If yes. Than we need to be gone yesterday.
Earth Bet: House of the Sun (Cultist Simulator/Worm)
- Thread starter Witherbrine26
- Start date
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- Tags
- cultist simulator worm horror
But IC we have no reason to leave, and that may not even change if we find Him.
It really depends on what is the Master's end goal beyond Endbringers.
We will simply make the decision once we have more information.
Thank you for pointing that out, it's been fixed
If we're going up against the Endbringers, then that actually seems a reasonable master to have.
And if we're not, then why are we even here?
- Pronouns
- He
Do remember we are personally indebted to the Master, it'll be pretty hard to break away from the cult.
Rite of Rebel Striving exists for a reason. It would not be clean. Nor safe.
Associating oneself with Corrivality with someone who serves the Wolf also does not look like the best idea.
I always found ascending under Corrivality kinda stupid. Like this might be my unenlightened never-played-the-game perspective but you want to tell me that I will ascent into Longhood as long as my rival will ascent too, and we will hate each other so much that we are willing to die as long as the other one will die too? How could you even enjoy your immortality like that?
Of course, you can also ascend by hating everything - yourself included.
Maybe... just maybe we can have a chance to ascend under Edge without Corrivality? I would love to see that, though it is likely just a pipe dream.
For the Edge, conflict is a state of life so confronting the enemy for them is in a way getting a vital necessity.
It's also worth noting that in most of the Edge dyads I know, the Longs have a friendly and respectful feeling for each other. Of course this doesn't mean they would pass up the chance to destroy each other but it's just a natural state.
Even those who serve the Wolf may see their conflict as a way to attack the world around them rather than a direct confrontation with the enemy.
At least that's how I understand this dynamic.
Another History: Turn 2 - Results, Part 2
[x] Plan: Nothing to see here and working on goals
-[X] You are injured (You currently have one wound. You'll make a roll at +5 against a DC of 70 You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice)
---[X] The medicine is dark black, it's easy to think you've been poisoned (Costs 30 Funds, one recovery dice will automatically succeed)
-[X] On work and the challenges it entails.
--[X] You'll cut a few corners here, leave a bit early (Gain an extra action, will not be noticed if not done often)
-[X] On the goal.
--[X] Ask around, start seeing what folks know
-[x] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Search out the talented, teach them Edge
-[X] On learning the Lores
--[X] Search for books
---[X] In the local libraries and bookstores
--[X] You Master is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] Grail
-[X] A fleeting opportunity
--[X] Take over the Anatoly case, make sure nothing comes up
---[X] Allow Ai to help you, it'll make this easier
-[X] You are injured (You currently have one wound. You'll make a roll at +5 against a DC of 70 You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice)
---[X] The medicine is dark black, it's easy to think you've been poisoned (Costs 30 Funds, one recovery dice will automatically succeed)
-[X] On work and the challenges it entails.
--[X] You'll cut a few corners here, leave a bit early (Gain an extra action, will not be noticed if not done often)
-[X] On the goal.
--[X] Ask around, start seeing what folks know
-[x] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Search out the talented, teach them Edge
--[X] Search for books
---[X] In the local libraries and bookstores
--[X] You Master is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] Grail
-[X] A fleeting opportunity
--[X] Take over the Anatoly case, make sure nothing comes up
---[X] Allow Ai to help you, it'll make this easier
"Do you know why you're here?" you asked, pacing steadily back and forth in front of the group. Your voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. Before you stood a small but formidable collection of the more martial members—boxers, karate practitioners, and even a man with no skill but a reputation for ruthlessness. Each had been brought under your banner for a single purpose: to be transformed into proper warriors. You knew the day would come when your forces would need people skilled in wielding weapons, people capable of fighting on the front lines without hesitation. And so, you had begun the process of molding them, shaping them into the instruments of war they needed to become.
"We're going to need people willing to fight," you continued, your tone unwavering and authoritative. "People who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. All of you have the talent, the raw potential, to be built into proper soldiers." Your gaze moved from one face to the next, each member of your group watching you intently, their expressions a mix of curiosity, apprehension, and eagerness. "The skill is there, the drive is there. Now, it's about turning that into something greater."
[Training the Talented: Breakpoints 60/90]
[Roll: 93+17(Martial)+5(GRAIL) = 115]
Unlike the ordinary people you'd trained in the past, these fighters were different. They had the potential, the raw edges that only needed to be sharpened. Breaking them down completely wasn't necessary—they didn't require the same brutal treatment that others did. Instead, they needed to be taught and inducted into the deeper lore of conflict, the understanding that combat was not just physical but also mental and spiritual. You knew that the most effective fighters were those who understood the intricacies of battle, who knew when to strike and when to hold back. And that was what you were here to impart.
"What is conflict?" you asked, resuming your pacing. Your voice was firm like steel being forged in fire. You didn't wait for them to answer because you knew they didn't have the words yet. "It's natural," you continued, your voice resonating through the room. "That burning feeling you get when you're in a fight, that primal urge to punch someone, to triumph, to win—it's as natural as the world spinning on its axis."
Your words were met with confusion, but you were used to that. Most people didn't think of violence as something natural, something ingrained. But these people, this group—they had it inside them, even if they didn't yet fully understand it. You gestured toward the mad dog, the one whose violent tendencies had been evident from the moment he'd been recruited. He had come from prison, and though you didn't know what had landed him there, it didn't matter. He was exactly the kind of person your Master had always spoken about—the twisted, the angry, the broken. It was your job to beat some discipline into them.
"Hit me," you said, your voice low but commanding. He padded forward, slightly confused, but got into a pathetically sloppy position. You jabbed him sharply between the eyes before he could think twice, sending him stumbling back, his eyes wide with shock.
"I said hit me!" you roared, your voice booming through the room, and this time, he didn't hesitate. He lunged at you, trying to take you down with sheer force. But you were faster, sidestepping him with ease and lifting your leg, sweeping it out to trip him. He fell face-first onto the hard floor, a grunt of pain escaping him. He tried to push himself up, but before he could, you drove your elbow down into his back with force.
He gasped, collapsing back onto the ground, but you weren't done. You pressed a shoe onto his back, keeping him pinned, your weight holding him in place.
"Do you see what I did?" you asked, looking up at the rest of the group. "This is just the beginning of what I can teach you." You lifted your foot, and the man scrambled back to his feet, his movements jerky and tense. Despite the rough treatment, a twisted grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"You've got moves," he said, his voice gravelly, likely from years of drug abuse. "I like it."
You gave him a firm nod in response. Everyone had their vices, but you were determined to purge that weakness from him and from the rest of them. There was no place for such vulnerabilities where you were going.
"Now, gather around," you barked, your voice authoritative once again. They flinched slightly at the command but obeyed, forming a circle around you as you prepared to begin their training in earnest. "Listen closely. This is the path to mastery, but it won't be easy. It will take time—time and discipline. But if you stick with it, I promise you, you will become something more than what you are now. Something greater."
You began running them through the motions, teaching them the basics of movement, strikes, and defense. As you did, you could feel the potential simmering just beneath the surface. These people had what it took to become true warriors, but it wouldn't happen overnight. You were nothing if not patient.
You knew that exacting results took time, effort, and precision. You would hone them, sharpen their skills like a blade until they were ready to be unleashed. You had a job to do, and you were going to perform it to perfection.
You have trained the worthy in Edge. Combatants now have +5 to personal combat in addition to the base +1 that all followers have.
"Afternoon," you said as you stepped into the break room and sat down at the long communal table. You reached into your bag and retrieved your lunch, the smell of it hitting the air as you started to unwrap it. A small part of you was amused at the surprise that flickered across the faces of your coworkers as you took your first bite. You didn't usually take your breaks in the break room—normally, you preferred to work through lunch, but you were always too focused on the tasks at hand. But today was different. You had some things you needed to ask around, meaning you were stuck sitting here, engaging in occasional small talk.
"Afternoon," Fred greeted you, his portly frame leaning back in his chair as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyebrows rose slightly. "You don't normally eat here."
"I figured I'd stop by for once," you said with a shrug, casually taking another bite of your food. "Been working here for a while, but I tend to spend most of my time in the office or out on my own."
"Fair enough," Fred said with a nod, acknowledging the truth in your statement. "So, how's work been treatin' you lately? This month's been pretty peaceful for me."
"Not much. I'm taking over the bar case, a little something to relax with while I heal up," you told him as you raised your shoulder. He winced as he looked at it, chewing and swallowing before he responded.
Fred's brow furrowed as he noticed your movement, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at your shoulder. "What happened there?" he asked, leaning forward with genuine concern. "I mean, you're one of the toughest guys around here. Didn't think I'd hear about you getting chewed up by a dog or something."
It was decently healed, not fully but enough that the pain was mostly a distant memory. You were thankfully your suit covered up the stitches, as if you hadn't told people you doubted they would notice. Except for Charlotte of course, but you had decided to just rip the bandage off and let everybody know you got hurt.
You glanced at your shoulder before looking back at Fred. The injury wasn't as bad as it had been, mostly being healed up, though the discomfort was still there if you moved the wrong way. Luckily, your suit covered the stitches and bruising well enough that no one really noticed unless you told them. Charlotte had been the exception, of course, but you'd already ripped that particular bandage off with her. Best not to keep anyone else in the dark.
"Yeah, wild dog," you said, keeping your tone casual. "I was taking the trash out, and the damn thing jumped me. Managed to scare it off after it got a bite in, though." You watched Fred wince at the thought, sympathy flickering in his eyes. "Doctor checked me out afterward—no rabies, nothing serious. And I'm up to date on my shots, so no need to worry."
"Well, thank god for that," Fred said, visibly relieved. "Dog bites can get nasty real fast. It's a shame to lose one of our best commanders. Hell, if Carol retires, you'd be in the running to replace her."
That caught you off guard. You raised an eyebrow at Fred, genuinely surprised. "Really? Didn't realize I was being considered for something like that."
Fred chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "You're one of the best, Michael. On the ground and in the office. Why do you think they pull you into so many meetings? You've got the skills for it. Even if your people skills are a bit… eh, hit or miss sometimes."
"Huh…" You trailed off, chewing slowly as you mulled over his words. You hadn't given much thought to office politics or how you were viewed by the higher-ups. You'd always just focus on doing your job and getting home at the end of the day. But now that Fred mentioned it, you could see how the pieces fit. Your mind wandered briefly, contemplating how this new information could be leveraged down the line. Still, you pushed those thoughts aside, for now, taking another bite of your food.
"Well," you said after a moment, redirecting the conversation, "How about you? How's everything going on your end, Fred?"
Fred grinned, his demeanor shifting back to his usual jovial self. "Oh, can't complain. PR's a tricky business, but it keeps me on my toes. Glenn's been ridin' my ass lately, though." He laughed, clearly just venting for the sake of it.
You smirked. "Better you than me. I'll leave the PR nonsense to you while I handle the real work."
Fred let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head. "Real work, huh? Yeah, you can have that, mate."
[Asking around: Breakpoints 30/50/70/90]
[Roll: 50+8(Diplomacy)+5(GRAIL) = 64]
The casual conversation continued for a bit longer before the break began winding down. You'd eaten most of your lunch, and Fred had already started packing up his dishes when you decided to bring up the real reason you'd joined them today.
"I'm sorry, but can I ask you something a bit… morbid?" you said, your voice lowering slightly as you leaned forward. Fred raised an eyebrow but didn't seem too bothered by the shift in tone.
"Morbid, huh?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Go on, shoot."
"The Endbringers," you said, watching his reaction closely. Fred's face immediately shifted, his lightheartedness fading as he ran a hand through his hair.
"Endbringers, huh?" He let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair again. "Now that's some real morbid stuff. What brought this on?"
You shrugged. "Just trying to do some research. Thought you might know a thing or two I don't."
Fred shook his head, clearly not thrilled with the topic but willing to indulge you. "Well, they're… strange," he started, his tone more serious now. "They attack like clockwork—every three months, give or take. Behemoth shows up, wrecks havoc, then disappears. Next thing you know, Leviathan's tearing up the coast, or the Simurgh's screwing with people's heads. It's like they've got some kind of rotation going on, a system, almost like they're biding their time."
He paused, packing the last of his things and standing up. "Honestly? I don't know what's worse—the thought that they're smart enough to plan this or that it's all just some sick coincidence."
You nodded as Fred left the break room, mulling over his words. What he'd said made sense, and it lined up with some of the theories you'd already come across. If the Endbringers were acting on some kind of schedule, it suggested a purpose behind their attacks, some kind of strategy. That possibility didn't sit well with you.
As you stood up to head back to your office, you ran a hand through your hair and sighed. You agreed with Fred on one thing—this wasn't a comforting thought. But it was your job to investigate this sort of thing, whether you liked it or not.
You have learned a little more about the Endbringers and their possible abnormalities. No suspicion has been accrued by your questions.
"I'll be taking over this case," you stated firmly as you strode into the meeting room, not bothering with pleasantries. The few agents present blinked at you in surprise as you unceremoniously sat down at the head of the table, already reaching for the files scattered across its surface.
"Well, we've already got people working on this," McLean said, his voice laced with irritation. "We don't need–"
"With all due respect, McLean, you've got the subtlety skills of a bull in a china shop," you interrupted, your tone sharp. His frown deepened, and he leaned forward, bristling with indignation.
"And you're any better?" he shot back, his eyes narrowing. "You can't talk to anyone without threatening them!"
Before you could respond, Director Carol swiped her hand through the air like a blade, cutting the two of you off with a bark. "None of that," she snapped, her voice brooking no argument. "McLean, you've already got enough on your plate. You don't need more. Donovan doesn't have much going on this month," she added with finality, her tone akin to the banging of a gavel.
McLean's scowl deepened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he rose from his seat, gathered his briefcase in a huff, and stormed out of the room without another word. You watched him go, feeling no particular satisfaction in winning this petty exchange. He was damn good at his job, but the two of you just clashed on almost every front.
"Donovan," Carol's voice pulled your attention back to her. She didn't look up from her computer as she typed. "Stop antagonizing McLean. Just because you have differences doesn't mean you can go out of your way to piss him off."
"Yes, ma'am," you muttered, gathering the papers on the table and heading for the door. As much as McLean got under your skin, you had to admit Carol had a point. You couldn't let personal clashes interfere with the job. That wasn't what either of you were here for.
You made your way to your office, settling into the worn leather chair with a sigh as you flipped open the file. The first thing that caught your eye was the root of this whole mess—Anatoly. He'd been moving a large quantity of small sums of money that had tripped up automated systems. From the looks of it, the local police didn't want to deal with the situation, so they'd kicked it over to the PRT, probably in hopes of washing their hands of it.
"Really?" you muttered, rubbing your temple. You'd seen this kind of behavior before. The flowery language in the report couldn't hide the fact that the police were passing the buck on a case they didn't want to handle themselves. Still, you couldn't just toss it back. It had landed on your desk, so now you had to deal with it.
With a resigned sigh, you got to work.
[Handling the case: Breakpoints: 20/70]
[Roll: 67+8(Intrigue)+5(GRAIL) = 80]
"Good morning," you greeted as you stepped out of your car, flanked by a small group of agents. Though technically not yours, they worked directly under your command often enough that they might as well be. As you approached the entrance to the bar where Anatoly worked, you turned to the agents.
"I'll handle the suspect. You can hang around and ask a few questions," you said, then added in a more stern tone, "Remember, he's not officially suspected of any crime. We're here because the police passed this up to us, not because there's anything conclusive yet."
The grumbling that followed your words was expected. Nobody liked cleaning up after a case the police didn't want to handle, especially when it felt like there were more important matters to address. You knew they would do their jobs, though. This was part of the work, even if it was frustrating.
Once inside, you strode up to the counter where Anatoly stood, cleaning a glass. You glanced sideways to ensure your agents weren't causing a scene and noted with a smirk that they'd settled at a table. Ai was already heading toward them with a pen and notepad, and you guessed they'd be having a few drinks soon. Ordinarily, you'd be chewing them out for that, but today, it played to your advantage, so you let it slide for now.
Turning back to Anatoly, you fixed him with a faint frown, though not entirely unfriendly. "I'll need to take a look at your books. We want to make sure there aren't any issues."
Without a word, Anatoly nodded and led you up the narrow staircase toward a smaller room you had seen but not entered before. He handed you a literal book—an old, slightly musty ledger, its pages marked with faded black and red ink.
Raising an eyebrow, you flipped it open and ran your finger down the list of transactions. The math checked out, but the problem was clear: multiple small withdrawals in quick succession had triggered the system's alarms.
"Here's your issue," you said, flipping the book around so Anatoly could see. "These small withdrawals made constantly tripped up the system. It looks suspicious, even if it's innocent."
Anatoly hummed thoughtfully as he looked over the figures. "I see. It was a habit, nothing more. I won't make the same mistake again."
"Good," you replied, clapping him on the back. "Make sure you don't. We don't want the PRT breathing down our necks over something this minor."
The two of you returned downstairs where, as you expected, your agents were laughing and enjoying a few drinks. Normally, that would have been the moment you'd tear into them for being unprofessional, but instead, you stormed over, letting your anger build for show. Despite the fact that they were unintentionally making your job easier, you knew they had to be reprimanded.
"I don't care that this is a small case!" you roared, slamming your hand down on the table hard enough to make the lone patron in the room jump. Ai blinked in surprise but didn't flinch as she casually placed the bill on the table in front of your agents.
"Drinking on the job?" you growled, snatching up the check and glaring at it. One of the troopers scrambled to pull out his wallet and pay, his face pale.
"Get up and get out," you ordered, lowering your voice to a deadly calm. "There's nothing here worth your time. We've got bigger things to worry about."
They all winced as they quickly gathered their things and shuffled out of the bar, cowed by your anger. You watched them go before turning back to Ai, giving her a slight nod of appreciation. She had played her part perfectly, and now you could submit your report without interruption.
As you headed back to your car, you sighed to yourself. Despite their blunders, the drinking had given you enough leverage to close this case cleanly. Now, all that remained was writing them up for drinking on the job. Even though it had helped, it was still a breach of protocol that couldn't be ignored. You didn't tolerate incompetence—even when it worked in your favor.
You have completely cleared Anatoly of suspicion and have convinced the PRT to drop the case.
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Wow, things were good on this part, reached the final breakpoints in two rolls. And turns out we didn't even need more Grail for it.
Also, more information on Endbringers and that high training roll will surely make the Master... not happy, because she is a Wolf Name, but whatever her kind can feel(satisfaction maybe?).
Knowing Earth Bet, I'm not surprised that is what it takes to get a case thrown at the PRT. So relieved it was just a money issue and not, you know, someone noticing the Cult.
Last turn must have been just bad luck considering how things are going right now, at least that is what I want to believe.
Also, more information on Endbringers and that high training roll will surely make the Master... not happy, because she is a Wolf Name, but whatever her kind can feel(satisfaction maybe?).
Knowing Earth Bet, I'm not surprised that is what it takes to get a case thrown at the PRT. So relieved it was just a money issue and not, you know, someone noticing the Cult.
Last turn must have been just bad luck considering how things are going right now, at least that is what I want to believe.
It will be necessary to buy a book with Moth's Lore and persuade the Master to order all the leaders to study it. Even at the first level, this significantly increases stealth and the ability to cover your tracks.
It would be even better to hide our base with a ritual, but this requires constant effort and it is still necessary to develop in the cult those who have strong Lore moth.
It would be even better to hide our base with a ritual, but this requires constant effort and it is still necessary to develop in the cult those who have strong Lore moth.
Dangum, we continue to be John Wick, that was a better display of charisma than we had any right to manage. We're an excellent commander it seems.
Repeating about shoulder healing.
Does a similiar thing a little before the last roll but my quote disapeared and im on mobile
Everything goes our way exactly as planned. Now we only have to keep this up until we reach Glory.
It's interesting that we are using Grail here instead of Edge. Maybe we had to convince them that this whole Lore thing was useful to learn?
Okay, what was the point of asking Ai for help? The narrative was fine, but mechanically we used our intrigue and only our bonus. I thought that we would use her intrigue since it's probably superior and that the bonuses would stack. I'm just curious so that when we are going to work with others we could plan around this.
EDIT: color
It's interesting that we are using Grail here instead of Edge. Maybe we had to convince them that this whole Lore thing was useful to learn?
Okay, what was the point of asking Ai for help? The narrative was fine, but mechanically we used our intrigue and only our bonus. I thought that we would use her intrigue since it's probably superior and that the bonuses would stack. I'm just curious so that when we are going to work with others we could plan around this.
EDIT: color
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- Location
- Tusita Heaven
I just wanted to share my thoughts for a bit.
First of all, this is great! I truly appreciate you @Witherbrine26 for writing this. I pray you will continue to tell us this story, and that we can all have fun with you.
No pressure, of course, but this is still good! So I would certainly appreciate if you shared more with us.
Second, to my fellow readers in general.
The only thing I had to mention, that I am not sure was discussed yet, was the Woods.
In particular, the "crystals" of the Woods.
I just want to point out that, even though we saw Moth-colored worms, there was still the highly unusual mention of "crystals" in the Woods. Not nephrite, not Mansus-stuff, but "crystals".
And then, there is the worms that do not appear to be worms.
So, here is my proposal. I think, though this is only personal speculation, that the Entity (or Entities) have gained access to the Mansus. At least partially.
First of all, because they are described as "Worms" in the eponymous story. But secondly, because the Entities were described as "crystal-like" in several parts of the Worm novel. And, again, I do not recall any mention of crystals in the Woods of the canon CS-verse.
I don't think the Entities got high in the Mansus. We simply do not know enough about the Mansus. Remember, the idea of the Mansus being shattered is something from another quest. But as far as we know, in this Quest, the Hours are still active and the status quo is in effect.
It could be the Hours are acting against the entities. It could be the Entities are "invading" the Mansus to do some lytomachy-equivalent in the modern area.
We just don't know.
But what we DO know is that there are crystals in the Woods, in a "parallel dimension" that is the Mansus, and that the Entities are crystal-like things that can traverse dimensions.
So, food for thoughts.
Other than that, I look forward to what comes next! I don't plan on participating much, but I am delighted by what I saw so far.
And finally, I hope QM will forgive me for double posting.
First of all, this is great! I truly appreciate you @Witherbrine26 for writing this. I pray you will continue to tell us this story, and that we can all have fun with you.
No pressure, of course, but this is still good! So I would certainly appreciate if you shared more with us.
Second, to my fellow readers in general.
The only thing I had to mention, that I am not sure was discussed yet, was the Woods.
In particular, the "crystals" of the Woods.
I just want to point out that, even though we saw Moth-colored worms, there was still the highly unusual mention of "crystals" in the Woods. Not nephrite, not Mansus-stuff, but "crystals".
And then, there is the worms that do not appear to be worms.
So, here is my proposal. I think, though this is only personal speculation, that the Entity (or Entities) have gained access to the Mansus. At least partially.
First of all, because they are described as "Worms" in the eponymous story. But secondly, because the Entities were described as "crystal-like" in several parts of the Worm novel. And, again, I do not recall any mention of crystals in the Woods of the canon CS-verse.
I don't think the Entities got high in the Mansus. We simply do not know enough about the Mansus. Remember, the idea of the Mansus being shattered is something from another quest. But as far as we know, in this Quest, the Hours are still active and the status quo is in effect.
It could be the Hours are acting against the entities. It could be the Entities are "invading" the Mansus to do some lytomachy-equivalent in the modern area.
We just don't know.
But what we DO know is that there are crystals in the Woods, in a "parallel dimension" that is the Mansus, and that the Entities are crystal-like things that can traverse dimensions.
So, food for thoughts.
Other than that, I look forward to what comes next! I don't plan on participating much, but I am delighted by what I saw so far.
And finally, I hope QM will forgive me for double posting.
Thanatophilia
- Location
- Tusita Heaven
Thanatophilia
On the eastern coast of Houston, away from the busy docks or the wealthier areas, a lonely girl sits at the end of a pier.
From that description alone, one would be forgiven for imagining a rather charming scene. After all, if a person had only heard that there is a girl somewhere, sitting on a distant pier, they might have imagined something pleasant. Like a growing woman on a sundress, with her legs dangling from a pier as her hair flows with the wind.
An image that wouldn't be out of place within the four corners of a frame, enshrined as an oil painting. Something that might have come out of a fairy tale, or from a poem, about a girl watching distant ships sailing towards the sunset.
But that is not the scene that is taking place in the quiet east of Houston.
This is not the image of a peaceful village, with a pleasant pier, hosting a beautiful girl as she looks towards the distant horizon.
Instead…
This is a miserable and neglected neighborhood, where the poor and the dispossessed are forgotten by the powers that be. The underside of the rug, to where society sweeps all the things it prefers to forget.
This is an old and rotting pier, battered by foul-smelling water. The downstream direction where the waste and chemicals produced by industry goes to settle. A cancerous and condemned building, slowly sinking into water that is completely incapable of supporting any form of life.
And as for the girl…
The girl, unfortunately, looks perfectly in place when considering her surroundings. In fact, in certain aspects, she seems to be even worse for wear than the scenery around her.
The white dress she is wearing is torn and battered in places. Her limbs are thin and weak, and she looks more malnourished than even the beggars of that neighborhood. But worst of all is her expression, that bitter and cold expression, that would still look disturbing even if the girl was four times her age.
That is, if that thing is even a girl to begin with.
But still, even though that scene is the opposite of what a regular person might hope for… even though that scene is the opposite of what the world would hope for, given what that scene says about humanity's state as a whole…
… on the eastern coast of Houston, far from the busy docks or the wealthier areas, a lonely girl sits at the end of a pier.
Her emaciated legs are dangling down from the rotting pier. Her pale-white skin, which would not look out of place on a corpse, is slowly being stained by the stink of the water. Her hair, unkept as it might be, is hard due to the bitter salt of the polluted sea.
And her hands, her spindly little fingers tipped by with grime-covered nails, are working on something.
Because despite how improbable that it might be, the girl is currently working on a crown of flowers. A surprisingly delicate tiara of roses and lilies, or perhaps a funeral wreath, that she is putting together at a slow and careful pace.
This is something that happens every other week, although no one really notices it. Every sixteen days, to be precise. But still, every sixteen days, the girl makes her way through that poor and forgotten neighborhood like a sick ghost and sits at the rotting pier, where she works on a single flower crown.
No one disturbs her. No one approaches her. No one even looks at her. Because the few people who even glance at her, and make her more than just a haunting apparition on the corner of their eyes, almost always feel a chill running down their spines.
However, it also happens that every now and then…
"Hey. Hey, little girl. You lost?"
"She looks lost. Heh. Want something to eat?"
"That dress looks all old an' dirty. Why dontcha come with us? We can take it off ya. Give you a nice warm shower an' all, hehe…"
A trio of men, drug-thin and well worn from a life of crime, dare to step foot on the pier.
They either don't care about the state of the structure, or they are just too high to notice its sorry state.
Although, it is clear from their expression that they are thinking about something else entirely. It is clear, from the look in their eyes and the excitement in their breaths, that they think the defenseless prize sitting at the end of the pier is worth walking over a bit of rotten wood.
"C'mon now, don' be shy. We got candy. An' it'll only hurt for a little bit."
The leader of the trio, or at least the one who is walking in front of the other two, shakes a small plastic container towards the girl's back.
And for all that the thing does look like "candy", it is clearly not something meant to be ingested.
They take one more step towards her. Then another. And another. Clearly convinced they had found their "fun" for the rest of the day, and maybe even beyond that.
None of them even consider an alternative. The thought of decency, or strangeness, or even danger not occurring to their fogged brains and drugged bodies.
In fact, they even start to smile as the girl finally reacts to their approach.
…
The girl stops working on her flower crown.
And none of them truly know what that means to them.
The low, weak waves crash against the base of the pier. Flecks of poisoned water fly up, in time with the water's movement, and fall on the pale skin of thin legs.
And save for the lonely girl, still working on the flower crown, the pier is completely empty.
There is no sign of any commotion, that may have happened earlier that day. There is no sign of a trio of men, filled with lust, or the trio of screams that marked their disappearance.
There is only silence, broken by the bitter waves of the sea, and the resentful flowing of the wind.
…
That is, until the girl herself finally breaks the angry silence. Her harsh voice, disturbingly strong for her age, cutting through the angry atmosphere like the growl of a predator.
"Approach."
She says that single word out loud. And for all that, under normal circumstances, no one would be able to hear her…
… it is as if the very air, battered by her anger and fearful of her hate, carries those words to its intended audience.
And the well-dressed and groomed man who is standing at the entrance of the pier, the tall and lethally solid man who had been waiting for the girl's attention, moves to obey.
His shoes, polished to a shine, are completely at odds with the putrid they are walking over. And his sharp and tailored suit seems wasted in a place like that. The tall man, with a disciplined look about his face that is almost extinct among the population of that place, makes his way towards the girl like a knight marching towards his lord.
The moment he is three paces away from her, he stops. He stops, and then he waits.
And for all that his face is hard and focused, the bone-white grip of his clenched fists betrays what he is truly feeling at that moment.
He is afraid. He might not be afraid like the common man, whose first instinct would be to break and run. He might not be afraid like a cornered animal, who would lose all reason and lash out with rabid frenzy. But still, he is afraid.
He is afraid like the soldier or the fighter, who knows he is facing insurmountable odds, and who knows that he is a trigger's pull away from dying like a dog.
But still, he is afraid.
"You have called for me. Here I am. What do you wish of me?"
He asks that question, more out of rote than anything else. He asks that question because, in truth, he is bound to obey that horrible presence that wears the form of a girl.
However, he also asks that question because he hopes she will answer it. She hopes she will answer him, and then dismiss him, and that he will be gone sooner rather than later.
But still, the only thing that question makes the girl feel… is hate.
His question, the very tone he speaks with, causes her to hate. Hate. Hate.
She hates his words. She hates that man. She hated him, she hates him, and she will hate him until everything turns into ashes.
Because that very question… the very thoughts swimming in his mind… they make is abundantly clear to her how little the man knows. How little he understands.
After all, she can hear it in his voice. No, she can taste it, in the very air around him.
The man, she knows, is afraid of her. The man fears her. He fears what little he knows about her, and everything else he doesn't understand about her.
And that is the problem.
He fears her.
But the fact that he fears her… means he does not hate her.
There is so much for him to learn. So much work for her to do.
Because what was that question, even? What does she wish of her? That should be obvious.
That. Should. Be. Obvious!
As is the depths of her hateful disappointment in him.
She wants him to kill her, but he isn't strong enough to even look her in the eye yet.
She wants to kill him, but she hates the idea of granting him that gift even more.
She wants to hone him. Turn him into a weapon. A blood-soaked spear that can pierce through the hateful Endbringers, and then through her heart, and maybe even through Him who desires the Unmaking above all else.
She wants all of that, and so much more.
She wants all of that, and that is so precious little.
She wants only the Unmaking. His. Hers. And everything else's.
…
But she can't just tell him that… yet.
Soon, she knows. Very soon. She will keep grinding him against the whetstone of agony, until she either sharpens his bones into knives, or he bleeds to death.
So, for now, as much as it hurts her to do it… she holds back her anger.
She hates him, in private.
But outwardly, she deigns to merely speak.
"I smelled the recruits' blood. I heard their pains as you trained them. Report."
She says that, and then she resumes the motion of her thin fingers, as she continues to weave the flower crown.
And she only half-listens to the man, as he speaks.
Of course, she gets the answers that she wants. The girl always gets what she wants. But she gets her answer through better means, rather than just the words he is throwing at the wind.
She smells her answer on the echoes of the bloodstains the man has on his soul. She tastes her answer on the grudges that his apprentices smeared on his essence.
And she knows that the little fang she is cultivating is now sharper. She can feel it, like a growing tooth painfully pushing its way out of the gums of a mouth.
So, when the man is done speaking, she… well, she makes him wait a little bit more, so he can squirm in her silent presence.
And then, she dismisses him with a wave of her hand.
Moments after that, the pier is quiet once again.
The man is gone.
The girl is, once again, alone.
And the crown of flowers she had been working on this entire time is finally finished.
She does not speak. She does not make a sound. Even the wind around her is still.
But that does not mean she is silent.
It's just that… the broken world of today is no longer capable of hearing what is happening.
The eyes of today are too blind, or maybe too sick, to see the true nature of what is going on.
Because they look at her, and all they see is a girl in a white dress.
And they look at the flower crown on her hands, and all they see is a quaint little piece of craftsmanship.
And they look at the scenery around her, and all they see is… poverty, and rot, and the polluted water of the overindustrialized coast.
…
None of them…
…
None of them can see the truth. Not anymore.
None of them know how this scenery looks like… from her point of view.
"This is my gift to you."
The girl says those words, and then she throws the flower crown towards the sea.
If anyone else were to look at that scene, it would just look like the girl stood up. If anyone was watching the girl at that moment, they would think she just stood up, said something under her breath, and then threw the flower crown towards the sea.
Who knows, maybe they would even think it was a coincidence that the waves crashed against the pier with a little more strength when she did that.
However, from the girl's point of view… from the point of view of the truth.
"Here is my gift of Unmaking. It shall grace whoever touches it first."
The girl says those words, and the sea before her quakes in agony.
Although, the sea does not quake because it is alive. Instead, it quakes because it is full.
Jutting out of the sea, right in front of the rotting pier, is a multitude of upstretched arms. Countless arms, enough to form a great crowd, are reaching out of the sea. Reaching out towards the air, hitting against each other, thrashing against the waves as they try to pull themselves up.
But of course, those arms are not just phantasmagorical appearances. They are not "just" arms, projecting out of the sea like some symbolical icon.
No, those are real arms.
And they belong to real people.
Because right before the girl's hateful eyes, there is a multitude of people chained to the seabed.
There is no better way to describe that scene, no easy way to represent the sickening scenery before her eyes. There is, quite literally, a multitude of men and women chained to the seabed, by shackles made out of hate and spite and shadows, with chains that are only just long enough to keep their heads under the water.
They were all dragged here by the girl. They all belong to the girl.
And the same way she was not permitted to drown, she will not allow them to drown either.
They will thrash, and they will suffer, and their lungs will burn with the touch of water as they flail with their heavy and exhausted limbs.
But they will not be permitted to die.
That is, unless… they are blessed with her gift of Unmaking.
The girl says those words, and then she throws the flower crown. And the moment she does that, the maddening flailing of the arms reaches an impossible crescendo.
Because they know, all of them know, that the only escape is to grab hold of the flower crown. They all know that, even though a dozen new people are dragged there every week, precisely one of them will be blessed with escape every sixteen days. Whenever the girl comes, with the flower crown. Whenever she decides to bless one of them with sweet oblivion.
And so, the chained prisoners fight. They stab, and punch, and bite against each other. Yelling with lungs full of water, and fighting against a level of pain they thought indescribable before being dragged to that place.
But still, they struggle. They struggle for the flower crown, that is slowly falling down towards the seal. They struggle to be the first to touch it, with their arms reaching as far as their forcibly-submerged faces will allow them.
Because they know that is the only way to finally disappear.
After all, despite all the hate the girl feels… Despite all the rancor she has, for her patron and the world and herself…
She first, foremost, and forever, is one who Unmakes.
Once she is done with her routine, the girl turns around and leaves. Not bothering to check who was the first to touch the crown. Not even bothering to look at the confused and agonized expression of the three latest denizens of her den.
And all around her, the blind, lost and self-righteous city of Houston marches onwards. Feeling nothing but a strange uptick on the wind, and the curious increase in the strength of the waves.
You can't write about a Wolf-aligned Master and not expect me to immediately love her 
Thank you for the quest so far! This is my humble gift to you, together with my wishes you will feel supported enough to keep writing.
Initially, I had planned... well, literally a comedic omake. I mean, we have afilly child-sized Wolf-Master. I know someone who would, quite literally, travel dimensions to daughter her. So, I spent a good amount of time tinkering with something light-hearted, and cute, as an unwilling "daughter" resisted an overly-excited "mother".
But ultimately, the quest is still young, characters are still being presented, and as a fellow author I sincerely prefer that the characters be built and respected before we start making those kinds of jokes.
So, here is my token for a scarier master.
So, cheers.
Thank you for the quest so far! This is my humble gift to you, together with my wishes you will feel supported enough to keep writing.
Initially, I had planned... well, literally a comedic omake. I mean, we have a
But ultimately, the quest is still young, characters are still being presented, and as a fellow author I sincerely prefer that the characters be built and respected before we start making those kinds of jokes.
So, here is my token for a scarier master.
So, cheers.
I will still do everything in my power to befriend the Master.
Let me know if you would like omakes to adhere to a naming standard. I can change the title, if you want, and you can rename this omake whatever you want if you think another name is better suited.
Has anyone ever wondered what will happen to the names of the Wolf when the Second Dawn comes?
Technically, they were not mistaken. Entertainment for life is provided to them.
To make friends in the sense of leading a cult uprising against her by making her an enemy in Corrivality?
Thank you, fixed
In most cases people helping will lower the breakpoints. The roll and bonuses are your efforts, while the breakpoints are how difficult the task is. Ai helping you doesn't make you suddenly better, it just makes the task easier which is reflected in the DC being lower.
Thank you! I'm enjoying writing this (frankly this is the most I've written in such a short period of time) and I'm having a lot of fun. People replying of course helps but still, I'm having a lot of fun writing this.
Holy shit omake!
Anyway, that was amazing and I loved it. As for naming the name is fine, I don't have a spesfic naming scheme in mind.
And to reiterate that was a great omake and thanks for writing it.
- Location
- florida
If they have their wish they will be unmade. Probably.
I rather mean the metaphysical side of the question.
If Sun-in-Splendour is resurrected, then the Wolf as a wound left by his death will cease to exist.
Will his Names become less chaotic and come under the patronage of Sun-in-Splendour as his heir, or will they just remain themselves, but now without patronage.
This may not be true.
Wolf is a wound, but deep wounds leave scars when healed. They may even not be that much different from the wounds, except they don't bleed as much.
Wolf as a Scar might be better than Wolf as a Wound. Or it might be worse. Because when your wound hurts, you may hold hopes it stops when it is healed. But when your scar hurts, you know it wouldn't stop.
Another History: Turn 2 - Results, Part 3
You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves, as you left your house. It was an early Sunday morning, and while many people would be heading to church, that wasn't on your agenda today. Your grandmother would have had your hide for skipping out on worship, but she wasn't around anymore. Besides, you'd been having your doubts lately—whispers of discontent about the old faith's doctrines kept creeping in. Connections that were uncomfortable to make, to say lightly. Shaking your head, you sighed, flipping on the blinker as you turned right, leaving your quiet neighborhood behind.
You were going to meet with the rest of the cult today, and you couldn't help but be a little nervous. However, you reached forward and turned the radio on, letting the music flow through the car as you hummed to the songs.
The drive was pleasant, and the roads were relatively clear, so you made good time. You were happy that you had cleared up the bar case without any issues. In fact you could already see that people were working to refurbish and tune up the place. You strode inside and walked up to the counter, where Anatoly was wiping down the counter.
"I see you're getting some new things put in," you remarked, gesturing to the workers as they moved equipment around.
"Yes, the Master ordered a new room," Anatoly replied, his smile faltering slightly. He shuddered, "She wasn't too happy about the noise, though."
You sucked in a breath through your teeth, wincing. "She'll be back soon?"
"Yes, they will be gone in the next ten minutes or so. She will likely return shortly after," he replied.
Just as the words left his mouth, the door burst open with a loud bang, and Jane strolled in, a bottle of liquor dangling from her hand. "Morning everyone!" she chirped, her voice far too loud for the quiet atmosphere. She dropped the bottle onto the counter with a faint clink, letting go as she sat on one of the stools.
Anatoly raised a single eyebrow, his expression flat. "I don't think the Master would appreciate that," he said, his voice dry as usual.
Jane rolled her eyes, giving him a playful smack on the shoulder. "She hates fun. This is just a little liquid fortitude to get through the meeting," she replied, crooning as she reached for the neck of the bottle.
Before her fingers could close around it, Anatoly snatched the bottle out of her grasp and tucked it behind the counter. "After the meeting," he amended, ignoring Jane's exaggerated pout.
Before the situation could escalate, Arch stumbled in, a disorganized pile of papers clutched under his arm. He looked flustered as he pushed his glasses up his nose with a knuckle. "Uh, excuse me, could you point me toward the library? I've been stuffing all these manuscripts into your office," he mumbled, nodding awkwardly toward Anatoly.
"Just put them in my office for now. I'll deal with them later," Anatoly replied with a sigh, watching as Arch hurried upstairs, nearly tripping over his own feet. You followed the man's hasty retreat with a stony expression before turning back to the counter and shaking your head.
"Greetings," a soft voice murmured from behind, making everyone except Anatoly jump. Ai had silently emerged from the storage room, her presence ghostlike as always.
"God, Ai, you've got to stop sneaking up on people like that!" Jane exclaimed, half-laughing as she grabbed Ai's wrist and pulled her toward the counter. "Come on, help me convince Anatoly to give us back the wine."
"After," Ai whispered, her tone as soft as always. Despite Jane's best efforts, Ai remained unmoved, and Jane could only grumble in defeat.
A moment later, Arch came back down the stairs, looking as disheveled as ever. You glanced at the group before speaking. "How about some water?" you suggested, nodding toward Anatoly. "Something simple."
Jane groaned, though a hint of a smile played on her lips. "Water? Really?" she whined, but she didn't protest further as Anatoly poured drinks for everyone.
Arch blinked, clearly confused, as a cup was thrust into his hands. "Water? What for?"
Ai, as sharp as ever, replied with a deadpan expression. "Drinking."
You smirked at the dry exchange, lifting your glass in a silent toast. "To achieving our goals," you said, cutting through the momentary banter. Jane opened her mouth, but you raised your glass higher, silencing her. "Drink up." The clink of glasses filled the room, and water was downed in unison.
Though you didn't know each of them too well yet, you all belonged to the inner circle, and a small celebration seemed appropriate. You savored the brief moment of camaraderie before reality would come crashing back. There was still the matter of meeting with the Master—never a task you looked forward to.
Almost as if on cue, the door swung open once again, but this time, it wasn't Jane's cheerful face that greeted you. A young girl, her body gaunt and wrapped in tattered clothes, strode in, hatred and agony trailing behind her. The workers had left by now, and it was just the five of you, plus the Master. She didn't say a word as she walked past, her ragged dress brushing against the floor as if her emaciated form didn't weigh her down at all.
"Follow," she commanded her voice a low growl that sent goosebumps prickling down your neck. You exchanged wary glances with the others before rising to your feet and falling in line behind her.
The sanctum's door was open when you arrived, the faint hum of malice sending a shiver up your spine as you entered. There was no time for pleasantries. The Master cut straight to business, her burning eyes fixating on each of you in turn.
"Report," she commanded, her voice sharp as a blade.
Arch, still frazzled, fumbled with his words. "I, uh, I've gathered manuscripts in the office, and I'll continue searching for more," he stammered, exhaling in relief as her gaze slid off him.
"Good," she replied, her attention snapping to Jane, who straightened under the pressure.
"I've got new recruits. We should see them helping out soon," Jane said, her usual carefree demeanor slightly cracked under the Master's scrutiny.
The Master's eyes moved next to Anatoly. "We had some delays, but Michael helped us push through," he began, his voice steady despite the weight of the Master's glare. "The space for the rituals will be ready soon."
"Acceptable," she muttered, and though her tone was curt, the tension in the air eased slightly. There had been a fear of failure, but it seemed that whatever emotions were bundled up inside her body weren't going to be unleashed on Anatoly.
"Ai?" she prompted, her voice cutting like a whip.
"The Mayor's secretary and a Protectorate commander have agreed to cooperate," Ai answered softly, her quiet demeanor unaffected by the Master's intensity.
Finally, her gaze fell upon you. Your heart skipped a beat as the Master's burning eyes bored into yours.
You were ever so thankful that you had thought up just what you would say.
You must pick one from each section. If you pick nothing to report you will not mention it. Vote by Plan
[] On the Endbringers
-[] You didn't manage to learn anything
-[] You learned that they react strangely, almost as if they are picking and choosing what attacks to react to
-[] You have learned that they seem to plan, or have some sort of intelligence behind their attacks
-[] You learned that they react strangely, almost as if they are picking and choosing what attacks to react to. In addition they seem to plan, or have some sort of intelligence behind their attacks (This is the full truth for this report)
[] On the minions you've trained
-[] You have nothing to report
-[] You've trained the broad base in simple combat
-[] You've inducted a handful into Edge
[] On the Mansus
-[] You have nothing to report
-[] Something lurks in the Woods, and is hostile
-[] Something lurks in the Woods, it is hostile and the Master must to explain what it is
[] On your job
-[] You have nothing to report
-[] You're in the running for Director, with some aid you could possibly claim that position
[] On your aid
-[] You have nothing to report
-[] You helped clean up Anatoly's mess, make sure they know that you stepped in and how crucial your role was
[] Anything else? (Write in, anything else you wish to share with the Master and the other inner circle members)
You were going to meet with the rest of the cult today, and you couldn't help but be a little nervous. However, you reached forward and turned the radio on, letting the music flow through the car as you hummed to the songs.
The drive was pleasant, and the roads were relatively clear, so you made good time. You were happy that you had cleared up the bar case without any issues. In fact you could already see that people were working to refurbish and tune up the place. You strode inside and walked up to the counter, where Anatoly was wiping down the counter.
"I see you're getting some new things put in," you remarked, gesturing to the workers as they moved equipment around.
"Yes, the Master ordered a new room," Anatoly replied, his smile faltering slightly. He shuddered, "She wasn't too happy about the noise, though."
You sucked in a breath through your teeth, wincing. "She'll be back soon?"
"Yes, they will be gone in the next ten minutes or so. She will likely return shortly after," he replied.
Just as the words left his mouth, the door burst open with a loud bang, and Jane strolled in, a bottle of liquor dangling from her hand. "Morning everyone!" she chirped, her voice far too loud for the quiet atmosphere. She dropped the bottle onto the counter with a faint clink, letting go as she sat on one of the stools.
Anatoly raised a single eyebrow, his expression flat. "I don't think the Master would appreciate that," he said, his voice dry as usual.
Jane rolled her eyes, giving him a playful smack on the shoulder. "She hates fun. This is just a little liquid fortitude to get through the meeting," she replied, crooning as she reached for the neck of the bottle.
Before her fingers could close around it, Anatoly snatched the bottle out of her grasp and tucked it behind the counter. "After the meeting," he amended, ignoring Jane's exaggerated pout.
Before the situation could escalate, Arch stumbled in, a disorganized pile of papers clutched under his arm. He looked flustered as he pushed his glasses up his nose with a knuckle. "Uh, excuse me, could you point me toward the library? I've been stuffing all these manuscripts into your office," he mumbled, nodding awkwardly toward Anatoly.
"Just put them in my office for now. I'll deal with them later," Anatoly replied with a sigh, watching as Arch hurried upstairs, nearly tripping over his own feet. You followed the man's hasty retreat with a stony expression before turning back to the counter and shaking your head.
"Greetings," a soft voice murmured from behind, making everyone except Anatoly jump. Ai had silently emerged from the storage room, her presence ghostlike as always.
"God, Ai, you've got to stop sneaking up on people like that!" Jane exclaimed, half-laughing as she grabbed Ai's wrist and pulled her toward the counter. "Come on, help me convince Anatoly to give us back the wine."
"After," Ai whispered, her tone as soft as always. Despite Jane's best efforts, Ai remained unmoved, and Jane could only grumble in defeat.
A moment later, Arch came back down the stairs, looking as disheveled as ever. You glanced at the group before speaking. "How about some water?" you suggested, nodding toward Anatoly. "Something simple."
Jane groaned, though a hint of a smile played on her lips. "Water? Really?" she whined, but she didn't protest further as Anatoly poured drinks for everyone.
Arch blinked, clearly confused, as a cup was thrust into his hands. "Water? What for?"
Ai, as sharp as ever, replied with a deadpan expression. "Drinking."
You smirked at the dry exchange, lifting your glass in a silent toast. "To achieving our goals," you said, cutting through the momentary banter. Jane opened her mouth, but you raised your glass higher, silencing her. "Drink up." The clink of glasses filled the room, and water was downed in unison.
Though you didn't know each of them too well yet, you all belonged to the inner circle, and a small celebration seemed appropriate. You savored the brief moment of camaraderie before reality would come crashing back. There was still the matter of meeting with the Master—never a task you looked forward to.
Almost as if on cue, the door swung open once again, but this time, it wasn't Jane's cheerful face that greeted you. A young girl, her body gaunt and wrapped in tattered clothes, strode in, hatred and agony trailing behind her. The workers had left by now, and it was just the five of you, plus the Master. She didn't say a word as she walked past, her ragged dress brushing against the floor as if her emaciated form didn't weigh her down at all.
"Follow," she commanded her voice a low growl that sent goosebumps prickling down your neck. You exchanged wary glances with the others before rising to your feet and falling in line behind her.
The sanctum's door was open when you arrived, the faint hum of malice sending a shiver up your spine as you entered. There was no time for pleasantries. The Master cut straight to business, her burning eyes fixating on each of you in turn.
"Report," she commanded, her voice sharp as a blade.
Arch, still frazzled, fumbled with his words. "I, uh, I've gathered manuscripts in the office, and I'll continue searching for more," he stammered, exhaling in relief as her gaze slid off him.
"Good," she replied, her attention snapping to Jane, who straightened under the pressure.
"I've got new recruits. We should see them helping out soon," Jane said, her usual carefree demeanor slightly cracked under the Master's scrutiny.
The Master's eyes moved next to Anatoly. "We had some delays, but Michael helped us push through," he began, his voice steady despite the weight of the Master's glare. "The space for the rituals will be ready soon."
"Acceptable," she muttered, and though her tone was curt, the tension in the air eased slightly. There had been a fear of failure, but it seemed that whatever emotions were bundled up inside her body weren't going to be unleashed on Anatoly.
"Ai?" she prompted, her voice cutting like a whip.
"The Mayor's secretary and a Protectorate commander have agreed to cooperate," Ai answered softly, her quiet demeanor unaffected by the Master's intensity.
Finally, her gaze fell upon you. Your heart skipped a beat as the Master's burning eyes bored into yours.
You were ever so thankful that you had thought up just what you would say.
You must pick one from each section. If you pick nothing to report you will not mention it. Vote by Plan
[] On the Endbringers
-[] You didn't manage to learn anything
-[] You learned that they react strangely, almost as if they are picking and choosing what attacks to react to
-[] You have learned that they seem to plan, or have some sort of intelligence behind their attacks
-[] You learned that they react strangely, almost as if they are picking and choosing what attacks to react to. In addition they seem to plan, or have some sort of intelligence behind their attacks (This is the full truth for this report)
[] On the minions you've trained
-[] You have nothing to report
-[] You've trained the broad base in simple combat
-[] You've inducted a handful into Edge
[] On the Mansus
-[] You have nothing to report
-[] Something lurks in the Woods, and is hostile
-[] Something lurks in the Woods, it is hostile and the Master must to explain what it is
[] On your job
-[] You have nothing to report
-[] You're in the running for Director, with some aid you could possibly claim that position
[] On your aid
-[] You have nothing to report
-[] You helped clean up Anatoly's mess, make sure they know that you stepped in and how crucial your role was
[] Anything else? (Write in, anything else you wish to share with the Master and the other inner circle members)
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Fun update! I like the characterization we get of the inner circle in the time they spend before the Master walks in. And how things change after she does.
(Maybe that's not Edge enough, lol)
Do we have to be so definitive with this? Can we not be a little more polite in asking what it is?
(Maybe that's not Edge enough, lol)