okay.

So who are we exactly, and what did we deserve to get stuck down here? what made us so unloved and unwanted?

Vox 2022/03/17(Thu)19:47 No. 1026532 ID: 3f2378
File 164757162599.jpg - (138.21KB , 1280x800 , There's Gonna Be A Lot Of This Until I Scrape.jpg )

The forces holding Tenebrous together are unraveling. Already the flooring is gone everywhere, exposing the dead plants, bare earth, stone, and water of wherever or whatever it was built upon. Shifts have become both rarer and more cataclysmic; entire gangs and societies wiped out in an instant as they find themselves occupying the same physical space, or that their food stores have become co-existent with, as a random, nonspecific example, a forge. In desperation, lanterns have been made and lit all over the prison, and precious objects not made of darkness are burned to provide enough light to sustain it. The last five supply deliveries were late, and the current one is too. Escape, once a myth, a legend spoken of by fresh arrivals from Outside and whispered by the dark children born here, is becoming a looming necessity. You must leave or die trying.

As for who you are...

> Alex Shade, the Void Prophet

The Cult of Darkness was not sentenced to Tenebrous; they joined it early in their arrival, more than a thousand of their members from all over settled space arriving for the promise of a world of pure shadow. The politics of it were...complex, but it was eventually decided to permit their settlement on the condition that no member of their faith - free or Tenebrant - receive information on its construction. Void prophets practice shadow magic, enabling them to powerfully alter Tenebrous Prison's form directly, but the recent catastrophes have rocked their sorceries and their faith.

> Ash Twoshivs, the Scum

Not the biggest or the mightiest of the prison gangs, the oath-gang calling themselves Scum claims to be the oldest, and they may be right. They're violent, they're unrefined, and their word is their bond, absolute and secured; Scum have no patience for warlocks who break their word, and execute liars in their own ranks far more cruelly than faithless filth from outside it. They know secrets of Tenebrous even the Prophets don't, and they always have another knife.

> Nattie Bellman, the Wardenborn

Tenebrous had guards, once. Now it has the Wardenborn, the descendants of the surviving wardens and thugs who briefly ran the prison. Their faith is one of penitence for the failures of their ancestors; for the cruelty of the wardens-that-were, for their complicity in creating Tenebrous, and for every horror they sought to prevent. Their badges of office enable security features accessible to no one else, and they field the toughest armor in the prison.

> Thorn, the Know-It-All

In a free society, Know-It-Alls might be likened to traveling tinkers. In Tenebrous, they are the brave explorers and couriers who make diplomacy work, provide skills gangs are lacking for a small fee, and help even out supply disparities by striking deals. To attack a Know-It-All is one of the highest crimes, not that it always stops people, and of course their other advantage is in the name; specialized labor is in high demand.

Welcome to Stolen Sun! After a long hiatus from running quests I'm trying to get back into the game, shake the rust off, and have some fun again.

A few notes:

- Feedback is always welcome. I use it in place of food, water, and love

- Please

> Greentext your votes

For my sanity

- I work 40 hours a week so expect updates at weird times

- Please feel free to discuss here in the thread! I have no intention of opening a separate discussion thread; aside from just generally being a withered lich unusued to using such a resource, I'd rather interact with my readers/shake them down for feedback like a legbreaker right here

Thank you in advance for reading and participating!

Knowing everything has never caused any problems ever.

> The Know-It-All

>Thorn, the Know-It-All

> Nattie Bellman, the Wardenborn
security access, heavy armor, what's not to love?

> Thorn, the Know-It-All

gossip and diplomacy are always fun

>>1026533
I dig the premise, looks fun!

> Nattie Bellman, the Wardenborn
If there is to an exodus, even if the effort might be called folly, the responsibility to spearhead it falls to those whose lineage is duty.

> Ash Twoshivs, the Scum

why have one shiv when you can have two?

> Natalie Bellman, the Wardenborn

Gonna call and write at midnight EST

Incidentally uh

Expect a lot of stock images until or unless I scrape some art together. Stock images and memes.

> Thorn, the Know-It-All

And called, writing.

Winner:

> Thorn, the Know-It-All

Alex Shade, Void Prophet

Vox 2022/03/17(Thu)21:26 No. 1026555 ID: 3f2378
File 164757760419.jpg - (18.85KB , 364x361 , The Fucking Mailman.jpg )

>>1026532
You are Thorn, one of Tenebrous's rare and treasured Know-It-Alls, valued for the skills you bring for sale, the news you tell from far-off places in the prison, the rare items you have for trade (or entertainment; sometimes a body just has to watch a bunch of rings in a glass ball go weeeeeee! for an hour, and for the trust, and power, to negotiate peace.

Things are kind of going to hell around here, and sometimes you feel like you and your fellow Know-It-Alls are the only ones taking that seriously. Does everyone else know that they're all going to die? That thing where, after a creature is born, it stops forever? They get that right?

Gods both Dark and Shimmering, you really hope they get that.

You're almost home, for a given value of home. Shantytown has never exactly been the most home-like home to ever be graced with that lofty title, but it's where Know-It-Alls gather. The Unburnt Library is here; folks retire to raise families, adopt apprentices, or to polish their shotguns at the bar like lunatics here. You yourself were born here! And now you've come back, summoned by the Council of Nerds. You check your conscience but it seems mostly clear, which suggests they're calling you for your specialized knowledge in...

> Wergild; more broadly, in making peace between violent parties and seeking concessions each will offer in place of further vengeance

> Shadowcraft relics; those items seemingly disgorged by Tenebrous itself, which pick up its ambient magic and thus some of its power

> Medicine. Doctors, real doctors, are rare. Legends say that Outside, sorcerers can heal with magic, but in here you need medicine, and you're one of maybe five people you know who can pull out someone's living guts and then later put them back in working better than when you sliced them open

>Wergild

> Wergild.

Guts guts guts guts guts
> Medicine

> Medicine

as if i was going to pick anything else!

(giggling at Council of Nerds, nice one)

> Wergild

> Wergild
give me diplomacy.. it can only end well

Vox 2022/03/17(Thu)22:16 No. 1026569 ID: 3f2378
File 164758056669.jpg - (69.78KB , 1024x763 , This Happens Every Morning.jpg )

Gonna leave this one running slightly longer; votes close at 2 AM EST, in part so I can do my laundry but in main because it's late and I want to give folks the opportunity to vote. At some point in the near future a vote will need to be left overnight as I sleep; when that happens, I'll update in the morning after I make the coffee.

> Wergild; more broadly, in making peace between violent parties and seeking concessions each will offer in place of further vengeance

Called, writing

>>1026555
> Medicine. Doctors, real doctors, are rare. Legends say that Outside, sorcerers can heal with magic, but in here you need medicine, and you're one of maybe five people you know who can pull out someone's living guts and then later put them back in working better than when you sliced them open
Don't worry I'm a doctor

Vox 2022/03/17(Thu)23:25 No. 1026573 ID: 3f2378
File 164758473304.png - (333.77KB , 500x338 , Diplomatic Relations.png )

>>1026555
...diplomacy, obviously. Interpersonal relationships maybe not...

Okay, probably not.

Definitely not...

But those aren't the same and you earn your fungus bread on the difference! You straighten your back in pride, immediately regret it because of the gigantic backpack weighing you down, and resume the more classic Hermit Crab Posture(tm) of the traveling Know-It-All. Around you, Shantytown starts happening like a reversed ink-stain; every building lit by slow-burning lanterns hung outside, hung inside, defining their darkness and strengthening the whole with hundreds of tiny lights. Each barely consumes fuel, but, well, they add up.

You should know. Most of this backpack weight is pressed fungus oil, and it'll last maybe a month. Less, probably. Lanterns break.

Your first stop is the Hoard, where you turn in the products needed to sustain Shantytown. It's a literal weight off your back; all of that oil leaves, and so does a nice chunk of spent shells, raw ingredients for medicines and other drugs, and a box of cigarettes, found fresh on a dead man. Poor bastard. He made some great-smelling smokes. The Hoardmaster (attempts to call him by his formal title, Little Dragon, have consistently failed since the Hoard's founding) pays you in scrip, and in turn you hand some back to renew your rental of certain -

"You're covered," the Hoardmaster interrupts.

You blink. Several replies flit past your mind's eye, but you settle on: "Gods preserve, I hope so. Can you imagine if I'd been naked this whole time?"

Theeeeere it is. That thing people do where they pinch the bridge of their nose and have to visibly restrain themselves from ending your life.

"You. Are now the proud owner. Of the communal equipment you carry," the Hoardmaster clarifies. "Per the Council, who expect you at your first convenience. Hit the showers, and I will inform them of your arrival myself."

Oh that does not bode well. You love your people, sure, but free lunches are not available anywhere short of Outside, where the sun shines bright and people live free. You suppress a shudder and salute the Hoardmaster (pushing the empty frames of your glasses up your nose with parade precision) before trudging, with rather less professionalism, to the showers.

Vox 2022/03/17(Thu)23:38 No. 1026575 ID: 3f2378
File 164758548484.jpg - (22.79KB , 509x339 , Dark Cell.jpg )

>>1026573
You empty your pockets, your other pockets, and your third set of pockets, chuck your belt and its pouches over the bar for the shower curtain, whip your uniform into the dirty laundry bin, and set a new one in front of your chosen shower so folks know not to walk in on you. Thusly prepared, you step inside and turn on the darkwater. Whether or not Tenebrous has plumbing is a bit of a debate (see: regular cause of rolling bar brawls) among the Know-It-Alls, but the shadowy showers produce darkwater, which is sterile, lukewarm, and most importantly, will eventually turn into actual water. Drinking darkwater is not suggested. It won't hurt you, but it causes no hydration whatsoever, which makes the affair rather an exercise in disappointment.

You take your time. First convenience and all, yeah yeah, but you've been walking for a hot fucking minute and even if you did not want to selfishly luxuriate in being clean, the Council of Nerds probably does not want to smell you.

Getting the new uniform on after flicking yourself dry as best you can doesn't take terribly long. Getting everything back into the pockets you like it in takes just about as long as the shower did.

The Nerds are waiting when you walk down the street to the Council Chamber; seven elders, gray or white of hair, most with actual lenses in their glasses, gathered around a rough map of the local area's current state. You snap to attention and salute; they idly return the gesture before beckoning you to sit.

"Traveler Thorn," one begins.

"Dad," you greet back.

He sighs. The Nerd next to him sighs. Auntie Beck, bless her, gives you a small grin.

"Can I impress upon you the gravity of this situation by asking you, directly, to be serious?" your father says.

Oh.

Oh no.

You give him a small nod, and he proceeds.

Vox 2022/03/18(Fri)00:01 No. 1026579 ID: 3f2378
File 164758691628.jpg - (38.27KB , 396x435 , Like, a LOT of these.jpg )

>>1026575
Your father touches a small pin in the parchment of the map. "A recent shift has brought Saltwater from clear across the prison and into the fields of Mycos. The situation threatens to escalate to violence, and it must not. With the supply shipment months late, the area cannot afford to lose a single farmer."

You lean over the map and rub your chin. "Not to be that bitch, but why not simply crush Saltwater alongside Mycos?"

"Because their salt mine moved with them."

"Gods Dark and fucking Shimmering," you breathe.

The Nerd to your right cuffs you upside the back of your head for blasphemy, and you offer them a wan grin by way of not-apology. Your father gives you a disapproving look over his glasses, as he often does, and then he continues.

"You will travel with a specialist, who should be done with her own preparations shortly. She has rendered extraordinary service to Shantytown, and your services will be at her disposal after this mission."

Oh nnnnnooooooooo - "When you say my services -"

"Die if necessary."

You actually sit back in shock. You don't always get on with your father but you know he loves you and prefers you alive. But the hard face he's wearing shows no signs of humor, and neither does the grief that shrouds his eyes like the shadows shroud a lantern.

"...Damn. At least I know now why you gave me my rentals," you murmur. "...It's that important?"

"It's that important," your father agrees, a weight on every word. "And important enough that you will be permitted to take a relic from the Unburnt Library to assist you as well. Sleep off your journey; the specialist will wake you when she is ready. I would suggest packing. And..."

He gets up from the table and crosses around it to wrap you in a mighty hug. Even with age on his bones, Dad can squeeze you hard enough that you just might actually die.

"Do try not to make dying necessary," your father murmurs, as you hug him back.

Neither of you have ever been big on goodbyes, and you're not about to start now. When you escape your progenitor's love you make a parting salute and leave to pack. You have the usual; travel food, water cut with trace amounts of prison hooch to keep it potable, ropes, a spare set of boots, a bedroll, survival knife, your little glass ball that goes weeeeeeeeeeeeeee!, journal, map (self-made), flashlight and far too many batteries, and...

(Pick up to 3)
> A collapsible spear
> A shotgun
> A darkcloak, for camoflauge
> Non-scrip currency
> A box of smokes & a lighter
> A shrieker whistle
> Books of tales and history, from Outside
> A first-aid kit & pure alcohol for disinfecting
> Weal & Woe (two trained rats)

A relic from the Unburnt Library. They're not kidding about this being important. You take...

> The Watchful Tick
> A penumbral crystal
> The Woelantern
> A truewatch & chain

> Weal & Woe (two trained rats)
> Books of tales and history, from Outside
> A darkcloak, for camoflauge
> A penumbral crystal

as much as i'd like to select weapons, we're a diplomat. minions, a book of stories of the outside world, and stealth seem a lot smarter.

and i'm *guessing* the penumbral crystal has somethin to do with the whole 'everything is shadows' deal.

As foretold in prophecy, this is the last update for the evening. Votes & discussion remain open. I picked a weird time of night to start this but eh, such is death. I'll update in the morning after coffee, but now is the time of shower and bedtime prep.

Thank you all for reading and participating! Feedback will always be welcome and appreciated, though we have of course barely started.

> A darkcloak, for camouflage
> A shrieker whistle
> A box of smokes & a lighter

I agree we don't need weapons, but a box of smokes is good for making friends with, and sometimes you need to draw attention just as much as you need to avoid it.

> A truewatch & chain

This one's a shot in the dark, obviously, but a 'truewatch' suggests to me the possibility of time fuckery later on, and that sounds like something I'd like not to be a problem if possible

> A darkcloak, for camouflage
> Books of tales and history, from Outside
> A box of smokes and a lighter

As previously mentioned, this is a diplomacy mission, so weapons don't interest me. The darkcloak is handy if everything goes to shit, the books should help us the readers understand the setting better, and we appear to be a smoker so I don't want us going into withdrawal and acting screwy as a result.

> A truewatch and chain

I'm just curious about this one.

>currency
>smokes
>first aid

Unburnt library:
>woelantern

If the woelantern inflicts woe I'll be bored but if it does anything else I'll be very entertained

> A box of smokes & a lighter
> A first-aid kit & pure alcohol for disinfecting
> Weal & Woe (two trained rats)

we probably don’t need weapons, smokes are an excellent currency, the rats can spy for us and are cute companions and mascots. the first-aid kit is probably self-explanatory

> The Woelantern

we have a rat called Woe. we should have a matching lantern

> A box of smokes & a lighter
> A first-aid kit & pure alcohol for disinfecting

Fire and medicine are useful in the field, both for their intended uses and as bargaining tools.

> Weal and Woe

I really wanted to pick a weapon, but in anything but an out-and-out fight, trained rats will probably be more useful

> a truewatch and chain

Called, tallying, writing

So we've got a tie, with rats, the darkcloak, and first aid all sitting at 3 votes behind the SHOCKING decision to give Thorn a box of smokes

So uh, fuck it

Winners:

> Weal & Woe
> First aid kit & alcohol
> Darkcloak
> Smokes

&

> Truewatch & chain

Vox 2022/03/18(Fri)11:20 No. 1026602 ID: 3f2378
File 164762761448.jpg - (112.81KB , 1023x771 , Typical Know-It-All Training.jpg )

>>1026579
Shantytown keeps temporary housing for Travelers (such as, as a random, nonspecific example, you) who are resting between assignments or called back home to get a new one. You let Weal and Woe out of your belt pouches when you get to the shack, or at least you try to; they are fast asleep from their long journey already, so you just geeeeeeeeeeeeently remove the pouches themselves and set your rats on the bedside table, with a strip of fungus jerky between them to share when they wake up. You unpack and re-pack your backpack, making room for the inevitable gifts and trade goods you'll be saddled with for this trip (no point wasting any time or space; you're going there anyway) in an effort to avoid looking at the truewatch.

But eventually you have to. It's such a small thing; it fits in the palm of your hand, quietly tick-tick-ticking the time away. The Scum lost six lives to acquire it, and considered them lives well-spent to trade it to your people for what passes as a fortune in Tenebrous. The watch and its nine-inch chain have thus far proven completely invulnerable to conventional attack, though admittedly no one has been trying particularly hard. Its face has a dim light that lets you see the myriad hands of the watch, which tick-tick-tick away. Two tell the time as dictated Outside (currently: 1:33, whatever the fuck that means). Another can be used to set an alarm for a specific Outside time. A fourth swings to and fro, following the direction of Tenebrous's winds, while a fifth hand painted bright red and currently pointed at 00 is said to track the number of things trying to kill you nearby ("Define nearby," you'd asked a Librarian, and you had gotten a shrug back).

But the thing most valued and treasured about it, the reason the Scum killed and died to give it to the Know-It-Alls, is that the bearer of a truewatch cannot be shifted; when the prison leaves their area, they simply migrate to the closest bit that's left instead of leaving with it. Powerful. Unexplained.

Yours.

"Urghhh," you bitch to yourself, but quietly, so you don't wake the rats. You slip the watch into the breast pocket of your uniform, right over your heart, before you shuck everything but your underclothes and flop on top of the hard bed. The shadow-wood frame doesn't creak. They never do.

Vox 2022/03/18(Fri)11:37 No. 1026603 ID: 3f2378
File 164762866617.jpg - (1.57MB , 3000x4000 , Could You Guess That It's Another Fucking Lan.jpg )

>>1026602
At least you get some decent sleep. Your dreams are troubled, but there's not a Traveler living who can't sleep like the dead at the thinnest excuse. When you're woken by a knocking at the door it takes you a moment to remember what the lantern in your room is; vague memories of being lost in darkness chase your bleary mind around before it manages to remember who you are and what's going on.

"Moment," you call. Weal and Woe are still working their way through the jerky; you pet their grayish heads with one finger apiece before you hastily dress. They jump back into their pouches as you buckle your belt on, and you split the remaining jerky in half and drop one piece in each before you open the door, vision obscured by the messy locks of your red hair.

This has to be the specialist, because you've never seen her before. You have to tilt your head up to meet her gaze, and that gaze looks about as nervous as you feel. She's still dressed in the jumper they give to new fish from Outside, though she's already torn off the serial number that should be sewn over her heart, and somewhere along the way she's picked up a wicked-looking brace of knives and the omnipresent backpack of your own people.

You've.

Never met someone from Outside before.

"Usually when people stare I remind them where my eyes are. I am unsure of what to do with this," she says to you, her accent strange. She offers her hand out to you. "Heather Locke, at your service, mister -"

You shake your head.

"Miss -?"

"Try again."

"Traveler Thorn?"

"That works." You clasp her hand in a firm shake and offer an apologetic smile. "We'll need to load up before we leave. Come on in if you like."

"I would," she admits. Heather takes a seat at the very small table that is not next to the bed, and immediately begins unrolling a map. You raid the shack's thin pantry for something that can serve as breakfast and isn't jerky, fail, and give her some jerky before sitting down with your own. Salt and fungus, the classic flavor of Please Gods Anything Else.

You tilt your head as you study your traveling companion. It's the little things you notice; despite a clearly rough life, she's been fed for most of it, lacking the whipcord muscle or skeletal frame of a Prisoner. Her hair, cut short, has a healthy gloss to it that you've only seen in carefully preserved photographs. The way she drums her fingers on the table is unthinkable for someone who grew up Inside; the noise attracts attention.

"Do you see something you like?" she asks in that odd accent.

"Ask again later," you joke, but you wrench your gaze from her and look down at the map. "Couple routes to pick from. Lots of ways to get there but if it comes down to speed we've really only got two choices." You tap one with your finger. "The Corridors here are probably fastest, and no one lives in them. Narrow means it's hard to get snuck up on, but also hard to get back out, but with no one living there they're probably rotting. The structures are going to be unstable."

Heather makes a Face. Oh. Oh you like that Face. You're gonna have to get that again. "The other?"

"Cut through Junction, here," you tap a marker on the map. "Which means paying the toll to the Legbreakers that live there, maybe stopping to trade. It'll take longer, but the whole way is lit."

"How bad can the rot be?" Heather asks in a soft voice.

"Oh, new fish. You have no idea."

> Chance the Corridors
> Cut through Junction

This vote will stay open while I'm at work; thanks to everyone for reading and participating! Expect an update sometime near 1 AM EST.

Does the truewatch mean that if we fall through shadowrot we'll simply [boop] to the nearest piece of prison?

> cut through the junction

we got them diplomacy skills and honestly i don't think we should be risking danger so quickly. since these are both quick routes, let's stay in the light.

> Cut through the junction

We have the talky power, rot would have more chances to go wrong with less degrees of agency

>>1026605
It does not, but the floor is not a problem; there's ground-ass ground in Tenebrous. Collapsing walls, falling doors, and malfunctioning security systems on the other hand...

>junction

Hello friends and enemies

> junction

We are diplomancers, an I'm interested in seeing how the new characters play with others

> junction

> Cut through Junction

Heya and welcome back to questing, Vox. I've waded through the Lake of Rot in Elden Ring, don't recommend it, so let's play nice to the gangs.

>>1026615
It's good to be back! I take it you've caught some of my prior work?

>Cut through Junction

We are diplomatic specialists, with trade goods and room to carry more, on a diplomatic mission. Too many potential upsides here even without considering the horrible death risk.

>>1026617

Yeah, I remember participating in New Avalon (RIP), and reading the Dungeon quests. Was I part of those too? Don't remember. I found you through wildwestscifi (RIP GenCrawl Gaiden), and I found -that- through... a link from a forum. Giantitp?

Anyways, good to see more writing again!

Well, that's a pretty clear winner. Called, writing.

Vox 2022/03/18(Fri)23:26 No. 1026656 ID: 3f2378
File 164767121514.jpg - (146.95KB , 500x338 , Literally All Of Tenebrous.jpg )

>>1026603
It's near ten minutes the two of you stare at the map in relative silence (you use the truewatch to check) but finally you tap Junction with one finger. "I don't know the conditions on the ground in the Corridors, but I do know the Legbreakers will give us a pass for some trade and some news, and that they don't want to piss the Nerds off. We'll run through Junction, should take a day and a half at most, if the Gods of Dark throw some luck our way."

Heather tries to nod and shrug at the same time and the entire towering mass of her briefly turns into a wiggling noodle in the process. "You're the expert. We should leave soon."

"Oh, we will, but I think you'll find we have different definitions of soon."

Yeah, you do. First you have to go back to the Hoard and get loaded down, and then Heather has to get loaded down and receive a standard-issue walking staff because she is not yet wise in the ways of the Hermit Crab Posture(tm). Then y'all get a wagon, which is in turn loaded down further with goods owed to the Legbreakers, as you're going there anyway, along with some things to trade to them and a shipment of potable water since Shantytown has a seemingly limitless supply of it and it never hurts to remind your neighbors that if they like being alive and not dead they should stay on your good side.

Then it's off to Auntie Beck to have her formally sanction your travel and bless you both, marking your foreheads with the sigil of the library card in greasy ash to ensure your safe and timely return. This takes another thirty minutes by itself, and then Beck wants to hear about your latest trip, which is on the heavy side of another two hours, though admittedly Heather listens politely for the entire thing and is rewarded with an allegedly strawberry candy for her manners.

Finally, the two of you set off. There's frequent stops so Heather can rest and adjust, and so you can correct her posture as gently as you can. Unfortunately you have to slap her wrist every time she reaches for the backpack; that shit is packed, it is staying packed, it is packed correctly, no being mortal or divine could have packed it better, stop fucking touching it.

You're in the middle of mentally revising your day-and-a-half estimate when Heather's voice interrupts the steady sounds of the two of you crushing dead grass beneath your feet.

"So uh...what're you in for?"

You blink at her. "I'm a Know-It-All, this is my job."

"No, not - what are you in prison for?"

Your brain immediately diverts all resources to processing this sentence another living human has used their mouth to purposefully say. You stop walking entirely, and whatever part of you is used to keep your mouth closed gets retasked to this high-priority The Fuck Did She Just Say situation. When the full implications of it finally make it to the part of you that you use to be yourself you start laughing, deep in your gut, so hard you double over and sink to your knees to prevent your backpack from turning you into a greasy smear on the dying earth. Heather's face is turning red and you can see she's getting upset but you just, you just cannot stop fucking laughing.

Vox 2022/03/18(Fri)23:35 No. 1026657 ID: 3f2378
File 164767175738.jpg - (37.57KB , 1000x1500 , Dark Corridor.jpg )

>>1026656
"You want to let the class in on the joke?" your companion snaps hotly. You hold up a hand to plead for a moment but the words never escape your mouth because there's more laughter in this backlog. Your vision goes black around the edges from the lack of air, and finally, with a truly heroic effort, you manage to start taking deep breaths in and out, punctuated by bursts of further maniacal cackling.

"Well?" Heather insists. She's trying to stamp her foot, you can tell, but the Backpack is stronger than her rage, mighty indeed as that rage may be.

"I'm not in here for anything, new fish," you manage, breathlessly. "I was fucking born here."

"Born - you mean -"

"Born. As was my father and his partner. Hell I can't think of a single new fish who's become a Know-It-All for the last five generations. We fucking live here, Heather. Born in darkness to die far from the sun. What do they think happens here Outside?"

Her mouth opens and shuts like the new fish she is, and it's pitiful enough to break the dark mirth that has you in its grip. You hold your hand up, and she takes the out for what it is, helping you to your feet without answering your question. You shake, rattle, and roll, find that you're still packed to your satisfaction, grab the wagon handle again, and set back off into the dark.

"...Think it's pushing things if I ask you the same question back?" you say after about half a mile of awkward silence.

Heather sighs. "I uh, I hacked the wrong server."

"What the fuck is a server?"

Huh, so that's what your face looked like before you started laughing. Heather's self-control proves better than yours, or the question is less patently absurd, or both, because she answers via rephrasing: "I accessed some very private information and I got caught."

"Yeah, that'll do it."

> Well. This is awkward. Quietly finish the trip.
> Attempt to impart Prison Wisdom to the new fish
> "Do you uh. Use those knives when you're hacking servers?"
> Cute rats will improve this. Show her the rats.

> "Do you uh. Use those knives when you're hacking servers?"

Vox, I don't know what this universe is like. Maybe they do have knives that can cut through raw digital data.

> cute rats will improve this

cute rats improve everything, 100% can confirm

>>1026657
Much as I want to play with the pets, not is not the time.
>impart some Prison Wisdom to the New Fish

> Impart Prison Wisdom.
Let's turn this awkward situation into a much more socially navigable lesson (and setting exposition!)

It was truck day at work today. I'm wiped; I'll call and update in the morning.

Thank you all for reading and participating!

> Impart Prison Wisdom.

Not everyone will laugh when our new friend says something stupid. And not everyone who does laugh will actually think it's funny.

Love rats, love stabbing servers, but I'm most /curious/ about

>prison wisdom

> Cute rats will improve this. Show her the rats.

>>1026657
> rat time rat time rat time!

> Cute rats will improve this. Show her the rats.

let’s bond with the new fish by showing her the rats

> "Do you uh. Use those knives when you're hacking servers?"

how else you gonna hack something?

> impart prison wisdom

Enlightening and meeting her halfway is the most ideal. If her and the Know It All are to be a team, sincerity is the optimal path. Strength in Cohesion.

Why is it in half of these stories it's like no one's ever had any kind of media osmosis?

There have been Unexpected Keyboard Problems. I will update after work; thank you for your patience.

>>1026684
Que?

>>1026690
Like, it's like no one watches TV or has had any kind of exposure to the situation they can call on, even if fictional. In this case, asking 'what are you in for' is always That Question You Never Ask In Prison in every form of media. I've never been in prison, no, but I know enough to not ask that.

>>1026694
Yes, which is why its being used to illustrate the relative naivity of the character

Alright. One day of work and keyboard replacement later, we are CALLED, TALLYING, and WRITING

Vox 2022/03/20(Sun)10:13 No. 1026756 ID: 3f2378
File 164779640693.jpg - (1.57MB , 3000x4000 , Could You Guess That It's Another Fucking Lan.jpg )

>>1026657
Okay Thorn. You can do this. The new fish has done something incredible for your people that -

Hold on.

What in all the gods did she do actually? Dad never actually told you that, did he.

...

......

.........See, this is why the Council keeps telling you that you're never gonna make it past Traveler.

In any event, Heather is your responsibility now, which means you need to try and instruct her on life Inside so she doesn't, as a random, nonspecific example, die before you can start doing whatever it is you're supposed to die doing for her.

There, sorted.

"They give you any advice, before they threw you Inside?" you ask in your gentlest voice. The look you get in return is quizzical, which means 'no', but this is how you opened the conversation so now you're stuck for it. "How to survive in here, information on any of the major gangs, I dunno, some food so you don't starve to death?"

"Starve -" the comprehension that steals over her is full of things she'd rather not have known. "...They...no."

Mmm. Ask about that later. "You have to eat or you'll die, but uh. Food is a bit tight right now, and it's only going to get tighter if Mycos goes under, so we have to ration pretty strictly. There used to be Hydros, they had these lights that let plants from Outside grow, but no one's heard from them in a hot minute. They're probably dead."

"Is it really so brutal in here?" the new fish murmurs.

You Sigh. It's a good Sigh, a nice soul-deep Sigh, the kinda Sigh that gets a capital letter at the front. "What were you expecting?"

"Wouldn't it be better to not kill each other?"

"Amazing idea. However did you think of it?"

"I'm not a child, Thorn!"

Okay. Deep breath. Count back from ten. She's having a bad time. She just got locked up in prison. She doesn't know you're not actually being rude - well, you are being rude but you're not being rude - oh hey, there we go, conversation topic.

>>1026756
You take a second deep breath. "My apologies. But you gotta understand, things are just different, in here, from whatever you're used to. Like...being super polite and formal is usually a threat, or at least a sign of two people who really don't fucking like each other. Even for the few people in here who came from Outside, you don't ask why they're in here. You don't ask after people's families unless you know 'em really well because that's a threat too."

"Why would - oh Shimmering Gods, nevermind, I get it." She turns almost as pale as you as the blood runs from her face. "...Why is it so violent in here?"

You shrug. "Limited resources that are only getting tighter. Power. Because sometimes when you beat the shit out of someone you feel safe enough to sleep in your own bed. Honor sometimes. Desperation. A few folks are just assholes obviously, but in the main if you see folks fighting the question is 'who wants what here'. Luckily, I specialize in that question." You tug the straps on your backpack in pride. "Someone else besides you is into the not killing people thing, and that's my folks, the Know-It-Alls. Professionals in mediation and compromise, among other things."

The conversation lapses into silence. You get to thinking about the upcoming trip through Junction. Part of that day-and-a-half estimate is the Legbreakers are gonna offer to put you up to rest, and there's not a lot of polite ways to say no to that, which means stopping. You're workshopping an attempt in your head when Heather speaks up again.

"Has anyone ever...left? Gone back to the places where sunshine is?"

"Not that we can confirm," you murmur. "There's legends, stories, couple of novels -"

"Wait."

"Waiting."

Heather gestures to the omnipresent darkness around you. "How do y'all have paper with no trees? I get books coming in with the supply shipments, but those have to be hard to write over, right?"

"Good question! We don't. Most of our writings are parchment made from human skin - no don't make that fuckin' face." Heather stops making that fuckin' face in confusion. "For the longest time we couldn't bury the bodies, you get me? So anyone who died in here had to die useful. Parchment for writing, hair for ropes, meat and bones go to the mushroom farm, and in death they help everyone even if they never learned how in life."

Your companion looks ahead, deep in thought. Her free hand strays to a knife, but it looks like a comforting gesture for her, not a threatening one. File that away for later.

"You any good with those gutters?" you ask.

"When I have to be. Where's yours?"

You shrug. "I've got a survival knife but attacking me is very not allowed, so mostly I go without. Now -"

A piercing scream floats from behind the two of you; your internal sense of direction orients it down the last crossroads you passed, left instead of straight. Heather's head snaps up, but she can't pinpoint the direction.

> Not our problem, new fish. We have a mission, remember?
> Lie about how far it is; not like she can tell
> Go to it

Sorry for the delay there all. I'm still getting back into the swing of things.

>not our problem

Interesting that books come in from the outside but that the reference for what a "server" is is gone.

So, given the whole talk about how surviving in the prison requires a certain mindset and a certain amount of self-concern, it's clear that

> Go For It

is going to be a choice that inevitably backfires on us in order to teach us a lesson about going out of our way to be nice.

> Go for it, but quiet-like.

> Not our problem fish, we have a mission

Our character isn't a soldier, or refined combatant. It is dark and while saving others means possible allies and favors; you can't accrue such if you're dead.

> go to it
this is very clearly not our problem.

so i would like to make it our problem.

>>1026757
>Go To It
Two reasons, both hellaciously cynical.
1) See how good she is with those knives, if needed
2) Potentially more stuff that can be useful.

This on top of the possibility that it really isn’t a fight, and someone can actually be Helped.

>>1026757
> Go To It
As others said, potentially something we *can* help with, and if it isn't then attacking us is a big nono so we should be able to use our diplomancy to protect ourselves if needed

>>1026757

> not our problem.
Whatever it is, it's possible it could stop our Very Important Quest. Can't risk it.

>Go To It

If there's trouble behind, you don't really want it following us in our heavily burdened Bent Hermit Crab postures.

Called, tallying, writing.

Vox 2022/03/20(Sun)22:10 No. 1026832 ID: 3f2378
File 164783945281.jpg - (180.10KB , 1380x1080 , The Many Services of Know-It-Alls.jpg )

>>1026757
Winner: Go To It

A part of Thorn has been defined.

The scream continues to echo off the prison walls. If that poor sap hasn't attracted the attention of whatever scared them to begin with, they'll be attracting other attention soon enough; scavengers, killers, maybe even the Legbreakers.

Daylight fucking take it, fine.

"Help me with this real quick," you tell Heather as you drag the wagon towards the wall. She gets the idea and just takes the entire-ass handle from you, practically throwing the thing up against the darkstone. You shrug your backpack, very, very carefully onto it, then help her out of hers, before covering the entire affair with your darkcloak. It's not perfect (the fucking wheels are sticking out under the cloak among other things, but it'll do for now. Still, best to be safer. You get Weal and Woe out of your pouches ("Do...do those just live there?" Heather asks, from exactly one step back from where she was before you got the rats out), tuck them under the cloak, and click your tongue to put them on watch. They twitch their little whiskers at you, and you lower the cloak.

"Alright. Follow me, step where I'm stepping. The idea is to stay quiet instead of crushing more grass."

"Got it."

Quarter mile to the crossroads. Turn towards the direction of the scream. Even following your advice with, you have to admit, remarkable skill for an amateur, Heather is damnably loud in your ears. This section is supposed to be lit, but something is off ahead; there's a single lantern, high in the center of the travelway, and it's so much brighter than it ought to be.

When you see what it is you pull up short and clap your hand over Heather's mouth in reflex. From the sound of her sharp inhalation, correct call.

>>1026832
In the middle of the path, crouched on top of a collapsed cell door that's leaning against the far wall, is a terrified teenager with the distinctive facial scars of the Legbreakers. They quake with their hand over their mouth, the lantern jittering and shaking, which makes its oily light only flicker more.

Around them, on both sides of the door, are a half-dozen fleshless fucking skeletons, their bones wrapped in tendrils of the worked darkness of the prison. Each holds up a round disc covered in miniature glass windows - mirrors? - that face towards the lantern and follow its every movement. They haven't noticed you yet, and you hang back in the dark.

"What are those?" Heather murmurs.

"I have no idea," you murmur back, not bothering to keep the fear out of your own voice. "...Wait, how are you so calm about this?"

"Well I'm not now, I thought this was a prison thing."

No one's noticed you yet. For a moment you curse yourself for not bringing weapons, but like, these motherfuckers are already dead. What are you gonna do, kill them again? You'd just hit the kid like as anything.

The young Legbreaker starts to scoot their foot down the door in an attempt to make a break for it. At first the lantern doesn't move, but when they start sliding down the skeletons release a sound like rubber twanging as they turn, in unison, to follow the light, and the kid screams again in terror. Tears run down their eyes.

You check the truewatch. The things-trying-to-kill-you hand is still at 00.

"Okay..."

> I'm gonna try to signal the kid. Maybe these things will stay with the lantern and we can catch the kid and just run.

> I have a flashlight. Maybe we can trade for the kid.

> Hey uh, no reason, but if you were bait how fast exactly do you think you could run?

> flashlight

if they want light, let's give them some light. i don't wanna risk our 'very important' ally as bait.

in a more mercenary line of thought, rescuing one of the legbreakers will probably give us some leverage in junction.

Quinn of Mikado 2022/03/20(Sun)22:35 No. 1026835 ID: 5f0894

> try and signal the kid...

I feel this has the highest degree of success given the circumstances

>>1026832

> I have a flashlight. Maybe we can trade for the kid.

Neither of these greenhorns are up to the task. One is terrified and one is too valuable. Perhaps Heather could manage something, but we don't trust in the unknown. That isn't really the business of a Know-It-All, is it?

> Try to signal the kid.

The flashlight is bound to be enormously valuable in a place this dark, and I don't want us to go without when we're in even deeper shit later on. These things don't even have muscles, so I'm betting it won't be too hard to outrun them if this doesn't go quite right.

Also, I am digging this so far! It feels like we're being introduced to a ton of stuff at once without getting infodumped on. Lotta mysteries to explore, or not.

>bait

Signal is very reasonable but I wanna see Heather do something cool, hopefully involving dual wielding knives

>Signal the Kid

The skeletons don’t seem directly hostile to life, just terrifying. They can have the kid’s lantern until we bring them to the Legbreakers

>Signal the kid

> Signal the kid

We can't afford to lose a tool this early, and there's no telling if Heather would even be good bait.

Called, tallying, writing

My kingdom for a reply box at the bottom of the page instead of the top

Vox 2022/03/21(Mon)11:26 No. 1026877 ID: 3f2378
File 164788721478.jpg - (11.09KB , 181x279 , When The Diplomatic Immunity Runs Out.jpg )

>>1026833
WINNER: Signal the kid

"Okay. I'm going to get closer and try to signal the kid. If I can get them to understand me, you need to be ready to catch them," you murmur to Heather. "No offense but you've uh. Eaten food your whole life, you kinda have more body per body than me."

"..."

"Can you do it or not?"

The new fish gives you a nod. You make a shushing motion over your mouth and hold it there as you creep, creep, creep towards the circle of lamplight. It takes the kid a bit to notice you - they're a little fucking busy - but when they do they tense up in further terror. Not a bad response, kid. You use your free hand to doff your empty glasses at them, and they relax immediately, relief stealing over their features.

Okay, bad response kid. We do have to execute our own sometimes for being soulless scum, y'know.

Alright Thorn. Step one: do they speak sign language?

|Put the lantern down slowly. Get ready to jump into the new fish's arms.|

The kid blinks at you, and you sigh. When you send the report to Dad you're going to request about twelve angry Know-It-Alls with beating staves run through the Legbreakers until they can sign for mercy. Barbarian pantomime it is.

You mimic the way they're holding the lantern and gently lower your empty hand, then point at Heather. She gestures two-handed at the kid, then holds her arms out to catch him. Praise the Dark Gods but they get it this time.

The motion of them lowering the lantern onto the sharply-leaning door takes an eternity.

The kid lets go and leaps in the same instant; the lantern goes sliding, releasing that twang! sound from the skeletons as they turn to follow it, and the kid sails over their dead heads and hits Heather full on. She lets out a heavy 'oof' but keeps her footing; the new fish lowers the kid down, grabs their hand, and runs. You follow suit, pulling ahead of either of them and throwing glances backwards to ensure you aren't being followed.

The three of you arrive back at the wagon in a breathless huddle.

> Go back and observe the skeletons alone
> Take the kid back to the Legbreakers immediately and ask them what the FUCK all of THAT was

>>1026877

> Take the kid back to the Legbreakers immediately and ask them what the FUCK all of THAT was

We're called Know-It-Alls for a reason, and it isn't because we leave well enough alone. If these skeletons are new, they need to be documented. However, they don't need to be studied by *us*. Besides, we can't afford to die for this shit; our death has already been sold to another purpose. Not to mention we're kind of on a clock here.

We'll ask the Legbreakers to send word back to the Council of Nerds to keep an eye out for whatever the fuck is going on over there.

> to the legbreakers!
kid's no longer in danger, let's get the hell outta here!

Quinn of Mikado 2022/03/21(Mon)11:48 No. 1026880 ID: fa4650

> take the kid back...

We are not in championship shape; and the skeletons are not as of yet on our job description. We shouldn't stick around.

>>1026877
> Legbreaking Time
We can note down what limited stuff we know from this encounter, but we're not exactly equipped for field recon - if we went after them and got caught, there's a high chance we'd die and then there'd be nobody to bring back any knowledge

> legbreakers

Normally I'd vote for creeping on those skellies, but there's no way we're letting the newfish watch a scared teen alone.

>observe skeletons

Do some field research, you nerd.

>observe skelly

I crave bones. You can briefly get newkid and Heather situated before going back.

> Take the kid back to the Legbreakers immediately and ask them what the FUCK all of THAT was

I do not trust direct observation past what we got. Seems like too high a risk/reward ratio for that, and we are on a clock. More info might be forthcoming from the people we had to go see anyway on the way to our real mission.

Seems conclusive enough, and I'm back home from work. Called, tallying, writing.

> Take the kid back to the Legbreakers immediately and ask them what the FUCK all of THAT was

Under normal circumstances, we might have indulged in curiosity. But war is brewing and food is on the line.

Vox 2022/03/21(Mon)23:14 No. 1026934 ID: 3f2378
File 164792968997.png - (224.16KB , 540x389 , Not Gonna Justify This One.png )

>>1026877
WINNER: Take the kid back to the Legbreakers immediately and ask them what the FUCK all of THAT was

You heave in a breath and point at the kid: "Name."

They give you that stomp-stomp-stand salute the Legbreakers are into. "Lamplighter Jack, Traveler! Thank you for saving me!"

"Gods Dark and Shimmering, I'm not your superior, never do that again." The kid reluctantly relaxes but the need to breathe beats the need to be formal every time, and after an abortive attempt to uncover the wagon the three of you opt to lean against the wall and just Inhale. You don't fucking sprint in your day job, you hike, that was just awful. "Traveler Thorn. The new fish is Heather Locke, and not to put too fine a point on it but she just half-carried your ass the whole way here so maybe thank her too."

"Oh wow," Jack murmurs. "A real new fish. I've never seen one."

Heather pinches the bridge of her nose. "Is everyone going to be like this?"

"Probably," you tell her.

"How does this prison still have a population?"

"People like my dad think it's not a horrific curse to bring forth life in this forsaken hole," you answer, with a shrug. "Okay. It's time to leave. It was time to leave before we had this conversation but it's definitely time to go directly to Junction and nowhere else." You whip the cloaks off of the wagon and toss Heather's back to her; the two of you fasten them while Jack stares in fascination at Weal and Woe. They graciously consent to sniff the kid's outstretched fingers before jumping back into their pouches and receiving treats for their good job (they're good boys yes they are, yes they aaare - wait your life's in danger).

You get your backpack on, help Heather into hers, and by the time you're done doing all of that Jack has decided that they are the Wagon-Puller, Puller of Wagons, and you're not about to argue.

The three of you set off with some very due haste.

>>1026934
Not even a quarter mile before the new fish opens her mouth, all sotto voce. "So is there a reason everyone has gender-neutral names?"

"You wanna do this now?" you ask in exasperation, suddenly and immediately comprehending the exact emotion your father feels every time he sees you talk.

"What else is there to do?"

"March in grim silence," you hiss. "Like civilized people."

Heather stares at you. You stare at her. The childish contest of wills ends when yours breaks, and you sigh and look back ahead down the lantern-lit path. "If you want a deep historical reason you're gonna be waiting awhile. It caught on in this part of Tenebrous, and for a good thirty miles in any direction you just call people 'they' unless they correct you or for some reason it's any of your business."

"...When would it be your business?"

"Usually it ain't, but the doctors sometimes have to ask which equipment you're operating if you're fuckin' dying."

"...Okay," she says, in a tone that means 'fucking weird'. You raise your eyebrows at her, and the new fish's face turns red. She looks away, muttering something face-saving under her breath, and at last the three of you resume Grim Silence.

You glance over again. She looks unhappy.

Not your problem.

Not.

Gods, fine, yes it is your problem: "You ask weird questions, new fish. Not 'where's the food' or 'who's in charge' or 'has anyone been released' has passed your lips but you just gotta know why we're all vaguely gay here in the nerd sector?"

Well, there she goes turning red again, but at least she's not looking sad. Her ass is pulled out of the rhetorical fire by the three of you rounding the corner to the straightaway that leads to Junct -

Oh come on[i].

The prison opens up where Junction is, the ceiling rising a hundred feet into the air, and where Junction usually keeps a large, for-real iron bell, there is instead a massive slow-burning bonfire, which is holding the attention of the [i]twelve-deep ranks of fucking skeletons kneeling in its light and holding up those fuck-ass mirror discs.

You check the truewatch. Still nothing trying to kill you. Iiiiinteresting.

"Traveler?" Jack whispers, throat tight with fear. Behind Junction's walls you can see Legbreakers peering in obvious worry about the masses of the living dead.

> Heather, watch my backpack. I'm gonna see what happens if I get close

> Damn the gods for useless assholes and lose time taking the Corridors route instead

> Turn to your companions for ideas

Ahhh, formatting errors. Oh well

> ask companions for ideas

maybe the kid has some idea what the fuck's up?

> consult our companions

Our boy is a Leg Breaker, they might have ideas as to how make the most of the situation given their fellows are close by.

> Talk to the companions

Hell if I know what to do here, and I want to know more about how this Jack kid thinks.

> Heather, watch my backpack. I'm gonna see what happens if I get close

Our companions are not at all likely to have useful info here. Both have indicated by action that this is a new and terrifying problem for them. We can’t really afford the time to turn back now, and if my guess is right these things aren’t hostile. They just react to light in an undetermined way with those mirrors..

Hokay. I did not get nearly enough sleep; I'm gonna take the day, and update tomorrow after some real rest. With Weds/Thurs being off for me my hope is more than 2 updates on those days. Votes remain open, as does discussion, questions, etc.

Thank you all for reading and participating!

> Heather, hold my beer. I'm going to make out with these bony weirdos

>get close

New friends

>>1026935
> Turn to your companions for ideas

I don't expect Heather to know anythimg about walking skeletons, but Jack may have some supporting data. Hopefully.

>get close
Field research. Nerd.

> see what happens if I get close
What's the worst thing that could happen?

ALRIGHT

Called, tallying, writing

Vox 2022/03/23(Wed)16:09 No. 1027081 ID: 3f2378
File 164807698894.png - (298.94KB , 721x832 , Traveller_Thorn by Domochevsky.png )

>>1026935
WINNER: Heather, watch my backpack. I'm gonna see what happens if I get close.

Close; by just one vote.

You check the truewatch again. Still 00. Well, your daddy didn't raise no bitch, so -

"Heather, can you watch my backpack while I get close?"

The new fish blinks at you. Her mouth opens. Her mouth shuts. You raise your eyebrows at her and finally get both a nod and a helping hand out of the damned thing. You stretch, which coaxes a series of snapping sounds from your spine that echo like gunshots towards Junction's walls, then crack your neck for an encore.

You close the face on the truewatch so its light won't potentially attract the skeletons, pet the pockets that have your rats in them, and take another look. Despite that full twenty-one gun salute from your fucking bones, the bones in front of you have not moved at all. Their empty eye sockets remain fixated on the light high above them, and they hold forth their mirror discs as if in prayer.

Now that's odd. The mirrors aren't reflecting the light right. Are they mirrors? This whole place should be splashed with eye-stabbing light if they are, but it's more or less lit how it "should" be with a fire that big.

Hrm...

You glance back. The kid is chewing their thumb in nervousness, so you flash Jack a grin and then pick your way closer.

The bones have an earthy scent, and as you get closer you can see traces of soil crusted onto them. There's gaps in the ranks, and you spend a minimal amount of time dithering before you choose one and sliiiiidde in. Past one. Past two -

You see the shadows on the bones strum, and together the mass says "Liiiiiight."

You turn and see your shadow on one of the mirrors. With more courage than sense you crouch rather than flee for your life, and instantly the strumming ceases.

Iiiiiiiiiiinter-fucking-esting. You swallow hard and tell yourself that you're a Brave Field Researcher(tm) before you continue to move forward, crouch-walking like an absolute jackass. The going is slow, and there's a lot of skeletons to move through, but eventually you get before the gates of Junction completely unmolested.

Okay. We're learning things today, Thorn.

> Go back through, then touch one of the skeletons. If they don't mind being touched you can rearrange them

> Sure Heather's been having a hard time with the backpack so far but crawling on her belly with it crushing her to death so she can make it through here won't kill her right? The wagon can wait. Or get stolen. Whatever.

> Set the flashlight up off in another direction to encourage some of the horde to leave.

> Write-in?

>Go back through, then touch one of the skeletons. If they don't mind being touched you can rearrange them

Hands-on experience!

Banner art and that pic of Thorn provided by the esteemed Domochevsky, incidentally

>>1027081

> Set the flashlight up off in another direction to encourage some of the horde to leave.
> Once the wagon is through, reclaim the flashlight and lure them back to the bonfire.

No need to potentially antagonize them by touching them, but it would be best to keep the wagon. We already know they will go to light, so as long as we can move enough of them aside to get the wagon past, we can then lure the others back with the flashlight before turning it off and leaving them back where they started in the glow of the bonfire.

> Go back through, then touch one of the skeletons. If they don't mind being touched you can rearrange them

If all they're interested in is light, we could make a wider path. Possibly. Might want to ask the Legbreakers why they're so terrified of the skeletons first. Just so we get an idea of what the consequences of screwing up would be first.

Calling and writing in an hour, hell or high water

> touch grace skelly

it's dumb but honestly they've shown no *actually hostile* actions yet?

> set the flashlight off..

It is an indirect interaction that still gains us knowledge. They don't seem nimble, but I feel this is safer than touching outright.

> touch skelly

Called, writing

Brave choice

Aight. Writing in the morning; I got axed with Mad Sleepy. My apologies.

Vox 2022/03/24(Thu)12:00 No. 1027193 ID: 3f2378
File 164814841809.jpg - (29.74KB , 298x403 , Waiting-Skeleton.jpg )

>>1027081
WINNER: Go back through, then touch one of the skeletons. If they don't mind being touched you can rearrange them.

A part of Thorn has been defined.

Character sheet/reference sheet Soon

You crack your neck again, take a deep breath, and turn to the Legbreakers on the wall. You hold up a finger in the universal 'just a second' gesture, then go crouch-walking back through the skeletons, again like an absolute jackass.

"Get ready," you tell Jack and Heather. "This is either going to go very well, or very poorly."

"What are you doing?" Heather asks.

"I'm gonna see if I can make a path," you tell her, before you turn right back around. You select a skeleton in the back ranks in line with the gates of Junction and gingerly lay a finger on its skull. Nothing; the bones are the same temperature as the rest of the room, and it doesn't react. That's promising. You turn the head to the left and let go; it turns back with that twanging sound, and does the same when you turn it to the right. Interesting. Absolutely fucking fascinating.

You take a deep breath and touch a tendril of the darkne - Shimmering fucking Gods!

You yank your finger back as it hits you with cold so intense that it burns. Your finger is turning purple already, and the shock of absolute cold hits you with pain that races up your arm and ends in your lower jaw like you scraped your nail across a chalkboard. You double over from it and suck in deep, steady breaths. Oh fuck. Fuck that hurts. You hear footsteps behind you and hold out a hand to stop your companions, who obligingly stop getting close to the hordes of the living dead. You try to flex your finger and regret it immediately, but it moves, so it'll do.

The pain is good. Pain means you don't have frostbite. Yep. That's how you're gonna cope with this. Pain good. Pain goood. Okay. Fuck.

Once more into the breach.

You stand up straight again and look at the kneeling skeleton. Gingerly, you take either side of its hips into your hands, squat down, and lift from the knees and not the back. It starts twanging wildly, but no threatening voices this time, so okay.

You get to standing, holding the kneeling skeleton like a weird ball. You shuffle to the right, one column, two columns, and then equally gingerly place it on the shoulders of the one next to it. They both wobble for a bit, twanging and twanging and twanging, and then, Dark Gods be praised, they balance.

"I. Am. A fucking genius," you mutter to yourself. You turn and beckon to Heather, because Jack is busy throwing up out of sheer terror so they're not gonna be any help here. It's a long effort, but eventually the two of you manage to get a corridor opened up by stacking skeletons like logs.

>>1027193
By the time you're done Jack is even paler than usual (anyone in Tenebrous that isn't born with dark skin might as well be albino) but is steady on their feet again. They've taken up the wagon, and once you and Heather get your backpacks on again, the three of you set out into the hole you've made, moving slowly just in case the skeletons see running as some kind of threat. You pass rank after rank, saying prayers in your head that you don't want to risk saying out loud, chief among them being "please let the Legbreakers open the doors".

That prayer gets answered. As you pass the eleventh rank the gates are pushed open only wide enough to admit the wagon, and the sentries frantically beckon you onward. The three of you break into a run; the moment the wagon is clear, Junction slams the doors shut behind you.

Things are going so much less than well here. Anything that will burn has been stacked under the belltower to keep that fire going, and everyone is nervous, armed, and in the streets. The normal tasks needed to maintain day-to-day life are going half-done or, worse, un-done, as people go to the walls or leave the walls or attempt to comfort each other. Children are crying.

"Boy are we glad to see you," a familiar face - Gateboss Casey - tells you, clapping you on the shoulder. "Our prayers are answered: what the hell are those things?"

"I have no idea," you answer, honestly.

"You -"

"Have no idea," you repeat. "Maybe something in the shadowcraft archives could help us figure it out but I'm not going back out there again right now. Are you?"

Jack is trying to throw up again but there is absolutely nothing left to give there. Poor kid.

"I did bring what Shantytown owes you," you say, pointing a thumb at the backpack. "So it's not all bad news! Water, supplies, smokes, the whole shebang."

Casey chews their lip and sighs. "I was supposed to take you to the Big Bosses to hire you for a plan of action, but if you don't know anything I don't see much of a point. You just come to pay what's owing."

You close your eyes and take a deep, deep breath.

> I have somewhere else to be. I can't stay.

> We can't let this go on. Take me to the bosses anyway, we'll see what we can do about all...this

> We can't let this go on. Take me to the bosses anyway, we'll see what we can do about all...this

We go in, say hi, and if there's no clear plan of action, we bounce.

> go to the bosses

if we can help, we can help, if we can't, we got a job to do.

> We can't let this go on. Take me to the bosses anyway, we'll see what we can do about all...this

Have a gander, see if any course of action presents itself. This entire place seems a bit worse for wear, but in unclear ways. Possibly to a size that is beyond what we can provide at the moment.

Did anyone around here try to smash a skeleton? Touching the tenebrous stuff is bad, that much we know now. So that was informative. However:

> When you find someone you can ask things, bring up the question of what problems these things are actually causing.

Y'know, besides being skeletons and standing around your lamps in silent prayer.

> talk to the bosses

We're a heroic sort, and information. is. power!

>>1027194
>>1027195

> We can't let this go on. Take me to the bosses anyway, we'll see what we can do about all...this

Seconding Boar. We check in and provide what expertise we can, and what we've learned from poking them, but unless they have an immediate plan of action which involves us, we're moving on.

>>1027194
I got a plan. Put barricades around the skeletons. Put kindling under/around them. Burn them.

>go 2 bosses

>go to bosses

If their plan takes more than a couple hours we should gtfo

Suggestion 2022/03/24(Thu)19:20 No. 1027235 ID: a681e9

> go to the bosses

Whats the worst that could happen?

This seems conclusive. Called, writing.

(Yeah...extra updates on the days off didn't happen.)

Vox 2022/03/24(Thu)21:45 No. 1027241 ID: 3f2378
File 164818352254.jpg - (71.76KB , 491x692 , main-qimg-3fe495c25661bb1e8bd8abe328281cb2-pjlq.jpg )

>>1027194
WINNER: We can't let this go on. Take me to the bosses anyway, we'll see what we can do about all...this.

"You got someone who can take these backpacks, Casey?" you ask, after a moment to think. "Once we get 'em stashed, I'm happy to see the Big Bosses. We can't let this go on."

"Yeah," Gateboss Casey answers. They whistle sharply, which gets the attention of a trio of youngbloods rightfully more afraid of Casey than of the living dead. "Get the Know-It-All's shit to the guest house, and don't touch a gods-damned thing in it, or -"

"You'll kill us, we know," one of the kids says with a sigh.

"No," Casey corrects. "I'll sit there and laugh while Thorn here kills you."

"And I'm pretty bad at killing, so it'll take a hot minute," you add, as you're shrugging out of your backpack. The youngblood looking you in the eyes does not like what they find there; their whole body shudders, and the three take your packs and the wagon without a word.

"I'll go assemble the Bosses. Meet you there soon. Bring Jack there with you."

Jack manages a weak salute and staggers towards a water barrel, presumably to attempt to rinse their mouth out.

"You sure we got time for this?" Heather asks. "This isn't our problem."

"It's in my backyard," you say with a shrug, rubbing your shoulders.

"...These people mutilate their children."

"What an amazingly hot take, new fish. And you want to leave those same children to die so the parents can feel just that much worse before they fucking croak?"

Heather's face turns red. She seems like she's getting angry for a moment, and then confusion steals across her features in its place. "You don't know what a server is, but you know about hot takes?"

You blink at her. She blinks at you. A withered old prisoner (gotta be like, thirty-nine, just die already or no one's eating any mushrooms) slumps past between the two of you. She blinks again.

"I think," you say slowly, "this might be something from Outside that changed in here."

"I'll bet."

>>1027241
You go over to Jack and put a hand on their shoulder. "You gonna be okay kid?"

"Yeah," they manage. "...Thanks. For saving my life."

You shrug. "Prison sucks enough as it is. Plus you're about to be real useful with the Bosses since I need permission to pass through and also for them to believe what we just learned about those skeletons."

"Heh," the youngblood manages. You ruffle their hair, then gesture for Heather. It's been enough time to get the old bastards up and around, let's do this.

The lanterns are still lit all over town, so at least the Legbreakers haven't completely taken leave of their senses. You make your way to the town hall, which is really just a normal house except they got one of the void priests to hollow out the inside so it can fit more chairs. The Big Bosses are already waiting inside; Big Boss Alex in their wheelchair, and Big Boss Thistle with his missing nose all wrapped up in a bandage and his hook hand resting on the table. They don't ask for your weapons, but the walls are lined with their enforcers so uh, they don't have to.

"Bosses," you greet, doffing your glasses. "I daresay you know me and Jack. The new fish is Heather, and I'll be at her service shortly. Be needing her as alive as possible if it pleases you."

"Granted," Thistle rumbles. "Welcome back to Junction, Traveler Thorn. Casey says the Know-It-Alls don't know what's beating down our doors."

"Didn't seem to be a lot of beating when I got here," you admit.

"Oh, that was after the fire." Alex drums their fingers on the handle of their wheelchair. "We've three people missing, was four before you brought Jack here back. I'm damn well hoping it's the skeletons. Worse if it ain't."

"Yeah, it sure is. And the nearest shadow priest is what, still half a mile that-a-way?"

"If they're alive," Alex agrees.

"If," you echo. "...I can tell you what I've observed. They follow light sources and hold those disks up to them. The darkness that wraps 'em up is cold as charity and it'll probably fuck up any weapons that touch it. I'm not sure how they're seeing but they don't like having their heads turned away from the light. If you get between the disks and the light they object, but if you don't you can touch 'em, move 'em, even stack 'em."

The Bosses look at Jack, who nods enthusiastically.

"I don't suppose you've got anything hot enough to burn bone?" you ask.

"You fucking wish," Thistle growls. "And even if we did we'd just smoke ourselves out of house and home. We can keep that bonfire going maybe four more days, and then we see how peaceable these things really are."

That's...baaaad.

> Four days? I'm on my way to Mycos right now. Maybe we can get you help.

> You need to evacuate. Even if we solve this problem in the four day time limit you'll be so low on supplies that you'll just die slow instead of fast.

> How are you doing on...ammo...

> I'll go get the shadow priest. Me and the new fish can move faster than you and all your enforcers, even if Alex has us beat on the sprints on those wheels.

> we're off to see the shadowpriest, the wonderful shadowpriest of oz

> What we priest in the shadows

If anyone knows what the fuck is going on, it'll be them. Also, I want to help the Legbreakers without too much time or effort, and finding a guy (gender-neutral) who knows more about this than us seems smart.

> get the shadow priest
We are racking up plenty of favors with these guys. It's going great! There's nothing ol' Thorn can't solve!

>shadowpriest

Half a mile? Let's just fetch them and be on our way. In and out. 20 minutes, tops.

Hokay so work got Bad for a bit; update will be tonight after work, and thank you to everyone for your patience. Votes remain open in the meantime

> I'll go get the shadow priest. Me and the new fish can move faster than you and all your enforcers, even if Alex has us beat on the sprints on those wheels.

I mean, sure, why not? Solving the food problem is only going to do so much if skeletons wrapped in freezing darkness depopulates the Junction in the meantime.

Vox 2022/03/28(Mon)00:11 No. 1027498 ID: 3f2378
File 164845151143.jpg - (3.89KB , 190x266 , Guess Who Still Can't Draw.jpg )

>>1027244
WINNER: I'll go get the shadow priest. Me and the new fish can move faster than you and all your enforcers, even if Alex has us beat on the sprints on those wheels.

You point at the Big Bosses with the entirety of your both hands. "Alright, here's the deal on the table. The new fish and I will go get the shadow priest. We'll move faster than anyone else anyway, with just the two of us. You give us safe passage out of Junction, call this little run our tribute, and you're gonna be amenable to helping with my current job."

"A whatable?" Jack asks.

"It's a fancy word that means Thorn here expects us to keep our gratitude fuckin' warm," Alex explains. "What's the job?"

"Peace between Mycos and Saltwater, might need some labor from your Legbreakers, might need you to settle refugees, we'll see how it goes." You make eye contact with Alex, and they make eye contact with you. The staredown drags on like a wet handshake, but at last you both nod.

"Deal's the deal," the Big Boss says.

"Deal's the deal," you agree. "C'mon New Fish, we're burning time."

Heather gives you a long look. "Do I get a say in this?" A loud thunk interrupts her attempt at intimidation, and the two of you turn your heads to see that Alex has set their revolver down on the table.

"You don't," the Big Boss drawls. "Welcome to Tenebrous, sun-drinker. Go get our shadow priest."

Heather swallows.

The two of you leave the backpacks in town.

Praise to the Dark Gods specifically, the skeletons are only at the one gate. Well, near town, anyway. But no sooner are the doors shut behind you than Heather is failing to march in grim silence like a civilized person again.

"What'd he -"

"They," you correct, with a sigh.

"The Big Boss, call me?" Heather finishes. "...It kinda sounded like a slur or something."

"Not...exactly." Fuck it. You've reached your limit. You stop walking so you can dig out your box of smokes. Your precious, precious smokes. Heather watches with interest as you take one out along with the lighter, carefully close the box and tap the contents down, and then light up.

Blessed relief. You let the smoke trickle out of your nostrils.

"An old legend says Tenebrous was a normal world once," you murmur, not looking at the new fish. "It had a sun, and a sky, and stars. That there was a time before the Prison, before everything was made of darkness, when it was all made of stuff instead. Not a lot of us necessarily believe that, 'cause like...who the hell could turn a normal world into this? Far more likely they found it just like this, and turned it into their hellhole. But that doesn't stop the saying going around that people from Outside huddle around the stolen sun and drink its light until you all grow bloated on it, like leeches."

Heather is quiet. She starts walking again, eventually, and you join her. She's stepping more softly now, though she's got a long way to go still.

"You really think so little of us?" she murmurs, at last.

"Yeah," you answer, without much emotion.

>>1027498
Half a mile. It's not the furthest walk, but it has a lot of twists and turns. The lanterns are lit, at least, and there aren't any disc-bearing corpses to stop you up. The void shrine you're heading for is even pretty lit, not that it's much to talk about; cot for sleeping on, altar, makeshift kitchen, priest strung up in strands of shadow - wait what.

"Max, you fuckin' dead?" you call out.

"I wish!" comes the enraged answer. Max thrashes in his bonds, making the structure of the shrine creak and groan and revealing in no uncertain terms that whatever did this to him has shredded his clothes. Heather averts her eyes when she catches sight of the priest's tits.

"You want to walk me through how you got fucked up there Max?" you ask, making absolutely no move to get any closer to this situation.

"I was - oh, Dark Gods is that a new fish? Are they going to ask me stupid questions?"

"Probably. Heather, this is Max, he's a void priest. Max, this is Heather, she's new." You gesture from one to the other with your smoke. "The question, Max?"

("He?" Heather murmurs to you under her breath.

"If you tell me y'all don't have gay people Outside I'm going to break through the prison walls out of sheer rage and extinguish your civilization," you murmur back.

She doesn't answer.)

"I was trying to garb myself and Tenebrous quaked on me," Max bitches, and also moans. "Now I'm fucking stuck. It's my own spell but it's all tangled, and I don't have the power to cut it straight. Unweaving's always -"

"Cut the jargon Max," you prompt.

The void priest answers by thrashing in his bonds and making a variety of sounds to express his Incoherent Fucking Rage. "I locked a key behind the door it opens, Know-It-All! I don't suppose you've got a brightknife?"

"I wish," you sigh. "Heather, you know much about shadow magic?"

The new fish taps her chin thoughtfully. "It's strengthened in the light. If it's twisted up, maybe we could overload the bad spell and let it come apart on its own."

That's a thought. "...We could extinguish the light too, and let it fade," you point out. "Hey Max, how long has it been since you've eaten or drank anything?"

Oh hey. Those are swear words you didn't know yet. Nnnneat.

> Douse the lights

> Use your flashlight on the bonds

our first taste of religion! i want more

>whichever of those is more like a "brightknife"

Okay, you've broken my immersion. I don't believe there are any swear words Thorn doesn't already know. But seriously, this is fun, and I hope we can learn a little more about shadow magic.

>Flash the lights

Clock's ticking and we don't have much time to waste. Also, I'm curious how this could go wrong.

>>1027499

> Use your flashlight on the bonds

This might get violent, but I think not having any light down here is even worse. We've got advanced darkness around here, I hear.

Worried about the flashlight attracting skeletons, but if the dark option would take long enough that we might have to worry about Max starving to death, it's probably going to take too much time for the town, too. So warn Heather to be ready for anything, maybe ask Max if there's anything of his he wants us to grab to be ready to run, and then

> Use flashlight

> Douse!

> flashlight!

we are still on another job so we should try to go quick.

> use the flashlight

"we're burning time"

>"you really think so little of us?"

These are not the words of someone thrown into SHADOWHELLJAIL for CRIMES

>>1027499
>trans = gay
So close, and yet so far.

If he's bound tightly like this, won't strengthening the spell make it too tight? Could hurt him. I'm guessing a brightknife is not a flashlight, but a special tool for cutting darkness constructs.
>douse

>>1027522
Que?

>>1027522
"gay" can be an umbrella term, tho, and often was the go-to term until relatively recently. sure, like, heterosexual trans people exist, but until quite recently, the idea of a heterosexual trans person being straight (as in, not gay or queer or w/e) was ... not exactly super common.

(also hi, switching from mobile to laptop, so if my id number thing changed, that's why. going to vote as soon as i've caught up properly!)

>>1027531
I would say its more the opposite - while we don't know much from before the 40s cause the Nazis burned all the research, in most places around the world it was considered even worse of a crime to be seeing the gender you held yourself as, as that was a seperate crime (see: the clothing laws in the US, and how you can be denied legal recognition currently in the UK if you aren't straight)

>>1027532
i should've clarified: i really have no idea what straights think of any of us these days, tho i did run afoul of the kinda homophobic gatekeeping you're referring to when first attempting transition.

i was talking from the vantage point of Anglophone gay/queer communities — when "gay" was the default umbrella term (i'm talking like, back in the days of the TV/TS distinction, before TG as a term emerged), a heterosexual trans person could still be gay rather than "straight, and trans", as "straight" connoted (and in many places, still connotes) not just heterosexuality but specifically being acceptable under heteronormative and cisnormative terms. my knowledge of the specific history there is sketchy, ofc there are many examples of heterosexual trans people being perceived and treated as "straight", as long as they were stealth and disconnected from gay/queer communities, but w/in our own communities? the specific boundaries are not necessarily super precise.

i also have some distaste for the kind of thinking that starts at "trans cannot ever be compared to gay beyond an [allegedly] extremely loose alphabet soup association that we are forced into", since a) that thinking so often leads to smug homophobia that makes trans spaces alienating and unsafe for anyone (regardless of specific gender or vector of transition) who's trans and gay, or moved in gay communities pre-transition, or still moves in gay communities post-transition b) heterosexual trans women are highly unlikely to be treated like heterosexual cis women and are far far more likely to be treated the same as (or in many cases, much worse than!) me, a v. v. typical campy gay boy, so the basis for solidarity there is sorta self-evident c) trans people who are disgusted by being associated w/ the term "gay" or w/ gay men (and those adjacent/associated) ... are probably not trans people i want to spend too much time w/.

regardless of all of that, "gay" remains a not-uncommon umbrella term even in extremely respectability-obsessed "we're nothing like those icky cis gays" online communities, so it's at best a pointless nitpick.

...

anyway, all that aside: let's play it safe, i think. first order of any botched rope scene is to cut the fucking ropes ASAP.

> use flashlight on the bonds

>>1027543
Oh extremely true, I assumed you were approaching it from a rather worse position - too used to randos on various social medias

>use the torch on the shadows
I don't like the sounds of how worried the priest is by the darkness option

Will be calling and writing tonight after work!

Vox 2022/03/29(Tue)23:21 No. 1027637 ID: 3f2378
File 164862128538.png - (204.81KB , 700x620 , Vox-Tan by Domochevsky.png )

Okay I lied

BUT UPDATE IN THE MORNING

So! How's everyone doing so far? Enjoying the quest? It's been a hot fucking minute since I ran one and being back in the swing feels good on my end but I do love to hear back

I'm having a fun time!! Nothing has hooked me exceptionally yet, but it's interesting and fun across the board

>>1027637
I feel like its doing well so far! It has the sense of mystery and hints towards strong cultural worldbuilding that I've come to enjoy from your stuff

I adore Thorn and the friends they are reluctantly accruing

Vox 2022/03/30(Wed)12:45 No. 1027675 ID: 3f2378
File 164866952262.png - (729.69KB , 680x627 , It's Like That.png )

>>1027499
"Alright Max," you call out, "stop swearing for a minute, the new fish has an idea and I want to run it past you before we just pull the trigger."

Max manages to hold up a finger in the universal 'wait just a second' gesture and finishes whatever impressively foul curse he's saying. You really do gotta get those lessons in his mother tongue, upgrade from speaking six languages to a nice seven.

"Okay," Max says after he heaves in a steadying breath. "What's the idea?"

You gesture to Heather, who looks a little surprised that you're giving her the credit she's due but not, y'know, displeased. The new fish straightens her prison grays. "I am not an expert in shadow magic, Dark One, but would it be reasonable to overload the tangled spell with light and let the tensions inside of it simply unravel?"

Max is quiet for a long moment; he dips his head in thought, and his white hair spills over his face. "...It's not an unsound idea," he concedes at last. "The bonds are tangible, though. It will snap. I would stand well clear."

"Uhh -" you begin.

"Obviously I personally cannot stand clear, smartass."

"Alright..."

You unclip your flashlight from your belt, check the batteries, and find somewhere to set it up. Heather does likewise with her own, and together you turn them on and back away very quickly.

>>1027675
The initial effects are sharp and immediate; the bonds, formerly hazy and flickering, become defined and contained. Max thrashes, straining the parts of his shrine they're anchored to, and you hear an unholy creaking and groaning.

"Is it working?" Heather murmurs.

"It's fucking working," Max growls in a pained voice. The inside of the shadows twang; the priest thrashes again, and the darkness that restrains him roils and shifts in response. A strand snaps away, cutting him across the cheek; Heather has to cover her mouth to stop from gasping.

Snap-twang. Snap. Snap.

You grab Heather's shoulder and back away even further, just in time for the ropes of darkness restraining Max to come undone entirely. The void priest screams more in anger than in pain, though yes, there is pain. A spray of blood catches you across the face, and you flinch from the hot impact of it; the shrine shakes, bits of its darkness calving off only to fill back in from the light that strengthens it.

Max stands up in the light, bare-ass naked and bleeding from dozens of shallow cuts. Heather averts her eyes with her face bright red, but you watch as the priest plunges his hand into the flickering shadows of his shrine.

You've never seen him garb himself.

The shadow comes racing up his arm, pulling itself like a devouring tide. It swallows Max whole, wrapping itself into a cocoon around him that pulses and tremors before your eyes. After a long moment, a claw of solid darkness tears its way free, and there stands Max, clad in his vestments all of shadows - long pants seamlessly tucked into high boots, his shirt-top spilling over his waistline, clawed gloves hiding his hands, his bird mask concealing his face and holding up a feathered cloak. The only thing still visible are his dark brown eyes.

"Thank you," the void priest says, his voice deepened by the mask. "A more proper introduction is in order, I think."

You nod, and bow respectfully; Heather turns to look and lets herself gasp this time, in surprise. "Max, this is Heather Locke, who has done a great service for my people and will command my service in turn. Heather, this is Dark Priest Max, priest and confessor to this Wing of Tenebrous, master of shadow magic, prophet of the void, and..."

> My friend

> My ex

> my ex
dramadramadramadramadramadrama

> My ex

max is too hot to waste the opportunity

Okay, before we vote, let's think. What *do* we know about this scrawny pack-bearing nerd, and what that would say about their dating experience.?

> my ex

exes can be friends.

> my ex

As is said before,they don't HAVE to be unfriendly necessarily

> My friend

For the sake of contrarianism, if nothing else.

> My ex

Gotta be.

> My friend

Nothing saying that it can't be both, so let's even out those votes. :V

>>1027676
>ex
friends with Drama :3

> friend

If we even out the votes, I think their official status becomes 'it's complicated', which is far better for drama than a mere 'ex-partner' deal.

Called, tallying, writing

Vox 2022/04/01(Fri)12:09 No. 1027910 ID: 3f2378
File 164884018670.jpg - (38.61KB , 460x460 , I'm Not Apologizing.jpg )

>>1027676
WINNER: My ex

"And..."

It is now you who is making the Face. You've gotten very good at intuiting Max's emotions through eyes alone and he is eating it up, his eyes bright with amusement as you emotionally squirm in front of the new fish. He will be no help here.

You sigh. "And my ex. If anyone can handle the skeletons it'll be him."

There goes that eyes-only journey; satisfaction, confidence, and then confusion. "When you say skeletons -"

Heather, bless her, cuts in. "Junction is under siege by skeletons animated by shadow magic, which are doing something to the lights nearby. The Big Bosses sent us to get your aid, Dark One, and we need it so we can continue on our mission."

"She always this formal?" Max asks you.

"Not so far," you admit. "You religious, Heather?"

The new fish surprises you by fishing a sunstone on a necklace out of her jumpsuit; the books from Outside say it's a common holy symbol carried by the Shimmering Cults, who uh, do not live here, for obvious reasons. Max's body posture relaxes, and he claps a clawed hand on her shoulder.

"You are far from home, glittering child," he says formally. "But light shines all the brighter in darkness. Welcome to Tenebrous Prison, and my apologies for the state you find it in."

The relief that steals over Heather's face. "Thank you, Dark One. Now, the matter at hand?"

Max gives you a thoughtful look before he turns away to repair his shrine. He does this a lot when he's thinking; the act of sculpting the solid darkness by hand is soothing for him. He's shoring up a wall when he says, "What is this mission?"

"...I would rather not say," Heather admits.

"Tough shit, new fish," the priest says back. "If you want my help in Junction, you're taking me with you."

"Whoa -" you start.

"When have you known me to back down, Thorn?" Max asks, turning his masked head to give you that look of absolute confidence that still makes your heart flutter. "Exactly. Those are my terms."

> Fine, fucker! You know this is might take awhile, right? I don't even know the details

> Absolutely not

AND

> Leave an offering to the Dark Gods

> Do not. They haven't done anything for you lately.

>>1027910

> Fine, fucker! You know this is might take awhile, right? I don't even know the details

> Do not. They haven't done anything for you lately.

The path of maximum drama. No wonder they broke up with us if we can't even manage this basic level of piety in a crisis.

> Fine, fucker

If he wants to come along we could use the help, and also i love him and want him in our life

> Leave an offering

solely bc i wanna see what kind of things one offers to the dark gods

> fine fucker

oh we *gotta* bring him with. drama... *and* shadow magic.

> leave an offering.

shadow gods seem important it shadowland.

> Fine, fucker!
> Leave an offering.

A spite offering? I don't know how those work around here. "Nice shrine, you prick. Here, have an *offering*!" as Thorn carefully places a candle on said shrine.

Y'know. ALL the mixed signals in this relationship.

Also, Heather, you're a cultist? Someone who praises the sun? Down here? At this time of darkness?

Alright then.

> fine fucker

> leave an offering

Max has the energy and I'm here for it.

Best be safe, this is a magical world so it might just work.

> Fine, fucker! You know this is might take awhile, right? I don't even know the details
> Leave an offering

This will be in no way awkward.

> Fine, fucker

Because I want to hear the story.

> Leave an offering

It's good policy not to be rude to gods.

> Fine, fucker!
strong agree. max rules. he should come with

> Do not
Can't explain myself here, just a vibe

another day volunteering at the tenerous prison. everyone keeps asking me if they can know what the fuck Heather's doing here. buddy, they wont even let me know

Aight I'ma level with y'all: work is being rough. We've got inventory coming up and it is a nightmare

I will call and write on Wednesday when I've got the day off

alas, Vox's update will be delayed due to some flooding in his room.

ALRIGHT

MY ROOM IS FIXED

I AM ALIVE

I will be calling and writing near midnight EST, or, slightly less than 11.5 hours from now

For anyone who wants to vote, now is THE time

Thank you for your patience during my life unexpectedly getting fucked in half by Mother Nature.

Called, writing

Vox 2022/05/01(Sun)00:22 No. 1030906 ID: 3f2378
File 165138974552.jpg - (29.74KB , 298x403 , Waiting-Skeleton.jpg )

WINNERS: Fine, fucker! You know this is might take awhile, right? I don't even know the details & Leave an offering

You sigh and rub your temples. He always does this shit. Max makes a decision like an earthquake and there's just no fucking stopping him, the gorgeous little fucking bastard-ass priest. "Fine!" you say at last. "You do know even I don't have the details here, yeah? We could be gone for ages."

"Do I get a say in this?" Heather asks, looking somewhere between confused and offended.

"You gonna fight a priest about it?" you ask her.

The new fish transitions solely to confused, then to horrified: "People draw iron on priests here?" she asks, in sheer disbelief.

"Gods Dark and Shimmering," Max breathes, in uncharacteristic blasphemy. "She really is a new fish."

"THEY DRAW IRON ON YOU HERE?" Heather repeats, aghast.

"Do they not Outside?" you prompt, gently, knowing damn well what the answer is. Heather makes a series of frustrated hand motions before she storms away rather than falling into your conversational trap. Smart move.

Max sighs and needlessly brushes off his penumbral vestments. He gives you a questioning look, and you nod after Heather. He takes the gesture for what it is, leaving you alone with what's left of his shrine. Max should - it's - you sigh, aloud. There's no time to pack this place up and ensure its sanctity. Like everything else in this forsaken hole, it will have to be left to rot.

You don't always get on with the gods but that's no way to treat a holy place, and you're going to be involved in that treatment. At the very least you can go and say hello, and maybe even pay some unironic respects.

Maybe.

You approach the altar and try to think of something to say. Ten thousand sarcastic remarks come to mind and you spend - well, awhile, squashing them down. How fucking long has it been since you prayed on purpose and not out of desperation? How -

- How long -

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. You're not crying, like some new fish on their first day. You're not. You're not.

Eventually, with very little ceremony, you open your box of smokes and tip half of them onto the altar. It takes awhile to get them arranged neatly, which involves a lot of picking up the ones that roll off, but eventually it's something like presentable. You stare at them, trying to find words, and when you fail again you finally say something out loud.

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I know you don't expect me to be better, but...I'm sorry I'm not. I'll try to be less of an ass."

Suck-ass prayer, but it's the one in your heart.

You're almost ready to turn away when the darkwood of the altar starts to churn. A shadow wraps around the smokes like a fog, and when it recedes a single black cigarette is left. You blink and stare at it, not sure what to make of this gesture, when it helpfully hucks itself into your still-open box; a tendril of shadow closes the box behind it.

Hhhhhhhhhuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

You need to rejoin the others.

> Grill Max for more information. The skeletons were a surprise to him, sure, but the void-priests know Tenebrous like no one else can

> Ask Heather about this mission of hers

> March in grim silence like civilized people (advance back to Junction)

> Grill Max

the most pressing thing on our agenda at the moment, I'm sure. There will be other opportunities to pester Heather. Unless she dies immediately, in which case I guess it'll have been a moot point?

Welcome back, Vox!
I vote we
> grill Max

> Grill Max

priest of shadows gotta know something about skeletons. surely.

>>1030906
WELL THEN
> grill Max

I'm sure he tastes-

>>1030910
Grilling Max is a pretty basic concept. It’s grilling Max well that gets more complicated — but not much, once you commit these Max commandments to memory.

1: Pat the Max Dry
Who doesn’t love the seared crust on a shadow priest? These caramelized bits form once Max comes into contact with the hot grill grates. Pat Max dry first, using paper towels or any clean, lint-free kitchen towel — this removes any excess moisture that would otherwise steam-cook the Max, which would inhibit caramelization.

2: Season with Salt and Pepper Just Before Grilling
Salt pulls moisture to the surface, so save the seasoning for the very last moment to keep that process from kicking off and thus rendering patting the Max dry useless!

3: Leave It Alone on the Grill
Once the Max is on the grill, resist all urges to touch or lift it until it releases from the grill naturally. This will aid in solid grill marks (read: flavor) and keep the Max from tearing. Once the browning (or fond) forms and the Max releases, turn it often as you finish grilling, to allow even cooking.

4: Let it Rest
Once Max is removed from the grill, two things begin to happen:
1) A process called “carryover cooking” begins, where the temperature of the Max continues to rise, resulting in a difference in temperature upward of 10 degrees F.
2) When Max is hot, its physical structure loosens and weakens, making it less able to retain juices (flavor alert!); once removed from the grill, Max cools and returns to a stable physical structure that is able to retain its flavorful juices.
So, in a nutshell, let shadow priests rest for about 10 minutes, and give bigger cuts upward of 20 minutes for juices to settle down.

5: Slice It Against the Grain
If you study a large cut of Max, you’ll notice that the Max fibers run in a parallel direction, much like the grain found in a piece of wood. Make cuts in the Max perpendicular to the grain, so that it results in short Max fibers, and thus a tender bite of Max. (Try chewing a piece of Max that’s been sliced along the grain, for experimental purposes only.)

>>1030906
Can’t we just be civilized for once?

> mission...

We could perhaps do 1 & 2?

>Grill Max

I think everyone's already made the jokes even better than I have, so we'll just leave it there for now.

Huh. Well this is familiar. Very familiar. Alright, let's see how things play out.

>>1030906
> Grill Max for more information. The skeletons were a surprise to him, sure, but the void-priests know Tenebrous like no one else can.

Well, that's pretty clear. Called, writing.