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a76809.jpg
Ribbon Prancer
a76809
rolled 20 = 20
>>289666
[Not happening. Magic regeneration is specific monster-only, grafts won't work with how poor medical knowledge is compared to modern standards and prosthetics are for aeshetics only-you would be able to get immovable fake fingers, but that would be it.]
>>289614
I think about what happened. I saw the elf's blood entering my body-between that and the struggles against the goblins, I got exposed to the same materials as the bow-and I can't picture the goblins as having poisoned weapons, not without being from the northern tribes. So why did the boy need healing I did not? I slowly get up, careful to not disturb the finally relaxed child-he can stay tucked away from the horrors of reality a little while longer. I limp to the stairs, my side sore, and make my first order of business rendering the farm defensible once more-I reclose broken window shutters, brace furniture against it, even use what few nails I scrounge up to make the whole thing less transient. Through an hour of work, the child does not rise-and building as safe as I can make it, I cautiously exit into the mid-morning gleam, and start hunting out my weapons. I find.... all four of my pistols, after a thorough search-but I reclaim only five throwing knives. While I find my Crossbow, I am at sixteen shots-and winding is harder with half a hand-if I tried now I think I'd end up opening the wound again no matter what I do.
My next move is to return inside, and unload my guns, leaving them to dry on the second story by the lone un-barricaded window, as I set to the more grizzly part of things. I begin going through the gead goblins belongs, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I find naught but a few coins (some gold, surprisingly enough, that I pragmatically pocket) and a piece of colored glass-probably picked it up because its shiny. ..Well, no hint amongst the dead about this monster attack's nature-perhaps amongst the human dead a secret waits?
I decide to check the storage shed-and find a dozen half-eaten, desecrated bodies, feces smeared over supplies. I stoically rifle through the dead's pockets, turning up nothing a regular farmer would not have, before I carefully claim the few bits of supplies not tainted, and make my way back out.
By the time I am back in the house, some two hours have passed, what with the slow going I've made trying to not strain hand or side. I look at what supplies I could salvage... enough food for a single meal for a child, perhaps, but if we haven't eaten since yesterday and been injured-if I don't eat, I can't bring the boy to Stiltown. If the boy doesn't eat, he might not recover properly. If we split the food, neither of us will get enough. ...What to do.
...I eye the goblin corpses.
I'm already damned for making a pact. What does it matter if it keeps us alive?
"That's right, Hunter Byrd used the goblin's flesh in his stew!"
At the lack of notable response, the whispering, spidering words that weave through the air twist into a disappointed sigh, as a hand rises to cover the remaining eye whilst the other yet again grabs the refilled beer. As ever, he downs it in one long pull, content to make the audience wait, before putting the mug back down on the bartenderless bar.
"I suppose not everyone knows as much lore as a Hunter. But if I keep making these interruptions, the flow of the tale-oh, it wavers and threatens to dissolve. So I shall simply continue-for there is so much left to tell."
I've finished moving what I presume was the boy's mother downstairs before he wakes, and while he scrabbles into a corner reflexively as he sees me, eyes wide and drawn, I get him to take a bowl of stew, and he feeds himself. ...Seems I'm a better cook than I thought, after the first bite his face lit up a bit, he's going to town on that stew-
Bleh.
...Okay, that kid has got some strange tastes-the goblin tastes awful.
Once the child finishes the food, he seems a bit more at ease, identifying me as a friend-but with his world shattered, he is still despondent, unmoving. I think to what the elf called the child, and speak.
"...Saul? Saul Karvold?"
The boy's head turns back to me-I see the question in his eyes, cutting through his despair. I decide to tell a few lies, to put some glimmer of hope in the boy's heart.
"The others on the farm had commented about you a few times-so it is you then. ...I'm sorry lad, but no one else survived. ...Do you understand?"
Tears silently falling down his cheeks, still huddled in the corner, the boy nods, his grief so vast his body cannot express it, rendered so alone in the world.
"Well, the monsters are gone-but we have to go to Stiltown, tell them what happened. This was the last of the usable food, so we should leave now-in the village, we can get people to help give proper burials. I know this is hard to think about-but can you stand? Can you travel?"
For a long while Saul does nothing, tiny body shaking as he weeps into his knees. But his tears subside, his body stills, and he slowly unfolds, standing up. He starts moving about, opening cupboards, pulling out clothes-soon he is re-dressed, in clothes not covered in blood and gore, his eyes wiped by a clean sleeve.
>[Saul]"...M'ready, sir."
I smile at the lad as I collect my pistols, checking them for dryness before rearming each, replacing them in my brace and at last I start making my way down the steps-his softer footfalls close behind. I hear only the occasional sniffle, and no more.
>>289622
[Lore check 35/100]
I consider just what the buzzing feeling in my veins is-but I can't place it with any lore I know. My focus instead turns to the blood in my veins-in OUR veins-and what it means. I know its a bad thing, an act Hunters are called to hunt humans for-but I don't know why. Clearly there is a reason-but all I can do currently is baselessly speculate.
[Lore check 17/100]
I rifle through my mental library-what reason could a lone elf act so? A lone lower fey alone, certainly precedent exists in all manner of tales-but a lone fey at the head of a small war band? ....I have not seen this referenced before, or if I have, I can't remember. Frustrating-but not much I can do about it.
I suppose I will have to do some research if I want some answers.
Saul does what he can, but the swamp is rough terrain. Even with me wounded, he slowly starts to fall behind-by the time we reach Stiltown at our even slower pace, it is well past dusk, village guards crying out as they see our approach.
Before we even reach the stilt-topping town, before we breach its wooden walls, a crowd of scores clusters to our approach-noting my limbing, gore-smeared form, the bandaged lad.
>>289632
>>289633
>>289647
It does not take particularly long to tell a truncated version of the story. A goblin raid, far larger than normal, wiped out the farm, with Saul the sole survivor. I make no mention of elves or pacts-and our story is chilling enough no one presses too deeply. A crew of ten is sent to see to the dead after I assure them that the goblins are gone, save for two that fled and could possibly return-but an armed group of ten has little fear of such a threat. I encourage their enthusiasm, as I find that the boy's uncle is the town blacksmith-I talk to him. Between his gratitude at seeing his nephew at least escape harm, and the extra golds from the goblins, I have just enough to buy a quartet of long, steel daggers, weighted for throwing. I repurpose my now empty leg-braces to accomodate the larger implements-and enquire after a blunderbuss. If that elf might return-a weapon that sprays iron everywhere would seem a good investment. He commiserates that no one in Stiltown carries such a thing, but heard the towns on the foothills to the north carry such.
A day passes, and then another, as I give myself time to recover, and more firmly establish my modified story. The local bowmaker finishes a new bow for me, and while not as capable as my old one, I am provided a quiver of thirty arrors, each with barbed wooden tips, leaving me with replacements for just about everything I lost, save my fingers. The villagers are only too happy to offer me as much supplies as I can carry, when I finally get ready to leave-I'm even given a stoutly fitted wooden shield-which after this last debacle, is a gift I appreciate. I say my farewells to Saul, who I admit to having checking in on quite frequently these last few days to try and get him focused on the future and not the past-and while he seems sad to see me go, no tears come to his eyes-I think he may come out of this alright.
I trudge to the north, lurking, sneaking, hunting, trapping, cooking and camping along over the swamplands as it slowly terminates into hardpacked soil over days. The more desolate climate, the increasingly parched ground, all of it reminds me of home as I approach the city of Barboth. Surely here, where tinkers lurk, where I purchased my brace of pistols, can I find a blunderbuss. ...And here, I may learn more about what happened in my last mission.
Only one problem.
I defaulted on the Worg mission, as I left to deal with the goblins-so no pay for that. Likewise, the goblins were largely pro-bono, barring the pair of golds I found. After getting a quartet of well-crafted, balanced steel long-daggers (at considerable discount, I note) I am left with only twelve silvers, and fifty eight coppers.
[VOLUNTEER QUEST CURRENCY VALUES: One gold will feed an adult comfortably for a year, even in areas of food shortage with increased prices (albeit they will not be as comfortably fed). Twenty five silvers in a gold, fifty coppers in a silver.]
I need money, if I'm going to take time to research.
And so, to picking my way through the rumor mill.
....Hm, supposed to be some sort of Werecat-not sure what kind, just a big cat-out to the east-killing only livestock so far, running from groups-probably not a big cat. ...Huh, pay's a gold-really been eating into the farmer's profits.
-We also have the classic, a werewolf active on a western roadway, attacking and eating travellers-two gold bounty, but the beast is noted to be a decent stalker in its own right. Bounty is set at... three golds, with a fifty silver advance to anyone who accepts-ah, it killed a merchant's heir, he's looking for resolution.
-For five golds I could hunt a Vampire.... wouldn't be hard to find another hunter or two in a city this size, and even split that's a good bit of money. Well, if I want, that particular job is farther in the north.
-There's an orc loose to the south-east-75 silver for putting it down.
That's it within walking distance.
So what should I do?
[D100 for how well whichever job gets picked starts out.]
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