In Service: A Science Fantasy Quest

[I.F. Ister]

"Things got kinda… screwy." You finally say after a few moments of silence. "Come on, lets walk and talk."

A light breeze buffets your hair as you stand before the front gate to Winchester Estate. The wind whistles in your ears, carrying a brisk chill—uncharacteristically cold for Kansas in the summer.

Drying grass falls beneath your shoes as you make your way to where Sean and you parked.

"Screwy?" Sean questions while making his way down a low hill. "How so?"

"There was this… well," you start, struggling to find the proper words—your hands grasping at the air wildly, "a prophecy."

"A prophecy?" Sean quirks a ginger brow, skepticism clear in his eyes. Prophecies aren't exactly an uncommon thing, there's loads of them out there foretelling the end of everything if this one guy doesn't brush his teeth, to give an example. The vast majority of the time they're made by hacks and frauds or are completely misinterpreted. Not many people actually have the talent or gift for precognition, even less can coherently convey what they're seeing.

"Chosen One things, you know the deal." You shrug, shoulders rising and falling. "Great evil on the rise and things like that."

Sean ahs, nodding in understanding. "That I do."

You fall into silence again after that. The quiet stillness is only broken once you begin speaking again.

"This prophecy called that the Chosen One will be born from a union between two powerful mortal families." You explain as Sean starts putting two and two together.

"You don't mean…" He trails off, a look of slight disgust on his face.

"Yeah, Old Man Winchester tried to set me up with his son. And then got really misogynistic once I refused." You kick a rock down the grass, nailing their mailbox with a well-aimed pebble.

"That's feckin' gross." The red-headed Dullahan declares, accent slipping a bit.

"Yeah, yeah it is."

"Surprised he didn't try to coerce you with the Chainsaw." The immigrant Irishman adds.

"You know, I had the same thought. So much so that I asked to make sure that the Chainsaw wasn't in the equation." You pat the cherry red weapon of demonic destruction at your side. "It's good to have it back, it feels like a part of me that I never knew was missing finally returned."

"It's a piece of demon killing kit, right?" You nod in confirmation. "So, what does it do?"

"Kills demons good." You shrug, jostling it for emphasis. "Extremely durable, so much so that it takes a high level demon to even dull the teeth. Has a sub-dimensional fuel tank so you don't run out while on the job, though refueling it can be a bitch."

"Sounds like a good weapon… Say…" He begins, a thought coming to mind before trailing off. "Nah, forget it."

"Oh come on," you reply, laughing while you roll your eyes, "can't be that bad."

"Well, alright then." He squares his shoulders, readying himself. "Do you think they wanted you only because you fit the bill or did your looks play a part?" You blink and he hurriedly continues, stumbling over his words in the process. "C-cause I mean, you are quite attractive and I-I saw the way that guy was looking at you and… and…" The handsome man trails off, his mouth opening and closing as he gestures at the air.

A several heartbeats pass as you bluescreen.

"...you…you really think that?" You whisper out in minor disbelief. There are many words and expressions that you'd use to describe yourself, but 'attractive' wasn't ever one of them.

Intellectually, you know that you have nice looking facial features and a fit body—on account of you coming from money, the genetic modifications your maternal gene donor did to herself before your birth, and the time you spent in the gym so you don't fall behind in field work. But it's never really crossed your mind that that could be seen as attractive to other people.

"Well of course!" Sean nearly shouts, waving his toned arms at the sky. "I mean, l-look at you! You're competent, one of the smartest people I know, funny as hell, extremely teasable, drop-dead-gorgeous, and, above everything else, awesome as hell."

"...you're not so bad yourself." You mutter before you notice your mouth moving. You blink, as does Sean.

Heat rises to your cheeks just as his skin gains a lively hue. Is that what that looks like from the outside? …interesting, this will require further study.

"So, uh, what happens next?" Sean eventually asks as you reach where you parked the ghost bike.

[ ] "I… I don't know if I'm ready for a romantic relationship yet." You're gonna settle things in your life before you attempt romance, once that's done… who knows? (This is the option to deny romance, at least for now)

[ ] "Maybe we should take it slow and see what happens?" You'll take things slow, let whatever spark that's growing between you two develop on its own. (This is the option to let things remain as they are now)

[ ] "People date each other, right? Let's try that." You've elected to take a more active approach in fostering this relationship. (This is the option to pursue romance)


Fair Warning: There is no guarantee that you and Sean will work out together if you do decide to pursue romance. Something might come up between the two of you or something tragic might happen to one of you in the line of duty. That's just how life is.

There is, however, a guarantee from me, the GM, that I won't put my finger on the scales, so to speak. I won't force you into a relationship nor will I force you out of one.

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: Congratulations, everyone, The Quest for the Chainsaw is now complete and you're gonna be back home next turn.

Voting will be called tomorrow at 5 PM CST, thanks for consuming!

Before I go, I have one more thing to ask of you.
Which interlude do you want to see?

[ ] The Seeded Alleyway

[ ] The American Ninja

[ ] The Alps Defender

[ ] The Dog Owner

[ ] The Talkative Outsider

 

[I.F. Ister]

Bill pulled ahead in that doggy way of his, nearly yanking Claudia Berwitz from her feet as she walked him up the sidewalk. She merely sighed, a soft smile on her face as she readjusted her blue-rimmed glasses.

They'd just been to the dog park, Claudia studiously avoiding the section the incident had happened in. It was a shame, too, that bit was one of Bill's favorite paths to walk. Likely on account of all the squirrels that hung about there, but it was a small price to pay to avoid any leftover vampiric infestation.

The Service of Supernatural Solutions had sent a clean up detail to clear out anything still there. Apparently they had found a body! And not just any body, but the body of a deceased Vampire Lord of all things!

To think, such a thing was so close to her house! There are horror stories floating around on the internet, tales of Vampire Lords showing up in some obscure town and depopulating them in a matter of hours—help arriving far too late to make a difference and oftentimes falling victim to the vampire in question.

Sure, with a Service Division headquartered in the city she doubts that the Vampire Lord couldn't have gotten very far before being stopped, but being stopped and her still being alive are two very different things.

You know… the story of a Vampire Lord arriving in a city could be an interesting story as the Lord attempts to do as much damage as possible while avoiding reprisal. The protagonist can be a survivor who keeps making it out by the skin of her teeth. Yeah, yeah! That does sound like a good idea!

Bill's growls drew Claudia from her introspections, her yellow trench coat flapping in the suddenly chilly wind. Bill barked, Bill howled, but Bill never growled. To say she was on edge would be a massive understatement.

Clutching at her purse, where she kept the buckshot-spewing pistol she bought a year ago after a particularly bad string of assaults in her neighborhood, she twisted to face the alleyway Bill growled at.

The light dampened as a large cloud passed over the sun, making it hard to make out the figure standing in the shadows of the tall brick buildings. But, she could tell three things.

The first was its size. It was large, unreasonably so, standing well over six feet tall with shoulders half as broad.

The second was the glow of its ruby red eyes as it peered out from the shadows, the lights illuminating its colorless skin.

The third was its soft, sickeningly pleasant voice that swirled around her and greeted her like an old friend.

"Claudia." Her old friend greeted her as it stepped into the light. For some reason, she couldn't quite recall its name, but she didn't want to be so rude as to ask! "It's been some time, hasn't it Claudia?"

Bill growled as it drew near and Claudia scowled, releasing the pistol to grab hold of Bill's leash with both hands. "I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed, dragging on Bill's leash. "I don't know what got into him!"

"It's fine, Claudia." With every time the thing said her name she felt the certainty that this was her old friend grow stronger and stronger. "How has Bill been? He certainly seems to be quite different than last time."

"Bill's doing fine." She says, struggling slightly to restrain the square-shouldered dog. The rude beast had its hackles raised and a snarl to its face. "Just had a run in with a strange thing, a Vampire Lord if you believe it!"

"I heard about that, Claudia." Her trusted confidant drew closer and Bill fought harder to escape her grasp. "Would you like to come with me, Claudia? I'm sure we can help you with this… problem of yours."

"W-well, I don't know…" She muttered as Bill thrashed like a poorly trained pup. His eyes begged to be released, but why would he need to be released right now? It's only her old friend after all. "The Service said that everything's clear with him…"

"The Service are incompetent, Claudia, you know as well as I that this is the case. Come on, let us go," her best friend smiled and offered a hand, "do you need help with Bill?"

"Yes, he's being such a naughty dog and I don't know why!" The hurt in his eyes was second only to the yelp of pain as her best friend struck her disobedient dog. Bill went limp in her arms, but that's what he gets for being a bad dog.

"Are you ready, Claudia?"

"Yes, yes I am."

A missing person's report would be filed two days after Claudia Berwitz' disappearance by her concerned boss.

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: You know what's really ironic? One of my dogs had to be put down the day before I wrote this.

Voting will be called tomorrow at 5 PM CST

Would you like another interlude or back to the story?
[ ] Another interlude!
-[ ] The Seeded Alleyway
-[ ] The American Ninja
-[ ] The Alps Defender
-[ ] The Talkative Outsider

[ ] Back to the story!

 

[I.F. Ister]

In a dreary alleyway in a dreary part of Chicago, rain splattered against the concrete floors. The fresh rainwater filtered through the cracks, rivulets of clean water pooled in the dents.

A black boot splashed in a puddle as its owner huddled further under his thick raincoat, pulling the yellow material around himself more.

"You sure this is the spot?" He turned to his companion, a man dressed in a similar manner to the first man—though his coat was blue instead of yellow.

His companion nodded, the water pooled in his hat sprayed out in a great splash. "Yeah, yeah this is where She said it'd be." His voice was much gruffer than the yellow coat wearing man, much older as well. "What, you having doubts in Her plan?"

The yellow man was quick to deny that, shaking his head while waving his arms in surrender. "No! No, of course I'm not doubting Her plan! I'm just doubting your ability to read maps."

"Upstart." The older, blue coated man scoffed as he pointed down the alleyway. "There, that's where She left it."

"That dumpster? Surely not."

"No, you idiot, under the dumpster." The older man smacked the younger yellow coat across the head. "Now go get it!"

"Fine, fine!" The younger man waved his arms as he approached the dumpster. With an exertion of strength, the young man forced the overflowing dumpster to the side, revealing what it had hidden.

His lips curled in a frown as he began to turn to the older man. "I don't see anyth-"

A trio of gunshots cut off his words as his bloody body hit the ground—throwing up great splashes of red-clouded water.

The old man's steps rang out in the suddenly quiet alleyway as he wiped down the gun with a clean rag. He sighed. "I'm sorry, but the plan requires sacrifice. And today, you are the offering." He placed the gun on the cooling corpse, pivoted, and walked away.

Blood soaked through the cracks, joining in the rivulets of water pooling below.

A pink, fleshy mass pulsed as it drank of the life-giving blood. Her seed finally taking root in the foundations of the city.

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: Yes, it is short, but I feel that it doesn't need to be any longer than this.

Do you want another interlude—which will be your final until the next time I offer them, or shall we return to the story?
[ ] Another interlude!
-[ ] The American Ninja
-[ ] The Alps Defender
-[ ] The Talkative Outsider

[ ] Back to the story!

Voting will be called tomorrow at 5 PM CST as always, thank you for reading!

 

[I.F. Ister]

Boston, Massachusetts, Cornerstone Earth. November 26th, 2118

Blood splattered against the cobblestone streets as a ninja made a final, fatal mistake. The darkness of night was illuminated by ever so brief showers of orange sparks as metal clashed against metal.

Ryan Tuckenburg, an acolyte of one of New England's many ninja schools and clans and dojos, was currently fighting for his life against an enemy that had already claimed the lives of many of his fellows.

The oscillating blades of the six-armed ninbots spun through the air in great, scything arcs as the arms rotated around a center axis. The rapidly vibrating lengths of metal chewed through the chest of an older shinobi, blood sprayed out in a crimson splash as cloth armor was ripped.

Ryan only just barely got his sword up in time to deflect the follow-up attack, the death of the older ninja the only reason his reflexes kicked in in time. His sword shattered from the force of the attack, but it was a sacrifice willingly paid.

Using what little power he could channel from the Ancestors, Ryan directed the flow of power to his cupped hands and into a Forceful Flame Burst—a technique used for defensive battlefield movement.

The tongues of fire flared against the chrome shell of the homicidal robot, warping the metal from the heat as the recoil propelled Ryan down the street—sirens in the distance drawing nearer as Ryan landed in a rolling crouch.

He sprang from the ground, the last words of his master clear in his mind as another of his family was cut down behind him by that marauding massacre machine. He would secure the Thunderblade, no matter the cost.

The young shinobi leapt down the street, bouncing from rooftop to rooftop as he sped across the cityscape towards the dojo he called home—a smoke cloud billowed in the night sky confirmed his worst fears.

His eyes flickered across the courtyard as he landed in a tree swaying in the wind. The courtyard was in ruins. The field where he sparred against the youths was now a smoking crater. The main building hurt his heart, its japanese-styled architecture was melting in the blazing inferno that had overtaken the compound. The orchard of fruit trees, where he had been engaged to his beloved—he ruthlessly crushed those broken memories under the weight of Duty, was nothing more than timber now.

Not one, not two, but three of those ninbots were rampaging about the compound, slaughtering the civilian members of the clan and the lone defenders that had remained behind. This wasn't surprising, not really, he had been preparing himself to ignore the faces of the dead and dying—to better do his Duty in this trying time.

He sped through the dying masses, the spilled blood of his kinsmen slippery on the floor. He didn't spare looks for their faces, he couldn't allow his emotions to have the best of him here. He ignored the stinging, salty wetness on his cheeks, there was no time.

The ninbots tried to stop him, but he was far too fast. He ducked and bounced, slid and rolled until he arrived at the inferno-engulfed front door to the central building. Channeling a mote of power through his limbs, he sheathed his body in a light coating of Heat Guarding Shell and leapt through the wall of fire—the technique protected his limbs and body from the licks of flame that tried to bar his path.

The first thing he saw as he burst through the fire was the broken body of one of the ninbots—a smooth, clean cut through the center axis is what took it out, which stoked the fires of determination in his stomach. They could be killed, they can win.

The smoke burned his eyes and throat. His eyes watered as he focused and sharpened his hearing, searching for any sound that could hint to the Thunderblade's location. The sword is far too powerful to be left undefended, so it must be in use currently. The wound the dead ninbot sported was in line with how the Thunderblade was described, that sword's cuts were always said to be smooth and clean.

There!

Ascending the mostly collapsed stairs, he followed the sounds of violence through the crackling flames as he emerged from the choking smoke and found himself in the ceremony chambers—where the various ceremonies of the clan were performed.

"Ryan!? Where is your master?" The clan's leader, an old gray-beard by the name of Matthew Tuckenburg, shouted as he danced around a pair of ninbots—the Thunderblade sparked in Matthew's hands as he carved a ravine through the chrome torso of a robot. The sword sparked and the entire body of the machine short-circuited. It fell back with a heavy, metallic clud.

"Dead." It hurt his heart to say that, the tears in his watery eyes weren't just from the smoke.

"I'm sorry."

The one remaining ninbot fell quickly to Matthew's overwhelming skill, even the relentless onslaught of the mechanical menaces can't stand against skill honed to a fine, deadly edge.

"Ryan," the elder ninja spoke, breathing heavily—it had been many years since Matthew had had to push himself as hard as he is now, "take the sword." The master ninja sheathed the Thunderblade and pressed it into Ryan's hands. "Take it far away and protect it, and yourself."

"Do you understand?"

"Y-yes." Ryan managed to say, overwhelmed by the situation but managing through the strength of Duty.

"Go, I will hold them off while you carry it away." The old man intoned, flexing his fists as wisps of channeled power floated off his body. Ryan nodded, accepting the order for what it was, and left.

Tears fell freely on that day.

~~~~~~~

Chicago, Illinois, Cornerstone Earth. The Present Day

The electricity-coated Thunderblade slid smoothly into its sheath as the last clone fell apart into three equally sliced chunks.

Ryan Tuckenburg had done many things since leaving the compound, some bad, but most good. Joining the Service, he feels, is one of the good ones.

Perhaps they can help him in his quest for vengeance?

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: And now we're done with the interludes, for a little while at least. I'll post the next part of Grave Robbing in an hour or so, probably.

 

[I.F. Ister]

You realized, after you returned to your apartment, that you don't actually have anywhere truly safe to keep the Chainsaw.

So, until you can find something or someplace to store it safely, you're just sort of lugging it around. Fortunately for your poor arms, the Chainsaw is a shockingly light machine—for a chainsaw, at least. It's still plenty heavy, but you can easily carry it with one hand as long as you're not expecting to get stuck in heavy fighting for any extended periods of time.

Which is why, when you walk into Baba's house-shop-combo, you're carrying the Chainsaw by its handle.

The salon is looking a whole lot cleaner than the last time you stopped by. The stacks of dusty, old books are stowed away in boxes—ironic, given how the boxes of books are now piled in stacks themselves. The mirrors look as though they've been polished a bit, a subtle shine to the glowing reflection. The lightbulbs bordering the mirrors look to have been replaced at some point.

All in all, it's been doing better.

"Baba! I'm here!" You call out into the seemingly empty storefront as the little bell jingles, announcing your arrival.

"Ah, tygrysek! I had been wondering just where you had run off to!" Baba happily emerges from behind a stack of boxes, hands clapping together. Baba is currently dressed in a thick, woolen dress with little blue floral patterns. A white apron wraps around her ample, rock-hard waist—the apron pocket has a slight bulge in it, where she keeps a supply of dust in case of emergency. A yellow and gray shawl on her head ties the whole ensemble together.

Her eyes lock on the Chainsaw, bushy eyebrows arching high on her wrinkled forehead. "Now, where'd you get such a thing like that?"

You scuff the ground with a boot. "Oh, you know, tracked it down and took a day to travel down to Kansas to get it. Lawrence, to be exact."

"Lawrence?" She pronounces it like 'law-wenz'. Baba nods, her shawl bobbing up and down. "Makes sense, that place is a hotspot for the supernatural. It is only logical that such a thing as this would turn up in such a place as that. You do know what that is, yes?"

"Of course," you laugh, "it's the Chainsaw, an heirloom of my family."

"Ah, an heirloom! I had been concerned that you'd been lugging it around to flex or show off. Never a good idea." She admonishes this hypothetical situation.

"The only reason I have it on me right now is because I don't have anywhere safe to keep it while I'm out and about." You reply, setting the cherry red Chainsaw down on an empty table—that had once held a tacklebox full of pickled fingers.

"Perhaps I can help you with that, later of course." She offers as she summons a bowl on an arm of dust. The bowl seems to contain some kind of especially pure water, so pure the only way you can tell it is there is thanks to the glare of light from the outside. There's a slight frown on her face as she scours her hand clean with lengths of sawing dust.

"Of course." You reply as she dips a gnarled, old finger in the pool. Waves and ripples flow from the finger as she slowly swirls it around the bowl in large, lazy circles. "So, what're you doing here? Some kind of scrying or divination, obviously, but what for and why?"

Her frown deepens as the pool darkens, showcasing a murky patch of kelp-choked water. "Because, Arabesh-lel Kran-komar is in a rather unfortunate location."

You can feel your mood plummet as the pool shifts, revealing a decapitated head laying in the grasping water vines. The head is clearly not human in origin. Its skin is stone gray, its features far too chiseled for a human face. Hard angles and harsh edges make up its face in overlapping lines. It… reminds you somewhat of those old, ancient cartoons—like He-Man or something along those lines.

"Dammit." You swear, slumping over as you take a seat. As you go to continue speaking—you're not too sure where you were going to go with that, Old Baba cuts you off and saves you from .

"Fortunately for us, the Astakloraon here is a member of the Once-Young, meaning that we just have to piece him back together and he'll spring to life, just like a living puppet in the movies!"

You blink, the wind suddenly leaving your metaphorical sails. "Well, that certainly makes things easier. Just, uh, where exactly is the location?" You ask, finger pointing vaguely at the pool of the now murky water.

"Lake Michigan, on the Chicagoan shore. Come on, I'll show you the way." She gestures for you to follow as she puts on a jacket.

"Thanks, Baba." You smile and follow her to her car, a small green thing that looks like it's from the late 1960s. The general shape of it vaguely resembles a beetle of somesort. The interior of this vehicular specimen was done in white leather with an almond finish.

It's a comfortable ride, with Baba driving of course. But it is a quiet one. So quiet that you feel the need to fill it with something.

What do you talk to Baba about? Do you want to ask her any questions or do you just want to sit in silence?
[ ] Ask her some questions (Please write in some)
[ ] Sit in silence

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: Boom, bam, bop, we're back on track.

Voting will be called tomorrow at 5 PM CST.

 

[I.F. Ister]

"Hey Baba? Where does magic come from?" You eventually ask as you get comfortable in the white leather chair. You might as well use this time to get some lessons in.

"Good question, but some clarifications must be first asked. Do you refer to the concept of magic? Or do you refer to the power that fuels spells?"

"Both."

She laughs, a deep, echoing thing. "A good answer! But yes, I shall begin teaching now. Magic, the concept, is the term given to the ability to do things beyond what your kind should be able to do. A dragon breathing fire isn't magic, but a human breathing fire is. You understand, yes?"

"I think so," you mutter, stroking your chin, "what the dragon does is natural to it. It breathing fire is something innate to its being. A human, on the other hand, cannot naturally breathe fire, meaning that we have to get outside help, such as magic or whatever fire eaters use. Right?"

"Correct." She nods before swapping to the next question. "The power that fuels magic, what is it? The answer is that magic comes from an internal source of energy generated by living things being alive. Every single time your itsy-bitsy cells perform mitosis, every time your white blood cells consume a virus, every time your gut fauna digests food for you, magic gets produced as a byproduct."

She slaps her bicep, the muscle rippling. "Why do you think I am so large? Besides the aesthetic, of course."

"...because more cells equals more magic?"

"Exactly, tygrysek!" She then waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Those slender sorceresses you see in CosmoMagician? Fakes and store-bought glamours, the lot of them. Except for Matilda and that other one, Beverly. The former uses sub-dimensions to 'hide' her extra mass while the latter," she squints, "shifts it to certain places using biowizardry."

Honestly, you have no idea what she's talking about. CosmoMagician? Is that some kind of magazine like Traps Quarterly? Perhaps you should look into it sometime. They might have some tips and tricks for you to use to spice things up.

"But anyways, moving on." She declares, putting things back on track. "There are four ways to do magic, divided into two categories. Internal and External. Internal magic focuses on using your own internal supply of magic to cast spells. External magic focuses on using the supply of others to do magic.

Baba takes a deep breath before launching into the different methods. All things you've learned before, but certainly useful to get it again, perhaps in a way that you can better understand. "The first way of doing magic is through Sorcery, an Internal method. Quick, non-permanent effects that can be cast without any preparations at all, but at significant magic costs. It is often used for combat, though it isn't always the case. The second way of doing magic is through Wizardry, the other Internal method. Wizardry is slower than Sorcery and requires prep time and materials. But it is quite a bit cheaper and can produce permanent effects."

She swaps to the External methods. "The first External method is called Witchery, which I find myself most proficient in. Witchery is all about taking magical things and forcing them into service in other ways. It is the method of the enchanter and the potion maker.One can use Witchery to enchant a sword to produce flames by binding a spirit of fire to it, the internal supply of the fire spirit will power the sword. And potion making is done by collecting parts of magical entities and combining them in cauldrons." Old Baba's face twists into a frown as she moves on to the fourth and final method.

"The second External method, and the final we shall talk about today, is called Channelry. Channelry is further divided into three sections, Contract, Supply, and Ambiance Channeling. Contract Channeling is what most think of when they hear 'Channelry'. I find it distasteful. I cannot imagine willingly binding myself to the will of another being, it simply does not… I can't comprehend what would drive a person to such things."

She sighs, slumping a bit. "But I digress, Contract Channeling is when a greater being will allow you to use a modicum of its internal supply. This is done through a contract of sorts, detailing what the entity will allow you to use its magical energy for and what it wants in exchange. These are oftentimes rather one sided affairs, though it will not seem that way in the moment. Any being powerful enough to be able to give up a portion of their own magic is a being capable of seeing far ahead of you." She trails off, falling silent as she seems to look into the past.

"What about the others you mentioned, Supply and Ambiance Channeling?" You ask, making a note to investigate Contract Channeling on your own time. It's clear that Baba's biased against it.

"Ah, those! I had forgotten, thank you for reminding me." She brightens up at the slight change of topic. "Supply Channeling is simple as, uh, american apple crumble. That is the term, yes?" You shrug, it's close enough. "You put power in an object, such as a gemstone or battery—which, for reasons I don't fully understand, work wonderfully as magical storage devices, and then draw the power out later. It is simple. It is easy. I recommend you do it as I do it too." She pats her apron pocket, the one containing the supply of dust.

"And the final?"
"Ambiance is gathering magical energy from the environment surrounding you. Essentially, it's what druids and their kin like to do. It's a bit complicated, but it boils down to, what is effectively, magical begging." She shrugs, hands on the wheel as her broad shoulders rise and fall. "I don't like to do it as it relies on how the local spirits feel about you. And, as a Witch of some renown, I tend to piss spirits off."

You nod, mentally—and physically, noting things down while pulling out the next question on the docket. "Do you have any suggestions for quickly increasing magic capabilities without selling your soul?"

The muscle-bound woman leans her head back and laughs. "Child, there are as many paths to power as there are stars in the night sky." She wipes a mirthful tear from her eye. "Ah, the curiosity of the young. Never lose that, child. But to answer your question, yes. There are many ways to speed your training along, but none of them are 'wholesome', as the youths put it."

Her voice lowers, a serious glimmer enters her eyes. "But I was young once, just as you are now. I wanted power and I wanted it right that moment. I shall tell you what I did, and why it was a mistake. This is a warning, so take it seriously."

Oh, oh this is some serious shit right here. There's something about her words that forces you to listen, to put her speech to memory.

"I stole it." She says with some flicker of pride in her voice. "I stole time."

You blink, that doesn't make any sense at all! "How… how does one steal time?"

"With great difficulty." The old woman smiles. "And by entering the Time Vault, located in the Upper Plane. I will not tell you where exactly it is, but it is still there last I checked. Once in the Time Vault, you sneak past the Hourglass Guardians, beings of such power they make Dragons tremble." You note the capitalization and resolve to never, ever encounter one of these Guardians. "Once inside the inner sanctum, you must steal the Sand of Time." A distant look comes over her face as she says that, but she shakes it off and moves on.

"I gained tremendous power, some of which I still have. But… there was a price. I became someone I did not want to be, I mantled a title I had no right to have and forced myself into a role I never should have been casted for. I got out of it, of course, but I had to start from scratch—through reincarnation." She sighs, shoulders going limp. "Even now I still pay for my transgressions. I will return to that role, once I finally succumb. But on a brighter note, I got to live a much better life the second time around!" She finishes with a smile as you let that whole thing sink. Halfway through, you decide that the best way to do that is by asking more questions.

"Baba, why is it that super-scientists have so much trouble learning magic?"

"Little super-scientist, tell me, what is super-science?" She answers your question with one of her own as she turns the wheel.

You ponder for a moment. What is super-science? That is quite the question. Is she talking philosophically? Practically? You bet she's talking practically, Baba doesn't seem to be the type to ask a weird philosophical question. "Super-science is about pushing the limits and breaking the rules of what is and what can be done."

"Exactly, tygrysek. Magic, on the other hand, has limits. It has rules. It requires a completely different mindset than super-science. One must be flexible, but know when to stop." She explains as you try to put it together. Magic has rules? It has limits? Nobody told you this! What are these rules and limits? You'll break them apart for daring to stand in your way!

You open your mouth to continue your diatribe, but she puts a finger to your lips—silencing you. "See, tygrysek? You're going at it like a super-scientist, trying to find out all the parts of the puzzle. You want to push the limits, bend them till they break. With magic, you simply must accept some things for what they are."

You're… going to need some time to think about that, you feel. But that's for later, right now you've got questions to ask and ask you shall! Captive audiences are the best!

"Baba? What's the animosity between you and Damien about?"

"Aren't you just a font of questions?" A smile graces her wizened face as she pinches your cheek. "It is a simple thing. In my young years, before I decided to 'screw it' and go with the flow, I was a ruffian and a hellion." She pokes her belly button, or where it would be under her clothes. "So much so that he was assigned to a team dedicated to stopping me from doing my thing. He drove an iron nail into my stomach, right through my belly button, which cut off my ability to do magic for some time. I did manage to almost sever the bond between him and that Arming Devil of his, though, so it was well deserved. After that I settled down and had a family." She squints. "Which now, I suppose, contains Miloslava of all people." The witch descends into mutterings about 'gold diggers' and the like while you formulate your next question.

"Any recommendations on benevolent spirits or entities to contract with? Something like the shikigami of Japan?"

"Household spirits are your best bet most of the time. Banshees, if you can produce some shred of evidence that you are of noble blood, are especially helpful for avoiding danger. Eudaimons and Guardian Angels will provide assistance not just in your day to day, but also in more martial matters should it come to that. Vedogon will protect your sleeping self from harmful dreams and any would-be attackers. I'm sure there are some Egyptian spirits that would help you, but I am not overly familiar with them." You note them down, perhaps you can find some and make a deal with them? "You sure have a lot of questions today, don't you?"

You shrug, a grin tracing its way across your face. "What can I say? I'm a curious girl. And I've got more questions."

She laughs. "Ask away, curiosity is a thing that should be cherished."

"Any advice on prophecies? There's a mark on my soul, put there by the Mayan gods, and I was wondering if that had any effect on anything prophetical."

She 'ahs'. "I had been wondering about that mark, very out of place in an otherwise neat and orderly signature. But, it is best to simply ignore prophecies. If it is real it will come to pass, if it isn't, well, you didn't follow it so nothing is lost. For every prophecy that is true, there are tens of thousand that aren't. Trying to force one is a poor idea, self-fulfilling prophecies are a thing after all."

You pat the Chainsaw in the floor bed. "So… I've got an ancestor up and about, wandering around. Could the Chainsaw be used to find him? It used to belong to him after all."

She blinks, eyelids twitching as her eyes go wide. "A-ashley J. Williams walks the Earth once more? Disturbing." You scowl and she elaborates. "The man was an incompetent, mentally ill jackass of a loner who spent most of his life doing the two things he was any good at—killing demons and killing time working for S-Mart."

You try to refute her claim but, well the records don't exactly paint him as the most stand-up of guys… "He wasn't entirely incompetent," you mutter, "he built the Chainsaw after all."

"Of course he did, it was for killing demons. But, you don't need to worry yourself about meeting him. People like him have a habit of showing up at odd times." She parks the car as she finishes speaking. "We're here."

You've arrived at the shoreline, a little ways out from the city. It's grassy, there's a farm nearby, and there's a small fishing shack.

Now then, what to do?
[ ] Head on down to the head, see if you can't fish it up before something, or someone, else does
[ ] Get the lay of the land, make sure there's no one nearby that might be in on it
[ ] Talk to the farmer and the fisherman, if they're home of course. It's possible that they saw something when the body was dumped.

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: This one took me a while to get out. Guess that's what I get for playing too much MW5, lmao.

Voting will be called tomorrow at 5 PM CST, thanks for watching!

 

[I.F. Ister]

The air that greets you as you exit Baba's car bears a smell familiar to you. The scent of Lake Michigan, the lake that still thinks it is an ocean, is a fresh one. The watery, misty scent of the fog rolling across the blue waves. The fishy smell of a long day spent working the waters. The freshness of the pure wind whistling past your ears, buffeting strands of your hair as it passes by.

In short, it smells like a lake, if that makes any sense.

Lake Michigan itself, like always, stretches from horizon to horizon and is filled with an unfathomable amount of water. Human beings simply aren't built to comprehend the sheer weight of all that water, how many tons it must be.

The shoreline of the lake is a long thin strip of beige sand that faintly curves up and down the land. Before the sand is a lot of long grass and weeds that curl and scratch against your pant legs. Though, grass is a weed in of itself, so it's just a lot of weeds, you suppose.

"Baba!" You call to the eponymous witch as she climbs out of her car as well. "I'm gonna circle on around, see if there's anything of interest nearby. Can you, uh, do things?"

"I can certainly do things, child, many things indeed." She laughs with mirthful vigor. "What sort of things would you like me to do?"

You frown. "Um, can you start tracking down the rest of the guy's body?"

"Of course." The old witch nods and you begin your hike.

(Do you find anything? 94, well then)

Your long legs carry you across the grassy landscape, occasionally dipping into the sandy beaches as you trek around the area.

While making your way along the shorefront, you pause mid step as your eyes catch a flicker of something buried in the sands. Something that rubs you the wrong way. Your gut tells you to check it out, so you do.

Carefully approaching with extreme caution, you slowly unearth—or, in this case, unsand, a metal cylinder with a ball-headed antenna on one end.

You frown as you heft the fire log-sized up to get a better look at it. The whole thing is made of a polished chrome, marred slightly by the sands. The ball on the end of the antenna is a bright red while the antenna itself is shaped in the general shape of a spring.

It's obviously a piece of super-science, but there's no serial number or designation that could tell you what exactly this is for. A hunch tells you that it's some sort of sensory device, the source of this gut feeling being your extended experience in, ahem, 'screwing around' with sensory equipment.

Hmm, this will require some research. But, what if this was left for you to find? What if it's trapped?

Heck, it could just be mere happenstance that you found this here!

Do you want to take it with you, take it apart here with what tools you carry on you, or leave it in the sands?
[ ] Take it with you (Option to take it apart later)
[ ] Dismantle it here (Dismantle (Super-Science) Roll)
[ ] Leave it where you found it (You'll have an option to come back later, but it isn't guaranteed that it will be here when you do)

~~~~~~~

Returning to Baba, you see that she's holding what appears to be a leg.

The leg is quite similar to the head you saw in the scrying pool. Gray stone-like skin and far too defined features that seem to overlap and interlock at odd, harsh angles. It's all very geometric in shape.

"That's a leg." You declare as you slow to a stop near her.

"Indeed it is." The old witch confirms with a smile as she jostles the leg for emphasis. "This is the leg of Arabesh-lel Kran-komar. I found it under the fisherman's wharf." She jerks her head towards said wharf.

Now what?
[ ] Go talk to the locals
[ ] Secure the head
[ ] Begin looking for the other limbs

(Left Leg has been found. Right Leg, Right Arm, Left Arm, Torso, and Head still need to be found)

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: Alrighty, voting will be called tomorrow at 5 PM CST, thanks for reading

 

[I.F. Ister]

Right, well, whatever this object is, it is probably something worth investigating. Who knows just what you might find inside?

Whipping out your carryable tool kit — a foldable, wallet-like container made of tough, black fibers and secured with a velcro strap — you pop a squat on the sandy dunes and secure the metal cylinder between your legs.

(Dismantle (Super-Science) Roll DC 65: 60+10=70, success)

The first thing you do is search for a seam or hidden switches flush with the metal, there's gotta be a way to open it up for maintenance and the like. When you don't find one of those you swap to attacking the antenna, specifically where the base of the antenna meets the device.

There, you have a bit more luck. Slipping a tiny flat-head screwdriver into the slight crack, you manage to detach the ball-headed and spring-shaped antenna from wherever it was plugged in.

You swipe up the length of springy metal from where it landed in the sand. You turn it over and around in your hands, examining it from every angle. After a few moments of studying, you come to a conclusion.

This was professionally made, without a doubt. This wasn't some jury-rigged piece of shit that a lot of super-scientists end up slapping together from whatever spare materials they can scavenge from salvage yards. The lines are far too smooth, edges far too flush. This was made with machine precision way beyond what an amatuer has access to.

But, with the antenna out of the way you now have an access point to the insides of the device. Which you abuse mercilessly.

Popping the outer metal shell, you reveal the guts of the machine to the air. The insides are a mess of wires, beeping diodes, and a slowly spinning bar of metal suspended in a shot glass-sized container.

The metal shell seems to have sound dampening properties. Perhaps you can figure out how to replicate that?

Tapping the shot glass-sized container makes the metal bar wobble as it spins, quickly righting itself soon after. Hmm, it's obviously some sort of vibration sensor, but the size of it would suggest that it only has a max range of a few hundred meters. A few hundred meters is nowhere near enough to cover this beach, let alone the entire shoreline. Hell, it's not even far enough to cover the place where the head is.

Which means…

This is part of a network of these devices, a relay station perhaps.

A relay network you just disrupted.

Goodie.

Well, if somebody does come by you'll be ready for them.

~~~~~~~

You and Baba are making your way to the waterfront, where Baba's conjured a simple boat with a basic motor.

"This is the Widower's Plight, the ghost of a small boat that I found washed ashore." Baba says, patting the little boat's hull. Widower's Plight seems to hum and purr at the attention. "The physical body had been smashed upon the rocks, but the spirit was still around. So I made a deal with it."

"Speaking of beaches, I found something buried in the sands while walking the beach." You say, holding up a handful of spare parts you snatched from the relay. "Pretty sure it's a part of a vibration detecting network."

"Which we have disturbed." Baba concludes, nodding as she climbs into the boat. She turns and helps you embark on wobbly legs, boats have never been your strong suit — much like trains, now that you think about it. "It isn't part of any organization you know of, yes?"

You shake your head in the negative. "Nope, no seals or anything declaring who put it there. Which makes me think that whoever put this here," you give the bag of parts a jostle, "also put the body here."

"If worst comes to worst, grabbing the head and running is an option." The old witch offers as she starts up the engine. "We likely only really need the head. If the brain hasn't degenerated too much then I can pull the relevant memories out without too much difficulty."

"I'll keep that in mind then, Baba." The muscular grandma shoots a broad smile up your way, which you return with interest. Smiling is quite the enjoyable activity, which only further cements that joining the Service was a good idea. The Service of Supernatural Solutions has granted you ample opportunities to do so.

The Widower's Plight takes you and Baba out onto the waves of Lake Michigan, the lake that thinks it's an ocean. It doesn't take long to reach the spot where the scrying bowl had declared the head to be, tucked away in a small pocket of ocean plants.

It is, of course, under the water at the moment. You came prepared, of course, with some diving equipment you bought a while back. Nothing more than a wetsuit you're wearing under your clothes, a mask, fins, and some micro-tanks filled with oxygen.

"Say, tygrysek. If you desire, I can layer some spells onto you to make this easier." Baba reveals a green and blue tackle box that she says contains her materials for hydrowizardry.

"What kind of spells?" You ask in the midst of stripping to the wetsuit.

The old witch shrugs, waggling her hands about. "Eh, I've got a load of the things in here." She pats the box. "A few that give you gills and fins, basic water breathing effects, echolocation through sonar, mermaid forms, some powerful hydrophobic effects, night vision, the works."

Your brows furrow as you think about it. "Are they permanent?"

"Some are, yes, but even those can be dispelled or put on a time limit. I also have some underwater-based combat spells that I can layer into an easily breakable container. Break the container and the spell shoots out, easy as american pie." Huh, she got the saying almost right. "I could also just magic it up, though if it goes wrong…" She shrugs.

Would you like to have Baba attempt to magic it up? (If No, proceed to the spoilered section)
[ ] Yes
[ ] No

Spoiler

Would you like to accept Baba's offer to layer some spells on you?
[ ] Yes (You may pick as many as you want, though be warned that some spells might have weird interactions with each other)
-[ ] Conch's Hearing (Allows you to hear properly underwater)
-[ ] Fish Form (Gives you the attributes of a fish, like fins and gills)
-[ ] Gillify (Gives you gills)
-[ ] Mermatail (Pretty self explanatory here, mermaid tail)
-[ ] Walking Bubble (Centers a bubble of refilling oxygen on you that extends to two meters around you)
-[ ] Aquasight (Allows you to see in murky waters)
-[ ] Sonasight (Allows you to use echolocation and sonar)
-[ ] Breath of Water (Allows you to breathe water like it was air)
[ ] No, you'll just stick with what you've got now

What about her offer of combat spells?
[ ] Yes (You may pick up to three, as she doesn't have that many containers on her)
-[ ] Jolt (An aoe type spell that sends out a burst of electricity)
-[ ] Pressure Bolt (A single shot bolt of pressurized air or water that does considerable damage, should it hit)
-[ ] Water Shield (Creates a shield of water, pretty self explanatory)
-[ ] Summon Bigger Fish (Summons a Bigger Fish)
-[ ] Slash of Water (Creates an arc of extremely sharp water)
-[ ] Freeze Beam! (A beam of magic that freezes all it touches)
-[ ] Water Jettison (Not a combat spell so much as its a spell that launches you out of water)
[ ] No thanks

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: You are now, technically, on a bit of a time limit. So be aware of that.

Voting will be called tomorrow at 5 PM CST, thanks for reading!

 

[I.F. Ister]

In your hand are three hollow ceramic balls each about the size of a marble. Each has a different spell layered into a piece of silver serving as a magical battery. All you have to do is crush the thin plastery ball and the magic activates.

While Baba's setting up the Wizardry to place some spells onto you — spells to allow you to operate underwater better — you're familiarizing yourself with the spells in the balls.

The first white plaster ball contains the spell Jolt. Jolt, or this Jolt at least, is a piece of Electrosorcery currently resting in suspended animation inside the hollow sphere. You reckon that it'll be useful as a ranged attack both underwater and on the surface, as it sends an electric pulse out over an area of effect. Typically used as a stunner, but underwater it has enhanced range and lethality.

The second is called Pressure Bolt. Similar to Jolt, this is a piece of Sorcery held in suspended animation — Pressure Bolt is specifically Barosorcery, or Pressure Sorcery. Pressurizing and then launching things is a time honored tradition of magicians and humanity in general. It won't work in a vacuum, but you're not gonna be in one of those anytime soon, probably.

The third and final is Water Shield, a piece of Hydrowizardry as opposed to the other two. This spell, upon being crushed, will produce a shield of hardened water — which is different from ice, apparently.

Sliding the last orb into the bandolier that Baba gave you, you turn to the witch in question as she finishes lighting a candle — the final step in setting up the Wizardry necessary to cast some spells.

"Are you ready?" The witchy grandma asks as you slide your breathing mask over your forehead.

You nod, preparing yourself for the imminent dive. "Lay 'em on me."

Without much ceremony, Baba lays her hands on the circle of chalk and magic begins to flow. Sometimes the materials used in Wizardry rituals will crumple away to dust and ash. That only happens for permanent spells, of course. The spells that are being layered onto you are quite temporary things, designed to last as long as the candle burns — so about an hour and a half.

You don't think you'll need that much time, but better safe than sorry.

The magic flows through the circle in glowing blue and pink lines. The magic spider webs over and across the various items on display. A conch shell for the Conch's Hearing spell. The eyes of a fish for the Aquasight spell. Part of a dolphin's brain for the Sonasight spell.

The wax candle ignites and plunges you into a world you have never experienced before. The Sonasight spell throws everything into a strange, inky darkness than pulses with yellow light with every one of your breaths. Fortunately, it seems you can switch it out for the other spells, like the Aquasight spell that makes the waters of Lake Michigan seem as crystal clear as a glass of water on a bright, sunny day.

Conch's Hearing seems to already be active, though you don't clock anything out of the ordinary. Yet, at least. You assume that it will change once you get in the water.

Which you should probably do now, now that you think about it.

Slipping the mask over your face and shouldering the micro-tanks of oxygen — enough for six hours of swimming — you sit on the edge of the Widower's Plight and wave goodbye to Baba.

You throw yourself backwards and hit the water with a splash.

Quickly reorienting yourself rightway up, you're immediately struck by the beauty surrounding you.

The light of the sun refracts through the surface waves and casts the lake in a rainbow hue. It reminds you of a great stained glass art fresco, a view of awe-inspiring craftsmanship on a scale few get to witness.

The currents of the lake ebb and flow throughout the underwater landscape, carrying schools of fish to and fro. The currents twist and turn, creating a spectacle of titanic proportions.

It's almost enough to make you wish you were a super-oceanographer. Almost. You wouldn't give up Chemistry for anything — unless it were a better form of Chemistry, you suppose.

Regardless of any sights and views and your feelings thereof, you've got a task to get done and who knows how long until whoever put that relay sensor there arrives.

Swimming downwards is a breeze, your flippers making short work of the distance involved.

The sea of pondweed before you conceals your prize, that much is certain. All you have to do is get to it, which might be more trouble than it's worth. You're speaking in hyperbole, of course, this has far more worth than whatever trouble a bunch of plants could cause you.

You flipper towards the forest of flowing green and make your way through the gaps in the verdant walls of plant life. Drawing closer and closer to your prize, you begin to feel a strange feeling in the back of your head.

It feels like… something's coming.

Twisting around, you swap to echolocation and send out several pings. Shambling figures, four in number, all stumbling across the bottom of the lake in your direction. Risking a glance, you peek through the leafy plant strands and observe the four undead walking towards you.

Draugr, that's what these are, the nordic designs to their arms and armor leave no doubt in your mind to that. Tough, super strong, and, above all else, really, really hard to kill. Iron can injure one, but it can't kill it — it only slows it down. The only way to properly kill one is to decapitate the head, burn the body, and scatter the ashes into the ocean — preferably over the course of several days.

If one can manage to wrestle the draugr back to its grave, that will serve as a permanent seal that is really hard to break. Sticking it back in its grave will force the evil spirit from the body and will bar its return. In order to raise a draugr after its second death, one must get a new evil spirit.

Draugr are also quite adept at curses, being capable of laying a variety of curses on their victims.

You reckon that you can easily out maneuver them, as long as none are Icelandic in origin. If so, then they can shapeshift into a variety of forms that make this quite harder.

The legends say that only a hero has the strength and bravery to stand up to a draugr. You just hope that the blood of Ash will be enough.

What do you do?
[ ] Cut and run, or swim in this case (Guarantees your safety, but you won't be able to get the head)

[ ] Grab the head and go (You think you can get to the head before they get to you)

[ ] Fight them (You have a diving knife — iron, of course —, three micro-tanks with two hours worth of oxygen each, three spell beads containing Jolt, Pressure Bolt, and Water Shield, and your intelligence)
-[ ] Write in a plan (The surrounding area is mostly silt and rocks, with a thick forest of tall pondweeds atop a bank. The draugr are moving uphill towards you in a loose formation.)

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: A fight might just be on your hands here.

Voting will be called tomorrow at 5 PM CST

 

[I.F. Ister]

Perhaps you could try fighting them?

…

…Yeah, yeah that's probably a bad idea.

Deciding that not fighting the squad of near-unkillable super-ultra-zombies is the better course of action here, you twist and swim away from the draugr — heading deeper into the pondweed forest.

Lengths of green underwater plants brush against you as you make your way through the underwater forest. You can feel the draugr drawing closer and closer, each step they take cutting away seconds from your time.

How the hell are draugr even here in the first place? Are they remnants from that viking colony that existed up in Canada a millenia ago? If so, just how long have they been wandering around?

A thought nudges its way in from the back of your mind and a creeping sense of chilling dread crawls up your spine as a shudder runs through your body. Independent Undead, like draugr, tend to grow stronger the longer they live and the more lives they take.

Lake Michigan is known for being one of — if not the — deadliest of the Great Lakes. Many, many ships have met their ends at the hands of the cold, careless waves.

Could this draugr have ended some of those ships themselves?

The thought makes your blood run cold. If they have… well Lake Michigan's got a rather large problem.

If a draugr kills someone, that person will turn into another draugr come the next morning. There could be a lot of draugr wandering around down here, just waiting for the moment to walk onto the shores.

You might have just stumbled onto a bigger problem than you initially thought.

This never ends, does it?

Well, you can't say you didn't ask for it when you joined the Service of Supernatural Solutions. Dealing with this sort of thing is pretty much the entirety of your job description.

There!

Your fingers brush against the long strands of hair floating around Arabesh-lel Kran-komar's head like a halo of ashen hair. The head itself is a rather large thing, half again as big as your own head — which makes it somewhat heavy.

Of course, since you're underwater, you can carry it with ease.

Grabbing a thick handful of strangely rough hair, you haul the head behind you as you begin swimming upwards.

A long shaft of hardwood tipped in sharp steel whistles past your head as you swim up. Whipping your head around, terror fills your heart as you lock eyes with the empty, baleful eye sockets of a draugr, a mere step away from where you found the head.

Your heart beats away like a sledgehammer in your chest as it points a boney finger at you, laughing all the while. Your mouth is dry and your eyes waver as its fellows emerge from the pondwood around it.

Its laughter is a hollow, empty thing that drips with bloodthirsty malice. It says something to you in a violent, guttural tongue — its voice like bones grinding against rock.

You can't understand its language, but you don't need to to understand the promise of violence within.

A curse drapes itself across your shoulders, like the weight of an anchor dragging you down. You don't understand the words, but you don't need to. Some things are just universal like that.

Brave not the rolling waves, else ye shall suffer my wrath​

Breaking the surface tension of the water and entering the warmth of the sun's light is like a breath of fresh air to oxygen-starved lungs.

Strong arms grab you by the shoulders and you thrash violently, thinking that it's the draugr come to kill you. Water splashes around you in great sprays as you twist and turn, trying anything and everything to escape the draugr's dread grip.

"Calm down, child!" An old, harsh voice that you vaguely recognize orders you as hefty arms drag your struggling body from the cold waters. Through blurry, teary eyes you can make out the vague silhouette of a large, muscular figure.

The blurry figure releases you, throwing you to the wood surface of a boat you dimly recognize in the back of your mind. You scramble to your feet as the stranger seems to forget you in favor of retrieving something from the side of the boat. With your head empty of all thoughts but a burning drive to escape, you launch yourself off the side of the boat and back into the water.

Strong arms lash out and grab you by the neck of your wetsuit, clotheslining you with your own clothes. With a choking gurgle, you attempt to claw at your attacker as the strong figure pulls you back onto the boat with strange restraint.

The figure pins you to the wood of the boat. You manage to slip a hand through the iron-clad grip of your attacker to claw at their face, causing them to rear back with a grunt of pain — giving you just enough of an opportunity to escape.

"Itzabella, no!" Your attacker cries out in fear as you slip from their grip and go to fling yourself back into the waters.

The blurry figure moves. Their arms whip out to grab you by your flipper-bearing ankles, arresting your forward momentum. You swing down like a pendulum, chin colliding with the side of the boat and rattling your brain with an almighty, skull-shaking Crack!

Dazed, you can't do anything as the strong and vaguely familiar warrior hauls your limp body back onto the rocking boat and slams you against the wood floor. You feel a meaty, club-like fist slam against your jaw, keeping you dazed as they lay a palm — fingers held straight together — across your face.

You can't do anything other than lay there limply, mind doing backflips as gray-purple light fills your vision and cleanses you of taint.

Baba releases you as you're suddenly overcome with extreme nausea, doing nothing to stop you as you tear off your mask and lean over the side of the boat.

Sick, vile bile spews into the slightly choppy waves below as you throw up your lunch. Pulling yourself back onto the boat, you lean against the railing as you wipe your mouth.

Baba pats your shoulder with the same fist she hit you with, an apologetic look on her face as you breathe heavily. The corners of her eyes crease with fear and worry as she gazes down at you.

"Wha-what happened to me?" You ask, prodding the sore spots on your jaw. You just know it's going to swell up tomorrow, but better than the alternative. "And what did you do to me?"

"You'd know more than me, tygrysek. You swam up to the surface, eyes wild and full of panic. I felt the taint of foul magic surrounding you, the taste of maddening fear in the air." Old Baba softly replies, sitting down next to you with a knee drawn up to her chest. "I cast a piece of extremely advanced mental sorcery designed to both cleanse the mind of any foul effects and deny any lingering magic from latching back on. It is very useful in situations like this"

You nod, thinking back to what happened before jolting upright.

"What, what is it?" Baba jumps to her feet as you frantically whip your head around, eyes searching for the reason you came out here in the first place.

"The head! Where is it!?" You nearly scream, only to be stopped dead in your tracks by Baba holding the object of your inquiry up by its hair. The large, oversized head of Arabesh-lel Kran-komar hangs by its hair from Baba's strong hand, perfectly fine — well, as fine as a decapitated head can be.

"You dropped it when I pulled you up for the first time." You blink and feel shame creep in, shrouding your shoulders like a cape of embarrassment.

"I… I'm sorry." You whisper as you notice a thin trail of blood leaking from around Baba's right eye. The same spot that you dimly remember clawing at in your frenzied panic.

"No worries, tygrysek. You were scared so you fought." She waves off your concern with a laugh. "I heal quick, don't you worry your silly little head about me."

"I'm still sorry." You insist, but let it go. You know that you won't win against Baba.

"And that is your right, child. But, if it will make you feel better, you can tell your Baba something."
"Of course! Anything!" You're quick to promise, a bit too quick it turns out.

"Careful, child, you wouldn't want to say that to the wrong person." Baba is quick to chastise you with a waggling finger. "But, what happened to you down there?"

"Draugr, four of them." You don't need to say any more as Baba nods, an understanding hmm filtering from her throat. "Old ones, one cursed me."

"I will have to look into this more. And I can see the curse on you." She frowns, peering closer while placing glasses she materialized from somewhere on her nose. "I… would recommend refraining from getting on any more boats in the future."

"Until…?" You fish for a time limit.

"Until forever passes. Or you die, either or." She shrugs. "This is a particularly powerful curse and I am not confident I could break it without causing severe damage to you."

"Damn." You curse, scowling at the now murky waters. It seems that the spells have worn off. Just how long did you spend down there?

"Now what do we do, Itzabella?" She asks you by name.

[ ] Call it quits and go home. You've got what you needed from this venture.
[ ] Keep pushing the envelope, likely until you regret it

Spoiler: Rolls

A race against time, can Itza find the head before the draugr find her?
Itza's Roll: 49, not good
Draugr's Roll: 48, holy shit

The Draugr's Fear Aura
Resist (Mental) DC 85 (DC reduced by Itza having Ash Williams' blood): 21+5=26, failure

Itza vs Baba Wrestling Fight
Round 1
Itza: 7+15=22
Baba: 62+15=77
Round 2
Itza: 34+15=49
Baba: 42+15=57
Round 3
Itza: 75+15=90
Baba: 74+15=89
Round 4
Itza: 85+15=100
40+0=40
Baba: 95+15=110
90+10=100
64+0=64
Baba Wins

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: Christ, we've had a lot of close ones today, haven't we? This was intense!

I'm trying a new thing where I put the rolls in a spoiler at the end of the chapter, to better keep the flow from sentence to paragraph.

Voting will be called tomorrow at 5 PM CST, thanks for watching!