A Dead Man's Quest 1

>>1757074
>You’re wearing a mangled metal cuirass, painted with the image of a burning phoenix. A broadsword is jutting from between your ribs.

>>1757074
Wait so am I undead or a fully alive, resurrected human?

>>1757074
Also

>You’re wearing a leather jerkin, embroidered with an ornate filigree surrounding the head of a deer. An arrow is jutting out from between your ribs.

>You’re wearing a leather jerkin, embroidered with an ornate filigree surrounding the head of a deer. An arrow is jutting out from between your ribs.

Trick shooting skeleton

Welcome to A Dead Man's Quest! You're dead now! Lucky you.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/WhisperingQM

Whenever I will be running, I will shoot out a Tweet at least a couple hours ahead of time, for anybody who doesn't think the quest is pure herpes and wants to participate.

>Rules rundown
1. Votes will be counted twenty minutes after a post, as time/life permits.
2. In the event of write-in options, I'd appreciate if they made sense within context. If it's awesome, might use it.

>>1757074
>>You’re wearing a mangled metal cuirass, painted with the image of a burning phoenix. A broadsword is jutting from between your ribs.

>>1757099
>>You’re wearing a mangled metal cuirass, painted with the image of a burning phoenix. A broadsword is jutting from between your ribs.

>You’re wearing a leather jerkin, embroidered with an ornate filigree surrounding the head of a deer. An arrow is jutting out from between your ribs

>>1757074
>You're wearing a mangled metal cuirass, painted with the image of a burning Phoenix. A broadsword is jutting from between your ribs.

>>1757120

Just starting class. You're straight out the afterlife right now.

>>1757074
>>You’re wearing a leather jerkin, embroidered with an ornate filigree surrounding the head of a deer. An arrow is jutting out from between your ribs.

>Sword had 4 votes before the 20 minutes, so sword it is.

What were you doing before now? Your mind is a cloud. You hear whispers. Can’t understand ‘em. Nonsense. Try to shake loose the cobwebs, but they cling to your every thought.

You sit up. Ponder the broadsword sticking outta your chest. Doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel it.

Can’t feel much of anything, actually. Maybe a little cold. Empty.

That screaming you heard, it’s a lot closer now. You’re drawn to that sound. It fills you with rage. Not really sure why.

A woman. Pretty young thing; black robes, hair flowing like midnight over porcelain skin.

Wild looking man, shortsword in hand, holding a wound in his gut, looming over her. Anger on his face.

“I’LL SKIN YOU ALIVE, DEMON BITCH!”

>You feel like you should act...what should you do?

>>1757139
>>You feel like you should act...what should you do?
Pull out sword, and attack the woman in black robes

>>1757143
>>1757139
This, she most likely is a necromancer tbhfamalam.

>>1757139
Attack the evil necromancer

>>1757139
Pull out the sword, run over and kill the woman

>>1757139

>You feel like you should act...what should you do?

Attack the guy, attack our necromancer we're back to being dead

>>1757163
You mong she wants to keep us as her slave

>>1757139
>Take out sword and kill the woman

>>1757163
Why do you want to be a slave?

>>1757168
You understand

>>1757152

Fuck it yeah let's murder the bitch, Maybe try to just wound her in case anybody else wants answers.

>>1757175
Nope we need to take her by surprise or else she will use her magic to kill us again.

>>1757168

If we kill her, we fucking die along with her you moron. We have an act put up for being a mindless slave, read over some magic books she'll have, once we figure out how to escape it then we kill her.

But fuck it, you all wanna kill her go ahead.

>>1757139
Kill the demon bitch, duh.

>>1757190
Selfishness does not justify evil.

>>1757184

I think we may have been raised as a free minded undead. I don't know if she has any power over us anymore if that's what you're thinking. She thinks we're enslaved so I doubt she'll expect an attack

>>1757190
If we were linked to her by spell we'd already be running to help her not of our own will.

>>1757195

>Selfishness does not justify evil.

Boo fucking hoo, you think people are gonna accept us with everything being sunshine, rainbows, polka dots and fucking moonbeams? No, we're undead. People are gonna be trying to kill us left, right and center

>>1757197
I think she meant to cast a spell over us very soon after she raised us, or it's one of those things where she chooses to control us

>>1757155

Kill the bitch

>>1757201
That doesn't mean, we should just act like the stereotype undead.

>>1757201
You're contradicting yourself already, villain.
First you say our hero will die if he does the proper thing and slays the demon, then you claim that he will be discriminated against? He will be returned to his rightful rest, moron.

I'm sure we can hide the whole undead thing easy enough. Just need a cloak and not to go near too many people. I'm pretty sure most of everybody here will always take to chance to be free even if we risk dying.

>>1757139
Kill the demon bitch

>>1757139
I like how the QM sets us up with a pretty anti-heroine and we decide to slaughter her without considering how this world works at all.

>Merc that bitch

You move to stand. Your legs feel stiff as they creak and pop beneath you.

You reach your hand up and rest it on the grip of the sword and give it a slight tug. In there deep. Maybe in the bone.

Another scream. Wild man swings, misses by inches. You grimace, tear the blade free, hearing it scrape against bone and metal on the way out.

Blood on it is clotted, turning dark. Something familiar about this blade. All the chips and scratches. Scratching at the back of your eyes. Seen it before?

Feel the weight. It’s heavy. You wrap your hands around the grip and hold it in front of you.

Feel the death it’s dealt. It’s heavy. Weighs in the back of your mind with the whispers.

Whispers telling you to feed it. The blade is thirsty. She screams again.

Telling you to feed her to the blade. That supple white flesh, feed it to the blade.

>Feed her to the blade!

You take one shaky step. Another.

Your armor rattles as you take one heavy step after another.

Your pace picks up. An unbalanced jog. Feet unsure. Knees weak. Arms are heavy.

But you level the blade. Calm. Ready.

You charge. Can you call this stumbling gait a charge? You aggressively gait with purpose.

You open your mouth without thinking, a mighty roar boiling up from your guts. You’ve done this before.

But it’s not a roar. Past your lips comes an unintelligible wail. A sad, sorry thing, like a widow mourns. They both turn to you.

She is all you see. Everything else falls away. The man. The smoke. The piles of burning corpses. She is your whole world now. The only thing that matters to you.

And a look of horror rises on those soft features, as her black eyes meet you. Not sure what she sees there. Maybe fire. Maybe her own death. Maybe she sees you feeding her to the blade.

>STOP!

The command erupts through your mind like a blinding flare. Foot lands heavy in the mud. You jerk. Body’s at odds with your mind. Whispers are picking up in the back of your head. Like hushed shouting. Commanding you.

>Feed her to the blade!

>Listen to me!

Your muscles tense and slacken on their own, one command compelling you to kill, the other commanding you to stay your hand.

You look at her. Your whole world. Her black eyes, like pools of ink, pleading with you.

>You have to listen to me!

>FEED HER TO THE BLADE!

Speaking of blades, one swings into your vision, coming in low, rising up at your neck. A decapitating blow, coming in slow motion.

Commands rush through your mind. What should you do? What can you do? Are you even in control?

>Dodge!

>Strike!

>What do I do?!

>>1757255
Kill her, the strike is an illusion.

>>1757255
Stab the demon, even if it means our end. Justice must be done.

>>1757255
>strike

who needs defense? we're already dead.

>>1757255
>>Kill her
The demon will not have control over us.

>>1757255
>Strike
>Stab
>Cut her down

>>1757255
>stab

Kill the bitch or Die trying

>>1757255
>Gank the necro

>FEED HER TO THE BLADE, YOU FUCKING WORTHLESS DRECK!

You lurch forward. The sword misses your neck, but slashes up across your face from jaw to eye. You hear the man curse. Things suddenly go dark on your right side.

But you can still see fine from the left.

You fall to a knee, driving that sword with all your might right through her guts. You grab her by the shoulder, pulling her onto the blade as her delicate hands run along your cuirass weakly, trying feebly to push you away.

Soft whimpers. Tears roll down her face. Blood pours from those soft lips. You look at her. Something flashes through your mind. A smile. A gentle touch. A soft laugh. A warm embrace on a cold night.

You suddenly feel as though you’ve done something you can never take back. Something that cannot be forgiven.

She reaches up to caress your cheek. Looking you in the eyes. Or eye. You can see a longing there. A deep sorrow. “It’s not your fault.” She whimpers, a sad smile, then coughs. Blood flecks your face.

You feel something pressed into your hand. You don’t look. You watch as the life ebs from those black eyes.

>Good job, you worthless dreck. Go ahead and die for me.

Some of the fog lifts from your mind. You slowly lift your head. Boot strikes you from the right side, sends you sprawling. Didn’t see it coming. A dry chuckle.

“Fucking disgrace.” You hear the man say, as he places his boot on your chest, pressing you into the mud. “Couldn’t even handle dying like a man? Ya had to come back as a fuckin’ moaner?” He leans forward, spits a wad of phlegm in your face. “Fucking coward until the end, eh?”

He raises his shortsword above your head, tightening his grip, edge pointing down at your face.

None of the whispers offer any commands. You’re on your own.

>What should I do?

>>1757343
>>What should I do?
Attack him

>>1757343
looks like she wasn't the necromancer, but someone important to you. Good job.
>kill him.

>>1757343
Die with dignity, returning to rightful rest.

>>1757343
Let us be kill to rest

>>1757343
Attack. Blank slate

Murderhobo time.

>>1757343
We don't have skin on our arms anymore right?

>Wait until the last minute. Parry blade with gauntlet. Knock him off and stab through chest.

>>1757343
Parry.

Riposte.

Fuck it yeah just kill the man and try to figure out what's going on

Wait is 4chan the Necromancer? Is that the plot twist? That we're a bunch of assholes advocating murder to a zombie just cause?

>>1757395

You do! You're fresh out the afterlife. Still got...most of your skin on those bones. Shame about the right side of your face. And your eye.

You grasp around for your sword. You look to your left. Still stuck in her. Too far.

Instead you make a fist and strike his ankle as hard as you can. The man shouts, blade buries in the mud right next to your head. Lifts his leg away.

You roll over, trying to get up. Another kick from the right, never saw it coming. You topple over, but roll from shoulder to shoulder onto one knee. Caked in mud. Stench of blood on your hands. Like it’s coming from everywhere. You’re drowning in that smell, that sweet and sickening aroma.

Something stirs deep in your gut. You moan. Can’t help it. Like your stomach’s got a mind of its own.

“That fucking hurt, you bastard!” The man growls as he pulls his sword out of the mud. “You’re a pain in my arse even when you’re dead!”

>Rush him before he’s prepared

>Search for the nearest weapon

>Brace yourself and wait for him to come to you

>>1757418
I think we might have just killed our lover...

>Rush him before he’s prepared

>>1757426
Rush him, we're doing this bare-handed.

>inb4 we pop one of his eyes in our ruined socket.

>>1757427
If she was a demon bitch, good riddance to her and us.

>>1757426
Stand and await glorious death.

>>1757426
>Rush him

>Rush him before he’s prepared

>>1757426
>Rush him before he’s prepared
Tackle him and beat him unconscious

>>1757427
Probably yeah, Either a lover or past love one but it was the heat of the moment so fuck it just kill everybody and sort it out later

>>1757427
She also could have been a necromancer who knows if OP changes things depending on what we choose.

>>1757426
>Rush him before he’s prepared

>>1757445
Big possibility yeah but they're probably innocent in this timeline so there's not much we can do now

With another sad wail, you kick off from your knee and rush him. His head snaps up, you caught him by surprise, but he’s fast.

As you get within reach, he jams his sword upward, punching through the gap between your breastplate and pauldron.

You don’t feel it. Doesn’t hurt.

You wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze as hard as you can. You can see the panic set in as he grabs at your wrist with one hand, trying to wrestle his blade free with the other before letting it go. He strike you in the face, over and over. All you can feel is the impact. You keep squeezing, twisting.

He chokes and sputters, clawing at your forearms, a mixture of fear and fury crossing his face, trying to get a good grip to pull your hands away.

You’ve got the better grip. Always have.

Always...have?

His knees buckle beneath him and he slumps, but your grip doesn’t slacken. He’s feebly slapping at your arms now, face is turning purple, eyes beginning to roll back. Literally strangling the life out of him.

And in the pit of your gut, something is coming. A hungry beast, clawing its way up your throat, trying to get out.

You’re salivating.

>Roll 1d100 to keep your composure. 20-100 is a pass.

Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>1757510

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Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>1757510

Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>1757510

Rolled 43 (1d100)

>>1757510
Can we just eat him instead? Lets be ghouls, we already murdered our wife, lets succumb to the bloodlust.

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Wow, good job murdering best gril before the quest has even properly begun. I guess we tragic hero now.

Even in your state, you’re a pinnacle of Willpower.

You ignore that clawing hunger, and fight it back down, but you can still feel it there. Growing. Waiting.

You throw the man to the ground. He reaches for his throat, taking huge, ragged lungfuls of air. He tries to stand, falls back over. Tries to crawl, can’t manage it.

You look at your hands. You’ve got some of his flesh beneath your nails from gripping his throat so tightly. They’re shaking. You afraid? Of what? Killing?

>Shouldn’t you be used to that by now?

You look at the sword sticking out of your shoulder and rip it free. Didn’t hurt. You look at him. He looks back over his shoulder, a crazed look in his eyes. Pulling himself through the mud. A slug.

You approach, sword in hand, and plant your boot hard on the ankle you struck earlier, as he’s inches away from gripping a discarded dagger. He howls in pain.

He’s at your mercy.

>Have you ever shown mercy? Don’t kid yourself.

What should you do?

>Kill him.

>Interrogate.

>Other.

>>1757576
>commit suicide, return to the grave

>>1757582
Fuck off
>>1757576
kill him, he still seeks to fight. We died, and our old life with it, this is a new one.

>>1757576
>Interrogate.
Even as the undead we have to fight back from eating him and show mercy.

Kick dagger away also

>>1757576
>>Interrogate.
Time to test out our newly acquired social skills.

>Cut both of his ankle tendons and kick the dagger away. Leave him to bleed out.

Not necessarily killing him, but not letting him off easy either.

>>1757576
>Interrogating
Kick dagger away

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>>1757582

Can't derail this zombie train.

>>1757610
>zombie
Not a Ghoul

Fucking tards

>Interrogating

He might bleed out if we cut his feet

>>1757576
>Interrogate.

Yeah, let's not kill him.

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>>1757590
>>1757595
>>1757605
>>1757642
>>1757643
And we shall call ourselves Johnny.

>>1757625

I was using zombie as a general term...

We're undead. You'll see where that can lead eventually.

>interrogate
Let's put a sword in that hand reaching for the dagger and grab it ourselves. Never hurts to have variety

You step over him and casually kick the dagger away as he cradles his ankle, cursing under his breath.

Stops when you jam his sword down in front of his face. He looks up at you slowly.

You ponder for a moment what to say. You have plenty of questions.

Who am I? Who is she? You? What’s going on?

You lick you lips and open your mouth.

“Wuuuuuaaaaauugh...”

The man stares at you blankly for a moment, then snickers. You furrow your brow, then try again to form the words in your head.

“Do you have any idea how fucking stupid you sound?!” He’s laughing at you now, mocking you, “Bleeeeeh, Weeeeeh, you stupid gob!”

You return him the favor of kicking him in the mouth. He groans and spits out a tooth.

“Ugh, FTHUCK!”

You begin grinding the heel of your boot into his hand. Though you may not be able to speak, pain will be your interpreter.

“Agh! Jutht fthucking kill me alreadthy you rotting basthard!”

You pick up his sword. Resting the tip of the blade at the base of the little finger on his right hand. He stops his caterwauling long enough to utter a “Wait-” before you effortlessly slice his finger off at the knuckle, causing another howl of expletives to pour from his bloody mouth.

Some might call this cruel. Torture. Yet you feel so very removed from it. It’s as if it comes as second nature to you. His cries stir nothing in you but the hunger in the pit of your stomach. You remove your boot, and he cradles his injured hand.

“Wuuuuuaagh!” You moan again, putting as much effort in it as you can to make it sound forceful, authoritative.

He locks eyes with you, as if seeing you for the first time. An expression slowly crawls across his face. Realization.

“Sthamedi’s Shthrivelled Ballsth, you’re sthill in there...”

You stare down at him, then work up something in the back of your throat and hauck it into his face. It’s full of clotted blood. That made you feel...better.

(1/2)

>>1757742
Is it spaghetti?

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He sits up slowly and wipes his face off with his good hand. Shaking his head slowly, staring at you incredulously.

“Ha,” A smile comes to his face, lacking any humor, “Haha, thisth isthn’t how thingsth were sthuposthed to go.”

You jab a finger at him and grunt. He looks at you and waves his wounded hand, flicking blood in your direction.

“Look whatchu did to my hand, you pigfucker!”

You pick up and jab the sword down again, trying to make your threat clear. You will do much worse than that.

“Whaddaya want with me?!” he shouts, holding his hand. “Asthkayev’th already got the bloody book, I’m justh cleaning up!”

You cock your head. He looks puzzled.

“You don’t remember, do you?” He says, leaning forward, “You remember anything? Your name? Bozthen?”

You just stare, stone faced.

He laughs, “Thisth isth hilariousth! You don’t remember anything?!” He begins hooting again, “Isth-isth that why you killed your pretty girl?! I thoughth you were justh hungry! Holy shit!”

His laughter leaves you less than amused, and you stomp your foot.

His laughing dies down to a chuckle, “Yeah, you’re not him. Not anymore.” He lets out a very contented sigh. “The ol’ Bozthen would’ve stheen thisth coming.”

You raise an eyebrow. The whispering in the back of your mind has become louder again.

You hear the thrum of a bowstring as an arrow is loosed into the back of your thigh.

Holy shit! That hurts! That one actually hurts!

You hear another arrow fly past you as you cringed to your left, he stands and rushes you, slamming into you as hard as he can and taking you both down into the muck. He’s trying desperately to wrestle his sword away from you.

You can hear another arrow nock.

>Don't let go of the sword

>Forget the sword, grab him and use him as a shield

>Strike

>>1757883
>>Forget the sword, grab him and use him as a shield

>>1757883
>>Forget the sword, grab him and use him as a shield
Obviously the arrows are what we gotta look out for.

Sorry about the wait there, had to get food.

>>Forget the sword, grab him and use him as a shield

i feel as if OP is mad with us for fucking with his setting.

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>>1757953

Not at all. So far you guys have actually done exactly what I expected

>>1757968
Let me do a 360 no scope once we get a bow. I can show you how cool we can be.

>>1757977
supporting

>>1757968
Sureeeeee

>>1757977
I was always in favor of trick shooting skeletons

>>1758074
>>1758013
>>1757989
The perfect thing that OP don't expect is us making a gun. So we can no scope people, legit

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>>1758013

(I mean, you kept trying to get us to commit sungoku, so maybe you specifically :p)

You let go of the sword and he wrenches it back, surprised, before you wrap your arms around his waist and roll onto your back. As you do, an arrow buries itself in the soft ground beside you.

He’s struggling against you, but from where you are he can’t make use of the sword. You crane your neck to try and spot your new adversary.

They’re making no attempt to hide. Some disgusting abomination, there on the hill. The thing that catches your eye is the armor it wears. Painted phoenix on a steel chestplate.

The incoherent whispering in your head is becoming louder, you can’t escape from the noise. The archer looses again, unconcerned with the man writhing on top of you. An arrow buries itself to the fletching in his shoulder, and he drops the sword.

As it nocks again, you throw him off of you and grab the blade, then dive behind a pile of charred corpses. This is the first time you’ve actually really taken notice of them. There are simply piles and piles of corpses as far as the eye can see. Some burnt, others still burning. The crows are coming in, picking at everything in sight, fighting over scraps.

You peer over your barricade of bodies and duck again as an arrow just barely misses your head. To your right, the man on the ground is groaning in agony, trying to pull himself away. An arrow catches him in the leg and he roars, “GAH, ASKAYEV, YOU BASTARD WE HAD A DEAL!”

You hear another arrow nock. Starting to look like you might not have been the only target.

>Run out and try to save the sorry lout

>Vault the pile and rush the hilltop

>Remove that arrow in your thigh

>Write-In

>>1758086
>>Run out and try to save the sorry lout

>>1758086
>Remove arrow

>Run out and try to save the sorry lout

>>1758086
>Run out and try to save the sorry lout.
never hurts to be a good guy. unless it kills you. wa-wa.

>>1758086
>>Vault the pile and rush the hilltop
>>Remove that arrow in your thigh

You’ve still got questions, and that curse spewing swine is the only one around with any answers.

Ignore that pain. Fight through it. You should be used to that by now. Wait, you should?

>You should.

You don’t dwell on it. Trying to keep as balanced as you can, you lurch out of your cover and head for your once-and-future captive.

>What are you doing? Risking yourself for others? That’s not like you.

“I need him alive.” You think.

>For the moment. What’ll you do once you’ve got what you want?

An arrow comes dangerously close to you, so close that you could feel the air cutting by your face.

>If this wasn’t so out of character for you, that probably would’ve taken your nose off.

You grab the screaming man by the collar and with all the strength you can muster you HURL him out of the way behind a dead tree, which you slide behind soon after.
“Oh, fuckin’ happy day, ol’ Bozen come to save me!” He spits with as much sarcasm as he can muster through pained gasps. “Aww, fuck, I think I’m dying. That bastard’s done me in.” He sidles up against the tree and slumps down.

You look out from behind the tree. An arrow slams into the trunk. Damn, for a dead man he’s pretty accurate.

“The arrows,” he’s talking to you, scrunching up his face through the pain, “they’re blessed silver. Dunno how much you remember, but those’ll put you down if he gets you enough times. Like poison to the likes of you.”

Shit.

You reach down and grasp the shaft sticking out of your thigh and rip it out. Pain shoots up your leg and you groan. The arrowhead is made of a beautiful polished silver, barbed, and would simply work its way in deeper if not removed quickly. Perfect for hunting mindless monsters, you think.

>You know full well.

The whispering is becoming louder. You steal a glance and reel your head back as another shot passes dangerously close. It’s repositioning itself along the hillside. It’ll be able to fire on your position soon.

>You’ve been in hairier situations than this.

You’ve got to think of something. If you don’t act soon it could all be over, but simply charging out into the open would only lead to a fool’s death.

>A plan, I need a plan, what can I do?

>>1758235
Find a shield or shield-like object. If you can't, use the dying guy. Also make use of corpse piles and other things you can use as cover. When you run out of those, move fast. Oh, and if you can carry throwable objects, get those and throw it at the archer with your off hand, you can pull out your sword once you're closer.

If anybody else would like to weigh in on your plans to not die in the opening act, I'm gonna be going for the night. It's getting late here and I have work early in the morning. Will likely be picking this up sometime late afternoon tomorrow.

I'll see what you guys have decided upon then.

>>1758331
>your plans to not die
Bit too late for that, I think.

>>1758086
I take the arrow I removed, take the lout on my back, and run around the hills, staying outside the archer's line of sight until I can find a way to escape. IF I find a body with a bow I will attempt to shoot him with the arrow, and IF I can somehow get close without being detected, I will charge and stab the skeleton with the arrow

>>1758331
I'm not sure what we can do, I mean, we already killed our girl, and now we're saving an asshole.

Fuck it, let's kill the archer. Put the bastard in cover and get our sword, we can then attack the archer with it.

I don't think we should abandon the body of our girl. If we came back, the possibility she can as well exists.

>>1759070
I wouldn't say we should run at the archer, because he could probably make us a pincushion before we get there. We must take evasive maneuver. Keep in mind, we have a single silver arrow, which we can hopefully stab it with because it's a monster

Just popping in to check on things.

So, it seems we have

>Find a shield or something that can be used as a shield.

>Using what cover we can to close distance.

>Rushing the hilltop with evasive maneuvers with the sword and arrow.

>Trying to see if there's a bow lying around.

So, would seem you guys have some things to deliberate on then. I'm just popping in as I said, but will be running again in a few hours. I'll go with whichever two option most people have backed by then, or if someone comes up with a better plan and people back that, will go with that. Cheers.

>>1759570
>Using what cover we can to close distance.

>>1759570
>>Find a shield or something that can be used as a shield.
>>Using what cover we can to close distance.

>>1759814
>use cover to close distance.

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You take a slow detail of the bodies piled nearby. Most of them naked. Peasant garbed, or burned. Your eyes scan carefully for a shield of some kind, but all you spot lying on the ground or among the pile of bodies are blades and other weaponry.

As you are about to give up on your plan, you spot it-a breastplate, charred black. Slip the arrow carefully into your belt. Could be useful.

“Wait, don’t just leave me here to die!” The man pleads, reaching out feebly toward you as you hobble away. You raise a hand to silence him and go about your work. The armor is still strapped to its previous wearer, now nothing more than a fire blackened husk, staring at you with empty sockets, mouth agape in eternal agony. You begin wrestling it free, “Oh, Gods, now it’s fucking the other corpses.”

You pull it free and raise it up with both hands. Peasant armor. Small town blacksmith, maybe. Not a proper substitute for a shield, but you can’t be picky. Ain’t got the time. Arrow gouges into the pile, reminding you.

One more look at the snivelling man, who seems puzzled as to what you’re doing, and then, raising up the piece of armor in front of you with one hand and the shortsword in the other, you dash from cover. Or you dash as best you can, which is really more of a stiff-legged jog.

As if on cue, an arrow pings off the breastplate as you walk out into the open, threatening to wrench it from your grip. You peer around it to see the archer retrieve another arrow from its quiver and begin to nock. Hear the thrum, shot goes right between your legs. Close one. You slide behind the next pile.

That whispering has become like a hushed conversation amongst a large crowd. You’d been trying not to focus on it, but your mind catches one.

>Wait. Wait for the opportune moment. The other one won’t go anywhere. The legs, hit its legs. If it can’t walk, it’s over.

Huh.

You remove one of your boots, and slowly inch it into view. Arrow catches it right in the ankle. You let out a loud groan, and pull it back in.

>You’ve hit it. Go. Finish it. Carefully.

You hear another arrow nock, closer now. It approaches.

You now have two silver arrows, a ruined breastplate, and a regular steel shortsword.

>What is your plan?

>>1760298
Take cover, let it approach. Sneak around and jump it.

>>1760298
when he's close throw a rock or something at him and then charge

>>1760363
this, use one of the arrows to kill it by stabbing it somewhere vital

(Sorry. Life stuff happening over here, had to deal.)

As your adversary approaches your location, you are able to focus on that single whispering voice, coming in far more clearly than any other.

>Keep your distance. It is wounded, but dangerous. Round the corpses, now, bow at the ready.

You make your way carefully around the pile, trying to mind where you step and make as little noise as possible. This is the moment that will decide this confrontation, this single moment.

>Blast! Where’d it get off to?!

You hurl the breastplate out from behind cover, and are satisfied to hear the thrum of the bowstring and the thwack as the arrow is loosed into your decoy.

>Dammit, that wasn’t it!

Can’t stop to think. Up and over the carrion pile. Sword in one hand. Pull an arrow from your belt. See your prey. Surprised. Reeling. Fumbling for its quiver. Disgusting abomination of mangled flesh.

>THERE IT IS! GET YOUR BOW READY!

It nocks. You leap. You swing the blade, knock the bow and arrow aside as you bring down your own. Drive it home, straight into the thing’s festering eye. It grabs at you. No strength left for pulling the bowstring. None left to fend you off. You slam your sword through its leg, take your other arrow, and drive it up through the jaw, out through the top.

A soft gurgle, a slackening grip. You let it fall to the ground.

>Damn you! Since when can a rotter move like that?! Which one of you traitors’ handiwork is this?!

You get the impression that this harsh tone in your head is speaking to you. You can feel something, like a pressure inside your skull, as if someone is rooting around in your brains, looking for something.

>”Who am I speaking to?”

>”Are you Askayev?”

>”I broke your toy.”

>Say nothing. Focus on that pressure and try to push it away.

>>1760745
>>”Who am I speaking to?”

>>1760745
>>”Who am I speaking to?”
Alternatively,
>"Are you my mommy?"

You try to focus your thoughts, “Who are you?”

>Hmm? Ah! You’re the one who made this rotter?

You don’t say anything.

>Hmph. Pretty sloppy work, from the look of it. How did you make its movements so smooth?

“What do you want?”

>We want the bloody book, you miserable wretch! Don’t think there aren’t more where this one came from! I’ve got an entire company of Ashen Order rotters hunting you lot!

You look down at the chestplate on the undead you’ve just slain. A blazing phoenix rising up and spreading its wings. This is familiar to you.

“Askayev has the book.” You think without really meaning to, remembering what that mean had told you earlier during your interrogation.

>What?! Samedi’s shriveled balls! The damned Sardiganian has th-

The pressure in your head vanishes immediately, and you can no longer hear that voice. The whispering has died down again to an incomprehensible murmur.

Well, for the moment that issue would appear to be dealt with, though you don’t think it would be wise to spend much longer here.

>Go back to the cursing pig and garner what you can from him.

>Return to the place where you slew the woman earlier.

>Give the corpse a once-over. Might find something of use.

>Other.

>>1760924
>>Return to the place where you slew the woman earlier.

File: Sleepytime.jpg (95KB, 900x604px) Image search: [Google]

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You don’t wish to look at this thing any longer.

You decide to return to where you had awoken. To her. Your sword is still impaled in her abdomen. The corpse wears a look of serenity, as if she were only sleeping. You reach down and brush some of the hair out of her face. “Who were you to me?”

You spot something lying in the mud next to her. A small locket, painted gold. You reach down and pick it up, turning it over in your palm. You can feel something stirring in your mind. The world falls away, images dance across your vision, sights, sounds, smells.

Under the willow, by the lake. The moonlight danced in her eyes when I gave it to her. A thank you. An apology. She blushed as I put it around her neck. Our faces, so close. We had seen so much, lived through such suffering. How could anyone blame me for choosing her? Is it treachery to follow one’s heart? To see the good that lies in others? I’d do it again.

Your head spins, and you have to grasp the grip of the sword to keep from falling over. Your head feels...clear. For the first moment since you’d awoken, you can no longer hear the murmurings from the dark. You slip the locket around your neck and stuff it down into your cuirass, then pull the blade free as gently as possible and lay the corpse down. You can’t help but feel that...some part of you should be more bothered by this.

>Bury her?

>Say a prayer.

>Return to the wounded man.

>>1761130
>>Bury her
>>Say a prayer

>>1761130
>>Bury her
We cant do much praying in this state

File: Last Rites.jpg (177KB, 1191x670px) Image search: [Google]

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It is long work. You dig using a broken wheel from an overturned cart. Then with your hands. Not as deep as you would like, but it should keep the crows from reaching her that have been watching you for some time.

You push the dirt over her, and remain next to the shallow grave for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Your body, almost on reflex, brings the sword before you. You bend to one knee, one hand on the pommel, and bow your head. The words come to your mind as if from memory.

>As the Phoenix does rise from his ashes, so do men rise with him in the dawn, to face adversity. As he dies and falls away, so do men die with him at the dusk, to dream of salvation. To the dark, we hold not fear, nor loathing, for in the darkness of the Phoenix’s passing do we find rest. And so it is that the dark is merely part of the cycle of life, bestowed upon Man, promising peace for all living things. May this one find her peace within the ashes, and rise no longer.

You open your mouth to speak, but then stop yourself, thinking better of it. You feel the moment would be ruined by your unruly tongue. Instead, you repeat the prayer in your head once more, stand straight, and with practiced precision, you sheath your blade.

…

You look down at your hip. The broadsword fits perfectly within a scabbard there. That is...troubling. There is a croak from above you, and you look up at the ruin of the tree before you to see the crows, watching, even still.

Nothing further to do here, you return to the man you’d left.

He is pale. His breathing is shallow. It does not take a nursemaid to see that he is not long for this world. Looking at him now, the blood coming from his various wounds, you can feel that familiar sensation in the pit of your stomach.

And in your brain, some very deep part of you speaks.

>Why let this go to waste?
“I am not a monster.”

>Keep telling yourself that.

You lick your lips subconsciously.

>Kick him awake

>Gently shake him

>Let the dog die in silence

>Sate your Craving...

And that's all for tonight! It's getting close to midnight here, and I've got work again tomorrow morning! Will be back again sometime tomorrow afternoon.

>>1761411
>>Sate your Craving...
If we can be human again I'll be worth it

>>1761411
>Gently shake him

>>1761419
We've already done much torment to ourselves and the world around us, unless we know more we shouldnt be listening to a seperate voice in our head with an unknown motive.

>>1761411
>>Let the dog die in silence
>>1761411

>>1761411
>Sate your Craving

>>1761411
shake him awake. When he passes, pray for him, and but him if we have the chance.

>>1761411

>>Gently shake him

>Gently shake him

>>1761411
Gently shake

>>1761411
>Gently shake him

>>1761411
Shake him. see if he wants the mercy.

>>1761411
>Kick him awake
We need information, and he's a cunt. I say we interrogate.

Shaking wins it!

Will be getting down to business here in a short while, just got off work, gonna grab some chow.

You crouch and gently shake the man. He moans softly and lifts his head. His eyes have trouble focusing on you, and he groans and closes them again, “Th’fuck do you want from me, come back to finish the job?”

You jab him with your finger until he opens his eyes again. “What?” He grumbles irritably. You point at yourself, and he looks puzzled for a moment, then sighs. “You’re supposed to be dead...supposed to be...ain’t supposed to be smart.” His head droops, and you wait there a few moments.

“You...your name was Bozen Artesse. You were one of those...Ash knights, or whatever they’re called. I didn’t know that much about you before. Me and a few others, we got hired on by Askayev and the girl a few months back to tag along with the three of you.”

You look over to where you buried her earlier, and then back at him, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

“Demissia. She was your sweetheart, or at least that’s how it looked to me. You barely ever spoke to me, you bastard, probably thought you were too good to jaw with a common mercen-” He begins coughing violently, and blood flecks his lips. You wait patiently for him to finish. After a moment catching his breath, he continues without looking at you.

“Never found out why a knight who hunts necromancers was buddying up with one and fuckin’ another. Tried to ask Askayev, but he told me to mind my own business.” He spits. “That Sadarganian bastard...” He lays his head back against the tree trunk and stares up at the sky, going quiet again. You wait a bit and then jostle him. His eyes crack open, “You were looking for some book. Dunno what was in it, some necromancer shit, probably. The idea was to be rid of it, but Askayev, he had other plans. Paid us all quite a pretty pile of coin to be rid of the two of you. He took the book, we tracked you down for nigh on two weeks, all the way out to this fucking charnell field.” A tear rolls down his face, and he swallows, “Wasn’t worth it in the end. Me mum always said coin would be the end of me. That it made good men do evil things. Should’ve listened.” He weakly sniffs, “You were dead when I got here. I dunno what was in the book, but I bet it’s how the girl brought you back.” He closes him eyes, “That’s all I know.”

It’s begins to rain. A light shower, but it quickly turns into a downpour. You stand to leave, but before you go you feel a hand grasp your wrist, “Wait, rotter.” You turn back to the man one last time. “Askayev. Pale bastard. White hair, crooked nose, dark around his eyes. Smile that’ll make your skin crawl.” He reaches into his vest, and pulls out a small pouch. “If you see the bastard, feed him what’s left of his blood money with regards from Osten.” He places the pouch in your hand, curls your fingers around it, and then his arms slip away limply to fall at his sides. “Make him...beg...”

And just like that, he slips away.

[1/2]

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[2/2]

You have received 5 Gold Crowns, 3 Silver, and 11 Copper.

Your Craving is currently manageable.

You were Bozen Artesse. Now you are a dead man. A “Rotter”, to be precise. Merely a common undead, with fairly common skills. Though you are decidedly not so common. Other than looking very pale and the right half of your face looking much like a gutted trout, you don't look so bad.

You’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself.

You’re standing in a field, surrounded by corpses piled higher than any man. Once the site of a battle, it would seem now that the only ones left here are the crows. You see smoke rising to the West, though you’re not sure given your current appearance if seeking out people would be a good idea.

>Have a look around this Charnel Field.

>Head toward the smoke.

>Check self and current inventory.

>Other.

>>1764719
>Other
Search Osten, and see if you can disguise yourself as him

You search the corpse of the man once called Osten. He has nothing of real worth on him. The empty scabbard for his shortsword that you left back in that mangled abomination earlier. A bloody and generally unkempt leather jerkin.

He does have a decent pair of boots, though.

>Looting corpses; how far you've fallen.

You deliberate for only a moment before you slip them off his feet and place them on your own. Black leather. No arrow holes.

>In your case, though, would this be considered graverobbing, or just robbery in general?

Thunder rolls overhead.

>Look around the charnel field.

>Head toward the smoke.

>Check self and current inventory.

>Other.

>>1764886
>Head toward the smoke.
Seems important.

>>1764912
Actually first lets
>search the field for a cloak.

>>1764918
Second

>>1764886
>Look around the charnel field.
>Other
Go loot the guy with the magic arrows, you bloody idiot. Clearly we're gonna need that stuff.

Maybe tell that voice to fuck off.

Co sider catching a crow to feast upon. Eating humans is the kind of habit that bites you in the ass, but a man's gotta eat, apparently.

>>1764943
>>1764918
Actually both these

File: Rain.jpg (35KB, 390x640px) Image search: [Google]

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You walk among the dead. Eyeing the ones who aren’t burned to a crisp. Many wear peasant clothing.

“Just what sort of battle took place here?”

>It should be no wonder. Necromancy is afoot. Charnel fields are their bazaars.

“These people were not soldiers.”

>Neither were you.

“What do you mean? Who are you?” You wait patiently, but you hear no response. It’s as if you’re talking to no one.

You pass by one pile and notice a small hand sticking out. Far too small.

>Neither was she.

You continue on. The rain is coming down in buckets now, it’s almost difficult to see what lies in front of you. You pull a cloak off of one of the corpses nearby, apologizing for disturbing them.

>Yes, pillaging from the dead is quickly becoming your new favorite pass time.

“Be silent.” There is no response. Good. You shake off the cloak. It’s a very drab grey, with mud and grime on the frayed edges. Hopefully the rain will help wash some of it away. You put it on, and flip the hood up, pulling it deep to cast most of your face in shadow.

>This will dupe a fool or two, but best not to open your mouth, ‘lest you make a fool of yourself.

As you have been absently weaving your way among the bodies, heading toward the smoke in the distance, you’ve come to the spot where you left the archer’s mangled corpse. You think of the arrows, and roll the body over onto its side. The quiver it had slung on its back was crushed in the fall, but a few of the arrows are still intact.

>You acquired 5 Blessed Silver Arrows.

You look over the bow. It doesn’t look like anything special, but it appears to be intact. You pick it up and pull on the string. It requires quite a bit of effort to pull the string all the way back. Have you ever used a bow? You’re not sure, but you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try, and sling it over your shoulder.

>You acquired one Wooden Longbow.

Just then, you hear it. It’s faint, not as intrusive as before, but it’s there; whispering. You think back to your confrontation from earlier. It’s too soft to make anything out.

>Ignore it, and continue on your way.

>Have your bow and an arrow at the ready.

>Hide

>Other.

>>1765090
>Have your bow and an arrow at the ready.

>>1765090
>>Have your bow and an arrow at the ready.

>>1765090
>Have your bow and an arrow at the ready.

File: Hollow_Soldier.jpg (133KB, 543x829px) Image search: [Google]

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You pull out your bow, and retrieve an arrow from your belt. You try to nock the arrow, but your fingers are stiff and clumsy, and you drop it. You’re assuming you did not use a bow very often before.

As you retrieve the arrow, you stand up and lock eyes with...another undead. It’s got a rather dishevelled appearance, patchy hair, missing teeth. Its skin is very thin and looks as if it’s about ready to fall off its bones. It just stands there, staring at you, or at least you think it is. It looks...stupid. Clearly evident by the crow that has landed on its shoulder and is incessantly pecking at its ear. You can hear the whisper now. A single voice.

>Keep watch for anyone. I’m going to look in this pile over here.

A small figure in a messy black robe rounds the corner, pulling a small hand cart.

The corpse raises a shaky hand, you can hear its joints popping from where you stand, and it lets out a very raspy breath as it points at you.

>Hmm? What is it?

The figure spots you and freezes mid-step. The three of you just stand there in the rain for what feels like an eternity; you with your bow held in front of you, the cloaked figured with a leg raised, only supported by the cart, and the rasping corpse, flexing its jaw like it has something to say but is too inept.

>Nock your arrow and fire

>Wave

>Turn and walk away

>Do nothing

WHOOPS-I-DOOPSIE, dropped my Trip, clumsy me.

>>1757255
>Feet unsure. Knees weak. Arms are heavy.
MOM'S SPAGHETTI

But seriously, I really like how the everyone went to kill the designated waifu pretty much straight off the bat. You don't see that sort of dogged persistence to character in most quests.

>>1765276
>>Nock your arrow and fire
REMOVE NECROMANCERS

>>1765276
>Nock your arrow and fire

>>1765276
>Stab the undead with the arrow

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>>1765294
>>1765328

Roll 1d20 for open hostility!

>>1765355
Actually, think I'll back this instead. We can practice archery for the first time in unlife outside of combat.

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>1765360
Or we can give it a shot now.

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>1765360

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>1765360

File: Durrr.jpg (18KB, 243x260px) Image search: [Google]

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You nock your arrow, draw back the bowstring and let your shot fly true, finding purchase in the shoulder that the crow was perched on. Perhaps if you had more practice you’d have been more precise. The bird squawks in surprise and takes off. The undead slowly turns its head, its neck creaking, to stare at the arrow lodged in its joint. Its mouth begins working again, and you hear a long, dry exhale. You think it might be in pain, but you can’t really tell. It seems too stupid to do anything about it.

>Oh. Run.

The figure drops the handles of their handcart and begins moving as fast as their little legs can take them through the deep mud. The undead slowly stops its gasping and turns around to sort of...waddle along after them. It’s not moving fast. At all. It’s like watching an infant taking its first shaky steps. Kind of pathetic, to be quite honest.

You casually saunter over to it. Its reaction time is so very slow that it seems to take an eternity to even take note of you. You walk past it, and look around the pile, one hand on your sword, the other grasping an arrow. The figure is nowhere to be seen, and you take note that the whispering has become fainter and fainter. There are very obvious tracks in the mud.

>Couldn’t have gotten far. You’re used to hunting people like dogs.

The undead slowly...or very slowly, comes to a stop, simply standing there in the rain a few yards away. You look over at the handcart. There is a blanket covering whatever is inside.

>Inspect handcart.

>Inspect Undead.

>Kill undead with arrow.

>Kill undead with sword.

>Retrieve arrow.

>Other.

>>1765457
>Inspect handcart.

>>1765457
>Kill undead with arrow.
>Retrieve arrow.
>Inspect handcart.

>>1765469
supporting

>>1765457
>>Inspect handcart
Then follow the tracks. Hunt down the mysterious figure, don't let him escape

>>1765465
>>1765469
>>1765528
>>1765533

You meander over to the undead. It doesn’t react to you at all. It’s as if it’s just...empty. You prod it with the pommel of your sword, and it sways slightly, but nothing else. You pull out another arrow.

“No hard feelings.” You think as you jam an arrow into the undead’s eye socket.

>As if anything of value is lost.

And your arrow snaps in half as its head jerks back. Perhaps using arrows like daggers isn’t the best idea. The corpse crumples to the ground, motionless. Well, at least you managed to get back the one you shot into its shoulder.

>You have 4 Blessed Silver Arrows.

You approach the old wooden handcart. You grasp the blanket and rip it away. It’s filled with severed limbs and limbless torsos. There are a few heads sat at the very front. Most of the limbs are seemingly from different bodies. You feel like you should be disgusted by this.

>You should be disgusted with yourself.

You cover back up the pile of decaying body parts. Those tracks lead up and over a hill, away from the smoke.

>Follow tracks.

>Continue heading for the smoke.

>Other.

>>1765565
>>Follow tracks.

>>1765565
>Continue heading for the smoke.

>>1765578

This one came in first, so tracks it is. Writing.

(This is the last one for the night. I actually fell asleep for a while there, so I'm gonna take that as my cue to head to bed for now.)

You follow the tracks through the mud, hand on the grip of your sword, rain pounding along with your feet. You’ve started to become more aware of just how large this charnel field is. Just how many bodies are gathered here, you wonder? Based on what you’ve already seen, the prospect is staggering.

>Why are you so cranky? Is it because you’re hungry?

“That was a necromancer.”

>Yes, it was. And so was she, back there. Are you going to do this one like you did her?

You slow to a stop, and look down at your hand. Your grip is tight.

>Do you even know why you’re so angry? You know nothing about what’s going on, but you intend to slaughter them anyway. What was that you said? “I’m not a monster?”

You slacken your grip, and let your hand fall to your side.

>Perhaps, if there is some part of you that’s still a man, you should do more than act like a mindless killer.

You hear something, around the other side of yet another corpse pile. You creep alongside, so as not to make a sound. As you poke your head out, you spot your quarry, a corpse laid out before them. A small knife in hand, carving runes into the dead flesh.

“Come on! Get up! Why won’t you get up, I did everything Da’ told me!”

You step out into the open, hand at your sword again, and the figure’s head snaps up. Their hood is thrown back. Small, dirty face. Messy brown hair.

“You’re just a child.” You think.

“I-I am not! I’m almost twelve!” He shouts.

You blink. Oh. Yes. He can hear you.

The boy stands up, clutching the knife and holding it out before him defensively. “Y-You don’t scare me! These parts is fair game! I didn’t do nothing wrong! When Da’ hears how you had your rotter attack me and Granda’ he’ll be right mad at you! Stupid Sardaganian arsehole!”

“I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Right!” The lad scoffs, “Only a bloody Sard would be dumb enough to use a rotter wearing armor from the Ashen knights! Arse knights is more like! All you Sards smell just as bad as the rotters! You dumb Midnighters, the Arse knights, and all the rest!”

This kid is...quite obnoxious. You’re going to guess that you didn’t deal with children when you were alive, because you certainly aren’t enjoying it at the moment.

>What should I do?

And yet again I forget my name and trip, ffs.

>>1765951
Eaaaaattttt him

>>1765951
>>Perhaps, if there is some part of you that’s still a man, you should do more than act like a mindless killer.
Sounds like oh so seductive Necromancer logic to me, let's kill this little bastard. Before we do though, we should ask him how he thinks it feels to be dragged back to the mortal coil into a broken rotting form. Just keep probing him along those lines until he realizes he's not talking to a necromancer puppeting a dead knight, he's actually talking to the dead knight.

Thanks for running OP, this quest of yours has a lot of promise to it.

>>1765951
Disarm the kid

>>1766013
...literally or figuratively?

>>1766007
>>1766000

Whew

>>1766013

After reading all that, the first thought in my brain was that you literally wanted to remove his arms.

I'm actually going to bed now lol Will continue this sometimes tomorrow afternoon.

>>1765951
Kill the kid

>>1766020
>>1766024
I mean it literally, but in the sense I remove his weapon, not his appendages

>>1765951
>>1766007
In all seriousness though, we might not want to kill this little shit just yet. As much as I like the idea of murdering the shit out of every necromancer we come across, they are the only ones that can communicate with us.

Perhaps we should interrogate the kid first. But do it in the trolling way in my first post, by gradually asking him about what he thinks he's doing to these sacks of meat that used to be people until he gets the hint.

>>1765951
Spook the kid.

>>1765951
>Come on ya little shit, lets get you back to safety. I'll escort you. Still not safe around here.

Push the cart, stuff him in it, take directions. Maybe his grandfather can fix our injuries, and we can maintain the guise of being an undead intermediary.

>>1766024
Kill the kid

>>1765951
Backhand him.

>Become a child murderer: 3 votes
>Give the kid the business: 5 votes

writing

>>1766620
I count 4 to kill him though?

>>1766000
>>1766007
>>1766096
>>1766527

>>1766643
Pay attention dude. One of the people you're linking changed their mind later>>1766125

And even if they hadn't it's still not enough to change the outcome.
4<5

You approach the boy without fear, and he raises the dagger between you, hands shaking, “K-Keep your rotter back! I’m warning you! T-This knife is blessed!”

You look down at the weapon. You’re not impressed. “Not a very convincing lie when it’s plane to see that’s just cold iron.”

The boy deflates a little at that, and before he knows what’s coming, you take one large stride within reach, and as deftly as your stiffness allows, you manage to tear the blade from his grimy little hands. He yelps, and begins to turn to flee, but before he manages to take a step you knock him about the head with the heel of your palm, throwing him into the mud. You inspect the blade for a moment and slip it into your belt across from the arrows.

>You’ve acquired an iron dagger.

>Hmm...Didn’t kill him outright. Is that a sense of morality or do you just want a snack for later?

You don’t stop, instead grabbing the boy by the hood of his cloak and dragging him up from the mud, shoving his back hard against the pile of corpses. You slowly press him against the decaying mass, rubbing his face into a dead man’s torso. “Is this what you wanted? Eh? You wanted to cavort with cadavres, did you? Here, I can help you.”

You lift the boy away, and then, grabbing one of his legs, drive him headfirst into the pile, up to his waist. He screams and begins kicking frantically, and you let him stay there for a time.

>Oh, I see you wanted to play with your food first. Disgusting.

“You like to play with the dead, hmm? Tearing away their will, forcing them to do your bidding?” You pull the boy out roughly by the ankle and let him flop into the mud again. “Do you even consider how the dead feel? You think that they appreciate being enslaved, robbed of their eternal rest?”

The boy coughs, wiping the offal from of his face onto his cloak. “The de-coff-the dead don’t care! They’re dead! Ain’t nothing left in there to care once the soul flies the coup, just an empty doll, that’s what Da’ says! You Sards should know all that, what with the Arse knights and all.”

The soul? Well, that might be interesting. “Those limbs in your cart, what were you planning to do with them?”

He tries to get to his feet, but you nudge him with the tip of your boot and he falls back on his rear. He looks up at you, an angry spark in his eyes, “We’re not like you bloody Sards! We don’t use our and-sisters for fightin’ or killin’ people! Out here past the walls, we gotta work to survive! You ponces don’t know how easy you’ve got it!” He crawls backward away from you and pushes himself up. “We need these rotters for the labor! Buildin’ houses and growin’ enough crops for everyone out in the Styx doesn’t just happen!”

“What sort of vile human being would send a child out to mutilate and raise the dead?”

>Because nearly killing a child and shoving him into a carrion pile clearly places you on the moral high ground.

[1/2]

[JFC life keeps getting in my way]

[2/2]

You wipe the mud from your hands onto your cloak.

“What’d you do with Granda’?”

“If you mean the corpse you had with you earlier,” you say, patting the arrows at your belt, “I put it out of its misery.”

“W-What?!” He sputters, looking frantic.

“What’s the matter?” You coo in your mind, approaching the child, “I thought you said there was nothing left but an empty doll? Or was that just a convenient excuse?”

“That...Granda’ was the only worker we had left.” His voice cracks. It’s difficult to tell in the rain, but you think you see tears welling in the boy’s eyes. “Damn you...bloody Sards...you take everything.”

“As I told you before, you’re confusing me with someone else.” You move to stand before him, and pull away the hood of your cloak. Lightning strikes overhead, silhouetting your face and showing you the boy’s beaten anger. “I’m no ‘Sard’ or ‘Midnighter’. I’m not even much of an ‘Ash’ knight. I’m just...” You think for a moment.

>A woman-killing, child-bullying rotter.

“I’m a dead man.”

He looks up at you, quizzically, “...What, you mean, like, you escaped the headsman or something?”

>”Sure, let’s go with that.”

>”That’s my business.”

>Try and explain your “condition”.

>Ask if there's anywhere dry you can go. Threaten the kid if you have to.

>Other.

>>1766795
>”Sure, let’s go with that.”

>>1766795
>”Sure, let’s go with that.”
But ima kill all of you corpse fuckers

>>1766795
>”Sure, let’s go with that.”

>>1766795
>>”Sure, let’s go with that.”

>>1766795
>>”Sure, let’s go with that.”
sounds like we can kill whoever we want and people will blame that other guy lol

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>players instantly start full murderhobo
>instantly kill an important character with wild abandon
>almost killed another one
holy SHIT you guys

>>1766986
I mean, we were initially under the control of an opposing necromancer that was willing us to kill our lover necromancer. Hence the two conflicting voices in >>1757255. Only after he released us from his/her control were we able to understand the consequences of our actions.

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>>1766986

Well, whatcha gonna do. If it had been off the table I wouldn't have given the option.

Had to go for a while, back now, post incoming.

Aww, shit, we hit autosage.

Should I make a new thread or just stick with this for a bit?

>>1767067
A new one's good.

>>1767067
Stick with this one.

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(I'll stick with this one for a little while, at least until I hit, like, half page).

>Sure, let’s go with that.

“Yes, I...suppose I didn’t agree with someone. I was betrayed. Wounded. This, uh…’Rotter’ was the closest one I could find.”

“You suppose?” The boy looks at you, his eyes narrowing.

>Just because he’s a child doesn’t mean he can’t sniff out a lie.

“...Why’d you shoot at me then?”

“I told you I was betrayed.” You think quickly. “How am I supposed to tell one corpse from another?”

The boy gets up slowly, wiping his eyes on his filthy sleeve, smearing yet more grime across his face. “You owe me a rotter.”

>HAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!

“I-I owe you nothing, you little worm!” You answer brusquely, “If that pathetic puppet was so important then you shouldn’t have been wandering around out here on your own.”

“No, you attacked me, you bastard, and you broke Granda’! You owe me! Them’s the rules!” He shouts, balling up his fists and stomping his feet.

“Boy, even if I could raise the dead, I certainly wouldn’t do so for a rotten brat like you.”

He crosses his arms and pouts for a moment, then looks at you from the corner of his eye, “Well, can’t I trade ya?”

“A trade?”

“Yeah,” he says excitedly, looking as if you’ve already agreed, “You said you’re hurt, ya? Well, We’ve got an old ‘pothecary lady back home who knows a thing’re two about mending folks. We could get you some medicine, and then when you’re all better you could give us your rotter and we’d be Even-Stevens.”

>Ahh, the naivety of youth. Such a thing to be so trusting of others.

“I have no intention of helping you with anything.”

“Well I ain’t asking for your help, just your rotter!” He whines, “We gotta bring in the Wiltgrass soon or else we won’t be able to pay the tithe! Comon, if you do, I bet Da’ would even sew up your rotter’s face for ya!”

The boy seems to have believed your lie. While you have no intention of harvesting anything for them, you would like to get out of this rain. And while you don’t know much about your own body, you know enough about corpses that having a gaping wound festering on your face will lead to maggots and rot quickly. You’d also like to get out of the rain.

>What will you say?

>>1767154
fine
lets go

fucking kill him already

>>1767203
kill his whole family in there sleep

>>1767154
I guess we're hauling wiltgrass. And finding someone who can stitch up and embalm a feller.

>>1767154
I guess we can go along with it. We need to get our face fixed eventually anyways.

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“Fine.”

The boy jumps in excitement.

“Alright, we just gotta get the cart and-”

“‘We’ aren’t getting anything.” You interrupt, “I’m not your pack mule.”

“But it’s heavy!” He whines.

“You want the rotter, alright. But I’m not having him lift a finger until I’ve got what I want.”

He turns, grumbling, and trudges back to where he left his cart, with you in tow. “I’m Blass, by the way.”

“Hmph.” You don’t care.

As Blass takes up the handles, he stops to look at the undead lying in the mud for a moment. “You didn’t have to do that, y’know.” He sounds somewhat sad.

“Better him than me.” You don’t care.

The two of you make your way through the rain. You’re heading in the opposite direction of the smoke you’d seen earlier, though it would appear whatever had been burning was put out by the downpour. It’s slow going, mostly because the boy keeps slipping in the mud or struggling with the cart up the hilly terrain. Eventually you have no choice but to push the cart from the back to keep it from getting stuck.

As you crest a particularly steep hill, you stand at the top to take in the view. Beyond the charnel field lies a valley. There’s a black river flowing through to the horizon. Off in the distance you can barely make out the silhouettes of a mountain range in the rain. A dense forest of gnarled trees stretches off to the East for as far as you can see, and roughly a mile away from the treeline is a very ramshackle collection of cottages and shacks.

“That’s Anerstadt.” Blass says, pointing to the village. “Almost everyone who lives there are refugees.”

“Refugees?” You ask, only partially interested.

“Yeah, running from the Sards; Ash knights and Midnighters, and whatever else they stir up.” He begins to pull the cart, and it slides on the mud. You have to reach out and grasp the back end before it ends up rolling over the lad. He doesn’t seem to have noticed. “My Da’ says him and Mum came here after the Ash knights burned down their whole village because they found out the mayor and some of the other people there were using rotters to tend the fields. Mum was pregnant with me, so when the knights first showed up, he said they packed what they could in a couple of sacks and left before the fires started.”

“I didn’t ask for a sob story.” You reply coldly, slackening your grip on the cart and forcing the boy to focus all of his strength on keeping his feet ahead of him as you partially rolled, partially slid down the slick hillside.

[1/2]

You trek across the open field, only helping push the cart when you lose patience after it gets stuck in ruts or holes. The boy continues talking, “Those’re the Gobwoods, and that’s the Styx River.”

>The River Styx. Someone in this village thinks they’re funny, calling up old names.

“River Styx?”

“Oh, yeah,” the boy replies, believing you were asking him a question, “It’s supposed to be like the...the river that all the souls go down or something. What don’t get buried by Samedi goes down the river, and Da’ says them souls get eaten by birds and fish, and them birds get eaten by beasts and people, and eventually, they find their way back into a new baby and do everything again, until Samedi wants’ta bury ‘em.”

>Hogwash. Blasphemous lies and a Heathen God.

You make your way into the village. You don’t see anybody, but then you’re not sure why you’d expect anyone but an insolent child to be out slinking around in the rain. You scan the doorways and windows of each one of the rundown buildings. You can’t see them, but you can feel them; eyes, watching you. You pull your cloak tighter around you and rest your hand on the pommel of your sword.

Eventually, the cart comes to a halt outside of a small hovel. The boy tells you to wait there, and slips through the door, closing it gently behind him. Thunder rolls overhead. You take another look around. A few figures darting out of site of the windows. A couple of doors shut quickly. You part your cloak just enough to give any prying eyes a clear view of the hilt of your sword.

Blass reappears at the doorway a few minutes later. You turn and push past him into the hovel. You smell the distinct odor of various spices, something you remember.

>Yes. This is a preparation house.

You pull off your sodden cloak and drape it on a chair. There’s not much to this place. A table. Two chairs. A chimney made of clay and dirt floors, with a dirty rug in the center of the room. The boy brushes past you and goes over to the rug. He stands on it and looks at you expectantly, then stomps his foot three times, pausing after the first two. The sound rings hollow beneath the rug; a cellar door?

“What is it, lad?” A man’s voice booms from beneath the rug.

“I’ve got a rotter here, Da’.”

“...What?”

“I said I’ve got a rotter here.” He repeats, “Owner needs to talk to ya.”

You hear the various latches being fumbled with, and the rug flips up. A trap door. A very large man’s upper torso rises from the floor. Messy brown hair, with a thick beard to match. Very muscular.

Only one arm.

He steps out and brushes himself off before looking up to you. His eyes stop at your breastplate.

“SAMEDI’S SHRIVELED BALLS!” He roars, half in surprise and half in anger as he grabs the chair nearby.

>Raise your hands non-confrontationally. Tell him you mean no harm.

>Hand on your sword. Give him a warning.

>Grab the boy. Keep him between the two of you.

>>1767597
>>Grab the boy. Keep him between the two of you.

>>1767597
>>Grab the boy. Keep him between the two of you.
lol sounding like the undead arnt really bad
but cheap laouber

>>1767634
What they are doing is an abomination against God.

>>1767642
but which god?

>>1767597
>>Raise your hands non-confrontationally. Tell him you mean no harm.

>>1767607
>>1767634
Guy's, he's got a fucking chair

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>>1767681

Anyway, I have to go for a few hours, guys. I feel like this isn't the worst place to leave off, so I think maybe if I return to it tonight, I'll just put up a new thread. Haven't decided quite yet.

>>1767681
Who would chair smack their own son tho?
>>1767649
Which ever one would of left us in eternal peace.

>>1767597
>>Raise your hands non-confrontationally. Tell him you mean no harm.
Calm thy tits.

>>1767597
>>Grab the boy. Keep him between the two of you.

>>1767597
FFS. Raise our hands, and take a step back. Not like we need to get smacked around with a chair, but not like we need to slay this entire village. yet.

>>1767597
>Grab the boy. Keep him between the two of you.

>>1767597
>>1768056
>>1768056
second

Is OP kill?

>>1772494
I am not kill, just had life to take care of.

Will probably be starting a new thread some time in the nest couple days. Will post on the Twitter.

>>1774826
What's the Twitter?

>>1774843
It's in the thread, anon. @WhisperingQM

>>1775136
Must have missed it. Thank you anon

Rolled 73 (1d100)

>>1767597
grab the kid with one hand, raise the other and tell him you mean no harm

>>1767597
>>Grab the boy. Keep him between the two of you.
Telling him we mean no harm wouldn't be entirely accurate while there remains a possibility we're going to go on the offensive and kill every necromancer we find in this settlement.