Thread 6319262

Quest Resources (stats, party, location, neofauna information, date, time, etc.): https://rentry.org/PokepocalypseQST

Quest Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Pok%C3%A9pocalypse%20Revival (Start here if you want to catch up on the quest's previous threads!)

Updates will be attempted every 2 days! Ideally, I will be back to daily updates by the end of this thread. Absences will be announced in advance and given definitive end dates if I can manage it.

<><><><><>

Within the Year of Our Lord, 1884, upon a world quite similar to our own, all civilization is at war with a peculiar breed of creature...

...all civilization, that is, save for Walter Buchanan and his companions. Walter, an aspiring naturalist, sees the good in these creatures: these demons of earth and sky, able to command the very heavens themselves, privy to the inner thoughts of man and the very souls that animate them. He has tamed four such creatures, all of whom walk by his side: Aster, his flaming foal; Mary, his electric sheep; Taylor, his silk-spinning caterpillar compatriot; Florian, his aromatic flower sprite.

These creatures, whom he dubs "neofauna," are not his only company. Walter is further joined by two human travelers: Thomas J. Steele, a businessman and state representative of Indiana, and "Andrew," a former buffalo hunter now employed as Steele's own bodyguard. All three of these men share a common cause: a desire to return to the East Coast.

This trio is further bound together not only by shared experience, but by their shared allegiance to the Staters: a movement led by a group of rebellious Californians looking to upend the most recent state governor, C. P. Huntington, for his atrocities against the state of California. The treacherous governor has used the state militia to launch a coordinated raid on the Staters' former headquarters, and suspicions abound that he is now responsible for multiple deaths within the movement-- deaths which the Stater's stalwart leader, Aaron Muyr, now seeks to avenge...

<><><><><>

>Saturday, September 6th, 1884.

You awoke before the sun rose.

Everything before you was a blur. If you had dreamed of anything this night, you hadn't remembered it. Your hotel room was dark, quiet-- for a moment, you thought you saw movement at the foot of your bed... and only relaxed upon remembering who lay there.

"Up y' get, Mary," you whispered to your sheep. You were not about to leave her in the hands of strangers while she was this vulnerable. "We've got work t' do."

As you swept through your room like an exhausted phantasm, changing your clothes and washing your face, your heartbeat acted as soundtrack to your morning routine. With every third beat, you were doing something new.

Ba-dump. You gave the ornate clock hanging above your bathroom door a glance. Four in the morning-- perfect.

Ba-dump. You carried Mary with you into the hallway, making sure to close your door as quietly as possible, and slipped down the carpeted staircase.

Ba-dump. The stable doors creaked open, stirring awake the horses closest to its hinges. Florian squeaked at the noise, so disproportionate to the quiet blanketing everyplace else-- you promptly quieted him.

Ba-dump. Aster huffed, stomping in place as his stable door swung open. Your heart briefly skipped a beat, somehow expecting to find a bleeding wound upon his leg, only returning to its normal pace once Aster took a confident step forward.

Ba-dump. You left the hotel behind, Aster's flaming mane coming alive and trotting ahead of you.

Ba-dump. Dark figures lined the streets, sparse in number yet unmistakeable in silhouette-- state militia.

Ba-dump. By the light of Aster's mane and the glow of tonight's blue moon, you continued forth into the shadowy city streets, reminding yourself of your goals...

<><><><><>

"...keep it quick, keep it quiet. Andrew will lead from the front, reinforcements'll be from the sides..."

A cool breeze blew through the small off-road you had all gathered in. Muyr was repeating what he had clarified last meeting. This group was his most important, after all, so such caution was required.

"...militia would be best struck near the neck're legs. Aim t' knock them out, to avoid blood on our hands..."

You held your team together tightly, whispering your plans under your breath in the vain hopes that a member or two might be able to understand them. Everyone here was to go together, on Muyr's signal... except for you.

"...if our own start t' fall, shoot to kill. We have more Staters than they have troops..."

...at least, there were more Staters than troops awake at this hour. All you had was your small party of neofauna. But, you hoped, they were just an emergency measure. The capitol would only have a few militia soldiers in front of it at this hour, not the usual scale of extensive security throughout its halls, so you weren't going to be fighting like the rest of them were...

"...have you any words t' say, say them now."

>Try to rouse the troops like Muyr did. A boost of confidence wouldn't hurt, right?

>Ask a question. [Write-in what question.]

>Pray.

>>6319264
>Ask a question
"What if they have some neofauna of their own?"
The governor may be spiteful to the 'demons', but that may be because he wants a monopoly on force.

Welcome back, QM!

>>6319264
>Try to rouse the troops like Muyr did. A boost of confidence wouldn't hurt, right?

A question would just create doubt and hesitation at this point. Just say something short to show we're confident.

>>6319264
>Try to rouse the troops like Muyr did. A boost of confidence wouldn't hurt, right?

“Huntington leads his troops the same as he does anything else… with the grace and precision of a three-legged cow. Listen to Muyr and we’ll get through this thing fine.”

>>6319472
>A question would just create doubt and hesitation at this point.
I nevertheless see some value in being prepared and having a strategy for if we encounter a fire-breathing weasel, or something worse.

Rousing the troops it is. Writing!

>>6319294
Glad to be back, anon. Thank you for coming along for the ride!

"Ah have a few," you mentioned. Muyr stepped aside to allow you to shuffle forth, then turn your back on the capitol and your attention onto your fellow men.

The night was short, and the crowd's patience was already beginning to thin. You decided to keep things brief. "If any'a you are havin' doubts, put them t' rest. I've seen how we've trained, an' I've seen what we're up against. Huntington's a bloated ol' fool with the grace of a disabled cow-- as long's we follow Muyr into the daylight, ah say we'll be fine."

You finished the brief speech with a grin, but couldn't help betraying your own words. The very confidence you wanted to impart unto others was shaky, uncertain-- blanketed in just the slightest hints of doubt.

And yet, nevertheless... the Stater troops you'd addressed pumped their fists in approval, saluting if they couldn't, trying to make as much of a scene as they could without giving away their position. Their confidence reassured you, reinforcing the strength of your own... and, by the time everyone had quieted down, you couldn't help but feel like things were going to turn out quite alright.

Soon after your speech, the countdown began. You checked your watch and began to saunter off to the side, keeping your eyes on the crowd.

"On one, two..."

Muyr was giving you glances. His eyes bounced between you and the capitol lawn as he continued counting under his breath, his hand tightening around something within his holster's pocket. You knew what he meant.

"...three, four..."

Men were already rushing to the front of the road, huddling around the edges of each building flanking it, giving Muyr space...

BANG

"GO!" Muyr shouted, spitting forth his first command.

Almost a hundred Staters flooded forth onto the capitol lawn all at once. Men poured in from every cardinal direction, save north-- from the east, you could see Andrew leading the charge; from your south, Muyr moved forward.

In all the confusion that followed, with the tide of men splitting into various different groups all aiming for various different parts of the lawn, nobody managed to keep track of you.

You slipped into the crowd, blending in almost unnoticed amongst the sea of warm bodies. As men dispersed, you slipped between tight crowds and aimed for the giant white dome you'd all arrived to capture.

Gunfire drowned out your thoughts as you accompanied various men in a rush towards the capitol steps. You reached them, just in time, only to have your efforts squandered by a militia troop shoving you backwards--

--who next found himself on the ground, twitching uncontrollably, covered in Florian's spores. "Good job," you whispered to your small plant friend. You swerved behind you, expecting another attack-- instead, you were met with a far greater skirmish than you'd expected.

The lawn had quickly become a mess of lead and fury. State militia troops wrestled with Staters, wrestled with neofauna, wrestled with each other-- in all the chaos, it was almost hard to make out that you had the militia on the defensive. A great start-- and a distraction from what you needed to do.

The steps of the capitol were easily climbed. Your greatest trouble came in keeping yourself on-balance, not tripping over your own toes as you climbed the brief staircase and rammed into the building's doors, turning to shield Mary as you threw your entire body into the great oak gate keeping you from Sacramento's head of state. It took only two attempts for the doors to swing open. They... hadn't been locked.

Once you'd stumbled forth into the grand foyer, you stopped. It was hard not to be taken aback in brief awe. The ceilings of the building were enormous-- at least thrice as tall as you were, if not taller. The lavish domed roof hanging over your head put your hotel's lobby to shame, with its intricate patterns and detailed color work uniting in a wonderful display of...

creeeeak

Your heart skipped a beat.

You weren't alone.

You checked your watch again, as if hoping it would show you some other time if you squinted at it hard enough. No-- it was hardly four thirty. Nobody was supposed to be here until hours from now.

The floor here was wooden, carpeted. A familiar stench arose from it-- one that reminded you of the hotel's stables. The stench, however, brought you far more comfort than the continued creaking from above.

You gave the lawn one last glance, its chaotic battle almost inscrutable from this distance. Aster had gone to Andrew, as you'd commanded him to, and yet...

No-- the carpet simply had to be cleaned, that was all. And besides-- the rest of your team remained with you. There was every possibility they were the source of this.

You strafed right, into the carpeted corridors. The creaking above you never ceased-- it only grew quieter without the echo of the dome to amplify it. It was as if a man was pacing-- patrolling, perhaps, some general area on the second floor. A pity-- that was exactly where you needed to be. And yet... what good would pacing do at a time like this? For what reason would there be any need of...?

The stairs! You'd made it to the stairs. This was no time for speculation. You climbed them without hesitation, your hand gripping the banister like each step was about to give out from beneath you.

The stench only worsened the further you climbed. It came to your uneasy attention, around the same time, that the wing you'd wandered into happened to be the same blackened part as you'd seen just a few days ago. But for that to be the source...

crk crk crk

...you trailed off. Whoever was patrolling the corridors was going in the opposite direction. Good-- you were certain the governor's office wasn't far from here. All you'd have to do, then, was get in there and hold the fort until Muyr could join you...

Your free hand slipped over to your left shoulder, prompting Taylor to climb atop it and chitter. You quickly shushed him, motioning with your head for him to look forward, and continued forth. It wasn't long before the governor's office was within reach...

...but you could hear your unwelcome company beginning to approach again. There was definitely some kind of patrol officer wandering these corridors.

If you played your hand right, you could slip past him without ever catching his attention. If you were caught, however...

>Try to neutralize your unwanted guest before entering the governor's office, and risk losing access to it entirely.

>Take your chances and attempt to get into the governor's office, and risk getting caught by whomever was wandering the corridors.

>>6320137
>Take your chances and attempt to get into the governor's office, and risk getting caught by whomever was wandering the corridors.

Remember the mission. This is all for nothing if we don’t get into the office.

>>6320141
+1

>>6320137

>Take your chances and attempt to get into the governor's office, and risk getting caught by whomever was wandering the corridors.

If we stumble upon him we can take action anyway.

Alright: in advance of tomorrow's entry, please roll 1d100! Bo3 rules.

Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>6320611

Rolled 86 (1d100)

>>6320611
RNGesus, hear my plea!

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>6320611

>>6320137
>>6320141
+1

>>6320634
Nice one, anon. I am worried about us getting cut off from behind since we left our patrolman friend unparalyzed, though.

>>6320634
Oh, wow, you dodged a bullet by the skin of your teeth. This roll is only 6 points higher than the DC.

We'll be trying to get into the governor's office. Writing!

>>6320634
Oh, wow, you dodged a bullet. This roll is only 6 points higher than the DC.

We'll be trying to get into the governor's office without neutralizing the guard. Writing!

...you were going to worry about that when it happened, and not while you were trying to be stealthy.

Slowly but surely, you crept towards the governor's door. You crept past the auditor's office, past the senate offices...

crk crk crk

An armed guard walked down the hall, rifle in hand. He glanced from side to side, his grip tightening, his eyes narrowing.

All he laid eyes upon was an empty hallway and a gaudy carpet.

Carefully, quietly, you crept closer to the governor's office. Your free hand traced the wall, then positioned itself nearby the door handle.

You heard steps coming your way. A brief moment of panic caught you, you gripped the door handle tightly-- and let go of the breath you realized you'd been holding in, forcing yourself to keep calm, reminding yourself that the mission came first.

The door to Governor Huntington's office creaked open without further interruption.

The room itself was grander than you could have imagined. Its ceilings stretched far above you, nearly as high as the dome itself. Its curtains-- great big red things that brought to mind the capes of old kings-- hung over the office's enormous windows like a veil over a mourning widow. The floor they just barely reached was covered in ornate carpeting, littered with black hairs, without a single inch of wood exposed.
Upon the paneled walls they hugged hung portraits of governors gone by-- none of whom you could name. These men, seemingly of great stature, were framed in gold and positioned in such a way that almost disconcerted you-- made you feel like you were being haunted by their disapproval. You almost wanted to apologize, before discarding the ridiculous thought and letting your eyes finally come to rest... upon a swivel chair.

This swivel chair, directly across from you, stood behind an ornate mahogany desk. It was clearly made with care-- you could see some sort of paneling upon it, not unlike the same kind the walls were decorated with, and the wood that comprised it seemed polished to a mirror sheen.

The chair rested with its back to you, seemingly more preoccupied with the window that framed it.

There was nothing to see out of that window. Muyr had made sure of it. Huntington's office was opposite the capitol lawn, away from all of the action.

Your eyes drifted back to the room. There were a plethora of bookshelves here, stuffed to the brim with all kinds of records. There was a regular office desk, too-- nowhere near as ornate or resplendent as the one that sat directly across from you. The desk itself was littered with pictures and portraits, mostly of a single woman, alongside the usual litany of state-related forms and papers. The entire office seemed relatively well-organized, almost immaculate in its presentation, save for this one desk.

So why, then, did the entire room stink?

Why had the stench from the stables followed you here? As you slipped Mary out of your hands and onto a nearby cushioned chair, you ruled her out definitively. She was not the source of this smell. But neither Taylor nor Florian could be, and after a quick check... you ruled yourself out, as well.

tap

You froze.

Your eyes shot back to the door-- still open, now closing itself after a brush from the guard.

Your eyes shot towards the curtains-- none of them were moving.

tap

You listened closer. The sound was clear.

Nails on wood. Nails on... wood.

tap

The swivel chair moved, slowly, to one side.

You were not alone here.

"I was correct. I was correct! To hire him-- to remain here. To-- Lord, every part of my aging instincts have served me well."

Collis Porter Huntington's voice cut through you like an ice-cold knife. The trembling in his tone only served to worry you further. You had only heard it once before.

"My guard shall protect me. Do you hear me? I have a guard. He is armed, and he shall serve me well. Do you--"

The chair swiveled to the right and slammed into Huntington's desk. The man himself soon rose from it, leaving the chair behind, turning away from the window to face the desk you had just looked at.

"GUARD?" Huntington yelled. His voice nearly cracked-- when he tried to repeat himself, Huntington merely found himself coughing. It took the governor realizing that the door was closed shut to stop himself.

"No matter. I have yet to be shot-- I am alive. If there is an assassin in my midst, he is quite terrible at his job."

Huntington cleared his throat and paced back to his desk. He paced back and forth, back and forth, his eyes never leaving the ground, his left arm remaining within his coat. His dirtied coat, that he was still wearing, despite the fact that you had seen him in this exact dress nearly three days ago.

By some divine intervention, Huntington had yet to spot you. Mary, neither, despite her sitting plainly atop one of three chairs in the entire room. The man seemed too preoccupied with whatever was in his head, too caught up in himself to do so much as look to his right.

You needed Huntington out of this office, and the capitol in Stater hands.

You had a chance-- just one chance-- to do something.

What would you do?

>Write-in.

>>6321086
>This looks like a job for Florian's pacifying mist or paralyzing powder!

>>6321086
>>6321088
Ooo, I had an idea for what to do after he's zonked out!

>Have Taylor bundle him up, too! maybe we can even lower him down out the window on a string of silk, or drop him onto a Cotton Spore cushion?

>>6321088
>>6321096
+1
What the fuck is causing that smell?
What the fuck left those black hairs?

>>6321117
Houndour? Quilava?

>>6321086

>Hold him at gunpoint. If he does anything we don't want him to do, shoot him dead. Do not give any wiggle room to him and use Florian to make him fall asleep.

If he wins this conflict (which I hope he does not), it was all a bad dream.

Not kidding, this is literally the best way to get him 'out' of that office. If his puny little guard comes in with his single-shot trapdoor rifle, he can eat absolute shit against our revolver. This guy literally barged into town, declared himself governor and started to rule like a tyrant. His rule is illegitimate anyway, so I'd argue that shooting him would not be against the law.

>>6321120

If a Houndour or Quilava shows up, we use our gun pointed at Huntington as a threat. If any action is taken against us by the Neofauna, Huntington gets a bullet to the skull.

>>6321200
He wasn't elected?? I missed that plot point somehow.

>>6321086
>>6321088
+1 for paralyzing. If we try holding him at gunpoint, I don't think Walter would be easily willing to shoot an unarmed man, and any hesitation could mean him calling the guard.

Who is Huntington talking to? Who did he hire?
>I was correct! To hire him
>My guard shall protect me. Do you hear me?

>>6321293
I think he was shouting to the Staters outside.

Wait. The yellow fur that disappeared out the window, along with the incinerated remains of McClatchy, Cunningham's almost possessed behavior... I ignored the possibility of a Stone evolution and am nonlonger pleased by the thumbnail.

>>6321378
But what about the black fur?

Clarifying in advance: I won't be including >>6321096 in the next entry because it doesn't have nearly as much support as the option it's attached to. Also, it would immediately kill both Huntington and Taylor no matter the dice roll. Which I don't want to write, and I'm quite sure anon did not intend to happen.

As for trying to paralyze/pacify: roll some dice, please! Same rules as last time: 1d100, Bo3 rules.

Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>6321651
>that spoiler
Holy shit, are you kidding me? Are we that high up? That's a bit out of nowhere don't you think? Thanks for the warning though

>>6321663
Yes. (Apologies for the crusty image, couldn't find a better one with someone in such a good position for measurement.)

For reference: this is the building we're currently inside. The people near its steps seem about average in terms of height, and they're on the highest step. Assuming the guy I'm highlighting here is about 6 feet, the drop anon was suggesting would be about 24 feet. If he was exceptionally short and only 5 feet, it'd still be 20 feet.

We're not on this specific side of the building, but the room we're in is on the same level. Anyone dropped on their backs from that height, even with a cotton cushion, has about a 1/5 chance of dying instantly upon reaching the ground. If they're lucky, they'll just be permanently paralyzed for life.

Given that Taylor is barely a foot long and only about 5ish pounds, he wouldn't be able to hold up Huntington whatsoever and would immediately fall out of the window with him. Even in the best-case scenario of Taylor's silk cord snapping before he's dragged out of the window, that's a very dead governor and possibly a badly injured mandible for Taylor. Worst-case scenario they're both dead in very public fashion, and there's only one possible culprit.

This is all from very rough and quick estimates-- I don't want the quest to rely too much on realistic weight calculations or anything like that, but I have to bring it up here because I want to explain my reasoning and, even in the most generous possible interpretation of anon's choice, I can't really implement it without severely fucking up the party in ways that would place undue blame on the audience and just make the story less fun to read and write.

Paralyzing's fine, though. I can work with that no problem, so I'll write tonight's entry off of that. How it ends up just depends on the dice now, and I don't think even the worst possible rolls will end in a death there.

>>6321670
*anyone dropped from that height, doesn't need to be back-specific. Forgot to edit that out after messing with the sentence.

Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>6321651
Stop resisting!

>>6321670
Thanks for the explanation. Yeah that sort of plan is a serious no-go then with the reality of the situation as it is

>>6321670
>I want to explain my reasoning and, even in the most generous possible interpretation of anon's choice, I can't really implement it without severely fucking up the party in ways that would place undue blame on the audience and just make the story less fun to read and write.
See this is part of what makes a good QM, being willing to explain why a particularly appealing-sounding write-in will seriously fuck shit up beyond player agency and acceptable/foreseen consequence and is therefore vetoed by the QM.

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>6321293
>>6321651
rolling

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>6321717
Hope that's close enough since we got the drop on him.

>>6321670
I see. Well, fair enough. Thank you for clarifying and warning us.

>>6321700
Agreed. QM is a champ.

>>6321727
We'll soon find out...

>>6321670
>Walter Buchanan, famed Neofauna researcher and tamer, jailed for defenestrating the governor.

Thanks for not rug-pulling us QM. Even if that would be a really funny ending to the quest.

>>6321867
>ending
>implying we wouldn't flee the state

>>6321727
Maybe! We'll see.

Writing!

You would paralyze him. You had to, at least, try.

Ba-dump. You crouched down next to Mary's chair, keeping an eye on Huntington while your Taylor-less hand found its way to your shirt pocket.

Ba-dump. Huntington turned again, heading towards the rightmost part of the room-- away from you. "As is my guard. I have called him twice now. Thrice, almost. And he has yet to appear."

Ba-dump. You gave Mary's cheek a stroke and scanned the room. The curtains were far too obvious-- Huntington would hear rustling and see a bulge underneath them. The desk reeked, badly-- your nose wouldn't be able to take hiding under there. You'd have to sneak up on him, from behind, unguarded.

Ba-dump. Your heart caught in your throat, ceasing to function for just a moment, as Huntington turned around on a dime and narrowly missed your location. He raised a brow... and moved on.

You snuck closer, your heart still racing, your neofauna more silent than you had ever known them to be, your steps quiet and carefully planned as you passed by Huntington's most spectacular desk, praying under your breath...

"I suppose it is good, then, that he won't be needed. I will be able to take him off of my payroll with a clear conscience." Huntington continued to ramble to himself, fixating on one of his smaller windows. One that you hadn't realized was there, and that Muyr... had forgotten to account for.

"As clear a conscience as one can have after murder, anyways."

...whose murder, exactly?
Speculation raced through your mind. Of the most immediate theory, one made itself well-known-- perhaps Huntington felt guilty for the murders of Staters, which he had commanded by proxy? Or-- well, no. He couldn't be the culprit, surely. That didn't make-- that didn't add up. If he had--

You'd stopped.

Right.

You had to keep going.

Quiet words were whispered to Florian. A similarly quiet squeak of affirmation was given back. A smile crept its way across your face. To think, Florian was barely listening to you when you first came here...

For a while, all was quiet. Huntington stood, back to you, facing the window. Your steps, as careful and quiet as a young doe's, went unnoticed.

You only realized the error of your assumption when the silence was broken by a low growl.

"You've come to a great place indeed, young Buchanan. But I'm afraid you will never be able to leave it."

Huntington turned, slowly, to face you. His words were mumbled, overpowered by the crescendoing growl, possibly best left unheard.

He was almost invisible. The darkness of the room, combined with the deep wrinkles that further shadowed his face, made it nearly impossible to make out the man who spoke to you.

All you could see, now, was a hand reaching out of his left coat pocket.

A charred, burnt, almost unrecognizable hand.

"You have come here seeking death, and, by God, I shall grant it to you."

KKRRR-THUD

Something jumped out from under the desk and pushed the swivel chair back into the wall--

An overpowering odor overwhelmed you. The sounds of barking, slobber flecking across your cheek as a pair of sharp-tipped paws dug into your chest and left you gasping--

You shouted for spores, Florian let them loose--

CRRRSH

A bookshelf fell where Huntington once stood.

The man himself had escaped-- he was running back to his ornate desk. Glass flew everywhere, shreds of paper were strewn about as record after record was torn apart by broken glass casing--

You scrambled to your feet and retreated, on all fours, staring down your opponent, almost slamming up against a wall before jumping to your feet and fleeing towards the door. You pulled on it, yanked the handle-- and realized it was locked.

RRRR WOOF WOOF

You turned around, your eyes racing between the window, and Huntington, and the evil--

The black-furred creature, bound in bone, with eyes like pinpricks, reeking like the stables, baring sharp fangs from an orange snout that held upon it the traces of a torn leather belt around the muzzle and foam around the mouth--

Huntington screamed over the creature's vicious noises-- its heaving, its growling, its constant snarling-- "Why is it that you care so much, Walter? What good does it do you to betray California to your ends? I've seen your general down there, I know his name-- I know all about him, in fact, even more than he would be willing to tell you-- and I know you have no business being in his company, spreading such hatred against the lone bulwark of humankind. Have you no love for your fellow man-- no respect for the sanctity of your compatriots' eternal souls?"

The man was a lunatic. A raving lunatic--

You glanced back down at the creature, still foaming at the mouth. It was-- twitching, paralyzed. It was far enough away to not even be a threat anymore. But you could see in its eyes-- it wasn't going to give up. Every inch of it twitched and raged, screaming to break free, staring daggers into your soul and striking fear into your heart. And you knew this spore couldn't leave an opponent disabled forever.

Huntington continued, even as the demon's snarling hatred for you continued to make itself known. "Have you a spy in my midst? Some kind of double agent? How else would you-- could you-- have known of my being here? My awakening in the early morn, specifically to root out would-be assassins like yourself?"

>Shout back. Try to reason with Huntington, explain yourself-- and hopefully end this without a fight.

>Try the door, again, as hard as you possibly can. Break it if you must. You need to get out of here, fast.

>Write-in.

>>6321120
One cookie for anon, coming right up!

>>6322033
>Try the door, again, as hard as you possibly ca . Break it if you must. You need to get out of here, fast.
He already suspects us and is high on his own paranoid farts, there is no reasoning with him now.

>>6322044
Can't we have Taylor use Razor Leaf to slice the door apart or weaken it so Walter can break through it? Maybe around the hinges if possible?

>>6322033
>Have Mary zap the demon-dog until it's unconscious
This is for everyone's safety and as a reminder to Huntington that he'd better stay put and not try anything funny if he doesn't want the same treatment.

Then:
>Shout back. Try to reason with Huntington, explain yourself-- and hopefully end this without a fight.
I don't know about the one HE'S got here, but most neofauna are NOT demons! There are good ones and bad ones. yes, some are dangerous, but as we're currently proving, some can be friendly and helpful. Most of all, what he's proposing isn't possible: they're here to stay, worldwide, and we HAVE to get used to living together.

>If we can bait him into a debate, have Florian hit this room with calming scenes if he can, too

>>6322121
+1

Rolled 43 (1d100)

>>6322033
>Write-in
>Point gun at Huntington and demand he calms the dog down. Tell Mary to be ready to zap the dog. If Huntington refuses, or tries to stall with conversation, or just cannot calm the dog down, tell Mary to attack the dog, and shoot the door with the gun to try and break it enough to open.

Mary likely won't be able to take a whole battle in this condition.
Taylor could wrap the dog in silk, but I don't think it would be fast enough or effective enough.
Florian did a good job, but I don't think there's more he can do.

>>6322121
>>6322134
If you guys going for an attack, you should roll as well.

>>6322033
>Write-in.
Shoot the dog. If that doesn’t work, have Mary zap it until it’s a Hiroshima shadow.

Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>6322207

Why are you guys rolling unprompted?

>>6322218
The QM said before that we need to roll for combat

>>6322218
Because teal told me to.

>>6322218
I'm not? I'm >>6322134

>>6322139
>Mary likely won't be able to take a whole battle in this condition.
Which is why, like in the games, you must take it down while the paralyzed status lasts.

Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>6322033

Supporting >>6322139, he who can't see reason shall feel it. If it ends his life, then it shall be so. If we must, we can also shoot his Houndour. It's clearly mad and vicious, just like its owner.

>>6322602

Neeevermind we're actually fucking dead good quest guys it was fun

>>6322603
It’s almost like Waltur isn’t a hardened killer or something.

If Andrew were up here instead then everything in this room would already be dead.

>>6322647

(including us)

Rolled 6 (1d100)

Oh, we're meant to roll?

>>6322676
Not before an option is decided on, and the vote is currently stuck in a tie. I'll let you know when it's good to start rolling.
Good thing these rolls don't count yet, because the dice seem to really hate this thread today.

>>6322139
+1

>>6322692
Oh, speak of the devil.

Alright ladies and gentlemen, roll some 1d100s. Third verse same as the last two, Bo3 rules.

Rolled 24 (1d100)

>>6322702
OK now that we got the bad rolls out of the way before the vote was called, will we score BIG?

Rolled 19 (1d100)

>>6322139
>>6322702
rolling

>>6322711
oh no

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>6322702
GIVE PRAISE, FOR HE HAS NO EQUAL!

>>6322718
YES YES YES

>>6322718
Saved by the bell!

Alright, I'm going to start writing now. That was a very close call lol.

>>6322718
Saved it!

GRR. RRRR--KHHH--RR

The devil snarled and spat and hacked, its endless foam beginning to coat the carpet. You wanted to question why-- how-- on earth Huntington had managed this, but--

RRRRGRRRR

You didn't have time. Even through the paralysis, you could see it forcing itself forward-- through every growl, the creature crept forward like each new step would induce some kind of horrible pain.

Eventually you had to look away-- it was sickening to watch, even if your eyes begged not to leave it. The way it shambled forward, clawed at the carpet--

"Oh, I know. I think I know now, boy, why you're here. How you figured out my precautions. You were simply researching your beloved home city."

Huntington was the perfect distraction. And he needed to be-- dealt with.

The last thing you wanted to do was leave this town with blood on your hands.

And yet, now, with your hands slightly trembling, you were pointing a revolver at the state governor.

"C-calm that dog down, Huntin'ton." You bit your lip, trying to keep your tone cool. "T-tell it t' stand down. Now."

HRRR. HRRRKH.

The creature snarled, inching ever closer, fighting the paralysis with its every breath. You thought it was heaving-- yet, you could've sworn you heard similar heaving from behind. From behind, where...

"Don't turn away from me while I'm speaking, Buchanan." Huntington had been speaking? "Your guns don't shake me. If I was supposed to be-- if this was supposed to intimidate me, you should have taken notes when your precious thunder-cloud did nothing to deter me."

He was trying to stall.

You turned your head to the back-- gave Mary the attention she deserved earlier.

She was... shaking. Twitching. Even with her legs tucked underneath her, you could see her lower half trembling alongside them. Maybe she was just as enraged about the situation as you were.

You whispered for her to shock the creature as soon as it took another step forward.

"Even now, you prioritize these beasts over humankind! These shortcuts to power-- is that what you so desire, Buchanan?" Huntington spoke confidently... despite his trembling hands.

"Tell th' dog t' stand down," you repeated. Your finger remained far away from the trigger, but the thought invaded your mind-- for just a moment.

WHAM

Huntington slammed on the desk like a spoiled child, roaring loudly enough to make his attack dog flinch and Taylor fall off of your arm. "SHOOT, CHILD!! SHOOT, NOW, if you ever intend to!"

You froze-- baffled, angered, and disoriented all at once. You almost dropped the gun-- you tightened your grip on it.

"SHOOT," the man repeated, "OR I WILL."

You stepped forward.

HRRR

Your arm remained outstretched.

HRR...

Your hung onto your Webley-Pryse No. 4 for dear life...

~~~~~

...something wasn't right.

No, this wasn't how it was... supposed to happen.

Mary sat, watching, as her closest compatriot froze up.

She knew the feeling well. To be presented with danger, to stare it down and do nothing...

The very angry one across from him, who smelled and looked like her favorite member of the herd, hit the warped tree beneath him and made noise. Noise that Mary could not understand, but knew nonetheless.

More noise joined him. Hacking. Spitting. Frothing at the mouth.

Noises Mary had not heard since she had gone to bed, and woken up with pain in her leg.

Her legs, which now betrayed her. Her legs, which forced her to sit and watch.

To watch, as her herd-member stayed frozen.

To watch, as her old assailant drew closer to him.

To watch... like she had before.

No.

No, Mary couldn't stand for this. She couldn't-- she couldn't let this happen again.

An overwhelming anger began to overtake her. An anger nothing like she had ever felt before. No-- she was tired of sitting here. She was not going to sit here, atop a wonderful cushion, watching as-- as it happened again.

GRRRRRR--

The demon grew closer, its eyes upon her companion's blue leg, its eyes as hungry as they once were-- for her.

Mary had to help.

She had to get up. She had to-- she had to move, she had to--

Mary had to do something--

~~~~~

BANG

BANG BANG

One shot.

Two shots more.

You swiveled around-- you'd hit the door. The bullets ricocheted off the hinges-- you saw dents, they came undone--

"COWARD!" Huntington roared, slamming the desk once more. His burnt arm flew forward, his decrepit lips spat commands--

RARRF WOOF WOOF WOOF

The demon was so much closer than expected! You fell forward, trying to push the door open, nearly falling over as you changed course last minute. You spun on your heel, your jacket smacking wood with a loud CLING, your gun swinging towards your calf as you saw the rabid thing opening its mouth to feed upon it--

BANG

One more bullet expended, an ear clipped-- even now, as blood burst from this rabid animal, you couldn't help but see its kindred from the Stater meeting. You almost felt guilt, for just a moment--

FWOOSH

--until its mouth caught alight, and the relentless attack was refined.

The demon dug its claws into the floor so loudly they made the wood CRACK. It snarled, its hind reared upwards, the hellspawn unable to control itself as it leapt towards you before Huntington's command--

WWWWHUMPH

A bright light engulfed the room. The demon whined--

"Wh-- FINISH IT, FINISH HIM! Don't-- the plan--!"

You shielded your eyes from the phenomena, convinced you'd broken a light. Huntington kept shouting-- you had no clue what-- over top of everything. Hissing could be heard to your left as an enraged governor's rantings began oscillating between fury and dismay--

K-K-K-THNK

Your hands hit the floor. The floor!! You could escape into the hallway--

Your mind went back to Mary. She'd surely die if you left her in those hands. You had to--

>Stay to protect her, even if it meant your injury!

>Run for safety, alert the Staters!

>>6323067
>Stay to protect her, even if it meant your injury!
Might as well start writing the next update, QM.

>>6323070
+1!!!!!

>>6323067
>Stay to protect her, even if it meant your injury!
As if we'd abandon our starter.

I'm glad we're finally getting an evolution at a climactic moment of do-or-die like this. Ampharos STILL cannot learn Tail Glow for fuck's sake!

>>6323067
>Stay to protect her, even if it meant your injury!

Mary's POV was awesome QM.

>Oh, I know. I think I know now, boy, why you're here. How you figured out my precautions.
What precautions is he talking about here? What did we figure out?

>>6323181
I think Huntington thinks we know more than we do, both about his secrets and abotu New York.

>his secrets
I think Huntington erroneously believes that by taming a Houndour, he has entered into a literal Faustian pact with the devil or something for an actual hellhound... Which, under the circumstances, is a defensible position, even if OOC and IC alike we know he's wrong and just has a weird angry magic dog. I think he made this "deal" to maintain order and to save the community from the anarchy brought on by "demons."

>New York
I think the reason he believes this ties in to what he's rambling about to Waltuh. New York is chaotic right now, as we know. I think their governor was assassinated with a mon, or deposed by a trainer revolution, and he thinks that inspired us and the Staters to do the same. He may even believe the revolution to be Satanic.

>>6323141
She'll only be a Flaaffy for now, anyway.

>>6323205
makes sense, I forgot a lot of people still call them demons and not neofauna like us

>>6323067
>Stay to protect her, even if it meant your injury!

We still have two bullets. Make them count!

>>6323067

>Stay to protect her.

Shoot Huntington in the head, and then use your spare bullets on the Houndour. At the end of this, only one man can leave this office alive.

>>6323815
That's a good plan except for the fact that it's murder, it's out of character and we're definitely not that good a shot.

>>6323815
>>6323838

I am also against shooting him if zapping him and the hound into paralysis or unconsciousnesses is on the table.

(Gotta delay the entry one more day, sorry. Got real busy today and I'm still not done. Won't be able to write before midnight, and by then I doubt I'll be capable. Apologies!)

on another note,
>>6323181
>Mary's POV was awesome QM.
thank you, I'm glad to hear it! I was very nervous about including it, so to hear that it landed is very nice :)

Okay, I'm keeping my word today. We're staying to protect Mary.

Writing!

>>6324489
Moment of truth time!

--stay to protect her! To consider anything else was bordering on sacrilege by now.

As your vision cleared, your eyes needed a few moments to readjust to the prevailing darkness. Huntington's silhouette became a panicked face, the image of a man darting around his room shouting commands--

Commands, of course, directed towards the rabid assailant that had made a beeline for your leg mere moments ago. The creature looked no less hellish on second glance-- it hardly sat still, darting across the room, jumping atop furniture and leaving a trail of disgusting froth atop almost everything it besmirched with its step.

The froth, of course, wouldn't have been visible if the governor's office was still totally dark. Nor would it have been tinted with the blue glow it now possessed. Even the light of the battle below the capitol, the distant bits of it that seeped through the windows and into this den of madness, would not have been enough to illuminate such things.

No, the source of this light-- this glow-- was almost even less believable than that

A great pink creature, unknown to you, now hunted your enemy like his own kin would. It bore the mannerisms and the hallmarks of someone you had grown to cherish-- and yet, it was unlike anything you'd ever seen.

Blue lightning arced across its eyes and burst forth from its wool. Shock after shock shot towards the rabid dog, dissipating into thin air as each and every bolt missed, and was followed swiftly by one of two hooves.

Upon the creature's left arm was a scar. A very familiar one-- a scar that resembled a wound you had spent the last two weeks tending to. An infected, handicapped leg... now healed and fully functional, as an entirely separate type of limb.

Huntington's hound had incurred the wrath of a newly-transformed, almost human-like... Mary.

"By the--" Huntington's face was the kind of disbelief you figured didn't exist. Pale, aghast, stretched thin-- and, almost as suddenly, boiling with rage. "BUCHANAN!! You-- do you realize the demons you've courted??"

While Huntington's afflicted hound made a mess of the governor's office, the man himself stormed towards you like one of his old trains. Your arms shot up, reflexively, your fingers hovering around the gun's trigger-- before immediately finding themselves someplace else, shaking.

Teal streaks lit up the face of a man who seemed unable to settle on any one expression-- frantic glances back to his decrepit companion, utter terror at what pursued him, and furious rage unlike any you'd seen before. The governor almost seemed to froth as much as his hound. "You don't-- you do not seem to understand what you have done, boy. I thought you naught but a coward, stumbling onto a stash of dynamite. Someone out for my life, but without the guts to do his simple job."

Huntington's fists were so tightly-balled that you saw his nails beginning to break skin. "I can no longer be so kind. Do you understand the significance of that color, Buchanan? That shade of teal?"
The governor's voice trembled like the ground during an earthquake, his eyes enflamed and almost-- sorrowful? "You play with necromancy, boy, and your companion now harbors the spirits of the dead!!"

You were left so baffled by this statement that you were glanced by Huntington's first punch.

He was-- he was serious, you figured, as the man threw another towards your left cheek. For a moment, you thought he might be right-- the implications of what you saw disturbed you, let alone the change they brought about-- but... you were a man of God, and you knew full well that He would not allow such a thing to pass. Who else, after all, could have been responsible for this miraculous recovery?

"A-ah don' know what yer on about, gov'nor!" You thought aloud, stumbling around the room, trying to find your footing as Huntington's punches came quicker and quicker. You recalled the photos you'd spotted earlier-- of a woman, somewhere around his age.

As you cast a glance towards the desk they lay upon, the governor's hound bounded atop it. Its paws dug into the photos, its frothing saliva dripped onto the chair nearby...

"Then either you lie, or you have doomed this city where I intended to save it!" Huntington threw another punch, aiming for your clavicle, and... struck true.

All the air within you left your lungs in an instant. You fell backwards and hit the floor with a loud THUD. Something ran up your throat-- blood, spit, you weren't sure of the specifics.

Huntington continued to speak. "I sought only a future for this place-- a legacy to leave behind-- the salvation of humankind in the one place I could instate it! And you-- you!!-- see it fit to bring me hellfire instead?? You bring with you the wretched destroyers of your home state, consorting with them as a father does his children, intent on preventing the defense of your own people against the armies of hell... and you assume a mere revolver will have me accept it?"

His words were laced with an abominable marriage of insincerity and passion-- a true desire to do as he said, laced with an unspoken ulterior motive. He was clearly speaking from his heart-- his rotten, shriveled, blackened heart-- but...

Huntington raised his left arm. The sight of the shriveled mass looked even more abominable when lit by Mary's tail-- red, laced with bite marks, blackened and falling apart and almost skinless in seemingly random places. His fingers, possibly the most human-looking parts of that arm, snapped-- Huntington's dog, still stood atop his master's desk, pricked his ears and looked alert.

"Let me now put such delusions to rest!! Hound-- scorch it all!"

What--

FWOOSH

Mary's light was beaten back by the glow of flames arising from the dog's mouth.

All the froth had turned to fire-- almost every inch of its maw... laced with embers.

It all fit together...

...and then the dog jumped.

Huntington's hound leapt forward, paws outstretched, aiming for Mary.

The stink of the stable hit you like Huntington's most recent punch. You scrambled to your feet, aiming your gun, firing a shot before you'd steadied your legs--

BANG

--you hit a portrait, and the hound came crashing down upon your companion.

~~~~~

FWW-THD

Mary slammed onto the carpet, twitching. Her opponent had her pinned down, its humid exhalations nearer than ever--

Mary rolled her head to the left. His fangs missed her neck-- narrowly.

Already, the sheep was inundated with heat. She bleated for help-- her friend could save her, after all, if she was loud enough! But her eyes betrayed her, the sheep's wool perfectly positioned to swamp her brain with fog--

No! Mary wouldn't let this happen again! Even now-- even as she could hardly look her assailant in the eye, even as she trembled with rememberance, with familiarity, with fear-- as she and her old attacker's eyes met-- she would not let him win!

Lightning raced through her wool, electrifying her blood, swelling inside Mary and begging to be released. The sheep made good use of her new legs, taking the absence of her old hooves as an invitation to grab onto her victim like he once did onto her, letting this force of nature take hold of her before bursting forth as an enormous shock--

~~~~~

Your and Huntington's eyes lit up like a light show, neither of you truly able to grasp what you were witnessing.

A veritable wave of thunder Discharged from the pink creature's wool, meeting with the electricity leaving its eyes, coursing through Huntington's hound and bringing forth its skeleton into view.

The creature yelped, stiffening up-- giving Mary just enough time to throw it to the side and run to you. Mary bleated, her voice all-too familiar to you-- there was no doubt in your heart, this was her. Mary gripped your waist and looked up at your shirt pocket, bleating something to Florian, searching around for a now-missing Taylor.

You were more preoccupied with Huntington's hound. It hadn't moved, and you were certain it was a goner. How could even the most resilient creature survive something like that? What looked like some kind of holy force, directed straight at the core of the creature's being-- there was no way it could withstand such a blow.

And yet...

Across from you stood Huntington's hound. It had patches of fur missing. It was trembling. But... it was still standing.

Its jaws flared to life once more, absolutely caked in fire. The creature's glance swept the room-- it passed over a terrified Taylor, huddled beneath a chair, over you, over... its master. Governor Huntington itself.

And it recalled the command he once gave it.

<><><><><>

crckl crckl crrckl

Flames licked every wall of the hallway you ran down.

You hadn't been able to see where he'd gone. You didn't have the time to look. You sped forward, your legs practically immaterial, every part of you screaming to get out.

Taylor rode upon your arm. Florian remained in your pocket. Mary-- ran beside you, as if she'd only had two legs her entire life.

Huntington's words echoed through the hallway. Every one curdled your blood. They weren't audible-- but you could tell they echoed his sentiments from when the office first began burning.

"Run, then, traitor to your species!! Flee from the cleansing you deserve-- try to outrun fate itself!! See how it helps you!! It will treat you as kindly as it did I-- with no remorse!!"

Words of a madman-- one so lost and trapped in his own head that even other men could no longer understand him. Words, yet, that haunted you-- haunted your pursuit, as you missed a burning curtain by the skin of your teeth.

You needed to find a way out of this place as soon as possible, but your options were rapidly shrinking.

>Attempt to run down the dome's staircase. It's nearest to you-- but also nearest to the flames.

>Try the staircase you initially came from. It's further down the hall, to your left, and much narrower...

>Run for the balcony and alert the Staters to your situation before anything else.

>Write-in.

>>6324523
>Do you understand the significance of that color, Buchanan? That shade of teal?
>You play with necromancy, boy, and your companion now harbors the spirits of the dead!!
Which mon is he talking about? Alolan Marowak? Litwick line? Maybe Greavard?

>>6324527
>Try the staircase you initially came from. It's further down the hall, to your left, and much narrower...
Narrow is a detriment to whoever stands in Walter's way as he is rushing to the exit. I don't trust stairs near the fire source and I do not trust balcony heights that could kill us. We RUN

>>6324527
>Try the staircase you initially came from. It's further down the hall, to your left, and much narrower...

>>6324531
I think he may just have rabies and be delusional, manifesting as a religious psychosis because of the circumstances.

>>6324527
>Run for the balcony and alert the Staters to your situation before anything else.
Muyr has an otter that can put out fires with water attacks.

>>6324527
>Try the staircase you initially came from. It's further down the hall, to your left, and much narrower...

>>6324527
>Run for the balcony and alert the Staters to your situation before anything else.
They need to know Huntington's setting fire to the place. Maybe some militiamen will overhear and realize he's way beyond unfir for command.

(Delaying the entry until tomorrow again, I need to fix my sleep schedule; sorry)

>>6325464
See you soon, QM!

This vote’s a narrow one, but we’ll be taking the corridor we came from!

Writing!

Options, options— the dome would do you no good. It was too steep a drop. The balcony— if the fire caught up with you, your only choice would be to jump.

It was a no-brainer.

You bolted down the corridor, trying to ignore the crescendo of crackling fire chasing your every step, bounding beside your— your first partner, whose form remained unrecognizable. It took Taylor’s chittering to alert you to a pursuer.

“YOU— STOP RIGHT THERE!” Huntington’s guard hollered, his rifle pointed squarely at you. A ring of flame surrounded him— he bolted towards you without hesitation.

“Damn it—!” You hadn’t meant to curse, but your manners escaped you— seconds after, you attempted a similar escape down the stairs that had brought you here.

Taylor ran across your arm, running across your jacket like a nasty winter breeze. He clung onto your shoulder, face facing backwards, and briefly knocked you forward— down the stairs, just enough, to miss a step and clutch the railing for dear safety.

You threw a glance behind you— the guard had been covered in silk. Guilt shook you like an unannounced quake— yet, as Huntington’s fires engulfed what more you could see of the second floor, you forced yourself ever-further.

thd thd thd thd CRK

You missed the final step and landed with a harsh crack. Though your lips bled and your ankles hurt— you were unharmed.

A torrent of ashes swept down the domed staircase, soon followed by their creators. The entire building— whatever Huntington’s dog had done, it was going down. There was no way the man himself could have survived by this point. That, to your displeasure, was a relief. One that you clutched to, for hope—

—until you saw a pair of eyes, sat atop the dome’s grand staircase, glaring at you from inside the fire.

The sight tore into your soul and ripped a part of it out. A primal shout left your red lips— and you stumbled forward, tripping over yourself, bounding forth like an animal, slamming your full body weight into the giant doors of the Californian capitol—

BAM

—and being rejected, stuck inside the building, with Huntington’s hound still approaching. There was no choice— not now— you had to—

“MARY!” You threw one hand forth, pointing to your target, and left the second to hoist you up from the floor— “MARY— SHOCK IT!”

Your partner echoed your shout, letting off a Shock of Thunder as she roared her battle cry, aiming for the silhouette of the hound as it got ever-clearer—

BAM

You slammed against the door once more, unable to devote your attention wholly to the battle. Once Mary made clear that the shock didn’t stop your enemy with a loud bahh, you gave her another command— “Keep at it! ‘Til the door’s down!!”

For a moment, you wondered if her shocks would help— then watched, as she missed her second shot and her thunder bolt dissipated against a wooden pillar.

Taylor soon joined her, crawling across your shoulders and spitting as fiercely as he could, while pillars of flame crept into your peripheral vision. Your brain began to soak in its own sweat, your brow hung heavy over your drooping eyelids— as the very ground beneath you began to complain of your weight, you knew it was now… or never.

Your full weight wasn’t enough, so you stumbled back, prepared yourself— and charged, full force, into the capitol’s doors!!

[ROLL A D100!]

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>6326262
Gonna need a miracle since we're running this solo.

>>6326264
Miracle Max over here, clinching it.

>>6326264
I guess we don’t need any more rolls, lol. Alright, hang tight for the second part of this update!

BAM

One final push— and you were out!!

You tripped over yourself, clinging to a pillar— you’d caught yourself just before falling down the stairs. It was hard to think, even harder to see— darkness still blanketed the capitol park, even at six a.m, and only the back of the capitol was totally alight… for now.

You dared not look back. The supernatural cracklings of thunder mixed with the ever-familiar sound of fire, ever-hungering fire, consuming every single inch of wood and carpet, and possibly even—

RRROOF, WRROOF WOOF

No! It was still alive! ”MARY!” You yelled, your voice cracking. “MARY, COME!”

Taylor clung to your shoulder with a grip so fierce it pierced your jacket. You almost wanted to force him back onto your arm, get him to substitute for your revolver— but, as a stray stream of fire licked at the heels of your boots, you snapped back to reality and stormed down the capitol steps.

The sight you were greeted with would have broken your heart, had you not devoted the last month to this cause. Countryman fighting countryman, battling without restraint. Bullets passing shoulders, narrowly missing ears, landing squarely between—

You looked away. There were others— less violent soldiers, off to the fringes. Instead of bullets splattering brains and rifle butts dislodging teeth, you were met with a comparatively civil match— man and neofauna, side by side, dodging a man with awesome sharpshooting skills and retaliating with gusts of wind and deftly-woven Winged Attacks. This kind of song and dance— it was almost beautiful enough to distract you from the matter at hand.

Not that it was hard— every breath of yours was heaved, every thought of yours uncertain. You stumbled ahead, looking to the side— somehow, not expecting Mary to be there. And yet, your pink friend was— looking behind you, loosing thunder bolt after thunder bolt, still attempting to Shock…

RA-WOOOOOOOO

A chilling howl brought frost to your bones. The humid prison you’d known for so long fled in favor of uneasy fear. Fear…

crrreeeeak

…that only doubled, as you turned around… and saw the first signs of the capitol beginning to fall apart.

“Dear Lord in Heaven,” a soldier near you whispered under his breath. You weren’t sure of his alignment— Stater or otherwise— but you were certain of his shock, and shared in it intensely.

“Aster— Aster!!” You yelled, well aware that he wouldn’t hear you. Man after man shouted, ran away— while you stumbled forward to search for your future steed, Mary’s appearance terrified your opponents and lit the way.

“Aster??” You cried out a third time, choking on your words. Instead of summoning your equine acquaintance, you’d summoned someone completely different— yet just as partial to your neofaunic friends.

“Walter— what the fuck have you done??” Andrew spat. He grabbed your shoulder and forced you under his arm— gave Mary a glance— then returned his eyes to the throng of people ahead of you, and continued. “I— Is Huntin’ton in there?”

“Ah— yes, yes!!” You shouted, only barely hearing him over nearby gunfire. “Ah didn’— he jus’—“

“Good job!!” Andrew yelled over the crowd, smacking you on the back. You saw a smirk peeking out from his stubble in the light of another gunshot— one you narrowly dodged by ducking and strafing left.

“Wh— good job??” You echoed, simultaneously proud of yourself and baffled. “Ah— we weren’ supposed t’— what’ll Muyr—?”

“Shut up!!” Andrew barked, still running. “We came here t’ save this state from ‘n unworthy ruler, an’ that’s what we’ve done! You’ve jus’ taken a shortcut!”

You almost wanted to be disgusted— to remember the sanctity of one human life. One human life, no matter whose it was… and yet…

“Ah know where Muyr is. Ah’ll get you to him, no sweat, soon’s ah can. Chickpea’s already doin’ us so many favors—“ As he said that, you heard a loud cluck from your right— “—an’ this— this new… whatever ah yours will…”

Andrew slowed as he began to connect the dots. “Wait a minute, where’s M—“

“We don’ have time!!” You cried back, pulling your formerly sheepish companion further ahead. She was starting to lag behind— and, even though she no longer threw bolt after bolt of electricity behind her, you could feel her tiring. “If you know where Muyr is, take him to us! Now!!”

NNNNEIGH

You saw a trial of flame make its way through the crowd, seemingly running hither and thither without direction. That had to be— “Aster!”

You broke away from Andrew and chased it, shoving away soldier after soldier—

BAM

—stopping just short of a bullet, before finally breaking through to find your fiery friend surrounded by fire… and burnt fabrics.

As the flames that had pursued you without end neared your most recent teammate… you noticed that he was left unharmed.

>Confront Huntington’s hound a second time, now with Aster by your side. You’d have to leave Andrew and abandon hope of finding Muyr— for now.

>Call for Aster to join you on your way to Muyr, and stay by Andrew’s side.

>Write-in.

(good job, btw— you were only 5 above the DC. Any lower and you probably would have croaked.

Happy Halloween!)

>>6326300
>Confront Huntington’s hound a second time, now with Aster by your side. You’d have to leave Andrew and abandon hope of finding Muyr— for now.
Finish the job! Confront the pursuer! Also if Aster has Flash Fire then this dog's fucked KEK

>>6326302
>only 5 above the DC. Any lower and you probably would have croaked.
What, did we pick the wrong choice in escape route? You'd kill Walter and end the quest that easily?

>>6326300
>Confront Huntington’s hound a second time, now with Aster by your side. You’d have to leave Andrew and abandon hope of finding Muyr— for now.
For all the staters that he killed at Huntington's beck, for McClatchy and --worst of all-- for hurting Mary, this hellhound cannot be allowed to run amok for the good of Sacramento.

>>6326318
>You'd kill Walter and end the quest that easily?
Yes, it was stated early on that if we met our untimely demise we would switch PoV's to somebody else.

>>6326320
Damn, I'm glad we beat the 80 DC then. Way too high though. I'd expect 65 or maybe 70 to be reasonable. And it just occured to me we could have done something smarter and quicker like rush a window in one of the ground floor rooms, and break out that way instead of chancing the big heavy wooden front doors. That write-in might have saved us, but hindsight is 20/20

>>6326300
>Confront Huntington’s hound a second time, now with Aster by your side. You’d have to leave Andrew and abandon hope of finding Muyr— for now.

Scientist Walter wants to battle!