- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
These actually work.
WANNBE OVERLORD - A hazbin hotel quest
- Thread starter morethanone
- Start date
- IC Action
These actually work.
Special Interlude - My Safezone
New
After school was always hell. Sure, school itself was nightmarish, but at least teachers, staff, and the constant presence of other students provided a thin veneer of safety that deterred anything beyond petty name-calling and tripping in the halls. There were rules, however flimsy, that could occasionally shield you. But after school? After school, you were completely alone. And being alone meant that those who delighted in tormenting you could do whatever they wanted without fear of consequences.
This brutal fact had been true since middle school began. You could vividly recall the sharp smell of garbage and the sticky sensation of alleyway muck clinging to your skin as you ducked into dumpsters and trashcans, desperate to avoid your bullies. Like the Emmas. Oh God, the Emmas. The very thought of them sent a cold knot of dread curling in your stomach.
They were the queens of cruelty, by far the worst in your rogues' gallery. Vicious, calculated, and as relentless as wolves, the Emmas would bide their time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Days, weeks—it didn't matter to them, as long as their schemes left you reeling and them laughing. You were the overweight loser without friends, and they were the queen bees who ruled everywhere they went. Their popularity and their parents' wealth gave them unchecked control over students and staff alike. So, when they tipped over the trash can you were hiding in, spilling its foul contents over you and your meager hiding place, it felt like the universe itself was against you. Today was shaping up to be one of those bad days.
"STOP RUNNING, FATASS!!!"
"You know, he's pretty fast for someone that big! Hahaha!"
Their taunts ricocheted off the buildings around you, twisted with delight and malice. One of them laughed—a high-pitched, mocking sound—but the other snarled, his rage spilling over into every word. The sound alone sent adrenaline surging through your veins.
Behind you, the two lumbering piles of meat were closing in. Tom and Rob—the Emmas' attack dogs. Towering, broad-shouldered boys who always smelled faintly of gym socks and aggression. Whatever the Emmas didn't like, all they had to do was point it out, and Tom and Rob would descend like rabid animals, punching and kicking their target—often you—into oblivion.
Your lungs burned as you ran, every step feeling heavier than the last. The only reason you'd managed to get this far was sheer desperation. After they'd tipped over the trash can you were hiding in, you'd panicked, scooping a handful of disgusting, slimy muck and hurling it directly into Tom's face. The pure shock and rage on his reddening face had bought you precious seconds to scramble to your feet and bolt. But now? Now his eyes were wild with murderous intent. His roar echoed behind you, making your blood run cold.
"I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!!!"
His voice was raw and full of fury, driving your short, pudgy legs into overdrive. You didn't know where you were running—only that you couldn't stop. Street after street blurred together, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The alleyways you darted into smelled of sour trash and old urine, but you didn't care. All that mattered was putting distance between you and them.
"NO RUNNING AWAY ANYMORE, NERD!!!"
The shout hit you like a punch to the gut. You skidded to a halt, eyes wide, heart thundering in your chest.
Tom stood at the mouth of the alley, his massive frame blocking your only escape route. His face was flushed, teeth bared in a savage grin, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white. Beside him, Rob loomed, panting heavily but smirking with the confidence of someone who knew the fight was already over.
Your heart sank as your eyes darted around the alley. It was a dead end. A rusty chain-link fence rose up in front of you, its jagged edges gleaming faintly in the fading light. On either side were the same dirty, sun-scorched concrete walls that defined this miserable city. Now, they felt like prison bars, boxing you in, squeezing out any hope of escape.
Despair clawed at your chest, but then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted it: a door.
To your left, an old, rusty metal door hung slightly ajar, creaking faintly as it swayed in the breeze. Beyond it was nothing but pitch-black darkness, a void that seemed to hum with quiet menace. You hesitated for the briefest moment, but the sound of Tom's heavy footsteps snapping closer made the choice for you.
Whatever was inside had to be better than facing the wrath of Tom and Rob.
With a burst of desperate energy, you dove for the door, yanking it open just enough to slip through. The metal groaned loudly, but you didn't dare look back. You plunged into the darkness, the air inside thick and cool compared to the sweltering heat of the alley. The faint smell of mildew and mold filled your nose as the door creaked shut behind you, muffling the furious shouts of the boys outside.
Silence.
Then the stomping of feet faded.
"Yes, yes, yes! YES!!!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the cracked and peeling walls as you gesticulated wildly on the dusty concrete floor. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had done it—you had escaped them. The bullies who made your life a daily torment, the ones who cornered you every chance they got, were finally outwitted.
You knew they'd catch up to you tomorrow. You'd feel their anger for this, but in this moment, you didn't care. You had pulled off the impossible, and for now, the thrill of victory drowned out the dread of what would come next.
The euphoria coursing through you was so intoxicating that you failed to notice the heavy silence settling over the room, or the faint sound of something shifting in the shadows. A presence loomed behind you, creeping closer. Its breath, low and guttural, stirred the dust motes in the air as its toothy maw began to stretch into a monstrous grin.
"You know breaking and entering is illegal, right?"
The voice was sharp but surprisingly light, slicing through your jubilation like a cold knife.
You froze. Slowly, you turned, your heart plummeting like a stone in your chest. What you saw defied explanation.
The figure before you was monstrous. It stood roughly your height but bore skin that gleamed a shocking, almost unnatural yellow. Its eyes—large as bowling balls—bulged from a grotesquely oversized head, their unblinking stare locking onto yours. Most unsettling of all was its lack of arms; the creature's long, clawed feet twitched in anticipation, seemingly compensating for its missing limbs.
"Hello, hello!" it chirped, waving one of those clawed feet in what might have been a greeting. You couldn't move. You couldn't even think.
"HEY!" the creature suddenly barked, its shout so loud it jarred you from your stupor. Instinct kicked in, and your only thought was to run. You turned, legs scrambling to carry you away, but the floor had other plans.
With a sickening thud, you fell flat on your face, the rough concrete biting into your skin.
"Ow," you muttered, dazed and humiliated, as pain radiated through your body. Before you could pick yourself up, a pair of slender hands gently lifted you instead.
Looking up, you expected claws, fangs—something. What you saw instead was… a girl.
The monstrous head was gone, discarded in a heap nearby. Her human face was round, almost comically so, framed by a mess of pale, silvery hair that looked like it hadn't been brushed in days. Her eyes were startlingly large and green, so wide they seemed to take up half her face, and they stared at you with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
"T-thanks for that," you stammered, unsure of what else to say.
She didn't respond. Instead, she tilted her head, her gaze unblinking as if studying an alien specimen. Then, without warning, she burst into motion, darting around you in a frantic circle as she bombarded you with a flood of questions:
"Who are you?" "Why did you run in here?" "How old are you?" "Are you older than me?" "Are you a boy?" "What are boys like?" "Are you a burglar?" "Are you here to rob us?" "You look a little too young to rob people." "Where did you get your clothes?"
The questions spilled out in a rapid, unrelenting stream, her words overlapping like a malfunctioning record. You could barely process them.
"Okay, okay, STOP!" you shouted, holding up your hands in surrender. To your astonishment, she froze mid-step, staring at you expectantly.
You took a deep breath. "I was running away from bullies. I don't know. Yes. Boys are . . . boys, I guess. No. NO. A store. Does that answer your questions?"
Her expression didn't change. She blinked, slowly, as if computing your responses. Then, without warning, her lips curved into a delighted smile.
"Okay!" she said brightly, as though everything now made perfect sense.
Her smile faltered when her gaze shifted to your forehead. Blood was trickling from a cut you hadn't even noticed, a vivid red streak against your pale skin.
"Oh, oh, oh! My grandpa has a kit in his bathroom. Let me clean you up!" she exclaimed, grabbing your arm and dragging you deeper into the building before you could protest.
The further you went in, the more you realized: YOU WERE THE FREAKIN' DUKE'S WAREHOUSE!!!
Of course, that's why Tom and Rob hadn't followed you. No one in their right mind would enter the home of the infamous Duke—a reclusive man shrouded in dark rumors, the same eccentric figure your brother had introduced you to at five. The place hadn't changed. Dim light filtered through the broken glass ceiling, casting jagged shadows across the rotting shelves that lined the walls. Books and papers spilled onto the filthy floor in chaotic heaps, and the air reeked of mildew and rot. Trinkets, artifacts, and other unidentifiable objects lay scattered everywhere, each radiating a faint aura of strangeness.
You were so lost in thought that you didn't notice the girl finishing her work.
"There, all done!" she declared, stepping back to admire her handiwork. The bandages she'd used looked suspiciously old and grimy, but you were too stunned to care.
"Do you know the Duke?" you asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you here?"
"Oh, that's easy! He's my Pa!" she chirped, skipping ahead as if she hadn't just dropped a bombshell.
Her answer left you reeling. The Duke—the Duke—was her grandfather? The same man who allegedly performed black magic and sacrificed chickens? Suddenly, her eccentricities made a lot more sense.
As you prepared to leave, hoping to slip out unnoticed, the girl grabbed your arm again.
"WAIT!" she blurted, then quickly let go, looking down at the floor. "S-sorry. It's just… I've never really hung out with anyone before. My stupid Pa says people are too mean and evil. But you don't seem mean or evil. So . . . maybe we could hang out? I can show you all kinds of cool things! Please . . . "
Her voice wavered, and there was a desperate hope in her wide, pleading eyes. You hesitated, but you couldn't bring yourself to say no.
"Okay." At the time, you reasoned that hanging out with her would keep you safe in the Duke's building, shielding you from Tom and Rob. But there was more to it. You'd found a kindred spirit—someone as lonely and in need of a friend as you were. You hoped spending time with her might fill the gaping hole of isolation inside you.
"YAY!" she cheered, grabbing your arm again and pulling you deeper into the desolate warehouse. "I have to show you this thing my Pa brought in last week!"
That was the day you made your first—and only—real friend. Her name was Maxine Wade Wonders, or just Max, and she was as strange as her name suggested. Like her grandpa, she adored the supernatural and the paranormal, but she also loved arts and crafts, blending both passions by creating mesmerizing, life-like costumes and sculptures from the trash scattered around the warehouse.
You learned later why you'd never met her before that day. Max had been homeschooled—if you could call it that—by the Duke himself. To say the man was eccentric would be an understatement. According to Max, he had no faith in schools, dismissing them as places that taught "useless nonsense" instead of the "real" lessons one needed to survive, like magic. Max would laugh when she told you about her "lessons," recalling how most of them were just her grandfather spinning tales about monsters, ghosts, and strangly why one should respect radios. To anyone else, it might have sounded like madness, but to Max, it was the most thrilling education she could have imagined.
At first, you were simply drawn to her because she was unlike anyone you'd ever met. But as you spent more time together, her love for the otherworldly began to seep into you like ink on paper. Before long, you found yourself eagerly joining her in marathon conversations about monsters, cryptids, and the great unknown. Max had this way of making you feel like the world was larger, stranger, and far more magical than you'd ever thought possible.
These discussions led you to discover something surprising, too: Max was a genius. The girl knew far more than you would have ever thought. Her knowledge on a myriad of topics was far more developed and nuanced than anyone you had ever known—even more so than you. This surprising knowledge had come from various strange texts and tomes her grandfather had collected over his very long life. And so, your conversations evolved from idle chatter about theoretical creatures to in-depth discussions on mathematics, the different types of sciences, history, art, music, literature, and philosophy.
These conversations sharpened both of your intellects and deepened the already dogmatic love you had for collecting knowledge. They were all you did, as any sort of modern technologies like phones and even televisions were nowhere to be found in the warehouse.
"Pa said that the spirits don't like TVs. Apparently, they get really angry if they even hear one," Max explained as the two of you wandered through the abandoned building.
But that didn't matter to you. Max was better company than TV could ever hope to be. Your friendship with her would last for years, with you sneaking off to visit her and spending hours laughing, talking, and enjoying each other's company. Max was unlike anyone you'd ever met—vivid, brilliant, and just a little bit broken in ways you couldn't quite put into words. She didn't just see the world differently; she reshaped it around her, filling it with magic, art, and stories that made even the dullest day feel extraordinary. She became your anchor, your guide into a world that felt alive with possibility.
For years, your friendship was your sanctuary. You would sneak off to visit her whenever you could, each meeting a kaleidoscope of laughter, curiosity, and wonder. But no good thing lasts forever.
One year before your death, the Duke was found dead under an overpass. His body, bizarrely mummified as though drained of life centuries ago, baffled the authorities. Tests revealed he had only been dead for a few days, but no one could explain how his body had decayed so unnaturally. For Max, the loss was devastating. The Duke had been her entire world, and his death shattered something deep inside her.
When you tried to visit her after his death, she was gone. The warehouse was empty, her sculptures abandoned, and the strange tomes her grandfather had collected missing. She left no note, no clue as to where she had gone or why.
The only friend you had ever known disappeared, leaving a gaping void you could never fill. Max, with her wild imagination and brilliant mind, had been the one bright spot in your otherwise lonely existence. And just like that, she was gone.
You awoke in a cold sweat after such a recollection. Your strange half-dream, half-memory left you shivering as those cold, bittersweet memories washed over you, leaving you feeling hollow. This sensation of emptiness was followed by another feeling: determination. Your happy memories of Max fueled a fire in you to become the Overlord you dreamed of. Here you were, in a strange new world that you and Max would have fantasized about in your various D&D campaigns, and what were you doing? Not enough.
You needed—no, you would do more. You would make Max proud and become an Overlord.
This brutal fact had been true since middle school began. You could vividly recall the sharp smell of garbage and the sticky sensation of alleyway muck clinging to your skin as you ducked into dumpsters and trashcans, desperate to avoid your bullies. Like the Emmas. Oh God, the Emmas. The very thought of them sent a cold knot of dread curling in your stomach.
They were the queens of cruelty, by far the worst in your rogues' gallery. Vicious, calculated, and as relentless as wolves, the Emmas would bide their time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Days, weeks—it didn't matter to them, as long as their schemes left you reeling and them laughing. You were the overweight loser without friends, and they were the queen bees who ruled everywhere they went. Their popularity and their parents' wealth gave them unchecked control over students and staff alike. So, when they tipped over the trash can you were hiding in, spilling its foul contents over you and your meager hiding place, it felt like the universe itself was against you. Today was shaping up to be one of those bad days.
"STOP RUNNING, FATASS!!!"
"You know, he's pretty fast for someone that big! Hahaha!"
Their taunts ricocheted off the buildings around you, twisted with delight and malice. One of them laughed—a high-pitched, mocking sound—but the other snarled, his rage spilling over into every word. The sound alone sent adrenaline surging through your veins.
Behind you, the two lumbering piles of meat were closing in. Tom and Rob—the Emmas' attack dogs. Towering, broad-shouldered boys who always smelled faintly of gym socks and aggression. Whatever the Emmas didn't like, all they had to do was point it out, and Tom and Rob would descend like rabid animals, punching and kicking their target—often you—into oblivion.
Your lungs burned as you ran, every step feeling heavier than the last. The only reason you'd managed to get this far was sheer desperation. After they'd tipped over the trash can you were hiding in, you'd panicked, scooping a handful of disgusting, slimy muck and hurling it directly into Tom's face. The pure shock and rage on his reddening face had bought you precious seconds to scramble to your feet and bolt. But now? Now his eyes were wild with murderous intent. His roar echoed behind you, making your blood run cold.
"I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!!!"
His voice was raw and full of fury, driving your short, pudgy legs into overdrive. You didn't know where you were running—only that you couldn't stop. Street after street blurred together, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The alleyways you darted into smelled of sour trash and old urine, but you didn't care. All that mattered was putting distance between you and them.
"NO RUNNING AWAY ANYMORE, NERD!!!"
The shout hit you like a punch to the gut. You skidded to a halt, eyes wide, heart thundering in your chest.
Tom stood at the mouth of the alley, his massive frame blocking your only escape route. His face was flushed, teeth bared in a savage grin, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white. Beside him, Rob loomed, panting heavily but smirking with the confidence of someone who knew the fight was already over.
Your heart sank as your eyes darted around the alley. It was a dead end. A rusty chain-link fence rose up in front of you, its jagged edges gleaming faintly in the fading light. On either side were the same dirty, sun-scorched concrete walls that defined this miserable city. Now, they felt like prison bars, boxing you in, squeezing out any hope of escape.
Despair clawed at your chest, but then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted it: a door.
To your left, an old, rusty metal door hung slightly ajar, creaking faintly as it swayed in the breeze. Beyond it was nothing but pitch-black darkness, a void that seemed to hum with quiet menace. You hesitated for the briefest moment, but the sound of Tom's heavy footsteps snapping closer made the choice for you.
Whatever was inside had to be better than facing the wrath of Tom and Rob.
With a burst of desperate energy, you dove for the door, yanking it open just enough to slip through. The metal groaned loudly, but you didn't dare look back. You plunged into the darkness, the air inside thick and cool compared to the sweltering heat of the alley. The faint smell of mildew and mold filled your nose as the door creaked shut behind you, muffling the furious shouts of the boys outside.
Silence.
Then the stomping of feet faded.
"Yes, yes, yes! YES!!!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the cracked and peeling walls as you gesticulated wildly on the dusty concrete floor. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had done it—you had escaped them. The bullies who made your life a daily torment, the ones who cornered you every chance they got, were finally outwitted.
You knew they'd catch up to you tomorrow. You'd feel their anger for this, but in this moment, you didn't care. You had pulled off the impossible, and for now, the thrill of victory drowned out the dread of what would come next.
The euphoria coursing through you was so intoxicating that you failed to notice the heavy silence settling over the room, or the faint sound of something shifting in the shadows. A presence loomed behind you, creeping closer. Its breath, low and guttural, stirred the dust motes in the air as its toothy maw began to stretch into a monstrous grin.
"You know breaking and entering is illegal, right?"
The voice was sharp but surprisingly light, slicing through your jubilation like a cold knife.
You froze. Slowly, you turned, your heart plummeting like a stone in your chest. What you saw defied explanation.
The figure before you was monstrous. It stood roughly your height but bore skin that gleamed a shocking, almost unnatural yellow. Its eyes—large as bowling balls—bulged from a grotesquely oversized head, their unblinking stare locking onto yours. Most unsettling of all was its lack of arms; the creature's long, clawed feet twitched in anticipation, seemingly compensating for its missing limbs.
"Hello, hello!" it chirped, waving one of those clawed feet in what might have been a greeting. You couldn't move. You couldn't even think.
"HEY!" the creature suddenly barked, its shout so loud it jarred you from your stupor. Instinct kicked in, and your only thought was to run. You turned, legs scrambling to carry you away, but the floor had other plans.
With a sickening thud, you fell flat on your face, the rough concrete biting into your skin.
"Ow," you muttered, dazed and humiliated, as pain radiated through your body. Before you could pick yourself up, a pair of slender hands gently lifted you instead.
Looking up, you expected claws, fangs—something. What you saw instead was… a girl.
The monstrous head was gone, discarded in a heap nearby. Her human face was round, almost comically so, framed by a mess of pale, silvery hair that looked like it hadn't been brushed in days. Her eyes were startlingly large and green, so wide they seemed to take up half her face, and they stared at you with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
"T-thanks for that," you stammered, unsure of what else to say.
She didn't respond. Instead, she tilted her head, her gaze unblinking as if studying an alien specimen. Then, without warning, she burst into motion, darting around you in a frantic circle as she bombarded you with a flood of questions:
"Who are you?" "Why did you run in here?" "How old are you?" "Are you older than me?" "Are you a boy?" "What are boys like?" "Are you a burglar?" "Are you here to rob us?" "You look a little too young to rob people." "Where did you get your clothes?"
The questions spilled out in a rapid, unrelenting stream, her words overlapping like a malfunctioning record. You could barely process them.
"Okay, okay, STOP!" you shouted, holding up your hands in surrender. To your astonishment, she froze mid-step, staring at you expectantly.
You took a deep breath. "I was running away from bullies. I don't know. Yes. Boys are . . . boys, I guess. No. NO. A store. Does that answer your questions?"
Her expression didn't change. She blinked, slowly, as if computing your responses. Then, without warning, her lips curved into a delighted smile.
"Okay!" she said brightly, as though everything now made perfect sense.
Her smile faltered when her gaze shifted to your forehead. Blood was trickling from a cut you hadn't even noticed, a vivid red streak against your pale skin.
"Oh, oh, oh! My grandpa has a kit in his bathroom. Let me clean you up!" she exclaimed, grabbing your arm and dragging you deeper into the building before you could protest.
The further you went in, the more you realized: YOU WERE THE FREAKIN' DUKE'S WAREHOUSE!!!
Of course, that's why Tom and Rob hadn't followed you. No one in their right mind would enter the home of the infamous Duke—a reclusive man shrouded in dark rumors, the same eccentric figure your brother had introduced you to at five. The place hadn't changed. Dim light filtered through the broken glass ceiling, casting jagged shadows across the rotting shelves that lined the walls. Books and papers spilled onto the filthy floor in chaotic heaps, and the air reeked of mildew and rot. Trinkets, artifacts, and other unidentifiable objects lay scattered everywhere, each radiating a faint aura of strangeness.
You were so lost in thought that you didn't notice the girl finishing her work.
"There, all done!" she declared, stepping back to admire her handiwork. The bandages she'd used looked suspiciously old and grimy, but you were too stunned to care.
"Do you know the Duke?" you asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you here?"
"Oh, that's easy! He's my Pa!" she chirped, skipping ahead as if she hadn't just dropped a bombshell.
Her answer left you reeling. The Duke—the Duke—was her grandfather? The same man who allegedly performed black magic and sacrificed chickens? Suddenly, her eccentricities made a lot more sense.
As you prepared to leave, hoping to slip out unnoticed, the girl grabbed your arm again.
"WAIT!" she blurted, then quickly let go, looking down at the floor. "S-sorry. It's just… I've never really hung out with anyone before. My stupid Pa says people are too mean and evil. But you don't seem mean or evil. So . . . maybe we could hang out? I can show you all kinds of cool things! Please . . . "
Her voice wavered, and there was a desperate hope in her wide, pleading eyes. You hesitated, but you couldn't bring yourself to say no.
"Okay." At the time, you reasoned that hanging out with her would keep you safe in the Duke's building, shielding you from Tom and Rob. But there was more to it. You'd found a kindred spirit—someone as lonely and in need of a friend as you were. You hoped spending time with her might fill the gaping hole of isolation inside you.
"YAY!" she cheered, grabbing your arm again and pulling you deeper into the desolate warehouse. "I have to show you this thing my Pa brought in last week!"
That was the day you made your first—and only—real friend. Her name was Maxine Wade Wonders, or just Max, and she was as strange as her name suggested. Like her grandpa, she adored the supernatural and the paranormal, but she also loved arts and crafts, blending both passions by creating mesmerizing, life-like costumes and sculptures from the trash scattered around the warehouse.
You learned later why you'd never met her before that day. Max had been homeschooled—if you could call it that—by the Duke himself. To say the man was eccentric would be an understatement. According to Max, he had no faith in schools, dismissing them as places that taught "useless nonsense" instead of the "real" lessons one needed to survive, like magic. Max would laugh when she told you about her "lessons," recalling how most of them were just her grandfather spinning tales about monsters, ghosts, and strangly why one should respect radios. To anyone else, it might have sounded like madness, but to Max, it was the most thrilling education she could have imagined.
At first, you were simply drawn to her because she was unlike anyone you'd ever met. But as you spent more time together, her love for the otherworldly began to seep into you like ink on paper. Before long, you found yourself eagerly joining her in marathon conversations about monsters, cryptids, and the great unknown. Max had this way of making you feel like the world was larger, stranger, and far more magical than you'd ever thought possible.
These discussions led you to discover something surprising, too: Max was a genius. The girl knew far more than you would have ever thought. Her knowledge on a myriad of topics was far more developed and nuanced than anyone you had ever known—even more so than you. This surprising knowledge had come from various strange texts and tomes her grandfather had collected over his very long life. And so, your conversations evolved from idle chatter about theoretical creatures to in-depth discussions on mathematics, the different types of sciences, history, art, music, literature, and philosophy.
These conversations sharpened both of your intellects and deepened the already dogmatic love you had for collecting knowledge. They were all you did, as any sort of modern technologies like phones and even televisions were nowhere to be found in the warehouse.
"Pa said that the spirits don't like TVs. Apparently, they get really angry if they even hear one," Max explained as the two of you wandered through the abandoned building.
But that didn't matter to you. Max was better company than TV could ever hope to be. Your friendship with her would last for years, with you sneaking off to visit her and spending hours laughing, talking, and enjoying each other's company. Max was unlike anyone you'd ever met—vivid, brilliant, and just a little bit broken in ways you couldn't quite put into words. She didn't just see the world differently; she reshaped it around her, filling it with magic, art, and stories that made even the dullest day feel extraordinary. She became your anchor, your guide into a world that felt alive with possibility.
For years, your friendship was your sanctuary. You would sneak off to visit her whenever you could, each meeting a kaleidoscope of laughter, curiosity, and wonder. But no good thing lasts forever.
One year before your death, the Duke was found dead under an overpass. His body, bizarrely mummified as though drained of life centuries ago, baffled the authorities. Tests revealed he had only been dead for a few days, but no one could explain how his body had decayed so unnaturally. For Max, the loss was devastating. The Duke had been her entire world, and his death shattered something deep inside her.
When you tried to visit her after his death, she was gone. The warehouse was empty, her sculptures abandoned, and the strange tomes her grandfather had collected missing. She left no note, no clue as to where she had gone or why.
The only friend you had ever known disappeared, leaving a gaping void you could never fill. Max, with her wild imagination and brilliant mind, had been the one bright spot in your otherwise lonely existence. And just like that, she was gone.
You awoke in a cold sweat after such a recollection. Your strange half-dream, half-memory left you shivering as those cold, bittersweet memories washed over you, leaving you feeling hollow. This sensation of emptiness was followed by another feeling: determination. Your happy memories of Max fueled a fire in you to become the Overlord you dreamed of. Here you were, in a strange new world that you and Max would have fantasized about in your various D&D campaigns, and what were you doing? Not enough.
You needed—no, you would do more. You would make Max proud and become an Overlord.
(Congrations!!! You have recalled your memories of your friendship with the strange Max. Your vow to honor her memory and become an Overlord has increased your Learning APs from 1 to 2 Permanently.)
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Oh very neat
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Amazing work, you friend, looking forward to reading more.
Does that mean that we can do two things for diplomacy instead of one?
- Pronouns
- Zack
Basically yes we can but it will surely be in the next turn
- Location
- Spain
@morethanone I am pretty happy to see that we are getting an extra AP in diplomacy (sine I voted for that) but a I am also pretty sure the option that won the vote to have an extra AP was Learning...
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Oh shit, my bad. Placed the wrong one by accident. +10 for pointing that out. Thank you.
- Pronouns
- Zack
the increase in Learning AP permanent or temporary?
Permanently
- Location
- sweden
The fan art did also remind me of classic jack o lanterns a gnarly radish or rutabaga carved into a grey grimacing face.
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
They were actually turnips but I get your point.
- Location
- Spain
I have to add that Jack-o'-Lantern Turnips can be significantly more scary than pumpkins...
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Well Jack-o'-lanterns were used to scare away monsters so for them to be horrifying makes sense
- Pronouns
- Zack
How many months/turns are left until the extermination/extermination occurs?
I think about 8 turns more
- Pronouns
- Zack
This reminds me of a scene from Hades in the Hercules movie
- Pronouns
- Zack
Who is or was Jennifer Wolfe?
Ash disguise form
- Pronouns
- Zack
I meant if it's based on a real person
no, just a random name I generated
- Location
- Spain
Good idea
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Glad you loved it.
So I've been thinking. I'm still uncomfertable with it being only three years before the start of the main story simply because there is so much I have plan that can't be done when we reach the Pilot. But I don't want to give us too much time, like setting it one hundred years before the start of the show or something, both because we'll be both too powerful and I want to avoid the feeling that we're just waiting around for the show's start date, So I have some up with a compromise.
Instead of a definitive amount of time, we instead have a check point. This check point when tiggered will start the count down to be one year before the start of the show. I won't say what the check point is nor even how many, yes there are multiple depending on what we do. If we vote in favor of this than I will change it to be that Jackson died a vague "few years ago" before the start of the pilot.
If It goes according to plan, We won't have to wait more than five years before you reach one of these check points, and by then we should be decently powerful to be able to do something, but so much that we breeze pass without issue.
So, Yay, no Nah?
[ ] - Yay
[ ] - Nah
If you have any Questions or suggestions for my idea or on the time problem as a whole, please let me know. Thank you and have a wonderful day.
P.S - The next chapter is really close to being done. It should be posted in an hour or so.
Instead of a definitive amount of time, we instead have a check point. This check point when tiggered will start the count down to be one year before the start of the show. I won't say what the check point is nor even how many, yes there are multiple depending on what we do. If we vote in favor of this than I will change it to be that Jackson died a vague "few years ago" before the start of the pilot.
If It goes according to plan, We won't have to wait more than five years before you reach one of these check points, and by then we should be decently powerful to be able to do something, but so much that we breeze pass without issue.
So, Yay, no Nah?
[ ] - Yay
[ ] - Nah
If you have any Questions or suggestions for my idea or on the time problem as a whole, please let me know. Thank you and have a wonderful day.
P.S - The next chapter is really close to being done. It should be posted in an hour or so.
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