- Location
- Lost in Hell
I.... huh. I have literally no idea where those came from. I honestly didn't see them at any point while proofreading. Fixed!
"This is new, right?" [Reboot]
- Thread starter Solsticegelan
- Start date
- Original
1.8 A Ravenous Raven
- Location
- Lost in Hell
Why do I keep doing this. Seriously, why? I was half-tempted when I looked at "This thread is more than 5 Months old." to just reboot this again, but decided against it. I'm just starting this one up rather than both SB and SV threads, give Beatrice her time in the spotlight. I... I would apologize, but by this point, it would sound rather hollow, wouldn't it? So, here's hoping Beatrice gets to find her sister this time.
Safety comes before satisfaction. As no doubt pleasing as it would be for you to eat the rabbit raw, you would prefer not to contract a deadly disease miles from civilization, thank yourself very much. Cooking it was most certainly a viable option, especially considering your actions the previous night.
Burn it all
The hard part would be making sure there was enough rabbit left to eat. The sensation of fire flickering between your fingers, welling up from the palm of your hand… it had been euphoric, a drug onto itself that you would gladly embrace again. Watching the flames dance away from your fingers, well up around you and burn until nothing remains? If you let yourself, if you wavered, you would gladly watch the world shrivel to ash around you.
Eat until not even Ash remains.
That terrifies you.
Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to conjure the fire from your bloody palm. That little voice in the back of your mind, the one urging you on, is simply another terrifying reminder of the intensity they bring. Minutes seem like Months as you sit the rabbit between your crossed legs,
You extend both of your palms out and above the rabbit, finally ready to move on, to cook this Rabbit and fill your stomach. The smell, though, the scent of it's savory blood…
You pause, and hold one of your hands to your mouth. A single lick couldn't hurt, right?
One now less bloody but still wet hand later, you were ready.
Control Roll: 90 +1 = 91. Success beyond Success!
5 HP restored.
From your right palm rises a single, murky drop of deep red blood; in the second before it ignites from within itself, you catch but a single whiff of it, and it is intoxicating. No wonder you went so crazy when you first tried this, barely aware of the smell of blood and death. You must have been overwhelmed, both by the inner warmth and utter bliss offered by the combination of the two.
You stare at the tiny flame in your hand, so eager and willing to burn, to blaze and brighten the world so that it couldn't be snuffed out. Every flicker was a part of you, every petal of it's tongues an extension of your fingers.
Bit by bit, you ordered the flower apart, it's petals spreading to each of your fingers. For a short while, you play with the flames, trying to figure out with what method you could cook this rabbit. Boil it? Fille it?
...You're certain you used those terms wrong.
Regardless, you learn much about what you can do with the azure lotus in your hands. Ball it up, shape it like an arrow, make strings that tighten or loosen at your will. Focusing hard enough, you could make it adapt a shape if you tried, forcing it perfectly still in loose forms that remind you of a child's clay playthings.
For some reason, you can't help but make a flying bird each time.
Intelligence Roll; 67 + 7 = 74. Success!
Finally satisfied, you come up with an idea for cooking the rabbit without also burning it. Clasping both hands together, you slowly begin to stretch, latching the flame onto each of your fingers. Twisting your hands and stretching your fingers, you begin to twist each strand together, until by the end of your complicated motion, you have a series of large knots.
The Fox, who had been watching so silently you had almost forgotten about her, seems curious.
"Curious, hm?" You ask, holding your hands up. The fox's eye's follow. "Watch and learn, because I can't quite say at what point I learned such a useful skill."
And like that, you pull the knots apart, and with no small satisfaction you watch them unfurl into a loosely woven net. Now the Fox watches with what you feel to be admiration.
...Or you could be personifying a wild animal out of starvation-induced insanity.
Either way, you make sure the net is carefully lowered until it's on top of the rabbit. Smoke drifts off of it slowly, and fat begins to sizzle from the legs.Cooking it is a long, slow process, which involves the careful removal of the net as you flip the rabbit around with your feet. Halfway through your mouth waters so heavily that you're confident if you didn't keep it shut, saliva would slide out.
Finally, Mercifully, you finish your work. It is with no small regret you banish the flames, your warmth diminishing just a bit the moment you relinquish what you had already seen as another limb. Nodding to yourself, you feel the weight and gravity of the situation set in. Dangerous, those flames were. Delicious, this rabbit leg was.
And so was the second.
...And so was the third.
Without realizing it, you've shoved the rabbit up to your face, or perhaps you've shoved your face against the rabbit. The surrounding landscape blurs, as does your sense of time. All you focus on is eating the rabbit, devouring it whole. Flesh, Bone, Fur.
At some point, even words lose meaning, those things loosing definition or differentiation in your eyes. There's some part of you, screaming and growing closer, that decides to note how much better your meal might be had you kept it raw.
Soft, silent padding sounds force you to look up for a single second, to look at the Fox who now stands above you. Somehow, it seems taller than before, expectant and smug all at once.
You go back to eating, and slowly, you lose yourself. One second, you are aware that you are eating. The next, you lose even that, blackness creeping in from the corner of your eyes.
[X] Lose Yourself
[X] Embrace Yourself
[X] Fight against yourself.
-0-0-0-
Safety comes before satisfaction. As no doubt pleasing as it would be for you to eat the rabbit raw, you would prefer not to contract a deadly disease miles from civilization, thank yourself very much. Cooking it was most certainly a viable option, especially considering your actions the previous night.
Burn it all
The hard part would be making sure there was enough rabbit left to eat. The sensation of fire flickering between your fingers, welling up from the palm of your hand… it had been euphoric, a drug onto itself that you would gladly embrace again. Watching the flames dance away from your fingers, well up around you and burn until nothing remains? If you let yourself, if you wavered, you would gladly watch the world shrivel to ash around you.
Eat until not even Ash remains.
That terrifies you.
Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to conjure the fire from your bloody palm. That little voice in the back of your mind, the one urging you on, is simply another terrifying reminder of the intensity they bring. Minutes seem like Months as you sit the rabbit between your crossed legs,
You extend both of your palms out and above the rabbit, finally ready to move on, to cook this Rabbit and fill your stomach. The smell, though, the scent of it's savory blood…
You pause, and hold one of your hands to your mouth. A single lick couldn't hurt, right?
One now less bloody but still wet hand later, you were ready.
Control Roll: 90 +1 = 91. Success beyond Success!
5 HP restored.
From your right palm rises a single, murky drop of deep red blood; in the second before it ignites from within itself, you catch but a single whiff of it, and it is intoxicating. No wonder you went so crazy when you first tried this, barely aware of the smell of blood and death. You must have been overwhelmed, both by the inner warmth and utter bliss offered by the combination of the two.
You stare at the tiny flame in your hand, so eager and willing to burn, to blaze and brighten the world so that it couldn't be snuffed out. Every flicker was a part of you, every petal of it's tongues an extension of your fingers.
Bit by bit, you ordered the flower apart, it's petals spreading to each of your fingers. For a short while, you play with the flames, trying to figure out with what method you could cook this rabbit. Boil it? Fille it?
...You're certain you used those terms wrong.
Regardless, you learn much about what you can do with the azure lotus in your hands. Ball it up, shape it like an arrow, make strings that tighten or loosen at your will. Focusing hard enough, you could make it adapt a shape if you tried, forcing it perfectly still in loose forms that remind you of a child's clay playthings.
For some reason, you can't help but make a flying bird each time.
Intelligence Roll; 67 + 7 = 74. Success!
Finally satisfied, you come up with an idea for cooking the rabbit without also burning it. Clasping both hands together, you slowly begin to stretch, latching the flame onto each of your fingers. Twisting your hands and stretching your fingers, you begin to twist each strand together, until by the end of your complicated motion, you have a series of large knots.
The Fox, who had been watching so silently you had almost forgotten about her, seems curious.
"Curious, hm?" You ask, holding your hands up. The fox's eye's follow. "Watch and learn, because I can't quite say at what point I learned such a useful skill."
And like that, you pull the knots apart, and with no small satisfaction you watch them unfurl into a loosely woven net. Now the Fox watches with what you feel to be admiration.
...Or you could be personifying a wild animal out of starvation-induced insanity.
Either way, you make sure the net is carefully lowered until it's on top of the rabbit. Smoke drifts off of it slowly, and fat begins to sizzle from the legs.Cooking it is a long, slow process, which involves the careful removal of the net as you flip the rabbit around with your feet. Halfway through your mouth waters so heavily that you're confident if you didn't keep it shut, saliva would slide out.
Finally, Mercifully, you finish your work. It is with no small regret you banish the flames, your warmth diminishing just a bit the moment you relinquish what you had already seen as another limb. Nodding to yourself, you feel the weight and gravity of the situation set in. Dangerous, those flames were. Delicious, this rabbit leg was.
And so was the second.
...And so was the third.
Without realizing it, you've shoved the rabbit up to your face, or perhaps you've shoved your face against the rabbit. The surrounding landscape blurs, as does your sense of time. All you focus on is eating the rabbit, devouring it whole. Flesh, Bone, Fur.
At some point, even words lose meaning, those things loosing definition or differentiation in your eyes. There's some part of you, screaming and growing closer, that decides to note how much better your meal might be had you kept it raw.
Soft, silent padding sounds force you to look up for a single second, to look at the Fox who now stands above you. Somehow, it seems taller than before, expectant and smug all at once.
You go back to eating, and slowly, you lose yourself. One second, you are aware that you are eating. The next, you lose even that, blackness creeping in from the corner of your eyes.
[X] Lose Yourself
[X] Embrace Yourself
[X] Fight against yourself.
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- Location
- St. Petersburg
Like Laqueta's chocker, this quest returns with vengeance!
Our stats have a very miniscule effect on what is happening - it looks like most actions are decided by a die roll. It's probably not a good idea to continue relying on good luck while attempting to use the flames. I wonder if we can utilize the skills we discovered before without a roll, or if we have to roll each and every time.
[X] Fight against yourself.
No maiden of our upbringing, unknown though it is, would forget about proper manners! What would our younger siblings think if they ever find out? We'll lose the moral ground to scold them and warn them off their indecent ways!
It's just not worth it for a piece of delicious, tasty rabbit that drips with juicy flavor as you sink your teeth in the tender meat and... ahem! Not worth at all!
Our stats have a very miniscule effect on what is happening - it looks like most actions are decided by a die roll. It's probably not a good idea to continue relying on good luck while attempting to use the flames. I wonder if we can utilize the skills we discovered before without a roll, or if we have to roll each and every time.
[X] Fight against yourself.
No maiden of our upbringing, unknown though it is, would forget about proper manners! What would our younger siblings think if they ever find out? We'll lose the moral ground to scold them and warn them off their indecent ways!
It's just not worth it for a piece of delicious, tasty rabbit that drips with juicy flavor as you sink your teeth in the tender meat and... ahem! Not worth at all!
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- Location
- Lost in Hell
Ah, human spite!
...Surprisingly in character.
Coming back, I'm not altogether sure if my system actually works that well. I've been keeping requirements fairly low (30's to late 50's) because nothing's been truly difficult, save for the Blue Flames. What's intended to happen is, much like in DnD, luck will take you a certain distance but skills will make up the rest. Unfortunately, besides this update's intelligence roll, everything you've been rolling for you've had low stats in. I even rolled three ones when doing the intelligence check, so that may take that a far way. In the very least you're right on the Blue Flames front, as that's what I intended for Beatrice. Shit self-control, but the desire and knowledge that you can and should be better than this.
As for skills, like making a net out of the flames? You figure it out, or you vote for some plan of your own and success, then you don't need to roll again to figure it out.
You don't think thats ever stopped them.
With all that juicy fat? Not even remotely!
...no, no. It is. I can't lie. I've actually eaten a cooked rabbit before on one of my grandmother's anniversaries, it was oddly delicious. That might've just been the chef. Imagine what it must taste like to Beatrice?
In other news, considering it's basically just you two (and Veekie voting , As he must for literally every thread on SB and SV), I'll probably just start working on the update a short time after you both post in case someone new contributes.
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[X] Fight against yourself.
...but yes, maybe I have a problem
Almost every. Some threads have voting environments that don't work for me(too much detail) and the writing must be at least digestible!
...but yes, maybe I have a problem
- Location
- Lost in Hell
I have yet to be convinced you aren't a robot or AI.[X] Fight against yourself.
Almost every. Some threads have voting environments that don't work for me(too much detail) and the writing must be at least digestible!
...but yes, maybe I have a problem
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1.9 A Raven in Denial
- Location
- Lost in Hell
When the creeping darkness at the edge of your vision starts to encroach on the edges of your mind, when you realize your eyelids are dropping and your mind slowing, you don't stop eating. After all, if you feel tired now that you have a full stomach, what reason might you have to deny your body's urges? You're warmed, you're fed, and you're in the safety of an animal that decided to feed you.
But then, you look up, at the looming face of the fox. So close yet so far from you, it seems larger than before. Now more than ever, the human emotions on display by the Fox are all too smug for your liking. It's as though she's saying Yes, keep eating; I knew that this is what you would do. In the back of your mind, the unsaid taunt was followed by a haughty laugh, unhidden and mirthful.
For some reason, that pissed you off.
You want to stand up, to act with dignity, remove your knees and elbows from the dirt beneath the snow. But you can't feel your arms, don't know how to move your legs anymore. To stop eating would be the first step, but your mouth feels strange, sloped, like it's not yours anymore. So, you keep eating, eyelids growing heavier.
Ha.
The rabbit… it's smell is so intoxicating, the further away you get from what you cooked. It's… it's so hard to stay angry, with this smell in front of you.
Ha.
Why haven't you finished it by now? Hadn't you been going at it for such a long time that the minutes slipped away without care?
Ha.
Why is that fox still laughing?
…Haaaaaa.
No. Not like this. You were mad earlier, weren't you? Mad enough that you were willing to put aside all else. What did you forget? What's changed? It's all so hard to make out, in the haze of your mind.
Finally, it snaps into place. What you were doing, the composure you had lost. Would you really let yourself fall further? Be distracted by idle gifts obviously meant to place your attention elsewhere, a tactic frequently employed by misbehaving siblings. This wasn't exactly one of your sisters, now was it?
A plan. That's what you needed. A plan.
One moment, you're gobbling down yet another chunk of meat. The next, you allow yourself a quick, vain moment as you pause, to look up at the fox. She seems confused now, as though she didn't expect you to stop eating.
Good.
The reason you would call it a single, vain moment is simple. When the fox met you, eye to eye, you imagined your eyes igniting like dark coals when you shouted and leapt at her.
Attack: 96 + 15(AGI) +10 (Surprise) = 121. Hit!
Attack: 30 + 18(AGI) +10 (Surprise) = 58. Hit!
Damage: Hit 1, 20 Damage (5*4). Hit 2, 20 Damage (5*4). Total: 40 Damage.
Something isn't right, though. You can't hear your shriek, only the nearby crowing of a bird. A loud, vengeful shriek, befitting your sudden retaliation. Far more correct in your eyes are your talons, cutting across the Fox's face as your wings explode into motion.
You aim for the eyes.
With a shrill yip, the fox leaps backwards, it's face now marred by your talon marks. But… that's not right either, is it? You don't have talons, or claws, or wings… you have feet, and hands, and arms, not…. Not…
No, deal with that later. You're rage incarnate now, against the fox that still seems far too large for her kind. You feel blood dripping from your feet, fur dropping down. You try to cry out again, but it's overpowered once more by whatever bird it is that's screeching bloody murder.
You tried tricking me! You wish to declare, leaping up. Your wings flap as you prepare to dive. In some cruel, hateful way I have yet to understand!
Yet all that you hear is the nonstop cawing. It fuels your rage, your desire for something to be at the receiving end of some punishment for once in the short span you would dare care your life.
Attack: 25 + 14(AGI) = 39, Miss.
The fox tries running, dashing off into the forest. You don't give up your chase, claw and snatching at her, but she shakes you off. She's too fast, too nimble, using the trees as cover because you can't fly well through them.
Why are you flying? How are you flying? That's not the why things are supposed to be. You're supposed to be kicking her, punching her, not tearing her to bloody pieces. Even if your anger calls for it, your mindy is too foggy to say for sure.
Cmon, Beatrice. Shake it off.
There's a proper way to this.
You won't give in.
This isn't right, isn't natural. You need to do things…
…properly.
With a silent crack, you're descending, falling on top of the fox, and you have just enough grace to try kicking it, sending snow flying in every direction. Your erstwhile foe, however, slides away, breaking out for a mad dash further into the forest.
You stand there for a second, watching her run away, tracks clearly visible. She doesn't stop, not even to look back, as she vanishes in the distance. That's good, because you're sure that your body is shaking, your mind a swirling mess. You wait for a sign that the fox will come back, try to smell it now that it's hurt, but find nothing.
A full minute later, you collapse in a heap where you stand, confident she won't return.
You don't realize you're holding your breath until you let it go, the sigh of relief transforming into a series of half-strangled hiccups. A hand to your lip as you hiccup reveals to you lips, your lips, not whatever it was that happened to them earlier. You fingers, and not your wingtips.
The hiccups transform into full on hysterical laughter as you lie there.
"Never again!" You choke out between laughter. It's not a good laughter, not anymore. It's the kind people who've snapped let out before they do something dangerous. "Never again." You affirm to yourself. The words feel odd, as though you suddenly needed to reacquaint yourself with your voice.
The bird's cries no longer fill the quiet forest.
Now, it's just filled by your laughter and your tears.
A long time later, you've calmed yourself down. Your head's not choked by mist, not lost in a hazy swirl of chaos and confusion. You can barely remember what you did once you started to eat, only the vague horror of what happened afterwards, the total lack of understanding. It was awe inspiring, honestly.
"How pathetic am I?" You mutter to yourself. "I'm a role model. I'm a full grown woman. Is that why I was abandoned up here? It had to have been intentional. That and those blue flames… I must be a monster of some sort."
"I must be."
Now began the process of piecing together your thoughts. You shivered as you went through them, one by one, and this time it wasn't because of the cold. On the soles of your shoes, there wasn't a single trace of blood, and that might've been enough to convince you the entire event was imagined. The red trail leading to where you sat, however, did a good job dissuading you.
Remembering the imaginary laugh filled you with a rage that you quashed, one that you now deemed improper and dangerous. Would the you of a week ago approve of your actions? The one who might understand who you are? Who might understand a single ounce of what had happened? Why you could pick through the dreamy haze of today, but not the black sea of yesterday?
Maybe you just liked waxing poetic.
You pause in your thoughts as you realize what one of the loose thoughts from your hasty feast was.
"I have sisters?" You whisper to yourself. You can't help it. You smile. "I... I have sisters!"
You can't help yourself. You start to cry again.
This time, you know why.
But then, you look up, at the looming face of the fox. So close yet so far from you, it seems larger than before. Now more than ever, the human emotions on display by the Fox are all too smug for your liking. It's as though she's saying Yes, keep eating; I knew that this is what you would do. In the back of your mind, the unsaid taunt was followed by a haughty laugh, unhidden and mirthful.
For some reason, that pissed you off.
You want to stand up, to act with dignity, remove your knees and elbows from the dirt beneath the snow. But you can't feel your arms, don't know how to move your legs anymore. To stop eating would be the first step, but your mouth feels strange, sloped, like it's not yours anymore. So, you keep eating, eyelids growing heavier.
Ha.
The rabbit… it's smell is so intoxicating, the further away you get from what you cooked. It's… it's so hard to stay angry, with this smell in front of you.
Ha.
Why haven't you finished it by now? Hadn't you been going at it for such a long time that the minutes slipped away without care?
Ha.
Why is that fox still laughing?
…Haaaaaa.
No. Not like this. You were mad earlier, weren't you? Mad enough that you were willing to put aside all else. What did you forget? What's changed? It's all so hard to make out, in the haze of your mind.
Finally, it snaps into place. What you were doing, the composure you had lost. Would you really let yourself fall further? Be distracted by idle gifts obviously meant to place your attention elsewhere, a tactic frequently employed by misbehaving siblings. This wasn't exactly one of your sisters, now was it?
A plan. That's what you needed. A plan.
One moment, you're gobbling down yet another chunk of meat. The next, you allow yourself a quick, vain moment as you pause, to look up at the fox. She seems confused now, as though she didn't expect you to stop eating.
Good.
The reason you would call it a single, vain moment is simple. When the fox met you, eye to eye, you imagined your eyes igniting like dark coals when you shouted and leapt at her.
Attack: 96 + 15(AGI) +10 (Surprise) = 121. Hit!
Attack: 30 + 18(AGI) +10 (Surprise) = 58. Hit!
Damage: Hit 1, 20 Damage (5*4). Hit 2, 20 Damage (5*4). Total: 40 Damage.
Something isn't right, though. You can't hear your shriek, only the nearby crowing of a bird. A loud, vengeful shriek, befitting your sudden retaliation. Far more correct in your eyes are your talons, cutting across the Fox's face as your wings explode into motion.
You aim for the eyes.
With a shrill yip, the fox leaps backwards, it's face now marred by your talon marks. But… that's not right either, is it? You don't have talons, or claws, or wings… you have feet, and hands, and arms, not…. Not…
No, deal with that later. You're rage incarnate now, against the fox that still seems far too large for her kind. You feel blood dripping from your feet, fur dropping down. You try to cry out again, but it's overpowered once more by whatever bird it is that's screeching bloody murder.
You tried tricking me! You wish to declare, leaping up. Your wings flap as you prepare to dive. In some cruel, hateful way I have yet to understand!
Yet all that you hear is the nonstop cawing. It fuels your rage, your desire for something to be at the receiving end of some punishment for once in the short span you would dare care your life.
Attack: 25 + 14(AGI) = 39, Miss.
The fox tries running, dashing off into the forest. You don't give up your chase, claw and snatching at her, but she shakes you off. She's too fast, too nimble, using the trees as cover because you can't fly well through them.
Why are you flying? How are you flying? That's not the why things are supposed to be. You're supposed to be kicking her, punching her, not tearing her to bloody pieces. Even if your anger calls for it, your mindy is too foggy to say for sure.
Cmon, Beatrice. Shake it off.
There's a proper way to this.
You won't give in.
This isn't right, isn't natural. You need to do things…
…properly.
With a silent crack, you're descending, falling on top of the fox, and you have just enough grace to try kicking it, sending snow flying in every direction. Your erstwhile foe, however, slides away, breaking out for a mad dash further into the forest.
You stand there for a second, watching her run away, tracks clearly visible. She doesn't stop, not even to look back, as she vanishes in the distance. That's good, because you're sure that your body is shaking, your mind a swirling mess. You wait for a sign that the fox will come back, try to smell it now that it's hurt, but find nothing.
A full minute later, you collapse in a heap where you stand, confident she won't return.
You don't realize you're holding your breath until you let it go, the sigh of relief transforming into a series of half-strangled hiccups. A hand to your lip as you hiccup reveals to you lips, your lips, not whatever it was that happened to them earlier. You fingers, and not your wingtips.
The hiccups transform into full on hysterical laughter as you lie there.
"Never again!" You choke out between laughter. It's not a good laughter, not anymore. It's the kind people who've snapped let out before they do something dangerous. "Never again." You affirm to yourself. The words feel odd, as though you suddenly needed to reacquaint yourself with your voice.
The bird's cries no longer fill the quiet forest.
Now, it's just filled by your laughter and your tears.
-0-0-0-
A long time later, you've calmed yourself down. Your head's not choked by mist, not lost in a hazy swirl of chaos and confusion. You can barely remember what you did once you started to eat, only the vague horror of what happened afterwards, the total lack of understanding. It was awe inspiring, honestly.
"How pathetic am I?" You mutter to yourself. "I'm a role model. I'm a full grown woman. Is that why I was abandoned up here? It had to have been intentional. That and those blue flames… I must be a monster of some sort."
"I must be."
Now began the process of piecing together your thoughts. You shivered as you went through them, one by one, and this time it wasn't because of the cold. On the soles of your shoes, there wasn't a single trace of blood, and that might've been enough to convince you the entire event was imagined. The red trail leading to where you sat, however, did a good job dissuading you.
Remembering the imaginary laugh filled you with a rage that you quashed, one that you now deemed improper and dangerous. Would the you of a week ago approve of your actions? The one who might understand who you are? Who might understand a single ounce of what had happened? Why you could pick through the dreamy haze of today, but not the black sea of yesterday?
Maybe you just liked waxing poetic.
You pause in your thoughts as you realize what one of the loose thoughts from your hasty feast was.
"I have sisters?" You whisper to yourself. You can't help it. You smile. "I... I have sisters!"
You can't help yourself. You start to cry again.
This time, you know why.
-0-0-0-
Days later, you're no longer a mess crying into the snow. You're determined to leave this mountain for good. Now, you have a way out - the Fox's tracks. They hadn't faded, and even if they had, you were confident in your skill to track them down.
The Fox hadn't been up here when you arrived, or else you would've found her. Neither had the rabbit she used as a trap - for what else could it have been? To make you loose yourself like that? For her to get up here, she had to have found a safe path. For the fox to know to ensnare you, it had to know you.
You had to find the fox, figure out what the blue flames were, and you had to find your sisters. You had goals now, goals beyond "Know who I am", though that was no less important.
It doesn't take that long to find the end of the Fox's tracks, leading into a brown thicket of thorns, growing high against the mountain's wall. They don't look like you could easily slip past them, or even like you could crawl throw them. Fighting through them would take time and effort away from you for a goal you weren't sure you could meet.
A bit of fire removes that dilemma.
Kneeling in the burning underbrush, the smallest of smiles creeps onto your face. It's because in front of you there lies a fairly large crack in the stone, descending downward - and from it comes a small draft, feeding the fading fire at your feet.
Hold on tight, world.
Beatrice was coming.
The Fox hadn't been up here when you arrived, or else you would've found her. Neither had the rabbit she used as a trap - for what else could it have been? To make you loose yourself like that? For her to get up here, she had to have found a safe path. For the fox to know to ensnare you, it had to know you.
You had to find the fox, figure out what the blue flames were, and you had to find your sisters. You had goals now, goals beyond "Know who I am", though that was no less important.
It doesn't take that long to find the end of the Fox's tracks, leading into a brown thicket of thorns, growing high against the mountain's wall. They don't look like you could easily slip past them, or even like you could crawl throw them. Fighting through them would take time and effort away from you for a goal you weren't sure you could meet.
A bit of fire removes that dilemma.
Kneeling in the burning underbrush, the smallest of smiles creeps onto your face. It's because in front of you there lies a fairly large crack in the stone, descending downward - and from it comes a small draft, feeding the fading fire at your feet.
Hold on tight, world.
Beatrice was coming.
-Part 1, The Raven-
-End-
-End-
You have denied a part of yourself. Until this changes, you have lost the hidden skill Metamorphosis.
Congratulations! You have gained a fear of giving in to your instincts!
You have regained 10 Hp. You have regained 5 Hp.
Behold me. BEHOLD ME AND MY TIMELY UPDATES! HUG THE FLUFFY BIRD DAMMIT!Why must you make it cry? I have no idea what kind of mood whiplash hell this update is going to be. Or how well it ended up being written. Ah, well... we're moving on to big things. Characters! A conversation with someone who isn't you! Friends that don't feed you and then you try to murder them! ONWARD TO ARC TWO!
...I should've mentioned that this was the end of an arc, shouldn't I? Ah well. No matter the choice, you were leaving the mountain - what mattered was how. How much trauma. Know what that means it's time for, kids?
What does your little eye spy?
[] Interlude: Dove II.
[] Interlude: The Traveler and his companion.
[] Interlude: Fox.
Congratulations! You have gained a fear of giving in to your instincts!
You have regained 10 Hp. You have regained 5 Hp.
Behold me. BEHOLD ME AND MY TIMELY UPDATES! HUG THE FLUFFY BIRD DAMMIT!Why must you make it cry? I have no idea what kind of mood whiplash hell this update is going to be. Or how well it ended up being written. Ah, well... we're moving on to big things. Characters! A conversation with someone who isn't you! Friends that don't feed you and then you try to murder them! ONWARD TO ARC TWO!
...I should've mentioned that this was the end of an arc, shouldn't I? Ah well. No matter the choice, you were leaving the mountain - what mattered was how. How much trauma. Know what that means it's time for, kids?
What does your little eye spy?
[] Interlude: Dove II.
[] Interlude: The Traveler and his companion.
[] Interlude: Fox.
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- Location
- St. Petersburg
The font size is different from other rolls.
Well, that escalated quickly. It was also quite a leap in logic. If we don't understand the trick, how come we are so sure there was one?
Eh, serves her right for being smug. *caws spitefully*
Was it now? It makes me feel a bit better, but Beatrice is not exactly at her most reliable right now, and the thought didn't follow from the things she logically knows. That we can't sense Foxy's blood with our power - imlying she may be an outsider just like us, - doesn't put me at ease either.
If she is 'alternate reality sister', doesn't she count as one?
Edit: oh, looks like I raised the same question with Laqueta half a year ago. Is Bea in denial as well?
At least you are having fun.
Not fair! It's hard to properly savour the suffering if we don't know the reasons for it.
[X] Interlude: Fox.
Yeah, can we see what this entire prologue was about?
Edit:
I wonder how many quests can boast congratulating the readers on growing more afraid of something.
Last edited:
- Location
- Lost in Hell
The proper answer is you aren't, and that it was a massive leap in logic, just like you said. As far as Beatrice is concerned, the "trick" was making her loose control of herself.
*Preening Caw*
The answer behind this is simple. Probably. The answer is that she is unreliable as fuck like that and I probably should've added more lines that didn't follow up - though this one was dredged up from her memories, because a certain foxy sister of hers (among others) enjoyed that tactic. So it was less follow up and more subconscious conjunction.
Luckily, Beatrice knows it can't be her sister. Her sister isn't a fox, after all.
I'll leave the rest of the blood stuff alone.
The suffering bit... the suffering bit would've gone a bit like this.
Embrace it: "Oh, I'm a bird now. Neat!!Watch me do air tricks, Fox Friend! Bye bye!"
No suffering, no half-mad rambling, nothing new Gained.
Loose yourself would've been full on bird-brain rambling, and a close repeat of what happened in the first quest. Consequences would be minimal, you'd distrust the fox, and treat being a bird like you do the fire.
Interlude - Fox
- Location
- Lost in Hell
Interlude
The Fox
The Fox
When you first woke up, it was in the middle of a rain forest, and you screamed because you were covered in ants. Then you screamed because it turned out they were fire ants, and you were on top of their nest. At some point, you started screaming because you didn't know who you were or what you had done to deserve this.
Eventually, that turned into dry heaving and vomit.
When you woke up the second time, it was in the middle of a clearing you had burned down, each tree seemingly cut down carefully and with a knife.You had no bites or welts on any part of your body.
The first time you met one of your sisters, it was after you had found some happiness. You had made new friends, and settled down as an assistant in a great city's library. You had thought yourself to be in your rightful place, an environment suited to you.
You never saw the scythe coming.
The first time you died, it was at the cost of a place you loved - because when you came to, the library was gone, as was the kindly old woman who had taken mercy on you.
The first time you ran away from a place you thought you could call home was when another of your sisters turned the entire city against you. Politics? Simple words? Magic? You never learned.
It took you two years to piece things together, putting together what you knew from the start with what you half remember in between running from place to place. You beat monsters, both beast and men alike, with your knives. You made friends, and twice you even though they might settle down again.
The first time you met your sisters with the knowledge that they were more than faceless hunters, they smiled and killed you again.
A very long time later, you met a sister who didn't wear a mask, and who didn't try killing you on sight. You got along amazingly, and together you started to piece more and more together. You shared stories, and helped each other remember.
Your other sisters couldn't have that.
The first time the sister you cared about tried to kill you, wearing a mask, you realized what their truth was.
The first time she succeeded, it was already too late for them to stop your plan.
-0-0-0-
The first time in her memory Laqueta met you, you were sad to say it wasn't in your own body, much less in the same timeframe you were first alive. She was in the middle of a forest, already bouncing around and throwing her choker about, trying to get rid of it. Sadly, getting rid of it wasn't so simple.
She was excited. She already knew she had sisters, a mother, and even could recall your shared home. Unfortunately, she didn't realize you were one of those sisters, just that you were a fox who guided her to a nearby town.
She didn't know about the wolves you had chased away from her in her sleep.
It was odd, watching her run from place to place. She figured out she could heal from a great deal incredibly fast. She acquired friends and allies at an astonishing rate - most of whom you found disturbing, for one reason or another. You first thought upon seeing the mage you would kindly refer to as a "Couger" was "Please tell me that's not what I'm going to be like when I'm that age.'
Laqueta didn't care. You watched her treat people like friends, and like family, no matter what. It was too pure and precious for your heart. The fluff could blot out the sun.
You even managed to help her kill a dragon that had begun terrorizing the town, some poisonous thing that was a crossbreed of a wyvern and it's nobler kin. The reaction of the adventurers that showed up days later with their caravan when they found out a barely teenaged girl and a fox killed their bounty was incredible.
Then your sister and your body came. You were forced to run, though you tried to keep watch as the town was burned and they used the trust Laqueta had found in you to trick her.
The first time Beatrice could remember meeting you, she tried killing you.
-0-0-0-
From high above, you watch Beatrice storm out of the cave, and out onto the mountain. There is no better adjective for how she appeared; her normally restrained temperament, already legendary, is clearly being elevated beyond it's normal measures by…. Something.
You're just lucky that she had followed your tracks. Already a storm had come again, dark clouds building on the horizon and swelling about the mountain's peak, hurling snow with reckless abandon upon her path.
Beatrice quite obviously didn't care about the cold. Perhaps she was angry that she could no longer follow you off the mountain? No, it wasn't that. It was something more - besides, she was already moving down the mountain.
Silently, you followed behind her. It seemed as good a time as any to review what had happened.
Your plan to get her off of the mountain, and quickly, had failed. Tricking her into standing atop a snowplume might have been a dirty trick, but you prefered to compare it to a bird learning how to fly rather than anything nasty.
For all the haunted gazes she used to give you whenever you asked her how she learned to fly, you had long ago concluded that being thrown from great heights might indeed have been the method Mother used.
Unfortunately, she hadn't once come close to the edge of the cliff. Luckily,your lure had also been your backup plan. Freshly killed, there was no way Beatrice would resist eating it, especially when starved. She would start eating, and in her hunger, change shape - thus giving her an instinctive, natural way off the mountain.
It looked like that avenue had been shut down hard as well. You'd run, of course - wouldn't do to let one of your last stolen shells to die. You made sure you left behind tracks for her to follow. It wouldn't get her away from the mountain as fast as flight would, but it would do.
You just had to figure out where you went wrong. It wasn't everyday you got to watch her break down and cry several times in a row.
Speaking of that, however...
With no small amusement do you watch her anger sputter and fall as her hair is whipped into her face, forcing her to try to shove it back into place. Silly Beatrice, hadn't you noticed that it would have taken care of itself in but a few moments? Already it's pristine again.
You missed hair.
...Fur didn't count. It technically wasn't even yours.
Beatrice glanced behind her now, already a quarter of the way to safety, as though she knew she was being watched. It was impossible, of course - this body wasn't even alive. She had no way of smelling you, and even if she did, she wouldn't see you unless you wanted her to. Especially not with the heavy snowfall.
After all, Ghosts couldn't be seen unless they wanted to be.
All the way down you follow her, the sky above growing darker. You wished you hadn't needed to abandon Laqueta, still chased by Eden. She was fine, though. She had gotten away again - that's what you needed to tell yourself. There was little you could have done for her but watch, because no more would she need you to guide wolves away from her unconscious body. No more would she need you to subtly guide her to safety. She could defend herself now, and you couldn't.
You still should've stayed with her. But your body had separated itself from Eden, had known where to find Beatrice - in fact, half of the kingdom might, considering how brightly she had lit up the sky.
You can't help but feel as though you've only worsened things for Beatrice. There's a madness in her eyes now, one that you can't do anything to calm.
You're in the final stretch of your shared trek. The mountain's at it's widest, and though she might take a long tumble should she misstep, Beatrice is fine from here on out. You need to run now, and keep your distance from her - find Laqueta, and work out some plan. You should've left Beatrice hours ago.
It's a miracle that your body hasn't found you yet, this close to her prey. If she does, she wouldn't just be a Body Thief any more… though even now, it wouldn't be right to call her that.
You stop in place to watch Beatrice once again. She's paused, and is staring down the mountain, and at how far she needs to walk. It takes her a single second of hesitation to jump, and then she's sliding down the mountain . It's quite a sight to watch, unsteady on her feet, snow trailing behind her. Her hair, and her dress, make it hard to miss her as she rapidly descends. From this distance, it's easy to miss the white streak in her hair.
Has she noticed it yet? If she hadn't, that meant you might be around to see the fallout of it again… though she might think it was natural. If she did, there went the greatest prank of the century. You can see the smoke now, the entire thing in flames. The collaborative effort of four young girls, forgotten. The work required to permanently dye the roots white vanished into the ether.
...That's really how you're going to leave your sister? Lamenting the fact she wouldn't remember a prank? You couldn't even remember that she was your sister a few short years ago.
No, that wouldn't do at all.
Good luck, Sister. You think, turning away from her. You'll need it far more than me.
-0-0-0-
Miles away, calmly walking through the snow, was a woman dressed all in orange, an ornate but simple mask resembling the visage of a fox adorning her face. Rather unfortunately, an onlooker couldn't tell where she might be looking, for the mask contained a deep black glass covering over the eyes - through which no light passed, in or out.
Fortunately, you wouldn't be hard pressed to guess that she looked upward, towards the mountain's peaks. Not a hint of blue remained in the sky, and the cap of the mountain itself was no longer visible.
Her lips, painted a bright and rosy red, twisted into a smile. Her teeth were a pearly white, her skin a blemishless olive. In her hands she played with knives, blades made to cut and bleed and little else. They were effortlessly juggled from finger to finger, each one smooth and without a trace of a cut or scar. She looked as though she belonged in a painting of some noblewoman, a fictitious story instead of reality.
"Soon." She purred. "Soon, I'll have you to tell me what I can't remember, and what our sisters can't say."
And like that, she vanished back into the snow.
And that's the interlude! Technically two interludes, since I basically wrote the first and second half separately as different versions of this interlude and felt they transitioned into one another well enough. As a bonus, you now figured out exactly how crazy Beatrice was in her logical leaps, and what Laqueta was up to before she started getting relentlessly chased!
Another update will be up tomorrow with actual votes available.
Are ya ready, kids?
Another update will be up tomorrow with actual votes available.
Are ya ready, kids?
Last edited:
- Location
- St. Petersburg
A capital B is missing. Also, how would hair getting in your face take care of itself? As far as I see, she isn't angry because it got dirty or sweaty, but because it obscures her view and gets in the way. Magic does nothing to fix that.
Wait, we were tricked into standing atop a snowplume? How? When was that?
The phrasing repeats itself. Also, what is she talking about? Isn't it the first time that she met Beatrice? When would she ask her how she learned?
I get that there is some Multiverse shenanigans going on, with parallel timelines, dying 'for the first time' etc., but I thought 'the first time you met Beatrice, she tried killing you' referred to the last update. Is Bea trying to kill Foxy in every alternate universe? That's harsh.
Yeah, screw you too! *cawing intensifies*
So, it looks like the girls (some of them?) are split into Bodies/Body Snatchers and Spirits/Souls/what-have you. And the bodies seek to reunite with the spirits... forcefully at that.
Meanwhile the 'spirits' get reborn and forget everything as they die. The goals of both parties are unknown, but supposedly run contrary to each other.
Beatrice is lucky to still have both intact, but her mind is going places right now. Oh joy!
- Location
- Lost in Hell
Magic does fix that, actually. It falls under the same bullshittium "KEEP IT THE SAME!" as her clothes.
You weren't - it was her first plan, and you never decided to trust her enough to sit or walk over next to her when she was on the cliffs edge....which was actually a snowplume. She laments that it didnt work in this paragraph. Maybe I should've clarified it.
I've changed the phrasing now. Apparently I rewrote that line so many times I glazed past it. As for the "First time" she's met beatrice... eh, that's probably my fault. I'll change the phrasing, cause its supposed to represent that beatrice can't remember her. I'll change those lines to "The first time Beatrice remembered meeting you" and all. As for when?
Please take a moment to imagine a fluffy, 6 year old Kit asking a prebuscent Beatrice how she learned to fly, at which point she promptly gazed off into the distance like she was a Vietnam veteran.
Again, my fault for how I decided to write it. The fact that you're oddly on point with the multiverse stuff is making me laugh though... especially since you're applying it to the wrong stuff. Kit just decided to talk about her memorable firsts, and a lot of those happened to involve her "death".
*MEANWHILE, IN AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE!*
I love it when you get really close to what's going on and then jump elsewhere with your conclusions.
Technically you already broke it.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
Who doesn't like reminiscing about their first death?
I think Bea is not the only one damaged.
Well, it's just throwing a bunch of guesses around. Something funny is going on with memories, and the Snatcher!Fox is hunting someone specifically for them. All of our heroines emerged without memories first, and have trouble recovering them. Some of them lost their initial bodies and are borrowing dead husks (?), so death is not much of a deterrent to what's happening.
I don't know how to fit everything together, so I just mash the puzzle pieces against each other trying to see what sticks.
Breaking the cutie adds charm points! Shame it isn't a stat. Besides,Technically you already broke it.
That was pretty badass. There are quite a few dilemmas that could stand to be removed with a bit of fire.
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2.1 New Sights, Old Woes
- Location
- Lost in Hell
You were an unstoppable object, a force of nature given shape. There was nothing that could stop you, and if something did, you would remove it.
Ah, if only that were the truth.
In reality, you were horribly lost in a place you had never been before and had no idea if you were walking in circles or not. Just like your first night a scarce few days ago, a storm raged without mercy, It was making you tired of the snow and the cold faster than you thought possible - especially with how harshly it whipped against your eyes.
Hours ago, you left the mountain. Perhaps you would visit it again some day, though you sincerely doubted that you ever would unless you had missed some hidden, vital clue as to your origins. Or maybe rightful vengeance, who knew.
Since your departure, you had discovered odd things about yourself, to put it lightly. In an attempt to stop your dresses many folds and drapes from fluttering far behind you, you had ordered it to stop out loud. Perhaps it had been born out of frustrations, perhaps because of some fraying part of your mind has begun personifying your clothing - but the end result was the same.
It stopped fluttering in the wind. Ever since you had shouted, your dress moved, yes - but only in response to your movements. The wind, the snow - it had absolutely no effect on your dress. It's as though the rest of the world, upon hearing your order, had decided not even acknowledge the existence of your dress. Or perhaps it was the other way around? Your dress, refusing the rest of the world?
There was an obvious alternative explanation to that, of course. You could be going insane, walking beneath trees that towered above you, a sunless sky forming the roof of your sanity's grave. But that was traitorous thinking, the type that would only ensure you truly did go insane.
All you had to do was ignore the shapes in the snow. That was easy enough, wasn't it? The swirling forms in the snow, clumping together just enough to form the outlines of people, to suggest that there was something there. Walking besides you, towards you, and away from you - the ghostly wraiths made of nothing were just that.
Nothing.
So what? If you couldn't help but see detail in their faces, then it was just the snow forming lines that you thought resembled such. Just like seeing people in the clouds, or the future in your tea - pure imagination.
You're already quieting the treacherous, reasonable part of your brain that's trying to say that you shouldn't need to question these shapes if you were sane.
...Wait, dammit. Mutinous thoughts! You would upturn them like leaves in the fall!
Cresting a snow covered hill, you're greeted by a river, wide and frozen solid. It had clearly not stopped itself without a fight - the ice looked as though someone had taken a hammer to it's surface, beating until all of it was cracked and broken. it If the sun were shining, it would probably have been a spectacle worth seeing - a gigantic pane of glass, glittering in the daylight.
Now, though, it was a much colder sight. You could see underneath the ice, at the distant rushing waters that still moved beneath it. They looked still, and sounded silent, but what reason would they have to stop?
Before you can even think of moving on, you freeze, one of your hallucinatory figures staring straight at you. It stands in the middle of the river, and the longer you stare, the more defined it starts to become.
Frowning, you start to wonder if you really have gone insane. Now this sole, snowy outline seems familiar, as though it's trying to dredge up a distant memory - one you can't even begin to pull up.
Then, the figure starts to move, and your breath catches itself in your throat.
What does the figure now resemble?
[] A child, unsteadily notching a bow for the first time.
[] A young woman, holding a sword with caution.
[] A feeling of warmth, of motherly love gone cold.
You think you finally feel cold again, and it's not because your warmth has left you. To be honest, your body's temperature might be rising. With your every breath you're creating large clouds of steam, so much so you almost remind yourself of a dragon.
It's a different sort of coldness. The type that comes from loneliness. Nothing had changed for hours, and you doubted it would for hours yet to come - the mountains behind you, the blizzard above, and the trees ahead. The river joined the mountains a long while ago.
You count your blessings, because no longer do the ghostly snow wraith's haunt your vision.
It's enough to make you wonder, though. When you woke up and looked out at the forest, now on the opposite side of the mountain, you never once saw a single sign of human habitation. When you finally climbed down, you just picked a direction and started walking.
Had you passed a town, a village, or a city? Had you passed by one of your sisters? Could you ever know? And would anything break up the monotony of the now boring landscape?
You had your limits, and they were fast approaching.
Snow, Hill, Snow, rock, Snow,Tree. That's how it went. You were never made for this much of one thing - you've even taken to humming the word under your breath. It quickly lost all meaning.
"Is it too much to ask for even a single change?" You ask. Your breath rises upwards, twirling and spiraling about. "Or would that result in some cascading series of events in which I lose what few memories I still have?"
You would give anything for a warm drink right now. You'd give almost anything to stop occasionally speaking aloud, only the wind's howls to answer you.
Then, without warning or any grandstanding, you swear you can smell blood. You swallow the saliva already forming in your mouth as you frown. Something was just killed nearby.
But what and why?
It could be normal people, hunters or hermits killing an animal. However, as the old saying went…
The man who lets ivy choke his trees without care is ignorant, but the man who fails to cut it down will himself be choked.
What do you do?
[] Investigate the smell
[] Keep close tabs on the body and move closer to it.
[] Ignore it and move on. It'll probably slow you down.
[] It could be that Fox again. You should try to ambush or trap it.
[] Write in
Ah, if only that were the truth.
In reality, you were horribly lost in a place you had never been before and had no idea if you were walking in circles or not. Just like your first night a scarce few days ago, a storm raged without mercy, It was making you tired of the snow and the cold faster than you thought possible - especially with how harshly it whipped against your eyes.
Hours ago, you left the mountain. Perhaps you would visit it again some day, though you sincerely doubted that you ever would unless you had missed some hidden, vital clue as to your origins. Or maybe rightful vengeance, who knew.
Since your departure, you had discovered odd things about yourself, to put it lightly. In an attempt to stop your dresses many folds and drapes from fluttering far behind you, you had ordered it to stop out loud. Perhaps it had been born out of frustrations, perhaps because of some fraying part of your mind has begun personifying your clothing - but the end result was the same.
It stopped fluttering in the wind. Ever since you had shouted, your dress moved, yes - but only in response to your movements. The wind, the snow - it had absolutely no effect on your dress. It's as though the rest of the world, upon hearing your order, had decided not even acknowledge the existence of your dress. Or perhaps it was the other way around? Your dress, refusing the rest of the world?
There was an obvious alternative explanation to that, of course. You could be going insane, walking beneath trees that towered above you, a sunless sky forming the roof of your sanity's grave. But that was traitorous thinking, the type that would only ensure you truly did go insane.
All you had to do was ignore the shapes in the snow. That was easy enough, wasn't it? The swirling forms in the snow, clumping together just enough to form the outlines of people, to suggest that there was something there. Walking besides you, towards you, and away from you - the ghostly wraiths made of nothing were just that.
Nothing.
So what? If you couldn't help but see detail in their faces, then it was just the snow forming lines that you thought resembled such. Just like seeing people in the clouds, or the future in your tea - pure imagination.
You're already quieting the treacherous, reasonable part of your brain that's trying to say that you shouldn't need to question these shapes if you were sane.
...Wait, dammit. Mutinous thoughts! You would upturn them like leaves in the fall!
Cresting a snow covered hill, you're greeted by a river, wide and frozen solid. It had clearly not stopped itself without a fight - the ice looked as though someone had taken a hammer to it's surface, beating until all of it was cracked and broken. it If the sun were shining, it would probably have been a spectacle worth seeing - a gigantic pane of glass, glittering in the daylight.
Now, though, it was a much colder sight. You could see underneath the ice, at the distant rushing waters that still moved beneath it. They looked still, and sounded silent, but what reason would they have to stop?
Before you can even think of moving on, you freeze, one of your hallucinatory figures staring straight at you. It stands in the middle of the river, and the longer you stare, the more defined it starts to become.
Frowning, you start to wonder if you really have gone insane. Now this sole, snowy outline seems familiar, as though it's trying to dredge up a distant memory - one you can't even begin to pull up.
Then, the figure starts to move, and your breath catches itself in your throat.
What does the figure now resemble?
[] A child, unsteadily notching a bow for the first time.
[] A young woman, holding a sword with caution.
[] A feeling of warmth, of motherly love gone cold.
-0-0-0-
You think you finally feel cold again, and it's not because your warmth has left you. To be honest, your body's temperature might be rising. With your every breath you're creating large clouds of steam, so much so you almost remind yourself of a dragon.
It's a different sort of coldness. The type that comes from loneliness. Nothing had changed for hours, and you doubted it would for hours yet to come - the mountains behind you, the blizzard above, and the trees ahead. The river joined the mountains a long while ago.
You count your blessings, because no longer do the ghostly snow wraith's haunt your vision.
It's enough to make you wonder, though. When you woke up and looked out at the forest, now on the opposite side of the mountain, you never once saw a single sign of human habitation. When you finally climbed down, you just picked a direction and started walking.
Had you passed a town, a village, or a city? Had you passed by one of your sisters? Could you ever know? And would anything break up the monotony of the now boring landscape?
You had your limits, and they were fast approaching.
Snow, Hill, Snow, rock, Snow,Tree. That's how it went. You were never made for this much of one thing - you've even taken to humming the word under your breath. It quickly lost all meaning.
"Is it too much to ask for even a single change?" You ask. Your breath rises upwards, twirling and spiraling about. "Or would that result in some cascading series of events in which I lose what few memories I still have?"
You would give anything for a warm drink right now. You'd give almost anything to stop occasionally speaking aloud, only the wind's howls to answer you.
Then, without warning or any grandstanding, you swear you can smell blood. You swallow the saliva already forming in your mouth as you frown. Something was just killed nearby.
But what and why?
It could be normal people, hunters or hermits killing an animal. However, as the old saying went…
The man who lets ivy choke his trees without care is ignorant, but the man who fails to cut it down will himself be choked.
What do you do?
[] Investigate the smell
[] Keep close tabs on the body and move closer to it.
[] Ignore it and move on. It'll probably slow you down.
[] It could be that Fox again. You should try to ambush or trap it.
[] Write in
I realized I should start doing a thing more often. That thing? Cultural difference! Metaphors and similes!
Expect lots of plant metaphors. ALL OF THEM. I'm even going to retroactively add them in, once I get around to making all those edits I talk about.
...Why yes, I HAVE been reading lots of Cosmere stories, why do you ask?
There's also the more atypical quest format that SV'ers use, of "Mid-story vote, next update contains that as well", which is what I'm using here now… for a while, at least. See how that works. Expect chapters to get progressively longer as new stuff starts cropping up! Why yes, I know I've been saying that for the past several updates.
Expect lots of plant metaphors. ALL OF THEM. I'm even going to retroactively add them in, once I get around to making all those edits I talk about.
...Why yes, I HAVE been reading lots of Cosmere stories, why do you ask?
There's also the more atypical quest format that SV'ers use, of "Mid-story vote, next update contains that as well", which is what I'm using here now… for a while, at least. See how that works. Expect chapters to get progressively longer as new stuff starts cropping up! Why yes, I know I've been saying that for the past several updates.
Last edited:
- Location
- Lost in Hell
There's two things to vote for this time.
I know, I'm burdening you with so many choices. I'm sorry!
It's about time Beatrice reclaimed her weapons of choice, though.
Last edited:
- Location
- St. Petersburg
Beatrice must really hate rocks, to capitalize everything but them. Alternatively, she might have developed an affinity for snowy hills?
[x] A young woman, holding a sword with caution.
A figure resembling a feeling of warmth? How does that work?
[x] Keep close tabs on the body and move closer to it.
At this point stopping to be properly paranoid would not help bring back our sanity while at the same time squandering the advantages that vigilance brings! So we must maintain caution and trust nothing and no one!
Last edited:
- Location
- Lost in Hell
Also alternatively, my bad habit of Random Captialization has turned into... forgetting to capitalize?
The power of love and hugs.
Yes, really.
That's a thing same people say, yep!
- Location
- Lost in Hell
bobbananaville
A giant crab, atop an even gianter crab
- Location
- The Philippines
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] A child, unsteadily notching a bow for the first time.
[X] Investigate the smell
[X] Investigate the smell
LucidProp
Pocky Eating MafiaDoka
Weird. I swear I voted sword first.
Looks I really have been out of it lately.