1d7b17 No.391720 [Last50 Posts]
The whole world moves by like in one of those new-fangled motion picture shows, black and white, flickering with imperfections. Wide streets with cable cars trundle on between the art-deco skyscrapers. A rainstorm deposits its contents on the city below, the residents couldn't care less. They don't seem able to care at all, because they appear as shapeless extras. These ghosts in the background do not react as the camera rushes by.
You watch it all unfold center stage from the eyes of a man on the lam. Zeppelins anchored to the spires above shine their spotlights onto the oblivious city below. You can't help but think it's all meant for you. The camera takes sudden dive left into an alley billowing with steam from countless pipes. It gives almost gives you motion sickness, yet the cameraman doesn't react to your protests. It merely pushes on to some unknown destination.
Whether this camera reached where it was going, or not, it stops at the end of the line all the same. At the bottom of a long winding staircase which leads into the city's bowels. A place seldom tread, where the machines whirl away anonymously. It's also a dead end. A simple railing divides you from the fall. A long fall into the clouds below. Humming there are the city's giant rotary fans that keep the whole hunk of steel and concrete afloat.
“I am disappointed, Peter,” a voice calls out from behind.
The camera spins on the spot. It is then momentarily blinded by a flood of lights. A duo of drones, kept aloft with their tiny rotary blades, bathe your position with spotlights. At the bottom of the stairs where you had barreled down from before, a man in a long leather duster, wide brimmed hat (covering his face) stands. With him is a whole host of men with their bolt action rifles pointed your way. Men might be the wrong word, the arms and legs of each were all clearly mechanical. Behind the red luminescent goggles and gas masks were likely machineworks too. A lit cigarette and plume of smoke from their leader showed he was the only other man present.
“Just because he is your brother,” he flicks the spent cigarette away with his one mechanical arm. “Don't think you are going to get off easy this time… Now…hand over the folder.”
“…”
You cannot hear the words coming out from the camera, from the man whose head you are in, but the man before you appears to have heard him lout and clear.
“Unlike you, Peter, I'm a patriot through and through. I don't care what you know, or what you intend to do with it. All I know is that the Chief doesn't want you running wild… And the Chief gets what the Chief wants.”
“…”
“Look, I don't care if he you put a cipher on it and you're the only other guy who knows it. I'll have you singing like a canary all about it later… Or sooner, and a lot more peacefully, if you 'll just cooperate. So get down on the ground with your hands on your head… Where I can see them. Slowly.”
The camera didn't appear ready to cooperate at all. You are helpless as it reaches underneath its trench-coat. It doesn't grab the folder, which is on the other side, but beings drawing a .38 snub nose.
“Hold your fire!” the man shouts.
But it's too late. One of the rifle wielding machines fires a round. It slams dead center of mass. This whole time you had been merely watching. Now you could feel the pain. You try to scream, but have no mouth to do so. You feel it as you are knocked off your feet and sent tumbling backwards over the railing. A cacophony of noise is all around you now. Color returns to the world. Cold wind at your face. You feel your fingers and toes again, as if they were yours all along. A folder flutters out from your trench coat and dozens of papers are scattered to the four winds. You tumble downward, further and further, vanishing into the clouds as a great flying city gets smaller and smaller above you. Then it all goes dark…
____________________________
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1d7b17 No.391722
You sit upright on reflex and immediately regret it. A searing pain in your gut admonishes you. Fresh linen blankets roll off you. Red soaked bandages crisscross your chest and over your shoulder. It wasn't a dream at all. You look around and see the interior of some quaint little cottage. White panel walls with a brown hardwood floor. You are sitting on a bed with a straw mattress and down filled pillows. Besides the wardrobe and a makeup table you notice nothing else at all… Until the smell hits you. Pungent and vile. Manure mixed with hay. It smells like a farm. You soon hear the call of cattle in the distance which confirms your suspicions. That's when you look to your left out the window you've ignored until now.
Green grass. Trees in spring bloom. Rolling hills and snow capped mountains. Things such as these are all children's book nonsense. Yet there it is. You touch the wound and feel the sting another time. It's all real. You think you've heard the word to describe such fantastical things passed around before.
Ground.
It shouldn't exist. It cannot exist.. Yet there it is. It's beautiful. What a discovery! All you've ever seen looking down is clouds. To think the wild stories and conspiracy theories about something below them were true all along. Yet that's the last thing weird and unbelievable thing you will see today. Because a clopping of hooves to the tune of a woman's soft and gentle humming approaches from behind the door and down the hall.
It opens and into the room comes a horse. No. A woman riding a horse. Inside a house. No. The woman and the horse are the same thing. Out from where the horse's neck and head should be is a woman from the hips up. Her fur coating is white as ivory. Her horse blanket, worn more like a dress, covers the bestial half. You spy one bushy and white horse's tail whisking merrily behind it. As weird as that all may be, the other half is what grabs your attention the most. Long platinum blonde hair tied in up twin braids down to her waist. A pair of horse-like ears from each side of her head twitch toward every sound. A heavy and hefty pair of breast bounce against her chest which are swaddled in a sundress like outfit. Above a gorgeous smile, above a pair of sapphire eyes, a long protruding horn from the middle of her forehead. And that may be the oddest thing of all.
“Oh?” her melodious voice escapes from her lips as she raises a hand to them. “You are awake,” thank goodness.”
—Rules rundown: I will amalgamate all responses as logically as I can. Cutting out those that get a (you) calling the anon a faggot and focusing more on those which get (you)s in support. Skill checks are d20 rolls. Add sage to OOC shitpost.
Peter is in rough shape. Worse yet, his memories are all messed up too. As the story goes on, the protagonist (at participating players discretion) can try calling up old memories which will activate new skills and bonuses to them. He only has so many memories though, so choose wisely how to build his character and what his life had been up until this point. Doing so will cause mental fatigue too. Once the adrenaline wears off in moments of duress, expect a negative modifier till rested/healed—
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f226a4 No.391727
>>391722
We should greet her and tell her our name, then ask what happened.
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d42384 No.391728
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334508 No.391729
 | Rolled 11 (1d20) |
>>391727
Skill check for remembering his name.
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d42384 No.391731
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334508 No.391736
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1d7b17 No.391739
>>391727
"The name's Peter," you introduce yourself.
She giggles like a child, "That's an odd name if I've ever heard one… Good afternoon, Peter, my name is Elise."
Now you think about it, you've never actually seen a live woman before. Only in those catalogs where all the pretty ladies are drawings and in suggestive poses as they advertise products. You've maybe seen one getting out of a limo before. Although no one believed you. Whoever it was they were surrounded by armed servo guards and only caught a glimpse. Maybe they all lived at the top of the highest spires, away from all the riff-raff? Yet you don't ever recall them having horse bodies and horns growing out of their heads. But now is not the time. Dream, nightmare, or not you need answers.
"What happened?" you ask.
"I'm here on a house call," Elise replies. "I'm the village apothecary… Isabelle came bursting into my house three nights ago all in a panic. Said she followed a shooting star into the Yellow Bark Woods. There she found you bloody and broken. Carried you all the way back to her house here. I came along fast as I could with her afterward and did what I was able to."
She points to her horn with a smile and eyes your nearly healed, if still tender, wounds.
"I'm no surgeon though. I removed the metal bits from your stomach, mended your bones and fixed all else I could… But I couldn't do anything for your pelvic hernia. I know a friend who can help, but the harpy express wont be in town for another two days so I can send her a message."
She said all that with such a gentle and sincere smile. You don't have a clue what she's talking about now.
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e28872 No.391750
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d42384 No.391760
>>391739
>Dude's a Virgin
We can bang the Unicorn without her turning into a Bicorn. I feel conflicted for some reason…
Who or/and what is this Isabelle?
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3351ab No.391762
>>391760
>hernia
I dont think she even knows what a dick is. How do you break information like that?
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d42384 No.391772
>>391762
>She doesn't know what a penis is…
This is another good point… ask her does she know what boys are… does anyone here know about boys?
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334508 No.391775
>>391762
>>391772
… couldn't her mom or dad have "the talk" with her, especially if she's going to be a healer?
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1d7b17 No.391779
"Legs over the side, please, I need to do a check-up," Elise says with her usual chipper smile.
You absentmindedly comply despite it still stinging quite a bit to move. With clopping hooves she moves in a bit closer and takes you by the hands, sandwiching yours between her own small, fragile and porcelain colored hands. She then draws them close to her heart. As close as she can get with her hefty chest in the way. It's warm, real warm.
In a desperate bid to take your mind off of things, you ask, "W-who is Isabelle?"
"She owns this little farm here. Been watching over you ever since. Worried half to death. She likes to get herself involved like that with other people's problems… Not that I'm one to judge," she chuckles.
She opens her eyes, seemingly satisfied with whatever the woman was sensing. But she quickly furrows her brows when looking at your face once more.
"Oh dear, your vitals are good but you look to have a fever. You are so red!"
"What? No. I'm fine—" You bluster.
She touches her forehead to yours. That long, dangerous and pointed horn tapping you on the top of your head. Any lower and she might have poked your eyes out with it by mistake.
"No, this is most definitely a fever. And you are sweating too! Oh my. Oh my." She says, flustering and bounding off to the corner of the room.
From the corner she grabs a bucket filled to the brim with fresh cold rainwater and a damp cloth. You have an inkling where this is going.
"No, really, I'm fine. Thank you—"
"It will only get worse, please, I am a professional."
You find it impossible to resist. For how frail and thin her human half looks, she is deceptively strong. It might be the 600 or so extras pounds of horsepower behind her that is doing it. She wrestles your arms down and beings dabbing your forehead as gentle as can be, the opposite of how easily she is able to manhandle your protests.
"Oh dear, it's gotten worse down there too, again," she says looking at your crotch.
Wait a minute, you think, again?
"It would be bad if it were to get any worse. We'll need to put a cold compress on it right away."
And how very cold it is. A soaking ice cold dish rag pressing right down on your junk while the woman in front of you applies just the right amount of pressure with a naive smile on her face.
"Eli!" A high pitched and spunky voice calls from the hallway. "Chickens are all fed, how is she?"
Enter Isabelle, or who you assume to be Isabelle. Your hopes in meeeting someone normal is quickly dashed, because this one has two horns sticking out of her head. Large and bovine. Her hair is an odd thing too, with strands of white and brown and cow ears jutting out the side of her head. Her hair is tied up in a short little ponytail behind her head which drops down to her shoulders. Shoulders which have to help lift the biggest pair of breasts you've ever laid eyes on. Maybe the second pair of real ones, but these were the size of her head. Bigger than that, actually. Kept barely contained by nothing but a pair of overalls she wore. And nothing else. If that were all of it, she's also some manner of ungulate with hooves for feet. Legs up to the thigh covered in the same spotty white and brown pattern. From behind her a white cow's tail with a bushy end swishes back and forth with a mind of its own.
She moseys into the room and catches Elise holding you down, sponging you down, while you try holding her back in vain. You and Elise freeze and look back at her while she tilts her head inquisitively, the question mark nearly materializing in thin air.
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334508 No.391782
>>391779
Lure the cowgirl over, and touch her titty
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d42384 No.391784
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71b62a No.391817
>>391782
When will someone stop Beardicus's sinful hand? Voting for this, make sure to slap her ass as she walks away
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334508 No.391885
| Rolled 6 (1d20) |
skill check on luring her over.
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1d7b17 No.391886
Not perturbed for long, the cow girl's momentary confusion melts away into a big dopey smile. Her eyes lock on to their target and the rest of her follows. Tears are dribbling down her cheeks from a pair of oddly pink hued eyes and she barrels toward you.
Elise, who had previously been in the way, wisely separates from you just in nick of time. Not soon enough that you could get out of the way, or brace yourself for the coming impact. You throw your hands up in a vain attempt to keep her at bay, but there's far too much momentum behind her now for that. You cup both breasts in your hands as the rest of her wraps her arms around and pulls you into a bone crushing embrace.
"You were in such bad shape, I was worried you wouldn't make it!" she wails and cries like a baby.
She pulls your head into her cleavage, bawling all the while. It's warm. It's soft. It's suffocating. Muffled in front and your spine starting to curve in the wrong direction from behind. You try tapping out and reaching out for help. The only thing in reach is her soft flesh. Even through the overalls you can tell. It jiggles as you slap it hoping that she shows mercy. She appears oblivious instead as you slap what you presume to be her behind..
"Izzy, she's not going to get any better if you don't mind your strength," Elise chastises her with a sigh.
"Oh, whoops," she says, playing sticking her tongue out.
Your spine realigns itself once she lets go and you suck in a deep breath of fresh air. The scent of a woman is a wonderful thing, so you've learned, even if she's a bit sweaty and the smell of hay and cow manure is drifting in from the window. A smell like flowers in bloom in Old Central Park comes to mind.
"Manners, manners," she mumbles while wiping away the tears. "You haven't eaten for days. I have to whip something together. I got fresh eggs!"
She's definitely a scatter brain. Didn't even ask for your name or introduce herself properly. Yet you can't sense an iota of malice despite her nearly suffocating and crushing you to death. Which, again, is odd because she isn't even that big of girl. Women are supposed to be smaller than men, right? That's normal. What you feel instinctively is that they shouldn't be so strong in spite of that. You have a lot of think about as she runs back out the door toward the kitchen.
"I'll go help her, before she burns herself too… Again," Elise sighs with a smile. "Mixxy from the village patched up your clothes the best she could and they are in the wardrobe… I said I'd have you tell her who the tailor was, because she's never seen threads like those before. She did her best and I hope you are not too disappointed with the patch job. You take your time and come join us when you are ready."
And off she goes leaving you her parting smile. Somehow fitting through a door meant for people and not a horse… person. Now that you had the moment to yourself, you need to figure out what to do next. You retrieve the clothes from the wardrobe. You had expected worse, but they are all in one piece. Leather shoes in one piece. A few very obvious patches sewn onto your pants, but still serviceable. Suspenders still snap over your shoulders without fraying and your belt is okay. Your white button-up isn't in any better shape than your pants, but miraculously in one piece. Even the bullet hole in the stomach is fixed and all the blood is gone. It's a bit too hot out for your beige long coat, so you throw it over your arm. You notice that your .38 is missing and so is that folder you remember from your dreams.
That leads you to remembering the man after you. Along with all his goons and attack drones. It seems like a whole world apart from this serene little scene. You would have never guessed a whole other world exists on the ground. Less still that it's populated by some rather strange looking people. Girls even!
Are you safe for now? You notice that you are actually pretty hungry as your stomach growls. Is it really alight that you stick around though? Perhaps you can try remembering something, anything. How did you get your hands on something you could get shot over? Where is it now? Is it a danger to others if they happen to find it too?
You also catch a glimpse of yourself in the makeup table's mirror. What features do you notice in your reflection?
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334508 No.391897
>>391886
You look like kazuma from konosuba, but you have durin's sigil on your left cheek. There is a scar on your left cheek. At this point you remember your firearm safety course and several esekai and now you REALLY need to know where your gun is.
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d42384 No.391915
>>391886
A normal looking dude.
>>391897
Rolls eyes
But hey, find gun.
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1d7b17 No.392050
Looking back at you from the mirror is plain old regular Peter. A man of average height and of average build. Someone who has always blended into the crowd. At least in the past. With short brown hair, green eyes and a youthful round face that belies its age. A small scar on the left cheek you can't recall the story of. You immediately notice how vulnerable this man is. A noticeable weight is missing from your person. Somewhere out there is your trusty gun. If you managed to survive the fall, so too should it.
You make your way through the quaint little cottage. Somewhere else deep inside a fire crackles and a muffled conversation is taking place. You make your way to the front entrance and throw open the door and are met with the full light of day. More blinding than before.
This novel sight of ground, of nature and natural beauty leaves you dumbstruck. Fresh air, birds singing, the feeling of wind and warm sunlight on your face. Rolling green hills, seas of trees (called a forest, if you are recalling the true word correctly) and mountains far higher than any building you've ever seen. High above that you look for the first time at clouds from below. An unnerving sight for one such as yourself.
You have no idea where north, south, east and west are, but in front of you is winding path leading to the valley floor and there many smoke stacks from a little village billows up toward the sky. It looks to be about 3 miles or so away. To your left is a wooden fence with a little over a dozen dairy cows grazing in a field. Cows in a field instead of a pen. What a sight! Further beyond that is forest. To your right are fallow meadows and more forests after that. Behind you is Isabelle's cottage. Behind that, the farm, and beyond that a forest which creeps up toward a very tall snow capped mountain. It's summit looks like it's about 12 miles away, but the climb would certainly make it feel longer.
You recall Elise saying that Isabelle found you, nearly dead, in the Yellow Bark Woods… But you have no idea where that is…
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334508 No.392057
>>392050
If you are on your feet, you can ask directions. You can also get more handfuls of oppai.
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1d7b17 No.392121
You all need to be more specific. This is less of a CYOA and more of a quest. I will work with what you input, so long as it doesn't contradict each other and is logically consistent. Only then will I not include certain input.
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334508 No.392124
>>392057
Ask the nice girls who helped you for directions.
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1d7b17 No.392132
It's a wonderful day for a walk, but you don't know where the hell you are or where you would be going. That leaves you to ask the two girls you've met, or ask down in the village. You decide to head back inside, accept the invitation for breakfast, and get your bearings.
Back inside the cottage you find Isabelle shaking her hips back and forth as she works a skillet. Inside are monstrously sized egg yolks. They are bigger than your hand and are left to wonder what kind of chickens she is keeping out back. Is it safe to go back there? Elise is standing at the table set for three. You don't think it would be possible for her to pull up a chair without breaking it.
Despite how hungry you are, more than one of these colossal eggs is too much for you. You feel your stomach ready to burst after eating two at the repeated insistence of the two girls. Conversation is centered mostly around the two girls. They let you focus on eating and getting your strength back. It appears to bother them still, because they keep eyeing you and must have many questions. You can't make sense of everything they talk about and a lot of it blurs together while they talk about people, dates and events you haven't the foggiest clue about.
When you are finished, you finally brooch the all important question, "You said you found me in the middle of the woods?"
"Yes, after falling from the sky!" Isabelle shouts and throws her hands up into the air. "Zoom! Bang!"
She childishly imitates a meteor crashing into the earth with her hands.
"Lots of strange things fall out of the sky all the time," Elise adds. "But this is the first time I've heard of a living person falling from the sky… Maybe a Harpy or some other flying monster, but you don't appear to have the wings for that."
"I'm missing some of my belongings," you interrupt. "Could you take me back there? They might still be nearby."
"Oooh, that makes sense," Isabelle replies. "Yeah, yeah. I can take you out there! We can get there and back before dark…"
Her voice trails a little off into the uncharacteristically somber territory.
"Before the Dires come out," Elise says, sensing the confusion on your face. "Very large and ravenous beasts."
"It's a good thing I found you before they did that night," Isabelle smiles.
The horned horse lady chastises her friend, "And it was a very dangerous thing for you to do, Izzy."
"I saw what was Peter, like a flaming shooting star, crash into the woods from my bedroom window. It was late. I didn't have time to run into the village and get help. I knew I had to do something right away. You saw how hurt she was. Could have died if I were a few minutes late!"
Elise goes quiet as she cannot argue against the results, even if he concerns were true. You have to be thankful as well. If she hadn't come to your aid, you'd either have succumbed to your wounds, or been eaten by some beast.
The conversation never picks back up after that. Elise gives her farewell as she returns to the village. Isabelle escorts you behind her cottage up into the foothills and beyond the first rung of trees in its forest. Not far beyond the scenery starts to turn a very distinct shade of yellow. It looks and feels like spring, but this place looks like it is perpetually stuck in autumn instead.
She leads you to a clearing in the forest. A very fresh clearing. A small impact crater which looks like you'd fit quite snug. A part of the canopy is broken and burnt off as well, the ground likewise singed around the crater. You are left to wonder how exactly you survived… Either from the fall, or the small fiery explosion. Besides this specific location, the rest of the forest is calm. A very quiet calm, unlike back at the gentle and serene rustic environment back at the cottage in the meadows.
Now would be the time to start investigating and looking for your things. You'll need to be quick and clever about your means though, if you want to make it back before nightfall. It can't be that hard to find a small hunk of grey metal in all the dirt, fallen yellow leaves and underbrush, right?
Make skill rolls and decide how and where you are going to sift through the forest
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334508 No.392134
| Rolled 17, 8, 18 = 43 (3d20) |
Skill roll for location and luck on finding the weapon and spare ammo.
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ed956c No.392139
| Rolled 6, 8 = 14 (2d20) |
>>392132
>Make skill rolls and decide how and where you are going to sift through the forest
Search in a tight slowly expanding spiral pattern outward from your impact point.
And tell them that we are, in fact, male. So they will stop referring to us as "she". I realize this may be something of a shock to them, but I see no reason not to tell them.
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9d84bf No.392145
| Rolled 18 (1d20) |
>>392132
If we fell from the sky on fire we ought to look where other stuff is burnt. you guys should pick up on these clues more
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1d7b17 No.392238
"Okay, start here and spiral outward," you say to Isabelle.
"Alright, but what are we looking for?" She asks, tilting her head.
"You'll know when you find something strange in other burnt parts of the forest," you reply.
The ground of the forest is a little muddy and all the brush and debris on the forest floor gets in the way.
"It rained later that night after I found you," Isabelle shouts to you while prodding her way through the forest with a stick. "Guess you were lucky. You had to survive broken bones, dire beasts and a possible forest fire. The Gods must be smiling down on you!"
You grumble while branches and thorny bushes pull and tug at you from every direction. But the task isn't so daunting as finding a needle in a haystack, because finding blackened earth in the middle of a sea of yellow isn't so difficult.
After about an hour you come across another patch of scorched earth. You sift through the fallen leaves and mud at its center where another crater has scarred the earth. Beneath all the burnt leaves, and scraping away all the fresh mud, is a glint of steel. Scratched all to hell, but still in one piece is your old .38. It desperately needs a good cleaning before being used, but the snub nose miraculously isn't bent and the hammer wasn't broken clear off. You flick open the chamber. All six rounds are still there… That's it.
Reunited with your old faithful companion, Isabelle comes bounding in, breasts undulating, with some muddy pieces of paper folded in two and singed along the edges.
"Hey, look what I found!" she smiles broadly. "You were right! Stuck in a tree near burnt ground. Do you recognize it? It's written with weird letters."
You accept it with an open hand and see it's an empty folder. A tag on the top reads in clear block letters: Project Adam. It feels vaguely familiar, but doesn't bring anything to mind. There's no mistaking it, however, this is the same folder from your dream… A little more burnt than you remember and empty too.
"Isn't that great, you didn't lose everything!" she beams with another smile.
She doesn't smile for too long. Her bovine ears twitch and her voice becomes dead serious. She swivels her eyes up into the forest's canopy, where the sun struggles to shine through. She holds up her hand when you try to speak, urging you to be quiet.
You whisper instead, "Dire beasts?"
"No, something… Odd."
Your ears are apparently nowhere near as sensitive… But it's not long until you hear it too. A droning noise. Buffeting air over and over again. A whine of engines in the distance. You notice that the birds and insects have all gone silent. This sound echoes from every direction now and the two of you look wildly in a vain attempt to keep tracking it.
But you already know what it's from.
"Get down!" You say and move on instinct, pulling the cow girl with you while diving beneath the exposed roots of a nearby tree.
In the nick of time, the whirling reaches its loudest point and through the sparse openings of the forest's canopy you spy the rotary blades. Meeting directly above you both, a pair of flying drones dance around one another. They let off a series of clicks and clacks as they communicate to one another in some binary code.
You didn't notice the position you two were in right away. One hand atop her head, to keep it down, but another around her back to keep her close. She didn't appear to mind that it reached around and cupped her breast, but her body went rigid as her cheek brushed up against yours in the tight space. Isabelle's eyes went wide. She dared not make a noise as the flying mechanical contraptions danced overhead, but as they sped off she could not restrain herself.
"Peter, your face is all hairy," she says gravely, as if it were the result of some horrible medical condition.
"That's stubble. Men grow facial hair," you reply, getting that off your chest. "I keep hearing you two call me 'she' and 'her'… I know I don't have the sharp jawline, but I'm a man dammit."
Cogs whirl and chug along inside that head of hers, but before the steam would start billowing out from her ears because of all the strain, She comes to the inevitable conclusion.
"You are a what!? She shouts.
The Doppler effect of the drones flying away stops. You throw a hand over her mouth and she starts to struggle now. Confused, embarrassed, red in the face and uncomfortable. It's too late though. The sound of the rotary blades start getting closer now instead of further away.
Whatever you plan to do here, sneak, fight, or whatever your way out of her, you better call on your skills.
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334508 No.392242
| Rolled 5 (1d20) |
Draw the hammer back and sneak. Those drones will not go down to a bullet if you don't know where the CPU is.
If the CPU's location is obvious, pray you run into an elven Archer.
Skill roll on sneak
Also feel up boob.
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ed956c No.392251
| Rolled 13 (1d20) |
>>392238
>you better call on your skills
If you're implying that we should call up a forgotten skill, then I hope one of those skills can be the ability to magically reload our ammo. Or this gun is gonna real damn useless once we blow our load.
If this kind of magic skill cannot come through for us then I'd rather sneak away.
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3fcdfb No.392253
Take a shot at one, we're a hard boiled private eye or something, we know how to get out of trouble.
If they're communicating, what will knocking one out do?
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3fcdfb No.392254
| Rolled 4 (1d20) |
>>392253
Forgot my roll
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334508 No.392255
>>392253
It will alert the others. If they communicate with binary clicks, they can discern a gunshot. Also your companion would be spooked big time, few things are as loud as gunfire, and none are on the farm.
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f0b672 No.392261
| Rolled 10 (1d20) |
>>392238
Rolling to shoot the drones.
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1d7b17 No.392266
| Rolled 12 (1d20) |
You attempt to remain hidden, but the drone flashes its spotlight and cuts right through the dark underbrush beneath the canopy. The flying cylinder, shaped like a metal trash bin with a rotary blade at the top, whirls to an ascended stage of alertness. Two green orbs, what you guess are its eyes, turn yellow.
"Cover your ears!" You shout.
Isabelle obediently complies and you raise your .38 to shoulder level and fire off a round single handed. A loud bang, a muzzle flash, but you can tell it missed your mark. Hot mud oozes out the smoking barrel and the bullet tumbled way off course.
You hear the drone let out of loud alarm and it sways back and forth in the air with simple evasive maneuvers. It shortly settles back into a steady position, but now the lights have turned red. You hear foreboding shunk, the bottom of the tin can opens up and you can spy the glint of a long steel barrel as it extends like a telescope.
"Run!" You scream while pushing the cow girl out of the way.
You follow soon after as a pelting of bullet fire rips into the ground and sends bark flying off the nearby trees. Small caliber, no more than .22, but with automatic fire. You push the hysterical farmer girl onward toward better conceal and the cover of thicker trees. You both dive behind a rather large one, but now the bullets chip away at the sides and splatter into the surrounding ground, pinning the two of you down. It isn't very effective nor accurate fire and appears to be relying on the sheer number of rounds fired. Even then, it's tracking ability leaves a lot to be desired.
Isabelle hasn't stopped covering her ears and has crouched down and curled up into a ball in front of you while you keep your back to the tree. Splinters of bark occasionally whiz past your vision as the cracking of the small rounds keep firing.
rolling for hidden factors/movement
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ed956c No.392321
| Rolled 4, 2 = 6 (2d20) |
>>392266
Well, the only way that could have gone worse is if Peter accidentally shot himself in the foot. Not to mention, that's 1 bullet wasted when we only had 6.
Honestly, we're kind of fucked now. There's no fucking way we could run away from them. They have a huge mobility advantage on us. I don't see any alternative to trying our best to shoot them, even though the gun isn't in the best shape and we have so little ammo. Hopefully that first shot cleared the barrel sufficiently for anymore shots to be accurate. Be sure to take careful aim this time.
Rolling to take aimed shots at them.
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ed956c No.392322
>>392321
Welp, fuck me. This is why I hate CYOA where you roll for actions.
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ed956c No.392323
Hopefully someone else can roll better.
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3351ab No.392329
| Rolled 3, 14 = 17 (2d20) |
>>392322
It may be fast, but OP says it has shitty aim.
Distract it by throwing somthing in one direction and then pop out the other side to take a second shot.
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334508 No.392333
Stealth. Out.
You are in a hopeless situation.
The only way it can get better is if the drones pissed off a dryad or an ent or something.
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1d7b17 No.392371
| Rolled 8 (1d20) |
You begin wondering how much ammo this tin can is holding as it refuses to let up the barrage. Given some more time, the tree trunk behind will be sheered away from each side until there is nothing to left to hide behind. You'll need to strike back and soon. Yet every time you try peeking out of cover shards of bark and tumbling bullet fragments threaten to cut your face to ribbons. You'll need to wait for an opening, maybe when it switches up some internal belt, or make one yourself.
A stone peeking out of the mud at your feet might just do the trick. You wrestle it free and test its size and heft with a quick toss up. It will have to do. You heave it out into the opening to your left and a hail of bullets picks it clear out of the air. It will take a second to track back toward the tree, so you duck out to your right and level your .38 up into the opening of the canopy above. You underestimated its dexterity, but it's still too slow to stop you from firing off a single round. Meanwhile, a streak of tracer rounds from the drone rakes back toward you over the tree beside you.
A biting pain rips into your shoulder as you dive back into cover. A deafening thwap' and crunch'' of flesh and bone, but not before you hear the ringing of lead on metal. It's followed by a flurry of clicks and whistles. Next you hear the sound of metal on wood, the drone thrown off course and swaying right into the adjacent canopy. It gums up the rotary blades and the metal contraption lets of a desperate alarm as one blade flies free while others bend. It loses lift and slams face down into the muddy forest floor. Its deafening alarm bell is muffled.
You slide down the trunk and leave a thin trail of blood from your shoulder. Isabelle removes her hands from her cattle ears as the hail of bullets has suddenly ended. She turns around and sees you injured, fresh tears now flowing from her face.
"Peter!" she screams while trying to apply pressure to the obvious wound.
"Ouch, they aren't that big a caliber, relax," you play tough, but wince in pain nonetheless.
There isn't time to exchange pleasantries, or celebrate, because the sound of that other drone is fast approaching beyond the canopy in front of you, from the direction it had previously left.
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334508 No.392373
| Rolled 5 (1d20) |
>>392371
Shoot out the prop
If we're gonna die, we can die guns blazing.
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ed956c No.392409
| Rolled 6 (1d20) |
>>392371
At least we can ambush the damn thing. Find some cover near the fallen drone and wait for the other arrive. Snipe it the second it stops moving.
Also, if we are successful then salvage those drones. We should not leave them behind. At the very least, we need to destroy any tracking beacons or hard drives they contain. Even if that means just having Isabelle beat them to a pulp with a big rock.
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263229 No.392425
| Rolled 12 (1d20) |
See if we can't hit that sucker with a rock, if we pull this off we can salvage the drones for the guns, cameras, etc. We should find concealment and ambush it.
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1d7b17 No.392558
With the adrenaline fading from your system, the pain in your shoulder gets worse and worse. It's a steady trickle of blood coming out too, luckily not an artery burst, but without a chance for proper treatment things will get dangerous over the next hour. If you have that much time. Isabelle appears to know what she is doing, maybe thanks for taking care of so many animals on her farm, but without proper tools she can only try and stabilize your bullet wound.
"We need to stop the bleeding," Isabelle says after giving up on applying pressure to the wound. "If I can find some malloweed… Use your other hand, I will be back!"
She begins sniffing the air and then starts carefully crawling away into the underbrush. You don't know if she's caught the scent already… or how she could pick up its scent just like that. All you can smell is iron and mud. You try pressing the palm of your other hand over your shoulder as you watch the swishing cow tail vanish from sight.
In the distance another propeller blade approaches. No doubt drawn in by the distress signals of its fellow mechanical companion, the one currently face down in the mud. It doesn't make a further noise as the other approaches. You can hear it above the trees and circling around. It begins to flash its spotlight and search through the clearing. It swoops down and its yellow orbs appear to be deciphering the scene in front of it: One crashed drone.
You then realize it has turned its attention away from the downed drone and toward the ground. It's following tracks. Your tracks. It's a now or never moment. You have the chance to ambush it You turn out of cover and with one hand take aim to fire off another round. You hear the gong of lead on metal, but the bullet ricochets off and merely glances the machine. It's yellow eyes turn red and it snaps its target dead on you. As you squirm back into cover you hear the bottom panel give way and the machine gun within whirl to life. The sound of its rotary blade is deafening
Back to the tree. Sitting on the ground. One arm disabled and three bullets left in the chamber. You wait to take your final stand. Maybe one more chance for one more shot. Using the tree for cover, you peek back around only exposing your arm and your eye to see… And see nothing. You feel the wind behind your back and slowly turn your neck, as if it were rusty, and see the drone had already come around the other way. It's internal belt of .22 warming up and ready to spin through the feeder.
"Leave Peter alone!" You hear Isabelle yell from behind the bushes.
One red orb rotates on the surface in that direction. The rest of the drone tries to follow, but flying in from the side is a log. Perhaps a log is not the best word for it. More like a fallen tree trunk as side as your head. Thrown like a javelin. You watch as the rest of the wooden pole zooms past you, the drone being carried along for the ride. It slams into the trunk of a nearby tree. Nuts, bolts and splinters of wood fly everywhere. The contraption lets out a pitiful click and series of alarms before the crunch of metal folding follows it. Diesel fuel, tracers rounds and the sparks of metal on metal leads to only one possible outcome. It bursts into flames, explodes into a fireball and collapses in a heap on the muddy forest floor.
You'll need to make a fortitude check to stay awake from here as the pain and blood lose gets to you. If there's anything left to do other than pass out and get healed Beginner's luck and some bad rolls on the part of the drones at play for this encounter, by the bye.
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f0b672 No.392559
| Rolled 12 (1d20) |
>>392558
rolling for fortitide
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ed956c No.392561
| Rolled 12 (1d20) |
>>392558
If we can manage to stay awake long enough, then we really need to salvage those drones, or at least convince Isabelle to grab as much as she can carry. I know time is of the essence here, with night coming soon. But she's clearly a strong girl. She can probably carry a lot.
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334508 No.392574
| Rolled 9 (1d20) |
>>392561
Salvage stuff from the drone that isn't a pancake. Full auto .22s are awesome.
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ed956c No.392575
| Rolled 12 (1d20) |
>>392574
Might still be able to get ammo and/or other useful parts from the super smashed one. We also want to make sure it has any recording media or tracking beacons destroyed.
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ed956c No.392576
>>392575
Fuck. I did not mean to roll this time.
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1d7b17 No.392669
Your heart is still beating hard in your chest, but you feel the tension dissipate. Only the sound of a crackling fire remains, the only thing left of that second drone. You almost lost consciousness from shock, but the bleeding isn't so bad as before. Feeling returns to your legs and you use the tree at your back as a crutch to get back on your feet. Isabelle comes bounding over to you. Maybe because you look ready to keel over at any moment.
"I'm alright," you say, trying to assuage her fears, unconvincingly.
"I need to get you back to Elise," she says and looks ready to pick you up off your feet. She grabs you by the hands, but you manage to resist enough so that she doesn't drag you along.
"No, I can walk. I'm fine. We… You, need to collect the evidence."
Isabelle tilts her head because she doesn't quite follow. The awkward moment hangs in the air for a moment. She looks down and sees your hands joined. Her fingers trace along yours as if she were measuring just how much bigger yours were than hers. It takes another moment longer before she gets flustered and finally lets go.
"I can walk, really…But we need to get that thing out of here," you say pointing toward the other downed drone with your chin. "More might come looking and it would be bad if they knew this was the right area."
Isabelle looks out at the machine, back at the fire, and then returns to look at you, "Who are you, Peter? Besides a man, that is…"
"I'll tell you when I remember," is all you can reply. "We need to get going though. Before it gets dark."
Seemingly satisfied she'll get her answers later, Isabelle collects the downed drone by giving it a bear hug and waddling away with it. Once again, you are flabbergasted at the strength. Throwing a log that size, at that speed, for that distance. Now she's dead lifting something which can't weigh less than 200 pounds. She's a small woman, but she's got all the strength of a 700 lbs cow.
You apply pressure to your stinging shoulder the whole walk back and return to the cottage as the sun is going down. The only place to put the thing is in her barn. A bunch of the actual cows moo with unease at the strange sight from their pens as Isabelle drops the metal can onto a pile of hay. She only needs to wipe a bit of sweat off her brow for all the hard work she endured.
"Isabelle?" You her a familiar voice call out from the barn's entrance.
Elise, the horned horse lady, trots into the barn with an oil lantern in hand.
"I thought you might be out, so I waited for you to return, but I never expected you would get back so–Oh, you have Peter with you."
She gets closer she spies your bullet wound by the red splotch of blood on your shirt's shoulder.
"Oh no, you are hurt. Again!"
Her trot turns into a gallop as she grabs you and pulls you into an embrace against her chest.
"Dear, you must be cursed with the worst of luck. You two didn't run into any dire beast out there, did you? It is pretty late for you two to have returned. I had begun to worry. You went out to where you found him right?"
"Elise," Isabelle says shyly, tracing one hoof foot against the straw covered wood floor.
"I used some of my horn shavings for Isabelle as a favor, but you can owe me a favor all the same after I take care of this."
"Elise!" Isabelle shouts which finally gets Elise's attention. "There's something you need to know."
"About?" Elise says, still clinging to you and holding you tight against her bosom.
"Peter… Peter is a man," is all she has to say.
Elise doesn't look as if she's able to comprehend that statement at first. Her pretty little eyebrows furrow, but the pieces seem to be assembling themselves behind her quickly dulling blue eyes.
"But that's… Certainly not. Could never," she begins to bluster while finally letting you loose and slowly backing away. "But that would mean… When she, no he, and I did… With… Oh dear."
Out like a light. She faints. Her horse body hits the ground with a clatter. It spooks the cows in their pens and Isabelle cries out her name while rushing to her side. She panics, but grabs a nearby bucket full of rainwater and beings trying to cool the woman down. It's almost comical to see such a delicate woman, attached to a horse body with its legs all up in the air, sprawled out on the ground. Yet as this revelation hits Elise, and Isabelle tries to cool and calm her down, you hear a distinctive series of clicks. Weak, but still audible. It's propeller has long since been broken off, but the shaft still tries to spin. However little it can after being dented and battered all to hell. You can hear its internal gears filled with muck too. It's green eyes flash on and off a bit as it pitifully rocks back and forth ever so slightly on the ground. The nervous herd of cows watching this all start mooing louder.
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fe76f1 No.392676
>>392669
Might wanna pluck out the power source in the drone, it could still be transmitting.
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334508 No.392684
>>392669
Pull out power pack, get machine guns and ask why you two freaked out when you were told of my gender
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ed956c No.392690
| Rolled 13 (1d20) |
>>392669
Pull the power source like >>392684 says. And ask what the big deal is with us being a man.
>>392676
>it could still be transmitting
I'm not sure that the technology level is anywhere near high enough for it to remotely transmit data. I was imagining some combination between steampunk and semi-modern technology. Mostly analogue-based data storage and transmission. Like magnetic media and dial up phones. I'm more worried about it being salvaged and analyzed by the enemy, who would then learn what it saw.
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ed956c No.392692
>>392690
I, again, did not mean to roll… But well, I guess it can't hurt.
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1d7b17 No.392920
You could almost pity the machine if it hadn't tried to kill you. It wobbles to and fro on the ground in pitiful, and vain, attempt to reactivate itself. You don't plan on giving it an opportunity to put yourself, or anyone else, at risk. There's a vague recollection about these things, but that thought is at the back of your mind as you look for a tool to assist you. A workshop hammer is the closest one available. It's meant for nails, but should serve as a multi-tool in a pinch like this. You bang at the metal panels of the machine with your one good arm and it warps the metal enough so that you can get your fingers into a crack. The machine's eyes turn red and it lets out a dissonant and weak alarm as you yank the metal panel off to expose its insides. You mutter a short prayer while grabbing hold of some important looking gizmo inside and pull it loose. The machine's eyes slowly fade to black and the sound of the alarm winds down until abruptly dying.
"That ought to be enough, I hope," you say to yourself.
Looking back, you see that Isabelle has gotten Elise to sit up. She's still holding that wet towel to her forehead. The cow girl looks back to you and sees you covered in oil and diesel.
"We ought to be safe for now," you say. "There's a few things I need to know before you start in on me with all your questions… Why did Elise freak out like that? Why is it such a big deal I'm a man and why would you ever assume I was a woman in the first place?"
"I've only heard of men in legends," Isabelle solemnly replies. "Stories of princes and stuff like that. Fairy tales."
"Fairy tales, are you serious?"
"Legends," Elise says with her voice still a bit faint. "I read once that there was a man who lived in a kingdom far to the west… Now that I think about it, he too fell from the sky."
"Wait, hold on," you interject and waves your hands around. "Three hundred years?"
"When the Queen heard about it, she brought him to the castle," Elise says deep in thought.
"Oh yeah! I remember that one: The Sparkle Prince," Isabelle said with a smile. "Said he knew of a magic elixir that could clean anything. Turned sheets white as snow and floors slick and clean as polished marble."
Sounds more like the janitor fell from the sky to you.
"And this was a problem?" You ask, remembering how dour they looked before.
"There was a war," Elise replies. "All the other kingdoms went green from envy and wanted the prince for themselves."
"Oh, that part was in the story too," Isabelle says as her shoulder slump.
"A war all over one man?"
"The only man," Elise says, finally able to look you in the eye.
"That ain't possible," you reply. "Three centuries since the last man… And how long before that one? A thousand years?"
Isabelle and Elise look at one another while doing the arithmetic in their heads and eventually to their hands.
"…No way. That isn't possible. That's…"
You remember how rare women are back at home and it doesn't sound so far fetched when you think about it like that. Then you remember about all those times you were told as a child that there was nothing down below the clouds. You would fall for eternity. You would freeze to death from the winds, die of thirst and hunger if you bundled up against that before you'd hit anything even remotely resembling the fabled ground.
"But no men at all? Where do the children come from then?"
"The Goddess sends the stork," Isabelle says.
"No, seriously, how?"
"I am serious," Isabelle pouts.
"If you pray to the Goddess of the Home, long and hard," Elise says. "A daughter will come to you. Sometimes a child, sometimes a newborn… Sometimes an immaculate conception… But never a man. Not since before the Great Quake."
"The great what?"
"I'm sorry Peter. I've only ever heard of it. You'd have to find a proper scholar."
"But… Would he get that far… If word gets out there's a man here…"
The full seriousness of the matter now dawns on both Isabelle and Elise. Their heads turn and eyes meet once again.
"If the countess hears about this," Isabelle says with a quivering lip.
Elise completes what she was about to say, "There will be trouble."
This is a lot to take in. Two frightened girls huddled together in front of you, surrounded by nervous cows and the remains of a killing machine. You can only piece together a few things from what you have just heard, but it appears you are the only man around. A unique specimen.. On the ground where these monstrous women dwell.
"But that strange weapon," Isabelle says while looking at the grip of your .38 sticking out from your coat, "And that weird thing… You know what that thing is, don't you? Who are you?"
Who are you?
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334508 No.392923
You are Peter P. Hardong lead designer at O. Pai's genuine guns, hats, and diarrhea medication.
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ed956c No.392936
>>392920
>>392923
kek, this is perfect. As a gun engineer, we are intimately familiar with guns, their use, their mechanical design, and a damn good shot. If only we had more than 3 fucking bullets.
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1d7b17 No.393012
You see flashes of light and images which had been locked away in your subconscious mind. Memories which had been beaten out of your mind. Incomplete, but a precious few memories. You were an engineer and a maker. You specialized the mechanical, the practical, in firearms. You had owned your own workshop where you slaved away at prototypes and strove to secure for contracts with the city. You sold personal protection to people and were rather successful and lucrative with your little hole in the wall. It was a different path than your brother who became a scientist proper. Biomedical engineering, you recall. That leads you to wonder what he had trusted you with, and lost, but you experience no other revelations.
You remember your trusty pistol was an old design you grew quite fond of. Compact, but powerful, and kept it with you whenever possible. The drone on the table, the internal machine gun on its bottom side, you recall its model being a Provden G-56 .22 automatic. An older molder, two decades old, but kept on for its ease of maintenance and how rarely it jams… You might be able to disassemble it, but to rearrange the trigger mechanism and make it ergonomic for a man to hold instead will take some tools and materials you are not likely to find in a barn.
"What are we going to do?" Elise whimpers with a pale face. "This is bigger than us, than this whole village."
"He's my guest, so long as he stays here he is my responsibility to take care of," Isabelle replies to her friend with a wide dopey smile.
"Izzy, don't tell me you–"
"I'm going to go make dinner!" Isabelle says while picking herself up and dusting herself off. "You are both welcome to join me."
The cow girl turns, soothes a few of the cows back into a state of placidity and then skips out the barn and back toward her cottage. Elise eventually collects her thoughts, gets back onto her hooves and clears her throat.
"I am beholden to basic doctor patient confidentiality," she says with a hint of a blush. "It is not clean enough here to treat that wound of yours, so please, when you are finished, I will take care of it back in the cottage… I will need to return to town for more herbs… But I can dress the wound to prevent infection. Please don't delay."
And so she follows after her friend back to the cottage as well. Leaving you alone in the barn, with the cows, a setting sun, an inert and damaged flying death machine and your thoughts.
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334508 No.393019
| Rolled 8 (1d20) |
>>393012
Macgiver the nessesary tools, all you need is a trigger and some furniture
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ed956c No.393035
>>393012
Lets go rest. We've been through some shit.
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0ed17f No.393037
>>393012
Get our wound treated first and foremost.
So are we going to need to dress up as a very ugly woman to keep from becoming some queen's pet man?
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ed956c No.393040
>>393037
>So are we going to need to dress up as a very ugly woman to keep from becoming some queen's pet man?
It's sure as hell sounding that way. But I think it's a bit more complicated than that. Because as valuable as our dick may be, our knowledge may be even more so. Once they learn what we know.
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1d7b17 No.393302
| Rolled 17 (1d20) |
There's not much to the barn as you look around for a second time. The most advanced piece of equipment is an old weathered anvil and the hammer in your hand. Both are but mere stopgap tools to repair any ailing basic farm equipment, let alone modify and make complex ones. You'll need to find someone with more information and knowledge about smithing and metallurgy if you hope to set up shop down here on the surface. In the meantime, your shoulder hurts and your stomach is growling.
The sun has long since descended behind the mountains and all that's left of the day is a haze of orange. Candlelight comes from the window of the cottage and fainter glows are visible from the village at the bottom of the hill. You return to the room you woke up in to find Elise busy making preparations.
"Did you get bitten?" She asks while preparing rags with high proof alcohol for disinfectant.
Not quite, is all you can say while taking off your shirt and taking a seat on the bed. Clenching your jaw in preparation. You spy a lot of disinfectant, but no anesthetics. It's an arduous hour long session of plumbing the depths of your wound to fish out the fragments of lead. Luckily her hands are small, steady and delicate.
"These look like arrow fragments," she comments while placing another fragment of bloody lead on a rag atop the nightstand. "Fine point, but that doesn't explain why it broke up like this… And who would be shooting arrows at people?"
"Not people, nor animal… It's also a bullet, not an arrowhead."
"A what?"
"You can feel it, yeah? The metal is too soft. It's lead."
"Injecting lead into people!" Elise gasps. "But lead is poison. How uncouth."
That stung a little in your heart rather than from your wound.
"That thing Isabelle brought back is what did it. That metal contraption. I plan to get a better look at it tomorrow, because I have a feeling it's not the last time I see one of those things."
You explain in brief how they fly and spit lead. Elise's expression grows increasingly grim as your explanation goes on.
"And they come from above?"
"Yeah, where I'm from. Above the clouds."
"Not even the harpies fly that high. They can't. How could there by anything up there?" Elise asks.
"I didn't know there was a ground before this morning," you reply. "And what's a harpy?"
"Women with wings for arms?" Elise responds, a little confused why you'd need to ask a question which is no doubt so basic down here. "You've never seen a harpy before?"
"I guess it might be strange to live in the sky and not see something that can fly in it, but yeah… No offense either, but… I've never seen a woman attached to a horse either."
She twists her back to follow your gaze, "Oh, well, most centaurs like to live further west… they usually notice my horn first. Me being a unicorn and all. It's a bit hectic out there in the world for a girl like me. Our horns have very potent healing magics in them. A few shavings or dust from grooming it, filing it down, it always sells for a lot."
Your wound is all clear, the sting of disinfecting alcohol has numbed. Elise retrieves a small glass bottle from her apron frock's front pocket. A tiny bit of a silvery paste is inside. Shakes some mercury looking liquid on her finger and spreads it over your wound. You watch as the hole in your shoulder beings to miraculously close.
"There's a lot of demand. The pressure became a little too much to handle sometimes. I moved out here into the country, with all these nice folk, tried to get away from it all."
Her expression is painfully forlorn. Before you can offer any words of condolence, a banging comes from the door of the cottage. You and Elise freeze as it is quite loud.
"Heeey~Izzy~Big news, big news!" Comes distant voice, almost yawning, from outside. "Opeeeen up. Come on!"
"Hold on, I am cooking!" Isabelle shouts from inside the cottage's kitchen.
You and Elise stick your heads out from around the corner and peer down the hallway. Isabelle opens the door to reveal another stranger, lamp in hand, swaying at the doorway. It may be still cold out at night, but she's wearing what looks like some big puffy wool vest. Yet that can't be right, because she's still exposing her abdomen. Rather scandalously. From this distance you can still tell she ain't all human either. Her feet at little hooves, two curled ram horns sticking out from her forehead and two droopy lamb ears coming out the side of her head. Her eyes are only half open, her face looking as if she were to fall asleep at any moment. Kept awake only by virtue of raising her voice and animated by a purpose.
"Highway patrol are in town~" She says, but is interrupted by an exaggerated yawn. "Saying some things fell from the sky around here, probably finishing up in the village. Asking some questions. Not real polite about it. Thought I'd give you the heads-up~Looks like they mean business this time~"
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334508 No.393341
Grab satyr titty, then grab your stuff and hide in the attic.
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ed956c No.393344
>>393302
>>393304
>>393341
>grab our shit, then grab all visible titties on way into the attic
Sounds like a plan to me.
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