But serpent got one vote, mage 2
A Fools Journey: The Elder Scrolls - Tarot Cards - Dungeon World
- Thread starter Yatr
- Start date
- Location
- A beautiful new land, at once alien and familiar.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Ah @Epic Bygones said they were up for serpent or thief.
- Location
- A beautiful new land, at once alien and familiar.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Want to choose 1 Altmeri, 1 Reach, 1 Lore
I would have voted for that over Mage, but I technically forgot to do it. By the way, is it allowed to vote for multiple options (I forget what that's called - approval voting?)?
- Location
- Leeds
correct term.
[Altmeri Heritage]
-[X] Dexterity (13 / +1); Intelligence (12 / +0)
[Blood of the Reach]
-[X] Constitution (15 / +1); Strength (9 / +0)
[Raised on Lore]
-[X] Charisma (16 / +2); Wisdom (8 / -1)
[Choose Your Childhood]
-[X] [Traveller]
[Choose Lore Expertise]
-[X] Spells & Magicka
I hate that the highest/lowest pair is Charisma/Wisdom as those are the two stats that speak to me the most, but being terrible in social interactions is too troublesome in a "solo" format like a character quest.
Low Constitution sounds like a death sentence, while a low Strength can generally be made up in other ways, including a decently high Dexterity.
Spells & Magicka expertise is likely the broadest among all the Lore options, and super useful for obvious reasons.
Traveller life > Wilderness life, all the way. Seeing different lands, meeting different cultures, etc. It also helps that it works well with high Charisma.
-[X] Dexterity (13 / +1); Intelligence (12 / +0)
[Blood of the Reach]
-[X] Constitution (15 / +1); Strength (9 / +0)
[Raised on Lore]
-[X] Charisma (16 / +2); Wisdom (8 / -1)
[Choose Your Childhood]
-[X] [Traveller]
[Choose Lore Expertise]
-[X] Spells & Magicka
I hate that the highest/lowest pair is Charisma/Wisdom as those are the two stats that speak to me the most, but being terrible in social interactions is too troublesome in a "solo" format like a character quest.
Low Constitution sounds like a death sentence, while a low Strength can generally be made up in other ways, including a decently high Dexterity.
Spells & Magicka expertise is likely the broadest among all the Lore options, and super useful for obvious reasons.
Traveller life > Wilderness life, all the way. Seeing different lands, meeting different cultures, etc. It also helps that it works well with high Charisma.
- Location
- A beautiful new land, at once alien and familiar.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Cha/Wis being High/Low: you grew up on stories, but did you learn to love telling stories, or reading them? That's what I'm going for anyway. I promise both options will be useful and viable, though this option is also my preference.
- Location
- A beautiful new land, at once alien and familiar.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
And yeah with few voters I feel that approval voting is the go. Sorry for the hiccup @Blademaster, I'm still working out the voting systems.
- Location
- United States
[Raised on Lore]
-[X] Wisdom(16 / +2); Charisma (8 / -1)
[Altmeri Heritage]
-[X] Dexterity (13 / +1); Intelligence (12 / +0)
[Blood of the Reach]
-[X] Constitution (15 / +1); Strength (9 / +0)
[Choose Your Childhood]
-[X] [Wilderness]
[Choose Lore Expertise]
-[X] A Bestiary of Unusual Creatures
-[X] Wisdom(16 / +2); Charisma (8 / -1)
[Altmeri Heritage]
-[X] Dexterity (13 / +1); Intelligence (12 / +0)
[Blood of the Reach]
-[X] Constitution (15 / +1); Strength (9 / +0)
[Choose Your Childhood]
-[X] [Wilderness]
[Choose Lore Expertise]
-[X] A Bestiary of Unusual Creatures
I didn't mind the two stats being paired together. I was simply disappointed by the fact that their value-range was the lowest/highest (16-8, rather than 13-12 or even 15-9), because generally, I would never want either of them to be low.
- Location
- A beautiful new land, at once alien and familiar.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Totally. I'm into hard choices in RPG's and Quests so it won't be the last time you've got only tough choices, but regardless of which one gets the 8, increasing it through training or magic or just experience will not be out of the question.
- Location
- A beautiful new land, at once alien and familiar.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Vote closed!
I'll get writing, hopefully have something for you this time tomorrow
[Altmeri Heritage]
-[X] Dexterity (13 / +1); Intelligence (12 / +0)
[Blood of the Reach]
-[X] Constitution (15 / +1); Strength (9 / +0)
[Raised on Lore]
-[X] Wisdom(16 / +2); Charisma (8 / -1)
[Choose Your Childhood]
-[X] [Traveler]
[Choose Lore Expertise]
-[X] A Bestiary of Creatures Unusual
-[X] Dexterity (13 / +1); Intelligence (12 / +0)
[Blood of the Reach]
-[X] Constitution (15 / +1); Strength (9 / +0)
[Raised on Lore]
-[X] Wisdom(16 / +2); Charisma (8 / -1)
[Choose Your Childhood]
-[X] [Traveler]
[Choose Lore Expertise]
-[X] A Bestiary of Creatures Unusual
I'll get writing, hopefully have something for you this time tomorrow
- Location
- A beautiful new land, at once alien and familiar.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
The Fool looked up at the dawn horizon whilst fussing at his leathers, which barely held the icy northern winds at bay. Stomach rumbling, he knew he'd have to find something for breakfast, and quick too if they were going to be off in time. They were on their way to a small temple half-way up the Jerall mountains, where the Old Man said an old friend in need was waiting. They were in the foothills now, and it'd be a day of hard climbing to be sure. Leaning down to his pack he untied his worn bow, and bundled a few arrows up with the bow-string: it was time to hunt.
The Fool didn't like hunting. It wasn't about the blood or the death for he much preferred to set traps the night before, and there was plenty of blood and death to be reckoned with there; he needed to eat after all, and wild-berries only filled a hungry boy so much. Nor was it seeing the fear and pain in the beasts eyes as they died, though he did feel sharp sympathy for them. No, it was the quiet intensity of it. He wasn't a good enough hunter to be able to fully relax yet, to be truthful the stalking took his tension to a fever pitch, and the chase was a poor balm for the ragged edges of his mind and heart. The Fool loved to sing, loved it more than anything, even more than he loved the Old Man. Singing was his rock in the hard times, and his muse in the good. Song was his ever-faithful companion, and escape.
And few things were less compatible with hunting than singing.
Half an hour later he was picking his way through the alpine stands and Juniper bushes back to the Old Man -a hare and a couple of wild potatoes he'd found in a sack over his shoulder, singing what was admittedly, not his finest piece.
"Oh hairy hareeeee,
most contrairyyy...
Coat most fairrr,
pity I'm so hungryyyy~"
CRASH
A sound like falling boulders and a deafening silence, The Fool froze and pricked his ears.
He heard the Old Man cry out, "What in Oblivion was that? Ack! Stendar protect me! Lad! Lad?"
Before he could think to think, his feet were flying across the ground. "Here! I'm coming!" As the clearing came into view, concern was replaced by relief at the sight of the Old Man unharmed, relief that was immediately pulverized by the fearsome sight of the Frost Troll at the other end of the clearing. It was an awesome beast, pale matted fur did little to hide the rippling mountain of muscle beneath, three glimmering eyes that narrowed and appraised the newly potential threat- quickly dismissing him. The distance must have been playing tricks on his eyes, because when he saw the head of a juvenile troll peak over the shoulder of its presumed parent, he was forced to reassess the size of the original beast- Divines, it must be 12 feet tall!
With a roar like an avalanche it charged head-long at the Old Man, who half fell/half scrambled out of the way, surviving by scant inches. Turning and hollering, the Old Man beat a frantic retreat- "Run boy! Run fer yer life!"- and took off down a narrow trail. The Fool sprinted across the clearing, grabbed his pack on the way through and flew down the trail. The temperature was dropping, his ragged breath expelling clouds of vapour were as accompaniment to the heavy drumbeat in his chest as he caught up to the old man. Neither stopping to look back, the two ran for the road, the bone rattling roars and the splintering sound of entire stands of trees from behind all the motivation they needed to forget the branches scratching at their faces, and the winter gale that was getting colder by the second. They broke free of the forest onto the Silver Road moments before the wind broke into a proper snow-storm. In the white-out, they found a temporary respite to catch their breath; there was no sign of the troll - 'Though I don't suppose we'd hear it even if it was right next to us in this storm.'
The pair looked around at the almost solid wall of white around them- they could barely make out the road ten feet away, but it was strangely quiet as far as blizzards went "Well lad, that was a close one if I've ever seen it, but we shouldn't get comfortable, I don't think she recognises Imperial Authority." The Old Man scuffed at the pavement of the Silver Road with a wry smile.
"You know Old Man, I read that in the third era, there was a legendary frost troll that roamed the upper peaks of these mountains. They called her the Uderfrykt Matron. Half Troll, half snow-storm, all force of nature. I heard she was finally put down by THE Champion of Cyrodil." The Fool mentioned through definitely-not-chattering teeth. "Ugh, this isn't right Old Man, we're only halfway through Last Seed, and this blizzard is freezing my tallywags damn near off!" He complained with a good natured grin.
And then, even more improbably than an autumn blizzard of this power, a small light appeared through the storm. 'Too far north for a Will-o-the-Wisp, too far south for an Ice-wraith.'
And then as the light drew closer, descending the Silver Road from the north, the shadow that followed the light began to resolve into the image of a carriage.
A fine carriage of ebony and filigree. A hulking warrior in fur and plate at the reins. Two stately horses: one white, one black. A carriage fit for a king. 'But what on Nirn is it doing here?' He looked askance at the carriage, his mentor, and back to the carriage. "Uhhh, Old Man?"
"Relax lad, it looks like that old friend I told you about has come to give us a lift up the mountain. Not a moment too soon neither." The carriage slowed to a stop a few feet in front of them without a sound, and the hulking warrior hopped down, giving the Old Man a nod, and opening the carriages window. And revealed a vista most serene, indeed. The Fool felt his eyes magnetise to the vision of youthful beauty before him. A girl (though it seemed a paltry term,) human, he thought, though the eyes were unlike any he'd seen, man or mer. They were the colour of the small moon- not silver like an Altmer or Bosmer might have, but the opaque, flat white of Secunda on a clear night- 'Blind, maybe?'.
The Old Man spoke up in greeting. "My Lady. Red-Whiskers. Thank Akatosh you've come, and just in time too."
"Khajiit reminds you to be cautiousssss word-warrior, that's Do' Qa'jahd to you." The warrior rumbled back, in a dissaproving tone.
It was only his mentor tousling his hair distracting him for a moment that drew his attention to the fact that the girl was looking right back at him, and that he had been staring. Amusement twinkled in her eyes as he felt a blush creeping up his face and down his neck. Amusement apparently shared by his the Old Man, given the stifled chuckle the Fool heard from behind him. A chuckle followed by a soft grunt as he received a an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. Then in a clear & bright voice, with no accent the Fool could place, she twisted the knife even further. Her small smile only made things harder for the Fool.
"My my, Sir Kjarik, you did not mention your charge was so bold. Could I interest you in-" her eyes widened, alarm etched on her face, and though she called out in warning, she was drowned out by bestial roar. The young man whipped his head around, only to see the Old Man moving faster than should have been possible. And yet not fast enough, for a huge arm the size of a tree trunk seemed to form out of the blizzard itself, catching the Old Man in the side. Time slowed for the Fool, frozen in horror. He saw the Old Man's shocked face as the blow sent him hurtling off the road, disappearing into the endless white. The Fool made to run after the Old Man, but where before the arm seemed to hang in the air, there was now a shoulder and a torso. There was a whole damn troll bearing down on him. He knew his monsters. He knew the strange and interesting ones even better. And the shimmering form of the towering brood-mother in front of him could only be one beast: The Uderfrykt Matron. The White Terror.
But this was not the time for such musings, because -as mentioned- there was a whole damn troll bearing down on him.
It was the time for swearing and for running.
'Shit shit shit shiiiiittttt! I hate being right sometimes!'
The Fool scrambled to the side, dodging a a fist the size of turkey, and drew his rapier to ward off the next attack while he side-stepped in the direction the Old Man flew. The blade left its sheath, but his hands were freezing, and when the next blow came it left his hands too- but he was past the Matron, and he pumped his legs as fast as they'd carry him. As he pushed through the snow he heard the beast roar behind him, now facing the carriage driver by the sounds of it, when he saw his mentor struggling to his knees in the snow ahead, mere feet from a cliff's edge. "Old Man! Are you hale?" He gripped the man's shoulder, and hauled him up to his feet. The Old Man's face was paler than usual, but he was sharp.
"Aye lad, I'm alrigh', I'm alrigh'. Quickly now, Red'll only be able to hold 'er fer so long. Take this rope, we'll do it like we did that Orsimer in the ruins near Bravil, ye remember?" The Old Man asked, handing him one end of the rope and tying the other end around his waist with a good length left over on his end.
The Fool accepted the rope, made a loop and tied it off. "Of course I remember, but that was an Orsimer- and that" the Fool threw a thumb over his shoulder, "is way bigger than even the meanest Orc. You're sure about this?"
"Time fer questions is long past lad, we don't stand a chance against that thing alone, take the rope and go. I'll wait fer yer signal." And so saying, The Old Man gave the Fool a long look, and quickly paced his way along the ridge with palpable purpose. The Fool thought he saw worry in those grey eyes. Not something he'd seen before.
Doing his best to make as little noise as possible, he moved through the now calf-deep snow circling to the right, so as to approach the monster from behind. Somehow the warrior had pushed her back and gained some ground, there was even thick dark blood on the warriors halberd; The Fool noted a steaming wound on the warrior, but was unsurprised to find only small wounds on the beast- all trolls were known for their ability to quickly heal otherwise mortal wounds, and this was no ordinary troll. He waited for his moment, and the warrior gave it to him with an aggressive forward push, the Matron going down on one knee, blood pouring out of a wound on her thigh that the warrior had carved on the back-swing; The Fool took the rope in one hand, jumping for all his worth, and using his free hand and feet to clamber up a torso bigger than he entirely. He made it to her head, managed to pull the loop of rope over her head and made to leap off- but his luck ran out, the beast hit him with a hard elbow, and he went sprawling. He rolled once, twice, four times, head pounding, ribs emanating sharp waves of pain.
Definitely broken.
"Uuuhhnggg... Fuck..." Remembering his task, The Fool rolled over, to the protest of every inch of his body. He saw the rope a few feet away and started crawling towards it, his eyes following the rope to the monster it was attached to, and the warrior who was looking half-dead, and definitely not ready for the trolls huge fist that was even now descending. The Fool crawled for all his worth, reached the rope, and tugged twice to signal the Old Man.
The Fool heard the Old Man Shout, "Wuld Nah Kest!" And then the rope flew by him, and when that ran out the Uderfrykt Matron followed, flying through the air.
And then, silence.
"Old Man?" The Fool pushed himself to his knees, and looked, but couldn't see his father. He stood, and still, his father was nowhere to be seen. He looked over his shoulder and saw the lady had left her carriage and was bent over the now fallen warrior; The Fool stumbled over to the edge. First, the huge body of the Uderfrykt came into view, impaled through the chest on a long stone spire at the bottom of the short cliff. Cold dead eyes gazing at the dark clouds above. And then beyond that was his fathers body, crumpled on the stones, blood pooling around his head. The end of the rope he'd used to secure himself to the cliff, clinging to a chunk of rock that had come loose.
The Fool felt Nirn's reassuring grip fade away from under him. He felt weightless. Untethered. His vision drifted back to the monsters corpse, and saw that slowly slowly, the fleshy hole around the stone spire was knitting back together, inching the body up the spire.
[The Fool Must Choose]
[] Priority 1:
[] Priority 2:
[] Priority 3:
- Do' Qa'jahd is badly wounded, you have some skill at healing, and the Lady looks to be doing a decidedly sub-par job of bandaging them up. Assist them.
- The Uderfrykt Matron has killed your father, and it looks like it's not going to stay dead for long. Avenge your father, and kill it with fire.
- Survive to tell the tale.
Rank order your priorities, 1 being highest.
24 hours to vote.
I'll make the character sheet tonight or tomorrow.
Sorry this update took longer than I said, I'm pretty new to writing for others, so it might take me a while to get consistent at quick writing.
Also, please let me know what you thing of this update, and if there was anything you particularly did/didnt like about it
The Fool didn't like hunting. It wasn't about the blood or the death for he much preferred to set traps the night before, and there was plenty of blood and death to be reckoned with there; he needed to eat after all, and wild-berries only filled a hungry boy so much. Nor was it seeing the fear and pain in the beasts eyes as they died, though he did feel sharp sympathy for them. No, it was the quiet intensity of it. He wasn't a good enough hunter to be able to fully relax yet, to be truthful the stalking took his tension to a fever pitch, and the chase was a poor balm for the ragged edges of his mind and heart. The Fool loved to sing, loved it more than anything, even more than he loved the Old Man. Singing was his rock in the hard times, and his muse in the good. Song was his ever-faithful companion, and escape.
And few things were less compatible with hunting than singing.
Half an hour later he was picking his way through the alpine stands and Juniper bushes back to the Old Man -a hare and a couple of wild potatoes he'd found in a sack over his shoulder, singing what was admittedly, not his finest piece.
"Oh hairy hareeeee,
most contrairyyy...
Coat most fairrr,
pity I'm so hungryyyy~"
CRASH
A sound like falling boulders and a deafening silence, The Fool froze and pricked his ears.
He heard the Old Man cry out, "What in Oblivion was that? Ack! Stendar protect me! Lad! Lad?"
Before he could think to think, his feet were flying across the ground. "Here! I'm coming!" As the clearing came into view, concern was replaced by relief at the sight of the Old Man unharmed, relief that was immediately pulverized by the fearsome sight of the Frost Troll at the other end of the clearing. It was an awesome beast, pale matted fur did little to hide the rippling mountain of muscle beneath, three glimmering eyes that narrowed and appraised the newly potential threat- quickly dismissing him. The distance must have been playing tricks on his eyes, because when he saw the head of a juvenile troll peak over the shoulder of its presumed parent, he was forced to reassess the size of the original beast- Divines, it must be 12 feet tall!
With a roar like an avalanche it charged head-long at the Old Man, who half fell/half scrambled out of the way, surviving by scant inches. Turning and hollering, the Old Man beat a frantic retreat- "Run boy! Run fer yer life!"- and took off down a narrow trail. The Fool sprinted across the clearing, grabbed his pack on the way through and flew down the trail. The temperature was dropping, his ragged breath expelling clouds of vapour were as accompaniment to the heavy drumbeat in his chest as he caught up to the old man. Neither stopping to look back, the two ran for the road, the bone rattling roars and the splintering sound of entire stands of trees from behind all the motivation they needed to forget the branches scratching at their faces, and the winter gale that was getting colder by the second. They broke free of the forest onto the Silver Road moments before the wind broke into a proper snow-storm. In the white-out, they found a temporary respite to catch their breath; there was no sign of the troll - 'Though I don't suppose we'd hear it even if it was right next to us in this storm.'
The pair looked around at the almost solid wall of white around them- they could barely make out the road ten feet away, but it was strangely quiet as far as blizzards went "Well lad, that was a close one if I've ever seen it, but we shouldn't get comfortable, I don't think she recognises Imperial Authority." The Old Man scuffed at the pavement of the Silver Road with a wry smile.
"You know Old Man, I read that in the third era, there was a legendary frost troll that roamed the upper peaks of these mountains. They called her the Uderfrykt Matron. Half Troll, half snow-storm, all force of nature. I heard she was finally put down by THE Champion of Cyrodil." The Fool mentioned through definitely-not-chattering teeth. "Ugh, this isn't right Old Man, we're only halfway through Last Seed, and this blizzard is freezing my tallywags damn near off!" He complained with a good natured grin.
And then, even more improbably than an autumn blizzard of this power, a small light appeared through the storm. 'Too far north for a Will-o-the-Wisp, too far south for an Ice-wraith.'
And then as the light drew closer, descending the Silver Road from the north, the shadow that followed the light began to resolve into the image of a carriage.
A fine carriage of ebony and filigree. A hulking warrior in fur and plate at the reins. Two stately horses: one white, one black. A carriage fit for a king. 'But what on Nirn is it doing here?' He looked askance at the carriage, his mentor, and back to the carriage. "Uhhh, Old Man?"
"Relax lad, it looks like that old friend I told you about has come to give us a lift up the mountain. Not a moment too soon neither." The carriage slowed to a stop a few feet in front of them without a sound, and the hulking warrior hopped down, giving the Old Man a nod, and opening the carriages window. And revealed a vista most serene, indeed. The Fool felt his eyes magnetise to the vision of youthful beauty before him. A girl (though it seemed a paltry term,) human, he thought, though the eyes were unlike any he'd seen, man or mer. They were the colour of the small moon- not silver like an Altmer or Bosmer might have, but the opaque, flat white of Secunda on a clear night- 'Blind, maybe?'.
The Old Man spoke up in greeting. "My Lady. Red-Whiskers. Thank Akatosh you've come, and just in time too."
"Khajiit reminds you to be cautiousssss word-warrior, that's Do' Qa'jahd to you." The warrior rumbled back, in a dissaproving tone.
It was only his mentor tousling his hair distracting him for a moment that drew his attention to the fact that the girl was looking right back at him, and that he had been staring. Amusement twinkled in her eyes as he felt a blush creeping up his face and down his neck. Amusement apparently shared by his the Old Man, given the stifled chuckle the Fool heard from behind him. A chuckle followed by a soft grunt as he received a an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. Then in a clear & bright voice, with no accent the Fool could place, she twisted the knife even further. Her small smile only made things harder for the Fool.
"My my, Sir Kjarik, you did not mention your charge was so bold. Could I interest you in-" her eyes widened, alarm etched on her face, and though she called out in warning, she was drowned out by bestial roar. The young man whipped his head around, only to see the Old Man moving faster than should have been possible. And yet not fast enough, for a huge arm the size of a tree trunk seemed to form out of the blizzard itself, catching the Old Man in the side. Time slowed for the Fool, frozen in horror. He saw the Old Man's shocked face as the blow sent him hurtling off the road, disappearing into the endless white. The Fool made to run after the Old Man, but where before the arm seemed to hang in the air, there was now a shoulder and a torso. There was a whole damn troll bearing down on him. He knew his monsters. He knew the strange and interesting ones even better. And the shimmering form of the towering brood-mother in front of him could only be one beast: The Uderfrykt Matron. The White Terror.
But this was not the time for such musings, because -as mentioned- there was a whole damn troll bearing down on him.
It was the time for swearing and for running.
'Shit shit shit shiiiiittttt! I hate being right sometimes!'
The Fool scrambled to the side, dodging a a fist the size of turkey, and drew his rapier to ward off the next attack while he side-stepped in the direction the Old Man flew. The blade left its sheath, but his hands were freezing, and when the next blow came it left his hands too- but he was past the Matron, and he pumped his legs as fast as they'd carry him. As he pushed through the snow he heard the beast roar behind him, now facing the carriage driver by the sounds of it, when he saw his mentor struggling to his knees in the snow ahead, mere feet from a cliff's edge. "Old Man! Are you hale?" He gripped the man's shoulder, and hauled him up to his feet. The Old Man's face was paler than usual, but he was sharp.
"Aye lad, I'm alrigh', I'm alrigh'. Quickly now, Red'll only be able to hold 'er fer so long. Take this rope, we'll do it like we did that Orsimer in the ruins near Bravil, ye remember?" The Old Man asked, handing him one end of the rope and tying the other end around his waist with a good length left over on his end.
The Fool accepted the rope, made a loop and tied it off. "Of course I remember, but that was an Orsimer- and that" the Fool threw a thumb over his shoulder, "is way bigger than even the meanest Orc. You're sure about this?"
"Time fer questions is long past lad, we don't stand a chance against that thing alone, take the rope and go. I'll wait fer yer signal." And so saying, The Old Man gave the Fool a long look, and quickly paced his way along the ridge with palpable purpose. The Fool thought he saw worry in those grey eyes. Not something he'd seen before.
Doing his best to make as little noise as possible, he moved through the now calf-deep snow circling to the right, so as to approach the monster from behind. Somehow the warrior had pushed her back and gained some ground, there was even thick dark blood on the warriors halberd; The Fool noted a steaming wound on the warrior, but was unsurprised to find only small wounds on the beast- all trolls were known for their ability to quickly heal otherwise mortal wounds, and this was no ordinary troll. He waited for his moment, and the warrior gave it to him with an aggressive forward push, the Matron going down on one knee, blood pouring out of a wound on her thigh that the warrior had carved on the back-swing; The Fool took the rope in one hand, jumping for all his worth, and using his free hand and feet to clamber up a torso bigger than he entirely. He made it to her head, managed to pull the loop of rope over her head and made to leap off- but his luck ran out, the beast hit him with a hard elbow, and he went sprawling. He rolled once, twice, four times, head pounding, ribs emanating sharp waves of pain.
Definitely broken.
"Uuuhhnggg... Fuck..." Remembering his task, The Fool rolled over, to the protest of every inch of his body. He saw the rope a few feet away and started crawling towards it, his eyes following the rope to the monster it was attached to, and the warrior who was looking half-dead, and definitely not ready for the trolls huge fist that was even now descending. The Fool crawled for all his worth, reached the rope, and tugged twice to signal the Old Man.
The Fool heard the Old Man Shout, "Wuld Nah Kest!" And then the rope flew by him, and when that ran out the Uderfrykt Matron followed, flying through the air.
And then, silence.
"Old Man?" The Fool pushed himself to his knees, and looked, but couldn't see his father. He stood, and still, his father was nowhere to be seen. He looked over his shoulder and saw the lady had left her carriage and was bent over the now fallen warrior; The Fool stumbled over to the edge. First, the huge body of the Uderfrykt came into view, impaled through the chest on a long stone spire at the bottom of the short cliff. Cold dead eyes gazing at the dark clouds above. And then beyond that was his fathers body, crumpled on the stones, blood pooling around his head. The end of the rope he'd used to secure himself to the cliff, clinging to a chunk of rock that had come loose.
The Fool felt Nirn's reassuring grip fade away from under him. He felt weightless. Untethered. His vision drifted back to the monsters corpse, and saw that slowly slowly, the fleshy hole around the stone spire was knitting back together, inching the body up the spire.
[The Fool Must Choose]
[] Priority 1:
[] Priority 2:
[] Priority 3:
- Do' Qa'jahd is badly wounded, you have some skill at healing, and the Lady looks to be doing a decidedly sub-par job of bandaging them up. Assist them.
- The Uderfrykt Matron has killed your father, and it looks like it's not going to stay dead for long. Avenge your father, and kill it with fire.
- Survive to tell the tale.
Rank order your priorities, 1 being highest.
24 hours to vote.
I'll make the character sheet tonight or tomorrow.
Sorry this update took longer than I said, I'm pretty new to writing for others, so it might take me a while to get consistent at quick writing.
Also, please let me know what you thing of this update, and if there was anything you particularly did/didnt like about it
- Location
- Leeds
Yikes well that escalated quickly.
Does SV Tally support
[1] Do' Qa'jahd is badly wounded, you have some skill at healing, and the Lady looks to be doing a decidedly sub-par job of bandaging them up. Assist them.
[2] The Uderfrykt Matron has killed your father, and it looks like it's not going to stay dead for long. Avenge your father, and kill it with fire.
[3] Survive to tell the tale.
rather than the priority thing you suggested?
Not my choices just checking?
Does SV Tally support
[1] Do' Qa'jahd is badly wounded, you have some skill at healing, and the Lady looks to be doing a decidedly sub-par job of bandaging them up. Assist them.
[2] The Uderfrykt Matron has killed your father, and it looks like it's not going to stay dead for long. Avenge your father, and kill it with fire.
[3] Survive to tell the tale.
rather than the priority thing you suggested?
Not my choices just checking?
[X] Priority 1: Survive to tell the tale.
[X] Priority 2: The Uderfrykt Matron has killed your father, and it looks like it's not going to stay dead for long. Avenge your father, and kill it with fire.
[X] Priority 3: Do' Qa'jahd is badly wounded, you have some skill at healing, and the Lady looks to be doing a decidedly sub-par job of bandaging them up. Assist them.
[X] Priority 2: The Uderfrykt Matron has killed your father, and it looks like it's not going to stay dead for long. Avenge your father, and kill it with fire.
[X] Priority 3: Do' Qa'jahd is badly wounded, you have some skill at healing, and the Lady looks to be doing a decidedly sub-par job of bandaging them up. Assist them.
- Location
- A beautiful new land, at once alien and familiar.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Uhh I'm not sure. Maybe? Either way there's not so many people that I can't count manually so give it a go and we'll find out when I tally up.
- Location
- Leeds
[X] Priority 2: Survive to tell the tale.
[X] Priority 1: The Uderfrykt Matron has killed your father, and it looks like it's not going to stay dead for long. Avenge your father, and kill it with fire.
[X] Priority 3: Do' Qa'jahd is badly wounded, you have some skill at healing, and the Lady looks to be doing a decidedly sub-par job of bandaging them up. Assist them.
[X] Priority 1: The Uderfrykt Matron has killed your father, and it looks like it's not going to stay dead for long. Avenge your father, and kill it with fire.
[X] Priority 3: Do' Qa'jahd is badly wounded, you have some skill at healing, and the Lady looks to be doing a decidedly sub-par job of bandaging them up. Assist them.
- Location
- A beautiful new land, at once alien and familiar.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Just to clarify, the higher priority survival is, the harder the other tasks will be due to the extra care taken. Additionally, write ins are pretty much always acceptable, pending my approval unless otherwise stated. If any of you think there are other priorities that make sense here, feel free.