairly recently a chicken, but that’s it.
>>
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>>5906561
>>5906597
>>5906719
>>5906733
>>5906750
>>5906756
>>5906846

>Why have they bound her? This caravan isn’t.. weird, is it?
>Talk to Miyuki about being a changeling, and ask her if she had ever changed into an animal before. We’ve been a boar once, and fairly recently a chicken, but that’s it.

“Why do you have the princess bound?” You shoot a look between the halfling, the changeling, and the princess squirming in her ropes. “This–.. isn’t something weird, right, my lady..?”
“Because they’ve kidnapped me! Look, redneck..” The princess hisses at you. “Just cut these goddamn ropes and help me out of this shitheap into the nearest town and it’s a hundred thousand gold pieces on your name. That sounds good, right? Come on..”

“We didn’t kidnap her. Well.. didn’t bring her all the way out here, at least.” Your master catches the glint of suspicion in your eye. “We’re bringing her back to the safety of the king. We had to bind her to prevent her from running into some town chasing adventure. I don’t like kowtowing to the king and stifling a girl’s wanderlust, but.. there was a gold reward on offer, and it's a better alternative to her getting slain and eaten by goblins. They find half-elf meat sweet, like honey ham. That applies to you too, Snuff. Watch your ears next time you’re in the sea.”

“A-ah. I see.” You make a mental note of that as you turn your attention to the changeling. “I must say, though.. this is the first I’ve seen a changeling in person.”
“And this is the second time I’ve seen a half-elf.” Miyuki whispers back.
You observe her form–tall, lithe, translucent white skin that appears almost damp, like an amphibian.. how curious. “Can you turn into an animal? I’ve seen a boar once, and a chicken, but that’s about it..”

“Only humanoids–bipeds are.. hard. Different. Some changelings can, but I can’t.” The girl sighs–and with a thin burst of steam that bubbles from the pores on her arms like smoke from a caldera, her purple rags twist, altering in hue and taking on another shape, spine twisting and cracking as it shrinks. The rags go green, the body goes small.. and you’re face to face with yourself. “See? Easy.”
“Oh-woah. Neat..” Your mouth hangs agape, taking a few steps around her and looking yourself up and down. You’re kind of skinny, huh?

>Free the princess, as requested.
>Attempt dating start with Miyuki.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5906975
>Attempt dating start with Miyuki.
>"You'd be surprised at how useful that chicken transformation was to settle a major social faux pas with the Dean of Abjuration. Please don't ask..."
>"Also, I haven't tried this transformation, but what if I turned into a basilisk and turned the princess into stone with it's petrifying eyesight? That way we can keep her from leaving the caravan and prevent her from being eaten until she gets dosed with softener!"
>>
>>5906975
>Try kissing yourself
Who HASN'T wondered if they're a good kisser? And it'll shock Sigrid, maybe.
>>
>>5906975
>Free the princess, as requested.
easy divergence

>Attempt dating start with Miyuki.
How can we not
>>
>>5906975
>Free the princess, as requested.
Trying to date one of our master's memories is not a good look.
>>
>>5907099
I guess I can concede that it might weird Sigrid out. Maybe whisper to her that it's FOR SCIENCE first?
>>
>>5906975
>Attempt dating start with Miyuki.
>>
>>5906975
>Attempt dating start with Miyuki.
We'll clear this memory by making the Changling happy
>>
>>5906975
>Attempt dating start with Miyuki.
You look well ma’am. I like your new look.
>>
>>5906975
>Free the princess, as requested.
>>
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>>5907006
>>5907013
>>5907099
>>5907112
>>5907146
>>5907150
>>5907169

>Attempt dating start with Miyuki.

You place a hand on the shoulder of your duplicate--you know, you are kind of cute from some angles. You can lapse this memory through this.. somehow, probably?
"You know--you're not all that bad-looking--"

"No. Do not." Sigrid suddenly hisses at you, sitting herself between you and the changeling. "Do not try to romance anyone in my memories. It's creepy. And you're going to put weird thoughts in my head. Do something else."

"Isn't the whole point of this putting weird thoughts in your head, my lady?" You proffer apologetically.
"And you can do it any way other than trying to kiss an old friend in my brain who's turned into an exact duplicate of you." Your master glowers at you.
"..What?" your clone casts a shy glance at you.

>Turn your attention to the princess--perhaps if you could unshackle her..
>Attempt dating start even harder.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5907935
>>Turn your attention to the princess--perhaps if you could unshackle her..
Ok fine. But only because Sigrid said it'll mess up her mind.
>>
>>5907935
>"I'm sorry, Miyuki, but out of respect for my friend, I'm going to have to wait until I get out of this situation before we hang out..."
>(whispering to master outside the room) "I'll do it if you take me to visit your friends after this and tell me the stories of your bad old days."
>Turn your attention to the princess--perhaps if you could unshackle her...
>>
>>5907935
>Attempt dating start even harder.
We're too hot, we can't resist
>>
>>5907935
>Attempt dating start even harder.
If it weirds her out it's working
>>
>>5907935
>Turn your attention to the princess--perhaps if you could unshackle her..
The one time we overcome our racism, we get shut down.
>>
>>5907935
>Attempt dating start even harder.
do it
>>
>>5907935
>"I'm sorry, Miyuki, but out of respect for my DEAREST friend, I'm going to have to wait until I get out of this situation before we, uh, hang out..."
>Kneel, kiss her hand cordially
>use this as a distraction
>Turn your attention to the princess--perhaps if you could unshackle her...
>>
>>5907935
>Attempt dating start even harder.
Let's fill our master's head with thoughts of Snuff making out with himself
>>
>>5907935
>Attempt dating start even harder.
you know, Narcissus was onto something
>>
>>5907935
>>Turn your attention to the princess--perhaps if you could unshackle her...
>>
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>>5907966
>>5907984
>>5907994
>>5908755
>>5908820
>>5908865
>>5908908
>>5909096
>>5910613

>Attempt dating start even harder.

You decide to throw any sense of shame to the wind and take your duplicate’s thin wrists up in your own hands, leaning into your own face. You catch a glimpse of your yellow eyes sparkling beneath the cloak’s hood. “My–my eyes are pretty.” You observe, a hand on your own chin.

“AAAGGGHHH—..” Your master shrieks as she shuts her eyes and covers her ears, loudly singing “la-la-la” in an attempt to block the disturbing sight from her psychosphere.
“Huh? What? What’s he doing?” The princess struggles in her binds in an attempt to catch a glimpse of you.

You must say this memory hasn’t quite followed the path you imagined it’d take, but if it lapses it..

>Cross a threshold you can never uncross.
>No, wait. Back off. This has grown strange.
>Ask the changeling to turn into someone else first. This is a little off.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5910727
While this is very funny, I'm not quite sure I want to make snuff gay.
>>
Wait...I thought of something. Does the original form have a mouth? We could ask to kiss her in her true form.
>>
>>5910727
>Homoshit

Damn, I didn't know it was one of these quests.
>>
>>5910727
>Cross a threshold you can never uncross.
Now neither of us will be virgins...
>>
>>5910727
Commence yaoi sequence
>>
>>5910727
I doubt it'll win, but hey, I need to at least try.
>Ask to kiss her true self
>>
>>5910727
>No, wait. Back off. This has grown strange.
>>
>>5910727
>Ask to kiss her true self
>>
>>5910745
And thank God for that. Normally I'd be all for two cute elf twink kissing, but alas...

>>5910727
>No, wait. Back off. This has grown strange.
It's funnier if we chicken out.
>>
>>5910870
But if we ask to kiss her in her true form, then we get to see Sigrid freak out about seeing us kissing her old friend. And maybe get a little jealous.

Plus we get to see snuff kiss a changeling, so that's nice.
>>
>>5910727
>Cross a threshold you can never uncross.
>>
>>5910745
>He doesn't love himself
Imagine not being Narcissist pilled. But on a slightly more serious note.
>>5910727
>Ask to kiss her true self
>>
>>5910877
I guess if Sigrid doesn't KNOW her true form, it could also break the memory.

>>5910727
Changing the vote at >>5910870 to
>Ask to kiss her true self
>>
>>5910888
I'm pretty sure her true form is the version we saw there.>>5906558
>>
>>5910727
>>5910798
Changing my vote to
>Ask to kiss her true self
>>
>>5910889
But what does her FACE look like? Changelings and Doppelgangers both seem to hide this. Does our mater even know? Does she know how they kiss? can her mind CONCEIEV of this?
>>
>>5910933
irrelevant, we're gonna french kiss it anyway.
>>
>>5910727
You know, all those peers who told me to go fuck myself might have been onto something...
Sadly, this vote is already decided against love of thyself, self hatred is truly a great issue of out time
>Cross a threshold you can never uncross.
>>
>>5910727
>Cross a threshold you can never uncross.
>>
>>5910727
>Ask to kiss her true self
No faggity
>>
>>5911855
A little faggity is okay, as a treat.
>>
>>5910727
>Ask to kiss her true self
Forgive us master, but we must go all out just this once
>>
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>>5910755
>>5910881
>>5910994
>>5911530
>>5912102
>>5911855
>>5910908
>>5910888
>>5910884
>>5910799
>>5910760

>Ask to kiss her true self

“If I may..” You hold your own cheek–you aren’t quite ready to go so far as to cross that threshold. “May I see your true form?”
“..Very well.” Your mirror responds–and in turn, again, her pores seem to bubble up with steam and smoke as her body bends back to her full height and her skin refolds in on itself, the changeling back to towering above you. “I am aware some humans kiss to exchange greetings, but this is.. strange.”

“It’s not strange at all.” You attempt to reassure her as you lean in and begin to shut your eyes. You watch assassin returns the gesture as she begins to pull down her hood, her breath cold on your face..
“What?! He’s kissing it?!” The princess barks in shock as she attempts to kick her body around to catch sight of it.
Your master shrieks.
>>
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You feel just a damp, cold wet sensation–almost as if someone had run a fresh dead fish across your lips–for just a fraction of a second. The changeling’s features warp and spasm, and not because of her powers–no, her form begins melding into the walls, intermingling with the princess, mixing paint twisting into oblong colors and shapes along the walls of the mindscape.

The feeling of cold wet against your lips begins twisting into your guts and head. The creak of wood against dirt skips and loops like an old record as your master’s shriek cuts into the sonorous beat. You feel that same tugging, pulling sensation–a little more strong now, as if someone was intent to wrest you from this scenario–and you begin crossing into another passing memory.
>>
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You wake up in the dark.. did your master just kill you? You suppose that makes sense after what you just did. You attempt to move your body to measure your ghostliness, and.. nope, still alive. You’ve got your hands and digits and legs and toes and head all in place. You can just hardly stand to move them, though.. you’re somewhere cramped AND dark, stuffed away somewhere with your master nowhere in sight.

You can hear noise outside, but it’s muffled. You also spot a bit of light from through a very small pinprick in the wall–colors and shapes dance about in the foreplay. You're most likely still in a memory. You just hope this isn’t a weird memory, though–you know, the type of thing where people intentionally stuff themselves into dark, tight spaces for the fun of it. Your master isn’t like that, right?

>Attempt to call her name.
>Peer through the pinprick in the wall.
>Listen for sounds to pick up on.
>Attempt to grab your wand.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5912251
>we didn't get to actually kiss the shape-shifter
>or see it happen
BOOOO
LAME
>>
>>5912251
>Listen for sounds to pick up on.
>>
>>5912251
>Attempt to grab your wand.
>Listen for sounds to pick up on
>>
>>5912251
>Attempt to grab your wand.
We have 3 different variants of cloudkill to draw
>>
>>5912252
That lame absence-of-action is the essence of our VICTORY! Savor it!

>>5912251
>Attempt to grab your wand.
>Listen for sounds to pick up on
>>
>>5912415
>That lame absence-of-action is the essence of our VICTORY!
That's not a victory, victory would be to see our boy giving a sloppy kiss to the shapeshifter gal
>>
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>>5912252
>>5912629

i was a little tired last night, my apologies for the lack of sloppy shapeshifter kisses.....

>>5912268
>>5912277
>>5912319
>>5912415

>Attempt to grab your wand.
>Listen for sounds to pick up on

You press your ear up against the dark in an attempt to catch some of the words outside. You hear a few phrases of interest: "cadaverine... bestow... de Hautdesert." The voice sounds wizened, elderly--.. somewhat familiar to you, but you can't place it as it's so muffled. You also catch a very low rumble in the background, like many countless voices in a crowd.

You fumble around the dark for your wand, running fingers along the walls and pulling aside the billows of your cloak. You manage to wrap your hand about it quick enough, a length of hard wood twine pressed into your chest at an awkward angle in such a tight space. A spell may get you out of here.. but could be dangerous to cast enclosed like this.

>Cast a spell.
>Peer through the pinprick.
>Attempt to call her name.
>Try to kick your way out.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5912687
Ah, so this is Sigrid gaining her title of Great I think.
>Cast a spell.
>>
>>5912687
>Cast a spell.
Doorus Kickus
>>
>>5912687
>Cast a spell.
>>
>>5912687
>cast a spell
So ready to cloudkill ourselves
>>
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>>5912732
>>5912781
>>5912859
>>5913006

>Cast a spell.

You raise your wand to the dark, the thrum of your heartbeat like a lifeline to your magic. Your fingertips warm as light ebbs up and along the core of the wand, the dark box you're in now awash in a very dim green glow.

>Divination: Your magic and an offering put you in contact with a god or a god’s servants. You ask a single question concerning a specific goal, event, or activity to occur within the next week, and the god offers a truthful reply. The reply might be a short phrase, a cryptic rhyme, or an omen.
>Find Steed: You summon a spirit that assumes the form of an unusually intelligent, strong, and loyal steed. Appearing in an unoccupied space within range, the steed takes on a form that you choose, such as a warhorse, a pony, a camel, an elk, or a mastiff.
>Feeblemind: You blast the mind of a creature that you can see within range, attempting to shatter its intellect and personality. The creature can't cast spells, activate magic items, understand language, or communicate in any intelligible way.
>[Write-In.]
>>
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>>5913913
>Divination
Sort of perfect. We can ask how to win this game fastest!

Also, please enjoy this art, and thanks for running. It's by Indonesian Gentleman from Jail Quest!
>>
>>5913913
>>Divination: Your magic and an offering put you in contact with a god or a god’s servants. You ask a single question concerning a specific goal, event, or activity to occur within the next week, and the god offers a truthful reply. The reply might be a short phrase, a cryptic rhyme, or an omen.
>>
>>5913913
>Divination: Your magic and an offering put you in contact with a god or a god’s servants. You ask a single question concerning a specific goal, event, or activity to occur within the next week, and the god offers a truthful reply. The reply might be a short phrase, a cryptic rhyme, or an omen.
>>
>>5913963
This is fantastic, love the little buttons and poncho style coat.
>>
>>5913913
>>Feeblemind: You blast the mind of a creature that you can see within range, attempting to shatter its intellect and personality. The creature can't cast spells, activate magic items, understand language, or communicate in any intelligible way.
>>
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>>5913963
>>5914121
>>5914193
>>5914372
>>5914393

>Divination: Your magic and an offering put you in contact with a god or a god’s servants. You ask a single question concerning a specific goal, event, or activity to occur within the next week, and the god offers a truthful reply. The reply might be a short phrase, a cryptic rhyme, or an omen.

"..Divination." You whisper into your wand's end, the incursion of magic from your heart into the wand like a shot of ice to the veins. "..Leshy. I summon thee."

You feel another presence in the dark space--somehow infinitely large in this space next to you, so grand in size it sucks up all the oxygen in the box and stifles your breath.

>Make your invocation, and make it quick.
>>
>>5915539
>How do I record speedrun derail this memory
>>
>>5915539
>How can I succeed in completing the task you've given me here?
>>
>>5915539
>How do I record speedrun derail this memory
>>
>>5915539
Dudes, Leshy will fuck us over guaranteed for not relying on our own wit
>Which maiden fair holds us closest in her heart?
>>
>>5915539
>Where the fuck am i

>>5918328
I agree, but that's a stupid spell to use right now.
>>
>>5915539
>When and where am I
>>
>>5915539
>When and where am I
>>
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>>5915644
>>5915649
>>5915991
>>5918328
>>5918406
>>5918502
>>5918545

"When and where I am, old man?!" You hiss into the air, frustration in your voice. You don't much like small, tight, dark spaces, and far less when you share the space with a troublesome god-type.
>"You've been compartmentalized in a memory your master compartmentalizes." His voice seems to reverberate from your head into your bones. "Her coronation ceremony. The 7th Great Witch, Sigrid de Hautdesert the Disinherited. And you're in the best seat in the house."
"The best seat..?" You glance around you. You can hear the thrum of a crowd, the clack of feet and foot, the smell of food.. it sounds like a banquet celebration, alright.
>"Her podium. She's about to give her acceptance speech. You'll be privy to all she says and what she doesn't." Leshy leans in. "Are you tired, boy? I can hear it in your voice. Don't worry. The next memory is the last down the lane. But I doubt you'll much like it. It's not a pleasant one. Not for your master. And not for you."

And with a low, rumble-like chuckle, his voice and presence fade from the box. You are there alone again. What an asshole.

>Knock on the door. Attempt to get your master's attention.
>Cast another spell. Something to disrupt the proceedings.
>Attempt to listen in on your master's speech.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5918612
>Attempt to listen in on your master's speech.
>>
>>5918612
Give her a thumbs up from under the podium.
We accidentally poke her boob because we can't see where she is in relation to where we are and forgot that she's human sized again.
>>
>>5918612
>Attempt to listen in on your master's speech.
>>
>>5918612
>Beatbox from inside the podium so your master can rap out her acceptance speech.
>>
>>5918612
>Get her attention with a knock, and whisper that you'll always support her. It's a memory, and while it may be unpleasant, it's nothing that would change the respect and admiration you feel towards her.
>>
>>5918759
I ( >>5918672 ) will also support this in a pinch, if viable.

>>5918612
>>
>>5918612
>Deploy ENF scenario
"Holding a speech naked" is the type of nightmare you wake from immediately
>>
>>5904271
could always be fatter more fat in the back above the butt
>>
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>>5918616
>>5918632
>>5918672
>>5918759
>>5918924
>>5919201
>>5919392

>Attempt to listen in on your master's speech.

You press your ear against the cask of the podium and try to listen in on your master's speech--but like everything else outside this tiny wooden box, her voice is stifled and words muffled, much as you try to parse it--it especially isn't easy with the din of the crowd, whose shuffling feet carry through to your box. You catch a few words here and there from out of the gallimaufry, though..

"..recognized among the illustrious few who have held this position is a privilege beyond measure.. stand on the shoulders of giants--one of whom who could not be here today, my master, Milday du Saint.." Your master mentions a familiar name. "..pledge to uphold the principles of integrity, compassion, and respect that I have for our craft.. heartfelt thanks for the support, guidance, and camaraderie.."

Your master has her "interview" voice on, the kind of tone you hear out of phonautograph records from out of shop windows when she has to do a press run. Your master as you know her usually sounds a little more.. bitter and sarcastic, usually. You do catch one clear voice through the din, though..

"Where are you, Snuff..?" You catch her hiss from her teeth in the quiet of her tone. She doesn't quite seem to know where you are, either. Perhaps scanning the crowd for your presence?

>Alert her to your presence with a knock.
>Cast a spell.
>Pop out of the podium to surprise her.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5919685
>Alert her to your presence with a knock.
>>
>>5919685
>Alert her to your presence with a knock.
>>
>>5919685
Pop out of the podium under her dress
>>
>>5919699
+1
>>
>>5919699
+1
>>
>>5919699
+1
The Ideal
>>
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>>5919690
>>5919697
>>5919699
>>5919718
>>5919967
>>5920139

>Pop out of the podium
>under her dress

You run your hands along the wall of the door–somewhere here, certainly, there must be–..ah, there it is! Your fingernails find purchase in a long, thin groove along the podium wall that opens into the crawlspace. You take a deep breath and fling the door wide open.

You’re first assailed by the light–bright, white midday light, so bright it bounces from the promenade so bright it seems the wood almost glows, confetti strewn out across it. Your first breath of fresh air is hot and dry in your lungs. You’re next assailed by the sound, rumbling, tumultuous humming and murmuring past a giant crowd. You see neither hide nor hair of that crowd now, however.

No, you see the hem of your master’s dress as it pools up along her heels like a fountain. You have no other way to go from here than forward, so you attempt to crawl “through” the dress and hope your master doesn’t notice. She notices.

“Ackh–! You..!” Your master bites her tongue mid-speech, flinching. You hear a rattling sound, her legs moving about you as she lowers her voice. “Snuff..? Snuff, is that you..?! What are you doing down there?!”

>Stay hidden. You’ve definitely got a great plan concocted that you’ll use to lapse this memory.
>Cast a spell.
>Explain to your master you’re simply lapsing the memory. Somehow.
>Poke it?
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5920940
>Remember to write a thank you letter to Lady Sigrid's essence donor.
>"need air please..."
>>
>>5920948
+1

>>5920940
Also
>Cast a spell
Maybe we'll get Air Bubble.
>>
>>5920940
>Cast a spell.
summon spiders
please
>>
>>5920940
>Cast a spell.
Nice, but unfortunately she’s second place in that area
>>
>>5920940
>cast a spell
C'mon Leshy give is Gust of Wind
>>
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>>5920948
>>5920965
>>5921225
>>5921413
>>5921428

>Cast a spell

You need only cast a spell to lapse this memory--something to break the rigor and pomp of ceremony, something shocking enough to leave your master unable to collect herself. You feel the familiar thrum of magic run through your veins.

>True Polymorph: A spell that warps being itself, transforming a select creature into a different creature, the creature into an object, or the object into a creature. If chosen, you’ll have the option to choose further what you want the creature to transform into. The transformation lasts for a short duration.
>Fabricate: You convert materials into products of the same material. For example, you can fabricate a wooden bridge from a clump of trees, a rope from a patch of hemp, and clothes from flax or wool.
>Heroism: A spell that imbues those you touch with a strong moral compass in accordance with that of the user and sense of intense bravery for the duration of the spell.
>>
>>5921460
I can think of something we could do that would definitely leave sigrid unable to collect herself without even needing a spell.
>>
>>5921460
>Heroism
Give the speech you wanted to give, Sigrid. Tell these people what you really think of them.
>>
>>5921460
>>Heroism: A spell that imbues those you touch with a strong moral compass in accordance with that of the user and sense of intense bravery for the duration of the spell.
>>
>>5921460
>True Polymorph: A spell that warps being itself, transforming a select creature into a different creature, the creature into an object, or the object into a creature. If chosen, you’ll have the option to choose further what you want the creature to transform into. The transformation lasts for a short duration.
Us -> Giant spider
>>
>>5921460
>Heroism
>>
>>5921637
Oh, and since it's activated by touch, do we get to choose where we touch her?
>>
>>5921646
as much as i'd love to grab a handful of sigrid, i'm fairly certain she'd kill us if we did.
>>
>>5921744
What a way to go. But let's not.
Bredbuttle is best butt, anyway.
>>
>>5921745
but what good is a butt if we don't do anything with it?
>>
>>5921749
yet
>>
>>5921744
I mean, there was the poke option earlier, so it isn't like we don't have the option.

Besides, if you were in this sort of situation, would you rather have your teacher think you were an ass pervert or a foot pervert in this situation?
>>
>>5921460
>>5921623
+1
>>
>>5921460
>True Polymorph: A spell that warps being itself, transforming a select creature into a different creature, the creature into an object, or the object into a creature. If chosen, you’ll have the option to choose further what you want the creature to transform into. The transformation lasts for a short duration.
Let's turn her into her true form in front of everyone
>>
>>5921460
>Heroism: A spell that imbues those you touch with a strong moral compass in accordance with that of the user and sense of intense bravery for the duration of the spell.
time to give a REAL speech
>>
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>>5921462
>>5921465
>>5921471
>>5921623
>>5921637
>>5921769
>>5921798
>>5921809

>Heroism: A spell that imbues those you touch with a strong moral compass in accordance with that of the user and sense of intense bravery for the duration of the spell.

"Heroism." You whisper, the words like syntactic sugar on your lips. You feel the warmth of bravery, vigor, and compassion flow out from your wand and into your heart, and then find concentration in the end of your finger.
You just need to poke your master to imbue her with it. Not in a weird place though. Right?
"What are you casting, heroism?" Your lady mutters down at you from above her dress. "What's that supposed to do, exactly? Get rid of my stage fright?"

>She'll get the bravery to deliver a speech that lets the magic world know what she was really thinking today.
>She'll get the bravery to leave this place and all the bread and circus behind. She doesn't care for them and they don't care for her.
>She'll get the bravery to streak on stage! It's not real anyways, right?
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5922403
>She'll get the bravery to deliver a speech that lets the magic world know what she was really thinking today.
If this wasn't a blue board, I would feel compelled to vote otherwise.
>>
>>5922403
>She'll get the bravery to deliver a speech that lets the magic world know what she was really thinking today.
We'll get to see Sigrid naked when we've earned it. If it's just due to a spelll, there's no fun. She has to choose to strip in front of snuff.
>>
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>>5922405
>She has to choose to strip in front of snuff.
Absolute man of taste.
>>
>>5922403
>She'll get the bravery to deliver a speech that lets the magic world know what she was really thinking today.
Yeah as much as I wanna see her naked, Heroism streaking is just not the right way
>>
>>5922408
Poker her butt though.
>>
>>5922403
>She'll get the bravery to deliver a speech that lets the magic world know what she was really thinking today

Confronting memories and moving past them. That’s what we’ve been doing all along.
>>
>>5922403
>>She'll get the bravery to deliver a speech that lets the magic world know what she was really thinking today.
>>
>>5922421
How did kissing a changeling count as confronting something
>>
>>5922403
>She'll get the bravery to deliver a speech that lets the magic world know what she was really thinking today.
Also, butt poke.

>>5922544
Confronting the fact that a memory of her changeling friend got to first base before she did IRL?
>>
>>5922578
Wrong, clearly she had to confront being jealous of seeing her student kiss someone else.
>>
>>5922584
I imagine this is almost/sort of the answer. it probably made her confront some level of attraction to Snuff, or a general desire for psychical affection and companionship.
>>
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>>5922404
>>5922405
>>5922408
>>5922421
>>5922431

>She'll get the bravery to deliver a speech that lets the magic world know what she was really thinking today.

“Just–.. tell them how you really feel, my lady.” You reach up and poke at her backside with your finger, the ebb of magic flowing from your fingers and suffusing into her body. “You know, go off script a little. I’m sure that’ll be like a shock of ice water to your senses.”
“..Hmph. I see the thread. Clever.” Your master responds in quiet, before suddenly stomping your hand with her heel. You recoil back onto the stage, clutching your throbbing hand to your chest. “Don’t poke my ass again. Now..”

“Right. My apologies. Let’s cut the shit.” Your master leans into the electrostatic microphone on the podium, the whine of the condenser coils cutting through the ambient chitchat of the crowd. Your master’s voice is more familiar to you like this. “I do not intend to play the part of a show pony for the archmagi and their friends in high castles any longer. This farce of a ceremony has gone on long enough.”
You manage to shake off the pain from your hand enough to glance out from behind your master at the crowd–the vast, open capitol streets (widened after a failed revolution about seventy years ago) are host to innumerable faces, civilizations and magi alike. The front row includes foreign royalty, bigwigs in magic society, some members from off Saint August’s board of iudices..

“I hate it–all of it and all of you–this bubbling cesspool of corruption you call magical society, festering in the sun.” Your master’s voice drips not just with bitterness now, but with hatred. “You’ve shoved a rod up my ass and propped me up on stage as a puppet to fill out your history books. My study–my life’s work–is a name for you to write into some dusty tome and shut away with the rest of them. A political convenience to grant a witch that means nothing to you a title that means nothing to you.”
A few figures have stood from the edges of the stage to shush her off, but your master continues. “I refuse to continue dancing for you and your disgusting kingmaking games. What is worth it if you call me great if you don’t even believe it yourself? I know why you think I’m up here. The Ill-Fitting Witch, wearing garb too big for her, the apprentice who’s stolen the life of work of her master. My master. I.. I really wanted this, and it’s all just.. I know. I don’t deserve it. He will. Of fucking course he will. I'm filler. An in-between.”
>>
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Your master’s face melts into the sky, pink whorls that mingle with the blue. A few wizards move to take her by the arm, but they, too, meld into her. You’ve heard that title before: “The Ill-Fitting Witch,” for a great witch parading around in the clothing of a master that she cannot hope to fill out. Does your master really feel that way about herself? Who's He supposed to be?

You feel that tugging sensation, swirling into the sky and joining the twisting of your master’s mind into whorling paint and memory. You seem to have done enough to lapse this memory. You recall the wild god’s words: the next is the last one down this avenue, and not a pleasant one for you or for her.
>>
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You awake in the dark, a void again.. godsdammnit, another box..? No, wait. You can feel around, stand and move.. although dark, you can stand and move and jump. You can even look down and see yourself! No, this isn’t darkness–you’re somehow in the dark itself. How strange. Like you’re just standing in nothing. Just what is the nature of this memory..?

You look ahead to see one light–seemingly the only light stretching out, in a darkness that stretches out to infinity all around you. You can make out the figure of your master’s hat and a bed. You also sense.. something else behind you. A presence lurking. Something in the dark. Someone you know.

>Move to presence.
>Move to bed.
>[Write-In.]
>>
>>5922593
>Move to Bed
>>
>>5922593
>Move to presence.
Who's there? A g-g-ghost?
>>
>>5922593
>>Move to presence.
>>
Page 10, by the way
>>
>>5922593
>Move to presence.
>>
>>5922593
Forwards. Protect the light from the void.
>>
>>5922593
>Move to presence.
I know Leshy said this is supposed to be a bad memory for both of us, but all I can think of would be the day our mom passed. Also
>I know. I don’t deserve it. He will. Of fucking course he will. I'm filler. An in-between.
who could this even refer to I wonder?
>>
>>5922593
>Move to bed.
>>
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>>5922603
>>5922606
>>5922610
>>5922613
>>5922617
>>5922696
>>5922703

>Move to presence.

You decide to approach the presence, turning from the light and gazing deep into the vast, vast black void before you. The stretch of darkness crawls into the endless mindscape of your master's head. You continue to look, deeper and deeper yet, almost sinking into the gaping maw of black as your body and head seem to stretch into the pit alongside your gaze.. until something looks back.

"Oh. It's just you." You scoff. You can't see him, nor does it even look like him.. but you can tell, even if something seems off.
>"Sharp eye." Leshy's voice echoes back from the darkness. You can see neither hide nor hair of the old man, but his eyes--swirling pits of green carving into your body, yawning vortexes into the wild. Maybe it's what he really looks like. Or maybe this is all you're allowed to see of what he really looks like.

"What are you doing here?" You keep your distance--though, you can't imagine a sparse few feet will do much.
>"I had to. It's nearly time for the end, after all. I was just wondering what you would make the finale." The god responds soundly. "And it was me. How exciting."

"You want something, then. Hasn't my master suffered enough?" You glower at the god. "You've had your fun. I'm leaving."
>"Of course you will. Just thought I'd make you an offer, first. It's your quest. You get to make the choice." Leshy's voice is cavernous, deep, and it rumbles through your insides.

>.."It's just a little invitation. To change things up. To make things different. Otherwise.. this will go exactly as you think it will." His voice is teasing, almost trembling with excitement. "I know something about you that you don't. Your own name. Do you want to guess what it really is?"
>>
>>5922712
>”I thought my name was Bobbington Duckworth.”
>>
>>5922712
>Leshy reveals we're actually part gnome
>>
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>>5922752
>part gnome
pic related

>>5922712
>Bobbington... Du-Saint-Winifred?
>>
>>5922712
Nah. Let's go back to the light. We're not here for ourself. We're here to support our mistress!
Leshy can get bent. He's not our finale.
>>
>>5922712
>"I’m Snuff. And that’s all I really need to know."

We’re nearing the end, isn’t it? It has been fun. I really like the gifs you’ve made in this thread, QM.
>>
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>>5922742
>>5922752
>>5922785
>>5923287
>>5923367

”I thought my name was Bobbington Duckworth. Or, Snuff Sigurdsson, depending on who you ask..” You admit. "Bobbington.. Du-Saint-Winifred?" You hope that's not your name.. sounds pretty lame.
You watch something lurch in the dark–something massive, so big it’s hard for you to parse at first–a green hand that slips from the void and into your field of view. The hand is gnarled, warped like bark, and holds up three fingers. You watch it extend, unnaturally, the forearm just a little too long and the fingers a little too thin.

>”BOBBINGTON DUCKWORTH, the son of Snorri Duckworth, the carpenter and baker. The name of a sickly country boy in breeches a size too big and ears he hides beneath floppy hats.” A finger lowers. “SNUFF SIGURDSSON, apprentice errant to the Great Witch Sigrid de Hautdesert the Disinherited. The name of a wizard who trails in the path of his master’s shadow like a gosling after its mother.”
The god lowers another finger–just one remains. The god’s eyes whirl into your heart.

>”And..” His voice rumbles low and deep. “The son of the Wild God Leshy, He From the Forest. You are just like me, boy. You have the potential to be a deity, with real power–not the sparks you toy with now, but an ancient, chthonic magic that belongs only to us.. only to the great, green wilds.”
>>
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>“You are the god of mischief and trickery--a god who revels in chaos. You are a wild god.” Leshy leans in. “You are LOKI LAUFEYSON. And I’ve an offer to make.”
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Calling the thread here! Thanks for reading. Enjoyed practicing with the animation tools and the video was the first I've ever made like it, so this was a fun thread for me.
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>>5923473
Well that's a big reveal. Somehow feel he aint telling the whole story, though.
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>>5923473
Wait, what???

>>5923474
What a cliffhanger! Thanks for running, QM.
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>>5922712
>Bobbington... Du-Saint-Winifred?
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>>5923473
>>5923471
oh shit
daddy

nice job mom bagging a god
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>>5923473
Geez Bobby Snuff Loki, how come you get TWO dads?
In all seriousness, thanks for running QM, really enjoyed the videos and gifs. Though I do wonder who did the voiceover for the recap
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okay, but how does this work, like, is he his 'father' in the literal sense, or more of a magical sense?

is snuff's dad just a cuck?
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>>5923473
This is sick.



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