stelle 2018/09/28(Fri)08:49 No. 903870 ID: 4ac654
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When you wake up, you almost don’t remember where you are.

stelle 2018/09/28(Fri)09:00 No. 903873 ID: 4ac654
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Your name is ILDE MERRYWEATHER, and though you don’t know the meaning of your first name, you like to think that the second is pretty self explanatory. As far as you know, you have been here for THREE WEEKS, TWO DAYS, and THIRTEEN HOURS. Maybe. To be honest, you don’t even know what time it is right now, so there’s the distinct possibility your numbers might be off.

It’s been a rough couple of weeks.

Currently, your stats are as follows:
STR: 16
DEX: 11
CON: 14
INT: 9
WIS: 12
CHA: 20

Where are you, why are you here, and why has it been rough?

This seems like prison. I'm assuming you were convicted for a crime.

Whose tail is that? Chase it.

oh we LOVE a stupid clumsy cutie. nice stat spread. anyway what are u in for

also yes, use your 9 int to chase your tail

Capture that tail and teach it a lesson it'll never forget! While you do so, reflect on any special talents you may possess.

>>903883
Seconding

--

Are you male, female, other, both, or neither?

Do you like ice cream?

chase! tail! chase! tail!

>>903873
So where are you and why?
also chase the tail

>>903881
>>903883
Yes.

I see from your stats that you're most likely a bard. A sword college bard. You should start performing until you're let out.

stelle 2018/09/29(Sat)04:17 No. 904052 ID: 4ac654
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Luckily, you’ve long since suppressed the urge to chase your tail, probably much to the disappointment of the friends and family around you. Besides, this cell is much too small for you to gain any of the proper momentum for a rousing chase that could, potentially, keep you occupied for hours (not that you’ve tried, of course!).

stelle 2018/09/29(Sat)04:19 No. 904053 ID: 4ac654
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Anyway, as far as you know--and it’s not much--you’re here for… trespassing? That’s all the guards will tell you! You suppose it’s understandable, as you’re something of a serial trespasser, but you had only just arrived to this city, stayed for one night, and then… Here you are. When you woke up, you found yourself in this cell, missing all of your earthly belongings and, most distressingly, your INSTRUMENT. You can only hope they’re locked up somewhere safe in a Captain’s Quarters, maybe, or in a big chest that you’ll get to open when the local authorities finally understand that this is a misunderstanding and they let you out.

Your time here hasn’t been awful, exactly; it could be much worse! You’ve heard all sorts of horror stories from former prisoners about their times in cells and dungeons that, you imagine, are not much unlike the one you’re in. But here, you’re fed twice a day, and though the cell has no bed or pillow or any form of comfort, really, the cell is warm and the stone is smooth and sleepable. You’re not whipped, or put on “The Rack”, or have had rotten food thrown at you, or... talked to at all, really. It’s a lonely experience at the worst, and you get lost in how long you’ve been here, leaving you with a choking, floating feeling, but it’s survivable. It’s rough in the same way that straying from a path is--you can’t seem to make sense of anything, and no one you ask seems particularly keen on giving directions.

To pass the time you consider performing, but, well, without your INSTRUMENT, you’re afraid there’s no point. It’s not like you’re a bard or anything, but your INSTRUMENT is the one thing that gives you a reason to play, or perform, or sing. It’s an honoring. The two of you feed into each other, and without it, it’s like performing a duet by yourself--lonely. Pathetic. And with these manacles on, you can barely focus long enough to construct a melody, much less try to carry a beat by yourself--they chafe and burn your skin something awful, but no matter the amount of adjusting, they never budge.

And besides, you don’t want to bother THE OTHER GUY.

ilde is nonbinary, and uses he/him and they/them!

This makes sense. If you had been awake, you wouldn't had failed a roll with your 20 CHA!

Show us THE OTHER GUY and tell us about him.

show other guy plox

oh, fuck the other guy. you’re in jail, you have to find a way to keep yourself occupied somehow.

that being said, what’s he like? has he been giving you problems?

immediately bother the other guy to remind yourself why you didnt want to.

Entertain yourself by bothering THE OTHER GUY. I'm sure he'd appreciate the distraction.

>>904053
What "OTHER GUY?"
>>904075
>oh, fuck the other guy
Uh, phrasing.

>>904053
What can you tell us about your captors? Or where you were caught trespassing? Or the Other Guy?

Did your captors mention if there will be a trial? Or how long you were going to be held?

Think about the latest catchy riff you had in your head and then hum it because you've kinda got to after thinking about it

Okay, so you haven't been tortured or treated poorly, unlike the other prisoners, and yet that hasn't raised any red flags? I mean your Intelligence stat is 9, and your Wisdom is 12, so I don't know why I'm surprised. They probably think you're valuable or something.

hi!! so in the interest of me chilling the fuck out with my art, there’s gonna be a p massive art shift with this update! thanks for your patience!

stelle 2018/10/12(Fri)23:20 No. 906653 ID: 4ac654
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THE OTHER GUY is across the way--the dungeon is only about three cells long on either side, and the cells, except yours, are empty. It seems like they have been for some time, which, in a way, is both good and bad; good because, hey, no prisoners--bad because, well. There’s no one else except for the two of you. And it’s not like THE OTHER GUY has been giving you any problems! It’s actually more like the opposite? If the opposite of problems were doing nothing at all and just sort of being distant and unreadble and unrespo--

stelle 2018/10/12(Fri)23:21 No. 906655 ID: 4ac654
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>oh, fuck the other guy. you’re in jail, you have to find a way to keep yourself occupied somehow
>Uh, phrasing.

HAHAHA ANYWAY,

stelle 2018/10/12(Fri)23:22 No. 906656 ID: 4ac654
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Like you were saying!! THE OTHER GUY hasn’t been giving you any problems of any sort, and you’re getting to the point where you kind of hope he does. You’re not one to relish in negative attention, but the quiet days of trying to eavesdrop on the guards that pass through are beginning to unnerve you, and something is always better than nothing. A snide remark, a chuckle, a hint of life in the world besides the one that occupies your cell, besides the one in you--anything, and you’d be content. It pangs at your heart, the thought of another voice floating through this chamber, and you never realized it until now just how much you miss [i]company[i].

And to make matters worse, you have so many questions, and none of them are appropriate without a little bit of small talk; for example, you aren’t sure how long he’s been here, but you get the certain feeling that it’s been much longer than you have. He just kind of has that vibe--haggard and tired and hungry. Every time you try to talk to him, he either ignores you, or--actually, maybe he just hasn’t been able to hear you? Who knows what kind of enchantments are imbued in the membrane-like metal of your cell. You don’t want to think about it.

Instead, you get up to your knees, raising your arms above your head and stretching your back as well as you can without hitting the top of the cell (gods, these things weren’t built with creatures like you in mind), and settle yourself forward, peering through the windows of the cell to the man across from you. He’s human, as far as you can tell--and turned somewhat away from you, facing the only entrance to the dungeon. He seems… focused on something in his lap, fiddling with something, and okay actually you don’t want to focus on that too much yourself hahaha!!

stelle 2018/10/12(Fri)23:22 No. 906657 ID: 4ac654
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You screw up some courage, and it takes you a solid moment before you can even get up enough gumption to clear your throat, hoping to catch his attention. He flinches at the noise, pressing his hands flat to the ground on either side of him with a kind of trained quickness of someone who might be guilty of something, and gods, that’s all it takes to flood you with adrenaline. He can hear you!

“Hello?” You call softly through the door of your cell, hoping it reaches him--and to your delight, it does, as evidenced by the way he whips his head around to face you, and for a second, you can see his widened eyes and raised brows before they settle into something of a scowl. You have never felt happier to startle someone, and you barrel on, a grin split across your face. “Hello! You can hear me--thank the gods! I was getting worried for a while there, thinking that maybe they’d enchant our cells so we can’t hear anything--but here you are! Hearing me! I’m so glad, oh, I can’t tell you how glad--I have so many questions for you, so many stories we can share!”

You can tell your accent is slipping, your lilting voice bubbling into something a little heavier, a little more comfortable, and you hope he doesn’t notice because you do not intend on stopping anytime soon. “But first--first, we should start with niceties, yes? Everything proper tends to start with niceties, SO: what kind of day do you think it’s going to be? I well can’t ask you what you think of the weather, we have no way of knowing, but I like thinking of what day it might be, like right now I think it might be partly cloudly with--”

“What,” the man starts, and his voice is hoarser than you thought it would be. It stops you cold, and your hands--which were practically dancing along with your words--drop to rest, defeated, on your thighs. “Do you think you’re doing?”

You thought you were explaining yourself quite well. You open your mouth to speak again, to be more concise, maybe, because that can be a problem with you, but he stops you again, your lips frozen dumbly in a half-hearted smile. “No--stop. Stop. If we’re not going to see it, then there’s no point in what kind of day it is. There’s no point in any of this.”

Your stomach practically drops out of your body. Your hands are still shaking at the adrenaline, at the relief, but you clench them tight. You try to open your mouth again, but the man’s voice has dropped down to something softer, throaty, and the sigh that escapes him silences you as well as any cruelty would. “Stop. Please, just--stop.” And just like that, he turns back to fiddling with his hands.

Oh.

For some reason, this hurts more than any cutting remark.

>weren’t built with creatures like you in mind
What else is different about them? Maybe they are all freakishly weak and you can just rip the cell apart and ignore their weapons? Or maybe there is something they have never seen before in your saliva/vomit that can rapidly corrode their material and disorientate the guards?

>other guy
Active minds are healthy minds! Speculation about most anything is its own reward! Theorising about the weather is worth it even if your theories can't be verified.

>>906657
Keep talking just to annoy the dour ass.

Well why is his silence more important than your company? He can hear you and he can speak, so denying you small talk is just mean. Though, if his problem is with references to the outside, maybe move to introductions!

He seems really rude. Ask him what his problem is. Also, what's that in his hand?

>>906657
Ask him why he’s playing with his dick?

>>906657
Talking about what kind of day it might be outside wasn't probably the best starter for someone who's been stuck here even longer than you.

Persist? Apologize maybe? It's not as if you have anything better to do, and even if he gets mad at you, being told off is better than being bored and lonely forever.

oh, okay! he doesn’t want to talk about what’s outside, so let’s talk about what’s in here instead! we could speculate on what the insides of the other cells look like. or we could try to guess each other’s names. or we could try to guess when we’re going to get out of here!

Are you usually a lot bigger than everyone else, or is other guy just tiny?

Anyways, no other choice but to ask what he's doing over there, as if you don't know he's crankin it.

Guessing that 20 charisma ain't gonna do jack squat.

Do... Something. I dunno.

different name, still me! FAE is the name i write another quest under (which is posted directly from my iPad lmao), and i decided that for the sake of keeping everything together, to just. put GW under this name too! okay!!! update time!

FAE 2018/12/09(Sun)14:20 No. 913541 ID: 2234a1
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The two of you settle into an uneasy silence. You hadn’t expected your prisonmate’s remark to cut as deep as it did—you had assumed that he was just as eager as you were to talk, if not more—and you need the precious moments to lick your proverbial wounds. It’s childish to say he had hurt your feelings, but here you are, sitting in the tumultuous silence with hurt feelings! Your feelings are hurt! You need a minute to collect yourself.

In the silence, you notice that if you strain your ears, you can barely hear gentle clinks and clanks; uneven in rhythm, which seems odd if he were. Uh. You know. (Somewhere, in the recesses of your mind, you think maybe he’s just bad at it, but you don’t really see how someone could be bad at something as straightforward and intuitive as jerking it). Personally, you don’t want to entertain the thought longer than you have to, but still, you press a hand up against the door of the cell, peering at your fiddling cell mate with raised brows. “You know,” you start, your voice uneven and tinged with more playfulness than you’d like to let on, “if you wanted to dally yourself, the least you could’ve done is ask me to turn around.”

Your prisonmate flinches, hands drawing up from their place in his lap—it’s almost comical, how much he’s scrunched up, how much his face has flushed, and you find yourself letting loose a twittering laugh.

“I’m not—“ he hisses, and when he catches you laughing at him, his mouth purses itself in a tight, thin line, cutting himself off. You almost feel bad, but then again, you’re finally filling all the empty space in this cell, even if it’s your own laughter. When your giggles die down a little, he forces himself to continue, cheeks still flushed and rosy. “Will you—at least, please, keep it down.”

FAE 2018/12/09(Sun)14:21 No. 913542 ID: 2234a1
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There’s an urgency in his voice that makes you stop. You press your fingers to your lips, brows knit, hoping that he’ll continue—but he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you a long, withering look before turning his gaze to his lap, the clinking continuing. You strain yourself, stretching your neck to see through the membrane of your cell, hoping your height will aid you in seeing what he’s doing, though he’s across the hall, though he’s trying to use his arm to block any prying eyes —

FAE 2018/12/09(Sun)14:23 No. 913543 ID: 2234a1
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—and it does. Extending your neck as far as you can bare, you finally, finally catch the slightest silver sliver of what your prisonmate is fussing with—

By the gods.

He has KEYS.

Your tail, moving in tandem with the quickening pace of your heart, thumps wildly against the floor. Your prisonmate, annoyed and distracted again by your outburst of noise, looks up, and without the shadow of his hanging head, for one gleaming moment, you can see them—a thick ring of keys, all different shapes and sizes, but all extremely promising. You don’t know how, or when—but he got them. He got keys, and now, suddenly, there’s so much hope for the two of you that you almost feel lightheaded. No more sullen silences. No more straw beds. Hope.

“How,” you breathe, now low and urgent—you’re starstruck, yes, but anxious too—surely someone would have noticed when an entire set of keys have gone missing, and there can be only two culprits—“how could you have possibly, and even then, when,when could you have—“

“Please,” your prisonmate urges, eyes wide, and even from your cell, you can see panic filling them. “Stop—the noise—you’ll—“

Distantly, ever so distantly, you can hear the low murmur of voices from above you.

threaten to start screaming if he tries to leave without you

Can't you work and talk at the same time? Stop pausing and hurry up with the keys already.

RESIST ASKING HIM TO JANGLE THOSE MOTHERFUCKIN KEYS LIKE A SHITTY PRISON TAMBOURINE

>“You know,” you start, your voice uneven and tinged with more playfulness than you’d like to let on, “if you wanted to dally yourself, the least you could’ve done is ask me to turn around.”
Pff, quick turnaround on those hurt feelings.

>>913543
Slowly and deliberately cover your mouth with your hand and nod.

Try not to draw attention and hope against hope he'll let you out too.

If the guards show up to poke around, you might have to distract them somehow, so they don't search him. You can't lost this chance.