/q/ - Quest

>Both
You all launch into a breakneck pace, with Amy leading the way as she recalls that Room 8, the game room, had a large window on its eastern wall!

"Hope's a guy!" Mudi shouts at Amy.

"They'll be alright!" Buiwong shouts. "Just keep moving!"

Gegenschein keeps focused on running despite his broken arm.

You rip through room 2, then 9, reaching the point where the BEAST first saw you on this Floor (the red dot).

>roll for balance, DC 4 from support of others

>>767896
>Shorthorns also makes note to grab the great sword that truly fell the BEAST before making her way with Amy through the collapsing halls as they try to make for the stairs.

[1d10] For balance
"Are we missing ANYONE else? How many floors below us are there? A-and I'm just remembering all those soldiers we left up above, I hope they know a way out!"

Roll #1 4 = 4

>>767897
>>767896

"I got his name right!?" Amy responds to Mudi, focusing on the wrong part of the correction.

>[1d10] for balance

Roll #1 3 = 3

>Both
Behind you, sections of ceiling collapse and drop to the ground, erupting into towers of dust and clouds of shrapnel. Walls cave in, pipes snap and blast steaming hot and freezing cold water, while magitech circuitry powering the lights pops, pelting you with little daggers of glass, as sparks fly. From elsewhere you can smell gas, and smoke. Amy tumbles, and Mudi trips over her with a pained squeal, as debris shards shred them both about the chest and arms. Scorpan picks them both up and continues to run, bolting for Room 8.

Once there, Gegenschein smashes the window open with his cannon, revealing the utter emptiness of the Tartarian Abyss beyond it. The grounds of Midnight Castle spread out, filling the imagined darkness for but a speck of distance. Buiwong launches out columns of spider web for you to rappel down with.

"Have a little faith!" Gegenschein finally barks. "We've escaped worse, and we'll do so again, together!"

"Go, go, go, go!" Scorpan shouts, setting Mudi and Amy down. Seems he won't leave until you're all to safety.

>>767899
Shorthorns nods, "We'll have to hope they'll manage to survive this on their own, they should be able to! No one who came with us into Tartarus was weak enough to fall to a collapsing building!"

All the same, as she exits through the window, she takes a look outside at the surrounding, collapsing infrastructure and seeing if she can see any signs of Hope or anyone else in need of help
[1d10] Perception

Roll #1 1 = 1

>>767899

"Thank you," Amy says to Scorpan as she starts climbing out the window.

[1d10] to climb

As she does so, she tries to see if she can see Hope in any of the windows from the outside.

[1d10]

Roll #1 6 = 6 / Roll #2 4 = 4

>Both
You aren't able to see much of anything below you, besides the Abyss, or Midnight Castle. Not for lack of things to see, mind you– but rather that Midnight Castle and the Abyss seem almost to be in a competition for which can take up more of your field of view. For Midnight Castle is not the lesser villa of some insignificant fiefdom, but an architectural behemoth, stretching above you, and below you, and about you, in all directions. Nine Layers comprise Midnightcastle, each Layer comprised of nine great Floors, and each one built to house Tirac's immense height. Not even Tirac himself had explored every Floor, let alone every Layer – for he did not build Midnightcastle, but discovered it. Ah, but that is a tale for another time, dear reader…

The others join you in rappelling down, but the quaking of the collapsing Castle threatens to shake you off as an insect would be shaken off from the hide of a giant! Roll to keep your balance, DC 5 from the aid of the others.

>>767903
>each one built to house Tirac's great height

Change this to something that would suggest Midnightcastle was *already* large enough to house Tirac by the time he discovered it

>>767903

Amy keeps balance. [1d10]

"Why are we even doing this?" Amy asks loudly over all the collapsing. "Why don't we just go… somewhere else? That's the void right there."

>Vestigial Sunlight to be given an idea of where to go as a guide through the void
>[1d10+2]

Roll #1 9 = 9 / Roll #2 10 + 2 = 12

>>767903
>>767904
>>767905
Shorthorns blinks as she looks out into the Void, "Uh… I guess I was just kind of distracted by the entire castle falling down around our heads. Can we focus on where the others are, do we know where the others are?"

[1d10] Balancing

Roll #1 3 = 3

>Amy
In your mind's eye, you behold an Anchor not far from here, yet far enough to escape the blast radius of Midnight Castle's collapse. You know that it is there that your allies will assemble.

Those who have survived the war, that is.

It's just a matter of getting everyone there. Gegenschein can no longer fly, nor can you or Shorthorned, but Buiwong, Mudi and Scorpan should be able to with some direction.

>Both
Just as Amy notes a good spot to land, a horrid tremor looses a great slab of stone from the side of Midnight Castle, shredding Buiwong's webbing, and taking Shorthorned with it! With a gasp, Scorpan dives from his section of web, and grabs ahold of her, at the cost of being pelted by rock shards and dust.

Seeing Scorpan fly through the falling debris, Buiwong and Mudi exchange a look, and nod. They swoop over to Gegenschein, combining their power to carry the giant, one-winged griffon, who lets out a surprised squawk. Buiwong summons parachute-like nets of web, and Mudi conjures a carpet of her sketchy crayon self-portraits, which can awkwardly hover. Buiwong whistles to Amy as one would to a dog, gesturing for her to hop on.

>>767907
Shorthorn lets out a yelp as she falls loose of the great stone exterior of Midnight Castle, falling below, "AAH!!"

She's caught by Scorpan, prompting her to look up at the gargoyle with a sigh of relief, "Thank you! One of these days I should really figure out some way of flying myself…"

>>767907

Amy follows the whistle instinctively. As she falls, she shapeshifts into a little crystal-mouse.

>[1d10] to land safely on Buiwong

Roll #1 1 = 1

>Shorthorned
"Don't thank me just yet!" Scorpan seethes through gritted teeth. You realize that you aren't exactly slowing down by much – and you see his tattered wings, not yet fully healed from his interminable imprisonment at the hands of Tirac. "Brace for impact!"

>Both
As Amy transforms, Buiwong, Mudi and Gegenschein all reach out for her, but her smaller hitbox makes this a tall order. She falls through all three of the factional leaders' grasps, much to their embarrassment, and horror. But just as mouse-Amy threatens to disappear amidst the destruction of Midnight Castle–

An aged pegasus darts from a window far below. Scarred, eyepatched, with one good forearm, and one damaged prosthetic stump– there is none it can be besides Hope.

The impact into Hope's remaining good arm knocks Amy into a daze. But Hope, sharp-eyed even in his middle age, spots the others above him. He signals to them, and flies toward a certain point beyond Midnight Castle. Buiwong, Mudi, Gegenschein and Scorpan try to do their best to follow him despite everything.

>>767910

"Ow…" Amy groans as she shakes off the impact. "Thanks…"

Then, she realizes it's Hope who caught her. "Hey! You're alright! I was so scared that we wouldn't find you! I'm sorry we left you alone!"

>>767910
Shorthorns winces as she looks up at Scorpan's torn wings, realizing he isn't in the best of flying shape right now. "Hold on, maybe I can do something for it!"
[1d10] Sphere of Life to restore Scorpan's wings and his vitality

She sighs in relief as Hope reveals herself to catch Amy and the others, "Hope, you're okay! Is there anyone else we're missing?!"

Roll #1 7 = 7

>Amy
Hope glances down at you but offers no reply. You see that he's back in his usual mercenary leathers, having presumably ripped off whatever themed costume he'd been put in upon arrival in Midnight Castle. You sense that he will be all business until the day he dies.

>Both
"Everyone who could make it is out," Hope barks to Shorthorned. "We're late for the rendezvous. Let's move."

Shorthorned's blessing revitalizes Scorpan enough, filling in the gaps of his tattered wings, that he's able to turn his controlled fall into a smooth glide. Hope leads the way as the fliers among your team carry you off from the collapsing ruins of Midnight Castle.

As you fly over the Anchor housing Midnight Castle, you see a vast and tainted countryside, poisonous and polluted by the evils housed inside the Castle. And beyond it, the Abyss – but, not as much of it as you had first grasped. For soon, you see the remnants of Grogar's dyson sphere of conquered Anchors– for however much you can describe the phenomenon as such.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t9nocjg2OLI

The great dyson sphere of Grogar's domain, having been loosed from Grogar's binds of distortion, now unravels, Obliterated fragments of earth drift in the emptiness, shattered away from their Anchor. Chunks of forest and desert and globules of ocean fall away into nothingness. Light and elements disperse into thin, shredded membranes. Amidst the broken Anchors are countless engines of war, weapons, vehicles, ammunition and dispersed malevolent aether, and still other more murderous things, just waiting to be claimed by another.

Here and there, too, you see cracked continents of bone – vertebrae, once belonging to the Lord of LIMBO, Asphodel.

Just beyond one such vertebra, you see a diskos of burnt stone, where small specks you recognize as your allies have gathered.

>>767913
Shorthorns looks around at the vast devastation of the loosened anchors, now set adrift in the Void without Grogar's power to hold them together, and taking in the sheer scale of the death that had occurred here today - soldiers, enemies and allies alike, fill the space between spaces with their machines of war, and Shorthorns gives a solemn bow, acknowledging the sacrifices made by all sides today.

As they land on the cracked remains of Asphodel, she looks around, worrying, "Asphodel… has he ever taken this much damage before?" She says, looking around at the huge cracked vertebrae, "He seemed almost invincible, I didn't think I had to worry too much about him but looking at this… not even HE could walk something like this off easily." She looks around the Void, trying to see signs of Asphodel
[1d10]

Roll #1 2 = 2

>>767913

"Big dummy says nothing," Amy says quickly when Hope doesn't respond to anything she says.

When Amy sees the bone, she becomes concerned.

>Vestigial Sunlight
>[1d10+2] to discern if Asphodel is alive

Roll #1 2 + 2 = 4

>Both
Asphodel himself is nowhere to be seen, nor can you sense his almighty presence. Wherever he is, he's gone from the field of battle.

But, as you soon realize, there's a lot that you cannot sense. It's as if a great deal of noise and other stimuli which induce sensory overload is now gone, leaving behind an emptiness fitting for Tartarus. The forces of LUST, GLUTTONY, GREED, WRATH, HERESY, VIOLENCE, and TREACHERY have evidently been decimated. You cannot see, on any of the nearby Anchors, any remaining combatants. You wouldn't be able to see corpses, but you do see fragments of many different kinds of armor among the debris.

Almost everybody's gone.

The fliers touch down on the diskos of stone, collapsing from exhaustion. Although your allies initially eye Scorpan with some suspicion, the fact that he gently sets Shorthorned down assures them that he's not an enemy. That's a relief for them, you surmise, for all of your allies look greatly exhausted, all of them cut, scraped, burned, shot, bruised, bloody, coated in grime and sweat and blood from countless different sources.

That is to say–

Those of your allies who are still here.

For just as it was in the inn where you last got to relax, there are conspicuous absences among your allies.

>>767916
Shorthorn's search for any semblance of Asphodel's presence is cut short upon their arrival upon the great bone remains and seeing that there are not as many here as there were before. Fearing the worst, Shorthorns steps forward, looking around to see whom remains… and whom they've lost

>>767916

Amy pouts when Hope doesn't respond to Amy's goading. "Well, I guess that makes you a big dummy," Amy says indignantly.

When they land, Amy hops down, but doesn't leave her rat form. She looks up at everybody. She sees there's considerably less of them now. She tries to figure out who is missing as she speaks.

"Wow, even the Sons are gone?" she says optimistically. "I'm really surprised…"

>Both
Yet again, you're forced to perform a head-count, as your weary comrades draw closer, sitting down together regardless of faction to treat one another's wounds at long last.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MX1hS7PwgRU

Those who did not survive – these are their number.

The skeletal knight who sought to tame the demon possessing him through the cultivation of wisdom and qigong – Eligos.
Doctor Galton's soft-spoken, melancholic understudy, the genius stained glazier – Viper.
Living Saint Zoantharia's grumpy, yet kind-hearted monk-squire, who tirelessly collected alms for the poor – Monkey.
Holy Hours's boisterous entertainer and unforgettable clown – Rooster.
The pony who always sought to stand up for truth, justice and the Accorsian way, who had earned through blood sweat and tears (mostly blood) the title of Mortalkind's Strongest Demon Hunter – Hurricanrana.
Buiwong's dedicated emissary to the Buffalo clans, who survived the One Night War and the Rapture at the heart of the bloodiest battles between angelkind and demonkind – Temper Tantrums.

And…

The power-devouring gremlin who navigated the membranes between Worlds to chase down the rogue voidling Observer – once known as Yes Mare for lack of social grace… Hafaza.

The trio of musical angels, always ready to jam with anybody whose soul needed a lift… the Malakhim.

Those few who remain of the Saviors sit beside you in particular, unable to muster more than a few words as they try to heal yourself and themselves. Yet it's not going well… nobody has the energy for it. Least of all Flow, and Observer, and Great Journey.

>>767919
Shorthorns takes full stock of their lost members, sitting down slowly in particular as she realizes Temper Tantrum is no longer among them. She weeps for all their fallen compatriots, of course, having gotten plenty of time to know all of them - too much time, it almost feels like - but Temper Tantrum is a particularly heavy blow as a fellow Buffalo, and a fellow Climbing Fire at that. He was a warrior worthy of admiration, and Shorthorns can only hope he went out in a manner befitting such a strong and noble bison.

She looks around for Great Journey, feeling as though he might feel the same (and just to affirm to herself that he is still here among them all)

>>767919

"We're almost done, then everyone will be saved," Amy says with determination as much for her own benefit as everyone else's.

>Shorthorned
Great Journey leans his head against yours, weeping in bitter silence. Nearby, Buiwong clears his throat.

"I've got him," Buiwong says. "…We ain't losing him to Tartarus… We ain't losing anybody. Once we're back on the surface…"

Buiwong sighs, as if even the hope of escape and resurrection were itself too much to process right now.

>Both
As your allies struggle to bind up one another's wounds… you gradually sense that you are not as alone as you may have felt. For a sensation of a presence builds around this battle-worn Anchor, growing in all directions.

As your allies hastily rise and reach for their weapons– you see a weary remnant of GREED's soldiers gathering around you. At their head is a tall figure, clad in a suit much too big for his frame without even counting his pointy shoulder pads… Bloody, bruised and wounded, this may be an historic time for the Layer of GREED, for now in MISTER MOOLAH they have a leader who fought alongside his troops and outsourced contractors, rather than sit back and hide behind his dirty money.

"Finally…" Moolah sighs as the troops of GREED surround you. "It's… done. It's all done."

>>767922
Shorthorns gently rubs her head against Great Journey's, sitting in silence with him as they silently mourn their fellow clansmate, tears flowing down her eyes as well. "I miss him too…" she says to him, drawing on him for strength.

As Buiwong says he has him, she looks to him, nodding in gratitude. Her feelings towards the spider god are complicated, but for this she has nothing but thanks. "Thank you, Buiwong…"

>>767922
As they all gather to lick their wounds and mourn their fallen, Shorthorns is suddenly distracted by the arrival of weary remnant of GREED's army. They look as battered and bruised as all they do, but in truth, Shorthorns can't help but feel a sense of wariness as they seem to surround them all. She turns to MISTAH MOOLAH, gauging him cautiously for what he's about to say or do.

>>767922

Amy transforms back into her wolf-pony form and sits next to Mudi. "Almost," she responds to Mister Moolah. "We still don't know ANYTHING about Fraud."

>Both
The remnant army of GREED reaches for their packs…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BlAd2KSXD2k

And in a flash, fireworks and confetti fly up all about you. MISTER MOOLAH's kicked off into a frenzied and memetic dance, whooping and cackling with the ecstasy of victory. "We won! We won!!! GREED really is good, just like they said!!! Talk about a five finger discount!!! Hot diggiTY DAWG!!! YEEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!"

The forces of GREED start passing out these cheap-ass little drawstring vinyl backpacks – commemorative swag bags. Inside you find a flimsy plastic water bottle that can't hold enough to quench anybody's thirst; then there's some misprinted BELPHECORP stickers with an awful-smelling adhesive. Then there's a one-size-fits all BELPHECORP t-shirt, pure recycled cotton (not pre-shrunk). You also see… little figurines made in the likeness of all your dead allies. Surprisingly, these look pretty high quality. You can even move their limbs to pose them like action figures.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh I couldn'ta done it without you guys!" MOOLAH continues, gyrating like in a trance. "We're all getting promoted for this one! They might even give me a raise! First one I'll have ever gotten since I started working here… and maybe… just maybe, while I'm dreaming… maybe Shirley will let me have joint custody again!!!"

Your remaining allies glare at MOOLAH like they're about to rip him limb from limb. Even Scorpan's looking around for something to beat him senseless with.

But… you feel the faintest sense of another presence… one last guest for this celebration.

>>767925

"What's 'joint custody'?" Amy asks before becoming distracted by this other presence she senses.

>[1d10] to locate it

Roll #1 10 = 10

>>767925
As Mistah Moolah's forces suddenly send up a flurry of fireworks and start cheering in celebration, Shorthorns releases the breath she'd been holding.

"Phew…." she says in relief, falling in exhaustion against Great Journey's side. "I'm too tired for any more surprises today…"

As she gets her gift-bag, filled with figurines of their fallen allies, Shorthorn's expression takes on a scowl. She wants to argue this is in poor-taste so soon after their loss, but at this point she's just thankful this is all she has to worry about from Mistah Moolah.

>Both
As MISTER MOOLAH proceeds to go on an explanatory rant about how his ex-wife robbed him for all he's got, Amy's nose regains its sense of direction.

Only… the presence you sensed is coming in from all directions, and yet none at all– each forewarning, a false one. You look about at all angles, both outwards and even inwards, yet you just can't find–

Only, at the last moment, Amy happens to glance at the Vorpal Sword, still held by Shorthorned.

And, at the broken, shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, sliced, burned, hexed and all-other-ways-damaged body of the Storm King, Lord of GLUTTONY. With his left hand he reaches for the handle of the Vorpal Sword, for his right hand is but a stump.

>roll perception

>>767928

Amy barks at the Storm King, blasting a wave of holy flames at him.

>Wrath [1d10+4]

"That's not your sword any more," Amy says as she rushes at him.

>[1d10] perception

Roll #1 1 + 4 = 5 / Roll #2 6 = 6

>>767928
Shorthorns' meaning of rest is interrupted as the presence suddenly distracts her, looking around for where the source could be coming from.

"What is that…?" She says, not yet aware of the growing danger just on her back

[1d10] Perception

Roll #1 4 = 4

>Both
In the very instant that Amy barks out her holy fire, a curl of flame passes between her eyes and the Storm King– obscuring her view of him. The very next instant, the Storm King is gone, and so is the Vorpal Sword.

Then, the Storm King stands near Amy, yet inflicts no retaliation or counter-attack against her for the assault. He holds the Vorpal Sword up, in his good hand and his stump, beholding its inscription with exhausted eyes.

"Finally…" the Storm King sighs. "It's… done. It's all done."

Only… as you look at the stump, you realize something's amiss.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AxkHZ5WGMc

It's hollow.

Where one would expect to see meat and bone, cauterized or otherwise, there is a void. The circle of his wrist is neither fleshy nor raw, but dusty instead. His arm is made completely out of some kind of hollowed-out rock, and you can see the crack where his severed hand would fit neatly, a geological puzzle piece.

The wounds on the rest of his body are just the same: hollow openings. None of the blood upon his body is his own. As he caresses the Vorpal Sword, his hollow body moves awkwardly upon its frame, wobbling from side to side, like clothes hanging upon a mannequin too small for the tailoring.

Your other allies back away from the Storm King in silence, for even those who did not meet the Storm King recognize him for a Lord of Limbo from power alone. MOOLAH's celebration continues, heedless of this final guest.

>>767931

Amy frowns as she looks at the pathetic sight. "Even if you were the fairest once, you're definitely not now. Are you even undefiled anymore?"

>Mantra of Equality to get him to see the reality of the situation: he has lost the fight and doesn't deserve the blade
>[1d10+4]
>DC-4

Roll #1 5 + 4 = 9

>>767932
>>767931
Shorthorns looks on as Amy's fire suddenly catches her attention to the new threat, put on her guard as she feels the Vorpal Sword taken from her back.

"AH!" She says, looking up in surprise to see the Storm King having survived his encounter with THE BEAST after all. But, as she looks at the looming, powerful figure, she can't help but notice the differences from before - his strong, imposing figure now dusty, hollow, cracked… like he's falling apart at the seams, caressing his blade as he wobbles from side to side. Where at one point Shorthorn felt trepidation from this figure, it's now replaced by a new feeling… pity.

She moves in front of Amy as she barks at the Storm King, waving her hands in front of her. "Wait, Amy, it's okay!" She says, trying to get her to stop. She turns back to look at the Storm King.

"It's his sword. He hasn't done anything to deserve us taking it away from him."

>Amy
"I know… I know…"

Perhaps surprisingly, the Storm King responds to you.

Only… it is the right side of his face which responds to you. The right side sags, weary and pained, and twitching like it's trying to get away, to leap from the body and hide behind you.

The left side, on the other hand, may as well not have heard you at all, for it still regards with maternal love the Vorpal Sword which shows the left side's reflection.

"Please… help me," the right side of the Storm King's face begs.

Yet the left side has other plans.

>Both
The Storm King jolts back, nearly snapping his spine at a 90 degree angle as he wrenches upwards, arms outstretched in joy. "I've done it!" cries the left side of his face. "I've won! Everyone who stood in my way of becoming the Lord of LIMBO once once more is dead! They're DEAD! DEAD!! DEAD!!! And I still stand!!!"

A hideous screech rips from the Storm King's throat, ascending vertically from his usual sonorous, honeyed octaves into an unrecognizably shrill trilling.

…Even as his wuthering victory cry grates your ears, his words ring familiar. Yes, he has said before that he was once the Lord of LIMBO. Not a contender, but truly taking the mythical throne as the uncontested LORD… This means he once reigned victorious in a previous competition… and then either abdicated the throne, or more likely, was torn off of it.

The question is, then… exactly *when* was the Storm King the Lord of LIMBO? As you heard from Asphodel, the previous Lord was not from GLUTTONY… but from…

>>767934

Amy's frown deepens as her eyes narrow. "There's two of you…" Amy says as both an accusation and a realization.

"If YOU are the Storm King," Amy says, pointing to the right half of his face. "Then, who are YOU?" she asks, pointing to the left.

>>767934
Shorthorns is perturbed by the bizarre 'split' in the Storm King's personality. She attempts to approach him, but is caught off guard by his suddenly ear-piercing screech.

"Agh… Storm King, listen to me!" She says, attempting to bring reason back to the broken and head-splitting monarch. "Yes, the battle is over, but look at yourself! Don't you see what's happened?" She says, trying in particular to appeal to the left half to bring it down to earth

[1d10]

Roll #1 3 = 3

>Both
By now, the remnants of your allies have drawn their weapons, but look just as ready to cut and run from this sordid scene. And, the forces of GREED have finally gotten MOOLAH to pay attention to what's unfolding in front of him.

The Storm King tilts his head your way, a look of confusion coloring the manic left side. "Ah…? Oops! Sorry, didn't quite have time to change back into my Sunday finest for the big moment!"

The Storm King's left hand raises the Vorpal Sword high. The stump of the right arm extends outward, yet quivers and twitches as if the Storm King – or more accurately, his right half – didn't want to do this. Then, the left hand tilts the Vorpal Sword, hanging the blade above the right wrist.

(1/2)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLJW4lBlNAY

"P-please," groans the right side of the Storm King's sunken, sloughing face. "You can't do this… let me go… I did all you asked! W-we had an agreement!"

The right side of his body quivers, rapt with tremors, as if trying to escape the left side, yet he remains trapped by paralysis.

"An agreement?" the left side of the Storm King's face repeats, all parts of it curling up with contemptuous mockery. The left side of the body shakes too, quivering with glee. "We had an aGrEeMeNt!? Puhuhuhu! You should already know the problem with THAT argument!!!"

The two halves of the face divide, the right side weeping with terror, the left side cackling with hysteria, as the Storm King's left hand raises the Vorpal Sword to the sky.

"H-HWUUUUUUUAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAHAHAHAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!"

The Vorpal Sword guillotines down, slicing off the very end of the Storm King's right wrist. Against the begging and sobbing of the right side of his face, the blade rushes back up, slicing off another cut of the wrist, chopping it nice and thin as if it were so much deli meat.

Screaming and giggling, the Storm King pirouettes, twirling into an ecstatic dance of torment. With each turn and curl and bend, his left hand hacks off bit and bit of his own body with the Vorpal Sword, showering the field with rock dust and scattered aether. First his right arm, then his horns, his ears, even his hooves and ankles and calves, yet even without those, the Storm King floats in the air, puppeteered by something inside him.

Taking the sword in his teeth, the Storm King thrashes at the neck, headbanging until he at last shreds his left arm into fine fragments of rock. As the fragments fall he flings his neck all the way back as if to twist it off his shoulders – yet it spins all the way back around like a spring released, launching the Vorpal Sword through the air.

"Now, my dear Vorpal Sword!" the Storm King bellows. "I dedicate thee – reveal to us thE FAIREST ONE OF THEM ALL!!! HWAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAARRRGGGHHHH!!!"

The Vorpal Sword boomerangs back around, returning to the summons of its true master.

Before you can blink the Vorpal Sword beheads the wuthering Storm King, and his corpse falls backwards – before some kind of bestial limb jabs out through one of the stumps of his legs. Then another animal extremity through an arm-hole, and horns through the neck-hole, and yet more appendages out of his back and elsewhere.

Dear reader, it would avail us of no good to describe each myriad figment of flesh that is now exploding through the hollow stone body of what was once the Storm King. For there are so many beasts comprising the chimeric marionettist who wore the Storm King's body like a costume that you may as well just imagine whatever you like! In fact, damn the description, and damn the narration altogether!!! For there is none in this sordid tale who defies description, reason, and good taste more than–

SHE WHO BEGETS STRIFE WITH STRIFE UPON STRIFE;
CHAOS CON CARNE;
THE UNHOLY QUEEN OF THE EIGHTH LAYER: FRAUD;
ERIS.

>>767937
Shorthorns is appalled and caught off guard as the Storm King begins to massacre HIMSELF, tearing off his limbs and face bit by bit as some unknown presence seems to tear him apart from the inside. It is only now, too late, that Shorthorns understands what is happening.

"That's not the Storm King!" She shouts to those in case it was not already obvious, and she moves into action, throwing herself towards the Vorpal Sword to knock it free of the hand of its new mysterious wielder before they manage to complete themselves in this horrid transformation

[1d10+3] All Or Nothing

Roll #1 1 + 3 = 4

>>767938

Amy takes a few steps back as she watches the horrifying transformation take hold. She'd already been putting the pieces together as it began to happen in front of her. And, as Eris reveals herself, Amy suddenly nods in understanding.

"Oooooooh! THAT'S why the Storm King was coming off as more of a pitcher than a catcher!" she says as if all is right with the world now. "ERIS is totally a catcher!"

"Wait.. ew. Does that mean I was flirting with YOU?" Amy asks Eris. "I mean, no offense. I'm just not really into mares…"

>>767939

As Shorthorns inevitably hurts herself in the attempt, Amy tosses a potion in Shorthorns' direction.

>[1d10+4] Natural Remedy

"Well now, hang on a second, Shortyhorns. Eris is just here to become Lord of Limbo. We're not really here to do that. I don't see why we can't make a deal with FRAUD," Amy says in a sort of glib tone.

Roll #1 9 + 4 = 13

>Shorthorned
As the queen Draconequus explodes forth from the Storm King's body, you leap forth to suppress her– only to stare down the barrel of a flintlock pistol, clutched in ERIS's chimeric hand.

Nearby, Anzu gasps, looking at the empty space in her hoof where she once held her gun, now appropriated by the Queen of FRAUD.

ERIS pulls the trigger.

Out pops a little flag that says, "Bang!"

Then an explosive force launches you across the rocky diskos, and you tumble across the stones before skidding to a halt at MOOLAH's feet. He barely looks down at you before looking back up in shock and awe at the figure before him.

>Shorty loses 1 Wound which is immediately healed

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait-uh!" ERIS cries, doing that thing where someone with a whiny voice appends an "uh," sound to their words. "Staaaaaawp-uh! I won! I already won! Aren't you guys tired of fighting after all that business in Midnight Castle!? Can't we just get along!?"

>Amy
"Honestly, so true!" Eris says to your description. "I don't know why the narration said I was unholy, I'm totally known for my holes! Puhuhuhu!"

…Dear reader, you will soon discover, if you have not already, my trepidation in bringing you to this point. Be careful around her…

>Both
ERIS stops to think, tapping the golden pommel of the Vorpal Sword against her temple. "Well… I guess we do have some unfinished business. Still gotta figure out who owes who favors!"

You recall the "IOU" that the Storm King – or rather, ERIS in disguise – wrote you when you first helped her find where the Vorpal Sword had been hidden by her unnamed "enemy." And you recall the suspicious portrait who offered you help in Midnight Castle as you and the BEAST hunted one another. If that portrait and its favors turned out to be one of ERIS's workings as well… you could very well find yourself in debt, true or fraudulent, to ERIS.

Your allies silently watch the Queen of FRAUD, weapons raised despite her demand for peace.

>>767941

Amy laughs at the 'holes' joke.

"Guys, it's a draconequus," Amy says to everyone still looking for a fight. "You're not going to get anywhere without going with her flow. Plus, I mean, she's Eris. The rest of Tartarus's Lords couldn't even kill her together. It took all this cheating just to undo what they did to her. You're not going to redo it to her with weapons."

Then, Amy takes a moment to think about Eris's words. She mentions a narrator. It's not the first time someone has said something like that, though she can't remember when or why she feels that way.

It DOES remind her of the times she's been trapped in stories - like the one with Regina or the one with Wineberry. She doesn't think that what's happening right now is like that. But, then she's reminded of all the times lately she just… knows things. She forgets where the information comes from. She ponders on this for a moment.

>Vestigial Sunlight to determine if there's a connection between people's awareness of the narration and Amy's own usage of Vestigial Sunlight
>short of that, Amy wonders what in general Eris is talking about
>[1d10+2]

Roll #1 6 + 2 = 8

>>767941
>>767942

Shorthorns winces as she comes face to face with the barrel of a flintock, eyes opening wide as she fears she stares death in the face… but as the BANG flag shoots out and knocks her back with the explosive force, she grunts and tumbles to a halt, thankfully spared damage thanks to the healing salve Amy through at her.

"Ugggh…." Shorthorns groans as she rises and rubs her head, looking to Amy as she explains who this is, and she turns her attention to the Lord of FRAUD herself.

"Another LORD… here I was thinking we were finally almost out." She says, shaking her head as Amy comments on her being a draconequss. "She definitely seems strong, but do you really think we can work with her? We don't even know anything about her, do we?"

As Eris mentions there being favors left unfulfilled, Shorthorn's eyes open wide. "Wait… how did you know about Midnight Castle? You… YOU were the voice we heard! The one in the painting, that was you?!"

>>767943

"Well, she's the Lord of FRAUD, so of course we can't work with her," Amy laughs. "But, that's exactly why we CAN work with her!"

>>767944
"I am so lost." Shorthorns says with genuine confusion, "Which is it?!"

>Amy
"Well…" ERIS mumbles, poking her mismatched index fingers together as you talk about cheating. "To be fair… I mighta started the cheating in the last war… I was totally gonna die so I put in a cheat code to stay alive! But in my defense, they were totally trying to focus fire me!"

Tuning out her inane ramblings, you consult the chorus whose existence you do not know.

ERIS's touch, her words, and her knowledge, is certainly reminiscent of those previous times in which you were trapped in stories… yet, there's something… still missing from her. She may be likened to a performer in a musical, or a play, who leans out over the edge of the stage to engage the audience in the fun… yet, even that leaning upon the wall between performer and audience… is it not written in the very stage directions of the script?

>Both
"Yep, that was me!" ERIS laughs as Shorthorned figures it out. "Oh, and… by the way, a word of advice for the future…"

ERIS looks at you.

Not at Shorthorned, nor at Amy.

No.

She looks– across. Her gaze crosses the Labyrinth between Dimensions, across time, across space.

ERIS looks at (You), dear reader.

"Any time you're trying to solve a murder mystery in which there's multiple deaths, there's always something screwy with the first death!" ERIS says. "And those discrepancies end up being the key that solves the subsequent deaths!"

The audience blinks in silence at this worthless advice.

ERIS hangs her head in shame. "Well, I think it's worth something… anyway, I think when we math it all out, you guys owe me! I totally helped you get through Asphodel's defenses, then I helped you… in Midnight Castle! Yep! Definitely helped keep the BEAST moving around the Castle before he could kill anybody!"

Is that so…?